.how similar does the braille N(⠝) represent the Hebrai lamed (ל), fascinating, the, similarity, isn't it?

it just so happens that i enjoy music too much, to listen to the anglophone arguments of existential-Darwinism... the whole Hitchens "thing" concerning eternity only being experienced via the passing of genes... sure, sure... no problem... English existentialism is so... so... pish-*******-poor that i don't know whether to abrupt myself of sanity by wetting myself, or take another drink... i guess the whole, French, cafe culture... and what, with the English pub... Darwinism has a reality, in science... applied-Darwinism, or rather, an over-bearing presence of Darwinism in the humanities? monkey say, in braille: ⠃⠕⠗⠊⠝⠛    ⠁⠎        ⠋⠥⠉⠅.

in the good old days of
the Catholic Reneissance...
what?!
  so now i'm supposed to listen
to these pampered western european
*******...
telling me...
  i need to watch the only
***** available...
which includes making fun of
the size of my *****?
while she ***** a black guy?
you sure... sure you you want
to tread these waters?
can i compliment the *******
armchair of an ***
attached to a black woman's
spine?
  like cedric of wessex stated:
we don't mix with these
women...
why am i supposed to sit
out through this ordeal
like some cockload *******
spank face?
****... you're on your own
from here, (as a gay might
say) darling...
the star in my starless night sky!
****...
and people thought that
the Catholic restrictions were bad...
um um um...
nail-biting moment:
and the secular feminists
do not employ a more fervor imbued
reinterpretation of ***,
via secular feminism?!
no?!
        just give me access to
a Bulgarian ******* twice
a year and £220 skim...
     which includes no worry
about S.T.D.s...
             given, we're latex friendly,
and ****** prone...
i never imagined an S.T.D.
as being ingested via oral ***...
****... £10 extra... make that £240 a year...
two ***** and happy and a *******
flock of seagulls... hey presto!
- but there's no *******...
         i ****, i leave, suave perfume
of a woman's flesh...
i skip taking a shower for about
three days...
             life becomes rosy as ****
on steroids...
          back in the day...
the Catholics...
    jeez! the guilt from fornication...
but now? now?!
now is worse...
              i have to sit through a lecture
course about how white western women
prefer a big fat black ****...
   a B.F.B.B. -
   well... better than what jerking off
probably feels like doing ****:
i.e. banging the ******* hole
   (B.B.B.H.) -
               whatever...
              you know... the white guys who
engage in this sort of ****...
i wouldn't touch someone
with a ******* fetish...
   but these *******?
              i'm licking a shaving razor
and thinking of ******...
western women...
          and their little carousel run of things...
they ****** monologues and
their ***** windmills...
   like hell me reproducing with them...
i entertain the presence of
prostitutes: so am i bothered about
promiscuity?! no!
            but when you read
some Marquis de Sade...
      you spot the sadists, and the masochists...
personally?
    i once deemed it necessary to
put out four cigarettes on the tips of
my knuckles...
  well... i was never into tattoos...
i guessed... if i punch someone with my
left arm... they might be punched
with a lesson in arithmetic to boot!
honey, hush...
   i'm not your daddy...
feel free... enjoy...
            but i'm not going to have anything
of worth, having to associate with you...
hey... they weren't wrong
in the movie get out...
         i look at it as...
"migrant crisis"... crisis?!
      NO!
         it's an army of marching ******!
but no... you don't begin your
command of argument...
elevating the original Catholic guilt
concerning ***...
   no chance, in hell... oh... wait...
this is hell...given that Catholicism has
been translated into
a secular most-modernist  (here comes
the verbiage) feminist "theory"...
so basically nuns 'r' us...
                     you do whatever the hell
you want with your ******* feminist males...
hard-on slaps in the face...
last time i heard...
the ancient Greeks thought that
enlarged phallus end-to-ends-meat...
(yeah yeah, no, not EE via a ******'s...
"floral" pattern!)
                  were a sign of barbarism...
wait... could it possibly be that
i write... but can't read?!
               my my...
      frustrated?
   i take out my frustration on
a bottle of bourbon, *** or whiskey,
or *****...
      after a while...
            it all sounds the same:
   a swift return toward a sweet,
                                                          ­  lullaby.

p.s. i didn't say that Darwinism was
wrong... but after you've read
some French existentialism,
   or esp. German existentialism...
you've already accepted the facts...
and move... forward...
             the encompassing mantra of
yes, yes, no....
    the no... arising from post-modernism...
or whatever the scholastic term
is...
     all of a sudden people
are focusing on the usage of both
nouns, and pronouns...
     just two, just two grammatical
categories of words...
              apparently language has
become a pancake reality,
squashed... and it didn't even require
a dictator to perform this "magic trick"...
and i was considered mad
about 10 years ago...
        i'm not about to join
this ******* circus...
   no acrobats, no lions,
no clowns...
               n'ah...
                                i think i'll pass.

.well **** me, after writing such a revealing piece, i really need a double whiskey gob-smack... i need a drink... i really need to have drink... but it's honesty, i'm not ashamed of it... people have a harder time owning up to gay bar pop songs in their closet, like a Belinda Carlisle song... ooh... personally? i've never come across anything more **** than a pregnant woman *******, or, to mind the pursuit of the Wendol idol? exhibitionism to boot; a striptease? pare by comparison... you can't exactly possess the carnality of a woman, and the concept of the mind's eye... with a fetus, to boot.

in terms of jerking off...
**** me,
  i moved away from
fine art nudes...

  found an alternative
outlet....

https://tinyurl.com/ybhzl3x5

i.e.?
the exhibitionism
of
pregnant women...

it's like peering into
a wormhole,
of sorts...

    who the hell needs
******, glory-holes,
******* crap?

   pull me to sight
a pregnant woman
encouraging exhibitionism
and i'll be there,
within second,
with a tissue...

**** it...
she can do it, and doesn't shy
away from?
    m.i.l.f. is
so lost...
been catching up on
the whole American Pie franchise...

m.i.w.i.l.f.

    mom in waiting i'd
love to ****...

who said that jerking off leads
men to ******* ***.
****** *****?
  who said we would turn the
******* avenue?
     oops? for not being
adventurous enough?

  adventurous consisting
of watching
a pregnant woman
exhibition herself,
oiling herself,
jerking off...
    what... if i were married...
could probably
become the mouth and tongue
of God in terms of oral ***?

******* losers...
having the negligence
stipend in allowing a wife,
as pregnant as she is...
to exhibition herself like that...
for me to pick up
the crumbs from the table...
******* losers...

i'll admit it...
jerking off to a pregnant
woman exhibit herself
beats jerking off to fine art
nudes.

.i'm still an advocate of caesarean section... i believe in animal rights... it's just plain cruel exposing a European ****** to a pan-African phallus of a fetus head ****... isn't it ****, "technically"? **** me... forget the ******* ****, the latex... the ****** *******... one pregnant women *******, and talking Freudian implosion will do.

personally? i hardly think
******* **** is what men turn
to when excavating
*******...

ever watched
pregnant
women
*******
while filming themselves?!

ever watch pregnant women
film
themselves *******?
ever?

in the beginning there
was the word,
and the word was god...

you hear the talking
of pregnant woman *******?!

**** me...
who the hell needs ******* ***...
when you can *******
to a pregnant woman...
jerking off, talking "*****",
paradoxes of Freud
about her yet to be born
son
watching her *******...

    who the hell needs
******* ****...
just watch a pregnant woman *******....

oath of god...
   hand on my heart...
     it doesn't actually encompass a
desire for intricacies of latex...

            just a pregnant woman
*******...
*** mad... *** mad...
            *** mad...
            ******* *** mad as hell...
  Freud? pale as an uncooked
pancake dough...
   the **** that comes out
from the mouth of a pregnant
woman *******...

believe me...
  i ****** off to one of them doing it
helpless.
nice try... thinking
a man would turn to *******
*******...

  can't turn to more *******,
****,
than a pregnant woman,
*******,
while talking, Oedipal,
"*****"...
            try... try, ******!
try to bash that fact out
of existence!

wont be long before shes blowing trumps trumpet
***** little cuntservertive strumpet
armageddons coming unelected to the ball
this ******* party is going to drown us all
military fluffers for when the going gets tough
were all going **** diving and its going to be rough
all the ****** in the universe couldnt help me get it up
for our new prime sinister and its new world ******

is it still considered... watching ****...
if she also *******...
or... you're watching that...
take on japanese sexuality in anime...
with a gloryhole and a rubber ****
and she's addressing it:
shogun... and... there's custard...
of the ******* scene?
or she's teasing you pregnant...
and you're like:
         no more eggs!
***** like watermelon juggernauts!

i was never a fan of soap opera...
whether coronation st.
or something turkish / mexican my
grandmother would better enjoy...

drama: internet: clebrity drama...
idubbbz etc.
          i am click-baited by the change
in the algorithms...
"once upon a time" the website
worked as... a thesaurus jukebox...
none of these videos would come up
as suggested...
so i scroll through them:
3 minutes in and my attention span
has become ridiculed by:
the spezial juice...

     there's not other alternative...
not being a *******...
       something sobering...
       not even nostalgia and a life prior:
mix-tapes recorded for an
highschool sweetheart...
reef: give me your love...

         i should have become a monk...
templar chant: antiphona:
                  crucem sanctam subiit...
something out of necessity...
in terms of *******?
it's hardly me playing for the cuckoldry
pass...
    she's alone... i'm alone...
she has more toys...
i have a grip of the hand...
that can hold a basketball with
one hand...
which dwarfs my: "esteem"...
      and it's like a sensation akin to...
the mouth of a squid suckling out
an extra trim of the *******...
very forensic ugly *******...

no floral patterns of a pregnant girl
needing to be comforted by
less a "stance" and more a tongue:
wriggling to tease...
or whatever it might be called...

is it ****? she's with a toy shooting
custard cream...
and... i have a hand that acts like a squid mouth...
boniest **** i have yet to see...
****'s a dwarf to boot...
but at least... no concern for WD40
and **** fetishes...
to compete with homosexual zeniths of
pleasure: gained...
thus pleasure: given...

is it ****... when she's at it...
and i'm "at it"...
   and there's no... theatre?
  what is it... then?
                 crucem sanctam subiit
qui infernum confregit
         accinctus est potentia
   surrexit die tertia...
                    alleluia...
dear good: moral superiority?
     dial me up...
these choral works are...
   the medicine when even Handel doesn't
quiet cut the matter: solid...

sooner the dogs and insects come unto
my body: the sooner i will be able
to wash their base instincts myself with...
and afterward...
the clerical matter of:
the... "spiritual refrain"...
a completely blank slate of mind...

       first comes the fire...
and if you're lucky: suppose there's water
to come to quench your thirst: after...
because the looks of it...
teeth do not fare well...
when chewing sand...

             point being... it's hardly a...
video-friendly affair on my part...
but a woman *******...
**** me... spring already?!
the flowers are budding?
the asexuality in her is... jumping to extremes?
as a joke... or hardly...
hands... too bad all those asian girls
already started to look like
****-robots...
      kyoto-eyes...

                       fake... fake...
   good of me to have ****** a beached
whale... "******"...
snuggled and eyelids teased with lips...
and of course... the mechanists' trance
for piston envy... blah blah...
           but a carrying point of
comparison... when the bleach starts
melting the plastic...
and she is... and i am...
being ****** off and each other
by telephatic forces equivalent to...
ghosts...
   and is it *******... just then?

i had to explore these crude...
one-armed bandits... since... typing...
on a keyboard... i sometimes
see myself in the mirror...
but... on a piece of paper:
i have to remind myself that:
i am... and will forever be...
right-handed...
        
                       the teenage trick was...
to sit on the hand you don't use to write...
and then... ******* with it once
enough numbing was imbued...
ghost did it... was the motto...
i don't know...
      ever become fooled to eat something...
before an operation where
a general anaesthetic was used?
and you wake up...
regurgitating window-licker esque
blah gurgle blah blah further?

from the athenian strip-club
to a brothel in the east end...
and sieving through...
eh...          minor evidence...
settling down on gloryhole ******* flicks
for a while...
any adventure of her ******* herself
and "easing" me to...
that squid-mouth of a hand...
of my own...
        but everything on the throne of thrones...
then a quick baptism in a shower:
promises are promises...
no armchair... not scented candles...
doing the no. 1, 2 & 3...
on the throne of thrones... does...
the trick...

- and once the bourbon is opened:
the perfume of... every... single... brothel...
i meet a man on a rampage...

and he says: beside reading gregory corso...
ah... forget reading him...
just hear him speak... that's the sexiest
**** voice suckling at the ****
of the escape from "alcatraz" / prose paragraph...
you will... ever... hear...

scouts honour... although i was no more
a scout than the slingshot
my philatelist grandpa made me...
shooting iron *****-heads... giggling...
in the confines and comfort
of a... kitchen window...

   my grandfather: the philateist...
i'll have to admit...
i make a much better drunk than he ever was...
my father is a cockerel boxer
and my uncle a gloomy zombie...
when i drink, though?
i am still that... hard-on-sunrise
diving into a ***** of some old
stripped in Athens... from... hell...
Macedonia?
and those "other" eyes looking at me...
the message always reads:
take your ******* toys...
and *******... from this sandbox of we
milking the lechers...
colt...

so i'd be at it... with a reply akin to...
i was never in athens...
the card debit dried up...
escorted by a bouncer...
****** myself at the atm machine...
walked back to the hostel
like some GI Joe...
      
   oh sure... ***... the great adventure...
is it ****...
watching her play with her barbie
and me play with my ken?
pristine, though...
          is it **** when i'm not giving
a narrative piece...
no classical italian 1970s...
         scenes...
        is it ****?
       or is it... butchers' spree!

i just don't have the toy...
the guillotines *****... soz... let's extend that
into: "oops"?!
i guess if i was gay... conservative...
an... Tangier was the hotbed of
frilocking...
under the Islamic regime of the... ******* sons...
and the lesbian duaghters...
and the unloved... under polygamy...
and: isn't muhammad...
the one who tried... to claim both...
the psalms of David...
and the solominic prowess at a hard-on?
i guess he must have failed in one
of these two adventures...

so much for Muhammad's surrogates
of Zion... the mothers of the believers...
or those struck by the reality of waking up...
in some suburb of Birmingham...

is it ****?
he does who what with when she
does it with a guillotined ken-play-dough?
here's the porsche...
and here's... the limping deaf
and blind horse...
i'd sooner have the horse...
after a while it become apparent...
i... can't... chew...
or... digest... metal...

but a horse i can... ***** into a furthering
of life... as i "leisure" myself into
a chicken... even the marrow in the bones
will not matter...

is it ****?
she's shooting blanks i'm shooting out
a genocide...
there's this tissue... there's this tear...
there's a hard-on and there's the spring
of genitals on her part...

and it's the modern version of...
what **** was like in the 1970s and the 1980s...
before... she had to go up-stream
and against the salmons of solomon...
migrating with her hybrid...
puppeteering strings...
i clenched my hand that didn't become a fist...
but the mouth of a stripteasing zebra...
and the motto: k.o.
of an uvula that would somehow
become the pricess and frog of... cough-medicine
slurp... and later a kiss...
and things, "things"... just had to become
so ugly...
so wholly unrecognisable...
when standing upon waverly bridge...
looking out across... the firth of forth...
and that... tapeworm eerie white...
one of those nights... scaling the old college scaffold...
with a belarusian ***...

this tinge... this ribbon of an accent
and a signature...
this forever-new...
        
upkept thus far...
    a horror movie soundtrack...
to a lullaby replica...
by god i snore harded than...
an asthmatic cerberus...
   what's ****?
        i care to mind the details...
hands being the most ****** aspect of...
my synonym...
all procelain and easily broken...
hands i could have do...
with making bone arithmetic a "thing"...

i ****-size a comparison...
by the looks of it...
the Cindarella: heel... cut off...
is a bit like me missing...
a knuckle...
             just at the pinky...
where my signet ring should abide
by for the eternal purpose
of the engluish bachelor...
and queen... and prince charming...
and a wales...
that invokes the boundary of...
not only cornwall...
but also devon... somerset...
dorchester...
     agor ysbeiliai:
                    o hanesyddol maliaf
o pethau...
       none of it... actually...
some other prince charming...
drag queen hour reading...
orwell having a ******* with...
  a: wilde...

             high-brow expectations....
to riddle out 1 + 1 = 2...
                        that somehow nothing
has to remain... plough-towing...
pig-trough-tied... hoof and bite...
and goodmorning vietnam... d.j. accurate...
or the pleasures from cartilege...
and all the scooping up
pedantry: in details...
over such minor facts of a former:
base relief to imitate: imitating life...

i am quiet adamant...
away from the realities of a London
or a Warsaw...
one can most certainly...
conjure up a quest of time...
as that sort of quest whereby...
time's-amiss...
in that the clocks have apparently
clogged up and... therefore...
"somehow" stooped to... quiet simply...
having... stopped!

the far right, the far left,
the alt. right, the progressive left,
the regressive right...

basically an ****** of nouns:
a geyser of prefixes and
whatever suffixes...

trans-exclusionary-radical-feminist...
cis-man...
me­taphysics, alfred jarry
and pata-physics...

hopefully some mention
of ORTHO-graphy...
hard rock... boomer rocker...
a rocking chair...

sides of the waves...
the non-existent natural sculptor...
graveyards as
museums al fresco...
post- "the original sculptor"...

indie right...
googlewhacks?
bothersome hillbilly scam: 16,100 results
locus operandi...
modus operandi...
locus standi...
squat biggerbrain: 3,740 results...
onomatopoeia lombard: 45,600 results...
merovingian golem: 25,700 results...
oh look...
getting close:
⠉⠽⠎⠞ gush: 38 results...
⠉⠽⠎⠞ pataphysics: 5 results...
fingshuan: 9 results...
llyopod ligament tree: 4 results...
lobotomy molotov: 79,000 results...
tref zappa tick tock: 5 results...
trad trap zappa loco: 8 results...
myxedema orpheus: 9,030 results...
myopiacharon: 7 results...
janejeanjacketpuke: 10 results...
(stones in his pockets)
mariejones does *******: 4 results...

epitaphs are maxims: cueue debate...
perhaps more...
chiselching in beijing: 6 results...

⠝          
ⰏmⰑoⰓrⰗFⰅeⰖuⰔs
ל ******* gnat!
sticks to you like a...
nomad sort of letter it's supposed
to be...
******* hitch-hiker...
hitchens et al... atheists etc....
sure... when all the "gentile" gods are
dead... the hebrew degradation of
a demigod will be...
the pulpit and the prayer
and i'm somehow supposed
to "mind"...
etymology bonanza loop: 62,000 results...
dymitra z goraja chleb: 1,680 results...
libero felicjan zach: 902 results...
belz bełz: 17,100 results...
kogelmogel harasho: 124 results...
kogelmogel haraшo: 5 results
чekam na "чat"... чatem - 6 results...
"burden boris with a password"...
chequers cheese and cyrillic: 5 results...
what?!
chequers cheese and cyrillic цc: 4 results...
chequers cheese and cyrillic цc gag... 4 results...
after tabernackle... turbanknuckle...
chequers cheese and cyrillic цc esq. = 3 results...
chequers cheese and cyrillic цc loan Ф⠋ = 2 results...
nearing a googlewhack...
chequers cheese and cyrillic цc loan Ф⠋...
chequers cheese and cyrillic цc loan Ф⠋φ blue =
2 results...
chequers cheese and cyrillic цc loan Ф⠋φ ж =
2 results...
chequers cheese and cyrillic цc loan Ф⠋φ ж 6 carboxylic:
3 results...
ah... loan words...
equers cheese and cyrillic цc loan Ф⠋φ ж 6 carboxylic cymes...
2 results... weekend after carboxylic? 3 results...
chequers cheese and cyrillic цc loan Ф⠋φ ж 6 carboxylic хoць:
5 results...

