i think, you should stop going to italy, for one, oh **** me, keep going on hedonist ****-**** fests to places like mallorca, but stop going to italy, you're making my stomach ache from laughter, with what you come back with, the so-called "innovations"; somehow i'd just poach my cauliflower, and drizzle it with fried breadcrumbs, and serve it as a side-dish to fried eggs (2), and some tatties; for goodness sake, even cauliflower cream soup makes more sense, garnished with some fried chorizo!

first it was avocado on toast...
          who the **** puts avocado on bread?
i can imagine putting it in pasta...
but on bread?
                hey, what the **** does
the acronym f.a.d. mean?
             i don't know, and i won't google it...
o.k. avocado on toast...
              nothing near guacamole,
  but fair enough...
           but what i discovered... pushes
the button where i turn into a fox laughter
(fuchslachen) -
           i couldn't stop...
                      you can find it in the *weekend
section of the saturday times newspaper...
written by nicola m.
          cauliflower and mozzarella pizza...
you have to be ******* me...
                cauliflower? on pizza?
one of my housemates at university told
me an anecdote:
    i was in a restaurant once,
          and asked for a pizza with no cheese...
he continued:
      and then the head chef came out and
asked me... are you, insane?!
       a bit like: bread...    but no butter?
and i thought i was insane eating a watermelon
today, whole,
the red pulp, and the outer layers including
the skin included, allowing myself
a gorilla imitation cameo gimmick...
      but i thought i was mad...
but there's avocado on toast...
   and now... cauliflower on pizza...
                              it's a ******* side-dish!
wait, don't tell me... you're going to put
some potatoes onto the pizza the next frizz
comes along... right?
                      how about beetroot?
                         thankfully, if i have some
wacky ideas in terms of culinary escapades,
they happen, drunk, after 12a.m.,
and i'm the scientist, and the experimental rabbit
2-in-1...
                     a newspaper column?
apparently, you get one, putting avocado
on toast...
                 or cauliflower on a pi-zzzzz-ah...
to be honest, even though i haven't tried it,
grilled aubergines on a pizza could work...
   the toast?               marmite and cheddar...
english people should stop glorifying holidays
in italy... they're ****** cooks...
                   an italian would just look at
a pizza with cauliflower and say:          cosa?
i'd suggest heading to scotland first,
and picking up the vibes from some haggis.
**** me...
   avocado on toast...
                caulifower on a pizza?!
                           now i can die happy, 'appy,
clapping: encore!

You trip over apologies
like I stumble into love,
accidental and bruised.
They dribble out the side
of your mouth and onto the
letter you're writing for the
benefit of you and you alone.
You'll tuck it beneath my
windshield wipers, whispering
the words that you always
fall back on, "I'm sorry."

Some people say they don't like social networking
on mobile phones,
"it distances us from human connection"
they bleat and moan,
"takes us away from natural converging,
curtails face to face ties from emerging,
subdues us in a swamp of technology,
this engagement with messaging is surely a folly."
And as they depart they say,
“give me a person over a mobile msg anyday.”
Now don't get me wrong eye to eye communing is amazing
and it's not the last reserve of a luddite to prefer tactile phrasing
or to think sweet nothings into a there ear is best
but that doesn't mean there is nothing in mobile caress.
Because you can meet someone at a festival, and feel a sweet spark
that thunders through the roaming larks
and then when you part after a few days
think, "oh, that was awesome, I enjoyed their ways,
they made me laugh and gave me jumping smiles,
****, it's a pity between us there are miles and miles."
But when you arrive home and charged up a message pings
"you back now?" I see it and start to feel sing.
So we take our phones and chat all the next day,
getting to know each other in a happy appy way,
giggling at your words, beaming at the next
growing through lightning at each little text,
learning more in these screen chats;
you go to lots of BBQs and love dogs and cats,
you dye your hair and are calamity stricken
your top fajitas are finger lickin,
you know Mandarin and are ace at Catchphrase
and you have an inclination for New York days,  
you can analytically discuss scenes from C Street,
you can charm the customers at a store meet and greet,
you can decipher the nuance in The Bistro goss,
you can put up with **** from ****** at Argos.
You have a mate who picks up Mark Ronson's pooch,
you've saved a big crustacean when been on a mooch,
you can relate a song to Odysseus using sheep to save his men
and watch Mr G the musical over and over again,
you stay up/get up to watch the Super Bowl,
you type faster than a thought on a roll,
you've danced with Pete Barlow's ship mate from Corrie,
you can drive a car and a van, I recks you could handle a lorry!
You have loads of friends and often verge on more dislocation,
I want to be near you, whatever the location.
I want to pull you out of a hat
and see you stand on my welcome mat,
see, mobiles are good because it's good to feel that.
But if some quantum physicists are to be believed, after perusing their hefty tomes,
somewhere in infinite there is a place with no mobile phones,
and a boom of synchronicity has to be carried on by pen on paper
and there are days and days tween a tumbling heebie jeebie butterfly caper,
and then it's sent with a hope that it won't be lost in the post,
and be not read, like a bottled message uncorked by the coast.
Maybe a letter and no phones is better for starting a fizz
but right now mobiles make this what it is;
if not for them would I feel this close to you?
Or be writing this to you?
Right now I like feeling close to you,
and I like writing this to you,
to you Lou.

obviously chappy has a different connotation
(slang meaning for the orthodoxy resumed
in dictionary, i.e. bow-tie synonyousness)
in English language, etymology to no other
borrowed word from South African...
chappy just means a pigeon-walk of groove
when listening to Brit-Pop, or cheeky post-punk,
a bit like imagining a bowler hat on your head
while walking down Oxford St., so that's that
chappy; pigeons are naturally gifted in head-banging;
you're a chappy if you donned Ben Sherman shirts
without a belt, wearing jeans, styled on
an Oasis hit single... premature Quadrophenia
attainment to fit it... that how i define a chappy...
the zenith of Brit Pop, Ben Sherman shirts loose
over the waistline of jeans and sport sneakers,
and an Oasis single as the baseline for the heart to thump bu boom...
a real life chappy was this kid in primary school,
Tom... the exactness of what later became a metrosexual...
prior to that they were called chappies,
Ben Sherman shirts not tucked into a stiff pair of jeans...
you never could imagine an Englishman so under-dressed,
he must have come from Manchester
as was the obvious answer back then.

Speakin’ in general, I’ave tried ’em all
The ‘appy roads that take you o’er the world.
Speakin’ in general, I’ave found them good
For such as cannot use one bed too long,
But must get ‘ence, the same as I’ave done,
An’ go observin’ matters till they die.

What do it matter where or ‘ow we die,
So long as we’ve our ‘ealth to watch it all—
The different ways that different things are done,
An’ men an’ women lovin’ in this world;
Takin’ our chances as they come along,
An’ when they ain’t, pretendin’ they are good?

In cash or credit—no, it aren’t no good;
You’ve to ‘ave the ‘abit or you’d die,
Unless you lived your life but one day long,
Nor didn’t prophesy nor fret at all,
But drew your tucker some’ow from the world,
An’ never bothered what you might ha’ done.

But, Gawd, what things are they I’aven’t done?
I’ve turned my ‘and to most, an’ turned it good,
In various situations round the world
For ‘im that doth not work must surely die;
But that’s no reason man should labour all
‘Is life on one same shift—life’s none so long.

Therefore, from job to job I’ve moved along.
Pay couldn’t ‘old me when my time was done,
For something in my ‘ead upset it all,
Till I’ad dropped whatever ’twas for good,
An’, out at sea, be’eld the dock-lights die,
An’ met my mate—the wind that tramps the world!

It’s like a book, I think, this bloomin, world,
Which you can read and care for just so long,
But presently you feel that you will die
Unless you get the page you’re readi’n’ done,
An’ turn another—likely not so good;
But what you’re after is to turn’em all.

Gawd bless this world! Whatever she’oth done—
Excep’ When awful long—I’ve found it good.
So write, before I die, ” ‘E liked it all!”

You love her
I love you
What's new?

I love you in the dark
Where the shadows hide me
Where you can't find me

It hurts so much you don't even know
When you tell me you love her, more than it shows
You're a gobemouche, can't you see the truth?

Whenever you need me
I'll always be here
Waiting and waiting

for something that might never even come

Anytime you feel lonely
Beckon for me to come into your arms
Catch hold of my hand in the shadows, in the back row
Don't let go.
Every day is a new day
Feeling good
Good feeling
Happy... Almost.
I* don't want you to leave as well
Just stay, please...
Keep your fingers crossed
Love the way that your dark eyes shine so brightly
My heart races in your presence
No good can come from this
Only few understand.
Please hold on for a little longer
Quit with the teasing already
Ridiculous, our circumstances...
Slow down, I want to know more
Tell me your deepest secrets
Under the light of the moon.
Velvet blankets, picnic baskets
What's next?
Xoxo, your biggest fan
You never did understand my jokes
Zzzzzz, goodnight, day dreamer...
Now I know my ABCs,
Next time won't you comfort me?

so the *** debate is raging
like a Californian
wildfire in the forests,
people are "presumed"
missing...
i'm sat watching
back to the future
(beats star wars, every,
single time:
the ****** is more obvious)
and then drinking...
i always wanted to
taste a lobster...
and listening to the best of
billy joel...
scratching my mustache...
BELGIANS IN
THE UK!
then fiddling with my bead...
my beard...
i have a beard?!i
****! i have a beard!
i took, fiddling with my *****
the wrong way...
after all ****** airs
have the same feel
as ***** hair...
a bit like cleavage...
so...
you're donningv
    the buttock crack
up-front?!

funny, eh?
making fun of the phallus...
how about feeding
a Donnie Disney with your,
puppies?!
how about that?
***...

            if women do need
no men...
do what we do...
******* ****-style...
we do the **** projective...
you cut out utilizing
the ******...
look... 'appy bunnies"
if ai am about to turn
into a *****...
the female right...
all the rights you require...
sure... have them...
but what sort of right
is it,
when there's no
existentialist argument?

go on... please...
make your dodo
              and your
mixed-raced argument...
mono-racial is
the new neanderthal...
call it...
we're not progressive enough...
we're too *******
to mingle ethnicity...
call it!
       call me halfway house
between down and
the ******...
call it!
                       call it!
***** better call it!
        (through gritting teeth):
call it!
i said... call it!
be your progressive "self"...
call it!
         i'm ******* for not mingling
adequately enough with
crafting a trans-ethnicity populace...
neanderthal...
   *****!                       call it!
guess what... i love the laced
take on history via the Anglophone
re-reinterpretation
of Darwinism...
i love the neanderthal take on thiongs...
i'm bilingual, schizophrenic,
the sort of mongrel that...
has no place among
the duo-ethnicity... "mongrels"...
lucky you, lucky me...
  i'm sorry... the F extends just so far...
two languages, orange man, bad...
but a congregation of
a dual ethnicity, green man, god,
and "the" good...
    
whatever suits your favor...
i should care,
i won't care,
i don't care,
i will, to never ever give a ****
about caring;
like god "said":
on your own;
        i much prefer the freedoms
of the jungle,
than the restrictions of a zoo.

it's billy joel, "by the way"...
   life will go on...
obviously a life much *******
than the intelligent people are used
to...
but... if that's what you allow...
then you're deserving it.

i don’t know
what time or what day of the week it is.
but today or tonight or this afternoon i am consumed.
how i can’t
listen to that album anymore
without remembering
how we lie sprawled on my bed as you sang to me and played the strands of my hair like a piano,
singing words of someone much bigger than us who
probably never blinked at the notion of such mundane love.
but still the words bring back waves.

no matter
the time or the day,
i still remember.
and it still burns in the night and they day
and in the afternoon.

