as it happens, i didn't have a particular need to scribble any of this, part prose, part something best kept to a private journal, but since it's rather pointless to merely drink & not scribble words... there's this or there's... you, dear reader... reading some journalism that might make your blood boil, that might polarise you, that might you choking on opinions about society... well... call this self-indulgence... i think i'd rather call it a detour... the world can keep to itself.

i would wish such days upon everyone to have -
so simple yet so beyond simplicity,
the day beginning with a bountiful breakfast:
a selection of cheeses, hard-boiled eggs
(with a slightly runny yoke), mayonnaise,
green romaine salad, cherry tomatoes,
some duck liver pâté accompanied by freshly
baked ciabatta mini-breads...
     immediately serve with sweet black tea:
dilmah ceylon... all these years drinking tea
like the English drink... with milk... ugh...
the profanity! perhaps with very strong brews
like Yorkshire... but not when the tea is more
refined... like a dilmah ceylon...
    then doing some clothes washing... hanging them
on the line in the garden: in the pinching cold...
then off to get a haircut...
   Nicky... my hairdresser... ***-beast...
           probably coming to her 50s but i still would...
a a blonde-bombshell like no other...
sitting before the mirror in the salon with eyes closed
i was hoping for her ******* to accidently rub against
my shoulders...
well... no luck... but a finer trim i couldn't ask for:
for ten quid...
                      she asked whether i wanted my hair washed
i relied: i always was my hair prior to coming, does it make
any difference? none at all...
well... but you're touching my hair: why would i come
to you with oily hair?
i leave the trimming of the beard to the Turk...
then some grocery shopping: carrots, parsley root,
chicken for Sunday's broth... some ***** to purify
a subsequent cyst - antibiotic spray at home:
bad blood bulge on my ***...
back home: i'm left to my own devices...
take the washing off the line in the garden & transfer it
to a drying rack in the attic... clean the oven...
in secret go for 35cl of whiskey & 3 ciders &
some salt & vinegar Pringles... because?
England will be facing off South Africa at Twickenham...
what a match! there's nothing better than
a rugby match... all other team sports fall short...
what a match! 27 - 26... so close... but not really...
the second match in the afternoon:
Wales vs. Australia... now that was a match...
Australia playing with only 14 players...
since a foul tackle had one its players sent off:
arm around the neck / head-to-head contact...
then 10 minutes with 15 vs. 13 players...
29 - 28 the end result... i was convinced that Australia
had clinched a heroic victory... ah... the last 10 minutes...
which is not to say that the last match
today wasn't any worse... but Wales vs. Australia
was certainly most admirable...
France vs. New Zealand... a stunner for a different
reason... it probably came close to...
that famous match in the Brazil World Cup semi-final
between Brazil vs. Germany... 1 - 7...
my god... how thrilling the La Marseillaise sounds
outside the realm of the team lined up before
the start of the game... as it continues to resound...
no other anthem in the world can be returned
to... &... more thrilling than that...
it starts with music... but then the chorus of the people
takes over, everyone is so in tune that
there's no need for music... the anthem is subsequently
sang: a cappella...
unlike the Spanish anthem: which has all the music
but no lyrics...
France vs. New Zealand... 40 - 25...
but at one point it was only 27 - 25... 10 minutes to spare?
boom! out of "nowhere"... a completely obliteration...
football looks so anaemic by comparison...
even though: a decent football match is a decent football
match... it's still never going to be a rugby match...
just like boxing will never be...

  hmm... i'm not feeling this scribbling...
i haven't drunk enough... perhaps i'm just too content
i guess that's the problem...
i haven't drank enough, the day has given too much...

for dinner making spicy pork dumplings...
with a soy sauce, sriracha, mirin, rice vinegar,
sesame seeds, scallions dipping sauce...

