.oh ****! now i remember, now i remember that other school of English thought... pragmatism! everything is so rational these days, no wonder that so many mental illness diagnoses exist... apparently every deviance of, "success" is, "magically" worthy of psychiatric scrutiny... but then you get psychopaths in the upper eschallance of society... and they're immune to psychiatric scrutiny... so much for pragmatism... whatever that means these days... what?! e-scha-llan-ce... usher-lance?! oh right, ****, i was going for an adjective... echelon... my adjective? feeling up to the level / rank within an organization, and subsequently, perfecting stated rank with robust, pompousness and erudition, matching up to a pedantic exercise within the confines of either, grammar, or, diction; my bad. see... i don't get it... i could somehow couple up the ancient Greek concept of the Stoic school, and the Epicurean school (of thought)... it became crystal clear... but... but when it comes to the English school of thought? i can't make the logical-leap of a worded multiplication concerning the schools of: egalitarianism, and... pragmatism... maybe i'm just *******... but i... i sometimes can't come at a worded equals sign, or at least: a mutually inclusive / mutually exclusive sharing processor of looking at both attempts to revise 1 + 1 = 2... then again, i'm not bothered... English liberalism doesn't bother me... the English were never libertarian in letting go... who are the English? they have their equivalence among the Prussians... but, yes... i was looking for this noun, this last remaining school of thought from the Anglophone world... i was thinking... what goes well with the cognitive spaghetti that exfoliates egalitarianism? ****... what else? pragmatism! so help me god, i can't concede making this dualism of ideas, perhaps contradictory, perhaps not, as i did with classical thinking... stoicism and Epicurean school i can justify... but the English, somehow complimenting within the realm of pragmatism, and egalitarianism?! good luck, i can't do it.

currently i only identify two schools
of thought in English...
i might change my opinion
in the future...

how, just how petrified people
are of exploring dialectics,
the fear stemming out
from... having opinions that
do not deserve questioning,
such blatant solipsism...

but i do identify two schools
of thought from the English
speaking world...
o.k. three... ****...
four...

egalitarianism...
egalitarian idealism...
unitarism...
utopian-ism...        

****... four, five...
how many in total?

scholasticism, in general...

  there's one more...
i'm sure there's one more...
it's related to egalitarianism...

what's the word i'm looking
for?
a morphed liberalism
of: one freedom can eventually
over-compensate
another statement of freedom
and deride the former liberty
with a... ore ******-up
liberty...

but there was another mode of thinking,
i'm sure of it...

you know that people
are afraid of experiencing dialectics,
when they have to phrase
their opinions:
but these are my personal
opinions...
   yep... stated in a public sphere...
why is it that i don't
make videos?
      your freedom of speech
is one thing...
mine? constricted to the comment
section...
   this? an extension of thought,
since i'm bashing a blank piece
of "paper"...

what was the other root of the English
school of thought?!
no... it wasn't universalism...
England, given the stated terms...
is a covert communist state...
a subdued communist state...
a dubiousness from the empirically
tested experiment...
where did Marx and Engels
concentrate their observational
capacities if not in England?
weird...

  communism originated in England
under, said, sociological observations,
was tested in Mongolia...
and then returned via Russia to
Eastern Europe...

*****... gets to my head...
it might come to be two days later,
but i'm sure i wanted
to work with another school of thought
from the English demand
for the egalitarian take on things...

looking at the English,
i see a people burdened by a desire
to make "things"... fair...
          i see people teasing Utopia...
a people who haven't experienced
a momentary transition period
of a quasi-Utopia of communism....
within the countries that
received the Bolshevik mantra
and not the Marshall Plan payout...
even Sweden (neutral, source of inspiration
for the Nazis) and Switzerland
received Marshall Plan funds...

       but the English...
              what an oddity...
oh i don't imply a demeaning
interpretation...
       but the English are teasing
a revival of socialism...
you know how many archetypical
human emotions socialism curbs?
you can't do it unless
subjected to foreign rule...
given the current Brexit agreements:
now's your chance...

but socialism really did originate
in this fine, fine land...
Marx didn't look alongside
Engels outside of England...
they looked at Liverpool...
and children being employed...
German children had Krampus...
English children had
work in the factories...

this probably is an over-simplification
of history, but all the details
are there...
personally?
i find English existentialism
(if there is such a "thing")
over-powered by Darwinism's
over-simplifications...
Darwinism, having killed modern
or pre-modern history,
having to expand beyond
our known, and kept history...

a big bang theory i can deal
with...
i can congest it into a subscript
of words, via a conceptualization
of atoms...
and bigger atoms,
suns... protons, neutrons,
planets...
and electrons...
lost in the realm of sub-atomic
particles and antimatter...

but when i go back to Poland?
you know what i don't hear much of?
overly simplified existential
explanations pivoting on
nothing, but Darwinism...
in England it's all Darwinism,
and not much more...
i guess when Einstein disproved
Newton,
the only thing motivating
English culture boiled down
to focusing and pivoting on Darwin...

outside of England?
you know how important Darwin
is?
          in Poland... Mickiewicz...
a poet...
                         Copernicus...
            a astronomer...
            and in Russia?
Dostoyevsky...
          Tolstoy...
                     Mendeleev,
Tchaikovsky,
Rasputin,
                      Prokofiev­,
Bulgakov...
        Kandinsky...
               Anna Andreyevna...
Chekov...
                      how much is
Michael Faraday worth these
days in England,
if you're going to celebrate
only the scientists
and shove every artist
into the shadow of Shakespeare?!

i really shouldn't drink
*****...
                       i go crazy crude,
mad and... it's *****!
       you can't mellow out like
you could mellow out with
ms. amber, of the Scottish highlands!

i only started collecting a library, because, would you believe it, my local library was a pauper in rags and tatters; apologies for omitting necessary diacritic marks, the whiskey was ******* on icecubes to a shrivel.*

ernest hemingway, e.m. forster, mary shelley,
aesop, r. l. stevenson, jean-paul sartre,
jack kerouac, sylvia plath, evelyn waugh,
chekhov, cortazar, freud, virginia woolf,
philip k. ****, dostoyevsky, aleksandr solzhenitsyn,
oscar wilde, malcolm x, kafka, nabokov,
bukowski, sacher-masoch, thomas a kempis,
yevgeny zamyatin, alexandre dumas,
will self, j. r. r. tolkien, richard b. bentall,
james joyce, william burroughs, truman capote,
herman hesse, thomas mann, j. d. salinger,
nikos kazantzakis, george orwell,
philip roth, joseph roth, bulgakov, huxley,
marquis de sade, john milton, samuel beckett,
huysmans, michel de montaigne, walter benjamin,
sienkiewicz, rilke, lipton, harold norse,
alfred jarry, miguel de cervantes, von krafft-ebing,
kierkegaard, julian jaynes, bynum porter & shephred,
r. d. laing, c. g. jung, spinoza, hegel, kant, artistotle,
plato, josephus, korner, la rochefoucauld, stendhal,
nietzsche, bertrand russell, irwin edman,
faucault, anwicenna, descartes, voltaire, rousseau,
popper,  heidegger, tatarkiewicz, kolakowski,
seneca, cycero, milan kundera, g. j. warnock,
stefan zweig, the pre-socratics, julian tuwim,
ezra pound, gregory corso, ted hughes,
guiseppe gioacchino belli, dante, peshwari women,
e. e. cummings, ginsberg, will alexander, max jacob,
schwob, william blake, comte de lautreamont,
jack spicer, zbigniew herbert, frank o'hara,
richard brautigan, miroslav holub, al purdy,
tzara, ted berrigan, fady joudah, nikolai leskov,
anna kavan, jean genet, albert camus, gunter grass,
susan hill, katherine dunn, gil scott-heron,
kleist, irvine welsh, clarice lispector, hunter thompson,
machado de assisi, reymont, tolstoy, jim bradbury,
norman davies, shakespeare, balzac, dickens,
jasienica, mary fulbrook, stuart t. miller,
walter la feber, jan wimmer, terry jones & alan ereira,
kenneth clark, edward robinson, heinrich harrer,
gombrowicz, a. krawczuk, andrzej stasiuk, ivan bunin,
joseph heller, goethe, mcmurry, atkins & de paula,
bernard shaw, horace, ovid, virgil, aeschyles,
rumi, omar khayyam, humbert wolfe, e. h. bickersteth,
asnyk, witkacy, mickiewicz, slowacki, lesmian,
lechon, lep szarzynski, victor alexandrov, gogol,
william styron, krasznahorkai, robert graves,
defoe, tim burton, antoine de saint-exupery,
christiane f., salman rushdie, hazlitt, marcus aurelius,
nick hornby, emily bronte, walt whitman,
aryeh kaplan, rolf g. renner, j. p. hodin, tim hilton... etc.

i get to be ridiculous, i'm an artist, it's only that my ridiculousness doesn't border with the Vatican City, or Switzerland that it's deemed "weird" (symbol use, also know as passing on misnomers, ~ - that's ambiguity, a stranger punctuation construct from the hyphen), it's weird because i'm attired in familiar clothing to an Essex loafer, i don't have the currency to buy fancy Pompidou mascara or lipstick and stroll with other drag queens at gay pride... i'm back-of-the-woods type of guy, on the Cartesian Libra heavyweight to the side of 'i think' than on the pigeon-**** weight side of 'i am' - mathematically speaking that's like 2 + 1 = 3 - "schizoid" thinking coupled to non-schizoid behavioural patterns therefore means... an increased threshold capacity for experiencing pain.

