we used to leave the extra Statistic lesson after 3.30pm, used to jump across the wall over the playground, catch the train home... we used to break fast with dates when Ramadan came along... then the hens came along... that sort of brotherly ******* doesn't really concern me these days... i'd gladly **** your mother these days... like you ***** my mother telling me whatever that ***** said you ought to believe... do i believe in God? do i have to? do i have to believe you said those words rather than a maggot? personally i think a maggot said them... on an existential inspection, you're just someone that goes into a charity shop and buys everything for under a quid - you're just a ******* gypsy to me; but believe me, i really want to be a gypsy, mortgage free, living like river-rat... i'm comparing your intelligence to a donkey when is shouldn't be insulting a donkey... i'd love the circus, the gypsy uncertainty... i can't believe your mother actually liked me... and that you have to lie about me as "non-engaging" schizoid... when i meet your mother in heaven i'll not fail to mention that detail.

it's a funny tale,
how they cite the words          the 21st century
and subsequently ditto them    "     "           "      ,
ever the airs, every the formality,
ever the should have been,
contrasting the ever would haves...
it's hardly a reason to be comparative
with the 17th century,
the 21st century isn't that much
of a surprise... it's not a surprise at all...
it's actually quiet mundane,
the quiet everyday... as said:
via articles definite, and via the charcoal churning:
iron maiden's *strange world
versus duran duran's ordinary world,
as i said: subhuman, cancerous laughs
and still the belittling you:
it was all a worthwhile care for calcium salts,
petroleum jelly and aliphatic acids - some said
sodium acids too...
some mentioned chemists as it was
an aquarium for choir encores to a deafening,
but it wasn't - i too would have learned
the plumber's jacking-off without
groupies... had you minded my intent
to leverage the safety as worth nothing
anything but the Selfie and the jelly-baby sucrose
glue.
i'd like to go back to the 17th century with
the musketeers... i'd be fed less jealous comparisons
with the reigning Louis XIV...
i'd be diverted by an adventure, laying siege to
Lyon, which would mean much more to me
than paying the taxes as a medical doctor....
i'd be agile on the musket, a musketeer,
shooting heads to later write a Don Quixote for
a ballet... but as 21st century's writing proves:
i only wrote because my life was truly banal...
i would't have written otherwise...
had my life the attributes of a Don Juan...
you think i'd have written anything?
only banality prompts you to write...
if you decide to write, and keep banality
as a saintly ordinance best kept unscathed,
well... then you better salt your eyes for an improvement
of the bitterness of shed tears awaiting the
once anthem-blessed glorification a nation likened to Iran
having a pointless streak of competition
sparked alive with a necessity of breathing being excused
so that the competitive acquirement is stocked
and compiled to an encyclopaedic assurance,
preference: A prior to Z.

In a way, I feel like him,
The musketeer, Aramis.
A man, spreading love,
And peace, from his breast.

A soul full of joy,
But blemished by wicked's touch.
Repenting for him and others.
Praying near, a simple blush.

A tongue made of silver,
And well aware who it can slay.
But this strength behind his lips,
Is part of him, in every way.

I sometimes find myself in wonder,
Would he forsaken if he could...
His words of utter sweetness,
So the rest of him, is all that stood.

several addictions have them, several
music genres have them regarding
their listeners -
    hell, a lot of people go by a nicknames,
marijuana smokers are stoners,
or loafers,
     ******* users: coke heads -
    ****** - dope fiends?
         or is that lepers, or is it scurvy?
metal music fans: meatheads
due to their head-banging antics -
the punks the ikes,
            the gays queers -
the transgender folk trannies -
     the feminists the ****** -
although i'd call them the sapphos sisters...
anyway...
    they can beat you down with regard
to your own antics -
i'd love to see another pissy-pants
  annoy oliver reed, and see if he'd laugh...
that being said:
   alcoholics probably have the best nickname
compared to the rest of them...
ha ha - hellraisers.
ah, on that note, having mentioned oliver reed,
oh, his athos? pristine performance...
it's gonna sound gay, but i also had
a crush on aramis: you know,
that refined english gay gentlemen without
hissy fits, what can you do,
you're young, your brain is moulding,
it will full decide aged 25...
  as it turns out: it was just a glitch of a child;
anyhoo, i watched this somewhere,
that heath ledger inclined himself
to pinch a doppelganger's case for his
role as the joker, after watching a few
tom waits interviews...
     it wasn't exactly theft, given that actors
are the respectable thieves in this world,
besides that,
   so there i was, watching the 1972
film henry viii & his six wives -
and as henry viii (donald pleasence)
started to age... it dawned on me,
in a subtle way: hey! oi oi!
     it's tom hardy playing bane!
obviously without the mask and the chain
smoker's voice raspy voice -
just the mannerism / punctuation marks
in the performance;
wouldn't you know - i've actually found
a suitor, and ****, even if the production
back in the 1970s was low...
   it doesn't matter: i was watching, actors!
i was watching the respectable thieves!
i was watching actors and thieves and actors
and thieves!
actors these day? more like burglars...
and there is a difference...
    acting, as if the audience isn't in the cinema...
sneaky little buggers...
back when acting was thieving!
i still think my favourite cinematic moment
in history,
  is when octavius caesar (roddy mcdowall)
reacts to the news of mark antony's
(richard burton) death:
the soup is hot, the soup is cold,
antony is alive, antony is dead...
                    and then the furore!
those really were thieves before they were
actors... not they are "actors"
        when in fact they are burglars.

