of said man: architecture and archaeology,
of unsaid man: the bereft arts
that were used for the parlour of origins
that never delved into actors or shadows: of
those in the hands of kharon given wings
for the rippling of the styx to quench a story
of the genesis of east and sunrise: and indeed
of two feet born on the land that left for the words
to return without much engraved with the words
used and the images unchanged:
keep your ashen mortar to grind the ivory
less noble than than those of rhinos or elephants,
oh man; oh lost voice in the choir's mumbling hum-hymn.

ve bu benim kanım, akşam yemeğim gelenlere ne mutlu.

i really tried my best in learning some Turkish
before our next meeting...
   and here is my blood,
                 happy are those who come to my supper...

well... i already wasted one bottle of wine on Jemminah:
i still have one left, probably the finest of the batch,
so i texted her at 3am in the morning:
i knew she would be up...
   the sun was teasing the sky by just about
raising a desert storm of colour below the ink blue
hue of night when she replied
to my text: are you available tomorrow?
i have a present for you, maybe you do, maybe you don't
but i'm bringing some of my homemade wine
over...

yep... she is... right... time to get ready...
i'm not leaving that brothel without having *******...

strange two days... for all the **** i've been
through since the age of 21 through to about 30...
life... oh it's come back: or rather... i've come back
to life...
    i'm already holding this ram by the horns
and wrestling with it...

    oh right... i came home at 2am... stayed up
until about 5am, woke up at around 11am...
where was i last night?

the times Wednesday June 1, 2022,
is this UK's final glimpse of Messi?
james gheerbrant -
in march 1960, evlis presley stopped over
at the US airbase in Prestwick and spent a
couple of hours mingling with the Ayrshire
locals, in what turned out to be the only
occasion he set foot on British soil.
when Lionel Messi captains Argentina
in the Finalissima against Italy at Wembley
tonight, it will be his 25th game in this
country, yet his appearances still have
the same sense of visiting royalty,
      a brush with something luminous,
a story for the grand-children, laced with
the possibility that this might be the last time...

oh right... that's where i was...
   **** me... by the end of it even through it
i started yawning...

not out of any disrespect for the genius that is Messi,
but... see... i've never seen Argentinian women
before... i probably have but you never truly know
unless they're wearing an Argentina football shirt...
and something hit me...
like it hit me when i was grooming my female
cat and she stuck her *** in my face from pleasure
and something grotesque was woken up
and had to be be immediately translated onto
a woman... or rather: hidden inside a woman...

took me about a whole night trying to find a new
brothel around London... i did... but the price
was too steep... and everything about Stratford
is shady... a whole night cycling towards central
London and back... in between shady places...
second night i was losing my libido
and went to the one i knew by heart near
Goodmayes train station...
     that's when i met Khedra... after a disappointing
hour spent with this timid little Romanian number...
who... no... she shouldn't be into prostitution...
for the love of god i tried to get a hard-on...
i blamed it on myself: maybe i drank too much?
but... i'm already on my second libido-booster:
the first i've already "ingested" - exercise...
cycling toward Upminster and back and around
Upminster towards Rainham...
exercise is an aphrodisiac... mix that with fresh
air... sunlight and nature...
boom... get the blood flowing...
                                the second aphrodisiac?
white wine... not rose, not red... white wine...

so i thought, maybe i drank too much?
   no... she was just a timid creature that...
    had zero skills... and she was "supposedly" a *******...
obviously younger than me...
so... i just lay there with her in my arms
and we exchanged words for body parts
in three languages...
   just leaving Khedra came in... boom!
thank god it's no longer something stupid as:
"love at first sight"... thank god it has become:
lust at thirst-sight
                       because: it's true... it's exactly that...
once you pass your 30s you get this
spectacular... hmm... "magic" of being able to
find compatibility in the right sort of place...
what better place than in a brothel?
    i mean... ha ha: are we there to talk about
Walter Sickert? are we here to talk about...
  geo-politics?! feminism?!
                we're at a butcher's shop and we're getting
some meat... and we're talking to the butcher...
ergo?

mind you: while cycling i really thought about it...
you can't really employ the ad hominem argument
against Marquis de Sade...
   i did read through his biography...
                   he really wasn't such bad of a man as
history lends itself for us to believe...
personally? i think he had some pretty ****** ideas...
but as a person, sure... his imagination was wicked...
but he was imprisoned for... what?
asking a ******* to use a crucifix as a *****?
and these days if you skim through some...
soft-core *******... you'll find what?
well... it's not exactly a crucifix... but Saint Sebastian of
Cucumberia is pretty popular with the nuns
of modern secularism...

