Plethora of talents plunged in
yet  HUMILITY personified...

Timer,  a need to punch her timely counters
On wits, she hears…  HUMOUR  is an armour !!

Acted as “Indra” in school play , but she’s “Karna’ in disguise  
Plea for a flower , surprise  awaits , With garden of flowers
GENEROSITY is not a mere play !!

Stormy restless minds, Feels at ease and peace
With an ear to her words , A testimony from me, too
She's a SOOTHER by nature !!

Drawing painting singing Instrumental and vocal
All safe in her hands... No doubt she's a Nightingale's  
MULTI SKILLED sister!!

Thick or thin , bestie or not  , Enjoy absolute care and support
Yet. she calls a *****,  a *****… No matter who is who..
FEARLESS in voicing truth !

Chartered accountant in very first strike, a rarity in records
A glowing crown on charming queen
She’s BEAUTY WITH BRAINS!!

A part and parcel of  NCC uniform that marched  Rajpath R-Day parade
Monumental and enviable moment , Yet , devoid of any  enemies
She is sincerely BELOVED!!

Few words of what she is …… And who she is ....
As no hymns she sings on her , yet  misses no chance to praise others
A MOTIVATOR quite always !!

A BOLD GIRL... class lady with elegance and integrity
Standing firm on her views.. … Can bear no other name...
Than ……….HARINI …..!!

( From flash back memories of
Rajini & kavitha)

i hope that modern realise that with their so-called liberation
of: once upon a time taking care of children
cooking: the best form of chemistry...
165°F for a perfectly cooked chicken breast...
that's the temperature the meat should be add...
as i was talking to Harini about her bad experiences
with dry: chalk-like chicken *******...
i had them too... Sunday lunch back in my grandparents'
house always resulted with people fighting for
the dark meat of the chicken...
the thighs, the wings, the legs...
my bad experiences with chicken ended when i started
cooking chicken...
every, single, time: juicy *******...
i managed to start cooking chicken to the sort of perfection
where people started fighting over the chicken-*******
and forgot about the dark meat...
but the internet is filled with these crazy videos...
angry women... angry men...
everyone's angry but no one's angry enough
to pick up a gun and start shooting into the air...
2nd or 3rd wave feminism...
angry men who don't know that they have been liberated...
these relationship crazed men...
bothered: 80% of women only date 20% of men...
"date"...
         i'm watching both sides.... like-for-like...
when i'm in the mood and decide to go to the brothel...
i have this failsafe ontology regarding my
"whittle 'ichard itch-'ard"...
well... i would be the natural reply to how women
have monetized their bodies on ONLYFANS
and the like...
            i was going to be the natural byproduct:
nature abhors vacuums...
and oddly enough has to work on a thesaurus basis:
the antonym of an ONLYFANS girl is... ?
me...
                  oh to hell with relationships...
i don't appreciate crazed-shy doe either...
                  i watched one on the bus opening a bottle
of 7up... it was warm... very warm...
lazily: the bottle burst... hmm... how that fizzy wet liquid
glued itself to her skin and she became
more radiant with the addition of sugar diamonds      
from the liquid...
       it is a very warm summer...
seems the girls need to expose more...
i too would love to...

on the liberation front... single mums still need
plumbers... blah blah...
i hate this ***-"war" offensive on either side:
of course men and women never got on:
but not getting on happened after the initial
honeymoon period...
at least back in the day the sexes got on enough
to shackle up and have children:
problems between the sexes happened
a posteriori...
                         now? problems between the sexes
are a priori...
they are being ingrained in us...

i was so close to breaking my build up for an hour's
worth of *** just 30 minutes ago...
about 5 times during the day...
get the blood pumping...
mind you: i did drink some semi-skimmed milk
and had to do the runner:
i don't know... full-fat milk, no problem...
semi-skimmed... ****-problems...
Jasmine Black... she's Romanian... and on the plump
side of the spectrum...
and no pictures of ***** either...
either her solo or with another woman...
i checked myself last time: when Michaela was
available: a Jasmine Black lookalike...
yeah: like i'm a Brad Pitt lookalike...
   but i kept having to get an ego-*******:
to cure myself from *******...
yes... you're having ***...
           yes... she's moaning and groaning during
oral ***... blah blah... you're replying:
there's the mirror...
hanging ******* on your torso...
then both torsos meet...