Once upon a time,
letters would come,
wrapped in blue,
air mailed,  handwritten:
behave, be brave,
dad loves you
- he was away, in the war.

Behave, she did,
in white uniform.
A first great gift
to remember forever,
a book, short kid stories,
one on the moon, oh so envied
up above, can I reach you?

Words and pages
filling days
brought to life
a love to live, in making believe.
Aramis, not d'Artagnan,
Lancelot, not Arthur,
and a thief master of illusion
and a rebel with a scar
- hearted heroes,
in solitude and grief,
living in love, for one, for all.

Misbehave, she did,
a collage she made,
my kingdom is so not
in this world,
oh such a lonely,
not even silver
nor jolly jumper
were to be found
to walk with her
down the road.

Bravely she tried to thrive,
standing,
a willow by the river,
wind, bring me a bird song
or I'll surely die.

The heart shivers,
is this the chant
she was waiting for?
Words give her back
to the child she was,
on toe tips,
reaching for a moon.

Let her live
in delusion, why not?,
find me in this dungeon,
oh golden hearted,
please be real,
make me believe.

And the child does,
and she can not.
Or can she?
So sorry, daddy,
please understand.

come on, we can at least compete with the asiatics of chinese or japanese speakers, like the arabs can compete with sanskrit, and admire hebrew skeletons.

come on! tom petty just died! this is not a
dawid bovie effigy, worth remembering,
it's harcore americana
and even i feel no mortal transcendence
momentary: standstill,
    he gave me more mornings worth living
through to an afternoon than davie ever did...
hand on my heart, come on
mary jane's last dance,
   or *i won't back down...
he was always someone to me as something
akin to a mix of chris rea & bruce springsteen,
and so i find myself woodpecker scratching
off a piece of writing,
  because, just because, i want to walk
in england so the cross is left intact,
namely the hospitalier cross of malta -
and i have a t-shirt with the cross,
and a word underneath stating: malta...
so i chicken scratch, woodpecker the letters
off with the index finger...
    i like the "compass" as it is...
     price dies, everyone goes mental,
david bowie dies, everyone goes mental,
tom petty, or chris cornell singer dies...
  i must have outdated tastes in music...
           because everyone just shrugs,
keeps their ground, and waits for
the next grey-mass massacre...
    mary jane's, yeah tom, call it like that,
it's still mary and juan in a ****** package,
like howlin wolf called ****:
      that backdoor man attitude...
you seriously can't conjure up more backdoors
than *******...
      and then the man who loved
animals said to his female ***** -
honey, i have my prayers to keep to,
and i feel no cruelty towards you
being argued, to survive the homosexual
apocalypse.... it's all dorthy rainbows
and ruby shoes from here-on-in...
   come on, tom petty just died!
          i can't be a matt hardy with liszt and
cigars and women and:
     i'd put those jerky twinkles in about
10 wheelchairs and call them
charlie chaplins subsequently...
       why this desire for women's attention?
i hate shopping! i can cook and i love
cleaning the house esp when drunk,
so, i listen to too much music and
the more female talk i'd hear from any
woman other than my mother i heard
i'd prefer the shout of a close range bullet...
and as brother aramis said:
the best advice? is to not give any advice,
just give the narrative, and
allow people to chip in...
           tom petty must died, along with
60+ others and 500+ others maimed,
come on stop tangling me in gambling,
that antithesis of prophetic thinking,
and that's true enough,
  gambling is the antithesis to prophetic thinking...
but tom petty just died, and all i get
it a **** in a hiroshima's worth of attention,
but when dawid bovie dies
i have to suddenly state my transgender
  orientation! not that i have any...
nonetheless listening to tom petty is like
watching back to the future...
   oh, right, you want the chemist
turned linguist tell you further via
indications -
                             dáwíd bòvié -
the ò comes from the automated diacritical
markings on iota...
without the dot it would have been
otherwise four times the acute...
oh wait...
  reminder...
               dáwíd bὼvιé -
                 and yes, i was hit on the head
by a swing as a child,
no wonder i have made an easy life
having complicated the language
as i have...
    but automating diacritical markings
as the english have, is just a lazy
explanation... to what's exactly pedantic
for the argument of arabic
                  equally perpetrated;
               ὼ = ó,
and a wild sensed comparison of
congregative attributions with a missing
father caron...
    for ὼ = o,
            as much as ó = ω.

