.    like cardinal Leto remarked, having received news from Versailles... why is it always the ******* French?

perhaps in a less crude manner,
drinking wine,
while eating raw fruits -

  always a bad combination...
no *****, no meat?
   bad idea... wine, and raw fruit
akin to strawberries?
    irritable bowel movements...

- and that's because Einstein
didn't discover the concept of
gravity, in the format of: sideways?
in the form of orbits?
   expansive waves...
   that allowed for the elliptical interpretation?
like the old
              argument:
      (heliocentric) oval...
             contra the (geocentric) circular
"concern" for...
   whatever is up / down
            sideways in
      the Copernican terminology...
because there was ever a "shape"
concerning the universe,
  and not a medium,
            an extraction for the metaphor
for water,
   gas, liquid, solid...
              and the fourth aspect
of ancient elements:
   its existence in a vacuous "space"?

- but i can't fathom the French at this point...
once upon a time...
one Frenchman equated the motivation
for a "summa summarum"
    to be bound with a thinking,
and a curiosity...

            the current fashion of Latin
abbreviations...
   this... cogito ergo sum?
   it's nonsense...
    speak it long enough...
   and you'll find yourself inclined
to suppose that cogitans per se:
is a motivation, an impetus to exist...
yet... so much of thought it "wasted"
or, rather, to craft an impetus to
"doubt", within the confines of fiction...
but the motivation has lost its
origin within the confines of doubt,
and has been replaced by
the Freudian unconscious,
   a serialized phobia fest... notably
including a, clown...

originally, thought (per se) was
a secondary motivational outlet
that precipitated into being...
    first came... doubt...
   but... these days?
               doubt is a conspiracy theory,
no longer an emotional thrill
to prop-up thinking...
   and we have the French existentialists
to thank for this...
for they subverted their own
idea...

             negation has replaced doubt
as the origin, and motivation
for thinking...
        yet... this sort of "thinking",
has made, its materialization, so, so...
obscene...
    i can hardly find it surprising while
i took to propping two worthwhile
economic outlets...
   prostitution (since they will spend
the money i give them...
on things... i wouldn't even care
for propping up)...

    and... alcohol (scotch whiskey,
russian standard *****...
    shveedish cider...
                     german beer)...

but how can you even claim an existence,
if...
       there is no thrill...
of what is the secular expression of faith:
i.e. doubt?
  how can you replace doubt -
a motivation for thinking, materialized
into being... with negation?
  jean-paul Sartre attempted this inversion -

doubt has been replaced with negation
in his system...
             it's like that cliche of an English
1960s ***-joke / ***-like...
       this... frivolity over a blatant lie...
a lie so... bogus...
    so ineffectual in translating a hidden truth
that... you allow it...
   to care for the cheap comic aspect
of the execution...

but how can the French suddenly
feign to disbelieve their secularism -
   resorting to the antithesis,
namely:

  original

  doubt motivates thinking,
  which subsequently motivates
   being within the confines of reason,
or rather, reasonableness...

20th century existentialists

negation "motifs" thinking,
   which subsequently motifs
"being" within the freedom of non-reason,
or rather, unreasonableness...

   and by negation,
   i don't mean the atomic conceived softening
blow...
   akin to: dis-ease...
    i.e. (as i explained it to one old man
in a park, walking his dog):
  a negation, or ease... a denial of...

how can the Cartesian model work,
when the 20th century French existentialists
began with the presupposition:

   i deny, i think, therefore i exist?
where is the original thrill of
the secular aspect of faith, within the boundaries
of doubt?
              gone... vanished!
****! a **** on the London tube,
during the rush hour,
  during the heatwave
                of the past month!

                   perhaps this only comes
as a method of assimilating an increased population,
within the confines of the Taoist maxim:
the best way to aid the world,
is to forget the world, and let the world
forget about you...

             perhaps... the Andy Warhol 15 minutes
analogy...
      that in order to encompass the individual,
the world, and the individual within it...
   the approach had to change
from the original, exciting, exploration
genesis of thought, bound to the genesis
of doubt...
             having to be replaced by
a genesis of denial...
      the second tier of a secular society...
    the zeitgeist of Herr Censor...
to filter through what we see so often,
faces, bodies...
  but would be much more comfortable
having been bound to Plato's cave,
         of complete shadow theater...

