Brody's mother
was quite the dame
she had this way
of inviting you in

after school
and offering things
to eat and drink
and hey boys

she said
why not try out
the outside pool?
Brody said

OK
and so you followed him
but what do I wear?
you asked

O nothing
he said
no need
it's only us

and well
the neighbours
can't see ****
and so you went

with him to his room
and undressed
and he gave you
a big white towel

and you went
downstairs with him
to the outside pool
his mother was there

and said
how about a drink of pop?
sure
Brody said

and you nodded
holding tight
to the towel
and off she went

in her red
two piece swimsuit
her **** quite neat
in the sack

of the suit
come on in John
Brody said
don't be shy

and so you dropped
the towel
and climbed in
the pool

and the water
was warm
and came up
to your chest

he swam around
but you just stood there
with arms folded
over your chest

after few moments
his mother came out
with a tray of pop drinks
in glasses with straws

gosh John
she said
looking at you
you sure are white

do you hide your body
from the sun?
Brody laughed
guess so

you said
she smiled then put
the tray on a small
white table

by the pool
and climbed in
the pool
her top piece floating

like pink piggies
you looked
then looked away
she talked

of Brody's father
how he liked to
just lounge
on the water

like a lily
Brody guffawed
some lily
he said

his mother smiled
as she looked at you
her eyes blue liquidy
as if they were

of water
she swam towards you
you afraid of the water John?
can't swim

you said
can't you
she said sexily
Brody you never said

John couldn't swim
didn't know
he said
swimming off

to the other end
of the pool
I’ll have to
show you how

she whispered
would you like me
to show you how?
she came nearer

her piggies seemed
pleased to see you
it's all a matter
of confidence

she said
trust in yourself
and the water
you looked at her

liquidy eyes
she put her arms
under the water
and held you

lift your feet
off the bottom
of the pool
she said

you tried but your feet
wouldn't move
here
she said

and she uprooted you
and you fell
into the water
and splashed

and flapped your arms
like a drowning bird
she held you tight
and said

relax your body
in my arms
you stiffened
then slowly relaxed

in her arms
holding you
to her
the piggies brushing

against you
her breath applely  
and perfumery
right

she said
slowly flap
your legs
in the water

and move the water
with your hands
and arms
and so you did

slow but with a kind
of nervous pleasure
feeling her there
her hands and arms

holding you
and Brody up
the other end
flat on his back

looking at the sky
like some thin lily
as you lounged
with his mother

and her piggies near
getting to trust
the water
and the new acquired

skill she'd shown
and you wished Brody
was gone
and you had her

to yourself
all alone.

Dave took his little boy for a stroll. Hand in hand, they went, as-three-year old Brody loved walking with his daddy. The spring weather was finally here, and green color was starting to return back to the landscape. Brody stopped and  pointed up in the air, and shouted, "Daddy, look! Birds running in the sky!"

A flock of birds flew on by, fleetingly,  and Dave smiled down at his son beaming up at him. Oh, that little-man-in-the making! It was like father, like son! Dave used to say such things when he was his age, yet he never heard it put that way before. Birds running in the sky--wonder what the birds thought of the ant-men down below? He exclaimed to his son, "Those critters have feathered wings, and they can travel like airplanes!  And they can also relax a while and soar through the sky like they were floating on air! Like balloons!" Dave put his hands out like he was an airplane and Brody followed his lead.

"I want to fly!" Brody declared, running around in circles with his outstretched arms.

"Me, too!" echoed Dave. He knelt down on one leg and pulled his boy next to him and pointed to the sky. "When I was a kid I thought those clouds were made of marshmallows. My dad used to say to me, 'Let's go outside and play catch under the marshmallow roof'".   The cottony, white clouds were billowy, three-dimensional puffs of fluff, stuffed up in various patches as if to decorate the big, blue sky.

Brody gave his father a big boy squeeze, a precious moment, indeed. Dave never wanted to lose that imagination that he could share with his son, and his son could share with him.  They both continued on,  making their way under the marshmallow sky.

Put it all behind you,
Brody said, but she
Couldn’t, it remained

Like a stain seeping into
The cloth of her being.
Brody’d not been *****

Or left to die or left with
The big question: why?
She needed to be outside

Breathing fresh air, on her
Balcony, not out in the street
Or park awaiting another

Attacker, some one about
To creep up on her and place
A smelly hand over mouth

And nose. Move on, Brody
Said, things happen, that’s
How it goes. She moves only

From room to room, from inside
To outside the balcony, to take
In the sun, moon, or stars, feel

The air, the breeze, smell flowers,
See trees. **** was more than
*** without permission, more

Than hurt or contusions like
Bruised fruit, more than deep
Humiliation, it was loss of her

Freedom, of choice, of dignity,
The breaking in and up and out
And leaving the fragility behind,

To bring her nightmares haunting
To nerves and mind. Brody had
His doubts; wondered if she’d

Fought hard enough, screamed
Loud or whimpered. Or was she
Just up for it, he thought maybe,

But never said, just the look he
Gave, the sign in eyes, the tone
Of voice, the whole language of

Body, she thought on judging
Brody. For all his words and
Suggestions, Brody never slept

With her after that, he slept with
Some other and she with the cat.

I have four friends:

Sam

He’s always in a good mood

He excludes the thought of something or someone knocking him down

He is always optimistic

And he just can’t stop smiling about the things that make me “happy.”

Alice

She has Sam’s back

She wakes him out of complacency before something or something hurts him

She’s his forceful conscience 
She looks out for him, for as much as it is allowed

Brody

He’s always in despair by the hurtful truth, or the insecurities that he is too weak to brush off
Brody is broken because he doesn’t know how to handle the worse that has happened

He stays in bed for the whole day and night

He has these scars on his arms and bags under his eyes

Rebecca

She works as hard as he can to bring Brody back up

She is closely related to Alice because she also takes care of Sam after he actually gets hurt

She repeats optimistic songs, movies, and quotes

She looks in every direction and dimension to help Sam and Brody.

.penta - come in: like i said, horror movie soundtracks, i fall asleep listening to them... they're so atmospheric i, simply can't resist their inherent allure.

the infamous Croydon cat killer...
i'm not buying what the media is selling...
i'm currently in the possession
of a quasi-pet...
  a fox...
comes round my garden for food,
leftovers...
which i give to him with overcooked
rice...
      no... i'm not buying the police report...
two reason...
you know where Croydon is...
and when the next incident happened?
north east London...
   did the fox... ******* swim?!
a fox is not a migratory animal...
   it's niche...
   it's local...
   if it has a sustained food source...
scavenger that it is...
omnivore like a petted dog...
  no...
i don't buy it...
              why would it transverse
south west London and strike in
north east London...
    did Herr Fusch
and why were the bodies left as evidence?
this fox has a *******
fetish for cranium meat or something?
i'm no Mr. Softie for the company
of a fox...
     but on the outskirts of London...
cats and foxes share a strange
   symbiosis...
   ever walk the dark Essex roads
at night, and peer into the fox
and the house-cat look at each other with
curiosity?
      like all serial killers...
it begins with animals,
there's always the audacity with animals...
most of them would probably become
model citizens, if they were allowed
a job at a slaughter house...
   so the mainstream media explains
the Croydon cat killer as a fox...
a fox that decapitates a body...
   and doesn't eat the torso?!
******* magic!
that's not how mature nature of
the wild works: you either eat...
or you're eaten..
        my neighbors owned ducks...
you think that when a fox
dug a hole beneath the cage...
there was a duck torso and a missing
duck head?
ha ha! good luck!
       why would a wild animal **** something...
and not eat it?
    a Swizz fondu makes more sense
than this explanation!
no cautionary animal,
that is primarily a scavenger,
travels from south west London
to north east London...
             BULL...****...
       BULL... ****!
           i don't feed my Brody because
i think he's cute...
   i feed him...
     because i randomly feel like it...
do foxes even own the concept
of a head terrine delicacy?
   my little ******* will eat
rice mingling with off-cuts of meat
and fat...
           so... he bit the head off...
but left the torso for evidence?!
BULL... ****...
oh i'm pretty sure a shy, a very shy
bored Jimmy is lurking in the shadows...
shy bored Jimmies need
a canvas of innocence...
animals are their primal choice...
  well... considering that Cain
was a vegetarian and Abel wasn't...
          he's lying low...
he needs to wake up from the adrenaline
rush...
   he needs for it to cool down...
a fox doesn't leave torso evidence...
and what would be the point of...
   did they say whether the heads
were guillotined, or chewed off?
no ******* animal chews off a head,
unlikely for an animal
to decapitate another animal...
   only human imagination provides that
sort of ingenuity...
         crock ****... basic crock ****...
blame the foxes...
     ha ha!
find me this shadowy little Jimmy before
he boasts about
the human sin of being gullible....
thank **** i'm not a campaigner...
   what i do with "my" fox is concerned
with ecological advantages...
also something akin
  to a Monday morning...
and how my neighbor's trash isn't littered
over the road... because
the wolf was fed, and so the sheep
too...
                 there is no logic to
the claim that a fox made methodological
killings of pets...
   if you ever walked
the streets at night,
and watched the stare-off between
a fox and a cat...
   last time i checked:
   cats have claws and a ferocious bite...
foxes? no claws...
just the bite...
oh, right... what am i listening to?
    penta -            come in...
   i'm still thinking of little Jimmy in the shadows,
collecting his decapitated
   cat heads... and stuffing them
with fiddles of a post-scriptum
to the Hollywood movie genre...
   oh believe me...
from what i heard of Eddie the Gain...
20th century alternative culture
was basically him
being covertly cited...
            no...
a fox wouldn't do it...
   if it was a a duck / chicken affair...
sure...
   but cats being decapitated...
and the torsos left as evidence,
i.e. not being eaten?
         little Jimmy is taking a break...
given that: i'm pretty sure a Bonsai
tiger knows a few tricks about
how a predator defends himself...
          then again, the explanation
could be:
  too many cat videos...
             cats aren't cute...
they're bogus critters who are in
the potential of biting and scratching...
come one...
all the way from south west London...
to north east London?!
foxes don't travel that far,
and the closest route would be
by a hypotenuse vector...
   sooner proving Santa Claus
exists...
    and...
              it couldn't be the same fox...
wild animals are analogous...
but they're certainly not original copy-cats...

coming from a newspaper
like the times:
   i'm vaguely allured to claim them
left-leaning... right-centrist for sure...
but they're still quasi-Guardian
types...

the topic at hand came,
thanks to no. 10,154 sudoku puzzle...
and the narrative...

1    0    0    0    0    0    0    0    5
0    5   ­ 0    0    2    0    0    3    0
0    4    0   6    0    5    0    1    0
0    0    2   0    0    0    8    0    0
0    0    5    4    0    3    7    0  ­  0
0    3    0    5    0    2    0    6    0
0    6    0    8   ­ 0    1    0    9    0
5    0    0    0    0    0    0    0    1
­0    7    0    0    6    0    0    4    0

ut 10,153 was a mess...
i can only suppose it was too simple...

let's just say i had to think
of something,
esp. little Jimmy...
    
                        and the scapegoat fox...
after all: it's the easiest route...
   pretending that a wild
animal is to behave in a civilized manner...
but even wild animals
do not behave like
meticulous killers...
          and decapitation?
it an example of a civilized
meticulousness of a killing...
        
i sniff a rat, a see a rat...
             mainstream media is a load
of *******, and hardly an outrage
of der stimme...
    
foxes don't assert methodological killings...
little Jimmy... whittle Jimmy...
taking a break...
having made foundation
in the first membrane of audacity...
sooner or later...
little Jimmy is moving from cats,
and into the territory of humans...

they all do...
  "they"?
        serial killers!

          that wasn't a fox...
i'm petting a fox at this moment in time...
well.. petting is a lose term...
otherwise strapped to:
"petting"...

           but as you do... solving a sudoku...
here's the linear
narrative:

   (b) 8 8 1 1 3 4 7 9 7 7 9 9 4 9 7 9 4 7
(a) 1 1 5 5 5 1 6 6 7 7 8 2 3 4 9 6 6 6 8 2 3 2 4 4 8 3 9 3 9 2 3 2 2 8 8

and you do think up crazy ****
while you're at it...