щur gnat: 2 results...
AAAAAH! FOUND ONE!
googlewhack:

щur gnat seq...
https://tinyurl.com/qo3z5km
i knew i'd get one...
i was just hoping it would come...
more or less circa 1am than...
2am... but as Leibniz pointer out:
even if this be the best of all possible worlds...
it's hardly accustomed to
OCD fanatics and those...
quasi-... what do you call them?
i forgot...
if i really minded wanting a ****...
i'd have treated not minding it
in my 20s like some sort of disability...
thank **** that i had
two outlets... a kantian sense of "hobby"...
and access to a brothel...
if you tied me up with but one
drunk irish girl in the vicinity of
goodmayes...
i would still want my dreams
of my great-grandfather back...
in "reality" he remained a ghost figure...
and i have his remains in my mind...
his apparently pristine set of teeth...
how many times did i dream of teeth?
i can't remember...

but i frequent the slow parts of the night...
with dreams of teeth...

my my... just lookat m'ah pearlies!

well... щur: it's szczur... ivoke
a caron above the S and C to hide the ZZ:snooze...
and you... evidently... have yourself...
a rat... gnat? gnat or vermin?
seq. that really does depend...
on what you're "looking" for"
ex genesis...
well... ex nunc / ex iam... etc.

boris brejcha: art of minimal techno tripping
the mad doctor by RTTWLR was my date...
for this... evening...
*** and pistons...
but i wouldn't mind that...
"sad loner" would still rather
listen to those macaques monkeys
in kenya...
up on a tree...
up north...
i pray you stay up into the night...
to hear a crow croak in the night...
it's such a rare event...
i'll beg you...
to hear but one insomnia riddled bird
in the night...
in the night: you will not hear a sparrow...
you ill not hear a pigeon...
birds... birds are very hygienic
in terms of encrusting sleeping patterns
at part of a translation of cognitive health...

stay up all night with me...
replace the wolves with foxes...
and wait with me... for the crows' croaking...
that complete absence of human activity...
and chain yourself with me...
who seem to dream while awake...
who can only dream when everyone else
around them has to be sleeping.

working "backwards" from something already
started in: collateral and the chicken scratching exercise...

how can you not have a hard-on
for mel gibson's beard...
in... the professor and the madman -
detailing the... etymological events
surrounding something more dear to me...
than the pslams of king david
or the: wisdoms of king solomon...
the wisdom: thus derived...
after a man becomes: ostensibly...
bored with a harem...
that would become the blueprint
of envy for future men of the world...

alexander the great...
muhammad...
           it's not a bible... it's a...
dic-tio-nary... stop the press...
pluck all the feathers from all the magpies
in the land... tell Xerxes to stop
whistling at the sea and...
can we just stop with the b.d.s.m.
of the waves?

        head: rotondo! spin ****** spin!
anything in the "pejorative"...
god... this moloch of grammar of a deity...
we need to ensure there's a scrutiny
of each and every, yes: every word...
we need to sieve them through
the categories!

i put to mind:
     it's a comparison of catchphrases...
the war hogs cite it as:
collateral damage...
the civilian will rummage and pluck out:
the... "rhetorical question"...
can... you... put... rhetoric: to a question?
can a rhetorical question:
actually exist... like a unicorn can?
oh wait... kangaroo yes...
a platypus... oh a double yes...

can you... can you... "rhetorical question"?
what the hell is a rhetorical question:
if not, something akin to a fashion statement...
of the calibre: a short-black-'un...
a coco chanel mini-skirt...

what is... a rhetorical question?
a question is, i hope...
something that manages to endorse
the dialectic...
and anyone who engages with a dialectic
will / or should know:
there's no rhetorical question...
when being asked:
one doesn't... "somehow"...
find a magic plot of a forest with smurfs...
and goes off on a tangent speaking...
persuasively...
a rhetoric question isn't a question
at all...

        collateral damage among the war hogs
is a rhetorical question among the civilians...

the story of professor james murray
and dr. william minor...
and to think... the alienists (psychiatrists)
at the time thought that...
enforced regurgitation...
could animate the body to conjure up
an already exhausted soul...
what ancient romans did for masochistic pleasure:
bulimia in the rudiment of:
a fork of fingers agitating the throat
and subsequently the oesophagus
to: bring back... what was already in fractions...

some call it soul, some call it x... y...
that... indispensable will: for animation...
to perform the 80 year old (in total) magic trick
of being: immune...
to the ills and forgivings of others...
a standard praise of solipsism...
as a thought-experiment... nothing more...
from which one can...
come and go as freely as one can vote
in a democracy...

come when summoned... leave when...
not made into any greater necessity other than:
to make fair of the count...

truly: a hard-on for mel gibson's beard...
some can claim ***** envy...
i have beard envy...
like to-hat envy when someone is 5'11"
and i'm still the same old 6'2"...

rhetorical question... i always found questions
to be... of a... dialectical nature...
i can hardly think of a rhetorical question
or rhetorical answer...
a rhetorical question implies:
the questioner has more to say...
than the person intended to answer...
i can hardly anyone burn through oration
when being posed a question...
a question: per se... is not something one
can be certain about: esp. when giving a reply...

a rhetorical question is a k.f.c. mouse urban
myth... a bit like collateral damage:
did we destroy a bullet making factory?
no... but we killed some civilians...
or some sort of entreating variation of worshipping
the drugging and bullet dodging machinery
of: cold the bullet bit...

how can you pose a rhetorical question?
is someone about to make a rhetorical answer?
robots would behave within rhetorical confines
of being asked an absolute:
error message - replying with an absolute yes / no...

a rhetorical question would beg
for a ore rotundo: with a voice filled with assurance...
the question is imposed...
with a curiosity... at best: with doubt...
uncertainty... at worst: with a negation:
waiting for the wrong answer...
but no dialectic is ever to be established
working from a rhetorical question...
a socrates would be:
the dialectical surgeon...
the affair of the question doesn't go beyond...
whoever is questioning:

oh!           oh!
a rhetorical question is... not for someone
to address the question...
but a pursuit of the questioner to continue asking
question...
a rhetorical question is... to further the lineage
of questions... to be therefore "rhetorical"
is to inquire more... rather than reply with
a rhetorical certainty...
a rhetorical question isn't a question...
it's a cascade of questions...

******* and the myth of the gateway...
after **** i did the next best thing...
i rediscovered bourbon as ms. amber...
that once you watch just a little bit of it...
you will turn toward finding out more graphic
content...
so... me looking out for the most *******
music: combichrist... :wumpscut,
vomito *****...
                  *****... graphic... *******?
or... gloryhole ***** *******...
               or pregnant women: so *****...
       or japanese gravure models...
"problem" with japanese models...
              *** bots? aren't they here already...
with these porcelain mannequins?
touch a hand it breaks or fizzles into...
ash...
  as happens when you've been at "it"...
puritanical victorian von krafft-ebbing...
i sometimes know what the ******* is for...
i hardly think it necessary to listen to what's
"moral" from circumcised... gentile...
north-h'americans...
                    jerking off since aged 8...
brain rot started way back... in 1994...
which is before the internet...
   gateway... my ***...
         japanese gravure and Agnolo Bronzino...

who needs "more"... when you have a mel gibson
beard-envy!

the chair can remain a chair...
but there's a termite colony wriggling in it...
i don't need to see it...
i just need to hear it...
combichrist: like to thank my buddies,
    today i woke to the rain of blood...
                   all pain is gone...
       cheap thrill seeing heaven:
better tamed - attempting to listen to the litanies
escaping hell...
a written word in hell is like...
     because the hands are being crushed
in monkey-wrenches and there's Spinoza
cackling...

   who needs more ******* and ride-me-timmy
the horses' laugh when music can
compensate... and otherwise find the better
kind of: the feeding outlet...

a rhetorical question: is that for the answer to
be tinged with rhetorical gravitas?
no... then every question socrates every posed
what a rhetorical question:
and the concern for dialectics is a dummy...
which is probably true: reading what sort
of answers those put under the scrutiny give:
is response...

i must be wrong: a rhetorical question:
is not simply a question...
a rhetorical question could perhaps give
the person answering a spark of rhetoric...
a rhetorical question should:
by default... provide you with a rhetorical
answer... but all it does is...
further a second question...
and a third... a fourth...
    so more for the "famous" dialectic...
when all that seems to happen...
one only becomes a rhetorician: via question...
rather than merely: talking...

the rhetorical question is therefore
the basis of "dialectics": which is no basis for
dialectics per se...
it's the persuaded question-prone antagonist:
who is hardly the narrator...
and the answer is always the same:
shut up! i'm talking over you...
i'll just disguise this whole affair in a question
and minor answer cited: a perfectly well
equipped yes: or no... will suffice:
or a nod of approval worded...
                  socrates the bane of sophists
and rhetoricians...
a subtle project... you are not interrupted...
when to stress an invocation
of fake curiosity: by asking a question...
the sort of question...
a rhetorical question... that will not usurp
your original: intent monologue of sophistry...

an echo is all the rave when it comes
to a rhetorical question...
a rhetorical question feeds of: yes / no answers...
and there i was thinking that a rhetorical
question implies:
whoever answers... will break into
a rhetorical answer... verbatim the quran
akin to a hafiz! nope...
a rhetorical question is a punctuation mark:
one hopes... of what a rhetorician would usually do...
when having a voice in the congregation
of docile elders...

socrates: the elder... found an audience
among the athenian young... because?
        he stressed that rhetoric had to have overtones
of questioning: without really questioning...
what sort of "dialectic" is there to be had:
what: dialogue...
when... the dialogue leaves one side with
a narrator and protagonist semblance?
and the characters: ergo? are nothing but nail-heads
for the hammer to plough through?!

oddly enough... Plato ****** off Socrates so
hard... that Socrates became...
the first non-hasidi...
to be circumcised... by pursed lips...
yep... Plato ****** off Socrates' *******:
right off... thinking the phallus...
was in the no-man's land of comparsion
to a chicken drum-stick!
antagonism: of how favourable the "dialogues"
are cited...
i've had a similar experience...
i really don't know what this... "e-prostitution"
is about...
before the internet... i am probably one of
the last few who blushed when buying a magazine
at the newsagent with all them *******...
and: curated ***** hairs:
less of a chin and more...
the pelvic "hubris" / canvas...

                 brothel: tick...
strip-club: tick...
              what's given everyone a hot-cross bun
shivers...
          "never paid"... but otherwise paid:
for the insinuation...
and the insinuation was: a date...
look at it as... no ******* dysfunction...
and no money for a date...
straight back into the salt mines
and trench digging... no time for honey:
oh boobie and frankly my dear:
i don't drown herrings...

       a rhetorical question is also a compound-misnomer...
yep... the idea of a rhetorical-question
is a compound-misnomer:

take me on a chain to the goblet...
pay the extra to rid the matter:
seven tongues instead of one...
gorging on the inquiry of Gomorrah...
to better couplet to the banquet of *****!
that ***** treat us Gomorrah civically dutied:
as worse than rats and shadows...
and the plebs just entertain...
       what would ever come from
the mouth of ***** as:
       prized bulls of drag-queen story-hour...
shame those without foreskins...
comparison...
a o.k. to be gay...
                what's date-night?
is that... something -esque having coupled
a mahjong with a niqab?!
why don't all the muslim women take
the best route... join the surgeon mask-equipped
crowds... and no... simple forget the hijab...
donning the full niqab?!
why?!

who needs seeking more depraved *****
beside... Bronzino and japanese gravure models...
and all that elasticity of:
electricity passing through an iron maiden
via... combichrist: sent to destroy...
hardly "destroy": cultivate...
recycle... call the parasites into hubris *******
haitus...

also "in response" to: the kinks and the...
"celibate" priesthood...
        because: you know, the kinks and all that:
******* music and fine detaiks of:
when the butcher will be cited...
looking at a slab of meat...
and calling a harem of pigs...
that floral... pinky tidbit "in the middle":
avert your eyes:
how god's finger touched adam's...
and via what...

it doesn't come more ******* than...
drinking lukewarm whiskey...
that i can stand...
but if anyone's drinking ***** not suberged
into gomme syrop consistency...
there's: should we say...
a... "spot of bother"...

              i wouldn't mind...
that bourbon as a quiet distinct perfume
associated with brothels...
and it's just that...
          but... e-prostitution: for the "tease"?
the wrath of adam:
sort of ******* in between:
when the ****** brigade comes along
and stops at thge madonna-***** complex?
i'm scratching my head:
either i'm thinking of a ? or my i.q.
one internet sight should be in existance...
dedicated... to the unabashed puritanism
of dogs licking their genitals...
because: a priori: who would have "known"...

and also to chronicle the sights and wonders
of... KMFDM stand-out tracks...
but a sight levereging "*****" of...
dogs teasing testicles with "prudence"
of a... the fastest waggle in all of: "arizona"...
chant!
chant! F.S.A. - which makes it more and less:
"united"
   the federal states of h'america...
     number 1 subscriber...
albert razin...
    is this... is this... what "integration" looks like?
like hell i'll give up what's
festering knee-deep at the rim...
i'll talk english just fine with
the natives... but when the natives:
tell me that:
true integration is a complete whitewash
of your "former" identity: you
integrate by "forgetting" your mother tongue...
i have... this juggernaut... craze-fit in
my eyes...
   then, why, don't, you, send, me,
a, postcard, from france: IN FWENCH!
this global mantra of: english solves everything...
not unless you're of a Dutch or
Scandinavian origin...
you have already learned this...
"lingua franca": this l'inglese...
lucky for the WELSH! who are you...
you anglo-saxon globalist mongrel?!
where is your anglo- counterfeit bypasser...
UND... wohin ist ihr Sachsen?
and where is your saxony: saxon?
have i an axe to better grind?
           jude-nomade-mischling!
you're no better than your claim!
ficken-jude-sächsisch-anglo-anlage-gehenvolk...
all this: for the insomnia parade?!
24 / 7 news reels?!
         alles diese... für was?!

if they only spoke two languages...
perhaps... less retards spreading the "crown":
licking ice-cream tubs...
open / the end... closed: also the end...
verzögernzüchtung...
          ******-breeding...
        ­                i have to admit... it sounds as crisp as:
gin
                                   &                        tonic...
and lapses into epilepsy...
because the "hierarchy" says: such words...
such words: no no: with a BIG no-no
when used...

                here too, i... will ****...
on every prematurely demented kin of moi...
because... the hierarchy of termites and of ants...
dictates so... while the congregation of:
man and ape... isn't sure... what animal is worth
borrowing a metaphor from!
to... "progress"...
like little **** and please staging all that
copernican ******* ever did...
the surgical masks...
shot dead in the Philippines
for not wearing one... "stigma" and the niqab...
at least the cherries on these cream-pies...
could at least turn proper ortho-and-doxing...
with a niqab...
pwetty pwease...  

all the airs and graces...
some nut would have made it this far...
Kierkegaard as proof...
"you don't think before you speak":
i rather, i much rather entertain
the freedom to think... and extend this freedom
into writing...
before i have to eat my own *****
when having to place editorial pressures
on having made video content...
i much prefer the ignoble citation:
and the devil has had these hands busy-bodied...
and all the blessings to the devil for that...
because...
is there such a concept as:
an idle tongue?

               i don't know:
i would like to, though...
live a month's worth of living...
on a salary of a... h'american...
             preacher...
under communism:
no brain-drain...
not best of the best will ever rise...
but at the same time...
so too will not the mediocre...
i thought it could be cited at:
the meek shall inherit the earth...
   talk about a disparity between
the meek and the mediocre...

if only i was the "correct" pronoun
to want: but i do...
have the capacity and enough excuses...
to start donning...
corsets and... high-heel shoes...
then again: if i joined the army...
nothing stand-out...
not uniforms to stand out within
a caste system... uniforms for
the napoleonic era... and that noting me as...
quick-off-the-mark...
suregon of the needle... and quiffs...
until the wehrmacht period...

  ha! the poles on horseback: "once upon a time"
looked bewildering...
the charge of the Krojanty...
well... horses do not seem that bad...
the poles on horses...
when back west...
you had the Dutch... on bicycles...
oh sure... the horse was somehow the "joke"...
but the bicycle was...
   like the pope appeasing the fuhrer...
and "they" would wonder:
        who's who....
the bicycle is gone...
who's who on the left-over peddlestool?!
postman pat proof:
  i think i oops... forgot to detail
the whole idea and economy with...
licking something... beside...
   that quick-and-made-essential:
              amnesia rubric count... which was?

yep... the poles on horseback look
and will forever look more ridiculous...
than... the dutch defence...
on... ha ha! bicycles!

read my proof: am i... "integrated"
is my: english not a word salad:
the scrutiny will come from someone sobering
up from an irish heritage...
is there a niqab or a bindi or a turban on me?
is my language still a word salad?
am i, integrated... "enough"...
not enough i dare say...

       well... about time these natives
learn some postcard and tourisms' worth
of second lingo... italian would be just fine...
since... they are still... hung up on being
so pround of being the afghanistan of the roman
empire...
          and... where is afghanistan when is comes
to... the house of saud and arabia?
i'd grovel... for that kind of goat herders...
and... pashtun poetics!
   queen of the floral: no **** mind to spare...
and if only this wasn't...
rummaging in essex...
more for the cause! new york!
n'aaaaaah...
                
                        i speak for the devil i speak
in about 12... with variations of invocation...
but this is not god speaking...
i am... not a monolingual pre-nomad arab taste...
sitting on a coal-**** turning liquid into
oil: "all of a sudden"...

A nominal amount of pain
when the lights go on.
You roll lines around in your head
and realize you remember none.
There’s only the dull stink of cigarette smoke
and day old donuts in your mouth.
Your mind seizes and your heart seethes.
What the **** am I doing here?
Nothing more than a back alley bard.
A barbarian without grace
with a penchant for writing inane ramblings
on cocktail napkins.

A bald man bellows in the back of the room.
An emo princess giggles at her date’s joke.
Drinks sloshed, cigars inhaled.
All awaiting the crash and burn,
or the entertainment they came to see.
They want a rock star.
They want a sideshow freak.
They will boo, they will howl,
They may even clap if the timings right.

Damon Malio goes up before me.
That ******* is as smooth as silk
and as suave as the day’s first rays.
Hell, I even want to run up there
and kiss the *******.
He has a rapacious tongue,
stealing every good word in the English language.
Banging away with syllables and gestures,
the room is vibing to his beat.

Knots in my stomach
and an ache in my brain.
A dull thump followed by
the whisper of “Fraud.”
                          “Failure.”
It’s that little boy voice
that used to get tormented in grade school.
The urge hits to wither away.

The only escape route is blocked by bouncers
at the back door.
I’m trapped here with the prison guards.
No semblance of thought,
just a rattle, panic and hate.
I’m a predator in a room full of rodents,
ready to eat me alive.

There are no outs,
only the get up there
and get out the vivid images
alive inside of me.
Right before I go up on stage
I touch the brick wall.
Tangible, tactile, rough and cool.
I laugh under my breath.
That’s the way people describe me.

If you ever wanted to hear a pin drop,
now would be a good time.
Staring back are a room full of strangers,
Murmuring, waiting for the show to begin.
I see a table full of beautiful women,
the tattooed, artsy types
I get weak in the knees for.
An older gentleman looking impatient for me to speak.
Clearly a professor of some sort.

I clear my throat.
Startling myself
at the loudness of it.
Loud…voice…speak…speak…speak.

“I’m a salty *******.
I could have been a Sabine
if I hadn’t been born in the wrong time,
to the wrong class of people
and a deformity looming larger than life.
That literary je ne sais quoi that working men
and the saviors of syphilis have.
The questionable knowledge that the
seafaring folk were instrumental
in my christening.

I’ll bring God’s ministry to Hades
and two tons of luck to riverboat gamblers
with fortuitous use of four aces.
I’ll bless the maître d’s war against the moguls
and the matadors quest for the upper hand
in the war of the forlorn.

I’m just kidding ladies and gentleman,
that’s all horseshit”

The crowd looks perplexed.
They aren’t quite there yet,
but we’re getting somewhere.

“We’re actually gathered here today to see the holy matrimony
of poetry and pestilence, art and arrogance.
I’ll be your priest, your prophet along the way.
We’ll channel them into
a seven year split and fifteen days of rage.
We’ll curse the gods of conformity and the spirits of suburban sprawl.
Set fire to the system that binds your mind.
The fallacies told to control you.

I never knew the error of my ways until
I touched God on Tuesday.
She was dead ringer for Greta Garbo,
gracious as a host and divine in her dealings with me.
I saw the white hot heat of Stockholm syndrome
and knew I was in the presence of the pantheon.
Felt swelter and fear,
but she kissed my forehead and whispered that it was all a lie.
The power others presume to hold over me.
The judges, the juries, the couponing maidens, the schoolmarms,
the cops and fathers and armies and vicious tax agents.
The Machiavellian telethon charities
and the undressed hookers pretending to be my saving grace.
The drugs, the music, the books, the *******, the fury of 40 years gone too long and not enough wisdom to die too soon.

I wept when she spoke to me.

Guns will **** you but love will **** you quicker she opined.
Obfuscated words from the otherworldly.
She sent me on a mission to find the words of Sinatra,
the Rat Pack’s subliminal subversion of all that power players hold dear.
The fear the unwashed masses will come.
The provincial mindset that they can procreate proletariats
to be the permanent protectors of their gilded ******* towers.
As I seethed she kissed and soothed me.
She whispered her love and asked me to lie with her.
I thought copulating with God was a heresy.
She told me to lay back and everything would be alright.”

I looked in the eyes of a tattooed temptress
and saw ravenousness for more words.
At least I knew I was getting laid tonight.

There was a new footing.
This vulnerability, baring my *** for all to see.
But there were no boos,
just the synergy of poetry conveyed through me.

“As we lay in the afterglow
I rolled over on one side and asked
how do I rid myself of the devils that plague us?
The bleeding, the burdens of humanity enslaving me?
She smiled playfully and ran her fingers through my hair,
telling me there there, don’t worry your pretty little head.
They can take from you. They can beat you.
They can **** you.
And oh my how they will try.
Governments and men with guns.
A society of rats crushing you with social mores,
moving to tell you what to do and how to live.
They will give speeches of how to behave on AM radio.
Buckle your belt, conserve the earth and be a good dad.
Foster those brats and bleat like sheep
to the tune of an Orwellian world.
I shook as she maddened my mind,
but her touch ran over me with ecstasy.

