DING **** MY KIDNAPPER IS DEAD, THAT IS WHY I ALLOWED TED BUNDY

TO TAKE ME YEAH, I WANTED TO KIDNAP MY KIDNAPPER

HOPING THE SPIRIT WORLD CAN **** MY KIDNAPPER, OH YEAH

I KNOW IT’S ****** HARD, CAUSE, THE SCHITZOPHRENIA, WAS GIVING ME THE ****** YRGE

I FOUND IT HARD TO RID THE URGE, SO I MADE TED BUNDY’S GHOST TIE ME UP

BUT THIS MADE ME FIGHT MY FATHER, AND FORCE ME ON MEDICATION

WHICH MADE THE NICEST MAN, BUT MY KIDNAPPER KEPT COMING BACK

DING **** I WANTED MY KIDNAPPER DEAD, I KNOW I ANNOYED A LOT OF PEOPLE

TRYING TO GRAB THEM OH YEAH

I GRABBED A FEW SCHOOL MATES, AND THAT IS WHY I WAS TREATED LIKE A YEAH MATE YEAH KID

I WANT TO GET REOFORMED, BUT A VOICE SAID, NO YOUR NOR REFORMED

AND I WORKED AT THE RAINBOW, HELPING THE MENTALLY ILL

AND I FELT LIKE A HAPPY CHIRPY COOL KID GOING TO THE BEACH AND BUSHWALKING

AND WORKING IN THE RAINBOW KITCHEN, AND NOBODY WANTED TO TEASE ME

CAUSE I HELPED TO GIVE THEM A MEAL, I WAS A COOL KID, AND VERY VERY CHIRPY

AND THEN IN 2002, I FELT REALLY CRAZY, THE PARANORMAL SHOVING VOICES IN MY HEAD

WHICH WAS, I WAS THE KID, KILLED BY THE ******, THE AMERICAN ****** KILLED A KID

BUT I SAID I DREAMT IN THE REAL WORLD, SAYING THE KID HE KILLED WAS ME

I STOOD MY LITTLE KIDNAPPING KID, OUT ON THE LONESOME, THE ****** KILLED MY CRAZY KIDNAPPER

I AM NOT GAY, I RESPECT GAYS, BUT I AM NOT GAY

I AM NOT A PHEDAPHILE, HAVING *** WITH KIDS IS REPULSIVE

I AM NOT A CUDDLING KOOMARRI MAN, CAUSE THEY GET KILLED, I LIKE TO SAY THAT AT LEAST GAYS, HAVE A REASON

THE KOOMARRIS, ARE TOTALLY GEEKY, AS THEY CUDDLE UP TO YA

I AM NOT GAY, HE SAID, I JUST LIKE TO CUDDLE MEN, NOT THAT THERE IS ANYTHING WRONG WITH GAYS

I AM NOT GAY, I MADE MY CHOICE, TO BE A ******

LIKE A ******, WHO PARTIES ALL THE FUCKEN TIME, LIKE A ****** BABY YEAH

PARTY WITH ME, AND YOU AS WELL YO DUDE

BUT TED BUNDY, ISN’T HASSLING ME NO MORE, I AGREED TO **** MY HOOLIGAN WHO GRABS KIDS

AND IN JUP[ITER, I AM PREPARED TO SUFFER, FOR EVERY KID, AS CRONUS DOES DO

TED BUNDY NOW HAS ME ******* TO THE LAMP POST ON JUPITER

I PREFER THIS, RATHER THAN CUDDLING ******* KOOMARRI MEN

PRESUMING THAT I AM GAY, I AM STRAIGHT, MY PROBLEMS WERE WATCHING REALLY BAD KIDNAPPING ON TV

AND MY LAST TWO LIVES KIDNAPPED AND KILLED AT AGE 8 GREAME THORNE ANDS PATRICK DUNBAR

I HAVE KILLED MY KIDNAPPER AND LEFT MY LITTLE DADDY’S SHY BOY WITH DAD, ON CLOUD 9

SO I CAN ENJOY BATTLING THE YOU AND YOUR BROTHER AREN’T LIKE US VOICE

BY DRINKING A BOTTLE OF COKE, I AM A COMPUTER **** KID

I WANT TO LOSE PAT’S VOICE, BUT WE HAD FUN TOGETHER

I WANT TO LOSE HIS VOICE, BECAUSE I DON’T WANT TO HEAR THESE DELLUSIONS

OF HIM BEING A TEASING GAY MAN, CAUSE YOU HAVE TO BE CAREFUL TO TEASE NORMIES

THE WAY I USED TO TEASE THE MEN, WHETHER YOUR GAY OR NOT

PEOPLE PRESUME THAT YOUR GAY, AND PUNCH AND **** YOU

BULLYING LEADS TO KILLING, BRIAN ALLAN DOESN’T WANT TO BE KILLED

SO HE PREFERS TO GET RID OF HIS SHY BOY THE BRIAN ALLAN WAY

CAUSE I HATE, THE IDEA IN HINDSIGHT OF BEING A LITTLE YOUNG DUDE LIKE THAT

IT WAS ALRIGHT WHEN I WAS YOUNG, WELL CRAWLING THROUGH DRAINPIPES

AND RIDING OUR BIKES, AND PARTYING IN CLUBS WAS COOL

BUT THE KIDNAPPING OR THE GAY ACTIVITY, REALLY AIN’T FOR ME

I AM STILL DOING WHAT I USED TO DO, THE IMAGINATION BIT

ART AND DRAWING, I WANT TO KIL MY KIDNAPPER AND HAVE TED BUNDY TIE HIM UP ON JUPITER

AQND LEAVE MY DADDY’S LITTLE SHY BOY AS I SAID ON CLOUD 9 WITH DAD

WE HAVE TO STAND ON OUR OWN TWO FEET

OH YEAH MY, HEART IS A PUMPING, AND MY LEGS ARE FIT

I WANNA STAND ON MY OWN TWO FEET

I DON’T CARE WHAT MY VOICES SAY

I PREFER FOR MY VOICES TO SAY BE AN ARTIST, BE A WRITER, BE A YOUTUBE PARTNER, BE A BUDDHIST

I DON’T WANT TO HAVE ANY PART OF MY DADDY’S LITTLE SHY BOY IN ME, EVER AGAIN

MEDICATION, REINCARNATION, I AM COOL, HOW ABOUT A LITTLE CELEBRATION

STOP THE CALLING ME WOOSEY, IN MY HEAD, CAUSE, IT’S FUCKEN DOWNGRADING YOU BIG *******

I FEEL UNCOMFORTABLE AROUND GAYS, DOESN’T MEAN I HATE THEM, I HATE BEING TOLD I AM STILL GAY

******* ****, *******, I AM NOT GAY

DING **** MY KIDNAPPER IS DEAD AND MY LITTLE SHY BOY IS UP THERE WITH DEAR OLD DAD

I AM A MAN WHO ENJOYS PARTYING, YEAH MATE YEAH, I AM NO ****

there was an audience... there is still an audience...
i wonder about it...
i'm such a conservative deacon in the comments
that... i leave very little traces of interaction...
i tried getting ****** into the whole affair
of leaving comments - like i might have left
grafitti tags on the pillars of bridges...
                   there was an audience... there's still an
audience... i imagine...
or i rather: translate with metaphor what i'm:
trying to imagine...
              three moths have attempted to fly into
my room to spend the night free from fear...
i caught two in my hand... put the clenched hand
to my ear... no... not the sea trapped in a seashell...
close... sound effect of... rain on a tin roof...
a moth trapped in a cage of a hand...
it hasn't rained for days... weeks even...
       the most... bountiful of springs in england...
and everyone is... supposed to handle the affair
like the 2nd coming of ribonson crusoe...
          i can: because i'm used to it...
                    peacefully anti-social...
                     it's hardly bragging but:
there's an audience... there's always an audience...
here's to me: getting regularly milked...
or... laying some eggs with the sunrise and the moon...
i am... at a stage of maturing from...
a phase where... i did... once upon a time...
care about what i wrote... for my own gratification:
but... not any more...
         i've reached a point where...
i can join the ranks of the 4 Dada Suicides...
     'the four' (who) 'took nihilism of the movement
to its ultimate conclusion, their works are
the remnants of lives lived to the limit and then cast
aside with nonchalance and disdain'...
Vaché (overdosed)... Rigaut (shot himself)...
Cravan and Torma (disappeared)...
        the latter two... probably lived a life in
approximation to what might have happened
to... Richey Edwards...
born on...                  disappeared aged 27...
death is the last clue...
    not that i'm going to imitate what's already
claimed...
but... a mile from my home...
i can... find... ample resources... hemlock...
the stems are poisonous...
      i've tried... lilac mushrooms... dog mushrooms
they call them...
i don't know whether i ate a poisonous
one or not... it wasn't...
    a muhomor... amanita fly agaric...
           but... when the circuses have died and
