My backpack ready for anything, I left for a voyage across the pond. As fellow passengers climb aboard I met a 27 year old traveling musician named Russ carrying his cajòn. He told me of his travels from Massachusetts and pending divorce. We related on this and exchanged CD's. Behind us sitting on the Ferry were two young girls working on a puzzle. Russ imposed himself and tried to impress them with his musical endeavors. These girls were in America from Germany attending college. One was 17 and the other was 18 but I am sure they knew better than to play into his hand. After talk of language and culture we disembarked. Russ invited me to his show that night but I had plans to meet a girl at a board game pub. I walked to the bus stop while smoking my pipe and caught the number 40 from downtown to a trendy neighborhood up north.

After I stepped off I found myself amongst the overgrown players of games and drinkers of fine beer. Brittany arrived and we chatted over IPA's. I explained my recent challenges to get the topic of divorce out of the way before we left for Mexican food. She was very open in saying I should play the field and not have a serious relationship. I agreed with her take but could not read her as well as I had hoped. She said I need to get the rebounding out of the way and explained that she too is struggling with commitment. Being 34 with no marriage or children under her belt she feels that therapy is essential to figuring this out.

We walked to our happy hour destination and shared Nacho's while drinking "Colorado Kool-Aid". Both of us having spent a lot of time in Denver we could relate on much but I felt there was an elephant in the room. Afterwards we walked to a nearby record store and browsed while talking about music and interests. She needed to leave soon having obligations to housesit and watch pets. Dog walking is her profession since her departure from the world of corporate accounting. We walked to her unkempt sedan and she gave me a ride back downtown. We talked of hanging out again but our schedule may not permit for some time. I wonder if she will entertain my company without reservation, only time will tell.

I decided to phone my old friend from Denver who lives near and devise another plan for the evening. The sun was still shining and I had no reason to return home yet. I walked to a nearby brew pub while waiting for him to meet me. I sat at the bar with another traveler named Dave. He is an airline pilot close to retirement from the state of Texas. We talked about my time in the Navy and my pending legal woes. He's been proudly married for 30 years and counts his blessings that he is still in harmony with his wife. My friend decided to meet me at a concert in close proximity to my date with Brittany. Once again I would take the number 40 uptown. Dave bought my IPA and gave me words of encouragement and complimented my persona. It meant a lot and I thanked him as I said goodbye.

While waiting for the bus I asked for information from a woman in her early 50's. She works for a tech company nearby but was happy to help as I had a more pleasant vibe than most of her young, urban, unprofessional colleagues. While unsure of my way she directed my move to get off at the next stop. I walked up the hill another seven blocks to the show. While smoking my pipe along the way another bus rider was two steps ahead named Nate. He was curious about my pipe tobacco and we gave brief anecdotes about ourselves. He offered to buy me a quick beer before my concert. I took him up on this offer as we walked into a nearby market. He purchased several large cans of domestics and afterwards we headed back down the dark boulevard towards the Abbey drinking our brew. As I arrived at the former church venue we parted ways peacefully.

I ventured into the bustling scene concealing my open container while finding my friend. I sat just as the opening act started. We enjoyed three musical performances but the star of the show was the beautiful woman from Denver that we both enjoyed during our time there. Feeling that we should explore the venue where Russ was performing we made our way there. I was sad to discover the brewery was shutting down before 10pm and the band was long gone. We decided to walk to the nearby singles bar playing music so loudly it could be heard from a block away. This strange place was crawling with many folks of the beautiful sort but nothing seemed to be attractive about it. We had a glass of wine and a shot of bourbon. I spoke to the fellow DJ for a moment but there was no dancefloor to be found. We decided to venture on.

We walked up and down the avenue and discovered another Mexican food restaurant, beaming with the young and the foolish. Our community seating was met with overly affectionate couples to our left and valley girls to our right. Our Tequila mules hit the spot with our Nacho's and late night platter. The girls spoke of Denver people which I thought strange. Why so much co(lorado)-incidence in one evening? I injected myself into the discussion and was met with friendly conversation. Unable to finish my Nacho's I knew I had fulfilled my share of fun for the night. This was the fourth time I had eaten nachos this week. We proceeded back to the urban adventure wagon and made our way to the slums of the tech-boom. My 2am slumber was met with an air mattress of great quality and woolen blankets.

I awoke at 7am to the clouded sunlight peering through the sliding glass door. I laid awake with my stomach turning from the many Nachos not yet digested. My housemates called me about needing to move my car for restriping the parking lot. Fortunately I left my keys so they were able to do this for me. I smoked my pipe on the patio while my friend "hit the gym". When he returned we decided to walk through the arboretum by the university and enjoy the sunny autumn day. Afterwards he dropped me off by the ferry where I waited an hour drinking beer at the commuter dive.

During my ferry ride home I walked up and down the passenger compartment looking for a fellow rider to play cribbage. I had no such luck and headed for the observation deck. While the city vanished behind us I struck up a conversation with a young lady from Manchester who had just returned to living in the US. We talked about the nature of selfies and the conflict of living in the moment. As we spoke a man approached me who had overheard my request for a card game. We walked back inside and sat next to an abandoned puzzle with pieces scattered about the deck. Mark introduced himself and we shook hands. It was not until he shuffled and dealt the cards that I realized this 45 year old Asian man only had one arm. His ability to shuffle and deal was impressive. His skill with cribbage was more than rusty, after one game I had a victory so great I felt guilty. He too is going through divorce and seeking a new job. It was a great way to pass the time with a fellow passenger.

As I readied myself for the porting I noticed a familiar face, a young sailor I served with in Mississippi. Our time spent together was met with sorrow as we faced similar career challenges. I had not seen him for several months but he almost did not recognize me. I had lost 50 pounds, left the Navy and become single all in a matter of a few months. I assured him I was on the dawn of newfound joy and wished him luck on his upcoming deployment. I patted him on the head as he seems like such a lovable scamp to me at this point. I exited the terminal to saunter back home. I smoked my pipe while crossing the bridge enjoying the last hour of sunlight.

