she was not just a girl

she was a girl beyond words, beyond understanding

someone who made your heart beat yet made you feel like you have lost your bloodflow and that you are dying

she's a supernova shining brighter than every sun and blinding you with her light that you don't realize that with her next exhale, she would be a blackhole and you would be stuck inside her void

she's your dream slowly turning into the most frightening nightmare

the brightest and warmest day with the coldest and darkest night

she is my home, plagued by ghosts and monsters and i just can't leave because I'm sentimental and she meant the world to me                  

she's the cruel sunlight when you were hoping you would die in your sleep

she's secondhand smoke when you're trying to quit

she's storms, a raging tempest, a calm sunny day with a follow-up of clouds and gloomy days

she's passion and pain and glory and sacrifice and everything painful in your chest    

and she's the fear of letting go but slowly losing your grip

Be still. The words I thought of when you were ill. I prayed with you every night, then God let me feel your heartbeat. Time was collecting your bloodflow. Heartbeat. Repeat, repeating the pain I felt that day when cousin' came in and said,"God took your mother up today."I was nine years old. You died about two weeks before my birthday. All I got was, packed up cardboard boxes with scotched taped ribbon that glistened in the sun as we made room for it in storage. Stored heartbeats. No one could take your place. The sad thing is I barely remember your face. Chemo. You had to take all those tests, and in the end they still cut off your left breast. Heartbeat. Time finally took your breath. Time ended our time. Why was it that after you died the doctor's found a cure to this genocide? I wish you were still here by my side. I was your baby. I asked the doctor if you were going to live, and all I got was, "maybe." Maybe you might come back someday. You used to appear all the time but then you drifted away. Heartbeat. I saw you laying in red. That red that, filled my eyes with hopelessness. I wished that red were still hanging in your closet in the dry cleaners bag, and the your aroma were in the stiches. After 7 years, I still can't believe you're dead. Even though you're not here, I think about you everydat. I ask a question that every child asks. "Why did God take my mother away?" Heartbeat. Time has finished this poem.

I hold my love in summer morning heat
She breathes placidly alive
Purple hum of death
Glazed and empty eyes

I knew her electric nights
We could have conquered the world
All I wanted was to be inside her

Now she's hollow
I feel too empty to
**** a CORPSE

In the floodgates
                of forever
                    I see you standing,
                 arms out, so ready
    the multiple layers
of silky delicious
       that we have created
                           until now
     swirling about us,
a storm of veils
beckoning like sea waifs
     and I am opening up
like never before
       my heart practically
                 out of my chest
                               until it is
                       flying forth,
                        a mythical
             winged creature,
prehistoric birdling
and you,
      with  your strong arms
your third eyelight
turned on
              catch it
                          hold it
                   nuzzle it
            until the rest of me
can reach you
   bursting forward
        through swathes
           of time
           turbulence a mere
                            snippet
and we meld
and merge like oceans
     hearts lit up
in electrical surge
time and place not existing
We are the sea.
We are the Earth.
We are the desert velvet
We are the wonder
in the hallways
of our arteries
We are the bloodflow
                 heartflow
of the universe within us
We reign the
ever changing existence
that keeps us whole
allowing room to breathe
to bloom in mystical
                   wild gardens
                yet binding
through realms
of our light's
endless expansion
our souls embracing
as we dream future visions
upon our tongues
and as I gaze upon you
our eyes a magnet
you ignite my glow,
the king of my citadel
festooned with
             flowerbuds
for your
        queen

On the other side
of perfect
between the golden
silky lines
is the mirrored world
we live in
where ties
don't always
            fully bind
they unravel
at the seams
get frayed
so rough and broken
as the blood and sweat
and screams
replace the words
of love unspoken
and we all have
a place for fake
for presentation,
a kind of lie
but the truth
snaps us awake
as we choose to live
or perhaps to die
Yes, some of us
might disintegrate
in the wake of
destruction's wrath
not seeing for the
      blindness
that pain causes
on the path
for we forget
             that light
inside us
in our darkest
stings of wounds
we forget how
           high voltage wavelengths
reside within
the numbness
that consumes
and once reflection
melts the glass
and throws self-hate
into the fire
this is the hour
of miracles
of faintest stains
that take us higher
our deepest inner
whispers
that roll discreetly
through our veins
rumbling humbly
between heartbeats
that push the
bloodflow pumping,
igniting sparks
inside our brains
and whilst my heart
is battle-shattered
it quickens up in pace
as I electrify myself
and to the heavens
                turn my face
let the wild sunset
bathe my soul in
shades of shocking blue
for after every
combat encounter
I rise again
              anew