                 hell: you read enough Marquis de Sade
in your teens... you start to gear up to a better
picture... i found out that i like writing about ***...
not in a self-help sort of way...
a self-improvement sort of way...
16th... Wembley... **** it... i'm visiting the brothel
again... 18th... London Stadium... late finish...
i'm going again...

that's why i'm working: i'm working to give
the economy a boost... i'm not going to spend
the money i spend on prostitutes:
mind you... what exploitation?
all these women enjoy ***...
one asks you to pay her extra for *** without
a ******... some other doesn't even bother
and does it for the thrill:
she even says: live dangerously...

i can't complain... i'm also... somewhat liberated...
esp. if at one point you're the one stealing kisses
while at times you're the adult seagull
and she's the seagull chick and she impressively
jumps in to steal a kiss from you...
you relax: have a drink... smoke a cigarette...
and then the bodies collapse in a wriggling composition...

i like thinking about ***... i feel a different sort
of gravity in my groin... it's a whirlwind sort
of gravity... spinning spinning eternal spinning:
coupled with VADER covering MAYHEM's
song: freezing moon...
better than the original...

i like writing about ***... i like escaping into it...
i like the trial of jerking off four days prior
to ******* without *******...
which implies: on the day: i will be ultra virile...
and i'm still very happy that i haven't
bedded a woman from England: my acquired
nation... or a woman from Poland:
a nation i was born out of...
i think i'll stick to Romanian and Turkish girls...

well... if the women feel liberated? so do i!
but nothing via dating apps: no hook-up culture
for me... i bring the money and place it on the table...
just so... no one gets confused or has
double-standards or: whatever...
let's not play: prize-pretend...
i can do whatever the hell was once expected
from a woman... please... beside rearing children:
darling... there's no... need...
truly... relax... do you!
                   i'm still going to have my fun...
in an unabashed version of myself...
because? i stand watching movies...
i prefer to avoid restaurants...
i like eating on my own:
i like drinking on my own...

we all must be crazy by now...
oh: that recent Psychology Today article that the women
are raving about, how "lonely men"
require therapy?
i've been through that...
isn't therapy lovely?
they prescribe you some anti-psychotic pills...
you put on about 30kg...
then wait about 10 years to get your libido back...
start exercising again: waking up from this
pharmacological slumber... i must have been
some version of a competition:
to be treated like: at least the Islamic terrorists are
still treated decently: seriously: as a threat...

i am on a stretch of road where now i'm
thinking of the people afraid of the acronym FOMO:
fear of missing out with a glee...
who needs a girlfriend when i have my shadow
to wrestle with: a shadow that said:
you will not dream...
i can go to concerts and football matches:
let alone for free: but get paid for them!
i'm going to bask in this moonlight...
i've seen my own worth of **** to finally find myself!

but i still don't understand the dynamic
between the sexes...
   and i don't want to...
dating apps my ***... i will never use them...
i'm not lonely: i'm just alone...
loneliness is a trait of character:
being alone is an existential "qualm"...
     of qua per se... as being for itself...
which is a... ******* mighty juggling act to accomplish...

but if i have nothing on my mind...
it's usually that i have an irritable bowel from drinking
semi-skimmed milk or having an ego
for a phallus and a perpetuated *******
in mind: or that i'm gearing up for an hour in
the brothel... with some plump beauty...
i wouldn't dare to discriminate against
any woman's body:
like my grandfather used to say:

all women are beautiful...
it's just that some... some are just neglected...
they're not ugly: they're just neglected...
very true: those richer curves are best
exposed and intervened with when they're touching
another body... they sort of fill the "gaps"...
i love plump women... they sort of behave like
water... well... water + flour = dough...
skinny younglings remind me
of spiders... i like these plump beauties...
they sort of absorb your body in ways unimaginable...
they fuse with your body...

read enough Marquis de Sade and then have
your fun writing about ***...

