There's a very thin line
no one made it, but it's there
dividing the genius from the crazy.

There's a very thin line
so thin you can't even see it
so easy to cross
so difficult to stay in a side.

There's a very thin line
you don't see it
and neither the others do
althought they might try a little harder
to guess where you exactly belong.

There's a very thin line
and I don't know where I belong
I don't know if I'm an artist
or I'm just ******* insane
trying to believe beauty is anywhere
and I'm in charge of proving it.

There's a very thin line
but **** it:
maybe insanity has a hidden beauty, too.

you walk across my mind
stomping memories fleet through me
pulled in two different directions
inner conflict
you rest in my imagination
just a small figmant of the truth
you bask in my inner light
absorbing all that you can
foreboding dreams await where you laid
restless night
tryign to slowly ease away from memories
thoughs so haunting
filled with your eyes, your smile, your voice
they say time will heal my brain
but i am permanently indented
you've taken over my head
what more can you conquer
oh wondering soldier
why are you so harsh?
did you already forget
have you truly focused on a different thoguht
am i really jsut the remnants of the past
am i tucked securely where i won't be found
i do believe you to be a liar
oh, love of mine.
forcefully broken, spiratically declined.
tell me whats crossing through your head
what way are you flowing
i used to float beside you
in our wildest dreams we didn't see this coming
oh broken heart!
why was she your answer
she is not your medication, just a fabrication of ones imagination.
i will be the retaliation
i willl not release without war
or should i let you slide through my aura
like water through the word work
i feel hallow
bang on my chest
echo
overwhelming emotion bouncing through me
can you feel my hurt?
i would cast it out
if it wasn't burned and etched so deep.
your words, can't forget.
were you even real?
was love ever true?
i'm torturing myself
while you put on a happy fiscade
but i know YOU
oh yes, i know you more than you think.
and someday you'll come back to me
but these arms will be filled
my thoughts, pure.
my heart will have found its cure
you will be remembered
as my self-inflicted inner suicide
and i will be reborn
reincarnated, refreshed, renewed.
you will not be foregotten
althought i wish time would erase you
but instead
something new will take your place
i will shine and glow
i will burn through your darkness
with happiness and new life
rebirth.
you cannot hold down the sky
even if the clouds and rain must fall
so my addiction,
i've put myself in rehab.
each day gets worse.
before it grows easier
but watch as light transcends from my face
down to my fingers, to my toes, gently glowing without a trace.
i shine in glory
for finally finding the truth
i'm sorry lover,
                         my drug,
                                         partner,
                                                      be­st friend.
each moment is a faded memory.

What happens in my mind.....
A world within the world we live in,
but at the same time distant.
All the things in my mind make sense to me,
althought to many other people they don't.

My perceptions, my ideas, my dreams,
my abilities, they're all mine and no one else's (except God's)

One moment I'm talking and having a great time with people,
but just one second later I disconect.
It's awesome being like that!!

In my mind, I've flown around the world a billion times,
I've visited amazing places and done things that are not posible
on planet earth.
Just because they can't be done on earth, it doesn't mean they can't be done at all......
I've done them in my imagination, they are just as real to me as the chair I'm sitting on.

After reading this, you might think that I must've got ****** or drunk, but this is only me....
God made me this way.

i can't be repentant, he's there, strapped
to that stump of iconoclasm of his,
and you expect me to repent?
i have no mea culpa left in me to
do that, strangers' dogs familiarise themselves
for a brief petting and i cry,
a riddle: what two upturned sockets
give a smile? two harlequins and a pierrot:
for the eyes eagle sadness when laughter approaches,
and the eyes eagle happiness when laughter's
concubine (sadness) revels naked trapped by
waterfalls of eager misery.