1    2    6    9    3    8    4    7    5
7    5    8    1­    2    4    9    3    6
3    4    9   6    6    5    2    1    8
4    1    2   7    9    6    8    5    3
6    8    5    4    1    3    7    2  ­  9
9    3    7    5    8    2    1    6    4
2    6    4    8   ­ 5    1    3    9    7
5    9    3    2    4    7    6    8    1
­8    7    1    3    6    9    5    4    2

but then the everyday newspaper
you read on the everyday
from Monday to Friday....
and there's a newspaper magazine...
ah...
   so that's the problem...
i'm not bundled up in a demographic
nearing retirement age?!

the Croydon cat-killer is still out there...
  a fox wouldn't leave a decapitated
torso as evidence...

as the one simple rule of nature suggests:
NATURE DOESN'T BELIEVE
IN LANDFILL SITES...
IT BELIEVES IN RECYCLING...
a fox that chews off a head
of a cat, and doesn't drag the torso into
the forest to eat?
   well... let's just suppose
that idiocy doesn't exactly permeate
in the wild...
              less a stupid animal...
more a selfish / slothful animal...
  foxes are neither...

             little Jimmy is still out there...
with his love for souvenirs of
cat heads...
           and he's buying time...
so a scapegoat emerges...
  
        if a fox did what was "supposedly" done...
i'm pretty sure there would be
no evidence...
          left...

you get the picture?
  Michael Myers began experiments
on animals... as did Jeffrey Dahmer with
road-****...
                can't someone make an outlet
for these people to work
in slaughterhouses?!
                    they'd be perfect!

decent human beings:
in the most indecent human conditions -
and i'm pretty sure these guys
would love working
in the slaughterhouses...

  i could, for some reason,
forget vegetarians akin to Adolf ******
by then!

I don't know if you still read this
But if you do
Please know that I'm sincerely sorry
For what I did to you.

I hope that you've moved on
And you never think of me
But I still cry over you
For hours, like I'm three

It tears me up inside
Because I didn't get to make it right
And it ways so heavy on my mind
That we had to end us with a fight.

I hope you still read this
I need you to know
I want to make this right
I want to let it go.

.wow... 28 facebook notifications, i.e. friend suggestions... i knew the hack would work... so i'm looking at 28 girls looking at my profile... how? i used to have around a 300 people network, school friends, uni friends, etc... but before the whole Silicon Curtain came into play, i en masse purged the, "useful" contacts... i wasn't planning on the screening process to be this effective... as one you-tuber pointed out: it's not the number of subscribes, or the number of watched said material: but the time spent perusing the material... hence? writing out-compete(s) video production... after all... i'm pretty sure people who read me, require more time to simply, passively, watch a video - i'm behind a piano maverick maestro typing away like Vishnu, a pair of eyes and a sluggish cognitive tongue is not match, in terms of speed when a pair of eyes and a pair of hands allows the tongue to be swallowed... "fwend" suggestions are not exactly suggestions, they're indicators of the people who viewed your profile... but you have to be low in networking numbers... after all... facebook is still relevant, in how it can be hacked... i have a minimal standpoint on likes, always have... these friend suggestions are hardly random... after all, these social media sites are interconnected... and then there's Brody: mind you, the hack is available when all your content is public.

watching him running around frantic
with a lamb bone -
    cackling like a fox is supposed to...

three days solid,
  prompt come 8pm -
   and he's in my garden...

kaiser chiefs' song
   ruby... changed a little...

  rudy rudy rudy rudy
   (which means ginger in ****** spreschen)

****... now i have to give him
a name...
   famous ginger politicians?
can't think of any...

****...
   actors!
    
        famous ginger actors...
damian lewis roles...
   axel from billions...

           bobby...

n'ah...
   the forsyte saga:

          soemes!

   no... sounds like a butler's name...
aha!
    
   homeland!

   the character brody!
   that's it...

   my Saturday night is already brimming...
turns i own two cats,
   and on the odd occasion a fox.

Grey eyes
You captivated me from the moment I first saw you
Keyboard Kafe. Cheesecake and Bourbon
Too young to drink without your fake ID
I loved your youth
Skinny jeans for summer
Singlets and jandals for winter
Uniform otherwise
You looked smart in blue
**** in black
Washed out in red
Like death in white
You escaped to Oklahoma of all places
Discovered the music in your heart
Came home with a farmers tan
Work was an issue
At least you tried
***** was the only cure you could find for your lonely soul
If only you had found me
Friends came and went along with your
Umpteen love affairs
Self respect
Confidence
Inspiration
You had cared all your life until nobody cared for you
Your tan faded
It was time to get off the couch and out of bed every morning
Janice kicked you out
You refused to pay rent
Branna and Harrison discarded you too
You were a man of many friends
Yet the loneliness in your soul reduced you to tears every night
In the bed you wish you hadn't made
You traveled
To Perth
Alaska
The dairy down the road
Prices were reasonable
Divorce rate low
Fake tans ever popular
You could get away with anything
I loved your perspective
Burgers, fries and coke
All you could afford but kept the weight off
You were always handsome
And always in need of a shower
You never married, I know
You never met the right one
You never met me
Your blonde hair faded and your eyes grew redder
A nip of gin and three bottles of whisky kept you sane
You gave up on drugs
And cigarettes
Just drank until you fell
                                              down
Janice
A three year old daughter in her arms with eyes like yours
Grey eyes
Came by your house
Full of spite
She stormed in
You hung by your belt from the trellis in the back garden
It was a sad day
Like today
You've always looked **** in black
I hate the fake tan the mortician plastered on you
I hate the fact that Janice spat on you in front of the wee girl
I hate that you don't remember me
I hate that High School was a *****

And that I was shy

But life got the better of you
So I don't blame you
I love you

He’s only just sat down
in the cafe when she enters
and stands at the counter

waiting to be served. He lets
his latte settle. Allows his
eyes to scrutinize. The waitress

serves the woman in the white
hat and black dress. He notes
her fine figure, the low cut at

the neck, the thin straps over
shoulders. He tries to breathe
in from where he sits her perfume,

but it doesn’t come. The woman
orders an espresso and says it
with an Italian accent. He follows

her with his eyes as she walks
to a table alone. She looks like a
girl Modigliani would have painted.

She looks at her watch and then
around the room of the cafe.
She crosses her legs, one over

the other, thigh revealed. He sips
his latte. Wipes his lips with the
back of his hand. Bad habit, mother

would have slapped his hand as a
child once. The waitress delivers
the woman’s coffee; he notes the

waitress’s fine behind, the hands
serving, the legs touching together.
Then she's gone. Just the woman

in the white hat to study. The way
she lifts the small white cup to her
mouth, her fingers holding delicately,

as if afraid to break. Get a life Brody
would say if he were there. But he’s not;
he’s away with that girl from the office,

having a lay. The woman in the hat
stares at him, her eyes devour, her lips
part like legs before ***. She looks boringly

away. He sips more latte. He doesn’t like
her white hat or black dress anyway.

Kaiser's hiccups
/are/
   and \were\
   legendary
and probably
  |will be|

having a little break cleaning the house, after having taken out the garbage, the dustmen always come later than the postman, around 2am, i'm guessing my street is their last point of call... which suits me just fine... the house was almost entirely cleaned, vacuumed, floors wiped with detergent... ugh... **** it... lazy fingers... i opened up my guitar case, the PIECYK (amp) is ******, i still have my first ever acoustic guitar but i'm missing three strings, my electric still has all 6 strings... i'll get some jam out... i haven't practiced in years... i figured: if i can't find a drummer... if i can't find a bass player... try the mandolin outside a girls window once, give up the dream, put a poster of a rock band on my wall... do some art when i'm completely "out of it": drunk... poetry: not a most spectacular art... well: it would be spectacular without all the ******* puritans of form, rhyme and: meter? they call it a meter but not a metre? that's a bit like telling someone you weigh... that's mass in kg multiplied by "X" is... 999.6N... ah... i know... science shoved it's pickled brain into casual talk: the distinction between weight and mass... mass came after weight... weight is still commonly expressed foundation akin to height... but it was a welcome break with my seemingly dead electric guitar... dangled a few jangles and jingles of remembering when i used to play... Silverchair's Shade, Red Hot Chilli Pepper's Under the Bridge... Eric Clapton's Layla... Link Wray's Rumble... Grieg's in the House of the Mountain King...

only today i realised that people are truly lonely...
odd... when i was in my utter depths of despair:
no one came... but who did come? me!
i picked myself up, no one was willing...
but then... coming across a descending /
an ascending choir of song in an empty church
then hearing a great wind disperse the singing:
i did have my technological asset with me...
the hallucination, the, "hallucination" was so potent
that... regardless of putting in my headphones
or not... the singing continued...
it was only when i scuttled and hid beneath
the altar and took the altar cloth off the altar
and covered myself momentarily with it
then starting running around the church like
a headless chicken... i know! i know! i know with
a BURNING I KNOW... if i uttered a word
i would hear the wrong reply!
either a god descending or a devil ascending...
after all... either side has a singing choir...

people are truly lonely...
i'm alone... loneliness is something that
attracts people to me...
i can't stomach loneliness...
for me that's like... the cul de sac of former
extroverts having an orange with no
orange juice to trickle down into a glass:
half full? regardless the optical misnomer of
calling the same glass: same... half empty...
i am more than willing to do this security
job because i get to do some decent work...
like being a chemistry teacher...
it's a great narrative canvas...
i write over what was already talked (over)...
that's how you get to paint by writing...
you're not some Tolstoy's...
no... not some Pavlov's dog trying to wet his appetite
but also sweat... via drooling saliva...
before my shift i had that random conversation
with mother...
she was watching the t.v. adaptation
of Leo Tolstoy's War & Peace and i said to her:
i don't recall having ever read Tolstoy...
he's not like Dostoyevsky, is he?

so we compared: Tolstoy is the writer
of the macro-cosmos... of events that shake nations
and the individuals: "individuals" are sort of:
chess-pieces...
it's the sort of literature of the salon...
Dostoyevsky is a psychologist...
a world war II might be taking place...
but... but... some Heinrich *******is getting dealt
a terrible hand of both luck and fortune...
like i said to my ailing mother:
she half-jokes aligned with giving birth to me
being her crucifixion...
i joke back: maybe if i wasn't born
i would have both my hinds...
i was once called a: hunchback angel by a guy
advocating the advent of the DUB-STEP musical
genre... way before DUB-STEP became bust
and only associated with SKRILLEX
"drop the button buster, beat, blah blah"...

reimagine drunk conversations in a pub...
in a PLOOB... Scouse? i don't know... maybe somehow
someday, maybe...
    ich sehen rot.. ergo: ich aufladung,
i.e. go! i.e. gehen!

people are so lonely, not having read anything of
philosophy...
if i were to learn anything from the sage-father
that my father isn't....
read philosophy when i'm old and clinging ton sanity
with a chance: oops...
*******... death end clue...
what?                        before you're dead...
please leave your nappies alongside the rest
of the remains of you...

i was having a: drinking session with
newly married couple... Irish traveller...
i downed his, my, his, my: whichever pint
long before the closing hours were done...
Frankie... Francesca...
**** me... Matthew Conrad "m.d."

it's called: tunneling!
me what?! a **** was asking me to g back
to her flat to sniff some *******...
smoke some ****....
i'd love to...
        but i need to make my mother
a coffee come 9am...

i never realised people could become so lonely
and when drinking enough become so blatantly obvious
about it...
it took me one night trip to find a fox's corpse
by the side of the street
to subsequently find a skip and some black bin bags
wrap the road-****... walk with it for almost five miles,
stopping off at the house to weigh myself
then me and the carcass...
amassed to about 7kg... a big, healthy *******
of a fox...
when i was picking him up from the pavement
at 5am a man and a woman were eying me up
like: no... not a ******... a shaman...
they should i might be pretending to chop the fox up...
i just didn't want such a beautiful creature,
beautifully dead, serene, lying on the side of the street...
the only burial i gave him was throwing him
into some thorny bushes by a stream...
another time i was playing i-see-you-but-you-don't-see-me
with another fox... sat on a curve and just eyed it...
until a woman passed the fox and me sitting across
the street drinking a beer... WE'RE MEDITATING!
did the fox flinch? nope... the woman walked about a metre
from the fox... ****** didn't flinch...
i was working up to the TOTEM...
it took one afternoon of the door being opened to
my kitchen and me cooking up two curries...
hey presto: BRODY...
that ****** came for leftovers from meals for over a month...
until, he stopped coming...
i'm guessing he was hit by a car...
but... i'm guessing my care for one fox being
somewhat properly buried and another fox coming
to inquire about: what smells so good
is the reason why i have captured such great photographs
of a fox in my garden...