Eye hav a higgoramous, shee tort me orl I knoe
Sheez a clevar Higgoramous az Higorrami goe
Shee tort me orl mi spelin and wen eye pik mi no’s
Ter wypit on der carpit knot rubbit on mi close

Sum peepul saye herz higgorrunt an saye dat shee iz fik
I ate dem orrid peepul dey reely mayk mee sik
I ope dat shee gitz pregerant an az a littel cubb
Eye’ll fead er lotz of kandie an uthar luvly grubb
Eye’ll elp er mummie baff er eye’ll chainge er durty nappie
Shee’ll bee soe qoot an cudelsum shee’l mayk mee viry appy
An wen der cubb gitz biggar shee’ll plae wiv mee an kis
An evariwun wil real eyes dat higgoramous’s iz bliss :-)

i still believe that φ (phi) and θ (theta) used to be a grapheme, akin to the Trojan / Roman æ, cf. Virgil's the Æneid, then too a γraφeme in german: ß, not necessarily scharfes, but rutschig s... a slippery s... s the marijuana fiend all hippy and ****, then the z, using Beat vocabulary slang, the suited and booted for either war or the office environment □ (square)... i still believe φθ used to be a grapheme... separated at birth... as with V so too Φ and Θ have the prime incisors' touch the bottom lip to be said, honestly, the bottom lip makes more bone-interactions than the upper-lip; criticism is a type of medicine, you either take it... or bite the bullet. but hear a German utter the disparity: noticeable given Rammstein: ich v. sachen: i.e. ich (-sh) v. sashen or simply sahen - maybe learning Yiddish would help - the error, apart from the Malachi introduction of polytheism with two Elijahs? well, i helped you once, i won't help you again, one proof means no repetition, boorish Moses dragged from high status and belief in a birthright to garbage, from the right-hand of the Pharaoh that Joseph was, to the lowly pits of bricklayers - English bricklayers are 'appy, indeed the Grecian dispute over the surd Ηη (eta), on a hunch... hitch-hiking letter - Hitchens attacked mother Teresa, i attacked John Paul the soocoond... a Turk with grievances illuminated the story further... pope forgave the ****** in a prison cell, once law was enforced, the mighty confusion between sins (perversions) and outright bookmaker's testimony concerning the gambling of laws. i still believe φθ used to be a grapheme... look toward languages that instil the pressures of tongue-tying-tornadoes... if it weren't the grapheme ß, i'd say it was a dance between s und zee, in that the tango was danced, and the mantis convened its presence with alimony or other tactics for the hangman to fidget on the noose; obviously as confusing as to place Backgammon alphabetically coerced with ßimilarity.

poetry hasn't been altogether banished from
the republic - i concede that poetry is
best written in a frenzy - drunk - intoxicated
with whatever is deemed necessary,
prior to the battle of Hastings (1066), Harold's
army drank and drank and drank -
berserker alternative to *****? mushrooms -
so if no battle, no vain hope to compete
with Achilles - then in poetry too, phantoms
in white, cutting and bruising with every word
emerge - a solemn pledge to the art.
well, poetry hasn't been totally banished,
it's an undercurrent - manoeuvring tactic
of intelligent argument - so many poetic techniques
are used when one suddenly appears ridiculous,
sooner or later people fall back on metaphor,
with such sly excuses: oh, not really, metaphorically
speaking - oh but that's just imagery - etc. etc.
poetry is kept, precious in every circumstance in
the **** sapiens brain - to keep appearances -
to sober up - oddly enough - poetry as a method
to sober up from a frenzy of rhetoric - the 'not really'
of things that pass - it's the usefulness of disguise,
the ridiculous and pompous can suddenly take
on priestly demur - suddenly any traces of religiosity
disintegrate, and a cold and hardened heart emerges
with crystalline belief in the ruler, the protractor
and all manners of *the sensibility of science,
anything not humbled by science is deemed childish...
chillingly this childishness is also the childishness
waving a machete or firing a Kalashnikov - oh how
childish it becomes - the ***** to take someone's life...
great disputes in heaven, about four angels are
pop, Gabriel, Michael, Raphael and Satan -
total pop culture up there - anyway, it's not the glorification
of science is fairing well, to glorify science while
being a pauper with a limited scientific vocabulary is
already entrenched, so much so that the proof is there
regarding what's happening in western societies -
to create a universal vocabulary - a tactful one,
a vocabulary that does not impress because it does not
offend - a silk vocabulary, scientifically speaking
a smooth vocabulary, perfected to be pitched so that
the overall un-offended apathy of the listener is kept,
gay is out, homosexual is in, god forbid you mention
the word pederast or simply **** - god forbid,
bite your nails, say your mea culpa prior to jumping
into bed and all is well on the western front -
it's a revolution, didn't you hear? they say iron chains
i say liquorice tangles that can be eaten through -
apologies if your palette is not suited to the particular
Anise; but a revolution nonetheless - how did we get
to the point of trying to limit other people's vocabulary?
but of course certain words contain certain emotions,
better feel dread and disgust than an emotional flatline
with no emotion present. regarding pop culture
in heaven, ever hear the names: zehpanuryay,
abirzehyay, atarigiash, nagarniel, anpiel, naazuriel,
sastiel? you probably haven't - but it's not like you'd
keep names such as: the family of amine-boranes,
ammonia-carboxyborane, tamoxifen, paraaldehyde,
dihydropyran, polyester / dacron / mylar made from
dimethyl tereφθalate and ethylene glycol...
so what's more ridiculous? funny enough, the only
remaining aspect of the English language retaining
its roots in Saxony is expressed in chemistry,
the obvious lack of hyphen usage - chemistry is the
only revealing essence of English as having origins
in German, the excessive compounding of words,
chemical nouns that require a breathing technique
and a good optical scalpel to pronounce them -
as is well known, Germans don't believe in keeping
shrapnel, they see wordy shrapnel they get the grammatical
kiln out and melt everything together, e.g.
staatlichverantwortung (duty to the state, civic duty),
only in chemistry is the German a thick block of writing,
elsewhere it's aquatic or even gaseous - one
word jokes: Richard - ****... Mr. W. Kerr - Wayne.

hello there chellovecks and forellas
appy polly logies for the chepooka
for i am only a devotchka
begging for a malenky lomtick of jeezny

droogies and nadsats
everyone who owns a pair of ookos
listen up to
your humble narrator

bring me a pletcho platch
and a polyclef
to open up the sun.

this is what music foraging on youtube used to look like, you'd find gems, 6 years old, approx. 10K views akin to Undogmatic & Kernfeld: thought experiments... you know... you travel outside of the anglosphere of said language, what is the opinion of a Greek or a Pole about Fb? not much... it's only the english-speaking "cool" kids that are making all the fuss... i mentioned minds.com to a Greek guy i was giving directions to, once, in Warsaw... he looked at me as if i was the first person to show him a ******* elephant... 5 blind men followed and we know the story from there... catering to the natives: who will never be or ever have been satisfied... they just need their: banta... their ****-storming, their gravitational pull toward bloodsports: rather than dialectics... nothing is ever to be done... who can shout the loudest... who can rock the boat the most... who can translate past playground grievances into a web of anonymity and avatars... as far as i am concerned... these social media firms, these u.s. firms have long gone stopped catering to primarily english speaking people... all these anglophone calls: Fb will fail like myspace failed... blah blah... these firms are tired of brats... elsewhere these spaces are utilities... they're not an extension of either thought or life... collateral damage of those first exposed... the Greek will still use the platform... the Pole will also... i too remember my childhood: hide & seek... digging holes in the ground and throwing marbles into them from a distance of five metres... creating chalk labyrinths on the pavement and flicking beer bottle caps filled with plastecine through them... and no... styxhexenhammer666 is not banned in Poland... i never wanted youtube to become what it has become: 72 virgins? give me a library of music for all of eternity and i'll be an 'appy chappy... i don't need some count dankula regurgitate a wikipedia entry about tarrare - oddly enough: i too can read... see... i blame both sides for ******* up my foraging tool... the "legacy" media and the indie vlog "creators": creative really reative, spewing regurgitation after regurgitation... i'd hate to be drafted into this vulture journalism of video making... at least when you pay a *******: you pay an honest wage... and she subsequently spends the honest wage on **** i wouldn't even buy... so the funds are given to the person who otherwise keeps the economy running... a woman... oh yes, i've been watching closely these indie "creators"... lucky for me i watched enough of them to round them up and say: this much... there's a big difference between a "creator" and a commentator... if i'd want to listen to an audiobook containing the current journalistic spew: anyway... half of these stories in the "news" are tabloid ******* that gave rise to 24h news reel and the vacuous space feeding the tapeworm of insomnia... since when did news outlets think they could produce an amphetamine alt.? clearly they did... i can't keep up, i won't keep up, to hell with going against these giants... youtube was never about these indie "creators"... music and music was always the prime concern for me... lucky for me remnants of the old a.i. still give me chances to glimpse records like CLANN - Seelie... these indie "creators" become just as tiresome as the legacy medie snippets... you want a more ******* version of CLANN's Seelie? try Salem: king knight (2010).

.just some after-thoughts, when a post scriptum becomes, a pre scriptum... you know... i sometimes think this lingua franca, that's english, ergo: lingua inglese is bombarded, London is the microcosm of the world dislodged from the realities of other natives... there's a grand congregation happening, of hosts, and even here, on the outskirts of London, where all it takes is a 30 minute walk to go pet a horse or a tender young bull, "randomly", in a field, spot a fox, or chase a herd of deer who "wandered" into the middle of an X junction creating a traffic debacle... but the language itself this, lingua inglese needs updating, notably from the "real" grammar nazis... i'm not just going to give up my new earned rights of literacy, for all the years of being kept in the dark like some ******* mushroom, just because, someone feels it is necessary to feel lazy, about establishing rigour, discipline in using this former tool of power, like i'm going to bend over some lazy peasant... no... dis-ci-pline... you need it, i might drink, but i'll still return to this language with great respect, for the per se worth of adherence to it... it already is a metaphysical person / "person" to me, at least i can offer that much, as much as is necessary... one question though, echo-chamber... it's enough for dyslexia, it's enough for emoji, it's enough for: l8er... it's enough for "gender neutral" pronouns... see... that language i was born with... that **** won't stick... certain languages have pronoun-"augmentation" associated with verbs... e.g.?
                                            mogłem (past-participle masculine
                       of i could have)
                        mogłam (past-participle feminine
                    of i could have)
this, inherent bias, within the confines of the english language, well, i didn't expect it to be so rife, until i witnessed it being exploited! now at least i can pander / side with the natives: funny - coming to a "madman" for sanity quotes, for rigour... well... because there's no fun without someone not having the ***** to counter the libertarian farcical tragico-comic current circumstance of: "pushing the boundaries"... like i said: a lingua ingelese echo-chamber... no belly-button status of the world for you... this viper of an idea, this sordid wasp of a "conundrum" will not spread elsewhere, i feel inclined to contain it, with english regulations of grammar... just like i learned this language to begin with: first the language, then the grammar... physics first, metaphysics later... first the experience of communication, then the theory of communicating... thank god that some languages have an unshakeable foundation, e.g. western slavic: where the pronoun is integrated into verbs with a gender discrimination structure...
  further examples?
                miałem (i had - masculine)
                                                     miałam (i had - feminine)...
so the problem is contained... in this, sometimes erring into sharpnel of, what could have been: a bullet of a tongue; or, i dare say, will hopefully preserve itself, to be it.

i guess.... wait... are stars supposed to that?
i just witnessed two,
transverse the night sky:
    in that, more than the already
perplexing circumstance of a straight line...
to the naked eye:
   they're not supposed to move in
a parabola fashion, are they?
    yes, last time i checked, this was never
going to be a metaphor for
the current state of european politics,
   to the naked eye:
    i would be unable to witness a comet,
and, on the odd occassion,
   the blitzkrieg accent on the sky
by a meteor falling...
            i never had the tools to measure
the difference between a falling
meteor appearing in the sky,
                      to a lightning strike -
time wise...
            after all: is a lightning strike
confined to the same category as light,
yeah: light from the sun?
   i guess this is were awe comes...
          once again: if i somehow manage
to come across the facts -
   i'll give my narrative of a temple's
worth of structure to the blinded,
enraged skin-headed Samson to pull at
the pillars...
                now, with regards to:
a black girl in a supermarket...
   well... i've done it,
    i can clearly state i have become
fully integrated into the multiculutral
experiment that's England,
   it didn't take that long,
               ******* contra being attracked
are two dfifferent ball games...
the language is here,
                 working just fine,
   some native prejudices are somewhat
here,
            i have a harder time
"not understanding" the quickened
paddy taljk, to me the scots sing,
and they managed to preserve
                                     the trill on the R...
so, as they would say in
    a clockwork orange type of fashion,
fully rehabilitated, ****, sorry, integrated...
i can find myself being attracked
                           to an ivory beauty...
side-effect?
    whenever i visit my grandparents,
whenever i pass through
   the urban landscape of Warsaw...
   i feel...
        an extreme nausea,
paranoia,
                 sifting through my in-born
mirror of homogeneity...
the whole process takes, oh,
                     i'd say, roughly 20 years...
brain-washing?
      or a want for a sense of belonging?
my only sense of belonging in
Poland is only related to the use
of language, culturally?
      hybrid at best,
                    or not even hybrid,
mongrel...
                sure, the impeding disaster
of putting a physical hybrid
           with a metaphysical hybrid...
i don't even know how i'll feel
when the ****** tongue dies with
the people i could associate to by speaking
it...
maybe i'll be lucky,
having the luxury of not one death,
but two, in my life.

p.s.
   stating the ****** obvious,
surds...
   lingua ingles(e)
              and not lingua inglesé...
how can i not be stating the obvious,
that's how practiςing
    literacy works, doesn't it?
who has ever heard
a guitar player not say:
    i'm not playing,
  i'm simply practiçing                ?
i guess the origins of the french
         cedilla come from
                                     the greek sigma,
i.e. if it's so smart,
how come a drunk, like me,
                         has to "unearth" it?
always, it's always about
the fiddly bits of language,
english is peppered with
      rules, that are not dogma of
pedagogy...
         of the pedagogic experience...
"somehow" surds appear,
i.e. "silent" letters...
   e.g. there's no (g)nome
         but there's diagnostics...
this, this lingua inglese...
this supposedly "universal" language
for a global community,
and then all the particulars
associated with the native idiosyncracy...
mind you...

     i woke up with a dream,
righ rarity event...
   i was sitting,
then i started walking,
i looked behind me,
a ****** church procession was
walking with banners
and crosses, dressed in black,
i turned my head,
and there was a bunch of
schoolchildren walking toward me,
i was eating a raw chilli...
a boy from the throng coming
at me was eating a raw pepper,
'hey mister'
and pointed at a piece of
a raw papper lying in the grass,
insinuating i lost it...
i replied:
                                          'chilli'...
er­m...
        who the hell would ever need
to amplify dreaming
with a psychadelic experience,
esp. if that person is usually
sleeping for 10+ hours per day
and is dream-starved?

the new gillette ad.,
******,
please,
DON'T SHAVE...
no Lenin stasi,
not alt.
to whatever left
or right in
copernican
terminology is...

