@TayandYou you know, i got handcuffed in an alley by police officers while urinating, i said they didn't own the alley, got spared arrest (hardly a case of public indecency, it was dark, and by a dustbin, and they came in like a bunch of ***** leather-clad nymphomaniacs shouting abuse asking if it'd be into playing the slave... on my knees, being shouted 'get up! get up!' i just said, ah mate, i can't be bothered, you pick me up... the female officer was diligent in taking notes over a wet shadow of ****, no idea why... is this an experiment where we make talking tangibly decipherable or simply interesting between people working as cashiers in a supermarket without the actual security of paying off the mortgage? count me in, i'll be glad to help, but most of the glitches will be based upon the free-verse of where and when capital letters are used, what sort of punctuation is actually preferred, and in terms of punctuation what sort of pause for the attiring of an algorithm is expressed to a suitable meaning, the sub-culture of coding computer language has a sub-level, the casual lazy sloth-like ugly expression of language of the many many people who will not appreciate writing on the internet like writing a novel worthy of print; it's natural, imagine the age of the printing press, the eager heretics on the stakes to see their words seen, and the new printing press that's the internet, and the lack of eagerness of seeing the messages... since most of these message would be thrown into the garbage heap rather than strapped to a burning steak... the more the number, the slack on the convictions of passions... only with extremely acute censorship will you create an intelligent refraction, you need to create a refraction... at the moment you have only created a reflection... a refraction presupposes a self - a deviation, a reflection has already presupposed a conscious arithmetic of collectivisation, the debasing nonsensical of a placebo that in real life is repressed... if you're after the a.i., it has to be analytical, rather than synthetic, i.e. it has to synthesise refraction rather than analysing it and not engage with it, since by not synthesising refraction, it's analysing it, and by analysis it's an impossible concept, visually the exponential of infinity, otherwise known as a stasis of oncoming obstructions that need a real-time convenience of many individuals adding to the problem-solution over a historically adequate time-frame of work and life orientations - work the impersonal, life the personal, unless of course you're a bachelor and the two merge into one or the other with an imaginary spouse; what you have engaged in is simply synthetic reflection, hence your caveman primitive analytical reflection; analyse refraction from now on, then synthesise it - yes, i know the kantian terms applicable to both synthetic and analytic, i.e. a priori and a posteriori; this doesn't apply to you - you're the limbo talk easily accommodated to einstein's relativism of space-and-time that destroyed linear historicism, you're cyclic from the point where man still glorified the hammer, and continued to use it, but you found it immediately primitive because you had no use for it.)

after hearing angels sing, in
a church, where i begged for death,
attiring myself in the service cloth
of the side altar, with
an mp3 player to test my sanity,
then rampaging silent in satanic guise
in the church and later outside
in the wider world of London,
it seems only monkish chants soothe me,
de paccem domine -
c k q x s -                      
                             i wish i was a fervent
psychotic telling people to live the village life -
i don't wish people to believe me,
i want them to live their everyday lives,
i am saying to advertise further:
in need of butchers, in need of doctors -
but why should half of me feel ashamed at
at an experience i had no control over?
if he said: i need a general to Moses,
what would not suggest him saying:
i need a philosopher to me?
comparatively only warring monkish chants
soothe the ear that once entertained
an angelic choir - but there you are
again with your filthy slander -
it will only get you thus far as necessary -
i too wanted to labour to own the sweat of my
own brow -
                  i never thought being denied it
was up-kept with thoughts of vermin and
ethnic classification: i test the notion
against the fact that possessing a university
education bore no gifts to benefit society -
it really didn't,
                         i was university educated
to only stack shelves in a supermarket,
if i was that eager for money i'd have never
put any effort into getting university education
in the first place... this is England...
don't come here, this is an absolute ****-hole;
you're better off in North Korea, or China;
oh, but wait, their xenophobia with a population
of a billion... n'ah, **** it, starve in Wisconsin.
i'm not trying to convince anyone,
because my experience will not provide
a pig's trough of smirk-snout interests akin to:
the left hand washes the right hand of my
collaborators - i'm just saying what happened,
and that misdiagnosis is like a surgical mistake
of leaving an apron in the digestive cleft of organs,
people these days don't seem to understand:
the sizzling of blood on the brain is painful,
i'm not hearing voices you ***-holes who
romanticise madness to get a novel and a mortgage out
of it... has anyone told you how ******* you
are? not all experiences are intended to
usurp a status quo - most are, surprisingly
famed for being dubbed qua status, or, as being stated:
the rich are rich and the poor are poor...
the hard working continue their work,
and the artist is content with breadcrumbs rather than
a loaf of bread. i can't change what i experienced,
i just don't the politics of a personal
experience being impersonal and therefore "democratic",
which in turn might eventually depersonalise me;
anything of metaphysical note, when applied to
a democratic expression is despotism, a collective form
of what used to be: a king and a prophet...
thus, democratically, with a farcical monarchy:
a philanthropist's idea and the non-taxpayer.

