close proximity word-compounds are sometimes the hardest to invert onto themselves, to craft a chiral pivot, notably due to the suffix-blindspot of the non-differentiated prefix antonym, even more so, when guarded by close proximity of words such as hubris / hiatus - esp. when was begins one's logical approach, inducing a misnomer tangle - due to the overtly laden verbum similis; and these little schematic squares of extremely confrontational, but also the more so extremely cohabitable ref. points, will always be harder to master, than say: a rigid rhyme schematic of a sonnet.

all this current talk of protecting free speech,
cf. with the writing i'll cite -
well, so much for a freedom that can
invite both the sophist and babbling of
slanging slurs -
      all in all, in defence of the "freedom" of
speech, is just as well, a: freedom for
idle talk - and if not idle talk, then simply
politicised intrigue, that once gained
the ears of salon ladies at liberty to an alt.
to ****** arousal.

and how did this come about?
   oh... well, what people talk about now,
is what people thought about in the 1920s
and the 1930s...
                  
as heidegger points out, regarding a herr
oswald spengler - der untergang das abendlandes
(1918 - 1922 vol. 1 & vol. 2 respectively):
the famous suggestion of a *decline of the west:
paragraph opening -
          why is herr spengler in noting
a decline? not because of the heroic optimists
being correct with regards to this apparent
decline - modernity as the unfathomable
stretch toward a status quo eternity -
and with darwinism, the theory of relativity,
the big bang, quantum physics -
there's about as much worth of a question-worthiness
these days, as there is a needle's worth
in a haystack of airy tumbleweed answer-unworthiness...
these former optimists of the decline
   have turned into ardent pessimists of
there even being a decline -
      
the oeuvre of psychology did the most damage
in the end -
   still mingling with an archaic sophistry of
astrology, tarot and the voting ballot -
       no shred of a doubt that we live in a one
way street of: answers & denials only, please,
questions & doubts, ooh noo noo noo!
         we do not live worthy of a question -
since by question we mean: ridicule being
the only appropriate answer deserved by
asking a question.
              
    it came with the change of hiatus between
   the two factions -
   once the optimists took to hubris -
                   the pessimists take to hiatus -
if we called them heroic optimists -
we now call them optimists in hubris -
  once we called them lunatic pessimists
and ultra-religious leash bearers -
     now we call them: young people who
forgot to take chances, risks, and thrills...
  cushion padded wet charcoals that
have as much potential to burn as -
                               a dolphin getting dry.

and aphorism 105 (VI) does just that,
   100 years ago by my circa approach -
'the west will not go down, primarily because
it is too weak for that, not because
it is still strong.'
  which is why i ask: is free speech anything
to defend these days, when free thought
echoes so many years later,
  and what is now considered "free" speech
is merely idle superstition regarding
a "revival", the last supposed push?

there's absolutely no honour in kicking
a maned dog,
                    and in that act: of kicking
a maned dog, or giving a bowlful of bones
for a toothless dog to nibble on
is just as well... might as well spoon out
the marrow and give the old hag of the west
a pâté to slurp...
        yes, orthographically speaking:
very pedantic of the french to bend the macron
into a circumflex -
sure, ain't pretty, but i can assure you:
i'll be technical;

what the west can be thankful of is that it's
the first culture in decline,
   and once a culture is in decline,
among so many others, the others follow suite -
like a spread of cancer,
or any other plague -
     it probably begins by the european
decadence in not respecting antibiotics -
  infesting themselves with superbugs -
or thereby managing to craft some sort of
immunity to them...
  and they say that ****** if baah baah baad...
big pharma never kills, does it?!

i'm still confused on a close proximity akin
to thesaurus logic of synonyms -
i.e. decline of the west = heroic optimists of the decline
        (it must surely happen!)
or is: decline of the west = pessimists on hiatus?
                  i.e. it will never happen!

ah! that's what it was: i was thinking of hiatus
but wrote hubris instead... d'uh dum dum...

