.i've come the one sober conclusion that concludes all other "necessary" conclusions, drunk. the consumption of alcohol and sunlight should never, ever, mingle; it's just plain silly, bad for the usual mood associated with drinking.

what do you get when you
"conflate"
   a post-existentialism movement
whereby, each, and, every, sentence,
looks, like, this,
   or invokes,
"something" akin to "this"?

      comma contra the ditto /
nuance?

          contra-points
meets buffolo bill
meets lily savage...
meets: whatever marylin mason
critique you have
in that head of yours...

and, yes, the platitude standards
of kant was a feminist,
plato was a feminist,
but now...
   i don't even know who
a feminist ist...

   (on purpose "added" T)...
pose...

       a sunday newspaper article,
reads...
    'sting at ******* lays bare
feminist split over *** work'...
i'm either ******* trans-confused
or just gender-huh?

hell, if we're going to ****
around with language,
numb-skull our experience with /
against it...
           good thing i learned
a few chemistry prefixes...

ortho- probably implies cis-,
trans- could imply meta-
when attached to ***,
but not the benzene ring...

    it's one thing transcending
the geography of Copernicus,
quiet another...
to "revise"...
using these vectors,
akin to the benzene ring,
ortho-, meta-,
oh, right... you forgot the para-,

nice thought,
use chemistry vector coordinates
for binding groups,
they're all here,
meta-, ortho-, para-,
      cis-, trans-,
       it's almost like a new
pantheon for the demigods...

the "metaphysics"
of transgender...
cis-,
  "on the side of",
side of what?
   a cupcake 1 +
     happy-birthday singalong,
or, what?

  well, given that biological
reality did the whole: bye bye
and a queen elizabeth II wave...

    the best part of me,
is not about to make sense of all of this...
i'll leave that to the journal-enlists...
       me, back in a *******
in athens,
unable to tell the difference
between a greek and a libyian...
because you know how
the mediterranean folk like:
smelly sheep herders
greasy, damaging good looks,
and an aura of that:
dangerous brunette...
not anything like us baltic folk...
downing raw herrings
in a piquant mingle of oil
and white vinegar...

      anyhoo...
       giggles exhaust me...
so i did get a chemistry degree
"for something", after all...
         classical chemistry
prefixes, required to draw
electron travel schematics...
mostly associated with
the benzene ring,
if ortho-, meta- and para-
positioning is "in question"...

cis or trans isomers...
**** me, i used to study this...
organic chemistry was
my soft-spot...
       a bit like what
cooking curries later became...
eh... brew some ester...
get a perfume out of it...

        but even at university
level they didn't teach me
how to extract polyethylene...
i guess it was polyethylene...

   like the whole oil rests
above water,
for the love of god i don't remember
what two liquids were involved,
one sat above the other,
and you'd pinch
the "event horizon"...
and pull threads of
the polyethylene from it...
strings of plastic...

          so, this current, philosophy
playing with a chemistry tool-kit
invoked into propaganda berlin /
weimar lone no loan woe?

                        sure, i'd buy it...
but up to a point...
    i'm sniffing around and have
come to the following conclusion...
someone...
is really in dire straits...
wishing that gwanp'ah soviet
came back
to settle the equilibirum...
        this current feeding of
a lost void is...
       not helpful...
       as i see it...
   it will take much more than
a ****** to nanny the riddled
males of the capitalistic
  "under-class"...
   queen bee, isn't going to "cut it"...
if she's no gargantuan
***** black 'ole... is "she"?

      and the whole gender neutral
pronoun, schtick?
   that's only worth so much...
sooner or later...
        "they'll" be gagging
for the guns of navarone...

the current mumbo-jumbo
is... alkenes
to me:  cis-2-butene
                     trans-2-butene...
background noise...
  
ugh... chemistry:
             algebra, for the truly wicked.
     but let's entertain
this kindergarten play talk
for a while longer;
no one wants to see a dangling
poopie suffocated by
a g-string,
                  do we?

The assassins hit in 63
And Camelot was gone,
Inspiration vanished
And the darkness sang it’s song.
Vietnam escalated
Brezhnev’s Russia loomed,
Africa was eviscerated
And Red China entombed.
Floating on a long white cloud
The Kiwis were replete
With abundant British markets
For their butter, wool and meat.
The Europeans went ****
And Britain lost it’s way
When the Beatles and the Rolling Stones
Monopolized their day.
Man landed on the moon
And raised the Yankee flag
And they shot Mahatma Ghandi
For making good things out of bad.
The Berlin Wall dividing,
The Cold War tense and spare,
ICBM’s threaten silently
In their silos of despair.
Bob Menzies ruled Australia
As an amassing of his loot
And his White Australia Policy
Condemned him as a brute.
Found naked on her tousled bed,
Blonde hair across her face,
Marylin Monroe is dead
The world’s a darker place.
In the Age of Aquarius
Our children lost their youth,
LSD and smoking ***
And Afro’s were the proof.
Lots of leg in miniskirts,
High bouffant’s in the hair,
Screaming teeny boppers
Rock with Elvis on “the Air”.
Giant, Rawhide, Ponderosa,
Martin Luther King,
Kaftans and a cheese fondue,
Abortion is a sin!