perhaps... but the original tier of
secular societies' alternative to church prescribed
articles of faith...
                     to have replaced
the thrill of doubt...
      with this... Byzantine pillar of denial
as motivational groundwork for
thinking impetus
   that becomes an article of being?
am i the only one to see the frustration,
how, people abhor their being,
being founded upon an act of denial,
rather than an act of doubt?

     the once thrilling maybe (gnostic):
   has become the stale, "i don't know"
    (agnostic) - as if... people can't tell you
whether zebras have stripes!
   where there was once an article
of secular faith (doubt) -
   now?
                        there's not even that!

p.s.
  there has to be a much needed new mantra,
all publicity: is bad publicity -
unless of course you're riding that
fame juggernaut and are paying
for your all-inclusive status akin
   to madonna: since fame dies off
and you, none-the-less invest in the momentum...

one day where i drink a bottle of wine,
half a liter of whiskey,
   and i'm apparently not "screaming" in
my sleep from the heat,
the whole, "apparently", as i retorted:
at 5:15am? i was alseep! i was asleep!
how can i stop screaming in my sleep
like a banshee:
the sleeper and the blind man both see
eye to eye regarding the future to come...

one day without engaging in internet
content: of my own accord,
next day? this... this... lethargy builds
up in me... i end up thinking:
i can't do this any more,
this insomnia culture globalism of
24h news reels is tirying me,
i pick up the sunday newspaper
which i found to be respecteable...
the sunday times,
  i peer into the magazines...
toxic masculinity,
    desire: what three women want...
i'm bored...
well more tired than bored,
bored-tired...
                 what women want:
what an exhausting question...
**** fantasy, beta-male provideer...
yada-yada-yada...
                    
    the only relaxing aspect of the day
(apart from the shade) is watching
england beat india in the cricket...
i always loved cricket sport terminology:
50 overs... innings...
wickets... 6 throws of the ball in an over...
the rest? i'm no atlas...
i don't like the world crashing in on
me with all its problems...
not because i don't have the right
advice to give,
but i remember the most modern secular
motto about giving advice borrowed
from Athos of the creation of alexandre dumas:

the best advice? to not give advice...
you cannot be held accountable
for giving bad advice: and people complaining,
or good advice and leaving
people in your sphere of influence...
asking for more - non verbatim... of course...

second categorical imperative?
tao...
              the best way you can help
the world: is to forget the world,
and let the world forget you...

                        you only need two absolute
maxim vectors to orientate yourself
in this world,
a third is nice, but: it can be kept loose...
at least two on a tight leash...

but one night spent drinking,
not writing anything:
and i am... spent!

                            the boogieman of england's
persistent complaints...
the muslims are not integrating,
the english: we should give them more
ground...
           o.k., o.k.... joe peshi in the role
leo getz in lethal weapon II...
            i too had to integrate!
i said: like **** if you think i'll give up
my native tongue when spoken in private...
you're not getting it...
i'll spreschen ihre zunge, no problem,
i'll even write you pwetty free verses to boot!
but, guess what?
  i will not force you to eat my
sauerkraut, my schnitzels,
                           my smoked sausages,
my raw herrings etc.,
                      integration does not work
within the confines of: pampering to a people
expected to meet you half-way...
what happened when the polonaise attempted
to meet the english half-way?
brexit...
oh come on guv'... is there a ******* tram
echoing its way out of my eye
when you peer into it while i attach
an index finger to the bottom lid to give
you a clearer picture?
           25 years in england: no englush girlfriend:
i guess all the english girls just love, just love love
being ***** by 9 pakistanis
daubed in gasoline...
                   hey: they **** thrill...

i'm tired of the weakness of the english,
the humpty-dumpty nature they are imposing,
self-cencorship,
    appeasing, like neville chamberlain...
bringing back the munich agreement...
not on a piece of paper,
instead... waving a scrap of a toilet roll...
so the english could wipe their own *****
on the promises of the germans...
if this really hurts the northern monkies...
guess how much it hurts the sourthern fairies...
(well... fairy, is a designated region surrounding
devon, bristol, hardly a ******* fairy in essex)...