odd, some of my family members have the
surname saracen written on their gravestones.

krzesimir dębski - husaria ginie...

a mirroring of a sensation...
the british overtones of levelling:
what we have, not made former,
by conquest, but the russians have...
we will exact... as being the best wishes..
of: and each citizen...
will be allowed... to have his egocentric
trip; minus the hindu psychadelics....
his crown.... i who have found
and bound... a freedom
and ******* within the realm of:
the formal and the informal zunge...

you are holding onto a house of cards -
my friend; and when it comes crashing
down... there... will... be...
no echo... when this folds...
there will no stop-off of the soviet empire...
no grand duchy of lithuania...
no "belarus"... no "ukraine"...
no tricklets of moldova....
not "grand" duchy of prussia...
the people have become... solvent....
darwinism-copernicanism:
no wittgeinstein will help:
what is vogue, was vogue,
will remain vogue, until: bra burning...

i don't know... i guess this esarly stage
of double-crossed exercise in libido is
too much for those modern...
darwinian... chimp-aardvark utopia
seekers... it's never a "solipsistic chimp",
"problem"... "suddenly"
it's a ******* animal farm affair!
stress it once more!
when it was darwin and some greek
uttered the phrase: **** similis!
then "they" unearthed "history"...
"they" looked backwards/forwards
in the heliocentric dynamic...
except on the Faroe Islands in that
geocentric guise... the earth does move
around the earth...
but there's no Louis XIV...

subsequently there's no Alexander Dumas...
there's no Athos - the drinker wise;
Porthos - the sancho, the goat, the ***..
Aramis - the priest... the philanderer...
the don juan in disguise...

what if darwinism was nothing more than
that copernican vogue...
to have to borrow from a hierarchy of
lobsters... of ants...
yet somehow having...

really? are we contesting an ego's hard-on?
prokofiev's troika vs.
prokofiev's lieutenant kijé?
is there really a "vs."?

bones will shackle themselves to:
disowning shadows and
rattles and rumblings...
and... the sort of poverty
of broken into cookies marches...

poliushko polie:
nothing ever said as much as this says:
"we"... the "people"...
out of the window... the babe and the bathwater!
gone!
last remnants of what came part
of the story that constituted:
the two neighbours of europe...
somehow the greeks juggled...
the hebrew: please can the hebrew juggle better!

i don't need cheap british socialism
pseudo-communism:
from under the iron curtain...
where next?!
this? this brixton break-up of
some black whip over a white ****?
let the whips dry up among themselves...
i'll still be looking for japanese gravure...
the bull... the tender girl
in a porcelain shop...

or some "other"...
nonetheless: we'll all be left better off being
all confused...
such as now...

all becomes apparent:
when being guided in the kingdom
of the blind by the one-eyed man...
the dajjal... perhaps a one eared man would suffice...
after all...
i can see... pakistani-pakistani...
and i can see pakistani-english:
slush-puppy centrist...

my eye does not differentiate the two...
even if i have but one...
but it's worthwhile to know at least
two tongues... in this modern global age...
it's not enough to know but one:
abide by one tongue...
the dajjal is not one-eyed...
he's one-eared...
he will be the one to end this current
arabic ****... of sitting on oil beneath
the sands...
he will revel in speaking only one tongue...

next target! no target...
darwin is my new copernicus...
until our next meeting...
when all this sort of regurgitated neu-vogue is
no longer a rasberry beret.