his hands
are firmly wedged
inside pockets
unwilling to risk
exposure to this
frost-coated morning
if he tripped
or slipped
stumbled
fell
even then
he would not rely
on their numbed support
he could not trust
that they would do
what was necessary
if called upon
deep in the sherpa-lined
abyss of his coat
his fingers remain
protected in gloves
clenched and wriggling
with all hopes resting
on a return
   of warmth
   of bloodflow
   of feeling
before he gets home
before central heating
   and chill-blains
turn his frozen tips
into scalding rods
when there is
no use but
to desperately
and ironically wish
that he could not
feel anything
at all

broken glass and christmas lights that don't light up anymore, i hung you about with glitter and gold, called you art, kissed your face. there were tattered things on our clothes, i spit words into the gutter and they ran down the stream into the ocean where the letters got tangled with a sting-ray, a clown fishes fins. tiny fawns painted themselves across your palms, they sung me to sleep at night, wandering down my back and across my nose when i couldn't breathe because there was something knotting my veins into pretty patterns, stopping the bloodflow and shutting down my liver slowly. ric-rac danced two-steps and alcohol-drenched cakes infiltrated tea parties where lace was all the rage and ladies always wore gloves, *** was a thing never spoken about. the fifth most dangerous city in the us took me under its wing, tucked me into train station corners while paedophilia took hold of the government and shook us soundly. people held candles into the night sky when the family was killed, when the police asked if they were involved with drugs, when tiny bodies littered the basement because they were old enough to identify the killer. notebooks and traced fingerprints hung on the walls like christmas decorations before thanksgiving, pictures of you taken in secrecy, dipped in fluid that looks black in the dark room.

i knit sweaters. they have rabbits and bears and deer on the front.

Stop being such a cacti.
I’m only trying to move you into sunlight,
to let you learn, grow.

You were such a cacti
because you peirced me with your blunt needle.
yet I still bled,
because it still peirced me through, and skimmed my bloodflow.
I didn’t cry
because I realised that is just simply you.

You were such a cacti
when I tried to water you, my dear.
I only wanted to keep you alive
keep you radiating.
Keep you, as you.

This time,
your dagger imapled me.
From my finger and gushed into my left chest.
I now understand you
because you won’t hesitate to grow without my nurture,
and won’t hesitate to peirce with my love.

i carry your heart with me (i carry it in
mine)* and it wanders over
the slopes and valleys
of my own
wildernesses
I think of you
in plains and grasslands
sleekly wet in mountain curve
as you coolly crack the
earthly fissures
of my heart  quakes
inside
morning light
you transverse
your poetic speak
deep inside my night
your are always with me
in seeping pinpoints
of brightness
of gentle storms
you rock my dark to sleep
you are present
not obsessively
yet strongly
the way people describe
alcohol in veins
you regularly cut them
open, my heartstrings
you strum upon
their vibrations
like waves of calm
intoxication
lulling me
into gentle earthquake
pleasure and centered
breaths
leaving pieces rocking
throughout
my bloodflow back
up interspersed
between beats
i carry you
(that heart of yours)
in my heart
and I treasure
this residence
you have taken up
in my desert
blooms
faraway touch of lips
makes
pulse quiet
in soft booms
your voice soothing
storms
and you i like
sweetly in
my pulse
as seeds just
grow
i carry your heart
inside mine all day
your voice soothing
storms
my raging river
in your flow

poetry, poetry;
my little fairy,
i cut open my wrist
and lovely daisies blossomed!

poetry, tiny pretty ghost,
is it a good sign?
would you heal me, please?
i feel their roots in my veins...

poetry, you silly phantom,
it isn't pleasant anymore!
they're ******* my blood,
there's vultures in my bloodflow.

poetry, silver fanged wraith,
your roots are in my bones,
it's a temple crushing down.
the past is hunting me down.

poetry, my little fairy.
i'm nothing more than dust.
i love you, but i fall apart.
you brought my old demons back.

poetry, my little fairy;
i cut my wrist open,
and lovely rotten daisies bloomed!