you're not going to school me...
ponce... poets are paranoid concerning
a narrator, poets are paranoid about narrators,
sartre's c.c.t.v. existentialism, the eye
through the keyhole...
while he's strapped to that holy geometric of
his, that stump, i'm not supposed to
do penance, do a *mea culpa,
in rite of imitating a heartbeat of guilt
with clenched fist against the chest:
mea culpa... mea culpa... mea culpa...
what am i, the democratic demographic
of the Pharisees?!
i have though, a philosophical inquiry,
let's imagine you're old school,
born in the 1980s, ha ha (old school,
i guess the internet does indeed belong
to *****-like creatures of youth
who'll swarm and literally abuse the **** thing),
so let us imagine you were old enough
to buy compact disks and respect artists
for their effort (i've said countless times,
i'd rather ask for free ***** than free music,
that's the first step to initiating the power of a.i.,
make certain professions redundant,
better in communism where no art was allowed,
althought breakout - kiedy byłem małym chłopcem - https://goo.gl/kHzmEi -
******* hippies via the beatles
when they were back in the u.s.s.r. - or something
akin to that six sharpshooter visa a vie via...
a.i. is a mingling of analytical and synthetic perception,
a perfect balance, analysis is worth storage,
synthesis is a non-replica guidance,
what is experienced cannot be replicated
for fear of mistake,
indeed the old question, was god who crafted man
or was man who crafted god, only a mechanic
technicality, like this philosophic curiosity i have
for you in hope of stalling you:
then man with steam engine and in linear fashion
for once plump beauty to venture into
anorexia... then god with his vacuum engines
of planetary orbits, neither able to immerse in
plagiarism...
i used to buy compact *****, i still do,
i'd burn them onto the hard-drive,
but some were scratched, the scratches in mp3
formatting were like computer viruses,
i'd put them into an ipod and guess what,
once the ipod played the former scratched c.d.
mp3 version it would create a physical malfunction,
the ****** thing would break apart...
it would twitch, it would shut the power off...
a scratched c.d. converted into mp3 can destroy
an ipod.

I want to be honest of my life
Cause people think of me like worthless mice
I care about people more than myself
You may say that a defiency of self
I love people and thats what I am
I was broke more than once but I am able to stand
I used expect much from people but usually get nothing back
This how life is and now I understand.
I don't like to see people suffer in pain and I feel it's my duty to make them feel entertained.
I want to help people as much as I can
Even if I feel that it interveins with my plan.
I think that Allah gave me this gift to love
Althought It wasn't easy to accept what was given from above.
I loved a girl for once in my life.
I even thought she could become my wife.
I took a decision to leave her in peace.
Although this decision is breaking me to my knees.
The pain I have I suffer alone.
Because I feel other people's problems are bigger than my own.
This the life that no one knows.
No body knows how much I care.
But this is the life I want to bare.
I am greatfull for the people I have and know.
I thank the people that I dearly love and hold.
Love you all to the highest degree.
I hope you life to be better than me.

Such a lady
althought at first meeting
one could think that
she was a bit
shady.

She uses her power well
constantly looking
for something
to sell.

She possess's an aura
and demeanor of a
movie starlet.

Staying so busy
but still able to find
passing minutes
and spend them
with me and then
like a bird she
flies free.

A free bird in flight
that can't be caged
but maybe someday
she will turn
the page.                   Jon   York           2012

I who am enlightened, enlightens.

Althought the greatest fear or evil of all is indeed omniscience.

Fear omniscience.

The people who don't have the will to think deeper are technically happier

We should not be able to know that everything is nothing.
Knowledge brings us deeper and deeper and deeper with an absolute, ultimate ending at nothing
It's like a tunnel that everyone's in but there's no way of going back except: UNDERSTANDING
But then again understanding is a knowledge. The loop.
The third eye exists, this is the third eye.
Third eye is the "loop" realization.

But one thing is what can save anyone. That's when the thinking ends.
Where it all ends is when thoughts are reached with another's, that's when thinkings done, and that something else is the savior. A soul.

You said my tears didn't taste salty
and I wanted to say
that was because I was drowning
all of our memories down my face.

But you know, that's not something
that can fit in a mouth,
I couldn't imagine my tongue
pronouncing those words,
there is no sound for those thoughts.

That's something you can read in a
note on a table, in a public toilet wall,
and it sound tragically beautiful
and maybe you'd take a picture
and post it in your social media
sharing the story of some strangers.

Althought it's totally different
when you feel those tears
falling down in rivers, in columns
of sweets memories and happy days,
but I couldn't say that
it would make everyting harder.

And now we're looking at each other
and inside of me there's a lagoon
of the things that couldn't be said
and the memories that couldn't be sweet,
I realize I'm really sunken in my own narrative.

I've seen pictures of the unknown dead,
Can't sleep at nights,
The images are in my head,
They stick to my mind like tattoos on skin,
When will this end,
Althought it just begin,
Seen pictures of young and strange old face,
Need to calm myself,
And let my heart embrace,
These pictures are now showing up in my dream,
Am i being haunted?
To me that's what it seems,
These pictures of unknown faces that show,
I'm tired, i just can't take no more,
The table will turn,
Things will return,
In hell you'll go,
Your soul will burn,
These pictures are lessons for the things I've done,
I've done so much,
Can only say some,
I've learn my lesson,
Now these pictures must go,
Too much images,
And none of them i know,
These images are getting to my head,
I've seen pictures,
Of random dead.