   why am i foreigner and i share
the same nausea of the natives,
                     exhausted by the narratives?
i guess the english didn't like the polonaise:
but the polonaise are to blame...
came here with a list of benefits they could claim:
without having even lived 5 years among
the natives... housing benefits, child benefits...
believe me: the polonaise are the only
people in the world that hate each other...
to the extent of citing bitter criticisms...
whenever i pass through warsaw to see my grandparents
i am gripped with a sickness:
this homogeneity is too much for me...
shove me back into the east end of London...
too much of the same genetic material...
and that's when the language i am keeping
(seemingly for vanity reasons) fizzles out
into your basic encounter and that basic reminder
that circa 40 million speak it too,
better or worse, but they speak it...

of all the festivals? download...
                                   i wish...
    glastonbury?       not my thing...
kylie? i'll concede: slow? live, with instruments,
rather than the studio original...
wasn't that a cover of
   bowie's fashion?
                  sure as hell sounded similar...
but i heard the cure were playing...
so while writing my father's invoice
i made myself a paperclip bracelet...
   i figured... "let's just pretend to be there"...
and no, the 1980s weren't that bad when
it comes to music,
not now, by comparison...
the cure's kiss me, kiss me, kiss me (1987)
release?
one of those rare albums you can
listen to akin to reading a book...

                       but there's still that persisting
exhaustion... i came from under communism,
from under the iron curtain,
but at least there was the economic aspect
of communism involved...

   only today i watched the story
of the terrible inversion of english jursprudence,
i.e.: guilty until proven innocent...
the 1975 case of the silesian vampire...
an innocent man was hanged...
the original vampire?
    smashed his wive's head in,
then his childrens', then he set himself
on fire...
              then again: the tragedy of those
rare cases of being presumed guilty
rather than innocent...
then the reverse: presumed innocent rather
than guilty and getting away with it,
through the parody of death
and the non existent god...

   there could not be anything more exhausting
than communism without a communist
economic model...
this current state of affairs in the west:
cultural marxism and the yet to be discovered
antithesis of cultural darwinism...

i'll use the cartesian chirality for a moment:
sum ergo cogito...
i don't like using political terms...
but... liberal (classical) - i don't even know
what sort of thinking goes into the label -
in the east? the liberals are exhausted
by a resurgent nationalism within
   the newly acquired capitalist system...
in the west? the liberals are exhausted
by an insurgent communism within
an ageing capitalist system...

         on a side: seriously, why even bother
engaging in any sort of "public intellectual"
debates when the public are only
discussing two books: 1984 and brave new world...
**** it, might as well talk to a camel jockey
who only own and rides the waves of
time in this world only using one...
muhammad...
   whom Khadija **** Khuwaylid
would probably whip into his young
respectable shape...

                  and this is how Ezra Pound comes
into rememberance:
usura... at least the muslims do not
play into the game of usury:
of interest... borrow a quid,
pay back £2.33...
            that's the only way you can
gain respect of the muslims:
if they truly were the money lenders
of this world: which they aren't...
unless a newly blessed...

   among the philistines and the proselytes...
england is such a tiresome project,
even on the outskirts of London...
i'm being dragged down by this intervention
of marxism: on a whim,
on a whimsical projection...
of "adding" values...
            
           communism would have worked...
in exceptional circumstances...
poland... circa 1945 - 1990...
syria: the current year...
  to whatever year is demanded...
exceptional as in: war torn...
where was the marshall plan
   for poland, when there was one
for sweden (neutral) and switzerland
(also neutral)?!
        black youths bothered about
the summer holidays,
having to live in council flats,
  concrete goliaths...
           want to know what it feels like
when entire cities are like council
estates,
with only pockets of remaining
   free-standing houses among
overshadowing council flats?
                                    nee bother...
sure... in a country where:
the house is the castle and there's a labyrinth
of castles constituting outer suburbia...
balconies... that's what the soviet
models had... balconies...
where women could grow flowers...
concrete staccato gardens in the sky...
the blocks of flats in england
didn't have balconies (sky gardens,
          esp. the early ones, massive fault)...
i spent one summer reading
bertnard russell's history of western philosophy...
lying in my grandparent's balcony,
in the shade...
watching passerbys among
          the barking dogs of the neighbours...

one day, one ******* day!
   and i'm already exhausted from the castrato
english narrative...
pandering to the people you expected
to integrate...
  no! you're not changing your standards...
your standards are perfectly reasonable!
i'm tired of the english pandering
to the sort of people who, will, not,
integrate!
               i integrated in a way
of respecting both the english culture,
as well as hiding / preserving my own...
why don't i just do the following:
   pisać po polsku?
                      like some czesław miłosz?