Coffee for breakfast
And a knot in my stomach
That riles up the tension
Bloodflow, bloodflow, bloodflow
I have work to do

here I lay.
shaking and cold.
crying for a new day.
my life grows short as i grow old.
unable to move.
unable to speak.
my bloodflow slows.
my mind grows weak.
I feel like no one knows.
if i could speak.
i would let them be told.
now I'm dying.
awaiting my sould to be sold.
my tears drop, I'm crying.
longing for death for so long.
if only i knew how,
to end the suffering and be strong.but in the end.
i lay now.

From the stroke of soft untruths
To the ****** of mortal lying,
Thee must touch the cactus thorn
To redeem what truth implies.
Thee must feel the pain of failure
In the hall of thy endeavors,
Thee must feel  the heat of wrongness
Through horizons of thy eyes.

***** the thorn to bring the bloodflow
Showing cherry on obsidian,
Charge the soul of carnal flood time
To thy consciences' discourse.
Pull the plug on frank and factual
As an alien endeavour,
Lift the spirit of thy lying
To thy level of remorse.

Whispering the white lies softly
Through embellished words and phrases,
Thee are pandering to untruth now
To a very great extreme.
Thou doth amplify the actual
Like tomorrow doesn't matter
But without the truth thy future
Shall be vanquished like a dream.

I say without the truth thy future
Shall be vanquished....like a dream!


Marshalg
Mangere Bridge
5th November 2010

red
A healthy, whole, beating heart
orange
Fading and breaking with each word
yellow
Staggered pumps, uneven bloodflow
green
Sick; of hate, or fake love rather
blue
Depressed, lonely, ignored
indigo
Blood barely crawling through my veins
violet**
Cold, dark, lifeless, gone

My heart is my life force in more ways than one,
it channels my bloodflow, every drop of it so
rhythmically beating  bump-bump... bump-bump...
it will never stop until the end of my life course

my heart is a life force... and has its share of fun
it reaches out against my will to people that i know
and beats ever faster to a different tune thump-thump... thump-thump
when i think of her... she captivates my life force...

if i could have her, if i could be hers... i'd be there,
i'd protect her and caress her until the moon died
i'd embrace her and love her until her roar purrs...
i'd keep her close to me and hug her while she cried

Late August 8 o’clock is barefoot, and sunburned in the places that are always sunburned. Worn skin and deck slats hold onto leftover noon. Beneath, swirls the near unknown. Blue-black and edgeless, it’s awake but calmer as the day savors a slow-motion finish. Out of respect for the sunset, those at rudder or wheel embrace a lakewide no wake zone. Our blooms of whistle and sigh fill the dusk hour.
Someone somewhere is lighting a fire. It can be felt in the shoulder blades, when breathing slows. A ripe sense of abundance carries in the peach pink light—a promise that the season won’t fade, that deck children never age, and their waters never freeze. The birch chorus agrees, and this false truth soothes tired limbs that know better, but choose to accept the judgement of the night arriving. Because tender are the day’s dying breaths, and a special care is taken here for every move.
Peeling away layers, hair stands high on the skin with the pines on the hillsides. Bundle your things under the bench, or the winds may take them. There is a silence here with something to say. Toes hug wood’s edge and the muckgrasses nod in tune to a song that is there but not wholly heard. It’s important to watch first; it’s important that you try once again to read the neon pattern in the waves. A familiar laugh through cabin window will interrupt this.
The ladder is better for the evening swim. Submergence is best performed slowly then all at once, with careful attention paid to the detoured bloodflow of sunburned skin. Reflections of the promise unravel as they scatter into sky. Dip your darkness into the horizon and feel the day’s heat collapse inward, easing the blushes of your superficial pain. Let the other foot leave the trust of algaed metal, as the body’s pieces spread suspended. A group of fiery orbs blink aloft in an endless cold.
Our stars are connected only by stories, and here—where the sky is reflected in water—the hair on your hillsides can nod along to the half-heard tune of eternity. This is the end of the dock.