      then some match of the day... & now: as i sit down
to write this terrible writing...
for two weeks i kept replaying & replaying
Maanam's Night Patrol from 1983...
not that i'm bored... just tired...
another album...
  Maanam's Mental Cut...
          oh god... from the opening song: simple story...
an interlude with mentalny kot...
onto lucciola... another interlude: Dobranoc Albert...
Przerwa na papierosa... Nowy Przewodnik...
   Kreon...
              i'm yet to finish the album... need to take
another swig at the whiskey:
songs to come:
     You & Me... Kowboje O.K.,
                               Lipstick on the Glass...
hmm... some pretty decent music existed from
under the Iron Curtain... how "strange"...
i'm not surprised: not one bit...
                i know i started looking at some obscure
outlets: highly recommended:
the Harakiri Diat channel on youtube...
primitive knot (puritan)...
           ШТАДТ - Мразь...
     years of denial - body map...
elsewhere :wumpscut....
   vomito *****...
    black soul - computer soul...
trevor something - into your heart...
   so much more so much so much...
            there's no time to listen to Mozart...
however it is worth...
Prokofiev... Schubert... what a mash-up...
then throw in some blues, some jazz...
               oh... i guess now i know:
i write for only those who want to read it...
no point turning into an ******* & wanting
for EVERYONE to read me...
   no... in the future... not that everyone will be famous
for 15 minutes...
******* & sociopaths will do battle for 15 minutes
of fame...
some of us will do battle for... 15 souls...
or... ha ha... not that i'm implying anything...
how many disciples did Jesus have?
12... like the number of hours on the clock's face...
too much too soon... no wonder fame is contrived
as a translation of the ultra-temporal now...
there's never any late... i'm growing old...
i just hope i'm not somehow becoming mediocre...
for such a perfect day...
come on... the luxury of watching three rugby matches
on t.v.: drinking a cider...
munching on some salt & vinegar Pringles...
making myself some Chinese dumplings...
finishing off the day with a classic album from
under the Iron Curtain?
              i love the night & for what the night brings...
obscurity...
the alpha & beta males can have their little
tug of war... i'll be the omega man...
after all... what's that famous saying?
i'm the alpha & the omega...
                       well... so i am... half-baked at being
bothered...
best advice anyone could ever give:
when you're cutting down...
drink the whiskey prior to the ciders...
never drink the ciders prior...
chances are: you'll still arrive at the... ahem...
"BUZZ"...
you'll probably also take out the garbage...
should this odd hour of 2am come...
sober people & their sober concerns....
their sensibilities... also sober...

that i am a drunk... well... if drinkers were gearing
up to the authority of being bus drivers...
that would be rather, problematic...
but in the realm of public opinion...
i'm tired... dating advice...
feminism... trans-activists....
pedohpile advocacy groups....
the mystery of lawlessness...
what else is on the table?
  how the journalism must be defended
while at the same time... waiting
for it to prop its ugly Hydra head
via the tabloid press & perform the dictions
of Brutus? that... shortbread cookie
of a "conundrum"?
    
     hmm.... just the right sort of time to invest in
a genetic lineage: in having children...
   good music, even greater sport spectacles...
best cider & even better whiskey...
a decent hairdresser: a plump pushing 50
blonde bombshell... a Turk at it with the ****** *****...
a Turkish *******...

           sure... there might be the times i bemoan
nothing having children...
but who's to bemoan the sadness & the worries
that children also bring: as they become...
individualistic... out of one's control out of one's
influence?!
            it only takes the years for them to reach
teenage years
            when peers take control:
& stupid decisions are made...
                      
such terrible writing... shrapnel at best... at worst...
no... there could possibly be nothing worse than:
i ought to be writing tabloids...
or Harlequin novels...
             give me from 3am through to 9am
to sleep a while...
            i want to wake into a reality where
i can forget the world...
where the world is not invited...

  what a grandiose day... yet at the same time...
thank god i drank the whiskey prior
to the cider....
now i've reached the zenith!

blondie - maria....
vs. the rolling stone's revival with...
anybody seen my baby...
from the said album...
eh... saint of me... would have been
the better choice for the comeback...
Hey-Zeus... this...
Hey-Zeus that...
        by the knee of the kneeling crowd
of a man entrapped in an iron maiden...
the whiskey comes first...
the cider comes second...

        i'm almost drunk with a headache...
or is that counting the required number
of high fibre beans
that so displeased Pythagoras?

          hmm... never mind... what's to be minded?
deer / bears struck by a lightning
of fakery of drinking?

                  yes, this day has been...
aplenty... there has been too much of night
with it also: invoked...
trailing off...
            to have let these tired limbs linger for
so much longer as to scribble...
these bogus words...
                        some... what's it called...
a "love" for women, wine & song...
LOVE?!
                        enough of "wine": and plenty of song...
can't make up the arithmetic with
regards to women: even though... i'd love to...
lucky me... clearly lucky: me...
i'd hate the idea of some simple pleasures
become: all serious... beta-projects and
all that's to be revelled in "redemption"
of the last callous bite...
probably also the first...
            
  let the Kyrenia ship... the Vasa sink...
but please... as is the case: keep it intact...
like a mummy... in a museum...
              let's party!