the bread is still there...
no new movies... no sports...
what can beat: the old tease of mortality...
the grain-of-sand per month's worth of movement
added... to the tally and
the curriculum vitae of vivo per se...
                   the theatre of death...
     if i don't think about death with a joke...
i stop being... ridiculous in life...
                   i like the thought of death when...
life doesn't preserve any... sense of...
any... alternative... "light" entertainment...
it's not like i'm planning an escape...
rich and about to clone myself...
   and teach the clone "me" to be: a "future" - and me...
i almost can see how someone must
have tried to cheat death with the available
avenue of cloning...
but... the subservience of the clone...
the clone being what?
       someone must have learned the hard way...
i just interjected the question as an: and...
which is a conjunction...
          but if you're gonna go...
hell... seal a room and yourself in it...
and buy a... metaphorical tonne of lily of the valley...
go to sleep... and never wake up...
death... even death has to become entertaining:
in thinking terms - at the very least...
the only real eventuality among...
half a dozen of impossible things to think about...
daily... and here's that apple...
   if nietzsche... sentenced the source
and future disease from the 19th century...
well... so much for overcoming nihilism...
         nihilism... after all... is not... apathy...
   and even with the death of nihilism...
                              at least nihilism still asked
for moloch-esque sacrifices of will...
     apathy? what does this slug ask for?
it asks of you to... well... wrestle with yourself...
hence that "overlooked" quote:
if a day has many pockets...
       yes... those pockets of self-realisations that
provide a glitch of proof...
a proof of... having to find dominion in
settled dust... oh to hell with grand metaphors
of staging revolutions brought down
from mountain-tops!
- and i'm literally drinking my way through...
what 19th century nihilism became:
a 21st century apathy hangover...
      i'll spare the 20th century the rites of...
a mythical new beginning... a year 0...
        100 years give or take... each side of the end
of the 20th century...
but... nihilism is no longer... the standard:
to overcome...
             as much meaning can be derived from
a peanut as from a falling star...
to be this: subjective sanitiße everything -
                       i hardly think... a dickens would
require an objective reader...
what is an objective reader?
someone who studies: rather than reads...
newspapers...
someone who probably proofs reading...
by also ensuring citations are... made abundantly
clear... archives... etc.
well... better contemplating the theatre of death
than... say...
"normies":
    ahem... the critique of china...
       point: can you imagine... if... communism...
was thought-up... when...
the french revolution began? the only revolution?
rather than the russian oopsie?
well... and communism began...
when... engels and marx... went to the north
of england... and... prior to the manifesto...
wrote of the details of child-labour...
this is not my thing but...
it gets to the point where:
you can criticize china all you want...
but there's no smart... or dumb way...
to go about... pretending to be at war...
with a population of a billion people...
that... if push comes to shove...
could be conscripted instantly...
              to point out... is to exhaust the argument:
to have an argument for:
"western" principles of democracy...
here... have some balloons... here's a keg
of helium... 'ave fun...
by now... saudi arabia is secretly planning
a jihad into the Xinjiang province...
saudi arabia: the vatican of the islamic world...
is secretly trying to... blah blah...
no... the saudi princes are strapped to their yachts...
the bangladeshi slave labour blah blah...
yeah: but whittle ol' england needs
the Neds of Lahore and their tier up from
the chimney top: crescent moon-lick... slick...
- but to be this... fired up...
                it's simply exhausting to have:
a freedom of speech for such high demands...
not need to hide behind the ideals of love...
or being misunderstood...
             in no defence... but... under the guise
of that grand word: capitalism...
the sub- thorough: made in china...
                and what now? the jaw dropping
counter to the very delicate status quo?
it's beyond nihilism... when such upheld
values allowed for artistic rebellion...
to the moon: been there, done that..
europe the old man... h'america the newly
acquired *******...
       you want politico jargon ******* squeezes...
sure thing...
     stoic india... always the stoic india...
to **** off the competition - cheap soviet steel...
the soviet union's nuna 2, on 13 september 1959 -
in between: frank sinatra's:
fly me to the moon - 1963...
and thus... r.e.m.'s yeah yeah: 20 July 1969...
it's hard to compensate / compete with
that sort of a trojan hard-on ***** of
the elgin marbles...
                              at least the germanic peoples
played and understood the ping-pong
with the slavic peoples -
the hungarians on the side...
but not this... african trash for beijing...
the mongol capital of crimea...
and golden hoarding project: typo...
   when they came riding in... smeared
in **** and week old **** and horse blood...
to make... the labyrinth of the baghdad library...
a pyramid of skulls...
squeeze me: to this tired state of lost
the head to a guillotine chatter-box...
even the events of napster unfolding...
and all that's being streamed and...
now's the time to kiss and cuddle prostitutes...
and wet mr. whittle dicky for second
chances of a lost digestive... in that pond
of brew...
                easy fools to fool: those camel back
rich in dino-blood: soul black...
like espressos of mecca... flowing rich
and dying with a soothing...
from amnesia and diabetes...
and amputated limps when... sugar ingestion
leaves them... dancing ballet on only one foot...
because: porky pie and ms. amber: ha!
all bad!
                so much for... what's waiting
the white girl pornstars...
the liberated afro-h'americans and the service...
of beijing shrimp ****...
double edged sword... the height and...
all those attaches... of a fine... fine...
procelain piece of ***...
no-man's-land... the middle ground:
of... mercedez-benson-and-hedges...
        on my way out... the apache / sioux /
dodo / aztec / mayan / dodo (again) projects...

