Out with the old, in with the new
I knew that our love was to good to be true.
Next time I'll be bullet proof.
No, next time: I'll find a prince;
             not a fugitive.
Next time I'll find a wild;
              not a control.
Next time I won't hold myself back
I won't give up myself.
Next time, my love won't fade.
If it does; He'll fight for it back,
not exit the scene.
Next time will be nothing but love
    Not a fear of leaving.
You won't be able to recognize
to hypnotize my back.
I'll be strong because of you.
Isn't that what you wanted?

as ever, the English got something right! i adore sport... and what i adore most about these Commonwealth Games? the Olympians are competing at the same time with the Para-Olympians... that's brilliant! when the usual Olympics takes place... the abled bodied Olympians that have their games in the first two weeks... then there's a break... then the Para-Olympians have their games... ****'s sake! the two games should be coupled-up! what's that i hear? games for the "spezial kidz"?! what a load of *******... when i was completing my NVQ for crowd safety i was asked the question: what are British values? i replied... aren't they universal? i didn't even mention the details of the question: i thought the question was self-evident in that it was universal: British values are universal because they can be understood by anyone and anywhere... ergo? the Para-Olympics should take part at the same time as the able-bodied Olympics... why muddle-coddle these wheelchair bound ******* to a later date?! ****'s sake! they should compete at the same time... i'd probably run a slower time than some of these wheel-snuggling swimmers of the air... it's not fair that the Olympics is separate from the Para-Olympics... and the former Olympians turned media pundits wonder: why aren't the Para-Olympics getting the same coverage as the "original" Olympics... hell... if it would have to take 3 weeks rather than 2... so be it... these people should compete in the same time-frame! that's ******* discriminatory! what special status? no special status! they compete at the same time... they get to entertain the same crowd volume! i don't care! they should... how does it feel cycling past someone in a wheelchair? i forget to ask... i always forget to ask a question about the weather... or the taste of quails... silly me... well... it's slightly different when i see a: POKRAKA... "freak"... that's a result of the irresponsibility of a certain adults inter-breeding... cousin-*******... someone people should have learned a valuable lesson a long time, a long long time ago... i don't blame the half-witted eighth of a Forrest Gump... i just look at the "mother" and "brother" and think nothing but disgust... not even donkeys get their reproductive conduct so wrong... for a creature so highly evolved: we're stuck with cousin-******* and the "myth" of Oedipus... but at least Oedipus was an exception... i imagine that he didn't gauge his eyes out... instead became an ******... then again: what are myths? stories better than any journalistic affair... myths > history > journalism < fiction < poetry... but Para-Olympians should be competing on the same stage as the Olympians! take an extra week... but don't do what's already being done! done segregate the two camps of competitors! take an extra week! let both compete at the same time! it's not fair that once the original Olympics are finished: the crowd isn't there for the Para-Olympians! i know it will be harder to attract the same viewership for women's club football... female boxing... female rugby... i'm already baking my own cakes... cooking my own food... cleaning my own house... today i surprised myself... what herb is most abundant in my garden? beside rosemary? mint... i was cleaning the garden and i had to cut down an overgrowth of mint... well... how many ******* mojitos would i have to make? how much tzatziki? a lot... there's me: bloated... lying under a floating table: drunk but probably also hallucinating Aztecs ceremonies of human sacrifice... MINT ICE CREAM... wow... i'm getting good at this ice-cream business... i simply hate chocolate ice-cream... but mint ice cream? ooh... and chocolate chips... the crème anglaise is ready... just chilling overnight... i'll churn it tomorrow... by then the chocolate chips will be added... and i didn't even need to add any food flavourings... it's this pristine green... fit for ice... a bit like that Frank Zappa song: don't eat yellow snow... ha ha... because someone has ****** into it... i love green... pale green... then again... no wonder i dress up like a tree from time to time... my irises are green... gween boyo wonder(s)...

