Each time I attempt to conclude
this equation,
I arrive at the same intersection of doubt,
as if fate sees me coming.

1) Highway ****** Crash
2) The Evasive Goings-on in The Puppy Court
3) A Picture of Susan Howe in a Man's Grey Overcoat

These sequences of event all appeared to me in dreams. The same dream, repeated, over a succession of winter nights. The first few sober, the last an alert blur, wherein the images seemed to make the most sense.

All I can be assured of is this:
because the police officer in the dream was a police officer
Not a garda síochana or police inspector
the dream was definitely set in one of the Midwest United States
where I've never been, yet oddly interests me more than Canada,
where the same applies. It was definitely  freezing
(perhaps the blanket had been pulled off me in sleep?)
and the police officer definitely spoke English and said
"Highway" Hence: American.

The first night the dream arrived
It was that time of year when the night sky
subtly tricks you into believing that
morning is imminently about to break.

Those nights
A reminder that nature
was the first coy tease of suspended disbelief
the first pay-per-view special that took its time
getting going and then ended all too soon.

Two trucks had split in two a mid-size saloon-
That was the first of the dream's episodes-
But a voice arrived like a roll call of ice before an avalanche
-whispering that it was "a setup"-
which I presumed meant "collusion."
So I had a ******, at hand, in my dream-
speaking to the mustachioed Midwestern police detective afterwards-
as mutually understanding as if we had been in the same all-boys Catholic secondary school.
He had the suspects-so we then presided unto-

"THE PUPPY COURT"

Which was-yes, a court whose racial make-up consisted of young Dogs-
(This being a dream ; Dreams which are often the dictionary definition of Surreal and often don't mean anything)
The more I consider it, the Puppies were also most likely Puppets
Acted out by humans who had fists shoved up their *****.
Perhaps this court was a speculative court-it was, most certainly,
A "Kangaroo" court
With no justice being presided over, as such.
Heckles sounded throughout most of the exhibits,
A sternly yapping Yorkshire Terrier banged the gavel to no avail-
He was consistently rudely interrupted by a cocksure Golden Retriever-
who seemed to have as his boyos most of the bench and the jurors.
I never did find out who was responsible
for the horrific collision that spelled the end for the saloon driver,
as at this point I would usually exit the court in disgust
and for some reason found myself reading a poem in front of
an audience of one-
the acclaimed Irish-American L=A=N==G=U=A=G=E (that's how they spell it..) poet Susan Howe.

Yes, she was indeed wearing a Man's gray Overcoat
Resembling herself in the picture I held in my hand
Next to my own text
And as I looked toward her
The room's low lighting seem to reflect
the sparse "Black and White" filter of the photograph
and she was also wearing what looked like
the same Man's gray (Houndstooth maybe?
She Looked ALL filtered through "Black and White")

So the intention seemed to be that I was reading,
or perhaps presenting, maybe even pitching?
to Susan Howe. ("And how!"-might have been the before-or-after gag I might have used to anyone who new how it was going to go or how it happened-what gamey fun, these puns be...)
Susan looked on with penitence, as if prematurely unimpressed...
I look down to the poem I was expecting myself to read, and realised...
why the ******* did I choose that?

It was a poem I had written several years ago (well, if several means seven, lets say six)
Its subject was a young Canadian (possible Motorway Crash Link? Perhaps I misremembered her as midwestern?..) Muslim student whom I had shared a class on Hellenistic philosophy with back in the first or second year of my undergrad in Dublin (oh the hedonistic, sunsplashed, affordable Dublin of those days) and whom I had shared a flirtatious rapport with, innocent enough of course but always backdropped by a underscored leitmotif that instilled the threat of a problematic outcome across religious and possibly less so cultural divides

(Breath)

Nevertheless, she laughed at my jokes and self-deprecation and would squeeze my arm tightly when particularly amused , would hug me enthusiastically at the end of every class and although I never saw the full profile of her under that headscarf her ****** features Vogue beach fashion shoot stunning and after the module ended I never saw her again oh but how rare and strangely puritanical the lust...

Regardless, the poem began as such:

A Stir in Yemen/ must have been the catalyst for the smokey condensation/ in your gaze/ the mocha swirl in your pupils/ and the vex in your smile/ alluding to double meanings/innuendo that treads together like an Ernst canvas/ a blessed triptych/thrillingly

This poem was typed onto a model of Nokia phone which I have been made aware has since gone out of fashion, like it's producer.

Max Ernst-the surrealist painter, of course. A manual in style for most of us.

In response to my reading, Susan Howe merely nodded silently, seemingly all knowingly, as if she had thought the poem written for her or contained an interpretation that I had unintended (or, if asked by the real-life Susan Howe, would pretend to have intended all along.)

And there the Dream Triptych always ended.

As I said at the beginning I dreamt it twice more that same week, once intoxicated. It always followed the same sequence, and I don't read books on dreams so I have no idea what it meant, why it had three distinct parts or whether if most likely it was all a bit of nonsense. But at least it was INTERESTING.

Make the rest up for yourself.

Festival time - A favorite time of year
When Mothers and Fathers sing the their children as gifts
Dance in the love of Old Grandpa Wally
Even when he can't find his socks, or sits on the dog
Aunt Dorcas bought the tickets to the Fantasy Festival
So all the good little Girls and Boyos can play!

Open your arms
To the Fountain of Clowns
Open your family
To the Fountain of Clowns
Open your Daddy
To the Fountain of Clowns
Open your Mommy
To the Fountain of Clowns

Will you go with me to ride the Spring Mares?
Or see the sights at the Showy-Magic Tent?
Maybe learn  what the Pizzazz Wizard sees for our Tomorrows?
Maybe a kiss at the Promisatorium
All of your Sister's dreams can die and be born again
If your tired, rest your head on Brother's lap and take a drink

Open your eyes
To the Fountain of Clowns
Open your heart
To the Fountain of Clowns
Open your insides
To the Fountain of Clowns
Open your mouth
To the Fountain of Clowns

Laughing and Crying are the flavors of love
The scars on your heart will open its flowers
Look deep in the eyes of the children who surround you
Ask them for love with your arms and your tears
The sun in the sky was meant for your Heart
Maybe the Queen of Summer will never end

Open your past
To the Fountain of Clowns
Open your future
To the Fountain of Clowns
Open your body
To the Fountain of Clowns
Open your heart
To the Fountain of Clowns

.hey, so much for jack kerourac's on the road... but i have found this most pristine tour-guide... as that h'american hobo... "7 years later" duping the tourists down in Amsterdam... h'american... what else? well it's hardly the Nepal you were looking for... or those grand sand of Arabia with a Lawrence: better suited for a... what do "we" call them? androids... david... citing: the trick is: not minding that it hurts... stoicism or some otherwise weathered down, other... point of (a) queue? and yes... red hot chilli pepper's song: warm tape... off the album... i forget... is underrated... in between the salvos of... those lyrics based around a "narrative"... but when the chorus comes in? melted butter in a thick spludge of crème fraîche.... yes... i want to love like a john frusciante... but i know i never will... i see too much economics to: "bed the pardon"... ****... "beg" the the pardon... the girls i once loved have probably forgotten me... moved on... the prostitues "in-between" were always "her" tailor of best arranged hair via - gay riddles of "the cut" via never having to mind a barber... and all those manicures! mein gott! there was a time and a place to squeeze in politics of the "fathomable" populace... and a "perhaps a chance" to raise children? dire consequences... to no avail of... the otherwise prior mentioned: straits... there were times in my life when i felt in love... that i could give give give and never ask for anything in return... lucky for me i started to age and not perform the portrait gray act of stay-young-forever-young-vampire... i clinged to love, once... it was such a beautiful spring... a spring that could last within its season a spell of over 5 years... then... reality and autumn and a need to dispell delusions... she probably still "loves me"... with someone else... cameo cinema of memory? where, am, i? love, oh love, what a burden, a hurdle, a responsibility... it's never this quickened escape ease of breath lodged into fiction... somehow always constricting, somehow always burdensome... somehow and somewhat always... never the homeless cherry picking of mutt that made it to an elevation of being under the christmas tree! why would i have children "these days"... well... there's no history i'd be allowed to teach them... and modern day-old journalism? i thought the people were only willing to fudge bulimia down the throats of their "listeners"? i still want to love like a john frusciante... perhaps that's the mosti can offer... best sentenced to a riddle escaped with at a bechance of keeping distance.