/lust/ \frick\: a 502 bypass...
title... body...

there's this quote from American Beauty (probably one of my favourite movies from the modern era, by far, the comedy is bleak, almost hidden, but it's not as dry, as British as The Office, it's rarely american funny, it's not nervous, awkward like some British comedy, very much to liking) - but i'll probably butcher it, so i won't quote it, i'll just quote myself as reinterpreting it... the day you stop surprising yourself, is the day you die... i'm surprising myself: right now... sure, when i sometimes write something & subsequently retort: well... i wasn't expecting that: is one thing... but in terms of my behaviour... wow... i almost feel exasperated at the surprise i have become... at the leavers' assembly in high school i was one of only two available "poets" to give a recitation... i remember walking up to the stage, standing upon it... my right hands was shaking worse than anyone with Parkinson's... one of my friends even asked... are you o.k.? yeah... let's do it... i started speaking a poem i wrote a day prior upon which i shed some tears... job done... the "poet" that came after me... recited his load of *******: ******* ****... not based on the quality of his poo'em: we have a very, ahem... "specific" detail in life, circa 2007 i'd really like to forget, beside him driving high on marijuana & almost killing us... no, there's another... ill drugs he prescribed me on a promise... 'it'll be like taking LSD, but shorter...' well when he recited him ******* verse he broke down into tears... stunning, stunning & brave... ******... point being: this current job doesn't exactly require high IQ: should i even mention this prerequisite... then again: managing people takes some IQ... let's forget it... i don't mind how much it pays... i'm glad to be out of the house... today's Monday... Monday... i sweep through the house like a whirlwind... vacuuming, cleaning the floors... that's prior to a 2h commute... i earn enough to not spend more than i earn... how's that? point being... i'm surprising myself: i, surprise myself... there's nothing better in life... there's nothing more alive than being able to surprise yourself... the moment you stop surprising yourself is the day you die... perhaps not literally, ******... but your mind sort of shuts off... you're no longer partially wild, partially untamed... probably married... i like this new: new surprising me...

well... **** me... wasn't that a treat...
back at Craven Cottage for what would have been
a Premier Liege fixture between Fulham FC
and Sheffield United...
my first time i spent outside the stadium,
walking around the park making sure no one
was doing something suspicious...
i hated it... i felt disappointed...
i was allocated a supervisor: my neighbour's daughter
and... oh god... small-talk at work...
i tried to get into the conversation: which happened
to be ongoing since everyone knew each other
for a long time...
banter... banter...
put me next to a hundred strangers
and i'll smile and play the "friend" part much better
than: what felt like being back in a school-playground...
plus... there's nothing to do!
all i did was walk up & down the park
greeting people, giving them directions...
then once the crowd moved into the stadium:
nothing! what a ******* waste of time...
and then what, after the match ended wishing
the crowd a speedy return home & a good night...
i just caught the last 103 bus to Chase Cross...
when the bus driver opened the doors at
my bus stop: i bid her a goodnight & a thank you:
i can do that!

second time at Craven Cottage i jumped at the opportunity
to go into the stadium...
good man, Tony... allocated me a pitch-side
presence... yes! i'm in!
rules... people with a red sq. on their accreditation
can only be allowed on the pitch...
some might come with a red & purple sq.: that's the press...
stand facing the stands
(Hammersmith Stand to my left,
Johnny Heynes stand to my right)
then when the game starts... ******* to the side
so my body might not obstruct the view from H1...
then if a goal is scored... return to pitch-side
ensuring no one tries to get onto the pitch...

my third time today...
now we're talking, apparently this is going to be
a permanent fixture...
i'll be on the Hammersmith Stand every match...
most likely at the entrance, high up...
like today... i don't even remember how many
times i said: good evening to people...
each time i received a smile, a wave,
a direct look in the eyes...
sometimes a small conversation with an old man:
usually an old man...
prior to people coming in...
alright... rows 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6? right down the bottom
of the stand... then the entire alphabet...
then... from row A... through to row AA
and up to... VV? WW?
between H2 & H3... seats to my left
(when looking at the pitch) end with seat no. 65...
seats to my right (when looking at the pitch)
start from 71?! yeah... weird... i think
the gap for the stairs is being minded...