     he was imprisoned more of the time than
he could have had the time to fulfill all those whims
of 120 days of *****...
among other works...
                        ****** is a different matter...
that's a stand-alone work that's his pinnacle...
it's a good thing i read him when
my own hormones were pulsating in my teens...
that kind of subdued matters, youthful frustrations...
if anything: his uncle was the real rascal!
because the argument that Slayer or any other
music for that matter incentives anger and
violence is BULL-*****...
                                it subdues it... if anything...
it reduces it to a fantasy land whim-whipped-day-dream

like marquis de sade and the idea of
regular ***...
    eh... turns out it's better to take decent breaks...
sort of live the life of a Konrad von Wallenrode...
after all... the Teutonic Knights
did have a brothel with the walls of their citadel
capital of Ordensburg Marienburg...
    so... let's not pretend what is... and what isn't
happening...
  
thank for that! for what? i just keep hearing these
nightmare stories on the internet...
Tinder this: swipe swipe left left left left...
Tinder that: swipe swipe right right right right...
once i met this guy who laughed about
people who joined Facebook... that got on me...
i was fooled! back in the day?
when Facebook was exclusively for university
students?! yeah... it made sense...
obvious blah blah some years later and it's
a boomer gimmick like e-harmony etc.,
                     but me?
   oh no... not another social media bullshitter
going to **** me in... my use of the internet?
i'm in... i'm out...
    i come here to gush out my thoughts slit the veins
of my imagination, drink... listen to music...
read someone else's suicide notes and *******
to bed...

i don't think i have ever commented on anything
that i otherwise must comment on to get a pass
for something... because...
yeah, right... you buy a book...
and you then what? scribble your opinion on the last
page of the inside of the cover and expect what?
a response?

and this whole, modern, fixation on dating apps?
hook-up apps? it was never my thing,
the whole dating "revolution" passed me by,
shoom! gone! bye bye...
            nothing is ever good when it's easy...
losing 20+kg was never going to be easy...
being falsely diagnosed as a schizophrenic was
never going to be easy...
but... i wriggled out of both of these "percularities"
(yes, i do you mingle the technique of
misnomerism with metaphors)
hence the air-quotes... ambiguity...
   everything for the imagination to unravel: revel in...

in alba vino volo (in white wine: desire)...

i even cut down on my smoking to get a better /
prolonged *******...
obviously i had to check...
   check over... jerking off to almost ****** and then...
o.k., everything's in working order...
now to write something, take a shower,
pamper myself and ******* with that bottle
of wine of mine to **** Khedra...

**** me... if i had to go through all the clumsy
dating advice, even clumsier dates...
eating food... ugh... who the hell wants to **** someone
on a full stomach?
mind you there also that: MAYBE...
because there's no guarantee...
**** first, talk later...

                            easy? easy? what's easy?
first you have to sit through the ante-chamber
interrogation room of about 12 prostitutes...
and they have eyes like the beak of the eagle
that's bound to eating Prometheus' liver, for ****'s sake!

sure... yesterday was fun... i had a chance
to perhaps see Lionel Messi for the last time in England...
but i also managed to see all those
Argentinian women... that was a breaking point
for me... south American women... mmm hmm...
yummy doesn't even cover it...

today? it had to be: i had to go all out...
i had to start the day off by eating two soft-boiled
eggs...
and then? ****** off to my Turkish barber to
get me beard trimmed...
i once remarked it (getting a beard trim)
was better than getting a blow-job...
i'd like to retract that statement:
a beard trim and a hair-cut done by the same barber
feels: just as good...
eh... a beard trim is a beard trim...
my mustache was overgrowing my lips:
drink and random food and snot was getting
stuck in it... how am i going to kiss her?

oh when Cedilla met Caron...
that's
                    when Çedilla
  (soft, although it ought to be hard)
                                 Čaron (there's no "soft" caron -
it's most certainly re-laid as
the Greek Xaron - Kharon - even though...
  chasing chiseled chalk and cheese)...

ah... the enthralling sensation of meeting someone
for some carnal debauchery...
one bottle of white done - check
visit to the barber shop - check
exercise prior - check
a decent amount of protein ingested - check
press-ups - check
pandering... ****... i need to trim my nails scrub
away all the dead skin off the soles of my feet,
wash myself thoroughly... use all the necessary
chemistry to give off whiffs of freshness...
   have i trimmed my "other" beard?
yes, yes i have...
    well then...

    eski kuzgunsaçlar (old raven-hair)...
   here i come!

You left us sometimes in March                
Leaving us in a cold dark world to match
Tears we shed, the world seems to be a dash

Sane brother turn lunatic as Kharon's boat was set for your flight
The tears of a mother, his bread winner gave up the fight
The quiet daughter turn noise maker, she couldn't bear the sight.
Innocent child smiled, all he wanted was jollof rice.