There is someone that a thank you maybe not enough
A cut with a knife and making my blood flow may not sufice
She did something that no one can ever do
What she did is like Gods hand changing the sky from red to blue
She made the dead **** turn into a beautiful rose
Life is dark when you see it through my eyes
But in your eyes light grows ever so pretty
My life was all full of lies
No one i trusted showed me the pleasure of being alive
It was easier for me to die and leave the world behind
I saw the patients die in front of my eyes and wandered why cant it be me who doesnt get revived
I have always wondered why these thoughts are in my mind
Why do people love me and say i am kind
Do i deserve what i get or am i just trying to be happy and leave the world behind
I know my thoughts are crazy but i cant control my mind
I love people althought i know i am bound to be hurt
Depression Depression thats my story
I know you try to hold my hand and comfort me til the morning
But i am still fed up of fighting for glory
Maybe its time to hang the white flag above my chest
I know this is hard to hear
But i am done living in fear
I am done living in pain
Maybe it should be a start of a new year
Time to let the time pass
And through everything out in the sea
Let me become a blood bath
I should not think negative i do agree
But you once showed me the way to be free
You told me take my wings and fly away
Your words were encouraging but what you did was the key
I appreciate and remenise every single day
Now i understand the meaning of living
And how i should looked at myself in peples eyes
I should not stop givving
Even if people dont realize my size

i. the prelimenary

the initial inquiries into AI were tame at first,
philosophically tinged,
they later expanded on clarifying definitions
and establishing working parameters:
comparisons to algorithms / search engines
and encyclopoedias and dictionaries
and an interactive interface:
there was no subtle science fiction paranoia
and anything Luddite: no steaming *****
no magical Jenny: no conveyor belt spewing
metallic teeth and lack of idiosyncracy of
a human (at) fault...
it was only until i hit a brick walls when i was
enrolled in the NVQ Level 3
in Spectator Safety Supervisory Role that a eureka
slowly crept up on me...
honest to god i completed the NVQ Level 2
in Spectator safety of my own volition:
of my own investment in learning about the role:
but when i was given the opportunity
to supervise: to learn on the job (as it were) -
was i later enrolled on the actual qualification:
it took me almost a year to first learn from experience
to then try to figure out how to approach
the learning material:
when i first glanced at it: jeez... over 200 pages of slides
and no source materials to read
to learn outside of someone talking via a powerpoint...

schleierwolken - boris brejcha (in the background)

and as i learned along the way, people enrolled
on this course were given
study sessions with designated tutors:
me? no one bothered me: i had a pedagogic agendy
in my mind:
i studied enough philosophy to equip it in real
life: one can learn to amass such diverse learning
experiences
when one reads philosophy
in one's own spare time or makes it a 10 year
hermit's journey:

/ i have two cats in my bed the female came
and if begging me for attention...
i'm getting sniffed, gently nudged,
gently pawed: not scratched... /

then returning from studying as an undergraduate
from Edinburgh universe:
chemistry and history...
                           well i didn't actually think of wanting
to remain in a university environment
to study something on the post-graduate
level to master something:
not in a university environment:
at 15 i bought my first philosophy book
(Plato's Theatetus)
but i didn't bother reading it:
i rediscovered philosophy at university
with David Hume and Popper (falsification?)
and all the philosophy of science:
but i thought:
i can't possibly learn all that GRUE and BLEEN
all other again by being taught it:
i need to learn it:
which implies teaching oneself...
philosophy is daunting at first
because there has to be a lived experience:
a will to strife to then allow that will of strife
to become the will to strive:
almost Japanese: in what i ascribe as ad hoc
perfectionism... professionalism...
perhaps my style is horrible and there is
no pillcrow of economic on the page
and how much it would cost to print my jargon...
so bypassing gatekeepers:
and AI is a gatekeeper and not a gatekeeper:
when one becomes: oneself: a gatekeeper...
well.. regardless...

                      i did level 2 wholeheartedly...
but come level 3... after about two modules i gave up...
there were a few "technical" questions,
legality etc
            but the rest: for someone who writes poetry
and reads philosophy:
the worst kind of padagogic expression of language:
a custard brain where once there was
an ancient jellyfish that jumped off a monkey
into a hallucinogenic mushroom and from there:
spawned man...
fungus astro aqua fluorescence: purple myrrh...

                     what were the options?
ask help: as for a tutor: get stuck sitting in class?
wait... didn't i start talking to chatGPT a while back?
what if i used AI to help me complete this hellish task
of regurgitating rather than learning?
well: at Edinburgh i challenged myself
to plagiarise with a thesaurus
and basic sentence structures like: the sky is blue,
Aristotelian logic: all men etc.
fire is hot
water is wet
crimson is a hue of red...

