poet, or philosopher, it doesn't really matter which is which, or whether the two are indistinguishable, notable in the former scenario, when someone has an eclectic bounty of interest is simply not love-scorned or love-nostalgic, love-idealistic, does it really matter? i was once called a philosopher: a teenage girl said in third person (as if she was a puppet and some-thing was moving her tongue): 'talk to this philosopher'... not in that sarcastic way that philosopher is an misnomer or an abused term of: self-gratifying grandeour, it was quiet genuine, but: imagine my shock... i had an ambition in life, it was to perform a service to thinking: without doing as much as hammering a nail into a plank of wood, that's the ambition of any thinking man: to borderline on telekinesis or telepathy... that was Hegel's modus operandi, his categorical imperative... after all: ego is a metaphysical tool, while thought is its metaphysical canvas... the mere suggestion that a copernican inversion can happen in physics "contra" metaphysics... it's already apparent, any word can behave like a hand touching the sacred object / subject of transfiguration and become something else, even a misnomer can find itself given solace to the user... for now i've forged a belief in the ultimate: away from the absolute in relation to omni in unum - one first has to learn to think, before having to learn to feel... mind you, i don't like the current nietzschean inversion of the cartesian equation: (ego) sum ergo (ego) cogito... esp. among the youtube political commentators, too many examples to give: i'm a classical liberal, i'm a progressive, i'm a liberterian... i don't really like seeing: i am, precede i think... i don't even like the origin-argument of this inversion: i exist for the sole purpose of thinking... after all: i think prior to being, since i can also daydream and not be what my thinking suspects as a possible truth-outcome... that's the nature of the freedom of thought: i don't have to be what i think, i can find thinking to be a pleasure, when the senses do not offer me any pleasure derivative, e.g. eating can sometimes be boring, chewing, chewing, *******... i eat because i need to live: i don't live to eat... i really have under-appreciated Hegel, i should really visit my grandparents for two months and read the phenomenology of the spirit: i'm trying to replicate the saying attributed to him (verbatim), but i doubt that i will, i don't have the patience to sift through all the quotes, but it goes along the lines of: beware oh wordly man, to not be a pawn in a thinking man's game... hence my suggestion of philosophy entering into the realms of telekinesis and telepathy: you get to see things play out and people express the origin story, of your own memetic generation of the original idea... how are poets finally alligned to philosophers? good thing that i studied chemistry at edinburgh university: we return to atoms, words are no longer enough, sure, they are, contrary to the statement...  (why did i under-appreciate Hegel? ah... had my head stuck up heidegger's and kant's *****...

  integration? great!
but i'll meet you halfway...
    i'll eat your fish & chips,
your englush breakfast,
  i won't sing your anthem: god save the queen,
****** anthem, too short,
but i will whistle through:
the british grenadiers' fife & drum...
like i might through la marseillaise...
i'll meet you halfway...
i'm not a former colony member,
commonwealth,
   i'm not some ****- paying bribes
to the british powers
to join in on a world cup of cricket...
this is what happens when immigration
turns sour...
they either lesrn the host tongue,
or they don't learn it...
or they can't distinguish the two:
speak polonaise at home,
speak the hosts' sprechen outside of it...

   if the ******* aren't suspect:
by not being bilingual...
the arab beatles... jihadi john...
          ringo star h'ahmed...
  george ali...
                paul mecca rashid...
oh i'll settle for integration...
but don't you ******* think i'll give
up my mother tongue
for "c.c.t.v." close-ups back home,
home being my private lodge...
like ******* will...
  i'll speak your tongue in public...
but i'm not ******* former commonwealth
****- riddled with a need to play
cricket, "forget" my tongue in order
to compensate for olives
              and sun-burnt bananas!

a former colony ****-**** is about
to dictate the rules for fellow
europeans, on the tram-ride from
Birmingham to Nottingham?
seriously?
        but of course the englishman
will favor the former colony pet bush-monkey
from sri lanka...
since the brit can't really dictate
to a fellow european his superiority
complex... which he can...
with a petted copper skinned
toy-ting...
who brought 'im a korma curry!
nice one, ol' laddy...
        right on the plonker...
                 i'm not finished!
                        i'm just getting started!

gehirnablassen:

perfectly respected immigration,
given that so many english girls just love
the attention their **** minders,
sexually abused,
not really making it as nurses
or... ahem... karaoke superstars
worth the while of britain's got talent
or voice of britain,
or...whatever the ****** show was
that gave birth to one direction...

so a.... brain-drain? good immigration?
the best!