being a video-tourist with roosh v:
the sort of h'america i always wanted to see...
like... gaining another 50ml shot
of whiskey under the belt and notches...
is like... imagining *******
ava lauren in a 1970s italian ***** movie
style... when even *** in a pornographic
movie feels: sensual...
joel osteen... an iron maiden gig
looks... just the same...
when the skin becomes a sterile experience
of leather: when wearing shoes...
and a belt...
when this worn skin becomes
this most adored leather...
when the exhausted "beauty"
of prostitutes becomes: something
equivalent to... working out the mandible
artifact... akin to the chew and jaw...
the old continent seems to sigh...
i once missed Handel's Messiah for a night
at the brothel with the Bulgarian harem...
the grand-orchestra of the acronym:
U! S! A! U! S! A! seems so vague and...
bewildering... i'd love to be an atheist in
h'america... so... ridicule prone and
the high-end sort of bag-full-of-counter-virtues...
but i just can't be...
i like being a god-fearing man...
skin... ****, i need to tend to my german:
wann haut wird leder...
akin to: when **** cheney half-had
a neu-herz...
we do come most humble...
we are, oh the most pristine: wenigkreaturen...
ZAMAR-ZNIĘTY... frozen... (he)...
unless... you see that R-Z outside of deutsche...
in the fwench: je, je SUIS! form...
hard to keep those two 'uckers together
in a rz-eton... (Ż)eton casino...
orthography... who am i to preach to a people
so... so figured out with their metaphysics
that orthography, quiet simply,
doesn't, concern them?!
i'm still thinking about ava lauren and
all that 1970s italian *****-sensuoso *******...
why not to forget? pontius pilate clause
akin to louis XIV paranoia:
the power lies in how "it" is perceived...
lying... i don't mind hearing about hog-mucking...
i just mind when it's don juan
mucking up a nun: that's not a nun...
i don't like hearing about:
the goat in sheep... in the mouth of a wolf...
i can stand metaphor...
i just don't like curtains made from iron...
or burgundy tinged silk...
or some other: BLATANT lie...
the one blatant focus for puritanical "superstitions"
of: third eye blind of the other is...
this... bogus f-ck-wit of an underbelly...
there really was a time when i wanted
to see little-life everyday-sort-of h'america...
how the... whittle people lived...
then i figured... no more and no less whittle
from where i'm sitting...
maybe i should be standing?
but at least i come from a continent where...
(a) a striptease is... like the slipped ****** pill
no one wants...
(b) the ****** don't bring their cameras
and film you while you're at it...
(c) and a (d) and an (e) that i will not even
debase myself with...
perhaps we do speak the same language...
but... that's as much as
relates shoeshine to a shoe
as it relates mewwy ol' england to this...
grand posturing that's the u. s. of... a.
perhaps i need to see the sights of: Moldova...
or... Switzerland...
last time i heard being land-locked is the new
best thing... given aeroplanes...
i did want to mid-west ****-hole h'america...
from england... eh... m'eh... all i need is to go east
of Germany... if i find myself in
the West Warsaw coach station...
i'm practically in Ukraine...
everything reeks of this... sediment of roach bathed
in rust... a perfume of mud,
concrete, and lazy metal...
and of course the doom and gloom of the skies...
like 25th of december in Chernobyl...
you just want to start aiming for sparrows
with a pellet gun and break your teeth
on sifting through dirt and haemorrhoids...
and by these standards?
punk will never bother to re-invent itself...
not with pink... and "pronoun concerns"...
or whatever you these days call a f-cking mullet...
and yes... because even if i could...
the white picket fence...
the 3 brats worth of a brood...
the gene patriarchy drive...
the alcoholic / neurotic spouse...
the dog name Bono...
and... each saturday a: bonfire of concerns
for my children's schooling...
sober: but the alternative is no better...
personally? as an "atheist"?
i'm not really thankful...
i can't be thankful for all of this...
last time i checked...
some people in this world are required
to have an omni-litany ruling over their ***-lives...
they want to feel: *****...
why would i even be an atheist?
to speak out something, snarky?
to be prone to... too much ridicule?
there's only so much comedy you can invest in,
before you realise: oh ****...
i'm not a stand-up!
this monologue has no stage...
no audience... it's going to eat me up
like any other solipsism without any escape
into a soliloquy!
atheism is a "thing" in h'america: no wonder...
who said it...
they're a bunch of puritans in public...
but in private? citizen porky?
you know... pig rubber masks and spandex
and s & m and... yawn...
a striptease is so condescending...
6 weeks of celibacy...
nothing: excuse me... *******?
i'm excused with the personal-relief...
yes, the line is drawn... once given the snip
but not the kippah?
em... **** galore: up in their air...
rotating toward... Mecca...
with the prayer...
like... i have the scalp to scratch my head
and ponder...
imagine if a circumcision was akin to scalping...
personally... do we even need ears?
i could be the first to say:
but not really...
a matrimony begins with...
the snippet... which transcends the symbology
of rings... i might as well see it as...
for a woman: she is to offer her virginity...
for a man? he is to offer his *******...
problem solved! Libra rejoice!
she gives up her virginity - which she will lose...
he gives up his ******* - which he will lose...
i can almost see Aaron making these
Levi demands...
what am i thinking...
i will never get to see ****-hole mustard seed
h'america... i'll sooner see Kazan...
but i still don't see the point of making
the loss of a woman's virginity to be equivalent
to a man losing his *******...
after all... prior to the snippet...
he'll *******... a woman will *******...
but... em... what the arm will not do:
the "oyster" will quench...
an i am a gentile figuring out the proper ways
of the monotheists...
speeded up eventuality of apes watching
the descent of dragons and dinosaurs...
bound to the noble profanity of swans...
and widow and widower swans...
brid-brains! of noble emotions!
huh?! no! not us!
i can see the point of male circumcision...
when it is brought with the virginity of a woman...
being circumcised with one woman
is much more than putting on a ring...
un-lucky for me... two protruding veins
like the caduceus worn into the skin of matrimony...
it's not simply that i won't:
i... can't...
hence my infernal tongue.

__________
one can only begin with: Б and В -
and then the nuance:
whatever "nuance" there was,
to genesis an adam and eve -
apple and: pears to combine
for the image of Иосифа лестница..
                  ц - ß - צ (tsade)
                   like one might begin with
something along the greek:
P and Π - amputee R...
rolls... rolls... past the goal-posts...
            the fwench hark
the english tarantula bitten
tongue-numb do not never will trill!
never mind:
       ščypta - szczypta - a pinch of salt...
wikipedia is so ******* wrong...
   щypta... it's a siamese grapheme!
thus shown... cisza: silence...
                       ciša..
ciШa...
                       you can rewrite ščypta /
szczypta in russian...
                     avoiding the щypta...
you can write: ШЧypta...
                     but given: щ (šč / szcz)?
                                    who's to argue?
here's my "revenge" against
organic chemistry's theoretical
electron migrations of schematics...
how about diacritical migrations?
more like electron ontology:
waves one minute, clouds the next...
czyszczoh...

https://www.google.com/search?safe=active&client=firefox-b-d&channel=trow&ei=vf84XaHyIMWHhbIPhtOPqA4&q=czyszczoch&oq=czyszczoch&gsl=psy-ab.3...750080.759383..760300...1.0..0.247.1771.0j9j2....­2..0....1..gws-wiz.......0i71j0i67j0i131j0j0i131i67j0i30j0i13j0i1­3i30j0i13i10i30.wqdfvbgw6Ck&ved=0ahUKEwjhxKfi787jAhXFQ0EAHYbpA-UQ4dUDCAo&uact=5
(8 goodle results, nearing a -whack)...

Czyszczoń:
                     čyščoń:

                  interlude: Ђ? in cyrillic? isn't that a hindi letter?
via a mirror akin to Я ?            

czyścioch:
                 ШЧ / Щ -ypta - pinch...
      ЧyCЬKIOX...
          someone pedantic about staying clean...

                           :
  if you ever became riddle by pure
chemistry theory, and never walked into a lab:
that also employed you,
wasted years: performing electron bogus
schematics of "electron migrations"
in organic chemistry compounds...
in experiments...
          university as that extended waste
of time period: beside heavily politico
mickey mouse concerns of the dept. of
the humanities...
  sociology et al., well then?
you're right where you belong!
    
how about: the migration of diacritical markers,
orthography before naked english...
how's that?
     english the adam and ever...
all other languages attired
in the niqab worth a god...
__________

