let me forget that you ever said you loved me as you bite my chest and tell me i'm a good girl please spit on me and call me a **** so i can forget about our naked bodies becoming a tangled sweaty mess in our sleep please **** me till i claw at your back and you scream about how much you hurt

The first one this week is named Carlos,
he's tall and handsome and twice my age
He's got tan skin with all the hair burned off
his arms from sunlight sand and surf
He likes to call me "*******"

The second one this week is named Charlie,
he's married and chubby and masochistic
He's got a sunglass tan and three different cars
He likes to call me "baby"

The third one this week is named Ryan,
I think
He's tall I'm tall we were in his car our heads bumped
several times
He video taped the entire thing from three different angles
He likes to call me "***** *****"

grey night tugs at a sliver of light
nightly I decay and my innards cry
faithful eyelids shut and screen
Deflowerment — sold out, night and day
I am star of the show, I am prima donna
lifeless first lady of the stage
I am a tired flower, one that has bloomed too many times
passionless, devoid
almost anti-climatic
like sad fistfuls of grass or something milked dry
I crawl toward The Little Death
yearning only to be ensconced wholly in a white Void

******* is what I live for, necrophilia is what I die for.

a bit different, i have to admit...
       i don't know why i sat on
the toilet for so long,
  maybe it was to do with the ginger maine
**** that jumped on the bathoom
windowsill and was teasing me to
insert a need to be petted...
don't know, i was relaxing my ****
muscles stretched on the throne of thrones,
took a dump and started fascinating
about this ****** cat...
ginger, hair extensions on its ear
like a lynx, weighing in at about 10 kg,
i mean: hear meat of a *******...
we spend out days on a windowsill,
he's in the bathoom looking
at the vicinity going huh? and i'm also
dart-throwing with my eyes
trying to pick something up...
    like a revision to the prologue
of the movie... kiss kiss, bang bang
i really did have an over-due end to a toilet
session...
  i just sat there stretching my ****
like some samurai weightlifting and figuring out
why the ears of cats are so sensitive...
no, really, i want this **** out so i can
get my ego back...
          given we're going to be so *******
um um hum cry-baby nuanced...
       i'm talking a fox-sized cat...
           and he's like: love the stink, tease me some
more...
            cats are nuance...
                            sometime i don't know what
to do with them...
                  this ginger one likes my **** perfumes
that i lied about not having derived them from
Parisian sewege...
well i can't exactly say that val kilmer
was badass in that kiss kiss, bang bang movie,
because he was...
   a terrible thing happened to me when i went
to university,
          this girl approached me, we watched
the lion king and then for a walk and she was
asking me to "break down the walls" later,
which i didn't... oh **** me, ******* virgins is
rare i'm trying to forget that i did once...
that internal excess of skin you need to puncture,
while at the same time faking the possession
of a circumcised phallus?
      a flock of sheep sheered, a fork that isn't
a trident, and attempting to fake having a sized
               4inch *****...
                 ever open up a ******?
           clearly i'd tell you to go to a brothel before
attempting to unravel that question...
               better still, try that walking brothel
of a saudi niqab woman... tear that **** off
and you're bound to enter a hiatus in some public
space feeding a horde of pigeons, being "weird".
that existentialist "quote"... **** needs a pause,
akin to against: quote?
why did i even write about this?
   i guess simply for the same reasons albert camus
wrote the stranger...
                 i'm sitting on the "throne of thrones"
(the toilet), and i'm petting a cat...
               a cat more like a fox *******,
and i'm exfoliating his response to owning ears,
and there's this bald-patch worth of cranium
i smear with my index tip (of finger)...
   then the dab on the nose to suggest that i know
where his "knees" are bound to fold on the hind
when crouching...
                        doesn't that mean that existentialism
was a philosophical movement counter thesaurus?
isn't that what you call anti-thesaurus?
     as in faking an excess of vocab?
   peacock **** to me, insert gucci to add emphasis,
alongside: i own a flat in venice...
                              ******* bound to congregate.
i really don't know why i'm writing about
sitting on a toilet and petting a cat on a windowsill...
i really overstayed my welcome
   on the throne of thrones...
                         but i managed to find this
as compensation... the feline sensitivity of possessing
ears... all of them are naturally doberman slit...
  am i to blame the japanese for creating this
bonsai monstrosity?
  no! i blame the egyptians!
                                clearly the term bonsai
can be extended beyond the thought of carpentry...
this **** has to be absurdity phase 2...
    is it odd that i petted a cat on a windowsill
    before wiping my ***?
          everyone demands to hear the 3rd tier of
feminism, there's no 2nd phase of albert camus
and the anti-existentialist movement...
           mind you: i did just write about taking a ****
and petting a cat that enjoyed both my
rigour in a gentle hand over its cranium and base
of skeleton and "excess" of tail (a bit like a ******,
or what's commonly known as
the coccyx); evidently and the artwork in the depths
of a toilet protruding to give itself a case
of an iceberg comparison...
         i mean... does owning dogs come to
such ******* as owning cats them
                     forcing themselves into the toilet while
you want to concentrate on taking a ****
in privacy?