I settled my belongings at home while serving myself a can of chili and a cold IPA on draft from my housemates tap. I joined him for the end of a baseball game in the den and shared a few moments with my community. I slept for a couple hours and then made my way to work. So much can happen in a day.

If 3am could talk it would probably tell me all your secrets.
it would tell me the position you sleep in to feel safe
and the ice cold comment your best friend made.

if 4am could talk it would probably only whisper rumours.
It would assume you can't sleep because he hurt you last year
And it would conclude the fluttering of your eyelids had something to do with what you failed to tell 3am.

If 5am could talk it would be nervous and unsteady.
It would look to your still body and wonder if you were at peace, and if it should wake you.
It might ask 6am to follow up.

If 6am could talk, it would try to be cheery. For the sake of 5am.
It might say you slept just fine, and tomorrow will be the same.
6am might lie and have you shaken and stirred for 7am to handle.

If 7am could talk, it would not know what to say.
It would tell me you were happy being unhappy
7am would giggle mindlessly and hope I went away.

By 8am, no one will be talking but you. And you will tell me a mix of what I already heard through the whispers of the night before.

By 9am the silence of the noise will begin all over again, and you'll wonder why nothing has changed. Why 3am can't be trusted, and 8am hasn't saved you from the incessant humming.

I want to listen to you at 3am, not the silence that tells me what wasn't mine to hear.

I want the truth at 4am, and to hold you when 5am can't.

I want to push away the last of the darkness at 6am, and I want to give 7am something to talk about.

I want to be your saving grace at 8am. I want to be the change you feel at 9am, when you hear the music of the world instead of the noise.

beginning with a title... the transcendent bicycle...
because it really is just that...
if you have walked as much as i have:
a marathon from Romford
to St. Paul's and back...
a marathon from Romford to Epping
and back...
       i don't know but i do know that
i might have been aiming for: flesh of my flesh...
aged 34... but i'm still "trapped" inside
the dimension of the bicycle like
i'm ******* quicksilver / the flash...
i haven't ridden a bicycle in well over a decade...
today i found out i have ghost muscles...
the bicycle became the antithesis of
prosthetic limbs...
   it's hardly a Descartes contemplating
a desk and / or van Gogh's chair...
beauty in pickling... depths of thought in:
picking, juices...
how a second birth happens with
the advent of thought...
when... penetrating inanimate things...
to think about objects is to...
become more objective?
         it's not like i'll summon...
a Freudian complex...
using a bicycle... as a Deleuze
did when ushering in the bicycle from
a Beckett's perspective...
  beside the "village bicycle" i hardly
want to give sway to some ******* metaphor...

the bicycle is more than a chair
a chair is such a fermentation process
since you can sit on it...
but can hardly concern yourself
with making a ******* gallop on it...
but a bicycle is not a horse...
but a bicycle is not a horse...
writes the man that...
yes... i have ridden horses...
all the equestrian clubs in Essex can shy away
from the detail of...
i have allowed myself to ride a horse
to a gallop... neck, sore... entangled in:
want of massage... yes...
but a bicycle is not a horse!
it's a dog... at best... it goes where you want
it to go...
the leash of gears the muzzle of the breaks...

the **** i need a car for?
in London... even if it's outskirts /
kilt Loon'don?
     ha ha FARKER TARTAN WILLIAMSSON...
blah!
enriched with hidden energies of
newly discovered... otherwise plainly
shelved sensations of motion...
there's nothing new about a bicycle...
said the man who withheld a smirk
when attesting...
a gap... the same centre of gravity... though...
almost like the buoyancy arrived at
when swimming...

oh how my father tried to teach me...
how peer pressure taught me instead...
it's this exasperating O oh and ah...
that's not really becoming of adding any more
detail to a rekindled love for life...

notably concerning England...
and outer-suburbia...
- when you have been walking these
labyrinth streets for months...
to be suddenly injected with
a very new, but at the same time:
a very old concept... dimension: which sharpens
the genesis of thinking about the sentence...
a new dimension of... speed...
time, space are their own affairs...
invoked for a day by a day...
walking is merely movement...
cycling? that's not merely movement...
that's...             speed...
because... there's a whole chi focus
of X yes precisely X...
        only half an hour's worth of cycling
and i covered the whole peninsula of the area...
unbelievable the detail of acquiring
traffic coordination...
a shared responsibility that a mere
pedestrian might take for granted...
      
tomorrow's a Sunday and i'm supposing
come circa 7am the
traffic should be "slim"...
having tested the breaks and the gears
somewhat proper...

bicycle bicycle... where have you been
all my past decade...
bicycle: grandfather Joseph...
death toll murk... fill the bells!
let them not resound in the night
while i reclaim the wind for my own...

- that i sometimes drift in and out
of solipsism...
yes... that solipsism is
laboratory minded experimentation
with states of autism...
but you're given the excuse
of riding a bicycle...

i wonder what wings might feel like....
a bicycle is not a horse...
a bicycle is more or less a dog...
it's certainly not a cat... meow...
if there was an advent of wind to harness...
but there's me... merely pulverising forward...
the leash the muzzle
all that's frame and the breaks:
downhill...

the lullaby of emotions intrinsic in:
blocking all rancid thinking... all thinking
like so...
Zen by ***... it's not that i know more...
i know... different... but first you have to walk
said distances... before loopholes...
wormholes appear gesticulating the mind
with a provided for, otherwise...

i'm 34 and i feel like i've just...
accomplished more than
having shed feather of my virginity...
never make me feel so entrusting...
never make me feel so demanding "x"...
peddle ******* peddle...
tread-water.... in your pyjamas...
i do remember, like an elephant's cranium
might... details of a historical tattoo...

philosophy books are...
paupers of metaphor...
language is ever hardly elevated into
a bouquet...
i don't want to be in love again...
i don't want to be such an...
undemanding... lack of ambition...
lack of sacrifice...

take me into the woods
and shoot me in the back of the head...
but before you do...
i'll merely ask...
take me into the sort of woods
where the deed be done...
but appreciate walking me so far
off the well trodden path
that you might not remember
how to retrieve a safe-footing back...
take me into the woods of no known
horizon...