ah... good point... at what point
is the standard of integration appreciated?
when nothing is preserved?
surely integration is supposed to
accommodate some variation
of preservation?
     i might add: that's a fine line...
preserve all? no integration...
preserve some? integration...
                    preserve none? no integration...
food is a cheap target to example
with...
                   it's a low hanging fruit...
given that even i find indian cuisine
   the most superior in the world...
food is a cheap target concerning integration...
but the niqab?
  when the local english authorities
are employing face-recognition
technology and when testing it...
are forcing people to uncover their faces,
subsequently arresting them out of protest...
but not the women wearing the niqab...
out of? out of what?
   a secular society shouldn't be allowed
to discriminate against any religion...
it should discriminate against: all religions!

                isn't that what the secular ideology
is all about? the... softcore version
of soviet atheism?
        secularism of the west (miltary-industrial
complex)...
"vs." soviet atheism of the east
  (scientific-industrial complex)...
           i'm still so ******* tired
               of this bogus trap of "necessary"
                       commentary.

The boogeyman
Last night I thought i 'd saw the boogeyman.
He was dancing the boogie going up my stairs.
He stayed out of sight be for most of the night.
When the bell jingled, he began to wiggle.
Dancing to the moon light tune I looked and saw his head.
So round I thought maybe it was a clown.
He bounced up and down like a ball.
Then I saw him in the hall.
As the  light came on from the boogie man.  He was gone from sight.

It happens all of the sudden.  One day it’s just one time and then it’s need.  That’s when you run into trouble.  After that, it’s a whole other ballgame.  It isn’t addiction until you need.  

I remember the first time.  You always remember your first time.  It’s like opening the biggest present at Christmas, it’s like sledding on that extra icy hill you knew was just a little too slippery, it’s like skydiving shooting stars high flying crazy.  

Instant exhilaration.  

It’s like that millisecond licking your lips before you go in for the kiss, that steamy shower on your cool skin.  

Absolute seduction.  

You just smile, lean back and say

****.

My first time I said no.
No way.
No how.
I don’t do that.

It was a door in the back of my mind I had branded with a Do Not Enter sign.  I argued morals, I argued boundaries.  A secret promise to myself I kept safe behind lines I swore I wouldn’t cross.  But what really stopped me dead in my tracks, what kept me away from the forbidden fruit was fear.  

Maybe even some paranoia, or a little indignation at the idea of putting things up my delicate little pixie nose, scratching the thin tissue of my sinuses.  

But suddenly your friends are doing it, and they look just fine.  That security blanket of fear dissolves, a scary story to tuck away under your pillow like the boogieman.  They call it peer pressure, I think of it more like peer assurance.  Or maybe an experiment.  And that’s all we’re doing right?  The first time I said no.  The second time suddenly those lines were disappearing up my nose.

And then just, ah hah! This is what it’s like, this is the hype.  Like the first time you sit in the front seat of a car.  And think to yourself, well

That was pretty fun.

But nothing serious, just a fling.  One **** one night stand, no biggie.

But it’s nothing like that.  It’s like someone running up to you and whispering in your ear the biggest, darkest secret of life.  And that’s the funny thing, because that’s just it.

It starts with want.

And you have fun.  You get lost in your own lust and you take all you can get.   And you crave those little white pills because you just feel sosososo good.

And then one day you’re tired before school and you don’t know how to pep yourself up.  And you get this idea.  This crazy idea.  And you rail a little white pill.  And as you walk out the door, you feel like a million dollars.  You feel like you slept for 10 hours, like you just got every question on a test right including the extra credit.  And you breeze right through your day, high flying on autopilot.

That’s the ***** secret with the whole thing.  It makes everything so **** easy.  

Tired? Have a line.
Hungry? Have a line.
Sad? Have a line.
Bored? Have a line.

It becomes a ritual, it becomes a secret club no one else can know about.  It’s that lover you sneak off to in the middle of those lonely nights, when your thoughts endlessly thrash against your skull, doubts echoing into the dark room surrounding you.  

But it’s not your life.  More like a habit, like a friend from the wrong side of the tracks.  