the first time i smoked marijuana
(and i didn't know how to roll
a joint of marijuana and tobacco)
was the happiest time of my life,
i exercised a lot, practised Roman bulimia
unconsciously - no pills, nothing,
******* down my throat, later
i trained the *suprahyoid and the infrahyoid
muscles so well that
i could just throw the chocolate bars up,
trained them so well as if i was gagging
on a *****... but to keep a body image,
well, you know, to look **** (add sarcasm
with the italics) you have to do what women
do, for me it was a Roman Bulimia,
for them, dieting - it was weird owning
a different body from the one i own now,
c.c.t.v. Narcissus-shadow stalker was all a craze back then,
too much self-conscious ******* wrapped in
a ***** and sent to a daycare centre -
it feels great these days, drinking 70cl of whiskey
a night, and why would i be bragging without
a bowler hat and a cane a butterfly prim
on my neck and a neat suit?
i read Bulgakov, that'll do, i have an operatic
cat at this moment, i've never heard so many variations
of meow after the doors to the garden are closed
and he's told to remain indoors after 9p.m.,
he sits on the bathroom windowsill and wants
to be nannied in the lap while someone smokes
downstairs... 'fella, same fresh air down here as up there'...
it's more of a fox than a cat...
he matured to be ~10 kilograms, and so's a mature fox,
i know, i weighed one, cutting a work's pay for
some sanitary worked one night
when i was eager to buy a few beers... mature foxes
~10 kilograms minus 21 grams (you know, the
Higgs' boson of soul, alejandro gonzález iñárritu -
but why add ñá so close? it's -nia- anyway,
so Mexico or e ** ** **, the Mexican Hew, huh?
ah... Habana!)
swear to god, never heard so many variations...
where was i? ah, adapting Bach's polyphony within
poetry, could have been a king david, but i smashed
my lyre... i never liked the cheap one-man tennis
and a brick wall of poetry within claim of stiffening repeats:
rhyme... bounce... rhyme... Bunsen! rhyme... bounce...
rhyme... Bunsen! ya-d'ah ya-d'ah ya-d'ah...
a carousel in Golders Green where all the payots
flew off and made french pastry curls... cinnamon... mm.
and two books i wish i'd written -
closed society and it's allies, the alt. to Popper's
antonym based yawn-epic - Karl, falsifier -
and anger and restlessness, the alt. to a Danish
epic by Kierkegaard, Fear and Trembling -
alt. say it as it is - ******* is like a bow-tie event,
a moth a butterfly event - the ******* was
there for a reason, pleasure from *******
when your *** partner was "feeling tired",
men and women are both libido struck sometimes
to extremes, they mentioned f.g.m. but didn't mention
m.g.m., with ******* you ain't chasing, you ain't
playing the dating game - circumcision gave
women the upper hand, the toy machine of manhood,
you have ******* for a reason, it's not in line with
ancient Hebraic laws where you have to do 613 things
to obey... and with ******* you're less likely to
go Boko Haram cuckoo and steal girls for their ******* -
i believe the fabled conversation between Zeus and
Hera is necessary - women derive more pleasure
from ***... but men derive more pleasure from life -
well, if you have *******, see the image problem?
i'm dressed... you're undressed... i have two capacities
and a tool to curb my libido, you have jack and a stockpile
of nukes - with a cigar smoking duke on percussion
that only takes one press and the whole orchestra starts
up with a crescendo rather than a build-up.
oh right... the first time i started smoking marijuana i
was 21... i remember it clearly, i don't know how i managed
to roll a joint... Edinburgh 2007, Montague Street,
i rolled one... smoked it... lay on the floor...
and giggled my way through Daft Punk's album human
after all - giggled and danced horizontally...
solipsism at it's finest... later i met a girl who said that
*** after marijuana was so much better than sober...
i beg to disagree... given that solo moment,
and ******* prostitutes drunk, esp. in Amsterdam,
where i don't have to feel any English sensibilities on the matter.

.i do expect you to become lost in this labyrinth - at least that's what i'd rather say - sleep-deprivation is for "some" reason to escape the mediocre of having catched the "8 hour wink"... or whatever the Minotaur wouldn't call it... because i wouldn't call it a "problem" of "gender-neutral pronouns" either... i would call it a "problem" of noun-acquisition-status of letters; notably in greek and hebrew.

friends of "the" family have been looking
for on fb,
****... the caron S (š) will not do!
i need to use two alphabets that...
did not nurture yiddish into existence!
cyrillic didn't accept hebrew...
it'll have to do...
it wouldn't be enough to simply write
my name in cyrillic...
and no... in hebrew no less!
since the vowels are hidden...
and inserting the proper hebrew vowel...
it still wouldn't matter that...
my surname is missing... the galician germanic
e(ch)lert or the e(sch)lert...
no... but how is one to insert
the right kind of vowel: all in hebrew niqab
harem of diacritical markers subscript...
when... you don't have...
enough letters as nouns as scientific
constants as the greeks... do...
i guess only η (eta) stands out as a sore thumb /
black sheep... but i am bound to be wrong,
in the meantime:
well it's hardly a letter-with-a-noun
inclined akin to alpha (α) -
otherwise all is well...
we use the prefix prime (the grammaton per se)...
and discard the suffix when constructing words...
ergo? a-lpha...
and so an so forth...
till be arrive at...
blasting your ears nearing deafness because:
beethoven's mrs. H is:
music so you have to shout over it!
loud! what?! loud music!
loud music what?! loud music
to shun the "pain"...
oh... see you in one of those classes
when you can write sign-language for the dead
when you've been allowed to write braille!
see you sputnik ****!
yeah, see you deaf in one year divine John!
but you get the promise that's:
not your everyday latin castrato sing-along...
those greeks sure have all the best
science... stabilizers... not a lot of songs
to sing along to... because their letters
are also noun-status: also have noun-status...
otherwise the ol' prefix use...
and the suffix recycling centre...
a word like: matter...
well...
   ματτερ - no... i will not use the greek word...
i'll state... mmm... hm!
mu implies m- and cutting off the -u...
alpha implies a- and cutting off the -lpha
tau implies t- and cutting off the -au...
epsilon implies e- and cutting off the -psilon
rho implies r- and cutting off the -**...
and so... we have the word matter...
and the recycled materials for...
some other words...

hebrews? hebrews do have... noun-status letters...
(א) aleph - what's vogue?
inserting the iota into the omicron that's
the marriage: φ (phi)...
or whether it's the turning of the iota in
the omicron to provide the opening of the door
θ (theta) to see: that light at the end of the tunnel
delta (Δ)... again... it's only aleph we're "investigating"...

the other letter in hebrew with a noun-status?
(ג) g'imel...
another is (ד) d'alet...
(ז) z'ayin...
(ל) l'amed...
(ס) s'amekh... most certainly (ע) a'yin...
(צ) t'sadi...

interlude: what is the distance
between (א) a'leph and (ע) a'yin?
a kametz...

now we can "debate" - noun-status letters...
the greeks are in the same sort of pickle
as the hebrews...
there can be a debate whether...
the greeks have more than:
alpha, beta, gamma, delta, epsilon, iota,
lambda, omicron, sigma, upsilon, omega
as noun-status letters...

why? because it becomes silly...
(ק) qof and (κ) kappa...
(ר) resh and rho (ρ)...
(שׁ) and... well... to be honest...
that's heading into cyrillic territory...
and the caron S (ш)...
given (ס) samekh and sigma (σ)...

this always happens to me when i come
across a hebrew...
even if he's old and riddled with dementia...
i see him with his polish bride
and i see a "romanian gypsy"...
the feeling is... strange...
this hebrew is like an old cousin of mine...
but it's always a touch of magic...

i am not good at solving crosswords...
(כ) 'xaf' and chi (χ) -
perhaps i have exagerrated the letter-as-noun
status on some of this greek and hebrew...
tightly-knit bed-fellows...
as the boasting resounds in the labyrinth
of the rise and fall of the roman empire...
and the barbarian attempts to have
settled the lands near the seven hills...
and revived the eagle...
spec-ta-cu-lar failures!

the germans should console themselves
with having a crow on their marching banners...
and polacks should...
satisfy themselves with the unicorn myth
of an all-white bald eagle... albino eagle...
and so the harry potter: minus ***** 'arry
can have their unicorns, swans,
honey-badgers, welsh dragon,
st. andrew's gryffindors... etc. -

name, a name... i need to... change it...
obviously...
no hebrew vowels will be used...
since... their use... is devoid of what's already
concrete usage of diacritical markers
in established letters...
if cyrillic and hebrew is to be used...
and not greek and hebrew:
because... well thank you for the new testament
riddle... let's move... away...
to "greater" / other... things....

i can't use a kametz alpha
a tzere epsilon
a chirek iota
a cholem omicron
or a shurek upsilon (omega)...
so all the vowels will have to by cyrillic...

my... latin, name?
mateusz konrad... let's drop the surname...
let's call it a game of:
ibn... or ben... matthew son of konrad...
and since i don't have a... confirmation name...
what name? i would have chosen: Isidore...
after the saint of seville...
or... Ignatius (of Loyola) -
the only fun part of going to a catholic school
was... learning about the counter-reformation
and writing an essay about it...
and their library was decently stacked...
so... plus plus...

this is but a simple exercise...
first the name in cyrillic...
there will not be a full name in hebrew...
which i'll probably lace with greek...
and it will still make all the more perfect
sense... should it be transliterated back
into anglo-ßaß...
yeah: why i don't have a girlfriend...
with these sort of interests?
i guess an hour with a *******
once a year is enough for me...
and for womankind in the hospice of omni...

just following the laziness
of the russian visa authorities are the embassy...
they didn't translate mateusz into matvei
or konrad into: Дракон...
мат-вей...

these are the sort of idiotic tier-1 level
кaцaпс... working in the russian embassy in Loon'don...

because i was never going to be the матвей
who'd **** an илoнa like the 300 deadly mongrel
saracren mameluks or the spartans... no...
i counter the 7 headed beast on her
with every ****** in that one night
i was making my final goodbyes...
but keeping the mikhail bulgakov novel...
through a repose in Warsaw and...
i finished what, "apparently" i wasn't supposed
to finish...

and she is one of those troubled girls...
every ****** partner that meant anything to her...
she will have a tattoo of that lover
on her body... i know my place on her body...
it's on the right shoulder-blade...
the tattoo is of a dragon...
i know because i've met girls like her...
elsewhere...

even as i was being driven home after taking
my mother for her rheumatoid arthritis check-up,
blood test, x-ray... and the pakistani cab-driver
was talking about all the precautions he needs
these days: video ahead of the bonet for insurance
policy... a camera looking in...
and audio recording on his smartwatch...
because what he said... didn't surprise me...
i once picked up a spanish girl - Tamara in a club...
and she decided to take me home
for a one night stand...
as we were approaching the house she was
sharing with three homosexuals
she decided to jump out of the cab...
and make a runner... i calmed the cabbie:
i'll pay for it...
we tried to later **** the hetreosexual way
with her calling me angel because
of my "erectile dysfunction" under the bed sheets
in that putrid smoke of cocoon ***...
like the birth of a rancid moth embryo and
choking from the heat of dust and alcohol
and... what i am alluding to is that some girls
do jump out of cabs to avoid paying the fair...
i knew what the pakistani cabbie was saying...
she owed him 40 quid...
he filed the whole thing to the police...
she accused him of ****** assault...
the story would have fit...
she run from the cab when he tried to sexually
assault her... but... he did have
that audio recording from his smartwatch...
in the end the girl was fined 700 quid...
which is nothing... compared to...
what's that called in h'america? a false accusation?
slander?
i know that girls jump out of cabs...
to avoid paying the fare...
i drove with one... who did just that...
i guess she was so used to this act that she
forgot i was sitting next to her...