"culture war":
basically,
warring with ronin...
or no factions...
or no shogun
to, mind the matter...
stop shaving,
what is the worst
that could happen,
your face looking
like a 1970s
gyrating *****
bits...

SLO' 'N' GRO'.....
a beard:
which doesn't imply:
any more
of the worth of man,
but a man's worth:
nonetheless,
like Gump Forrest Gump
said:
i know what love is,
Jenny...
  and i know
what a ******* ice-cream
berg-that-sunk-the-Titanic
looks like like: Steward.
none of us are
leaving this *******
being, the either
to either suit a cosmos
of choice: ever
the two smart ones
apart...
savvy?

you're are dumb as
chalk contra brick...
and i am cheese
with an adjective's worth
of of chalk...

lookie 'ere:
a humming camel!
**** me...

i said: *******...
can you even imagine...
i tortured that oyster's worth
of an excess of skin...
in terms of genitals...
parody of 242...
and i ate and ate and ate
that ****...
no praise...

       i recovered my mouth
and the mandible jaw
only when i looked
like:
   having just eaten a slab
of tinned mackerel...
   ugly: born the 4th of july
family fwendy antics
sort of picture...
  all: oily...
like...
my body was dipped
in sea,
but all my mouth was
alright with the religious
procedure of:
mouth dipped in oil:
a messiah is born!

oh don't get me wrong:
i much enjoyed
oral *** performed on
women...
one amsterdam *******
informed me:
laughing...

    you know what
oral *** is like,
misnomer
the canvas of
                prostitutes?
kissing...
i spent an hour kissing
one,
only because i forgot
to trim m'ah... boosh...

i'm bored:
so what's not new?
gillette ad.....
****, that's old:
stop shaving...
yes,
every time i pick
up one of those
thai misnomers of ***
in the park,
and i search beneath
the drowning-line...
and there's no ****
assurance...
trans-phobia?
    
  gay: love beard...
the *****-suprise,
what?
with a sports-bra?!
did i just buy a chicken
breast or was that
a pork's chisel
worth?

         i was arachnophobic
for a while...
the spider was still there...
i employed the tactic:
forget it's, "there"...
the ****** was still
sitting proud like
a painting of some artist
in the national tate...

Heidegger...

        irrational fears were
fun...
or at least:
that was the basis of
them being subject to
emphasis...
      not like this...
not like this though...

                    come the bataclan
incident:
   and they slaughtered
and ate the genitals
of the men shot dead...

   i: dodo:
english: dodo project -
pidgin english...

               scuttle though:
baron mis-brain
      alias:
       and whatever
   dumb-do-dumb-better-be
is noorm...
      
cannot the protest
averting the gillette ad.
be nothing more than:
don't shave?

        hell...
i'm all loser, all beavis & butthead
& beck & radiohead
ready...

               what i supposed
to be... a solo lone creep
actor readying for
the apocalypse of
              what has become
the glory-hole
  contra latex
                    fetish riddles
of...
    the remnant man?

yeah...
i'm trans-phobic...
in that:
i could never fathom
anything coming
in, rather than out,
of that 'ole of
prostate massage
sitting's worth...
but being a faked face...

enough for the worth
of a bearded Beatrice
to suffocate my
limp's worth of:
the sort that requires
an insomniac *****...

i'm trans-phobic,
in terms of
being allocated
the pretense of
having to experiences
a thai surprise...
which is basically
a bisexual girl
picked up in a park
off a bench,
donning a sports bra
and a short-hair
cut...

   what's the difference
between a trans-phobia
and a thai-surprise?

and what isn't?
          - i could never find
a crop of short hair on a woman
unappealing;
every ****** has a tom-boy
haircut...
and what isn't nabokov:
will certainly not be
a john williams novel: stoner...

the really people
of the seriousness literature
of novels...
well... being a, "poet"...
i'm the tabloid gnat's
worth of person,
in the economy of selling
toilet paper...
with **** smear's worth
of content to boot...

'appy as i am:
one of belzeebub's
apostles:

        galileo! galileo!

the worth of the most
uneventful life:
encapsulated
in... a riveting... chance:
rather choice...
of words...
  to make...
                it a life...
almost worth living...
or at least allowing
a... posthumous scan
worth of print.

evri dai weni *** hom i say ello too mi famulee
dey sai hii bak
i an prowd perent
if i hav mi 909t cild i well be appie

wen i goo to slep i drem of mi famelie
wre arr habingg a jood tiem
eeting luch in de prak
ssomany appy memores

with the internet the fictional characters rebelled, added to the  stealing of shadows by hollywood, now comes the true time of who the  narrators are... if no narrator relieve character studying and keeping  narration in a state of ~necessary placebo we’ll only get alien  invasions and bomb blasts to succor the anaemic characters... we need  charisma from narrators who are characters as if imbued by the  surrounding... we hardly need mythologies of ghosts that replaced  mythologies of gods... we need narrators ready to forget fictive  chronology and engage in the life of what their characters live; nothing  else, nothing more; show us a weak narrator overcome by a strong  character... stop shoving us so much imagery of contentment resembling  ~strength  of characters... when the narration is weakened by cloning  termed sequal / prequel / sequal no. 2 / no. 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 etc.  how can  a weakened narrator ever provide a strength of character? never mind,  the punctuation in philosophy is stressed by the question mark - meaning  a question will provide offshoot narrations in whatever arrangement the  comma, the full-stop semi and colon will allow... the question mark is  an entry point of punctuation, it’s the full-stop with something being  added in relation to another person... so if a poem is given alliance to  parallels, i always italicise in a method of anti p.s., although  strickly p.s. as pre scriptum: what made me think after i have written  something as easily disposable in comparison with tolstoy’s war &  peace on the basis of what denotes civilised people?*

when i do something that’s not too excessively adjectively biased
like the book of genesis: ‘ah ****... it’s good,’ said god
concerning the world that gave us
the infestation of diseases and statues of david...
good thing he didn’t say: it’s amazing! it’s psychedelic!
that would be untrue... he chose neutrality...
like me... i thought i lost a poem, i saved it with ctrl c...
and i get pavlov’s reward with a memory:
i’m buying beer in a turkish shop,
i start chatting to a boy ~10...
i tell him my childhood secret
about how i thought animals couldn’t see in the realm of 2d...
given that no cat or dog ever watches the t.v.,
mindful of sleep / mindful of the owner...
cat: i missed an hour in the sloths physiology, go away!
dog: i really need to ****! i really need to ****! get me
a tree quick or it’s going to be your leg getting soaked! soppy miu miu **.
god... adele’s hello single... if i had to mine for salt
i'd check the dog’s ******* first.
boy from the turkish shop - when you grow up
and are still interested in my game from youth:
about how animals don’t see in 2d -
i hope... i hope... i hope they still don’t.

poets’ ~sadness is what feeds people’s apathy,
people feel the lack of pathology in apathy
that they sense something must be wrong,
and poets provide this ~something-is-wrong
pathology - modern computers hibernate like bears -
it’s still very basic... we’ll need more than poets
to feel like ****...
i said once: apathy creates no pathologies...
but people desire pathology to craft drama...
they despair at the celestial ingenuity of orbits...
they despair at the leo’s strenght and cancer’s recycling
to endear their characters with zodiacs...
the west is too individualistic that it divides...
take the year of the tiger in the chinese shadow of belief...
it’s hardly specifying samuel tollbridge with a confirmation
name to gimmick the tetragrammaton as the catholics do...
i don’t feel like feeding people’s apathy...
i rather enjoy my own ~sadness than feed it...
if anything i want to oppose philosophy’s testimony
that scarceness of words in poetry... unsung...
unsung with guitars pianos and harps is sad...
and the simplicity of words in songs
sung with guitars pianos and harps is profitably ‘appy...
poetry is merely what the composer wrote
in silence in that complexity of
what poetry isn’t:
what the violin had to say,
what the piano had to say,
what the concerto d-minor sounded like
in the life of john smith disillusioned with living idealism
necessarily lived...
poetry the silent background...
fruitfull in automating the lives of others... the crackling wood
of the woodwinds necessarily lived to the score /
or off the pavement of dialogue expected...
poetry not sung is less akin to music it’s true cousin...
poetry not sung becomes philosophy.

And then they scream,
Louder with every bite of dark chocolate,
Late movies date and fun mate,
Misters were in each ones dream
was their real fate.

Conflicts and sorrows
Comes and fades,
Love was the only reason as  they relates,
The winter brought happy,
Like the apple was arouse as Appy,
Secrets keeper,
Like salt and pepper.

Fashion parade, dance and date,
Truth and dare inappropriate,
Again the conflicts rise and shed,
Love was the only reason ,
The sisters were made.

Silly is what they call me
Happy is what I'll be
Another would be a maniac
Not knowing why I act

Awake in the evening
Losing sleep in the night
Depraved of sleeping
Really, in the dark nowhere in sight
Idealistically wanting to be cool
Alas I'm corny like a fool
N**ever say 'give up' in a battle I fight

From beginning to end
Rising heck and mayhem
I** love the way to make me laugh with your stupid jokes
Even though sometimes i may be sad you
Never ever mind
Dealing with the unknown future
Silly pictures of us when we were tiny
Happy times will always be in our hearts
I hate to say goodbye even though we will see each other in the future
Parting from you I can not imagine

people started to look a bit: dumb-found
   making it into a pose,
or at least gracing the need
to pose...
maybe both at the same time?
it really was all ***** at an aerosmith concert...
start looking at *****, given a large
enough crowd, start imitating *****...
ugh... so crowded... claustrophobia reinvented...
i'd like to mind that fact...
lodging a pair of testicles
where a crown might reside,
tickling them, or should i say:
doing doing-doing tango
with my tongue, i.e. tickling them?
  hey! the gay joke! all the ladies waiting...
you sorta want to give them a chance perspective...
but then sorta withhold on giving them one...
    that's the way you say:
i kinda like beta-male
masochism... just makes sense
after a while.
    moaned & groaned, started living off
the taxpayer...
              thus came fame:
and the rollercoaster...
                   and it was all
well cushioned thereafter...
  like it might do: after a funeral...
just after in the west
they called parenthood a job...
that's when i gave up...
they they called it a job i was like:
let's just watch disney cartoons...
to minder-status me be beckoned!
just somebody with a ***-savvy
   free approach...
              i can't be bothered putting
that much effort in, when a panda
or a koala stages a necessity of
bamboo or eukalpitus leaves (merely)...
  can't, be, *******, bothered.
no, really, the argument is not working,
that natioal brigade concerning
Darwin is worse than the Poles with Chopin...
    i like him playing the piano,
not doing a makeover on my skeleton...
   it's bugging me, it's actually horrifying me...
i'm not afraid of alpha males...
am i contesting? should i?
    i rather enjoyed squash courts
mid-week, and lifting weights...
       now i'm asked to make some sort of resorts
for an upkeep?
   i can't be bothered...
i really can't...
  i have not impetus to keep the biological crown,
i have no need to keep d.n.a.
like it might stretch into genealogy...
i have absolutely no dire need to reproduce...
all those arguments can, sorta drown in
phlegm...
                i literally have no need for a
motivation coach...
                    you want to keep the argument:
you keep it!
              do all the ******* that the argument
deserves for it to be kept!
i can't be bothered...
  i really can't.... call it Mandarin or call it
Mongol... i call it mammoth mohican...
i'm saying: bye bye: and **** me,
aren't i the 'appy chappy un.
              so i'm also ****-phillic in terms of music,
music, yes, music that sounded better
than a woman in onomatopoeia mode
imitating a ******* cello.
   i just like what's pleasing to the ear:
'cos' i'm deaf my dear!
    i ain't blind, all i can see is a big fat
lipstick approved O...
               that will never be a Mozart,
and will never be AC / DC...
      you're no music baby,
and i'm not really into dinosaur history
to keep us alive, or, that said: absolutely
necessary...
              there's no perfect with a perfection
still involved...
     i say we were perfect: once upon a time,
when we're actually gone.
no, sure, go ahead,
   convince me with yet another
20 centuries (later)...
      i'm not convinced enough....
    or how i like to say:
it was pointlessly said nonetheway...
             i couldn't make sense
of it being a hearing loss or turning blind...
but thinking it out was just the cause
to sorta blink... and then turn into a Judas
on an icon canvas:
     with my head turning on an axis
  akin to a roulette;
and that,
                   ever, eternal... gamble:
was i, wasn't i (speaking the truth)?