What happens from then on is hard to say.  For me, it was when my world shut down around me, when I felt like I was absolutely alone.  When I felt like I was free falling and I had nowhere to land.  Like I had just been beaten in an alleyway left for dead.  I needed someone to hold me.  And all I saw was the Ritalin.  

For me, it was falling in love.  It was giving my soul to you and having you rip it apart.  It was the way you looked into my eyes and stroked my hair.  It was the echo of you closing the door.  You left me behind.  You made me love you and then you just kept walking past.  It was getting my heart broken for the last time, it was a moment of weakness.  As my world crumbled, I took a whiff on courage.  

And suddenly it’s need.  

It tricks you, it makes you forget that once upon a time you were fine alone.  It manipulates you and makes you think you can’t live without it.  Suddenly, there is no life without drugs.  

You’re avoiding people, you’re skipping lunch to powder your nose, your eyes are bugged open and you’re chomping gum 24/7.  People insist you look fabulous from the lost weight and you feel ******* fabulous from your lost hate, buried under the influence.  You are up for 3 days and asleep for 20 hours.  And the crash.  Your head pounds and your hands shake.  You yell at all your friends and you’re late to work 4 days in a row.  And you just needneedneed to go up again because you just can’t take it anymore.

You scamper up as high as you can reach and you’re afraid to come down.  But your body can only last so long.

The big OD is not something taken lightly, a grey no-man's land where brittle lifelines tend to snap.  I was lucky.  I didn’t break, didn't get the 911 nightmare, just took too much too fast, and I felt SO good.  But then, I didn’t feel so good.  Suddenly, I felt pretty **** awful.  I didn’t go into cardiac arrest or anything, but it scared me shitless.  Scared me right off the ****, minus a binge or two.

At least, it did.  For a little while.

Now that voice I know too well is whispering again, and I don’t always feel like saying no.  

I remember when I used to flaunt my new hobby to my friends.  I felt like some sort of glamorous superstar that knew exactly how to have a good time.  Like it was some sort of VIP club that they just had to get into.  And then I didn’t wanna talk about it, they just don’t get it.  They don’t get it.  I need it.  But only sometimes.

Yeah yeah, stupid.  I get it.  You think I’m asking for it.  I lost control and I’m gonna lose it again.  But I made myself stop before, of course I can do it again.  I am cool, calm, collected and totally in control.

Right?

 I felt so cold when you left me here.  I never want to feel again.

“Daddy” she asked “Why must you leave?”
as she cried and her chest started to heave.
“I’m so sorry, my Baby.” Daddy said,
his heart started feeling heavy as lead.
“Mommy and me just can’t stay together.
Our happily ever after is no longer forever,
but I’ll still see you, don’t you worry.
Please just know I’m so, so sorry.”
“Please stay! Don’t go!” She kept pleading
as her chest grew tight with her breathing.
“Did Jimmy or me do something wrong?”
“No, Punkin, no! Please try to be strong.
I promise I’ll come get you on weekends.
Up to Grammy’s we’ll go, this isn’t the end.”
Then to her Daddy she quietly said
“How will you tuck me and Jimmy in bed?
And hug us tight and kiss us goodnight
and make the Boogieman shake with fright?”
“It’s okay, Honey. Mommy will be here.
You and Jimmy have nothing to fear.”
“But Daddy, how will I be your Princess now?
Answer me please. How Daddy? How?”
“Please, Baby, please! Try to understand
I’ll always be here to hold your hand.
It’s not like I’m leaving forever, you see.
I promise you’ll grow to like how it will be.”
“Never, Daddy, never!” she said with a cry.
“I never, ever want to say good-bye.”
“Honey, I’m sorry. I really have to leave.
Please, Baby, please! Let go of my sleeve.
You and Jimmy will see me in only six days.
If you count on your fingers, that not far away.
I love you, my Princess. Please don’t forget,
it will get easier. I’ll make you this bet:
that after a while the pain won’t be bad.
That you won’t cry so much or be so sad”
She sniffled and shook and gave him a hug.
“I really don’t think so” she said with a shrug.
“I’ll miss you, my Daddy. Please know this is true.
I love you, my Daddy. I’ll try not to be blue.”
“That’s my girl” he quietly said
as he quickly had to turn his head;
for tears were falling from his eyes
as Daddy and daughter said Good-bye.