- hmm... date? or after work coworker drinks?
i know that i scribbled in my little notepad
when she went on her Nth visit to the toilet...
my guess is that males have weaker bladder
of the sexes... a SPRINKLE OF SOME MARIJUANA..
i'm waiting for VOLTAGE...
i'm about to hallucinate in ink... burgundy mixing itself
with Bishop Purple...
those first 30 minutes after a sunset...
cycling down the A12 with heavy traffic... reaching the Green
Belt between Romford and Mark's Gate...
breathing through the nose...
Spring is teasing... Spring is teasing with her
oncoming stealth of scents...
the earth is yet again starting to breathe...
first comes the botanical kingdom,
soon after will come the kingdom of the insects...
wait! i have not heard of an angel or a demon
associated with botany! in charge of, say... roses...
too good of a mark for a Saint George with...
or was that St. Stephen...

write like an imitation of ice-skating...
pretend to fall... gain momentum...
think out a thinking of shadow, curb,
night and walking Ninja hey-presto! feline...
think a loudness: think the loudness...
the ***** of a 4 x 4 pedestrian cross
section of Tokyo...
leave your cycling attire on the bed, stinking of you...
watch a female cuddle and curl up to your Lycra
long-shanks for the specific reason: been cycling...
acid on a bicycle... the 1st and the only ever tRIP...

i always wanted to travel to India...
and walk back to England...
i always wanted to do that...
second: if? aha... QUESTION "question" questing onion
quest of an onion... ANSWER:
i swear, i: as it were... as it is... i: as it were:
i of i, i off i, i vs. no-i...
not i vs. not-i: schizoid broo... Brrrrr... BWOOM(B)
***** a-plenty with witches...

fly fly away my little star...
fly fly away my little st'ah... st'ah...
Stachurski! da da da... ditch Z-Detusche:
na minute, na chwile! na jedno
i drugie dingo dingo!

Lord of the Mushroom!
and mushy peas... and... dhal...
Lord... Bel
              פִּטרִיָה               (Be-EL)

i'm shocked that the gnostics didn't...
to be honest? what was missing in Hinduism?!
what was missing in Hinduism?!
AH HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA
AH HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA
AH HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA
AH HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA
AH HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA
AH HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA
AH HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA
AH HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA
AH HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!

oh yeah... that's a Satanic laugh that is...
a laugh that makes the existence of soul viable...
it is a glowing...
when one internalizes laughter with eureka
and mixes it up with stage-fright and a "hate"
for the sound of one's voice...
but then from time to time...
one is caught singing while doing chores and finds
one's voice appealing to be given song
rather than words to speak or write...

but not even in Egyptian mythology...
it was coming! it was ******* coming home!
the botanical godhead...
in the pantheon was missing!
was missing in the pantheon!
the

פ
P / PH / F (greek sidelined, referee: TH)eta
ט
T
ר
R(esh)
י
    YOD: first son of Yiddish: YON... by a boy named
YON...                  a

      e                                               i
                            Λ
                            Y                                  (LY)HH
    
                  o                       y

ה
hello friend: vowel catcher and laughter generator ...
ה not Π... that one connecting letter: ח

hmm: older than capitalism and communism,
but to simply the problem up:
capitalism is the lion
and everything English...
capitalism is the bear
and everything Russian...
vice versa for communism...
the English bred their mythos on the superiority
of a lion and... a unicorn... more a Celtic, Scottish... thing...
the Russians on... a union with the bear...
the bear and the two headed eagle: ergo:
another unicorn...
like the Srbs... serbs... two headed eagle?
the Soviet downfall with the two-headed eagles
of Chernobyl?
       ******: moi... i seriously sometimes forget
my own ethnicity i'm so caught up in English
metropolitan... cosmopolitanism...
      the Global City-Free-States... CITIES AS STATES...
very imaginable...

not City-States... rather... on the global connectivity
project?
what Dinosaur what meteor?
what super-volcano what Yellowstone
what man?
  it's a bit like Pompeii...
give the worlds greatest party and then the volcano
explodes...
better than a meteor: a volcano killed us...
Yella Big Yella...
            the greatest, supposedly no OB-EASE:
into obese...
          ah ah... tongue out... speak! the prolonged A
of neither ah not āh...
                      -
                        2

                                      ****... that's chemistry's notations...
                     2
                  -                                 (huh?!)

the macron over the A... for AAH...
i.e. not an:                                                      ah!

                        á!
                                               A
    
                                   H                        H

           á                                   'ey?!
                                ha ha: key?    hey?!

the burial ground of...
    hmm...
               BEE-EL...
      
PHTRYH: the godhead is that of a mushroom...
people partied to the music of: infected mushroom...
a god is making himself known...
like the false god of H. P. Lovecraft
horror-imago: Nyarlathotep...

precisely! what vowels!
PH or P or F?
   two H's emerged... a good sign that it's PH
for aesthetic reasons...
scribbling this down...
i feel like i'm actually left-handed...
a diametrical opposition to the stasis-enforced
gravity of nothing falling: everything sitting...

ph(aeiou)t(aioue)r(aouei)y(aueio)h(aeiou)

if insects can be allowed the dimension of godly
creatures: thousand blessings on the head!
the lion's head the eagle...
emblem of the Volk of the Volcano:
a Mushroom-Head...
                    
toilet... ah... welcome relief... the water is running...
running...
hmm... from a top... otherwise flowing...
if...
lake: mirror imitation, Lake Narcissus and
his brother Sea Samael: Death...
     like absinthe before adding water like it
was milk...
the water is in tide: with tide: use the FORCE...
tide...
   like water found the force... the force:
with force water found gravity via tide...
earth found gravity with the quake
fire found gravity with the sparkle of the stars...
fire... charcoal peered at night at the already
lighted... as he admired the lightning with fear...
no lightning ever warmed...
comforts of a distant home... fire found gravity
envying the stars... Prometheus who?
and the brothers of Gaia?
Fero...
                fire...
                              AQ... the water brother...
ah... forgot about the younger sister:
AIA...              air...

what a weird ******* date, coworker after shift drinking...
i've never been on a date with a lesbian...
i felt... TESTED... we watched almost the entire match
Chelsea women vs. Tottenham Women Hotbras...
coming close to the end of the shift she asked
if i wanted to go drinking...
sure... why not...

            hmm... it became a date... after she bought the two
rounds i paid for on our previous encounter
when we actually went ice-skating and i became
a local internet sensation for teaching seagulls how to fly:
wearing ice-skates, frozen lake: fly fly!

so we start... the pub is getting busy...
it feels worse than a strip-club...
at least in a strip-club most people are naked
and people get to wear imaginary masks...
in a pub? **** me...
people are dressed up and are made to wear
imaginary clothing! ha ha!
masks?! what masks... a LIE is 10 masks... one lie equals
10 masks... because a lie concerning
the body of soul... is accented with more than
a physical imprint...
LIE MASK AS IF PRETEND SUPPOSE SO
AS IF AS SO CALL IT QUITS
ACTING

it felt like a date... she was getting all nervy...
going to the toilet... checking her phone all the time...
i was patient, smart girl, while i was pretending to
opt out from her OCD... check the phone...
check the fridge-freezer... check your opt out
capacity for a TV license...

how do you go out on a date with a lesbian?
neither you nor her are advocating for woke talking points...
about pronouns or... Furry? listen...
she talks to me about getting FIFA '22...
i finished gaming off at PS1 and reliving the golden days
by re-watching the walkthroughs of
MGS2 (metal gear solid 2)...

because? movies are ****...
i don't want to want these women...
i want... a ******* canoe and a ******* paddle!
and a grizzly bear cub to cuddle and a birch tree to cuddle!

MUFFA!
YEROYI... AHMADI-DEM-BASHAI
YAMSH'EH GIBYT!
VAZOL: OCH TIBI IM PEO-OM-KATA
ES O I TOBOM.

no language suddenly praise with the rigidity of
continuation...
i'll be honest... what do i need a woman for?
to get old, get a haircut... buy food...
not watch the sunrise or the sunset...
instead watch the news on t.v. watch the t.v.
not watch the aquarium?
don't own an aquarium?

own a car but don't own a bicycle?!
in London...
it was 2: so nie to know you: snooze:
represented by letter Z or 2...
if 5 is S and 6 is b...

                     the marriage of letters
to numbers... numbers? meaningless...
absolutely... meaningless...
199 KILOGRAMS
200 CENIMETRES
X contra "x"...

        dead-weight marrying
      1 + 1 + 1 = 3
when marrying
o + n + e = one...
              ah! but 3 and one are different!
former? the forever unit...
latter? the splinter, E3...
forever question...

               turn 3 into omega...
when sharpen it up for a SH... hide the H...
wake up the Z... hide the Z
emerge with a v above an
                           S

call it crown....

     - so Francesca asked me to go drinking again:
again a date doesn't feel like a date...
am i supposed to know about the plethora of female
sexuality?
         **** McDonald one day...
   straight out of Orange is the New Black the next?
just for drinks... i thought we would equal out the tab
on who paid for what previously...
went into the pub at around 20:30 came out around
00:15... we watched the females' football league...
her team, Chelsea beat Tottenham at the Leyton Orient
ground: no plague of parakeets...
honestly: hand on my heart and one on my ear
standing naked before four mirrors:
i did not hear about wild parakeets... parakeets
in general since: only since i worked the Craven Cottage
shifts... Bishop's Park was full of them!
there were no wild parakeets in Essex... not that i know of...
i once listed down all the birds
i could see from my garden...
seagulls, kestrels, two hawks battling in the air,
woodland pigeons, urban pigeons,
crows, magpies, sparrows, swallows,
robins, blackbirds, Canadian geese (migrating),
mallard ducks (also migrating), swans (migrating ditto)...
but sure as **** no parakeets!

in that session i bought only 1 round...
she was hungry so she ordered food...
three plates of food...
fried wings with two sauces...
a bowl of cheesy fries with strips of bacon
and a bowl of popcorn chicken which
i first thought was: battered and deep-friend
mozzarella nuggets...
i had three things... showing off my eating skills...
my grandparents never used to eat
the cartilage and the best meaty bits
off of the chicken legs, drumsticks or wings...
i went a step further...
a bit like eating a whole apple... including the core...
aa magic trick of eating:
you begin with holding something in your hand...
then it disappears completely...
holding an apple, whole, and eating it whole...
subsequently is a bit like playing with a top hat
imagining red eyed albino bunnies, from Albania
(albino >< Albania).. clash of borrowed letters
but two completely different meanings...

