/                                america, july 18th:
  and the utter media shambles -
like ****** and steroids
for the uninitiated -
     tongues without the rattlesnake
trill of an ᚨᚱ:
   numbed w'ah w'ah peddling
of woe to row the sinking boat:
maniac adult funfair
attempting a nostalgia
for the playground game
of bulldog...

                russia, 25th march:
the kemerovo fire (siberia) -
          children frying, screaming,
perhaps even hoping -
  a shying herod, the example
of: as moloch descended...
          prayers in the fire
                  by the innocents...

england, july 19th -
   alternative to rehydrating
using water...
    a generous 5 hour sleep -
******* on the remains
of last night's lemon
     used to infuse the subtle
smoky of bell's whiskey,
playlist:

- the jon spencer blues
  explosion (bellbottoms)
- britney spears (criminal)
- twenty one pilots (heathens)
- calvin harris (this is what you came for)
- camila cabello (habana)
- rihanna (disturbia)
- birdbrain (youth of america)
- ghost (ritual)
- focus (hocus pocus)
- edwyn collins (a girl like you)
- the guess who (american woman)
- the knack (my sharona)
- cronica (herr mannelig)

and then onto buckling in
4 beers and thinking
about black holes as the pin-head
of antimatter -
a dead sun...
     dead, but not dead...

   and the first, crude graphic
tomb raider game...

   rather than having completed
it...
     since only owning
a demo...

                 investigating
the possibility of 2D objects in
3D space...
       well: the universe isn't even
exactly 3D: it's hyper-3D...
    but in the tomb raider game
you could walk up to a minor
detail in the game, a fern,
and observe two-dimensionality
in a "three dimensional space"...

   namely: the ferns were all 2D,
and rotated within a "hyperbole"
of the eye -
   however you observed the "object"
it rotated round and round,
never allowing you to see
    its demoniac otherside -

i can only expect dead suns to
behave in such a manner -
   two dimensional objects in a three
dimensional subject matter -
almost paradoxical -

     rotating at immense speed...
invigorating a near but not quiet
a postportem of a death...

       and you really can see UV light
surface
staring at a glaring hot sun with
a naked eye -
   and see the same hyper-rotation -
it's almost like looking at
molten silver, but with a hint
of violet - i.e. akin phosphorescence:
but in the daytime...

and who said you need to
ingest hallucinogenics -
    and enter the labyrinth of a short,
short, history,
    of the chipmunk caveman?

i'm just drunk, you're probably
sober...
    but those guys doing
a timothy leary sermon?
   they're...
     gone.......................... gone -
     they hit the tangens curve.

/                          feeding a throng of sparrows
              sweet buns,
                              pinch by pinch,
                            to their avaracious beaks...

trying to fend away
               the more imposing

schwarzmönche
                       auf die himmel!

the kafkas!
       and the inland venturers of
coastline stock...

the viking gulls (as i like to call
them)...

oh urban sparrow, O urban sparrow,
and your tender
           throng, perching
jittery on a tree,
   then scouting down to
a cold ukranian cement for mere
crumbs!

not too long ago
     a homeless dog (a rare phenomenon
in eastern europe)
   once approached me
  in the mongolian square of
the same theatre -

namely, warszawski dworzec
                      zachodni

         (warsaw's western station) -

/      tears:
                            cronica's
           interpretation of herr mannelig     /

as just beside the palace of culture
in central warsaw -

   being approached by a homeless
man -
     asking for food, first asking
him if he wanted a cigarette -
    
             surprised by the question -
replying:
   have the cigarette,

           and yes, i made this sandwitch
not too long ago -

with him, moments later,
in the corner of my eye -

      taking a **** (literally)
       on the lawn beneath the hunchback
shadow of the palace of culture...

   in the toe numbing yet
thrilling cold of poland's late March...

surely there can be nothing
satisfying when once you could feed
the trafalgar sq. congregation
of pigeons...

                   feeding sparrows?
while watching ukranians load and unload
themselves from coaches

at warsaw's western station?

              that's another matter...

                             their flickering - amber like -
nervous twitching, hyper-sensitivity -

i will never understand a man's
shame to encompass crying -

   like i will never understand
   the worth of a psychiatrist:

         having sampled the tertiary use of
language (i.e. by body)
              on a canvas of a *******:

why would crying ever be considered
shameful, when done so authentically
by a man experiencing beauty?!

   sure... the over-simplification of
a woman's crocodile petting...
  or those ******* 21st pansies that
are football ballerinas!

    it's such... a mental release!
                       it's like the sudden break
into a crescendo
      on anathema's song release...

you can take the church from the state
and keep an irrelevant church-state
vatican...

                         but the subliminal joy
of lament, within the confines of the heat-music
complex?

                          mozart didn't even
know what he was laughing about as depicted
in amadeus...
    it's not a pity craving, cramp...

     there is subliminal joy in allowing
what is too "erroneous"
                             in it also being
a river...

                p.s.

                      mind you, what is the fifth element?
you can make a funeral within earth...
you can make a funeral within fire,
you can make a funeral within water...
can't exactly make a funeral
within air -
                            since that would
just be decay...
                           and mourning rites -
         and since time forgotten lightning
has not been deemed an element...
   sorry michael faraday...

             then you can certainly make
a funeral in vacuum -

              like that marylin manson song,
an astronaut drifting through space...

ah ****...

                          those ****** sparrows;
gets me ever time i listen to some new music;
previously not on my music palette.