I never just agreed to the complexity of modern technology.
This whole wait now
I just called to say hi.
I mean face it, we are wasting precious minutes
While the boogieman still sits in the deepest crevice of our minds.
The things that drive us wild.
Our fantasies.
The pajama pants left untied for a reason.
The warm hands that await comfort.
**** the phonelines for not receiving that message.
That ******* voicemail recorded soon as the boogieman creeps in just as we close our eyes in wait.
**** you for not picking up the phone in time.
For not committing the intrusion of the late night thought of you.
Bare feet, long shirt and velvet thong.
The sprinkle of perfume dotted beneath your bellybutton meant for me.
The gasp of your moans passionately fogging up the screen of your Galaxy note.
The custom text sent only with a picture beneath a pulsating background.
Give me one good reason we should continue to use these **** phones while they tempt us with what we already know.
When what we feel is more personal than some **** handheld device

I used to be scared
Scared of the monsters under my bed
And the way "the boogieman" deals with bad children
But now that I'm older
Only fear seems to come my way

I'm scared
Scared of the fact
That my nightmares could become reality
That my past could be my present
And my rights could morph into wrongs

I'm scared
Because I don't want anyone to know
How much I love them
And how much I care for them
How weak with sentiments I am

I'm scared
That my loved ones will turn on me
That I will fail in what others expect of me
That I will be judged for all my mistakes

I'm scared
That my life will be filled with this endless suffering
Filled with endless stress
Filled with endless weariness
Filled with endless questions

Endless questions...
Am I okay will I be okay should I be okay should I be normal like everyone else when will I be like everyone else do I want to be like everyone else do I want to be better than everyone else am I better than everyone else am I good enough I am not good enough when will I be good enough when will I get answers when will I die how should I die can I die will someone **** me what am I thinking should I be thinking about this why am I thinking about this?

Endless emotions,
love, hate, calm, frustrated, confidence, fear, good, bad, live, die, death, life, normal, strange, pain, ache, tired, questions, confusion, fear, more hate, hot, cold, right, wrong, up, down, satisfaction, regret, spare, ****, shallow, deep, truth, lies, on, off, WILL THIS PAIN EVER STOP?

I'm scared. I'll admit it.
Scared to love,
Scared to hate,
Scared to fight back on the darkness
That forever awaits

I'm scared I'll hurt someone
If I leave this world
If I leave my story behind
So what do I do?

I'm scared I'll keep living
In between reality and insanity
I want to stop living
But I'm scared of dying...

Help me... please... I'm just...

                            afraid
                                  tired
                                      fearful
                                         scared.

She was sitting on a bag of dog food in the garage
listening to her Mommy and Daddy argue
She could hear the tears in their voices
as they were yelling about Daddy leaving
She couldn’t understand why he would go

Daddy walked out the door with tears in his eyes
he stared at her with a look of sheer terror
As he realized she had just heard everything
he understood he would have to explain
To her that it had nothing to do with her

She felt her chest growing tighter with each breath
too afraid to say a word, yet wanting to ask why
Not understanding really at all what was happening
but knowing her Daddy moving out
And wouldn’t be living with them any longer

He walked over and sat down beside her
he gazed at the ground trying to decide
How to tell his precious daughter
that he had to leave her and Jimmy
And would see them only on weekends now

She looked so scared sitting there wondering why
her Daddy had to go and leave them behind
It had to be really bad for him to go
maybe her or Jimmy had been too bad
She couldn’t remember anything that wrong

He didn’t think this would be so hard
to tell his Princess he had to leave
That he couldn’t tuck them in at night
or scare the Boogieman away
Or hug and kiss them every day

As Daddy started to explain to her
that Mommy and him just couldn’t be together
She was wondering how long it would be
before they saw him again
And where he would live

He was telling her they would stay with him
at Grammy’s house and it would be fun
That after a while it wouldn’t hurt so badly
and that Jimmy and her would grow to like it
And wouldn’t cry or miss him so much

She looked around and wondered why
Mommy wasn’t out here, too
Shouldn’t Mommy be telling her it would be okay?
and that she would take care of them
Why was Daddy the only one out here crying?

Daddy’s heart was breaking at the look on her face
he never thought he would have to tell his daughter
His beautiful eight year old little girl about divorce
the tears started rolling down his face
As he hugged her close and said Good Bye

Love.

Why is everyone concerned about it?

Does it make you feel good writing about it?