etymologically: Albania: land of the Albinos:
Albanios? more like a he, noun...
a mountain, a he...
                 a lake: he and she... neither, always:
if reading English like a native
of the tongue...
                        Albatross from Albanions...
poetry borrowed from a dictionary, rigid function:
hiding the rhyme
exposing the etymological "rhyme".
Alba-
                                      white...
a dyslexic meets a Daltonist in Dover..
the dyslexic arguments are along the lines of:
Dawid Bovie... dead... pish-poor shapes to be be
before huddling out the grave
for a Madame Tussauds pose and a quick nap
and not asking for
a Doppelganger like Sisyphus without a stone
but the equivalent worth of the stone
in pebbles...

    i would be a fair god...
if i'm willing to give birth to an angel of the Botanical realm
since there's the Lord of the Flies... Beelzebub..
and there's the Lord of the Mosquitos: Jesus "sacred heart"
reincarnated by Jungian inspection
a literal: MOTHER... ******...
Chirst...
                      it's not enough to play the pig's blanket
and pretend a crucifix is a ***** and in dire need of being
used by a ******* according
to Marquis de Sade...
Phateroyah...
                     obviously the vowels will change...
with vowels like water and consonants like earth...
punctuation is like air... punctuation and a physical
representation of writing: nothing ethereal,
nothing metaphysical... writing with expression
on our faces... writing as something less and less
a claustrophobic or its implosion: to an effect...
writing less about an extension of thinking...
in the Cartesian dynamic:
res extensa: via writing, alternatively:
if one were to be prone to smoking enough marijuana:
auditory hallucinations... writing is
by definition the same variant of the EXTENDED classification
as a schizophrenic's auditory hallucination...
the former just forces it upon others...
the latter is unwarranted access to a corrupted ego...
a hurt ego...
an ego without the capacity to imagine,
to dream, to digress...

i showed her how to eat chicken proper...
i ate three wings, two chips avoiding the bacon and cheese,
and about three popcorn nuggets...
i forgot myself: once all the cartilage on the bones
was cleaned off... i went in to bite into the bones...
the ends are sort of soft and marshmallow-almost...
not in texture... in my reimagining:

reimagining - hmm... Kant...
         remembering...
a prior... remembering...
   a posteriori: reimagining...

if a crime happens we don't have an a priori remembering
tactic... ingesting the realm of a prior
with memory... remembering...
that's what we do...
what came before 5? S? or !!!!! five exclamation marks?
or? >>>>> five more-than signs?
did 5 come before five?
did words spawn numbers
or did numbers spawn words?
clearly they're not identical...
and they operate two different realms...

we have words for numbers...
as we have numbers that are also letters...
but numbers are not words...
even 3.14159....
                   is not a word, but a letter: Pi i.e. P...
it's not a word... it's at best a letter...
i'm thinking the gods are words and the angels
are letters...
  while the anti-gods are constants
and their "angels" are numbers...

constants?
                         3.14159..... is not a constant... it's a freak of O...
a circle... and a whole mythology of the Wheel...
O... ****** VENUS...
  phallus... the egg... Oh and 0ero         Z: zed extended
via snooze: zzzzz... harps and snoring... terrible music...
constants? in numbers as if creating a word?

6.02214076 × 10²³ mol⁻¹

                     Avogardo's: the equilibrium dynamic if
i remember correctly...
today i learned about...
     Jakob Fugger... back in his day worth around
400 billions "x"... who financed the construction
of St. Peter's in Rome...
i now wish i visited Rome instead of Venice...
          i would have had more fun in Rome...
  
(algebra is the reply, letters imitating
numbers... should the inclusion of MOL be a problem)...

i bit off the chicken legs marrow...
she was in the toilet about fifty ******* times, each time,
ordering more drinks...
we came in at 20:30 and left at around 00:30
at one point she was in the toilet and
i just remembered something...
they have this "thing" in Japan... where you pay a stranger
to pretend to be your friend...
i'm not pretending... but conversation is dry...
i try to ask questions: i ask questions,
i hear replies... but i don't hear reciprocating
questions... Mr. Familiar has or had no problems?
people confide in me and yet
whenever i try to confide in them
i'm told to shut up...
oh... i get it... i do...
before i knew it i was this heaven-sent ideal...
i was the strength and they were the weakness...
i see it now more than even...
she can tell me about her abusive past...
her drunk father who kissed her mother with knuckles
instead of lips... how she's a lesbian but also
a butch ******* **** with hands almost as large as mine
and how her daughter was put into care
because "X"...
but my shizophrenia is a "schizophrenia" is...
i wasted my 20s on anti-psychotic drugs and psychiatrists
that i bundled up and threw into a hornets' nest of
******* *****, threesomes (just the one, but one is
the threshold)... prostitutes: you talk more with your
eyes and your hands and your other endings
and your nose than you care to ******* lasso a string
of coherent words together...

my problem? what problems?! exactly...
there's nothing wrong with me: i have no regrets...
i don't need to speak to someone with an endearing
sake of self definition... i can just scribble notes down
and leave them for some yet to be born
****** of petty things...
i can do just that... no wonder i can't open up...
talk about... "me"? that's still packaged goods...
i'm waiting for the morbid call of a biography
postmortem...

it's strange going on a date with a lesbian...
it's not a date it's me going for after-work drinks
with a colleague...
it's me and her eyeing up the same behind the counter:
tight ***, fake eyelashes she can pull off...
her unwashed pink-fading dyed fair:
feminist... it's me telling her a little about my past:
i had long hair before,
i couldn't pull off a Jesus...
i would only grow a beard if i cut my hair...
short...
she's still trying to find me on social media...
god: i love keeping a girl in suspense whether or not
i have any social media presence...
best try it out with a lesbian first...
we talk about dating apps:
i have a knowledge of their existence...
but hardly a knowledge that might demand
the pressures of: USAGE...

i end up drinking the night away with a revelation...
i was eyeing these two pairs of love birds for some time...

when i was at the Ol' "John's" taking
a whizz... this Greek version of Freak... o.k. o.k.,
ETHAN ROARK type... balding on the top
of the cranium, allows his hair to grow long...
didn't you know...
Garry Glitter was released... he's already
been harangued by the ******* "police"....

what like Batman did a "forever"?
          
   i get paedophiles doing a second jester runner
with meeting up with underage:
sorry... not boring enough?
it's like pretending to be a mandible,
aerobic classed agility with
a prosthetic... that's what ******* a teenage girl
might feel like:
i rather run with deer....
or charm a fox into becoming my totem...
should i be reincarnated what might i come back as?
i'm not banking: i'm saying: fuchs!
fox! LIS!
if i were to freely roam the prance-lands of Essex
as a fox... that's me, done and dusted...

but i wouldn't inhibit a man willing to repent...
after all: if no forgiveness?
the Muslims were right: no crucifixion took place...
did it?
a 78 year old can be given a heave's sake....
life's fruition and that's done...
sorry for the hurt parties... living their:
adamantly purposive lives
with the weight of: Abel not dead...
sorry... the story goes... Cain murders you....
you're still live yet:
you're supposed to be dead...

i'm only making excuses for Gary Glitter...
i wouldn't be for...
Ralph Heimans...
                                 it's music and i can't stop
listening to Rock & Roll parts I & II...

**** me: i ended up the night...
she hated ***** accents.. Liverpool-day-john-ion...
part Eirish: skirmish: scoot!
a Swabian swap... an "oops": Ludwig... or was
that Lufthansa...
this girl, a ***** bridge,,. i'd love to add hired
bride...
                  but instead?

Traveller Irish... i was talking to a bridge...
bride...
you want a drinking race?
ejecting the two pairs...
i snuggled down my pint: his pint...
in 3x glugs... i saw a phantom of an opera...
what?she told me she never used social
media before marrying?
why do i need to Afghanistan to find
datable brides? i squeak and wriggle myself
into the CAMPER VAN culture...
Irish travellers... so? i'll drink with them...
i'd drink with a repentant ******* asking:
was it anything like Nabokov prescribed?!

£30 for 3.5grams of ****...
time excavated? 30+ hours...
£120 + £10 for entry for an hour with a *******...
well... i'd love to prove my masculinity
with having a competing:
hopeless: always alive sort of battery life:
kept up: *******...
but even i think *** is primarily a dosage of
insect desires...
mammals like us sometimes
tend to play games to escape the pressures
of ***...
requested: what? getting my beard trimmed
or getting my underwear "lost" or my ******* "trimmed"?

i get it... ******* are people who are not afforded
a chance to compensate...
relieve themselves through the shared
antics of (shared) grief...
just like Jesus Christ once crucified can't be
resurrected! n'est ce pas?!
what if... the ******* can be left alone...
in his freedom and a freedom-sickly-cage...
what if?!

a bit like saying:
but i can't be anti-racist...
i can be a non-racist...
but i can't be: anti-racist...
                    there are humans either side of
the "argument"...

one mighty argument of goo after another...
inverting the whole dynamic of dates...
seen your face for over a year...
now i heard your voice: your soul...
you heard me laughter...

a naked table, a naked chair...
a dressed table, a dressed chair,
a lightbulb with a cloche...
rigid Slavic KLOSZ...
walls: brick or slab...
naked... wallpaper slapped on...

   how did that "date" end up?
i was speaking to Irish Travellers...
the ****** types... caravan dwellers...
with the girl... snogging before
ordering a pint....
how she was Lady Margaret all pristine
didn't drink or use social media
before getting married...
i was chasing pints...
race: 3x glugs down...
  i out-chased him...

the pub was closing, we wanted the people out...
strange so, talking to this Irish Traveller Lassie,
most settled people with mortgages or
council houses, flats... avoid speaking to Irish Travellers...
but the revelations she uttered...
i might as well been talking to a Muslim girl...
by her account...
she didn't start drinking before she was married...
she didn't use social media,
she said that in the travellers' community having
a social media account is a bit like *******...
hell: i think it's much worse...
fair play to the capitalistic system...
but social media is what it is...
         it has marketed our private-lives...
not written as a complaint...
                        i allowed for that to happen...
willingly...
now i can't simply walk away from the gallery...
i still don't know what to do with it
instead of making if a reference point akin to:
the red and the amber and the green
of traffic lights...
the "system" wasn't going to capitalise on the market
of my dating preferences and ****** encounters...
sure... i don't mind a public "dear diary"...
a place to store links to music videos when i forget
to add them to my browser's bookmarks:
because i've probably added the same song twice...

but Kant has been bothering me...
ever since i wrote:
a priori remembering
    and a posteriori reimagining...
why do i think that it's impossible
to a priori reimagine?
              
i need to go back to the rubric
and try to burn it into my head like the alphabet
was burned into my mind once...
one of the following four
is impossible:
    with the simplest expression for each:

(analytical) a priori                             (analytical) a posteriori
1 + 1 =2                                                   not every man is a ******
wrong!                                                   some men are
that's synthetic a priori!
+, /, £

(synthetic) a priori                               (synthetic) a posteriori
1 + 1 = 2                                                   £: money makes monkey
i synthesised these                                either that shaman
numbers...                                              mushroom on an ant's
analysed what prior?                            buttocks or:
the increasing number                          the botanical "anomaly"
the added, subtracted,                        money is: asexuality it's
multiplied,                                              what if Adam gave Eve
by god sq. rooted?!                              her first un-earned banknote...
1, 2, 3, 4...                                              spend freely! not having
                                                                earned it!
                                                               what if Eden and the apple
                                                                are wholly outdated
                                                                metaphors?

hmm...

the first £10 she got? was that money earned or money freely
given? was she handed down an allowance or
her first earnings? the trickling down idea follows suit:
if her father gave her money for free... for completing "chores"...
if he gave her an allowance: worse still...
without chores...
why wouldn't expect the sane fir passable:
future partners: daddy day-care "hoes"...
                           my daddy this, my daddy that...
HUBBY no. 2... give give...
i drink less... i smoke some marijuana
and i remember that i read some philosophy...
no new grounding since Wittgenstein
gobbled down Spinoza in a ferocious
of homosexual madness of jealousy...
misunderstood by at least 4 parties...

