Kanye West made me think polos were cool. I thought playing rap music while wearing polos would make me into a rapper. And then I turned into a tennis player. Tennis got me out of the hood. Let it be known. I could have went to court, and instead I chose the Tennis Court.

Tennis is fun. Before it was ratchet. Now it is tennis racket. Rapping was fun. Bernie Sanders liked rap. He liked Killer Mike, and he was a phenomenal rapper. Hilary listened to me. So I don’t know what that means. I should have been a rapper, but when I saw a videotape of Arthur Ashe playing tennis for Wimbledon, I felt a yearning grow inside of my gut, and it grew until I raised my hand to my mouth to smother the scream of nostalgia that I was feeling.

I wanted people to like me so I started rapping at cafeterias and bleacher stands. People drank cola and munched on popcorn as I talked about growing up in the hood of Burke. Real **** went down in the Burke. Like **** you wouldn’t believe. And that’s real.

I hung out on a rooftop overlooking the city drowned in sunshine that was sad as the girl who left me. Kanye West saved me from becoming a *******. And even if he’s an ******* now, everyone knows he was the greatest with 808’s and Heartbreak. Robocop used to play from the car speakers, as we rolled spliffs in the front seat, the wind pouring into the windows.

love   apple   like   time   know   feel   heart   bed   little   life   home   red   boy   georgie   sleep   away   left   dear   ruth   gone   just   right   long   mind   hope   hair   mi   parts   say   fear   met   laugh   makes   sailing   make   tell   hands   day   poem   different   small   words   private   wish   legs   child   man   free   te   welcome   easy   apples   meteorite   smile   flower   want   way   arms   look   eyes   better   war   lie   good   thing   truly   teeth   passion   thought   work   seen   letters   friend   talk   brought   future   fingers   knew   imagination   sure   told   space   cold  la   mask   black   big   bite   age   size   shadow   petals   inane   stretchmarks   medic   we've   wouldn't   hear   tap   really   best   goes   face   gray   maybe   things   dream   tongue   forever   hate   set   room   death   need   truth   comes   night   lost   calves   pain   end   years   brings   touch   feet   blades   memories   new   core   times   dead   favorite   finally   minute   brain   hearts   getting   belly   far   rain   blue   knees   filled   stupid   woke   cream   fit   young   brown   se   fat   tan   cough   spoke   says   unlike   footprints   ******   rough   forward   buckle   blues   task   shoulder   grace   *******   reason   nostrils   firm   juice   palms   someday   mis   thumbs   screams   arguments   wobble   *****   elbows   *******   wrists   headaches   amo   pesky   ligaments   one-liners   thoughts   later   ash   clouds   lips   dreams   breath   mouth   hold   sense   taking   world   bit   speak   dance   gave   shall   ready   skin   air   single   breathe   button   peace   choices   hill   wrong   weak   close   use   quite   sky   phrase   darkness   justice   sound   unable   brave   holding   deep   grabbed   ****   try   building   paper   lunch   think   kind   stay   days   smooth   perfect   learned   care   fair   hard   grant   sweet   high   fruit   short   terms   kept   relationship   underneath   presence   water   looking   fool   sorrow   tree   second   delicate   nearly   happy   line   tall   tried   sad   satisfied   point   feels   falling   purpose   game   lazy   que   amor   agree   known   naught   loss   broke   failed   games   limp   grin   final   spring   act   south   flare   race   sake   car   large   wishes   neck   blink   knife   seeing   idea   steve   company   greens   spread   ship   lo   sally   sum   drowned   december   weep   sting   smiles   lessons   promises   successful   whistled   drowns   perfectly   pleasing   failure   brothers   cliche   harder   thirteen   ale   signs   limit   serenity   mundane   origin   chat   sapphires   handshakes   skinny   contagious   succeeding   super   refer   maturity   destination   civil   uncomfortable   collects   clack   liz   beatles   vez   attract   accomplishment   backside   throes   flaccid   audi   oneself   beastie   applesauce   naivete   bungalow   outie   there's   couldn't   isn't   they're   let's   'n   primos   primas   cantuta   fronton   redd's   mott's   innie   phallicly   tiny   fight   yo   para   walk   ****   hello   light   flash   silent   stone   does   forth   conversation   polite   green   minutes   ****   clear   flesh   couple   wake   anger   throw   torn   tangle   play   shattered   soldier   land   victim   carry   battlefield   came   darkest   blood   battle   warm   shine   reminds   lose   eye   dismay   hide   impossible   fast   earth   grab   stand   die   worse   year   people   white   story   hit   god   anxiety   realize   fall   asleep   dark   course   apart   morning   remain   beauty   ****   slowly   start   happen   remember   pray   past   easily   straight   mean   hand   driving   instant   thunder   messages   friends   old   coming   pen   seeds   shape   wasted   word   living   tore   shadows   knowing   bad   class   joy   trust   leaves   path   sun   ways   leave   meet   broken   head   weight   means   mountain   boys   true   stars   learn   sliced   naive   decided   player   actually   reality   ease   music   hood   desperate   promise   wishing   begin   miss   caressing   moan   thighs   heard   pretty   emotion   figure   floor   exotic   sand   hits   angel   awake   dreaming   probably   wins   seek   stretch   loved   tears   heartbreak   punk   walking   piece   furniture   unreachable   roots   near   deserve   simple   cats   tail   precious   lovers   loves   mother   tongues   clueless   share   taken   yesterday   faith   freedom   ripe   cursed   running   yes   unknown   feeling   going   stairs   opposite   wonder   afloat   packed   bones   acting   playing   wind   passions   dismissed   hourglass   reached   stares   mouths   singing   shaped   trapped   toll   dies   rock   trunk   discovered   especially   dull   choice   awful   patient   great   indoors   attached   thread   shoulders   warms   bright   bring   ending   drowning   sadness   winter   baby   looked   cute   beating   tight   kids   crying   ran   intoxicating   growing   saying   opposites   melancholy   gives   follow   clearly   dove   tu   soon   entwined   juicy   drown   laid   took   