semi-closure...
   gary glitter - rock & roll part II
     ian watkins (of lostprophets) -
                      shinobi vs dragon ninja...
sorry... that one was a paedo...
              toddle-****** for the latter...
and it's not like... i enjoyed the music
to begin with...
i can't see an ad hominem argument
for the former...
                 toddler-******: esp. if the output...
well... it's not trash...
   it's: dad mantra... it's dad claustrophobia...
my take on:
mahler contra pergolesi....
            counter: invest in 100 years to come...
of which... you will...
find a future reader: being alive...
not having re(a)d you...
1986... the reader is born...
1997... you die...
you are discovered... come...
2K and 7... 8...... perhaps 9...
  a time-reference of...
         13 years from the readers birth to your
death... it's Glasgow... a very rare...
sunny... afternoon...
psychosis of the reader...
         1997 through to... 2008...
              that's 11 years... so...
what matters most is... how well you walk
through the fire...
that one about the crow and the madmen...
and each: having his niche:
his "social distancing" clause...
writing was fun when one could
stomach the: in the background...
when people lived their: very troublesome:
important... surgical precision...
nobel prize winning type / typo lives...
writing via a sense of voyeurism was...
well... hardly the self-evident blatant it has
become...
escape into fiction (lies you tell others)...
escape into imagination (choking ties of
tier-a: as above... with tier-b: as below)...
or escape into memory (lies you tell
yourself)...
but i rather the memory...
the cinema of it...
i forget to blink when: blinking is akin
to... signatures... autographs of famous people...
bull... shyte: philately...
         lepidopterology... half closure of the semi-
closure... a brilliant metaphor...
      when the **** or the latex gimp suits
are not available...
there's always that 14 year old "idea"...
of... a tamed *******...
well... if you imagine it as... love at first sight...
you're 16 she's 14... and...
you're dating her older sister at the time...
and then... she disappears...
within the confines of her first and last
unflowering...
but the pristine first-impressions become
less metaphor and more: idealism...
it's fun... when there's a concensus of it being:
forbidden... it's what drives both the hunger...
and the feeding...
that it's never actually realised is beside
the point: made... in... lars von trier's
nymphomaniac...
          too catholic of me: born into it...
but... repressing the urges... is as much as...
delighting oneself in them...
ergo: the necessary *******...
so much for... *****-******* and oyster
slurping... when... you have been...
ahem... told to **** it up...
with the: "excess of skin"...
excess of skin / chemical imbalance
in the brain...
how about... i allow... a triatoma infestans...
to quicken my: dementia...
the myth goes... along the lines...
a horse with a grain of sand...
via its ear... will bash and ram and ram and bash
its head against a brick wall:
in an attempt to rid itself of the irritation...
conformity:
cul de sac queers and kwerks...
i lampoon on a sunday...
the rest of the days i'm free...
clued into: cwown...
which is... somehoo: velsh... in parts...

- by death i imply a riddle...
                 by death i imply:
          freed from the cinema of highly edited
pseudo-living...
not even among the stage of the theatre...
but at least...
cinema got one thing right...
   the suicide of christine chubbuck -
the urban myth goes along the lines of:
a cockroach was found... alive... 2 weeks...
after its head was guillotined...
       it's like that... bane quote:
and... the andrei chikatilo... reality...
non-verbatim:
                 'perhaps he's wondering... why
someone would shoot a man...
before throwing him out of a plane'...
rephrasing:
   'perhaps he's wondering...
why someone would shoot a man...
after throwing him into a prison cell'...
unless... he wasn't... expecting...
to wait for him... to die... of a urban myth...
2 weeks if not more...
brain-dead: heart still pumpking...
horrors from Kiev... Chernobyll the *******
icing cream topping the gwand:
godzilla: pie in the sky...

     i cared... once... once... that was:
upon a time...
these times don't really require much focus...
the space itself poses enough
liberty... no need to look as far back
as there's to look forward...
     the 20th century killer: zenith...
****** and ferriswheel of events...
                waking up to the new mandarin
plateau... it's like...
waking up from... the refreshing cain
mythos relatability...
always from h'america...
otherwise... bullet to the head...
king soldier: human rights...
   yeah... nice... the shame of homeless people:
there's an alexander the great...
a a diogenes of synope: with a hippocratic
oath... loitering around the corner?
hell! go wit' the flou...
                 jump-start a prison adventure...
less... high morality ****-pants
asking questions on the way...
people of high morality
and high: low social status importance...
**** someone...
better than becoming philosophically
homeless... blah blah...
                         i'm so little i actually
define myself as:
at liberty to preserve the lives of moths...
yes... well that's nice...
for anyone asking to: ride the easy... roulette.

****** f@ggot shill and f@g
oldf@gs newf@gs rolling hard
trips and dubs and even quads
but OP won't deliver

rate us, hate us, sauce pls now
in this thread we save a cat
mods, is this under 18?
the /b/etards at it yet again
but we don't talk about it

cringe us rekt us make us laugh
this thread's preventing suicide
****** racism sexism ****
we mostly rate body parts in /soc/

normies not welcome
******, alpha, femanon
is a girl? **** or ****!
welcome to the internets
pics or it didn't happen

gore thread? not enough!
self-hate, ponies, rule 34 fap
the "cesspool of the internet"
is really not that bad

when i first laid eyes on you
you captivated me with you dark, round eyes
and your full, brilliant lips
only to speak even more brilliant things

“FeelsGoodMan”

you whispered to me
and i caressed your green skin
i saved many different versions of you
for they were all so perfect

i was there for you
and you for me
but one day
you left me
for my love was not enough
to match the attention
of millions of normies.

yet still i love you
although you left me
and maybe you weren’t my first love
probably not my last either
you are the most important.

