.    like cardinal Leto remarked, having received news from Versailles... why is it always the ******* French?

perhaps in a less crude manner,
drinking wine,
while eating raw fruits -

  always a bad combination...
no *****, no meat?
   bad idea... wine, and raw fruit
akin to strawberries?
    irritable bowel movements...

- and that's because Einstein
didn't discover the concept of
gravity, in the format of: sideways?
in the form of orbits?
   expansive waves...
   that allowed for the elliptical interpretation?
like the old
              argument:
      (heliocentric) oval...
             contra the (geocentric) circular
"concern" for...
   whatever is up / down
            sideways in
      the Copernican terminology...
because there was ever a "shape"
concerning the universe,
  and not a medium,
            an extraction for the metaphor
for water,
   gas, liquid, solid...
              and the fourth aspect
of ancient elements:
   its existence in a vacuous "space"?

- but i can't fathom the French at this point...
once upon a time...
one Frenchman equated the motivation
for a "summa summarum"
    to be bound with a thinking,
and a curiosity...

            the current fashion of Latin
abbreviations...
   this... cogito ergo sum?
   it's nonsense...
    speak it long enough...
   and you'll find yourself inclined
to suppose that cogitans per se:
is a motivation, an impetus to exist...
yet... so much of thought it "wasted"
or, rather, to craft an impetus to
"doubt", within the confines of fiction...
but the motivation has lost its
origin within the confines of doubt,
and has been replaced by
the Freudian unconscious,
   a serialized phobia fest... notably
including a, clown...

originally, thought (per se) was
a secondary motivational outlet
that precipitated into being...
    first came... doubt...
   but... these days?
               doubt is a conspiracy theory,
no longer an emotional thrill
to prop-up thinking...
   and we have the French existentialists
to thank for this...
for they subverted their own
idea...

             negation has replaced doubt
as the origin, and motivation
for thinking...
        yet... this sort of "thinking",
has made, its materialization, so, so...
obscene...
    i can hardly find it surprising while
i took to propping two worthwhile
economic outlets...
   prostitution (since they will spend
the money i give them...
on things... i wouldn't even care
for propping up)...

    and... alcohol (scotch whiskey,
russian standard *****...
    shveedish cider...
                     german beer)...

but how can you even claim an existence,
if...
       there is no thrill...
of what is the secular expression of faith:
i.e. doubt?
  how can you replace doubt -
a motivation for thinking, materialized
into being... with negation?
  jean-paul Sartre attempted this inversion -

doubt has been replaced with negation
in his system...
             it's like that cliche of an English
1960s ***-joke / ***-like...
       this... frivolity over a blatant lie...
a lie so... bogus...
    so ineffectual in translating a hidden truth
that... you allow it...
   to care for the cheap comic aspect
of the execution...

but how can the French suddenly
feign to disbelieve their secularism -
   resorting to the antithesis,
namely:

  original

  doubt motivates thinking,
  which subsequently motivates
   being within the confines of reason,
or rather, reasonableness...

20th century existentialists

negation "motifs" thinking,
   which subsequently motifs
"being" within the freedom of non-reason,
or rather, unreasonableness...

   and by negation,
   i don't mean the atomic conceived softening
blow...
   akin to: dis-ease...
    i.e. (as i explained it to one old man
in a park, walking his dog):
  a negation, or ease... a denial of...

how can the Cartesian model work,
when the 20th century French existentialists
began with the presupposition:

   i deny, i think, therefore i exist?
where is the original thrill of
the secular aspect of faith, within the boundaries
of doubt?
              gone... vanished!
****! a **** on the London tube,
during the rush hour,
  during the heatwave
                of the past month!

                   perhaps this only comes
as a method of assimilating an increased population,
within the confines of the Taoist maxim:
the best way to aid the world,
is to forget the world, and let the world
forget about you...

             perhaps... the Andy Warhol 15 minutes
analogy...
      that in order to encompass the individual,
the world, and the individual within it...
   the approach had to change
from the original, exciting, exploration
genesis of thought, bound to the genesis
of doubt...
             having to be replaced by
a genesis of denial...
      the second tier of a secular society...
    the zeitgeist of Herr Censor...
to filter through what we see so often,
faces, bodies...
  but would be much more comfortable
having been bound to Plato's cave,
         of complete shadow theater...

perhaps... but the original tier of
secular societies' alternative to church prescribed
articles of faith...
                     to have replaced
the thrill of doubt...
      with this... Byzantine pillar of denial
as motivational groundwork for
thinking impetus
   that becomes an article of being?
am i the only one to see the frustration,
how, people abhor their being,
being founded upon an act of denial,
rather than an act of doubt?

     the once thrilling maybe (gnostic):
   has become the stale, "i don't know"
    (agnostic) - as if... people can't tell you
whether zebras have stripes!
   where there was once an article
of secular faith (doubt) -
   now?
                        there's not even that!

p.s.
  there has to be a much needed new mantra,
all publicity: is bad publicity -
unless of course you're riding that
fame juggernaut and are paying
for your all-inclusive status akin
   to madonna: since fame dies off
and you, none-the-less invest in the momentum...

one day where i drink a bottle of wine,
half a liter of whiskey,
   and i'm apparently not "screaming" in
my sleep from the heat,
the whole, "apparently", as i retorted:
at 5:15am? i was alseep! i was asleep!
how can i stop screaming in my sleep
like a banshee:
the sleeper and the blind man both see
eye to eye regarding the future to come...

one day without engaging in internet
content: of my own accord,
next day? this... this... lethargy builds
up in me... i end up thinking:
i can't do this any more,
this insomnia culture globalism of
24h news reels is tirying me,
i pick up the sunday newspaper
which i found to be respecteable...
the sunday times,
  i peer into the magazines...
toxic masculinity,
    desire: what three women want...
i'm bored...
well more tired than bored,
bored-tired...
                 what women want:
what an exhausting question...
**** fantasy, beta-male provideer...
yada-yada-yada...
                    
    the only relaxing aspect of the day
(apart from the shade) is watching
england beat india in the cricket...
i always loved cricket sport terminology:
50 overs... innings...
wickets... 6 throws of the ball in an over...
the rest? i'm no atlas...
i don't like the world crashing in on
me with all its problems...
not because i don't have the right
advice to give,
but i remember the most modern secular
motto about giving advice borrowed
from Athos of the creation of alexandre dumas:

the best advice? to not give advice...
you cannot be held accountable
for giving bad advice: and people complaining,
or good advice and leaving
people in your sphere of influence...
asking for more - non verbatim... of course...

second categorical imperative?
tao...
              the best way you can help
the world: is to forget the world,
and let the world forget you...