It’s a sixties kaleidoscope,
A panoramic skim
Of an era of wonderment
Which you and I lived in.


Marshalg
@the Gate
Mangere Bridge
20th January 2009

I’m just a girl from LA.
I was swapped like a small puppy between owners, some that
treated me like a pet, some like just another possession..
No one thinks of beauty as a curse but it has haunted me all my life.
Beauty seems to be associated with the ****** and men and women
alike feel entitled to use you for their own satisfaction. That was a lesson I learned early. I also learned the advantages of agreeing.
I got married at 16 only to escape, I was used and abused. We divorced fortunately.
While working at the factory somebody took my picture  and said I could make a living as a model. I let them take many photos over the years, many I was ashamed of. Again I was used for other people’s gains.,
The only person who ever accept me as me was Joe D. I actually loved him and he loved and respected me.
I made many movies, the “Misfits being my latest with Clarke, my hero.
People were drawn to me,
Presidents, senator’s, attorneys general.... not for me but for their personal use and gratification. They introduced me to drugs That make the day to day pain go away. I get no pleasure from what they demand of me, but the drugs make it bearable. He is coming tonight and I look forward to being detached from reality for a short time. I know I’ll be me again in the morning but the brief escape tonite is a blessing. More later...



We all know there was no later for Marylin. If she had lived and wrote a poem here’s what I think she would have wrote...

My life was an act, I never got to play myself.
I played the part out of necessity so often that I forgot who I was. A life of not being you is a life without the soul you were born with.
I search for me but am always obstructed by those saying who I should be. I yearn for the day that Marylin can be Norma Jean. I’d love to meet her, maybe tomorrow...

The wanderers lips chapped thirsty
peeled and parched in deserts inhuman
of love bereft,sought hard but unfound!
a search on legs last,romance unfazed,
for that mirage shimmering hazily afar
of her eyes, face and lips softly smiling.
so dear once,long abandoned in betrayal.
a heartfull of love unrelinquished still,
throbbing unforgotten in existence skeletal
pausing for breaths last, a hoping soul numb,
now sighting that luscious red neon cherry
the glossy round O of Marylin the pretty
a wan smile just, of a small solace strange
lit up on a face entreating so desperate.
paving happily the deaths way at last
blown in the wind final,an abstract kiss.

Ask me about *****
at the Pitcher & Piano
a woman sits angular
snow swirls in her face
the Tundra, a riot, an Izba
or a Romanov's Faberge egg
Lean into this moment
the curve of it's being
like a sail into the wind
or the Bering Strait neatly
amongst Icebergs
Canada
Marylin
The Niagara Falls
a Geologist's contentment
a backpack & a tent
ink& a compass
Omai resplendent

* Izba - a country hut ( russian)
* Omai - Mai, the second pacific Islander to ever visit Britain in the late 1700ds who became popular in London's high society

Me too,

Me as well.

No,

There wasn't enough of
That last time,

There wasn't nearly
Enough.

Yes, yes last
Time should be like
This time but better;
Always better Albert,
Always better.

Either I stay or
She goes,

Those are my
Demands, if
You do not
Agree, fare ye'
WELL.

How many hours
Do you sleep at
Night?

That will be four
Sixty five and
Zero cents;

No tip
Of course.

When I dream I
Dream of nothing but
What I cannot share
Here, right now, presently.

We are going great,
Thank you for asking
Mom and grandpa.

I'm almost home, but
If I'm late
Put on the movie and
I'll catch up.

OK?

ok.

Since we've moved in,
We've been falling more and
More out love.

We've just moved in and
We've never been more
In love with one another.

Tell me how you feel
After a couple days
After the move,
Alright?

Dinner at 8,

Drinks at 7?

I no longer talk
To my sister since
That Thanksgiving she
Got really drunk and
Screamed at Jenny.

What do you do
When you can't
Forgive your family for
Being bigger idiots then
The rest of the world?

Forgive them.

Yeah.

Forgive them I guess.

The rest of the whole world?

She makes her look
Older then dirt or dusty
Bookshelves filled with
Greek mystery novels.

Who is that handsome

Platter of ******* over there?

Ten drinks for
the Norman's of
The world!

Ten drinks
For the
World.

And if I were
To say yes,
Where would we go?

And if I were
To say no to your
Yes,
Where would I go next?