Reasons why
Want to climb
Himalayan mountains
To show that
Mentally ill
Are not **** happy
To show that
Emotions are normal
For a mentally ill person
To should the normies
That they themselves
Create stigma and ignorance.

I am a mountain babe
They interigue me
Where the normies
Love the beach.

I am a mountain babe
Because it is in my DNA
From thousands of years
It normal for me.

I am a mountain babe
Because I want to climb them
And live amongst
Them.

I miss you immensely
your lack, is a coldness that makes
my skin lonely, it begs to be
touched, to feel warm again

But i'm not cold, i'm just bored
of the normies, they aren't like you
don't excite me, or delight me
their ideas are old, decrepit, stale
and they're stuck chasing tails

I know you share my wonder
the thrill of finding what's under
the intricate tapestry of life's majesty
the universe undone, knot by single knot
How boring are those,
who do not wonder
whose minds no more sing, and chase things

Only you know, what I mean
when I stare into the void,
and know not
if its without, or within

Daedalus built the maze in which I live. The beast is dead, no need to run, though the need to hide runs deep. Other creatures haunt the dark.

Lol dumb, I know.

I have this thing, which I’ve done for as long as I can remember, where I space out but I’m still looking ahead, but also within. And little me, the shy spirit hiding behind my skull stares out of the maze through a giant telescope that opens up to the world of normies and people who understand how to be social. And I’m here, far beneath my skin, unable to relate, only able to observe.

I. from living under a rock to exploring the internet

well... isn't it nice...
me? i've greatly benefited from the existence
of the internet...
how else would i have found out about the origins
of Taoism if not thanks for the internet...

i just kept one maxim in my head from
a book i picked up in some bookshop near
Russell Sq., it was a book on Taoism...
but it was sort of like the Best of
   of a band...
                not good enough... but my modus operandi
became the Kantian categorical imperative:
in order to help the world -
forget the world and let the world forget you:
the crux of "not-doing": i.e. purely being...
hell not- is not the antonym of pure...
                 not could be coupled with just... simply...
pro?
                   one of those...

me? i greatly benefited from the internet...
as most "bears" / "loners" / solitary creatures have
found out to be true...
i have an entire world history and a body
of knowledge at my fingertips:
it's only a question of what you're wanting to find...

without the internet i would have never
bothered to spend £20 on a physical copy of a book...
the complete writings of the primo Taoist: Zhuangzi...
nor would i have spent £30 x 2 on Heidegger's
black notebooks...

but i understand that the people who make videos
and do not write are all "savvy" when it comes
to view-counts... they ignore them...
they are more into "interaction": the comment sections...
i don't remember the last time i commented
on something:
i mean, ****'s sake... it's not like you buy
a book and expect to leave a comment... where?
on the sleeve? who's going to read that?
the author? hardly...

                             i like my view counts...
obviously the comments come minimally...
why? i believe in the anonymity of the readership...
the anonymity of the reader...
i like the fact that ideas are equivalent
to gold-mining and lightning strikes...
and that thinking itself is subject to shadows acting...
that it can be the best: most worthwhile "thing"
that implores of a being: hide me! hide me!

but i'm never going to make a video...
videos attract all the wrong viral attention...
i like the filter process involved in writing:
people have to make an effort and?
therefore? i'm left to my devices and whims
and sarcasms...
i can entertain Ovid and Marquis de Sade...

tu mihi, tu certe, memini, Graecine, negabas
    uno posse aliquem tempore amare duas.
per te ego decipior, per te deprensus inermis -
    ecce, duas uno tempore turpis amo!

i remember that it was you, certainly you Graecinus,
who told me to deny the idea
that one could love two girls at once!
through you i'm deceived - unarmed -
reason (this be the reason): i'm in love with two
girls at the same time!

i did one over old Ovid... loved two girls when both
of them were loving me...
which is so much better that loving one when loving
one and loving another when loving
another...
might as well:

                ledo duas aves uno lapide

two birds one stone... hardly serving two masters:
being served up twice...
and we're not talking about masters and servants
either...

me? i greatly gained from the internet...
                 am i the only person to agree to the fact that
it's just a jolly decent tool to use...
in and out... in and out... the internet to me
is like a brothel... i'm there / "here" for an hour...
then i disappear... leave footprints in the sand
on the beach... the tide of humanity washes in...
i'm left diluted: but i don't mind...
i too wouldn't want to have written the Harry Potter
books and then be mistreated for some
trans-****** phobic insinuations...
but i give her the grammar...
and how about the grammar on
the lyrics from WHAT IS SOUL... the B-sides
of By The Way...
                                 Big-Pie (Bag-Pie from Trainspotting:
freaking about... did i just touch
a magic nugget... a leprechaun's nose?!
is there! is there! a rainbow on this "other" side?!
pretty please... hey! if i go to Thailand
i'm sort of expecting to get confused...
it's a Thai thing... it was originally a Thai thing...
those Thai ******* are crazy)...

'it's roaming the streets at 4 in the morning
finding your best friend making out with a trans-******
in an all-night diner in Cleveland in 1986!'

plenty of women... ingenious boys
will be outright butch or add some extra BLUSH...
i can't say that i never kissed a man
sensually like i might kiss a woman sensually...
to later brush up on my Mr. Slurp'y skills
in the garden of fleshy flowers...
located where i entered the world: hopefully head-first:
oh sure... plenty of dolphins too...
how's it hanging? how's it hanging in Dubai?
plenty of hanging in Dubai...

freakishly lean: a plentiful decent diet of literature...
me? i benefited from the internet...
hey presto! i can bypass the gatekeepers of literature!
i can forget about publishing houses...
sure... i don't earn any money from it...
but that also increases me drive to pursue
the spiral out of control...
for me the advent of the internet is akin to:
the invention of the Gutenberg Press...
                                                  
yes, i was a fan of buying cans of Pepsi
instead of those 2litre bottles...
hmm... how to keep the gas once opened!
aha! shake the bottle after having a refill!
shake shake!
keeps the pressure tight-knit... beautifully
bountiful!