                        you only need two absolute
maxim vectors to orientate yourself
in this world,
a third is nice, but: it can be kept loose...
at least two on a tight leash...

but one night spent drinking,
not writing anything:
and i am... spent!

                            the boogieman of england's
persistent complaints...
the muslims are not integrating,
the english: we should give them more
ground...
           o.k., o.k.... joe peshi in the role
leo getz in lethal weapon II...
            i too had to integrate!
i said: like **** if you think i'll give up
my native tongue when spoken in private...
you're not getting it...
i'll spreschen ihre zunge, no problem,
i'll even write you pwetty free verses to boot!
but, guess what?
  i will not force you to eat my
sauerkraut, my schnitzels,
                           my smoked sausages,
my raw herrings etc.,
                      integration does not work
within the confines of: pampering to a people
expected to meet you half-way...
what happened when the polonaise attempted
to meet the english half-way?
brexit...
oh come on guv'... is there a ******* tram
echoing its way out of my eye
when you peer into it while i attach
an index finger to the bottom lid to give
you a clearer picture?
           25 years in england: no englush girlfriend:
i guess all the english girls just love, just love love
being ***** by 9 pakistanis
daubed in gasoline...
                   hey: they **** thrill...

i'm tired of the weakness of the english,
the humpty-dumpty nature they are imposing,
self-cencorship,
    appeasing, like neville chamberlain...
bringing back the munich agreement...
not on a piece of paper,
instead... waving a scrap of a toilet roll...
so the english could wipe their own *****
on the promises of the germans...
if this really hurts the northern monkies...
guess how much it hurts the sourthern fairies...
(well... fairy, is a designated region surrounding
devon, bristol, hardly a ******* fairy in essex)...

   why am i foreigner and i share
the same nausea of the natives,
                     exhausted by the narratives?
i guess the english didn't like the polonaise:
but the polonaise are to blame...
came here with a list of benefits they could claim:
without having even lived 5 years among
the natives... housing benefits, child benefits...
believe me: the polonaise are the only
people in the world that hate each other...
to the extent of citing bitter criticisms...
whenever i pass through warsaw to see my grandparents
i am gripped with a sickness:
this homogeneity is too much for me...
shove me back into the east end of London...
too much of the same genetic material...
and that's when the language i am keeping
(seemingly for vanity reasons) fizzles out
into your basic encounter and that basic reminder
that circa 40 million speak it too,
better or worse, but they speak it...

of all the festivals? download...
                                   i wish...
    glastonbury?       not my thing...
kylie? i'll concede: slow? live, with instruments,
rather than the studio original...
wasn't that a cover of
   bowie's fashion?
                  sure as hell sounded similar...
but i heard the cure were playing...
so while writing my father's invoice
i made myself a paperclip bracelet...
   i figured... "let's just pretend to be there"...
and no, the 1980s weren't that bad when
it comes to music,
not now, by comparison...
the cure's kiss me, kiss me, kiss me (1987)
release?
one of those rare albums you can
listen to akin to reading a book...

                       but there's still that persisting
exhaustion... i came from under communism,
from under the iron curtain,
but at least there was the economic aspect
of communism involved...

   only today i watched the story
of the terrible inversion of english jursprudence,
i.e.: guilty until proven innocent...
the 1975 case of the silesian vampire...
an innocent man was hanged...
the original vampire?
    smashed his wive's head in,
then his childrens', then he set himself
on fire...
              then again: the tragedy of those
rare cases of being presumed guilty
rather than innocent...
then the reverse: presumed innocent rather
than guilty and getting away with it,
through the parody of death
and the non existent god...

   there could not be anything more exhausting
than communism without a communist
economic model...
this current state of affairs in the west:
cultural marxism and the yet to be discovered
antithesis of cultural darwinism...

i'll use the cartesian chirality for a moment:
sum ergo cogito...
i don't like using political terms...
but... liberal (classical) - i don't even know
what sort of thinking goes into the label -
in the east? the liberals are exhausted
by a resurgent nationalism within
   the newly acquired capitalist system...
in the west? the liberals are exhausted
by an insurgent communism within
an ageing capitalist system...

         on a side: seriously, why even bother
engaging in any sort of "public intellectual"
debates when the public are only
discussing two books: 1984 and brave new world...
**** it, might as well talk to a camel jockey
who only own and rides the waves of
time in this world only using one...
muhammad...
   whom Khadija **** Khuwaylid
would probably whip into his young
respectable shape...

                  and this is how Ezra Pound comes
into rememberance:
usura... at least the muslims do not
play into the game of usury:
of interest... borrow a quid,
pay back £2.33...
            that's the only way you can
gain respect of the muslims:
if they truly were the money lenders
of this world: which they aren't...
unless a newly blessed...

   among the philistines and the proselytes...
england is such a tiresome project,
even on the outskirts of London...
i'm being dragged down by this intervention
of marxism: on a whim,
on a whimsical projection...
of "adding" values...
            
           communism would have worked...
in exceptional circumstances...
poland... circa 1945 - 1990...
syria: the current year...
  to whatever year is demanded...
exceptional as in: war torn...
where was the marshall plan
   for poland, when there was one
for sweden (neutral) and switzerland
(also neutral)?!
        black youths bothered about
the summer holidays,
having to live in council flats,
  concrete goliaths...
           want to know what it feels like
when entire cities are like council
estates,
with only pockets of remaining
   free-standing houses among
overshadowing council flats?
                                    nee bother...
sure... in a country where:
the house is the castle and there's a labyrinth
of castles constituting outer suburbia...
balconies... that's what the soviet
models had... balconies...
where women could grow flowers...
concrete staccato gardens in the sky...
the blocks of flats in england
didn't have balconies (sky gardens,
          esp. the early ones, massive fault)...
i spent one summer reading
bertnard russell's history of western philosophy...
lying in my grandparent's balcony,
in the shade...
watching passerbys among
          the barking dogs of the neighbours...