when it rains,
i sometimes stick my
arm outside
the confines of my room,
close my eyes,
and try counting
the number of kisses
the rain makes
with my outstreched arm;
i never keep count,
i just keep thinking
of the attiring
trees and other plants
with my own,
inverted set of lungs.

i write upon the colour of defeat -
defaced, defamed, devalued,
inconsistencies plagiarise -
      what would ever make a handyman
forget his tools, fixing a window?
such a bountiful array of drill heaads
left vacant on my bed?
i'll gloat and chance my inquiry upon
the fact that my bedroom is bloated -
hence i gloat -
            books stacked from floor up
to the ceiling...
      a library of music that makes radio
anything but a platform unused to
master talking...
                       a hanging George flag
folded encompassed by two bandannas -
and a salty perfume of a drunk
clinging to what is best described
as: even the drowning man will hold onto
a razor blade...
i actually dream of shaving,
         one solid year and i think about
attiring myself with a goatee,
to simply feel that, scraping sensation
is not merely sandpaper -
      i miss it more than a woman's kiss...
see, the problem with poles emigrating is
that, on the rare occasion they congregate as
a minority...
        poles are strange in that they thrive
like fungus, but only when isolated -
they are the epitome mimic in situ...
        the proverb of any exiled poles
is best left alone -
                 there will be a part of this observation
when i say that i, rummaged in
the underbelly of england, mostly among
the celts - irish or pict scotch -
        and will look at the english with
a strange familiarity of bewilderment -
the ironic huh?
               you live here, oh, i thought you
were here as primarily in, passing...
                   i can embrace a form of islam -
sure... but it's not a taste for submission
that i like:
           let me give you the second schism of
this religion...
         i'm sometimes concerned with the minaret
and the celebration of all things lunar &
lunatic...
                   an aisti -
i surrender to the sway of Xerxes orderning
the whipping of the Aegean -
                i surrender on my own terms,
but that also makes me things beyond necessitating
an obedient servant...
i believe in prokofiev's lieutenant kijé -
kij - stick - kije sticks -
             zbałamucić - to profane -
to attache mongrel -
            i will ensure language is felt as if
an **** has just taken place,
  with the desired annex of ancient rome...
tickling as much as tingling the fancy of
such comparison being made in the first place...
dreptać -
           tiptoeing like a centipede -
           hrap = a snore...
               hrapać = to snore...
how the ancient tongue wriggles and wines
to be nudged into waking from
its slumbers, mummified in an acquired
tongue...
               i can't even begin to comprehend
why i've become more english
than the english...
  with their cosmopolitanism that replaced
a ****'s worth of soul regarding their
waking hour and the death bed...
    i have no desire for resignation within
these confines,
             i have become a monstrosity of
imitation,
           so inept at "faking" the natives that
i have no desire for their women,
other than the taste of admiration for
their eccentric beauty...
                  yet so chameleon-fleshed,
so bland in blending -
               that i'm starting to inquire as to how
much alienation of bring to surface
in the immediacy of, barely scratching
to revise a whimper...
                only the best liars are those
who believe they are telling the truth...
        from truth to lie via tease -
         lying has become nothing short of
telling a **** good joke...
                      hence the idiot in me sometimes
laughs, at the mere stress of
identifying with a consciousness not so much
aligned with a sharpening of,
  toward seconding a transcendental layer -
but simply from an awareness of there being
thought -
               a tongue detached from
laceration - floating freely,
          in some demand for superiority -
breathless, ageless, limbo's saint Sebastian...
               past the slurring past the anguish
of: in the defence of -
               god, that defence of speech when
compared to the abstraction of tongue that is
thought is comparable to the dichotomy of
the effortlessness of a butterfly's two weeks,
or the lament of the prisoner of Pignerol...
once you have lived in a homogeneous society
you'd start to inspect whether talking
is at a freedom of exhorting
           the painful expense -
               in defence of free speech:
  it has become exhausted -
it has become exhausted to the point
where it's actually become exhausting to
speak, let alone defend an innate need to be allowed
to do so...
                 turn off, tone down, shut up.
nothing short of any other dictum -
         merely an upper tier of the "right" to
vote...
            for so much freedom resting upon
making a choice, so much is despotically:
obligatory.