- all the *****... but then all the chem-soup
post-psychiatric *******?
the ***** i can stand...
the pills are just tasmanian devilish when
it comes to catching the perfect
battery insomnia recharge...
and always meeting and respecting
the elder of the group darwinistic:
prat pact... a hebrew...
there always needs to be a yew
a *** in the equation...
no... not some english society
uncle tom worth of a high society rabbi...
i mean a jew that will support
west ham... because...
it's an irrational team...
it can fathom beating chelsea (A)...
but then... "forget" to win against...
for god's sake! Norwich (H)!

i know! i know! joseph conrad took his place!
here's my part anagram!
Mатвей Дракон...

the near non-existent diacritical presence
in the english language...
well... no "surprise surprise" if...
you're starting with
и (i) or rather (ı)...
and what's being the flock of salmon
up the river, being caught?
the j but not (ȷ)... imagine my... "surprise"
that the russians arrived at...
и and ı - in tow... ȷ and the й...
the breve...
parabolla or... my eyes only see
the microscopic details when someone
will simply slurr?

- borrowing from yesterday and...
in the early night of winter standing
in the garden with four potatoes
and something else...
looking up at the sky...
i am used to seeing unusual "things"
in the sky -
i'm not unusual when it comes
to having seen a u.f.o. - fluorescent
and squid like in colour -
but i'm also the sort of person that
would carry a few beers for such
spontaneous encounters -
rather running around like a raving
lunatic armed with a camera
filming the whole thing...
i have no proof: i hope my words are enough...
and if they're not?
well... if it can be seen with a naked eye -
i don't need to blink via a technological
feed and argue about: quality of the picture...

but even i wasn't ready for...
what i saw today...
those are roaming stars? aren't they?
and i really did forget to count how
many moved in the same direction
askew - one by one with equal distance
between them - before the distance between
extended - there must have been more than
10 - i'd say there were around 20!

is this always how things are -
when one contemplates the tetragrammaton?

part anagram? well because the russian
do have a version of the hebrew matisyahu...
but they do not have the german conrad
in their language...
probably as to why the germans do not
really have... a yuri or nikita in their language...
nikita after all sounds more feminine than
masculine - anyone could with hindsight
speak of mr. rocketman's lover of
the same same... as not some russian beau
example of the fairer ***...
but a comrade khrushchev...

- and why wouldn't i call those russians
that work in the russian embassy in Loon'don
кaцaпы? for one... they just type letter for letter:
a mateusz / a matthew is a мaтэусз...
for all "legal" purposes...
they already have the сз = ш...
bureucratic purposes...
and no wonder some are like:
how do you say that?
too many consonants some add...
and i really did think that all of us were
allowed to be fully literate...
that's not the case... blowing my own horn...

having a wet ***** over: because i like my given
names... perhaps that's why i didn't want
the confirmation option of being allowed
to change any of my given names: legally...
to one of my own chosing...
when i was 15 / 14 i didn't even known
or think about a name like Isidore...

when the german name became coupled
with a hebrew loan...
otherwise the russian with the first
being an anagram... drakon -
Mатвей Дракон - it's just a name -
it's my name - what's in a name is what's
precisely not in anonymous names
.666 handles and avatars on the internet...
i can own my face - and i can own my name...
because - i kind of like it...

again: on in russian can the west slavic
C be distinguished from the K... Ц -
and back into the cyst of the western lands...
Ç or what came with sigma's tail...
it's so... boring... to have less the different
sounding letters - given no diacritical markers -
and only the "exotica" of spelling -
all the metaphysics in the world combined
and concentrated in greenwich...
but no real orthography...
i could begin the day by bemoaning this poverty
of the english language...
oddly enough as both the outsider coming in...
the immigrant who became a citizen...
and as the insider coming out and coming in
again on that expatriate spectrum of
working from the thesaurus: IMMIGRANT...
for all the beauty of Macbeth...
i can have to ruse myself to bemoan
conventional english... the formal english...
the antithesis poetica...

but i do somewhat "know" why it's called
a tetragrammaton...
i wouldn't classify any of the letters that make it up
as noun-worthy letters...
the kametz (a) and the tzere (e) are nouns...
and letters... but you don't see them when
the hebrew doesn't exfoliate and is left
crude with "missing vowels" for the gentiles
to read...
saying that... calling ה (he) a noun is pushing it...
as is calling ו (vav) a noun...
or י (yod) - although...
the yod could be allowed a noun-status
as... an apostrophe... or a version of the caron -
but the remaining letters of the tetragrammaton...
are "syllables" in that they are consonants...
and when the tetragrammaton comes face
to face with noun-status letters of its own
universe: g (ג) gimel, d (ד) dalet, z (ז) zayin -
l (ל) lamed, s (ס) samekh, ц (צ) tsadi -
resh? shin? the gates are open to allow the question
in... but when...
there's also siamese Adams aleph (א) and Ayin (ע)
being and nothingness respectively...

what could Islam possibly offer me...
intellectually?
when i once asked a muslim what...

alif, lam, meem                                      meant...
he replied... only god knows...
so i thought... only god?
i must have been talking to one of those muslims
who have arabic overlords...
before they can catch a whiff of the almighty
blah'llah...
ا, لَـ, مَـ
again... greek only touches upon...
the initial - the medial and the final
version of sigma...
isolated you would see the capital sigma...
Σ - which could also be treated as the initial
letter - given that the σ looks more like a medial
form - although it's also initial -
whereby ς is the final form -
almost like the english: 's... apostrophe s -
which could be claimed to be an article of possession...
or the plural article when the apostrophe
disappears - or when the ς altogether disappears
when: the possession is plural:
a teachers' strike... e.g.

no not with a fatha - we have our own diacritical
markers... thank you...
but good question...
so... why is the meem written in an isolated
form in the word - yawm (day)...
but not in a final form?
but i do not write in a squiggly line in this digital
arena... perhaps my language looks simply
written... oh yes, the aesthetic of the arabic script
is always stressed...
but even the hebrews think like the greeks
and the latins... in a way...
nothing has to flow in one river-wry format...
there's no isolated letter... of a letter -
as there's no initial no median and no final
form of it... but there is a "question"
of the hiding of vowels...
for gentiles and muhammadians alike...

- perhaps some will call it the trans-community...
there was once a dead poets' society...
evidently with the rise of de-transitioning...
there's now a nag hammadi library society...
circa 1945 when this library was left unchecked
in the hands of: the children
with too many toys and too many sandpits...
probably that one neu-mecca of san francissco...
at least the dead sea scrolls:
that were unearthed at about the same time...
treated the hebrew far better than
the nag hammadi library treated its children...
and why the former power, the vatican,
didn't step in... to control these text...
as they flew out on a *****-nilly without
herr zensor... herr inquisitor...
i will never know...
the scouts of medicine left... black holes
of having advanced in the field of anaesthetics...
too many toys for the the children
with too many sandpits...

- because i would rather the fascination
with a language... than its immediate...
polyglot acquisition and use...
if i put my head to it... perhaps i could
speak the 7 languages my great-grandfather spoke
before jumping into the Niagara Falls
leaving a postcard sent...
but when i peer into the details...
i quiet like these two trenches of mine...
this english this canvas and my eye toward
the east and the south and semites...
just because english is a language without
diacritical markers...
a language filled with metaphysical dialectics:
but missing any mention of orthography...

a hebrew might hide a vowel...
and write only consonants on street signs
for a gentile to read...
but then the gentiles' languages morphed...
and a vowel became distinct...
there is A that begins the word: ah-men...
but there's also an A that is invoked with a tail
to point and identify a tree, an oak:
dąb...
so much for kametz being hidden...
if there's no 2nd tier "complexity" of kametz...
but there is one for the visible...
A - vowel - a vowel with a tail...
but without a name -
as all letters are - whether vowel or consonant...
in the litany and choir of the castratos
of ancient Rome...

pause with me...
what music are you listening to?
i'm listening to... years of denial - burning sun
(veyl channel) - 1,319 views...
i like to... find the better alleys of my entertainment...
as i can't hate kevin spacey...
not because of kevin spacey...
but because of lester burnham...
or more to the point...
why thomas newman reminds me of a...
reincarnation of Satie...
not a Chopin or a Liszt virtuoso of the piano...
not a when a hammer strikes
a line of 88 nails...
but when a butterfly chances the here and there,
on a shy-loot of a beauty of scarce sounds...
just the same of nostalgia for this era of
movies borrows me from out any new
suspence... as that sort of nostalgia creeping
into people born in the 1960s who truly
admire h'american movies from the 1950s...
even i am to blame when i feed
a nostalgia - more to the point for the technicolour
acryllic glow akin to...
richard quine's 1958 bell book and candle...
but of course scandinavian existential cinema
of a Bergman would be in black and white...
black and white photographs...
but if we're talking movies?
Undogmatic & Kernfeld - thought experiments...
Amanti d'oltretomba (1965)...