  i.e. the roles have changed -
now the pessimists are engaged in hubris -
                      while the optimists are on a hiatus:
the whole - i told you so...
             the whole i told you so since the 1920s
is irrelevant these days,
   given the great america never again ended
at the beginning of the 21st century...
                    the monologue from the grand ***
degraded from the grand satan is hot puff and
cinnamon smoke...
          
       once more: what is relevant about what's
being said these days? as much as was a passing
observation in the 1920s?
          i hardly think so...
   the so-called freedom that only gravitates
to idle-chit-chat and poseur antics of bravado?

given that not much is questioned,
   and whatever is questioned has lost its allure
to be fresh, to be alarming,
   all the questions asked are plagiarisms,
a dead-end, in imagery: a library with only
one book in it (i mean, a library brimful with
books, but all these books are the same book);
which makes these times so
answer-unworthy - is that they come so
easily, and are usually borrowed from
the same anglophonic sets of ideas,
regurgitated chick food from the peckers of
their parental guardians.
            
         well, if you live in times when people
have that idiotic audacity to ask a question
like: what's the meaning of life,
  why are we here, how did we form, etc.:
   all these inessential "essence" questions -
          and about as many historicals gaps
of memory lapse as a drinking session with
oliver reed in between...
               the only question goes something
like this:
   and ? found myself walking around the house,
walking by a mirror, ? peered in,
   and without a narcissus to mind
to slowly build a curiosity that would turn
into self-love, ? exclaimed: !,
   after which ? steadied by pace of questioning
adding the much needed: ?!
                      
what's as good a questioning dynamic / schematic as
you're going to get, these days.

hiatus awaiting

welcome are the nights,
with a chance of snow,
and me...
   writing practically nothing;
i guess the common ground
encompassed by a
acted out "laziness"....
    i can admire *******
and it feels
     the same dead weight of
*******' hanging weight...
        i sacrifice my lamb
on the altar of Slayer
and say goodnight....
  i like these nights, redying
myself for an internet hiatus...
    getting a haircut,
trimming my beard...
        it will be a most pleasant
experience,
being internet-free...
i can actually forget about
the dialogues...
                   for a month or so...
the whiskey dries out,
the will abides by hibernation,
the book is read...
time passes via
         a Maori interpretation....
slow, deathly,
unpredictable...
                 such warm wintry
nights when the snow falls,
and the fox scuttles about...
            are paid grievances
for want of dream...
                i write the least
because i belittled the most...
   zeit werden plötzlich halt...
        like i said: i pay my allegienace
to a tongue..
       i align with german
on a fetishist's whim,
not a nationality...
            speaking german comes
across as oral ***...
            scheiße ficken auster!
      i pay my allegiance
to a tongue, not the people -
  der zunge uber die volk...
            i reek of the kind of hate
that these zombie-people dreams of
the living become acrid...
         i am sodium and sulphate!
                              i watch
the shamanic dance and the *******
"ladies" in waiting...
                      i am the tongue
above the people;
    thinking comes later...
    last...
       the only increment of crafting
a nostalgia of carving
and a nostalgia of what's past;
****** the oyster with the serpent,
maggot, worm...
             there's nothing with
leverage of poetics...
              why has the thrill of life
and upkeep "suddenly"
expired from me?
         why has this quasi-
castration taken hold of me?
                   all before the
perfected mechanisation ugly...
                  doesn't matter,
as individualism dies
i am the one to inherit it...
                      die hitzig nächte
aus gefallen schnee...
und die tänzeln fuchs...
                                    zu sehen.
- perhaps a return to
the saxon rooting...
perhaps that,
perhaps anything at all...
what does it matter,
there's the troubling tomorrow
to pitch against...
             the lost beauty of
the sunrise, to the day's insistence
for love lost unto labour;
the abhorring obedience to
said, "love", and slavish schematics;
love is a pardoning word
in keeping things intact,
but not a word worth an ounce
of motivational value.

and due to CSFR (cross-site request forgery)...