as i sit perched on my folded foot on the windowsill,
having a ms. amber cocktail with ginger ale,
smoking a cigarette, i gravitate to the empty
standing rack of shelves...
  what remains on it, as the paint dries?
a tub of wall paint: fine rosemary,
       tissues, sunglasses,
                  a game sheath: chess and backgammon
in one... a c.d. walkman,
      20 copies of my curricul vitae,
a 1:26000 ratio map of Warsaw...
                                  heidegger's ponderings VII - XI,
a thin book of poetry:
    Πoετιc Oπτoμεtρy - by some vague unknown
semi-anon. Mateusz Conrad...
          i'm hoarding about 200 copies of this work,
perhaps this lazy sod will finally get to
send this printed copy, some raw manuscript
pieces and a covering letter to
          Austin Macauley Publishers:
sounds like a good deal...
  they accept any manuscripts, with or without
an agent, published or not published,
expect a 3 week wait...
a letter dated 16 April 2019 for an appointment
at the Community Outpatient Cardilogy Clinic
  (Dagenham RM8 2EQ)
               with Anamaria Lunca...
24h ambulatory blood pressure monitoring
   (aged 33? not bad... <insert a snigger>)...
Plato's Theaetetus,
               Man-Bat: part 1 of 3, 1st. part,
DC comics, chuck dixon, flint henry,
    eduardo barreto - Feb. 96 - two $2.25...
Doctor StrangeFate, Amalgam Comics,
      #1, Ron Marz, Jose Luis Garcia-Lopez,
Kevin Nowlan, April '96,
                                         $1.95...
Littlewoods F.A. Charity Shield:
Manchester United v Newcastle United
Sunday August 11 1996 Kick-off 3:00pm
Official Machday Proramme £5.00 -
venue? the old Wembley...
inside? another matchday programme...
West Ham v Manchester United
Barclays League Division One
Wednesday 22nd April 1992 kick-off 7:45pm
£1.50 for the programme...
- the mask returns: john arcudi (story),
doug mahnke (art),
      titan books, first edition October 1994...
Czeslaw Milosz - Zniewolony Umysł
     "Culture" Paris - 1953...
- Bartman: the best of the best 1st edition
January 1997...
- a few figurines...
   a porcelain tortoise: WADE - made in england,
a Kenyan shamanic totem -
a figure with a bloated belly and only one eye,
a polish clay cockerel,
           London's China town red figurine:
standing proud on coins of wealth roaring...
1986, my year, moderate wealth -
well... given this list... i had to move all
the books i own that are supposed to be on
these shelves into the hallway, some onto
the windowsill and some into the box room...
the paint has to dry...
          a boomerang...
                     a Wawel dragon figurine...
(hell, in the west the dragon is associated
with wealth... Smaug... in China the tiger
is associated with wealth... didn't know that)...
some amitriptyline 25mg tablets...
    tom waits: glitter and doom (live) -
seriously - there are only about ten albums
in this world where the live performance
outstrips the studio version,
notably? going out west...
                   a pencil and a piece of paper...
where i scribble my braille tally
to teach me how to drink sensibly
my two ciders and the banquet of whiskey:
currently standing at 4... ****...
oi! tender hands that never worked or
played the guitar, giv' us'us the braille
count to show you have no more fingers
than that tender index of yours!
                           ⠁⠃⠇⠧ ⠷ ⠿
                 it's working... 'nuf' said...
- virgil's the aeneid,
- h. p. lovercraft: against the world,
    against life - by michel houellebecq,
- NewScientist - 50th anniversary special
   (1956 - 2006)
- Bolshoi Ballet, Royal Opera House programme,
i won't be dropping names...
****, i will:
           karim abdullin - soloist,
        maria alexandrova - principal,
artemy belyakov - leading soloist,
yulia stepanova - soloist,
                igor tsvirko - leading soloist,
- three letters from a Magdalena
Wielgołaska -
handwritten letters and all,
a pen-pall i managed to pick up a conversation
with in Edinburgh when she was
working a b & b for the summer...
         very self-conscious about her
height... well... she did play volleyball...
- old notes from university:
history essays... all a solid 2:1 grades:
    matriculation no.: s0458467
   tutor: kirsty chatwood (canadian ****
who became pregnant, great sense of humour),
e.g. why were there so many rebellions
in Europe in the mid-seventeenth century
(word count: 1,991),
   how and why did Napoleon succeed in
establishing French power over so much
Europe? (word count: 1,956)... 2% shy of a 1st...
so... no, not even i can answer this question...
since i also own copies of...
a traffic management copy of
my organic lab schedule:
   synthesis and acetylation of ferrocene,
preparation of 7-trichloromethyl-8-bromo-Δ-p-pinene
by free radical addition of
   bromotrichloromethane to β-pinene,
the photochemical interconversion of trans-
and cis- azobenzenes,
witting synthesis and photochemical
   cyclodehydrogenation of 1-styrylnaphthalene...
silyl enol ethers: a directed aldol reaction...
i used to do this sort of "stuff"...
but the pièce de résistance while i moved
my private library from these shelves?
ahem...

                 E. O. Richter & Co.
                 Präcision
                 Kopernicus IX set...
                 das prazisions-reiszeug

i.e. the most pristine instruments for technical
drawings... the sort of technical drawings used
in metallurgy, engineering, architecture...
people would conflate a hoarder with me...
me? i'm a connoisseur...
             i respect the sort of materialism that
transcends that shallow form of materialism
that equates itself with immediate gratification
not as a per se: but as a tool to attract...
unwanted attention...
  flimsy materialism, gluttonous materialism...
a materialism that occupies space
and short-attention span gnats...
    materialism of a temporal rather than
a spatial nature? now we're talking!

   and here's to toasting this day...
tomorrow i will erase that fateful day that
coincided with me painting my room
crimson - the Bataclan Massacre...
fine rosemary pale hue will replace
these blood soaked walls that have become
my gallows...
                    a shade much less the green
of my own eyes... and perhaps...
my mind will rest with a mild lapse into
a curiosity of a serenaded mind:
         i'm not even looking for serendipity.

it really didn't occur to me with regards
to the state of h'america...
  once upon a time any european would
look toward h'america as this unified
continent of sorts...
  prime cultural export juggernaut...
now? with the cracks showing,
  with individual americans making youtube
videos?
   clearly "we" europeans were lied to,
well: "lied" to...
          i would never have thought that the states
were so divided...
that even moving from one state to another
can be deemed as supicious...
maybe that's heavily reliant on the fact
that we're talking about a federation...
          in Europe they call it nationalism
what in H'america they call patriotism...
and populism is just the glue in between...
like that whole: ex-pat is not an immigrant...
but i love the h'american approach
to us old continent boyos...
styxhexen-... about the europeans:
'like we're enlightened and ****'...
         that really sums it up....
             notably, compiling the above list?
i almost forgot what i was going to write...
-hammer666 did enlighten me...
  i would have never have thought that
h'american "soccer mums" and goody-two-shoe
ruby-slippers christian folk would ban
children from reading 'arry Potter...
     well of course i knew of the satanic panic
music, and the gaming: thing...
but i never heard of 'arry Potter books being
banned...
     enlightened and ****...
      if Nietzsche was going to brag about reading
Stendhal... did him in my teens...
nothing to brag about... after all...
i did see a movie adapation starring
ewan mcgregor as julien sorel... and rachel weisz
was in it too... the first book adaptation on
film that spurred me to read the book...
if only the lord of the rings did likewise...
alas... not to be!
      no thanks to my scottish english teacher...
sure: of the g.c.s.e. curriculum?
i'm the king of the castle was the only
book of depth...
       yes, i'll give him this:
he did introduce me to jazz music...
   ben webster's how deep is the ocean...
   no other sax player as ben webster...
but: 'we're enlightened and ****' as an american
might put it...
   same teacher... on a trip to Glasbury-on-Wye
(Powys, Wales) -
oh god, i was dying to go on that trip for ages...
we were first supposed to go aged 15...
year 11...
  but the outbreak of the madcow disease
prevented us... so a year later it was...
    great place... caving, canoeing, horse riding...
and just in general the great outdoors...
any teen's dream living in the outer
east end of London...
              anyways... so the teacher inquired...
'what are you reading',
  he walked into our dorm while
guys my age were... snorting sugar dust
through their noses...
      fizz wiz space dust... yep... down the noses
it went...
   i was reading a book looking at them
like a gorilla might look at a human...
                       'mr. bunce? what am i reading?'
so i handed him the slim copy
of Marquis de Sade's groundbreaking short-story:
******...
          now, if you ask me...
the Marquis would have been the emblem
of short-story writing, he was the best as short-stories...
all those long repetitive regurgitations are...
well... 120 days of *****...
but Insect is where he shines,
the story is succinct in a citrus fruit sense:
i.e. piquant.
   succinct and piquant: such lovely
words could only have originated from
French and have to be treated as: loan-words.
besides: i find h'american criticism of europe
a wee bit funny...
     sure: an honest critique of the states
and the union, grandiose politics cogs and
all the labyrinths' worth of bureucracy:
like anywhere - same ****, different cover...
but when it comes to social norms and their
taboos... h'america is very truly backwards
when it comes to what culture its citizens
are allowed to ingest...
       me, in europe, reading marquis de sade
aged 16...
the equivalent of me, in h'america,
being prohibited to read: 'arry potter for
****'s sake!
sorry... on the level where my opinion
might or might not matter...
             americans are backwards...
those puritanical roots do not do them much
favors... esp. with their extravagant
punk-esque tropes signifying a rebellion
that never seems to occur;
christianity truly undermines the idea
of america...
                     if not bound by shackles,
then shivering under the burden of the shadow
of the cross: which none of them wish
to carry... the mere looming shadow frightens
them... and... mind you? american neo-atheism?
boring as sunday's midday sun.

i hate being rudely woken...
   esp. going to sleep at 5am
and then waking up at 8am...
screeching like a banshee...
   trying to find a shade,
having to explain...
as to why i'm halfway,
half asleep half aware / awake
into a starscream -
half bit aware -
never you mind
  die krupps' song, banned
from sietube...
    nazis, auf schpeed...
     i thought that ISIS warriors
were on the shame bollocking
of insomnia as the
    Luftwaffe?    huh?
               yeah: schpeed!
can't have a drink...
but will drip drip drop a few
amphetamines...
         good on 'ose boyos -
like an yo-yo trick...
   notably originating from
      Bagging a D(h)ad.
- did i really fall asleep listening
to the wrong music?
  the **** happened?
  i was supposed to wake up
at 3pm... in the afternoon...
now i'll have to drink in the morning
hours...
   to try, and chase the missing
hours of sleep...
   i even had to take the cat
from the house, and tell her:
this part the garden is cool...
   i just lay there,
      quasi ****-naked...
                  it's better than inside
the house... believe me...
i hate sleep thieves...
     perhaps i am to have a sole blame
origin:
  do i ******* look like an arab?!
that's reference to the current
Saharan heat import...
with Parisian pensioners...
dropping likes flies...
               me, i'm just waiting for
the palm trees on the Baltic coast...
but, by then?
          i hope i'm dead...
because all this middle-class
******* sycophancy?
               no... no no no no...
              i hope i have Nero's courage...
and stab myself in the throat;
cos, these, *****,
      simply, do, not, get, it!
Eskimo or Alzheimer's?
       why is it that the major diseases
spread when given enough heat?
as ever... i'd much prefer
the primitive injunction of "suffering"
ice...
              heat... always with the *******
heat...
    and sand...
               a Bangladeshi came up
with the term in a Catholic school -
and with good reason...
     sand *******...
            who? arabs... sand *******...
because you know who
actually built the burj khalifa?
the Bangladeshi...
          in that sort of heat?
    i'm not surprised they'd come up with
a deviation of sheik:
                       i.e. *******.