You will go forth my prophet, my prince,
and spread the word of free men with free minds,
not bound by internet ******* parties,
the latest legal trouble for B-listers
and all the trivialities of brainwashing.
The baubles betrothed to those without
imagination or the ***** to seek the truth.”

(i) pre-scriptum: anchor posit

it would be all-too obvious that i'm going to begin with writing about nonsensical subjects... bowel movements... what's not to laugh about... a warm-up standing before a firing-squad metaphor... not my last words: how they don't tend to bury people with epitaph these days... in manus dei... which is hardly an epitaph... definition of epitaph: a transcendence of maxim... the... maxim... the sigma of all the incremental parts that once held the man as subject of life...

...i cycled into central London to do no more than:
**** myself off...
all those lives i'm not part of...
without a drop of bitterness:
i guess i can only be glad...
somewhere in South London past
Waterloo station nearing the Shard
i came across... a mythological blonde...
yoga-pants... *****-esque...
couldn't tell the traffic from a horserace...
she had that expression
on her face that read:
i've been to a few ******* parties...
all holes properly used...
come to think of it: i'm only
there to be ******: not there to do some
return policies...
so a timid deer...
point made when i noticed three-guys
ogling her up...
eyes turned to lap-dancing tongues...
point proven...
well... it's South London... even if's still
teasing the scent of the Thames...
it's a lot different over the river...
so i "debated" myself
on the point...
   CS4 is worse than CS3...
oh most assuredly...
CS4 is congested...
too many pit-stops...
i promised myself that i would never
again cycle into central London
via little Bangladesh that begins
in Ilford and ends at Aldgate...
that's CS4...
CS3 though? oh that's another barrel of
laughs... begins in Barking...
although it could begin in Rainham...
and ends at... don't know... to be honest...
i must have taken a CR13 from tower bridge
through to Waterloo station...
but... it's the proper underbelly of the city...
near the docks come Canary Wharf...
as i promised myself i would never
again cycle into a heavily urban scenario
being the tourist of faces and all manner
of the locals' mannerisms:
i said to myself... Essex county is open...
the trees the diluted traffic... all that fresh air...
but not exactly Belgium: flat...
such contemplations when you find
a pseudo-Nirvana of the third take of
emptying yourself into the throne-of-thrones
because... you put a quasi-hibernation
plug in your ******* for the day
and now the bowels strike back with
a build-up to a crescendo of: unplugging...
the usual suspect of bits & bobs...
  that allows you to suppose you've
been emptied but... ooh... oh...
the crescendo proper...
                      custard pie... of ****...
thank god for all the stealth work...
the pipes... the sewage treatment plants...

(ii) change of focus

i always had an invitation toward a monk's life...
ever since visiting Taizé...
the Teutonic Order had a brothel in their
monks' citadel at Marienburg...
a break from a 4 year dry run...
perhaps the end of a year of grief having
buried a friend of mine:
fishing, cycling / reading buddy...
someone to watch the Vierschanzentournee
come Christmas and New Year...
someone to listen to on a dementia loop
as if: no... the memory bank wasn't broken...
it was on a repeat that
asked the question:
is this a drowning man...
               clinging to a razor?
once old ages enter the fore...

it was all pristine in my head: i almost chuckled...
now coming to the canvas i can see it's going
to be a hard-won effort:
mini-digressions is my best attempt
to keep this afloat... even though it's sinking
like a hard-earned stone of mass...

sometimes drinking has a taste.... esp. in the variation
of kalimotxo... with a red Marlboro:
like it's the taste synonymous with a
first kiss... both of you are slobbering teenager
all to ready to precursor either *******
of glugging down oysters / eating fleshy
flowers... tongues to eager...
an ode to the mosquito legion owner/ vampire goat...

(iii) words come across as shortcomings
  
i don't have enough patronage money to begin
painting... a photograph will have to do...
i remember this room, this same brothel...
there were two mirrors on the wall...
i'll bring her a copy of my book of poetry
and i'll ask her if i can take a photograph
of her face... for the love of Rousseau's
heart for a god... beside the argument: i need to photograph
her in a variation of the antithesis of the self-portrait...
i'm already saving up for the hour...
perhaps she will say no...
but i don't want a ****...
nor a picture of my phallus in her mouth...
i need contortions using the two mirrors...
words have become the weapons of gods
and gagging orders of men...
Khadaj'ah...
              something has to arrive sooner:
i'm breathtakingly agonised by my own: coils...

cauliflower - ALUMINITE - alias
of brain tissue folds...
           Al₂(SO₄)(OH)₄ . 7H₂O...
well... if it isn't me looking at paintings...
or naked bodies of prostitutes...
it's me looking at minerals
and their chemical formulas...

all that's quartz SiO₂...
most notably the amethyst... iron stained quartz...
jasper... petrified wood quartz...
onyx quartz... agate...

or... VANADINITE
   Pb₅(VO₄)₃Cl....

now... if i were drinking a second bottle of wine
to calm the already frantic nerves
at the prospect of the next encounter
all school-boyish...
and owned a dog... he might bark at me...
a feline presence is more welcome:
joke of my curing insomnia and "insomnia"
with this here wine...
fern of a creature... always disappears
into the dream world...
who asks for a leash or a muzzle
or walkers in the presence of a cat:
a time least spent: certainly not wasted:
that cats decided to sleep more than
actually waste their time with being:
conscious...
not somehow a waste of time:
like the waste of time modern man has
become: seeking refuge in "reverse-psychology":
duped by the undercurrent of
the crucifix of the subconscious...

the holy Freudian trinity... the sacred secular
trinity of the: consciousness:
the son... subconscious: the holy spirit...
the collectively shackled premature
*******... pre-suppositional heap of dung...
the father: shackled... proper:
in the unconscious...
if asked: about time to raise the father:
to unearth him... "him": who is my father?
shy-titan... you already know the score...

it excites me more and more with the prospect
of writing these words
and coming back with a photograph of the
*******...
dizzying heights of the grave of gravity
in that's how my body: hollows out
futures... and tendencies of a list of todays...
if only i had enough and of having enough
i would become bored:
perhaps i could become an ageing lecher...
but since i'm gagging for the least:
of the last... i'll be keeping up the spirit of mute:
sometimes teasing onomatopoeias during
*******... i want to take a selfie of
her using at least two mirrors...

i want to take two photographs...
my mind is burning from the mere thought...
clear the fog...
thank god no genetic details of mine
will be passed on...
i couldn't shackle myself to the responsibility
of children...
call it immature:
a delinquency... i will call it what it has been
for almost... "forever"...
share my responsibility in the coming
onslaught...
           if i'm feeling it... what's to suppose there's
no build-up of a greater tide...

i've made satire of the "diet"...
fuckless for years...
but come the opportune moment when i wake
up and take to a feeding:
i find her...
       juiced up from the cradle of my
unsatisfied longing...
can a woman tell a man hasn't touched
his antonym in so long
as to also not have: some... pillow-talk ref.
to combat that carnal Kandinsky-build up moment?

wine! wine! more wine!
words are staggering when picture would
better suffice to encapsulate these sensations...
for those that have had enough:
retreat into kink... gimp suits and all that's latex...
for those that haven't had enough:
retreat into mirrors...
    revising slits of katakana-niqab rereading...
some depeche mode doesn't hinder...
and one: either...

        oh sure: reimagine...
it's a feverish writing of a man who desires all that
might invoke the zenith of a shared
patience with each other:
for the worth of an hour's worth...
after the hour's done...
there's no companionship...
there are no shared stories...
we return to the shadow: we return to the grave...
the foetus is cut from the womb
from the umbilical chord...
the hour's enough...

i return to my: steinherz...
she returns to her: dachboden-frivolfotze-eskapaden...
i'm glad other people can:
cut-the-mustard... and... reproduce...
if i don't die by my own hands
aiming at the pulse...
alone in a hospital ward eyeing up nurse
with one of these octopi purely pupil eyes
of rage... i never...
it will be a private affair:
no one will interrupt the world
of people having their conversations:
i'll keep in mind the congregation
of crows:
i'll keep the crow forever in my mind...

(iv) body needs to be under 5K

can you believe me that i acknowledge all that you have written with... how can i escape verbiage...  oh wait... i was hoping your wouldn't spiral out of control with a bunch of defence mechanisms: easily-offended etc. you are... a breath of fresh air... truly... comparison? even though you sent me your picture... it's in the back of my mind... i don't remember it: i'm still focused on the avatar you presented... and... oddly enough: you are starting to resemble Harley Quinn... sipping that espresso while reading a romance novel while the whole world around her: is ablaze... let's forget the the buzzwords i picked up... they're not important... they're not important if we have allowed ourselves to synchronise ourselves on other points of interest... i can be excused leaving some time between reply, though, no? you still are a pen-pal who's sharing her passion for teaching... it's never personal... it might become personal if i pressure you with imitating my punctuation, or, for that matter: some grammatical idiosyncrasy... the red roses: roses are red... n'ah... bad example... not off the top of my head (scalp included) to make a point... i agree... we're two people toying with imitation ping-pong... next subject matter... ah... oh... casual ***... paid for or... somehow... spontaneously... given?  i already have an answer in my head: from experience... i was reading the sunday times magazine last weekend... dating apps... i know they came about circa 2012... apparently there was this great revolution of people seeking & finding casual ***... i was still into my psychotic trip without the use of hallucinogenic juice... "fear of god"? ha ha... i've just heard that dating apps were a breakthrough in how people made themselves available... casual ***... me visiting a brothel probably itches the thought: where *** is so freely available... but there's someone out there... still willing to use cables... when everyone else is using wireless WIFI... notably for headphones... i still buy vinyl and CD to "translate" the music to MP3... you're asking what casual *** is: akin to? you want me to describe what it feels like? it probably feels like any form of intimacy that one subscribes to within the "confines" (parameters) of long-term relationship expectations... although more concentrated... esp. if you haven't had a chance to be intimate with someone... my last diet lasted for 4 years... extended by a year since i was grieving for my grandfather's death... i was grooming my pet cat and she... decided to agitate me... not cognitively: primordially: therefore sexually... i'm not into this whole trans-sexuality... but what i was agitated by was a trans-species probe... i had to find resolve and exercise against a canvas of a woman... "against": to match-up to... to compliment... i found that in order to have casual ***: one must be unusually restrained for the whole affair to become: passable: casual... you can't bring your firsty laundry... your most inhibited frailty to the fore... a most assured contraint is to never invoke words during *******... at best: vowels... with a pinch of consonant: i call it the vowel-catcher "principle": what could be shouted as A... becomes a softly oozed out Ah from mouth to mouth... you chose the subject matter: blah! politics... whatever faction we supposedly belong to: there's always that citizen of the world: the universal man nibble... isn't there? would you want me to tell you what you might be missing in the arena of casual ***? i couldn't tell you... since i haven't used any of the modern short-cuts of the hook-up culture "dating" bonanza... i'm an outdated model when it comes to ***... if it happens... casually... proper... once or twice... there was this... no... i won't go into the details... it was my birthday and i mixed her a decent cocktail and.... well... the pistons... the grease.. whatever metphor you like... then there was this Thai-surprise... she was supposedly a lesbian... later a bisexual... i took her home and played her some Kind of Blue... it's not like jazz is cheap... am i still... sounding a bit crass: "objectifying" as a way of making shortcuts? isn't it? *** without having children? it must be... esp. if you have long spells of not doing what most urban folk seem to be having all the time: unless they're merely boasting about having: smoke & mirrors... i'd allow my head to be chopped off and turn into an urban myth surrounding a cockroach if i could have more of it... the urban myth of the cockroach? apparently if you decapitate a cockroach... it keeps on living: a zombie torso... finally dying after two weeks from... hunger... since... the ****** obvious... it has no head to ingest food with! - how odd... i thought i had something original to write tonight... i started scribbling then lasted long enough to find myself writing too poorly, so i resorted to read my inbox messages... i am more willing to leave you with a reply than have to masquerade with some "originality"... you asked me: or at least insinuated about casual ***...what's your take on *******? i ask the question while listening to the cure: short term effect from the album: *******... i'll hardly make this a light-hearted question... i don't even think it might be categorized as a question: hasn't ******* / rather the spread of it... become ominous? i still remember the ****** of shame with colour in my cheeks when i would buy: a magazine short of sinister... a woman's naked body: if not celebrated.... sure... i'll be the one jerking off to a revision of the **** via cubism... the face will not be a sorting out process of a nightmare...  if ever i watch a pornographic movie: it will be done via turning the sound off... whatever a woman is concerned i like to see a potential: i don't like to see something to imitate... come to think of it: i don't think i've asked a question: if i wanted some clarity... i would be gagging for it... no wonder we moved away from politics and onto such "pressing" matters as to why: so many of us are not getting enough of "it"... no? whether we have children or we don't have children: i've seen it for my very own eyes: having children doesn't allow you to savour certain guarantees:  my maternal grandfather ought to have been surrounded by his loved ones... his grandson (moi) and his daughter... (my mother)... what came about? a "conspiracy" between his wife (my grandmother)... and his son (my uncle)... so he died... alone... in a hospice... last time i checked in never wanted to have *** beyond the gratifications bound to the "casual":... i want the puddle experience when other people might stress: there's the sea! there's the sea!
you probably acknowledged a truth that wasn't a question before someone who... wouldn't want you to find seeking said experience as something... necessarily... equally shared by one and all... it won't be... i've had my moments of raging against the night having spent a paid hour with nothing more than kisses... caresses and a limp phallus... come to think of it: i don't think *** is ever "casual":  it might be for sociopaths... sociopaths who "think" that stealing apples from a grocery stall is synonymous with buying them...  by casual i'm implying: it's better that there's a transactional transparency invoked: someone is getting more than the other... the party involved with thirst is thirsty... the party selling water: eh... a metaphorical muddle by now...  while you're wondering why casual *** is like... i'm wondering what... fatherhood is... it's a nice compliment of agitations... what wouldn't i do with fatherhood: well... what wouldn't i... keep 3am a time worth staying awake for... so that i might sccribble some words down...

(v) comment section

commented on Mr *******s Integrity

- it must be a fairies' tail...no? at least en engaged cat telling with waggling to joke at the dogs' investment in: the currency of leash / muzzle? good to know that you remember Mr. Schmidt... i'mm somehow sure he wouldn't be content with anyone else remembering him... lessons seem to have been learned... and all the best of him: kept, since you allowed him to be: so graced.

- One thing I’m sure of is only a twisted A-hole would make a comment like this but at least thanks for reading this and these were real people.

- i'm the twisted A-hole and you're the "dear Jesus"... crux-sucker? fair enough... love's a temple... however you want it: on your knees... hey! your take on the best dangling of doodling fancy. no problem... i'm no homophobe.

seems to me... people lack all the entertainmet
when it comes to nuancing language...
they can digest jokes...
they can doodle around with crosswords...
but... when it comes to...
hell: if they're not going to bother...
why the **** ought, i?!
too many movies: too many books unread...
a barrage of art has left everyone
yet to feed into the feels of:
the end of the 20th century: romance.

so she write this article, this amanda
foreman,
   a historian and with four girls
and one boy that's almost the fifth and
i'm wondering:
god, where has this headache come from
where is the man?
                life's too perfect to seem
to rhyme, or worth wasting your time
remembering some obscure Versailles verse
worth a shining ****'s worth of
a crown readied for a one-night stand...
**** me, a five+ female household,
i hope these muslim martyrs wishes what
they got themselves into...
   the true martyrs have three entry
points...
           mouth, vaginal, ****...
            if you can't spot the true martyrs
i'll tell you about asking the watermelon man,
or herbie hancocks, or in comparison
by ol' joe...
      treating his quasi-alzheimer stories
like your favourite jazz standards...
herr bitebonbon, dresden, auschwitz,
and some other memories:
  a drowning man will cling to a razor blade
to stay afloat, like any old man:
what bugs him now is not being sad,
but being foregetful...
he replays the rubric every day:
he says:
sure, i'm dead already:
but i want to remember myself dying!
   old people and their jazz standards of memory,
i am old, i feel old,
   oh ma'h feel'ah rob'eh m'on...
   patois or 'alf the pitied peshawar mamí son...
lumberjack my *** were 'ere bootleg
a stump of wood mamí sis...
  ya rite?
           *** we boss the 9,2,3,oh,5...
and call that a freq.,
  man that boy to a prrrrrristine:
shakin' m'ah timbers floating a-high...
man, sum tim' the talk ain't talk
it's called: scare-alley-cat-talk
feelin' a gush of **** talk-ji
  of an incubus toying with ya
little mums' crisp clear elijah of buttock
say in: **** as smooth as
a mouth slicking a rota of a hooplah...
talk cool: play the dumb infant...
next time you know:
   yo be talkin' to mama bear an
pleading for her Mississippi pancakes...
**** you not...
             she a one woman with
a five daughter brothel...
good lucky lucky luke if there's any
eager...
                last time i checked:
neither word, nor piano nor horn earned
****...
        just a nice ref. to: ooze...
  like washington's monologue in
fences didn't earned him oscar:
but a director's role none the less...
lady guesses to choose...
and her choice is always wrong
while her guess is always good...
          my, why a mighty site these days:
a man that stays at home becomes
a better cook than a woman,
who isn't all too eager to enter the outside world...
there's always the idea of a death by
a grizzly bear and i think of entering
a bear enclosure in the danzig zoo...
  and the little bear that ate my cardigan button...
and the bear mama...
      god, i love that memeory,
because it's so unreal that it's real because
it happened and my mind became
a ******* ******* trickster thinking
that my faculty of memory didn't dig
that far back...
         the child always remains with the man
that the child always was,
   but the child never became,
and the man who always imagined the child
becoming the man he is,
never said to the man un-becoming the child:
you were never this until "i" became you,
and "you" un-became me.
30+ hours wide awake and i'm still
trying to succumb to falling asleep
to fidgeting...
                        sure, nice trick, juggle three
oranges... then more into the iron league
of juggling three watermelons my
dear, common man.
         classical music acted upon the same
jerking off technique
     that excess rock did to solo guitarists...
chopin was a ****** on guitar...
he had no rhythm man...
            why do i know this?
the japanese, those wannabe white-ohs
pretend to be chopin...
they ******* ski-jump to boot!
                    chopin had no style because
he had no rhythm...
actually liszt ****** off the most,
smoked the most cigars and prematurely
******* with the most number of lovers...
    i really feel for that poet who cried himself
to sleep seeing him "perform"...
           you can solo the ******* want,
but the only rhythm on piano came with jazz...
i hate ******* for their lack of appreciation
of jazz... i hate to be a white guy telling them:
hey... jazz over class every day...
  you people, yes: YOU PEOPLE
ABANDONED JAZZ IN A MATTER OF
AN AMNESIAC TRYING TO REMEMBER
A DISTINGUISHING ASPECT BETWEEN
A T-REX AND MARC BOLAN!
how can you just give up rhythm piano,
the democratic soloing of each instrument
in a band in a matter of what,
20, 30, 40 years?
     LOSERS!
      rhapsody of the nincompoop...
hit the trends you ******, with your
nike airs and your shaaq attaq?
  canary in a colemine?
how 'bout a ****** smiling at me?
how about: pearly whites in a colemine?
talk kit-kat chunky pale white boy:
i start talking ivory...
                     hey: if the black guy ain't
the canvas of what i'm about to x-ray
i don't know why he shouldn't find his
root in the skin in the tongue in Swahili
so we can keep it neutral and not so,
******* lazy: english, keeping up with
post-colonialism Kardashians' shenanigans...
come on... they left sonny trashed nodding
at the piano: just one more note,
just one more note...
          boom... crescendo and the death's head
gravity pulled the gracious ***** down.
it's just a shame that they gave up
on jazz so quickly,
                   and turned to white *****
gloryhole ******* - which must imply:
Ethiopians in Japan...
              hey... you tell me:
last time i heard i heard the whale was
mammal, and that there was the Eskimo...
pop doesn't really bother me right now;
you left sonny clark nodding to his death
thinking he was falling asleep at the piano!
NOW... ******... BLEACH ME...
I ******* DARE YOU!
robert johnson didn't meet his fate
at the crossroads through a jealous middle
class white girl either...
given the times, being a white guy:
i guess that's also my fault...
oh look... there flies the cuckoo:
and here's the nest.