2022... oh dear me: how much i gained from the pandemic
while so many people suffered...
i truly came into my element... i feel like a whirlwind...
like a ******* hurricane...
my heart is a sparrow and a cage and the sparrow
has rabies and the cage is rusty...

what a glorious summer! i'm not in love but i'm also
in love! i'm not in love with any girl...
and i'm in love with my self... actually:
i'm just self-accepting, self-forgiving...
                 that Walter Sickert exhibition did wonders
to me...
the fact that i cycled all the way from Romford
to Tate Britain by ol' father Thames added to the effect...
the fact that i was being checked out
by this one girl in particular...
who came with her "cousin" and most certianly
at least one grandma...
    
   of course i didn't make a move! where's the thrill
of thought when you make "chess" moves?!
i'm a card-player... i like other thrills...
short-term thrills...
   i don't like making moves to equate into
consequences and responsibilities...
the hazardous creature that i am:
        i know my dues...
                        done and tested...
i said NO to one girl telling me:
oh... i just want to grow old and watch the news
on the t.v. with someone...
like **** i'm going to that...
can i invest my attention span in clamouring
into clouds?!
or pretending to play chess looking
at a brick wall?!
or looking at the Ancient of Days in
the bark, branches and leaves of trees?!

i was walking back from the shop... geared up...
had my beef mince... my mushrooms...
my youngling celery...
i already had all the other ingredients
for a... a more diluted Bolognaise sauce...
i like more juices in my Bolognaise...
most people make Bolognaise really thick...
there's no sauce... i hate that...
it's like over-cooked pasta...
            
as long as the sauce is decently seasoned with
bay leaves, all spice pods... paprika...
pepper... salt... ketchup... oddly enough...
fresh chillies...
                    what else did i use?
**** on me...
                        hmm... i'm scratching my head about
to scratch my ***** but refraining...
aha! mixed herbs... mixed Italian dried herbs...
dried basil, dried rosemary, dried thyme...
dried oregano...
  Bolognaise all slurp-y... soup life...
why? it's hot... need more red wine need more
Passata...
   need at least one can of plum potatoes...

fair enough in winter time... but during the summer
months... you need a Bolognaise sauce that's
almost a soup... not not really a soup...
since it's still a Bolognaise sauce... and not a soup...

oh man... i felt like a boss walking
with all the ingredients from the supermarket...
of all the people that bought their concert Red Hot Chilli Pepper
t-shirts from@ whenever it was...
how many will gladly walk around in them?!
zilch... 0... nada...
                  i was wearing mine today...
idiotic *******...
                      
   then crossing the street...
a mongrel poo... a tender looking dog came running
up to me...
  dearest limp of a missing limb...
licking my wounds... my tattoos of plums...
almost picked him up...
while within a second a girl ran up to
me and stated: we've been trying to catch him
for almost half an hour...
Hades... he, who adorns himself with animals...
          
     and no...
   it's impossible for me to like Ed Sheeran...
right now i'm listening to KORTEZ: z imbirem -
with ginger...
i've drank enough..
       i'm just going through the cinema
of my memories...
       it only takes one song...
to undermine Ed Sheeran's performance...

it was great... but it was also... VANILLA...
ICE ICE baby...
i'm sort of reliving the Red Hot Chillio Pepper
Performance and i'm dazed...
first day they opened up with Can't Stop...

second day they opened up
up with Around the World...
that's that's i'm currently listening to...
my god... the second day was such a better playlist...
no Scar Tissue... did they play Californication?
i'm pretty sure they didn't play Under The Bridge...

it's a band man! the energy of the drummer:
Chuck! Chuck! Chuck!
the energy of the bass player! my god the compliments
for the heart of the band with the guitarist...
the romantic: the Aramis...
i'm releasing to the crescendo of Around the World
and i'm like... poker faced me on call...
but now that i have a t-shirt i'm going mildly wild...

seriously... drizzle some anger-salt on me and
with Around the World crescendo?!
i'd be *******: gone... gone...
that's wwhy Ed Sheeran is so un-impressive to me...
one ginger **** after another...
          mate... you need a drummer!
a rascal bassist... an emotional guitarist...
and an altogether together vocalist...
to hell with the Beatles...

   the Beatles had a ****** bass player...
most bands have ****** bass players...
     i level up! i like bands with good bass players...
rhythm guitar(s) my ***... i need bass...
i need a reiteration of the Quintent of Jazz..
you hear me?
              i'm reliving a dream...
i went to a Red Hot Chilli Pepper gig for free...
and i wasn't in love with a girl...

to hell with me ******* prostitutes...
thank god they're o.c.d. about s.t.d.s....
because humid is bad hygiene...

seriously though, Ed Sheeran is vanilla...
when it come to the opening crescendo
of Red Hot Chilli Peppers' of AROUND THE WORLD...
******* vanilla... the shared energy is...
insatiable... oh man...
the shared energy of a band...
he's great... he's great... he's great...
but a band is a band...

        boom: boom boom boom....
and then the strobe lighting... like lightning...
no matter what man alone and what stage...
a band is a band..
with the Red Hot Chilli Peppers the Beatles
are historical relics... leftovers...
seriously... they are...

               i'm more prone to reference myself
toward King Crimson... from staged
zeitgeist era...