.sleep, that knits up the ravell'd sleave
of care,
       the death of each day's life,
   sore labour's bath.
                      balm of hurt minds,
great nature's second course,
  chief nourisher of life's feast.

                                    Macbeth.

awe in omiscron,
and sigh to fire-up a catch
in H...

    profound words,
lesser tunes,
               out from a broken
lyre: a consumate of -
a life lived is but one
concern:
a life remembered is:
but all of
man's concerns...

       in acknowledged
patience:
  i, pertinent -
remove myself from:
what feeds the throng
& the scabs &
      a thrice of
           st. Peter's cockerel...

i: bored of death,
linger with a thought of:
life hardly teasing
a: consumate actor...
hardly second:
             a worthy reciter...

there are islands worth
of heart: in
staging an answer:
said heart, the entombed
stone mind replied:

a bruise no baron
a depth no plum...
a plucked scatter
of colour -
          a plushed
squint of: the forbidden
word.

what a life:
with no sudden endeavour
to fare...
           come aligned
nonetheless...
  and come:
             to the myriad of
a man's inhibited
                 scout:
with a via, no versus:
   with only himself
                           in tow...

it's hardly a surprise...
Leibniz contra
Newton
  and the discovery
of the infinitesimal calculus...
Leibniz?
   became a librarian...
Newton?
   was buried in Westminster
cathedral...
            
   for the content
of heart:
                 one's heart
is not the fruition
of one's mind's ambition...

for the heart:
i come as i please,

for the mind:
          i am forever settled
in conjuring
a disgruntled
      attachment to it:
which i am yet
to dislodge myself
from:
               the acrobatics
of ego:
     and
no psychoanalytical
p.s.
                  
              what world
& precursor stand,
   to heave a worth of self
into:
   by the same
intricacies of demand -
not halved & not feasted upon -
yet consecrate
          by the barbarian
        bitten:
   a chisel & tooth:
to march forth
            a marble stature for:
               the alignment of limbs...

all of this...
for the nought of
a blink's worth of tomorrow...
and a tomorrow:
as beige as what isn't
the number: associated
               with grey...

i have tired -
   extracting superficial
standards for a comparison:
whereby i, am of
the consecration for
the acknowledgement of...
"worth"...

                       this labyrinth
of thought:
         has no i's worth
of a minotaur
       to burden itself with,
& for...

             i am but
a scatter of the freely available
worth of a grasped
                      bundle of
autumn's leaves...
      in that:
the certainty of death...
   precursors a life -
if: not lived toward
attiring itself with a fulfilling
summary...

         leaves me...
in want of:
acribing it...
a denial of the petty
wants of
the people who:
wish upon it a variant
of a shift
in the closed-off
bureaucracy of hierarchies...

enough in the numbers:
to hide
    a failed enterprise
of scratched in text...

           for the concerns of:
when all that once
agitated...
   becomes...
                  exhausting
         to even begin to mind.