for a while i started to realise that the women i'm
working with have started a ploy:
figuring out whether i'm thirsty:
sexually awkward... hmm hmm x1 x2, x3...
no lapse into desperation: why would i feel desperate?
i can get what i want...
i don't steal bread: i buy bread...
i don't steal *** via the hook-up dating-app culture...
i buy ***... of course: i bypassed the Darwinistic
puritanism of "you're expected to follow the natural
selection laws of women":

erm... no, you're not... prostitution predates Darwinism...
*** can be bought and sold...
there's no reason to be sober like at the zenith
of American puritanism with the laws of prohibition...
likewise so: now...
i don't need to pretend that women have a sway
on the availability of ***...
after all... i'm not a ****... women sway over women
whatever argument is left in their arsenal...
women will not agree...
what man would want to **** an intellectual
woman who's only prowess is banking on
feminism? men have their intellectual disparities:
but you can hardly ascribe feminism
to feministic-stoicism... or feministic-scholasticism...
or blah blah...
i like ******* women who like to be ******...
who don't complain about being ******
for the simple reason that they like to
be ****** and they'd rather listed to Liszt play
the ******* piano than play a piano themselves!

the world is so uncomplicated when you listen
to the wind and then recognise the fact that:
the wind can't play a trombone...
a wind can play the tree: rustling the leaves...
a wind can play the grass...
sure as ****: a saxophone can't play a tree...

i can imitate barking at a dog... i can imitate croaking
at a crow...
but a dog will hardly bypass its bark
and call me a YACK!
nor a crow croak that i'm a crackling crisp...

i mentioned plump prostitutes...
that's different: to what you see every-day:
those magnificently grotesque:
beached... whales...
it's different... a plump ******* is a plump
******* because: many men find her
attractive...
but... that "mommy" of a beached-whale type?
why don't men find her attractive?
because one man does... or rather:
one man has allowed her to become so unattractive
that she's no more than a fat-***-*****
pushing a baby-buggy...

prostitutes prolong their sexuality way longer
than atypical women...
a man will still find a fat 50+ ******* a decent
**** than a woman who has settled for
the glorified Christian tradition of marriage...
mind you: she's probably prone to cheat...
personally? i don't mind sharing partners:
what i abhor? the innocence of... lying...
is this the part where i say: some people think
they're being... "cute"... by lying?
cute, or cutlass?

i don't mind knowing: as long as i know...
there's nothing worse on a man's conscience than:
not knowing...
being lied to is infuriating...
it's intruding on the dignity of one's own claim
to believe: in anything...
whether that be a Hebrew deity that's deity eater
or whether it's the Arabic solipsistic deity...

i like writing about ***... the mirage of mirrors...
the antithesis of ******* in mirrors...
perhaps, once, upon, a, time...
i could have survived pair bonding with some
woman... these days...
it's enough that i have a mother,
a maternal grandmother and no knowledge
of my paternal grandmother...
perhaps it's better this way...
i think i'll take my *** into the garden
and find some shade until 10am...

i truly love women... but idealising the opposite ***
is hardly an answer to the perverted questions
at hand...
if women feel liberated because they don't
have to marry a class of men that are their
plumbers and their electricians:
women who raise boys whom their infantilize...
whom they turn into little-make-shift
Oedipus one after another...
me? stepping in?
i tried it once... she was all over the game
of me brining homemade wine and some banana
loaf: she couldn't handle a man...
she needed a boy... a thirsty boy...
she required her own offspring and a thirsty boy
of a "man"...

i don't need that... no wonder i prefer the company
of prostitutes... and cats... and dogs...
most of these women want both
the casual ***: and the casual *** with and without
commitment...
sorry... i can't do all three...
liberated women ought to know better...
ought to know best... QUEENS...
blah-ah-ha-ha!
i'm all for casual ***: but not a hook-up culture...
money first... fun... later...

              that's how the dynamic of money
and flesh works...
that's why i work the debit mechanisation more than
i work the credit mechanisation:
i spend what i earn i spend what i have
i don't spend what i can't earn
or spend what i don't have... i don't favour the credit
system: that's why i set up my second bank account
so quickly... what credit score?
when i don't use the credit system?!

i like prostitutes... they are a gateway toward
a monetary sanity...
no one wants to have *** after eating a meal...
ergo? dating is obsolete...
i have *** on an empty stomach...
emptied by a dry cider... 750ml walked
around... with some whiskey...
dating... ugh... i am: LIBERATED!
i don't have to fight for any country i'm supposedly
assigned to... i don't have to marry!
i can love the children of strangers like
they might be my own! i, am, freed!
from obligations of matrimony!