DEATH TO THE LUMBERJACK CRITIC!

perhaps REM had that song: night-swimming...
if i could write a song it could be
something along the lines of...
   night-cycling... esp. in winter... gloves, long sleeves,
t-shirt... jumper...
a wooly hat...
and... U2's electrical storm (the william orbit mix)...

what was once a Thai trans-gender phenomenon...
transcendental-genderism...
the Thai-surprise... emerged in the west
like some, language restrictions...

fair enough when the transition period
ends up convincing me,
but what if i can't call a "hammer" a 'hammer'?!
what then? am i supposed to pluck my
eyes out, lie to myself...
if a trans-male passes off as fuckable,
if a trans-male passes off as attractive
to the opposite ***...
fair game... open season...
but if that's not the case... let my just
amputate by ******* phallus...
raise it in the air and swing it like some
raw deal mr. *****... for ****'s sake...

so much for mere burning bras...
if this subject matter has its recurrence gravitas...
i think i'll just stop merely thinking,
and writing: altogether...
it was fair enough when the Thai lady-boys
did it... but those Thai lady-boys,
those Thai-surprises didn't invest themselves
in changing language:
i can see authentic dysphoria when i see it...

don't change my language: ergo....
i will not change your feelings, decisions to change
your preferred ***...
the ancient Greeks had a notion of reincarnation...
they deemed men reincarnated as women
as lesser creatures, a form of punishment...

if reincarnation is to be minded: well, originally,
there are only a fixed number of individuals
that pass from one life to another,
the rest are just zombies...
parasitical souls... host bodies...
there's currently a backlog of reincarnations
taking place... it's almost like we're living
in times where the last judgement is taking place...
in the metaphysical realm...
hence we're noting all these... outlier concerns...

"concerns"...
if the topic wouldn't creep up, i wouldn't be
writing about it, but the topic infringes on my language...
gender neutral pronouns, which were already
available via the Royal One and the Royal We,
for ****'s sake! for ****'s sake!

one ought to...
we ought to...
                 what about languages that employ
noun distinctions via: a masculine form, or a feminine form?
i know that English (as a language)
doesn't apply these distinctions...
can't a chair be masculine?
you can't rid certain languages of... "sexing up" their nouns...
it's inherent in them... that's why this
lineage of argumentation is so successful
in the English speaking word... grammatical bypassing
techniques...

it;s like a pet peeve...
but... there's winter...
(a) you get drunk quicker,
(b) you breathe cleaner air, air so clean you almost choke
(c) the insects are hibernating
(d) the trash doesn't stink
(e) people are dulled, lullabied into submission...
(f) the nights are longer
(g) you get to employ the use of pockets more
often, not to hide items of interest,
more... to shelter your hands,
should you not be equipped with gloves...
(h) snow, if, any...
(i) the moon entertains the night sky more often,
more so than in summer,
it's the winter sky riddled with constellations...
+ the moon....
evidently missing during the spring or summer
months...
opaque nights, when the moon is absent...

some (j)? maybe.... pull me up before i decide
to drown....

i better be doing the duties of chores,
than merely lounging...
women live a waste of tine....
my mother best invoked...
if i can't invest in my mother,
i can't translate that to a woman
i'd ****... period...
whatever, seriously, whatever...
time's up!

  language ambiguity...
there's either a formal rule of language...
or there's an informal rule of language....
some schizoid framework...

i want to rub my hands together...
i want to make fire from friction..
i want to doubly desire a skeleton...
i want to "hush"... rather... breathe into my cusp
of hands to warm them up...
  
pouring cold water onto cold hands...
it sometimes makes them feel:  warmer...
god... girls... even 50+ with fringes...
then again: i prefer pixie girls
with short-hair... but that's just me...
toy bring toy...
**** it... let's play the proper sort of games!

ha ha... Alexander Dumas taught me one thing,
and one thing alone:
don't give advice... some people will regret it...
Alexander Dumas or... Athos, Oliver Reed...
how "they" treated this poor drunk when he was
shying away from his prime...
little, suffocating, sociopaths...
   little people, terrible people... somehow...
"necessary" people...
i'd die twice to be thrice honest...
i'd live this once... to...
    ensure everyone lived it so, under their disguise
of individual rights...
best be left, forgotten...

coaching packages, blah blah... just, *******, swim...
or... better... take up bicycling!
Athos or Aramis? Athos.... but i'm renowned to be prone
as the joker, team player... a Porthos...

ugly truths... i also fancied a richard chamberlain...