moved   bear   anyways   shirt   negative   clean   guide   sore   location   faux   nodded   glance   caught   chances   week   started   today   obvious   sweat   ***   quiet   laughed   worry   round   ladies   mama   smack   goodbye   rising   sides   wished   beds   infinite   positive   scared   admittedly   mistakes   meal   common   rises   toes   bullets   bound   suited   birth   clothes   belt   pounds   ground   barren   sitting   table   woe   swimming   stick   deepest   motion   cleared   sing   angry   action   sons   smiled   bedroom   wall   wiped   grins   mad   july   store   road   snow   pulse   important   adventure   exactly   foundation   trap   colors   floors   neon   outside   language   summer   north   fifty   served   wavy   kick   raw   thirty   row   changed   hanging   lied   drenched   companion   begins   strength   flies   direction   okay   stories   inky   stubborn   cloud   track   described   lover   replaced   pit   packs   circling   honest   wage   dinner   slave   paradox   faking   screamed   lightning   exterior   stopping   complete   deal   rifle   dependent   gifts   dancer   vision   students   horror   punch   anymore   pack   sagging   folk   honestly   tearing   prepared   creatures   listening   rhythm   unique   roar   card   glass   stage   desert   offered   fought   suffer   awoke   master   eating   furnace   glad   choir   graceful   *****   treasure   ships   bark   musical   strand   bee   finished   pink   slink   stronger   disclose   gravity   schedule   march   medicine   hates   weird   brush   laughs   helped   june   pitched   dumped   tense   sin   withdrawn   stem   proved   whispered   anew   amazing   louder   english   knocked   chilly   boots   false   mistake   toffee   whistle   smirk   gas   poised   buttons   bet   necks   elate  vi   bleak   decades   intention   plane   swollen   unseemly   en   sir   creeping   tells   success   doth   ***   balance   ant   fourth   fits   matters   pan   shook   tingle   dusty   reaching   thanked   careers   pile   tempt   ix   xi   xii   xiii   moms   hushed   spears   twinkling   works   fairytale   double   fighter   shocked   barriers   boot   thanks   solitary   lesson   owned   systems   groan   weekend   tomatoes   cider   calculating   drawer   partially   handy   stumpy   album   appealing   pet   unfortunately   jokingly   hotel   teacher   tag   eighteen   leg   dash   peep   betwixt   swear   attempt   inescapable   venues   worker   suit   coughed   remembers   rhyme   listed   chatter   stuff   assist   blocks   sheen   stanzas   jobs   cleaned   handshake   natural   moi   fantasy   cheers   smaller   curl   nay   leaning   frequent   eggs   cuando   el   desayuno   tus   beige   imperfections   difficult   darlings   overcome   oranges   keys   newfound   fairly   occasions   stats   ponder   pools   ablaze   rushes   fret   quell   breads   progress   comfortable   settling   desks   tile   trails   rainy   homemade   stunned   cemetery   plus   ideas   avocados   bananas   apply   latch   rocky   digress   experiences   vacation   sanctuary   earlier   rocket   precise   various   author   pie   explosions   *******   lighter   matched   plunged   isaac   jefferson   abe   measured   saturday   claw   welcoming   gear   trained   suffocation   leapt   gap   lee   disturbed   es   thrill   alarming   grill   frankly   importantly   una   fray   candied   amalgamation   nasty   american   optimism   guns   craters   contracted   rampant   unattainable   spilled   courts   carrots   shuffled   combined   blonde   forgave   artillery   sandwich   comfier   limitation   personalities   friday   strongly   crude   banana   tennis   limits   quaking   recesses   loot   andromeda   shells   playful   luckily   area   upwards   flail   largest   sappy   freckles   biology   fruition   cases   overtook   pinks   instruments   brownies   birthmark   reinforce   laptop   pirates   blinks   frontier   forwards   resonate   capacity   mumbled   marched   scraping   prompts   multiply   haiku   football   como   function   unfeeling   eighty   backsides   prompt   raced   blare   likewise   pro   chrome   gran   pears   puede   corazon   elated   indecisive   basketball   burgundy   synonyms   braced   effeminate   mutually   duties   companies   honeymoon   flailing   patted   mayo   headon   pero   misma   marveled   aforementioned   abhors   forefront   hesitating   identical   creepy   possessive   screeched   gotcha   infidelity   friction   barrage   nonetheless   disparate   itchy   apex   gettysburg   lunchtime   pickup   muchas   then   and   trading   distinguishable   pitches   bunk   ven   ladylike   encompasses   diagrams   underlying   spaghetti   soccer   trashcan   papa   disarming   finalmente   clashed   rosie   smirks   snapshot   pug   songbird   spitfire   yanks   thankfully   mesa   flexing   virginia   effectively   variations   eclipses   tambien   outrun   incident   vitamin   willpower   underdog   hardboiled   miniscule   checkerboard   entrust   siento   heavyweight   davis   thyroid   foreshadowing   frances   heresy   starburst   deficiency   sawing   peruvian   leche   antithesis   villanelle   alliteration   hora   vivir   clacking   droopy   whizzed   britney   futbol   parameters   disney   mangos   disproportionate   orbiting   tanka   stubby   intro   listo   goldilocks   teamwork   pbj   exemplifies   rey   retainer   tenia   triples   espanol   estuvo   castillo   ferrying   suficiente   racecar   dorky   garganta   veo   julio   peripherals   labios   rojos   foreseeable   frito   groggily   venn   macbook   inanely   hubo   goofball   you've   she's   weren't   wasn't   we're   others'   you'll   should've   haven't   what's   you'd   they'd   man's   boys'   god's   woman's   fruit's   orion's   newton's   lincoln's   adam's   momma's   ******   jackson's   audis   dulces   disproportionately   charon's   deseos   avocadoes   hailey   eran   beatles'   ingles   he   she   it   rackets   --   hashtag   sixty-three   duct-tape   joysticks   sherman's   15   6th   32   500   7th   2013   extraño   barenaked   tamales   6-year-old   tierras   derpy   ewell   rom-com   themit's   adan   mudpits   puddlepits   war--hell   culp's   shitpits   completaron   chocolatada   levantanse   duraznos   n'sync   huevo   cholitos   levantaron   manzanas   endurece   wozniak's   dispara   nuez   open-endedness   innies   cankles   dunder-mifflin   tunks   buck-toothed   outies   grief-blown   a-gawking