This my first joint, I'll get to the point
I AM's Phiwrit and I am 'bout to anoint
The mic, spell it right, Phiwrit
That's a Pirate written in Phi glyphs
P-H-I W-R-I-T
Rhyme in Peace to my man Zoe Cassidy
'bout to go H.A.M Bohemian Rhaps on me

If you're feelin' sweet get the tooth to cracking
Lift your heel of feet with Root Beer and Kraken
Coming in bombastic elastic Tentacle *******
Fantastically drastic one hint none-at-all could stop me
If I want to float I'll drop ice cream
No flaunt or gloat will stop my dream
Jew Kid LuSiD O sleep walking
New bid you hid so stop talking
I'm not off nodding, just bar soldering
Together a word weapon for bard's slaughtering
Of Weak emcees get weak in knees, fodder sing
it loud. Smoke it proud if allowed oughta bring
A pound to smoke, and a pound for blokes
my pound drops you choke I'll make that coke
I Am's famished lamb through whom He spoke
I Am's alchemist hand so Jew's suit bespoke

Isn't it beautiful! "What is he woke?"
This isn't conscious rap what g wrote
What you need notes I just take tokes
Spin reel raw this kid veal real spoke
Isn't it beautiful! "What is he woke?"
This isn't conscious rap what g wrote
What you need notes I just take tokes
Spin reel raw this kid veal real spoke

Who the **** is this enraging Holy Spirit towards
scorn in the crack of dawning
'bout to leave your whole fam mourning
swipe the gold from your lies,
leave you weak emcees to die
This the verbal molotov, tongue's a cunning kalishnokov
No rushing for roulette without 32 red spot
leave your tops popped off minus the maseltov
watch your Bay, Hasselhoff, don't try to hassle, nah,
on the stripper pole I'll smack your ****** tassels off
Strip you whole rip a new hole raw
Your crew give this Jew hip-hop-hoorah
pass the hookah bowl has a whole oz of *****
Pass the hash on ash let's get to toking some
I ain't a quaint token bet but a vet potent sum
I got 99 balloons you ain't yet poking one

Sit your *** down son, no tsun-tsu
But by now you can tell I've son'd you
I know exactly who's behind who fund you
But I Am too into my grind to even run you
Sit your *** down son, no tsun-tsu
But by now you can tell I've son'd you
I know exactly who's behind who fund you
But I Am too into my grind to even run you

I've been *****, torture taped up, agape; Sup!
Five my brown eye violated, by a guy I hate, uhg,
then my mind grind down by amphetamine design.
******* thought wiles stomp step-son's shine,
18 years later survived, re-up, rep RUN, thrive.
My steel guise steal eyes of these evil powers,
Though it been a while still hold my inner child.
Real cold, don't feel bold, though my soul Israel gold,
Brought to keel o'er by Toyota RAV4 Leaf Blower.
I Am Leaf Hear Me Roar, the poem I wrote before
Back in grade 6. Yo I was hated, knew I was fated,
My mind, God made it, memory faded, spirit elated.
These lines, amazing, aether affinity pacing.
Style Simpletons simply speak sprocket simile
My mild meta-core makes metaphor mechanically
Alas all abysmal alliteration alludes automatically

Don't point your automat at me in laundromat
Don't pack no gat bust rust carry on, yo, hepcats
Nothing you send my way disuades or set back
I'll keep spitting until I get my *** back
Don't point your automat at me in laundromat
Don't pack no gat bust rust carry on, yo, hepcats
Nothing you send my way disuades or set back
I'll keep spitting until I get my *** back
(Home...)
As I roam and write in my dome's tome
This just a piece that I've shown
OM

ooh... those crazed up (a fata morgana of eye shadow) eyes of that sweet-***** Elaine Thompson-Herah... alias: Calypso... i was trying to figure out my kinks... mulatto girls... oriental girls... Turkic raven-haired shamans in the bedroom... i like the Olympics... all the body sizes... in their niches... the high-jumpers... the discus throwers... the swimmers... the sprinters... but also the table-tennis players... everyone is being represented... Shiva's girlfriends... if they cook up a curry... no, they won't... i'll be in the kitchen turning it into an organic chemistry chemistry...

critical race: kink...
  you'd think that some
things would remain
in the bedroom:
topsy-turvy world...

perhaps i'll dip a finger into
this fudge...
on seconds thoughts...
perhaps i won't...

"who"? Hugh's hue...
Hugh's hues...
for any native spreschen guise
i'd like to see
the encapsulated surd of double-v
"double-u"
and how the acronym satan:
Santa ** **'s...

each saint a satan...
critical race: kink...
i tried interracial ***...
i met my match with a bony assed
ivory "princess"...
a small tight ***
i knew because the front of
my pelvis...
the "garden of eden" of *****
grew a shade of plum
from the interaction...

i cannot: not... admire the white
teeth of black people...
i tend to forget about their skin....
if you were born into a
homogeneous racial "scrutiny"
of: origins...
i feel sick going back to the old capital:
once in Warsaw
i turn into a feral creature...
so many of "me"...
where are the blacks... the Indians...
all i'm getting is a whiff of
Mongolian...

mind you... at least on the outskirts
of London... how the county
of Essex is teased...
you'll hear the dogs barking
but then you'll hear...
whatever sound the foxes
make that can't be "magically"
turned into either onomatopoeia or
typo...

all of a sudden everyone is
feeling... un-com-fort-able...
copper-skin brush of joy...
little piglet moi gets a ******* suntan...
the skin doesn't resemble
a serpent's shedding its old
girth after having ingested
a giraffe...

a cheap £125's worth of a viking road
bicycle...
it was a waste of money to have invested
in a Trek Marlin 5 worth circa £500...
it really was...
i believe you only require
only about... 7 gears to fathom
heavy traffic...
even at night... pretending to be
a pedestrian... showing the three-finger:
read-in-between-the-lines
to some: oblivious ******
in a: you going to orientate yourself
on the road like a SMART car...
or are you still pretending to be
driving a... ******* TANK?

i've passed so many oblivious people
concerning traffic it's no wonder
i think of them at best as
sleepwalkers..

white girl academic critical
race: kink...
why would i require over or coming to
21 gears?
riding a road bike... sure...
a 26" inch wheels:
but they have a 23cm width...
so i can gazelle up any elevation...
what's with this basic *******...
clashing with church bells
and the uvula...

esp. not now: when a white girl *****
a black boy: Everclear will not make
a song about: "combating stereotypes"...
a white boy ***** a black girl
that doesn't require added inches
for their sofa of an ***...
how about i shove my elbow into that hole
for better measure?

that's why i like keeping cats...
grooming a female aroused me...
for three days solid i was cycling like mad
to and fro central London
looking for an alternative brothel...
i found the long lost abode...
one hour for £120 with a limp biscuit
of a little richard: ****...
shamed...
i returned... and found my pristine
"killer" of a ballerina...
in a span of 30 minutes...
if only i could invert the hour with the 30 minutes...
when my feline "princess"
agitates me with her **** stuck up
while she's about to be teased with
a knee when being groomed...

i'm not gagging for it...
i didn't experience it more than enough
to somehow want it more than
i can do with doing it myself:
well... if i were circumcised...
but since i haven't been circumcised...
****-off strict monotheistic crowd...
under the guise of monotheism:
and my circumcision...
sure... but then the women have to make
concessions...
i'm not getting a circumcision
if she's not going to don a niqab!

pije... pali... konia wali
(he) drinks... smokes... masturbates...
well... if i were given....
a frequented depth of thirst...
but since i haven't...
i can turn 30 minutes of the best ***
into... half a decade's worth of
abstaining from it...

i toy with my beard like it might
be a violin...
there's a hmm portent at some point...
but that's for the deaf...

over the weekend taking apart an old
b.b.q. meticulously...
however many screws have been unscrewed
in my head: whatever came about
from a "chemical imbalance":
notable mention: Robert Walser...
Fernando Pessoa...

well... if only the asylums were still
open...
if only the asylums were still be open...
i'd still be practising all my best
to enter the cages...
reinvent cubism by smearing
excrement in the corners of the room:
or something like that...
but... the "squares" found out us out...
the prisons are very much alive...
asylums?
well... "they" sent the madman into
society... no wonder...
whatever's still left of society
is... two-crutches strong...
struggling toward a myth of Bethlehem...

it's so exhausting...
no one sentenced to be encased in an iron
maiden would leave it with
a necklace of the torture instrument...
even if he said the least...

day one... let's call it a Saturday...
taking apart an old b.b.q....
without a hammer...
***** by *****...

day two... let's call it a Sunday...
putting a new b.b.q. together...
***** by *****...
Hephaestus... no wonder...
i have to thank him for momentary father
status: since my own father never believed
in my tech competence...
changing a bicycle tyre and inner tube...
someone was looking over my shoulder...

forethought: premonition?
i disintegrate into something resembling
a crossword clue by clue...
Prometheus was the TITAN
Hephaestus was the god of            fire...
that titans came before the gods...
it's not like Prometheus stole the fire
from Hephaestus...
but as the gods built their marble Olympus while
the humans were left cowering naked
in mud-huts...
a sacrifice...

                flimsy narrative...
besides... by the time someone decided to steal
the electric rod of Zeus...
an Edison... he was no closer to being
credited for it...
instead: making his living from having
created the archetype of movies...
ha... "making his living":
i'm so disinterested in money
that translates as...
keeping up a family... the "genes"...

    - each and every day i wake up
"thinking": before i get onto that bicycle:
there's no point eating up the itch...
why do i have to find meaning at the end
of the day: in writing...
rather than at the beginning with the sunrise:
some "vague" prompt...
to motivate me.... ?  ?
                                ?  ?

i probably know why... just today at the recycling
centre some... puppy... late middle aged
man in a Nissan Micra... or whatever...
i just shrugged my shoulders when
i was investigated with an accusation
of missing his front lights
while i was taking an old lamp out from
the boot... petty insect: bothersome little:
cre-ah-ture...
i shrugged my shoulders because:
no damage was done but he insisted on:

OH! WHAT IF?!
it broke me when he called me a silly ****...
pumped up chest...
i was going to say: how much do you weigh?
how many teeth that are not prosthetics do you
own?
i just shouted: ******* mate...
no damage was done yet he was
adoring his entire possessions in
a ******* ******...
that moment between shrugging my shoulders
and eyeing him up...
a momentary pause: i too feed off the petty heart....

i wish it was... the first time i discovered
tom petty & the heartbreakers...
i was with someone in the driving seat who
shouted: better buy a Bentley to
have those sort of concerns...
whatever happened to: innocent until
proven guilty... whatever happened to:
wait until the damage is done
before throwing a ******* poodle cartwheel
of a hissy-fit...
no damage... but being called a silly-****...

petty people bother me... more than mountains...
or the seas...
the heart turns into a placebo of:
what it must feel like jumping out
of an aeroplane armed with a parachute...
i wish i said: bark little doggy... bark...
next time you bark... i'll bite...
but i'm ******* slow... i'm always either
elsewhere: trapped in some variation
of dasein: some horizon of: there's... existence
elsewhere... always...
now mash this up with an elevation of
the cartesian res cogitans: i.e. buddha walking
as i like to call it: res vanus: the empty thing...

that moment of frozen mirrors when
i eyed up foul mouthed poodle...
sitting in his car... neither scratched nor
attended to...
he would do x, y, & z... i shrugged my shoulders:
did anything happen?
oh god... such motivation to find a chunk of
beef large enough to practice boxing on...

i'm thinking about Brazilian mulattos...
Jamaican Calypsos...
all the hoard of Asia brought to the altar
by the Mongolian horde...
and here i am...
abstinent... gladly...
please don't cage me... a moment more with
the Turkish raven haired shamans of
the bedroom...

- it's not even funny...
i'll spend near £500 on a Trek Marlin mountain-bike...
it's only 3 months+ old...
it started to cringe at me... squeak...
make odd-noises...
but that Viking road-bicycle: kol

anything... almost anything with a label:
MADE IN XINA... made by the number...
worth duck-squat...
i still own things manufactured in...
for ****'s sake: Sri Lankan rubber...
Pakistani / Bangladeshi linen...
almost always the better quality than
those fake Beijing silk woorms...

by why of bypassing editorial scrutiny...
aren't the public the better judge of...
what, exactly... is... being... printed?
not much... go go green!
so... me... waiting... one rejection letter
after another... not reaching the immediacy
of an audience... just so... i can establish
and authority of "publishing"?
the gate-keepers?
the... ahem... "selected tastes"?
i have a long attention span...
but i have a very short sense of humour...
for that matter... my father thinks it funny
pushing my span of keeping... my anger at bay...

i'll immediately post: and free! free whittle birdie!
what use do i have with orthodox publishing
credentials?!
when all, i, wanted... was to bypass
the orthodox publishing credentials...
**** the medals: it's all about taking part!
democracy or no democracy?!
should we ask Iraq... Libya... Afghanistan?!
itch... itch... i'm itching...
which implies: the itch existent and the process
of alleviating the itch: by scratching the itch:
i'm itching...

the sort of song you rarely hear on the radio:
black... wonderful life...
i'm too not skipping along to the rhyme
of flipping burgers... or burdens of the easily
available.... scooter frenzy of arrived
at New Delhi traffic:
seems i had to merely introspect
to find a snippet of the Giza pyramids...

- to hell with magic...
there's mythology, there's air all around us...
and like this one poet
mentioned ( )
water water everywhere...
but not a drop to drink...

the Pollacks: the Paul lean brigadiers have...
gladly left these isles...
forget these isles: fellow ethnic scrutiny...
let the English housewives make
better jokes when the ****** plumbers have
left and the tap is left running...
jazzy pop interludes with 1980s/ 1990s...
whatever you had in mind...
thank you... i'll leave it to the closure...
my fellow-countrymen have left...
to concentrate on their own "hood"...
your's? slightly undermined...
but blame me...

oh they're not interludes...
it's fine by anyone's standards if a white
girl welcomes her ******* baptism...
but a shy thought of a romance with Calypso...
or the hearth of Asia by a what-why-not-a-white-"bloke"....
******* clowns and jazz-hand clapping!

i once attempted a take on ENSO...
no chance... not now... not ever...
but the white girls pursue their...
****** liberation freedom:
look at me...
come in between... a decade's worth of
abstinence... halved...
then again encountered...
sell me all that's the Brazilian
of the mulatto bonanza...
i'll buy it...

30 minutes with a Turkish "killer": in her own
words... and i'm freed from
the extravagance of a responsibility...
to tow woman... and at least 2 children
in tow.... towing a woman
and at least two children...
no... thank... you... it's not enough
to merely breed for a product of 2 produce 1...
2 at least better produce 2...

i don't want to breed in this environment...
who would?!
idiot... saint... a *******
psalm singer... a reciter of the qu'ran?
it must still be a success story
among Muslims... to leech onto the
conquest ambitions fo the Turks
penetrating Europe:
although the Arabs probably think the Turks
as lesser "Muslims"...
but who is to forget the... bridegroom
of a reflex...
how the Christian Serbs....
how the Christian Serbs...
made the remains of the Ottoman Empire...
little or no nought of ash, skull...  bone...
we... "we"... Caucasus brigade...
sure... very Anglo-Saxon: WASP sensibly in Nyod: Ork...
just because the Jews can have their
Holocaust... doesn't mean that..
what's sleeping can't be suddenly woken...
n'est c'est pas?
it takes something trivial...

because the sacrificial body of lamb of Muslims
didn't take place... in "Europe"...
the Ottomans: whoever they were...
yes... they "were"... already happened...
it's such a tease... here's my slingshot
of history... the Bataclan theatre massacre...
sure... just give it enough time...
enough soy...
i'm clinging to the memory of Robespierre...
the guillotine too...
i'm gearing up...

who is? not me... some mythological collective: oui!
je! moi aussi!
nice living together: isn't it... esp. in
the clique of keeping up with
updates of Rotherham...
alias for... ha ha!
speaker's corner...
why are the Hing-Leash...
sowwy so so: sur-PRIOR-EASE!
***: onto the surf ye' go forth!

years later... whatever ****** revolution happened:
the girls entered a harem...
the boys were left talking solo
with "premonitions" of:
glad to be awake:
would be... abortions....
vamped up *** revolutionised:
for the women...
if the men were not subjected to world war I
trench warfare... they would
most certainly be crippled my
chemistry infused...
limp biscuit **** while the harem of all sorts...
she... pleads a pretty please back
to... who?
via beer it's he **** of gods...
via whiskey it's ms. amber...
same ****: different cover...

ghosts of the same poker fold... facing...
each other: worth of the same
evil: intent...

the liberated woman:
the liberated man...
seems i "forgot" to pass on the intrinsic
demands of the stereotypical man:
archetypical hunting... gathering...
sorry... you were saying, "saying" something...
no... must have missed me...
i probably "forgot"...

fair enough with the girl playing
her interracial anti-racism white anti-...
o.k.: whatever...
it's a proper antithesis surge of her
already met expectations when
i figure out a Calypso for my hard-on...

she's becoming boring...
truly: literally: *******... boring...
like her adventure was only surrounding
her juiced up opening of an oyster's worth
of ****!
*** is already boring:
i can have it on a relapse...
once every half a decade...
however much she tries to sell it...
the wind sells itself better...
silence also...
eh... she moans: she might moan:
the magpies cackle with
more authenticity...
the crows croak with more "girth"...

she can sort herself out...
after all...
she's the freely available...
variation of: what it might feel like...
living in Buenos Aires...
all the freedoms she requires...
i'll sooner come toward
a foetus within the confines
of a tornado: genesis a tadpole...
than i will ever make do with:

dough: dumb downer... make: do...
ugh! ugh! WOO-MAN! WOE-MAN...
whatever...
i don't mind the crisp: cut... dying out...
this cul de sac...
why would i?

i sort of... stop myself... forgetting myself...
whenever i cycle down oxford st.
and some Japanese gearing up:
****-pants flashes me for kicks...
you lost me at the brothel...
i lost myself at the brothel...
with the Turkish and Romanian girls...
sorry... what?

the night is always in its infancy
while the day: ages: oh most... terribly...
the day ages with responsibilities...
while the night runs: RAM-PANT...
such is the privy acquired by those awake
in the: NACHT...
everyone else is asleep...
by "tomorrow's": today's a quarter
to... 8... i'll be fresh as a daisy...

although the miracle of tourism
of sightseeing central London via cycling
will not be undertaken...
there will be as much of as little
as there is of this: to nibble on...
for anyone: eager...

a pursuit of the roundabout current...
yes yes... many thanks... ado...
no... thank you...
me chasing "shadow" while also gearing
up to the momentum leftovers
of either a bus or a truck...
how, did... so... many...
"cyclists"... get... towed... dragged...
under... these... trucks... busses...
oblivious traffic hierarchy status: "superiority"
complex?
minced meat... i like to think of those deaths
as... minced meat...
they had to be: St. Pancreas: minced: "dodgers"...

best dead... retardo: fernando: minced meat
"dodgers"...
oh guy's gotta looks ups!
(in that ****** aghast voice-over)
i get a hard-on every time
i entertain a roundabout
where i'm quicker off the mark
than some tirade of traffic...
always aiming for the momentum
associated with a truck
or a bus... or a south african scrum...

eh... little women: know very little.