guarded by a strict wall of a mile of trees
that block out the otherwise pleasant
azure of the sky come hiding the sun
at sunset... or sunrise...
in that zenith of immobile grey
between the hours of commotion
when nothing is to be salvaged as one's
own... but... abhorred as it too must be...
somehow... shared...

some privy in on England... a land
of fertile imaginings...
when Descartes had his table, and chair...
to fist & fester on...
i'll lay clamour to the debris of alt...

yes: an overbearing load of sensation:
delusional.. let's put him in his "right"
place... let him believe the sole provided
the psychiatric source of angst
no purpose = no posit of transcendence...
no bicycle...
   custard... pie-load...
angst...
               jerking off from "excess" libido...
well... exercise the "excesses" of libido elsewhere...
exert well squid parallels
and more: firm grasp... "tentacles"...
see the same within the confines
of an "elsewhere"...

how ***** i became being so...
muscular abiding... simultaneously... docile... too...
it's not a Lamborghini it's not
a British T... triumph motorcycle...
it's a peddling ingenuity of
somewhat self-origin...

i could have eaten up a Solomon's share
of ****** and *******
that same of wisdom...
should i, could i, would i have
demanded less than was already left available
from the Tetragrammaton...

how did "we" ever learn to laugh...
how was HA... the hebrew definite article spawned
those biggest,
no... those grieving questions...
how a monotheistic deity might be all
good... yet somehow not all powerful...
yet all powerful but not all good...
bling alley... cul-de-sac view:

the algebra not solved: attempted by
numbers...
letters later sieved...
and more letters sieved...
played the party pooper with membrane knowledge
of katakana and Hangul...
because... Latin script does slip...

chi-focus?
the multiplication ascend of:
what was walked prior...
can now be cycled... shortened because no
"lost" time was ever to be grieved...
although... the front suspension is...
an unwelcome addition...
ha ha... privy me on details
like... excesses that are there...
21 gears and when there was a rigid frame
throughout and rising up from
a sitting position is not necessary...

no... i'm not gearing up for motorcycles...
i like the idea...
but also... subsequently... the experience...
of a double-decker... bus...
of a bus of being the transit mahjong skeleton...
pieces... mein alles!

mein alles!             gott, mit... uns!

yes... unbelievable... the demands for yachts...
for ******... diminished into a fizzle....
when a Beijing demand for bicycles
skyrocketed... and all that was left to salvage
was... promises of a Sunday,
circa 7am...

hidden gems of plied-play-dough-esque:
sort of truths...
sort of beefing up... doubting pork...
within the confines of chops...
between me and a prisoner...
between me an a prisoner...
it's hardly the yacht...
the hardly any nuance of bother...
believe the existence of hierarchy...
because the Bolsheviks didn't
come about the first time around...
second try...
escape the English cwown they said...
escape the litany of squares
they-void-thought... "said"...
herr omar bin sa-id...
conquest of the Hey-Brews... "said"...

don't undermine the intricate
tribal workings of...
half-possessed...
half truant... thereby almost totally... true...
associates of Casimir the Great...
there be a god of wisdom
and there be a god of fire...
there be a god of letters...
if so...

the same god will be inclined
to mind...
an apostrophe as much as a surd (letter)
in Ęgli-sh...
when not minding... "it"..
lay an Ę to the side to wreck havoc with...
ha ha!    Щ...

  Ę / Щ... the **** are you looking
at me... like i were the one
who killed your mother with a *******
harmonica / what have these galoshes to do with
"these" galoshes...
what has this pumpernickel to do with
this windmill... "this" is an obstruction...
the proverb states...
what has a pumpernickel to do with
a windmill?

exactly... ****-all!

two-riddle *******' worth... worth of...
newly ******* jargon... and crust of...
for the load that might be minded
invigorating life... as life in prospect...
re-orientating man toward the clamour
of detailing sky...
not on foot...
not on horse...
not via car... will you...
to hell with running down...
a stampede of perspective...

planet... luancy? is that where we are all,
from?
i am born of madness...
i am this salty precursor of i think...
clearly i first arrived...
later... i somehow managed to "think"...
i didn't think first
but i certainly didn't either:
i think therefore i am therefore i think...

i was more on the lines of...
from the lineage of:
trouble...
i am therefore i think therefore i am...
i am not a spider i'm not all emptying and detailing
the filling of gob-***** with
i am hungry i am vector...
i am therefore i think therefore i am...
but this... ****** of french...
premature *******....
of i think therefore i am... therefore i think:

honestly? thinking is sometimes not...
necessary...
sometimes water needs no... glue, metaphor...

Amsterdam's open mouth darkseid
apocalypse abode...
le trio joubran - masar.... a finite quest...
primo.... detailing conquest...
handling crux....

            the cat's in the riddle...
the yard is in a mile...
scrutiny of the Levant...
           leverage of hark... -ing
denote: closure... of "ambition":
this lesser "king"...
brow of the most dignified...

                   keeping with allowance
(an)
  justly, met...
  
give me wind:
   give me... air...
not... hair... i laugh... i laugh too little...
i chisel my teeth...
i scream: nothing primo!
my life but q.
there are more lived importances
that matter, thus...
cradle... diamonds...

"the end".

7am is:
'good morning :)'
'have you had your breakfast?'
'i'm heading to school first'

11am is:
'right now i'm pretty broke'
'but do you want a smoke'

2pm is:
'what do you mean how?'
'having lunch with friends now'

6pm is:
'having a meeting now! talk to you later'
'have you taken dinner?'