why did i do this?
all the progress now dismissed,
i miss you, i love you, i can’t live without you.
i knew this was too true.
the wanting the yearning the ever blurring,
lines between us, perhaps even the falling is blessed.
I was your sweet succulent honey that you can’t get enough of. Good for you, good for your soul, the taste capitulates the lips around, glueing them shut so you can’t make a sound.
It’s all you needed, that little sweetness,
but honey is oh so bad for the bittersweetness.
for I am your queen, you’re life revolves around me to get one last taste of that golden empress.
You’ll do anything for that dopamine.
When you’re on that high, nothing seems to matter,
but why?
Can’t you see that intensity made you something, you’re not meant to be.
you’ve pushed your luck.
That honey bee just isn’t coming back. She’s stung you. Bled you, and now deserted you.
Wounded your soul, but little did you know, she’ll die too.
Her stinger forever in you, while you can go on,
a part of her will slowly die
in your bloodflow.

A single line born from a drip,
I gambled with my veins,
Held a knife into my grip,
And you say I'm insane.

Mild doses of your ideologies,
Pumped into my bloodflow,
A poison you built inside of me,
A poison you let grow.

The iris loses its color,
Blank expressions say Hello,
The ceremony is long gone and over,
Where did my emotions go.

Did you lock them in the back room?
Where the fire started a minute ago?
Will they be horrified soon?
Is it them I hear at the door?

My nerves fight against me,
A broken and sabotaged nervous system,
Just give in and let me be,
I'll see you again,
Soon,
Very soon..

She did not think she had any shine
as she slumped in the corner,
he had chosen not to love her once again.

No words could mend her pain,
the ache wrapped its way around her body -
seeping into her bloodflow,
Poisoning all the love.

I took her by the hand, to drag her down with me,
Deep down through my darkness,
to the pit of misery

and there she saw the light, the flicker of an ember which gave way to the dark -
*"there's your shine, I kept it hidden, to light the way through my dark"

Sell out a million for a billion
Bloodflow, cashflow all im feelin
Keep pumpin till oblivion
Aint no ceilin and corpses pile on

Unapologetic ******* cash rules everything now
Pathetic stay low and when I pass you better bow
Autokrat choose when the deathblow hits earth now
Fully automatic sell to to the Congo, cash for ammo

God is cash and im feelin like money
Only one I'll let in to heaven is me
Peasant blood best remember fealty
Best worship the ground beneath me

I Keep pushin on the system till it cracks
While its delegates write me a paycheck
They lick my boots while I crush your neck
They watch as you suffocate fear the plutomaniac

A cold abrasion
Numbing as quickly
As the words outpouring
Making raw a mind
Knowing no different
Than to accept
And try to live with
The disappointment
Of oneself.

Havoc raining as a wave
Twice as tall
Allowing no escape
But to watch
As the trauma unfolds
And the words
Spoken out of hate
Branded on my brain
As a reminder
Of being unworthy.

A blank canvas
Unknowing
To the wide staring eyes
Bruised beneath
The blank canvas veil
That is the shell
Of skin,
More alien on this body
The more photo albums
A mind fills with memories.

Could I really be
The monster
Of which
She speaks?

Deleting
Is the only option
To escape the toil
Of counting fingers
And reading
Truths and falsehoods
To conclude
Innocence or guilt
In my adolescence.

