502 bad gateway bypass:
Ahab bin Haroon:
the lost Arab slave-merchant
who also traded in spices
and silk on the sly...
i'm sure there is more terrible music out there... sometimes
the you-tube algorithm is generous, weirdly a.i.:
it spits out: at random some generosity...
this time round? some band from Sweden,
i'm hugely into Swedish music,
for me the Swedes are currently: what the British were
back in the 60s and 70s and 80s of the previous
century... well excluding Abba:
personally? Abba is more innovative for me demanding
the proper understanding of POP than the Beatles
will ever be... for me it's all about Abba... odd...
only yesterday i remembered this song
by Cradle of Filth: her ghost in the fog...
oh the stuff i sieve through... the last time i was this excited
about discovering a band / artist it was...
****... there's a list:
Distance (when dub-step was a genuine genre)
:wumpscut...
Die Krupps...
Tool... but that's donkey's years ago... i have
the donkey's ears concerning that adventure...
King Crimson...
Ghost... another favorite feature from Sweden...
Wooden Shjips... Demdike Stare...
this is closest to Die Krupps... this new band
the algorithm spit out... Priest...
two guys wearing those black plague masks
later detailed in the Venice carnival...
those Charles de Lorme black raven masks
and one guy singing in... a gimp masks with studs...
nice... i'm getting ***** just listening to
all this dark-wave electronica...
it's the sort of music you listen to to get in the mood
to visit a brothel and sleep with a *******...
i mean, this one song is outstanding...
PHANTOM PAIN (again, priest)...
fair enough... maybe this band: the KLINIK from
Belgium that were around in the 80s... are up there..
of course i'm a musical snob sometimes...
you have to be a snob sometimes: esp. when it comes
to music...
am i going to be a Bukowski and say that all modern
music is **** because i'm some classical music buff?
no really... but i like listening to music that allows
me to think about the contortions of the body during
***... and: luckily for me... i've found another artist
that just opened the floodgates to do just that...
if anyone Prokofiev... well: basically all the Russian composers...
i don't mind the Germanic composers...
but i prefer German medieval music: Teutonic chants...
those guys would sing and play...
before Bach's reorganisation into polyphony...
hmm... brothels... the pockets of Jerusalem any man
might wish for... no, i became truly angry watching
the Game of Thrones... you what? some dwarf is going to
have all that sensual fun... in the mind of that grub
of a writer? and i'm going to fall prey to celibacy?
a dwarf is going to have all that fun?
o.k. Darwinism is a lie:
the strongest don't reproduce...
Christianity and Darwinism are not compatible...
who, really, reproduces? the weak and the idiots...
that's what i love about reality:
it's objective... you just have to slip in your subjectivity
into it once in a while: **** a **** of
someone suffering from prostate cancer
into the snow and then sing like Frank Zappa sang:
don't you be eating the yellow snow...
i knew one had to be false: either Darwinism or
Christianity... when i was confronted with
the maxim: turn the other cheek i recoiled with
much anger... what?! i was a child back then...
i think i'm still a child right now...
but i just couldn't stomach that "truth"...
you what?! i can't hit back? i'm supposed to be a
punching-bag?
that's a bit ****, isn't it?
oh but at the brothel... last time i walked up those
frightful stairs and paid the £10 due for entry
asking how many girls were available...
the Madame... receptionist said that two were
available...
i saw one... sitting down... then the Madame sat down:
and she repeated herself: two are available...
i'm in luck... and my god... she does look the part
of a leather chair... her body looks like it could be
stretched to all unimagined possibilities...
that mole on her face adds to her allure...
hmm... next time... when's my next time?
ah... ****... on the 30th... a shift up at Craven Cottage...
that's what i realised when i was thirsty today...
i started jerking off to pictures of Turkish girls...
Romanian girls...
Hispanic milfs... i'm so ******* turned off by
loud-mouth western *****... probably blonde...
i'm turned off like...
you might throw a stone into a lake:
i'm sinking to new depths...
i need the olive skin the raven hair...
the supposed highest prize of a blonde white girl?
n'ah... n'ah ah... that's not happening...
like to like... now i truly am turning the other
cheek... of my ***!
i'm simply not interested...
give me a Mongolian girl... a Siberian Russian
lass! something juicy... something plump...
i'll take that... i'd not fidgety... i'm not bothered...
just something to squeeze...
a plump plum of a woman of Romanian stock
is worth my eyes i'd have to waste
on otherwise stuck-up English nuns!
oh, but this Madame really broke the camel's back...
i thought camels had humps:
rather than humps... i'm going to **** her next...
i fell in love with literature a few times in my life...
i can't remember the first time, proper...
but the first time: not proper was on the 86 bus riding
to school reading Stendhal's the Scarlet and Black...
i watched the t.v. mini-series first:
then read the book... i fell in love with the book...