one day, one ******* day!
   and i'm already exhausted from the castrato
english narrative...
pandering to the people you expected
to integrate...
  no! you're not changing your standards...
your standards are perfectly reasonable!
i'm tired of the english pandering
to the sort of people who, will, not,
integrate!
               i integrated in a way
of respecting both the english culture,
as well as hiding / preserving my own...
why don't i just do the following:
   pisać po polsku?
                      like some czesław miłosz?

ah... good point... at what point
is the standard of integration appreciated?
when nothing is preserved?
surely integration is supposed to
accommodate some variation
of preservation?
     i might add: that's a fine line...
preserve all? no integration...
preserve some? integration...
                    preserve none? no integration...
food is a cheap target to example
with...
                   it's a low hanging fruit...
given that even i find indian cuisine
   the most superior in the world...
food is a cheap target concerning integration...
but the niqab?
  when the local english authorities
are employing face-recognition
technology and when testing it...
are forcing people to uncover their faces,
subsequently arresting them out of protest...
but not the women wearing the niqab...
out of? out of what?
   a secular society shouldn't be allowed
to discriminate against any religion...
it should discriminate against: all religions!

                isn't that what the secular ideology
is all about? the... softcore version
of soviet atheism?
        secularism of the west (miltary-industrial
complex)...
"vs." soviet atheism of the east
  (scientific-industrial complex)...
           i'm still so ******* tired
               of this bogus trap of "necessary"
                       commentary.

.I: the minotaur teased at the labyrinth and the tornado

i was readying myself to keep these words stashed
long enough for the drawer to be overflowing with them,
i waited for the closet to grit teeth and give
birth to a skeleton - i waited and waited and i felt
like being a dam no more -
i wanted to keep the waters like i might keep
a foetus - but of man and pregnancy -
only a tapeworm at the end of this alley of wishing...
after all... what is a the umbilical chord without
a mouth - what is a tapeworm this hyper-reality
of scientific synonyms...
                              i wanted to write a few, a words...
like i might be a tourist in Dublin... mouth made into...
gob gloryhole having my teeth removed...
some sand poured into a sock the sock shoved into
the abyss whenever some ref. to Joyce might be noted...
ah yes... succinct beauty in words....
never that rambling narrative...
space!
                               cascading words... and...
better no myopia... reading congested paragraphs
of Kafka...
it will be duly noted later...
                    a short poem about...
drinking 13: hop house lager... and a diet of bushmills...
making it up to 12 units per night...
and the full dosage of amytryptyline 25mg and
250mg of naproxen...
   and saying: better finding the dead...
the gun club - jeffrey lee pierce...
                   and just drinking... putting on the radio
and no longer... foraging for the d.j. headset...
as ever... sticking to new rules... nothing posted...
social media "grit"... attention ******* -
like counting falling stars of a niche viewing...
or some other grand muddle of things...
as i once told the doctor:
there was once a "carpe diem" narrative lodged
in my head...
there was the squirrel impetus for thoughts
the nuts that would become an entire tree and a day...
now? only shrapnel... riding the betting beast
of day-by-decay-by-day...
               if attempting to cook with hops...
i'd recommend sticking to hop lager...
stay away from the ale... stay away from the ale...
ale overpowers... with the hops...
i love hops more than i might ever love chocolate...
i love hops more than i might ever love chocolate...
but not when it's an indian pale ale...
it has to be a hop feast of a mr. guinness' lager...
and next to his stout... there's no other beer on
these isles i would be found drinking...
you learn to talk by talking...
you learn to walk by walking...
you learn to write by keeping your mouth shut...
keen eye - one eye blind...
as i have been...
walking under a constellation -
i call it scorpio or rather...
the exfoliating-צ (tsade) - and so too up-side down...
i too might have mistook the constellation
as... ayin (ע) but there's a spine to this up-side down
letter...
they dare not say the word: n•••••
but dare to say the name of the name:
ha-shem: tetragrammaton - as easily as the fizzy
fizzling out to a stalemate of jesus: hey'zeus!
just saying: there's not a kippah on me or a snippet
of ******* to be made into an earring "missing"...
i have no gamble in this...
perhaps... this is farewell poetry...
the adieu poetry of: what began with Casimir III
when the YIDS were given asylum in the north...
this musst be farewell poetry...

i never liked the word: jew... and yew: well...
that's a tree... well: to borrow from the ******* german
of the hebrew slang...
yiddish... and ergo... you have the yids...
which i find a more pleasing word to hear...
after all: a jew sounds a menace when...
compared to dew: due...   a matter of:
do i mind the sound of fork on porcelain?
do i mind the sound of nail on a blackboard?

how i once complained: the english and
their cats and kettles...
                                  and then... their cysts...
the greeks and their omicron and omega...
their (F) twins: theta and phi...
of course... no diacritical marks were harmed
in the process: since none were used!
what's not to like about 'ebrew and their
   two vowels that act as consonants
(ע) ayin and aleph (א) -
even if the argument stands:
the letters have a name, unique...
but we use the first letter of their name...
the prefix A- and discard the rest...
have i ever mentioned the minor a in 'ebrew...
the kametz? oh yes... there are five minor vowels...
well... there's only one minor vowel the 'a'...
given ayin and aleph...
the rest remain in the sheol of diacritical
marks... yes: left to right
               (ש)(ל)
                            indeed: where is tzere (e) and
cholem (o)?
         me too... can't see them...
because... they're not there...
just like a spanish... abajeño - abahenyo...
acompañada - (panyada)...
          there i see the equivalent of the hebrew vowels
in that halo and pentagram...
not in latin, in greek... the rubric...
A)lpha - a...
B)eta - b
G)amma - g
D)elta - d...         the prefix rule of letters
having names...
exceptions? a bit like roman numerals...
6,6,6    - X)i - 600 (χ)
            - Ξ)ι - 60 (ξ)
            - Σ(igma - the exception -
then again... a cardinal number...
             -    6 (ς') and that's always written
with an apostrophe...
akin to how... braille numbers are
                                         prefixed with ⠼

          why not expect the same prefix rules to apply
to hebrew?
    after all (א)lef ≠ (ל)ef
                          given (ל)amed
                otherwise... (ב)et, (ג)imel, (ד)alet,
                  and how did the other "adam"
get tangled up?
        well... he became tangled as a suffix...
                  of (ז)ayin... hitting the snoozzzzzze
button...  (L, B, G, D) respectively
                      and... (ע)yin ≠ (י)in
                                                        given... (י)od
           so much for pandering - cucking out...
                                      while... comparing the name of
the name within the name: ha-shem tetragrammaton
Æ: adam ******* eve...
but a minor "threat"!