hi dudes and dudettes and welcome to Saturn club rings, where we are celebrating

the life of peter macnamara who was a famous aussie tennis player, and my nanna jean allan

whose new earth body is Aydan Calafiore, who was a great singer on the voice, anyhow his last life jean alan was a great

tennis fan and i have jean allan with me now to welcome peter to the afterlife

as we bring him to helping the world in his next life and here is slim dusty to start the welcoming party

slim

hi everyone and welcome to the great tennis player peter macnamara, here is this little piece

oh yeah, i would love to have a beer with peter

his backhand was pretty ace

and now this great player joins us in outta space

he joined up with mcnamee in doubles oh yeah

and in 1982 he was number 3 in the world

in 1980 he made it good in our grand slams

winning aussie open in 1979

and then won wimbledon in 1980 and 1982

and now, i want to see if he could carry his love for tennis or whatever to the kids of today

is he going to a future pro, like he coached a lot of greats

and hoping in his next life, he can inherit his great tennis styles

he is now the greatest, welcome to Saturn as perform this show, WELCOME peter to the great show

and now as yo look over our greats, what are you going to do

celebrate your life dude, here is jean who was your great fan


and now here is jean to read a poem, to say WELCOME

jean’s poem

welcome pete welcome pete

it will be great to see you here

your backhand and your coaching skills

really showed us how to play

i didn’t see the earth as jean this century

but i saw a lot of you

you made me want to sit on my couch watch the tennis and enjoy it yeseree

congratulations to peter, you were the greatest, yes you were

i saw players you beat, and players who you lost too

yes, and you were great

as i sat closing my legs on my couch

i loved to see you play

and i have reincarnated into a very talented kid

i think you will as well

whether you will play tennis, or anything else you see


congratulations mcnamara you were the best i can see

we have a few great future players, and australia hasn’t very many good men

but ash barty is playing well for the women, maybe your spirit can help you through