French... though... i could never learn it:
too many surds... written one way:
but spoken another... i love how naturalization works...
you pick up local prejudices...
i've picked up the local prejudices of a
hatred for anything French that can't be eaten...
but i also picked up a German-philia...
i love the German tongue... it's the elder of
the dynamic that exists between the shared
constitution that's allocated to the English-German
schematic!
but the French?! as a tongue?!
write one thing: speak another... i *******, hate it!
no wonder i didn't learn it in school:
i should have been taught the elder Germanic tongue
of the cousin of English!
the other time i fell in love with literature
i was in St. Petersburg dating a Russian: well... a a Siberian
girl... she introduced me to Bulgakov...
i knew some Russian literacy prior...
but this novel avoided me...
now? i'm living in a currency of a hallucination...
Behemoth? that black cat in the novel?
he's not black... he's ginger...
ginger looks better when staged against the green of grass...
Behemoth is Quarus...
and he's not fond of either ***** or chess...
i'm fond of whiskey and su doku...
he's...he's fond of sleeping and pretending to count...
and... mind you: if he were given a name
from the book of Milton: it wouldn't be Behemoth...
it would be Belial...
plus Behemoth was black... Quorus is ginger...
and ginger looks so much better against
the backdrop of the green grass...
i ******* abhor these people that are dog-lovers...
these... leash-handlers...
what's your bother with cats?!
cats can be ignored... yet they still manage to come back
and implore you to give them attention...
dogs...leashes... muzzles if they are of a certain breed...
stories of children being mauled by dogs...
**** me: men and their ****-takes of companions in
the form of dogs! why do i prefer cats?!
guess i'm a believer in the gods of ancient Egypt...
Set... Anubis...
darkness draws me to throw the arguments required...
the fox and the wolf...
i can't stand smart: implosive, modern...
cosmopolitan sensuality!
it's riddles with a fake woman!
all i see is a fake woman on a fakeness of possessing
a womb... sitting with a crown of timber
on a throne of sand!
well... i could have asked for a better afternoon...
but you rarely can... ask...
if you're drinking and there's this couple of woodland
pigeons perched in your Eucalyptus tree at the end of
your garden...
Woodland Pigeon Nest Building....
it's a note i took...
rarely.. no.. clearly impossible to witness
crows mating... or the cackling magpies
for that same reason... but pigeon?
i know that the woodland folk are larger... cleaner...
but they still heave the same ontology
as their cosmopolitan cousins...
how many male pigeons i saw rejected
by theiir female counterparts?
too many: i saw too many pretend to fly
into a tornado when a female rejected them:
they lost about 100 points of an IQ scoring
when female rejected them:
they hafe that glass-look in their eyes
akin to: what the **** just happened?
did i fly into a tornado: or was i actually supposed
to fly into one?!
i love women... like i love dogs...
hmm... leashes... muzzles...
i love cats more though... esp. thorough-breeds...
Maine *****... what leash, what muzzle?!
they're like prostitutes...
they like good company...
they're kept by keeping good company;
one's own...
i was making the bed chastising Christianity
i would have spit my phlegm onto the sacrificial altar
if i knew better...
no, you, silly little ****!
you're not going to own the stature of Belial
in the Legion to Come!
you *******-dim-whit! you sacred cow
of Golgotha! i will make 100 beds before i see you
make statements of the sort you made:
even the most evil men in history have made wise-sayings!
you have no ******* excuses!
you... sacrifice for the entry of hell into this currency of
realms a bit of it... what sort of harrowing was
it that you didn't decide upon staying down
there and reigning, ensuring everything would
stay in order? never mind...
a beast is stirring in me, i can't tame him sometimes,
i was supposed to wait until the 30th of this month
to return to the brothel after a shift at Fulham
unfortunately i have already began preparations
for the past three days... stroking the "whittle Richard"
while taking a ****, sometimes several times
a day... school uniforms... legs in nylon...
bare legs with knee high socks...
my head starts whirling with a sort of gravity
that you feel when standing still and not falling...
i need a woman's scent on me...
that's stroking the "whittle Richard" without
climaxing... that's what you do: to get the blood flowing,
i knew men as young as 16 who were pressured
into using *******-supplements...
me? i really did have to think about Margaret Thatcher
and try to get a *******...
well... no... it wasn't Margaret Thatcher...