- two songs get me these days....
ALLAROUND THE WORLD
and GO ROBOT...
i trun to the canvas with regret: great! more typing!
i just want to keep keeping the rhyhtm:
perched on the windowsill
tapping my leg and grooving with my neck
like an imitation-party-pooper-pigeon
who invented head-banging
as the Hebrews imitate before the Wailing Wall...
i should have never picked up the guitar...
what a lonely enterprise:
it's already haunting me...
i was born as a natural drummer...

huh?!
of course i gained all the things there
are gained from the internet...
minus the light-bulb...
i managed to bypass all the gatekeepers
of literature: the editors...
hello! you forgot the paper! there's no paper!
there's no spoon either!
forgot the pills! just focus on the spoon
that isn't there!
and it's the perfect filter...
no one is going to bother me when i'm writig
and slacking on making video confession...

videos can be ingested passively:
reading? oh wow! who would have thought
that it might take some effort!
mix into the whole affair some Katakana...
hell... mix in some Mandarin hieroglyphs...
perfect defences against "simpletons"...
who? you have rotten cabbage
agreed with to throw with your comrade
against against being disgruntled about some
poor acting actor? what?!
stealing shadows became mundane?!

i also managed to breed a higher purpose
while everyone else was slumping
in the "pandemic"... i couldn't tell the difference...
what a funny: he-he-ha-ha tickling breeze!
ooh... let's have another go!
come on! let's go, let's go!
           he-he-ha-ha!
or rather: hí-hí-h'ah-ah-haha!

                             the internet wa been great for me...
but recently i came across this trend...
hmm (emoji of the biggest SMILE)...
VABBING...
                     dabbing... people dab perfumes on themselves...
what's VABBING... ah... ah... ha ha...
this is the point where i feel like putting
on my clown make-up and going out to
party come Halloween...

i'm pretty sure i'lll grow old and irrelevant
at some point... pop culture will no longer
interest me...
             but until that time comes...
piglets! teases!
                   it's like that one time where
i thought it was a good idea to date a single mom....
brought her homemade wine...
brought her homemade banana loaf cake...
NO GOOD...
i'm good-crazy as one prostitutes remarked...
still NO GOOD...
                                   goo.. plenty of goo...
oh man... the arsenal of music i have to sieve through:
it makes sense to not have children...
sure.... i'd love a little kritter "here and there"...
but? come on... with so much music
made available: would you?

and how did that parody of my grandfather
and grandmother play out?
she kept his death a secret....
to the point where he was in AGONIA:
out of reach... **** that then!

****'s sake VABBING... i.e. inserting your fingers
into your genital regions...
and then... Orestes! save me!
pretending that these juices are sort of:
akin to: perfumes!

o.k.: i'll level with these women...
here goes:
i like... ******* on my leg...
when i'm having a shower?
i like the idea of being a child again:
unable: UNONSCIOUSLY to control his bladder...
once in a while: i like ******* on my leg...
but that's only when i'm having a shower...
i like the idea of being without control...
i wish i could **** my pants ever so often...
alas... i can't!
but then i relieve my tamed unconscious
inhibitions... i tend to **** on my leg...
while taking a shower....
          
what is left for man beside finding new avenues
to compete: for the crown and the jewel in
in it of losing reason?
hell... let's all become **** AUTOMATON!
i can wait...
i'm orientating myself around the internet
like i might orientate myself around
a phonebook, an encyclopoedia...
and the... sacred loss of the music store on
the high streets...

there's me imitating drummers on a windowsill...
robot-esque...
*****! i'm keeping rhythm...
with a squint of my eye watching NORMIES
sitting static with their static televisions...
entertained?!
i like brick walls: i think of chess...
i like the sea bashing the land come high night...
i think of playing cards with the boys...
and backgammon...
i also like the idea of interpreting the flute
by splitting a reed of grass and blowing through it...
i like the childhood memory
of catching cockchafers and throwing them
down girls' t-shirts...
         hmm! i liked a lot of things...
whiskey won... i like swimming in it: thoughtless...
it's like like: give me a drink of whiskey =
Cleopatra having a ******* bath of milk!

i love the minutes "concerning" an unlit cigarette
dangling in my mouth...
before the opening crescendo
of Led Zeppelin's IN THE EVENING...
kicks in... only because: SHARP OBJECTS
waas such a captivating t.v. show...

hate t.v. love t.v. most certainly loved the movies...
i hate the movies these days...
i sometimes think: i could replace
the t.v. with three "things":
the sky... a fireplace... or a... ooh!
a ******* aquarium!
                     yeah... that could  work!
then again.... candles or the sky...
either wait.... play shadow charades...
                  
             there are actually two ways to give stress
to a F-U... using the hand...
there's:
A. the clenched fist with the etended middle
finger... poison...
but there's also
B. ******* extended....
thumb also extended: NO FIST...
all the other fingers are "bowing":
but they're not clenched... there's no imitation
of a fist...

seriously, though? no wonder i ventured into the realm
of prostitution, no wonder so many people thought this
"pandemic" was a "fake"...
sure sure... let me just apply my *****
Jean-Paul Gautier sniff-sniffs
while you, girl, test out, your next best
found ******.... what the ****?!

how about we start off with... oiling ourselves
with molten pig fat and then, then asking:
kosher enough for you?
oh... but this craziness is not supposed to stop!
it's supposed to escalate!
didn't you know?!
                           no no!
                                 there are either the crazies
or the uber-crazies!
      there's no in-between!
                 as much as Ovid prescribes ****** love...
i find the most erotica in prescriving myself
a decent amount of sleep...
               perhaps in his days...
but... he wasn't a solider...
so he wouldn't have known about being stationed in
Britannia,., jumping ****-naked into
the feral bushes of... no! not mint!
              you ******* Forrest Gimp or something?
blushes of *******... ****'s sake... FENNELS!
POKRZYWY! FENNELS! not ******* BASIL...
not ROSEMARY... not TYHME
*******: Hamza: brain-drain-lord
of an otherwise working Latin BREEN!
call your ******* cousin Hah-med and Muha!
the lord of the flies! Muhammad!
Muha! FLY! Jesus is the lord of mosquitos...
Muhammad is the lord of the flies...

please tell me someone tried to tell them
that they were
the auxillaries of Hell?
the past 2000 years has been an advent
of Hell...
Hell... even more: the Hellenic original
thought project...
comme ci, comme ça... c'est la vie!
i.e. it's good when it's good...
and bad when it's bad...

the tired mountain: the eagerly waiting stone...
the tired sea... the ambitious droplet of water...
that eternal flame... but all the more eager
sparkle of an ignite!

time flies when you're not having any fun...
pretending to not having a stab at...
those Kenyan ivory slush-puppies
come the crocodiles and Muhammad types
moon-served plump almost juiced up...
hey ** hey... you're just my Macaque sort
of type...

II. a schematic of rugby

H15()15H
\ (pass back)
/ (kick forward)
and...
just run around
shuffling your
magic feet:
toying with the octopus
dance of
a dislocated shoulder.