II: change of pace

there had to come about a change of pace -
no point drowning in the fast paced logistics
of reacting to almost every opinion -
what words to describe drinking and sitting
these videos - a silent masochsim of sorts...

that and the cheap *****... waking up stinking
of ferret / cats' **** - which:
is what you end up perfumed as...
esp. after calling beer: the gods' ... same old...

one can simply tire of going to bed at 5am
with not much and still: not really admiring the sunrise
come the right month...
i won't even publish this now...
i'll publish it tomorrow...
why? it's a very niche observation...

******* until you're running on empty...
at least to imagine ******* is better than seeing
what i sometimes see...
imagine a sausage factor harem...
and picasso and dali contortions of flesh to boot...
imagine a human centipede...
i can't imagine a need to fall to sleep
fully celibate and "pure"...
unlucky me that i have to manually dispose
of the ***** that's not going to be used
for an egg... unlike a woman who does so...
automatically...
i have to manually dispose of the ***** that's
not going to be used...
otherwise: sperma ut caput!
         i'm empty down below... i'm somewhat
empty in the middle - the heart beats
but is numb - i'll go down and forrage
for a snack after the dosages are complete
after an hour's worth of toil...
then i'll bumilia it out the old fashioned
way... ticking the uvula and the third tonsil
with an index and *******...
till i feel a pinch between my **** and my
*****... that slit of skin that would sometimes
be called: how the coccyx was formed
from the scolded dog's tail...

and of course turn on fama.radio.pl -
between 10pm GMT and 6am GMT...
i don't mind the music they're playing -
when i'm aiming for a KO when it comes to getting
a 6h shift in the land of Nod...
i'm not going to play the pretentious high fidelity
d.j.            (either)...

i could be sitting up with these content
creators... by the way... since i leave no comments
on these type of videos...
having read the blood sports the beefeaters
and meathead bashing in general for the crab crown...
for an up-vote...
a commentary of "concerns"...

i could be doing that and waiting for a blitzkrieg
blah blah i'm usually prone to...
but...
there is an alternative... the radio.fama.pl alternative
of autopilot d.j. and no adverts...
rare footage of me choosing to sleep on
the other side of the bed...
for over 3 years i've only been sleeping on
one side of the bed... but the bed is made for two...
and through the radio and in between
twilight and deep nox "consciousness"
of still hearing the music, feeling myself breath...
the voice as if saying:
now i know what it feels like to sleep
with you: on the other side of the bed...

and other lyrics flooded my head -
each song became a solipsistic advent of only me...
nearing deep sleep or...
that period of the throes...
but i hardly death is knowing -
just somehow "me" telling: fall into the body...
turn the lights off...

i could waste my time with cheap *****
on all these people are are alive...
bogus alive... clickbait alive... video alive...
not exactly blockbuster friendly...
sure... competing with news channels...
but... these are not the good old blockbuster days
of VIDEO...
competing on the medium of opinions...
i binged on that...
but then i had a moment of revelation...
try looking for the dead...
drinking better alcohol...

so i came across the gun club -
notably jeffrey lee pierce - well... he's no bono...
or a kurt cobain... and even if he wanted
to be a chris isaacs... it doesn't matter...
i'll be in bed before midnight...
and all i will have accumulated...
no - no liter of cheap whiskey...
no 4 cheap 8% iders and roughly 35cl of
co-op brand whiskey...
i will have drunk...
what's better than an IPA?
what isn't better than budweiser? the HOPS!
the HOPS! but what's better than
an indian pale ale?

              a HOP HOUSE LAGER...
because you have more of the carbon dioxide...
and less of the staleness of an ale...
because it's a lager...
and... unless you're asking for...
a guinness... there's no better hop lager
than 13... which... is again a guinness...
every bottle every story...
i won't ditto what the bottle reads...

so i'll be drinking two bottles of that...
and... 5cl + 5cl.... let's say... roughly 150ml
of... BUSHMILLS irish whiskey...
yes... come to think of it...
who brews the best lager on these isles?
the irish do...
and who brews the best whiskey
on these isles? the irish do...
that's settle... i will write this before i take
to nod... but i will not...
imagine going to sleep with someone's
eyes prying in on this...
it would be like bedding something
worse than a ghost...
a voyeuristic c.c.t.v. mob-machine
i need my sleep - the reactions are not necessary...
lazily done in the day...
and i'll have forogtten about it...
occupying myself with... trying to remember
a word in braille... or something...
like making silesian dumplings...

it doesn't matter... niche writer for a niche
readership... let's not get too excited;
i'm not going to **** for a viral video
or a viral tweet or etc.

a youtube algorithm can still be found – from the good old days –
compliments: the gun club, mother of earth
followed by… the black angels, young men dead…
and if supposed to feel, less “puritanical” about *******,
while the girl has her ***** at the ready and a video-cam
broadcast… the cure’s album ******* while
watching a sasha foxx  VICE documentary…
before setting on… doing it over still photos imagining…
well… a crude Botticelli… visceral Matisse…
when Lucian Freud met up with Egon Schiele…

just empty empty before a good night’s and 7am beginning
of tomorrow’s borrowed time.

III: revelation 1:0 on the River Niger

i'll be very sensible for for little piece of trash -
i just hope it's worse than a column from
some tabloid newspaper!

honestly... i will bring out all the "self-cencorship"
sensibilities for this one...
it feels that the need has to be fed...

but... i'm sorry that you will not see
it as bi••er - you will see 2 bulls...
and the 2 hexes: &#x2022...

  or you would see motherf•••••...
then again: ck is not an acronym for calvin klein...
nor would it be a... crawling fahrenheit...

not even a Σ(νιγγερ) helps...
and because of all of that... you are ready
to watch pornographic material
and whatever floats your boat over on
rotten.com -

back in the day - we the first explorers
would come across such sites without any parental
control...
but i figured... if everyone is having
a hot day over a sour toothache bound
to the crunch of a pickle...

but if Σ(νιγγερ) is already crossing the deathpit
of sjw wrath...
either you, or i, do not deserve to see greek...
let's see who's ⠎⠝⠊⠛⠛⠑⠗⠊⠝⠛ in the dark then...
will you pluck out my eyes...
or will i pluck your eyes out?
or perhaps: you pluck your eyes
out and i'll just cut-out my tongue, how's that?