10pm is:
'on my way home gonna eat supper'
'let's play dota together'

2am is:
'i know you're already asleep'
'talk to you in a bit'
'goodnight and sweet dreams :) (the ones which wouldn't cause weight gain)'

The man that lives under me
He's like the singing boogie man
It's like clock work at 7 am I hear him kick up his vocal cords
Words that don't cut like a two edge sword cuz the Word is the ultimate truth
Sometimes I feel like I'm in the sound booth w/ him
Hearing every note and rift
I mean he did warn me he was a singer
But I wasn't ready for this ringer at 7am
Sometimes it feels like an army of a thousand men under my bed
Sound waves moving towards my head bringing me out of my precious slumber
Blunder
Shaking
Oh why must this man wake me at 7am
I didn't ask for this
I'm not a morning person
But forreal I can't even be mad cuz he sounds like Frank Sinatra  
"I'll Never Smile Again" on a good day maybe
Maybe I'll say something
Maybe I won't
But I don't know if I can continue to be woken up at 7am

1:39 AM
I'm lying down on this air bed thinking
What would've happened if we'd never met.

I met so many new people this year.
Each and every one have made a great impact on my life too.

Was it that night last year in June? Everything happened that night. Felt like nothing,
But now I realize it meant everything.

2:08 AM
I can't stop thinking about everything you said to me.
And I also can't stop thinking about what would've happened if I'd handled things differently.

Oh well.
Should've.
Would've.
Could've.
Can't do anything now.
'Cause I did try. I tried so hard. But I failed anyways.

3:08 AM
Did I tell you that you're what I dream about as well?

4:56 AM
Silence. Streaks of moonlight along the windows.
Quiet cars passing by. You're on my mind.

5:35 AM
And I'm still thinking about you.

6:54 AM
Fall asleep finally.
Dream about you. You were laughing. I woke up laughing.

7:00 AM
Wake up. Try to clear my head. try to get you out of my head Get a glass of coffee, look outside.

It'll be a better day I hope.

.h'america.... the last theological playground of... whatever the mind left behind in the decrepit bulwark that's europe... oh... and those mid-western died-hard hitchcock platinum-blondes in a-waiting... my typo pristine dutch-girls-go-to-church mantra... otherwise? no b'ooh'y'ah! chugger-chugger-chugger-chuck-cherry-choppy-chops-you-*******-cuc­­k-chuckie! quasi-whitman wannabe... billy was a butcher... a thematic long lost gun... billy was a butcher... and all the ripe choppers of pork... gave us a belief in snow; and what some heaved with a falling-of-a-star of dis-.belief: i too was bound to glorification of: what was expected to be known! and the subsequent: wow! i have met only the most limited of men... i have therefore met all men... the "all" men of this rubric of a year, a decade... all that's bygone of a yawn; swear it sn't so! a so! that's not be be sown! i am here too: upon the whim of expectation... merely... waiting... a man comes to be born come his 30s... his 40s? his nostalgia "moment"... former known name of: Jack Lil Lick 'Em Boots... and the crescendo of pauper's black lining of the Wall St. "better oiled"... scalp the ******! and send him unto the rabbi's true blessing... in the cusp of the scalp of the kippah!  and now... you take... your anglo-spreschen-tangle... into the salt-wounds of your h'america! first born: young... i don't like your revision... looking toward Europe with a hope for a sensibility... this pseudo deutsche: pseudo dutch, anglo-; this is no loss of the French or the Slav! this is our celebration! does one have an irish phrasing in uns to be at in it or one? beyond this grip boyo bound glue? this clerical spare of the otherwise leftover skivvy? we have made barons of these minutes.... as if we were to be kings of the coming years... and how we didn't become gods of the atoms... and the men of the suns and planets... that is our... most worthwhile conundrum in a da pacem domine bound; you're going to Beirut on me... or something?!

in my haitus away from this canvas:
naive me thought: perhaps a surge...
again proven wrong -
albeit not disappointed -
so i had to look elsewhere -

i had to look for a clarity of diction...
i had to move away from
the western lands and their:
death of god and their death by metaphysics...

even in this barren english...
i could not figure out:
why are these people,
apologetics from the central leftists...
these liberals...
ditto: i will butcher this name...
i will butcher the pronunciation
of this word...

if there are "questions" regarding
what's being phonetically encoded...
so much for me "learning to code"...
i too once wrote a html encoding...
with all the < and < and > toys...
spacing... {[( gradations... etc.,

i had to look east, after a while writing
schlechtdeutschegrammatik...
bad german grammar...
again: it's posthumous "Latin"...
it might be...
bad grammar german...
or german bad grammar...
deutscheschlechtgrammatik...

spelling is the mathematical equivalent
of... arithmetic...
but grammar? you need a ping-pong
table...
you need something cymru-esque...
a scandinavian-esque bilingual cushioning...

english alone will not solve the matter...
it's not french, it's not german,
it's certainly not spanish...
spanish and how post-colonialism was
settled with a post-racial attitudes of
Brazil...
england has taken too much time
looking up and out of the h'american
*******...
no grand satan 'ere...
no silk road bazar of fruits exotica from...
Teheran...
something more... subtle...

i had to go back to the "tsar"...
and the цэркйэв: 'cerkiew'...
and there i was amused how...
well apparently...
there are a lot of words
that do use the sz'cz...
enough... to deviate from
the Latin bollocking represented via
шч = щ....

that's perfectly logical...
i'm done with "perfectly logical"
if it exists outside of the realm of
orthography...

szczypta soli - pinch of salt...
in russian...
щ... that's a bit of a "question"...
yes, yes it is complicated...

szczery / szczera (he's honest /
she's honest)...
szczerość (honesty)...

no it's not... you german fickle-wit!
you forget the ы!

ah! well then... щыптa....
**** me... disorientating...
they could do all that with greek and glagolitic...
but they still had to keep...
latin: roman: holy roman empire: GERMAN...
lowercase lettering...
akin to a... e... c doesn't count...
since that's a greek cedilla "missing"...
ç... or... sigma... ς -
otherwise known in english as that S
after the apostrophe...
when something is called being:
the possessive article...
a (indefinite) the (definite) - some -ism to mind?!
no... but 's is... a bit like the SS...
in greek...
all in lower case: stephen's and...
στεφηνς...
σtephenς: that very much desired: ha!
ridiculous gag... the "much desired"
alternative to an apostrophe S ('s)...

it's Stephen's! it's Stephen's!
it's Sylvester's!
three articles in english:
the indefinite article (a)...
the definite article (the)...
and the possessive article ('s) - apostrophe S...
eS eS!

russian accents...
ъ, ы, ь...

but i only know of one "hard sign" example...
and that disqualifies the J ever needing a lower-case
"dot"... ȷ... namely... зъ: ż... alternatively
also: rz... and ж...
żuk! beetle! somehow the caron makes it...

szczyt! zenith!
щыт!