the middle-aged woman across the street...
not a beached-whale... but not exactly ****-curvy
that plump-peach come plump-peach type...
still... i just saw her today and was like: yep...
i'd do her...
i remember going crazy once...
like the prostitutes tell me: you're good mad...
not the bad mad type: the good mad type...
again: prostitutes, psychiatrists, priests...
i tried all three and
it seems the girls know so much more...
but this woman across the street had a thing once
of walking bare naked in her bedroom without any
curtains... this one particular evening i was lying
on the sofa watching Silence of the Lambs...
she walks in... bulging ****... like a milking concubine...
such unfolding of fat that i got a ****** within
seconds...
she walks out... but that's not the point...
minutes later her elder daughter walks in... also...
bare naked... it's enough to get a stiff one and then
watch it drop... to then get a second one...
but that wasn't the end of the whole "silence of the lambs"...
no more than five minutes passed...
her young daughter walks in: also bare naked...
another hard-on... oh for ****'s sake...
i felt like being Marquis de Sade in that film Quills...
where he laments with a funny sort of anger...
then ****** me! ******* you, Abbe!
have you no true sense of my condition?
of its gravity?
my writing is involuntary,
like the beating of my heart.
my constant *******!
like today... i managed to catch a succubus
upon waking... woke before 8am slipped downstairs
for a cup of water... walked back up for a snooze
but instead of lying in bed laid on the floor...
in between dreams and nothingness
some fat girl was kissing me... *******...
oh for ****'s sake... in the morning... all this peeling
and unpeeling of the phallus...
i feel sorry for those circumcised *****... i really do...
i mean: for those circumcised *****...
they will never experience the joy of *******
as they will never experience the joy
of doing it yourself to yourself proper...
as they will never experience the joy of having
that ******* strangle the head of their phalluses
to a more prominent *******...
nor find a woman more exhilarated when she finds
our that you can do that trick...
i couldn't even if i wanted to... be circumcised...
i have two protruding veins encircling the tip
like those two serpents of the Staff of Hermes...
Caduceus...
each time i pull back the *******
i risk the chance of rupturing the veins...
now that would be a beautiful death... bleeding out
through one's ****...
went to the supermarket to stock up...
as usual this gorgeous Roma girl was selling the Big Issue...
the only socialist magazine i ever buy...
i don't buy the magazine for the content:
i buy it for her gorgeous smile... and those raven feathers
of her... her mocha skin...
anyway... skim reading...
HEALTH... how *** education is failing the young...
sophia smith galer...
oh right... this old chestnut...
because we had *** education in a catholic school?
i remember lessons on drugs...
the catholic system about educating children
about the perils of drugs involved...
ha ha... nothing about LSD nothing about marijuana...
alcohol passed them by...
we learned about the perils of either sniffing
glue or inhaling aerosoles... wow!
is this ******* Ukraine?! am i living in Ukraine?!
of course *** education is **** in England...
those ******* prunes are not plums
they're not wine and grapes: they're raisins...
ugh... no wonder i've been living in England
since the age of 8... now 36 and i still haven't slept
with an English girl... or a Scottish girl for that matter...
what?! it's true... Australian, French,
Romanian, Ukrainian, Turkish, Thai, Russian,
i'm guessing Ghanian... at least two black girls...
Kenyan? i'd love a Somalian girl...
let me think... nope... no English girl...
are they nuns or something?
the *** education focuses on risk-assessments...
mind you... i did a risk assessment with
Khadija... she just giggled and said: living dangerously?
as we had unprotected ***...
now... a ****** would make sense...
if it was a full body ****** suit... that sounds
ultra ******* fun... but no role-playing...
just the raw back-wards and forwards...
truly: a man realises sooner rather than later that
he has three prime faculties:
imagination, thinking and memory...
and that he falls into at least one of the following
categories... recognising that, he: himself
is either a political animal,
a social animal... or a ****** animation...
i don't why he's an animal politically or socially...
but is a ****** animation: maybe because
*** animates man more than the other two
categories...
and when i mentioned that i abhor Thespians
with a passion: i wasn't referring to Thespians proper,
i was referring to the pornographers...
