just these two songs: rope sect - handsome youth
SJÖBLOM - Telephone...

creative burn-outs are spectacular...
   they are also more cognitive burn-outs as they
are creative burn-outs...

profanities creep in: racial slurs...
  the mind becomes so stretched with too many
ideas all at once: but the stamina disappear:
there's no clear motive with regards to
pushing yourself that far...

it is always easier to run a marathon than attempt
a seven thousand worded poem in one sitting...
it's easier to cycle for 5 hours straight
than to write for the same amount of hours
in one sitting...

         but this burn-out doesn't happen spontaneously...
something very unremarkable has to push
you to the limit... for me? it's regression...
when i'm being lied to in a very subversive manner:

it's easier to say:
the Holocaust happened... then deny that it did...
rather than say: the Holocaust didn't happen...
and try to convince someone that it did...
because the horrible has already happened...
i can't explain it... properly...

in my case... i could judge a psychiatrist for
malpractice... if he insinuates that i was abused as a
child... and he tries to instill this idea into my head...
i immediately turn into a curled up hedgehog...
defensive: because i don't recall that to be true...

this one instance only recently came about
from being accused of pouring oil into a bottle of gin...
today: after a hiatus, bed-bound for two days:
not eating... catching up on the socio-cultural /
socio-political narratives: depressed: or rather deflated...
not eating anything... i maybe ingested
about 100kcal... thereabouts...

       the state of society is depressing... it's best to hit
this nadir and catch-up with the narratives
than listen to social-ailments when you get to return
to writing: keeping yourself busy...

i need to return to myself...
   i need to salvage that poem where i broke...
there's some good stuff in there...
but obviously this implies: rereading what i wrote...
and i never do that...

a return to listening to music...
back to post-punk...
     bands and such songs as:
actors - like suicide
creux lies - becoming
syzgyx - your eyes, they speak
iamnoone - labyrinth
movement - gone
plastique noir - asleep in the night train
homefront - seagulls
serf - unkown, unkown
haunt me - this sadness never ends
rope sect - handsome youth
SJÖBLOM - Telephone
the true faith - i wanted more

i don't even think that getting paid for my efforts
would change anything about
these burn-outs...
no, probably not: if you love something...
and do it habitually: to relax...
because writing becomes more relaxing
than thinking:
with writing there's a linear nature: a vector...

a bit like my concept of cycling:
the unconscious coordination
of space: squeezing through traffic...
   sure... i could cycle into the countryside...
i sometimes do: but the unconscious coordination
of space? moving near buses... big trucks...
sort of being the leech...
    it's more interesting...

and this was all before i finished working
with the kango on the concrete in the garden...
three days... why bother going to the gym?
each time i was amazed by some little nothing...

i have plenty of encounters with woodland pigeons...
in ****** tongue a woodland pigeon
is known as a: SYNOGARLICA
a Eurasian collard pigeon...
      both are here... in my garden...
                 and i just sat there on one of these warm
May days... where i wasn't using my mind...
just my body...

    their call: which i once found irritating for
a particular reason that i will mention... but this time
round i laughed: because it made sense...

'ooh-'ooh-'ooh-'ooh-'ooh-ó!

    and... it varies... you can count it on your hand...
the second time you lift your thumb up
to count: it's bent...
how else are you going to count?
   from thumb to pinky... or from the pinky to the thumb?

and yes: that apostrophe at the beginning
of each 'ooh... there's a reason for that...
you could basically write the word gnome or
Gnostic beginning with an apostrophe:
   'nome or 'nostic: since the G is a surd in each
case... it's silent...
but woodland pigeons are not cuckoos...
there's no letter to decipher that sound...
the 'ooh is the best approximate...

and they are prone to do it either once...
or... up to 21 or 31 times...
i sat there and counted:

   'ooh-'ooh-'ooh-'ooh-'ooh
      'ooh-'ooh-'ooh-'ooh-'ooh
     'ooh-'ooh-'ooh-'ooh-'ooh
         'ooh-'ooh-'ooh-'ooh-'ooh-ó!

because they always finish on that acute omicron (ó)
half breaking their song...
    
it's like they know they need to break off
with a shorter version of the string of the x5
'ooh-'oohs...
           but what arranged that: changelessness?
like the gargling of the KRR of the crow...
in between their croaks...

i've aged to the point where i think i'd be able
to go beyond a cordial conversation:
intimacy is elusive... more me on a piece of paper
than investing in another human being...
it has transcended a melancholy of sorts...
it's a near impossibility to be without an attachment
to myself...
   love and all that frailty of wishing for
reciprocated intimacy...
           absolutely lacking in me: almost like
a psychopath...