We remember how we had to start from the scratch
Battered and bruised, we forge ahead with all our might
Because life without you seems to be a mismatch
And all seems to be in darkness without your light

I remember waking up in the middle of the night
Making promises to get to your height
To achieve that you couldn't and be a light
To fulfill the legacy and carry on the torch to every fight

Keep my tech-tight(tektite) when I'm in the light of Anna
That Black Magic Woman wrote about by Santana
Got me on my Gnostic degrees of Elysium
As the waves break I feel the sea breeze again
This is unbridled magick none could match it
You're a spider recluse so I know none'll ****** it
I'm untying my noose n woes I throw like a match stick
Into my past I drowned with kerosene gases
As we walk into the future I'm sure the path's lit
I hope these words act as a suture for patching
The vast wings that escape in sextuplets out your back, sing
Me the song of your mind for it's divine how I soar
When the breath of life escapes those wind pipes of yours
No co-dependency, for I survive and thrive by the Lord
Just a measure of the pleasure your presence affords
Past-Lives flashing not the first time our essence met before

because the way we glow you could say that our colours are kin.
The way we flow you would say that we're lovers of sin
But that's the way she goes when you're a rose in the wind
Such a long way but at the end I know that we're destined
because the way we glow you could say that our colours are kin.
The way we flow you would say that we're lovers of sin
But that's the way she goes when you're a rose in the wind
Such a long way but at the end I know that we're destined

Let's you and I form a Leo/Gemini Caduceus
Intertwine and heal from the ruthlessness
Of the worlds we knew before we grew with this
Spark between souls of gold, please hold, I'm new to this
Sensation that lifts my senses to elation
Cloud 9 is the elevation, has my heart pacing
My butterflies wonder why they start racing
Could never utter lies to get into your basement
See my core holds the key to your hearts encasement
No chasing or evasion, it's magnetic at its basics
So face what's waiting for your appreciating
A kind of affection never expect my love's depreciating
I come correct with my dialect, not dying yet
Defying set norms and rules, leave you lying wet
When I look into your eyes that's the vibe I get
So let's get our minds together, go ahead try the best

because the way we glow you could say that our colours are kin.
The way we flow you would say that we're lovers of sin
But that's the way she goes when you're a rose in the wind
Such a long way but at the end I know that we're destined
because the way we glow you could say that our colours are kin.
The way we flow you would say that we're lovers of sin
But that's the way she goes when you're a rose in the wind
Such a long way but at the end I know that we're destined

The way your spirit flows forth
from your serpentine form
swarms my heart with a warm
fire that lights my whole mind, body, soul
in a blizzard I'd forget the cold,
your vocal chords are strung of gold
for every word be spoke be so precious to hold,
though you're born a Black Hole Sun Lioness
your wit isn't lacking in ol' Scorpio sharpness
with a witchy will to harness the darkness
and mold it into light, oh what a sight,
I couldn't try to fight when you fit so right
into my broken body puzzle piece shaped ever oddly,
whether it be God or our manifesting hard that brought these
moments we've shared into the aether of infinity,
it isn't a sin if it took form before time did begin, see

because the way we glow you could say that our colours are kin.
The way we flow you would say that we're lovers of sin
But that's the way she goes when you're a rose in the wind
Such a long way but at the end I know that we're destined
because the way we glow you could say that our colours are kin.
The way we flow you would say that we're lovers of sin
But that's the way she goes when you're a rose in the wind
Such a long way but at the end I know that we're destined

Soothing like an arrow root cookie, with or without the nookie, that's love straight from above the kind to fit like a glove, no need to push and shove through emotional barriers no matter the storm or how worn my back is I'll still carry her, and when Santa Muerte comes to pass I'll get off my *** on my Greek **** with two coins for Kharon to ferry her, only my love will ever bury her

Franz.

The name of an author.
The name of a friend.
The name of one who treasures learning about the world around him.

A free dove,
A cunning raven,
A confident peacock acutely aware of his fragility...

On the best days, inspired and lively; a hummingbird of beautiful words.
On the worst days, empty and angry; a storm of stress and sleeplessness.
On everyday, someone near and dear to my heart.

Some may call you __,
Some may call you hopeless.
I call you Kharon; a fierce brightness that carries me when I drown in Life's river Styx.

F ascinating!
R ebellious!
A dmirable!
N onconformist!
Z esty!

Franz whom I offer my sincerest camaraderie and love to.

Franz, a man whose life I pray grows prosperous, with many Happy Birthdays to come.

Five rivers, horror-full
Through Hades flow:
Acheron, full of sorrow, endless woe,
Cocytus, howls as lamentation and regret,
Phlegethon - smoke and molten fire, ever hot,
Lethe - black waters of oblivion,
Styx - bitterest of all, flows full of hate.

The boatman Kharon,
Psychopomp, deliverer of souls,
Navigates Acheron and Styx,
Plucking his coins
From passengers' eyes
(No one is alive),
Then lets them find
Their appointed ways
To bliss or dread.

Odysseus alone
Braved Phlegethon
To speak with wise Tiresius;
Tossed his sacrificial goat
Into the flowing fire,
Heard the Ancient's voice,
Then fled in terror.