/prístīnè... oh but you can easily devolve the english tongue to pure phoneticism... the many simple instances of the english language being reduced to a bypass, of barbarian phoneticism, most easily stressed in: why.... y... because what's more to be added or substracted?! ah... but imagine elevating english to a pure application of diacritics? what then? well... given that the english language doesn't even appreciate the concept... of diacritic markings... to clarify syllables to say the least... english can easily disintegrate into pure phoneticism, and how ugly its primordial spelling becomes... but try elevating it to a diacritical barbarism... what then? well?! nothing! a "concern" for the minority, which can't exactly deconstruct a number worthy of an inquiring public... english is probably the only language that can disintegrate into phoneticism, or rather, Phoenician... because it allowed itself an ancient romanic inheritence... of an alphabet... which the acquiring barbarians modified, but which the english didn't... god... even the Greeks over-stated the point of diacritical marks, which the english under-ventured with! but hell... aren't we all happy to see a spot, of theatre?


the sort of comments you put against a blank
canvas...
         because... the person who might reply to it...
isn't verbo-fluid enough:

god... i'd love to tend to a garden, and remember as many botanical names as you already remember... sorry... prefixes? noun-prefixes? not being antagonistic, unless of course i can't come up with as many botanical names off the top of my head... no... lambs' ears... see... i'd love to name as many flowers as you can conjure up prefixes... to escape the monolith... like: daff-***... hycin-thought-***...
               i mean... richard ******* attenborough...
50cl of *****...
                        in poland schoolchildren
cried because stalin died...
                  a ******* georgian,
a subverter of russian...
      like ****** the austrian subverted germany...

   ooh... good... good that i was so bad at solving
crosswords...
                     let's find the flowers...

                        **** it...
                              this is ******* ****** by soviet
standards...
                        it's like shooting a
****** with a whale into space when
competing with metal, and Laika...
                   dunno...
                                          mime this ****?
pretend there's spacial status
for intellectual retardation when
authentic retardation exists
                 and appears all 'appy?

the **** do you even do?
            cut the tongues out?
              eat the gesticulating limbs?
i'd love to learn a botanical vocab
to counter this crap though...
   if only it allowed me to become
a better crossword solver... sure...
green light... go right ahead...
                see...
       i won't be able to solve crossword
puzzles with this sort of *******...
    you give me a Silicon Valley
nerd, with an app,
  that can give me access to identify
flowers... or birds via bird songs...
            
         well hey!
                      *** slavia utopia with
the germania brothel!
                  all the old communist
are becoming demented being told:
              and is there any need for old
soviet intellect,
            to not be entertained by this
*******?!
               nope...
                        there isn't a need...
            all you need is for it to be
encouraged!
          fly-fly-my-tear-rendering-sparrows!
break a remnant king's swan-neck
while you're at it!
              and all... will be...
        made...
                                 *prístīnè -
cf. the top.

for those yet, imagining themselves alive...
i "kwa'ight"....
quiet... quite...
         acquitted...
if there's a rock to be lived
under:
i'll just be the rock... i once had a faint
notion that i was alive...
i had what might be congested in a summary:
a thirst... a willingness...
summary and all those
broken things... "things"...
within the enraged solo
projects of solipsists...
self-"betterment" up a cul
de sac... has... infiltrated my
breathing: crease... count in german:
eins zu zehn
jeden do dziesięć...
   kurwa jebana mać...
poor traffic... thd ******* blinkers are
on... a turning right done awry...
ein(s)... one... jeden...

eine ein eins jeden raz one
zwei dwa two
drei trzy three
vier cztery four
fünf pięć five
(pięść is a denotes a fist... a faust)
sechs sześć six
sieben siedem seven
acht osiem eight
neun dziewiendź nine (nein nein)
zehn dziesięć ten....

mind you...
be drop the pointless diacritical marker
on the iota... we'd see more "punctuation"
markers: where, otherwise: we wouldn't...

i congested myself with counting
in three languages to somehow...
ease-up...
ten? informant: he / him!
ta? informant: she... shimmy(?!) her's...
hisses of his'...

i will not bring the Iberians into
this discussion...
what's left, though? scraps
of language and language policing...
******* and bells...
twang... death to the ditto... blah blah:
bleach and mythological blondes...
scraps i do one job good for you...
most... better... will not trace lineage...
no smear...

          t"they" never think less of
the Yugoslavs... i'm tired of being a punching bag of a people...
of all "people": the Irish not 'ard enough to
challenge the English have to find...
come the Soviets come the Nazis simultaneously...
looks like integrating into English society
didn't allow me to forget...
this zunge doesn't erase the ******* blows...

rich, though... no surprise that the Reesh
would squander and throw their *******
potatoes like monkey **** at...
oh i guess: shelved "life"... peoples...
if i were living back among my brethren...
i don't think i'd be living at all...
what would i do with not being
agitated concerning... minor... qualms?

the ******* leprechauns... priests...
are less than the english...
but are somehow tier above the pollacks?
it's no offence when it sounds proper...
in a foreign babble...
dzida...

          i'd just ask the Eire son...
so... ahem... where's your ******* Celtic?
gone... non-existent?

aon, dhà, trì, ceithir...
   còig (what's wrong with co'ig?)
sia,
seachd, ochd... naoi... deich...
so the grapheme CH = X of greek origin...
a ******* hark?

the Irish like the ******* Arabs...
the British did this to: oos...
it's impossible to live with these
go-to-party "solipsists" to begin with...
integrate? into... or for what?
rot? that's a-plenty...
but when some spaghetti monsters
and those potato jargon-fiddlers start
their usual **** about a fellow
european people...

it's not like the Croats or the Serbs are
ever mentioned...
they vent to h'america and youz zee...
zese irish and italliano guinnea pig-me-ups...
kwoss-eyed... you know...
best bitterest better...
inbreeding... takes a chunk of coal...
chalk and cheddar...
mustard...

  inbreeding mentality... superiority complexes...
no reimagines parmesan cheese like
it's not... shredding... old skin
off of heels...
talk stinkiny witchy with a missing R...
this massive ******* gloat of "riddle"...
that suppose: it's also a man...

       while the world... "also" happens...
these little: belittling interferences...
as if we were all supposed to be crowned kings
or queens... it's not that i'm even elevated
above these concerns...
but that i must have them...
must: if i were a king... i most probably wouldn't
even entertain the sense of hearing
on their existence!

in a society of sociopaths and solipsists...
a massive get together
of protest happens once in a while...
i get drunk and dump ****** words
onto paper...
i'm not alone in this "adventure":
yet i'm beginning to be...
more and more sorry for having
such... indigestions to sorrow over...
moral relativism is out
in the words of the choicest
of the choiciest...
   i'm looking for something beside
the superlative adjective: choicest...
the diminutive "concern"...

which doesn't exist in english...
and i can't exactly introduce it using my:
mutterzunge either...
correct spelling?
look at it... choiciest vs. choicest...
the most most choosey...
to pick of calculus exponentially incremental
details of observable shifts...
the exponential aspect of detail...

how many of the Irish still speak
their Gaelic...
apparently there's a Scotch version
of the tongue...
but... the Scots will not speak it...
completely submerged in their union...
they'll just exfoliate in how distinct
they are from a Loon'don'er
speaking the same language...
you could probably rewrite trainspotting
using that linguistic language
embedded in the dictionary
of:

   how i met your mother, the mute...
/ (haʊ) /
       / (aɪ) /
                 / (mɛt) /
               / (jʊəp) /
                               / (ˈmʌðə) /,
                        / (ðə) /          / (mjuːt) /

i wonder... and what if we started writing
like this? proper... phonetically...
like linguists?
the side note of /(x)/ though...

the written word is doubly ambiguous...
to the point of no return concerning
the sufficiency of its practicality of use...

ʃeɪk  ænd
                ˈʃætə...

if i had the time and *******' worth of
writing a poo'em like a linguist...
if i had more love for the Irish...
sowwy... all love spent on the Scots...
from these Isles at least...

sheikh who? shake your: *****?
that's ******* fwank zapp'ah...
      
but it's not that... i have qualms with
the Irish over the stature and seriousness
when occupying the "underground"...
i won't rap: god forbid i...
"**** someone": my catchphrase
wouldn't be:

allahu akhbar... it would be that teutonic chant
of: gott! mit! uns!
if that Norwegian hyper-smart terroroist
chanted those words...
what words? these words:
gott! mit uns!

   but around these isels...
you'd think there might be a sense of solidarity...
among the catholic irish and the
catholic poles...
but no... tępy ajrysz...
  blunt-irishman...
                  one side arguing for the other sides
dislodging of "i.q."...
same with those spaghetti swindlers...
the...

mind you... ****** is not a racial slur...
it's actually better to denote a pole a ******
since... not kinh john: lackland...
the whole hiss-tow-stowwy...
i'm not pole: positioned...
i'm not...

    divorced from "my" people:
and the "mother" land...
                  Warsaw the last great end-venture...
keeping it up...
mawa: little old gone...
         in the hunch fabric of
lessening the diaspora approach...
you don't think i mind the missing links...
when there's a collected agenda for the purpose
of a purge of the intelligensia...
now... because only the Jewry suffered
a historical lineage of tonguies
towing complaints....

         **** it: the russian sayingly... newly invented:
**** me?! ******* too!
but in the english realm who's the lesser
******* among the polacks and the irish?
who's less gingerbreadman?
my side... most probably...
how will we ever let the 20th century become
past?
oh **** me... we will need another
war... but chances of that are...
sort-of-slim...

             no? it might begin with:
bypassing loan-words...
and how self-help gurus and famous psychologists
refrain from infiltrating lost hybrids of
focus, that there might be a clearaance to
discover society outside the realm of pop!
saavvy?
i don't like this...
psychological testimony of:
what's an alpha male?
not me... what's a beta male?
not me... what's a malaise?
what's an omega man?
everything that an alpha male is...
in that... there's an antonymous discharge
of needs... requests...
demands...

how many Irish still speak their...
diego / alfonso magic "whisker" ****?
that ******* Gaelic?
so much for aardvark "typo" in Scotch...
because it just so happens...
you speak an over exfoliation of lettering...
the aesthetically bogus: claim of...
no... no "originality":
i'm not even going to bother the higher
tier of diacritical markers to
instigate "something"...

but this whole: i'm a lesser "european" when
it doesn't suffice in north american parlance...
i'm sort of... em.... ******* bothered?
history seems to be a lesson
in teasing small-**** and the infinite
summary of infancy... last time i heard...
because the Mongols never made it to... "x"...
because the Turks never had ownership of Vienna...
because it took both the Nazis and the Soviets
to make me bow...
in England? the invention of snooker...
tennis... football... rugby...
bored people... obviously...

how: else: woudln't you have capacity...
need... to invent so many coliseum...
distractions to mind: and take seriously...
if you knew: you were an island dwelling folk...
and you staged your pride in not being
invade-prone...
a bit like the whole of east London's
pakistani-land...

wake up 40 years from now... from...
little bengali land...
the Pakistani grooming gangs of the supposed...
while i'm getting more and more irrritated
by paying for ***...
having Bulgarian ****** pretending to be
Romanian....
you see the grit in my use of teeth that aare never used to
nibble and conjure...
a "drying of bones"?

i will complain about the Irish as i will about the
tail-tan'ohs...
******* spaghetti slurppers...
we of the same European origins and the same
brain-drain... because the anglo-saxons
fiddled out a mechanism for...
a "coming together"... of...
a people... just like germany was confederated...
into a federality...
wow!

  the pope receding... on paper...
the Irish make complaints against the Polacks...
the Irish demean the Polacks...
nice nice... here's to me equipping myself with
Haitian "nouns"...
you, *******... ginger: knuckle-fiddle-numb...*****!
what Celt wishes himself to have
a Cyrillic ancestry?! almost all...

have your little i.r.a. memento...
       i'm only concerned about
a pomeranian, conrad... quest...
aren't the czechs / hungarians locked into
that... posit of being: without an access to
a "window"... hardly... that the baltic...
already is... Samaritan....

porsch monkey: among the slurrs... "poet"...
pshek in... denotative lingo...
it's a: thank you...
i call you worse:
    karot... burak... syberik....

thankful though: it's hardly a slur...
king John was known as lackland...
given the shrinking of the Angevin empire...
thus "we"... shrunk to the duchy of warsaw:
a satellite of Napoleon's ambitions...
then the Warsaw Pact...
pandering to the Bolsheviks...
blah blah: now more pandering to
woke ha-ha-h'americanacancan...
the mythological blonde: always on my mind...

the first words in my language
they managed to speak and they somehow managed to
call it a slurr... and polish: paul-leash isn't?
pole position, heading north?

say strawberry in ******?
TRU-S-KAWKA...
     paul's on a leash of nibbling on the quarters
and halves of would be barons of pandemonium...
we were teenagers once...
and once upon in an Ilford mall...
we bought compact disks...
rival schools... fugazi...
coal chamber's dark days...

  those where somewhat architecture days,
though...
you can't make this **** up...
you probably have had to live it, sort of.