sometimes i have to admire thespians...
as much as i despise the whole lot of them:
esp. when they come together
and self-congratulate themselves...
mind you... there are actors and there are
"actors":
       most notably "actors" as depicted
in Singing in the Rain: prior to the talkies...
but at the same time...
actors like the fictional Gloria Swanson -
or i fail to tell her apart
from the very real Norma Desmond...
i can attest to two stand-out performances
in the past few years...
i wouldn't be wrong in calling them
their life-performances...
                     and it's not even in the medium
of movies...
movies have lost everything movies
once were...
i used to enjoy movies: i'm pretty sure
everyone used to enjoy movies...
in school we'd gather in packs of 7 guys
and sometimes 7 guys and 3 girls
and we'd go to the cinema to watch
a movie...
      then grab a bite to eat...
or we used to go on dates to the movies...
Troy... she wanted to see that...
because i guess she thought
i looked like Achilles or Brad Pitt...
but that wasn't a date: date...
it was an entire day... first to Tate Modern
for the Edward Hopper exhibition...
some minor strolling...
then back to Romford to see the movie...
and then some food at a sushi bar
and some sake...
but movies these days are unwatchable...
i'd rather watch the Godfather (no...
part II is not better than the original...
sure... Terminator II is better than
Terminator and the Empire Strikes
Back is better than New Hope...
no... not the Godfather)...
i'd rather re-watch that than any new movie...
i usually switch on for about
10 minutes before switching off...
i need a cigarette break... i need to water
the garden... i need to take a ****...
i need to scratch my *** in private...
- but that's how the story goes...
"back in the day": there was a profession
of a baby-sitter...
the parents would have a date-night...
they'd go to the cinema...
i once had a baby-sitter... i forget who...
it was probably a male if my memory
serves me correct... probably my now estranged uncle...
while my parents went to see the movie
SE7EN at the now "mythical" Odeon on
the Gants Hill roundabout...
these days? movies are comic books...
i prefer serious books...
          and in terms of comics...
oh man... the first time i had a *******
i think the two girls were having a *******
for the same time too...
threesomes are disappointingly
disorientating...
       they like the execution of Isaiah...
being cut in half... the upper body is twiddling
with ******* and lips...
the lower part of the body is being treated
along the lines of *******...
it being my first time: terribly disappointing...
i couldn't keep up...
we settled on the anti-pornographic
solution... hand-job and imitation ******
into the "other's" *****...
             i was limp on first take...
nicotine... better than caffeine and ******* combined
to give a man arousal...
i had to have a smoke...
               i was new to the arrangement:
they were new to the arrangement:
the three of us were N00BZ... literally...
it wasn't like in a pornographic flick...
hell! far from it!
   what put me off was the changing of condoms...
and... once knew what to do with the *******:
pull it back... while the other one
didn't know what to do with it:
i'd circumcise her... so she might get a better
picture...
hardly an ego boost...
she implored me to reply in the affirmative
when asking the question:
you must feel like a king...
eh... i'm not the one who suggested having
a *******...
i rejected you twice: *****! you butted in!
i never had a ******* on my palette...
i like the ******* where i'm
almost tentatively looking into the woman's eyes
while rubbing forehead against forehead
before quickly jumping down below
to perform the crab-bucket maestro tongue
twirl of imitating gulping oysters
and flowers of KAHUNT!
                ****... oral *** on a woman...
she's already readying her hands to pretend to rip
the hair on your hair out...
she does that specific roll of the eyes...
it's beautiful to watch...
peacocks courting is probably the nearest comparison...
thank the gods on my part for
reading Ovid... someone was necessarily
born to combat these exploits of *******...
of ugly ***...

i don't know when i'll have a ******* ever again:
i like the one on one intimacy...
threesomes feel so pedestrian...
there's always that unwanted third party...
i don't think i gained an ego-booster...
i think along the lines of "p.t.s.d."...
                              the unwanted girl orchestrated
the whole enterprise...
the girl i wanted was the one i was snuggling up
to trying to steal a kiss:
me: thief... trying to steal kisses from
prostitutes... the unwanted third-party...
fake milking cows
and duck lips... she was just a canvas
for my *******...
                    once is enough...
i don't care what ******* portrays...
they're a nuisance...
i like ******* while eating eyes... with eyes...
plus the hygienic approach doesn't help
for the fluidity of threesomes...
you can't be hygienic and irresponsible at the same
time...

stealing kisses from prostitutes is one thing...
but ******* them without any ****** protection...
come the zenith...
actually asking: can i?
   with agreement:
                    yes, you can...           oh wow...
well... i'm talking about Turkish women...
different culture, different tactic...
i live in England but by now:
i ****** well hope to never **** an English
girl...