i will have to refine the greek to hebrew to greek
similarities...
an Ezra Pound can hide behind counting
matchsticks and reading into chinese ideograms...
when lo and behold! some japanese *******
comes up with a minimalism of the on'yomi...
or perhaps japanese is a language
that fuses elements of braille?
no point question the matter since
the mongols famously didn't come over to Japan
to add to the already Mandarin caste of
the kun'yomi...

but no... these greek letters are nouns...
even though π is equivalent to understanding
the wheel a posteriori: as a circle -
prior to there was only a wheel but no
knowledge of the dynamic of the radius,
or the diameter...
but it's still a prefix weak hardly a noun...
alpha and beta are nouns because they
denote something - prefix category shared -
but... the alpha and the beta male...
even gamma rays...
what's that? π-networks of coming back
to point (0, 0) in terms of:
no more than three powers of seperation between
you and some random from hugh yawn'khh?
my bad...
but η, μ, ν, ξ, π, ρ (ρ requires delta epsilon
and sigma to imply island of Rhodes)...
τ - but this is not China and tau is not Tao...
to tow is... to tow...
φ, χ, ψ... these could be names...
but ψ is like a crucifix for psychologists...
so these are... but at the same time:
are not names...
working from Latin, "borrowed"...
A (or aye)... B (queen bee)... C (i çee)...
D (dye or dry or d.i.y.)... E (eh? vowel catcher
arm no. 1 of the tetragrammaton)...
surd if the other arm... most notably in gujarati...
or not...
but this leftoever ancient Latin:
                                sing along! sing along!
a, be, cee, dee, e, ef, gee, h "hatch" / hay,
i, jay, kay, em, en, o, ***, que queue cue,
Ar, Tee, U, Vee, ekhs (x), why (y), zee or general Zod /
Zed... etc.
do i remember the "correct", french pedagogic
sequences of: letters of the alphabet?
i thought the whole "game" was about
the lexicon? and the lexicon within the lexicon
of the correct spelling?
are there 26 letters in the english alphabet?
there are! mein gott!
do i have to monkey-play-me-harmonica -
monkey-play-me-the-acordeon and tap to play
the drums... really? now?!
there were never going to be any alphabetical
sequence of events...
if i can remember that there are 26 letters:
the order of the pedagogues doesn't matter...
the lexicon matters... one's own vo(gue)-ca-bu-Larry...
short of Lawrence...
and shouldn't i give up my Lawrence Vogue...
i will certainly to remember to give
the "correct" order of what begins
with abc- and ends with -xyz...
this is the inbetween...
please see fit to spot a sparrow or a typo...

becuase if the british are to be proud of their past...
proud in the sense that it is...
fermenting and all this decline of the west "thing"...
of the people that has to "somehow" welcome
a revival... кaцaпы (plural of кaцaп)
is a racial slurr - designated for russians...
by those who had a pseudo-isarel interlude...
of what was known as the polish-lithuanian
commonwealth - of the last european pagans -
who didn't become the prussians
and made the bavarian spirit rigid
and militaristic...

i find this part of history... rather... infantile...
i have been taught a version of history
through the lense of infantalism...
perhaps science-fiction was the serious medium
of literature after all -
all of the past - if it is to be called a past -
is prescribed by zeitgeist -
my contemporaries' suggestion to be an infatile dream!
it must be a version of infantilism!
at least: that's my response in relation to:
the past having any aspect of being worth
celebrated...
me struck dumb being coerced by a...
genetic archieology of a past...
what some of the current people invest in...
mirror mirror: on no wall beside
mirror mirror: my face...
speculum speculum: well! there's always history
as etymology!
i don't like the word faciem...
where does visage come from?
oh... right...

quest to perfect the algorithms to escape
the everyday speculum was prime suspicion:
to speculate...
i guess any search engines requires:
etymological root...

mirror mirror: my void eating face...
my pulpit of vanity -
my valley of aeons...
my detail of the smirk the demonic glee...
of your most greyish glee...
of no concern for celebrated beauty...
or at best: no beauty to be exemplified
and stealing memory having invested
in the memory of cinema...
mirare mirare: comesse vacare visage meum...

now that's rather different...
isn't it? a history lesson with...
a stress for a post-scriptum in-and-out
"epilogues" (misnomer) and a return
from the trivia interlude back into the narrative...
only with an understudy of etymology...

who do i look like? some ******* ***
who would use such a ***** word as epistemology?
"epilogue" is a misnomer in the context when...
there was never a justifiable metaphor...
a misnomer is a metaphor:
for the **** by the ocean of the shore
in the vicinity to claim town status - Dover -
albino cliffs: more or less...
epistemology is a word most frequently used
by people... who read to people...
encyclopedic entries... cyclopes reading...
all that matters is the cwowd: which is the Velsh
variation of: that already numb-R lost trill
of tarantula bit anglo-ßaß...
which didn't require zeppelins or h'american
spaghetti accent westerns of draw and drule
and drawl...

such a minor racial slur when it comes
to the russians... soviets or red barons...
you must have never visited Moscow or St. Petersburg...
**** the right sort of ******-up russian girl...
and... if you're lucky!
she's take you to... the russian versailles!
Peterhof -
the racial slur stills remains...
a thank you matka rosiya...
satellite son over 'ere: the bellowing from Berlin
is like a sudden plague of hyenas attempting...
no... the foxes are imitating the hyenas...
which is which or rather: which is why?
a mutual agreement: reciprocated...
a great a great much decent ****...
for both of us...
the memory still feeds me...
oh no, it doesn't haunt me:
it feeds me... i could only find replicas
in brothels... i would never dare usurp
this catherine this tsarina of my memory...
i would never dare invest my personality in someone
else... she can be married her... 3rd time...
and this might be her 10th repentence...
of an 11th lover...
on this sinking ship: Potemkin i go as one -
reincarnation or no...
i still don't believe: this hindu myth of:
only a fixed number of people were every to be
born... and the rest are the harsh realities
of the base focuses of animals...
as we somehow drag these n.p.c. mysterions with
us... whether strangers or fathers or mothers...
are you not attached to your grandson:
dearest "catherine"?

such is the tyrany of the hindu polygamy
trans-temporal polytheism...
a diadem with a mouth for an eye...
and an eye for a mouth: or what better way
to salvage this grief of being only being 20 and 21
when having met and having to vow to
allow ourselves our each his and her seperate
lives...
at least some people call it:
the house of lords... and the house of commons...
on a much grander scale...
oh i'm pretty sure tsar (ras)Putin is much amused...

as i am now speaking with a borrowed tongue:
someone lent me a tongue -
i desired to speak with it -
imagine this complete lack of horror with regards
to being lent -
when reicarnation comes to the fore...
i agree: with "him": a most disagreeable
metaphor for... whatever it is the hindus truly believe
to be: the most humane form of
being allowed a human: self-consciousness
and a relationship to all those teenage
*****-dear-diary entries of... precursors
to the menapause and... the blue blood gremlins
of the big pharma pills-down...
the big pharma *******...

unless asked... always in uniform before your "majesty"...
as with any decent *******...
god forbid one of them thinks i'm jesus christ...
come back...
but never with these... grey-area maidens...
this "tool" will not be aroused
on the simple signature end contract promise
of: he made it to the finish line of a one-night stand!
where's the finish line of a one-night stand?
the next day? the *******, the *******...
her ******? at least the new generation
have the... cipher password for sexting...
or whatever has become of a good old fashioned
**** your brains out?
via you **** a plum sore tattoo into my pelvis
with your coccyx like a well balanced
african body of ivory beauty?!
you know the type... it looks like butter
in moonlight... like... what's the point of a niqab
in africa?! it's already... a warewolf has come
among the wolves...
and how i miss you, i esp. miss you when
i sit on my windowsill and listen to foxes
mating...
how those ******* squeal yank and bite nothing
but bone having omitted both the flesh
and the fur!
i miss you the most when i sit at night -
and listen to foxes mating;
after all... this is essex... this is england...
foxes at around 1am are my cognac...
beside ms. amber: and you know you'll also
be ******* her when i've had my fill...
but oooh... look at me: oooh...
gravy...
but i've watched! crows don't attempt fucky-fucky
tow-dollar sucky-sucky bangkokh style
during the die... all that is black that's worth
the crow is done in the night...
perverted pigeons during the day!
****-*******-me-into-a-voyeurism of their
greedy insect esque antics of coo coo...
then jump onto the rucksack of a female...
and all those beta-male pigeons... and that: huh?!
moment of bewilderement when he "thinks"
he has cooed like an alpha...
only the memory of you...
and all the prostitutes after you...
which always made imagining ******* you again
all that more simple; there was no кaкaшкa
with them to begin with.

i do "think" that telepathy exists,
but only between a man and an animal,
the piercing stare of a cat lazing on your bed -
squinting almost "saying":
where's the *****,
   and where's the chess board?
i'm unlucky owning a ginger
specimen...
   black holes are
telephones to god?
   i prefer the mind of cat
and telephoning the devil:
he's usually the more informed one
given god's omniscience, other omni- etc.
imagine that gymnastics i have
to go through, to bypass
a cat's meow and read his
eye-contact...
   as i said: you'll get the investment
in the "investigation" once you've
read bulgakov...
oh sorry, no mark twain? oops...
must have forgot,
or burped a champagne bubble
from my gob, say hello to daisy,
****.
       you still breeding those
types of virgins these days?
lucky me, i get the cinema
of islam resurging and invading...
all i can do is, sit back,
and joing the chorus of applause.
even though cats sleep so much,
watching a cat sleeping never
leaves you feeling lazy...
always... itchy, for some reason.
maybe their autistic nonchalance
when awake...
        but **** me,
i "ask" him:
   händel or foster the people?
answer resides with the latter.