*** is unreal in reality: or at least it ought to be...
esp. if armed with two mirrors on the wall...
there are woman who can't keep eye contact
during *******... others that eat you with their eyes...
mind you: you can't learn about women at
first from women... you have to learn about
women from other men: of literature...
it takes about 5... to start learning about women
from women from yourself...
by then it's a solo project... it's not even an ego-tripping
affair... if beautiful women can share themselves
around... while those less fortunate have
the pillar of monogamy: you learn from the beautiful
women who went the route of prostitution:
well... nature is bountiful, it ought to be enjoyed:
fully! i can't just not share my love among
many... it would be unfair on the others to only
commit to one...
today i did the unthinkable... back in high school:
although it was a catholic 'un they admitted
the usual perverts... Egyptian... as young boys
we were comparing ****** hair and **** sizes...
we even measured our ***** in private and came
back with answers... i did it again...
everything looks small in my hands...
the width of both my hands and still there's
a head showing... i could pick up a basketball
with one hand by the time i was 16...
but all of this is good! it's vitality! it's virility!
as i gave this Roma girl £3 for the magazine
she smiled and said: god bless you...
where's my carriage?! where's my horse!
it felt so medieval...
i thanked her and already thought:
the gods have blessed me already...
they made me mad... and as you probably know
about the nature of madness:
you can't go mad twice... i'm recovering:
i was blessed in an instance...
oh hello there... little fella...
a grasshopper, aqua-green was clinging to my arm...
i tried to cycle ever so gently...
hitch-hiker! you're coming with me...
you're going to be so happy in my garden...
cycled with the little ****** back home...
put him on my index finger from my arm
onto the plum tree... a nice addition to the beauty
of my garden... the peaches and plums are bulging...
you couldn't possibly not learn anything
from Voltaire's Candide...
but i still don't understand English girls...
they talk the talk but don't walk the walk...
i don't understand ****** girls either...
the idea of boredom: in and of itself: by myself
is manageable... but sharing that special
instance of boredom with a woman:
to be bored by a woman? sounds insufferable...
and the damning aspect of this reality is probably
most likely to arise from ******-politics of constraint...
i couldn't stomach marriage... for one i couldn't
stomach having a piece of metal on my finger...
i abhor any symbolism of wealth in the form
of rings put on fingers...
i need my fingers clean... bare...
to me rings on fingers are a sign of a ******...
priest or otherwise ****...
they're disgusting.... just like earrings...
well... apart from those thin... very large rings...
and necklaces... all manner of piercings...
i prefer scars to tattoos...
hmm... anyone heard of... VAGINISMUS?!
a ****** pain disorder...
pelvic spasms... prevention of entry...
pain... i remember this one session with a girl
i really liked... no... it wasn't ****...
but she started crying during *******...
i hope she was crying about the fact that
i was slightly large back then... before i left
the realm of psychiatry and anti-psychotic medication
and let the world be itself... random...
yeah: but that felt ******...
you're ******* a girl and she starts crying...
psychosexual disorders...
depends what mood i'm in... and how little exercise
i have undertaken...
i mean: if you match up with a body
your mind has fetishes over...
plump... slightly larger... you simply can't
last a marathon of pumping
in the *******...
it's a bit like the GPS of birds migrating...
there's no explanation, proper, just a mystery...
i like this aspect of reality:
that not everything requires to be explained...
it just is... mysteriously so:
not magically... mysteriously so... because?
it's not an explanation can't be willed... summoned...
but... a human explanation of what's already
so ****** effective will not change the will
of said mystery... it just ****** is...
man can't improve on it...
and talking about it with explanations rids the mystery
of its aesthetics!
and we want beauty in our lives, don't we?!
well... i can't stand myself being this ***** and
not having an outlet... i need an outlet...
i need... flesh... i need two bodies prancing about
like toddlers in mirrors...
i'm finding myself thirsty...
i need to write an antidote to all that pornographic
exposure... i need to exercise...
i need to grasp Chinese selfless philosophy to
sooth me... i can't stomach the Greeks
or Christianity these days...
i need a second schism in Islam...
this would require... un-circumcised men...
men who might appreciate ******* with the feeling
a woman feels under the shower...
un-circumcised men who don't require
a payment for their circumcision with a woman
wearing a niqab... well... if she really wants
to... then at least linen... closer to white than black...
my god... Jesse Glynne... both ginger
and with curly hair...
no no... i'm not missing out on the brothel tonight...
i'm already seeing how my eyes have lost
their iris and sclera: they're all shark-like
consumed by an expanding pupil...
oh... i'm serious... the Mamluks and the Janissaries
were serious people...
i have nothing left under the shadow of the crucifix...
no "higher event" manual argument
to turn my apostasy into a re-confrimation of
a faith that punishes rather than celebrates...
that moralises that punishes pleasures with pains...
this... sterile Greco-Hebrew conspiracy
against the Roman way of life...
as long as i scribble with these letters... the rest can burn:
it can moan with a mouth of a wound
that will never heal...