girl, let me just water my garden...
admire the night for a while:
believe me... you can have your sway
in raising the next Oedipal myth in your
sisterhood motherhood of loneliness...
i'd love to teach the ******* some things...
the pleasures of the hammer...
the KANGO concrete drill...
the everywhere and everyone within
the confines of the loneliness
of walking in a forest...
         chemistry! English! i'd love to learn
vocal Deutsche with him!
but no... fair enough: no's a no...
back to the brothel i go...
               oh no no...
              
me and hook-up culture? nothing's for free!
- i sometimes wake up the next day:
mein gott! what damage i must have i cause:
it's a cruel addiction:
to drink and to write simultaneously:
Bukowski and Hemmingway
figured out this problem...
one in celebrating old age
the other in the shotgun...

                    tear skin, grow more skin...

mein gott! i became so carried away with myself
that i actually forgot my original theme
for this poo'em...
            literally: maybe that's why i inserted
the word BZDETA...
                 oh... it's an actual word... not in -ing-leash
of course... but i'm sure most English
speakers are familiar with African surnames:
M'Bepe Mgabe etc.
   that's hovering consonant...
        B'z'deta...
               i love how the English folk break their tongues
when speaking my mother's... tongue...
they would sooner learn Czech or Russian
than learn ******... such puritans of the tongue
we folk are... and now combine the fact
that i identify as an Anglo-Slav...
     listen: England or at least English is a playground
for me... i was implored by some deity
to come to these isles, given a ***** and bucket
and told: here! there's some wet sand over there...
go and play!

                 now: many a happy returns to the father
of the English tongue... i have to return and tease
at some Deutsche...
           Franz Friedrich: AHUND!

my original adoration for the Thespians... it... can...
happen... personally i'd rather not...
i don't see the point of these shadow-thieves...
these dopplegangers... yet artistically?
it's the most celebrated medium...
           sure... painters are celebrated... post-mortem...
poets had a weird spell of "conundrums"
in America in the the 1960s...
   but i'm not willing to write ******* for a "me"
that's either asthmatic or exasperated:
equally short on breath...

well: given the modern equivalent... everyone is going
to be the next Allen Ging-Sperg?
i don't think so... more of a composer: than an entertainer...

anyhoo...
  BZDETA... an actual word...
it's sort of in between the English equivalent of:
trivial (thing) and a pointless (thing) -
the actual "thing" is hidden within the pointlessness
of an implied "thing" / the triviality of
the implied "thing": ha! modern English grammaticians
and their hyped up focus on pronouns...
wait till they figure out that adjectives verbs
and nouns and conjunctions and adverbs and...
a- the-     -ism: the indefinite and the definite article...

- everything coming of America (culturally) is corrupt:
once the beacon for the world to admire...
i'm regressing to find alternatives...
i stopped listening to music with a tinge of
the English tongue... i've thrown my laurel wreath
toward German neo-folk...
**** it... i might be living, physically: in an anglo-sphere
but my mind is elsewhere...
i wouldn't go as far as Frank Zappa and adore
Bulgarian music... but certainly not anything
in the vein of modern-modern (post?) English...

- another word that's dear to me: akin to
   how Italians call a child a BAMBINO...
the Polacks call a child a BOBAS...
             English is so strict... rigid sometimes...
the mere fact that the ****** tongue employs
so much diminutive "accents" is amazing sometimes...
a mountain: (gurhau, no... sorry... guhrau!)
i.e. góra can become a little mountain
via incorporating the diminutive tense górka...

and although the word RZECZ denotes: things...
rzeka is river... while a small river?
rzeczka...
            i don't think there's the antonym for the diminutive
in ******... it's sort of boring in English:
there are only adjectives... actual nouns
do not incorporate a diminutive tense for something
being described:

