A girl sitting at the table next
restless, was slyly eyeing his pie,
kind of cute, like in childhood
it sure was, yet seemed a ploy
to gatecrash in to his privacy,
and give company, as it pleased her.
"The pie is blackberry if you fancy it ,
I''ll be glad, you can have it all,
I know there is no other left"
He played Mr.Nice guy,solicitous,
but behind that face of his,
was the arrows of light, hitting him,
from those  sparkling eyes,
vying with each other, to build up
a halo chamber,  almost visible  around him!

Blackberry pie is no big deal, of course
he knows a whole hillside with
bushes full of ripe, succulent ones,
any day he could have his fill, raw
or as a flaky crusted pie backed by his mom.

But those sparkling eyes that in a moment
made him build castles in the air
had an electric appeal, he can't ignore.
The offer she said, was irresistible,
not a type she is who snatches,
dainty stuff from someone just bumped in to
"But the way your eyes did glint,
when you looked makes me ask
:haven't we met somewhere before?"

"There is a fickleness in this,love at first sight,
do you need to fall head over heels?"
a little voice within, that has a problem
in such things, kept raising a doubt.
"But without a first sight,there can't be love
may it be fickle, we'll tackle it the way it goes"
replies another,who seems to care for love.

The bracelet curled around your wrist
skin embracingly ornamental....representing
eternity.  I remember when we shopped
windows lit up to enhance the jewelled effect

Wore bright smiles, coats that salvaged
hid the chill from our bones. The cold air paid
a high price to gatecrash our sentiments,
it did not succeed and skulked off to bite

into the heart of one whose flesh was delicate
who wore woes, like parrots clinging to
Shoulders of pirates at sea...all at sea...for dear life
Clearly slipping in and out at sea level
I saw them pegged out, unaware of those tagged
Expressions, labelled on the outside
And me, fingers grasping the secret of our love
Affair, bought and paid for in gold

it's the 21st century and sometimes
it's hard to capture the gothic aura
of the 19th century...
which is why, perhaps, a chance
walk into the forest at night,
listening to demdike stare's
Tryptych album revives a sense of
what could have possibly been a novel -
mind you, if you ever stumbled
thereupon and found a trail
leading to a black mass at dusk -
heard the exaltation satanis in excelsior
like a mad barking to the heavens (or the pit)
followed by very audible murmuring
of a throng, and as the case was presented,
you too would slowly turn around,
walk a few metres in the opposite
direction... and then start galloping -
as far as i'm concerned, such events
are by invitation only - hardly a reason
in sight to gatecrash such an event -
too close for my comfort with
                    that audible murmuring.

THE TALK OF THE TUDOR WORLD

It is the talk of
the Tudor World.

But  - the Hello Magazine
Time Machine

has managed to gatecrash
the "Princelye Pleasures

of the Queens
Majesty

and her Sommery
Progress."

It is the July
of 1575.

Trump wanted to go
but we said: "NO!"

He's messed up our Future
don't want him to mess up this Past.

Took a hairy Irish
poet instead.

So here we be
at Killing Worth Castle

Warwick Sheer, where
"All loves meet...

...to create one soul!"
as Mr. Decker has it.

Leicester and Eliza
dance the Volta

with lewd look
in eye.

The paparazzi
wet themselves!

The Queen deports
her self "in full sight!"

The famous fountain
spurting with "such vehemency!"

as to "moysten"
we time travellers

"...from top to toe!"

Already our passions
enflamed by carved erotica.

Such "rich and hard
white Marbl."

Oh that naughty Ovid
and his wicked tales.

The great fireworks
reflected in Eliza's eye.

Her Majesty skips
and dances high.

Leicester's hand
beneath her bust

takes her and turns her
with the lifting ******

of his mighty thigh
against the ******'s Royal backside.

Well...we never!

"Oh!" and ". . .ooooh!"
the Queen cries.

Sweet sweat trickles
through her make-up.