- otherwise who can't forget the flight of the Jewry
from the area...
once there was a makeshift synagogue on
Coventry Rd.,
now there's a 7th day evangelical war band
gathering pulpit... source...
i was expecting a mosque: in all honesty...
it's a common suggestion:

now first comes the flight of the Jewry...
the whites are somehow 2nd...
but as i explained to my mother today...
i feel sick in a monochromatic...
homogeneous society...
i went to Cheltenham once...
to hussle my own self-published book...
i felt ill seeing so little minority
representation...
it's not like i'm brainwashed...
but among these minorities in Loon-dune
i'm a ******...
back in Warsaw i'm a feral animal...
among "my people" i'm zero-punkt-zero-nic...

the vagabonds of the world decide to congregate
in Loon'don... for some reason: ulterior or
altogether "other"...
the world has congregated:
is this still about the English having their
nationhood infringed?
perhaps from a perspective
of the Midlands... Birmingham...
but over 'ere...

funny that... i live in England...
but i probably interacted with more Irish
and more Scots than the supposedly
demographically first...
i probably encountered more Pakistanis too...

so what's the difference between
a Samaritan and a Sarmatian?
you're running? i thought i ran...
i might run... who's running?
is it raining?
is that... ****'ite iconoclasm?
sign me up...
            
but living among the Irish who are
not living in Ireland...
a tired old bunch... sometimes...
it's hard to fathom their identity crisis
since a whole swab of them
spoke a zilch of Gaelic...
it's like with these over-impressed
succcess stories of "integration"
from olive-pound land /
****** copper...

the parents want to integrate...
that **** backfires...
the grandson retains the tongue
to his grandma to speak
back to her her native...
yet his... "in-between"... "integrational english"
becomes a sick joke: stereotype...
almost a cul de sac accent...
the sort that has to breathe into a phrase:

oi oi! bown and bwead!
  em... bone and bread?
how does that work?
i guess it must work "miracles" from places
where the ingestion of gelatin is
foreign... transcending "foreign":
too alien to compose...

yes... detailing the promises of pork, pig...
the most economically sound
animal: beside the hoofs...
you can utilise almost... "almost": all of it...
one way of the other...
an animal that can never be a waste:
unless you're into dabbling into a cannibalistic diet...
plus... lamb... lamb: *******: stinks...
the aged lamb...
plus... how would you herd pigs...
pigs aren't herded...
it's a theological anger at...
camel-jockeys being unable to... harvest
the only potential of farm-food... via the pig...
pigs aren't herded:
i've only heard of a herd of pigs
and that's when there came a time
to treat a trough like an array of teats when
the porkies were 'ung...
is it a despised animal?
a despised animal because:
and the devil reimagined himself as a pig?

so god looks like a mythological blonde...
the devil looks like a piggish minotaur...
why this demise of pig?
why this gratification in the islamic mirror
of words looking accessible: i.e. dog | god...
my all mighty: allah: blah-lah...
fork in the road: are we 'appy... "now"?

but when you live among the diaspora of the Irish...
you'd sort of suppose... what's the gaelic for green?
now that the internet is here...
i can find out for myself...

why demean the pig? was the pig created by
the ******* devil?
or is this one of those Abrahamic ploy-toys...
rigidity structures...
to leave you surrendered...
go against anything else: beside the pig...
it's such an economic model, creature...
you can utilise almost all of it...

not all of us were born Afghan sheep
herders... savvy?
that eating pork is somehow signature
of inbreeding and s schizoid tinture...
wh'ah?! i lost the TAU along the way...
o.k.?!

it's a waste of time having arguments
with... oh forget: rag-muffin'...
inbreds... i wass thinking about ***...
i picked a spot... Rotherham...
Pakistani grooming gangs...
oh... right... here's a lollipop... here's some dosh...
i'll get a hard-on with a girl who didn't mature
into prostitution wtih a crack-******* 'abbit...

chances of me ******* low i.q. is like
zilch then? i imagine the tirades...
the knife-insinuations...
**** a barrister: **** for life...
settle down: solve **** concerninng:
immmovaable objects:
the sun still has "egotism" to rise
and call it tomorrow...
and her ******* own too: to boot...
imagine that!

why go after the pork 'n' pie?
why pet a dog?
why pet a cat?
     i've already mentioned...
sometimes lamb: just stinks...
lamb kidneys?
STINK... SCHTINK!
but you also can't keep pigs
in an environemnt where you also use
camels instead of horses... no?
no one is talking about this...
because... it's probably too obvious to have
to stress this ******* argument....

came the Ottomans... the Mongols...
the Soviets for a while...
came the Nazis...
why weren't we the people who championed
each other at snooker...
why didn't we invent football...
tennis... cricket...
rugby... i don't want to blame the English
for their race...
but they have been privileged in:
intra-"whiteness" terminology...

what English soldier ever stood ground
on ****** soil?
i've heard of ****** pilots having dog fights
for the battle of Britain...
how the enigma machine was not merely
the work of Turning...
etc. etc.
gravesend: i'm here reduced to "biasing"...
yet i'm giggling at the remote prospect
of "gravity"...

i have clues to concern myself over...
ownership...
          a hierarchy of a cascade...
time follows time...
this solo project of "individuality"
was never going to... "work"...

pending...

   connlach dearg...

    but the welsh still speak welsh... no?
i guess that Carlsbeg moment of:
probably the best'ly integrated people in
the world... the Welsh are...
they still exfoliate in having a punching bag
of their tow-tongue...
unlike that most, supposed... oppressed people
of the... anglophonic world affair...
the Reesh that speak no ditto of Gaelic...

who are, you, you people?!

the upper-house of the *****: the slaughterhouse...
  that / the / it...
    "        
"ta" wyższa-izba rzeszy: rzeźń... point to argue:
                                           rzeźnia...
why then... am i conjuring up
a don't from a do not...
    with the shortening: rzeźń?

i hardly don't know what to make
of the post 2004 mass migration
from the newly acquired: "proto-roman empire"
expansion project from those
Belgian chocolatiers...
          if this is a joke of the vierte *****...
which it is... the drei ***** and the 1000 years...

depends on the locality of said tongue...
once a token ******... never a token... ******...
not when the beer and sausages were shipped:
i never felt more, nor less:
home...             beside the ground on
which i stand?
                    all this talk of home...
home... dom... the sky?
               wait until another whimsical trickle
of russian or german to settled the matter?
will then: herr... zeitundimmerstrikt  &
                       товарищ сейчасзагадка...

mellow this... branch of the house of ßaß...
                  
- hardly an impromptu -
      there was no chance that a polish-liathuanian
commonwealth would
"come back" together...

  not through the civil war: that can hardly
be deemed a civil war...
which - whatever the beginnings...
the ukranian cossack uprising...

and sweden and russia and the ottoman
empire nibbling...

what arose or was drawn with better
stencils than the middle-east...
            only left "us" with...
a sub-group of people that...
spoke their own gvara (vulgate)...

whatever was left of "us"...
sooner or later died... L'viv was deserted...
the Volhynia...
                   "schizoid"...

that "we" didn't become the prior to
Yugoslavia...
the difference were already apparent...
the Galicians and the Kashubians...
i'd venture as far as to call the Masovians
the Prussians of this little nugget of land...
let's in part call one the Welsh...
and the other Scots...
              but... no more will a Miłosz...
or a Mickiewicz cite odes to Lithuania...
when what was Lithuania a lore ago...
   which it isn't now...      a baltic enclave...

how terrible of me to come with
the beer and the sausages and the sourdough...
i blame that on the 2004 spike...
they're all returning home...
     a "home" the remains soon to be written off...
the grandparents...
soon to be written off...
             i'll be coming "home" like
a ******* tourist... perhaps one day...
Toruń will oblige me with me in it...
or Lublin...

                 to have made a home out out
Edinburgh...
         hell... if Cardiff could have retained
an old quarter... of architecture... i'd have settled
for it and took up lessons in Welsh...

and, this is not a joke:
why won't you find, a willing rabbi...
to convert you...
the muslims on the other hand...
are so willing: i was a german on edgeware rd.
once...
why won't you find a willing rabbi...
to convert you?
if it was only a "concern of detail"
for the kippah and a circumcision...
but... over-arching... you weren't "chosen"...
proselyte...
   what's the definition in islam...
not apostate: not a non-believer...

a proselyte: pawns on a game of chess...
that they were nurtured without
their own knowing...
   the mamluks and the janissary...
                
such grand words being thrown about...
  Galicia... Ruthenia...
        
the old world with the old words:
oculus per oculus - an eye for an eye...
           guilt a burden of both the righteous
and the ignominious:
that... a wisdom bound to serve:
a toothpick... since a chopstick does not
suffice!

  guilt: a burden shared by both the guilty:
and the guiltless...
           that i should be the one to know:
the difference of good AND evil...
one and the same... a "working progress"...
well: with AND...
i probably, i suspect:
  that i shouldn't be able to state:
EITHER good OR evil...
           i have to drag this empty coffin
to the burial ground...
to know the difference between: good AND evil
is NOT:
   you will be able to say:
it's EITHER good OR bad...
                             good and evil muddled...
it this... grand... spectacular:
"plot twist"!

           home is where i decide to pluck
consonants and vowels from:
apart from the spike circa 2004... no more...
i just need the minor distinction of letters...
if you'd want to see what sort
of a catholic church whip! and leash!
came after: pope! saint! jean-paul II...
  to have this man glorified...
for simply kissing airport tarmack like
a muslim imitation of prayer...

      the greatest footballers from the former:
satellite commonwealth: "whittle poland"...
of the 1970s... polish jazz...
    the cold war blanket...
              typo riddled scripts itching to get out
of east Berlin and G.D.R. - Berlin, Prague?
****... Cracow - hardly the selling point...
nor is Bratislava or... Masovian Minsk...

Sorbian? yeah yeah... that Serbian of the north...
gentlemen! we have infiltrated zee *****!
   ode to the: Lusatians and the Wends!
project glasgow! speak us much of a joseph
merrick english as is required:
but no diacritical markers!
   leave the "concept" of orthography to Dickens...
making a survey of: d'ah d'um 'uck of
cockney and 'ears... p'p'***...

                clearly i do not require enclaves...
or... those... birmingham esque minarets...
          i'd very much like to keep my ******...
since "i've" lost the lithuanian to project: подчищать это!

the ukranians: bandy УПА...
     the croat nazis: NDH...
                      the ukranians can settle their... ahem...
"differences" with the tsar and tsarina...
but i'm happy to have indulged in the smuggling
to tobacco... case in point:
lately from Romania... and Moldova:
which could perhaps be: one and the same...
the selling price in england: circa 10 quid...
on the black market? stepping up to 5 quid a packet...
once upon a time: three-and-a-fifty (pence)...

limitations of "******* anonymous"...
   peerage... eyes looking up...
         the lost stars... the moon and sun...
                thus gained?
            impromptu suggestion:
                glued to a hypnosis of a...
            mantis... slobber-mouth... smeared
with tummy-juices...
    and nothing of a LOL...
                        when... at least back then:
clean-shaven... it wouldn't have mattered...
to reverse the: gorge-job...
came the slippery p.s. from gomorrah:
we eats ******* 'ere...
*****: ergo: no go zone-out...
    postulating the birth of a tapeworm
from a sprout of squeezed acne... plush: said
the very-berry and... and over-matured plum
and pear trickle graffiti...

which brings no known point of introspection
when she's doing her:
milan kundera moment:
do you pierce - the eyes are a needle
and a thread: and there's also a camel...
which very much depends on kissing
the lips and... gorging on a "flower"...

spaced-out monkey-zombie brains...
endowed... h'america... a land of lazily associated
english sounding town-names...
around noon: father fatigue...
           crisp cut: mississippi lobotomy blues...
is a ****-muncher a citizen of gomorrah?
that's not a question, not, really...

             imagine william burroughs attempting
to write a comic book script...
while shooting shelves of paint urns
onto a canvas: what sort of comic book
reads when pursuing an adventure into
Kandinsky?
                   it's not pretentious it's not
indigenous: but a proper bacon wrap is done
so... with a dollop of h.p. sauce...
period...

milking the natives shying away under
the moon and crescent:
look no further! from under the hammer and
sickle... sun and scythe...
from under the iron curtain into
this limbo la-la-land of: the silicon macabre:
niqab'aeh...
   that: ma'caaaaa (b) (surd) - almost...
forget the trill... the rattle-snake...
                              the peerage of: your lordship!

           pleateau of the readily available
butcher's choice... murking the waters...
  there will never be enough of mud...
  to cover these tracks of ***** and celeste!

   tyler bates - cucksocker;
******* on corks with no screws...
after the fire - der kommissar...
            
a soundtrack for all those "girlfiends" you'd
want to top up with...
when playing videogames...

no... beyond the scope of tenchu:
i lost the plot of peering onto a canvas
that seemed to borrow too much
from the mario bros. respite...
the detail: the graphics:
the sims and the simps and all those
words that never:
was it merely i... or did...
graffiti simply: do the dodo project
act and antic?!

           party time at the brothel:
does it matter they're all bulgarian pretending
to be romanian?
does it?
        
this goes pop... i'll be rummaging in my grave
trying to curb my shadow from
turning into a neon-flare:
but i won't...
                    this is registered under
the "pseudonym" of under-paid: sent...
i lick the envelope...
i lick the stamp...
imagine my disbelief that i suddenly
do not become a philatelist!

                the cheap cigarettes is a'plenty...
i will never wish or hope or dream...
of disturbing that 'appy 'appy land
of psychopaths and the beatles *****
taking a sly turn via
ohio having a punctured rubber...
because in the land of cain...
celebrated as they are: those *******...
no...
      not "here" not "anywhere": not " now"...
h'america i'll be most glad to look
away from...
       but thank you thank you: much kudos...
and the IRA have served up
their signature to the collective
research project...
stemming from the chants of Tehran...
via the...
             we had coffee over in Beirut...
at the time when...
all the trash-workers were working
on the symphony concerning
                    down syndrome's take on
h'arab schpring!