KACZKA (duck) kaczuszka (small duck, duckling)
wow! that's actually a good example of
the English ZUNGE applying the diminutive
construct of a word...
young and youngling springs to mind...
but English is altogether a very rigid tongue...
so... i don't understand how these current
grammatical-magicians and their pronoun-hyper-focus
are trying: you can't trick an old dog
into learning new tricks... these aren't tricks:
this is equivalent to: a baboon...
smearing his naked plump pink *** with his
own ****... calling it woad...
raising it up in the air like a Muslim during prayer:
before battle... shaking it...
taunting the opponent... come fight me...
and then...
                       what? of the two kings of ancient
Israel... who would i like to be?
David or Solomon?    hmm... clueless question...
DAVID! he got to fight Goliath and enjoyed the lyre
and wrote pslams into ripe old age...
Solomon? who couldn't compete with
his father... resorted to "wisdom":
writing aphorisms / maxims is the worst genre of
literature... it's untested proofs...
just ask Srinivasa Ramanujan...
                                   he was always neglected by
the establishment for having no proofs...
great idea: 2 + 2 = 5... but how? where's your proof!
the same with Solomon's supposed wisdom:
no proof... the same with Nietzsche's aphorisms
or for that matter la Rochefoucauld...
it's all true... but it's most probably just perhaps true...
i've tasted a sample of both the lives
of Solomon and David...
            each time i return to David...
i just do what the Nazis did to the *******...
i turn it clockwise...
                 tilt it... what do i see?
i see a reading-mat and an open book...
              i peer in: i ignite out...

now i'm thinking: i still need to mop the floors of the house,
i need to shine my shoes and iron a white shirt...
and gear up to waking up at 6am...
as much as i love waking up at 11am
without needing to be awake any hour sooner...
i love waking up at 6am with a necessary:
i'm expected to be at X by the time Y...
algebra simplicity...

esp. since today i fell out of bed: too humid...
i fell out the bed at about 6:30am onto the floor...
how compact the floor feels...
i could feel my strained spine relax on the hard surface...
i even used my folded hand for a pillow
in and out of a coming day-dream...
what i wouldn't give to imitate David...
and scorn Solomon forever more...
no wisdom did i find...
   no man can speak wisdom to men when he has
an abundance of "thirst-quench" of ****...
          
              in a polygamous society... thank god i don't live
in one... but there have always been women that
aspired to the cult / altar of the phallus...
i'm content with the fact that i can bypass any thirst...
that i have hygienic standards in place
that make me disregard any satisfaction in the realm
of a *******... it's equivalent to:
running an 800m race... come the 400m mark...
you're told to change your socks and shoes...
and then run another lap...

                           it's nothing like in *******...
monkey-pox is a real thing...
you need standards... cleanliness is the greatest:
and only standard that must be constantly stressed
from one human to another...

only Michel de Montaigne can surpass both Nietzsche
and la Rochefoucauld:
well, at least by my "under-estimation"...

- now for the caveat... what i was originally to write
about...
two example where Thespians can be adored...

                                   Logan Roy i.e. Brian ***
Peter III i.e. Nicholas Hoult...

even they: themselves have figured out that films
are on the way out...
people have changed...
                               i know i have changed...
i don't have the mental capacity to watch movies:
and i'm not some senile old man...
strange... in ancient times old people
were never this senile...
   they still had intellectual rigour...
they accumulated "****": perhaps it wasn't intellectually
stimulating: but it was intellectually mesmerising...
it was called wisdom: once upon a time...

and when my father criticised me for
reading philosophy books in my youth...
expecting me to regress to the optometric notion
that only old people are wise:
no! nein! old people these days are like
children: there's nothing to learn from them!
that's why i'm thinking about going
into primary school teaching...
i can pour my ever more clear water into that pool...
of clear water...
i don't need to teach them chemistry...
i don't have to teach them the tongue:
i can watch ontology sprout out of seemingly "nothing"...
i adore children:
            like i could never adore women...
i adore children like i adore animals...
i don't know what sort of man one must become
to adore women in order to exploit them
in the way that they are exploited...

hypocrite? because i place my silver on the table
and expect what's expected by the meaning
of transaction, or...
rather... place the silver on the table...
receive a shared meal and then expect something
in return? such backward ways
of the American culture...
i hope that England will never become infested
with these practices... freakish: ghoulish...
of the four-eyed beast...
a desecration of Shiva: one winking eye on
the forehead... one blinking eye attached to the ****...
with the two eyes that are supposed to see:
stapled shut...

how marvelous to wake up...
with a want to make mint and dark-chocolate chip
ice-cream... surely the best ice-cream i have
ever made! to hell with chocolate ice-cream!
i hate chocolate... turning it into ice-cream is even worse!
mint! oh... that marvelous invention of
the gods... almost equivalent to ferns...
almost equivalent to nettles...
how the ancient Roman centurions used to cure
an itch... they would run and jump into
a bed of nettles ****-*******-naked...
i.e. fight fire with fire... fight an itch with an even
bigger itch... second to the nettle? the thistle...
i'd love to see those guys jump into a patch
of nettles...