one of those beautiful nights...
    there's absolutely nothing to write...
memories keep flooding in:
coagulating, constipating me with
inactivity:
    perhaps this comes off as a complaint:
sure... a complain of a workaholic-alcoholic
nights like this i wish my wages weren't
stalled by 2 months and i could
take the bus to the brothel and
snuggle...
            pretend that smoking cigarettes
gives you the limp when it fact
withdrawing from smoking and then
a cigarette during ******* reignites
passions...
          lazily: oh too lazily...
                    perhaps reading some Ovid might
help... i need to finish his ****** poems
before i take to Zhuangzi all the more seriously:
i tried doing what some people do:
reading several books simultaneously...
at least today one thing came close to
an intimate contact with a woman...
8am sharp... at the hair-dresser...
  her floor-sweeper brought in her puppy...
such tender hair... cocker-spaniel...
i picked him up and snuggled her
before sitting down in a chair... closed my eyes
and talked blah blah this... blah blah that...
my hairdresser already knew my passion
for cycling: she recently picked it up...
then breakfast back home...
  and two decent hours spent watching
the world championships in athletics from
Oregon... then bottle recycling...
then... ooh... at my most "*** starved"
i conjured up the idea that getting a beard trim
is almost on par with oral ***...
i still think so... it certainly beats a haircut...
and no one does it better than a Turk...
by the end of it i looked like i slimmed 5 kilograms...
which was great: my cheeks and neck could
breathe again...
i just sat in the chair without talking...
just the casual hello... and he already knew
what i wanted...
                          i must have one of those
faces you can't forget... or one of those faces
that's familiar... or one of those faces you want
to punch... but i didn't ask for a hot towel...
i've never seen anyone of English heritage
get a Turkish towel treatment...
a menthol infused towel gets placed over your
head only exposing your nose to breathe...
while the barber turns to massaging your arms
and hands and fingers...
maybe i should go visit a massage parlour
for real... it's only half the price...
and i might just feel that much better than having
to pretend i'm competing for "something"...
beside my own egoism...
then again: and you will know the difference
between good AND evil...
              clearly i'm not the one to know...
it's not a clear-cut case of GOOD or EVIL...
the terms diffuse from their absolute pyramid
scheme into the subtler matters of the mind...
i can feel: negation-prefix-action:
i can feel: DISgust (disgust)
  i can feel: disagreement
              i can feel... disingenuousness....
as it stands? there no good or bad...
there's: THAT and DIS (phonetically THIS,
since THIS is not implying theta...
    for that? a missing T... i.e. fist)
                  women's Euro finals on the 31st
of this month... get paid on the 1st...
i still don't know why of all the people employed
around the same time as me
i'm the only one with an employee status
while everyone else is self-employed...
writing invoices...
someone working this job for 12 years
asks me why i've been made a supervisor after
no qualification being granted for me and having
only worked: since last December...
    maybe my grandfather taught me something
more indispensable than anything "said"
person might learn...
i want a heart of emptiness...
              i want the wind in my heart
with an easier beat to the sometimes: thumping of
my head as nothing comes knocking
in a manner that's: wake up thinking...

ah! now i know what prompted me to write
something today... my father was getting
a haircut prior to me...
i stalled my "styling" sessions by ordering
a can of Fanta and a white coffee two doors down...
i sat down at a table outside the cafe
and downed the can of Fanta...
bad idea... it was the first thing i ingested
in the morning... i finished it... started smoking
a cigarette, started drinking the coffee...
opened the newspaper an skimmed reading
news: eh... the world? same old... same old...

die welt: gleich-alt... altgleich...
"quizzical" and at the same time queasy...
i need to feel better...
i'm not going to pretend to feel better by just
sitting there trying to keep it all in...
this article prompted me:
Janice Turner: Soldiers should not be buying sed
anywhere...
i need to puke my guts out...
so i walk across the street and enter a cornfield
and start puking my guts out...
this bright orange mix of phlegm and bubbles...
ooh... release... now all i need to do is
grab a loaf from my *** while sitting on the thrones...
how i managed to sit through a session
of hair-cutting i will never know...

the day ended with me watching French women
batter the Dutch women at football:
deservedly...
so hold on: because this article stuck with me
for the entire day...
if soldiers should not be buying *** anywhere?
what about civilians?
i started thinking about the alternative reality...

women have all the agency in the realm of ***...
right up to the point of being the ones favouring
infanticide: she sleeps with a loser...
gets pregnant: termination:
because the "loser" is not geared up to shackles
and commitment of... whatever...