i loved it... i was so courteous, polite... extrovert...
when was i ever such an extrovert?!
the last step is apparently too high...
so old men buckle... caught one before he might
have fallen flat on his face...
a little girl started running down the aisle
to pitch-side to get a picture with the mascot
& Santa Claus... as she passed me...
god... like i will never forget the eyes of
my grandfather's Alsatian: Bella...
i will probably never forget those: soapy eyes
of this little girl... she didn't have to say anything...
they endeared me beyond all else...
they weren't soapy / watery sad...
just glad... happy... she had a bearded man
look down at her...
then a father & a son found themselves
in the wrong seats... the boy was walking with a flag
all dragging... i implored him:
hello little fella... can you please roll that flag up...
he was bound to step on the unrolled flag
when walking down the stairs...
but i implored him: his father only implored him
to hurry up...

make sure no one brings beer to the stands...
it's legal to watch a rugby match with a beer...
not a football match...
escorted a passionate drunk to his seat...
second time he became "lost" i asked him whether
he needed my escort... jokingly he replied:
will that be necessary... and then... oh... a man's
handshake... no fist pump...

more importantly...
we were asked to walk down the aisle every 10 minutes
of the match... to check up on anyone who might be in
need of a medical emergency...
i did about 3 tours of the first half...
on time, 10min, 20min, 40min into the match...
my partner at work took two toilet breaks...
so i filled in for him...
ha ha... a fellow STEM guy... currently studying for
a masters in engineering...
civil engineering?
stasis engineering... dynamic engineering...
only doing the steward job part time:
i'm thinking of moving up the hierarchy...
but... work a little... get ref. and perhaps go into
teaching chemistry in a high-school...
oh... dynamics? you know, this is where engineering
and chemistry come together:
we studied thermodynamics...
so we talked about this & that...

but i did my part... properly... then some kid walks up
to me... some, "fellow" steward and asks me...
can i exchange roles with him...
i get it... his role? sitting pitch-side facing
the crowd looking at a gate...
guess what? my legs are killing me...
standing still is worse than marching:
i've done easier 40mile sessions on a bicycle than
this: standing on purpose...
did you ask the supervisor whether we can exchange?
sure... o.k. just make sure you do those
10minute routines of walking down the aisle
checking on possible heart-attacks...

i go down... sit down... look up...
where is that gorgeous woman of my dreams...
5 minutes in...
oh! well would you look at that!
there's two!
pristine blondes...
i still have my face-napkin on...
i look up... the guys are not doing their job...
****** feeling imbues me...
i shouldn't be merely a steward...
i should be a supervisor...
then again... ****'s sake: the supervisor is doing
**** all... he should be motivating these guys to
do their job... instead... he would later complain
that the stewards were not doing their job...
mate! & you were?!
i think i've acquired this learned attraction(?)
to organise people from my grandfather...
who had a brigade of workers under him
in a metallurgy factory...

it's very funny how you can get a good look
at people at a football match...
you can literally stalk them...
look at them constantly... blink, wink, pretend
to pull faces at them... will they see you?
hardly... too engrossed by the match...
ha ha...
       but i spotted these two English blonde beauties...
the high-viz. & face-mask also doesn't help...
you're sort of invisible to the people...
because you're part of the architecture...
it's a... well... the feeling i got was...
better than... that awkward sensation you get
on a London tube... where people purposively avoid
looking at people...
this is un-purposively... i have a job to do:
obviously people will not look at me,
they're here for the match...
but... exactly... but sometimes... "**** happens"...

playing with 3 rubbers bands...
tapping to the beat of a song prior to kick-off with your
feet, shuffling with your feet funny...
pretending to pluck at guitar strings with the already
said rubber bands to get at the rhythm...
taking off your face-***** to drink a proper glug
of water...

oh wow... those two blondes thought i was invisible,
just prior...
once they managed to see my face... i clocked it...
for about 10 minutes they lost interest in the match...
eyes... ******* elsewhere...
i spent the next 20 minutes... lip reading...
FIT?
  IVE MET SOMEONE...
     shy little creatures: it would seem, is what they became...
giggles...
at Fulham they distribute these paper slappers...
pieces of cardboard you slap instead
of clapping...
em... is that unconscious a phallus you're holding?
daring eyes... really daring eyes...
but it only lasted for about 20 minutes...
20 minutes later... a yawn from either of them...
& some return to an interest in the match...
it's good i was wearing a face-*****...
i tried to ensure my eyes were smiling...
since i really was smiling...