Rome will never die... even with the crucifixion
of its supposed surrogate son of man...
nope...
    the alphabet it still here...
the coliseum has morphed into a raised
meteor crater of a football stadium...
               Rome is, Rome was, Rome will be...
even with the Arab "invasion" of Europe...;
Rome is, Rome was, Rome will be:
we'll just be soul-chasers... soul-thieves...
they'll enter the arena of this tongue...
neglect their heritage... and they will learn our ways...
somewhat... not always...
mind you: on a racial-bias...
skin-colouring dilutes during *******
with a 2nd generation...
  
you asked for a Latin man... a Latin man came...
what now?
you asked for a Latin man...
i'm forever employing myself to date a single
mom with a boy or a girl...
i'm not a Darwinist... genes are like atoms...
i don't care much for them...
but... i wouldn't date a single mother
for the ***... i'd be sneaking out
to the brothel on a whim...
i'd be there for the child...
                    i'd love to make him or her ingest
my psychology:
i'd make them ingest my soul...
i'd pass on my ontology...
     he or she would have to be bilingual
in the least... i'd learn Deutsche with him...
he would be a miracle of a Switzerland outside
of Switzerland!

i'm still bewildered why America is not a bilingual
quest (of a nation)...
  WASP pride? or ignorance?
the worst of the English went to America:
while the supposed "worst" of the English went
to Australia...
                 funny... really funny...

to wake up and have: i need to make mint &
chocolate ice-cream on one's mind...
that's how one wakes up to celebrate life!   LIFE!
LAíF!

working "backwards" from something already
started in: collateral and the chicken scratching exercise...

how can you not have a hard-on
for mel gibson's beard...
in... the professor and the madman -
detailing the... etymological events
surrounding something more dear to me...
than the pslams of king david
or the: wisdoms of king solomon...
the wisdom: thus derived...
after a man becomes: ostensibly...
bored with a harem...
that would become the blueprint
of envy for future men of the world...

alexander the great...
muhammad...
           it's not a bible... it's a...
dic-tio-nary... stop the press...
pluck all the feathers from all the magpies
in the land... tell Xerxes to stop
whistling at the sea and...
can we just stop with the b.d.s.m.
of the waves?

        head: rotondo! spin ****** spin!
anything in the "pejorative"...
god... this moloch of grammar of a deity...
we need to ensure there's a scrutiny
of each and every, yes: every word...
we need to sieve them through
the categories!

i put to mind:
     it's a comparison of catchphrases...
the war hogs cite it as:
collateral damage...
the civilian will rummage and pluck out:
the... "rhetorical question"...
can... you... put... rhetoric: to a question?
can a rhetorical question:
actually exist... like a unicorn can?
oh wait... kangaroo yes...
a platypus... oh a double yes...

can you... can you... "rhetorical question"?
what the hell is a rhetorical question:
if not, something akin to a fashion statement...
of the calibre: a short-black-'un...
a coco chanel mini-skirt...

what is... a rhetorical question?
a question is, i hope...
something that manages to endorse
the dialectic...
and anyone who engages with a dialectic
will / or should know:
there's no rhetorical question...
when being asked:
one doesn't... "somehow"...
find a magic plot of a forest with smurfs...
and goes off on a tangent speaking...
persuasively...
a rhetoric question isn't a question
at all...

        collateral damage among the war hogs
is a rhetorical question among the civilians...

the story of professor james murray
and dr. william minor...
and to think... the alienists (psychiatrists)
at the time thought that...
enforced regurgitation...
could animate the body to conjure up
an already exhausted soul...
what ancient romans did for masochistic pleasure:
bulimia in the rudiment of:
a fork of fingers agitating the throat
and subsequently the oesophagus
to: bring back... what was already in fractions...

some call it soul, some call it x... y...
that... indispensable will: for animation...
to perform the 80 year old (in total) magic trick
of being: immune...
to the ills and forgivings of others...
a standard praise of solipsism...
as a thought-experiment... nothing more...
from which one can...
come and go as freely as one can vote
in a democracy...

come when summoned... leave when...
not made into any greater necessity other than:
to make fair of the count...

truly: a hard-on for mel gibson's beard...
some can claim ***** envy...
i have beard envy...
like to-hat envy when someone is 5'11"
and i'm still the same old 6'2"...