now the mother-tongue will wake up:

   nie wiem čemu (in mother tongue i just hid
a Z with that caron... in English i'd be hiding
a H) Y nie jest w kategorii samogłosek...
bo jako jedyna litera w polskim języku
ma swoją nazwę? id est: igrek:

                        Y Y Y Y
                    Y Y Y Y Y Y
                 Y Y Y Y Y Y Y Y
                    Y Y Y Y Y Y
                        Y Y Y Y
                          Y Y Y
                              Y
                               I
                               I

but you couldn't draw this schematic
of both the tree and the serpents tongue
prior to the existence of Latin...
no: you could... i don't know why i have this
"prejudice": after all... we're only talking about
a shape of a sound... clearly it's a G
in Greek: a gamma...
          like I is no more an aye: affirmative to:
eye...
           to... iota squared...

isn't that how a tree looks like?

   י is more akin to an apostrophe...
   yodh: י / '
                  the curse is so minimal is can be
barely seen...
        the letter itself is not as pronounced
as... say... the letter aleph: א
of heh: ה‎

or reaching toward the Phoenicians's waaw...
i'm standing on a backlog of history
and i'm going absolutely mental trying to organise
a narrative for the beginning of the 21st century...

this is the Hydra talking in me...
    i'm splintering...    

it's time... maybe i could writing my pronouns
as:
        אֵ
     ∛i...                     i³...
                 a lot has changed since i last studied
the qabbalah... notably: the vowel chirek
has morphed... completely: with name alone...
what was once known as chirek is now known
as hiriq...

                 kametz has become kamatz...
shurek has become kubutz...
    etc. because i don't feel like going through all
the Hebrai vowels... i'm already stretching myself...

either a Hebrew headache or a return to old Church
Slavonic...
i was looking up the history...
hmm... probably a descendant of the Vandal...
the Vendi... and all that interesting crap...
either way i am standing at a crux of history...
a lot of people... even i found the Glagolitic script
by chance... prior to what St. Cyrillus
made of a Greek reinterpretation of the script...
making it look: absolutely cheap...
Cyrillic looks cheap: not as well refined as Latin...

one example: the lower-case looks the same
as the upper-case...
unlike the refinement of: Αα...
           Γγ...
                        Δδ...             Ηη...
             Λλ...                   Μμ:                 Ξξ....

then again: you couldn't do a lot about K and k...
well... you could have... not make it... Кк:
the uppercase letter just... shrunk...
after all... K I<
                     has a giraffe's neck... and no head...
Kk...                   it's not lowercase by simply
being smaller...
   and countless examples Дд: otherwise: Dd...

         the cyrillic Тт and the latin Tt...
           that's a big one...
            but Greek had this aesthetic problem to begin with...
let's begin with iota: Ii... but there's no dot
hovering above the letter in Greek...

blah blah... what are the exceptions? omega?!
again: the same in Latin: Ww...
Oo... Uu... eh... not upsilon...
   Pp... but R and r?
               Hh... Gg... Ff...
                                        Dd... Ss...
                       Zz...                   **...
                                           Cc...
                                 Vv...
                       but Nn...
                               Yy...
                                           Ee...
                          Ll...
                         Jj...
                        
no... of course there's no consistency to what i write!
i'm not Atlas... the rest of the vicinity couldn't care
less about what i think about certain matters...

it's not that i even don't care:
but whereas i endear myself with being satisfied with
their entertainment...
i'm dreading the 14th of May...
i'll be going back to work with people...
i have no: talking point to engage with...
while they have children
i'm thinking: ****- is not really racist...
is it?
   esp. if you stress it with a prefix justification...
akin to how the English language
is lazy for using the apostrophe...
shortening + coupling words:

do not becomes don't...
wouldn't has origins in: would not...
vowel eating... letter eating...
it's hardly offensive:
you say ****-...
because you don't feel like saying Pakistani...
it would be... mightily weird to say:
Afghanistani...
instead of simply saying Afghan...
what's with this zombie sensitivity to certain
sounds?!
giggle... bigger... blubber...
  two consonants so coupled will make the river
Niger somehow less... flow-some?!

we already have that with the Thames...
that river doesn't flow...
what river in the world is known for
a tide in... and a tide out...
it doesn't flow... it ripples...
almost bubbles... like an agitated lake...

honest to god... i sometimes think to myself...
given my personality:
my life would have been so much simpler
if i were inclined toward homosexuality...
it really would....

it would make things a lot more easier...
      inherent "prejudices"... it's almost as unfair as
someone who has to justify being homosexual...
with the more intelligent types:
why would i find pride in something suspicious,
couldn't it be simpler to not be ashamed
of something?