/I can already speak of the future, in that I envision a man, of Promethean calibre, who stole the rod of Zeus, harnessed lightning, and spoke of the closure of atomic energy... and who was ******, to die from insomnia; ⠽ ⠓ ⠺ ⠓... not the fate of man desires pity... but solely the heart... that God of eunuchs and virgins... disintegrating idols and demigods... the future Promethean... who stole the rod of Zeus, harnessed lightning, and fed man a sight of the world via a telescope, sitting on a chaotic vector of the pulverising atom... a man of such gesture is bound to take to such an exhaustion... a man, a god, a son of a Titan, namely Atlas... until that time, i await death not in hope of a heaven, or the debauchery of hell... i await death, as reciprocated anticipation, for this man, to usurp the Promethean myth.  

just a song, prior to youtubers,
vloggers et al.,
I witnessed the death of a medium,
somehow revived by vinyl sales,
yet not as niche as 80s cassette craze...
disco "vinyl", compact...
now it seems sitting by two
candles in a room is an archaic
form of shamanism,
given that the old folks are
cuddled by the eerie lights...
elsewhere, the glaring neon,
and what else reminds you
of Piccadilly Circus...
**** of blue hues,
and all that scientific heap of facts
that, even when exposed,
never really allow sorting
life into an essential puzzle...
scientific facts as ******* dull
as a Belgian plateau,
or the other Belgian,  
waffle terrain just outside of
Ypres...
               holes of fallen crisp
sizzling dynamite...
            senfgaz...
             canvas of blurrs choking
and drowning screams...
   came no different the sailor
in the womb of the sea,
to the modern foetus...
at least with the latter:
  the angelic choir of Moloch...
earth the mother,
and sea, the father,
elsewhere in other tongues:
gender neutral with only
pronouns concerned?
as a Gaul...
       objects and things celestial
cannot be gender neutral...
Louis the sun, Luna the
wolf goddess breaking silence
with lonesome howl...
     elsewhere
                dissonance in
the collective subconscious
of the anglophone world...
   an attack on grammar,
apparently Jung's collective unconscious
rubric had too many
dream interpretations...
worth citation from American beauty,
about life, and balloons...
about keeping life intact,
or letting the river in...
about erecting a dam,
    hydroelectric potency...
or allowing the aquatic Rodin work
his hands like waves...
   god, or the sloth artist...
            sinister the thus exhaled sin
to be a godly virtue,
under which all monks fall prey...
   busy body, busy be(e)...
French café communists...
        Sartre while living with his mother
while having a taste for...
cross-eyed...
     9ne word leech agitation vibrates
in the English tongue:
loser... loner...
   well thank **** i'm not the celebrated
footballer going cuckoo
after years of undiagnosed concussion!
- prior to the sensationalism
of the current brigade...
   I already have a scout
akin to Dante's guide ******...
   mein schatten...
I'll wake and speak deutsch...
       dunno, kinda a fetish after
vomiting having watched *******
and *******...
notably?
      she asked me whether I'd like
to use a *****...
   so I replied: my phallus is already
a cockrel imitation of dodo...
    not as far as not knowing what
the upper tier of mouth does...
but puritanical... to say the least...
a ******* tornado whirling from
**** to *** prior to watching her Bulgarian
feeding frenzy take a shower...
I still don't know how stupid
pronoun gender neutrality is going
to happen... given that other languages,
notably the neighbouring french,
have gender ascriptive discriminatory
nouns....
         i could unerstanding neutral
plurality with the given examples...
ah'vey for a they...
                no point labouring
under a glorification of Shakespeare,
no, seriously, I'm of the Milton school...
english has become a global language,
the zeitgeist ligua franca of commerce...
but with respect to the infiltrators
subvertors, and other quasi-quack-quack
communists?
          a ******* anorexic gaspine for air!
somehow the collective unconscious
has morphed into a collective
subconscious, notably due to the fact
that grammatical cordiality has
become obliterated by a...
categorical transcendantilism...
    believe me when I say,
those who support gender neutral
pronouns....
         will never set foot,
in languages, who have been
constructed on a basis of
pro gender nouns...
     this little article C16 of Canadian
law?
          an echo chamber...
      **** me... not even that...
a cave you shout into...
        but also a cave that eats the shouting,
and doesn't burp back
with an echo!
           - because english psychiatrists
find it easier calling an entrenched
bilingual a schizophrenic...
             because the natives...
just ******* love... a caravan holiday,
near... Blockpoo'l.

you have caught up to my drift, dear unicorn... i've been elsewhere the past few days... perhaps i drank too much... perhaps... but then cycling into central London feels surreal every time things fall off from the everyday in the vicinity of Bow, Stratford and Mile End... and i enter... tourist brick-on-bricks... it's surreal that... once upon a time the whole affair of taking a bus, the tube... while cycling to those desired destinations is... well... surreal... you can't even begin to fathom how much i appreciate this little dialectical corner we have started... for ourselves... how little we know of each other yet still pursue... you know... i wanted to write something before i wrote my little tirade... oral traditions... passing on the tongue... i was going to suggest: not everyone can be a Julien Sorel... or... hafiz... my scatter brain also suggested noting a need to denounce onomatopoeia: should we even allow encoding a woof or a meow... unless it's a noun denotation of... what a dog / cat does when prescribing us with seeking attention? a wolf doesn't woof woof: it howls... a lion doesn't meow... i could "understand" barking... then again: what's not to understand? true: i have those drowning thoughts... none of them are concerns for moral ought-i-have(?) though... then again... being impregnated with a gravity that allows me to stand: firm-rooted... and still persist in falling...if we only have sounds: touch wood... who's: one of those knock-knock: who's there, lineage of joke-chokes... i figured... no one remembers how certain places give off this particular whiff... this "accent"... like Barkingside still has a whiff of old Jewish ladies... Ilford is lost from having any Hebrew influence... the Jewish flight is in plain sight... how the synagogue on Coventry St. was dismantled... yet here i am: still... cycling through little Bengal...i hope i'm not too imposing giving both of us coordinates that we are engaged in a dialectic... cult-convincing fabric: how crude mere sounds... ą: is? you said you love sounds... what's ą? i'll be surprised whether your defence of sounds allows you to make this phonetic encoding resound... it's somewhere lodged between a: moan & an oh...Ą... in defence of sounds... so when written? not much... to look at? almost cubist takes on the aesthetic of spelling... no? hell... that's not even cubist... it's dada... do people still read newspapers? i was going to stash this reply until tomorrow having reread it sober... but then again i like taking the most *******-whipping sort of chances out of good-luck-stupidity because: tomorrow i'll be... like i am today come 12am: sooner dead than living in my prime... of course i love your poem... the superiority of sounds... i am a most probably a male and as a stereotypical male i find closure in using my eyes to their fulll potential... your sounds look b'ah b'ah as words... you can't exactly call them aesthetically appealing? perhaps if they were written in braille... or in katakana... let's see.. well... i can't conjoin two consonants together... there's this XOXO rule in speaking ***., while only N is allowed free-reign and an almost unique status... バ (ba): but here's laughter, i suppose laughter is ha, ha... ha ha, ha (ハ)... you tell me sounds are superior: i abhor rap... how freely sounds trickle forth from the fountain of rap... nonsense at the end of the spectrum of: the sound a door performs when not propaerly oiled: creaking... but i'm too much of a visual creature... i like to see what will prompt me: almost like a thespian... how else, would you ever convene to come together with all resourcefulness, in being so convincing... without an otherwise worth of: predictable script? i like seeing what i'll say... are sounds superior because... they are? undecipherable? close  approximates... there is not infinity of sounds that can't be congested into an encoding... to allow a free-roaming of the cinema of memory to take fold... to be allowed...  ha is a definite article in hebrew: so... depicting laughter in hebrew is like writing: thethethethe... point? the spaniards have it just as bad: jajaja... a pronoun to some: a yes to others... laughter is hardly a mere sound... it's a ****** expression to boot... no?  you know why you're so adamantly in my focus? after this coleslaw of verbiage... i've just spewed... you will return without much: "concern"... after all... you won't be reading a spew... a ****-piece of... tabloid opinion-pressuring... this is a self-critical scoop of observation, though: i know i can write *******-riddled amnesiac squat too... oh look... it TAP... became... TAN... タン... we'd be in on pinched mongol *****... ******* parties and white women ***** guilt reprise... no? gloat as i might: i've heard that... come the 2nd / 3rd generation of interracial breeding? the original "sin" is diluted... that i am drunk and writing this... but... best this tired, old soak... of... ripe... raw. onion... it's not like the Russians would mind... mind you: i once dated a Russian girl who... swear to god... thought it was of being a lesser social class if one donned a suntan... you were a serf for having a suntan... that's the whole lot of 'er... to have this onion turn copper turn auburn... no... suntans were not aligned with her thinking of being of the tsarist Russia.... she also adored petting spiders... and serpents... i was more into... foxes... deer... cats....herding heaps of dung: because: there's no better whiff of air than the scent of a refreshing attire of horseshit, in the morning... now... i've written this much... your "superiority" of sounds still stands... but.. on what? write me smash smash... write me Ao (/) アオ blue... sky then 空 (ソラ).... how feeble sounds are... when staged in the theatre of lettering...  you know how pointless a mandarin sounds? as pointless as... until... the point of revealing his phonetic encoding technique... a sound is a sound is perhaps an echo... i'll end there: i don't need to **** further.

how often do ich allow myself to sing(en)?
how often do ich allow myself tanz!

nüchtern englisch:
               neckerei spleeing zunge
towing a ****'s tow-tied-double
for...

how often do ich allow myself to sing?
how often do ich allow myself tanz?

let the night come:
let me drink! let me sing! let me dance!
let me conquer the crescent of
the moon hunched
sitting on one leg folded
perched on a windowsill!

let me sing in a tongue i want to sing
in: in a tongue that's teasing
what words mean...
but not, quiet...

e.g.

  ein spielmann sah am wege stehn
die hexe habergeiß,
       es sprach die alte: sauf noch ein!
da wards dem spielmann heiß
ein spielmann sah em wege stehn
die hexe habergeiß,
  es sprech die alte: sauf noch ein!
da wards dem spielmann heiß
      der spielmann fing zu laufen an
    in das wirtshaus toll
da sprach der spielmann: sauf noch ein!
füllt mir die gläser voll!
der spielmann fing zu laufen an
   rennt in das wirtshaus toll
           da sprech der speilmann: sauf noch ein!
füllt mir gläser voll!

even now: a crow pecking...
stone stacked above a stone...
a cloud rumbling: echoes of a mountain...
drifting from the pop scythe of
teasing Buddhism...

alles: wie darlehen wörter:
   no longer teasing, bothersome ol'
buddha brainz...
           from almost not 100 years ago...
toward the old... the kind...
the forgiving dead...
    static murk and auburn wood...

from this Babylonian nurt:
   high cosmopolitan when
seeking affectionless consort...
             my crown, my crow...
i wish to sing but... singing is something
beside rhyme when facing
oriental borrowing...
the haiku...

          "we" have been much gratified by
expanding into the Oriental thought
prodding...
   the Mongol Invasion was
a revisionist step for some of "us"...
i write these words like
they they might be self-explanatory
compliments worth of an extension
of someone who doesn't desire to think...

the certainty of death but the wish
to wake up speaking neither
western slavic or english
is tremor... tremendous...
it tremors tremendously...
i hope for a horse:
i'm working for a horse via
a bicycle...
i have no interest in a car, mawn-beel...
or a mobile...
guzzing carbon shrapnel...
fish & toad... prized assets of coronation
worth of gems in a mythological
crown...

ein kork im die flashe: a cork in the bottle:
trouble with drinking wine
when you don't have a corkscrew
readily available in the house...
even at night: esp. at night...
korkenzieher: ich haben nicht:
ich nicht haben...

perfectly european grammar
not ancient Latin-whip-O...
      i have not...
  i not have...
              jaw-dropping Greek & Hebrew
leveraging: intactness...
they almost seem to whisper:
the volcanos sound the same...
the wind too...
and the same oiling of godly bodyparts
that do no resemble
oracles, phalluses or worship of
pyramids / miracles...

******* gloryhole videos...
and you wonder
at all that ******* missing in
the male parts...
while the woman can entertain
****** arousal: only because of them...
and she doesn't require for there
to be a *******..
bad luck(?) solo project
of the... uncircumcised, lot?

     cork in a bottle... the message
is clear... meandering for Emma...
that hierarchical queen
of... hypergamy: the gnome...
yes the frisky clansman & celt: repose...
ginger's argument...
no...
       walking abortions...
otherwise a posteriori:
the men who do not **** /
reproduce...
like ad nauseam: che guaverra
  t-shirts /
           deja vu... ooh dijon?
must be... a mush-****...
tarts and hu-SH-SH are not
exactly, necessary; are they?

if i'm watching a ***** it's on silent...
otherwise it's primarily
the picturesque sunset and sunrises
of giggling ****... wobbling too but
hardly a pint of milk from
those spandex / latex...
    silicon oozing fakes...

or i'm watching... no... i'm listen to *****
without seeing the images...
it's hardly not confusing but
i do remember...
when the two parallels met...
it was a ****** sort of
a magical adventure-land of
a month's worth of a summer
when...
love was leftover and managed
to be predictably soft... pouch-:
m'ah sacrificial lamb sort of: adventurous...

like golgotha was ever everest...
extend that crucifixion scene
armed with... less a wine soaked
sponge...
and an oxygen canister...
the altar of worship while...
to be honest?
the sacrifice is... mediocre...
concerning those who experienced much more...
plus the public spectacle
so it would have come to so much
less than when
having to... entomb a private torture
for some... shy... psychopath...
but out in the open?!
for all to see?

mediocre adventure...  how i tease!
but what isn't mediocre about
***** and crucifix...
staging orders...
summit of the rats!

of eis... of water... of spiegel...
of eisen...
             of beute...
         this mediocre payload...
this almost too iconic suffering...
some came after...
some must have come prior:
with greater magnitude:
and what... he died in... old age?
levelling the soot
of averages?

was denn?! was denn?!
wenn er wohnte zu sterben alt?!
i'm sleeping in englisch...
i die: i hope to spreschen
nichts, aber: diese!

für liebe von leute...
  ich abscheu haben
    klassisch musik-,
                it's not that there are
"too many notes"...
i just abhor the leverage of expectations...
people's names that become resounding
to a noun ascribed to chair...
congested history...
in a democracy:
in a Bolshevik democracy...
this... riddle... the immortal quest...
i gain a hotter **** than you...
my Robespierre...
     return to: that song...
my Charlemagne...
and all frictions return in amass...
i try i try some more: no!
is what's resounding...

               to hell with man and his...
then i'm doubly crushed with
what became of Copernican via
Darwinism and...
again... tridents are a must...
in the squalors of shadows...
    im das elend auf schatten...
                
i'll be waiting in some,
variation of a line a lineage a...
           same old:
   gleich alt...
                    the king and pauper...
before they...
might reclaim status of king
or... pauper...
the fizzying out the fizzle through
when standing before
the altar of
the "other", "last"...
culprit of gott...
        
death, herr tod...
        the equaliser... the democratic pardoner...
alles werden sterben...
        machen speicher in ein kino...
no?
          
       to speak a bilingual version
of english with no other more troubling
desire as to otherwise cling
to mythological zeppelins!
that must be... a troubling artefact.

if i were to pray to god... i don't think i'd would
tease his boredom -
     in islam the adhan: the call to prayer is
heard in the heavens... but the prayers aren't...
the church bells are heard...
perhaps even when a choir of castratos sings...
but never that ******* of credo mumbling
and "confessions"... it's not teasing the vanity...

well... yes... god... nothing too personal...
       it's hard to imagine anything of nothing...
the sober, scientific, objective: ex nihil...
        out of nothing - i'd wish...
then we'd all have the properties of stones and trees
and a that sort of adapted consciousness
of: never born with legs... with will...

to me: something from nothing...
      the sober, mature, scientific approach...
yes... but i don't think about a higher power...
i think about an invigorating force...
                    something to propose momentum...
something that concerns us to debate
whether free will exists... but enough of that...

there's still work to be done in the garden...
all the stumps are out...
          had to come the day where i'd heal
the earth by letting her breathe...
    which involved digging her up...
doing a pancake with her... then getting a fork
and twisting her into little pieces...
about half a meter of decent earth...
before the clay would appear...
in clay... you won't be finding any earthworms
at these depths... half to a meter in...

well... who needs to go to the gym...
when you can garden...
it's a bit like... if you ever ****** wearing
a ******... and when you haven't...
the only real ****** comes when...
    you send some mail of would-be sputniks...
shame though... if...
she is lying about taking contraceptives...
for that "one and only" moment of life's tick
list...
                   fizzle fizzle out past...
but a few hours spent wearing gloves...
and it's numbing... when working with earth...
sure... you're using a shovel
a fork etc. -
but when you can't feel the earth...
it's a bit like that ****** sensation...
         should it matter to a man not circumcised?
hardly... it's enough of a bother to pull
the **** thing back and choke
whittle richard's heard into a proud plum...

but then to feed the naked hand to the earth...
one of those many other substitutions
for the hide & seek zenith of ***...
   in a shower... pouring water...
onto the neck and just above the occipital bone...
a less protruding occipital bone...
well... designation?! ******!
wow... just like that... i can whip-up
a venom... it's carboxylic acid mingling
with some ebola leftovers...
                                                    ­      em...
preferred temp. of the water...
approx. 4 - 5 degrees celcius beneath room temperature...
not cold cold...

"not enough ***"... or no *** at all...
         learning from the octopus...
                               8 things planned...
           i planned that trip to the brothel...
a little bit too late...
now there's the garden...
                   and there's that period of evening...
can it just be as simple as...
a glass of scotch... some pepsi max...
some jazz: but not too much - i don't really want
to think... blues would be great...
but it has become a period piece...
              like a jane austen adaptation...
a belgravia... something from charles dickens...
something simple like:
alice in chains - man in a box
down - stone the crow
danzig - 1000 devils reign...
                            
                 so yeah... god... prayers...
i still like to attach thought to what would...
better be a tongue for a brain
or a brain for a tongue and at least 7 aeons
of silence...
                    prayer or mumble...
i can't see no advantage...
  i'd pray by crying when finding something
beautiful...
i'd pray by dancing and screaming
when finding something more than the sort
of beauty that'd mobilise my heart to
quench its thirst... needing my sweat...
more than my tears...
and i'd pray... by walking into a dark forest
at night... strip half naked and scream
and growl and return the beast to the father
of the night... force my mouth into
fallen leaves and turn this mouth of mine
into a snout to forrage for mushrooms...
once... near Harlow - Essex...
i did just that... upon the break of dawn...
took a bottle of bourbon with me
and ate... a lilac coloured mushroom...

    how did i end up walking from Romford
through to Harlow in the night?
i remember i had about 6 beers...

prayer... yes...
       well i was "praying"... for an unusually cold
April...
my fridge is broken and it's not making
any more ice-cubes...
it would be super handy for me to be able
to leave a bottle of scotch and a bottle
of p' max or c' zero on the roof just
outside of my window...
   walking up and down the stairs come
the ungodly hours of 2am: i really don't want
to rouse the cats...

cabbage - plastic - playdough -
       some flour an egg a tbs of oil and water -
to live without... a categorical impetus -
other that: in times of the most dire needs...
to explore the endless avenues
of what can come from:
an absolute informality of language -
a metaphor and apostrophe
followed by a colon -
                            
      a fusion of impetus - this current climate
of gardening and what's... probably
the justifying what is happening:
not much... besides...
        
                               i wouldn't be thinking
of *** being on the menu -
wordsworth's celibacy -
                       japanese girls attired
in mannequin bodies with porcelain eyes
and... that skin of unblemished tinge...
something had to be forever uninviting...
or better still...
              it had to be leveraged...
other outlets had to be fathomed...
                    nothing of what might be bemoaned
should the crux of dragging ghosts
and regrets all chained up: into
dreamworld and some other circus frenzy...

to rub ones hands ferociously against
bricks before the luxury of touching a body
was revelled in.... it had to be...
*** and disney...
                          then the distillation process
of culmination could homage me...
as... allowing a flow of water...
or whiskey turned into lemonade when
the erotica of taking a ****
was like all the genital parts included
for her treating the unshelled oyster to queen's
cringe...

a... oddly weird cooling... a very... cool april...
anything to stop this...
it always sounds more **** when it's
an epidemic...
pandemic is hardly something to get all
hot and bothered about...
                                 god's sneeze...
                          and all that omni-
                                            prefix litany...
it's truly the most secured claustrophobia to
think of: gifting to later be grieving...
when at best: the magical finger tripped
up schumacher when skiing...

     or... some other spontaneity...
                              if ever some hegel...
i hardly think i'll live to read the phenomenology
of spirit...
   i've skimmed through the lecture notes
that inspired marx: the philosophy of right...
lecture notes... not even aphorisms...
not even maxims... lecture notes *******
a marx and...
     i'm not even going to bother...
claustrophobia...
dealing with both the marxist ideologues
as is the case with dealing with darwinist ideologues...

no god for a sense of:
no imagination... as long ast the facts can be
distributed and well regurgitated...
does it matter?

all that i can pour into "its" existence is my thought...
humble i, bring a stone before the altar
of the pyramid...
that i know of the "other" pronoun...
in greek... that's: θ(ought) i?!

by then it's already too late... the key has already
been inserted into the lock...
and has been turned...

                    margaret cirko, 35...
               $35,000 dollars worth of fresh food...
gone to waste... in pennsylvania...
and here they are... keeping me on a schizophrenic
leash!
i guess it's true then:
the madmen will lead the blind...
perhaps i only have one eye left in me...
i just watched a morse code wander the sky
that had to be feeding something my
unconscious could desipher...
the facade of consciousness that bears
the burden of the foetus and the stone stood
ground... my eyes didn't melt from
the exalted...

                    but i'm starting to think...
really? the crucifixion is... the epitome exit?
for a demigod? what about...
left hanging on a meathook...
                     for days... with the insertion
under the chin...
or with hands tied... having ultra-******
performed between the coccyx and the ****
when pretending to be the candle imitation
while the hands are tied: screaming the toll...
for the entry into gamorrah...
cherbu honey cherub honey for the old man
magritte: charon... das ist ein kamin!

no?             the treachery of images...
hold me stochholm syndrome prone when it comes
to... the treachery of words...
outside of the realm of nuance, ridicule...
and the thesaurus...
outside the realm of those that
will not clear the way for etymology
to replace archeology...
and of those who will not worship slang!
slang the... not the emoji hierogylphic statures
of: to escape the skeletons of
within and the past...
to turn the O(micron) into a ******* smiley :)!

hegel: master and servant...
    well... anti-hegel...
the parasite... and the host...
          the master is the parasite...
call it the fruition of 1960s intellectuals dabbling
in buddhism...
or... who is the master?
the master is apparent right now...
the middle-men... of work that can be done
from home... so...
what's the need to... commute... to subsequently
and "somehow"... "work"?
arbeit macht frei... "this" and "that"...
that's... work?!

   if you can work from home...
now... currently... how much of work is exacted
to pretend to be the architectural imprints
of power dynamics - verbiage:
and verbiage is all you're going to get!
i know the peacocks when i see them...
peacocks will verbiage tinge this sort
of "logic" as they'd call it...