rhetorical question... i always found questions
to be... of a... dialectical nature...
i can hardly think of a rhetorical question
or rhetorical answer...
a rhetorical question implies:
the questioner has more to say...
than the person intended to answer...
i can hardly anyone burn through oration
when being posed a question...
a question: per se... is not something one
can be certain about: esp. when giving a reply...

a rhetorical question is a k.f.c. mouse urban
myth... a bit like collateral damage:
did we destroy a bullet making factory?
no... but we killed some civilians...
or some sort of entreating variation of worshipping
the drugging and bullet dodging machinery
of: cold the bullet bit...

how can you pose a rhetorical question?
is someone about to make a rhetorical answer?
robots would behave within rhetorical confines
of being asked an absolute:
error message - replying with an absolute yes / no...

a rhetorical question would beg
for a ore rotundo: with a voice filled with assurance...
the question is imposed...
with a curiosity... at best: with doubt...
uncertainty... at worst: with a negation:
waiting for the wrong answer...
but no dialectic is ever to be established
working from a rhetorical question...
a socrates would be:
the dialectical surgeon...
the affair of the question doesn't go beyond...
whoever is questioning:

oh!           oh!
a rhetorical question is... not for someone
to address the question...
but a pursuit of the questioner to continue asking
question...
a rhetorical question is... to further the lineage
of questions... to be therefore "rhetorical"
is to inquire more... rather than reply with
a rhetorical certainty...
a rhetorical question isn't a question...
it's a cascade of questions...

******* and the myth of the gateway...
after **** i did the next best thing...
i rediscovered bourbon as ms. amber...
that once you watch just a little bit of it...
you will turn toward finding out more graphic
content...
so... me looking out for the most *******
music: combichrist... :wumpscut,
vomito *****...
                  *****... graphic... *******?
or... gloryhole ***** *******...
               or pregnant women: so *****...
       or japanese gravure models...
"problem" with japanese models...
              *** bots? aren't they here already...
with these porcelain mannequins?
touch a hand it breaks or fizzles into...
ash...
  as happens when you've been at "it"...
puritanical victorian von krafft-ebbing...
i sometimes know what the ******* is for...
i hardly think it necessary to listen to what's
"moral" from circumcised... gentile...
north-h'americans...
                    jerking off since aged 8...
brain rot started way back... in 1994...
which is before the internet...
   gateway... my ***...
         japanese gravure and Agnolo Bronzino...

who needs "more"... when you have a mel gibson
beard-envy!

the chair can remain a chair...
but there's a termite colony wriggling in it...
i don't need to see it...
i just need to hear it...
combichrist: like to thank my buddies,
    today i woke to the rain of blood...
                   all pain is gone...
       cheap thrill seeing heaven:
better tamed - attempting to listen to the litanies
escaping hell...
a written word in hell is like...
     because the hands are being crushed
in monkey-wrenches and there's Spinoza
cackling...

   who needs more ******* and ride-me-timmy
the horses' laugh when music can
compensate... and otherwise find the better
kind of: the feeding outlet...

a rhetorical question: is that for the answer to
be tinged with rhetorical gravitas?
no... then every question socrates every posed
what a rhetorical question:
and the concern for dialectics is a dummy...
which is probably true: reading what sort
of answers those put under the scrutiny give:
is response...

i must be wrong: a rhetorical question:
is not simply a question...
a rhetorical question could perhaps give
the person answering a spark of rhetoric...
a rhetorical question should:
by default... provide you with a rhetorical
answer... but all it does is...
further a second question...
and a third... a fourth...
    so more for the "famous" dialectic...
when all that seems to happen...
one only becomes a rhetorician: via question...
rather than merely: talking...

the rhetorical question is therefore
the basis of "dialectics": which is no basis for
dialectics per se...
it's the persuaded question-prone antagonist:
who is hardly the narrator...
and the answer is always the same:
shut up! i'm talking over you...
i'll just disguise this whole affair in a question
and minor answer cited: a perfectly well
equipped yes: or no... will suffice:
or a nod of approval worded...
                  socrates the bane of sophists
and rhetoricians...
a subtle project... you are not interrupted...
when to stress an invocation
of fake curiosity: by asking a question...
the sort of question...
a rhetorical question... that will not usurp
your original: intent monologue of sophistry...