*** and women unplugged...
some of us boys are playing a game of Alchemy...
solid silver, liquid silver...
i guess plastics are gassy silver...
***... can i please assume there might be
two mouths breathing?

I ate your breath before you ate the apple...
i ate your breath while you gauged
my eyes and saw milk in your *******...

in the labyrinth of: i sigh...
i'm to your bidding bound, sire...
i ate your breath long before you might have ate...
that fruit of autumn, fallen, rotten...
fermenting.... this rotten fruit...
no, not plucked from three... ripe and sweet...
rather picked up attired in autumn's clothes:
auburn, over-ripe cinnaamon-brown,
orange and yellow...

you gave me a drunkard's bear or ilk!
male deer! you gave me a drunkard's apple!
i might be stumbling:
but i'm still chiming with the blues!
what Mosad Mandarin faction of
the intelligence community?

   ching-fang-*******-wall'ah-CHANG
wrote a similar (liar) armistice peace-war:
if we can't use this military equipment...
let's, make... ******* movies!
woo yee HA!

Baron astronaut, ergonomic... a house ought
to have two doors: H... a house
ought to have rooms focused upon the dynamic
of Y...
oh **** your woo! woo! glue my ***
of the Tetragrammaton:
i heard it once before:
the Arabs got their pearly and Kentucky bound
Timothy....
while the Hebrews got the paranoia...
windmills in Chelsea, London,
not Kansas... New Lit Bits of Jersey....

i was left aghast... um... i laughed...
i couldn't say the words ****... pairing it up with her voice...

well... according to sources all knowledge a piori
is ANYLYTICAL... but what was i "analysing"
when i was conjuring the letter R or the number Z?
i borrowed the circle from the sun
and the house from the cave?
i must have done so...
i probably conjured the game of rugby from
the sea's tides and yoyo from an egg of a dodo...
and the goal posts from the letter H...
ripples in the water ZigZag and M and W...
cosine as the refined W
and sine as the refined M...

   a parabola confined in a W...
D in do and devil...
God with Dog and: all?! ah!

    i'm not dumb: i just want to extract more from Kant
than people, ever had, toyed with a jihad of had the Hadiths
in a puddle of paper: equaling the refined weight:
of the organic worth of bark? timber: temples of stone
have turned the gods all cold:
about 5 kilograms for a stash of a week's worth of newspapers...

please please don't let me understand myself:
please oh please don't let me understand myself:
when i'm sober and especially when i'm slightly drink...
drunk... drunk... and smoking a bit of ****...
and...

grass is green: after having established that
not everything is grass
and not everything that's grass is green
wheat? grows like grass...
but it's not green...
and it grows taller than grass
and cows and horses don't eat it...

i could watch a thousand movie and listen to a million
songs... i could even manage to love a woman
and her tell me in the cravat adorning mammal skin
caravans... but i'd still go to bed with Kant...


   it's not that difficult but i need to ask myself to burn
this rubric into my mind...
under each the easiest expression: an abstract...
i just can't word it differently:
a priori remembering...
true...
a posteriori reimagining...
also true:
after the fact of seeing a tree...
can i see a tree prior?
ergo? i can't be capable of a priori reimagining...
first i have to see a tree...
but upon seeing the tree i can't reimagine it...
therefore i can only reimagine what comes after seeing it...
how do i practice a priori remembering?
on the most practical level...
i remember 1 + 1 = 2...
history and memory...
sure... but what of history as epistemology?
as a child i'm not really taught that 1 + 1 = 2...
knowledge and 1 + 1 = 11... not "somehow" just by
"coincidence" of the missed meaning of the cipher +,

epistemology and etymology are the only
two branches that should be given access to the study
of history...

reimagining a tree is impossible in that it's a realm
of geometric abstractions that borrow from
geometric orthodoxy and render them useful:
a tree is a home, i can, reimagine a tree...
if i reimagine myself as a bird or a monkey
perched in a tree... reimagining the roof...
via the sky... but that's hardly likely,
mountain and cave dwelling: home...
a prior reimagining is in its own right something...
but reimagining resulted in the dimension
of a posteriori...
i reimagine a tree and make it: a talking tree...
i apply pareidolia...
or like with clouds... those favourites...
why would i reimagine clouds a priori?
i can... but then that would imply reimagining
cauliflowers... or rather: clouds remind me of
cauliflowers: but that's not reimagining either
clouds or cauliflowers: it's remembering what each
looks like and why, subjectively i remember:
that i think they're alike...

hmm... proof: no pudding....
clearest blue...
          or solid green... the Jade from China...
XINY X= CH
we can apply the letter X in our tongue...
that's what marijuana morphs:
the perception of time... 10 minutes already
feel like an hour....
xolera... cholera H! hhhh...
                 xorwat - croat...
                   xemia - chemistry....
chmiel: xmiel:
                              toad breath!
the stuff i sniff up before going to bed!
you ******* DYSLEXIC...

choroba: xoroba...
sickness...

  DYSLEHIC...
                   i'm asking for upgrades...
i hope my upgrades are not too: demanding...
i'm asking... i'm asking...
i'm getting **** all...
well then... best not become a priest
and conjure up what i might need...
i may need this that and the other...
Hebrew...
i'll need the vowel hiding prerogative
to be minded... i'll need Kant..
punctuation marks and numbers....
most certainly letters...
plus akin to comma....

                                 if still alive: i'll lso require death...

chwila: xwila: a fleeting moment...
lapsed timing...
           c H-A
arecz: samo-H-ah...
                  nie na xixota.... śpiew
raptem: tak! ha! ha! aha!

daj znać gdy ty i ja,
tak nagle żyją... i nie... o tak!
i mihght have a Frenchman's heart
to want: Romance after news of
a hereafter..
the moon is blue
the sun is bronze...
the air is milky in the morning...
the water is traffic and there's no
traffic... i'd like death before the explaining mantra:
what's worth a life: squid parody on... ******* skates?!

the love of the gods is doubly insulating...
first they try to demolish you: one ******* fatal claim after another...
the they employ women... they too... *******.. fail...
what are you rounding up against, you?!
sails without winds and no boats to sail with,
the supposed... great artefacts of claiming
the winds!

i once sat alone in a park... hair growing freely....
i had no addition of a face with the addition of hair...
i had no beard, not stubble...
the wind was and my long hair was
and there was, no war, no famine...
there was only dancing and twice reading
into a Charles Dickens...

twice: a rereading a text not available
for journalistic imprints of:
that satisficed mantra of derailing:
expectations of the meddling-ground....

oh well: oh nothing...
oh riddle me some more: nothing...
life is cheap: buy it bought!
sell it sold!
       earn it not living (it); earning it!
ergo: "living"... and (existentialism)...

   a king's frown is a beggar's stomach...
money makes money:
onions grow on trees!

giving birth to the son of Mammon
was... not... hard?
seriously?!
                          thank god i'm twisted in my own
sort of superstitious way...
when there's talk of a birth of an angel...
my ****** demands become joke...
i forget something, and within the confines
of something: almost: everything...

save180:

p'oh tay t'oh
but not
toe-may-toe
that's not
t'oh may t'oh
but...
t'oh m'ah t'oh

         if only it was a p'oh t'ah toe t'oh.

Figure a trigger
pictured fingers
scratch the brain
pick it ****, exposed;
******* minds only craving one more dime.
Insane
vein blade
neck noose
she drinks some to feel loose.

creeping
convulsions

chills christen me a martyr
King of the opiophiles
Christ of the smackheads
Conquering coconaut
Hero to heroinites
Majesty of the methodonians

Glitches in systems revolving
rebel against or kiss them
Ring the bell to bring out the MOB and roll your future to face the dice
who are they ask for advice?
You draw towards these demons while behind you attempt to bask
a mask
Cody raises a flask of poison resentful regrets
Brody the roadie is always on the move
that ****** basement edm dub scene sure did become crass
which only leaves you, alone to groove
and we drink my flask our flask and bask in romance and death
Sorry Sir that you asked…but wait I have one more thought before the session reaches the inevitable conclusive aspect. Listen to my
Unexplained Law
Of
Academic actualizations
Basic casualization
Capital causes compound connections only resulting in casualty
I am orbiting you
Blazing comet
A simple sultry satellite
cold convoluted
Sad
at my farthest reaching far flung Aphelion
Warming and safe at my closest approach to You
Blazing life bringer
Holy holy holy art thou oh Eye of all
Allow me to forever remain at Perihelion
The laws of Keplar could not keep us from colliding
in the end
fire
will be all dividing

i'll write my german like my father soap operas his english, mangled, and disturbed... i mean grossly misjudged.. i mean like: did anyone really understand him? they must have since he now has a house... but then i was too lazy to begin with... which is nice, to begin with... i mean: that nice: clap clap... clap clap... all i need is a hope for encore... it's Borat pseudo Kazakh nice... i mean, i can speak the most perfect assimilation tongue for my host nation and end up on the street... just like i might become the ****** argument in germany... where i actually left my docier... now i love to write a bit of dangling ******* in german, dunno, maybe the pole in me felt like it... thankfully no knows jackshit about Polish history, or Mongolian history after Genghis Khan, therefore i'm not prone to a phobia of repeating historical demands! i mean: who the **** remembers John Casimir in the anglophone world?! umm... no one?! hurrah! we get the blond penguin tuxedo quiff juggernaut into power... but allah'u akbar... it wasn't the playboys of Dubai!

nein!
du kann nicht eine
  zivilisiert brutus,
mit verschwendenvolk
führ hyänewirbeln....
ja... art sortieren kindsouffle
wie mehrsaga...
   hinweis papa-pauß?
deine ein sauer antlitz...
ein fuchs-hyäne: herablassend,
trocken- nordpol otto theodor,
                 ein! sú!

i basically write the broken limb tongue my father speaks
on a construction site...
          i mean he speaks out of time, and sometimes
out of place...
   and every time i write his invoice i am
left heart relieved, had i a romance: i've be broken.
                        but the funny thing is,
i write this ******* and i can't even own a coffee machine
having said it...
             he speaks pish-boor english and gets a house,
a t.v. and a car....
      i write this perfect assimilate english and get
a postcard from australia: thanks, move here.
                   i'd hate to imitate the jew and turn to be
a nomad...
               but globalisation evidently demands that of me...
   it just gets boring after a while,
with all these needs and Neds trying to compete,
i just want to end up failing with fireworks...
become god at the age of 33...
                     and **** the rest of it if i should live
to be 66...
                        ah, come on man,
show some veterinary bias...
            some cult, some basis and futurism without
a regressive attitude... give the dauch the scoop...
and the lady her pooch pouch of vogue!
                  ah, then you're like me
talking german, like my father talking english...
perfectly... via fuchs-hyäne: perfect to the laugh
defining night; or licken-icken:
          für deutsche! über alles: für deutsche!
do brody, byczo jest! und nichts est!
               nienen warschau mitteklasse!
schwarz zirkusegen schatten: krächzen!
                pirdolony or-zełek twy... hujnia i motywa
      na badziewie.... mówi: matka... a potym... kórwa.
ha ha ha ha ha ha!
a po co ty i ten cymbał azjatyk? ten czambo kazak
i  pierdolony cynamon?! huh?!
po jebaną plombe, kasztan, mogiła, figa i pflaume
            i śliwowice?!
Liban na odzew reszty oliwek?! pospolity ruch?
   wnikąt rzeszy! masz! masz marsz kurwa na stambuł po wnót!
Sobieski Sobieksi i na głowie szambo!
te pizdy znów ci zawrót i chęć i nadzieją dały z
          genezą na coś by początek nie smiały miał być?
   ale tak naprawde nie tu... rogiem of warszawe roku '44...
bo wszystkich zycek wybito gazem,
gina musztardowym *smrodem... senfstinken...
                    furzschreiten...
to wtedy tak naprawde to:
tak naprawde poza Warszawą to powstanie do głuchych
          oślą mową wzdycha wzbogaceniem zdobytą
                                 psim sumieniem i czekam na zdobycz
            to zwane honor i państwo... czyli
wszystko braku na uniwerku... póki braku ideału...
no ta... cerkwiew Piłsudskiego! ach ten wąs! niby Stalin!
ale brak tego romantyzmu z nad Litwy!
co ma ten sławny wąs z pod Gruzji!
już mi miód w portkach!
       na ten twój! w ochote i zamiar tchuża i
                             żacier w mgłe i proch!
jak i w papier i piasta mrok w paproć o zacier modlitw
                         i czarów!
       kłam ty oczekiwań mioteł i motyli takich fabryk
których... kochasz...  
oj oj... wmojym gardle hydra!...
                 na tyle narodów ile da sie pokrewni nadrobić
brata i siory... tak, dam te wojenke...by tańczył mi kozak!
a o tobie wspominał mnie jakiś tajny Romon zwany Wład,
Piłat ******!
             ksywa: wampir... nie wiem...
sporo drwena na maczugi... ale nie wiem po co on chciał
  tak na ostrzyć jak na ołówki... w dupy macać?