- i'll be honest... i'm not even going to compete
with will alexander's enclyclopedia lexicon...
and it's not like i have some...
repressed tauret's syndrome to boot...

   (tokens! tokens! tokens! they say...)

but i figured: you know...
i can listen to patti smith and her rock & roll
'igger...
              but because patti smith can...
doesn't mean that american head charge
can cover it...

but i did come back disappointed when
i put on... Grachan Moncur III's 1963 debut...
the çymbals got to me...
avant-garde jazz... it's no acid jazz...
and there i was thinking that
"too much" of alt-sax is bad enough...
                 not even i can stomach Mahler...
unless i want to self-harm...
holding a cat in my hands...
who's nails have not been clipped
imitating a sufi dervish while Mahler
is playing with the cat in my hands...
i'm terrible at such times...
when it comes to blinking with my eyes...
for fear? for fear of them being gauged
out by the cat... i prefer the scratches
on my hands...

     why would an östlichmann
why would an østligmann come to these isles
and no see a K in plain sight of (Plaid) Cymru?
why not immediately see:
Cornwall - as south Wales?
instead... he comes and attaches a tail...
calls it...                Çyrmru....

why oh why... perhaps because...
the word for dragon... for the östlichmann...
is... smok... the flag does the duty of:
in plain sight...

because there's a revelation at the end of this...
just today i thought: there are non-negotiable
historical events...
i was wrong... notably because of the holocaust
deniers...
you might think that some events in history
are non-negotiable...
i would think some things in life are tinged
with: non-negotiable standards of moving
forward...
                    
but if there's a word that one black man can slander
another black man...
because... whatever the etymology...
someone giggling on the River Niger...
or someone giggling in Nigeria...
the time in nigh... a sigh prior to the gig of giggles...
i get it...

but if a black man can have his own term...
to call another black man with a wink of...
ridicule... then as one: this being black on white...
i should have my word too...
and that's without a screetching mob of leftist
propaganda tools...
or whatever you want to call "them"...

now the eyes can be flooded with all the *****
films and all the masterchef episodes of
how the chinese prepare streetfood...
how a dog has to be beaten dead...
so it will taste more tender...
no... the actual cuts of meat of the dog
are not cured... made tender while the animal
is dead... the animal has to die by:
a softening of a good beating...
some would say that...
europeans didn't become wholly barbaric...
and changed their ways...
because... in them... there was something
of an animal-lover... a safety-net...

             but if a black man can call another black
man a n••••• in a rap song...
it came... via a song by m.d.c. (millions of dead
cops) - john wayne was a... n•••...
communist is dry... although some in the former
eastern bloc would find that offensive...
offensive enough to not speak an apology
to a fellow family member and vice versus
with regards to a papist and born again catholic...
etc. (born again under communism)...
and take that apology / non-apology to the grave
or otherwise stand over the grave and say:
and where was god for you, papist...
as he is for me, your supposed "communist"
brother-in-law? now standing over your grave?

a ****** revelation... come to think of it...
it will never catch on...
if a black man can call another black man a née-ni-ni...
i should be able to call another pig in blanket
a na-na-na...
but no... it will never catch on...

IV: No brainer brain-dead hard-on

i just have come to expect anything
by the standards "western chauvanism":
the world is no privy over my output
come a certain hour...
11pm is the cut-off point...

everytime they mention "eastern european" -
eastern... as in... 1 hour ahead of
gmt?
not the sort of sodden bed-fellows just
30 years ago... and the whole death of communism
bonanza of the early 90s dried up...
"our" women were just "your" women...

clearly: the **** of the sabine women
turned out to be: the revenge of the sons...
or... how the mothers would play off...
the daughters and the sons of the rapists...
against them... if not first generation...
then at least one... down the line...

accents accents... spoken by people with
no diacritical markers...
today i visited a vet... with two cats...
he still spoke of Velencia as if there
was a Greek phi or theta lodged in his teeth...
not a whisper... not a lisp...
an F where a C is embedded into text...

the world is not welcome after 11pm...
therefore this will remain a draft...
until tomorrow, or maybe not tomorrow...
i want to have a good night's sleep...
i'll be waking up at 10 to 7 in the morning
in order to properly shuffle my feet...
and... catch-my-shadow-off-guard...
because i will not be boxing the alpha-to-beta
alphabet of ontology with regards to
man- and -hood...
as one might... at least the circumcised
yids don't gloat...
about their circumcision...
no waving the h'american flag as there's
no waving of the kippah...
or throwing a kippah like a mortarboard
upon a high-school graduation...

does exactly what it says on the tin:
you already did your college graduation early...
*******... tool...
i still need my "beauty" sleep...
no output after hours...
like those laws in germany...
no work related phones, text or emails
after 5pm...
none! no obligation to reply!

england... the country of workoholics...
pish-poor russian alcholism does not
compensate... and that's really stretching
the sterotype canvas...

all i have to do, is think of tomorrow...
and how... i'll suddenly be thrown into
my neighbour's house... the eddie gain no more
to let the dog out...
albeit... there's no immaculate locked-off
room where the mother slept...
even by "western" standards...
they're not quiet sure what to make of me...
a doctor needs an assistant when he "tries"
to help me...
whenever solipsism is mentioned as a cipher...
a cipher is given because:
something needs to be deciphered...

now i'm writing for the drawer... the shelf...
the closet... the skeleton...
it's not much of an "in-crowd" to begin with...
the goalposts keep changing...
once it was a turkish kebab...
soon it was the curry... then the persian sour
grapes... then came the sushi...
then some chinese noodle soup...
sooner or later a pizza sputnik...
old rivals... but i'm not money...
i need to sleep...