i find it less: tiresome to not be ashamed of something
to counter to have to feel
pride in something that doesn't deserve credit...
no one in their right mind-set would
feel proud of being a heterosexual...
imagine having some attraction for a single mum...
you bring round a banana loaf you made yourself:
she implores her "boyfriend": her son to have
to say thank you... no... mate... you didn't have to...
you bring a bottle of homemade wine...
get her drunk... get her singing...
catch her smiling... even the boy notices...

you cycle in the middle of the night...
falling over your own shadow...
bicycle... wheel... drunk man... no no...
William Hazlitt! this is not going to work
with Alfred Jarry in the background!
but you enter this woman's presence...
try to comfort her...
   but she just keeps nagging at you...
about her past: abusive boyfriends...
and there's a boy in the background:
he might as well be ******* already...
no... itch... one itch after another...

she tries all her best to get you fired for
rumours... of drinking on the job...
the job i'm currently doing is not:
a ******* spectacular job...
it's not even a job... it's not like
i'm doing the work a plumber might...

but that's heartbreak...
you leave her flowers on Valentine's day...
in the middle of the night...
just because she said:
oh... this guy... was trying to court me for
20 years...
   you're on the "job"... she's ******* on Tinder
swiping like mad: left left left... left left left...

forget it... just forget it...
romance is dead... even though you're the guy
with the limited amount of baggage...
i could seriously give up drinking and writing
for a red-head like that...
i could imagine myself as a surrogate father...
clearly i'm needed elsewhere...
i have had prior plans to take care of...

back to Thespian matters...
      we're all going to be actors by the "end" of this...
since acting is the current,
& predominant mode / median / mean...
form of any: if at all... of human artistry...
not painting... not writing poetry...
acting and "pretend" acting...

            shadow-stealing... for once!
for once i don't feel like writing this term in Deutsche!
i don't even want to employ the term:
doppelganger!

              we'll be grand ******* Thespians by the end
of this crux in time...
     proper psychopath nut-jobs!

i've drunk enough for both Winston Churchill
and me... i could do with a sobering up period
with a ginger... single mum and her son...
but obviously... that's going nowhere...

can't you start with flowers on Valentine's day
and work from there?!
teasing easy steps: nibbles... can't you?!

i'm ******* hanging on a tree right here...
when you get older... the heartbreak becomes
a little bit different...
   the first heartbreaks still leave you:
somehow... believing in humanity...
    but once you get older... you... eh... you sort
of stop... disillusionment kicks in: proper...

for sure: you're a disappointment...
but... so many people are not far behind...
it's that crab bucket mentality...
i understand... i get it: throw that argument at me...
for all my imperfections...
i have them... but...
                 people are so disappointing when
on the verge of recreating what was once
their "******" innocence...
when they want to put on the more "serious"
airs of their approach to relationships...

so, what... the fun's over?!
right: "now" it is... so... why have it in the thirst place?!
that was the last time i bought a woman
flowers... last... the absolute last...
well... unless it's my mother
and it's her funeral...
       i'd sooner prefer to throw a handful
of stones onto her grave like a Hebrew might...

just the idea that she tried to bluff me:
i turned off my phone when walking to her house...
she texted me that she wasn't feeling well...
i only read the messages when i came back home...
but she was dressed up...
she was burning incense in the house...
she had no make-up on... no earrings...
no rings on her fingers... she looked... as a woman should...

and how i enjoyed her smiles... her giggling...
her singing... while she made her son his supper...
and we blah blah... and...
i don't even care for logic... women have no logic
capacity...
i was better attired and the dog didn't slobber me...
my ears... the wounds on my knuckles
from the burns i made myself from cigarette
buts i extinguished on myself for:
sadist? i enjoy the extremities of feeling pain...
the dog licking my wounds until i bled...
less attired: no baker boy hat...
licking my ears...
but this time round... i dressed up...
cake... wine... franziskeiner cloudy beer
to match my home-made beer...

   she looked so happy...
   she was, *******... singing dua lipa songs!
she might as well have been vacuuming
and... completely ignorant of vacuuming: singing!

i think she's the biggest heartbreak i've ever
had... and i didn't even **** her...
and the fact that i would have to sober up
and become a surrogate father makes it all the more
worse...

to hell with my non-drinking insomnia...
some purpose in life doesn't hurt as much
as the freedom you gain from purposive-lessness...
genes are blah:
        you can always influence the mind
of someone...
             i don't mean: control it... steer it...

i was so willing to find home in her...
but i'm obviously some Ted Bundy stereotype...
unpredictable: unreliable...
              unwilling to change...
yet i was so willing...
    i was gagging to take the role of someone
responsible...
     oops... hey presto! back to the brothel
and the prostitutes...

             well at least there i'm not afraid of:
those girls take chances...
           "success" story: exclusive rights to unprotected
***... because... your hygiene is on par
with the ******* and she recognises it...
and she's Turkic... perfecto!

