the twin towers of smoke and fire: it only made it necessary for me to bring a mirror by peering into the river... up north: around the vicinity of Upminster in the village of Wennington; south of the river a tower in Bexley: at Bexleyheath... very ******* Lord Ring'y if you ask me... the gateway was opened... two pillars either side of the Thames... these are my parts... well... Wenningston is by no means in my imagination: i used to cycle through it... Upminster, Rainham... Cold-Harbour... the Thameside Nature reverse... the A13 motorway... Rainham landfill site... these are my parts... climate sceptics: wait until it come knocking on your door... and the Thai-"least affected" by monsoon season... i tried being a climate sceptic... i truly tried: sure sure... no problem... this **** is just normal... but there's also a beauty about it all... twin ******* towers of smoke... either side of the Thames... not really far apart geographically on the longitude lines... that's the beauty of England: the Greenwich mean-time... you're either an equatorial (latitude) sort person... or you're a longitude sort of person... i'm of the later persuasion: in terms of being fascinated... mind you: all innovations happen with longitude in mind... latitude is merely the north standing on its head... nothing more... and certain aesthetics of life... like... the further north you go... chances of insomnia during summer? probably high... vampirism during winter? also probably high.... but that image... i can't erase from my head... towers of smoke... and fire down below... one at Wennington and the other at Bexleyheath... with the view of: yonder! the pearl of the world that's London...

I.

there's something about the first 40cl of whiskey
you drink, smoking cigarettes...
finally... the heat-wave is concluding...
   there is moisture in the air...
during the heat-wave i could swear that
there was salt in the air:
by way of osmosis: water in my body:
the body that is however much water was being
drained out... sweated out...
during heat-waves: i swear... there is salt in the air...
tiny particles of salt...
                             elevated to atoms...
NaCl just bouncing around with the gases...
salt-gas... because it's impossible to breathe...
it's impossible to move... it's impossible think...
and you're sweating all the time...
the sky isn't blue: it's a tinge of blue: it's almost white...
the air isn't dry: it's hot-salty...
             and now? ah... almost like an ******...
i get my breath and my soul and my cognitive functions
back... proper...
and there's nothing quiet like the equilibrium:
hell! even the wind returned...
a cool breeze... too: best associated with the night...

i even managed to summon a ghost...
my bedroom: locked... then i was looking up "X"...
and this household gust (przeciag)
pushed open my bedroom door...
             "ghost" or no ghost... if i were to live in
an atheistic-materialism i'd write zilch...
nothing could be interesting: interesting at least in the sense
of keeping a narrative...
i'll mention "X" somewhere else...
   i'd just be regurgitating facts: i'd be a walking
trivia show... an encyclopedia... a walking: one of
those omnibus showcases of museum's
stalemates with dust and hoarding...
        40cl is the starting point:
perched on my windowsill looking into the night:
thinking about what i already know what
what i'm going to write about:
this section is the part where i thought about
thinking about writing... this is the part where
i thought about not-thinking: ergo... writing...
it's a momentum build-up...

II.

i'll get to "X" in a bit...
             but i just realised something...
you can't be an artist and raise a family... impossible...
i wish i tried... i did have a chance, one, at least two...
but with women i was always elsewhere...
i'm still always elsewhere:
i can give one 1 hour every month...
properly... the heat would not have allowed me
to **** anyway... plus... there's a 2 month delay
in my shift-payment...
funny... everyone else that signed up with the company
was given a self-employed "contract":
i was given an employee contract...
they spared me all the minor details and...
lucky me: i know what being self-employed is like:
self-taxing... all those forms...
              so i'll wait for the cold to come
and my libido to come back...
   perhaps other mammals get ***** when it's warm...
as a man... i prefer the ideas of night
and cold to get groovy... because:
if i didn't have a television: i'd probably invest
in a fire place: and whisper into the river secrets
of the soul and wind...
  as it would tell me the secrets of the earth...
and then we'd parade shadows of the death around...
or... i would invest in an aquarium
and ask for Poseidon to appear...
   but i couldn't possibly raise a family...
even right now... what am i doing?
    oh... this is a gem... anti-thesis pop music...
folk music...
            this band Faun, the song? Aufbruch...
i was cleaning the house today as asked:
yeah... it was seriously *****... i mopped the floors
and was shocked...
took a break and listened to the labourers
fixing my neighbour's garden: she finally installed
fake grass and managed to relieve herself
of the jungle... she even gave me a bottle of Peroni
to celebrate her happiness blah blah...
but i was listening to the labourers...
conversation? not so much:
most of it was: x, y & z are going to be at the pub
after work... blah blah this... blah that...
i started honing my hearing to the music
they were listening to...
    