Not enough egg
Whites
Here, here and
There, but

Even is balance and
Pure balance is
Impossible,

But enough of,

Enough of

Enough.

Friends, partners, enemies and
Heartbreaks.

Up is a word
I start with
Too often.

Seeing oneself in
The mirror too often
Can make you
Reflect too frequently.

Could you imagine
Burning in bed from
A cigarette?

How ironic

Is that?

Is that a
General Surgeons warning?

How do you get a
General Surgeons license?

How general is

General?

Centipedes carry their
Weight evenly; when drunk,
They do not.

Faults vacate the premises
Only when one
Starts to lie and lie
Well.

Death...

Well death,

Death is like life
Seen through the
Negative of a photo;
Beautiful but not as
Beautiful as when viewed with

Color.

Marylin Monroes lips;

Those things should
Always be in

Red.

Fresh off the fruit stand:

Either we've made it,

Or we have a
Long way

To go.

.the joke reign being: ****** doing the jazz hands worth of clapping... like smith 'n' butch doing a: manicure with jellyfish attempting to usurp paralysis... like a ****** faking jazz hands... mind you: canned laughter always left an eerie impression on me... and i didn't even have to laugh... but a ****** over-exemplifying "her" hands? well... they're not exactly petite, geisha curiosities, worth the fragility of spring to be made comparison of!

when a ****** over-exfoliates
the use of her hands....

i once mentioned:
the most ****** aspect
of a woman
are her hands...

so when a ****** over-exfoliated
"her" use of the hands...

never a "missing" ****
in war,
whether man, woman,
or... animal....

size...
               the hands:
do not lie...
whatever lie there ever
was to be ingested...
like: words were food...
to distinguish them:

a vowel is pure fat,
and a consonant was:
slow burn sugar,
i.e. a carbohydrate...

but i can be made acute,
aware,
how a ****** is
the antithesis
of both heterosexual
& homosexual love...

it is neither...
it's an added curiosity...
a niqab-take
on ***...

              i sometimes
wonder...
jerking off...
am i looking
at the cleft of
a buttocks of a woman,
or the cleck of a woman's
*******...
they... seem so well
pair... and undifferentiable...
i can't seem to tell
the difference!

back in the day
when marylin mason
was
all gag and hardly
any gay...

but you can tell
a ****** from a woman...
however many hormone
blockers...
bones do not lie...
hands...
the size of hands...
    like some joke goes:

and if i removed one
tier of my ribs from my body,
i too, wouldn't
have to leave the house
for a *******...

  my same misery
story... concerning the selling
& buying of vinyl...

hands though...
i'm trying to bind myself
to either braille or
sign...
     in deciphering
the trans-******...
like it's a ****** scenario
to not read this as:
just shy of Ypres.

Smooth like the
Seams of Marylin's
***** lines caked
In chocolate frosting that
Had been sitting in the
Sun but was cooled
By the wind coming
From the north but the
Locals swore it was from
The East

Smooth like just laid
Concrete smelling of
Sweet porcelain dolls
And sleep which comes
Only when you try to
Stay awake because you
Know how real
Death truly is

Guns take their names and
Sear them into the minds of
Men who grip them though
They know not who they shoot
As they sleep in some chicken coop

We were people once and
Our men were once men

We've changed for money is
Here and we are naked not
Dancing but obvious in all
Our greed and in all of our
Fear and degradation

At times I
Am ashamed to
Be human and to
Be man and to be
Here and to be
Everywhere and
To live within
This place I
Must call my
Land

Fighting while
Striving to
Understand the
Crying and
Prying for
A tying of
Men who are men

But do not wish
To start all over
Again

Crowns will
Melt

Wills will
Stagger

Men hold the
Dagger

Lo' the
Trigger

Is forever in
Decision

Britney Spears
The queen of conformity
Heterosexuality
The ****** of ******
Excuse my French I beg
But she is the angel
O death
For many girl starve
Or murderthem selves because of her
She is my most hate celebrity
And people argon poor marylin manson
Tics.

My efforts are strong and faithful.
I await for my spotlight.
To shine upon me and end the skeptic's rant.
On how "I cannot do everything" and often ignore my "delightful"
Ways to entertain and to brighten "their ways out of the darkness of failure"
to the bright light of success'  care?!"
What is the key to open up a door to be an equal part of "their life?"
Instead of a loner in a "non-conformer's" quiet realm?
While Working His Tools, from his inventive ideas...
as so too, the name  and his works......
Made into babbling loonie created poppycock..
The "Normal's" tagged just "humor"  of the  likes  of  Leonardo Da-vinchi
As I bang my creations, part by part, together to a miracle....
as this "hero of mine" inspires me through  my dark and present unseen "creativity."
Must it always be an art form as defined by those "Eccentric Critiques" so well known for what is to be, "Amazing?!"
Wasn't it my other hero, "Andy Warhol," who placed Soda Cans in piles to reveal his defining vision of our beloved "Marylin Monroe?!"
Yes!!!
It wasn't until  "out of the ashes of the end of his existence" that finally defined him the right as a new "form" of "art" that has now,justly been defined, as a "Must-show?!"
My Uniqueness is a way of life.
I'm no "Copy-Cat."
Inside my work shop, don't I need a view or a peer from "someone?!"
To inwardly show to the world...
a glass of wine,  "  a toast to my life's creations," to be brought to the surface from this "lake" of "Creators?!"
I, as the newer and redefining "special recipe art vat?!"
"YES!"