an echo is all the rave when it comes
to a rhetorical question...
a rhetorical question feeds of: yes / no answers...
and there i was thinking that a rhetorical
question implies:
whoever answers... will break into
a rhetorical answer... verbatim the quran
akin to a hafiz! nope...
a rhetorical question is a punctuation mark:
one hopes... of what a rhetorician would usually do...
when having a voice in the congregation
of docile elders...

socrates: the elder... found an audience
among the athenian young... because?
        he stressed that rhetoric had to have overtones
of questioning: without really questioning...
what sort of "dialectic" is there to be had:
what: dialogue...
when... the dialogue leaves one side with
a narrator and protagonist semblance?
and the characters: ergo? are nothing but nail-heads
for the hammer to plough through?!

oddly enough... Plato ****** off Socrates so
hard... that Socrates became...
the first non-hasidi...
to be circumcised... by pursed lips...
yep... Plato ****** off Socrates' *******:
right off... thinking the phallus...
was in the no-man's land of comparsion
to a chicken drum-stick!
antagonism: of how favourable the "dialogues"
are cited...
i've had a similar experience...
i really don't know what this... "e-prostitution"
is about...
before the internet... i am probably one of
the last few who blushed when buying a magazine
at the newsagent with all them *******...
and: curated ***** hairs:
less of a chin and more...
the pelvic "hubris" / canvas...

                 brothel: tick...
strip-club: tick...
              what's given everyone a hot-cross bun
shivers...
          "never paid"... but otherwise paid:
for the insinuation...
and the insinuation was: a date...
look at it as... no ******* dysfunction...
and no money for a date...
straight back into the salt mines
and trench digging... no time for honey:
oh boobie and frankly my dear:
i don't drown herrings...

       a rhetorical question is also a compound-misnomer...
yep... the idea of a rhetorical-question
is a compound-misnomer:

take me on a chain to the goblet...
pay the extra to rid the matter:
seven tongues instead of one...
gorging on the inquiry of Gomorrah...
to better couplet to the banquet of *****!
that ***** treat us Gomorrah civically dutied:
as worse than rats and shadows...
and the plebs just entertain...
       what would ever come from
the mouth of ***** as:
       prized bulls of drag-queen story-hour...
shame those without foreskins...
comparison...
a o.k. to be gay...
                what's date-night?
is that... something -esque having coupled
a mahjong with a niqab?!
why don't all the muslim women take
the best route... join the surgeon mask-equipped
crowds... and no... simple forget the hijab...
donning the full niqab?!
why?!

who needs seeking more depraved *****
beside... Bronzino and japanese gravure models...
and all that elasticity of:
electricity passing through an iron maiden
via... combichrist: sent to destroy...
hardly "destroy": cultivate...
recycle... call the parasites into hubris *******
haitus...

also "in response" to: the kinks and the...
"celibate" priesthood...
        because: you know, the kinks and all that:
******* music and fine detaiks of:
when the butcher will be cited...
looking at a slab of meat...
and calling a harem of pigs...
that floral... pinky tidbit "in the middle":
avert your eyes:
how god's finger touched adam's...
and via what...

it doesn't come more ******* than...
drinking lukewarm whiskey...
that i can stand...
but if anyone's drinking ***** not suberged
into gomme syrop consistency...
there's: should we say...
a... "spot of bother"...

              i wouldn't mind...
that bourbon as a quiet distinct perfume
associated with brothels...
and it's just that...
          but... e-prostitution: for the "tease"?
the wrath of adam:
sort of ******* in between:
when the ****** brigade comes along
and stops at thge madonna-***** complex?
i'm scratching my head:
either i'm thinking of a ? or my i.q.
one internet sight should be in existance...
dedicated... to the unabashed puritanism
of dogs licking their genitals...
because: a priori: who would have "known"...

and also to chronicle the sights and wonders
of... KMFDM stand-out tracks...
but a sight levereging "*****" of...
dogs teasing testicles with "prudence"
of a... the fastest waggle in all of: "arizona"...
chant!
chant! F.S.A. - which makes it more and less:
"united"
   the federal states of h'america...
     number 1 subscriber...
albert razin...
    is this... is this... what "integration" looks like?
like hell i'll give up what's
festering knee-deep at the rim...
i'll talk english just fine with
the natives... but when the natives:
tell me that:
true integration is a complete whitewash
of your "former" identity: you
integrate by "forgetting" your mother tongue...
i have... this juggernaut... craze-fit in
my eyes...
   then, why, don't, you, send, me,
a, postcard, from france: IN FWENCH!
this global mantra of: english solves everything...
not unless you're of a Dutch or
Scandinavian origin...
you have already learned this...
"lingua franca": this l'inglese...
lucky for the WELSH! who are you...
you anglo-saxon globalist mongrel?!
where is your anglo- counterfeit bypasser...
UND... wohin ist ihr Sachsen?
and where is your saxony: saxon?
have i an axe to better grind?
           jude-nomade-mischling!
you're no better than your claim!
ficken-jude-sächsisch-anglo-anlage-gehenvolk...
all this: for the insomnia parade?!
24 / 7 news reels?!
         alles diese... für was?!