p.s. and as much of this last "verse": poo'etics...
is anger: grrrr gritty and how much of
it is a response to niche comedy?
the in-club the breakfast club...
the pandering to the rubber-ears?
        the regurgitated - well once upon a time
they would meet in secret...
but now... they meet in the open...
and anyone can just... sift themselves in...

and this whole... identifying the periphery
of western culture... in eastern europe...
no... not in greece... or the balkans...
eastern europe...
from under the iron curtain... immediately
shoved under a silicon veil...
change of masters...
once a satellite state of the soviets...
warsaw pact blah blah... now...
the leftovers from: and what if the mongols
and the ottomans just... walked all over us...
why didn't ****** start digging the EUROTUNNEL
instead having that hard-on for the luftwaffe?!
thought like an elf...
or... ang...         never took notice of any dwarfish
grit... hey! daydreaming....
fifty shades of black vs. 50 shades of bleach...
there's the cinnamon man,
the chocolate man...
the star anise man... the oak man...
the auburn autumn man...
there's all that:
                 − · 
                 · · 
                 − − · 
                 − − · 
                 · 
                 · − ·             since i'm the ham man...
the piglet pink ms. cuck...
   no... for anyone who goes blind later in life...
i don't see the point of braille...
morse-braille yes... you need tender fingers
to read braille, ergo: you can't even learn
to play the guitar... perhaps piano...
               coco? 'coz' what?
                          i'm a... *******                − · 
                                                                    · −
                                                                    − − · · 
                                                                    · · 
an NZ (נ)(ז)... yes yes... a new... zealander...
which is the hook bait... and sinker...
for that alt. r.e.m. song...
the one that goes... shiny happy pep... pep...
trigger happy woke zombie b-listers...
     there's a name for almost anything in this
shitshow of what a Hamleys Regent St....
boutique of toys would look like...
when you used to play with toys like a puppeteer...
aye'up! as they say in york-shyre.

.come to think of it, there's that other album i loved learning on the guitar, notably for the song: show me how to live... audioslave - self-titled album... could play most of the songs... i once played with a drummer, a swiss exchange student, who was in a band back in switzerland... tobias... otherwise? a pretty ****** affair playing an electric guitar all by yourself, unless you're making haunting solo-interchanges-with-rhythm akin to ol' cobain, shackled in his sociopathic house with leeches for roommates... but there was something else... what was it? what, was it? ah... prompts... nothing beats reading some heidegger or looking at the qabbalah version of hebrew... to stir the mind into itchy fingertips... two drinks down and i'm geared up... how many nicknames i have for my cats? too many... the female cat i sometimes call tyson fury, by the way she tries to conceal either her no. 1 or her no. 2 in the "cuvette" (yes, that is, a misnomer, but i like the word, so i used it... in that place where cats do their no. 1 & no. 2 with all the "raisins" to cover their seemingly irritable sense of "sin")... the male maine ****? big *******, almost 10kg, big as a fox... his nickname? bodzio... since he always appreciates a head-**** as a greeting, sticks his head out and: ****... heads meet... i also call him the: choir boy... i've never heard a cat make so much ****** noise... i stopped counting the number of meow variations he can usher out... fine during the day, at 4am? not so great; well... if animals don't have a soul, or rather: they have impure souls... i'm pretty sure they have a **** distinct record for character... people? eh... you rarely meet people with character, sure, they have personalities, cats don't have personalities: except one... a cat personality... but cats are more likely to have a character than any known man, since there's no chance for them to grasp a personality... the female ****? soames (forsyte)... such an anti-social cat, pick her up she complains... zołza... i almost miss owning a dog, dogs are fun when you're young... but at least with cats... you can just ignore them: you do your ****, they do their ****: everyone's happy... as an only child i liked a sycophant on a leash... but as i grew older... cats: because i can ignore them, the most natural solipsists... and mind you... what is solipsism if not a superior version of atheism? current trend of youtube cencorship (no point boasting about viewcounts of subscribers, but at least reading imposes the high-jump filter, any idiot can watch a video, spurred with ill-will in the comment section, report etc., much harder to pursue censorship when: you have to read something, rather than passively watch a video)... ****... they reduced the "suggested" feed to only 12 videos per video... so much for finding glitches and new bands, back to the tedium of using last.fm... as i once watched a h'american give a talk in a conference: solipsism is a mental illness... my my... why are the h'americans toying with psychiatry? at least i'm not chemo-phobic... i'll pop a psychiatric pill over a whiskey... i'm currently using an anti inflammatory as a sleeping pill... naproxen... solipsism, is a mental illness? seriously? something that can't exactly be put into practice, like catholicism? wow... i always thought that solipsism was a tier above atheism... atheism bores me... it's the sort of boredom that a psychopath serial killer would associate with existence per se... boredom... and even then... the thrill of the **** is also tied to: missing... of course christianity spread so easily in the roman empire, given the obvious plagiarism of the greek gods... no other plagiarism in existence is so obvious, elsewhere? similarities, but not plagiarisms... a fresh god appears, of course he would appeal... how else would ha-shem conquer if not from a position of weakness? everyone still remembers Zeus, a father figure, venerates him, and all the others, in poetry at least... Odin still remains, another father figure... the runes are still here... but ha-shem will never be a father figure for me... it's impossible to arrive at that conclusion... no father figures in monotheism, even islam forbids it... sure... in polytheism, feasible... but in monotheism? it's no more a he, or a she, for that matter, an it... a h. p. lovecraft nightmare conjuring... and if this is infantile thinking, if all of this is a "delusion"... i've seen worse, i've heard of worse... and as such: there's no comfort in such a thought process... more... some extra spice to add to the curiosity that reigns in me over furthering my linguistic perusing adventure.

playing with my
           maine **** male
quorus,
   cat...
while gulping down
   root parsnip
with some raw turkey meat...
and then came the dream,
of falling asleep.
root parsnip
and raw turkey meat...
it almost makes
baltic sushi seem
like a luxury
         with the herrings!

all the while...
drenching my face with cold,
cold, tap water,
cusp of hands...
hereby: drop your pennies
for best wishes...
pretending to sober up;
sober this.