All the ones that's been in your life,
The ones who are important to you,
The ones that make your stomach quiver,
And then are gone like it was a dream.

A dream.

You awake to new perspectives,
Like these loves had a way to teach.
But really it isn't love at all,
Just a feeling.

Who's to say what you're feeling,
Is is compassion or is it admiration?
Just another stumbling block,
Take that love and shuv it!

I can care ******* less about your love,
Too many ******* people don't know what it is.
I can care ******* less who's beside you in bed,
Can't you ******* write anything worth while?

Talk about anything ******* else than his lips,
Talk about anything else than her heart.
Who ******* gives a good gooddamn?
Waste my ******* time reading your ******* ****!

I don't ******* understand,
Why anyone would persue love?
I, myself, choose death,
The black dharma of the night.

Here comes the pain,
And ******* love had nothing to do with it

So keep writing about love,
You'll get it sooner or later.

Unless the boogieman gets you first!

It was so sunny yesterday but
Today is gray and
I’ve found myself addicted to nicotine.

You say you’ve lost your passion but
Where has it gone?
I checked under the bed.
I only found the boogieman.
I checked the shower.
Just a snake in the drain.
And only skeletons in the closet.

There’s something about the patter of
Rain
That sounds so romantic.

Maybe I’m choking on you
Because I’m too afraid to swallow the truth.

Oh mother, mommy, ma,
could you please not tell me anymore family secrets?
I'm not in the right mood for that kind of drama.
Not tonight, at least.
No, really though, not ever.
You've already told me more than I care to keep
back when I was a child and couldn't sleep.
It's sickening.
Facts and stories that went way over my head
told late at night while you were drinking.
I was just trying to escape the boogieman.
I always had trouble going to bed.
You were supposed to comfort me.
You'd end up crying instead.
Forcing me to comfort you over things I couldn't comprehend.
You just make the nightmares worse.

how can the one be the same as the other, when one is humble, while the other is bombastic? where one is he, who seeks to cherish emotion, while the other, to feed off a touch of marble? where one seeks a "narcissism" of shadow, the other seeks the icarus-bound: self-inviting fade of light, and subequent downfall, which no shadow dare grasp, troll-akin; who dares to touch the sun, will find no secure net of shadow to catch him, might the falling star, usurp the patchwork of safety, bound to those glorifying schatten und schweigen (shadow & silence).*

if ever "legacy" media is to remain intact, worthwhile, can i suggest a very odd but all the ever more present concept? religious of course? why are sunday newspapers the worthwhile reading material? why couldn't be have a media sabbath, say, on a monday? what the hell happens on a monday? if it isn't stale-bread, and isn't a "historogical" case of the frame within the bounds of day-to-day journalism... what does happen, on a monday? nothing! between my fingers, monday newspapers are the anorexic by compariosn to friday, saturday, sunday....

can't these ******* feel a break? can't they just, stop,
for, one, day?
              i'm sure tolstoy took breaks in between
writing one of either of his mangum opus constructs...
why can't journalists just un-plug?
it only takes one day!
       i'm not here labouring to depose
"legacy"media, i'm trying to reform it -
please, guys, take one day off...
you're being over-worked with a 24h coverage,
the british empire is dead,
the sun can somehow and in whatever
"way you think is "sudden": can, set.
you can see the night through the perspective
of a dreaming mind,
   please: let go for that one day...
give yourself rest...
the jews invented the sabbath after they
finally completed the construction
of the pyramids... they were never
atheletes... but slavery taught them:
exhert the body for the worth of a pyramid...
guess what... the jews
are no longer the really attuned intellectuals...
their ideas? culmination point maxis:
i.e. communism? failed...
   time to shove these ******* into
the roman arena and make them sprint!
   they can't compete intellectually any more,
every intellectual jest, becomes a flaw...
the jews ought to know when a new pyramid
is being given shape...
            evidently they're intellectually stunted...
they should know who the original
athletes were... who's luaghing?!
     they're laughing?
                you seeing what i'm seeing?
can they please make these as pleasant as
possible? can they at least bargain with
the journalistic branch of humanity and
introduce a day (notably monday)
when people are not informed of a
dasein* on heidegger's terms?
      can we please have a journalistic sabbath,
a day off? do we really need to be
so "well informed" every single day?
look at it this way...
   a typical sunday edition of a newspaper
will take me about 2 days to fully digest...
         and i'm talking about 70 year olds...
no, i don't have a mobile phone, i don't use
dating apps...
              i believe in the truest form of
random potential, vs. natural selection...
random potential? revival of subjectivity...
natural selection? established objectivity...
   you take the random and compare
it to the "natural": do systems and rubrics really
get a girl wet? emm.... don't think so.
her favourite song was in flames' metaphor...
mine... i'll lie about this one...
i have too many... dry **** logic's goodnight?
more likely i was "dreaming"
of incubus': wish you were here,
     and hear this: as if no one said it to begin
with the first itchy finger on this horrid
      piano of spiders attempting echo.