p.s. that's diacritical arithmetic,
isn't it? it's not some grapheme innuendo,
right? i know, i can count...
ä = paa (hiding the surd h to
either laugh, or breathe - catch 'un...
extrovert says hello with regards to what
introvert confuse, a tongue twister of
                          æ... is that
vampire for blah blah, or... bleh' bleh bleh bleh?
i was seriously going to posit that
comma below to insinuate the pause:
i.e. ultra syllable stressor) -
em... why make writing boring?
readable, page-turning?

          can writing at least resemble
its retarted yet autistic genius cousin
mathematics?
      i find more easy narrative
wiping my ***, on the throne of thrones,
listening to ac / dc's thunderstruck
song tapping the beat to avoid
getting a cramp from massaging my
prostate; so... go figure what's appropriate
given whatever circumstance
also requires a napkin and a fork.

right?

i can't imagine a world where written language
had the 1 + 1 = 2 rigidness ascribed to it,
what with the play-dough of
diacritical marks and punctuation marks
running rampant revisions...
  a microcosm? well that's diacritical
syllable distinction...
  a macrocosm? well that's punctuation
syllable distinction...
    all in all, comes the atom: letter,
comes the compound: word -
comes the sentence: chemistry,
   comes the paragraph / book -
                                the per se, alter. god.

for all i care to remember...
        looking into the mirror was more or less...
something akin to:
"squirting"... **** me! SQUINTING...
      well... the contortion of the eyes...
"worrying" about a double-chin...
and of course... enough stealth acne
to make me... the bride of beelzebub
how i'd joke to myself...
         beelzebub sat on my face and *******
a tonne of... dead maggots...

           i never knew i was athletic standing
before a mirror...
i probably know that i am less athletic now...
but... looking into mirror made
sense... once...
   this russian girl...
    in st. petersburg...
   we were in "love"...
       and there was this great aventurine bed...
and... a closet with two mirrors...
and... we'd be at it...
i was looking into the mirror...
and she was looking into the mirror...
it was like: the opposite of *** on l.s.d. -
because it was like...
beyond the missionary -
the "******" of the mirror...
   as in ***... it leaves you wanting
to ******* to the *******...
because... hell...
without a mirror...
could you capture the face moaning
contorting like an experiment out
of the gehenna harem?

     for all the *** toys sold...
all those exceses of... woman's lingerie...
outfits... nurses...
   blah blah... it really takes a mirror
to spice things up...
this dead-eyed mirror canvas...
the dire-dead-necessary...
    tooth-fairy: ref. the red dragon...
i needed to see that she needed to see
that i was ******* her... and that she...
was being ******...

           mirror mirror on the wall...
**** the fair and the fairest and the fairies...
i have come to understand that mirrors...
work best...
when... not stressed to exemplify...
a concern for beauty...
   or... something that is worn...
clothes look... terribly important in a mirror...
esp. by someone wearing them
when allowed to be digested / investigated
by a mirror...

but... a mirror during ***?
when you're not performing inverted missionary...
doggy... and she's lying with clenched ****-cheeks...
i was in love once...
which also implies:
i ****** like a race-champ pony!
the mirror always helps...
i wouldn't know: whether s&m leather
and straps would... and whips...
made much of a difference...
when... the mirror... the ghost ******...
the: satan you could get away with...
if you didn't utter a comprehensive word...
but ensure a strict rigidity to...
onomatopoeias and syllables...
and... exfoliating nouns...

        upon memory being summoned...
i'm getting a bigger hard-on thinking
about all the encounters i've had with the police...
there's always at least two memorable
encounters...
getting poisoned in a nightclub...
getting on the bus...
getting off the bus... dropping like a pancake
onto the cement...
     being roused... asked by the police officer
whether i was o.k.:
making a slurred and lengthy apology...
giving my address...
and being... taken in a police van... in a cage
for a sinner... like a taxi...
back home...

    losing my virginity to a pair of handcuffs...
for ******* in an alleyway...
getting screamed at...
one officer cuffed me...
the female officer had a pen and pad ready...
in an alleyway where it was discussed:
and who's alleyway is it?
i'm too drunk already...
if i walked into a pub on friday come
10pm i'd be asked to buy a pint
in order to use their toilet...

         it's one sort of luck... gambling...
betting on a horse...
but another... being hand-cuffed...
  and then... having the hand-cuffs...
taken away...
              as this dialogue happened in the...
"invisible" shadow of the alley...
i can't exactly imagine what the onlookers
saw...
           a teasing of authority...
drinking a beer on a bench outside
a pub on a friday night...
which is... basically... taking away
the revenue... of being sardine packed...
and pyramid schemed... for failure...
but my... what a glorious night...

so i asked: and where am i... permitted...
and blah blah...
that ******* mirror... and that aventurine bed...
the same thrill during ***...
like... the thrill of stepping into a brothel...
without a need to ***...
the 9 of them: all nazgul attired in scrutiny...
before "the pick"...

   *** toys... can i please get a mirror in here?!
it has to become a standard for a healthy
sexed up relationship...
    a mirror can overpower any...
frivolity of during-***: attire...
  the imitation ******...
a mirror is... just that...
                 *** with: in third person narrative...
but... smirk-giggle:
you catching her eyes getting ******...
and she catching your eyes: ******* her...

so tame tame... unlike reading...
  the tame blushes of marquis the sade...
never to mention... this philosophical adventure
of ******... which it really is...
impeccable... trouble with: thought put into
practice...
                yes... that horrid... Fritzl case...
but unlike the idealist scenario...
the mother was notably pushed away from
the grandiosity of the sin...
and it was done... in public... with...
a purview of... shaking established social norms!
it wasn't... a rabbit-hole of horror...

              which is why i'm glad i do not
have children of my own...
   i once spent an afternoon with...
my... grand-aunts son... my uncle...
don't ask...
         and i looked like him and thought...
well... i have most certainly had more
fun with cats and dogs...
i was a complete mute...
i didn't feel like cuddling this piece
of cubism... it looked human and even
contorted like one...
perhaps if it was mine...
i could have... somehow...
            "relegated my inhibitions"?
                 n'est ce pas?
         to have children and begin with...
that ******* of differentiating vowels from
consonants... and then... building consonants...
what... 5 vowels... 21 consonants...
5 x 21 = 105 variations...
       prefix: ab, ac, ad, af, ag...
                     eb, ec, ed, ef, eg...
                           IF only! oof!
                 the suffix - ba, ca, da, fa, go...
                                 bat cat dad fat god...
and then... the 21 x 21 consonant variables...
squared to the power of 5...
because... chinese is... frankly...
so simple...

   - it's summer and...
            since i would otherwise... require ink...
to write... and the paper would somehow
be always readily available...
no need for ink...
the summer months are terrible...
for no requirement of ink...
what is ink?  ink is...
                         i need october...
i need november... december... january...
february... half of march...
i need to borrow ink from the night!
i can't scribble in these arab / kenyan months...
these sun-seeker months
of idle by the dream-pool... load of...
overtly-talked... less thought...
therefore... no need to scribble...

    i need the night for my ink...
                           "punctuation marks are in
the constellations": oh yes... honey sweet...
what's it called? cliche? we've all been there...
i too would sacrifice Hector before the altar
of Achilles if i were Priam...
                   only because: he was called Hector...
and the other was Achilles...
and i was called Priam...
       in such times... what were...
the trully... common-place names...
of stunt-men and extras?
   i'd like to know the equivalent of a john smith
from ancient greece...
what would one call: him?
            
        perhaps: i tend to think about *** when
i... most probably had a dream...
jerking off is a bit like...
checking one's blood pressure...
or as a diabetic might... ***** his index
to check the sugar levels...
i write about "***" when i've had a dream...
the dream...

i was talking to a man about cars...
notably... cars from...
america and germany...
circa the years... 1920s through to...
                the 1970s...
          and... then... the talk of... a motorcycle...
a specific motorcycle...
   a triump street cup...
                 a BMW R18... but not quiet...
whatever it was...
                    for the love of a double-decker
bus and a pair of legs...
                which is not...
to have emotionally invested
in *** was something a much younger
version of me would have done...
i thank the prostitutes of curing me of this...
debilitating disease / dream...
              which, i, prescribed... myself...
so no... i hardly think...
there were any... mummy or daddy issues...
i would skip several scenarios:
as much as i love riding a double-decker
bus... i abhor... taking a taxi...
       even if it requires me to walk...
2 miles... i'd rather walk:
for the love of legs and... voodoo dolls hanging
like corks... bend the knee: they might say...
bullet to the knee-cap... if you ask me...
again...

     perhaps i wasn't born english...
but... after... 26 years among them...
                          it "sort of" grows on you...

- man can perform a thousand:
dodo project genocides in one sitting:
on the throne of thrones...
before jumping under a baptism:
fully attired in the ganjes pyjamas
in one sitting: on the throne of thrones...
to "squat" while *******...
*******... *******...
"scented candles" of taking a shower...

i write about *** every time i have a dream...
it's to succumb to the lesser...
escapade of me...
i can stomach subjectivity...
but having to stomach idealism...
is another matter: altogether...
i would like to worship the men who
have had their fill...
and settled for the swan blockade
of the widower romance...
the widow swan...
the black widow: a ******* spider...

none of it... i ****** good i ******
well... come the prime of the age 21...
she was a gamer side-kick bedded...
she prescribed me...
                        Bulgakov...
              reading a ****** to a prussian...
or reading a ****** to a RUŚ: example: ditto...
                  i have heard of how
love supposedly closed and opened borders...
we are so antithesis "different"...
we aren't... some western "communist"
zoo study:
the people who say and then...
lucky us paupers...
who have to "loot" the infrastructure
of the vacating ****-tunnels...
because... someone has to ****-off...
their tongue and... gerbil fidgety!

albino chimpanzee and...
boxer gorilla fed on...
the promise of bulk... with nothing
but... the promise of fruits of your
labour... and nothing relating
to protein... or fat... of complex sugars
known as bread... none of that!
still: that fudge-packing bulk of
gorilla bicep protein: amass!