Producing a bold and new flavor to the palates of the taste of the "Art's Highest."

I should think of  my Creative "Galleries" to be "worthy of a footstep and a light shine.."
on my "Newest of the Unique Human Artistic Existence?!"
A Toast to that Up-Coming Future!

As my other inspirational heroes once proclaimed, in his artistic words, "To Be...."
"Or not to be...That is The Question!"

As I gaze at his,and  also  his other brethren  of an "almost the never was,"  art spirit's "legends.... "
their after-life speaks to me of spirited and powerfully lit advice  and placement....
My future and hard work... "Staying Rebellious and Unique"
I shall have guaranteed my legend's entry...
Into the galleries of "a newer history..."
Their  advice I truly live by -" I am  not only what I Chose to be..."
"I choose to be 'me,' 'truly','creatively, 'and 'worthy'  of becoming  the 'truer' and 'more uniquely'  defined 'artistic'  legend
Who is simply named  as...
"free!"

i'm not someone who's all too willing to regurgitate
maxims...
it's quiet impossible to have to
vouch for so many observational (not objective,
really) truths...
   after all... the height of the maxim came
with (not Nietzsche) - came with
                       la Rochefoucauld...
                - chance and caprice rule the world
   - we are lazier in mind than (in) body...
to pick but a pair...
a western emphasis for all things
    a posteriori...
              to circumstance oneself in a stance:
akimbo...
or at least akin to Pontius Pilate having
nothing to do with the drilling in of mea culpa:
even for him... something about a lottery
of time and an inescapable round of chores...
that some things are certain is enough
to give a day one's privacy...
but everything else: so agitated and in the tier
of meaningful encounters...
always the "matter"...

unlike those ?? maxims -
which mostly dictate things with an a priori
tinge of "sentiment"...
a verb pure suppose: no prior encounter
like that one that i kept and figured:
keep the sponge of a brain suckling up to it:

the only way to aid the world
is to forget the world
and for the world to forget you -

                crazy for that chance: anon. as
being credited to me, though...
   there's another maxim, though,
i must ascribe it to Socrates because it's most
befitting...

some people live to eat...
others... eat to live...

that's a real conundrum for me...
well... why wouldn't it be?
     if i were to take into account something
archaic as the Pythagorean diet schematic...

god-like eating: vegetables,
                     spices, cereals, dry food...
although some distinctions
if eating meat pork > goat > offal >
mutton > beef...
spices are the extreme to beans
(although... a diet without fibre...
and "we" know that beans
are high in protein)
            dry food: well between
burnt offerings and something rotten...

i was surprised... given the status
of pork to the pagans...
then again: it's the most pristine creature
as it's wholly edible...
beside the oink and the hoofs...
and ol' porkies wouldn't survive in
a desert to begin with...
so i don't understand allah's "beef" with
this pristine creature...
child's play of talk...
      no mention of eating crab meat:
scavenger meat... yet most pristine...

yes... but it's a return from my little
hiatus in katakana, hiragana & hangul...
i'm tired of this custard brain splodge
of curating these symbols
of syllable encoding...

back to the atoms of Latin script...
that these letters are as they are...
mostly because
of the Greek eye...
imitation: the latin script doesn't
have names for its letters...
sing-along stipends (etc.)
no clearly defining A a a(lpha)
which denotes a name and a cipher
like a(lpha) male etc.

a "quicker" root: conserved time...
Hebrew, Phoenician, Greek, Latin...
chicken scratching later...
hopes to elevated to pelican... somewhat...

but still the maxim:
some people live to eat
while others eat to live...
it is a double-edged sword...
i can spot the obvious:
when and where people eat
to survive...
it's more important to eat...
than not to:
how this maxim deciphers fussy-eaters
among the Mandarin omnivores...
well...

but then there's also this attention
to detail surrounding:
some people live to eat:
so they will treat their food with
knowledge and tenderness...
that will make eating a pleasure...
who here might quest to make
the antonym of eating a pleasure...
a spell of diarrhoea, for example?
unless of course bombarded
with **** *** imagery:
one would have to quest to find pleasure
in easing out a loaf:
best in one piece...
  than have to imagine the same...
being reversed back into
one's "glory hole" with a pump action
of agitated vibrations...