chances are... i've probably forgotten something... A
as it happens: per usual...
when you have a lightning storm in your head...
you wait and wait for the thunder, i.e. the words...
but since you're having a blitzkrieg moment
(just like when Stuttgart did a blitzkrieg
against West Ham in the first 2 minutes of a game):
it's sort of: disorientating...

i think i might call this:
sammeln einsen denken...
   i even have a pseudo equation for this:

english "<" german
    while... german "<" Norse...
        hell... cousin *******... but more:
branching off...
   etymologically speaking...
    it's hard to grapple with the nouns
let alone conjunctions...
but at least nouns refer to concrete things...

colours... shapes... "details"...
contortions...
then again: **** Germany did invade Norway...
while glorifying the neutrality of Sweden...
who was it that called the Swedes
the Polyphemus' of culture?
   oh... right... Knausgaard...
     i like i hate him i like him i still have
volumes 5 & 6 to read through...
and spring and summer and winter...

hmm... gather my thoughts... and idle hands do
the rest... i just watch the cascade of scribbling...
i pretend to play a violin while
stroking my beard...
i just need to find the right song to ensure
i have a rhythm-stamina
i'm pretty sure one cat of mine will break it
with a: "can i come in and lie in your bed"?

yep... just happened... the window is open
and i direct him onto my bed
and as he nudges / nuggets his head into my
pillow i'll continue...

****... i have to wake up at 7am tomorrow morning...
chances are... the skip will come between
7:30am and 9:30am... there's plenty to clear our
from the garden... all that concrete pieces
i broke down with that rented kango... etc. etc. blah
blah...
oh: i'm not work shy...
i even know why i'm doing this current work...

upon checking tickets... directing people to their
right seat... on the sly i noted the price tag...
it's "work" and it isn't work...
i just need one song to focus on to write...
i don't do: listen to a whole ****** album...
i need a concentrated dosage of something...
esp. sound... on repeat... on repeat...
i'll restart it countless times before finishing
my doodle and relaxing...
but until that time... it's one song on repeat...
on repeat... on ******* repeat...

i've have too many lightning strikes in my head
to let go of them: but i need some buoyancy...

think of *** think of *** think of *** think of
thighs think of collar bones think of elbow
think of knees think of foreheads think of hair
thing of lips think of: every, single, ****** time...
i walk into a brothel...
what do i sniff? bourbon and skin cream...
not ****** type of scents... just like:

i remember the very old memes of the internet...
one wasn't even a picture,
it was more of a question...
can two straight guys share an umbrella?
the other one was an inversion
of the myth of a mermaid...
i.e. a picture of a mermaid...
d'uh... oral ***... and counter to it...
the legs of a 6ft leg model with her torso
replaced by a fish's upper body...

           that is truly debatable...
but then again: it's not...

why do i do this job? currently? i could be earning
more if i a stuck to construction...
but that's the thing about working with family:
when it's great: it's ******* great...
but when it's ****: it's rancid...
family members can take so many liberties when employing
you...
          i liked the work though...
30kg rolls of felt... here and there...
tar doughnuts dropped tenderly like ****
into the boiler... i didn't mind...
but i'm writing poo'etry... i need to assure myself...
i need to build up some skills of dealing
with the crowds...
obviously i'm planning to perform some
of my scribbles...
              
but i find an impasse...
the rhyming ping-pong... crass...
advertisement crass poor-aesthetics of the words
being ushered it...
unlike: Aud Lang Syne: which?!
no Shakespeare can beat...

i find no comparison with any modern poet...
i even tried it with Ezra Pound...
i'm left with the tradition of Horace and Ovid...
these two ******* have my mind boiling...
there's no rhyme:
there's that unbroken lineage of consciousness
that can be as both subtle as it can be overtly
dynamic...

****... i knew this would happen...
i'd start writing and forget some minor points
i wanted to add...
oh... right... what's the...
ha ha... of the square root of a schizophrenic squared?!

now that's borrowing from Alfred Jarry's pataphysics...

i.e. √schizophrenic²?
        it's a joke... practically: what's √4² = 4...
which is equivalent to scribbling...
hmm...                            š = sh... no?
so? what's? √schizophrenic² equal to?

i'll tell you:

    √schizophrenic² = bilingual (-ist)
well, the joke follows further... just because you're
white you're presumed to be one of those
native, white lost boys...
who don't perform at school...
        i'm still waiting... not for an apology...
**** the apology... i want the dumb-founded
glum look on these "medical" sadists...
these pharmacological Mengele disciples...
i'm just waiting: i'm good at waiting...

was that it? i put on over 20kg from their supposed
"cure" medication...
and... what? anyone hang themselves like Judas
for wrong-doing...
Satan managed it right... confuse them...
tell them: AND... somewhere in between
KNOWLEDGE of GOOD / EVIL...
because man conflates the too...
   man's concept of law... of jurisprudence is exactly that...
Moses' poetic genius or...
"god": there are three ranks of superior creatures
the mind extends towards...
angels... demons... geniuses...
i count geniuses a rank above...
    stressing: if people used to imagine a cyclops...
a minotaur... a Cerberus... fairies...
i think geniuses are the most manifest
when translating the extension of the mind
toward them: since through them
they manifest in body... Newton!
                         geniuses are creatures most self-evident
from past examples of their pact with man:
a pact made prior with Prometheus:
who... not being a god... could spawn this crafty
cohort of... equivalence? dwarfs?!

i vape and i suddenly turn into a scientist in the eyes
of my cat: the smoke the smoke mesmerizes them...
unusual if i'm smoking a "chip" of a cigarette..
wild eyed, they are...

but it has been a good autobiography so far...
reading a mingling of Stendhal with Marquis de Sade
in my teens... returning to Ovid in my mid-30s...
it's a good sexuality to have...

esp. that time in the brothel completely obliterated
by those 12 prostitutes... a tube's equivalent of
a carriage of legs...
can-can... they could have danced a can-can
folding right leg onto the left leg: folding...
and vice versus...
i also loved the rejections... future rejections
now seem... contained...
i deal with them like i deal with being soaked
by rain: no sugar here...
          i make a slight grimace... i idle my frown...

i have more in common with Ovid and Horace
than i have with these complaining poet-activists
that are "fishing" with a rod and line and sinker
worth's of rhyme: and yes... Wayne Static of
Static-X is dead... join, the, ******* queue...

i know the current job could be classified as...
low "quality"... low "status"...
there's no reason to believe i can maintain
a drunken crowd... absolutely none...
the world is harsh... get used to it...
i can be nice in person:
but when i allow myself to scribble something:

eh... i sometimes alleviated myself
with the comparison to Wolverine...
esp. from that cover by Johnny Cash
of a Nine Inch Nail's song: hurt...
but... i was always more of a Juggernaut sort
of guy... a Magneto sort of guy...
i can't remember the last time i played
a computer game... crosswords bore me...
su doku: fair enough...
i write: i cascade: i spew...
     crosswords are a thesaurus for me...
i don't like sphinxes... or sphinx's riddles...

when i'm open to a narrative... i'm keeping my
"guns"... well... wooden swords...
i'm pretty **** sure the people i'm working
with don't know anything about me...
i'm only doing this job to get some...
experience in maintaining a crowd...
i'm thinking: perhaps it's time to become
less a creator and more an entertainer?

i sometimes walk the streets at night...
i peer in...
some old lady is usually watching the t.v.:
so... where's the fireplace?!
where are the grandchildren listening to stories
of old?! where is the passage of time?!
sure as ****... it isn't "there"...
the t.v. replaced the fireplace...
i'm having insomnia libido...
personally... i want to **** and if i wanted it so much
i should follow suite... instead?!
drinking is better...

that's the glory of the internet...
some of "us" just adapted to it...
we didn't waste time to adapting to it...
it was never about anything practical...
in terms of using it for internet banking or internet shopping...
some of "us" required an open flow of
information...

i start listening to Hawkwind's
                      hassan-i-sabah...
i know the allure of Islam...
                     i know it all too well...
  Christianity over-complicated itself...
it's a "monotheism" but given the number of schisms
it might as well be categorised as a polytheistic religion...
given the number of versions of "christ":
that cosmopolitan messiah...
who moved people from Nazareth to Jerusalem and then:
undermined the existence of the Hebrews owning any land...

a Greco-Judeo conspiracy against the Roman empire...
why? the Roman plagiarism of the Greek theology /
mythology... i.e. how Zeus became Jupiter...
how Hades became Neptune...
proud Greeks... even prouder Hebrews...
oops... Roman script was not Persian cuneiform...
it didn't... simply "die"...
now... emboldened with access to technological
"improvements": how is it? how is it, going
to simply die off?!

i find Christianity complicated...
no wonder i wasn't confirmed...
while that famous atheist Richard Dawkins was...
you just need to find the right sort of Islam
to secure your mind in this whirlwind of
Christianity imploding... for however nth time...

you start listening to Hawkwind's
Hassan-i-Sabbah...
the Elder of the Mountain...
you peer into the Sh...
   that running joke from the 13th warrior...
so... what's your name?!
Muhammad ibin Ali ibin Rasheed... ibin...