but there were clear signs!
  play?! play?!
   why start off by resting the elbow on my leg...
seeking comfort within the confines of my body
on a way back from a shift?!
why invite me into her home?!
only recently i've that a worse problem...
a supposed "supervisor" of mine...
snuggled into my arm-pit and torso...
falling asleep... slobbering all over me...
on our way from a shift at Oxford
back to London...

   i was reminded of why i prefer to be single...
my left ****-cheek became numb...
that's the trouble with sleeping with someone
in the same bed... half of you becomes numbed...
literally: not metaphorically!
literally! i was sitting stiff while she was
suckling up to me...
i remember sleeping with Ilona...
not the *** part... the actual sleeping...
half of my would always end up being numb...

i hated it... truly abhorred it...
i still don't understand why it's such a taboo subject...
rich people boast about mansions with 30+ toilets...
how about...  3 bedrooms...
the 1 bedroom each you sleep in...
and the 3rd bedroom you **** in...
how's that? sleeping with someone is *******
unconformtable...
i tried sleeping with a 10kg Maine **** cat...
he usually ***** of by the time i get serious
about falling asleep...
even he knows: no... this is not going to work...
well: ******* d'uh!

- and that's where: that is: here.... where i want
to find the remains of myself...
so i can move forward...
i want to have these regrets...
i want to be able to misunderstand people
by also understanding the becoming of people...
as a misunderstaning,
like some horrible mea culpa...

to pretend folding two stones into
a mountain...
is better than keeping a mountain
from stones...

but at the same time: maybe it's a little bit naive
of me...
maybe she wanted to spare me the agony
of a relationship with her...
i like to think of it that way...
perhaps telling her outright that i didn't
feel like buying a car...
         she was the one with the council flat:
provided by the state...
she was the single mum...
   idiot me wanting to become a surrogate
father...
   maybe i was like her son-of-a-boyfriend:
someone somewhat innocent...

innocent my ***...
   that's why i backed myself up with having
promiscuous *** with prostitutes...
indiscriminate unprotected *** with at least one...
because we established high standards
in terms of cleanliness...
   proven time and time again:
standards in prostitution have changed...
i don't even know how STDs travel...
through filth... and most common people are
filthy... it only takes about a minute
to see it... men in public bathrooms at football
stadiums taking a **** and walking out
not washing their hands...

filth! but i'm guessing some women are just
as bad when it comes to cleaning their vaginas...
me? every time i ****... every time i *******
i need to fold back the ******* and wash everything
there with soap...

plus a canny insurance policy...
   child support? for a *******... esp. in a brothel?
so... they'll throw me into prison for...
what's illegal in England: although i don't know
the logic behind that: it's illegal to own a brothel...
prostitution in itself is not...
            i.e. the whole incentive for self-employed
women not having to give money to a third party:
even though: that third party probably
offers muscle... i.e. protection...
   because we're not talking pimps:
   we're talking bouncers and a Madame...

plus it's no ******* one night stand...
it's: cough up money up-front...
     hell... if you're lucky: you meet the right one...
you might just try ******* for the first time
aged 35... and realise: i don't know what the fuss was
about...

and returning to: the minimalistic life...
      well... there was always going to be Sophia...
great Sophie... philosophy;
    she could always fill a man's life with purpose...
if as Nietzsche pointed out once: woman is the truth...
the march of life is independent of me...
homosexuality has the same trials and tribulations...
well: maybe not so much with surrogate prostitutes
and those 2 daddies...

    bitter... resentful? harsh... yes... harsh... hangover...
yes... realistic... yes... but bitter?
    oh, fair enough: sarcastic...
                                  sardonic... but i can't imagine
myself as bitter... i'd rather drink one of those...
Czech: heavily hoppy beers...
       no... the beer is not hopping... hops...
bitter hops... very much unlike... ugh... English ales
are disgusting... why?! they're flat!
they're tasty... but they're flat!
                             it's like drinking flat pepsi cola!

as simple as money:
   i wasn't making more money than her...
                             she had too many regrets and a memory
of a once shining career in finance:
now with a bad credit score...
   with a son that "apparently" made his own money...
sure... sure... aged 8...
a child "actor" that only starred in one... flick...
that is probably not going to be released...
        me? i was surprised when i opened a second
bank account with only a passport
   and... no real background credit check....
                      that's the problem with earning too much
money...
    courts... court systems...
     defamations... LAW... lawyers...
                              money laundering... tax evasions...
lawsuits... greedy people...
                                 bribery, nepotism,
                                    eh... if you get by on just about
enough...
      a horse would be a luxury...
                nothing compares to riding full gallop
on a horse... it's probably better than ***...
   a horse is a luxury... some flashy car... eh...
                    not really.