Silence is a grave
That one finds comfort in
When these walls
Are so used to ringing ears
From the storm
That only lasts seconds
But lingers
In the gilded silence
As the mind speaks
Above the bloodflow
When all one can do
Is plug ears
With fingertips
In order to live with oneself

Retaliation lies beneath
The bleeding
Now only visible
If friends are let close
To see
As the heart
Tears threads
That have been sewn
To restrict emotion
Loosening the seal
On the demon cradled within

A furnace
Are thrown the old photo albums
But in turn are the recents
As a block in the mind
Has been created
To forget
Because nothing is worth remembering
During a childhood
Of only knowing
The names
And the fear
Of what you are,
And after such a block has been made
Remembrance
Is no longer
A thread
Sewn in
To allow an escape.

One night
as I pondered the stars
and let my heart reach
up and out
A wish made
into the night
unto the Universe
for Life
and inner peace
to truly come
For the zest of living
and all its workings
to take place
I received a special signal
an inter-galactic message
and answer, if you will
without expecting
without
even being
fully aware,
my head turned
to the constellations,
to the planets above
and my heart became
one with the stars
spiraling into
previously unknown
orbits
and taking my soul with
for a ride
A trip that is still
spinning me
on my axis..
as I try to hold on,
I am tripping on the light
as it pours into
this sacred vessel
A molecular re-working
that is building up
lost tissue, found
Bloodflow restored
and roaring like a river
And I am
opening up
like
a rare species
of flower
a breed of vegetation
uncategorized
unrecorded
by humans

I never expected
this to happen
Perhaps my spirit guides
do watch over me
Angels who know
darkness
while shining light
who know
pain
yet beat out
healing
from their
wings

Oct. 11 2015

Drain the venom with your pen
write it out,
until it wraps around you.

Stem the bloodflow
use it as a tourniquet
spit out the poison onto paper.

This world was made to devour
unhinging its jaw,
seeking to binge on us.

Do not be afraid
be forewarned;
take off the head of the hydra
and be resolved to continue with the cause.

I get so anxious
when I get nosebleeds
the red dripping
sounds of thunder
against the porcelain
sink where
water waits to take
that part of me to
an unseen place
because blood
out of context
is something to fear
and must be washed away
and with prayer it is welcome
and they all commune
but here I stand hoping
that the flow will stop
long enough for me
to stop making a scene
in this Chinese restaurant
and I can get back to something
more important than
some mild bloodflow