you don't come against my use of language
without consequences...
a Thai surprise is one thing,
but telling me, what i ought and ought not say?
is another... i will raise Adolf & Satan himself
should you overbear your concerns:
which are no concerns to begin with!

don't tread on eggshells that become
hostile objects! keep me in mind, don't leave me out
on hostile grounds... you want to go home,
i want to go home, there's a football match taking place...
appease me, while i tease you... let's pretend i'm
in a position of authority...
let's, just, pretend... savvy?

thank god for my figure... 6ft2... 98kg.. a beard... i might just look menacing enough, when the park has been emptied... that's the reception i got, from the faces in the crowd... they read: i saw you in my dreams! i liked that...

i forgot about love a long time ago,
i forgot about being endearing to toddlers,
even though, i can't tell them apart to cats, or dogs...
it was almost a pleasantry to forget about love,
i don't think i want to experience that
uprooting of sensation...
i don't want to feel loved,
the sensation of feeling loved would...
weaken me...
i don't want to feel being loved...
i like this... impartiality of the impersonal...
it leaves me with a three-dimensionality of a a person...
what good is love,
when you can't trust someone?
what good is love,
when you can't... be assured?
what good is love...
when it's only mitigated via
being loved: rather than also: loving?!

i curse these days!
so seemingly pristine! best they be kept
forgotten!
there's no love here...
at least there's minding a civil obligation...
but love?!
i can't be ***** into loving someone,
whatever trans-racialism is invoked...
you want me to **** a man
pretending to be a woman?!
no thank you...
you want me to **** an African woman
pretending she's Asian?
what, you're going to inject me with
some Sildenafil? am i to receive an
"auto-correct" hard-on, for ****'s sake?!

the war is staged... it's not yet physical...
come on... it's still in its infancy... wait a while..
give the chess pieces a moment to somehow
"reflect" on their re-coordinated repositioning...
wait a little... it takes time...
me being ******* is no clear assumption that
things will turn awry...
it takes time, dedication, repetition of already
stated mistakes...

wait a little... live a lot...
come to think of it... if they, "they" gave me a rifle...
tomorrow... i think i'd be bound to being found as:
trigger-happy... sowwy... i think i could... i would be...

oh but i'm pretty sure this current zeitgeist of politico has already ******* a wrong type of crowd... the schizoids & the psychotics... if i'm on board, if i'm being receptive to, their sentiments and i think them bogus... n'ah... n'ah ah ah ah, ah... sorry... this will not pass, not even: nicht sogar mich! not even me!

as a man in Warsaw:
i feel like a fox in London...
as a man in Warsaw
i feel like a fox in London...

why do crows only fly in pairs over the skies of
England... why do they,
flock on the continent, in swaths,
in such numbers as to secure them
the stature of intimation?
as if, Barbarossa is to be resurrected?