**** me... i'm freer than freedom could possibly
allow me to be!
women have paved a way to true freedom!
they think themselves freed...
but they didn't realise how freed up i've become!
i don't have to pay that infamous bachelors' tax
anymore! renowned in Poland...
i can **** prostitutes on a whim!
wow! this is freedom?! wow!
more, please! more!

           great bargaining tactic: woman!
i can do the Pontius Pilate on your *** and no one will
even begin blinking a counter-argument!
amazing... i'm glad both of us will
prosper from: your demands...
my lack of: demands...
                  now i can freely **** around without
having to listen to you having a monopoly of
me even thinking that i have a monopoly
to **** around! beau-ti-ful!
more! more! more!                     more!

thank you... it's as if i was dealt a hand in Poker
with a Poker... it's *******: glorifyingly:
poetically: majestic!
       i love it... more please...
                    
eh... 20 males to 1 woman...
doesn't bother me...
                they taste: sorry... female *****
taste better with more ****** partners...
nature: sort of weird...
oh sure: the more ****** partners a woman has?
the better her ****** juices taste...
her **** becomes equivalent to a leather chair...
like all leather: fresh... ****** leather?
smells disgusting... the more it's worn down?
the better the quality...
plus... the better her *** is...
*** with virgins is boring...
*** with virgins is intimidating for
normal men: there's always that... sense of...
authority from prior experience:
teaching... i don't understand why women
succumb to those pedohphile perverts to teach them
nothing at all...  

then again... what do i care?
it's like that article in the Saturday Times...
a woman in her 40s was left gloating:
but i have 3 loves in their 20s greedily..
hell: i can compete:
what's free? these days?"
i can compete... i earn money to spend on
prostitutes who will subsequently
invest money in this economy...

it's too hot... i think i need to sleep
in the garden under the blooming moon...
spiders and ants might crawl into my nostrils
into my mouth and into my ears...
no matter, i'll cool off...
             but i feel: i feel!

so liberated from modern woman!
i don't need her: i don't own her...
        thank you! modern woman!
       THANK YOU!
                         while your old school sisters
practice prostitution: i'm just: dandy: fine...
thank you!
      i believe in euthanasia
and the idea that i'm not going to be
your next petty grandpa...
                     the cruel realities of the REAL...
what?!

yesterday's cycling session broke me, perhaps not so much
the cycling as having cycled to the former village of
Wennington: oh **** me... this is sad...
it's not like wild fires on the news in California or
in Spain or Greece... this is right on my doorstep -
well... i felt pity: not guilt... i don't own a car...
                      it's pointless owning a car in London...
the public transport network is just too good
and owning a car is too expensive...
        plus i can go anywhere on a bicycle... i can skip
traffic... i: don't have to pay insurance...
i don't have to pay road tax... i don't have to pay
for an m.o.t. and i don't have to worry about breaking
down... just flat tyres from time to time:
and the odd crash... touch wood...
i only had one... but it was all my fault... i was drunk
and lost control of the bicycle while trying to avoid
a pothole...
               but it was still a great experience... falling
over the handlebars must have looked something
of a Francis Bacon painting... smudges of movement...
a black eye... a massive wound on the forehead
and on the cheek... a skid bruise on the forearm
and a massive bruise on the right leg with a mount
of an incision: a garden of lavender and plus around
it of dead blood...
                          spectacular, absolutely spectacular:
crashing like that on a bicycle...
   at work there's this girl: Harini - the law student...
the one who kept on nagging me
about how there are too many white judges...
   too many white judges... in England? or was she talking
about barristers? either way... i tell her:
as long as a system of meritocracy is in place...
then what has race got to do with it?
   equity, right? the equality of opportunity not
the equality of outcome, no?
a variation of natural selection - the most naturally
gifted at X ought to do X...
anyway she once rode those electric scooters...
but fell off... and she never went back on riding it...
*****... literally... how do these people live any life
worth contentment?
          would i give up my passion for cycling
just because of one crash?
                                    fat chance... sure...
the first time after the crash i was shaky...
                                     shaky ******* Stevens...
at one point a pain came back to all the areas mentioned:
and a headache too...
then again... as the saying goes...
drunks have the GPS implants of birds...
        and they also fall like sacks of potatoes,
meaning: they hardly break anything...
two examples...
1) the GPS of drunks...
                 i unexpectedly booked a flight to Athens...
don't ask... i was having one of those psychotic episodes...
which is sort of like a panic attack
   but a psychotic attack is a panic attack
     in reverse... you crave adrenaline to suppress it...
and unlike a panic attack which is localised on the spot
and in the moment... a psychotic attacks takes you places
and can last for days as you build up more
and more adrenaline from doing something very
unfamiliar... i flew to Athens... i spent the night
crying in Hyde Park (what the **** am i doing?
i don't know what i am doing) - then went to Gatwick
Airport in the morning... took a shower in the airport
bought new clothes in fat-face and ****** off...
  arrived in Athens... found a ****** hostel in the worst
part of Athens: one Diogenes of Sinope after another...
(bums, homeless philosophers)...
opened that bottle of absinthe and sat down on
the street... i remember... with my left hand i covered
my eyes and with my right hand i was pointing
at something... and laughing my socks off...
magpie-type cackling... maybe it was the absinthe
or maybe i was seeing something:
proud Greek with their expensive-pension
economies... ha...
            ****... what year must it have been?
     i was supposed to be working on the Olympic village
for the 2012 Olympics.... i'm guessing 2010 or 2011...
just before the Greek financial crisis emerged on
the global scale of being known about...