.i love how a bangladeshi smurf invented the term: camel jockey to allocate the term to arabs and egyptians... mind you... the first amry to defeat the mongol ****? mamluks, like the janissaries in the ottoman empire: most probably european slaves... copper on copper-titillating-chocolate / burnt cinnamon / star anise / bark of aged oak racism is funny to watch, sometimes... esp. when growing up... those bangladeshi smurfs (sorry, they are a little bit, tiny, i watched a couple today, walking past my house in their bangladeshi cricket team t-shirts... what? stating the obvious... 5ft4? but i also liked the egyptian's / arabs retort to: camel jockey... ha ha... bush-monkey! ha ha.

ugh... the dreaded draft, i'm running out of these, thank god...

what is it about, about the fact that my act
of writing does not translate into
a conversation...
   HAVE PEOPLE TRULY FORGOTTEN
THE CONCEPT OF CANVAS?!
**** me... i guess they have!
   once upon a time,
cindarella (post stamp,
and her collectors), snow white
   (postcard) and the frog prince
of writing voodoo to boot...
               now? insomniac messaging
services... the I.M.S.,
              direct, directed at what?
drool followed up by dooooooooooo'h...
****, easier teaching a gerbil to speak
shing qi cantonese: owe'h
          'ong kong...
                    when does an intrusion
onto a blank canvas become a flash mob
without keeping to a discretion
of d.m.?
                   face to face won't do
to these people... scuttling rats also hailed
black death: woe'zzin' me...
                scheisse! schnell! schnell!
capt'n just floated off on a magic
rug,
       we have to draw lots on
flying off on: that ****** bit of material
we scrub out boots on when being
entertained...
   should i take them off?
well... was i offered slippers?!
  no... so why would you...
                    is this Giza, or Oxford?
   all i have is a blank canvas...
                and people really want to attack
the ronin flag?
                       flag what?
                              defeat?
                     ­      *** sober me...
but hey hey... pop song videos are:
KOSHER...
                 see you back in Russia...
     getting the VISA...
                                  or the kebab
restaurant fire-bombed by the bomb...
        good luck and the oil...
plenty of trees in arabia...
         what ******* sell ******* will sell...
   am i to judge?
              no... not really...
i'm thinking about being
a Chernobyl post-scriptum in
the belly... how people managed to see
both autumn and spring in the same park,
rainbow nation, your guess,
   half the trees were decaying,
half in full bloom,
         unless you want me to attest
that as a lie: i hope you dream of my
great-maternal grandmother...
    maybe she will explain it better...
            but this saturated talk of ***
just turns me on thinking about
the upper-hand of the female
mantis, translated into man: divorce laws...
or as the common talk speaks...
       no...
      i heard why this:
you're stupid, this is stupid he's / she's stupid
zeitgeist is all about...
         and those rooted always seem to have
the most obvious solutions to
"complex" urban problems...
      hell...
     to some people this might as well be
tabloid toilet paper worth today
but dead gutter rodent black pearl
ship in the gutter the next day...
        poetry, really has to learn
so much from the journalistic attitude...
i still don't understand
why philosophers are relevant,
parasites of philosophy,
when poets are in a dire need
to compare themselves to poetry,
or rather to make a craft from
poetry-tabloids...
             whatever the classical school
teaches you, whatever contest
there was between poetry
and philosophy, whatever
the ancient philosophers claimed of
poets as being easy targets...
  ooh ooh, OLA!
          you just managed to see
a poet nibbling on journalism...
           whatever the year it was,
yesterday might as well have been
2000 b.c.,
         today might have been
           100 a.d.,
   tomorrow?
                ****... the 22nd century
of whatever year whatever date
or whatever designated climate of interests...
__________

so you run into a cul de sac like
a scuttling rat...
but... you buy your whiskey
at the local convenience store...

           back in the day...
when growing your hair long was merely
a symbol of: i listen to metal music,
*******...
           the time when that was the "thing"...
hell, Butlins... of all places...
i cross-dressed...
      a broad lent me her chanel
chic black mini-skirt little no.,
              and i did...
                        i didn't even have to shave
my legs for the gags...
       ***** or no *****...
             i had the flare and audacity
to pull off the stunt...
     now? long hair? a little bit of make-up
and you're: "trans"...
                     how about meta-******?
i mean there are three directions in
chemistry, in terms of attachment allocation,
closely associated with the beneze ring...
in the name of ortho-, and of the para-,
and of the meta-... oh... right...
**** and of trans-....
           clubbing in essex...
   i wouldn't leave the house
               without some eyeliner...
sometimes, then again,
most of the time...
            jews and russians:
      ripped jeans, eyeliner,
          ready for the edinburgh
club scene... being called ****** before
we even left the house...
    very, very encouraging people...
who probably never heard
of the cure...
                
so you're buying your **** at the conveninece
store... and there's this plump girl
checking you out...
    plump... sure...
every appreciate fine art?
   plump girls were all the rave in
the 17th century, and 18th...
              what's that other word?
ah... corpulent! so many nice terms to
use in synonymity with how
a black man might see a porky:
more cushion for some pushin'...
             d'uh...
                      
but there are some nights, like this one,
where... there's an electricity in the air...
it's warm, but it's also cool,
paradox... the wind is stirring...
  you can listen to the wind play a weird
sort of flute while brushing the trees,
nay... combing the trees...
rustling, just pristine agitation is fixating
a sharpness of the air...
someone of a transcendent evaluation
has sat on a throne...

                    akin to last "night" / dawn,
the internet is switched off...
but you still have a sharpnel narrative in
your head...
                    what to do? what to do?!
ah! ****, no paper...
    i never had a tattoo done on my body...
but i figured... might as well intrude
with some ink on my hand...

   again, if these trans-kids didn't bother
grammar? i wouldn't be playing the
"identity politics" game...
  me, of all people, immigrant 1st generation,
adopting a history not akin to my own...

mind you: you really need a steady / cool head,
drinking on an empty stomach -
and if what cabaret voltaire ever achieved...
with tristan tzara and later william burroughs
of cut-up technique fame:
          i too... who can really appreciate
calustrophobic and all the more predictable
narratives of YA novels?

                   a tarantula might as well have
bitten me, and now, i reflect the sepsis of
disorientating venom, the surge of chaos,
without any gratification of staging
    an uproar of grandeur! just, the basic reality.