i'm an old Romantic at times, i never keep up with the modern
times: from time to time - or rather: pretty much
all the time...
         give me a quote by Aramis from the Three Musketeers
regarding a woman's hands...
how the best hands do not show any protruding veins
on them... or rather: as he described it using his own hands
he lifted them up... the veins disappeared...
the hands of a priest...
    or even the easily infatuated Julien Sorel from Stendhal's
the Scarlet and the Black...
      breaking himself over little signs of affection...
after all... what prompted me to try to start courting
   Jeminah? she rested her elbow on my leg after we were
driving back from a shift at Fulham...
that's all it took...
            can you imagine if a car full of sewage workers
were coming back from a shift and one of them
rested his elbow on the other guy's leg? a bit weird...
but that's the dynamic of men working with women...
there are perpetual love interests at hand...
it feels like being back in a high school playground
sometimes...
     over excited? moi... just saying...
                 great with friends... but when it comes to
colleagues... not so great...
i checked my other bank account today: phew...
so the money did come through...
     well... that's me seeing Khedra very soon...
she's getting impatient... even i can tell by the length
of my ***** hair: since i haven't shaved since the last time
i saw her... and i'll need to get that sorted...
she sent me two pictures of herself in daylight...
without make-up... she looks even more pretty au naturel,
fresher: less wax prone... like mineral water...
she looks: Turkish and not Persian...
     so... well... we're not going to be exchanging
taking selfies: i remember a time when there was a time
when people would take pictures of people...
gathered together, or just alone... it wouldn't descend
into this: i need to take a picture of myself...
so what did i send her... women love cats...
   some... doesn't matter... i donned the Maine ****
sleeping in my bed with a green beanie:
massive grin on its face... i sent her that...
i was trying to convey a sense of warmth...
    how animals trust me... the transfer is through...
once these shifts are over and i have a week's worth of
break i'll visit her... give myself a proper wash-up /
wash-down... trim my public hair... turn up a boy
of on par with glanz (the German pronunciation
of the Z... tss)
           but i'm not... like today...
we were going to Oxford... we pick up this girl:
my neighbour's daughter who got me this job...
she's late... she's sleepy... she asks whether she can rest
her head on my shoulder... she does... snoozes off
for about half an hour...
            we do our shift... *******...
the same girl that had my love interest fired... Jeminah...
you know how girls are...
scratching biting little ******* from time to time...
after all the drama Jeminah's friend Alisa quit...
apparently the hours worked were not worth the money
earned... but it all came down to Jeminah's
son being friend with Alisa's son and...
   i stepped in revealing two lies... maybe even three...
because it got to the point that the boys' friendship
would be dissolved because of their mothers' drama...
anyway... on our way back... all's good... alles güt...
    but my neighbour's daughter is sitting next to me...
she finally drops semi-dead... she cuddles up to me...
head starts resting on my shoulder...
after a while it completely falls onto my chest...
i was going to say... why not take a kip on my legs?!
and that's the thing... she's on me
  and... it only took Jeminah's resting elbow on my leg
for me to make moves...
home-made wine, banana loaf...
wanting her dog to lick the burn wounds off of my
knuckles until i bled... flowers on Valentine's day...
reading about her son's poem back to him...
blah blah...
but in this scenario... i felt nothing...
she's not exactly an unattractive girl but...
   when you don't feel anything... obviously it's all
a bunch of crap...
i'm the ******* joke of the whole team...
apart from the nickname Daddy...
   o.k.: o.k.: it's warm... we haven't started the shift yet...
i had three buttons on my shirt undone...
yeah... i have a hairy chest... and a hair torso in general...
Johnny ******* Bravo...
             i get it... but at the same time:
i want to be as much obvious to the dynamics of
women as possible...
like i once said: i love women...
   which doesn't translate into: i want to understand women...
but they're not unicorns... mythical creatures...
but i have worked in an exclusively male environment...
well... the construction industry has changed a little
since... the only women on site were the girls
working the canteen... but even then... mostly guys:
even in the canteen... because? men cook better...
at least i should ******* know since my grandmother's
Sunday roast chicken is a curse of chicken *******
coming out so dry i would always think:
chalk?! or cheese?!
             i introduced my mother to the Indian cuisine...
i perfected the curry... by any stretch of the imagination
of European standards of cooking this cuisine...
but in this sort of scenario...
    fine line... fine line...
               because as men aren't we so of expected...
we end being more care-givers and protectors than women...
a shoulder to cry on... or... like in this scenario:
to fall asleep on... i'm glad she sunk onto my chest
and didn't call further down the body...
i could hear her breathing heavily into my shirt...
well yeah... because when i put on cologne...
i pray my beard... my neck and my shirt...
and cologne is best accented when worn with
prolonged expose to air, sun and... a little bit of sweat...
oh no no... not when it's ******* in your face
like a whiff of ammonia!
and certain fabrics behave differently with regards
to how cologne is stored...
       again: i have no problem working with women...
but... there was bound to be some ******
tension on the ******* horizon...
    i love this word, i write it... but i know i'm going
to be eating some letters... surds...
inevitable... or... rather... not eating some letters...
changing the vowels around...
   IN-EH-V'EH-TABL'
                
         Johnny ******* Bravo... Daddy... cute...
   cute... but do i need it?
               i really hope these women don't find out
that i'm a night prowler... that i go to shady parts
of London and look for *** in brothels...
      because... oh hey... he looks like the boy next door...
shirts whiter than snow...
ironed... trousers ironed... pristine hygiene...
smelling good... well yeah...
   that's why i have exclusive rights to **** a Khedra
without a ******...
and there's no mention of possibly catching Syphilis...
even said: and i'd trust a ******* with my life:
hell... i'd entrust this one with taking it...
she said two things:
   (1) even if you ******* into me,
           i won't get pregnant... and...
(2) a ****** will not protect you against any STDs...
personal hygiene...
    well yeah... wash your hands regularly...
your body... if you have ******* pull it back
and wash the parts that will be exposed and engaged
in ***...
   it's that ******* simple...
               cleanliness ought to be considered
an 8th virtue...
   or perhaps even the 1st...
sorry...
  but... cleanliness?!
that's above: chastity, temperance, charity,
         diligence, kindness, patience and humility;
all those come after...
after you ensure you find yourself agreeable
with the sensibility of not being... repelling...
                a clean man is a chaste man,
he's also a temperate man...
              he actually can be charitable...
he is diligent... blah blah...
                       that's the cruelty of this world...
the affection and love you want to give to someone:
outright rejects it... the opposite of you who're attracted
to: call it mental health "issues"
call it self-sabotage... i'm was so willing to move
past my past mistakes...
   as a man i thought i'd be the one talking about
my past relationships... turns out... women talk
about them more...
what the **** am i? a steward and a psychologist
all bundled up into one?!
i know more stuff about the people i work
with than they know a month's worth of me...
like today... i was explaining to this dyslexic
coworker... is **** an offensive term?
what if you were to attach a hyphen to the word:
treating it like a prefix?
    English is sometimes lazy...
you say and write: couldn't instead of writing
and saying: could not... you don't say Afghanistani:
you say: an Afghan...
            i don't call Jews Jews:
Hebs: short for Hebrews
or Yids: short for Yiddish speaking folk...
  i followed up: why is everyone so ******* sensitive...
why are we walking on egg-shells?!
shh... shh... don't make a sound...
    ****** is supposedly offensive in H'america...
to be perfectly honest... if anything is to be deemed offensive:
Pole is... ****** is a term that those
spaghetti-monstrosities and pizza jugglers
of the American-Italian consortium can get
one foreign word: right... outside of the realm of:
cappuccino... paparazzi! ******* sing-along *******...
oh this guy spotted me...
when i mentioned the dynamics of English like
i wasn't an Englishman...