   - as ever... the murk: before the deep-water...
the... inverted demigods
of h. p. lovecraft...
because... cthulhu is... "somehow"...
not the ******* son of Poseidon?

acid-quasi-monkey asks...
   placid-didgeridoo...
                a constipated: not funny...
attempts! at solving a crossword!
-frankenstein-myrhh:
                        ******* dangling...
                                    (-) - Fatima...
is this... "Syria" yet?
  concerning the second coming...
concerning...
Syrian civil war... something...
*******... miraculous...
has happened...
or was about to happen...
and that it didn't happen...
better that it did:
but since it... didn't...
best we cover it up...
                corpse bride:
               Khadija **** Khuwaylid...
if ever: Stephen Vizinczey...
was a (prophet) Muhammad...
in praise of older women...

    ...a Fatima... fleeing the Syrian
civil war... because... Ramses II
was... telling apart the 7 good years
from... the 7 ******* years...

tell you what... it's no fun...
when you've been given the need
to bend the knee before the altar
of phantom power...
if i were 16 and she was 14...
if i was 18 and she was 16...
if i was 60! and she was... 20!
would it matter?
               if i was jerking off aged 8...
you want to know...
what... the last prize is...
the last... difference between...
"consent" of two adult adult...
with their *******-riddle
of a theatre of ***?
     you want to know?
the thought of ******* someone...
under-age...
no! no barbie! no ken!
the theatre of thought...
of ******* someone... underage...
who is... displaying...
teasing ***... in that primodial seance
of grief to ward of mother from
the ******...
and father from the parentage of
school!

               you ever want to see...
what... a kick in the jaw looks like...
omnipresent onlooker...
of some... unpardonable crime...
that it has to be ***-related...
              i wish i performed some
unpardonable crime on a *******...
i guess a kiss is a kiss is an unpardonable
crime against a *******...
i need this heart to shelter itself
in stone! i need: a heart!
of hard-earned: rock!
               with each sentence:
i find it impossible to not....growl!
to howl! to spew a bickering of...
wolves... of hyenas...
a wake of crows!
            
              i want toi write an echo!
hye! anoooooooooooooooooooooooooo!
i want to hear...
the microscope itching
of a marrow...
of maggots working toward
a closure of expressing: scotch fudge!
i want! maggot marrow!
i want! the lost sounds of...
what the fox already minded...
in...                       χαoς! ρει(γ)νς!
yes... the gamma is a surd...
                 in this... english... equation...

last time i checked:
the cognitive theatre of the forbidden...
****** "lax"...
it's enough to tease the affair with
mere thought...
to have... people "bothered"
that one thinks... such "things"!
while the girl... prime... aged... 14...
teases you with...
exfoliations of...
                      script and... censure...
like a skirt...
but of course...
you're the dodo-project genocidal maniac
about to sport a new: cushioning
extreme...
of an ******* like...
you're minding teasing...
a high-blood pressure!

          can i allow myself a giggle?
a crown of: a dozen demons laughing
as relevant: to the 12 strong cohort of...
cognitive lapses of reason?
          
  ******* before a mirror is my...
my memory and my last concern for...
"adventure"...
a ****** ******* a russian girl so freely...
she fed off of us as...
     spinning a willow to confine itself to:
those rhubarbs in... "retro"...
no... i'm pretty sure... "they"...
the western communists would have minded
it coming across as...
  rhubarb... dreads... stiff 12" drizzle /
drool bits of a tight-knit white sporting ***!
my... oh... wait...
not exactly 16... so... no...

my... what?!
    this has to become one of those...
most... "unspectacularbly": "a least"
in what's to be digested... "fogiven"...
when... there's that teasing-**** of a per-se
readied for her rite of horror to be
met with ******* the...
upper... echelons...
to the queue! to the loiter!
to the...                cue: no dry martini equipped...
sort of... joke as... a variation
of... escapism: to excuse...
fixations... of social hierarchy...

    i am hardly a misogynist...
            it's almost... fake...
how feminists point out... death-pull...
the misogynists...
clinging to philanthropists... i suppose...
it's like...
"someone" forgot...
to... mention...
the benevolent in misanthrophy...
the happily allied to the ivory tower...
whether you're a man or a woman...
or a man pretending to be a woman...
or a woman pretending to be a man...

who is... the misanthrope?
            the solipsist...
the atheist: should you be god?
the altruist... the... fiddly-bit... extreme...
the... autist?
         who is... your... claim for...
******-****** ruleZ the world?
mother of all perfected children...
a bit like jerking off to...
those gravure beijing models...

ava lauren? she is... an aged looking
*******... closure: madame...
she earned it...
her skin is like leather...
you dare to: wear it...
   but... oops: the ubermensch...
these chinese "brides" are not...
photoshopped...
they're genetically edited...
it was apparent that china
didn't have a soul...
in its summa summarum...
or in its christ redeemer...
when... india has its rich
polytheism... pedagogy:
shiva the antithesis of vishnu:
the thesis...

    i can feel... at least!
i can feel abbreviated with the raj master...
sport...
sending a few "*******" to beijing!
let's hear a story...
no... i'm fuming mad:
i'm dying! to hear that coin-flip
of a tail: of bending the... fuckning knee:
capping... as one might!

there's a <100million of "me"...
there's... a >1billion of "them"...

   while:
            i ****** off to...
          genetically edited creatures...
the western world can hide
behind its setting sun: metaphor...
photo-editing... while...
the hot-**** beijing is...
gene-editing...
west-world 1972 bronze age:
"staging a coup"..

             yeah: gurran-gu-dag...
the arabs and their bangladeshi...
queen-bee sorted...
           elizabeth II...
royal ascot...
  i.e. lamborghinis raced on knightbridge...
because: arab playboys are to be...
minded...

write long... to ensure...
people read short... little chance
of censor-loved-up-pseudo-i.q.-heroes!
100 years later: you become a pseudo-Proust /
a Joyce... but... that also implies:
you're stiff up at the neck...
in death and sand... and worms...
in a grave! so? no turkish kebab:
no malmuk / no janissary resurrection!

all this en masse... gravity toward...
"sanity" and sobriety...

well... it's the nicety of giving /
stating compliments...

if only there was less
fertile ground:
to make one's arguments for...

if the united kingdom
was more akin to... iceland...

             i drink...
  and that gives me hope
in my original venture:
h'america signed a plot
line division:
to abhor the liquid...

for it brought nothing but ill...
constipated abolitionists...
whiskey frankenstein's
monster's fire: bad... mantra...

in that:
the perverted persuasion
tactic of the... limited sober...
sane... the... cream / rather not:
the creep of the crop...
and this is... somehow...
the **** worthy of harvesting?

one ghost... limping...
dead loitering limb...
a foot... for that crazed
ballerina...
then a jargon of a hand
missing... ghost reading
of braille...
             as one does:
when one's elbow
arrives on the scene...
with... robert downey jr.
and tommy lee jones...

then again... ask...
what is... homogeneity...
to the... russians...
                    sweep-stake
the concept of mongol and orc...
somehow: the old east...
is the new south...
you have an imploded "problem"...
you allow it...
all the circus rights of a democratic
load and loot and allowance...

those... whitey...
masochistic chant-lords...
are no good to begin: governing:
anew...

i hear one more ref. to 1984...
i swear to god...
i'll start the **** book burning
fiasco...
              that's all that's ever recited
these days...
it's not the monolith of the bible
recitation...
it's 1984...
it's not even: homage to catalonia...
it's not even...
the stranger by albert camus...
it's this... fixation on:
this was necessarily true...
it had to be necessarily true:
since... we ensured that it be...
necessarily true!

         brave new world
and 1984: sometimes known as...
the works of prophet isaiah...
and malachi...
or some bogus first choice answers...

it's not like charles dickens...
the pickwick papers are to be cited...
no... ray bradbury's
          fahrenheit 451...
     or "we" by yevgeny zamyatin...
is no... one...
to cite... from...
the master and margarita...
mikhail bulgakov -
then again... again... again...
       he, of our own...
that was always right...
and we... of his own...
dumb enough... to have...
         walked... into his...
prediction... and... gloated at it...
when... walking into it...
**** y'ay: brovado!

          it's one scrutiny to...
blind time with all the omnipresence
of open space...
that there is a future:
you'll forgive me: there isn't one...
it's all... kiss and kick
a donkey with a whipping:
blind... then... fish one out...
for the royal ascot...
with an imaginary carrot...
the stick doesn't mind...
whether it be imaginary:
or detailed...

                  but as long as someone...
somewhere...
    is reading an alternative...
not some... thought-fulfilling gravity
of consorts and bitter bitten knees
with more than mere...
masochism of kneeling on pebbles...
there's the... kneeling...
and the exposed calf... and biting riddles
of... the demon with a name akin
to belzeebub! the one associated
with minding mosquitos!

     sayz who?

that these... people... are well verse...
they cite 1984 by george orwell...
like they might cite the *******
quran...
         because: hey presto!
something is real!
they adore... the past...
catching up to the present...
and the present being
devoid of a future...
who aren't the people...
already drunk from...
something in the past...
   coming true?!

      of fruit:
the U.B.D. the B.B.D.
and the S.B.D.
  i love those acronyms as much as i love...
that... affair with the acronym of...
the idea of USA... prior to...
   the louisiana purchase...
                     that little affair of
anglo-dutch proto-germanicus...
maine... new england...
all that fuzzy jazz and... smog...
and lost clue... for: dreamland of
lingering horror...

  so said the sober and "sane" people...
that sanity of the blah of the herd...
well... yeah...
h'america and probihition...
one of those... moon-milking
nation of narratives...
              how science-fiction was
always to eclipse the science itself.