Tyrone in Tangiers: in the 1960s...
because love of man for man...
back when...
   harems and polygamy was all a rage
among the arabs...
it was either jerking off..
joining the army...
finding the next of kin and kin:
"plumbing issue"...
to eat out ****... became equivalent to
butterflies...
and the gardener imploring:
i! hippocrates!

                 strobe disco lights... epilepsy challenge!
cue lazarus: goodbye rodeo!
               that boyfriend you could...
but this isn't Prague...
    and there's no... you could:
or an i hope to: either...
Berlin green... elsewhere all but blue...
but in germ-and-the-many...
it's: gween...
              
                    neon-gween...
       ­                             exfoliations of the ****...
when... sitting the crucified pose
of being strapped to the throne of thrones...
all that is required of us...
is to...
        rummage... sift... and...
                     place into rubric cages...
these following items...
sacrilege (a)...
             sacrilege (b)...
                            lacklustre concerns for
catholic intellect... beside the pompous fwench:
item (c)...
the crucifix is an instrument of torture:
i hear avow... the need to gesticulate...
prayer... before the altar of the womb of mary:
the ******... the iron maiden!
i will consecrate my knees...
and my quote of shakespeare: as to how
hands do the bidding of lips...
when monks pray and... sub-se-quen-tly...
n'est ce pas?

                                  enough! the curtain
is about to fall sacred: to either the sound of silence...
to the hush of aghast... or.... applause!

   a tale of david: the story of...
because... somehow... the same letter...
had to find exfoliation in: beside geometry...
how nabla married deltu...
            ∇                       Δ

both of the same "eye"...
         ∇: this is moses...
                     Δ: this is, "the" pharaoh...

              please... no amount of shoeline...
or... these... the pork not eaten:
because not kosher: made into shoes
and belts... will do away...
with judaism and her ha-gar: sarah:
islam... the son of the cocubine... ishamel...
islam...

desert people politics...
      such are the affairs of people who know
only sand, wind - water and shade...
who have no concern or concept for:
the fern and the pig... the forest...
and the siberia tundra...

"we" were "invited" and at the same time...
appealing to the rationing of "beliefs"
lost by the greeks...
doubly lost by the plagiarism of the romans...
zeus became jupiter: the sacking of troy...
blah blah:
keeping onto a past: when asking a people:
who, "had, no, past"!

          in praise of older women...
one comes to mind... Khadija **** Khuwaylid...
muhammad was illiterate, yes?
who wrote the first verses of the quran?
mein gott! a woman!
when all turned against him...
and before... he could... somehow... much later...
find his metaphysical bride: Ayisha...
blah blah centuries later:
toying with a kandinsky!
toying with a kandinsky!
    to hell with a linear narrative:
the "proverb run quote":
i'll sooner watch a cactus grow from my
outstretched hand... than i'll see the germans
re-unified...
so was the saying...
and so is the "counter" and "proof"...

        "home"... what a nice... sleeping-beauty
concept of / for concerns...
oculus per oculus...
                      because christianity wasn't
spreading fast enough...
and that new adventures up north
would only be revealed much later:
jawohl! mein kommandant!

                    did islam... emerge: to speed up
the process?
of turning... the crucifix... into anything
more than what was already required?!
a Q's worth of a *****?

          forgive me... if i don't pay homage
to this... hieroglyph... perhaps i might:
tool a "dyslexic" impromptu or tow: two!

by the time islam emerged...
               it took another 600 years to convert
lithuania: which poland defended...
       no matter: "we're" to blame for...
what?!
                 Q - the ***** and the egg...
which also means:
eqqs: ekks: not eggs...    
i try to eat at least one poultry
abortion a morning most willing come!

can shadows filter: dust-sodden-clay?

Christian family searching for the truth.
Happy family playing games at the kitchen table.
Righteous members going to the temple.
Inspired parents helping children.
Sinners still, but finding forgiveness.
Trying hard to be the best.
Instead their daughter goes the other way.
Not seeking truth and righteousness.
A**way from the church and the family values.

my father never let me win at miniature golf...
tantrum prone youth of yesteryear
didn't see the plot twist...
perched: again... crow like 6ft2
246pounds of me... fat toss: bulge...
and some - semi-decaying octopus magic fingers...
yeah... father never let me win at miniature
golf...
              but whereas he leaves
some of the sudoku: hyper-geometries open
to discussion...
       i leave mine completed...
no competition...
              not when a sober mind does
that a drunk would double: for a fee...
the currency of face-masks and looking into
jainism... or... contra ****** recognition
in place: contra the niqab...
i have all the excuses to...
     ninja-doodle my way through...
central london's pedestrian traffic...
    then again... being a smoker...
the old habit of harking up some phlegm
and spitting it onto the pave...
      with a face-mask? none of that...
but... i'll keep one spare pocket for these
facemasks... i'll have... grounds for...
religiosity and... heightened secular:
scientific sensibilities...
and the media folk vill be 'appy...
                             yes... it's already a **** show...
yes it was already a **** show:
i'm not going to: told you so: sow:
genius me... what rules did i comply to...
that would... otherwise... estrange me my
daily, routine - focus?
              pretty much... none of it...
        what has happened... and... extend that
into a time-lapse of years...
               oh sure... even my neighbours...
such... budding social lives...
friends... when friends were available
when at school...
work friends... so... those people you
****** around with for: doll... payment of good
grades... replaced with people who...
A-grade their presence for...
a baguette they will... most certainly...
not share with you?
yoyo-effect slimming...
                     i did that once...
lost virginia in the attic... and came out...
scarred for not being...
   one of the two part ensemble...
given: killing two birds with one stones...
unless... strap-on-a-***** to my forehead...
wait a moment...
no... clearly muhammad didn't foresee
the harem as... being filled with strap-on:
***** wielding lesbians...
after all: i only have 2... she has 3...
                        holes...
             - since von krafft-ebing times...
before freud...
             ******* was considered as
taboo as... performing *******...
     these days... that's the gold standard of
consent and: "ritual"...
you foreplay each other...
   big deal over jerking off: genocide flushed...
a measure of blood-pressure...
otherwise i'd surface with:
she has my **** stitched in all the right places...
everything is being automated...
here's to: going with the flow...
                      checking blood-pressure
or... blood sugar levels...
the old norm the new norm...
      no toy story: of that... i am sure...
and... well... for what could... could have been
a ***** bank...
if english existentialism is anything
to go by... it's certainly not a talk over
coffee or a beer...
it's a ***** bank donation...
all orc seriousness: my d.n.a. primo!
you! dodo! project!
                    and... would you like a kippah
with that? or an u.f.o.?
- then... "all of a sudden"...
darwinism pops up again:
survival of the fittest... and...
the men and their needle-in-a-haystack:
spines of mollusks...
perhaps "there"...
                "where"... and a heart could
be summoned... alternatives though...
the self-implosive critical mind of...
regurgitated facts and figures...
geared up... for "knowledge" / trivia...
at a pub quiz... storage space that...
will become... derelict... a housing project
for ghosts and having reached
a zenith of an amnesia-paradox...
chances are: you probably will remember
a "self"...
                      nonetheless!
vacated time and space...
                        so much for the trivia...
and... so much for the encyclopedia brain-drain...
back to basics: i like tomato soup...
i like pasta al dente...
    i think that to heighten appetite...
al fresco works miracles...
as does... drinking a 7.2% thatcher's vintage
cider... than any amount of wine...

- i'll hate myself for writing this...
but...
       let's get into the porridge...
87% of white women would want
to **** a black man...
meme tag... i guess: most probably
a zulu... since... all the rest:
didn't run fast enough to escape
the netting... or were... sold by their chieftans
for a bribe of cheetos...
the usual ****** treatment:
kan kan: and dunk b'ruh...

        but i guess... in reverse...
about 6% of white men would want
to **** a black girl...
lucky for me i'm 6.1%...
in that i did... "somehow"...
then again... she was well portioned...
i had my coccyx inside-out...
and i was missing my 12" *******
toy freed from the blue-pills-of-V...
and she lost her inflateables:
buttocks and sprinting the marathon
bones...

and it was that old school feral sort
of ****...
i ended up looking for a plum
in between the ***** hair region:
a second chin.. not the fold...
but she was... sculpted like...
nothing that might require a 12" ******
to begin with...
the kama sutra says it plain:
rabbit **** don't **** an elephant ****
for the elephant ****'s satisfaction...

give on... give off...
i want to laugh but then...
unlike these white girls...
sorry... i don't find black women attractive...
unless in kenya...
and she's looking like an oily grain
of coffee...
you can see the skin... melt in sunlight...
excavations in limbo land:
l.s.d. is missing and we only have
latex gimp-suits to fire-up the imagination...

perhaps the statistics is true...
white women want... what white women want...
but i'm a white man: pork...
catch me in august and i'm
a spaniard / half removed cousin of
a spaniard... perhaps damascus was
once my home...
             but i must be: blitzing the krieg
with fiddling some spaghetti...
when: i'd be in clear want of...
******* liquid chocolate...
or... kenyan liquorice quicksilver...

me throw pennies at crows
or me throw bags of sugar at the rascal
macaques...
same ****: different cover...

     presiding over the coming of
a "reincarnated" Elijah:
the heart of the son will return to the father...
the heart of the daughter will return to the mother...
no one is to feed themselves the narrative
of the nag hammadi: "being" freed...
when one transitions: with expert advice
from the medical profession: from male to female
and... vice versus...

sorry... what's fit for the dickens?!
just because white girls like...
doesn't imply white boys like too!
if white girls like:
   and white boys are looking for
the harem of mr. lemon... squinting:
because the sun's too much in beijing...
and all that's clearly worth...
doing much ado about... nothing...
japanese porcelain skins...

       i imagine a reverse insurgence of
the mongolian horde of pseudo-orc...
                and a pseudo-islam:
spikes in the frequency of terrorism
as "they" come to defend the ummah...
and take root in Xinjiang...
  such pride... concerning...
           what's a memory of Jaffa...
and... the prospect of Sarajevo...
          i'm bored ****-less with this:
notion of "invasion" without
bullet, bite of grit or tank...

                - standards in "males":
primo standard... not ******* enough...
coming across a hit dough & nut that knows
how to... "been there... ****** enough":
the linear projection of my youth now
exhausted: i need a low-to-high libido:
strap-on ****-of-a-man...
to wed me for the joys of crosswords
puzzles and...

the hyper-gemotry of sudoku...
157869324
983452176
246731598
821976453
394125687
67534­8912
568213749
719684235
432597861   (less a square...
think of a cube! a cabana cigar) -

                  i think of a hard-on
like i think about spring...
and... strawberries...
and small... asian hands working
their magic around the detail
of solding electronic parts together...
unicorns and mermaids...
and alien invasions that begin
with blockjobs rather than **** probing;
i guess i'm just being old-fashioned...

the good old days of drinking a pint
oif bourbon and paying little richard
a visit to the bulgarian...
                        lasso of a dead cow...
and the church of journalism...
the tabloid oopses and poops...
*******: further und mutter...
there was no glorious:
pwetty son  - brass shoulders of
an atlas pose...
a university degree in chemistry is
probably a step-back from being
an apprentice plumber...
and this mundane talk of wasted:
years doing social-science bluffs...

i am in the most fired-up dire need
of *** like...
no... i'm more prone to be asking:
dreamless sleep...
the *** can happens beside me...
with pickled brains...
insects and everything else hyperventilating...
tripping on a fusion
of m.d.m.a. and ****** -
      drunk and *** was **** gang for
her... deprived from: audience at the proper
"the end" of sabbath...
standards of men: what?!
the ones caged not having enough
practice shooting placebos and blanks?
while she: hail she! ave she!
she gets a thirst for threesomes
and the lost... blank...  jerker...
because... her: missing part...
fifth wheel handy is missing to
excavate the **** the floral pattern:
the kissing the children good: night?

i say sooth: i say dilute: i say:
here comes the beer...
this is not the 1960s and the rolling stones
and the sort of women to settle down with:
freebie bandies: banshees
and all that's missing are the:
she's still much afraid of the foxes cackling
in close conduct with the magpies...
before and after: she's afraid of the dark
like richard the lionheart...

going to visit the three tiers of P was never
easier... first the priest: eviently self-discredited...
then the psychiatrist / psychologist...
verbiage for the latter...
big pharma for the former...
and then... bulgarian prostitutes...
c.b.t. ******* with no touch...
but i'm a slave to the octopus when
it comes to being loved up...