Buddy you are moving way too fast
Its a happy New Years Eve
           But Sometimes the grass is greener, the wine is sweeter, on the other side of the hill.


Turn your socks inside out like a Brody
Its time to find Jack Straw...

The secret to a Wild Man's heart
Is to Bribe him with your food.

I learned what Paul Simon meant when he said he blew that room away
I learned what J.D. Salinger lied when he said he would do it anyway

Bruce Springsteen said to Terry Gross every Rock'N'Roll song means one thing:
"Pull your pants down."
Huh!

I don't think people realize how fragile it all is
how it just falls apart when you're looking out of the window at something else
at first you don't realize because it happens bit by bit
you'll get used to it

the culture war looms
it pulls out your skirt on fridays
take me out please
take me where the boys are
you know you want to
it tugs at your sleeves saying
oh you didn't hear what they said about you?
flag wars they sing

truth is a preference
it's true if it feels right
if it doesn't well
it's fake news of course

oh you didn't know non-player character
will you play to win?
because feelings don't care about your facts

you see I was born in 83
in the newly formed islamic republic of iran
three years into the trench warfare that changed the psyche of a nation forever
high on the islamic revolution
full of fury
blood and soil
blood and soil
the hors d'oeuvres of the war
we fled in 88 three months before the war ended
nothing gained nothing fulfilled

I see the absolute worst in people
I watch them and learn much from what they get outraged by and what they don't
it all starts small rooted in a search for meaning a sense of purpose
once this is defined just watch them turn on each other
the other essentially

war needs a dragon
war needs young men to believe
the culture war has always been there
like a monster’s nails casting an ominous shadow
behind the bedroom door tapping away at your mother's vinyl flooring

when people get safe
with fear at bay the tapping dims
but when an immigrant stabs an infidel
or a black man is apparently murdered on video
the tapping gets louder
what is the dream of the foreigner hoping to penetrate the walls of the golden city
to weaken it?
from the russian bot to the isis video slicing brody's neck right before your eyes
it gets at you doesn't it?
doesn't he look like you?
your white knuckles are shaking
yes yes the monster says
I will draw you in

because I'm just a monster living in the hallway
and I'm nothing without you
is what he'll never ever tell you

but it's true
he aims to exaggerate the divisions within your family
to exploit it
to challenge your identity
to play with your emotions
as you've done to them
so you know this game very well
you just don't know the side of the table that will
as in the iran-iraq war both the us and the uk sold arms to both sides
the great game

War is profitable and the opportunity to cash in on it is tempting
people don't have ideas
ideas have people
how fragile at all is

this very society that I cherish that I sought refuge in
my family
the vast base
the stable economy
common law
democracy
if life started in the east
then the reason to be of the west is to carry on the torch
to learn from past mistakes and to be a light unto the world
until our very toes are inching at the pacific with no further to go
will I find myself staring at the window pondering what happened
like so many countless men throughout history have?

how fragile at all this
we won't know until it's taken from us
not by the formless foreigner but by our own very hand that opens the bedroom door
to experience our darkest insides that grows and grows endlessly
until we have nothing else
the monster in the bed now
in all that cold
and all that dark

Loose coins sing like cheap nickel-plated wind chimes
in the side compartment as she slams
the car door behind her.
For half a second, I consider getting out after her--
following, so she can give me those petulant puppy dog pupils
she's perfected through persistant practice.
A better plan: I make a face at her back reminiscent of
three "na's" and a pair of "boo's."
As if somehow cosmically aware I've just hit my daily quota of immaturity,
she speaks.
"You know, I just find it funny h--"
but I'm already in reverse.

*

What is it about driving with nothing but stars and trees as companions
that makes a night cruise so much more thought provoking?
Could it be because I can finally hear myself think?
No. I always think out loud anyway.
Maybe it's because they actually seem to listen?
"****, you are way too high right now, my guy."
"Nah, I'm good, brody."
Okay. I don't even listen to myself;
why would nature be any different?
But there's something.
Picking up speed,
back pushing against the seat,
feeling every imperfection in the road through the chassis--
eyes peeled for parked patrol boys.
Making turns onto streets I have no business on.

If she were here, she'd be giving me one of her looks
instead of standing with her  head out the moonroof
as I would if I were passenger with someone driving this fast
in unfamiliar territory.

If she were here, she'd give me **** about the wind tangling her hair
like I won't use it as an excuse to run my fingers through it later.
If she were here, she'd give me **** about my music being
too loud in this minivan heavy neighborhood
like I won't use it as an example why we shouldn't be mad at kids
who do it to us twenty years from now once we've settled down.

If she were here, she'd be a voice of reason.
For whatever reason

Look at that blue sky
she said

as you lay beside her
in the field

behind her house
and she pointed upward

and you followed her finger
as it indicated

the expanse of blue
and white clouds

and a few birds in flight
That cloud formation

seems like angels with harps
and that

she added pointing
further over

Looks like a horse’s head
you nodded and said

And that formation
over there

looks like Miss Brody’s ***
and she slapped your hand

and laughed
and her laughter

carried over the field
and there was that moment

you never wanted to end
like when she kissed

and her tongue protruded
into your mouth

or when she held you close
and you breathed in

her scent
borrowed from her mother

Just a dab
behind the ears

she had said
but that was years before

the cancer had her
but the memory of her

is still here
alive and undead.

Her name you may
or may not recall.
It was Chrissie,
the body in the sand dune.

You do remember the shark,
the blood on the water,
death spreading like
a virus in the town of Amity.

You do remember that
the beaches should have been closed
but Amity was a summer town
that lived on summer dollars.

You do remember the shark
doing what it was built to do—
killing Mrs. Kintner’s little boy
on that beautiful July 4th day.

You do remember Mrs. Kintner’s
cold blooded slap
on police chief Brody’s
warm blooded face.

“You knew there was a shark out there.
You knew it was dangerous
but you let people go swimming anyway.
You knew all those things

-BUT STILL MY BOY IS DEAD NOW!”

“She’s wrong,”
the mayor says.
“No, she’s not,”
Chief Brody acknowledges.

Suddenly you remember
reading a news piece
that Mrs. Kintner (Lee Fiero)
was a victim of the pandemic.

You realize there is no
police chief, scientist, grizzled old salt
banding together to do the right thing,
uniting to triumph over disease, death,

Only the orange hair President
standing deep in the drowning tide
smiling and waving and
telling everyone the water is fine.

“We are all Mrs. Kintner  now.”


Note:

The final line is a quote by Mary McNamara,
the obituary writer for the Los Angeles Times.

come to think of it,
   i was never looking for fame -
well...
   perhaps posthumous "fame"...
a testimony of endurance,
just like what those
Jewish dry-cleaners told
Bukowski in New York
when he just embarked on
a writing spree;
they said:
    'perhaps you'll be famous,
when you're dead'...
plenty of stars in the night
sky to avoid a dead star,
a black hole, an attention
seeking-***** down to earth,
where the only light
orientated about it comes
from paparazzi camera
flashes...
    me? come the winter
months, i walk the streets like
i walk the red carpet -
you ever peer at the frost
on cement, tilting your head
from left, to right?
see the frost crystals imitate
paparazzi camera flashes?
never mind that...
  instead of fame,
i came looking for a brick...
yes, a brick...
          i figured...
well i'm already part of this
grand stronghold,
this civilization-project,
  this... house...
      and i can't exactly be much
outside of it...
   a brick is a brick is a brick
is a wall...
    sooner or later
a tile is a tile is a roof...
                  there aren't exactly
any stand-out bricks
concerning what constitutes
a wall...
         oh no... this is not some
pink floyd propaganda -
the whole concept falls under
the "guise":
    belonging -
        or at least a stepping stone
to some greater depths,
heights and, inevitably,
nonsense...
                   kings and queens
emperors and presidents will
always be the hovering
center stone of the pyramid -
but then again who needs
to look at a pyramid?
             history topples pyramids,
where we're all standing
naked, side-by-side,
brick next to a brick...
and to imitate a pyramid -
after enough time,
  100 years... and in those
100 years the people that made
the 100 years...
   we get stacked...
    so what the hell is fame
these days?
       Madonna has moved away
from fame,
and began investing in
a continuity of relevance -
so fame is only half of the coin
flip...
      and sure as ****...
big difference between... ugh...
"loser" and... recluse...
     romancing the monkish
affair, in out-suburbia...
     all the time in the world -
after all... ingesting reverse
numbers of read, subscribed,
viewed, etc...
                can that really be
the motivational principle?
   the vector for....   what?!
the people who feed off these
criteria... i've noticed it a few days
ago...
                they can never
make enough content...
they make a limited amount
of content, to boost their views,
shares, reads, etc.,
  number junkies...
     my intention?
     well... last night i gave my foxy
friend Brody so much spare
food that today he's sleeping
it off...
                pork rib bones to boot...
didn't bother showing up today...
strange...
   a wild animal, so trustworthy...
other people would deem
him a vermin... and tempt him
with a bowl of food with
some rat poison in it...
anyway...
              a loose metaphor of
what people post online...
    evidently some people have
8 children while others have
over 10 thousand poems -
fertility of a meta-sort....
        enough content to exhaust
an audience...
   but there are some who pray
on limited content
for the numbers...
   as i am, playing the numbers
game... when i reach 20 thousand
poems, hell...
   there's Paradise Lost to be read,
there's the Ezra Pound Cantos...
you name it...
     i'm not bothered because
i know how reading habits come
and go...
    with videos you can have
a passive, overtly reactionary audience,
hence the large numbers...
  reading is a bit like
playing a ******* cello...
you're never actually playing it,
always practicing...
            so no...
i'm not looking for fame -
   that party is already congested
with reality t.v. "stars" who
eat rather than give off light...
****... i hate to say it
Jesus -esque...
            i'm looking for a brick...
and a function of
ensuring the wall doesn't
fall down because, just in case,
something crucial might be missing;
e.g. no. 1:
i might be drinking,
might be semi-drunk...
but look at the spelling...
see anything?
   sober as a ******* yak
during the months outside
of the mating bonanza...
let's face it...
             there have to be certain
rules... coherency (in the plural
form: coherencies).

you sure a death sentence is a threat? i've been having this terrible head-ache for the past 10 years, and it's like listening to television static... it's not death that scares me: it's ageing to be 70+ years old.*

i wouldn't have minded your typical gay ****, but by attacking the orthodoxy of language? now... now you have my interest... my full attention... i couldn't give two toss' care of you with a *******... but you giving it the daesh treason of smashing language like that... i'm listening...