if they only spoke two languages...
perhaps... less retards spreading the "crown":
licking ice-cream tubs...
open / the end... closed: also the end...
verzögernzüchtung...
          ******-breeding...
        ­                i have to admit... it sounds as crisp as:
gin
                                   &                        tonic...
and lapses into epilepsy...
because the "hierarchy" says: such words...
such words: no no: with a BIG no-no
when used...

                here too, i... will ****...
on every prematurely demented kin of moi...
because... the hierarchy of termites and of ants...
dictates so... while the congregation of:
man and ape... isn't sure... what animal is worth
borrowing a metaphor from!
to... "progress"...
like little **** and please staging all that
copernican ******* ever did...
the surgical masks...
shot dead in the Philippines
for not wearing one... "stigma" and the niqab...
at least the cherries on these cream-pies...
could at least turn proper ortho-and-doxing...
with a niqab...
pwetty pwease...  

all the airs and graces...
some nut would have made it this far...
Kierkegaard as proof...
"you don't think before you speak":
i rather, i much rather entertain
the freedom to think... and extend this freedom
into writing...
before i have to eat my own *****
when having to place editorial pressures
on having made video content...
i much prefer the ignoble citation:
and the devil has had these hands busy-bodied...
and all the blessings to the devil for that...
because...
is there such a concept as:
an idle tongue?

               i don't know:
i would like to, though...
live a month's worth of living...
on a salary of a... h'american...
             preacher...
under communism:
no brain-drain...
not best of the best will ever rise...
but at the same time...
so too will not the mediocre...
i thought it could be cited at:
the meek shall inherit the earth...
   talk about a disparity between
the meek and the mediocre...

if only i was the "correct" pronoun
to want: but i do...
have the capacity and enough excuses...
to start donning...
corsets and... high-heel shoes...
then again: if i joined the army...
nothing stand-out...
not uniforms to stand out within
a caste system... uniforms for
the napoleonic era... and that noting me as...
quick-off-the-mark...
suregon of the needle... and quiffs...
until the wehrmacht period...

  ha! the poles on horseback: "once upon a time"
looked bewildering...
the charge of the Krojanty...
well... horses do not seem that bad...
the poles on horses...
when back west...
you had the Dutch... on bicycles...
oh sure... the horse was somehow the "joke"...
but the bicycle was...
   like the pope appeasing the fuhrer...
and "they" would wonder:
        who's who....
the bicycle is gone...
who's who on the left-over peddlestool?!
postman pat proof:
  i think i oops... forgot to detail
the whole idea and economy with...
licking something... beside...
   that quick-and-made-essential:
              amnesia rubric count... which was?

yep... the poles on horseback look
and will forever look more ridiculous...
than... the dutch defence...
on... ha ha! bicycles!

read my proof: am i... "integrated"
is my: english not a word salad:
the scrutiny will come from someone sobering
up from an irish heritage...
is there a niqab or a bindi or a turban on me?
is my language still a word salad?
am i, integrated... "enough"...
not enough i dare say...

       well... about time these natives
learn some postcard and tourisms' worth
of second lingo... italian would be just fine...
since... they are still... hung up on being
so pround of being the afghanistan of the roman
empire...
          and... where is afghanistan when is comes
to... the house of saud and arabia?
i'd grovel... for that kind of goat herders...
and... pashtun poetics!
   queen of the floral: no **** mind to spare...
and if only this wasn't...
rummaging in essex...
more for the cause! new york!
n'aaaaaah...
                
                        i speak for the devil i speak
in about 12... with variations of invocation...
but this is not god speaking...
i am... not a monolingual pre-nomad arab taste...
sitting on a coal-**** turning liquid into
oil: "all of a sudden"...