III. leftovers from an afternoon

give me until tomorrow, i'm still figuring "things" out...
video: oh video V video... Deo. and Doo and Deus...
mighty Churchill's index and middle...
of the fork in the road...
          or akin to the crossroads of
Robert Johnson...
            i picked up playing the guitar but i'm
a natural drummer...
easily soothed but also easily irritated by a rhythm
and beat...
for all the protest of (search engine, hello...
back of the bus protest, i just need a name)
sitting at the back of the bus:
Rosa Parks and the Montgomery bus protest...
i just remember mornings on the no. 86
bus... reading Stendhal while all the black
boys "unconsciously" stashed themselves
to the back of the double-decker...
white-flight in reverse, i.e. all the white girls
could join them:
thank god for my Turkish and Japanese fetish...
a fact not frequently recited:
i don't own any woman under the sun,
it's just my turn, turn after turn...
perhaps happily a *****-donor...
what's ******* and what's surrogate
motherhood for a homosexual couple,
like for like: i can't tell the difference...
besides... i earn about £10 an hour...
she earns £120 an hour and all for what?
being given an ******
and soothing my ego...
amazing though... it's crystal clear...
i never liked the back of the bus...
double-deckers have their engines in their ***...
very much like VW beetles...
the black boys naturally migrated to
the back of the bus every trip to school i took...
loud, vociferous: like most post-African people...
still strapped to the gridlock of
VICTIM... but sure: thanks for the jazz...
thanks for the blues...
if certain Africans were not exposed
to the English tongue...
i fear we'd still be stuck in a Mozart epoch...

I want to be done in the way that isn't final

Maybe just be in a coma for like
Three years

And not have to worry about anything
Or see anyone
Or go anywhere

People get exhausting
Work piles up
Money becomes not worth it

Emptiness make you wanna give up

Drowning in homework
Or your own blood

A constant headache
A steady job

I feel like I'm withering away

Even though I'm so young
And I really shouldn't complain

My life is pretty okay

But the more friends I make

The more tired I get
The more they wanna talk
The less I do
And I can feel myself pushing away
Because they're "normies"
They'd never understand

And I'm trying to plan my whole life out in front of me
Even though obstacles keep delaying me
And people keep disappointing me

I have to remember
Again
And again

The world doesn't revolve around me

title: scandal tilt
body: porous: per & marie 2019:
simultaneously: preserved...

wow!

on my way back from a shift at Craven Cottage... walked through the park with great haste, sweat like a pig prior to slaughter when sitting down on the District Line from Putney Bridge to Victoria... still wearing my jacket... upon disembarking the train, took the jacket off... breathed... allowed my sweaty back to breathe, took off my clip-on tie, undid about three button from the collar down... well... i've been told before that i'm as hairy as a monkey... hairy face, hairy chest, hairy stomach... a Turkish ******* would never mind... we only travelled two stops from Victoria through to Oxford Circus... i have to write the following word in katakana... what... a *******... スカ - SUKA... *****... a female-dog... what's the ideogram of that katakana? no... it's not that simple... SUKA... thank god i was wearing my sunglasses... the Thames bore these two holes for my eyes with the glimmer of the sun being reflected come sunset... i asked my co-worker: Putney Bridge is not the last bridge of... the first bridge of London? he mentioned: isn't there one at Hammersmith? isn't there one at Richmond: i replied? favourite bridge? oh... you that film: from the 1990s... Sliding Doors... the Battersea Bridge? no no... not the Battersea Bridge... that white one, with all those Christmas Lights... it's the Albert Bridge... sure... we know the last Bridge of London is the Tower Bridge... but what bridges are there after Putney?! oh... we're not going into Oxfordshire or... Kingston-upon-Thames... **** that... London, proper... **** me... the map on google reads like some Arabic text: right to left... weird... what comes after Putney... see... when i was living in Edinburgh... at least i knew my bearings... there it was... the shining emblem of the compass... the Firth of Forth... down in London? it's a ******* Bermuda triangle! the ****** just spins and spins... people come from all other i'm like: yeah... "that"... that's not supposed to be there but... "there"...  clueless... sure as ****... after Putney Bridge you get the Hammersmith Bridge... then the Chiswick Bridge... then the Kew Bridge... then the Twickenham Bridge... that's the last proper bridge on the map... London will forever be too disorientating... at least Edinburgh is facing north... London isn't facing any direction on the compass... it just... spins out of control... so i got on the Victoria line at Victoria... two *******... one looking somewhat tame... the other... ooh... what a treat... we were only going as far as Oxford Circus... red hair... some of her's some fake... tattoos on her hands and fingers... she looked like she had piercing in her cheeks in the past... just my type: crazy... unhinged... daddy issues: whatever... and i''m standing there, tired... dead-beat... i just want to get home and drink some whiskey and scribble... about my triumph while helping a few boys sell cookies and brownies for charity by changing around their stall arrangement... because i wasn't put into the stadium to shove a lot of lard around... i'm peering through my sunglasses... oh... wait... she's digging me... oh right... she's one of those girls into the Scandinavian look? oh god, one of these ones... only hours prior i was talking to this Finnish grandfather about sports in general... i'm giving off these whiffs of Viking "beauty"... **** me: and i know what i'm goign to say next: that sort of physiognomy always attracts the happy-tattooed-hands and fingers red hair types of *******... right? where they **** is my ******* Mohawk then?! where the **** are my tattoos... i mean... i've seen dogs with eyes like these... eagerly brown and blooming with joy... any other scenario... we got off at Oxford Circus... i waited a little... she just about ****** off down the North Bakerloo route... i spotted her... obviously... she tried to give a shy glance back: would i follow her... ask her for her number... she had the most amazing: inquisitive eyes... i know... she wanted me to approach her... one of those... magical movie scenes... two strangers on the tube... blah blah... if work didn't **** me off... if i didn't have to make up for it on my own crowds from something within like: self-initiative... just my-******-up-type... no... i went down the Central Line route... travelled to Stratford... got the train to Goodmayes... bought a bottle of 200cl of brandy... some pepsi... some cigarettes... and walked past Chadwell Heath... thinking... about absolutely nothing... well... the "one that god away"... sure... it's not even whether i have the patience... i obviously have the charm... but i know how the conversation would have started and ended... so... you still don't live alone? you don't have a place for me to crash... bring all my belongings to? guess... what... what she said with her eyes... perfect! what she would later say with her tongue? no, i don't want to hear it... beccause i'd be her stereotypical loser... so... why... ******* bother? with those eyes of hers i also received: twice-more with the eyes of the boys i helped to collect more money from selling charity cookies in the park... oh **** me: more! because it was selfless! there was no ******-friction involved!  sure, i could try to rekindle my self (in the reflective, not the reflexive: myself... sense... no... that's long gone... i've aged, i've learned some pretty good lessons of reserve) with a teenage boy i used to be, who would fall asleep listening to Roxette... fading like a flower, watercolours in the rain, blah blah... but this... what's that film? Happiness of a Spotless Mind? Jim Carrey... crazy free spirited girl with red or purple or blue hair... sure... and if, myself, didn't go mad aged 21... entering a church... hearing a choir and then hear a great wind disperse the singing... sure... right now... aged 35... i'd be a proper career-boy... not caring about the lesser people in me... status-orientated... i would easily pick-up these wacko girls left right and centre... and give them a month's worth of... living out the Pretty Woman fantasy... no.. instead i have a personal library in my ivory tower of a bedroom in my parent's house filled with Heidegger's black notebooks... oh man... but this one... she had prettier eyes than an Alsatian's... she gave off whiffs of surprise... could she love me, like i am? torn? perhaps... i forgot to make a reality-check-cheque in my head... better this fleeting interaction... she... infatuated: me indifferent... at least in the moment... obviously now i think about it... sure... some, "alternative" universe... where... we might live an affordable living in... the ******* Shetland Islands caretaking a lighthouse! but my life hasn't been all that predictable to find more unpredictability all of a sudden... some exercise in a vitality for / of life... i just need little pockets of being acknowledged by the other as being recipient of existence... that usually comes along with children and handicapped people... or animals... these three categories always spot me... if i were ******* rising in the hierarchy of the truly insane-sane folk... i'd have to be as mad as a poodle-or-a-toddler's-worth-of-Mozart! ****'s sake... no no no... i'm not buying that trip! **** that... i'm going my own way... to a place where the moon is a skull in the coldness of the night, and come April... there is a whiff of a Magnolia scent in the air! i call it trans-temporal pairing to some cue to a clue to this puzzle... but this one... my god... eyes like a properly bred Alsatian... so endearingly brown... she looked like a teenage girl for a second's worth of flash of time... she just looked so ****** up... like a puzzle box... and with all that make-up she slapped up... Madam Tussauds' replicas saw less... what's the retrospect? i? i'm scared of reality? last time i heard: i've been the one most detached from it... why would i be afraid of reattaching myself to it? the only reality i find comforting is... when i'm surrounded by children, retards or animals... i consider plants as inanimate objects, so no... other thoughts... mother's arthritis... a father coming to the conclusion of this career... nearing retirement... their mortality... my mortality... cinema movie love stories are sort of gone... reality doubles-down... no one was truly with me when i needed help... ergo? i helped myself the best i could... and... i don't need loved-up pretend hitch-hickers... how authentic it might seem... at least when i visit a brothel... no ******* is going to say: oh... another loser... how are losers treated in those Japanese love-hotels because of over-crowding, no-house-building "claustrophobia"?