macht frei... arbeit...

       a terrible slogan for the people who will
nonetheless butcher the meat...
skin it, prep it...
            but then we have...
i don't even know a windowlicker or a ******...
stupid or just evil...
        perhaps just a ****** frustration
"oops"...
             or one of those never to happen
celebrated abortions...
a margaret... cirko... 35...
honestly... the crucifix?
   i'm thinking... meat-hooks and pikes...
less worth for a worth of emblem when supposedly
left hanging...
more like: a dangling tooth...

that what i think of when and otherwise
schizophrenics are blamed...
for when everyone takes it: supposedly:
more easily...
                                       this is not something
a psychotic person would do...
nor a windowlicker ******...
    dumb evil...
                        woman evil...
           you almost wish to lacerate that sort
of behaviour... to the point where...
she wouldn't be able to squat to take a ****...
no... seriously... we should take better care
of your down syndrome retards...
given what the: glorious free spirited man
has to offer: anti-government blah blah!

she should be put in a cage... for
baboons to spit and **** at...
   and she should be given a diet of...
how's that caugh?
     good? phelgmatic? roughage?
good... eat your cough then!
             and locked up... like the myth
of the beheaded cockroach living for up
to two weeks and finally dying of starvation...
i'm guessing the genesis came with...
andrei chikatilo... or that batman quote:
perhaps he's wondering why someone would
shoot a man... after putting him in a prison cell?
brain head: tick tick...
  but the old ticker is still working...
this atheistic mr. ape grand finale of...
                                christine chubbuck...

brain dead ≠ the body is dead...
Kafka: stab at the heart...
what idiot took pride in hollywood when
distancing himself from suicide with
brain injuries...
oh sure... the brain dies... so much for all those
cucumber people of the comatose worldview...
all those... on life support...
looks like the "last clue":
the "labyrinth" can exist in a pickle jar...
switched on... and off...
at long as that... butchers' meat retains
it's... rhythm...

retards... widnwolickers...
does someone with down syndrome "suffer"?
personally... i think they're very much oblivious
to their afflication...
it's not about burning witches...
it's about... stamping out an egoism
that would hardly think about...
retaining the last dripping of water...
the last crumb of bread...

          if i were a ******...
i'd be keeping a down syndrome hulk...
like in mad max: master blaster...
hell: keeping a leech as... pretending it to be a tatoo
seems more worthwhile than...
all those save africa hunger ******* worth
whacking slogans...
   did margaret cirko work for some sort of...
save africa and hunger...
                                          charity?!

if­ my words aren't trivial... compared to what she did?
then money: does indeed grow on treets...
let's pluck some and cough into a bundled
up ball of $1 banknotes!

and... keep it rollin'! rarely will i lose my temper...
but some things are worth forgiving...
repenting over...
hell... at this point every other albert fish...
and every jeffrey dunham jr.
sounds more appealing to talk to...
at least either of them... wouldn't be found...
a marathon distance's length of having
just wasted $35,000 worth of food...
in hell: keep to having cain's offspring
as your company...

i really don't know what... "it"...
of any sensibility of man...
provided the ***** and the vacuum of body
for a surrogate: clearly there was no mother involved...
perhaps she's the first child of
that wunderbarpakt
of der: zweivati?!
                     she's the first child of "surrogates"...
she is the first child of two *******
homosexual partenting schemes?!
makes you wonder...

again: lasso an oops of the cut-off where...
this becomes... virus isolation wasn't enough...
people had to designate themselves
into making politics out of everything;
again...

police! police! the thought! oh god!
the words! oh mein gott!
  police! police! ****! he's gauging out mein augen!
he borrows some german! natz-tee!
i used kinder words governing wood...
i did make-up a replacement to
the ritual surrounding tequilla drinking...
i called him a black cracovite...

slick lick of lemon? you sure...
you're smoking a cigarette...
you're agitate... some ash lands on your hand...
you lick it off... that's your new salt...
you're in galicia... which is not silesia...
you don't have tequilla you have *****...
you lick the ash off your hand...
down the *****...
oh ****... where's the bite?
you're not familiar with lemons...
but you are familiar with peppercorns...
so you bite 3 to 4 down...

there you go... a translation of the ritual
associated with tequilla...
the black cracovite... *** lesson number one...
or no *** lesson number two...
they have their precious israel...
don't they?
i best give my... incantations...
again: is that a transliterate chasm...
of finding enough syllable pauses
to read some deutsche?
perhaps... when translated into
english... and retaining their chemical
names...

                hyphen as conjunction...
to better read: ol' wolf says...
carbo-xylic...                     de-...
               of many more deeds to come...

Solomon will not arrive in time...
and there was no sort of David in your time
of reign: since the last one...
to begin with... but you do have...
clarification as being the inspiration
for the creation of the Mosad and the ***...
so... cuddos... bravo!
let's hear a ******* encore!

sorry... i can't have them "jumbled" up...
the dead sea scrolls refer to the end of the old testament...
the fate of isiah... the courtesan prophet...
disembolwed... cut in two...
that's one...
the dead sea scrolls are not...
the nag hammadi library... that's two...
josephus ben matthias... the false prophet...
egypt... and from egypt...

this wound is most certainly bleeding...
put more pressure on it...
the more chances of negation...
esp. from the scientific couldron of the society...
the dead sea scrolls are not
the nag hammadi library...

it echoes in the claudron...
of but a single eye shared among...
6 plucked out...
to deafen the wind that combs the woods...
and the branches that find flutes
in their hollowing out worth... of...
rattle...

                   i always wondered...
gloryhole *******...
         the imitation *****... beig soiled in
all that.. would be sponge-leeches
and liquidated butter?
        the **** of all worth of ****
with the extending umbrella *****...
and... the business of ******* was not
to sell the frolicking ambitions of...
merely a 0.01% of the... base attentions
and wants of... the nymphomaniacs?

look at us... lowly... poorly equipped peasants...
bowing before a Elizabeth Bathory...
how feeble our needs to attain
to merely warmth... to counter the cold...
to merely hunger... to counter crumbs...
how feeble our wants...
oh my pardon oh my rotting mind...

               what sort of theatre would allow...
what we digest in private?
i'd love to see ***** be made more... public...
it doesn't need to be this solitary endeavour...
just like...
this revision of grammar by the transgender
lobby... gender neutral pronouns...
what about fwench? where nouns
cannot be: gender neutral?!
what... then?!
    a chair is a male...
whether or not a chair is male when a man
speaks about it...
or whether or not a chair is a female when
a woman speaks about it...

this... transgender communism or attempting
to revise grammar...
sorry... no... can you revise
1 + 1 = 2 instead?
i'd gladfly give up my prowess in arithmetic...
i... won't be, though...
so easily swayed off the throne
of grammar...

  this isn't even my ****** ingrained
language... it's acquired! why should i care what
the natives and their...
sacred siblings of the holocaust of sanctity
do with it?!
   watch me...

                here's me... gladly giving away
the reins!

             of the people: for... the people!
a true democracy... one voice lost among the many...
and the many... voices...
somehow focused upon that one...
lost in the wilderness... somehow...
for no reason... being heard...
i'd call 20+ a class dismissed...
which is what Pythagoras had...
hey-zeus' devil's dozen of 12: him included...

thinking big is beside the point
with what's apparent... when starting small...
i dismiss the value of large congregations
of people...
outright... nothing is ever said...
while everything else is merely overheard...
i want to measure the size of my foot:
i'm told to weigh my liver
and my moral quest!

even among poetry...
this language is so... formal...
there is null of a concern for a cipher...
everything is just so... "required"...
ignoble and numb...

it's hardly a rhomus: darlin'...
nor a pola dotted bohemia ****...
so what's it; dear honey ****-squeech-p'ooh?
oh... one of those...
daddy issues?
i have mommy issues:
never stopped me ******* ******
like a trojan cohort...
or the devil... with vampirism h.i.v. worms...

or a bit of the smiths calling me deaf...
whenever you started plasyinf 65days of static...
because... me and you and the romance
of radiohead's kid a...
anything: the bends... and the chissick wonderkid...
o.k. computer with windows '98...
but not... vanilla sky and kid alzheimer's...
type 0 negative...
                    
         i'll ask again: what's 70cl of whiskey
to a juggernaut?
                       a sly slip of the tongue...
a lick of this sort of concentration
of a waiting ice-cube... brother:
it better start melting!

                    in my head: there is a god...
but there's also an iron maiden...
i can't can't... oh yes i can...
make them into a matrimony!
   there's reaching the clasy of London
beneath half a meter of revised soil...
there are... these earthworms...
these phoneic brides akin to...
you cut one in half...
it pretends to be the dead:
the brain and the Brian that's all mouth...
to think... the digestion of sand breeds
the oesophagus that's waiting to be
blopd tinged...

       retards recovered: come treefingers...
or hugging... a birch tree...
as suggested by a... later than usual...
self-employed cabby... all from radiohead's kid A...
no... not from 65 days of static...
that sort of pristine retardation is
reserved for aliens and angels...

we do have to make it inclusive that...
margaret... cirko (35... pennsylvania)
is one of "us"... good god that sort of a "riddle"
with people having made it necessary to..
"opt out"...
god forbid living among such retardations
to be claiming the stature of faking
normies...

               waking: optimistic...
                here's to me later on bound
to limbo... and shy conversations about...
what's not to have shy conversastions of...
kept... cushioned and proud and...
sly and: workaholic.... insomiac...
but never... alcoholic enough to spawn...
the lost remains of the brute of silence...
the truth-sayer of the toothache...

this... best kept in german...
     diese taubheit...
           diese schattenlos mondlicht...
diese: gebet auf mitternacht!
                                      all this... under a shroud of english...
for... a... toothpick of german...
the zeppelin... and the blitz...
all... for the made thespian... pristine...
to sharpen the edges of hollywood...

      für einz! ich war auf zweck!

"misplaced" german... always the first...
even citing it...
fiddles with details of leather...
and boots, and belts...
and all those unconscious b.d.s.m. fetishes...
and long live evita... and argentina...
and fascists in brazil...
israel: the wall: palestine...
      
i love it! what's to be expected?!
a cosmopilitan... that's what!
*** and the city feminism...
pride on oats regret!
if i see anything less...
i won't be listening to ststic x's
black & white...

once upon a time i would look into the mirror
with a... curiosity of water...
sometimes i'd turn on the tap...
sometimes i'd block the plughole...
sometimes i looked at the "drowning" man
as a lake... sometimes as a river...
sometimes i'd come back with
concepts of time...
sometimes i'd come back with
concepts of: what if music didn't exist...
i'd cite no music at all...
but the comparison of the sound
of falling rain on a tin roof...
or on an umbrella... or in a heavily
leafy forest against the... snares...
   all that for a monotone crescendo...
that... if listened closely...
could spit out an A♯ and all the other
black notes...
                    that is, indeed, too intricate
and overbearing with detail...
but then a paragraph by Dickens really...
all those Victorian excuses for
keeping the language as cordial as possible...
never mind the archaic and obsolete
terms like... nearing celeriac...
yes... indeed...
                 ce-le-ri-ty:
                       swiftness...
etymology: via French celerite -
evidently from Latin: celeritas / -tatis...
                            celer (also latin): swift...
back to the mirror...
but only today...
      occupied by a mirror in a supermarket lift...
and all that could become about
from a trial and run period of...
the Chinese were never to be the Mongols...
there was never a horde... coming...
not from behind that wall...
not from under their overtly complex
ideograms that would be chewed and spat
out as nothing more than Li Po:
syllables: because... who the hell could
have heard of the concept of letters
in this Mars upon this Earth?
            that they: SHua and SHea
and CHow a lot...
                           or... this is what Ezra Pound
could have forgotten...
     ยิ้ม (which is in thai... yummy yim...
because of beijing and ****)...
                     wei-xia(o) - better in cantonese...
mei-siu...
             :) when borrowing
egyptian hierogylphs to steal some owl,
sparrow... cenobite from the chinese...
it's almost staggering how they didn't conjure
up pyramids of architecture...
instead: just a plain ******* roof...
this is a dog: こう
                   yep... here's the dog: 구
and here's the barking: woof woof! ワン

you're telling me... that the chinese could...
become the sort of empire the mongols
carved out?
and how long... before they could...
start breeding their slaves and lackeys...
who could understand them...
or read what they would have to necessarily
write?
         looks pretty in that mandarin...
but back in latin: gou... jugou...
              it's not like they could... or would...
because infiltrating this labyrinth of:
and only coming back with the primitive
latin of lady gaga... all those strokes for a syllable
and no letter...
there much be a dictionary of strokes...
an Ab - Ba
             Ac - Ca - but not really...
                  just in case anyone might need
to be reminded: Xi Lo and Li Po and Xi Jinping...
there is gold in the yellow river...

anyways... i ramble on like any self-respecting
european does: the power of perception
and the subsequent fictions / narratives...
just as important as the facts... of geometric rigour...
anything outside their realm is
either fake news or equal to the Valentinian heresy...

you can't move this sort of a literary
backage and turn it into a body of water of men
and horses bows and arrows and steel...
not with those sort of phonetic encoding...
which is why... the Mongols are currently
resurfancing with their old alphabet...
i dare say i can't imagine what it could
possibly look like... not the sort of crude
Thai... when compared to the genius-head
of mandarin, by comparison?
                 but if you're trying to... "wage war"...
and all you have is...
the proverb: the chinese would merely
have to march to conquer us...
you wouldn't even have enoug bullets...

        well then... atomic bombs are crescendo
pieces... they don't really sell more guns...
just brooms, shovels, bricks and cement...
and a hunger for licking eternal shadows
of the eternal sun of boom...

a minor haitus from mammalian pride...
   this little gremlin has learned the oldest
trick in the book...
   it will mutate and probably not evolve
to gain a proper mouth with teeth
and a tongue... or a leverage of a limb...
but all that cosmopolitan pride: mammalian...
the graces of writing a letter...
the bestowed angelic choir when wining
and dining...
the virus... and the bottleneck pressure
of the hive...
   the glorious mammal... having to...
look more closely at the little gremlin...
i see no symptom: of lilac mushrooms growing
out from under armpits and between toes
filled with killer toxic ****...
     the ant, the former ape...
the hive...

                           you are most certainly
a mammal and ape and all that comes with
darwinistic ideology...
but... smell it? it's not fear... it's not panic...
it's: a precautionary lullaby...
i agree: it's not quiet a hive...
a hive is a concentration of gravity...
this is still but a herd... much difference
to be grasped: between a herd...
and a hive...

                a herd might as well roam...
a hive: nests...
sending out its most potent examples to ward
of intruders...

   or there are two languages: there's the formal
and the informal...
but there's also all that beauty in...
what's to be said: readied for rhetoric...
and one to be: thought about...
                      theta-omicron-upsilon-gamma"eta"tau...
clearly there's no borderline number
of a letter of spelling that's a H(atch) in
greek... less so when is comes to ψ
and the passive π  with an otherwise silverback
"alpha male" of... "sickly steve": σ...
old as a solipsistic **** (the grateful dead...
st. stephen)...

    or if i were chinese... i wouldn't really require...
the distinction...
since... i'd have to burden myself with
the tools akin to chopsticks... or if i was really...
really sadistic... and tiger mommy...
two toothpicks and a mountain of dry rice...
to... allign into a straight line...
take your pick!

but it must be the hong kong fashionista trend...
it must be... wearing surgical masks...
when... going "shopping" for some woodchips
and whiskey?
i'm giving my hands a baptism in the earth...
i'm gardening... spring cleaning of the house
has taken... extreme... transcendent meanings...
but at least i'm not doing what was
otherwise done: doughnuts and blockjobs
and netflix binging...

mind you: i must have been deserving to...
finally get around to reading some Dickens...
this is not a parody...
a parody would be...
            Mabel - don't call me up...
singing live at the Brit awards...
              and the most important vestige of
anything that matters happened today...
two crows were foraging the lawn for
an equivalent of carboot oddities...
the odd twing 'ere... the odd twing v'er...
ever wonder why...
you will never see crows...
fill the whole scene with a sense of ****?
all the time... the ***** pigeons...
was good sure... that those feathers shouldn't
come off and the niqab should be attired?

i too am waiting for a miracle...
a muslim woman wearing a niqab all in white...
then again... where's my imagination...
concerning ******* gloryholes and
b.d.s.m. thrills! michael jackson's: ye-he!
yes... no lasso with that plump iceberg of
juicy beef... but it's there for the taking...

and that i drink... of course... that 35cl shot is...
there's more need for spontaneity than rhyme...
all this is hardly my kind work of edit...
where is rhyme in either frank o'hara or charles
bukowski...
it's not even waiting for a hint of inspiration...
it's: chicken scratches... and scratches...
and then... wow!
magic... a rhyming couplet at worst!

allure of last night...
    i can clarify...
                   i'm less enchanted by a fear of the "evil"
man... at there's a purpose and foremestly: a resolve
involved...
   a chaotic purpose of will...
which... even if the evil deed is willed...
is suddenly dispersed into the realm of phenomena
and chance and gambling and...
"darwinism"...
       the truly man can be forgiven...
in tha consequences of what comes...
alongside the arbitrary...
         but this leeching middle-man...
              the "fox"...
                     the ***** hands that forget
to sense a mind for a worth of soap...
  the peculiar mundaneity of horror bound
to the everyday scrupules of:
keeping up expectations...
that worst form of acting: lying without gravitas...
and a stage... and a purposively alligned
audience for the part... always prescripted for
the awaiting encore galore!
                   3rd party associates of evil...
the evil that simply... "asleep" or... "associated with"...
that sort of *******...
just shreds... the hopes of Cain seeking redemption
as a nomad... hostile: outcast...
just like his father... Adam...
              
                 Adam was cast out...
Cain bit the second apple of Abel... blah blah...
simple arithmetic of images...
the ***** of Siberia: one might conjure up...
with the devil's dozen of wolves of Blagoveshchensky
district...

yes... and at this point in time:
rather than history... history will always provide
the allure of studying human affairs...
time: like... fire... like water...
like earth and its geology...
   is the... given that lightning is the...
allure of the Faraday's fire... blitz-krieg...
me this language and a happy family!
ha! ah ha ha!
me this language and... peacocking in
a nightclub... out-takes from a *****-flick...
one *****-stars playfully ****-gags another...
the one being gagged is responsive
to the joke that begins and ends with...
the punchline... an oasis of the vernacular:
BA-NA-NA...
           toast! here's to me trying my rupture
of an artery in the phallax formation
with an ingestion of some...
spandex ballet... a ****** and a bass woo
of a barry white...

       like: "oops" was supposed to presuppose
the grand event of... the big bang...
"bang" a concept so devoid of meaning
when being introduced to a vacuum of... time
has to be an element... akin to fire...
akin to water... air and earth...
and... Prometheus didn't exactly steal...
a lightnig bolt... did he?
he didn't exactly steal an atom heatwave from
Chernobyll... did he?

- but only now...
              time... mythology: too much time has
passed... and there's a geological layering
of furthering the will of man...
and the recycling of paper...
time... history: bookworms more or less:
"there"...
time... journalism...
                and the self-employed free agents
of time... "poo'ets"...
               at least...
what "standing out of" all time... and space?
time i can can understand...
but space?
here's me standing outside of all space:
a bullet-point...                                           ).(
   and (.)           ****... how about...
the exclamation marker                               !
or the question mark                 ?
sure as ****... these would require the "diacritical"
mark of distinction more than
i which is already an I so can be ı
j which is already a J so can be ȷ
but the ! and ?
                            well...

mirror mirror on the wall... poor sam...
      Dickens would have someone swap
their Vs for the Ws and vice versa...
             if it wasn't poor Sam... the shoe-shiner...
and some other vague shadow personage...
but let's assume i have an IQ of 100+ and
i can keep up with a victorian text...
for this poor some swapping his Vs for his Ws...
comes up with... a breakdance of...
latin via: amicus curiae and...
                ad captandum...
            standing outside of all time... and space...
looks like heidegger's hammer
had a precursor...
     a shoeshiner had all these...
maxim prefixed readily available rhetorical pivots...
to shut people up: if they were being
too... "inquisitive"...
well outside of time... hardly...
if there are pockets of space that are somehow
synonyms with each other...
and that before time is given a linear: "forwrd"
it has a period of: "jumping" to-and-fro...
of being glued and at the same time
wanting to be... glued in a diluted sense
of the word...

it must be a Hong Kong catwalk summary...
before long i was much younger...
20 (circa)... now that i'm 30 (circa)...
and there's this surgical mask hiding my face
but still exposing the beard and the puffy rinds
that do encrust the eyes to peep...
well...

it had to become apparent...
the old curiosity of water is... driftwood...
now i stand before the mirror and
puncture the skin for the long "lost" embryos
of Beelzebub's jist: jazz: jizzom...
cuckload of fly ***** of maggot on my face
in the form of acne...
           there was once the sort of inquiry
an antonym of my specimen could share with me...
and be attracted to...
now i use the mirror for only one purpose...
hardly me about to romance a vampire
and... "disappear"...
but the surgical mask helps...
i don't see a quasimodo...
i see a furnace of a Frankenstein's adam
with pupils of coal and an iris of fire
to peer at and with...