    Ibin... son of... Ibin... a bit like Iblis...

see... that's the thing about the shisha pipe and
the "mobile phone" equivalence of it via
the vape pipes...
same ****... different cover...
i just counter my addiction to nicotine with
the amount of pearls of smoke
i egest... exhale with this pristine white
cauliflower smoke...
there's no high: biologically:
by now eyes are not biological extensions...
spiritual measures... add a mirror and we're talking:

and the devil came with smoke and mirrors...
rather than with fire and sulphur...
because?! gods come with the latter...
but i still need a "high" to write something...

the first time i tried ******* was with Khedra
in the brothel... i was 35 and prior to that...
no bother... i tried dating single mums who used
to date single boyos who were coke-heads
who... whatever...
i can become a plumber if i need to...
a roofer... a chef... bicycle fixer...
but i'm not a "bad boy": i know single mums
with attitude... i don't know how
this attraction works in reverse...
i tried... failed... moved on...
obviously i still write about it...
because?! it's a bit like discovering gravity...
or... the heliocentric model!

for someone who has been diagnosed as "mad"...
would you want to understand women?
by understanding women implies:
you stop loving women...
i'm still a Romanticist...
i want to love women: i don't want to understand
women... i want to remain feral...
i can't imagine myself being tamed...
i want to love women and not understand them...
ergo?

     i avoid women and i'm all the better for it...
i just see how they age...
fair enough... men aging is not exactly spectacular...
either...
but at least... there's the Benelux resolve...
some marijuana prior... some magic mushrooms
to alleviate the onslaught of dementia...
in a van Gogh horizon and then:

AUS MIT IHR KÖPFE!

no sentiments for the monotheistic-sadism of
homelessness...
a warm bath... the veins slit...
let life be life!
  and let death be death!

lassen leben sein leben!
und lassen tod sein tod!

don't grieve for the fractured stone:
to replace the shape of a mountain!
for a worthlessness of a: tomb!

     feed grief! via memory!
bind your love to those you remember!
and lessen the burden you try to forget
by ritual: with the exacting memorabilia
you'd want to confiscate out of existence!
of what?! of the grave!
burn them!

we can't ascribe ourselves to any one element...
we are the waters of libido and thirst...
we are the earth of staging frights of resurrected
empires...
we are the air that all breathe
and none do in the realms of the Trident(s)...
we are the fire of thought and feeling
by war and idiotic courage are borne...
we are the fifth element of:
stage-fright... of... caution of thought...
of... when Thor came to a Camden Town Pub...
with... seizures... with sparks...

i can't find a defence for Christianity...
i can find a defence for Islam...
i can find a defence for Judaism...
Rumi... the Qabbalah...
last time i heard... the Gnostics were shunned...
fair enough...

the roof, the roof... the roof is on fire... (x4)
we don't need no water let the ******* burn...
burn *******: burn!

you can't stress it more obvious: obviously...
obliviously so...
   splendid little world and my apathetic self...
since: last time i heard?
there's nothing worse than apathy....
   exactly! nothing worse than atheism when
it comes to the art of making narratives...
but?! apparently the prefix a-
implies: without: pathologies...
   insanely numb...
  insanely numb...
    and let's just pretend: like it sort of
might sort of: oh... oh... oh?!

a little argentinian malbec for
persuasion -

  because there's nothing for
the sort of blues of
reading through the poetry
bestseller books...

i'm not going to milk that
ol' goat of gloating
in saying:
        i'm better than that...
i'll just remind myself:

god, i possibly can't be
any worse...
   leftover ideals of love:
the sort of love
where a woman
is a mannequin
    and a man is...
           an imitation octopus...

that i've come to a crosswords
is probably an understatement...
stalemate in prose
to boot...

just so it happens
   i've done more walking
than writing:
having covered most of
the north-eastern aspect
of greater London...

from Romford to:
Epping,
             Coldharbour
Canary Wharf
St. Paul's cathedral...
Upminster, Brentwood...
and round and round
around Chigwell through
to Woodford...
   Epping Forest is overrated...
too many roads
cut through and too many
little rivers run through:
more like a swamp than
anything...

and with this, my "dilemma"...
circa 7 languages to
draw a picture...
  either a horizon or...
a take on Cezanne's still life...
better something Dali        esque...

眼 (ㄩㄠㄋ) -
      which is eye (yaun)
                       in pinyin / zhuyin:

since a glyph is not a letter
(apparently well d'ah d'ah d'uh!)

exhibit (a)

                                          երկինք
  שמש

                             เมฆ

                                     ㄕㄢ    (ㄕㄚㄋ)
ヤマ

    पानी (i.e. नदी)

                                       ც ე ც
                                       ხ ლი

         ⰎⰀⰔ
                         ᛋᚴᛟᚷ

           oddly enough coming back
to ol' ge'ez...
   i.e. ethiopian... i.e.
the word... for king...
                                       ነገ
                                           hmm
   "problem"...
            i know how an acute accent
on an S sounds like

                      ነገሠ    vs.
                          ­               ነገሰ

and i know the word... in "slang":
i.e. NYGUS...
                                             ነየገሰ

that vowels "might" be hidden
is obvious...
        disclaimer: although this is
a phonetic sketch...
  i'll write each word as it is:

sky, sun,
   clouds, mountain, mountain,
water (i.e. river)
                     fire
forest, forest,
                              king...
          
   մարդ        ստվեր
       ชาย         เงา
           ニンゲン    カゲ
आदमी       साया
   კაცი   ჩრდილი
         žmonių     šešėliai

that i was looking for (ų)
              is without a doubt...
what with the already planted (ą, ę)
i had the sound...
but i couldn't posit a meaning /
a word with it...
lucky me... lithuanian... had it...
all along...

       just like...
an imaginary petition
to revise some Cyrillic...
   i.e.
       if Ш = SH = Š
          and if Щ = SHCH = ŠČ
        then why . o O why...
does   Ц = the polish "c" or the german "z"...
i.e. why does      Ч = Č                ??????
                                         ­              ?????
                                                       ?????!

does ras(PUTIN) know? no?
looks pretty ******* solid to me, no?
i.e.
         Ш + Ц = Щ
                  
          it would seem plain enough:
n.b. the last time i read (past participle
red? lost the a, letter, not the indefinite
article)

of Dickens mention "orthography"
was nothing short of a spelling mistake...
i.e. the slightly above "average"
of phonetic-
                 (open form, hyphen attached,
no         -ing
          e.g. begin{n}ing)

juice worth of shrapnel...
whatever the eye might see
and denote as: cardamom...
             इलायची like so...
or კარდამონი like so...
      the nose a priori the eye...

a sure sign of Caucasian "superiority"
is bound to...
ahem... the "concept"
of having uppercase and lowercase
lettering...
unlike in "mother" Cyrillic...

at times Cyrillic looks cheap at
times... survivable...
to be of use... on the Siberian tundra...
which is hardly a Saharahaha...
sprout of a giggle and a variation
of a dwarf's name like Gimmley &
tow Grimm...

honestly: a bottle of Argentinian
red later and i'm... theta or phi i.e.
fffffff-erocious...
             raucous...
it's under suspicion that i cite...

Byzantium is not allocated
the Caucus route of all things...
crumbly...
post-colonial... imperial-y...
     like thing-y
        magic-y...
                       from... TWITCHY...
from fidgety...
the article of "nuance" /
association...
the associative article in english...
i.e. y
            
   if there is an indefinite article (a)
then that there is a definite article (the)
a possessive / plural article ('s / s)
so... the article of association / loose...
Herman?
            ein(e) zeppelin... bitte...
                                            werfen scheiße!

more example of a pan-Caucasian
takeover of... Caucasian ***** 'n' / &
*******?
            if god had such a grudge
against sacrifice of a jeez Louise
and zeus to boot...
then latin, this script...
would have gone the way
of the egyptian gylphs
and the babylonian cuneiform...
dodo... to paraphrase...

but no... oh no!

while "we" have the African boyos on
the beatbox of Beelzebub
i'll be the one ridiculed as...
tossing up a bother over a woord
sooload...
           because:
just because...

my petition is simple...
          Ц = Č... can't you feel it...
the old evil... the cold war...
the fact that you want to **** khaki nazis...
just because you're dressed in rags /
mongolian heaps of ****-smear
and a Bolshevik too
and they're the nicely primmed
Munich boys donning...
   Karl Diebitsch, Walter Heck
and of course 'ugo Boss...
            just because... it's that sort
of evil you want to ****
because... it's prophetic and it's
fire and it's crisp and it's
arrogant and stratosphere real...
it's the high heavens... all the 9s...
it's... an evil of potentially me...
it's: a betterment clause...
because i want to be...
         this ZZ-TOP...
                                                    sav­vy?

i.e. i'm not here to "talk" about
post-colonialism or the zenith of the
british empire...
history... etymology...
a language as something of
a labyrinth as those who acquire it...
weave it... ***-tickle-fancy it...
worthy of a revision...
but not... biased with...
cf. race-baiting...

   chris rea: so... so long long we
go to yet... gone...
   fish................... ing...
      
                    some bias in a b'          'op....
suppose there's a long pause
between the apostrophes...
mistake the apostrophes for hyphens...
b-                              -op
or better... a *** a sour-*****-klein-kinder...

in reverse reverse-psy-ops...
of the whittle Bangladeshi from
Manor Park, Forest Gate,
to Stratford through the Roding Valley...