Three weeks of wooing
a Queen's hand

although it is rumoured he has
had  much more than that!

The wondrous artificial lake
mirrors the falling sky.

Scotland and Ireland
are in uproar.

Eliza's  "pirates"
attacking Spanish silver convoys.

Her procrastinating over Mary's fate
her famous "answerless answers."

Screams from the Tower.
Another turn of the rack.

Time to be gone
methinks!

Set the controls
for 2001.

You see I was looking for beautiful woman to snuggle up with but nobody wanted to be with me, no matter how hard I tried I could never get the perfect woman, so I decided to
Make up a whole woman out of my mind, and everything turned out well until it became time for the woman to meet the parents
And this was the hard bit
Because I didn't want to bring a new woman in forcing her to pretend to be by lover because
Things could get ****** weird
And at that moment in time I was too shy to find the perfect woman and one guy told me
If you want a woman to keep for your very own join an internet group, you won't be hassled or anything because most of them
Just want companions and they can't find companions in anyone they see around them
And I said how am I going to do that because nobody wanted to be my companion
I am a regular guy
I like having fun
And I like sports
And partying to cool music
It's just that I like my own style
Of partying
I don't want people to gatecrash it
I also like doing art
And I know there is a woman out there for me
But I find it hard because I don't
Want any hassles
So I find my made up woman is better even if I could appear a tad shy to try something that
You heard could  be dangerous
At least the made up woman doesn't judge you
And doesn't make fun of you

i've just been exercising, cycling like a demon for almost two hours, passed the Gallows Corner roundabout twice, heavy traffic, i just can't keep away from the thrill of being lodged between moving objects that might **** me... the closer i am to death, the closer i am to life, which is sort of paradoxical; sort of: a memory best kept alive, by mortality per se...

if this be "capitalism" then i must be a *******
****** - sorry - what's that etymological
fallacy i hear concerning the word: Slav?
oh, right... a missing epsilon / eta...
i never know the difference between the two...
perhaps the clue is in the word: between
itself... epsilon is a long E while
eta is a short E...
******* get over it... ****** this ***** that...
i must be a ******* whigger by now...
the etymological origin of the word Slav
was derived from Slave? really...
perhaps you're referring to my distant cousins
that settled in the Balkans...
sure, the Yugoslavs might have been
enslaved by the Turks...
but if i remember correctly and i do know my
history, since i'm sort of tattooed with it...
the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth fought
back against the Ottoman onslaught...
apparently we managed to salvage Vienna...
such etymological laziness...
but what's to be expected...
in English ****- is insulting, oh sure sure...
esp. for the police force in ******* Rotherham...
sensitive little *****!
no... way better: KOONTZ!
a bit like a bite off: it could be ****... but no:
it's SH'ITE! here... fly my ******* kite!
the etymological of anything: ask the people who
refer to themselves as Slavs...
i.e. słowianin... root? słowo - word...
we are wordsmiths... how many Slavs have
actually been acknowledged by those northern
cultural Cyclops(es) that the Swedes are
(not my words, ref. to the Norwegian
Knausgaard)...
suede - suedes - persuasion sort of bollocking...
yeah... sure, thanks for the Deluge...
thanks for the harangue of Częstochowa...
(często? frequently chowa? hides...
je? them - feminine plural - chowa -
that ******* monstrosity that became the noun
Jehovah... he who hides women)
so yeah, how many Slavs have won the Nobel
prize for literature, compared to...
a German... an Englishman... hmm...
i'm not keeping score, but i know of a few...
if the English expect to take up etymology on their
on ground, using their own language...
ha ha, ******* still think they are the extension
of the Roman Empire...
all over European people have applied their
own diacritical distinctions to the alphabet...
whether that's the German umlaut or the French cedilla...
the Czech caron... blah blah etc.
but not the English... here's where i tell the Gaels
to start speaking their own, ******* tongue...
(god bless the persistence of the Welsh)
let's leave English with ol' Yankee
and rich Chinese tourists...
                    no... i've just been cycling... did 100 push-ups
lifted some weights...
and now? my mind is refreshed...
let's start the new year with the following
resolution...
   so i cycle up to a supermarket... oh, good...
they still have the Saturday edition of The Times...
i'm a subscriber so i have a discount
ergo i have a coupon...
   so i walk up to the cashier... she scans the newspaper,
then scans the coupon... no good...
she asks me for my Tesco club-card...
no good...
  - it's not coming through... something's wrong...
- today's the 1st of Jan, isn't it?
the coupon reads the 1st of Jan, no?
- yes...
- well then, that's not my problem,
your company can take up the argument
with The Times: whether or not they're printing
false coupons... but... i'm taking this newspaper...
whether you like it, or not...
- but, but...
-  NO.