second day? i go into this market square and sit in a cafe
and start chatting to strangers...
turns out i'm going to join them in going to a *******...
mind you: i'm still in psychotic mode...
this could go either way... bad for me... or bad for them...
if they're lying, that is...
            complete strangers... just met them...
hmm... when in Greece you never really know if you're
talking to someone who's Greek...
some are pale in complexion while others look like
Syrians, Arabs... then again: this was my first time in
Greece so i shouldn't have expected to know what
the average Greek looks like: complexion and all...

so we get into the car... just outside the Parliament
and we drive acres and acres out of the city centre...
it must have been at least 30 minutes...
i had drank some of my absinthe prior: left over from
the night... we enter the *******...
oh man... my first time... i've been to brothels before...
strip clubs... a strange aura...
                  completely different... more teasing...
drinks... yep... immediately a girl walks up to me
and places a green plastic circle next to my glass...
what's this? well: now i do know: "green light"...
   for a private dance / something more...
    at least i knew that i was broke... i was broke...
i had about £30 in my bank account (funny... now i have
an emergency £3000)
                   but i'm like: i'm sort of enjoying the
show that's already costing me £5 a drink...
but she sticks around, we start chatting...
   then another older stripper gets involved...
blah blah this blah blah that...
                 i catch the eye of a third: the look she gave?
i will remember for the rest of my life...
it was not a scornful look, nor angry...
i was already burying my face in the older strippers
chest with her giggling: two on my arms
and a third looking on...
                   one of the guys that came in me kept
nagging me for money for drinks:
i said i have none...
until it hit me... i reached point £0...
            my card was denied...
                               credit card? me? me and a credit card
only met once... once upon a time...
when i was a kid and had my bank account set up...
credit cards are so ******* annoying: at least
that's what i found...
         you pay for something...
  and then... wait for a month to get the bill...
sure... credit in the form of a mortgage i can understand...
it's just credit cards i don't understand...
i only work with debit...
      i spend what i have rather than have what
i shouldn't have spent money on...
so anyway... this bouncer escorts me to the nearest
cash machine...
    as i tell him: to get some cash out...
i get the ******* escort and all (i said that already,
i know) to a hotel... he ***** off to talk to the concierge
while i fiddle a bit at the cash machine...
then... i start ******* myself...
          ah... the sort of "sobering" ******...
i look where the bouncer is and... leg it...
literally speedy Gonzales it out of there... or did i just
sneak out? memory: fuzzy... perfect when it
comes to a-b-s-o-l-u-t-e truths like 2 + 2 and spelling
but memory from experience? fuzzy... fiddly...
anyway... first time in Athens... no map...
nothing... zilch... i don't know how i managed
to get back to the hostel with the already disgraceful
fact that i ****** myself...
     i was thinking: oh... ****... this bouncer is going
to bring me into an alley and beat the **** out of me:
wrong... working on a debit system means you
can't overstep the mark... i didn't own anyone
in the ******* any money: i was bad-money free...
but that's the point a drunk has a GPS like birds
have when migrating...
                    that's why i won't stop drinking...
it's too good for my brain... and the liver i can box
around with... but how the hell did i manage
to find my way back to the hostel when the car trip
was like 30 minutes long... we must have been doing
(on average) around 40 km/h that's 20km (circa)...
in the end i stayed one more night in Athens...
no... i didn't visit the Acropolis... i had it in plain sight...
i liked the fact that it remained on the hill
and i was down below: some things are best kept
forbidden... but i did manage to write some poetry
in the hostel...
    i then emailed my uncle and asked him for enough
money for a bus ticket... from Athens... via coach
to Katowice... through Macedonia, Serbia...
  Hungary... Czech Republic...
           and then to my grandparent's house...
where: finally the psychotic attack was soothed
by reading a book or two and talking with my grandfather...