***'s a yield of two a broker's supposed:
breaking of the son...
down or up the Gierkowa...
i.e. from Warsaw to Cracow
or from Cracow to Warsaw...
piggy-bag on the shoulders
of no lesser pseudo-Atlas
that, than was king Casimir...
some third...

           rummaging in the derelict
parts of heaven...
like an afternoon watching
my girl fridy...
apparently making a film in
1940s... and the whole world
deserves to "disappear"...
in a figment of 3rd party...

there isn't an associative article?
there isn't a dissociative article?
         bound to some          -ish...
that it's blue-ish...
that it might be tree-of-sort?
   this language this my playground...
who's no 'ere who is 'ere
anyhow?
  the last Portuguese take
on... chewing cheese?
      if "they" only knew what Alfonso /
missing the suffix -o actually implies
elsewhere... herr ****** etc.

- such that half of Poland died when
my grandfather died...
i mentioned the name: KRUPPS
and he knew...
to do with metallurgy...
and enterprise...
                          and by the time the other
half dies... i'll be...
freed toward the perspective of
flying... kite against swallows...
hoping to confuse
swallows with sparrows...

one word...

           scarecrow...
probably a misnomer given
the i.q. of crows...
crows probably... i just too pretend...
scarecrow in english...
let me check...

strach na wróble: literally...
reads as: fear for sparrows...
that's ******
pole ****** for you...
hmpf....
a rare sound of arrogant: quasi...
what do you want me to...
tailor / edit?

    doy'tch...
             vogelscheuche
noord: i.e. nordic...
             fugleskremsel...
a variation of skremme...
          schrecken: scare... to...
rather than: to... fear...
       absolutely nothing... to do...
with... allocated birds...
****'s sake... might as well be...
as easily done as...
frightpeacock!
              or aghastsduck!

this is language: my ******* playground...
no ethnically bound pseudo-darwins...
the empire... etc. are... all that welcome...
hier, i(s)ch bin "gott":
                                         ich bin wort!

hölle: bin ich... 'meow'?
                gurke-gänsehaut-ständer...
nein?

1:30am... that's enough...
          the wine has been drank...
the song... partially written... mostly unsung...
numbed...
******* Schwabian and sort...
because the Saxophone players moved
west and called a piece of Denmark
(Anglia)... that Roman variation
of Albion etc.
    and i'm here doing LEGO puzzle(s)
with Ali from dislodged Tehran?

crosswords... patriots of north h'america...
nationalists of europe...
funnel... fizz...
           the hardly... croat patriots mingling
with the iowa patriots of...
can you... allow... conjunctions
in acronyms?
united, yes.... stated...
                                   milkshake lingo...
of(f)                 ham... the burger buns...
      land of Ur...
that variation of Abraham
     *** Gilgamesh...
       veering into
Qi and Raq...
as...         how the Ottomans were
"necessary" in... Medina...

         bon ******* voyeurism of...
the taj mahal... via... c.c.t.v. etc.

/             i can't even conceive the concept
of "lounging"
   with a cool breeze of a refrigerator
ushering out
        mylo's: sun worshipper...
without thinking of dragging
my naked *** onto a plot cool, cool green
grass that hasn't been scarred
by this july sun...
              what, with the old people
dropping like flies,
      or rather hiding for the majority
of the day...
  is this a ******* metallurgy factory?
         sun?                *******
                            back to arabia!
- and take your knightbridge boyos
with you!
          i'm pretty sure they can drive
their lamborghinis in the riyadh heat...
                                        just as well!
well it's not like the arabs
    "invented" oil...
                     talk about sitting,
  and then ******* on the laurels of
                      passing on the annoying phrase,
there's no water in the desert:
                    well no **** sherlock!
        there are no camels in scandinavia either!
- as one bengali once expressed at
school:
                       ******* camel jockeys.

'ere i r: "thieving" around with some base ęgliş -

it must be admired: this citizen
politicized majority:

that a people can fathom fudge packaging
tier upon tier:

and serve both a democracy of voices
and the necessary vote: illiterate X
"acronym" piece o' pie for a signature's
worth...

wow and doubly: wow... on a continent when
there's this status quo class strictures:

moths, cobwebs(,) and spare change...
this grand asymptomatic clue...
i hope to pretend
to steal a language from
a people... that have no diaspora poignancy -
because: there's this squatting "elsewhere"...

litany of secrecy that has to become:
blunt dumb and grating
cheddar: stoic-esque...
the blunting of the knife and
the sharpening of the tongue...

i will still find the sort of reggae i want...
culture's harder than the rest
(full album)...

picky moi: burning spear's
marcus garvey -
the black voice
that demanded of his
choccy people a repatriation
process:
how alien it must seem
to be african-american
going to a majority black
country...
how unwelcome
one must be...
to be black and thrown back
into kenya...
speaking no word of the native
breath...
what statues of agony
an IDI AMIN could...
and did... dying a slow death
in the ***** of arab racialism...
oh sure joys of sculpture...
unforgiving in how
legs dismembered would
be reattached to sockets where
arms ought to imitate bird flight
with flapping: and vice versus...
i suffer to have not this sort
of imagination!

but that is a song...
   i'm here attempting to steal
english from the english:
it's not "about to" happen
either...
i'm getting drunk on
the cocktail: before, of course...
i come across some
bureaucratic "sensibility":
some angry ***** mad
enough with the least
authority given...

         that people given
the least authority tend to abuse it
the most...

i had to look at europe "elsewhere"...
milan kundera pointed
out this quote
'quarrel in a far away country,
between people of whom we know nothing'
by neville chamberlain
when appeasing ******
concerning the merger of
extended bohemia
into the third *****...
                
  it would seem: it would always
be easier to treat the middle east
with enforced straight lines...
e.g. iraq / jordan never look
like naturally invoked
land masses -

no mountain range no river...
it's not that i have to blame
the english pauper for
a past history of colonialism...
but... to have little knowledge
of your neighbour's lot...
was there any similar ignorance
when: outstanding brits
matched napoleon's ambitions?

i test my own patience with this...
at what point will i finally state:
well... given the air of politics
weaving its way trickle down
into the publically paid bureaucracy...
em...
is it racism or is it...
an african fetish?
     like me... i'm all for porcelain girls
of the orient: no one wants
to **** exhausted gammon... do they:
in this mismatched kama sutra... do they don't they?

i'm sensing a fetish for... it's gone beside
a racism: i'm looking to the east
of what's still europe -
a zilant semblance written
in "old orthography" of the tatars...
   qazan - someone's knowing on my door...
the germanic peoples pushed...
then the slavic peoples pushed...
then the mongols and the turkmen pushed
this great funnel and sieve
of a: pseudo-continent that's probably
only an extended experiment
of great mother asia and uncle siberia...

after all: isn't australia an island?
who ever has to hear the same
soft-narrative: out-of africa...
except those pesky eskimos -
      frisky... but we left africa
with no thinking equipment -
no phonetic encoding...
    if we left with some arabic...
but we didn't...
if we left with some sanskrit...
but we didn't... some chinese ideograms...
but we didn't...
no wonder we left...
i don't endear myself to pursue
hieroglyphics as sensible enough:
to counter the modern emojis...

which they are...
pits and falls in the latin alpha-beta-coy...
then..
to "work" by loiter -
no wonder: grievances
when work is drudgery -
when one cannot perfect
a deed - but has to churn out
appeasement after appeasement:
slurp an oyster from
an ****...

i still must be thieving english
from... the english...
leftovers of the forever debased
schizoid - or the new lineage
bound to bilingualism:
a return to thematic crude-,

no... i can't digest this:
there's some sort of drama:
but there's no staging for it...
an open round-up of applause...
devoid of choice is a higher
tier condescending-
           for lacking will -

to write this very little...
but then to harness the prospect
of a sunrise: an 8am welcome!
welcome to no night
of finitudes... of conclusions...
my foot will never stand
in thailand: because
of the thai surprise...
easily a ****-along story
for a vanguard torry:

        i will have two Plantegenant
old housewives
when there's: the food
i need to curate for my palette:
a sad sad show-story...
when i... walk out from the house
and tug a dead-weight
of consumerism from my
mother's girdle...

          i call it... playing banjo
with toothpick... 'n' esse...
      the pristine curation of sharpening
teeth: to bite into a tide...
into a swelling heave of a wave...

i want to be able to be normal
sleeping with a foreign body
in my bed...
i was once able to sleep with a dog...
i am as finicky as the cat
that attempts
to sleep with me in the same
bed....
shadows clamour and therefore
clash...

  the british isles are too grand...
i want something smaller...
i want a life among the faroe islanders...
escape escape forever
this unforgiving narrative...

can you look at a people you're acquiring
to "ally"...
never marking your own horrors...
with your own black hitlers...
i can attest to the bleach...
but you can't somehow blank slate:
state a genesis without a dichotomy...

let's go! black history month!
now is the time! now i want to remember
IDI AMIN!
  black history month!
i want to remember IDI AMIN!
no... not marcus garvey:
proponent of repatriation...
i want to remember: IDI AMIN!
after all... the mongols have
their "abraham" their genghis khan...
and they have their pocket
of leftover in crimea with
that mongol-europeans: the tatars...

i have no love for history come
the tide of relating the Iberian peninsula...
south h'america... "mine"?
the north coast of africa...
fizzling out of in-breeding...
when the goth came across
the instigators of conquest of the "muzzies"...
cocktails on us! boyos!

i want to... ******* boil with teasing!
i want to fathom a spectacle of trolling!
i want to smear faces into ****!
i want the wholesome crescendo!
i want to itch with
******* out buckwheat digestion!
i want chocolate!
i want a swiss fountain of chocolate!
i want to see IDI AMIN
a proud addition to:
no blacks ever do or did:
any b'aah... b'aah ad ad...
            