i can sit awhile by myself and count...
1. the sparrows,
2. the swallow,
3. the starlings,
   4. the crows,
5. the magpies,
6. the pigeons,
7. the woodland pigeons
(fatter, with dog collars),
8. kestrels
  (one is enough to begin
the count)...
9. the blackbirds....
10. seagulls... seagulls?! 25 miles from
romford to southend! seagulls?!
this far in-land?! fair enough...
11. a robin...
                   12. goldfinch...
i just sit and watch these birds
in my garden, i sometimes spot
a darting frog in the garden,
i'm more english than the english...
i actually enjoy owning a garden...
the "english" surrounding me
exemplify a bbq. as a luxury parade...
what's so luxury about marinating
some meat, and then grilling it?!
please! enlightend me!

    gehirnablassen...
                   brain-drain immigration,
the type asiatic tiger-mums brag about
at child olympics...
   for the required rubric stature...
******* mothers, basically...

1. χaron χaos - cha-cha-cha       khaos
2. theaetetus - so / ma   letters / syllables:
     graphemes: sz phi theta
      compound syllables (caron s) - Na (sodium)
3. music choice...
       brain damage perturbator ft. noir deco
    virga iesse floruit, gradual of eleanor of
britanny...
4. pride / stubborness (not equal to) honour,
tolerating islam is not the same
as respceting islam...
   german 19th century fascination
with islam...
     θought and φilosophy...
   greek in warsaw, giving him directions,
talks: sounds so much like spanish...
5. england a nation of singletons,
idiosyncracy... social pressures in poland
and even in h'america missing in england
to marry...

1.

chamaleon tongue,                    shape shifter,
bez akcentu w piśmie - więciej akcentu poza pismem
(trainspotting scottish), welsh, cockney,
east london altogether, pakistani english, etc.
e.g. rather, or raver, i.e. not rayver
(someone who parties at night on ecstasy pill)
but ra'ver, like verging on a new discovery,
it's not even the = ~v but is actually v...
english is a chamaleon tongue, you say 'nostic
when you write gnostic, i say diagnostic,
therefore say gnostic, you say 'nome, i say gnome,
as cf. with diagnostic;
then there's the case of the per se:
you say chamaleon - no kappa there apperent, eh?
but there's chappie, chap, chuckles,
no kappa in a millionth chance
to also say nough'ledge for knowledge,
a bit like that gnome of yours...
as i said before: a language without
a written insertion of stressors / distinctions
will produce a massive array of diacritical
stressors / distinctions outside the written format,
but it will also become as complex as to
allow adults with learning difficulties e.g. dyslexia,
and that horrid internet slang of shortcuts:
i ate my 8 when i was late for my disco date
with the cha cha cha melon.

p.s. if there's a hay patch at the beginning, the nasal flute
will ask larry 'the lynx' saxophone to hark it out with rasp
gritting of phlegm... but if it's somewhere else down
the piccadilly line... it will act like a nudist spy and resonate
less than expected; probably mingling with f, i think.

left home at 10am: came back home at 10pm...
at Romford ordered 6 spicy chicken wings
for £3... ate them with such a relish
perhaps even some relief... didn't eat anything
since 12pm...
i felt relieved to be eating something when
truly hungry... i think that's important:
eating something when you're truly hungry:
reliving ancient days when a man would
have to hunt...
                        like Socrates "said":
some people live to eat...
                                  while others eat to live...
i'm persuaded by the latter category:
everything tastes all the better...
    i'm not talking about starving... i'm talking
fasting...

the best atmosphere at Wembley so far...
     Nottingham Forest vs. Huddersfield...
the most pleasant crowd so far...
no one really running into me and trying to
hug me while at the same time bruising me
from all the joy... over such trivial matters...
then again... people invest years and years
into watching soap operas on t.v.
Forest's sitcom "suspended sentence" has been
running for 23 years after being relegated
to the lesser league... i was actually chatting
to this colt about: how he wasn't even born
when Forest was a high-flying football club...

fist bumping: 'i want your children'...
getting candy from a lady after i helped her out
to get a cleaner to clean the pigeon ****
off her seat... blah blah...
full smile one: genuine...
     i already have the silver linings:
smile wrinkles under around my eyes...
and grey hair making a conquest
around my sideburns... i really am 36...
i feel like i'm 36 years old...
it feels good to be 36 years old...
this confident and at the same this reserved:

it's a good thing i visited the brothel
and sat there, in the waiting room... intimidated
by about 10 prostitutes... asking all of them to choose
being told by one: you can't do that!
then telling the one that told me that:
oh, fair enough... you'll do... since you're the mouthy one...