aussie aussie aussie oi oi oi

i hope you will be happy in your future lives, i know i am

The esophageal chill of fresh rain paired
with Bozek's tire stove undertones
slipped through the chain link tennis court.
Love all, love-fifteen, love-thirty, love-forty, game.
I love you, service box Suns, fault one fault lines,
Grandma's crochet centerpiece. Cornucopia coping
with deuce, add.  in, deuce, add. out, deuce,
you get it. Lost ***** in the transformer pen beside
the playground where I watched my classmates
fall off the monkey bars and expose themselves daily.
Racket strings like pantyhose girls surrounding
the sink applying lipstick and stabbing each other dead.
They don't need monkey bars to show off.
Slice serve pizza at Pudgies to kids barely making it.
Grades lower than the pepperoni from the seedy
gas station they sit in and thumb-spike quarters
into each other's knuckles. The "grown-ups"
buy instant lottery and feverishly **** the tickets
with misplaced pennies, and then toss the moneywastes
when they score a free ticket. Free ticket to what?
The tennis match in Addison so far away?
A clear view through chain link?
A wet, elm bench some kid made in shop class?
An alternative to what we waste our lives on?
******, marijuana, drinking at the basketball court, and
flicking cigarette filters into Berger Lake like we're hot ****.
We are ****, not the ****.
Just ****.

502 bad gateway byways short:

Paul's *** never
favoured itself as a prized
asset for making
gazpacho...

this is not an album review per se, that's just the cover, my true intentions for writing this come after... but at the same time: it's a thought experiment - concerning attention spanning... if i continued down the path of being my own pretend radio DJ... listening to songs from as many possible artists i'd lose track of the beauty of listening to an entire album in one sitting... i find that most people these days are unable to listen to an entire album by one artist... it's difficult... i can give an example of one album that trained me to be patient... my father was a big fan of King Crimson... in the Court of the Crimson King is always the album i go back to to regain my concentration skills when it comes to something i haven't heard before...

the first few words will be difficult...
      i'm just not feeling them...
                  i left my feelings elsewhere...
i'm already elsewhere...
    it's truly impossible to make music this good...
what was the album i listened
to last... when all of the opening 5 songs i really
liked? there's usually a high...
   then some middle ground... some low with
a ballad or equivalent... perhaps a stadium filler
anthem: most of Queen's stuff was the latter...

1. holy peak
   2. television
     3. small dogs
       4. i've had enough
         5. ambition...         o.k. fair enough
     this is the first track that i'm not feeling...
but after four tracks that pumped me up...
i need to slow down with the hype... fair enough...
          
now i'll need to take a break so that the music
will catch up with me writing this...
thankfully there's that glass of sharpshooter whiskey
and pepsi and a cigarette about to be lodged between
the index and *******: and the coolness
of the night...

            6. dance macabre - also a welcome interlude...
sort of reminds of the madness of Gong's
flying teapot (radio gnome invisible part 1)...
    during the time i was dating this Russian girl
and every time i put this record on: she freaked
out and told me to turn it off...
                  that's almost like this one guy i knew
and when i put on Greenskeepers song Lotion on
he would immediately tell me turn it off...
so much for adventurous stoners...

   7. valley of the dolls... a song trying to regain
energy... this is the moment in the album
i was reflecting on the prior two songs...
but come...

  8. stars wars... we're back to the energy of the first
four songs... the bass has become relevant once
more...

   the album will finish with two cover songs...
a Bob Marley and a Serge Gainsbourg songs...
i haven't heard them yet... so i can't say: refill!
need more ice... this heat-wave isn't helping anyone...
at least in winter you perhaps wake up shocked
to wake up in the dark in the morning...
but at least you don't wake up exhausted...
there's only one plus of this heat-wave...
a lack of appetite... what did i eat today?
two eggs on two pancakes...
                                     and... a mixed berry milkshake...

mind you... i also made raspberry sorbet...
but clearly people have got it all wrong
when it comes to sorbet recipes...
i'm so glad i didn't follow it to the exactness...
people use too much sugar...
clearly:

250g of sugar
250ml of water... the sugar is to be melted
    in the water... the was: obviously heated...
juice of half a lemon
400g of raspberries...

i didn't use 250g of sugar...
i must have used about 200g but i wish i used
even less...
and i didn't use half a lemon...
i used the juice of two lemons...
and i didn't use 400g of raspberries...
after tasting the slush... i decided to blitz
up probably another 100g of raspberries: if not more...

sorbet shouldn't be sweet... it should be tangy...