                    ahem... compared to Faun's Aufbruch?
electronic... the artists are tools...
producer music types and typos...
electric voices: not even Kraftwerk sort...
mein gott: dies ist überscheiße!

point being... it felt terribly sleeping with women...
not the *******... the sleeping part...
i was the guy who needed to fall asleep
while listening to music... she was the type of girl
who wanted to fall asleep in silence...
already mismatching...
    and then... ugh... the numb left leg and torso...
falling asleep hugging her... then...
not hugging her... she hugging your back...
sleeping with someone is worse than ******* them...
impossible politics...
at least with cats is like: you're making my
uncomfortable... fair enough... i'll ******* leave then:
great! thanks for coming round in the first place:
but also thanks for ******* off!

hung-up... only because of the ***...
then again: i'm more solitary than it could be led
to believe...
           dim-witted conversations about... what?
prior to sleep? we're going to be talking about...
Walter Sickert paintings of "X"'s music...
or are we going to be talking about... gas bills?!
then we have nothing to talk about...
i try to "think": she might have introduced to me
In Extremo after an **** of Rammstein...
but i moved on into more folk regions...
i spent 2 years with Heidegger...
i spent a year and some with Kant...
              if i had invested in a woman and had children
with her... would i have?
would i currently be listening to Faun's Aufbruch?
sure... the prospect of "dying alone" is oh: oh! oh!
so scary... we live alone most of the time...

and i have a ******* cycling partner?!
as much as i loved squash and as much as i loved
rock climbing... hell... what's the best sport to do solo?
cycling... no lions in my vicinity:
ergo? no need to run...
i can do that 1 hour a month i get paid
to prove to myself: ******* hasn't distracted:
being of the generation
that still had to pass the social-stigmas of buying
magazines from shops rather than getting it
free online... Belgium was best...
even the women selling them didn't mind: scrutinise
teenage boys buying them: truly liberal times...

nothing English; PURITANICAL... *******...
that's why i never explored the "fancy ****"...
of *******... i always steralise myself
by turning the sound: hell... the whole medium of video...
i go back to the images...
and... it's most dressed women exposing cleavage...
or some thing: i mean: ha ha!
it's not like they don't do that already...
i set my boundaries... people can ******* and do their
kinks: whatever...
i once a reached a point where...
i was actually jerking off to Bronzino's:
Venus, Cupid, Folly and Time...
            what idiotic theory that men have a gateway
mechanism whereby they have to increase
their digestive potentials for ****...
for me? a ******* was very much unlike
a pornographic, filmed... *******...
i felt... cut in half... it was ****...
                   it sound great... but it was ****...
why? because of the two girls i only wanted...
the other just jumped on the bandwagon of being rejected
the last time i saw her!
   she was so adamant... i was like: o.k. fair enough...
and throughout... the one i wanted was my perfect
sort of Pandora's Coy type... i liked her and she liked me...
that's what i wanted: you don't get intimacy in
a ******* *******...
there's always the unwelcome party...
duck-lips: bloated: quack quack...
demands: oh: you're going to **** me!
             am i? unlike in pornographic movies...
the changing of condoms between each take on oral ***...
it sort of breaks the momentum:
but... don't even resurrect Jack the Ripper...
modern prostitutes are... minded in healthcare...
in cleanliness...
             listen: if one can be a judge of character and have
unprotected ***? what does that tell you?

oh man... a ******* is ****...
i felt like... crucifixion is the zenith of suffering?
what about the death of the prophet Isaiah?
wasn't he sort of cut in half?!
      i felt cut in half... o.k. so one is performing oral
*** on you... the other is pressing her *******
in your face...
how many eyes are present?
      i was hoping for 4... instead i got... now... it's not 6...
it's five and a half... i'm split...
the idea of ******* two women at once
is a failure of envy...
      i didn't have the care for experiencing it...
i was forced by one ******* i denied twice...