there was a point...
   coming from a brief member of the ****
party...
   you know... i was actually having
a justin gatlin moment when he beat
usain bolt today...
      it was poetic... the "satan" bowing
before a "god", as a "poet", how would i never,
ever, rejoice in such moments,
akin to isaiah's words: oh lucifer,
how lowly fallen...
                                 there was so much
poetic justice in the event that only took
10 seconds to complete...
  how can you now suddenly break into
a framework of milton, and side with
the boogieman?
                              kinda makes all chemists
redundant: why not give all athletes
enchancing drugs? keep the plateau, invite
the fausts!
                guess what the biggest performance
enhancing drug was for justin gatlin?
the crowds boos...
            you can't, you can't find a bigger
drug, a better drug...
                 never undermine the underdog,
the fiend, the evil, the "enemy"...
       the crowd will always loose!
                          who befell, the crowd pleaser,
or the one who hushed the crowd -
the same crowd who stayed for
                   for the medal ceremony for farah...
who won? who won?!
           who won?!
                             it would have taken
the wiser of the two bolts to have bowed out,
than to become shackled into
   a shamrock of shame -
                no one will remember the victories:
everyone will only believe in
the overcoming of the underdog -
                         no matter the number
of medals, take to the ratio of 100 victories
and only 1 defeat... people still remember
the 1 defeat... or that's how history is taught...
commentators in the present may
cite the 100 victories, build statues...
   but people, people confined to history,
remember the 1 defeat... and the confines
of sand confined to an hour glass...
                                 the rise of the loser
is never celebrated, because it is paternal...
but the fall of the champion is only celebrated,
because there is no paternity,
  not maternity invoked, only the eager
hyennas waiting, only the condors, only the crows,
only the scavengers:
     flesh of flesh, torn off, till what remains
is only but what best resembles bone.

as heidegger said in aphorism 123 (V):
  then to totter in the great emptiness and shout
once hoarse.

    i "predicted" he wouldn't win...
                jealousy? do i look like i might be
jealous of an athelete of such competence
and decision to ****** rigour?
     unless you're talking about the ability to
write after a litre of ***...
  competition wise? i'm your man...
   cheap the *****, the more i'll write...
    cheap ***** within the ratio of: rich thought;
it was a "prediction"...
        you pick up nuances...
   generally speaking, when the mob anticipates
too much, too much fairy tale, you begin
to overshadow everything with: "pessimism" -
well... because there's the story of
                  sanctity - one of resurrection -
               one of the admonishing of sin...
my admonishing of the "sin" of childhood trust /
                          friendship?
become a hermit...
            and trust, not, one, ever, ever, again;
you can't call it a competition in terms
of trust and friendship...
     but i guess the ****** utopia of gay-talk
is just that, bwest-fwend... footie-fwend...
fwend... accompleesh... leash-buddy...
drinking-buddy...
                  associate... business-partner...
   lover...
surrogate-mother-*****-homosexual-*****;
****! test me! if this isn't the ridiculous
part of even attempting to engage in
ridicule... i fold! there's not worth in making
jokes out of this verbal amazon of:
  i eat a random berry, i hallucinate,
   i eat a random leaf, i stop hallucinating...

if i were you, i'd start with incubus'
album morning view... yeah, i know,
2001 may seem like far far away... esp.
with green day's slaughterhouse "rock" anthem
regarding september...

ask me again... how does the biblical narrative
become reincarnate in the day-to-day
lives of people ranging from dust-bin men
through to world-class athletes...
don't know...
             i'm stretching another second over
having to stretch heretical yoga-poses
attempting to doubly-inflate my bladder
and stopping myself from ******* my pants.