87% of white women would **** a black
man... 13% of me says:
i'd for 90% of black women... when there
was a 99% chance of making the exception,...
and i will never bring my 12" g.i. joe
for the buttocks of semi-inflateable:
necessity to sink sort of buttocks:
but run as a cheetah it will...
no aquaman 'ere:
                      there's no "there": period...

brazil.. perhaps... a post-ethnic project...
argentina: too many t'zees: khaki burns...
puked mustard shirts... dijon ala: no dijon...
burnt mahoghanny flirt...
brazil the post-racial project...
no 12" **** envy... no... freed *** inflatables
and: sprints 100m under 10 seconds...
take about a lifetime to swim 50m...
and... bothers citing the "question"
of the anchor...
loses weight... takes to the marathon
as an ethiopian pseudo-***...
jumps the high... jumps the long...
but doesn't... jump the pole...

    aquaman contra king kong...
the crab the piglet and...
       unless she's the queen of sheba...
or nefertiti... and there isn't...
a lament of solomon...
              
      - and in general: this ****-sodden-pile
of maggot *****: smart talking cockneys
and smooth itching libido:
first come, first served:
new buddha wave sort of:
   "res vanus" hustling boyscouts of:
never-to-never: first come...
you... no g'lot... every other fwyday...

- all in all: a smart-eyed-up piece
of cockers... or cockney...
baron leverage - the rhyme... or the shlang...

ooh... me loves a whittle bits of
"misunderstandings":
cordiality... let me get m'ah dictionary out...
violence of words...

blood is thicker than water...
except for the custard...
and all that ******* pie..
because... what's paying 10quid for the turk
and the "madamme" for entry...
110 quid for the hour of blatant
butchering...
affectionate my ******* ***...
and then... a top up of a tenner tip
to mince a ******* oysters' worth
of **** for a "tip"!
what's that?

  look at my tongue... tattooed
with a bunch of that sorry **** of detials
for: excalibur... that one...
and only... sorry... tax dough
cough up!

           easier than ******* a mannequin...
pretend doll: pre-tend...
            five nigerian with machetes
walk into a bar...
one albanian counters...
the machetes are like...
               christmas tree deocrations
when the albanian hears the threat...
he's married... he was two duaghters...
so much for zulu warrior: nigeria
2.0 orc...

            when the albanian goes
full on schizoid... steps out of his body...
entertains the soul...
and... there's talk of...
the grace of the guillotine...
among the: newly become...
scuttling nigerian rats...

                  having entertained ***...
makes me... a rather... deviant creature...
i quiet enjoy the violence
served up by peace...
all this... troy of verbiage of comfort
and... pedantry... and that quote:
of a gang...
     ******* vulvas is for *******...
annals of ****: toe-dipping
two-'ere-one!

- as we are: at our best...
the most civil of: ****... entertain-ers...

take up a civil case with the pun...
much later: or no later...
what did a rhyme ever... do to you?

how unfathomable to be unable to listen
to new music...
              i sit and want to rearrange
bob kaufman's poem
  o-jazz-o war memoir: jazz...

      samsung + google chrome
doesn't like bitchute...
   i have been unable to watch a video
of weeks...

lenovo + google chrome
doesn't mind bitchute...
         well... it's not terribly important...
i have installed pale moon
but i'm being terrible lazy
and... i'd only invest in a VPN
to get masterchef australia (.au)
                     recipes...
                  i can mash up: punk
a steam-roller forward...
   it's not necessary...

but i will not rearrange that bob kaufman
poem...
           a little bit of rereading
the brautigan sonnets...
honest to god:
   when knausgård finally came...
i was relieved from having
to shove my eyes my tongue
my brain my: casually automaton
not-thinking
    away from american poetics...

i aspire to return to:
the i, maximus poems...
         because i've been a good boy
and i didn't visit the brothel
because even at 34...
well... you just tire of ***
because so many others seem
to have progressed to the higher
acts... protagonists in b.d.s.m.
role-playing... candy-torture...
something? opaque?

the book is dear... nearing 40 quid a pop...
i will only make
peace with american poetry on
the promise of reading the maximus oeuvre
(i have to insert the name,
like a junction - delight in calling
it the M25 around the home counties -
the bloated A406 teasing Ilford:
orson... ****... not welles...
charles olson!)

    acronyms in the vocab or...
dropping names... voluntary work...
departed and death's hyphenation:
assured - by - a designated project...
it's not a thought-out complexity...
it... either rains... or it shines...
it's either a night with a lonely
dog barking... or... it's a silent night...
perhaps a cricket... or some far away
cushion of traffic monotone humming:

like a refrigerator: the avant garde
of music: white noise...
but always the welcome wind...
either the earth's yawn...
  or the cavern solid depth of ****...
which is... not the passing of wind:
but... luck... in a more... eastern tongue...
teasing the geography of
little moscow i.e.: minsk...

well of course nothing spectacular
is happening...
beside reading a newspaper in
the morning... a few essays in the afternoon...
sitting and contemplating:
a platonism of homosexuality...
at home... teased by genitals...
as from an early age...
when a foreign body fiddled with
my possessions... a toy...
but now... a 60 year old craftsman...
perfectionist...
   a plumber but most necessarily: irish...

what's in english TH and in greek Θ
is also F            and also: alTHough...
                                   is also THat
             is also THorough...
is a surd isn't a surd...
          is -gh deaf...
                                   etc.
          irish? well... t'ought...
                                   t'is...
                  t'ou(gh)t...
                       target tatties: bomb-zickle-bomb-zarch...

such a loaded word: ****-eroticism and
platonism:  bias for commeradry
because there's a higher tier
of friends with "benefits"

          it's a terrible tango this very tease
of greasing a gauge:
time flows through the impersonal squadron
of perchance...
      
as ever: there comes a moment of
completing disbelief:
       in what makes one churn
the advent of the democratic voice...
put simply: i don't believe what i'm writing...
nietzsche is forever only a teenager
fanboy...
          how anyone could get away with
that sort of: sorrow of my own
inability to loot a blank...

                 if this was written
with a conviction in fwench or spanish...
a distant russian...
but it's only a tourist english of some
****** immigrant...
             i should somehow will myself
to write in mutterzuerst:
             zunge von tod... a chicago glamour
glistening in my mind...
h'america can capsize and retain its
20th century's mythological "geography"...
  and "history"...

i don't think the eyes would be of any use
when seeing anything anything more
than the letters and later the words
and later the sentences of noting
the hebrew junction...
         i'd like the literal fetish...
because a literal reading would allow me
to focus on dreaming up the impossible...
not reading the ol' bib'complica-ca'tion
into a poetry exhaustion of:
metaphor and the philosopher's stone...

the guitar lick of sowing the solo...
invitation to giving diacritical stressors...
whereby rhythm is noun...
whereby rhythm is sentence: judge jury
and executioner...
    
to drink! it's all about drinking and not
******* your pants...
it's about the mea culpa and
shooting yourself in the foot... or not...
i'd love to make william burrough's narrative
into a ******...
although i much disagree to
the detail of the life behind the sacred
pax of jeez and juicy juicy dorothy...

lullaby or an alibi...
       lullaby or an alibi... much contested:
of the satellites of the soviet
picturesque: because there's only
genius to work with around
the culmination of events...
for all that's recurrent of the 20th counting
nil and the flowering feud of
the "most"...

                  such a pressure to
somehow find some variation of "anew"...
for the best in poetry... the h'americans
siding with...
the iron curtain and now the silicon
curtain and the lessened tensions
of a: would-be-bomb...

            mr. clear stick figure of:
the oppenheimer...
        who was hardly a pope or a bishop
and there was never a reconquista
of such loot...
   but this current inversion
               of pennies from niqab:
and there could only be an unfathomable
triad - snot, phlegm and salt...
i find myself suffocating to
transcend while the metaphysical
ogling of an oasis...
contesting with sardines...
an antithesis claustrophobia...

               borrowing scent and the pristine
mini-skid-alongs of
churning umbrellas into skirts...
and all those cliches:
best to forget the existence
of the mind... better to reflect...
on the banjo and some walter skinz:
   or... herr im schwarz...
that best ******* of a german
forgotten "soon" with no inclined
to a borrowing of a son...

had i written the most spectacular freefall
bonanza... lucifer loots out
all other useful nouns on the dole...
there must be a boa architect and a
familiarisation with choking
on a peanut...

               best pleasing a hinterland of:
impromptu...
these khaki shoes these khaki shirts...
these mustard green trousers...

             it's impossible to write when one
is still a s schoolboy with a robert pinksky
attention to detail:
pauper... european...
the myth of and if... someone should
keep a calendar denying the sun...
that the moon can also shape itself
toward a frigid

that there's a mongol and he's
not a chinese or a thai or a japanese
culinary invitation...
that i somehow have to tattoo my mind
with such details...
because my skin is best sacred
by not being "scarred" by idiosyncratic
details of SE664397B...

the currency of youth in england
is still composed of a "memory" of Hastings...
such an inglorious battle...
given the norman archers...
and the tumbleweed of flesh of the saxon
protectorate desiring a towing
of a downward ***** of:
the confessor's epiphany...

  dear edward dear little england...
prior to ambitions of empire...
and that zenith...
dickens... jack the ripper...
jester jane... mr hyde...
   it's like... shakespeare is no necessary
rubric: 2 + 2 = 4 new yorker
sauvage...
                              
it's such a currency of suffocation
to have to tow... a height...
the variation of stink....
               a broken bone...
squeezing a delight...
             a marrow juicing of a rattling of
bone...
       procreative on the strategy
of instigating chimes:
variations of skinning wind teasing...
        
my my... it all looks just as plentiful and
as about right... as the currency
invested in a slavic discoteque...

            slaves the partner to
the germs; on high minded peoples
are the hybrids of a sa xony:
modulated to an export..
and an island home...
                 riddle with a homage
to having encountered an ancient:
    "amore" and "psyche":
                       belittling this quest
for taming haggis afghanistan.

HAZE HER - an all female...
pretend... football league sq...
gets a happy sancho ****-virulence
of "hope"... stages a ****...
the group accepts the "nuance"...
the media subsequently deals with
the wound and some maggot...
festering...
i grieve for the 19th century romance...
when... and... where...
women could be adored...
rather than abhorred...
as these... butchers' off-cut sludge...
and slices...
these: me no toy not 'appy...
'appier in bangkok kwing...
   und a lesser queer...

       procrastinating over
fraternity videos...
            because... i am... a sadist...
but because this requires a sadism...
i also have to watch these videos
as a *******...
that famous plumber!
that famous... the "fiction" of fame...
as one... that assures one a permanent
check-mark of continued work...
it's not an Elvis fame...
it's not... rising **** of the new
yearning *****...
it's not a fraternity side-project of;
all are inclusive in...
a game of shame...

    i once enjoyed 1970s *****
cinema... monica rocccaforte style
italian flicks...
    ava lauren ***
         shyla stylez... follow through:
grown attires a ****** readied
exclusivity...
but... what i'm seeing?
that's just ******* base... crude...
juvenilia inc.
              a specctacle
of a suffocating sparrow:
to aid the progress of science...
like ego is the holier than thou
makeshift pilgrimage & pilgrim...
as the dust settles...

the scent of watermelon and of strawberries...
******* with sorority pledges is...
if one could... wish for...
the concept of *******...
and... the delight in teasing a glug
of an oyster... one would... always...
shy with a hope for...
an arabic sensibility...
but one never does...
       one always expects...
russians in afghanistan...
and a miracle of iran to counter...
the ottoman plebs...
given their byzantine inheritance... etc.

one of those impossible tasks
of jerking off while drunk...
with an impeding "hangover" of...
a... "delight"...
in how... ******* can feel...
synonymously akin to scalping /
extracting the *** from new yorkie...
the kippah from
a bar mitzvah...
         a pleasure from an agony...
a pair of eyes from a niqab toll
of *******...
a toothless:
      toothless bake relief...
       a nugget... a toothpick woo..
  watching agony ****
that's not italian 1970s classic...
it's not this belgian sour fetish...
it's this crude: women also play
soccer and toy with game-think...

           it was ****... whenever it wasn't...
and it wasn't... ever...
you can disguise a drunk with a *****
and a pair of *******...
but a drunk impregnate-
              sapphire: blue orb or:
orc stipend...
   which revels in turning chartreuse
into a moss ****** and...
itch...
           that's how i party...
a colour is beside a mere identifiable
word... it's also a sensation...
which... colour can muster...