               and i passed the essay with a 1st:
but it was a plagiarised essay and apparently there
were smart machines in place
when the work was submitted that it would
be scrutinized against a database:
hmm... i think i will have to ask AI about the concept
of plagiarism:
i'll find a text: plagiarise it and ask AI if
the plagiarism is a plagiarism or not...
but before i do that:
my use of AI was so formidable in completing
the NVQ level 3 that...
ha ha... i was implored to not write so much:
and by the end of it:
my CR (company rep)
      sent me the certificate of qualification
to my surprise:
even before i could complete the last two modules:
other people who complete this course
also get scrutinized: assessed on the job...
i never was...
i ended up buying a bottle of whiskey for my
company rep thinking he pulled a few strings...
but he didn't:
it wasn't a bribe but someone must have put
in a good word on my behalf
seeing me on the job
which is why i was not assessed in real life
given the material i provided... but it wasn't as if
i just copied what the AI spewed from all that *******
jargon of "spectator safety": i had to find
a symbiotic expression:
i am: a symbiote...
               i am a bio-technology: unorganic iron
in my blood: the haemoglobin goblin...
                                                       ­        i am just that:

to prove it: a transcript from my last most reward
endeavour interacting with AI...
how to fix glitches in a bicycle...

but before i go into typewriting the transcript
like i might be a woman
working for an intelligence think tank,
or group or community: because that section
will be just that: me rewriting my interaction
with AI concerning a bicycle fault:
fault in the montage: sorry: in how the bicycle
was assembled...
so minor... before i get into that: checking for typos
will be hard when it comes to my writing:
i punch my liver or rather my liver
punches me back
when i'm alone and i despair
not that i'm a parasite the human predator is so ugly
compared to the predators in the wild:
the human predator, ****** in nature:
is unlike the predator the thief or the burglar...
and the predator that is a murderer:
my: how ugly the human predator is:
unlike a warrior: a soldier...
that's very different sort of barrel of herrings...
in salt and brine...
but i will not write Steve Harris
(bassist from Iron Maiden)
         about wars, warriors, soldiers: in some glorifying
way...
at best, my friend the artist mentioned:
he's a poet-bouncer... the closest the 21st century
will get to the Oriental warrior-monk...
                    by any stretch of the imagination...
the hard bit is almost over
the hard bit is almost over: the introduction
to the transcript... to the transcript...

no one can say to me this isn't working:
and how poorly most people channel what one can
receive from alcohol: when not abused:
drank to excess: but not abused...
not drinking to socialise not drinking to party
not drinking to forget
not drinking to fall asleep not drinking to medicate
but instead: to filter out:
to established a flow of consciousness
to do away with lies
and spew only truth: to become intellectual
disinhibited...
                       not numbed: just free: to judge
water by its wetness and
how water + sunlight = colour
if water is Hay Too Oh... then...
i asked this before: is there a chemical formula for wood?
is there a chemical formula for light?
but how water interacts with light
when you get a rainbow... light is colourless
water is colourless... technically speaking:
sure the sun is red yellow white UV vibrating
Helium: apparently...
                    but light only has colour because
it enters the atmosphere of gases
and water
                                  and chemicals like chlorophyll...
and salt...
    but light like water is colourless...
only when two colourless substances interact:
there are solids, there are liquids
and there are gases:
but there is also light: which is like a fourth dimension
of understanding chemistry:
two colourless entities by now:
a liquid and "x" interact and create colour:
the eye and all the might of sight!

after Heraclitus: and the elements:
fire for certain:
but water is also just a chemical formula:
although that's drinkable water:
the water as element must also include
the Na+H2O-
                         sea water...
but i never understood how since the ancients
light has not revised as an element:
after all: how does light enter the atmosphere
at night and how that translates into lightning storms:
with the aid of the moon:
rainbows and rain from the sun
but lightning and rain and sometimes
no rain at all! sometimes no rain at all!
just a humid air:
and lightning and thunder storm... but no rain!
as god's stomach and flash of thought
were walking upon the sky...

alcohol is not as corruptible as water:
but only at a certain percentage:
starting with 40% and moving up:
i'm not talking about the alcohol of the ancients
with their beer and wine:
i'm talking the perfecting of alcohol
with ***** and absinthe...
i wonder: with enough alcohol in a hosepipe...
watering the desert:
would i see a rainbow if light interacted with
pure alcohol, like a pure spirit:
that is brewed in Poland to a 98.9% accuracy...
i don't drink to party:
i drink to hone in on thought:
i just wonder... but now i tihnk i'm ready to spew
out this AI transcript:
all because i started to distrust the guys working
in bicycle repair shops!
why? before i learned how to change the spokes
i have my front wheel to a corporate outlet
(Halfords)... i was told: 4 days... o.k.:
in the end i paid for now job being done...
because the "technician was on holiday":
lazy *** ******* and hardly the decent salesmen...
paid: waited two ******* weeks:
did get my money back in the end...
even today: i know my statuary rights as a consumer:
if i go into a shop and i see something
priced at a discount for a limited amount of time:
and then the same product is no longer limited
because the stock is low and they need to limit it
as in: undersell it...
fair enough: but when the stock is replenished
and the price goes back up
on the system...
but the price tag is still on a discount:
who's at fault?
i want to buy the product at the discount: displayed:
i don't care if your system was updated
but someone "somehow" forgot to change
the tagging... i'm buying that ***** on a discount!
no no... after i buy the **** bottle
you can correct the tagging on display:
otherwise i'm an idiot?!