9. get up, stand up... well clearly it isn't
a reggae cover... it's a new wave take on reggae...
   it is what it is...

10. moi non plus...
                  i do know all about the ad hominem
response toward ol' Serge... i'll be honest...
               i'm not that familiar with his music...
                      refill...
well... walking back up the stairs was rather
interesting... now i have to listen to the original...
but not yet... the best part being:
REWIND...

track 1...holy peak... twice on repeat...
                now i'm satisfied... i couldn't rewind
on that song alone haven't i listened to the whole
album... that was great... 40 minutes well spent...
hmm... new wave post-punk has always been
my place to go: the origins of punk are...
3 chords? 3 minute songs?
           music for people with short-attention spans...
just like i could never get into rap...
hip-hop: sampling jazz: yes...
                                    death metal too... i can't stand
that ****...

no to lift my mood concerning what i was actually
going to write about...
Faun - Seemann
   the night is looking ****...
                        that rhubarb and strawberry cake
i baked today was also sort of ****...
plus the added sorbet... but on a Sunday as hot
as it was today: what else is there to do?
perhaps watch the World Athletics...
                     oh man... i'm dreading working
the shift at Wembley for the Women's Euro finals...

i don't have a problem with female tennis:
i actually enjoy it more than men's tennis...
i remember a time before the great trinity arrived
that male tennis was all about the serve...
hardly any ******* rallies...
                 yawn...
                          but women's tennis was always more
interesting: for me, at least...
and the "asexuality" of the Olympics was always
appealing...
                but... pushing this ******* agenda
of: women will be as great footballers as men sort of
shakes the myths associated with names
according to Bobby Charlton... Pele... Maradonna...
any other sport... but not football...
not rugby... not boxing...

                tennis is a ladies game... it's beautiful!
golf is boring for either party: i don't see what the big
joke is: except i do... when Robin Williams explained
the invention of golf...
the stats are in... what's troubling is how people
love to lie to themselves...
sure... perhaps in Spain: where the women's Barcelona
team can fill the Camp Nou: unlike in club football
in England where the only people attending are...
small children... friends and family and "empowered"
women...

that's why at female football matches
people with S.I.A. licenses are not given shifts...
no one expects trouble at a woman's football match...
you have too many children...
not enough rowdy teenage boys...
so the risk of violence is minimal...
                     i don't get it...
   women had access to sport... they always did...
they also had access to literature:
who did Marquis de Sade write for? men?
i don't think so...
                     but certain sports are certain sports...
how many sports are there in the Olympics?!
i'm not even bother counting...

so i was watching this World Athletic Championship
today...
hmm... those heptathlon athletes look pretty...
snap of the figure: the idea is gone...
because i stop focusing on the women
and focus on what they're doing...
the same with tennis...
                 ****... Eugenie Bouchard /
   Monica Puig is playing...              i can't....
     concentrate... snap of the fingers...
                       the initial idea is gone... i focus on the tennis...
when i watch a women's football match...
those knee-long socks...
sure... they're not playing in skirts... but in shorts...
but... in England schoolgirls do wear those long
white socks...
                too much ******* hair in the air...
i don't watch women's football for the football:
i watch women's football for the women...
plain as a lost shadow come noon
   on a desert platitude...

let's face it... there are areas where women excel
beyond any man...
gymnastic and ballet...
men are props in ballet...
       tarty-socked-up buffons...
              a sort of Spinal Tap spin-off...
but gymnastic? the agility: the pliability
of their bodies... men's bodies are rigid-strength
structures... in gymnastics a woman's entire
body is used... in the case of man?
his prowess: his upper body strength...

are women's bones made from chewing gum
or something? or are they actually possessed
with an exoskeleton?
i guess girls that aspire to be footballers
only wished to be able to play football with
the boys in school... but the boys said no...
so the girls were like: Mr. Big Brother!
give us a league! give us a league!

but they're so... "unattractive" in their pursuit...
given: looking at the crowd that attends...
thank god this is not the world cup...
i'd hate to have to spot my favourite female
player... what?! because she plays fantastic football?
Hazard player fantastic football at Chelsea...
moving to Real Madrid ruined the poor sod...
i'm talking about...