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com  
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

               Upon Reading Bulgakov’s The Master and Margarita

Margarita flying naked over Moscow
She might have caught a cold doing that, you know

A big ol’ cat shooting a Browning Hi-Power
He was certainly amusing for an hour

The Secret Police were like the Keystone Kops
Not to be trusted even with traffic stops

And Pontius Pilate ordering a death
Almost with every other tortured breath

There were two burnings of the Master’s book
But yet at the end someone gave it look

The Master’s book…hmmmm…

I have finished this book; I thoughtfully read it
And I must confess that I just don’t get it

"Do you save what's left or what you are afraid to lose?"

...maybe I should just throw it back to the ocean where it belongs.

"'Cowardice is the most terrible of vices.' Bulgakov wrote that. You should know."

…everybody's scared of something.

it would seem,
   a maine **** cat, male, is best appeased
by a shoelace...
     hardly a comparison
aligned to the master mikhail bulgakov...
this cat doesn't drink *****,
or play chess...
nor does it drink wine...
      it prefers sushi shrimps and
       sushi trout eyes...
and... shoelaces... for a game...
as i too might, imagining being infested
by a tapeworm...
shoelaces: but no shoes
   do women really keep cats for
replacement company therapy sessions?
i just keep cats as the last
resort format of a curiosity
learning curvature... they're just weird,
or rather, of all the petted animal,
so subtly idiosyncratic...
  i have too many nicknames for them...
the male? quarus? osama bind laden:
the terrorist... the aria king...
   bodzio when he's wanting
to cling to head-butting you as a greeting...
   pavarotti...
          he meows to the point of howling
come 4am...
   the female? veroniya?
       ss-obersturmbannführer,
witch,
            tyson fury when she's trying
to hide her "oopsie" of a ****'s worth...
jaws... since her tail is always upright...
like a shark's fin when she's strutting...
oh but animals have their character...
   less visible in dogs...
    give it enough time:
you're bound to spot it among / in cats...
even a cow was a character dynamic
proding suss... however subtle...
most people don't encompass a capacity
to encompass this sort of
                    gift.  

.and some would claim that there exists, a contradictory-"******" related to the psyche of suicides... it would appear the mere thought of suicide is a "disgruntled" variation of arousal, nay, the mere thought is more potent than a ****** arousal... it's less the ultimate taboo, but the ultimate fetish... why blame those, who have managed to satisfy this urge? my father never complained about suicides, he had a story, where his friend committed suicide, becausde his father was ******* his girlfriend, and he, simply, reached the threshold of what was acceptable, for his psyche to manifest a will inclined to entertain life, rather than that omniscient lover, death... i've come to realise that death, is... as ****** as whatever harlequin / de sade ******* allows, nay, more... how mere thinking can create an arousal, of goosebump testicles, imitating a ***** dynamic, without really achieving a hard-on, rather, a protruding tongue, silenced, which gives the hands momentum, to doodle, something, akin to this; suicide is forever going to be, the exacted limit of passing a free will judgement, however wrong... if the argument goes: humans are without free will, a suicide will always provide the antithesis; i've had a fwend (" ") once, who wanted to shame michael hutchence for his suicide... one brave ******* in all honesty... to experience that sort of a metaphysical ******, well... don't know what it would feel like... any science is contrary to the details, given that... all your "proof" is ascribed to the dead... but at least a philosophical mind-set provides, some groundwork, for imagining a counter-argument, and... the justification for the most "abhorrent" expression of free will... it feels good, to be left without the shackles of the free will argument, that excludes the act of suicide; that's the 1st step: if someone can't commit themselves to suicide, then... man has no free will... there's nothing quiet like engaging with a conscious choice, freed from conscience, whatever post mortem arguments come after, don't even matter... flimsy ******* sparrows, scheming and fluttering of wings! fly! fly! be free! be free!

                           tim pool:
being gay is not a choice,
being religious is,

except the whole
bureucratic fiasco
of the catholic church

the whole pro-life
and pro-baptism...

   i made it blatantly clear
that i didn't want
to be baptißed,
when i dissented from
having to be
confirmed...

mind you:
one great aspect of a catholic
school?
   uniforms...

yeah... i guess you don't
get to create a group
dynamic borrowed
from clothing,
there's no high-school "culture"
that later translates itself
into a resentment culture
that lends the high-school
years as blueprint,
for "extracurricular" activities
of: the motivational life
(aspect)...

i can't remember being
asked whether
i wanted to be baptißed
or not...
i do remember being
asked to be confirmed...
i declined...

so... i am an apostate,
but for that to have any
clingy-meaning,
you'd need catholic
bureucracy to imply
"something"...
nothing protestant:
*****-nilly on the side...

   an uncircumcised man
succumbs to the allure
of hebrew mysticism
and (g)nosticism...
   namely the qabbalah...

oh sure, sure,
i was going to side with
the younger devil
(islam) on matters
of my, "christianity"...
i was going straight
to the jews to find
reasonable answers...

      oh ****...
    i should have done that
protestant "thing"
of borrowing from
either buddhist or hindu...
****...
must have slipped my
'ed.

i still don't understand how h'american
adult life translates itself from
a resentment of the h'american high-school,
if it does not lend itself to
the critique associated with faith schools,
and uniforms...
                 at least in english,
catholic high-schools...
everyone was made uniform,
akin to joining the army...
an army of jesuits...
         h'american public schools,
and their non-uniform policies...
bad idea...
       we had about 3 non-uniform days
in school, we were allowed to not wear uniforms,
as long as we gave money to a charity cause...

i hate the notion of the genesis
of culture, being excavated from h'american
public schools, where uniforms were deemed:
non-complicit...

i liked the uniform,
it's the closest i ever came to my father's
stint in the ****** army...
           being the most handsome,
recruited for the "royal guard" equivalent...
i.e. the republican guard...
pretending soldier status...
shooting blanks, at state funerals in
a "bargain" of the salvo...

thank god i never attended a public
school, i liked my catholic school uniform...
i never dressed to impress...
i never made a cultural backdrop out
of it... there was never a piggy-bank's
worth of a twilight saga to bank on...
     thank god not all of h'america
left the shores of america...
  thank god some of it: stayed in its place;

what?!
  
      i live in england...
  why wouldn't i whistle the le marseillaise
alongside the british grenadiers' fife and drum,
rather than... oh god... god save the queen / king?
the most ****** national anthem in
world history...

  sorry, i can't...
                it's a ****** anthem...
              at least the russians and the scots have
the grounds for an anthem covered...
****... beside vaughan williams...
    elgar?! that's it?! no wonder.

she was enticing, i must add, but not the point where
i might find myself buying her jewels...
   and other symbols of the archaic statement of
reciprocated show of affection...
     she chose her own engagement ring...
                                 it wasn't much, by my standards
of wealth, but what mattered was the essential promise
of proposal...
                rarely does a man get "*****" into being
proposed...         so little planning goes into the affair
on man's behalf, that he simply regresses into a state
    of a procelain doll...
                      or, for that matter: becomes a st. thomas'
babushka doll: full of surprises...
        here's to it! an ode to oakheart!
                 a bacardi brew at 35% (imagine the arithmetic
that went into buying this liquor...
          how much less do i get from the standard 40%
dosage of *****? five beers? six? seven?) -
they don't even cite the spices used... or what sort of
wood the liquor was stored in... the *******...
          bold yet smooth & mellow taste?
  seriously?
    see... this girl really believed in the herr mannelig
story... myth... a knight becomes enticed by a female troll...
   she had this mirror she called to,
   and it wasn't the sort of story that you could
recount with the word: mirror mirror, on the wall,
   who's the fairest of them all?
         oh no... this image-projection was thick as the darkest
of all possible nights... she was a real trollfrau...
  a female troll... a gamer... a girl who was into
painting warhammer figurines...
               i had no complaint about that... after all...
she was playing video games, but encouraged that i read
bulgakov's: the master and margarita...
    which i did...
                 but as a 19 year old... her obsession with
the herr mannelig fable reached a pinnacle...
   and my once dear trollfrau became so so lost in her black
widow web of lies, that she was never resurrected.
        well i couldn't complain about her prettiness...
      i wasn't the one to judge what she noted
about her slightly large proportion of nose...
   but since she lied that she used to roller-blade
and hit the tarmac face-down, and this enlarged her nose
to slightly fatter proprotion?
         lies have short legs... lies are like dwarfs...
        it's not exactly zeno's achilles and the tortoise:
     in non-paradoxical language... one will catch up with the other;
obviously there is a time delay... but one can't remain
in the abstract from the other.
         she also wore glasses...
            and yes, even though i don't have to wear glasses,
i checked out the effect that glasses have on perception...
she thought she had short legs...
       wear myopia glasses for long enough... and you too will
imagine yourself several inches shorter than you actually are.
once i found variations of the folk song that she
really stressed to be her favourite,
      i found a woman's voice singing herr mannelig
as being the complete opposite to her first suggestion:
namely in extremo's version of it... a male voice singing
for trollfrau's narration? it couldn't happen...
   there's germarna's version,
and there's tibetréa's version...
                 which coincides with what i do on a very
rare occassion... like... watch the "eurovision" song contest...
australia? really? so why not include canada and america
in this farcical of all possible contests?
     the belgian song from the current year, 2017...
      i actually... i actually ******* liked it... blanche - city lights;
if this song doesn't win... i'm going to swallow
                        half a kilogram of chewing-gum;
there's only about 1 10th of decency in just contests....
the rest is eurotrash...
                             what's the real comedy... because feel
more embarrassed about their musical tastes,
  than about their ****** preferences... they'll speak about
their ****** this-that-and-the-other... than what music
they like, since they prefer being degraded by ****** acts...
than being degraded by talk of "embarrassing" music tastes...
   let's just say: it's not akin to sadistic ***,
   and talk of a taste in music, that's the sound of a hammer,
     pounding at nails.

in the background... Howie B's: fizzy in my mouth / your mouth....