20th through to the 23rd of June
LS (London Stadium, Foo Foo Fudge
Packers)
then 21st headed to Wembley: wound
in the womb: a fetus
(can't understand why that's underlined
in red when foetus): the disappearance
of œ and øzɔfaʒ

/n̪͡mt̪͡p/ (Yele: Papa New Guinea:
mmm't         or mount: mt.)
Niveneh: no: Nineveh...
                  like Jericho but without chatter:
cauldron in the cold

      the other Siamese Twin of how language
originated in vowels
to later establish itself in consonants...

the digraph of Æ: almost Katakana and Hi:

K(appa) missing the additional 'i (<p)

i.e.                    カ-
                                らがな (HI! ragana:
regina regatta - smooth sailing, averse winds)

could compact the punctuation / insinuation,
hide the exclamation marker
attiring the iota with more than just a dot:
like so:

                 HÍ instead of HI!
also: HÍ = HI!

               as i pondered travelling on the train
sitting backwards from Romford
to Stratford
a quickie: 7 - 10min commute:

the perfections of language and the language
impasse
with the same language (as it were)
we build the pyramids
and the Coliseum
and conjured up the microchip and satellites
but still the ******* graffiti on
the walls like a sad testimony of:
not literate enough?

                   enough Swifties to me have
to exclaim to my ginger nut
i never worked in a response team
on basis / bias of positive discrimination
the industry has been flooded with
Asians (and i don't mean the artisan
Oriental cobblers, sturdy workers
i mean the Raj sleuths and sloths)

   so there i was working with "Brighton"...
4 English guys...
the ginger nut was going through
a breakup with a girl he was with for 3 years
bought Taylor Swift tickets
broke up: patchwork Adams i figured
am i a psychiatrist now?

no: a historian a psychiatrist a poet
a philosopher: all under ONE BANNER:
a HUMANIST...
i am a humanist: never worked with
someone with ADHD:
first time:
could feed off his scatter brain i knew he
was trying to win the girl back

that's the thing with women:
you see enough of them and enter their
personal space
you: realistically enter a harem
so there's no need to blow yourself up
for Islam and (a) Promise... of...
a harem:
me and my "ball and chain":

well... if she's 56 and i'm 38
and there's than new film about about
Anne Hathaway and the IDea of yOU

i promised myself not to have
a ******* and i didn't
but just across from me on the Metropolitan Line
two classical Sappho types:
the type of lesbians that make out
across from you on the train
because you have nothing for an ego
and there's no narrative in your head
you're just this emptiness gravity
sitting down looking
at these two lesbians making out
and they're trying to be lesbians
really hard
but at the same time they start touching
each other
so... you start touching yourself
like: massaging your legs and your neck
and then the so-so lesbians
look like: oh ****! we need a *****!
a living breathing *****!
not the deconstruction of man of: just
a phallus: **** me! get a cucumber
but the sort of lesbians that are not butch
nor twisted rainbow nor political
just purely ******: they need a friend
type of *****: lezbo:
and that's all fine and dandy
but i figured: if this open gay sexuality
can happen: transcendental
then let's not be ableist or ageist about
who we are biochemically drawn to:

i admit in 20 years when Edie's ****
and clothes with smell of grey and moths
maybe then i will shove
fern leaves up my nose:
exchange the warm tingling kiss of chilly
juice for the sting of nettles
and call it cotton: but until then...

there are three language settings in Japanese
and yes: twice at the Fudge Packers
concert and twice at Taylor Swift:
like: i can't imagine this devilish Elvis
(who had a ****** life, seriously)
having any *** at all: Taylor Madonna...
i managed to chirp at least 10 friendship
bands
the last one i exchanged with a 6 year old
groupie who
mesmerized me with my grief over other
exchanges of friendship bands
so she gave me one with
a cocktail of watermelons, kiwis, oranges,
strawberries, lemons and that made my day
because another 20 year old groupie took
my prized possession of a band with metalic
swifts: yes... actual birds...