Alexandria Morgan... football? eh? there's a pitch?
there's a stadium? there are two goals?
what are you talking about?
   i'm not here for the football...
                  ANY OTHER SPORT...
South Korean women at the Olympics in the sport
of archery...
yes... i know it's a woman...
but look at her skills...
     football is hot-wired into a man's head that:
women shouldn't...
i don't care... Alexandria Megan and... something's moving
or something's not moving...

too much history with football hooliganism...
in a time when people are indoctrinated
into what football team they support...
******* club tattoos...
                a grandfather takes his son to a football
match: fanaticism...
and then the father takes the grandson to the football
match: cycle - on repeat...
not all sports... seriously... not all sports...
it just can't be done... otherwise i just switch off...

it's not like girls are inspired by ballerinas or
gymnasts... but apparently some are...
there's nothing inspiring about women football players...
the attendance statistics prove just as much...
it's a niche mentality... pre- or post- feminist?
when is this tirade of a "philosophy" of:

one shoe fits all: unus calceus omnis vicium
going to end?
isn't there one?! feminism ought to be a prefix...
because it's a meat-grinder of ideas...
there's always going to be a counter
to say... existentialism...
there's going to be feminist-existentialism...
the feminist-enlightenment...
the feminist-stoicism...
  the feminist-cynicism...
the feminist-Platonism...
             catch me if you sort of mentality?!

as a teenager i used to dream about women...
i woke up between the ages of 13 and 16
and be like...
Valentine's Day... stop there! coward!
you're brining roses for Janina today...
in art class... Janina became a face i wanted to sketch...
and i did... it was a sketch...
eyes as shapes... the presupposed sclera...
but no pupil and certainly no iris...
peering into a mirror with her as an old woman...
Gemma was another i asked a photograph
off so i could sketch her...

all: worth: jack: ****!
         so i cured myself of woman with women,
with prostitutes...
  now? it should be the song Freebird...
but it's Sweet Home Alabama and me thinking:
cinema *****... a tight ***...
cinema ***** a tight ***...
               i still love... with a grave to distance me
and a "her" apart...
    because if coffee dates are so stupid...
if art gallery and cinema dates are so stupid...
i'm not willing to pay for food and a maybe...
go straight down the river and pay for the ***...
at least: chances are...
she might like you so much
that she'll let you try ******* for the very first
time aged 36...  and you're like...
well that was ****... i'll gladly return
to my cup of coffee and a cigarette for...
this snorting paracetamol is doing **** all for me...

AND I'M STILL NOT WRITING ABOUT
WHAT I WANTED TO WRITE ABOUT...
thank you... Thomas Bunce... my English teacher:
he used to teach English via way of digression...
what grammar i handle is my own self-taught...
he had the principle:
if you can write like you speak... you're good to go...
but... he didn't really state that:
you can also write like you think:
and never speak like you think...
which is why writing is a two-edged sword...
i don't even know how to write like i speak:
i write like i think...
and i never speak like i think...
so writing is a "third-man" dimension of me...

HELL... I'M STILL NOT WRITING ABOUT
WHAT I WANTED TO WRITE ABOUT...
maybe now: here's my chance...
yes... it begins with the Roman poets' overtones
of conversation, casual:
nothing modern: over-exasperated
performance propaganda related:
western-leftist ideology:
      i come from a sturdy stock...
it took **** Germany and Soviet Russian
longer to conquer Poland than it took
**** Germany alone to conquer France...

and? i have no sympathy for the Ukrainians...
zilch... their Cossack uprising undermined
the concept that was the Polish-Lithuanian
Commonwealth...
you can only take so much...
Swedes from the north...
the Ottoman Turks from the south...
  German mercenaries from the west...
Russian tickling from the east...
                IF it was so ******* bad?
you get what you deserved... no?
that's why i will never get a tattoo on my body...
i have plenty of historical dates
to be mindful of...
          1648 - the Khmelnytsky uprising...
what?! in England people celebrate one date in
particular... 1066...
weird date to remember and celebrate...
while all prior Viking invasions failed...
  this Viking invasion actually succeeded...
and it's... ******* celebrated...
                    i remember when i was wronged:
not when i was conquered...
or at least a fraction of me...

                  I'M STILL NOT WRITING ABOUT WHAT
I WANTED TO WRITE ABOUT!

digression... the best momentum for writing:
and drinking...
but of course i know what drinking alone
does to people...
my grandfather, my best friend...
the man i went foraging for mushrooms with...
the man i went cycling with to the lakes...
the rivers... the man i walked our Alsatian
with... the man i played golf with...
the men i went sight-seeing Cracow:
Warsaw? cool name... probably beats
Bangkok... it's a saw-of-war...
                      who went fishing with me at am...
he was an alcoholic...
me? i charge my drinking into writing...
i drink and i write...
i contain the beast...
   he didn't... he drank for the sake of drinking...
i remember him ******* his trousers...
behaving like a lunatic... he couldn't keep control...
me? i have an elephant's memory...
someone tells me i did something...
i usually have written proof: no i didn't...
i was writing: THIS...
alcoholism is painful if you don't have a creative
output... i wouldn't recommend alcoholism
to anyone who doesn't have any outlet in
writing or painting...
i did an NVQ 2 course concerning crowd safety:
oh man... the return to the formality
of language to gain some bogus qualification...
drinking while taking this course
would be painful: the unoriginality of language
was unbearable...
but i wept through it....
   "wept"...