i once walked from Boulevard Pershing,
near the hotel Concorde Lafayette to the west of Paris city centre
300 metres from the metro station Porte Maillot
to... the 3 ducks hostel... 6 Pl. Etienne Pernet...
upon arrival i was welcome by an American
bartender... and when asked how my journey was...
well, i walked...
you walked?!
yeah... i walked... my first time in Paris...
like my first time in Stockholm... solo... in a hostel...
upon landing it really was a city of lights...
the Eiffel tower was my beacon and my hypnotism...
once upon a time i had that pet project
of going to capital cities alone...
Athens... well... i thought: Venice might be better
than Rome...
i sure as hell i visited Berlin... i was going
to hit on Prague before... the last year & some happened...
3 years in Edinburgh: i wish there were more...
London dragged me back in...
but... it's one thing to walk in a capital city...
taking the public transport...
it simply doesn't allow you to sample the entire:
horizon of the city... the nooks & crannies that
otherwise: a bicycle ride allows...
just today i thought... enough of this area of
makeshift London that's being eaten up...
that the county of Essex is willing to give up...
i need to get some urban salt on my face:
you do return from a heavily urbane area
with a residue on your face that looks like
***** salt... but feels like the purest of sands...
from circa Havering-atte-Bower...
a little village on the hill with Bower Wood
Havering County park... oh... i'd say
1 mile from my home...
from there to Canary Wharf via Canning Town...
via Barking...
taking the CS3... i passed... just after leaving
Barking i came across architecture i can only
best describe as...
postmodernism "gothic"...
            gothic architecture looks menacing...
so did all i passed...
but it was gothic tinged with postmodernism...
it was very much cubism meets Lowry...
although there's this very short segment
of the CS3 where you ride past the
recycling centre at Beckton...
all shaded by trees and a roundabout
underpass... the route becomes very narrow
and there are just enough turns to make you
galvanize your speed a little...
it's a brutal landscape... Barking in general
is brutal... it feels very much like:
Babylon with Pyramids... but the sun was shining
today: and you know what happens
when sunshine glees over Glasgow:
it can almost feel like Edinburgh...
sunshine elevates everything... just like Edward Hopper
said: i just want to paint sunlight...
even the grimmest: grimiest of place can
be elevated & it doesn't have to feel all ******...
before arriving at Barking i had to pass through
the multicultural hub of Ilford Lane...
sari shops... halal butchers...
as a white immigrant: since i'm not... English
per se: by the demands of "born & bred"...
& even thought i was the only one of about
3 white, male faces... it somehow didn't bother me...
seems like being a minority has had its perks
all along!
Asians girls looked at you like some curiosity
equivalent to a spice mixture of cumin,
cardamom, coriander... cinnamon...
must be the suntan: the copper-neck appeal
i sometimes acquire in the summer months...
if these people are "supposedly" conquering these
lands... do they think their...
high-spiritedness and vigour will not
wane under the scrutiny of the weather?!
i sampled some of their imam rhetoric...
yes yes... but once all the english girls have been
vehicles for **** & revenge and rooted out...
while the white boy'ohs are not reproducing with them?
where's the revenge going to come from?
that desert is going to dry up...
these people will return to their own
sacred rites of: oculus per oculus...
an eye for an eye... no?
i'm starting to see the bigger picture... the tomorrow:
i'm starting to like living with a minority status...
it's called Darwinism: proper...
not Darwinism upon inception: with all
that eugenic crap: let cousins **** cousins!
this is... how a species adapts...
i can't exactly grow a pair of wings or become
invisible... i make concessions...
i adapt by... well... making compensation
leverages...
if i'm not a white: native of these lands...
i'll fit in such fine: or so i hope...
after all... a monochromatic society makes much
for nausea... esp. when i return to Warsaw...
my grandmother is still living... when she dies...
though... what reason will i have to visit that
old... fable of a land of my birth?
the English in me is already my own...
i own it...
i'm not just going to give it up...
like i won't give up reading philosophy books in
****** since... they make no ****** sense to me in English:
i'll just read them in one language...
and translate myself an interpretation...
that's how it's going to work...
it worked just fine up to now...
why should it stop?
come to think of it... what happens in eastern vs.
western households?
oh you know:
in western households if a man / woman is still living
with their parents... rather than:
living alone... & paying rent to some stranger...
for some hope of reaching some one night stand quota...
then they're LOSERS...
there's a particular spice to this word...
it's best associated with Sichuan Pepper...
that tongue numbing sensation best associated
with: how the French & the English slowly: but surely...
lost the trill of the R...
there's not much to LOSE when the fatalism
of mortality has your ***...
there's only a waiting game while
some people amass more... and have to give it all
up or... leave it to... failed ******* sons
akin to: how the amassing of wealth & prestige of
the Krupp family became
  Arndt von Bohlen und Halbach....
these supposed "losers"... amass nothing...
leaving nothing... all the better for it...
at least not a dead-end lineage... just dead-end
per se...
but... i can clean around the house... take care
of the cats... be a custodian to the affairs