      *Turkish Barbers

once more, the notion of the simplest pleasures in life, are the most rewarding; maybe i should be 30 to 40 years older to make such a statement, maybe i ought to be the colt-type bungee jumping and skydiving feeding an adrenaline rush... but then again once you make life slim of extreme pleasure, the real authentic pleasures come through in the most unexpected way, out of the mundane every day, a proud, strutting peacock - let's keep the intricacies of pleasures and experienced bound to a labyrinth of either such extreme experiences, or the heights of philosophical discourse... keep the pauper's share, allow the everyday form of grey separate itself: till you finally see the black & white.

it was about time, someone had to allow this
ruffian, this ***, this barbarian into society...
sure, a suit makes a man,
but since we're living in times of smart casual,
where ties are not required nor
the top button done up -
the next thing that makes a man,
is a well deserved, haircut.
i come to think that a haircut makes more
of a man, than a well attired suit,
call me old fashioned, or new fashioned -
but it comes as a shame to not bother
with a haircut, like i did for almost a year,
considering the angst of the baldies,
with their shining craniums exposed
to moonlight...
like ice converging to act as mirror
in a firming puddle on the pavement...
yes, i am prone to "forget", well, in actual
fact abandon any ****** aesthetics to
imitate a variant of Lent...
i give certain things up and fast in a much
different way... vain?
hardly...
you only notice the difference
when a girl looks your way after a transition,
even with a puffer-fish face from all the drinking...
but it had to be done,
someone really had to get rid of the barbarian,
this: feral *thing...
and who better if not a Turkish Barber?
i have to say... i lost my virginity to a razor today...
Turkish Barbers are the best in the world,
that's not an opinion, that's a fact,
and from what the result is...
women can't cut beards,
they can do a brazilian wax no problem,
but the ***** on the face?
ladies, leave that to the men...
and there's one in particular,
a local,
a very cameo parlour,
two seats, almost like a kiosk -
Ustun's -
4 chase cross road, romford, essex,
RM5 3PR.... cemil ustun,
phone number 07447752357...
i don't know what's better,
receiving oral ***, or getting a proper barber's
treatment...
i'm starting to think the latter,
since it's cheaper...
i've come to a conclusion,
forget inquiring into prostitution -
£110 for an hour of agonising *** acts,
i'd take an hour with cemil for
a £20...
first time i actually had
oil applied to my ****** hair,
and foam and blow-drying it into shape...
before i grew my hair like a, ******* hippy,
i never really had a proper barber experience,
and i've learned something important:
not all "feminine" professions are actually
feminine...
a barber is as important as a soldier...
and that coincides with:
well, if we don't really believe in
moral relativism but absolutism,
and if we don't believe in cultural relativism
but absolutism,
we can at least agree that:
every, single, job, is, important,
that there must be a professional relativism,
or that there is a relativism of labour,
since nature does not like vacuums...
every job is equally important,
in that relativism exists on the basis of
gradation, an "ablaut" of incremental changes
in "value"...
by not money has exited the original
idea that it's the source of
the trans-valuation of values -
point being?
£20 for a haircut and a beard trim,
£110 for some wacky fucky-fucky...
hey, that's five and a half sessions
with cemil...
barbers can out-compete
the necessity of prostitutes...
but you can only, really, come to such conclusion
if you've been to both...
and this has to be the most authentic
experience of pampering that a *******,
with her moral baggage, simply can't give;
but it ought to be noted once more...
the best barbers in the world are Turks...
must be the highlight of the Ottoman empire,
akin to the english coffeehouses,
the barbers of the Ottoman empire
probably had as much significance as
the coffeehouses of england...
and that's how the cookie crumbles.

The space between your hand and mine
So vast
So empty
I feel the hiatus increasing
With every word
Every stroke across my neck
My cheek
Every move you ever made
As your fingers used to enjoy connecting dots
Tracing masterpieces along the small of my back
Leaving tingling sensations
That cry out for more
The hiatus deepens
So much left unsaid
Torment hangs heavy
Tainting the very air
We both breathe
And share
I feel so out of touch
Broken connections whisper louder than
The time you wrote love on your arms
And called me home
You are just out of reach
This touch may be your last
As I feel you slowly pulling away
Your sweat still sticking to my skin
Your last breath
Condensing sweet dew on my face
Evaporates
I will never taste again
As the hiatus consumes
The last memories
Of you
And
Me