- and since i'm no longer writing:
i'd be writing if i were monolingual...
or... if i was animated by
the sort of Knausgardian bilingualism
of chop of swede: marker norgie...
but... i'm painting...

i forgot how to write when i could
see "synonyms" of sounds...
entombed in two different phonetic
encodings, namely elevated latin
and "pan-greek": cyrillic...

the variations between:

й and ы...
i.e. via е - "ye"
ё - "yo" (there's an umlaut in russian?!)
"у" - yew and you...
the gamma subscript...
ю - "yu"...
and... я - "ya"...

with regards to this rubric...
i am in the middle...
i can see a distinction between
a "y" (whine why and no I)...
hardly a jotted anecdote...
and yes... the closest the russians
ever come to Cracow is with ы
to a western slavic y...
ask me: toй - ask me: toȷ...
who needs a dot above the J
in the lower-case... if...
if... there's no absolute need for it to
be there: unlike some greenwich mean time
focus?
it ȷust so happens that...
the better clasp of the equator is
married to Greenwich: London...

dr. who time lords:
bellybuttons of the world: the english are...
again: i have to remind myself...
ı am not wrıtıng... ı am... paıntıng...

1(one), l(el)... I and ı(ıota)...
i guess an apostrophe would suffice...
ıf it's not an "ı"...
ı'ota... ı: oath...
sure as fıgurative "****" it's not...

ı must wrıte some more examples
in russıan...
to get me off me mark into
some "wax lyrıcal"...
ıslander mentalıty of the hen'glısch...

see how "the dot" can appear...
and disappear, as one see fıt?
and ıt makes: no little bıt of...
"dıfference"?!

i need to sleep on thıs "exercise"...
dot-pop-up...
dot-fold
dot-pop-up...
dot-fold...

w­­ıll eyes gets it?
hardly...

the rest of these cosmopolitan *******
focused on gwaffiti awt...
which is welsh for: GRA GRA...
when was the last time you heard
an englishman trill an R?
ı can't remember...
give me a night to soak up the pickling
juıces... i can't remember the last time
i heard an homest trIll eıther!
pauper me...

it's probably because of the welsh:
GWA GWA! gwadleıth cowonew...
or coroner row row row a rombat into a rue:
or a woo...
rhyme: contorts...
shapes and disappearing: oopses...
a whole multıtude of 'em...
come like the tıde...
leave... lıke a tilde... quası N:
it's a... H is a zeus...
and J is a Ha Ha Ha wrap-up rap of
laughter: in spanısh: of course...

i don't wrıte... ı paint...

impromptu interludes, quickened:
i'm a marriage of two continents...
and one island...
east of moscow...
asia... west of warsaw and...
these gloomy island pits of
idiosyncracy... never quiet the icelandic
answer to norway...
or greenland's answer to denmark...
but an island... nonetheless...

- to hell witth cascading linear cascades
of narrative: i'm blind to the optics
of "the narrative" in the paragraph
format...

i will look back east...
i will look at the russian script...
i will look at it as a time in ******
history equivalent to:
why didn't you just think of it as Greek?
but "my people" didn't...
and i'm not exactly a "why / didn't"...
i'm part of the excavation machinery...
i come with what was served...
i will leave without
leverage...

and here is the russian icon translated
from the Babel...
the following are orthodox letters
shared by one and all
to the western lands...

а б в г д e з и й
к л м н o п р c т
у ф

a b v g d e z i j
k l m n o p r s t u
f

now we leave: łen łill that be?
we should all somehow know...
to łork out a When a Where
(notably with the "h" being but a surd)...

mother how should i further this?
herbata
hasło (ha-s-woe)
hołd (**-**-w'd)

to no other: otherwise only in scotland:
the loch of tipsy work...
albeit: orthographic distinction...
хęć - a whim a desire...
a loch is no: cheat of a lake...
latching onto the otherwise boredom caron
exposed...

дух (ghost) with a душa (soul)...

else there's c dissociated from the s...
and more so with a kappa kaput...
the drumstick slick on a wet snare of: tss...
ц - almost...
then morphing into a ць -
yet in my version: no so silent...
ćma: moth...
цmokaць / cmokać: to click with the tongue...
to kiss smackingly -
to ingest food via a smoczek...
a smoчek - a smoček... the baby soother...

this is my third day having to return to
this canvas...

first thing's first:
palatization (palatißation)
is not... a name of german crusader song:
palästinalied...

this is one of the main reasons why
i can't imagine myself as being able:
to write a novel -
i can't bear this birth of words into
this pseudo-Kandinsky -
it would be much easier with painting
something for a year -
than writing for a year -
the same thing, over and over again...

if i write a "poem" or, rather, a poo'em...
i expect the concept of
ensō: a circle has to be drawn with
a single uninhibited stroke...
when the body is set free and the body
merely complies...

comparison... if one were to draw
a most pristine ensō...
one would never achieve an ouroboros
depiction... it's quiet impossible
to use one volume of ink
attached to a stroke to complete
a circle... let alone a depiction
of an ouroboros...
what starts off as concrete soon...
fades away... thins out...
until there is so little ink left
on the brush that individual hairs
of the brush start appearing...

a pristine depiction of life...
but never the hardline ouroboros
depiction: this cerberus of reincarnation:
i never would have believed in it -
given that: there would have to be
a limited number of souls...
the thought that i might be introspective
enough as to be one of these: "elites"...
and the rest... were "n.p.c." drones...
zombie-esque drifters...
that had no psychological infrastructure
to have memory and rubric of learning
bound to them to be: invested in?