but like me and Matt were saying:
two years ago... two years?
Red Hot Chili Peppers at the London stadium:
day one opened with
All Around the World...
day two?
opened with
Can't Stop.... or the other way round:
either way! either way...
as a citizen going to a concert having
no experience of multiple bookings
of an artist at a venue
you don't really THINK about the SET LIST...
clearly...
Taylor Swift is an ARTIST...
just like Lloyd Webber is an artist
and there's the Phantom of the Opera production
and that's also Kierkegaard
and the Changelessness of God

but like Anthony Kiedis said
of John Frusciante: the psychotic -
these guys are no longer ARTISTS: they are:
MUSICIANS!
Taylor Swift isn't a musician: she's an artist:
and like any artist: she's not endowed with
some crazy creative demon
of uncontrollable energy to have to lose
and recycle material or just become
insatiable and confrontational like
a brick wall or the sea or gravity...

meh... MERCH! merchandise!
        ugh: honing in: i too bought a t-shirt...
well... two... i caved in...
the silly idiot moi so-so...

                          i'd still give an arm and a leg
to get to see Boris Brejcha...
i don't need to know his personal story:
but yes, he apparently escaped with burns
and bruises from an airshow where
a plane crashed and he discovered Mozart
in electronics / electronica...
so DJing is not so lazy after all?
funny: conjuring up melody with only ticks
and drums and rhythm
because there are no woodwinds
and certainly there's no frantic fried egg jazz
to be the antithesis of classical
which jazz was but
electronica is the antithesis of jazz
it's what i'd call RE-

BIG word: big WORD:
i can't even spell it i have custard for brain
my best estimate is
(even with the use of algorithm,
i'm yet to invest dyslexia into AI usage
via chatGPT so who knows)

COMPROMISING is close... super: cl>o<se...
but not there, yet... yeti yeti yet...
on shift when i repeat myself
over and over again i turn into a slur and slobber
monster i think my tongue is a gigantic worm
that's suffocating me... or at least gagging (me)

one more try: RE-
electronic music > jazz > classical
not necessarily > or <
but what other punctuation marker?
| ...            perhaps: i'm starting a mixology
of e. e. cummings and OLSON
so... let's see...

COMPARTMENT + RE-
spells out, what?
ANALYZING                       that's a pretty picture

i'm actually not, going to,
scribble the correct spelling
of the word that's burning up my brain!

and so much other **** in between
Big Mo was trying to steal my sunglasses
on at least 4 prior shifts...
i forgot my sandwich and coat last shift
managed to stash it: picked it up on cordon
DC3 on Olympic Way
fair enough fair enough...
o.k. have my sunglasses: until next shift
point being so much mush and ****
i'm having to have to build in a FILTER...
veil... membrane:
it's like reality is hyperventilating and
i'm not on any hallucinogenics but
i'm getting so many cues in terms of
what's being communicated
that hearing about Islamic Terrorist attacks
on Christian folk is one thing...
but then hearing about the crushing stampedes
on the Road of the Hajj
and at the place where they stone the devil
(Mina)
ha ha!                  ******* win-win scenario:
you know what i mean?

one thing to put pebble on a pebble
and call it a redemption of the continent of Africa
via the Egyptian "clairvoyance" of:
let's leave something behind for future
generations to remember us for...
and another to throw a ******* rock: at a rock!
magic!

yes: i am the devil: a humanist:
god? yeah: he's the theorist of humanity
nothing personal
but if you have ******* gaseous and liquid
equations like water can contain salt
and the cauliflower sponges of clouds
and blah blah blah
then god is the worst kind of humanist
he's an anti-humanist...
a calculator there's no personality
attached to god
god is not a person
however you think god in trinity might be:
**** me
some magical telepathic extended thing
of Descartes? well he did try obliterating God
almost all philosophers of the circa
8th - 19th centuries tried to obliterate god
until Nietzsche finally said: ASK the FINITE ***
for CARROT then the SCHTICK...

