i don't write, i don't write rhyme, i am a lumberjack with words, and for those reasons: i have imbued some masculine dignity into the art form: i don't do well-wishes, hopes, utopian forms of the sudden burst of emotion; every time i'm trolled i turn into an orc, ravenous with an adrenaline thrill: and pristine english sarcasm comes to the fore: i first nibble on the genitals, the ego hardly mentioned, i mean, who does attack a person's taste in music with such adamant enforcement... but? what pissess me off the most? how puny the argument matter is: freedom of speech should, never, ever! bypass the rule of at least a few dialectical exchanges... blah blah all you want: but what's the point of a freedom, if there is no guiding "aesthetic" surrounding it? ******* caviar on toast, just as absurd as an avocado on toast: point for point: a load of *******.
it always makes sense to listen
to some scandinavian
music, with interludes of rain,
in the night, after a few ***** sharpshooters -
peaches & cream moment...
can't argue with it -
esp. if it's *corvus corax's song
a i mbealtaine, **** just sticks to
the wall, and in every appropriate way:
feels a tune of the heart -
i once had a dialectical mini with a biology
teacher of mine:
i said that lyrics mattered, and that you
needed to understand them -
she said: only the melody matters -
in cooking that's comparable to the presentation
versus the flavour -
i'm sure she had the hots for me,
a few days passed, and she put on a hijab...
god, but raven dark folds of her pakistani hair
really could be compared to the thickness
of custard...
shame she put on a hijab soon after -
i didn't even mind her post-acne peppered
face: i thought it gave her character -
and those **** chubby cheeks just fused
perfectly with the thickness of her hair...
hair... every woman's plot of jealousy begins
with another woman's hair...
at least men are compensated with
a beard... me?
ugh... too much: on my chest, on my stomach,
on my head: i have to wet it to keep it
from turning into a rampant amazon in
post-apocalyptic new york...
and yes, i do like the ***** on my face -
i became bored with shaving,
plus i look more monarchical -
regent - loser regent - nonetheless regent:
donning a beard is exhuming some minor
authority - long hair? you get two food-stamps
ye ******* 'ippy! say hello to the cockney
meister schtick: herr H.
oh no, not ******, i'm bored of citing that:
if they only let him into the arts academy
and allowed him to paint his mediocre
paintings -
he wouldn't be that much different
from picasso...
sure **** he became an "artist" -
only an "artist" could have conjured
auschwitz; gentlemen! applause for the vienna
school of art!
it was always about not writing cute,
not writing ******* overladen with rigid
technique, most terrible: avoid rhyme:
at all, and i mean all costs;
leave that for the nursery brigadiers
of bombing blank pages with word bombs...
i can't stomach this notion of "cute" -
this pedantic pseudo-haikus in women's
poetry: by comparison,
sylvia plath produces a raw steak
tartar - you know, originating from the people
that made the steak from horse-meat,
and downed a litre of horse-blood,
once upon a time in the days of the golden horde;
sylvia just rhymes unintentionally -
she tickles rhyme, but as soon as she
has a couplet, she hides it,
this game of hide & seek &
seek rhyme & hide rhyme,
is, in all honestly? genius!
i find that sometimes just one couplet
work to perfection like glue...
tell you what - i'll let you in on a little secret,
you want to write poetry?
start by watching australia's masterchef -
i know, weird - it dawned on me that it's worthwhile
watching cooking shows...
given (a) you just entered a post-pavlov experiment,
and (b) they talk about food these days
are works of art...
guess what, every time i watched
obelix eat his way through one of the herculean
tasks of asterix in the 12 (1976 a.d.)
i always felt obliged to eat something...
if i were you, i'd start watching some cookery
shows: after all... the eyes eat prior to
the mouth... you'll find that much of writing is
culinary;
the "placebo" pointers are already in place:
people have arrived at the multifacet meaning
of binging.
and yes, when i said that modern day talk,
even the puny internet "not-real-life"
(funny how most of us shop and bank online,
not real what?) types of conversation -
really?
beside the point -
it's not rude to engage in dialectics
(as nietzsche infamously noted) -
i don't understand staging two opposite
arguments and expect civility to ensue -
ars dialectica est quaestio ad infininitum,
"post scriptum" ad nauseam -
to simply have rigid, aphoristic opinions,
without having them question,
well... that's the downfall of appreciating
nietzsche by the modern crowd...
what we're talking is "safe spaces" -
nietzsche, of all people: instigated this notion!
imagine the paradox;
dialectics instigate rude societies?
no! dialectics instigate eternal societies!
i sometimes consider sudoku puzzles optical
illusions,
there's sometimes absolutely no "logic"
involved - well, there is: a tree line a tongue
of a serpent, Y - oh you know -
that invisible γΥy in the sky...
but once you start solving each puzzle
you realise: ****, there's a blindspot in these?!
and it always feels like there is,
given the matrix to the power of O (revolvi)
( s / se | e | | n | n / nw
s / sw |w | | s | n / ne )º
a tongue that turns into an eclair.
conclusively?
oh, just something minor, a minor detail -
if you ever chance to step on the continent of europe,
do you know how much darwinism you'll hear?
NONE!
europeans have become bored of this very
english genesis of affairs...
yes, bored is the appropriate word -
it can be years on the continent where darwinism
is cited, or the fetish over david attenborough
exemplified...
to most continental europeans the natural
world is nothing more than a blip -
ask the krupp von essen family: steel! steel! steel!
darwinism is only a respected choice
of argumentative positioning in the anglosphere,
outside of it? a tumbleweed;
and i'm of the continental inclination -
i source my history not in a platonism -
which darwinism is: **** similis - as man be
clearly identifiable as an evolved ape -
i place my history in something much more
compatible within the framework of today -
monkeys used sticks & stones,
man? man uses letters & numbers...
i see my place in history from a purely
etymological perspective -
pre-etymology is just boring as it is,
i.e. how the romans plagiarised some of the greek
phonetic encoding -
then again: it's a mystery how of all
ancient texts - the greeks invented the omicron...
oh, sorry, the wheel...
sanskrit? any wheels there? arabic, any wheels
there? noope.
so i wonder as i give my summa summarum...
oh yeah: roman is the masculine (w)
and greek is the feminine (ω) -
which would be easier to solve
(a) 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0
0 8 0 6 0 5 0 7 0
9 3 0 2 0 7 0 5 8
0 5 9 0 0 0 6 3 0
7 0 0 9 0 3 0 0 1
0 0 8 0 0 0 5 0 0
0 9 0 3 0 4 0 8 0
8 1 0 0 0 0 0 9 4
0 7 5 0 0 0 3 6 0
or
(b) χ χ χ χ χ χ χ χ χ
χ θ χ ζ χ ε χ η χ
ι γ χ β χ η χ ε θ
χ ε ι χ χ χ ζ γ χ
η χ χ ι χ γ χ χ α
χ χ θ χ χ χ ε χ χ
χ ι χ γ χ δ χ θ χ
θ α χ χ χ χ χ ι δ
χ η ε χ χ χ γ ζ χ
? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ?
i suggest you try this, before learning oriental
languages -
it's all cross-eyed spaghetti monsters
from here on in.