- because, even citing the mamluks,
or the janissaries, like a belief in god...
                 to cite certain historical events...
is, and will be, deemed, juvenile...
ambitious... middle-aged man with a *******
train-set model...
or a lego project...
        it's all the same... the "out-dated"
cliff-face hanger...
                             it's either atheism
and the respectable citation of history...
   or it's god, and citing the existence of
mamluks and their victory over the mongols...
what is the respectable citation of history?
the aspect of history without any heroism,
the safety of a history that's purely
bureucratic...
      a "history" a person of the modern times
could possibly engage in / with...

   when the quill became mightier than
the sword, but also subsequently became
a spray-can for the outlet of deploying
graffiti... or scratching with a stone on
a stone face, reminders of the first forms of
writing: designated tattoos etched by stone
on stone...
                              krähekratzer
                     ­         ᚴᚱᚨᚺᛖᚴᚱᚨᛏᛉᛖᚱ
                                ⰍⰓ...
   (some words just sound better
in foreign languages...
violin: skrzypce)
                         ⰍⰓⰖⰍⰀ ⰄⰓⰀⰒⰀⰐⰉⰅ
               ⠅⠗⠁⠓⠑⠅⠗⠁⠞⠵⠑⠗

i'll go a step further... time to fiddle
around with some braille...
  although i do concede...
      if you were blind...
          you must have really tender finger-tips...
no point having played guitar...
play guitar? blind lemon jefferson style?
forget about a chance to read braille...
you need pampered fingertips,
able to tell the difference between
        oyster flesh and a woman ******...

krucze drapanie
hmm... devangari:
Ђ / Ⰼ - dj' -
                   त - how similar...
is that?! what the hell is wikipedia proposing,
with regards to, origins "unknown"...
indo-european?
the mongols just showed up from...
"nowhere"?
       Ђ | त                    eh?!
t'ah... elsewhere dj'...
                         otherwise idjota...
idiot...
                          elsewhere
                  id'ȷota...
              yo yo... no "j"ehovah's witnesses...
sure, no **** sherlock,
   i counter the anglophone origin story
rooting me back in h'africa...
             i take my origins in the land
of the 10 spices... india...
  land of the bangladeshi smurfs...
cinnamon, cardamom,
cumin, coriander,
                  i'll give you ten...
don't worry...
                     chilli...
              anise...
                           turmeric...
                           little mini-people scuttling
along like norse god mythologies
akin to the dwarfs...
   more cullinary skills...
less of the metallurgy...
   wizards at the end of stirring spoons!
fenugreek!
                 how many is that? 8...
i don't want to cite black cardamon
(since it's such a potent spice)...
                      mint! **** yeah, 9...
   hell... the cocktail... garam masala!
10!
            well... if the 'ebrews have their
10 commandments,
and i have my *******,
and am still able to *******
while dilating my **** donning
a *******...
   and i place my origin story in india...
rather than africa... then we're settled...
the bagladeshi smurfs can call
arabs and egyptians camel jockeys...

    i haven't finished though...
just like that one night in st. petersburg
with a ***** that, really needed to be ******
over a period of 7 hours...

    will i use more rudimentary language,
deviating from "slanderous" words?
will i?!
               so it's either "tourettes",
dyslexia, or a writer's contipation?
because, by now, "block":
truly implies... the already mentioned.

i never came from africa...
   india is my posit of origin...
and never mind the celebration
of the roman instrument of torture...
the crucifix... i found a better crux
of "all" beginning and of all "end"...
some "random" german...
            dasein:
i'm tired of bashing the germans...
bashed enough, bashed just enough...
bashed: enough!

   when citing credible historical events,
akin to a belief in god,
akin to premature depression and
dementia...
       all... huddling under the same
torch lit roof...
                  it, just, ****** me, off...
oh sure, sure,
most likely...
before some of us bypass the age old
editorial "compromises",
and write what the hell we want!
before that? heavy cencorship...
       just so... the "overlords"
can muster a "plan B"...
                     sure, all is certain!
but who is to address the "real" problems?
ol' Lizzie is going to be fine...
i'll still drink ms. amber...
realizing... ****... am i drinking mz. amber...
or is this watered down
dog's soap ****?!
                  you never know...
i might as well be drinking
prince *****'s shower water!
this whiskey is starting to taste of soap water...
i'm having it, i'm chewing on about
12 12"****** per day just to keep
the Venetians gagged...

   prop me up... ***** starter...
******* mongrels ******* smurfs!
blah blah blah!

             i already see "too many"
english idiosyncracies in the english language
to begin with!
   why would the transgender activists ever attack
grammar?

the current gilette fiasco?
just grow a beard, men, just grow a beard,
problem, solved.

                 want the vox-office senario?
eh? eh?

                 the gender discriminatory
               ontology of nouns...
              what? cite rocky balboa
contra ivan drago.... you... beta male...
*****?!
                     you attacked nouns,
by, enforcing the stature of pronouns...

i like to call it: the pronoun deragement
syndrome...

                     gott! mit uns!
                             Gustavus Adolphus...

how many, "differences",
are to be found, and bound,
to the english tongue?

                    θere (d'er / F),
          although (al'V'ough),
                          θey (V'ey)
                   ex-xenon
   (eks - zee / zer / z'enon),
and what is a chemuical compound...
                to θink...
is to not mind φilosoφy....
                                        
           ­               gender pronoun neuter?!
seriously?
             i thought that nouns were
gender discriminatory?!
  Paris! male!
  kundel! mongrel, male!
*****! female!
                  sroka! (magpie) female!
kruk! male!
                  dzik! male!
                       gawron! male!
              there are so man discriminating nouns...
in each and every language...
pronouns?
   low hanging fruits!
                              a-the-ism...
           do their own natives know...
the native spreschen?!
       the article rules?
the english nouns are not composed
via genders!
         who's to who in terms of "revising"
the retarted "revision"?!
sorry... but certain words just sound
better in a foreign tongue...

            sroka sounds much better
when "coinciding" with: magpie;
beside the point...
here's my hand,
on https://www.minds.com/mateuszkonrad.

having discovered
heinz-dieter ebbinghaus'
finite model theory
(112 quid on Amazon,
hardcover)
via playing
mahjong solitaire...
well...
       i think i'll extend
                   my hiatus...
what with
               the ongoing
furore of online cencorship
and...
   can i veto my
freedom of speech?
     i don't see the point
of vehemently joining
the litany of the throng's
mantras.