i wish "my" people came to "origin"
with a post-colonial narrative...
poor shmucks the scots are...
but they were: "missing"...
you can't retrace a colonial past
to the present citizen of spain:
how well the post-"racialists" peoples
of the southern continent managed to:
you can hear talk
of an argentinian... but he's not spanish...
a brazilian: but he's not... portuguese!

this anglo-saxon "pond" livestock
of memory... do away with us...
i know it's terrible to have a genesis
story so short-lived that europe
is a *******-riddling reminder:
when there's an already political class
harvesting the least worth of fathom...
don't pretend to be historical tourists:
my dutch ancestry...
my german ancestry... my "ancestry":

you deserve the quiff and joking slander:
superior the world's a-hole all over...
who are your little people looking
for in our little funnel of
a constipated asia looking for?
currently?!
the greek aren't admired...
they aren't admired because
they gave a birth to the antagonist
in cyrillic...
and that's that!

or... the greeks aren't admired
because: the metaphor: byzantine -
a complexity of bureaucracy -
but the singing... deaf tone reading of plato...
forget aeschylus -
they were prone to heave
a turkman invasion of
the balkans... given...
the venetians sacking:
the supposed holy place of...
aan eucharist convo. with a pagan "pope"...

like... the 4th crusade was not
a hard-on... for anyone to not fathom...
the inheritance of a history
i must truly deserve...
otherwise: the history overtly given...
to subsequently filter...
how the capetian king philip
augustus is known to me
is: it's not a beyond noticeable
comparisons...
it's just stalemate...

i am furroging in asp and waspishness:
i need a language of antagonism...
i find my most pristine "saint"...
i could cling to a fetish for
interracial *** exploits...
but then i'm a bland white man
and i might require a dodgo lemon
squeeze of eyes...
when a ***** is not in use
and it's hardly a reserved reading
for: expansion... broadening one's mind
with: *******... that "sort" of phallus
size just wouldn't do...
it's no joke but then i prefer
jerking off to... something akin
to... bronzino's venus, cupid,
folly and time...

even then! then!
a woman directly descended from
the titans... aphrodite was...
beside the lineage... from hyperion...
astounded... passed into
the ***** of the olympians...
cherry picking my vavous ego-foetus
of mind into a progress and
future investment...
how the **** spoke...
and became apparently a parody
of parrot chokes...
given the farts would have
to commence at some, point, or "other"...

to demand "pushing boundaries"...
i have them here: ever present always
apparent...
i would sacrifice my whole for these...
as to never have to:
speak a language of appeasement...
as to never speak a language of
a gradual inclination...
or / of never rocking the boat...
i want to drown drunk!
i want to drown a drunkard!
i want to savour a relfish for...
autumn perfumes towing
accents of a variation of timbers...

now i want to stand naked!
i want to be awash with moonshine...
i want more of the night
i want more of the creases in
attaching bone to the formidable
tendon pressures...
i want the technicality of nouns
being lost... i want misnomers...
i want all this supposed word / techno-salad
to be all! furore!
i want to eat the native
with an imagination worth
of a tartar -
  
           i want my tongue to sliver into
the cheddar spronge of their borrowed
brains every time they test themselves
on eating a tartare: notably raw beffrey (b'ee'f)...

yes... this is my former european
status: having to cleave... from it...
because the liberal authorities of
vest-inwested western georgian:
gregorian: kiev is my own project
of last interests...
how isn't it...
ukraine might somehow
rely on article usage: notably:
the ukraine...
there's that "a" associated
with the polish-lithuanian commonwealth?

from sea to sea:
from the baltic sea
to the black sea...
oh look! i too can inherit something...
like a hebrew might inherit
the aesop the king solomon...
like aesop might inherit Tironian
notations...

i am drinking but my cat isn't agitated
by it: troll troll lullaby!
let's celebrate!
dancing monkeys dancing
truants!
it wouldn't: it couldn't possibly
be a black history month
without mentioning
IDI AMIN... dying peacefully
in the arms of sleep
among the saudi camel-jockey "racists"...

how they have been fleeing
the ****** status of harems...
how they were escaping polygamy...
how i wasn't racist how i was
merely ill-conceived over
a work-around of fetish...
i was already a walking abortion...
manic street preachers' debate:
i wasn't enough gay or
feng shui enough...
or brilliant neon purple enough...

hello brilliance! hello party! hello
gay...
ancient europe:
ai viast lo lop....
               creases in my forlorn...
i want: besst attired summation:
this  ****** bulgarian...
this european that's only aa figment
of imagination:

indignations of scythe:
that nothing is borrowed:
that all is: at limbo gested...
                      to heave a scythe
and stone...
i pretend to swallow a breath...
i am aching at the knee
and ankle...
             i am formidably
   nuanced amsterdam...

                  i have to tell
that yawn and "story" for some
variation of catholicism to trickle down...
this forever impossible
and: my-overtly-inflated
char of wording...

                harvest the pea and
dollop of hypersensitivity toward
hue best ascribed to "foliage";
or a burgundy that's neither
purple or red
or wine... or the papacy
of Avignon.

there could be nothing worse than a fat-free yogurt... anything dairy, that's fat free? i'd sooner attain pleasure slurping on pigeon ****... and mind you: i always found the irony of luck... if i was passing near Trafalgar Sq. in london, and pigeon diarrhoea landed on? i'd be... singing in the rain!

the self:
        coordinates upon
a map of recurrent patterns
of ref., much akin
to the mirror -
  perhaps, once upon a time
a man might admire his
image -
           akin to Narcissus -
now the "admiration"
of the image is, nothing short
of a memory, intact;
yet still so strange,
  there's no naturalisation
of memory -
             it feels vague -
oddly: unnaturally selective,
or perhaps that's just
its ontological nature -
    to counteract all other,
natural, laws;
    perhaps due to the fact that
we have an unconscious
essence ascribed to the conscious
faculty of memory,
         we deviate, forget,
and then upon forgetting,
conjure up mirages of past
and future, always afraid to
stand in the present.

a lot or irony can be ascribed to the phrase: flexing your mental muscles / your brain muscles. Alzheimer is a disease composed of killer proteins... perhaps too much difficulty, riddled with a lack of abstraction, compensated by ready-meals of fat free yogurt is the consequence? i still believe that fat is essential in a diet... take the fat out you take out the essence of food: flavour; and if there's a vegan out there that isn't anemic, i'll kick myself in the *** and ask to be called Geoffrey Butler! strange though, isn't it, that the thing that kills the fatty jelly that the brain is: strenuous "exercise", i can't even comprehend how protein kills the brain, killer protein... plus, these shenanigans with fat free this, fat free that! ever made scrambled eggs with green onions and not used butter? or scrambled eggs using jowl? pointless, tasteless, and frankly un-titillating in the least; when i eat, i ought to think of oral ***... funny... after having mouthed her, i had to wash my face, but sometimes i preferred falling asleep with the oily scent; made kissing in the morning bearable... french girls do that... bad breath she'd say... ah... bad ****. seriously though, does writing about *** have to always condense into slapstick? maybe that's why slapstick humour isn't funny anymore, and comedy had to evolve to by: witty! i'd love to find an englishman some day, who didn't have a need to debunk the seriousness of ***... and censor any graphic detail... that would be... grrrrrrreat! ah, you know, they call it ***** i call them oysters... weird though... i sometimes imagine humanity's origin based on the myth of atlantas... how we actually came from the sea, and the monkey was merely a **** similis observation, and how we evolved from whales... that would explain the white boyos superiority at swimming, and the fetus being in a liquid for 9 months... what, there are gills attached to that umbilical chord?! **** aqua- (you figure the correct affix, can't be bothered, went drinking).

*whales: there's a ******* mammal in the sea!
  mate, you can deem yourself derived
from a monkey,
  but given that we're talking billions
in that time frame i conjured a mountain
range in the Saharan desert...
                black man run, white man swim.