i am still going to write this Kandinsky...
one way or another...
but i can say only that:
i can imagine myself returning
to a painting - and painting it for a year...
but a book?
if a poem can't be written in one sitting...
it's not a poem...
this is not a poem: this is a novel
equivalent...
the best to my ability: which is none...

all i will ever manage with this
is a pedantic scrutiny of russian orthography,
how i don't follow metaphysical arguments
of the germans, the english or the french,
because i don't dream that often,
and when i do dream?
i dream up nonsense...
last time i dreamed that a hiena was
biting at my arm like a corn-cob...
but it wasn't biting to draw blood...
it was biting and cackling in order
to tattoo me... it bit into my arm and detailed
indentations akin to braille...
a pianola roll...

and that's the only details of the dream
i can remember...
perhaps i strained memory...
perhaps people who dream...
are fond of forgetting...
perhaps i don't dream because i can
remember being 4...
a shadow (my maternal great-grandfather)...
a large piano, a small piano...
he worked a retirement as a security guard
in a kindergarten...
i once spent an afternoon with him...
i have seen pictures of him...
but i don't remember the face in the photographs...
he sat me before a bonsai piano
while he sat at the large piano...
and i guess: we were going to be the new
Chopins or something...
he's still a shadow... a grey form...
perhaps a extract of memory that reaches
back 29 years is the reason why i don't
dream... then again...

what if i were to have recurrent dreams?
i've heard people have recurrent dreams...
i just have details of dreams...
i'm not complaining but...
it has become exhausting to simply sleep sometimes...
to replay that lullaby of the void...
yes: yes... i will return to russian orthography:
give me a moment!

well, on my "haitus" i had to look beyond
"conventionality"...
there was a period where i found
the glagolitic script - i said to myself:
there must be an equivalent alphabet to match
the runes...

there must have been a way to encode
without the romans and greeks...
after all... there is the St. Cyrill alphabet
and that of Methodus...
how many ethnic groups are there
on this old, yawning continent -
minor point: old age is not plagued by
yawning - only youth yawns...
old age is cured of yawning -
hanging over them the yawning death...
when father - when father - will this old
ponce come into my *****?

glagolitic and cyrillic?
well Ⰱ Б...
Ⱂ and P... which is not exactly lent-greek...
i guess it's only "wise"
to go back into the modern scribbles...

there are so many branches
to be plucked off a pine
to reserve yourself with ending up
to owning a pike...
so what would it help me:
if i had to reverse and ezra pound
my way forward...
bubble bulging roma notations?
i see: when that chisel in marble
V is not supposed to be a U...

EVROPA... etc.

i need to bring to the fore my own
distinctions...
spread: universally within the confines
of the people that speak it:
i even had to made balkan additions...
like the caron S and caron C...
to hide the english gimmick
of SHarp and CHeat...
evidently we use the Z to replace
the H when stressing our "demands"...
Šarp and Čeat...

so back into russian?
i almost forgot that i said...
their orthography is not worth the dog's
bollocking of a lick...

i was wrong, obviously...
but even the russians are supposed
to be allowed their idiosyncracy -
their orthographic pedantry...
russian orthographic pedantry?
ah...

when е met э...
was also the time when э didn't meet з...
this is pedantic...
another russian pedantic "detail"...
how many Y's or J's do you need...
to detail: the elongated-iota?
before... "****" becomes confusing...
within the confines of gamma...

i'm pretty sure the russians have
fixated their attention on the Y/J "debate"
working from their central premise of
the english AYE... I... the pronoun bunker...
der deutsche affirmative: ja!
yah in the hebrew respective for: wisdom...

let's see... i'm pretty sure the russians
have all the vowels bow to this mecca
of Moscow, cite me: and please reiterate...
that i use J and Y interchangeably...
i don't imply: to jot - to "dz"ot...
or Joseph in Ypres...

otherwise: a yeti climbing a yew shouting: yes!
it's not exactly jargon -
but... a prefix y- in english...
is not a suffix -y in english...
which just... "out of the blue"...
demands to be associated with the iota
of: ply... and yet: it's no i.e. e'et...
it's neither ate or the fwench and (et)...
it's a yeti... but not a jetty!

never mind... back into the fussy russian...
i'm pretty sure you will find all
of the pentagram (vowels) bowing before
the altar of pseudo-gamma:

                                     ю (yu)
                                    /
(details in) й ------ я (ya) -- ы (oh look, solo!)
   the above"rant")  |
                                  у (which is a u)
                                /   \
                     e (ye)       ё (yo)

almost... but i'm far from learning russian...
i find these orthographic details...
coexisting...

зъ = ж = ż = rz = ř / ž...

eastern, mother slavic...
beginning with a western slavic translation
"innovation"...
central / western slavic...
balkan slavic...
oh we are such famous clarinet players!
because what happens
when the caron is sliced into two...
and an acute ****** pops out?!

hence the зъ beginning...
yes... it's not "silent"... it's simply not
palatalißed... the tongue doesn't tip-off
the palette... the sound escapes via
the gritting of teeth...
with it: the tongue can rattle and a trill
R is heard...

зъ (ż) contra зь (ź) -
życzenia - well wishes| źródło - source...
now to only write these words
in russia - without knowing the russian
noun-denotations...
for orthographic purposes...

жыченя... or is it... жычениa?
зьруд... problem... can't find the english
W in russian... or the ****** Ł...
there's the english V... the ****** W...
but russian doesn't translate (Вв)
so vell into wery: not so weary but
nonetheless very not so, so...

my problem is not about that though...
this poem this poo'em this:
a pigeon drops a zeppelin-****
on your top-hat implies good luck...
no 13's or black cats crossing your path either...
i could most honestly spend
100 years of each of the 100 individuals
bound to the salt mines in the vicinity
of Beijing... and i would still find myself...
without tears...
because this is the most inexhaustible
crux: it's really bugging me foundation stone...

i won't even mind the modern greeks
at this point... they do use diacritical markers
too... but over-do it... as if compensating
or trying to compete on level par
with their metaphysical dittos...