I'M STILL NOT WRITING ABOUT WHAT I WANTED
TO WRITE ABOUT!
when is this digress mechanism going to end...
is there a PRESS: THE END button anywhere?!

i'll try to pretend...
that this is the end...

                                                 right... breath... a long:
carrying breath... both body and soul...
   ambo corpus et anima... et spiritus-visus...

come 3am i ought to be sleeping...

so... i came across the garden come 11pm...
needing to be fed water...
i wish i owned cattle... flowers are plenty...
Sim... one door down came out...
with a black bag... how many rats did you kills?
i killed about 5... perhaps 6...
a narrative starting running in my mind...
i thought he thought: who's watering that garden
tonight? oh... it's Matthew...
it's not Miroslav...

                                   i drank a Beck's... smoked
a cigarette... started to water the garden in the cool
cold night of repose...
right...                 problem...
            i should have been a painter...
            the Walter Sickert exhibition really impressed me...
the early works and the nudes...
who isn't impressed by a painter's nudes?
so i'm watering the garden... a light comes on in
the bathroom of my neighbours' house one door down...

what's that term? for the glass? used in bathrooms?!
obscured... obscuring glass...
as if glass and water mingled...
or as if glass and water and air and fog were mingling...
i could see a shape...
at first i thought: oh ****... it's their mother...
but then i waited for a while...
the... the... i don't purposively "forget" nouns...
some nouns are just not practical:
i'm not about to use them!
  Heidegger's hammer metaphor shouldn't be solely
concerning: two labourers talking about philosophy
while labouring...
it should also be concerning:
two intellectual forgetting nouns...
allocating sign-language to explain...
that fidgety-"thing"... you know... i know?!
they... close door... language anti-verb all hieroglyphic
noun! OWL = NIGHT OPEN SLEEP....
that sort of *******...

        i'm drinking and i'm ***** again...
the glass used for windows of toilets...
what's her name again? i know she's Indian...
that's tragic... i have an oyster's spot of Indian and Turkish girls...
there comes a madness i can't control...
i hyper-focus on raven hair...
i used to hyper-focus on blonde hair:
enough blonde-hair rejections cured me of my childhood
past... now? i just own a blonde moustache...

in the gilded cage of the glass that's used for bathroom
windows...
she looked like a big girl...
at first i thought i was looking at her mother
washing herself... but then again: the "LUFCZIK"
was wide open... after she took her shower
she started pandering herself... applying cream
to her body... she raised her hands up...
ah... the most ****** aspect of a woman's body:
her hands...
i tend to look at a woman's hand's first...
hello: handshake-Geisha...
i count the arithmetic of knuckles...
girl: you must be missing my pinky knuckle...
i see... by the size of either of your hands
that i have the index, the middle and the ring fingers...
but you're missing the pinky extension...

clever Ovid: i might be envious of the "esteem"
of other men... but in your hands...
i'm: normal...
     "expected"....
                    i was supposed to water the garden...
i was... watering the garden...
but i took breaks...
it wasn't a pretty outline...
she looked like a ++ girls... bulging...
a beached whale type... contorts of her *******
as she detailed them with hand movements
making it necessary for them to be nurished
with moisture...
                   of cream of coconuts...
               this Sikh girl is my kind of stuffing...
i'll go mad for anything with her sort of
olive-complexion... with raven hair...
with eyes that discuss the origins of
                               the Sahara desert as:
once upon a time being an extensive mountain range...

i succumbed to a: pinguis-caput...
   fat head...
                 a headache without a headache...
my head was bulging...
                what's caput in ******?
that's it!
                   that's what it means...
so i'm watching her...
what do i see... her hands raised...
tender little Geisha "oopses"...
silver bracelet... to boot...
this glass is not a mirror...
                         contorts of her hair...
her torso... i best have been born a painter...
her ******* as she olives up...
i get drunk on the mere idea of drinking...

she looks like a big girl in the glass...
that's supposed to not invite onlookers...
i shouldn't be the one watering the garden...
not when she's taking a shower...
she's taking for ages...
i can wait...

           and she looks purposively:
she's pressing her ******* and ***
against the glass...
                                  it's like the universe
inverted upon itself, no?
i don't feel inclined to ingest
more hard-core *******...
i'm seeking subtler "stuff"...
                          something more mythical...
hide a naked body behind a strange glee
of glass... but just expose the hands...
the hands of a woman...
            modern ******* is a turn-off for me...
i'm always wanting to turn today
Italian classics... this modern "****"?
there's no float, there's no boat...
it's all sink... sink... sink...