and there i was thinking about
being in the possession
of a strap-on phallus made from
ice...
some people live to eat
whole others eat to live...

i thought it less to be in the category
of people who live to eat:
then i gave it some "thought"
and figured out...
the people that eat to live
are the ones that will not prepare
their own food...
oddly enough...

i too thought it was a sustenance
statement...
but given that ******* out
is hardly pleasurable...
chewing is hardly too...
digestion can put you to sleep...
preparation of food is most associated
with the sentiment: some live to eat...
it's not a statement of gluttony...

what's the best easy breakfast i could
think of, sparingly... today...
with revision?
when frying an egg
letting it fry just shy of completely
while dressing it with a slice
of chorizo and finishing it off
with a slice of cheese...
placing it on a toast...

   that i eat to live: well i'm not starving...
animals eat to live...
which is why they don't cook their food...
they eat it raw...
and some people have become
wild animal esque...
in the fast food joints...
lazily being... some people are fed...
to take care for what's to be eaten...
i love this maxim because
it's not so ****** obvious
as to why: some people live to eat...
that there's a concern for what is eaten...
you can't exactly expect yourself
to find substance in tree bark
and grass...

to eat to live is out of desperation...
to live to eat comes from
something more aesthetic than...
       previously thought...
not to the extent of treating food as some
Cezanne - humble origins more, please...
rustic - yes... that's another word for it!

i came across this thought as i came across
a memory of her...
it's a real shame... really...
i was so young then...
she was so young then...
i was 21 she was 19...
   a weird year where i suddenly had
attention of a few girls...
but this one in particular...
what sort of girl proposes to a guy
and choses an engagement ring...
the sort of girl that subsequently
gives it back...
because - well where's Edinburgh
and where's London...
but it's not like she would go down south
with me... she went all the way west
with a previous boyfriend...
from Novosibirsk to St. Petersburg...
then again prior bf had a daddy well
situated and i'm still equivalent
to being a carpenter's son...
  
     out of no less... when the heliocentric
revolution happened...
and geocentric us-and-us-alone
and wish the gods real...
the gynocentrism prevailed as did...
           hypergamy -
                       it's no shock it's nothing new
it's like there was no Copernican
adventure to begin with...
since... everything on earth stayed:
pretty much the same...
now there are only about 3 million
a posteriori walking abortions that
could have taken place
but since... the argument came from:
use... the ****** had to be...
used... and there was all the free time...
and everyone else was doing it...
but not these sons are placebo solipsists
and they have to sort of:
give back the existential tax
of having a life on loan...

            hello... world...
but god the *** was good...
   the most thrill from the memory was...
eating her out like i might
divulge - burrow my face in
greasy beef... i would like a comparison
with oysters or... eating flowers...
but that was the best part...
oral *** and a little ******* sgt. pepper
of the index middle and thumb
working with my thumb to grease
myself up before the whole hallelujah
of the genitals in symphony...

i've been to several brothels and
about a dozen ****** and...
well... well...
                 it's not the same when
one of you is faking payment
and the payment is not as clear
as literally for an hour...
she stayed in my flat rent free...
etc.

          my youth... and she...
oh... plus the chance conversation about
liking Milan Kundera's
the unbearable likeness of being...
although i doubt she read it...
she was most concerned with swans...
i remembered swans from the film adaptation
more than from the book...
then again: memory is a fickle creature...
even now as i'm enjoying
this little cameo project of existentialism
(i.e. memory) -
well... i don't exactly have a choice
in what i can and cannot remember...
beside the anti-dyslexic / numeral-savvy
2 + 2 and a + b + s + o + l + u + t + e...

when she broke up with me
she had this way of insinuating i'd miss
the *** with: when we had ***
and listened to music
the dandy warhols' good morning:
play it when you're missing the "****"...
sure as ****
when i think about eating chicken
meat off the bone...
esp. at the tenderness of the chicken
neck with all the intricacies
of suckling and "plucking"...
i do think about...
a fleshy fruit that i cannot nibble...
or eat...

well that was me zenith of ****** endeavours:
i must adored the heart
of the **** i was eating out
since her onomatopoeia of sorts
is still ringing in my ear:
along with her face in cubist contortions:
i still haven't found relief in
having been pleasured:
some variation of an agony of a martyr
having given pleasure:

not state-holding of a saint's repertoire...
but as i now look it...
a life of restraint:
beside the prostitutes and the brothels:
hell... even the Teutonic Knights
had a brothel in their citadel...
if only i were as willing as
to give my heart up...
to weave in
     a sacrament of giving her a pink
rose... no...
i didn't come across something
just as good:
and this "just as good" is too firmly
lodged in my memory-cinema
for me to blink away from it...
i count myself lucky...
how pristine it all was...