that's the difference... it would have been different
if i wanted a *******...
of all the girlfriends i ever dated... did i break up
with them, or did they they break up with me?
HA HA... they broke up with me!
ergo? it's a completely different dynamic...
it would have been different if i asked for a *******...
but a complete jar-of-cookies if being asked
to have one... no wonder the one i denied
during ******* asked me sort of trying to boost
any egoism in me to begin with: you must feel like a king...
she still didn't get it...

she never figured out she was late to the party...
there was not even a lesbian-interlude of them
kissing during the whole *******...
she became an unwelcome "member" of the "party":
because the one i truly wanted knew:
she kept her mouth shut: i never understood talking
during ***... why bring god into the "onomatopoeia"
of *******?
i couldn't... two?! at the same time... split my body
in two... i'd require some hard-on pills...

i stopped smoking for three days expecting a better
performance from whittle 'ichard...
instead... i had to smoke a cigarette to get
a "better view"...
         but by then i was snuggling into the neck
and collar bone of the one i wanted... kissing her neck
and cheeks... while she was giving me a hand-job
and the unwanted one was a canvas of ugly duck-lips
and ****... which i utilised to add cushion...
come on... if she's a ******* and she doesn't know
how to deal with *******: it's a sheath!
it's a sheath! it's mine whenever i feel constipated:
it's yours when you pull it back...

i thought male genital mutilation was simple
for you ladies?

but me? listening to Faun's Aufbruch...
reading Ovid and Zhuangzi: simultaneously?
while also entertaining the status of fatherhood?
clearly? impossible...
come this very night... would i want to find myself
sleeping in the same bed as woman?
would i want to be asleep right now?
and be sober? i don't think so...
       family life would ruin me!

if i were married right now: i'd be a shell of a man...
yeah - and sure... good luck thinking like some
elder men think: i'll just live the given platitude of
life... i'll career it through...
then, when i retire... i'll pick up my youthful
concerns for art...
sure... that might happen... but it rarely does...
career-wise... that comes first...
not minding having any money? problem...
not minding having any social status? problem?
having a soul? PROBLEM!

i tend to sniff out old dogs that pretend
to be wolves and tell them...
sniff sniff... sniff sniff...
i smell a scent of leash...
i smell a scent of leather on you...
                  
i couldn't possibly raise a family...
i've dedicated my life to prostitutes and art...
and philosophy...
sure... i'll die along: my grandfather died along
too... and he raised some of us to conjure him
as a patriarch: but my grandmother treated it
as a joke of philately...
                          i still own the stamps...
a mostly Soviet stash...
                          
             hmm... i think i might be a millionaire...
but i like playing the pauper...
it's a great filter for... filtering the character of people
that come into my life...
i like playing the pauper...
                         you pretend you have nothing:
but you actually have...
well then... you judge people accordingly to
your experience...
so far? a load of ****** disgruntled folk...
i'll wait... last time i checked: waiting:
is space-expansion relative to "expected" time...
time: after all: is linear...
so waiting... is... counter-time-expected...
it's space-enacted: and space-enacted is expansionism...
                
III.

eh... she might have been a Russian girlfriend,
but even she didn't know anything
about Soviet music... it took me years laters
to find out what i really liked...

Ви́ктор Цой;
Viktor Tsoj - my new Nirvanna-esque mratyr
Moskvitch-2141 vs. Ikarus 250 on 15 August 19 at 12:28 p.m...

i might have dated a Russian girlfriend...
but... she didn't introduce me to
the band CINEMA..
**** me...
the Russian girls of Russian immigrants
in Canada knew of Дельфин (delphin):
dolphin... but i'm talking about something:
Soviet assured in preservation...
this is my take on what's to be preserved...

the current Anglo-culture ***** sax...
                   a Russian-existential sadness that
exuberates a presence that counters
any Scandinavian 19th century existentialism...
perhaps...
              she never introduced me to this band:
i had to find it myself...
    i always tend to find "things": by my own accord...
imagining children is a horror...
esp. if they ought to be my own...
                      i'm more comfortable dealing with the children
of others...
        i don't have friends for a reason:
they're a recurrent boredom: predictability...
   something worse than casting a shadow...

SPASAJA BYGONE!