"research" shows trading money for consent
reduces empathy:
so does meal-tickets... dating...
trading free meals for *** reduces both
empathy and: trust...
                that's why when i read a newspaper
i skip all the news and go straight into
the editorial section: the opinions...
opinions?! ugh... in journalism that's synonymous
with unchallenged dialectics...

i think this "article" prompted the morning
sickness more than the can of Fanta...
i felt sick...
i find a £1000+ mobile phone in a supermarket...
i cycle home with it... it starts ringing with:
mommy... title for the ringer...
i get a churning in my stomach...
i can't rob a child of a mistake she'll learn from:
that... not everyone in society will do this...
hand in a lost phone...
best to get her hopes up...
at least i won't be the one disappointing her...
like that Iron Maiden song: afraid to shoot strangers...

yeah... that's what got me all weird and jittery...
soldiers should not be buying *** anywhere?
what about civilians? are, they, still, allowed?
or are we in a one massive ******* nunnery
of western women's feminism?!
*** is ***... *** is bad when its exchanged...
but good when it's free in *******?
a next: elevated ******* harem of would-be eunuchs?!

what if you buy ***... but at the same time...
manage to give a ******* an ****** by performing
oral *** on her? lies?! LIES! LIES! LIES!
she's always faking her ******* ******:
just like the woman is faking her pregnancy:
with "you": but not "him"... right?
the oldest story in the book of fairy-tales...

better *** work than journalism...
once upon a time there was journalism...
now journalists enter the realm of a secular priesthood...
who are these pope-editors?!
humanity has returned to a secular-religiosity...
it's that ******* plain and simple...
it took me a day to react...
i wanted to enjoy the day....
watch some athletics... some female football...
water the garden... cook a bbq...
the usual ****...
  but when you wake up with headlines:

MAN GIVING A WOMAN AN ****** = BAD...
you're like? well then... the next best "thing"
is probably killing her: so she shuts the **** up...
you don't play "sane" psychological dissonance
with a misdiagnosed schizophrenic:
someone with a psychotic "disorder":
you dye you hair pink or purple
and build up weird ****** expressions:
and shut the **** up...

          and you start listening to God-Smack:
esp. the song: stay away...

    if it weren't for Turkish or Romanian prostitutes
i'd still be an "incel"...
                        to hell with that...
that's paradoxically the "west" in a nutshell:
it wants both the superiority in morality
and a superiority in stressing its pillar of individualism:
which is supposed to be freed from
moralism... or did i get something wrong?

my morality? if i find money?
you're not going to find it or therefore get it back...
money is money...
i use money to turn a stone into a plank of wood...
even though the stone is not exchanged
for a plank of wood...
money is money is money...
money is also time...
  money is emblem... money is the fingernails
of Mammon...
                why do all frauds happen in
the realm of the credit system?
why don't i use the credit system?
for all the gained security...
              there's less self-awareness within the credit
system... ergo? i've primarily focused on
the debit system: i spend what i have...
i spend what i own...
                      i've stopped using the credit system
donkeys' years ago...
    who's going to scam me? who's going to bribe me?
to use the debit system implies:
you have to be the person using
the debit card... anyone can apparently use
a credit card...

here: a schematic...

body-shadow... hmm... what language will i chose?
the usual...
i like squares:

body                            ghost





breath                          shadow


breath being interchangeable with soul...
ergo?

leib                                  geist





atem                                shatten...

  (
seele... somewhere donw the line...
                    )

so what the **** are we supposed to do?
can civilians "buy" ***? what the **** are we "buying":
we're certainly not buying what being in a relationship buys...
being a married man you're not buy whiskey...
you're not buying vinyl records...
you're not buying bicycle spare-parts...
you're buying?! lip-gloss... too many *******
kitchen equipment...
i... i seriously don't want to earn money to do that...
******* THICK SKULLS!
women pretend they become... ******* Albert Einsteins
in the biology department very: clearly: early...
and then lose all their sensibility...
i need 20 hunting dogs...
i don't need a woman... i can cook food for myself!
what are these lunatic Lucy types thinking?!

here's a worthwhile review:
ALL WARS SHOULD BE FOUGHT WITHOUT ANY
VIOLENCE ANYWHERE!