                i was watering the flowers!
but she took almost 40 minutes out of my life
oiling herself!
                i'm thinking: the love of a brother for her sister...
when your sister is unwanted by other men....
and you need to find... an outlet: equivalent of
the qualification of man: to accept your sister?!

it takes me 1 litre of whiskey to fall asleep...
but i need to write first... concentrate...
my grandfather was an alcoholic too...
but... he didn't write under the influence...
           i can't imagine drinking without writing...
without...
            my god... her ******* seem so enlarged...
her torso... i wish i were a painter...
thank god there's no painting in existence
concerning what i saw...
mein! mein alles! my! my all!

at least my garden is illuminated...
all demons welcome...
                                      i don't even think i can
ever be "bored": i'm just the best "side" of...
"soaked" in what's exacting: soaking...
            a bite into an orange...
a bite into a watermelon...
                                      a wetted beard is easier
to brush with a comb...
                                    cats don't behave like dogs
should you have a rat problem.

never understood the counter argument of
op sports, within the confines of
feminism, having to resort to women...
this...
  counter-argument of women in sports...
women boxing... n'ah, prefer fake Sappho ****...
women doing rugby?
   and they thought skinheads looked ugly...
women playing football...
the faaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa? C.K.N.U.
what happened to the men who would say...
well... it's sort of teasing repressive
*******... watching these 18 year olds
do the gymnastics...
like... my my my...
   even my **** isn't quiet as flexible
as that: body of work...
     synchronized swimming?!
sexist! no men do it... why?
   because they can't!
          imagine the sort of legs
scissor chopping the air, that weren't female...
and male tennis?
  BO-ring... serves an ace...
ace + **** of the advantage...
   woman's tennis i can watch...
male tennis is boring as ****...
      sometimes you get a chance
to watch a tennis professor,
   with a perfect backhand,
like federer:
        but it's not longer tennis,
it's an aesthetic of the backhand perfection...
but women have their sports...
tennis is one of them...
          but football, rugby, boxing?
i guess some men never knew
how to spend an hour with a *******
to contain her rage...
like, sometimes forgetting
ton inscribe male genitals to an hour's
worth of kissing, a fascination
with the torso, but not the *******...
     women have their sports...
it's just that... for the most part....
most, drunk men,
hyperventilating on a bad ref. decision
will, simply, not, tune in...
  and why blame them...
   gymnastics and synchronized swimming...
and all that glitter and make-up
involved...
    all i see is legs...
      robert palmer's: god bless his
soul - addicted to love -
        where's the *******,
and all that genital rubbing
on the 10cm beam cartwheels?
no, women have their sports...
   but hitting it mainstream with a bunch
of skinhead congregation
at a pub...
   watching the footie?
           that's just ******* on
the already ******* upon Olympics...
       like some sort of rock n roll start-up
with groupies...
    sure... i have a yummy tummy
pregnant fetish for one of the bangels...
but women boxing,
women playing rugby,
women playing footballs?
    is that even remotely sexist,
countered with: only women can write
poetry...
   but i prefer womens' tennis -
given that there's no **** and serve...
synchronized swimming,
net ball instead of basketball...
      i will not watch women's football
for the reason that women give:
admiring footballer's legs...
   me?
       i prefer admiring the legs of
female gymnasts...
sure...
   that's borderline on something
otherwise legal...
                 18... is like:
            so so, sh'oh baddy-bad-bady -
there can't exactly be an equality
quotient within the most profitable sports,
sports most hindered by
gambling...
               such a shame...
that some women do not respect
the Olympic spiritus sancti...
      at least in Olympic competition
women reach the equal status of
post-scriptum expression of tears....
     as those male football ballerinas...
ooh... now that i have teased...
i can't wait for the breach of
legality,
   watching 18 year old girls
perform gymnastics...
sorting out what is a ******,
borderline ******...
        and a frustrated flower
               imploding to attract a bee;
fun, fun, fun.

All summer we play tennis with friends

On sunny  days  that we hope have no ends

At the LTC  in the heart of the park

Where many players like you have left their mark

Its not the score nor the one who swore

That  encourages us to play more , until our muscles are sore

So Lets play tennis

As we won’t cause a menace

We'll play all day

Starting in May

We will focus on returns

So we don’t get the burns

As for the serve

It will take some nerve

Remember most swing in a hurry  

So it’s the volleys that should worry

And lets have no lobs unless we're old

Or too young to be told

As for the seniors, we won’t play at night

As we can’t see to fight

We'll play at noon

And create a big boon

Throughout  the season where we love it all

Just for the chance to whack  that wily yellow ball