i should be handling a champagne flute by now,
i don't know, maybe it's the laughter
that's curbing me from doing so... oh the fizzling
of my shizzle: or whatever's the trend in Campton.
now i'm watching videos on the pros and cons
and i'm thinking: it's really out of my hands -
i can do what Pontius Pilate did, back when
everything political required things to be hygiene prone
- and when there were literate fishermen who
miraculously broke from physical toils
and wrote anti-Pharisee booklets.
forget Socrates defiling the youth:
it's me and a few old men -
will i become martyred because of it,
am i deluded with an invasion of
Shoreditch coolio across the depth and breadth
of London: who cares?!
i like a good film, and this one is
always going to be good -
it only takes one word (well, two): the queen;
mainly the logic stuck true to the end
result: it would have been too good to be true...
take that logic and make it into a motto -
i have not an inch of my own wet *****
dipped into your ear: that's what
being independent means -
it also means that Copernicus ruined
all things nautical, sunrise, sunset,
and thank **** the earth is
3D, now the problem, what shape is the universe?
as it goes we're in a fudge swamp -
we aren't going anywhere, we think we are,
but people forgot to twin thought and doubt together,
instead we have thinking and denial twinned,
which means: no matter how many facts are
spewed and later picked up as golden nuggets
we're not going anywhere.
that's the beauty of a niche armchair,
you get to bypass the comforts of crowd and airing concerns -
i'd never miss those emotional reactions
of people slyly: for the world!
i love how they think that spying is masquerading
and not stating the obvious: which it usually is,
spying is stating that: the opposite has a tradition
built upon using sharpened knives:
me and my blunt knives:
i'm tearing into the meat like a vulcher -
what the hell can you do?
sell the truth for 30 quid, buy it back for 20.
that's a Homeric certainty -
no, not the jokey Springfield variety:
the serious Grecian 2000 year old (if not more)
one - and i already asked:
what are you here for?
me? i'm into writing a 2000 year old chapter
ranging from monkey, neanderthal and man -
given the obvious disparities
and image issues and ****** favours considering
the pale anorexic Parisian modelling skeletors.
you know what i found distinct in that story:
Slavs among the Germanic tribalism?
i concentrated on the eyes, rather than admit
a less pronounced *occipital bone: yeah,
that's almost a tail in evolutionary sprechen.
all thanks to a girl in school who noted
i just looked at the eyes and found they were
more ****, and subsequently quasi-Mongolian
and less Germanic fish-eyed fixative of ogling
out as if about to be gouged out, or simply
popping out with a reference to helium.
once again: a stick has two ends.
it's the historiological (why the iota in that
i'll never know) demand:
the pendulum simply said: too good to be true -
and it was:
i'll go one better, better than black and female?
how about native?
now that would be a game-changer -
anything less than a native american is
as about as revolutionary or a status quo disciple
or a hamburger for breakfast:
hence the reason why sarcasm and apathy mingle
and look down at the doormat:
oh right, only wiping my shoes does it? hell,
i'll wipe my shoes: come in and take a ****.
thus the misrepresentation of writing on
pixel-paper (or what's called:
drunk, but still in want of having a chance to
revise, because we're all sloppy when
staging what the original transgression was);
i never write with a want to say the things i write,
i just think the misrepresentation comes
when i treat the internet as a punching-bag to think
things through: a voyeuristic-reversal,
as such a great medium to think things out:
the new ****.
nonetheless, it's hard not to laugh within
the framework of defending the freedom to sprechen
and leave the defence of the freedom to denken
within a socialism that never manufactures
anything: apart from protest marches -
the F. Gumps amid broken vocal chords.
you get suspicious about deaf people
hearing more than those able...
to hear a crackpot mantra
and subsequently diffuse it.
i wish we lived in world summarised
by the words: all eyes on Mongolia...
but that's what happens when you popularise
**** and industrialise it:
a. China and India beat you in terms of industrialising
it (over a billion buggers by my count, each!)
and b. it's a litmus test of youngsters in the future
suffering from depression -
now that's really obscure - i don't really have a b.
point to make... pornographic industrialisation
got me... come to think of it:
if america didn't industrialise *** i'd be in a transgender
clinic trying to figure out whether i had
any ego in my phallus - completely bewildered
whether i should accept my ******* as if a dog
accepting its canine extension...
given women these days
and the fact that i had to pay for the pleasure tells me
i either pay for it and play the genteel role
or i go mad from ****** frustration and ****:
at least we're talking a contract,
like that bubbly Puerto Rican woman in Amsterdam:
**** it... Freud!
so we solved the whole "earth is not flat" debate,
even though we still require the n.e.w.s.
to go about our daily business... tragic: we now have
to encapsulate the universe as having a shape -
milestones have been conquered,
from a 2D earth into a 3D earth
we now have an infinitely 1D universe -
because it couldn't have been: a box
within a box, within a box: without an actual box,
or as the people said: hence we having the sport of boxing /
the Russians put a man and a dog into
space: fair enough...
we go a step further and end all fairytales
and turn our children into ambitious astronauts
breakdancing on the moon -
then comes Mars...
if we're going with that sort of escapist route then we're done:
these traditional capitalistic endeavours for
mere competition have turned into a variation of
simple escapism - as i was taught in a catholic school -
imagine yourself in a world, then leaving it -
always imagining the earth from afar, from the moon, say;
all that really was said was the Taoist motto
about not engaging with the world on terms of
rounding up, rabble talking and ******* whatever needed
******* (pervert, i know the slang in the engagement
of the cultish excesses of skin; rough ***?).
but that's what it is: escapism -
as they said: a message from former
communist countries -
a sprouting vogue in western
societies: with their beards, and chequered shirts,
social conforming hippies know as hipsters:
i don a beard because it's cold around here:
plus i look less of a fat person -
alcohol fat ain't cutie pie fat: it's called being bloated.
only among an obese population would you
get anorexia - again: historiological logic (the pendulum,
or the Newtonian impression) -
once Newton was told he was less than accurate
people decided everything was relative:
the Greeks abhorred moral relativism -
it's not that god died - cause & effect died
in what's modern, and reliably crescendo.
sure, humanity will go on in any other argumentative suite,
it's the one thing humanity can't be, i.e.: undermined.
*** is (after all), an existential variant of ******* -
you'd be daft to think that it was or could / would be