ha ha... ha ha!
no sentence should be stringed with grammatical
intelligence: since the time immemorial
concerning a Helen of Troy...
war was not ***?!
right... so... currently... the un-****** women
get to dictate to the "*****" women
what... ******* is?
all of them are ***-starved: petty paupers?
*** is no fun?
  it must be primed: based on the focus
of a prim?
                          there needs to be an awe aspiring
consensus of the ******* "sisterhood"
oh **** me... i really must have missed
the shady alleys and brothels and forgot
about the leisurely activities of "proper" women:
the sort that prescribing announcing
themselves to the gig economy stewards:
but i'm a law graduate student:
i forgot to tell her...
i'm a former  chemistry student...
you're not half way from floating my boat...
but i'm pretty sure you'll find your
African anti-racist commodification you wish
to find... ergo? i don't give a ****...

seriously, by now?
          i start waving my hands in the air like
i just don't care...
i'm looking elsewhere... Turkish... esp. Turkish...
i'm looking for a second schism in Islam...
i have "plans"...
                
ugh... African women? i don't find them attractive...
does that does make me "racist"? ah ha ha...
                  how-z'ah... how-z'ah...
you find tapeworms attractive...
i'd love to pet a hyena...
  almost like a dog...
                          
well... wouldn't you know: with article such as these:
#metoo can die a silent death...
with opinions like these:
unchallenged...
no... nope... i don't want to **** these women:
i best avoid them...
              i won't want to touch these women
with these kind of opinions...
i want them in the ******* nunnery of both the physical
sense and in the sense of ideas...
what for? soi defensive...
            i'd rather wrestle with a dozen of Rottweiler
cubs... for fun... than **** a woman like that...

to hell with the imagination of 72 virgins:
they must be all middle-Eastern...
they can't be Western...
just give me a dozen of Rottweiler cubs...
i just need that...
                            i know how to orientate my thrills...
they are never enough...
            but i know what's enough:
give me a dozen of Rottweiler cubs...
and go **** yourself and your harem...
no... because: that's not how it works...
it works via "X"... and the said "X" is: said X...
which is this.

the ingenuity of gears and with that:
a strict obligation (to) momentum,
or at least having that cardiovascular
expression on your face
while passing peaches and cream
that she - it's always a she - sees on you
like you're ******* her...
besides... cycling against the wind
is more fun than spitting or ******* against
it... there's that but there's also:
back toward the airy-fairy lacking
a moral ought-i thought...
the ingenuity of gears...
or how walking is nonsensical sometimes:
or pretty much all the time
or how walking really does flatten
the horizon... considering how: hunched and
elevated on a bicycle... you can find
elevations and downhills when otherwise
**** erectus posturing flattens
whatever's on the "demand"...
etymology of: tango... it's not mango...
i can almost see it... tan-           -go...
once upon a time... i can be excused for being
young once and doing a tango
with Fiona while she stepped on my feet...
i can be excused for not asking her out
while she orientated herself to my presence
like a dog-leech...
trigonometry i.e. sine cosine... tan? so'w-c'ah-tow'eh?
tread-mead: and all things meagre?
meadow... flour, water... dough...
there must be a third corpus of celestial
beings... beside mere angels and demons...
now here's an etymological "conundrum":
genius... genus: jinn...
                  i'm a genie in a bottle blah blah...
because what would account for
imagination... originality...
Newton and... rocket...
vector... iron *******...
           or like looking at **** from
the perspective of *******...
or Nabokov's ******...
where's the legality of the cut-off point
when... for example... King John "Lackland"
married a... cherry... aged 13...
about 2 hours of cardio opens
up the mind to tease certain taboos
more than any amount of drinking will, ever...
allow...
how are these creatures spawned?
intimidated by... women with more
****** experience?
i guess so...
take me for example...
from lack of a better terminology:
libido "insomnia"... to be this perpetually
invigorated by *******-****...
commercial or not...
         upon the treadmill of intimacy
with no clarification of monetary boundaries...
long established plans...
the hell with "hooks" and "mortar"....
(at this point... misnomers, crypto lingua)
it would hard to get a hard-on...
like what? i'm somehow making summary
of ingesting ******: yes... on the *****-nilly
a hard-on all the time... no!
however... whatever might be deemed
an erectile dysfunction (dis- / dys-
as i once prompted an old man on a bench
with, using the example of
disease...  the negation of ease)
               disappears in the brothel...
when it's certain what two individuals are
about to do, conceive...
procreate for the ******* gymnastics of it...
it: being the act of piston churning...
butter-spreading... apple-pinching...
the ugly-bollocking of what escapes the act
when tenderness is applied
to the formality of lips and the most
****** part of a woman's body: her hands...
or cheek-to-cheek like some Sinatra drool...
well... that's that...
now there's some d.i.y. to be done in the house...
some cleaning... some dinner to be cooked;
**** me... it's windy.