on my way back from a shift at Craven Cottage...
tired... left the house at quarter to 9am...
came back.. at 8:30pm...
and did what? only a 6 hour shift... got paid...
hmm... good idea... i don't even know...
capitalism... whoever defends it ought to know
that there are rogue companies out there...
the current company i'm working for...
i'm supposedly an employee...
   but... they have... since November of last year...
yet to issue me with a statement to clarify
how many hours i've worked and what i'm to be paid...
they just... transfer money into my bank account:
without any: black on white clarification...
i've already heard stories about the owner and co-owner...
how they profited from the pandemic...
little pawn me... a year... i just need a year...
to get those references... even today i started talking
to this guy about joining another company...
at least that company has an online rubric in place:
where you can book in electronically
rather than rely on some bogus whatsapp messaging...
******* cowboys... meat-heads... the whole lot
of them... no logistical sensibility...
but i've done it since November... i'll wait...
i'm patience... i'll play nice... but today...
oh today was coming... they're behaving like it's
a ******* schoolyard... i'm being punished for having
mentioned already having a university education:
oh god! and a degree in chemistry!
some are studying pretend-law... or whatever *******...
or they have known each other for a bit longer...
or that i'm not talkative: professional... while they
stab each other in the back... or...
i fancy this one girl who started work...
rumours spread that a supervisor is ******* her...
but i approach her with flowers on Valentine's day...
she gets fired... i get sidelined...
          oh i know my place... it's a place that's
called the waiting game...
         but today i was *******... less capable people
were put into positions within the stadium...
me? again: to the ******* park with you...
some might say: oh... he's ben given the easy shift...
yeah... the ****** shift...
   i made due counters... i had to...
by the end of the game a ginger colt that was
ejected during the game... drunk... had nothing better
to do than to sleep in the park... i tended to him...
woke him up... waited with him for his friends to rejoin
him... so half-asleep... i comforted him with:
you team (Coventry) beat Fulham 3 - 1... happy?
he replied... why do all the best games happen when
i'm asleep? well... this must have been the first
in a park in London... you're lucky it was a gorgeous day...
but my pinnacle came when i helped these boys
who were selling homemade bakes for charity...
NSPCC... £1 a pop... but they weren't selling them...
because they position their stall right behind a tree...
so i walked up to them... listen...
you're not going to sell them... you're hiding behind
a tree... here... let's move this stall of yours...
away from the tree... and closer to the route of leaving
fans... and let's also twist the table a little so...
your BAKED-GOODS for CHARITY is facing
the people walking out of the stadium...
    i finished my shift... would you know it...
             from about 30 unsold pieces of dough...
the boys had only 2 left...
           and how they thanked me...
   fine... FINE... if this steward contra SIA hierarchy
is in place... ******* wanks...
i'll do a better job elsewhere... pacifying people...
after all... all those with those SIA badges... licenses...
oh... they know **** all of judo...
they just rush overpower: art of ****...
   first comes the art of reason...
much much later comes any physical interference...
but i'm working with half-wits...
  just because some are bulging... have a voiced-prowess...
gorilla-mating-call-warfare i call it...
they think they have a license to: attend to doors
they build up this superiority-complex...
which is great... i might therefore ask:
not that i have a PhD... but... if you're going to belittle me...
do you have a degree in chemistry?
just today... i picked up a high-viz. orange...
later it was changed to black... i picked up one with
the word: supervisor on it... because it fitted me:
2XL... oh no no... one of the other pawns inquired...
you can't wear that... but it's black...
i was told to change from orange to black...
but this one has the word: SUPERVISOR written on
it... my god... how people have learned to overvalue
themselves... or rather: how have become become
undervalued that they have to have these little battles...
the war is already lost...
whatever ******* Einstein figured this one out...
so at the end of the shift we're about to stand down...
me and my "mate" are park 3... we're looking for park 2...
right... and we're all wearing black vests... black trousers...
black coats... the crowd that's leaving?
well... you know how the English dress...
hardly in the United Colours of Benetton...
or the old way that GAP used to attire people: colourfully...
so... i'm looking for a black moth
among a cloud of dark grey moths... great!
******* genius! like i said:
i'm working with ******* meat-heads...
i'd like to say retards but they are too bulky and too angry
and too ready to stance themselves as BIG
rather than arm themselves with cunning...
o.k. o.k. work... but i got the upper hand...
i helped those boys sell those cookies... cakes... whatever...
out of their stash... we just moved the table away
from the tree... shifted it so the sign was more apparent
and... hey presto! NSPCC got its fair share...
and... my reward? the sweetest thank you any man
can receive... the outstanding look on a young boys face
that a stranger is capable of helping (him)...
that's ******* priceless... i'm writing about all those
petty squabble prior... but... that thank you:
that look of longing for hope in the future...
that's mine... i own that... or that tenderness of
the drunk boy who was sleeping in the park
waiting for the game to finish... while i gentle touched
his leg to wake him up... that too...
i don't need physical confrontation when i can:
appease... comfort... all those adrenaline junkies...
those... amphetamine-anabolic-steroid: former prison
guard types... whatever...
i know one decent move that could floor anyone...
you make a cross with your thumbs... while pretending
to pray... with these hands... you grip someone
by the knuckles... pressing the thumbs into the hand...
and twist... i forgot martial art i learned that from...
i left the classes after i was kicked in the *****...
and curled into a foetal position: after i refused to:
shout HA-YA! when pretending to punch and throwing
kicks while marching forward...
****** lessons in martial arts... getting kicked in the *****...
but... i write this... like...
like i will never go to the gym and pump weights...
just give me 2 hours on a bicycle...
doing some press-ups...
and once the shift it gone... having being paired
with this "mate" of mine:
he'll reply: it was nice working with you...
and you sort of know it's almost...
when he tries to sell you an alternative
job to the current you're working at...
because... it's "CAPITALISM":
   i too heard... didn't you hear?
if you have the right sort of a microphone...
and you put it up to a dog's *******
when the dog's running...
you can... hear... ******* the tune of:
jingle-bells!
didn't you know?!
   esp. that version from Lethal Weapon...
      one ****, count one two...
two's a ****'s worth... three and four and by five:
grr... what's not to love about
life and all the arguments for the status quo
of all those people that always go ahead
and gear up the tide of: away away we go:
leaving the rest of the idiots behind...
           tear-jerking psychologists with an audience
of soft-cookie:
those types that ought to be hard-on
digestives... instead... they get dunked into tea...
i burp... what... a cushion my crap and crab
on the inside out...
rather than harden it with the exoskeleton
of the outside in...
            little ******* London adventure of... perhaps
Romance... but... most probably:
probably not.