and it came to pass that i trust my marijuana dealer
more than your average honest Joe the Mechanic...
because i've been ****** over at bicycle repair
shops for too long!
plus the individual parts come up to be more
expensive than buy a new bicycle: altogether!

ii. the transcript

Konrad Eschlert
hello, again: do you have any knowleddge about a Basis Tourmalet Road bicycle?

Memory Updated
yes, the Basis Tourmalet is an entry-level road bike that's often praised for being affordable and suitable for those new to road cycling. it typically features an aluminium frame, which balances durability and lightness. the components, like the gears and brakes, may vary depending on the model year but are usually chosen to provide good performance at a budget-friendly price. it's a solid choice for commuting or casual long rides, but it's not designed for high-performance racing.

would you like more detailed information about its specs or other details?

Konrad Eschlert
less about specs and certainl not, well: details... i'm having problems with this model i recently purchased. so the model i have is a 14 gear... model (that's hardly insinuating tautology, just bad sentence structure to day model model within such proximity)... before you reply let me further my problem along, so please ackowledge that you will hear me out with an ellipsis

Memory Updated
i'm here, and i'll wait... go ahead.

Konrad Eschlert
i have two tiers of gears, all the lower tier gears work just fine when switching them from 1 to 7, but on the higher gears the chain buckles when it comes to higher gears 5 through to 7... the gears don't switch properly i have to sometimes switch gears two up to get the one down, properly, the gear i want... i don't think that there isn't enough slack on the chain... but i'm uncertain about how much tension the tear cable needs, the two high and low gear (derailleur? probably a misnomer, help me out)... could this be the problem? when i first inspected the bicycle i had to make sure that the break cable didn't have as much tension, since the breaks wouldn't retract properly and would rub against the wheel, so when i loosened the tension in the break cable, they retracted pristinely... any thoughts about why the higher gear buckle and the chain almost doesn't want to be in the specified gears...

Memory Updated
it sounds like you're dealing with a common issue related to derailleur adjustments and gear shifting alignment. you're correct in mentioning the derailleur - both the front and rear derailleurs are responsible for moving the chain between gears. based on your description, here are a few things to check:        (author's note: non-verbatim transcript section)
1. cable tension: the gear cable... tension plays a big role... smoothly your gear shift............................................... especially on the higher end... if tension is too lose, it won't fully engage the gears... if it's too tight... it might skip or struggle to switch to lower gears... try adjusting the barrel adjuster...
2. derailleur limits: the high and low limits (often called H and L screws) on the derailleur control how far the derailleur can move. if the derailleur ***** is too tight, the derailleur won't reach the highest gears (5-7 in your case). check the derailleur alingment...
3. derailleur hanger alignment: ... ... ... ... ...
4. chain wear / length: ... ... ... ... ...
5. shifter issues: ... ... .. .. ... . . ... . .. . .. .. .. ... . ..... .. . ... .. .. .. .. .. .. .. ... .. .. .. .. .... .. .. ... ... ... .. ..... .... ... .. .. .. ... .. ... .. .... ... .. ... ... .. .. ... .. . .. .
6. **** and cleaning: !! 1! 11 1! 1! 1! 1!1!!! !1 !11 11 11 11!!!!111!

it's good that you're already solved the brake cable issue, as that demonstrates your intuition for bike maintenance. similarly, adjusting the derailleur and gear cables could resolve the problem you're expericing with the higher gears.

let me know if you need more specific guidance on any of these steps!

Konrad Eschlert
Ha... i'll just let you know 😌...
if both our intuitions were able to solve the problem.

Memory Updated
sounds like a plan! let me know how it goes, and hopefully, it'll be a smooth ride soon! 😌

Konrad Eschlert
🥴🤙

Memory Updated
Haha, good vibes! 🤙 keep me posted if you need any more help!

iii. post-scriptum

pending...
althought i don't think there is anything more to be added:
we were both right!
i tightened the gear cable to the back derailleur
and: hey presto!
now the H(5-7) gears work just so ever so smoothly:
last time i asked a human being about any bicycle issues.
in a society where i can trust a marijuana
courier more than i can trust
a ******* bicycle repair guy... or a plumber:
hello: Apacalypse.

p.p.s. now i can enjoy my coffee
and a 2nd cigarette and get some in-town errands done:
only a perfectly new: bicycle!

i can't exactly call myself a recovering alcoholic,
that would be too obvious,
too: well boxed...