i ate my six spicy chicken wings:
no point getting a meal with chips...
the ratio of meat to batter on those wings sort
of counters the point of having chips...
smoked a cigarette in the fresh air... ah...

back to the stadium...
     a lot of young boys making makeshift
paper aeroplanes from paper left on every seat
for the opening ceremony...
i was thinking: what if someone was
to randomly turn around and that paper aeroplane
would hit them in the eye?
no matter... the boys were having fun...

people trying to bring alcohol and drink it in view
of the pitch... body language took over:
i just insinuated... and i was obeyed...
talk about owning a dog but not owning
a leash... i'd love to own a dog like i might be a cat:
i can' imagine stressing a cat with either
accessory of a leash or a muzzle...
so why would i do that to a dog?
i see foxes freely roaming... i couldn't...

more hugs, handshakes, fist-bumps...
for some reason... stroking the new lucky charm
of Nottingham Forest: an inflatable banana...
funny, that... my nickname at university
was BANAN... because i once wore
the Velvet Underground t-shirt to a party...

i was stroking the inflatable banana for good luck...
everyone managed to get the joke...
it's good... to find oneself in / with appeal
among a crowd of strangers...
in the moment? they're better than friends...
everything remains puddle deep...
it's veneer but at the same time it's not veneer...

only racial minorities will continue to complain
about the English (people)...
but... being a good judge of character...
i was supposed to be paired up...
i ended up doing most of the shift on my own...
because some copper-neck was slacking...
every time some **** hit the fan he would
come across as too authoritative...
or he would disappear...

it's not a judge of "colour"...
that's the descriptive element of MY language...
one excuse after another...
i was supposed to be giving the benefit of the doubt
to a slacker...
   my supervisor... beyond copper-neck
excused him with the words: oh... benefit of the doubt...
he's just work shy... work shy? work shy?!
lazy... but not lazy enough to
    climb up the tree and try the arithmetic of
straightening bananas, no?!

i don't need an extra hassle if i can do this job
by myself...

"we" reached a sentimental zenith with this one
guy, i.e. me and him... about old Wembley...
how i managed to see the 1995 charity shield
match between Manchester United and Newcastle...
how i was doing my job...
because i kindly pointed him to a slot on the wall...
some 1985 Act about not drinking in view
of the pitch... at a football event...

and he came back at me: it's people like you
that make... my first time at Wembley...
so special... you're just doing your job...
   i'm perfecting my orientation: i just give off
body language cues... i'm not going to shout...
i make that suggestion of: being placed
before the guillotine... cut-it-out...
even a deaf person could understand me:
i extend my fingers... and make a cutting motion
across my neck... moving my hand right to left...

that helps...
   no... my father: i was a roofer too, once upon a time...
wouldn't call it work... managing a crowd is
not really work... once you're left in a trench
of dealing with inanimate things that always:
always obey your every whim is work...
but dealing with people is never work...

fair enough... what a lovely day...
   it's Wembley and i love taking the Metropolitan Line
from Wembley Park to Liverpool St.,
mind you... come Wednesday i do hope that
that coming Jubilee will ensure the major night tube lines
will be open... i dread taking the night buses home
even thought the Argentina vs. Italy match is supposed
to finish at around 10:30pm....

hell... i don't care if i'm being underpaid...
i don't think i am... i'm getting paid to "work"
while other people pay... circa £100 for a seat...
stroking an inflatable banana for good luck:
it's going to become a Nottingham Forest gimmick:
a good luck charm...
i'm feeling it... Nottingham Forest & bananas...

in that kind of scenario i was genuinely for them
winning against Huddersfield...
why? well... on the way in i heard rumours
that Nottingham Forest only got promoted
on penalty shoot-outs...
i needed a 90min closure... if it wasn't
a 90min closure... i would have left at...
perhaps 10pm... got home at 12am...
   obviously i was supporting the Nottingham crowd...
i even took a "break" 10 minutes from the end
to share in their drama enthusiasm of a supporter...

another thing? you notice it...
just before the match...
i stood with my arms folded behind my back...
"lip-reading": i couldn't sing...
the national anthem...
   people notice that...
          i'm not "one of them": but i am "one of them"...
she's still my Queenie...
only racial minorities have a problem
with the English...
i don't have a problem with the English...
i think the English people are spectacular people...

i made a mistake of studying in Scotland-Sock-Land...
i should have studied in Liverpool...
Newcastle... why is it that the further up you go
the women are friendlier and prettier?!
more Norse genes?!

why am i writing about work?
nothing interesting is happening in the idea department
of my 'ead...
   literally... nothing...
only today i thought: it would be worthwhile to read
a book... rather than a newspaper...
this book has ben bugging me for some time...