i really could have understood, stripping people
from their ethnicity, their countries,
their cultures, their cuisines,
and leaving them pristine, as pure
pronoun users...
but, ha ha, thing is? the transgender canadian
rodney plonkers came along...
why did they suddenly make pronouns
the anti-neutral ground-work
to get rid of ethnicity, nations, history,
colour, whatever...
    i liked the idea of using ethno-neutral
pronoun conversations... oh look:
they let out the nag hammadi retards outs...
'ere we go, back again to ethno-centric
discrimination: clap, clap... clap... clap...
gentlemen of the prime maple syrup
export... well done!
      i'll accept genuine *** changes,
like in that film *manhattan... night:
brody, and the fat cat who had his ****
butchered after falling in love
with a ******* in marseille...
  no, i was really o.k. with reducing people
to pronouns, not minding their ethnicity
or nationality,
  but something terrible happened,
i had to suddenly join a grammatical circus...
soooooorrrry... can't do that...
   once upon a time i didn't have a problem
stripping a kenyan male to a german
female on holiday to a he and a she...
but with this abuse of pronouns?
   sorry...
                sieg heil! mein wenig führer!
i was fine with bleaching everyone
to merely adopt a noun neutral status
encompassing globalisation -
i was fine with the informal pronoun
use, but?
  ******* canadian butchers had to come
along, and create a bunch of C16 nazis
                               squad teams;
that maple syrup wasn't good
enough a lubricant
you bunch of obscuring perverts?
i wish you shoved that ***** into
all his cavities, than your grammatical
"innovation" into my head,
         hence the C16 "death" squads;
it was just working out...
why did you have to invent
                              the C16 groups?

upper tier of crosswords,
mental rubric,

      s                        a

         t             h            e
    
      r            t     

                      d             e
      
  
       shattered: quasi germanica

lexicon...

                  atom...

warm ***** and the chilled chaser...
or no chaser, hence
***** chilled to the consistency
of gome syrop...
liquidated clear liquorice...

Pazura (actor)
     und Warszawa (a capital
of a European nation...

      dziw... bo bez sfobody,
między... to eN...

ha ha ha ha...

e e Cummings conjuring
up the cOncEPt of orthography
in the native readers...
without exploring diacritical
mark application,
which, orthography rests upon...

    co ma gzyms do
       krawędzi
kiedy pietruszka
        o, zajob...
i ta świcąca trójci Pitta...
nie brody warta,
tylko tego, bolka jolka...
greckiego, fagasa...
    
a piernik do wiatraka?
ujebany, Sergio Pansa...

...to guwno, tzn. prl'u:
co czyni papa new guinea
pierdolonym 'omikiem?

suka morda brud...

    te kurwa... z... kreską!

bilingualist contra the polyglot,
UN of the latter,  
trenches and no man's land
of the former...

       6 Napoleons made
a dozen private Ryans...
      at Jena...
  'alf  frisky Burgundian...
'alf celibate Schwabian...

crosswords and the thesaurus
avenue...
   poetry...
    and the robert frost analogy...
Dante and Virgil...
Homer's solo
with a blind man' stick,
or rather...
Homer and Milton...
sitting in a tree...

      either a tongue bound
to the breath of Horace...
or the leash
      and warden skit...
     of the Minotaur...

somehow...
etymology always was,
and always will be,
the pedantic, bookish
version of history...

      so much so,
that etymology bypasses
the ridiculousness of
Darwinsm, of form, of Plato...

aeons pass before ape
differentiates
the vowel from the consonant
or the onomatopoeia
from the mimic from
the noun...

            then comes the continuum
crushing all genesis
theists, as well as all genesis
atheists...
      love, love... and you typical
Sunday afternoon...
        
slang as an anti-etymology...
           likewise the ape...
ape being slang, for man...
   slang as noun as colloquial,
rather than as proverbial..
staccato...
                  and all sort of
mannerismsms of the,
"less informed"...
  
                            only England scorns
bilingualism it would seem...
unless it has no post-colonial
uncle toms to boast of...

P.T.S.D. of the 1946 Kielce Pogrom...
ever so shocking,  
unlike the biblical credo:
go forth and multiply...
      in any other instances,
less memorable, collateral...
guess not enough cousin fucky-fucky...
1 Chew worth 1000 Chings...
      if not more...
Chew has a name, Ching has a number...
like the good ol' days...
bribing the ß-mann (eszettmann)
for Milka bishop choc bars.

502 bad gateway bypass:
title - through the loops
body - target practice...

finally! it's done! 3 years in the making: since you can only
do certain things during the warmer months...
finally! it's done!
but unlike Nietzsche: there's nothing melancholic about
what has been achieved...
perhaps because he was referring to intellectual endeavours
and not endeavours of physical labour...
that's completely different: with completing some
manual labour endeavours: there comes this waterfall
of relief... a bit like being crucified...
3 years with good interludes...
                            how many tonnes of earth
and sand and pebbles? that one year where
the natural grass failed to take proper root...
having to resort to fake grass carpets...
   mind you: i was sceptical at first...
until me and my father laid it out...
                          not so bad...
              it's actually better than the real thing...
it's hyper-real...
             i can just lie on it... i don't need anything
akin to a rug to lie on it... and admire the sky...
          we've been waiting for over 15 years for our
next-door neighbour to put up a fence...
prior to that? the garden felt congested... since there was
no fence... instead? bushes... endless roughage...
here and there a makeshift fence...
3 years ago she finally gathered her resources:
well... her policeman son gathered the resources...
the labourers came... cut all the shrubbery...
flat to the ground... put up the fence... ****** off...
that's when the work began...
i remember those damp April days...
groundwork is such an unforgiving work...
   i had to wrestles with over 30 roots... sawing...
chopping... hammering...
well... if i wanted to replace these roots with
digging up holes for fruit trees... oh man...
the stuff i found... bricks... pieces of concrete...
pieces of concrete and bricks...
               how many times did we have to travel
to the recycling centre?
how many times did we order a skip?!
    **** me... at least 3 times...
   then there was the dismantling of the rotting wooden
shed... then there was the levelling of the ground...
putting up a plastic: sturdy shed... much larger...
then another little shed...
   so i have three sheds in my garden...
      and a very believable attic with more storage space...
i also have a little house that houses
a jacuzzi...
                 slabs... plenty of sitting area...
plenty of flowers... i forget the name...
   but a quasi-bush more akin to a tree of limes...
rosemary... thyme, oregano... wild garlic... that:
when watered come the night: a perfume of marijuana...
tomatoes, apples, pears, morello cherries...
figs... apricots... rhubarb...
        plums... oh dear: my plum tree that i planted
is chasing the eucalyptus tree...
         a bay leaf bush...
                  chives... mint...
                  i sort of am... a devil in his own garden:
my work! mein werk! me! i did this!
   after three years i can sit down on the grass...
look at the moon and the constellations and...
ah: sigh... i did this, with some help...
i was the one who unearthed all the roots...
i was the one labouring with tonnes of **** going
out and tonnes coming in...
sand, earth, pebbles...
                     i was the one more happy to use
a KANGO and a HARROWS...
                           me! me! JA!

it's as if the "pandemic" never really happened...
me? i was busy in the garden...
clash of cultures...
why do English-speaking throw their children
out of their house as quickly as possible?!
do any... help around the house?
how much money do you think i saved my parents?!
i just see lazy-*** "*******" slouching...
no wonder they get thrown-out of their parents
abode...
   i'm sort of like a tennis player...
my father is my trainer... well: yes, no...

i'm a ******* custodian of the household by now...
i cook the food... i clean the house...
i'm currently trying to get rid of a rat
that somehow managed to find refuge in my kitchen...
**** it: drink and explain...
the classical traps? yeah: i know...
it will break its snout...
he already managed to drag one mousetrap with him...
it probably trapped its tail...
rat being rat: he probably dragged the trap
with him into darkness... and by now has
chewed his tail off...

but i'm on edge... i have a "presence" in my household
that shouldn't be here..
thanks to my Nigerian neighbours...
the ******* "voodoo" overlord of the house-lord
is fond of feeding "pigeons" at the end of his
garden... leaving food around...
**** me... haven't been living in London
long enough?! you feed pigeons in the park...
ducks... swans... you leave food out in your garden?!
you're going to attract rats!
unless... like me... you purposively left
left-over food in a bowl for a fox you started calling
Brody who came round for about a month
because you missed having a dog / why the myth
that cats drink milk?!

that's what i miss most about having dogs...
that's what i miss about my youth...
come Sunday... ****** chicken soup...
and roast chicken...
sure... grandma always overcooked the chicken
to the point where: no one wanted
to eat the chicken *******... back then?!
who had a ******* thermometer to check whether
the meat was at 165 degrees Fahrenheit?!
no one... so... poultry chalk...

but? we all gathered to eat... leftover meat...
bones... even egg shells...
and the chicken soup... with the vermicelli...
who ate the remains?
the dog... the smartest dog i ever
could have been raised with...
Bella... an Alsatian...
     from the stories of my grandfather:
i was able to shove my entire arm into her PYSK:
gob... and she wouldn't mind...
   and i used to ride her... and she used to pull
the sleigh i sat on during winter...
when my grandfather broke the news to me
that she died... i wept...
hmm... i didn't weep when my grandfather died:
i got drunk post-ceremony of the funeral
and hit my head on the radiator: bled...
a month later i ***** out a tear out of my head
thinking: because the eyes do more than merely see...

i cried over a dog... we're so simple...
the simpler the gain the simpler the reward...
and animals give us both...
nothing's too complicated, ever...
but she would reap all the rewards from five people
sharing a Sunday roast...
i loved the way she slurped that rich soup
of bone and meat and vermicelli and what not...
however... since we aged at almost the same time...
she would never trust me to go walking with her...

mein gott... the joy she expressed whenever
i came back from England... she almost ****** her fur...
i loved that dog: she was my sister in a way...
it's so much more surprising to grow up as a single
child with an animal for company:
i failed at hamsters... as i failed at the lesser
Egyptian jerboa: ****** jumped jumped jumped...
until he jumped into a basin of water and drowned...

i was good with St. Augustine's Primary School
Budgerigars... since i was entrusted with them
over the summer holidays...
when i was: E-high... i.e. this high: _
                                                              _­

i wish i was more lenient with Axl: my dobberman...
but then he did try to bite my eye out
after i whipped him for attacking Bella...
mind you: he gave me an eternal memory...
so i was walking him and he bit into a pile
of ****...
   upon biting into it i peered in...
ugh... parasites... worms... the **** was filled with
them wriggling like a 5pm commute in
London...
a beautiful beast: but as thick as a brick...
me and this blonde friend of mine were
playing the earliest version of Nitendo
in my room and... ****** gave him a nose-ring...
my friend started bleeding from his nose...
we had to sell him...
            and once we sold him...
the people we sold him to wanted to give him
back... he's fishing for piranhas!
and as "abstract" that sentence is going to say...