                            whatever a god might have
cursed me with... i'll add salt...
then i'll add the vinegar...
  then i'll sprinkle some sand on the "wounds"...
and later call it:
the crackle of cement before the moans
of mud...
            
***** pigeons... always with the ***** pigeons...
it ends with ***** pigeons...
and of all of them... the spectacle of being
rejected...
i'm guessing... the clarity of rook morality...
being akin to the morality / NOBILITY
of swans...
                 since you will not see them...
eagerly displace their courtship... in the plain sight
of day...
    the rook and the swan...
will you ever see the nightly troubles of keeping...
a... vested interest in surrogate motherhood...
in surrogate fatherhood...
in the widower swan?

                                        as fallen as i am...
there are most certainly more noble creatures
abiding in my exfoliating noun terminology of verbs:
like attaining the halo of a manicure...
rather than... random beating with a beak
a... clue to how wings do not translate as arms...
oh that perpetual hunchback of:
grace with flight... but bowing before every step
of a walk... that man admires the flight of birds...
but cannot see... all... well...
who cannot excuse the jitters of hopping sparrows...
the gift of flight... but being humbled when curious
about nails... gravity... and earth and... rotations...
of heliocentric grandeours!

language: otherwise known as the swedish banquet
table for peacocks... baboons and...
lipsynch.      parrots! joe wooden leg in tow!
joe wooden leg... bartanblondine was asking for a
"whittle talk" with a barbarossa...

just saying.

while making strawberry gelato...

i don't think i ever heard anything this beautiful...
well... vaughan williams'
fantasia on a theme by thomas tallis...
there must have been some other song
that allowed me to cry...
cry? perhaps mourn... mourn beauty...
something so beautiful should only be
wept at...
perhaps there was some other song...
but it's hard to take your pick of tear-jerkers
from the classical music scene...
******* Bach and his polyphonic layer-cake!
it's such a technical music:
it's music that could be written by
deaf people!
oh wait... Beethoven!
Bach's supposed revolutionary act just
destroyed melody...
as much as i like the genre i'm not going to
champion in...
jazz too doesn't get away so easily...
listen to it i might: but feel it: i don't...
i needed to go deeper... further back...
as far back as... the medieval times...
hell... on the cusp of... crusader chants of
the Templars... or to pagan Scandinavia!
- but i have found a contender to put
vaughan williams' fantasia to rest...

el cant de la sibil·la catalunya...
           montserrat figueras
    la capella reial de catalunya
                                                   jordi savall...

even if the music seems... "seems"? i only had
to find out that jordi savall is still alive!
alive... a "contemporary"...
that's the other song that could usurp
vaughan williams' fantasia!

   ola gjeilo - northern lights!

  here we go! back to chanting... melody!
no need to complicate matters...
Schumann or Schubert? Schumann...
wait... i always get those two wrong...
but enough with the Mahler complications!

jeez... jordi savall is still alive...
well... isn't his interpretation on the cantos
of the sibyl of Catalonia a real thrill...
has my tears...
once more! music that makes you feel:
you escape the sensible drudgery of
objectivity and thinking!
to the rawness: the pulp of the heart!
it is nearing a year since someone dear
to me passed away...
today was the first time i managed to thirst
for tears...
prior to? i smashed my head against
the radiator and replied to the inquiry party:
well... this puddle of blood?
it seemed easier to bleed than to cry...
then again... i don't think i was crying
from grief...
death being so: consistent... let alone a constant...
i cry at beauty... authentic beauty chokes me...

music that makes you write something
in Danish!
i don't speak Danish... i suppose all of this
is in the confines of English grammar:

jeg græd: hvordan kan du ikke?
sådan skønhed er altid så en ydmygende sorg...

music that makes you want to drink!
makes you want to drink well into the night!

medieval music... music that's everything
that Bach strived to invent:
music written by complicated deaf & blind men...
music that's like... eating a steak tartar...
or a Turkish lavash...
who would have thought that rosemary
works so well with beef...
or that Turks appreciate the onion so much...
all it takes for the "salad": garnish of the lavash...
it tenderising the onion by squeezing
it to get the juices flowing...
some lemon juice... some salt...
some sugar... pepper... oil...
parsley... sumac... but i also add some
gochugaru...

       beef and rosemary?
i want to be drunk with my lack of ambition...

- with no immediate: yet not lacking in
immediacy: concern...
i do not venture to give collapse to the modern
man's debacle...
as a revisionist... not a reformist...
two labels i like to contest...
it begins... and ends with a critique of music...

the urban sphere is lost...
to the African rhythms and the Asiatic grooves...
hollow out the horns!
i pass these landscapes like i might pass
a tomorrow...
it doesn't change: i am expected to find
the congregation of the whole world
on these shores...
such a crushing defeat of the senses...

i ought to take that prospect of
£50 for a massage from an Asian woman
than... cough up...
£120 for the same hour of *******
and... "proper" eye contact while engaged
with her... genitals to genitals...

i can't bemoan a land that isn't my own...
i can't bemoan a land that isn't my own...
as much as i have acquired
the tongue: i feel a desire to find a home
elsewhere... it wouldn't be the tongue of
my birth... forget Russian...
i tease the German root...
somewhere... else... among the Danes...
but i know the answer already:
i'd sleep best among the Franks...

ha! to speak Russian implies to first write
the ****** version of Greek...
Cyrillic looks just... blatantly awkward...
it seems to be having "problems" with
the lowercase representation
of the uppercase letters...
Cyrillic looks like... ahem: cheap-Greek...
makeshift-Greek...

i.e. you think some people are... sparring
with you: engaging you with...
nukes & submarines & ****...
you aim at the soul...
their language... &... pay them a compliment...
or two... because Cyrillic looks...
by comparison to Greek...

a bit like watching a sacrificial...
Germanic type... mythological blonde...
being sacrificed on an altar of a *******...
take it to: retro... *******: gloryhole...
last time i checked: i did not wish to fulfil
all that's offered to me, by my sexuality...
last time i checked... my mind informed me
something on the lines of:
let's conjure up a... hammer!
& a nail!

            is gelato "somehow" superior to...
ice-cream?
sure as ****... stir-fried: it's easier
to make... l'inglese... beating egg yolks
for a freezing of custard...
but... gelato you make and eat immediately...
ice-cream is perfect for storage...

- i know i will drink this bourbon tonight
and regret two things...
tomorrow's hangover and tonight's:
not have visited a brothel...
warming up to a woman like
a Spartan 300...
all i have is... Gregorian chants
in my ears... i guess... that's enough...
& a squinting of the eyes...
like: i'm supposed to see any better
what is already lost to this
old soul...

- but a language i can, try... & defend...
but do i really want to?
so much & yet so little...
i'm living among these people while wanting
to speak the language of people
not willing to invite themselves to these
shores...

jeg elske: som langt som jeg afsky: mig selv...
all those crippling components
that are supposed to make the: fullest:
of man... myself: my?! my?! perhaps... with-self
ought to be the better pardoning...
but i dare not even have that?

no-i says... can't keep this outdated marriage
of language in place...
conflated the ego: conscripted the self:
to no one's ease!

such people as they are: come-and-go...
           such little ought... befalls them...
no crippling nothing-vacuum
of presence: "thinking"...
        nuance! forever with the *******
nuances! it's not enough that
the dead are dead... have died:
it's not not enough the living are still...
worst than somehow sleeping
through their hour of waking...
when someone might ask them to
snooze... a little... a lot: i ask!

don't implore me to write:
it ought to be a slaughterhouse sort of a...
an... assortment...
it ought to be made... clinially:
critical... precise"
don't ask me to write these words!
i want to have a wife...
a child... children!
stay up till midnight
to make ice-cream for them... for breakfast...

al dette tid!
    but no one to spend it with!
if regrets were all i wrote:
hvis beklager
                     var al jeg skrev...

in mein: tilting Ing-Leash...
so many... so many people here!
i want to escape to my roots!
to my rot!
      i want to feel hot: when i feel:
subsequently cold!

the cats are... happy... i must tend to them:
proper... i eat... 200grams of beef
from time to time...
they eat... the eat amount:
if they eat the said amount...
don't blame me... if they don't eat it
and i throw the meat away...

i write in English... everyone else seems
to write, speak... this... pulverised... this...
horrid, tongue...

der taler det?! alle sammen?!
      all men: thus... summoned...
upon an... implosion! i don't want to know!

i gathered... i gathered...
i... drink like a sailor...
i sing like a nun!  noted... noted...
it's all down in my usual flurry of escapades
that need... noting:
i drink like a sailor... i sing like a nun!

i wish i was sober when i wrote: everything
it is... that i wrote...

what the hell is happening... i've just put in a 12 hour shift...
well...
getting picked up at 9:45am at a Covid vaccination
centre... woke up at 7:30am... drank a coffee smoked two
cigarettes... brought in Saturday's newspaper...
****** off proper at around 9am for the meeting...
managed to get another coffee and a sausage egg muffin
from McDonald's, smoked another cigarette...
slightly hangover, but most certainly pampered myself
with some stuff... after having taken a shower...
bubble-gum on the ready after having brushed my teeth
like a dentist:
- garnier body intesive care cream on my face,
   hands, the nether-regions, feet...
- diesel, fuel for life, two hits of the spray
   on the area below my beard and smeared across my collar
   bone,
- avon skin so soft, airbrush spray on the face,
- nzuri argan oil on hair & beard...
- then some style expertise wax 04
(flexible hold) so your hair still looks naturally held
together.... you can actually put your hand through it
and you will not get any residue...
- MORFORE OSSION beard care balsam...
   turkish... all the best products for beard are
turkish... like the barbers: the best barbers are...
turkish!
- some deodorant under the armpits,
the ***-crack... the groin region and all over the torso...
shirt-ironed, trousers ironed, clip-on tie firm set...
shoes polished... thermal socks donned...
off to Oxford for Oxford United vs. Wigan Athletic...
first job... enter the turnstile cage... lock myself in...
the ticket reader wasn't working...
got a tally clicker...
supervisor came back with a working ticket reader...
but i still used the tally clicker...
managed to allow passage of 218 people into
the stadium... the children looked amazingly...
sincere with regards to authority of sorts...
caged man... some boy asked... why is that man
in that cage? has he been naughty?
so i endeared him... yeah... i've been a very naughty man...
i still find it weird when women tell their children:
give your ticket to the MAN...
mind what... the MAN is telling you to do...
in my 20s i never reached that level... i was still a boy then...
everything went smoothly...
the tickets i scanned went through...
the tickets the scanner wouldn't scan i just brush aside
with the clicker... most were season ticket holders...
10 minutes into the match, one or two late-comers
and then we shut the turnstile gates...
next? pitch-side duty... this time i got a seat...
watched the crowd... my god... the football crowd in
London... tame *******...
go anywhere outside of London and you're getting
fanatics! the Wigan Athletic crowd...
i mean: men in their 40s / 50s... on the face of it...
yet deep down... teenagers...
drunk, mad, chanting... by the end of the match
losing their voices...
one father was more of a kid than the kid he was
with: was... spotted this one guy smoking,
another jumped the barrier...
for once i didn't actually watch the match...
i had an eye on this one... classical English beauty...
i'm guessing a single mum who came with two of
her children, her father and mother...
the mother didn't look that bad either...
sometimes you can isolate a woman's face in a crowd
and... a war might be happening...
you sort of become oblivious to everything beside
the serenity such a face imbues and translates onto
you something... Sophia-esque... Athena...
she might not be... but... appearances are appearances...
12 hours from since i left the house to when
i returned... i tried to eat something...
first that chicken burger on my way home...
3 chips... i couldn't eat more...
my stomach had shrunk to the point that i might as well
have done a day of Ramadam...
bought some whiskey and pepsi on the way...
hanged it on the fence at the back of my garden:
i am only drinking... because i smuggle the alcohol in...
then tried to eat some rice & a chickpea / spinach curry
i made a day prior...
couldn't lodge that into my shrunk stomach...
i decided to get some calories
by drinking a glass of milk infused with
some Nesquik straberry powder...
worked a miracle...
then one cider & now some whiskey & pepsi...
i was falling asleep watching some
Masterchef professionals...
sorry... nothing can compare the Australian
amateurs...
they're such a new culture: and i look at them,
as a people: drawn into civilization building
from the ground-up, beginning with a cuisine
that's unique to them...
all the old European cuisines seem rather stale
by comparison...
i jolted myself: tired, restless...
******* i lay in my underwear on the floor
of my bedroom having placed my feet on
the radiator...
i don't care what anyone says...
you always feel cold from the feet up...
if your feet are cold... the rest of your body feels
cold... warmed my feet... still restless...
tired... really tired... but that's the problem with
my tiredness... i also somehow to feel... *****...
i had to do two no. 3s in a row...
tame *******... recently... what's her name...
that singer of BAD GUY was celebrated
by journalists for coming out against
******* apologists...
i'm sorry... what sort of ******* are, "you" watching?
the freakiest i ever allowed myself to become
was watching a ******* gloryhole compilation
of women jerking off a ***** that started shooting
custard... probably while listening to E Nomine's
song angst...
i'm tired but also too *****... i need to calm down
a little...
and perhaps the Hebrews have a fair point about
this "taboo"... of the solipsist Onan...
the Arabic religion isn't so strict... after all...
their mother was a concubine of Abraham...
   it's not like i 'm doing it in a ******* armchair,
with scented candles, with a ******...
or have a webcam active recording myself for a larger
public... or that i might have a ******* toy...
just this boney-**** of a hand...
yeah... it really does feel small...
that's perhaps why i have allowed myself to see
the female hand as the most ****** part of a woman's
body... i look at women's hands and think...
i'd need to sacrifice my pinky + knuckle...
if i can hold a basketball with one hand...
i don't think my phallus is small...
my hands are just big...
never in a million years would i want to watch
"sacrificial *******": the Italian classics...
sure... something classy... edgy...
not this ****** modern crap...
show me something that invokes latex... thrill!
thrill-e-he!
last time i heard women were into gang-bangs,
choking... ****...
come to think of it... paycheck is coming up...
i "wonder": how will i spend, that money?
new trousers, gamble with going on a date?
sure... a "date" in a brothel... where, EVERY-THING
is, transparent...
no one is there for milk & cookies...
i like to keep things transparent like that...
one hour of ******* and perhaps talking in between...
what's the Romanian word / Turkish word for eyes?
nose? lips? freckles?
**** a little, take a break, smoke a cigarette...
blah blah...
of course the Hebrews would think that *******
is a taboo on the male part, historically:
religiously... well i have a taboo for the Hebrews too:
circumcision...
  the act wouldn't really be a taboo is the Hebrews didn't
begin cutting off "excess" skin of the fore-,
if i keep a high hygienic standard: prior and after the act...
sometimes... it just eases taking a ****...
relaxes the **** muscles a little...
but i have no qualms, when it's done hygienically...
after all... "sword" & "sheath"...
for my boney elephant **** of a hand... skin on...
for actual *******... skin off...
it's not exactly rocket science...
but imagine the scenario when... i would be circumcised...
i'd be mad...
looking for that fleshy pouch of a woman's ******...
because my own protective layer would be
"missing"... sometimes i'm tired after a shift
in the cold & i still want to...
but my "would be" partner wouldn't be in the mood...
what then?
i'm tired, i'm *****... but she's not in the mood...
what do i do? think about, *******: carp fishing?!
no... since i have the "excess" i do two in a row over
really tame, wholesome *** and i'm ready to doodle
these words, drink... i concentrate my energy
on the mind having absolutely gotten rid of any remaining
****** impulses... the end...
oh... but that weak-spot of mine...
Asian models, notably the Japanese models...
there's a whole genre... GRAVURE...
*** is always insinuated... it's never explicit...
a photography of a girl showing her underwear...
the Eden of those inner-thighs...
the world is standing on its head:
with women thinking that men enjoy shaming ***,
violent ***... sorry, honey... those are
exclusively the pornographers: men who have
too much ***... most men don't get enough enough...
men might... have a fetish for...
say... a step-mother ******* her step-son...
obviously women will subsequently insinuate
their fantasy of: ******... ******!
ha! they should Marquis de Sade's masterpiece
of a novella... the one in which he's concise, genius...
hardly making waffles of speech...
i wish i was ****** more... but what's a boy to do
if not getting as much as his libido would allow
him to... men express... women explore...
i'd rather ******* to some Bronzino...
i'm thinking... a borderline taboo... she's 16... 18...
it's a momentary idea...
a momentary bulge... soon i digress toward thinking
about... fuller-forms... women in their 30s... 40s... 50s...
i think about... a well aired bottle of red wine...
fully-formed... none of this lazily available fetish
for matchstick, pseudo-anorexic:
under-developed... dolls...
i like to think of a woman like i might think
about sitting in a very comfortable leather arm-chair...
or... reading a very old... 19th century
hardback, leather-bound book...
the type of woman that might kiss her children
goodnight... but an hour later... do the complete opposite
with her lips...
it's a nice thought...
while men starve & women explore...
it's good to starve... somehow... so many less consequences...
but as long as you're hygienic about it...
all the better for the GRAVURE medium
from Japan... finally! *** can be insinuated...
it doesn't require for you to be "excited" over something:
so explicit that you get a LIMPY for simply not
being involved... *** as something "forbidden"...
since not readily available...
no longer the sort of *** of the western canon that
invokes... *** isn't to be "forbidden":
it ought to be shamed & "shamed"...
that's how schizophrenics are bred...
via a double-negation...
   via mis-wiring of messages, *** constructed from
a contradiction....
oh the English are the best at this...
they enjoy it so much that they have to lie about
enjoy it... they sort of flagellate themselves over
the whole affair... in the open they are:
such prim labourers of puritanism...
yet, give them the right sort of opportunity to
express their sexuality in private...
talkies... the ******* is rife with...
"too much talk during ***, too much: **** me daddy,
**** me mummy... oh yeah, you want it rough..."
the list is seemingly endless...
in the beginning there was the word,
and the word was (with) god...
yeah... so talking during *** is such a good idea?
i can boast about herr stumm...
i can boast about... an "alphabet" of onomatopoeias...
something akin to eating laughter with
sighs and oh: really?
talk ruins ***... a body ought to speak to body...
the tongue is reserved for something more
than being more than a vehicle for syllables...
words are best kept outside the medium of ***...
eyes ought to eat up the other's body;
mirror should most certainly be used.

being from the perspective of:
  entwurzeln
   ent-wur-zeln...
         i.e. uprooting...

   if i drop a name of a dead
person does the vocabulary
of the living gravitate to sizzle?

i don't know...
bold word: no word...
at best just a sound...
some archeological finders keepers...

it would be hard
to make a giraffe less:
   whatever a giraffe is...
   mute... elongated neck... 2nd...
too many factions have
come across a pretty pie of
dull... trans-grammatical
mayhem and i'm not going
to sing the lyrics of an
r.e.m. song about the end...

never mind: an end of the world...
all the existentialists:
with but one exception are
firm: rooted...
by the one nomadic presence...

a little experiment
i'd like to retract one maxim
of nietzsche - life without music
would be unbearable...
i've aged... apparently...
so much so that i'll listen to
music for a fraction of what
i esteem myself as:
capable of walking...