2) drunks fall like sacks of potatoes...
my godmother had this anecdote... she was sitting
on the balcony of her flat... she heard
a whizz of air and a thump on the ground...
apparently one drunk was locked out of his house
by his wife... he tried to get in through the balcony
having climbed the roof and descending
from the 10th floor to the 7th... well: when there's
an "oops" like that... he fell... 7 floors...
what's that? 30 metres?
                he fell like a sack of potatoes...
like that Salman Rushdie opening where Satan
is falling head first and careless... while Gabriel
is falling trying to invent wings flapping and crazy...
probably feet first trying to be: SUPER-CAT...
catch a rhythm of the flapping hope to land on all 4s?
it gets me every time i replay that memory in my head...
the way she dropped the punch-line:
i like my godmother... i don't see her frequently /
not at all... but she's a heavy drinker too...
intelligence... it burdens the mind sometimes...
we need to slow down...
she's a doctor i'm a poo-et...
                        anyway... so she hears this whizz in the air
and a thumb... the ****** landed
   about 10cm from a metal pike... in some bushes...
7 ******* floors... he gets up and utters the words
'o kurva' (i.e. oh ****)... and walks off...
that's a bit like me and my cycling "accident"...
a guy got out of his car and ran up to me
bandaged my head while i was figuring out
why my hands were red (from touching my forehead):
two old women screaming...
i was asked if they should call the ambulance...
gladly they mistook my drunk-state for a state-of-shock...
i was like: no no.... but thank you...
i walked off... came home and took the best
medical advice available: self-prescribed (of course)
i.e. sleep...

i sometimes wonder why i'm not your stereotypical drunk...
i drink to hyper-focus on something...
i never get angry... well... i get angry at things:
because they're so ignoble... then again:
defining what a "thing" is hard when dealing
with a well-crafted table or a chair...
i don't actually know how to define "things"...
even "nothing" is a "thing"...
            the supposed "nothing" is a gateway to antimatter...
i suppose the closest "thing" to a THING
is what's an abstraction in the distance...
something you pass at speed that you: don't necessarily
ignore but don't take a concentrated account of:
you don't focus on it... ah! i know the best
example of what a "thing" is...
esp. in a gallery... looking at a painting hanging
on a wall... that's perfect... the wall is a THING...
because you're actually looking at a painting...
mind you... i appreciate all the classical paintings
of the Renaissance... but... you can't see any brush-strokes...
i like paintings where brush strokes are
visible: it's painting then: it's not geometry riddling...
painting by way of insinuating the idiosyncracy
of the hand by leaving several if not dozens of "accents"...
that's why i compared my cycling crash
to Francis Bacon's paintings...
                         well, sure: because the theme of the macabre
also helps... as did his ****-erotica...
and the drinking...
thank **** i'm not a loser drunk that needs
to drink to pronounce some averse trait of masculinity...

better for me being this loved up fool
with a GPS of birds migrating in my head
and a body that behaves like a sack of potatoes
when any harm should come to its bones...
i fall like a cube... a sack of potatoes...
anyway...
         can i imagine living a life that...
like this coworker suggested: oh no, no no...
one fall... i'm not getting back on the electric scooter...
*****...
          then again: cycling is my passion:
i hate runners... those arithmetic arthritis wonders
of the world: jelly-knees i call them:
if you're going to run! run on grass!
and mind you: if the "mob" should ever come for me...
they better not be driving cars...
cars make no sense in London...
too expensive...