of the "estate": make a variation of tortellini
with a beetroot borsch...
and... chances are... i will not see my parents
enter an old-people's home...
neglected: relegated to merely a dementia
status...
clingy or... how do those eastern
inter-generational households fair...
compared to the west's championing
of individualism when...
  rent goes **** knows' where: Arab moguls?
two fine examples...
one door down a Nigerian couple in their 60s...
their son & daughter still live at home...
two doors down a Sikh couple likewise
living with their son & daughter...
their son recently managed to throw a houseparty
that attracted circa 30 guests...
oddly enough: he wasn't regarded as a: LOSER...
opposite my house: an English household...
the younger daughter will be moving two doors
down parallel to my house with her would-be hubby...
so she will be in: screaming distance from her
mother's home...
if i am to be paying rent?!
to some anonymous ghost face ****...
forget it!
Darwinism doesn't imply: adapt to the hard-earned
orthodoxy of eugenics in tow:
after all... eugenics came prior to Darwinism:
i don't care much for Darwinism...
i didn't care much for the Copernican inversion
of whether it's a heliocentric or a geocentric model...
in terms of perspectives and coordination:
orientation: i need the "flat-earth" model
to get from X to Y... i don't exactly need
a Z... unless i'm... ******* sailing!
but even then... "Z" doesn't require me the allowance
of... "the earth isn't flat"...
sure as **** it does... if i'm going
from X to Y... no?
the anglo-saxon households will fall, last...
when it comes to inter-generational living
"fall-outs"... i don't mind the periodic celibacy
patterns... if i feel the urge to "get some"
after one of my feline companions entices me too much
while grooming her:
i'll ******* to the brothel and get it over & done with...
i don't need a dating app to... waste my time over...
dating apps... i so *******
oblivious to their existence i can ast least attest
that happens in real life...
i'm also out to not crave ambitions for
offspring... funny how that works...
well... so who's going to take care of you?
me... with the proper incisions when the game is up...
i figured out around cruxes on my body where bloodflow
is concentrated...
under my right-arm-pit...
in my neck... all that's required is a hot bath...
and plenty of mr. whiskers und ms. amber...
i mean: for ****'s sake...
reinterpret Darwinism with individualism:
the "premise" stands:
i will not give up my private library collection...
cooking food others enjoy...
ownership of two cats... but still "living" with my
parents for... four empty ******* walls...
and a chance to somehow... merely...
bring back a dating partner for nothing more
than a fling...
it's like that quote i heard about Neopolitan cooking:
minimum effort: maximum satisfaction...
that's all life has to be...
mind you: is it so... ******* unbearable
to not be able to love your parents, esp. when you can?
i'm always put off my white, western women,
they want too much...
they're never of interest to me:
i know what game they're playing...
i never heard of a herd of "individuals"...
sure... rent... but we can **** in the garden...
in the forest... like this one spice-up i picked up
off of a park bench... a Thai Surprise...
we ****** in the garden... so?
Darwinism without a superiority complex
of the people who conjured it up...
can become... refreshingly... revelatory...
you just don't need to line other people's pockets...
i never used darting apps... never felt a dire
greed to do so...
CS3 is fine while cycling towards Canary Wharf...
i like the grift... the grift...
but the CS2 from Ilford towards St. Paul's...
it's great *** Mile End: on your way back...
but little Bangladesh coming in...
it leaves me with a distaste... too much of
Asia... not enough European postmoderist
"gothic" grit.... nothing too much familiar with
industrialisation...
coming back on the Bow overpass
at Stratford... an Asian couple...
let's just leave a tinge of scrutiny on her...
she looked like Cindarella: before donning
on her ****-up make-up and her glass
stiletto...
she pushed the various traffic buttons
and
stood... in the middle of the bicycle route...
thank god i was d0nning my sunglasses..
it's impossible...
i was eyeing her up...
she was eying me up...
her boyfriend was next to her...
eh... the niqab does little...
easier to don a pair of sunglasses:
if the concept of playing poker arrived for the Arabs
"too late":
i'm pretty sure the ninja attire could be made
simultaneous to the niqab...
chicken or the egg...
did the niqab give birth to the ninja
attire, or what it...             ?

but there's a trajectory where household living
resembles little what: investment in
wholesale looks like...
i like to think of Darwinism as a way
to adapt...
to make concessions...
  they're not pretty concessions...
as an ape... supposedly... i can hardly make
peacock remarks... or therefore:
peacocking... years later though...
but by then...
the fear of exploitation will summon
a paranoia in me of diabolical proportions...

i will have to summon: ****! mode.

that being said... CS2 ius great on your way back from
Canary Wharf.... to... the outskirts of...
what is London... what isn't London...
best life in Paris, though...
best life after life's over: Edinburgh: for sure...
in that respect... London's traffic.

you may think it’s nothing
but my veins and arteries are laid out bare.
Bloodflow of which my heart chose to confine.
buried there
like the ****** you were last accused of.
I proposed death as the blade grazed me
cause after then, I lose none.
choosing to live with it is like a bruised lung
with a virus destined to crawl out of every cell
like a tune sung. reaching convict ears.