a good shaking of the bag
and out popped out a ****'s depth
enough of wriggling for me
to not appeal to some
*****-envy buckle... after that i grew
a beard and forgot to want to play
the fiddle...
but it was a must, something necessary...
me writing about it now, a decade later
might appear as a vanity project...
then again: i wasn't as busy...
she took off and became
"devoted" twice...
the 2nd time a failure the third i'm still
praying for the poor buck to not
buckle...
i mean: she can boast that she drove
one boy mad...
but what a strange man he came out
to be...
a half-baked loaf of bread: with
teeth for a crust...

summa summarum: it was worth it...
i was ruining my time
in bed, of late...
i came across a ref. to the Noyades...
which was of "concern" for me...
but i also came across an entry: GENUG

the last words spoken...
by certain people of "concern"...
kant (genug) - enough...
              agrippina (nero's mother) -
smite my womb...
thomas hobbes - a great leap in the dark;

if i were the latter i'd also like
to reiterate: into the dark...
unless it be the already sentencing of:
a dark of night...
i find nothing universal in the day
but at least by night
i would simply imply:
beside the darkening mechanisation
of life by toil of body
and the fickleness of mind...
ah... pedantry and chastisement
of self-
(yes... prefixing attachment ready)
for whatever requires
automation and scythe...
and rude workings of
   a digestive system...

besides... there's an easier demand
of argument to be met:
some people live to ****...
others **** to live...
i never liked the Anglophonic line
or argumentation from existentialism:
for the masses from within Darwinism
solves all little interludes...
how it's necessary to equate everything
with squared root of ape...

it can't be this whole narrative...
even the ancient pagan had knowledge
of: **** similis...
i'm still searching for this...
vanguard hope of **** sapiens...
i'm yet to find one...
esp. one with strict etymological
obligations that can distinguish
a word like Slav from Slave...
a Germ from..          -an...
mute from niemy... chwek... etc.

this narrative though: concerning genes:
genes are blind like atoms of sodium are
unless pushed out
from extremes of hereditary cul de sacs
of non-replica...
lineage of cancerous-growth-prone-examples...
etc.
but why oh why...
have this baggage of concerns...
these atomic-attachments:
this hiding of hearth...
it's not predicate of genius...
vain hope bound to horoscopic tension
to spit out a desirable temperament
of a man?

character is all Lego...
crafted from both an a priori and an a posteriori
and an a- priori and: summa posteriori
litany of shelved secrecies...
(a-? without)

each time i return to this little scrap:
this little memory of her...
i also return to myself...
what an idealistic ****-lord
of presence i was...
i was the sort of guy that could buy
a girl oysters for a single date...
well... given the "nature" of life...
the "narrative"...

i will relinquish my fascination with
the eastern arts...
the katakana, the hiragana, the hangul...
when someone teases me
wrong... as i show them...

the cedilla in C and the greek
sigma
  i.e. ç
         i.e. there are many sigmas...
there are... satires...
    there are... all opera is tragedy...
there are loan-words! even in english!
sights to see
  si(gh)t?... ******* surds...
   (g)nome... diaGnostic...
                  (k)night... night, nought...
GH & proud...
   it's almost my...
  meine besitzen zunge, das ich liebe
     so viel...

watch the zeppelins rain down blitzkrieg
in slow-motion while
the Danube rummages with
flow vs. tide... and Birmingham is
without tide... and everything else
is everything else with a spare
tire of metaphor...

- some people eat to live...
while other live to eat...
            i much prefer to cook my own food...
i take pride in owning an arsenal
of spices...
along with a black cardamom
that's the equivalent of a
Laphroaig glug...
  since mead: was yet to be
a drank mythological concern for truths...

oh this little vanity project that it
is... when i loved...
when i was in love...
  when i wasn't this beastly secured
in things that would either blush
or frown at things upkept
in the cosmopolitan lineage
of affairs...
  "conversation":
  that it was Paris and me and
these two Catelonian girls went
to the grave of "desperate Michael"...
well, no... who was it...
it wasn't Bill Murray...
the doors' frontman...

        such a revealing proximity
of: my given names i most associate
with...
   konrad von wallenrode...
konrad of masovia...
  mateusz: tax-collector...
       40 ******* months
itching before what remained
Giza... and that's before the dwarf
Napoleon shifted rules of rank...

it was a great ****...
i still love the idea we didn't become
so bored as to be bored
with orthodoxy that we might
have to delve into
****... *** toys...
or... i would love to have
donned a latex gimp... open mouth...
hell... all that gwory hole-ing a limited
status of halo...
i retracted my ambitions...
didn't... i?

i didn't find replacements...
physicality strict-dentures of: failure count?
i made my metaphysical investment?
didn't i...