                        now... the pivot... i have an 8am appointment
with my hairdresser tomorrow...
i needed to start drinking early so i could write
this and go to bed by 12am...
i'm coming to the ****** and i don't want
to come to the ******...
  the heat-wave is over... i can finally breathe...
ah... i think that's how you write...
or begin writing...
                all those very important people
and all their very important "autobiographies":
let's face it... ghost-written while still alive...
   i guess biographies make more sense...
i think fame, in the truest sense is a testimony
of post-mortem...
    i don't believe in fame in one's own lifetime...
i think fame is something akin to
what's most temporal: what can be passed on...
what employs being passed on for so long
that the name most associated with...
for example...

who invented Champagne? Dom Perignon...
ha ha... back in Poland we were taught
the French song:
frèe jacques:
        
frère Jacques
frère Jacques
dormez vous?
dormez vous?
sonnez les matines
sonnez les matines
ding ding ****
ding ding ****

                 it's a burning memory... like watching
Cartoon Network... when it was... good...
i don't believe in a fame of the living...
the dead are proper dealers in this concept...
fame... how people strive for fame...
whether through good or through ill done against
others... because fame doesn't escape
the muddling of good & evil...
the fame and the infamy...

i was broken yesterday... i know how much i ****
off women's football but i still ended up watching
England play... who did they play?
never mind... they won...
i was going to watch the Sweden vs. Belgium match...
but i thought... if i had a hairdresser appointment
at 8am tomorrow... i need to be asleep by 12am...
go get up at 7am and shower and blah blah...
then i have to go to the Turk to get my beard
and moustache trimmed...
but i'm still not watching football...
i'm watching Tom-Boys with long socks
and hair dangling pretend something...
sure... there's some green of a football pitch...
but i'm not watching the football...
weird... when i watch female athletics or female
tennis i'm watching athletics and tennis...
   for whatever my opinions i have:
i'll watch... what the hell...
at least it's more interesting than some ******
Hollywood movie based on a comic...
or an overtly existential meditation that came
too many years too late: since we covered the outpouring
of Bergman...

now...

    there's the thief... the burglar and the opportunist....
there's this Slavic motto:
znaleziony nie skradziony...
found not stolen...
i operate this maxim...
when it comes to money...
i have found a £20 banknote on the street one...
i have £10 banknotes once or twice...
i've found pounds... i've also found pennies...
would i be stupid enough to find such devaluating /
evaluating / re-evaluating "things"
(money, that's another "thing" in my gallery
of "things" that i can't place... justly...
Nietzsche was attempting to write
his magnum opus: the trans-valuation
of values before going south of cuckoos...
money is one "thing": am actual "thing" is another...
i find a £20 banknote? i'm keeping it...
found / lost ergo not stolen...
the principle of luck...
i could have spared the man the agony of
crafting ideas about a simple answer to his question
about trans-valuation... money! no ditto!)

i've been a thief before... i managed to steal a compact
disk record from a shop...
Queens of the Stone Age's song for the deaf...
i was sly... but this was different...
i was tired from cycling... i bought a bottle of whiskey
and a bottle of Lukozade... berry: ******* merry...
at the self-service outlet... ooh... what's this?
someone left the newest version of
either a Samsung or an Apple smartphone...
is it at 10.3 or whatever the hell it is at?
lucky me... i need a new phone...
so i grabbed it... it was just lying there...
packed my rucksack...

well... i didn't steal it! it was just lying there!
but i don't need a new smartphone...
i just don't want the one i own to **** up on me...
i honestly don't remember the last time i topped up...
i have £0.75 on my account and i'm still using it...
each peddling started to weigh down on me:
if it was money i wouldn't have cared...
if i found money: like i sometimes found money
i wouldn't give two fivers-worth-of-***** for
anyone who lost them: the idea behind money
is that it's transactional...
they taught us the wrong lessons in school,
e.g.: what would you do if you found a briefcase
of money on a street? was it bribery money?
was it ransom money? it's ******* money...
might as well be leaves of a tree come autumn...
money? i'm ******* keeping it..
no morals... no: no nien niet nie!

but here i am with this... £1000+ smartphone...
i ****** it... start cycling home....
i get this numbing headache without an ache...
i remember the time a former "fwend" of mine went to court over
a stolen phone...
how i helped him but he didn't help himself
therefore didn't help me...
what prompted me?
the phone started ringing...
  