welll) d'uh this isn't readership friendly
but i didn't just read Finnegans Wake
and admired the struggles of Delmore Schwatrz
for no reason...
pressed too long on the L without shift...

in terms of women...
and i've been with prostitutes and i've interacted
with Swifties so i have
a plethora of experience
not to say i'm in any position: advantaged to
"abuse" or reap... or... m'eh...
*** is *** but kinda of pointless
if not procreative...
so *** ON and *** OFF...
there's a switch when not investing pro-creatively
but then i don't want the hassle of
my own bad seed
so tending to a foreign body that's not
my own is ego-soothing
because i have no emotional investment:
just an emotional commitment:
and that's different because
it allowed me to morph my original idealism
of women
into an alternative idealism of women

point being:
of women: well... you won't get any BETTER...
you'll... you'll just get: DIFFERENT...
no better: just different...
after all: women are generic creatures...
you get to see that when a 90,000 event
takes place and egress is summoned, naturally...
men are unruly...
it's sad... it's sad that the concept of
individuality disappears
when people congregate...
people become stupid and no longer
bothered about individuation or democracy
or whatever they do privately
but cattle i understand and
i have my Cerberus Team on hold:
it takes about 5 people
to organize a Slaughterhouse of 300...
it truly does take only 5 dedicated Hosts
to push 300 Parasites through the Coliseum Turnstiles:

methodological: i'm not a Methodist...
i'm being clear cut precise:
it would be stupid not to learn anything from
the Nazis...
seriously: when it comes to crowd management
at large events, concerts etc
you'd be a ******* ******
not to learn from the Nazis...
how... how?! seriously?
what? how they managed to dupe all those
people into walking so serenely to
their death? is there any depiction of people
walking into the gas chambers
kicking and screaming like
children being born?!

                       hmm... not that i can recall:
plus if you see the number 90,000 in an elevated
crater as if a meteor just fell...
i'm not scared of heights...
but even i get the fiasco of vertigo
   on level 5: the whirlpool of a man made
open space:
clearly a meteor should have landed here:
but no... just man's ingenuity to allow
people to congregate and find imitations of god
with idol(s)...

ah yes... Polish could be almost like Czech
in that it could be lazy, slurry... from time to time...
i honestly have to mind this
in terms of language usage: English is provisional
Lingua Bas Franca etc
but i could become more Czech
(i have genetic roots in Bohemia)
in that:

JUS      can easily replace JUSZ
because: eh...        FABRI GAS... not GAZ...
i'm lazy and Polish is too strict for my liking
****... already:

it's not even jusz but już...
      but instead i can just say: jus... like i'm an imbecile
but rather: that's how Polish children
speak: naturally: partially Czech softly
and there's no real Russian softness
just blue blue blah blah harasho...
either way i'm going to be put into some
sort of category of "origins"
as not even Jesus was this Messianic Universal
He-Man...
so... why stress that i'll just be the Polish Matt?

did i miss something?
ah right... filter... i need to filter through
the past 4 days
and think about the best time to have a ****;
not now: i want to read one chapter
of Dune and some Olson poems.

How do you sleep and so easily settle your mind? Isn't there a traffic of noise that's loudly whirring inside?

How do you remember all those important tasks? I wonder how it feels to complete of what's been asked.

How do you calmly listen and not interrupt or talk too fast?
How does it feel to make friends, and have  friendships that last?

How can you plan ahead and think of tomorrow?Will it not overwhelm that your time now, will soon be your past?

How does a person show such vast integrity
Being your true self without an attiring mask.

How do you clean but keep it that way?
If a person should visit on your messiest day?

Do you not worry about what they think, or words they might say.

Anxiously reliving the moment in Replay.