******* of the sheiks' limbo...
what are these martyrs' promised?
can't they... "somehow" satisfy themselves
with what can already be given...
weißhuren: beruhigendzerbrechlich...

nein mehr meine mutter:
        tod die mutter von alles!

what are these presumptions these assumptions
these decadent dubai posits of camel jockey bribes?!
******* indolent question...
cold warsaw slab.... the farao island "gills"...


festmahl von freur!
                    hören der wind!
conceive a flemish inquiry with
anatomy to mind...
                     ich bitten die meer...
                             pflege für mich...
alt-mutter-meer...
              
                    schoß von und walfisch!
a bangladeshi will cite:
camel jockey and sand-******...

white *******...
      i don't have the heart...
to juice on the hex...
                        
sport akin to *** is for the "uglies"...
as a man... unfathomable...
because "******"...
and the "inconvenience" of
baking... leotard game of gym / ballet...
covert homosexuality...
the whole biological female... ***...
orientation... bypass... wizard of oz...
no thanks... menopause...
new age ******-sadism...
the next earned puppy...
ms. is not a mrs. bovary...
my ******* grandma...
              i'm not gay... just covert...
              sorority ***** vids...
and... auschwitz maiden voyage *** teasers!

like... ich wantz...
         i wollen: ein schälen...
       all remains a chemistry in german...
all is an anatomy in: pennywise
the wicked... puff... and curious candy...

candy kept cain perfect
of h'american'ah...
like some abilist abel... ****-somewhat-"wit"...
no...
no glue for a new, new...
it's the same old... salem witchy-witchy...
dutch lisp...
some better than before belgian congo...
the diamonds! the diamonds and cochccies!

we are weeds in the garden:
the shadows brood concerns first...
the glistening soft affairs
of village people having
to export themselves
to a grandiosity of lunatic stakes
in urban pointers of credulity and concreteness..
i want to call it the death
of a sparrow...
the annoying rebirth of a magpie...
the limbo of a gravitating
silver spoon as the best prized
mythos...

calls a substitute a mother-in-law...
some variation
of a pick-me-up
Beirut granny; boom para giggles
hint.

Under- Staffed.


Heavy with deepest deep sleep
he feels layers begin to un-zip, one by bleary one
and dipped head under the sheets.

Aware of small moving feet creeping away
he starts a hazy ascent but finds another quick
fit of dozing making him stay.

Too early he knows he leaves dreams half done
and grieves battles half-fought which had to be won
but once awakened chores have begun.

He wearily raises sleep-held lids to see standing,
wide-eyed and still night attired, his kids with tray
holding biscuits and milk scarily balanced.

Three little grins singing loudly as planned a great
"Appy Buffdy" and though childishly done his heart
swells as with pride he accepts his fate.

Love is a single Dad doing his under-staffed best.

had i but a relief, in the knowledge of a soul,
i'd have a pleasant thought...
and a tongue crafted, for the parlors
of the French aristocracy,
worthy of... Versailles...
reminiscent of the comparison to...
silk!
but since i do not behave
according to sharing such traits..
then **** the whole load of you
upper-bourgeoisie *****!
'appy?! lost the labor of love...
thankfully it wasn't poetry...
after all, only four people made it to
the jane austen funeral...
like i said:
face of mary shelley on
the fiver... and bob's your uncle...
but no... no! wankers
wouldn't listen!
al' rhy' e' Joe's...
up y'ours!
    y'er *******.... *****!
'appy...
you swindling two timing
'itches?!
'ope you are...
******* infestations of
counter morality among
'eves.

as someone who used to fall asleep listening to Christopher Young's soundtrack for Hellrasier II: hellbound each night for almost a year... i've spiced it up a little... le chant des templiers - chant of the templars... unless it's raining... then falling asleep to the sound of rain... i sort of allowed myself to focus on something i'd best call an: agreeable veneer... each single time i try to avoid banter with colleagues: yeah, i know i sort of must but the mere thought of banter makes me feel ill... i'm not here to make friends, i'm not here to get into a relationship with someone i'm working with... well sorry... so much for a woman's excuse when dealing with football hooligans: oh but you wouldn't talk to your mother, your sister or your grandmother like that... well i'm all three of those things... yeah... sure... and like there aren't men who would *****-slap a "steward" on a ******* whim... while i have the whole 6ft2 and 100kg worth of defense... i'm not here to make friends... we used to have friends in high school, tightly knit friendships, very idiosyncratic in-group / out-group preference... i don't think i had any friends at university: perhaps one Japanese guy, Tomikuni... but by then superficiality kicked in and people were branching into hierarchies and chances of seeking out nepotism... now? again: an agreeable veneer, but deep down i'd rather speak a robotic hello how are, enjoy the match to a crowd of 200 strangers than pretend to be friendly with colleagues... even today i was *******... sure, there was a shortage of stewards, so instead of initially patrolling the crowd upon entry via the park we were spontaneously put on the turnstiles, great! an adrenaline rush... then after we finished that task we were allowed to go back to our original designation... i radioed the control room: control, control, park 3 returning to designated position... copy... the park had 6 stewards designated to patrol it... for a good 40 minutes? who was there? me! and only me... **** it... came 9:30pm and a demented Quasimodo was ringing the bells like there was no tomorrow, i sat on a bench in the graveyard, took off my right shoe and readdressed the situation of a folding sock on my sweaty foot... if these sub-Saharan pseudo-Arabs are thinking about work as: loiter... listen... they once spinned the narrative the narrative that Covid was a "racist" virus... you know how many of these copper-necks i've watched... go into the toilet... do their either no. 1 or no. 2 deed and walk out without washing their hands?! too many... that's how many... pretty much all of them... at least the blacks are actively willing to integrate... imagine if the blacks didn't integrate... would they be singing in the Baptist choirs?! would these blacks even sing, if they remained chained to their African tongues?! and? oh my god, the blacks are the cleanest, most pedantic ******* out there, they can almost compete with white neuroticisms... that's how good they are... but some of these *******... so i sat there for a while drinking too much coffee listening to the bells of All Saints' Church... footsteps: my own... the moon, almost full... alle das ist die nacht! all that is the night! the forever hardly any flow of the Thames... is the Thames a river, or a makeshift: pond?! oh sure, i'm agreeable, at face-value... what i've learned from the English is the double-edged sword psychology... being two-faced... at least a Russian might tell me outright: oi! ****! oh, no no, not among the English... polite comes first, anything else comes second and of note: with dire consequences you were never going to expect... see: flimsy ****... an agreeable veneer... i'm actually gagging for the moment of confrontation where i roll my eyes back, hide my pupil and iris and merely show my eyes as fully sclera entombed before grieving an over-hyped teen... tensing my muscles... over-sizing myself... that's yet to come... i'm currently leaving each shift slightly disappointed... not enough adrenaline... i want, more! but to hell with the current whereabouts of the action... even if i were raised a catholic.... don't protestants get confirmed? sorry, i "missed" being confirmed... i was reading some Gnostic literature... i "forgot" to get get church "approval" or, "disapproval"... whichever... do i care? my current top three tier "guys" to emulate... Jason, Michael... Pinhead... i abhor people that are satisfied with being safe... i hate weakness as much as a **** might abhor keeping to a standard of germs... i abhor, weakness... a lag in responsibility... in drives me nuts! i could almost **** for a thrill of knowing that i'm killing something; lesser... i'd be killing it by also inquiring into myself as... paradoxically being: kind... it... yeah.... oddly enough... "it"... i abhor weakness in people... which is why i am a face of an agreeable veneer...so many ******* are just weak... pencil-pushers... hierarchy-minders... the weak might have inherited the earth... but what "earth" are we speaking off? this, *******?! oh, wow! dementia prone bollocking, right, this one? i need to sleep, i need to remind myself of my romance with the night...

nights like these are so rare... i drink more than i write,
i don't actually care about writing,
sometimes i just want life to sink in...
i left the house after doing some minor chores:
preparing a mushroom soup - oh, not creamy,
none of that English cream soup *******...
clear... a dollop of cream can be added later,
the mushrooms were not blitzed up, sliced... floating...
the broth was based on extracting as much from
a carrot, a parsley root, some celery...
a leek... if only the local shop sold some celeriac...
a bay leaf, allspice, a pinch of cinnamon
some paprika... one or two cloves... fresh leaf parsley...
a mushroom and a chicken stock cube to counter
the need to salt: i still salted the broth a little...
black pepper... obviously i also had to cook some pasta
to later float in and around the mushrooms...
garlic... with its skin on... oh... about three teeth's worth...
all rounded up on a decent amount of butter:
after all... if it's a clear soup... you want some oomph!
since no protein is being used, you need to counter
that lack with some fatty lubricant...
ha... the commute... if i'm lucky an catch an express
train from Southend Victoria into central London
it takes me about 8 minutes to travel from Romford
to Stratford... then the central line to Victoria...
then the victoria line to... ****... two stops... oh...
right... to Victoria station, then the district line to Putney Bridge...
today i had to get a district line to Earl's Court
so i could catch a district line from Edgware Rd.
toward Wimbledon...
just this once i wasn't feeling it...
all afternoon i was exhausting myself while thinking
of Gemma...
******* butterflies, didn't eat anything, drank a little
whiskey... and to think: i used to love coffee with cream
or milk... now? always black... with the added dollop
of whiskey, two sugars...
i saw her again... but **** me... the butterflies weren't
there... i fall in love easily...
but i fall out of love even more easily...
reality kicks in these days... i think i have aged:
falling in love with the idea of love...
reality is bound to disappoint me...
to think that i might be with a woman - earn money...
in order to pay for unnecessary **** is... giving me a limp ****...
that women are the prime instigators of any economy:
what would a man spend money on?
whiskey? bicycles, spare parts... the odd shoe...
some socks?
capitalism is not going to survive the onslaught
of emerging bachelors... skint *******... i know:
i'm one myself... no wonder women need to be propped up...
paid more... why? they'll spend the money!
men won't spend jack-**** on... jack-****...
i still have a mother, i'll sometimes buy her flowers...
but to hell with buying a birthday card...
a kiss on the cheek and a few words...
why would i buy flowers? when i can have daffodils
randomly spurting up in my garden some February?!
am i... going to chew on vinyl: that licorice plastic?
- first time i came across Gemma she was so giddy...
flirty... and that was only on Saturday...
on the ride home she would rest her elbow on my leg...
get a headache... stare at me when i pretended
to not be looking through the side of my eyes...
i mean: for a 39 year old... most 20 year olds don't look
at pretty...
today she was so reserved... cold...
oh... right... well... thank god i had an ideal in my head
rather than what could possibly come...
a sort of scenario was playing out in my head
from the movie: As Good As It Gets...
a single mum will always put her offspring first...
regardless of whether the offspring was conceived by
an abusive alcoholic ex that beat the kid and choked her...
sure, sure, i'll allow all people to have that *******
luxury of being existentially filled by having children
they can subsequently ****-up...
me? i'm just happy when i grab the eyes and full attention
of a 4 year old girl looking at a glowing marble /
fluorescent squid that i become momentarily...
at least in their eyes... perhaps this current job i'm doing
really is a stepping stone to becoming a secondary school
chemistry teacher... oh **** me... if i got into a primary
school environment: i'd have my fun...
it's also good that i have an underground sort of mindset...
to the brothel i go: eerily 'appy oh oh...
- since Saturday after first meeting Gemma
i sort of forgot to ******* - oh, none of that only-fans
crap, scented candles, ****** or streaming...
like i once noted: on the throne of thrones...
take a **** which oddly enough is always predicated
by ******* while sitting down...
*******? i sometimes need to relax the **** muscles...
******* helps... and then a quickie in the shower...
yeah: but after our second encounter today:
with so much reservation...
it was going to be either Kendra Lust or Samantha Saint
on my mind...
why do all the pretty ones always go down
the route of ******* or prostitution?
is it the sort of mentality that beauty ought to be shared?!
i mean: **** me... an oak tree is beautiful...
it can / has to be seen by almost anyone...
is that the same with women?
- so we stood there talking *******... me...
one lesbian (if i were a Don  Juan... she could perhaps be
a nun... but a lesbian? "conquering" that?
eh... not exactly ugly... but a butch mentality...
slap some make-up on, close my eyes... most definitely
****-able) - we ended up talking about bones...
where are the smallest bones located...
i suggested the wrists... the parts of the body most
flexible... Gemma retorted... no... the smallest
bone in the body is in the ear...
now i'm going to google that... to see... ****...
she was right... the smallest bones in the body are
the: malleus (hammer), incus (anvil) and the stapes (stirrup)
and they are located in the ear...
then onto the turnstiles... oh god... the turnstiles at
Fulham are like a century ahead of the turnstiles at
Oxford... ******* Brummies... lovely folk...
almost if not more lovable than... Scousers...
GEORDIES / MANCUNIANS are not SCOTS!
   don't even get me started on those south western
***** from Bristol...
yeah... well that was great... i felt like a teenage boy for
about two days and now my honeymoon period
is over... reality bit back...
   all my dreams and fantasies crumbled...
                  whatever initial attraction she gave me...
she now was fulfilling her role,
she had a job to do... i was reduced to a status of:
less the person to initiate her, to comfort her to someone
on her plateau, hardly any "superior"...
it's nice to be sober up on this reality-juice...
it makes all the more sense to seek ideals like:
that's a bottle of whiskey that i'm calling ms. amber...
fraulein bernstein etc.
there are always the prostitutes...
it's not like i was going to play a good uncle Caesar
and profane myself with surrogacy of a child that isn't my own...
i don't have the sort of resources.

Love
   Ove
      Ve
         E
Life
  Ife
    Fe
        E
Live
  Ive
    Ve
       E
Free
  Ree
    Ee
      E
Be
  E
Happy
  Appy
    Ppy
      Py
        Y