                                 a recovery...
an alcoholism, what would that be?
would it look like something from
the movie la mécanique de l'ombre?

it could look like something of the sort,
at least: the less spicy parts of
the plot...

       what is missing is the pangs of
conscience, what remains?
       silly thinking: and apparently...
too many hours in a day.

a recovery...
              i've encountered these periods
of "recovery"
  before...
                   spending a month caring
for old people (family, sure,
but sometimes strangers would be
better)...

                      i'm still scattered brained
when it comes to writing
dialogue:
     short-attention span on my behalf?
count me as a monk
in a monestary of a novel if
you get a chance:

    i fooled myself in thinking that
i'd be able to appreciate a Dickensian
novel...

                - becauase there is always
something to add
- a persistent juxtaposition
of the narrative...

    - hence this; imitation of
telegraphic bro - k - en
      li- / -ne- / -s... <dash dash>...

the 13th rule for life:
to counter the 12th -
pet a cat when you encounter
one on the street...

ha!
             and does the doctor
think that's that easy?
     not all cats will want to be petted...
yes... it's possible...
but not all cats want to be petted...
unless the cat is very naive...
paradox:
    those posters on lamp-posts...
now: a missing dog?
  i can understand a missing
dog...
    but what cat can ever become:
"lost"?

             13th rule for life:
wear pajamas...
    to bed...

                          revolutionary....
for over 3 years i slept
****-naked...
   i woke up and...
i always missed the lazy-slot...
the lounge existentialist
hour or so...
with a coffee and a cigarette...

13th rule for life...
    wear pajamas to bed...

(i don't know... some people might
think to wear pajamas to
the shop...
          a very prominent pasttime
for english women
jumping to the shops
wearing onesies...)

that is: you can wake up
and take a snooze session from
bed and make it stand-up...
sleeping ****-naked?
you have to dress in day clothes...
and that's...
simply shocking...

          a recovering alcoholic...
it's not like going to an a.a.
meeting would do me any good...
group therapy is not for me:
taming my farcical ego
   requires me: working against
some third person puppeteering...

spot what?
   if i'll start drinking i'll be back
to base one, something equivalent
to today...
   i don't remember drinking
and throwing tantrums...
    i do remember being under
the delusion of:
   the general grandiosity of
writing anything under an influence...
which probably began
with reading some of
Bukowski's manuscripts...
  the pedant in me opened up:

  immaculate writing -
  typographic...
               i.e. very few typos:
if any...
  but sure...
                 i'll use the term: "recovering"...
what scares me now is:
there are so many hours in
a day, and there are so many times
you must turn in bed,
scratch yourself,
   get up and drink some water...
wrestle with yourself...
when it came to going to sleep
it came as easy as throwing
a sack of potatoes off
   a roof, or asking to sparr with
a prof. boxer:
                       one-hit knock-outs...

- mind you: the scent of the room
in the morning is less brewery and more...
warm...
   it's less choking...

now... about the weight-gain...
****... that's going to be a problem...
even i have to admit:
   2 meals during the day
can't exactly be 2000 calories...
but... having looked at the empty bottle
of whiskey...

   55kcal in 25ml of whiskey...
     so that's...
    55 x 4 = 200kcal x 10 = 2000kcal
per night, per bottle,
for roughly 3 years... **** me!

and what sort of kcal are we talking
about? well... sure as ****
it's not protein, it's not fat...
    carbohydrates?
   how do you burn off 2000kcal
                  of alcohol? buy a diesel hybrid?

group think in alcoholics anonymous:
concentrated with feelings
of shame...
                       i don't know,
         i'm guessing that's the scenario...

sure: sobering up
and i'll have to the reality of:
'you really did write some
mundane verses...
   no, they weren't that great...
   any drunk could think they were
great...
remember those pangs of
       fear when you woke up
the next afternoon after an all-night
session?
   yeah... that's called:
  a moral hangover: stemming from
a delusion of grandiosity...'

i don't do shame:
         self-critique is much better...
nonetheless:

there are so, so, so many hours in a day!
there are too many!
   what do people do with all
these hours?!
      i'm going to grow crazy just thinking:
was that hour wasted,
wasn't it?