thank god i don't have the Latin original...
it's all in English...
Ovid's ****** Poems...
i don't do chapters... esp. not when commuting...
and to intimidate the possible onlookers...
my book-note?
   a 100 rouble banknote...
    yay! "Ukraine"...
                              really?
                i really don't care about Ukraine...
why would i give a **** about Ukraine...
if Ukraine will not give Lvov back to the original
architects of the city?!

i'm seriously not the man who heard a choir
in an empty church and a great wind
that subsequently dispersed it back in 2007...
i'm the guy with... Nik Kershaw's
wouldn't it be good playing on repeat in my head...
on silent mode...

nothing truly beats ancient Roman poets...
i'm reliving an experience that was originally intended
to remain stale... moulded... gathering dust on
my shelf... i've owned a book by Ovid for...
when awake? you count donkeys...
when trying to stay awake: you count donkeys...
sure... then trying to fall asleep you count sheep:
imitation clouds...
but Ovid... Ovid was always going to surpass
my esteem for either Virgil and Horace...
Ovid was always going to cut the argument short...

like today... two guys were adamant on an argument...
Hazard or Salah...
i was asked the question when the shift ended...
Hazard or Salah?
my reply? Hazard... when he played for Chelsea...
hands down...
what team do you support? West Ham...
  see! see! the response came! what bias?!
a West Ham supporter can't support anything good
about Chelsea! just because these guys haven't
seen Hazard in his prime at Real Madrid...

             it's true... Hazard at Chelsea...
Lukaku at Inter Milan...
              you think that Haaland and City is
a match-made-in-heaven?
   i doubt it...
        some players should just stick to the atmosphere...
Mark Noble at West Ham...
Steven Gerrard at Liverpool...
        you can't just transfer someone's soul
from one body to another like you: "supposedly" can
in the Hindu concept of reincarnation...
no!
              e.g.? the Watkin's Tower makes a lot of sense...
since... the prime icons of London are hardly
reminding anyone that this construction
exists... because: competition with Paris' Eiffel
suffocated the idea into a: misnomer of: ooh!
icon of architecture!
it isn't...
                   the "idea" concerning the architecture
of the tower of Eiffel in Paris worked...
Watkin's Tower is hardly central...
what has London have? pseudo-communist
Barbican: as the saying goes...

either you are happy with what you have...
or you have what you are happy with...

London is not a ******* cliche Las Vegas...
sure... sure... lodge a ******* pseudo-Eiffel
next to St. Paul's cathedral and
let's rewrite Handel's Messiah with
some dub-step DROP interludes...

******* overshadowing pyramid-height chasers...

****'s sake... i can see the Watkin's Tower
from Mashiters Hill... or... wait...
was that from a roof at one of the office blocks...
near St. Paul's... the Scottish Widows' HQ
when i joked: isn't that... the Eiffel?

it's that genius of Ovid's observations...
about touching one's ear lobes to provide evidence
of disinterest...
while at the same time: oh modern optics...
back in the elder times... perhaps fiddling
with one's ring on one's ring finger was a sign
of approval... but lately i've noticed that women
place a ring on either their index or *******:
as if implying:
i do not require to be wed...
    a ring placed on the index or *******:
a ring placed on the *******?!
*******! marriage! *******: pair-bonding!
let's make the nobility of swans extinct!
and on the index... who knows?!

i yawn at the football match,
concentrating my attention on the crowd...
i murmur the national anthem of:
god save the queen and i spot an alliance...
someone in the crowd feels "secure" that i'm murmuring
alongside them a pride:
not a homosexual pride... just an outright...
as i fiddle with my fu manchu...

   and my... competing love-patch in length...
blonde... competing in length with my beard's length...
like some ancient Cossack...

the Slavic proverb stands solid:

wenn unter krähen: du krächzen wie sie!
when among crows: you croak like them!

i find myself very accommodating...
when it's required...

i need no "other" place to visit... i need to become
more of a spider and weave more of my web
and strangle the topography of London
to my demands... of the commute...
       as much as i'd love to escape to the Faroe Islands...
i don't think i could ever leave London
behind... as much as i loved Edinburgh on first
impressions... i could leave Edinburgh...
i don't think i could ever leave London...
seeing it morph: diverge: grow...
                        i don't think i could ever leave
London...
Loon-doon...
          
die ganze welt ist hier! pfauen ihre sprachen!
the whole world is here! peacocking their languages!
while i come with my toy-zeppelins!
während ich kommen sie mit mein
spielzeugzeppeline!

light takes
a
sharp turn
at
the
village gate of
Nottingham