"tomorrow" is a mythical
creature: so in this... "tomorrow"
i'll travel via tube to south Kensington
to buy a bicycle...
then i'll cycle through 20+ miles to
my starting point
of "adventure" and find myself:
android...
a body with extensions
that might make a Beijing plum
sour from the blush of excitement
a 33... ****... a nearing thirty-five year old
might...

i have only missing aspirations
of envy... if someone were
to make evil-eye jealousy enough
of a thief more of a kleptomaniac
should i own a copy
of charles olson's maximus of Glouchester
poems... available...

it would be my same told...
"anecdote" of when
i found dr. faustus by thomas mann
in the public library...
otherwise: and thank **** i don't
write pop... vogue...
or regurgitate rhyme...

if i'll have to revise my autobiographical
tirades i will...
i'll walk some nouns into a square
and tell the peacock to flush out
all the pretty ones...

is green "prettier" than green itself:
or staged as a plethora of green:
i.e. hues come... something decidedly
apparent like... a lineage of perspective
within the confine of trees:

by way... claustrophobia is a fear
of closed spaces...
what of a fear of constrained time?
which, life, evidently has to by first degree
solely promise...
death my second mother
i wait for the day when my libido
shrinks, my hard-on too...
and the idea of jerking off to flowers
is as alien as it already is
when there are two **** two *******
and a bouquette:

i was experiencing an alien sensitivity
that might have
to include the cow's bagpipe
of an assortment of *******
for a craftier ******* lubricant...

all those floral patterns of genital flesh
is one thing...
the kaleidoscope of
***** as genocide
and... ******* gloryhole extravaganza...
hey... what about all that
liquorice latex fetish glee...
term me another for golden: fleeces...

i'll tell you... you're not donning
skinned pig for the use of either
shoe or belt...
however kosher or halal that's
sounding: clean tummy...
******* doss of a Saudi ripple..
but that you are...

   for better or for worse:
halal rubber shoes: laces -
only "somehow" and a "now"...

so many voices at this democratic
trough
might make a schizoid want
a circumference of relapse...

by the exasperated: of some vanguard
that's too Pompeii and also
too old... to be versed like...
what's Rome without the coliseum...
what's "proper" bread
without the "vulgarity" of yeast...
antics of yeast that's
what's ripe for the juicing of some:
somehow true begot experiment:

when they canned laughter
they had to experiment
with tubing faking a crowd & entourage...
saving us from ourselves:
acting... apparently...
or... shadow thieving ferrets of
the highest exemplar...

by bypassing the glow of mother
hoot and geese strutting: Wehrmacht
superiority: no complex
i.e. by the technology thus bestowed...
little slingshot Zeus tucked away
an eye of the titan: Grogerous...

because the zeppelins were
on fire and i found my tongue
in a heap of **** and skulls
and it was never supposed to be
or appear to be pretty

or like i'll forever find sleep
and night with the same sunrise / sunset
rendition of the Hellraiser
soundtrack by a christopher young
and beethoven can... fizzle *******
till... i find...
enough of what i don't want...
ambiance... fridge-sensory-séance...
a ******* overload at first...
last: my parrot imitation
of... how hammering a nail
sounds like... when making
comparisons with chopping
tree for it to fall...

and a forest and a sound...
and someone pretending there's
a third person's worth of a riddle
for: "if there"...
a gnome of nowhere....
        always a "somewhere".

little horn:
or as some would call it:
scratching one's head...
a sensation...
   making
a focus,
of the excrutiating
base, no bias:
there are
only a fixed number
if madmen,
lext to be burdened
by excuses...
there are only a fixed
number of madmen,
willing to tow
the affairs of the "sane"...
the remaining cursors,
are... quiet unwilling...
to force the quest of
sanity, by means
of bewildering a madman?
there is but so much
a madman will excuse
to suppose: sanity,
of the accepted narrative...
no, this is no don quixote
operatic narrative...
i'm inclined to
suggest:
      well... i hope you
don't die...
but... if death is necessary?
then death is:
to be made
a culmination
of what's to be necessitated;
waiting for the backlash...
and there's me praying
for...
    the anti-thesis of
the holy cows of Hinduism...

    you know how i react
to black women?
sorry....
am i supposed to ****
'em?
                 i don't want
to **** 'em...
          those arabian
copper beauties?
         i wish i'd want to,
but i can't...
***. ninja theatre....
                              more like
******* fetish via
gloryhole...
  
            no... thanks...
                 all these arabic
gob-smacker-beauties
are selling is a pardon
for global warming....

        i tend to walk
            to a supermarket...
guess what...
i'd be most happy...
on the scaffold
of the act of decapitating
loose ends;
i would cry...
if someone decided
to play some
voughan williams.

kapuzekopf...          hmm... i'm too tired to write
too tired to think too tired to even quench my thirst
with imagination... KAPTUR - hood...
certain words sound better in different languages...
kapuze - kaptur - ugh... hood...
   and head... sounds so much better in Deutsche: kopf...
i'd even say even better in ******...
    głowa - gwova -
              Darwinism keeps knocking
on my door... oh it's so *******
odiously not welcome... it's so pop culture so past
culture so... nothing to do with
the rigours of eugenics...
   if... we were going to study and apply it,
proper...
but no... just that same old carrot
on a stick... yawn...  a... gähnen-wahrheit...
              a yawn-truth...
                    men who do not reproduce
might as well be dead...
from an "evolutionary" blah blah... so i start thinking...
   hmm... well... technically...
none of the Teutonic Knights reproduced...
sure... they might have had a brothel
in their citadel of Marienburg...
              hell... i even have a name like one
of my favourite figures in history...
a Konrad von Wallenrode... did he?
did... Winrich von Kniprode... did they?
care? that they might... father... children?
hmm... i do wonder... if there's a brothel in the vicinity...
i don't truly mind... not that i'm for the defence of the cross
mind you... something more... less...
less defined... borrowing from the Hebrews...
it's all a bit of a much of a *******
muddle... given the discovery of the Nag Hammadi library...
well... unless i had a profitable trade...
that could be ventured with trans-generationally...
sure... i know one example... Sam Hall...
Sam Hall was the son of an undertaker...
we went to school together...
what did Sam Hall become? a ******* undertaker...
those sort of men really do...
re... pro... duce... although... i'm not too sure with
Sam Hall... he was short, fat...
penguin-esque... with the advent of social
media... i guess... not even the certainty of
burying people will land you marriage...
would roofing run in my family?
for a while... two... three generations:
metallurgy... sure... but then... eh...
jack of all trades... hardly me coming from doctor /
lawyer / whatever Goldman-Sachs stock...
but... if i'm supposedly on my way out...
well... **** me... i'm going to make it grandiose!
kapuzekopf style... mit-kapuzekopf style...
sort of monkish... like a Winrich or a Konrad...
like i said: if there's a brothel in the vicinity...
i'll keep to my own company...
              last time i checked... between me and them...
no animosity...
feed the body one hour... feed the mind
another... feed a deity that's so uncomfortable
for Christianity or the Greeks to burden themselves
with...
   quiet remarkable... this... demiurge...
sure... ah... sure... if only love: but if that love...
wasn't spewing whatever it was spewing
on a crucifix... mind you...
   a very famous method of executing rebellious
Cossacks in the Polish-Lithuanian commonwealth
was to put them on a PAL...
     de cruce - crucifixion seems rather... boring...
impaled... imagine if the Romans refigured their
love for borrowed love of buggery from the Greeks
and though... hmm... let's extend the pleasure
to a torture and impale him...
       it would have taken... let's just say...
if he died on a Friday... no no... de cruce...
      it would have taken him... about the time of his
resurrection to actually die... if he was impaled...
his ******* smeared with duck-fat...
or is this, the sort of thought you need...
to defend yourself... against... the current...
Disney political *******?
                   may...be... both?!
                        eh... the world is hostile...
even if i'm just tired... i'm not going to exactly
think about counting sheep when
going to bed...
   chants of the Templars and ideas of
torture... or ***... in a brothel before mirrors...
when the ******* tells me...
like she already told me: to look into them
for the *******...
                nothing ever sheepishly coy ever made
me fall to sleep...
i don't mind horrors... i sort of wake up and think:
is that it? nothing more?
come to think of it... i'm sort of thankful
i'm not going to be a father... i try to imagine
the horror of raising my own Frankenstein...
but... not in this current environment...
             no... no good...
                                the Copernicus revolution went...
backwards... now the earth orbits the moon...
seriously... the world has become...
geocentric... heliocentric...
     ah... we're living in a lunacentric world...
the world's gone cuckoo itchy-coo...
  time to compete... for top spot in the asylum...
no need to lie... fake it...
                    hey... if i'm supposed to not get enough
from watching ****... today i felt my life return...
what did i do? check out ******* ****?
no... i ****** off looking at the cleavage of
an average looking, middle-aged woman...
that's it... nothing *****... nothing: odd...
       that's how i keep my sanity... and my hard-on...
i call it the reality-check-*******...
          well... i do sort of feel for the guys that
delve deeper into the medium...
that's what happens when...
as a kid... you never masturbated to a painting by
Bronzino (Venus, Cupid, Folly and Time) -
it's those lips... or the tender tongue of...
Cupid? or is it Venus... oyster...
   the origin of life story: via the tongue...
i must be getting tired... i'm being so unimaginative...
i can sort of see myself licking a mirror
in the next 20 minutes when i go and take a ****...
the dimmed lights and mirrors
and the ******* telling me all manner
of disinhibiting things about ***...
                  which... forever gratifying...
just the thought of those terrible dates with women
who want to **** drunk... in cocoons...
in the dark... not under dimmed lights before mirrors
but in the dark... under bed-sheets...
ugh... the mere thought of such antics shouldn't
make me think of being itchy... but...
i'm getting ******* itchy at the mere thought
of such terrible ****** hygiene...
   - because i'm not a pornographer -
i have to say... reading Marquis de Sade early on
in life really helped... notably ******...
what a fancy... what a novella! arguably his best work!
                  whatever it was...
i liked the biographical note...
when the Marquis was partially raised by his uncle...
some... bishop... who had a collection of books
that... ahem... 'you were supposed to read
using only one hand'... obviously the other hand
was supposed to go elsewhere... multitasking...
if you can get a hard-on when reading de Sade...
why would you need...
  o.k., o.k., fair enough... glory-hole ******* with
****** and too much cottage cheese...
that... that's my weak-spot...
or those clubs in Bohemia... where it's sort of in
reverse... you have the plump readied ****
of **** with legs wide open...
like that meme of the mermaid...
and the... bottom of a woman but a top of a fish...
for security reasons, what?
bash all her teeth out? grandma sucky-sucky?
but no, seriously...
it's a personal joke i should have kept:
personal... if only i could find one that would like
to dress herself in a massive ******
of a latex suit... i'd be giving a litany of cloud 9
and an eleventh heaven... or rather...
the added spice to Dante's Paradiso... or...
Inferno...
         because i could never believe in a benevolent
creator... very much impossible...
too many contradictions...
nothing could be spawned into existence
from goodness... out of evil: sure...
some deity became bored... well... there's nothing...
let's have some fun...
i could never warrant a moral authority
for anything to simply, merely, be...
          out of a joy of superiority...
that gods assembled and said:
imagine us, as mortals... let us imagine ourselves
as mortals... weak, feeble...
let's play this game...
                      now let's stop imagining that...
and... actually see what happens...
hey presto! us...
   why then... these high-airs...
these moral conducts...
   these... then again: but with a woman it's more
fun to break rules than it is to break rules
with a man: since the rules are already broken...
it's more fun with a woman...
i don't think i could ever satisfy myself
"breaking rules" with a man...
   since... i couldn't break the highest rule...
******... well... i couldn't reproduce with a man...
could i? so... that's a bit boring...
even if didn't reproduce with a woman...
there's the idea, the *****-count-of-potential
that i could... with a woman...
my "sin"... of being 4 or 5 or 6 or  7 years old
and having a bath with a girl a year prior to me...
and there we were, innocent...
looking at each other's parts...
and how... they were chiral...
                   fun times...
                                     like the time i taught a boy
my own age... 9? how to ******* in the bath...
because, like i said: there was this funny sensation
at the end of this rub-rub-rainbow...
i was early off the mark...
       i do... prefer to imagine that this world was
created from the advent of an eternal evil
that from: for the purpose of good...
        relative terms... like... if you were to equate...
space... evil? or good?
        claustrophobia... evidently... evil...
time... evil? or good?
oh... that's easy... time is evil... ask any woman...
but for me it's a quadratic:
evil/time             good/space
space/evil           time/good...
                  that's how i see it... or rather:
that's how i don't see it... that's how i heard about it...
this world is so evil it's joke is a choking
of laughter of the gods within the confines
of man trying to rationalise its purpose...
noble... that it is...
some higher idea... some transcendent idea...
which, nonetheless doesn't transcend... death...
except with dreams and wishy-washy carrot-on-a-stick
fetishes of afterlives or reincarnations...
sure... the zombie-brigade of...
a select number of souls...
roaming among a deselected number of...
cow-tow of zombie bodies... Hindu *******...
the Catholic "elect"...

now... i don't see any proper urge to do good...
unless it makes me feel superior...
that's why like Nietzsche... pity bothers me...
unless i pity for a sense of superiority of...
inhibiting my superiority...
     **** me... i should have revisited Nietzsche much
sooner... this world wasn't created out of a concern for
there being nothing...
    that a ******* bogus, priestly argument...
because there's nothing: there must be something...
tell that to someone who chronic pains...
you, *******, sadist...
  no... this world arrived from evil...
sure.... adamant the grace of there being some good
in this world... but... that's... sort of a paradox...
or... an inherent nature, so hidden, within animals that...
men... ought to not know about it...

i can't believe this world was created for
some omni- prefix suffixed with goodness...
no, it wasn't... there are malevolent forces at work...
why would men invent theatre or the mirror...
if... not looking for some higher powers having
presented this existence in a similar:
hidden fashion, of what's to be expressed via
a replication of ideas?!
  hell... what is that? fire? brimstone?
or... rather... smoke and mirrors?!

             right now... no... i'm not seeing delusions
of the geocentric model... that the sun orbits
the earth... that the matters of earth are all that's
important...
or the heliocentric model... that... sure...
we'll ******* adventure ourselves into outer-space...
to Mars... when... March 2100 comes...
by the current strand of psychology?
by the current talking-points?!
  neither... lunacentric "sensibility"...
the earth... orbits the moon... while the moon...
wait... if the earth orbits the moon...
either way: whether the sun orbits the moon
or whether the moon orbits the sun...
the earth... most assuredly orbits the moon;
the end.

i understand: it takes time...
it probably takes so much time (in fact)
that the time needed
has to be allocated
to a post-mortem...

with regard to what?
readership!
one example is nibbling at
30-thousand views...

30-thousand...
i'll use cricket before football...
the full capacity at Lord's
stands at 28-thousand...
i passed that by eager
readers alone...
i didn't have to utilise
a stage and perform all
regurgitating nervousness upon
it... spill my guts...

no, i'm still strapped high-up
in my "ivory tower"...
it helps to inquire into
what it is the hell i have
"accomplished"...

it takes time, though...
i would sacrifice everything to not feel
this immediacy of "passing"...
of leaving something readily
available for scrutiny: for audience...
me and making a video...
not enough wine
for what i'd want to entertain with:
no exasperated staging of
ooh: ah... etc.

         there's never ever enough wine
for what's absolutely necessary...
but what has to be surrendered to is
this measure of dimensions...
a single poo'em of mine
managed to attract an audience
that... if ever the Lord's cricket
stadium could fill...
then England would have to be
guaranteed to win the Ashes...

ashes? some idiosyncratic tournament
that only matters on these isles...

it takes time though:
i appreciate the fact that i can leave
something freshly
archaeological...

    
let's brush this notation
under the carpet...  /ˌɑːkɪəˈlɒdʒɪk(ə)l/

it simply... quite simply doesn't work
on a bilingual...

it truly takes time:
of which i know so much
of so much i know so little but also know
that space can sometimes diverge from
time...
time can diverge from purpose
when the purpose of 5minutes is
to boil a runny yoke egg in a shell...

lately i transcended the bully
of a poached egg: perfecting it...
but having to sorrow myself
over overdoing the soft yoke
egg in a shell: prim-ready to be
poked at / dipped into by
toasted bread slithers of
"soldiers"...

i distrust words that gravite
toward grand events
of which they are not part of...
even if Homer was a cook
in the Trojan...
he evidently wasn't going
to be either Achilles or Ulises...
spare a thought:
if i were to go back in time
would i go back as a "plagiarist"
writing Shakespeare before
shaking-the-pear was...

    well: i i left behind something
from this time,
i'd probably leave much more
than a wince than what
some original arrived at
having it kept thus...
against what's kept
and can't be "invigorated" or denounced...
claustrophobic i
having to weave around this...

it is raining
and i'm only happy because that's
not important and because
i'm listening to Beethoven's
ode to joy on my earphones
and there's no gramophone
no opera house to usher
in an addition of volume...

egregious: no alternatively wiping my
own ***:
etymologically... egregious...
best in deutsche: for comparisons...
ungeheuerlich -

yes.. the usually assorted "oops"...
because that's how best to invest
in "looking back"
at structures such as words:
one minute an atom...
a word a brick...
then fudge or custard...
of spinach-spew...

octopus fiddly.. fickle and
morose: which could be a colour
code - associated with maroon...
or...
claret...
which is less diarrhoea onomatopoeia
than: any: syllable:
scrutiny...

or excess vowels with, borrowed,
ancient Pompeii and mt. Vizu-Visu...

it takes time and sometimes
it doesn't... luckily for me i'm banging on
prospect for: when i'm... ash...
god and no god...
dog to the leash...
cat held by a whisker's get-funny... va!

something terrible might happen
should very little be written...
i exact conscience (at idea: no
practice involving moral dichotomies:
if such could be allowed
to exist)...
on a small matter of:
purpose without perpetuation...

solo project scrutiny...
   Lenin i suppose was no *******
Mongol...
            Tartar... or Uzbekh:
                  heaving mother superior
and... the nibble of the Caucaus...
loot Siberia i still say...
even if salt is elemental in what's
required for food to transcend mere
animal...
if the sub-continent of India
was not sourcing gold etc.
then it had the spices...
blue indian spices
the mile up the skyline of Doha
or Dubai couldn't conjure...
for time and extending into...

              the crest...
"they" kept them counting teeth
and pearls and praise for
their advanced cuisine...
not much can be said
about the raw dough of the Cherokee...
can it?
it would it must be necessarily
allowed or ****-faced forced into
a cook...

they survived basing their strategy on
their cooking...
perhaps the whole Hindu
reincarnation dog-in-a-kennel worked
but i'm pretty sure
fenugreek and cardamom and
that plethora of spices worked more
miracles
around a broken elbow than...
Tibetan raw dough surprises...

lick this spoon, ******, Xi;
being dragged into the salt mines
an echo of.... EL-EVEN!
EL-EVEN!
              
         -  i can't find enough i what's enough
to be "trusted" / yielded
of an exasperation tactic
at best made summary within the confines
of a "haiku":

the wine is drunk... raw...
like a pepper or an onion might be
eaten.. raw...
no spices are added...
there's so much less of what's allowed
a breath and a living that might
gravitate toward a wage...

- toward the fore of death's grinding
grip... knuckle-counting
a clench that's a pear of a fist: too...
i heave a breaking of the tooth:
to craze for the marrow of bone(s)...
words to instruct:

stare widzi... mi... sie...

           contrasting contractions of:
pospolite anglo-saskie...
  bed the widow...
call her the ****** of Aquitaine...
call "her" otherwise
the nibble and tonsure sheath...
upon the altar
of the tongue the uvula
und bell...
ripe bleu tender meat:

warm ***** and well-done
doubly-butchered beef...
Wittgenstein & tautology vs.
the thesaurus...
red wine: for getting drunk: purpose
solved... raw carrots for
fluorescent teeth: for teeth that apparently
might glow with a tinge
of lavender in the dork-poise of:
exfoliation of schatten...

concentrated balsamic vinegar...
allowed a "hightening"
with a dash of:             dzius: juice:
               herbivore diet: peel me
a grape like than mythological blonde
jazz shinger...
tells you to: whip(ping) cream readied...

something about linear B:
like it might be cryptic and no one knows:
true:
few have, interest in this...
falling asleep to christopher young's
hellraiser soundtrack...

yes... so much effort for the otherwise
blaise
"omelette" /  shrivel of a floral bouquet
of a worth of ****...
like it might shrivel and god-forbid
a karma sutra excavation
of ***** envy... in reverse:
coalmining ****** giggle...
  
   she 'as a trout's worth of a length
& elbow... still she's screaming
******* und... creaming softest juice
parody pairing... with a poaching
of pears...

for the dog that's allowed to befriend
a leash...
a cat's must: concerning a pillow...
a grain of a mother's mother...
grand as prefect...
for no purpose other than...
making summary.

In the doll spot the violins in your eyes
are not the choir i was looking for.
merely the shell of a silent scream
in semaphore *******
lavishly devoid.
Pondering the revels of Last Things.

I came upon your homicide by chance.
tripped over your open wounds and hung lights
on your bones to find the empty wells
yawning with grief invisible… and all the secret storms
of your tepid furies. i read your mail.
in a sense.
i saw the background of your foreground
as the planet you believed in.
and waved at you “ Goodbye”
because backwards
Day.

beware the enemy who can
**** your national anthem
it was a mob scene at the microphone
**** him **** him they laughed
nobody wanted to miss the show
a perfect blend of pandemonium and bliss
sound bites took their ears off
but how else can one enter the future
with enough for gas money
a basket of Chinese takeout
and a cigar for the road
I wasn't free as a kid either
trying to live happy with an unhappy soul
we're going to be a brave scout
aren't we my little muffin
the place was crawling with dilettantes
**** pederasts and machine politicians
parents now hunkered down and on the run
from the children bounty hunters
this is the era of retribution
officer Claudia held her gun on him
I need as a minimum a fat 8 inches
can we do business she murmured
OK I'll take achoo as meaning yes
wishing only to stay true to my vow
keep a poker face no matter what
certainly I know right from wrong officer
having tested them both thoroughly
under laboratory conditions of course
on the normal frequencies
it seemed to do the trick
bought me another half minute
in the midnight  arcade of illusions
where it's all a trick of light because
light is the judgement of proof
all is rumored is a good disclaimer
when faced with the prospect of
another night of sinister symbols
broadcast across my glued shut eyes
in a Japanese ******* tourist accident
I'd like to make a withdrawal
from my camera account now
so life is an insane riddle then
watching the steam pipes blow
watching the manhole covers blow
so if right and left marry
will their kids have two heads

From "Engine of Didactic Beauty" available on Amazon