i mean: you know how the joke goes?
when you diagnose someone as having lost touch
with reality?
and then... too many people have lost touch with reality?
the supposed loss of reality of the individual...
transpires like a phantom: clout...
why were people supposing that, "i" became detached
from reality?! huh?! why are these people
wearing pseudo-niqab nappies on their faces
when almost pretending to be: trainspotting?!
huh?!
           i'm schizophrenic... what about all these...
covert... hidden... undiagnosed hyperchondriacs?
i thought i was just a bilingual...
oh... right... the mono-lingual normies of England...
sure... "we" can follow-up with that...
"you" try to destroy "me"...
"we'll" come after "you":
gender neutral? one's a ROYAL:
one and we...
                anything to: bypass the ******* rap!
investment from years... years ago...
always invest in children...
you never know when they'll come around to
protect you against the elders
or... more importantly...
your contemporaries...
                always invest in children...
         their presence is a future forward:
kinder:
      immer invertieren im kinder...
   ihr(e) gegenwart ist ein zukunft: ein fließen!
i'm guessing...
unlike in Deutsche...
a(n) apple... savvy?

           i truly wish... i truly... want to believe
beyond the told ties of the heart to:
all the discomforts of reality checks...
that i could possibly come to the splendours of
illusion on a whim:
and keep such whims within the confines
of illusion... without having to have to reality
check them back with...
items of "reciprocated" gratitude...
for the "good life"... oh what a sweet little whisper...
and... if i were a painter...
what a Francis Bacon horror i would possibly
conjure with the aid of cubism...
such trivial times are beyond us...
dog have eyes and the levelled certainty as such...
women just have the spontaneity...
there's no Bonaparte behind them...
no suicide quest for Moscow... no... chains and harship...
believe whatever psychologists you want...
pop, piquant... whatever... piquant: i.e. niche...
whatever... no one helped me through my 20s...
now in my mid 30s...
i've finally reached a pinnacle of being attractive...
during transit... but i know it's all a veneer...
behind my visage there ought to be some
******* miraculous story where...
i'd probably invite her back to my flat...
where i live alone... blah blah...
                i own too many books...
   i prefer the safety net of prostitutes...
at least they love me for the way i **** them...
with the intensity of the moment...
i posit: carpe diem... and make an hour last
a certainty... i don't need this *******'s worth
of timid courtship... no thank you...
i waited long enough... i waited too long...
no more...
              i'm done... i'm going to brush my "Greek" nose
up a little more... with arrogance and say...
when i needed you? you weren't there...
now... that you might, perhaps want me?
no... i don't need you...
           you know what i really need?
strangers! i need to interact with as many people
as possible! i can't be bothered with living a life
for some... exclusive relationship!
i need... the most inclusive: selfless relationship!
a... motto akin to:
liebe für das volk!
               if not in Deutsche... then in Latin?

AMOR ENIM POPULUS!

who else? who else can one love?
if one has been denied the excusive rights to love a woman
in one's youth?
as one ages... being denied such a right?
one can only grow to abound in loving:
the people! how else is one to survive?
   what? the same old: "missing"... "mythological":
"exclusive": female?
learn from Adolf ******! LIEBE DAS VOLK!
                  you haven't been given exclusive rights
to counterpart individual...
and... to be honest... inclusivity is stressed by both
status of wife / bus-driver in terms of how
universality is to be expressed on the ground:
all are to be treated equally...
alles ar zu sein behandelt gleichermaßen,
id est: gott! mit! uns!

             i have no one to love... i truly do, not,
so why... keep myself deluded in some...
waiting game of exclusivity?!
   why not freely pass into a medium of selfless
inclusivity?! why... not love: as freely...
and as painfully... as a sparrow might...
the dawn of spring... and the midnight or some:
forgotten hour(s): to come...
    i'm too old to find exclusive love...
to pair-bond... i'm too old... i know the frosty bite
of reality... but at least i can love inclusively...
like a Jesus Christ... like an Adolf ******...
what?! they're... that ******* far apart?! i don't...
*******... ****-ing... think so...
       i'm more comfortable with inclusive love-affairs
where i can be forever pillar... cold...
less-spoken that could be expected...
    my 20s... i never had them...
                    my 30s just about returned...
and now i'm interacting with people in their 40s
and 50s... and all i have in my mind is...
a cat... in musketeer type of boots...
kicking a rat into a sewer... why?
because... that's seems... just about... GERECHT!