чaхa: czacha... almost slang term for:
czaszka... чaкшa...
and this is by no means "smart"...
i can't solve crosswords puzzles...
well i can: but i need to find myself
in the company of my grandmother...
in the morning...
i would have had to drooled over some novel
from 7am until she gets out of bed
come 9am... we'd drink coffee and i'd
smoke cigarettes...
and it would be a month prior to christmas
or easter, or the interlude...
and... i'd be freed from writing or
reading anything in english...
either me looking at diacritical distinctions
in the realm of orthography between:
russian, ******, balkan...
or... me never learning french,
or attempting to: ever, again!

******* suffix-eaters...
dyslexics in reverse...
say one thing: write another thing...
this is probably born from my frustration
at being unable to learn french...
perhaps after having acquired english
i was given german to learn...
but no... first hurdle... french...
flop!
now it's a diet of no crosswords...
some sudoku from time to time...
and my new hobby after having found
"too many" googlewhacks...

so there's nothing smart about this:
this is in no way useful to anyone -
being the sort of person
to "mind" whenever one's being asked
to spell their surname...
it's hardly that difficult but...

would i go for the echo sierra charlie
hotel lima echo romeo tango...
or go out full greek with it?
perhaps the greek...
since that would solve the problem
i've had for a while,
concerning the eta / epsilon "debate"...

how does a greek laugh -
what is the crux letter via which
a greek laughs?
you see a H shape on the horizon...
but you... hear the noun: eta...
you later see the name eta...
but that's eta: without an apostrophe...
the apostrophe 'eta being the "surd" H...

in greek then...
epsilon sigma... **** it... there's no "sch"
of a german worth in greek...
let's cut it out:
epsilon lambda epsilon rho tau...

otherwise in russian...
once more:

ś(lub) - wedding - сь(люб)
"soft" sign - ' - apostrophe -
or ACUTE elsewhere...
why not сьлуб?
i don't know... it's not like сь is even
minded in russian...

ah! my favorite!
goń! gonitwa: a race -
the verb impetus: race! chase after!
гoнь!

since ы is the "odd" one out between
the application of "ь" and
and "ъ"...
come to think of it...
ы gave birth to: ю (yu), я (ya),
у (u), й ("y"), и ("e")...
i... i.e. and... in ******...
akin to those languages that use e...
to also imply and...
ё (yo)... how did i miss the umlaut
infiltrating the russian 'bet...
i blame catherine the great!
and... е (ye)...
is that the pentragram?
u, a, e, i, o... yes! we have it!

i truly had better days when sudoku was
the better puzzle to fill a day with...
not this... from glagolitic, to greek,
to roman, to post-roman to russian
and back into...

if we are all "supposedly" literate...
begs the question why: why oh why the emoji...
the *******-wanking hieroglyphics...
the :) and what not...
i guess to better escape this sort of
headaches... minor chances of everyone
becoming a bilingual:
but what's there to brag about
being bilingual!
i guess the polyglots do not have such
headaches of detail...
they just... bypass these rules and regulations...

to better guide me:
if i managed to sift through james joyce's
finnegans wake... and didn't find any
diacritical markers in it?
can't i compensate?
i'm compensating right now!
if the 2010s as a decade was a decade
filled with... sisyphus titans akin
to kant, hiedegger, kierkegaard,
knausga(a)rd, joyce...
beckett - yes...
again that hollowed "y" distinction!
it's not a sisi: yes yes problem...
hardly me being ***** either...
e'ver... i'ver...
ain't that a *****...

clarity of diction... the best motto there is...
crab-bucket-intellectualism:
alternatively the focus away from
any ontological stressors of "example" -
ontological and its variant of
a priori:
perhaps, given that the ontological
is an a priori argument...
here's my crossword puzzle -
ref. thesaurus rex...

and by no means... at all...
etymology is the better variant of any known
history...
when this bundle of words:
that an ontological dialectic can be achieved:
that ontology can be given within
as much as an a priori: bigot! focus...
with as much as an a posteriori:
wizened unicorn quid pro quo tanz!

hamsterwheel loopholes or:
crab-bucket intellectualism...

now: i really could have put these words
to better use... to make them linear...
less cryptic... but how can i?
i'm solving a crossword puzzle in reverse!
i don't expect the easily scared moths
to entertain this fire...

i expect midgets to be dancing...
before my eyes...
whenever i listen to
faun's tanz mit mir
or in extremo's rotes haar...
when the bagpipes and the flutes
kick in...

- since if i were to write a coherent sentence:
succumb to a linear narrative...
i'd people reading this to be also found:
easily talking about it...
perhaps i don't enjoy freedom of speech
as much as i enjoy the freedom to think...
perhaps i haven't written anything
worth speaking about, regurgitating,
making vogue, working for some intellectual
period-piece of "vogue"...
perhaps this is a shared problem,
hidden in a cipher...
of: how i can't heave this tool...
this tapeworm of existence,
this medium of god...
to later trash it, to have nothing better
to do with it other than play-games...
worded games... crossword puzzles...
perhaps i need a crossword puzzle to imply:
neighbour's share some words...
together... but then write them differently...
perhaps i require a crossword puzzle...
to read into some russian...
on the praxis base of english...
flying past Warsaw toward the itch
of the edge of Asia...
breathe the air - the heart of the continent...

perhaps i would have never managed
to escape this world if i ingested
mind-benders of the h'american 1960s
revolutionary schematics of the:
new-humanists... crash course in literature:
only one magic mushroom trip away!

фoрк ин дэ рoaд (fork in the road)

ИN...

some shared words, of etymological
curiosity...

(fork) вилка - wilka -
polish? wilka? that which belongs to
a wolf... widelec...
видэлэц...

(knife) нож - nóż -
well... orthography comes into play...
while people can have their...
ahem... in-the-meantime metaphysical
playground...
the ground, the word,
the geology is already here...
written alternatively?
нузъ...

i take a different stance to the common day
****** back east...
when russia starts slagging you off...
you put on a Boris Yeltsin mask on
and dance the drunk panda dance...