so i just walked out with the newspaper,
she had the coupon,
outside i was taking off my bicycle-lock while
she was knocking on the window...
did i look up?
i just figured... now... catch me if you can....
subsequently ****** off towards Rainham
then Hornchurch then home...

that's my New Year's Resolution...
telling people: NO
period, the end, no thank you, *******,
bye bye.
            
why? i was supposed to be paid for 5 shifts on
the 31st of December, so, yesterday,
i even received a confirmation text to comfort me
that i'd be paid: i wanted to pay off my mother
for past dues...
it's a ritual: pay off your debts in the year about
to close rather than drag them into the new year...
so? ahem: "capitalism"?
for the few & the crooks...
you want to work, in earnest...
i'm not even going to listen to the ******* excuse:
ooh... "grammatical" error... filing error...
paperwork: fiddly...

too many ******* paperclips, eh?!
i'm so teasing the thought of attempting to **** someone...
no, not **** someone...
just walk up to someone in a street
with a knife, bear-hug them, sit them down
with the blade at their throat...
then ask a witness to call the police...
why, Matthew, why would you do something
like that?
you think not getting paid, being taken for
a ******* whigger is, nice?! the "right" thing
to be taken for?

  get over the extra G... you can say Niger...
you can say Nigerian... but what, giggle?!
that's too far?
               people pushed too many of the right
sort of buttons in the past late...
i'm going to gatecrash this year...
riddle? that's a double-D... bundle of what?!
in writing i can be anything i want to be...
like i can be caged with a Nigerian at the Oxford
stadium turnstiles and he'll come out
with a joke: ha ha... almost like a Nigerian prison...
and i'd joke back: yeah... sleep standing up
strapped to the ceiling...

it's always these 3rd party "aggravated"
the people that are not part of the conversation,
the busy-bodies that want to be at the centre
of almost everything!
the types that say: oh, me and my black friends...
what black friends?!
i had black schoolmates, i had a Jamaican marijuana
dealer who pushed me his rap record
while i listened to his mad ranting about
the Illuminati and seeing the face of Jesus in
a cloud at night, who wanted me to teach
his girl to play the guitar...
and now this Nigerian coworker...
                         am i supposed to be ******* friends
with people on a racial quota?!
do i ******* look like an interracial advert cuck?!

i've just been exercising... mein gott!
how refreshing... i need to get more of this stuff!
my mind is doing miracles on my well-being!

this is the year: i start say NO
to people, this is the year i apply the lesson i learned
from having met Dan...
my "supervisor"... for how long?
depends on whether i get paid...
2022... time to become a proper **** in real life;
i'll be nice... but only when i feel like it;
ooh... FEELZ., i like that very much.

p.s. 502 bad gateway bypass,
title: pardon pardon
body: meister meister: hersch.

Power from the people
will be their ultimate
weapon of control, when
the dystopian renaissance
begins to show its first buds
of a colourless revolution.

When darkness comes,
chameleons of daylight
will gatecrash the centurions
of their minds, moats of
forbidden fortresses will
be breached, decrees of the
deity, staffs of the Monarchy
shall fall upon the deaf eared din.

27th March 2020.
Prophecy.