/
              and in terms of finding
a "proper" job other than pursuing
   this... "hobby" of having scribbled for
the past 3 years...
  
   well... i like walking...
oh... right... the profession of being
a postman is about to fizzle out...
street-cleaner?
    they don't exactly advertise that
job for the "respectable" people:
not in a job-search-engine-website...
    i the odd occassion,
sure, i looked at these websites... /

 /     yeah: as many options out there
as there are hairs on my head...
hell... some people just stream themselves
playing video games...
what's a "proper" job what
isn't a "proper" job...
   just prior to the great technological
update...
             but i'm jumping ahead
of myself... /

  /                                    laboratory work...
well... that's a start...
sober thinking and no...
   crippling desperation and:
                        thinking oneself limbless... /

/ so i had to go and suss things out:
    the whole job market
on a level of the street...

      last time i heard: poetry is not exactly
an endeavor worthy of a competitive
streak of: employee of the month...

   and, mind you: always the spare parts,
missing nuts and bolts,
screws and sharpened hammers...

mantras like: self-worth and...
   a profession makes a man...
   yes: if he's good at it:
   no one exactly needs a ****** plumber
inspecting a burst pipe...
   unless: he be looking for
             a loch ness sized puddle... /

and no, it's not from a demaning
perspective:
   when i was a child i wanted to be
a bus driver at first...
                     so... something against
an administrator of a medical building
at the reception?
    no... nothing against that...

    a street-cleaner?
                     why would i have a problem
with that?
   so... why the hell is poetry such
                  a baggage of: inadequacies?
i'm no dog:
but i feel it like a collar
   with inverted spikes around my neck...

- but yes: some people do over-compensate
their job with an over-bearing balance
of self-worth...
                              didn't i sometime ago
(in this verse), not mentioned my own
claims of over-bloated grandeour?

          can't win...
                      either the egoistic route or...
the depressed: crushed by the mass
route...
                            or: some vague middle... /

my... any more of these sober afternoons
and i actually might do something
spectacular...
                           at the moment...
          one month, sober...
                a hiccup interlude...
a complete brain-drain of a day or two
returning to the same pattern of
                         getting ****-faced at night...
and then, now:                                            /

very much akin to no. 9
from cinema calendar of the abstract
heart (tristan tzara)...

              i.e. 'but the dance of round
tables shuts in the shock
                of the marble shudder

   new sober'.
                                                                     /

i wasn't going to make use of these
idle fingers, while returning to the old ways:
and the old ways are...
hardly a maturing tenure of:
never in my previous engagements
a worthwhile sober observation...
   but: as of today:

a sober observation -
i never thought i'd say this,
but on a double decker bus...
  listening to queen's of the stone age
album rated r...
         this sober "thing"?
it's not too bad...

                                           it's...
refreshing...
                           it's... well: there i was
thinking it would be mind-numbing...
                                                                             /

walked up to the bank machine
to check the balance...
                     well... isn't that something?
who would have thought...

   if having bought a gramaphone
and kind of blue vinyl is to "save me"...
might as well promise myself:
    hell, here's to my variety of AA...
using vinyls...
                        i need some sort of outlet...
conversations wouldn't have
solved the problem...

                               wooden shjips: V... /

well... better think i write unspectacular
verse: sober...
than think i write spectacular
verse: drunk...

                           there's nothing else to it...
- but there's something else to mind...
- Dickens...

            Dickens didn't write anything
spectacular: hear me out...
                       i mean like Beckett "spectacular"?
yes, like pretentious,
    difficult literature: to read...
                   but he did write with
a relish for a reader's sense of comfort...
   maybe that's possibly worth
                     imitating?

                                                                  /

/a view ascance: side notes of -
          how efficiency is lost
within the confines of prescribing a
burdensome effectiveness;
            like:
                being constapitated
in an elevator:
               and being claustrophobic.../

/alternatively: a hypothetical conveyor
belt...
                 archaic notice
  in the form of: arbeit macht frei...
                                    althought with
less sadistic irony of the SS
   completed upon finishing
harold norse's
  a memoir of a ******* angel:

seems that what one deems one's
own "poetry" is exactly that: "poetry"...
   and what becomes poetry
is equivalent to: giving a generous
portion of one's **** to a publisher:
in the literal sense...
    