a bit like... on the Niger river i came across
a giggle... but the giggle's name started
with N and was strangled by vowel catcher of: err...

it's that ****** simple...
all the wars can happen... proxy... authentic or otherwise...
but this world is harsh... i wanted to love someone
whom i became: enthralled by...
REJECTED!
                   it's not like she was offering
anything more than a headache...
perhaps she figured out that she was sparing me...
but... this current approach?!
by my neighbour's daughter...
           falling asleep sniffing her dreams out
from my shirt...
slobbering on my chest...
         but... but... i can't return this affection...
that's what's so heartbreaking...
   not with Khedra "on the side"...
           i mean: Khedra is a bombshell by comparison...
she might be a *******...
but she's a ******* bombshell...
again: more Turkish than Persian when
she's not wearing any make-up...

             i'm always happiest when i leave
my coworkers behind...
again: are we working?
          today i tended to the disabled spectators...
the joke ran along the lines of:
my partner said this to X and he said it back
to me: oh yeah... all i have to worry about is...
them running onto the pitch...
                sometimes i just get tired of English humour...
it's funny... but it's hardly inventive...
it's sort of blatant... like sarcasm...
                     i find it painful to laugh...
then again: laughter is painful to begin with...
i find more relief in the blissful agony of tears...
when i hear a beautiful piece of music...
that's when i truly relax...
besides that: i'm either tense or paranoid or
both...
                  
   let's face it... between the religious crowd...
with their Bibles and their Qurans...
what's the secular crowd like?
   they too have their "bibles"... 1984...
        Brave New World...
two books... that ever, could ever come:
into existence... i'm sort of bored talking to these people:
these: adherents of... oh wow...
the pristine idea! let's follow up on with it...
aren't we? we wanted it to be true for so long
we didn't even require Soviet propagandists to
undermine western Western Civilization...
if it can be called: at best that...

i wish i wrote something in more interesting times...
mind you: she acts like sje isn't:
but she's a victim of ****...
i'm the shoulder, the chest...
she gets to fall back on...
                       life's is never truly written:
it's lived first... then... somehow,
down the line... shrapnel is echoing....
                      i've been waiting to take a ****
for about 5 hours... not i'm farting
like barking mad dog...
                             what violins for the fiddles
of that's this supposed life.

hanging around scenic routes...
mostly associated
with the dead already
given their stupor:
bonquet: death by lilies...

   the tsars-in-cement...
cemeteries...

           щ... o.k. windowlicker...
o.k. RE-****... savvy: harasho...
Blagoveщenskы

no... i'm pretty sure...
the western slavic is NOT:
ъ, ь, ю, я, Ⰹ vs. Ⰻ...

but it is a: ы...

                                  once more!
encore... blah blah...
and that tuna contra dolphins
lethal weapon evita
live forever!

siberia is no sahara...
one the tundra... the other
camel-jockey printing "wordsworthian"...
anecdotes...

oliver reed...
died filming gladiator...
there was really only one
athos - oliver reed...
there was only one aramis:
richard chamberlain...
porthos frank finlay /
d'artagnan - der york...

              b'ah! blah blah!
kitty!

what if... season 3... or season 4...
or 5... when louis XIV
came across, a... Cardinal Richelieu?
in the t.v. series Versailles?

   "m'eh": nicole calfan...
busy busy busy...