.when did i realize there was no point in lying? people who are pathological liars tend to forget, the scrutiny of memory; my god, memory has a bias for scrutiny, why do you think the powers-at-be are relentless in exhausting it with scholastic examination, marking, the whole rubric of needless demands?! lying also erodes the capacity to engulf and, keep, memories... telling the truth, counter-wise? memory becomes a cinema... whenever i remember something, i remember it because it was truthful, and it becomes a subversive cinema reel that i sometimes tune into... point about pathological liars, they're just like the pristine students in the days of high school... they end up being the best students... given? for the lie to be true, they have to remember the lie, word for word, by a demand that demands them to disclose it, and they can't make variations... you have to keep the lie as intact as an eye aiming to bite into that forbidden apple... you deviate... the lie implodes... lie covers lie until what takes place, is, until enough coverings the original lie is covered with, a naked statue emerges... satan's original sin was a lie... man's "original" sin was... that it was altogether... "original"... to transcend the stated law; you can't be a liar, and have a ****** faculty for memory... you lie, bad, real bad, if you don't have photographic memory... bad liars make bad killers / accusers... to lie... you need to remember the original focus of the subsequent thread! and there's only one thread of events... you can't juxtapose what happens contrary to what is thought, because thought is a theta-precursor of a moral: ought... plus we're mortal! **** only happens once for us paupers of existence!
you know, sometimes you have to bring a few songs back
into your abode having walked the nightly death toll..
the maneouvre,
the manouevre...
the manouvre...
**** it... it's French, which is worse than English
on the number of surds and what equates into the clarification
of syllable...
there's this son of a site manager on site at where
my father works...
he asked...
for the spelling of the word: T O R C H...
there are only two syllables!
tor-ch! chitty chitty lucky fucky thai bang bang!
it's not even natives who are proud...
proud as in: up-keeping something...
these ******* make us look silly
defending their culture...
seriously?
you can spell T O R C H?
give me a breather...
i'm not joking when,
i try to joke, that these people exist...
apparently the claim that we're all literate
isn't true...
i know the authorities promised us
a literate mass of people...
but apparently that's not true...
the whole:
but it's the 21st century argument... ???
gone, out the ******* window,
we're starting over...
it's not happening!
no chance in hell!
i'm not buying this *******
quest for an en masse literacy project...
no... sorry.. not happening...
i don't, speak, French...
and even though the English primary school
system is superior to the secondary schools,
esp. the faith schools...
i should be speaking a third language
by now...
namely German, which is why i'm teasing
using it...
French? no! no! i don#t understand
the logic behind hiding syllables
and exposing sometimes unnecessary
diacritical marks!
**** don't float,
moreover: it doesn't flow!
it's not a ******* river,
or a **** exposed to a high concentration
of fat!
no!
it's not happening!
whatever the English think that
somehow speaking French will do to their
children... it's... gone!
i'm not thaat honk of a clumsy
**** facet... forget it...
they might have the better good...
but in terms of linguistics?
is Dianna Specer alive?
thought so...
i wouldn't dare to even send my shadow
into that custard clumsy clown
show of a mine field of mistakes:
just readied for my mistake to take place...
but as you do,
walking back home,
in the scary streets of outer suburbia...
scary men, scary witches...
ooh... can get a man better
than a ******...
that famous, "supposed":
thrill of the chase...
more like:
i've got one, let's have another one...
hope you're enjoying your harem
you little camel jockey...
i'll side with the Iranians
and the Bangladeshi...
never the ******* undertaker
of the desert switch and frivolity -
isn't... "frivolience"
and adjective, without an affix, -ness?
yes, -ness is an affix,
not a suffix...
a quality agitator of
a, somehow, mundane word...
but rarely does it happen,
coming home with songs
that begin and end
with rotting christ's
(greek black metal)
Κατά τον δαίμονα εαυτού
album,
and begin with
the soft moon's album,
of the same name, debut...
rarely...
usually my way of thinking
is such shrapnel material
that i notice the difference...
this time i couldn't...
i couldn't help that instance,
in my memory cinema
with regards to an incident in the night...
i write fast, so i don't lie,
i'm probably prone to write
faster than you read...
the traffic incident involving
two cars parked prior to an X
junction with a pack
of deer in the middle of it,
and me walking past from a drinking
session in a field of wheat,
drunk like a skunk,
noticing a young deer-ling
looking back at me...
so i gave it the chase...
i charged at it...
the flock of deer with their offspring
ran down the road,
and jumped over the fence,
and into the opening of
a field, subsequently into a forest...
so i managed the traffic incident...
now...
am i lying?
and i would lie because.... ?
what, likes, shares the whole sha-bang of
using social media?
em...
i groove to the clash's
rock the casbah...
sure, three mares,
about five young Bambi types...
BUT...
what if a, ******* stag was there
to boot?
Santa not getting enough horn
*****?!
how am i supposed to know
if a harem just lost its
alpha met, and is standing
disorientated in human
cement territory?
i'm not a child...
i get bored, as i got bored of
lying, a long time ago...
it's pointless to make *******
impressions on people,
which, you will evidently never meet once
more...
yeah... deer, no i didn't count
how many there were...
i'm pretty ******* sure there
wasn't a stag in sight..
otherwise i'd be musing how many
imaginary acorns i could shoot from
my ***... with those antennas
shoved up my ***...
but traffic problem solved...
what was funny was that i didn't finish
my beer...
Santa...
on an imaginary sleigh,,,
deer in front, no reins...
running like a madman
with a can of beer in one hand.