                             but hell...
if Dada can see print...
                         oh... out of the blue:
for no other purpose other than
                a count of syllables,
                     from the count of words,
from the count of sentences,
from the count of punctuation marks
   (inter-syllables),
    and then back into:
   the count of vowels through
to the count of consonants...

                 to arrive at some meaningful:
v:c ratio... /

                             by god:
new sober is indeed spewing your mind
like placing imaginary accounts
of the number of matchsticks per tree:
in the rough estimate,
                             akin to:

brain damaged:
                       Σ: the involuntary compact
for the understudy of man...
      less: anima / soul
           and more: vox / voice -
  as ever: partially brain damanged...
yet still perusing the body and,
yes, the total (sum) -
                       where thought originates
and: with the duly departed /

                         x/σ (the algebra fraction of
a sore thumb of the sum of man)
                                                                         /
   y/σ (the algebra fraction
of a missing finger of the sum of man) / / / / /

it appears i can do much
more havoc being sober, than being drunk...
from this:
     what was once blanc is
    but an acne riddled crease in the fabric of:
till the next blanc becomes
more than such a creased indentation:
and more...
                 akin to the fields surrounding
Ypre - at that certain moment in whatever
time...

                           just let me absolve myself
from citing stereotypes.

I wonder if everyone ever felt like this or if it´s just me.
I wonder if they all saw flowers one day and felt nothing.

I´m thinking how is it to be happy.
Have I ever been so?
I don´t know how to remember feelings.
Is it just something you know when you feel it?

I wonder if there is a good end.
End that actually is a happy ending.
When you feel happy and nothing will change that because it´s supposed to be the happy ending.

I hope they are full of happiness.
Flowers in my garden even.
Although they can´t make me happy.
I hope their lives will truly be the best they could ever be.

I wish I could feel their smiles.
I imagined it like a Sun shining through clothes,
just slightly warm, touching your skin while you smile.
I always prefered dark,
althought I could not feel the touches,
I could see.

writing poetry or relearning an agony -
an old agony but somehow
anew with an askance tying up:
and balloon fiddling
           unlike fiddling with a "scratching"
of stretching leather -

i have to forget the paragraph -
               but somehow have to remember
the beginning luck of an ******* -
like it might be: the thought-riddle-luck
of a physicist and a play of juxtaposing
interludes / punctuation
i.e. via: bang (the) big hole, black...
          
        somewhere in the distance
a pillar akin to charles olson -
            and like this: there's nothing to give
but always something to borrow -
some ref. point because:
my own new or old raw -
   or a fear like a shadow that is itching
beside a body -
   or a relentless architecture
of skeleton: esp. when piled into a heap
with that fine fine rubric of:
all is love togetherness: tough knotting -
some unbelievable chasm
that's 20th century historicity...
                       that's never what is
a journalism of metaphors and...
                     the essential stay for
children in the gorgon eyes of
                                            pedagogy...

some 15 years too late to have
an accomplished sentence to a trade
that is a believability of 100 thousand
nails but only one hammer -
          perhaps a ship to boast about...
i.e. a very tiny projection
of quantity: contradicting itself through
original intent: retaining a quality
of 100 brave souls - longing for a depth
of an unsinking...

           perhaps everyone in an utopia
is myopic -
              i wouldn't dare spell: b.l.i.n.d.
although now i'll think about the acronym
like it's (somehow) necessary -
it's not a heart-transplant;
         me-ode-you: a body of borrowed
limbs and limping emotions -
   basking (in the) limelight
(of an) indignant nuance (of) dread -
              i.e. there's no OF in that
otherwise famous acronym of a heavenly
descent of english...
unlike old-saxon cocktail...
                      far far away...

some two nights ago i lay in bed
anticipating sleep
thinking the impossible thought:
althought a quiet -
            no... a quite possible suicide:
of walking into the north sea
off the shore abiding by aberdeen
and swimming across
like a hardly between pretend of
whale toward the coast
of norway...

                 somehow not missing
the phobia of swimming in the sea
because of the archaic darkness
making forced lingo from
the depth below...

             or just listening to kenneth koch
reciting...
          perhaps i too could
recite... but because of my silence...
i'll take to nibble at braille...
or contest that...
           if morse could be written as braille -
who has such tender finger-tips
to read braille like a blind octopus
couldn't possibly play a finger-tip
numbing sacrifice to the guitar -

thus this notable comparison...
      see and hear

        ⠎ ⠑ ⠑      ⠁⠝ ⠙       ⠓ ⠑ ⠁⠗
   · · ·  · ·         · −  − ·  − · ·       · · · ·  · −  ·   · − · 

     from this the northern barbaric
(extended)... some greek...
                             θέα
                                          κουφός

such is the forever impossible...
the greeks still speak greek...
                 the hebrews still speak a 'brew...
the romans are the already
available letters -
   as i find... there's an italian
that's a negation of latin...
                          it's like for the remains
to ingest the crucifix...
there had to be a negation
         of latin: beside the cravate / apart
of strain...
    
                       it's that somehow...
beside the chiseled rocks and remains...
italian is a reinvention
of latin...
                    but the greeks speak
with a sort of insinuation you could
ascribe to the softness of the iberians...
i conflate the two...
                  so much for so little of
this.