two weeks without walking...
chant des templiers...
i "thought" myself more a Hospitalier(s)
son in bud...
salve regina...
two weeks without walking
i "decide" to write...
it's not enough:
memory
overcomes me...

the best **** i've had and it's not
something i want
to remember for a *******...
mind you i found alternatives...
donning my hair long enough
and a new found riddle in
a beard...
and a Turk that dealt in
Caucasian memorabilia..
of living extensions...
               you see...
a visit to the barber with overgrown
bush...
of hair and stubble...
became more frankly... pleasurable...
than... what was to be done
with...

         that statue by
            apollonius of athens...
i ****** off to Bronzino's
   venus, cupid, folly & time:
beside the cupping of the breast
the teasing tenderness of the ******
prone tongues...
all ***** on silent mode...
or at least only gesticulating
at marble statues in the process
of being erected:
without promise of a public
ordeal to overthrow (the publics)
Punic details of slou... slow...
slouch... and brittle... karma: wood...

toward an excruciation of justified
meaning: this arrangement of lettering:
how feeble and toothpick prone
this brittle groove & ground...
my harvest of dislodged ease...
sensibly: antithesis grammatical pseudo...
sssssssssssss
side-winding... slithering...
side-accost...
***-seer-Saracen...

          becau­se of some pope
with a name like Urban...
              a finicky genesis...
             from memory
a white serpent of light
   in a crest of illuminate azure
giving border upon the Firth of Forth...
when two creasing crows
staged themselves
on the pinnacle of the Old College,
Edinburgh...
the nights were aflame with
youth...
the nights were... gott-gegeben...

miraculous? no!
    just aided by a stealth variation
and with life...
this mediocre surmounted...

pointer: when is... "it", i.e.:
enough is enough vs.
enough is "it"?
  i'm hardly poignancy prone
to state the difference, proper...
i've levitated toward slouch
for a week or so...
i find not pleasure in writing:
not as much as i arrived at
finding it, once more:
in walking...
boyo... you should have seen
me gear up to a bicycle...

         god what time it was to be gladly
*******!
to be so Darwinistically excated
with purpose!
but also so blind... so unhappy!
no wonder i had to fathom
a retraction: this everyday
into day-by-day...
und grey-labour & tedium &
"good"...
        
but it wasn't a waisting
of a "crown"...
i didn't live up to the expectations of:
the greatest ***** that ever
"lived"...
i wouldn't have...
lived to spar with agony aunt
commentary...
i would be the least believed *******
child of variation of
a prosthetic progeny of "sowing":
all gladly encountered metaphors...
some as ugly as necessarily ugly to breed...
most high i.q. is bred out
and is left to individualistic chancing
of revision...

then again: there's no revision...
the one who i lost my virginity with...
i "tried" to get in touch with her...
5 loads in the basin later...
she's an insomniac of reproduction...
of course she was all defensive...
when i asked her why she was so sad:
five daughters: no son...
she put it down on exhausted from...
she didn't notice i was making
a henry VIII remark...

i can't and therefore will not wish it upon
myself:
merry me: marry me i too were
that father when je suis and hey zeus
asked upon the crucifix dangling:
father...
yes... perpetual bachelor, i...
entombed existentially: no escapee
planning: processed...
            
      alles ist gott: und nothing too...
  my words: before i die...
i'm sure i'll be drunk as a saber
with blood not spilt...
as heavily worked
as a currency of horse
currently on display in the fields
where i walk...
ditto grazing and ditto:
  grass-heaping chewing-heave
          anecdotal.

before the "prized ******* bull" &
entourage of fizzing waters started to throttle
any further mentioning of
libido limbo:
        that's the scarcity of my
****** ambitions...
   mind you: i'm glad i suckled on that
wet oyster pouch before
i was sent back to the "gulag"
of skeleton teasing an imitation hollow...
before the kama sutra provision
***** envy might have taken over...

very impossibly: it's a conundrum
of reiteration of sort
that's not worth more erosion
of memory since it doesn't rhyme...
i wouldn't have lived
enough of the already given
"this" if i haven't thought about "that"...

today i found some compensation
for years drilling ego into abstract
and smiling at nothing
and all things / manners of ape:
everclear's debute e.p.
        marylin manson's holywood...

i still want that king crimson debut
vinyl to adorn my loan space
of a room of a life...
because i have to hide all that jazzy *******
on the side...

stone temple pilots -
that album with the song: art school girlfriend...
anything more -esque to capture
the sentiments of pulp and that
other song: wickerman...
for d'ah bass...

   impossibly delightful to heave
a wounding of a lung with
a morning's daily brief of
harking up excess phlegm
stuck to the wall...
how there's a heart and i call it
a sparrow and how it flusters
and flutter with a difficulty
when i've presented it with
a caging like so...