yeah... at the end of the shift... the supervisor...
mate?! where were you! i could have told you...
motivate these *******! perhaps then they would have...
you didn't do the aisle check every 10 minutes...
i did... but this is not high-school...
& believe me... this is important...
school is not a workplace...
for that: i thank him... Luke?

one man did what was asked of him... namely: moi...
right... not good enough...
the entire team ****** up on some detail...
in school... i'd be a teacher's pet...
i'd be readily gloating...
it's different in the workplace: the whole team ******
up (the supervisor included, but he didn't own
up to it, i could have done better as a supervisor) -

it's the ******* edge of the universe,
it's a small role: i get be an egoist right up to & including
now...
but i wasn't complimented / congratulated on
my starry ******* execution...
work, unlike schooling: doesn't breed a healthy
competition... it's a "bit" different...
when... you're working in the medium of earning money...
some people just show up: expecting to get paid...
for... doing **** all...
some people turn up: & authentically want
to put in an effort...
problem being: in school... you don't really experience
resentment when someone out-performs you
at a subject to get a better grade...
envy, jealousy, sure... that's rife...
but resentment? hardly... you're not earning any
money! you're just getting grades!
smart on the supervisor's side for not singling me
out as some "employee of the ******* day"...
"model citizen" & etc.,
because... that **** has already been noted...
dissonance in the ranks is not desirable...
sure... plenty of brown-skinned slackers...
the YAWN-CROWD... there for the paycheck of:
"being seen"... i'd expect more ******* involvement
in crowd coordination from a *******
mollusk... it's London... fair enough...
the London crowds are more tame...
i didn't: not once... have to implore the passions
of the supporters to: please stop standing up...
sit down... a completely different story outside
of London, untameably unavoidable grown-men
a.k.a. little *******...

but i like my role... ha ha... i also have one on the side:
obviously it pays me nothing!
but... how many people are out "there":
who enjoy doing something for free...
for free: no, not volunteering... for free as in:
caressing their ego? these vanity project
cases?! i'm a lucky... 1%?

it only takes a child to approach me...
aha... that's why i'm here...
i'm a... fårehyrde af mennesker...
of all the Scandinavian languages... Danish is almost
"too much" akin to the deutschezunge...
then again... why is Denmark even considered Scandinavian?
isn't there like a sea between Denmark &
Shveeden?

well then... the **** do i need that
conjunction: of                    for?
can't i just... compound two words together like a German
might, ergo...

ha ha!
fårehyrde af mennesker becomes...
menneskerfårehyrde...

in zeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee
deutschezunge, ja?
menschenschäfer...

funny... that... i wrote something prior to undertaking
this 3rd shift...
SZUFLA: shovel... slang for a handshake
GRABURA: "slang" for handshake...
SERWUS... a Germanic sort of hello incorporated by
the Wends of Posen...

hmm...should i write these, phonetically: "English"?
i guess  i should:
SZUFLA become SH'OO'FL'AH
GRABURA becomes GRA'BOO'RAH...
i can understand fame.... outright fame...
Jordan Peterson fame...
a Jimmy Carr sort of fame...
but when it comes to cult-like fme?
******* bewildering...
i changed tubes from the District Line
at Putney Bridge at Victoria...
to arrive at at Oxford Circus...
i enter the carriage... delay....
i board the tram... two women look at me startled...
scared almost...

i shouldn't be able to translate as a 3D object?
"stop looking": the lip-reading ends up being...
yeah, my legs are killing me...
i'd sooner be dead than famous...
all the quasi-cannibalism that's reinforced
with fame... no, no thank you...
leave this part of the world to me: & to me alone...

what's with this startling, though?!
supposedly proper Muslim *****: that Pakistani
fabled "reconquista": conquer it first,
prior the ******* labour of a ******* lecture,

if there's a Mecca... then there's a Jerusalem...
if there's a Rome when there's
a Constantinople...
but i have a fifth....
   MALBORK... Marienburg Castle...
the old capial of the Teutonic Order...
hind! heave! leverage the: reste!

schwarzkreuz-auf-weiß.