boom! days like this: surprising come 4pm... while spending
the afternoon slob-esque... too tired to cycle...
some Adam ******* movie...
  don't mess with the Zohan?!
    Hebrew humour... slap-stick... simple...
easy-going... i don't like complicated jokes...
comedy should never be intelligent...
tragedy... that's another bag of bagels...
comedy out to be something to resurrect
the child in man... so much of it... ugh...
too complicated: the trying... the twying...
too tired for anything except for making three attempts
at taking a ****... sun's pretty... sunshine even prettier...
a decent glass of the wine i made....
and then 4pm hits... a message from one of my managers...
Saturday's event is coming up...
Tyson Fury's last fight of his career against Dillian Whyte...
Saturday, Wembley... mammoth shift...
sign in at 12pm... sign out at 1am...
                                   i'm almost thrilled to be taking
the Jubilee night tube for the first time back to Stratford
then... the N86 back to Romford... then walking back
home...
      finally! finally! my patience has paid off...
i listened, i respected everyone... i was just a puny steward...
work that wasn't even work to me:
not... not if you've been a roofer prior... **** easy
load of *******...
         i get a message from one of the managers...
give me a quick call...
    so i call him up... good afternoon, what's the issue?
oh... we've had to... shuffle the roles up a little...
would you mind being a supervisor for the entire
media crew? you'll meet and greet them...
and then escort them pitch-side... £14 an hour...
        but you'll also be working longer...
oh thank you... i'd greatly appreciate that...
   phone down... shoom!
            bye bye... oh this one guy... just got on my nerves...
on the same level of the hierarchy...
but... brain damage... worked longer...
was familiar with the girls... started thinking it was
a good idea to boss me about...
        standing out the stadium like a bunch of pawn
******... directing people... confiscating alcohol...
telling them they couldn't come in with rucksacks...
**** yes!
             Apache Indian: Boom Shack-Ah-Lak...
  finally... doing something i once recalled as useful...
must have really did a good job in other venues...
and... technically speaking...
i should have an NVQ level 3 to fulfilling this role...
oh... the practicality of the workforce...
when experience and: trust play a bigger role than
merely qualifications...
             meritocracy! i've found it! it was lost for a while...
but it's back... and... booming...
now i can't wait... i'm actually going to see
the last fight in Tyson Fury's career...
   ring side with the media crew...
                           this isn't work... this is a free pass!
mind you... pitch-side for the West Ham vs. Frankfurt
Europa League semi-final too...
tickets are currently selling... cheapest? over £300 (s)quid!
he he... ha ha...
                       ****... which means...
tomorrow is going to be a day of compact exercise
to beef up a little... and general hygiene...
nail cutting... i need to visit my Turk to trim my beard
and moustache...
   and i'll need to visit my hairdresser so she can cut
some lawn off my cranium...
   i'll need to re-iron my trousers... doubly polish my shoes...
hmm... make myself some extra lunch...
whoever said that work is drudgery...
               well... if you haven't been over-educated for
certain things... i guess it must be... boring...
for me the rule still stands at that black joke:
arbeit macht frei...
                              escapism... it really is...
                         in terms of what could be considered
manual labour... personally? it was a lot easier dealing
with inanimate objects... less stressful...
it's a lot different dealing with people...
              all that veneer... façade... i'm actually...
awed by my ability to have been able to pull this sort
of rabbit from a top-hat... well... yeah:
like a magician... after all... i'm the one psychiatrists
diagnosed as either schizophrenic or psychotic...
i mean: if you've been given a diagnosis as bad as that...
and now... you're... going to be a supervisor
for the media crew at Wembley stadium..
            ha ha... my face: right now... is a full moon...
and i have a smile on my face like a crescent orange...
well... someone got something wrong...
along the way...
          mind you: they never figured... maybe:
bilingualism is not a mental-disorder... hmm...
                i don't think they figured out that fact out...
maybe... 10 years from now...
    but by then... i'm already happy...
                     - there's this massive philosophical angle
to all of this:
   no one can imagine... how being down-trodden
feels like... until... the reverse happens...
as a man... you bask in... being entrusted with
something... outside of your "supposed" reach...
     oh man... it's far better than being...
what's the term... having women over-invest in you?
i'm looking... looking...
         oh hell no... to stand on equal footing with
men in a workforce... to distinguish yourself...
to be promoted... that's better than...
being able to approach an nth number of women
with bedroom success...
                    you get to feel: more: complete...
you allow yourself to find a totality: the sigma / sum
of you... you're like: right...
i can move the whole of me... rather than some
pitiable shrapnel of me of only being a hard-on
eager puppy...
            i can put on a masquerade... of...
professionalism...
                       and unlike being a teacher's pet...
although... in history class... i was a teacher's pet...
i just enjoyed the history of Anglo-Saxon England
too much...
                what?!
          but in the workplace... it's... phew... oh... ooh...
so relaxing working with strangers and not being
in the authoritarian hell-hole of working for
your father: i don't care if the money is not better...
but... to be released from the entanglements of
a father... being thrown into a... brotherhood...
sure... there are superiors... but...
the greatest teacher was my grandfather...
          he knew how to deal with people...
           just shakes hands: keep a firm handshake...
and firm eye-contact...
the rest is easy-peasy-cup-cake-baking...
             jeez! and i was such an outcast in my 20s...
seriously... after coming across the choir
and the great wind that dispersed it...
     i secluded myself...
             the demiurge was this: || close to ruining me
completely...
i have to thank him for giving me a second
chance... i guess i was: as best as i could have been
to my Hebrew neighbour...
but this is better than seeking pick-me-ups
while having *** with prostitutes...
   to hell with fame... i just was a nibble of the world...
the whole... fame fabric can... dissolve...
i just don't want to suddenly find myself
surprised at being mortal:
and... doubly surprised at being unable
to give up... what i've worked up towards!
life... spare me: give me just a little...
   and let me allow death no satisfaction when
it comes to rounding up the loan of life...
              have my books... have my shashka of
a wooden branch i made to look like... a Cossack sword...
have my stamp collection... have my collection
of banknotes...
          one thing... eternity... and those 72 rottweilers...
well... dobermanns... Alsatians...
all three... and i need plenty of forest...
fields... hills... mountains even... to just go:
******* and stroll with these dogs...
          i'll give death everything i own for that...
and... could you... sort of...
you can take my phallus away...
but can you ensure i have at least one diarrhoea
sit down... i mean: taking a **** sometimes
feels better than an *******...
  that'll be nice... no... i don't need the idea of eating...
just taking a ****... i can't forgive eternity not allowing
me to... (a) take a dog for a walk...
(b) taking a ****...
    i don't need to eat... i hate eating because:
i hate chewing anything beside poultry meat,
cartilage and bones... oh... i go right down to the bone...
the moveable angle parts... not the long-staff parts...
just the "heads" of the bones...
   but chewing... in general...
   sit down... relax... ah... a chocolate smoothie!
a chocolate slush-puppy... ooze: Hamza!
   Hamza! bring in Ibrahim!
                              i'm already too tired with this
libido insomnia... i'm starting to think that...
the NIQAB is a good idea...
i'm seeing too much raw meat...
             and: it's not counter-intuitive...
i like the tease of form within the confines of tight
yoga pants... ***** like peaches...
but... when it's all in the outright open...
yawn... bore... there's a routine involved...
               exercise... aphrodisiacs of white wine...
     i tend to forget the batteries for a hard-on...
like: auto-,
           it's not mystery i thought;
hmm... let's bypass this cultural practices and go
for something... orthodox...
blacklisted... money on the table...
            hook up hook on you:
let's go fishing...
                     you're not into eating fish?!
not one of those Presbyterians?!
             by now... does... it even having to have
to matter?
           black boyos just leaving
a load of ketchup in their currency
of the current rap: sing-along...
              fudge-packing ego...
                    ha ha... idea being:
you send the same African hot-rods into Africa...
among Africans...
             the tribe leader... sold
your ancestors...
because: you weren't equipped
to run the marathon...
             yeah... but Dua Lipa is... Albanian...
what does it mean? it means:
she's not Russian...
                             party ******* central...
sure... hence: i party...
in the underground... because:
the overt-crowd of cultural presence
is... eh... sort... sort of boring...
                  rain's more exciting...
everyone acknowledges that trans-racialism
exists and that it's wrong...
i just need my licence...
to become the proper gorilla: bouncer...
to the point of: showing my knuckles and telling
someone: **** / kiss this.

nacht! mein kalt! (pips and cult of shrining *******)
                        (night... my calm!)
esp. watching Tan
beat Serena Venus
at Wimbledon... the former just played
better tennis...  to hell with the crowd...
Tan reinvented tennis...
i was a huge fan of playing
squash... i loved the warm-up periods
where you had to oosh...
yeah: oosh... usher in
the right sort of temp.
for the rubber ball...
          she was... Tan: spinning the ***** like a
Shane Ward...
    it was lovely to watch...
in the end: force x **** didn't pay
off for the Williams' end of an era
match...
   *******... just be a mum...
    i clearly imply: thank you...
but... come on...
      joking aside...
looking at her husband...
you might be left wondering...
for the egoism of massive Africa-American
boyos of the massive ******* persuasion types...
are... with the blonde ******...
while Serena Williams gets to mother
the ***** of a... soy-boy...
wow!
       you look at that...
you try to "reiterate": you can be suddenly
squashed in the diagnosis of: "schizophrenic"...
point being: THERE'S NO REALITY...
it's all make believe...
the higher you are up the food chain
the more rigour-stance you exfoliate...

i like the taste of ***** *****...
i love eating ***** *****...
i also like eating eggs...
     i love sniffing anuses...
i love eating eggs like they're abortions...
i also like *******...
******* genocides into the loo...
problem?!
  my body! my choice!
i do about 3 genocides in a day...
problem?!
      are we going to, have... a... problem?!

because how ever many times i wished
to be a father and have the mother to / for my children...
****... it... let's forget it...
Africa / Asia can keep up with Darwinism...
white people can **** popsicles
of yellow Zappa ice...

i'm not even white... i'm universally pink when
bruised...
morbid fake... copper-neck pristine when
sun-tanning...
          American ******* ******* and their
racial profiling bull-*******-****!
you come round England one more ******* time...
i swear i'll throw imaginative acid on your face
to turn you into albinos...

i hate your graffiti grammar!
say what? you heard me...
I... HATE... YOUR... GRAFFITI... GRAMMAR...
you sound *******... urban... sure:
but... RE-TAR-ED...
slow... you know what slow sounds like?
you sound slow...
and i hate the H'american accent...
no... no money in this ******* lovely world
will ever bring me to kneel before
the people of this sordid Empire...

i drink: i'm an uninhibited fire hazard of speech...
while some drink and lose focus:
i drink and gain some...
FREE-DOM! WILLS the WALLACE!
WALLS-AH!
you seriously can't do it any other
******* way...
people are best preserved when they
don't listen...
                         n'est c'est pas?!
      
who the **** needs to stress intelligence
when it comes to crowds?!
keep 'em dump... keep 'em shallow...
keep 'em: "hippy"... idiotically happy...
und der nacht werden tragen die Überreste...

das ist!
     auf wiedersehen!
                                 hallo neu-unglück!
mein neu du.