who was calling? "mommy"...
hell... if it read "mom" i'd be like... *******... ******...
so much for your spontaneous lapse into
pretend Alzheimer's... imitation amnesia...
but the calling card: "mommy" got to me...
i actually don't want a new phone...
i don't actually need a new phone...
i just need the one i have to work...
mind you... money never talks:
money always listens...
i have no scrupules over money:
                      money lies on the streets all the time:
sure... most of the time they're pennies...
but sometimes... if you're humble to pick but one...
lottery-luck... you might find a pound...
or a tenner... or a twenty...
but... "mummy" is calling...
i was like: if it read: "mum"... i'd be like... lazy ***...
leaving his / her phone on the self-service station...
my gain... your loss...
"mummy"... "mommy" kept ringing...
i was already at the end of Oakland Avenue
trying to figure out how to turn off the phone
and get the SIM card out so i wouldn't be tracked...

i don't need this... however much i was tempted...
i was tempted...
but then the dawn of something akin to reason
came to the lightness of my mind...
better i return this find...
it's not gold...
and "mommy" is calling... so... it wasn't an idiot
that just left this £1000+ item in a supermarket...
as the sayings go:

myśl dobrze mów dobrze rób dobrze (a) będzie dobrze..
on Oaklands Avenue i had that "moment":
after seeing the person calling me on a found /
not a stolen phone... "mummy" is calling me...
if it simply read as "mum"... i'd be like:
well, too bad... Alzheimer prone:
spontaneous memory idiot...
this phone is mine...
          i didn't steal it: i just found it... but then something
kicked in... a headache without a headache...

I'M NOT GOING TO DO THE FOLLOWING
BECAUSE IT'S RIGHT... some absolute GOOD vs. EVIL...
i'm going to do this because i want to FEEL...
goooooooooooooooooooooooooooooood...
like glue mixed up with goo...
because that's the focus of reality...
Abel's revenge...
on the vegetarian: moral-posturing Cain...

i can't put a kid through this... the parents will probably
grill... it turns out she was 7 years old...
her for losing her phone / a mini-computer
on a self-service counter in a supermarket...

i had second thoughts: i like second thoughts...
thought that read: not because it's RIGHT...
something selfish... animating the ancient strives...
i want to feel good...
like the mantra already stated:

myśl dobrze mów dobrze rób dobrze (a) będzie dobrze...
(think good speak good do good and
maybe all will turn out good)

as i was turning the lost property in... i already received
several phone-calls from "mommy" / "mummy"...
i think that stealing this phone would have felt
much more thrilling than simply finding it...

so me and this police-officer start talking...
found this phone... yeah... 10 minutes ago...
where is the phone / where is the "mummy"? she's on
her way...
           any details? so she can say thank you?
you think i got a thank you?
i received no thank you... oh: glory to the inhibited
nature of man concerning what's good in this world...
i didn't want to be thanked: thankfully i wasn't thanked...
i could have easily ****** off with the phone:
insurance probably paid for such circumstanes...

but this is why Cain slaughtered Abel...
people are naive... i'm thinkiing:
the gods were probably just as naive: if not more...
i think the gods were naive:
me? i just tested being exceptional...
but if it was money? oh: like ****...
no chance... money is money...
money is both stone, both tree,
both a heart-transplant...
i find money... i'm keeping it...
                i have no morality concerning money...
but when a...
what sort of parent... gives authority of ownership...
of something worth over £1000 to a prepubescent
girl?! and expects not to "forget" once in a while?
is that authority and worthiness building works?
you need, strangers, to ask themselves moral
questions!
          i didn't have to ask the said moral questions:
i could have profited outright from
this scenario!

        but i asked them: regardless!
because? i wanted to feel good rather than feel lucky:
lucky on the basis of "theft"...

it's highly uneconomic to mix fizzy drinks with whiskey
coming from a plastic bottle than coming from
a can...
better, better still?
leave the already opened bottle of pepsi in
the sun... and each time you unscrew it...
after filling up... shake the bottle up...
to keep the fizziness in it...

i wish i were more evil that my inherent ontology
disavows me from being...
then again... burp... ****... 30 minutes down the lines...
i do visit strip clubs and brothels...
so... i'm sort of like...
                i'm already what's best reserved
and at the same time: what's best kept hidden...
what's to be explored:
by those not willing to explore to begin with.