             Baltic sushi: which involves...
primarily... soaked herring in
spirit vinegar...
with mustard seeds...
bay leaf... allspice... onions & garlic...
tender... fish meat...
curated by curing
by acid alone rather than heat...
evil in the beans: perhaps too much
"roughage" / fibre...
but a constipation of world renown
for 3 days solid...

because of the full-english-fry-up...
which makes you wonder
how it can be served thrice
in a day
if one's lazy about "details":
the same quote revised...
some people live to eat...
while other eat to live...

it's not a statement of gluttony...
it's... some people will eat anything...
while others will tend to curate
what they eat to make
expensive remarks on what's
allowed to expand and what has to...
inevitably... shrink into non alias
null alias nil alias shrugging feline...
bothersome quick-essential...
practice of dangling a kite...
toward (rather than against) the wind...

GLAYVA - a liquer...
          ****... a... liqueur - a L'CUR
   a lee cwuer...
         velsh?!
               simply *******...
          a li'kwer... ditto ditto this that
and anything in between...
i'm rehashing a fancy for sleeping
with a foreign body in the same
bed i leave open to satire: tomb...
begins with cat...
given all my whimsical demands
and idiosyncratic scrutiny+plural..
highten-ed
                what first was a believable
oyster gorge and...
floral patterns agitated:
pound upon pound of flesh...

no... impossible...
some people live to eat
while other eat to live:
statement of not so desperate times...
perhaps...
if necessary i might nibble on
some grasshoppers...
or any insects fried...
but the statement alludes
to... some people will eat anything...
it's not a statement of / for gluttonous
mishandling of...
some people live to eat:
nutritionists...
the statement is clearly abstract towing
so it expand with each reitertion
as any maxim given enough
mantra status...

said true: but prior to...
blindly-being-followed...
it can revise itself...

        rekindle: ashes and all manners of
said... truant...
         bigger no  bigger than
a hyphen interjection within
the confines of conjunction:
Big-Giza... troublesome 1st and omega
sentencing... echoes of melancholy
in a rush to satiate
forests turning into bureaucratic
pyre structures...

      these burning effigies of time
best wasted... off what was readily available:
scrutiny at best:
all that surfaced was to heave...
an amalgamation of prods, touching,
prodding... juxtaposing junctions...
hinterland of diacritical marker demands...
something "Ukrainian"...

something Moldova-esque... old haunts
older grievances...
newly arrived at carpets with
them being cleaned...
a grandfather most impressionable:
death so last random
that it could only have leverage
with(in) the cofines of
a stomach confined to:
squid ink squirt...

misunderstood lyrics...
slipknot's eyeless...
               i heard...
   you can't see California without
Marlon Brando's eyes...
you can't see California without
Marlon Brando's eyes...
you can't see California without
Marlon Brando's eyes...
you can't see California without
Marlon Brando's eyes...

i'm pretty sure that's not Tsar: i.e.
"it"... yeah... that one...
bothersome brother at the till
of a brothel... less chasing chequers
at the hyper-inflated curiosity of need
of a supermarket...
till... cashier... sooner me dead there
with a death prior...
how ignited in the case:
most futile...
not ignited by some plumber credentials
etc.
stash of leftovers...
basin of sudokus...
              crazing over scalp shaves
rite of bone...
"my" kindred... touch-tease a halving of
bone of Iowa...
riddle this scuttle of nuance...

this leftover cold sure: beef
i heaved for a closure for:
the innocent expanse for furthering of "love":
what was made edible..
what was kept indigestible...
this riddle of words...
              these words half kept
as w(h)iddle...
    beg....       big...      Giz'ah...
sigh of relief or give one's purpose...
vowel-catching... within the confines
of sighs... otherwise
the exclamation markings...
letter to the "bone"...
                   hardly anything of note
ex the Iberian peninsula...
a Hebrew would know...

       thank you gimp suited &
boot licking worth maggot spew....
i have outlived my purpose of riddle...
i'm hardly going to appease
the throng of "doubt"
when it comes to clinging to something
"bilateral":
queasy without dizzy...

what's that?
qu-easy
  vs. -izzy..
                        forget it...
letters like lumberjack praise of
pork,,
something to market: sizzle...
gimp suits and all things best kept
tinged with... bride... horror...
my bride.., not some angry african
who-man'ood...
   conservative little hooded
monsters prior to the Levant practice of
the snippet...
skin left so bare...
the eagerly waiting *****
of whitey...
angry baking half angry "noir"..
the women the challenge...

i pretend to dance before mirrors...
my elongation of the hand
looks more like a crab
than what i want it to depict:
i.e. a spider...
the 2oth century is a house
of haunting:
it's not a circa... esp. one might
wish to be born in...

that there was ever an "expectation"
and it allowed itself
a summary... with excuses...
if we are all...
pointing & turning...
the Polacks were not given... TS...