3 ******* years... i had to sit under the eucalyptus
and the plum tree with two ciders admiring
my efforts...

clash of cultures... i've even started joking with my
parents as if we're peers...
i think we're going to die apart as peers...
why are English children ejected from
their households at such an early age?
do they, help, around the house?!
do they cook?! do they clean?
are they invoked to do some groundwork in
the garden? or... do they require some
Eastern European handyman to do their **** for them?!

just asking... i did my work...
i'm going to ask for a payment of...
three cartons of cigarettes...
for work spanning three years...
   i think i'm justified in asking for so little...
plus... i do bring in income to pay for the food...
rent? what rent? the mortgage has been paid
off since i didn't get married...
so... look at me: flimsy flying octopus!
ooh ooh!
            i'm making my bed as "we" go along...
and i'm sometimes having trouble sleeping
for too long... say... from 3am till 2pm...
by then the day is finished...
                
but it's not like my parents employed some *******
handyman to sort out their garden:
ich was da...
   i was there...
           i was there when... i was visiting my grandparents
and my parents wen on holiday
to the Maldives... and we left the care of our
former cat: Oscar... Darshan... to the neighbours
two doors down... Sikhs: you'd think...
sure... give him food... clean the toilet...
on an everyday basis: i don't mind:
but if someone wants to b a boy-scout:
a new found friendship...
parents get invited to their wedding: second... wedding...
the first wedding she married a female boxer...
blah blah...

two days prior to coming back i get an eerie sensation...
i call my parents: i need to go back!
i need to look after the cat...
they brush it off... he's just mad...
right... 2 days later... they come back to England...
"oops": the cat is dead... kidney "failure"...
this ******-Sikh alliance soon ended...
guilt + truth crept in...
oh... how beautifully it crept in...

from sadness i stalked the night...
i managed to find a leftover croquet "sample"...
if i took all the pieces out...
sure... i could...
   and i did... i walked into a World War I cemetery
and started to hack off a piece of gravestone...
the amount of anger i felt was right for the occasion...
i put that hacked off piece of gravestone
on my croquet trolley and dragged it home...

in the full moonlight i dug a hole...
placed the ashes into it...
enough earth for the earth to breath some more ash...
and lodged the hacked off tombstone
into the ground with a thunderbolt of
hand-movement...

oh... i'm not talking to these ******* two-doors down
neighbours... i thought they were suspect all along...
they killed: my: ******* cat...
are they doubly suspect? of course they are!
last time i heard Sikhs could be mistakes for Hindus...
ooh... now isn't a cow now all the more: JUI-CY?!
i feel a Hannibal Lecter gimmick coming along...
i feel like drinking a medium-rare steak...
i want to eat "mother"...

                      ... of course we will clash culturally...
three generations of Asians living under one *******
roof is the NORM... whereas in Western Europe
a guy living with his parents his considered "weird":
even though... that same guy is doing all the househoild
chores... so where are all the pathological cry-babies
playing video-games about?

and the price of living in London is now what?!
i've taken the Darwinistic approach...
where do i have ***? in a brothel...
sure... i'd love an American motel
or a Japanese love-hotel... i'm a little bit bound
to confiscating the pleasure chambers... " "... as it were...
rather: less confiscating them and more:
constraining them...

   but my parents will not die in a retirement home...
and by the time i inherit all of this...
i will have already filtered through enough
suitors of the opposite *** to tell all of them:
sorry... thank you... you're not bringing anything
but a headache to the "table"...
from tome immemorial:
that's how reality worked....
it's still working: it's working better than ever...

one drunk girl has enough ego-booster
to cling to me and tell me: oh... you're ****...
right... now i know...
        all the other timid ones think the same
but are too sober to say those same words...
am i? am i going to go out of my way
to satisfy this ploy?! this plot?!
nope...
            i bailed out long before bailing out
was a "vogue"...
back in 2007.... 2022 is a long time since 2007...

            you touch my Quarus....
you touch my Veroniya...
i'll ******* give you a toothache with a lawnmower!
i'm unhinged... when it comes to
the safety of my cats...
i'll ******* give you a toothache with a lawnmower!
i started rewatching American Beauty with
a remoteness of fleeing glee...

wow! that movie! that movie was so important!
i sort of live by it!
   like: i don't want to live like this mid-life
crisis realisation moment life ought to precipitate into!

mmm... hmm... pet-killing...
i don't care if you're Jesus or Ghandi...
****** would have never...
                   hide... just... hide...
               you ******* Uber-Tandoori bicycle peddlers...
nein!
               niet!
                 i'll ******* dig up your grave and
**** our ***-hole and eye-socket for killing my
dearest friend!
                   hush! hush! ******* Turbanator Mc-****-Lord!
this is personal..
                 you just allowed me for it to become
more expressive...
          ******* singe of Singh;
you don't... get... to... pay... off... vipers!
shut the **** up!

let's call it: Tweed Afghanistani;
spice imperium my ***...
in terms of food?
you need water, you need fire...
you need salt...
          you need time...
             you need... the fifth always escapes me...
like lightning escaped
the arithmetic of elements
for the ancient of days...
                           ah!                        OIL!

we're not friend: better we become enemies
than pretend to become friends.

the current heat-wave that has gripped England
is not doing anyone any favours...
two days running: i wake up like a turtle...
first day was great sticking to the wooden floor...
but today even listening to podcasts
became too much...
                          i woke up dry as a turtle:
then turned into a jellyfish...
    i have to admit: nights are bit more peaceful
once i managed to catch that rat...
and it was a rat... not a mouse...
                   because mousetraps didn't work
on him... the ******* cheese was gone...
  and the mousetrap...
                what was this genius rat doing?
taking the traps to where he spent the day
behind the cupboard: figuring them out?
and then coming back out during the night?
i sort of wished he would have went
for the trap with the poison cubes he could have
chewed... i really hope he would have went
for that option... instead...
            he went down the classical route...
problem being... the mousetrap guillotine didn't
break his neck...
    like back in the day the execution via hanging
seemed almost humane: provided the neck broke...
sort of like a guillotine...
   i hate it when it doesn't...
                   when it finally caught him i listened
for about ten minutes trying to wriggle out from
the trap... i took a knife and one of my cats
and... i started scratching the knife against the cupboard
holding my cat between my legs...
i was just about to open the cupboard door
when he started to fight too much...
             well? it's not like he could bite his head
off and do a runner with another mousetrap...
so i just left him like an Andrei Chikatilo...
               these are two of my favourite "urban myths":
a quote from Bane in one of the Batman movies:
or perhaps he's wondering, why someone would
shoot a man! before throwing him out of a plane...
who the hell said that a shot to the head will
**** you?
                 it sure as **** didn't **** Christine Chubbuck...
in the movie she's moved into a hospital:
sure... in a vegetative state... but alive...
brain dead so i'm guessing in LIMBO land...
but why did they take ol' Andrei the butcher...
the guy who was actually married and i'm guessing
had children... they took him into a cell...
and... shot him in the back of the head...
                          i'm guessing they did that because...
then they left him in that cell for a while...
oh... he wasn't dead for some time...
bleeding out your head? it must take some time...
that's why i never understood why people
in movies shoot themselves in the head...
so idiotic... Kafka knew all about it:
                           i too think stabbing the heart
is a more humane way to go...
         because that's when the brain shuts off last
and is not shut off first...
   imagine it like: you walk into a room
into the middle of the night - the room is lit
because someone forgot to turn the light off...
and you're there to look for something you
misplaced... and what do you do?
  you turn off the light and then start looking
for the misplaced thing...

- i mean: i'm pedantic about cleanliness...
there's some discipline in keeping a house clean...
but how did a rat manage to find its way
into my house...
               perhaps rats abhor the warmth of
Africa... but my Nigerian neighbour thought it
was a good idea to leave food around in
his garden... for his ******* love of "pigeons"...
yeah... i love pigeons too... but i'd feed
them in the park: not my ******* garden...
my cat already managed to **** about three before
one commando managed to get into my house...
vague "voodoo" practices... sorry...
sometimes when you're given a rodent problem
there's no politeness to be had...
i was rising having my washing machine /
dishwasher cables chewed through...

hell... i once petted a fox like i might have petted
a dog... for about month...
but he wasn't a rat... he used to come at a specific
time... and whatever leftover food from dinner
wasn't eaten... i'd leave a tray of it for him...
happy customer... i think i documented
it in one of my social-media albums under the name:
Brody... after that ginger actor from Homeland...
that as a fun experience... he used to walk after
me watching where i'd place the food...
and how he gobbled on it...
beside a cat... probably the next best pest deterrent...

but i've had enough... waking up tired
from the heat-wave...
               i've decided to sleep in the garden...
thank "god" my cat is still in the garden:
i left my window open when he finally decided
to come home... but... i don't blame him...
i'm too seeking out the cold...
         i don't know why some people adore themselves
and life with all this camel-jockey heat...
i hate summer... when i was a child
it was all fun and games... but as i've grown older
i have more respect for autumn and winter...

i went cycling from the hours 11:30 through to 1am...
i needed to cool off and i needed
to find some whiskey...
                      the heat also implies i prefer
liquids more than actual chew-chews...
my appetite disappears...
                            my new favourite shaky-shaky?
Greek yoghurt... some water... ice-cubes...
pumpkin seeds... sunflower seeds...
cranberries... fresh strawberries...
   it's the only "thing" that stays down...

while cycling i stopped off to buy the whiskey
and a strawberry cider:
i knew something was wrong because
my head was pulsating with a bulge that wasn't
exactly a headache...
my brain was trying to do a runner...
my jaw was stiffening...
i felt i was growing a third eye:
which usually happens when i know that
not having finished ******* = i still have to ****
some more... irritable bowels / not-exactly...

cycling in the night ought to have irritated
my ******* enough... and it did...
i'm waiting for the cooler months to rekindled
my love for eating ******...
yeah... anyways...
got home and did what was necessary...
but it took me two Sol beers with that
much appreciated lime slice...
                                  
   i hate heat-waves...
     i don't know how many rats are still roaming
the vicinity... thankfully i kept the cat
in the garden... well... being a Maine ****:
i'm sort of compassionate...
like i might be with a Huskie...
i'm going to join him in a "minute or two"...
i'm going to sleep in the garden:
to hell with the furnace of my bedroom!
but i need him to scout out for any potential
rats that might be audacious to nibble on me...

sure... a spider might crawl into my nostril
or my ear... hell... i'm not waking up in this furnace...
but this heat-wave rekindled a memory
for me... when i was younger i used to be
very much into black metal...
death metal... yada yada...
   esp. the band SATYRICON -
  sign of the trident, the wolfpack...
listening to them after so many years i'm reminded
of certain things...
nothing important...

although...
              this is important to me...
Serbian Cyrillic does use the Roman J...
A, E, K, O...

               me? i'm thinking of adding one letter
to the ****** script...
living among the English i tend to think
on lazy terms...
don't vs. do not...
                    would not vs. wouldn't...
letter eating... "cannibalising" expressions...
i heard the argument a long time ago...
the "too many vowels"...

i would introduce no real improvement...
just... particular words...
e.g.? rat... szczur...
                  i just need a Russian letter...
щur...         mein gott! it doesn't even look that bad...
because there are several words in ******
that have the щ- / szccz- prefix...
i will not touch the suffix -ść...

                i just don't want to conflate the H & Z...
i can't do anything about dość (enough)
i thought about the caron S & C...
    but... there are plenty of words that begin
with SZCH (SHCH)... in the Slavic tongue...

and... let's face it... if you already have
     dość...  you don't want ščur...
imagine if the caron prefixes and the acute suffixes
ever met in a single word:
i know the language works in its current
dictates... but i'm lazy...

                      щur:   originally:

szczerość: ščerość vs. щerość....
                                if i can make SZCZ disappear?
hell... i'd make rz disappear into ř...
                            je: suis...
                                          but still keep the ż...
just ideas... when i leave notes
to people... don't you think i don't invoke
from Cyrillic usage?!
   i can't be bothered with the SZCZ... SHCH...
there are plenty of words that could use the щ
instead...

**** me... for a black metal band...
SATYRICON are still pretty decent.

A cold wind slapped my face
And another time to shut down
Well, my arms they felt so weak and strong
Under your window, well it shone like a light
Tonight the air has teeth
I wish I had another way to breathe
And all you, you ever say
All you ever say
All you ever say, is...
Stop breakin' in my heart

"Breakin' in My Heart"
by Tom Verlaine
℗ 1979 Elektra Records
Guitar: Adey Wilson -
Percussion: Allan Schwartzberg
Piano: Bruce Brody
Additional  Vocals: Deerfrance
Percussion: Fred Smith
Percussion: Jay Dee Daugherty
Guitar: Mark Abel
Guitar: Rick Wilson
Drums: Tom Thompson
Guitar, Vocals: Tom Verlaine
Composer: Tom Verlaine