(spoon) ложка - łyżka -
in polish? ah those russians... ло ло...
лож: lorz...
lo lo and behold the translated
quasi-russian into the borders of europe...
ł.w.(ызъка)...

black and white (черный и белый):

czarny i biały: rho-si-ye!
char-nee-ye! bel'ye)...

perhaps the timing is a bit off:
the proper wording would be:

czarno na białym -
not: in black and white...
чaрнo на биa-wh-ым...

knocked-out to be honest...
the russians use ый like that?
YJ? oh right! i use it too!
in the prompt:

tyj! tyj ty grubasie!
hmm... -asie...
it would do me a lot of good...
if that iota didn't have a decapitated
head of a halo hovering above it...
why? so i could introduce the acute
slant over the S and surd it...
i.e. -aśιe...

тый! ты груб... exactly...
grub-               -aсьие
тый! ты грубaсьие!
to grow fat: тый!
              "problem": -aśιe vs. -aсьие...
well... it's there: сь...
but it also isn't there: и...

but it isn't: but it also isn't...
i just managed to find out that...
in warsaw (if i lived in warsaw)...
we have that conjunction: -ый-
however rare it is: it is there...

any more delegations from Moscow?
tyj! tyj ty grubasie!  
and i will write these last few words
and know why i don't really feel like
solving crosswords puzzles...
or doing those i.q. schematic tests...

**** it... the welsh should know and help me
out... concerning?
how it's YN and not IN...
how it's Y and not I when referring to THE gwyll:
dusk...
y gwyll o hywels: the dusk of powells...
only the welsh would know my "pain"...
yn y gwyll o y hywels:
in the dusk of the powells...

taking a step back - a step back...
yes yes, apologies... if my punctuation...
is too much of a ******* arithmetic!
too bad!

p.s. and yes... don't leave anything lying
around in the drafts or as private...
chances are... with a 2 day delay...
this will never be fed into the LATEST feed.

.i don't have the: i love bacon argument... pork liver? pork head terrine? now we're talking! bacon? i hate bacon!

rare are such nights... you drink, and you drink...
in-between solving
a sudoku - and then?
                    nothing...
absolutely nothing...
       nothing...
   people talking, you're left with minding
your own shadow...
   you think of your sober
self and realize...
all these people,
all of them, having so many
sober issues?!
     i don't get, the idea
of a restaurant,
because?
   i don't get the idea of conversation
during a meal...
who needs conversation when
talking?
        watching all these t.v. dramas...
food, in plush places,
is the last bullet-point on
the minds of these people...
    they're not there to eat,
they're there to talk...
   i guess the best food you can
have,
   is, remotely found in
a chicken Kentucky shop...
where you get a discount,
    eating the hot & spicy chicken
wings...
  ending up with you licking
your fingers,
   and the counter worker
asks you: would you like
a hygienic tissue?
    you reply, thank you -
a glorious meal, esp. when standing
up...
         it's not out of desperation
that
you write this sort of stuff...
my grandmother likes to watch
me eat...
   she says...
         i eat with a feral ferocity
of always having the capacity
to enjoy the food...
i eat like someone starving
on the right occasion...
   and i know that when she passes,
no one will make the same
compliment,
    of having the pleasure
of watching me eat food...
          perhaps it's family...
but when someone actually enjoys
watching you eat?
   there are no familial ties
actually involved, per se...
       and the joy of the spectacle
of eating, when someone watches
you?
   you need to know classical Roman
bulimia, the underbelly of
the beast...
       dare i say that pig cranium
is the best meat from the beast?
bacon? overrated...
  pork chops? overrated...
you're going for the cranium
and the cartilage...
   notably?
   the bone end cartilage of chickens...
and the bone heads,
   bitten off, and gently suckling
at the opened bone, marrow...
secondary ****, and mother milk...
    ooh!
   but a beef tartar stake?
cut into tender bite-sized pieces,
rather than minced?
you can eat a tartar steak
using minced beef...
you need tender, almost sushi-esque
pieces...
        minced meat ≠ tartar steak...
minced meat = tartar pâté...
             you can't make a tartar steak,
a Crimean stake... using minced
beef...
  god i'd love to eat this with
the variant of horse-meat...
              drizzled with some of
the blood...
                 ****... even writing this
gives me a watered mouth effect...
like i'm ******* on a cotton
bud or something...
               but i have for myself,
that one compliment from my grandmother...
who enjoys watching me eat something...
as if i were tasting a food
for the first time...
      oh god... but fresh pork, fried with
a little bit of salt... and eaten freshly fried...
from the Smithfield market?
at 7am, before prepping for school?
     how can pork deserve the monotheistic
argument of impurity?!
   again, and again and over again...
it's the most economic animal!
you can actually eat pig ears!
            you could survive on that...
compared to what the sacred mutton
of the Middle East and Levant offers...
furry bits...
                      would take longer
to pinch of the feathers of a chicken...
than to care about a Turkish barber
to get rid of either cow, or mutton stubble
of the ears...
        the perfected, domestication machine...
****-naked...
  even dogs are not allowed such
domestication class...
oh... wait...
   that Mexican breed...
   xoloitzcuintli & the sphynx...
but come on...
    those would be nibbles...
        the Quran and the Torah can say
all it wants...
  about pork being an "impure" meat...
but sure as ****,
it's the most genius
          work of human engineering...
to breed a boar...
   into a semi-human status of,
being fur-less, completely dependent
on domestication...
  as far as i am concerned?
  the chimps will not lose their fur...
here's a "tetragrammaton" for you:
man (simiae nudus), pig (aper nudus),
xolo dog & the sphynx cat...
fish and lizards don't count...
so? i discount the criticism of
the engineering that went into
domesticating the boar.

I think most people associate creative people, especially writers
with the middle of the night.
Getting a great idea at 1AM and working until 7AM
and a masterpiece is made

I'm not like that.
I tend to get ideas at about 2 in the afternoon.

I have a great idea for my friends birthday.
That's a great outfit to wear to Fridays dance!
Hmm....that could be an amazing book...
What if everyone in the whole world did this?
Oh! I could totally make money doing that!

These things happen at 2 in the afternoon.