i'm rarely given these rare opportunities of late,
where i sit down to have a few whiskey
sharpshooters, smoking less and less cigarettes
(mobile sheesha is the way to go,
cherry... i'm still to try the blueberry liquid)
and thinking: what is it that i want to write?

but sometimes, after doing some manual labour
around the house and... this time the garden
i.e. putting up a wooden arch... trying to salvage
my grapevine... nice work...
   the mind relaxes when the body is exerted...
the joy of not thinking: whether that's
reflexive thinking or long: "profound" instances
of reflective thinking... because the body takes
over reality while the mind checks out...
      
but i was watching this video about dating...
a girl saying she's not fit for the dating scene
because she's a bad-*** *****...
and she could undermine any man's masculinity...
dyed hair... baseball cap worn backwards...
tattoos up to and including her neck...
and these two Aussie guys commenting...
(x) said... she reminds me of my ex-girlfriend...
there's this specific charm about a woman
who likes to give off stand-offish vibes...
      (y) said... i'm put off by women like that...
i prefer feminine women...
swearing is out of the question... blah blah...
    i just walk away (says y): terrible vibes...

i have to agree with (x)... i too dated a girl like
that... although... she was more into dread hair...
piercings and obviously tattoos...
   she swore like a cobbler
   and i was into that... she even wanted to convert
me to turn my long hair into dreads
and given she was into tattoos... she wanted
to give me a tattoo...

    i refused both invitations...
it wasn't even a: "it's not me, it's you" /
   when you love someone you don't want to change them...
well... she did finally remove those piercings in
her lips... her body reacted terrible to all that iron...
crusty lips... i told her: you either take them out
or i'm not going to kiss you^,
    tattoos? no...
   dreads?! double no...
           well, i wasn't going to tell her to get rid
of her tattoos... that would be sort of "racist"...
in a funny sort of way... since what's done is done...
but she got rid of her dreads...
even though i didn't ask...
             i just told her... i have a manic pixie dream-girl
fetish... i was obsessed with the film Garden State
at university... no... that's a lie...
i was obsessed with the song from the soundtrack
of Garden State:
    the Shins' New Slang...
   one night i climbed the scaffold that was erected
when New College... Old College?
    was being renovated in Edinburgh...
                    the Law College...
                                  it was such a beautiful night
to climb up and sit and dance on the roof...
       listening to that very song...
                   that's when i thought i wouldn't fall
in love: in that untidy sort of way...
and that love would only be something imaginary
in my head or in the words of Stendhal's
the Crimson and the Black....

she turned from being this dread-head baggy jeans
sneakers and band t-shirts mad *****
to being... well... when i would put on linen
trousers and a linen shirt... and leather sandals...
she would put on a very pretty dress -
and we would enjoy ourselves in the St. Petersburg
zoo... looking like a very fashionable couple...
or we would do something similar and go to the opera
to see Verdi's La Traviata...
                       she might have know a few bands...
she introduced me to In Extremo...
obviously i figured out: there are more bands exploring
  musikvölkisch... and i found them...
but she wanted to see Madame Butterfly...
   i said no and...
                      that's the thing about dating women...
they're always comparing other women...
in the opera she overheard two women
talking... i don't understand Russian to this day...
but they must have ****** her off...
for ****'s sake... i'd still rather say
КБAЦ
                    than read KВAC as KVAS /
kwas... not... with a Polish diacritical L: Ł...
i don't know how the Germans make
the ****** distinction, i.e. between the V and W...
it's not a double-U to begin with...
it's a double-V... off of Volkswagen...
     but i was thinking in three languages...
we dated speaking English...
   but in the back of my mind i had "mother" Poland
while she had "mother" Russia...
               and i abhorred her accent...
in England people ask me where i'm from...
but they can't really place the accent...
                    that's why they ask...
because i don't have an Essex accent...
i have a London: cosmopolitan accent...
                                            and that troubles people...

hell... i don't have any regrets...
i write fondly of her... even though she was
x, y & z of headaches... the *** was: for someone who just
turned 21... pretty ****... plus she introduced me
to Bulgakov... while i already knew about
Dostoyevsky... i don't even remember what
i introduced her to... jazz... something or other...
my grandfather once asked me:
don't you regret it?
             the older i get... i looked her up some years
ago... after me...
  she spiralled out of control... by the time she
reached 30 she was already on her second marriage
while i was starting to wake up from
my hermit's slumber...
            
but those girls must have really ****** her off...
they must have commented something akin to...
why is this troll of a girl with this good looking guy...
i mean: i wasn't a ******* Quasimodo in
my early 20s... sure... i took some psychiatric beating
in my later 20s... put on 50kg thanks to
the pills they prescribed me... but i managed to
beat 20kgs down... and... let's face it...
a guy in his 30s is not going to weigh a lean
weight that he did in his 20s... muscle...

even she used that same ****** tactic...
   comparing women... with the men they were dating
and how "superior" we were as a couple...
i just wanted to hide with her in the bedroom
and ****... because... over-charged with *******
since aged circa 8 i had to find a healthy canvas / outlet
for all the "suspense" / "condoms"... restrictions
of the "nunnery"...

^mind you... i found myself peeling at the scabs
on my face and eating them...

so gentleman (x) and (y) were talking about this girl
with tattoos and blah-****-blah syntax
and dyed hair and it go me thinking...
gent (y) used the term...
APOSEMATISM...
               that's what prompted me...

i think i need to write that word in the Greek alpha-,
απoσεματισμ...

can we have a "debate": "orthographically",
not that i'm an expert
                e-psilon vs. e-ta
             i.e. within the confines of -σε-
                                               vs.              -ση-       ?

but i already know the answer...
it's e-psilon and not e-ta for the simple fact that...
you can't translate handwriting
into letter-digits...

    i.e. -σεμ-            vs.            -σημ-
  
   although... hmm... that's a tough one...
after all... it's a question of orthographical-aesthetic,
yes, i know that i once stressed that orthography
is related to the use of diacritical markers...
the modern Greeks overuse them...
they're so pedantic about them...
                       they're almost reinvented Byzantine
bureaucracy...
             but it's hard not to discount Charles Dickens'
misnomer use (misuse) of the term orthography
when examples cited are as pointless as: little is to litle...
aesthetically? obvious reasons...
since English is so rigid in its past...

one example in English... but we're not talking individual
letters...
          θought & φilosoφy...
              F ******* F... back to back...
but... enter the Romans and there's no a distinction
of meaning: even though the sound is the same:
one's TH-ETA the other is PH-I...

just like i could never be a novelists...
novels takes weeks, months... years to write...
i couldn't layer my efforts for that long... i couldn't use
camouflage of lost interest: regained interest...
person life / struggles... enjoying life...
sitting in a coffee shop... doing a ******* Ernest
Hemingway's hunting trips to Kenya...
absinthe drinking sessions
         and hunting trips to the back of his head...
bloating in agony like Bukowski...
                         idealising love...
                           oh sure... i have one of those...
and she's a nun going by the name of Norma...
what a ******* name... a bit like Norman...
even Otto is more palette friendly... for the ear...
unless... hearing someone eat with their mouth
open is almost like... hearing the sounds mollusks
make when fudge-packing their ego-skeleton-imaginations...
because: that probably does happen...
from time to time...

    what's so bothersome about the Chinese
and the O? if they have to complicate "matters"
with their skeleton of 圆?
  to hell with building the great wall...
when... nonetheless the Mongols will still invade?!
you really need an "explanation"
of a circle bound to a square?

i have to feign... some details...
i has been a blessing to have experienced a bicycle
accident days prior to my shift...
just days after my *******...
because it was unlike any *******
bound to *******...
it wasn't one girl riding my phallus while
another shoving her **** into my face
where i wanted to be bound to a third person:
looking in...
this was much better...
i was simulating... i wanted to **** both their
faces with my eyes...
how?
        i was cuddling up to one of them jerling me off...
while the other one was looking on massaging my
testicles not getting ******...

i did state a change of auditory "flimsy"...
man with no name - own the world...
this ******* was unlike what
******* sells...
this ******* was...
one was jerking me off
and i was cuddling up to her neck
while the other felt abandon...
if you're ******* two girls at the same time...
at least one needs to feel neglected... jealous...
i wanted to see both of their faces...

it's a good "thing" that after having this *******
had my bicycle accident...
it was a reality check...
                best to feel the ultimate pain
after receiving the ultimate of pleasure...

it's that word again... APOSEMATISM..
at work... i've been working with them...
*****.. butch-lesbian stereotypes...
heavy rings... tattoos...
some come with dyed hair... some come
with crew-tops...
me? i come with bruises...
i get... hurt... i'm currently coughing
and my chest hurts... when i cough...
will i see a doctor? ha ha... since the pandemic...
i've seen a dentist in Poland...
good luck in England...
to hell with the Hippocratic Oath...
if they don't care... i don't, care...
no... sorry... it's not how it works...
              
APOSEMATISM...
at work... these butch *****...
she dyes her hair purple... she collects
serpents... i ask her... what about spiders?
she's like... fair enough...
     they have piercings... they have tattoos...
i have bruises...
ooh... itch...
                      the beta-males surround me
looking for conversational protection...
sure... i'll talk...
   let's talk... Heidegger's hammer?!
*******... silence... i must be feeding the intellectual
escapade of gnats!

half of me is being realistic...
half of me is being insulting...
i don't know which is which!

St. Cyril made a **** poor job of morphing
the Glagolitic lettering away from Greek...
let's face it... Cyrillic looks like the cheap version
of Greek... ***** and their dyed hair...
their piercings... their rings...
their tattoos.... woman: 'ard! ugh!
their crew-top hair...
      but when they see a guy with...
bruises that could have been tattoos...
how they back off...
                                      
there's this girl Emma who collect serpents...
dyed purple hair... insecure **** in the making...
i mention spiders... to counter her obsession
with snakes...
what... could... possibly... be... wrong...
with... either... cats... or dogs?!

but bruises tell a better story than tattoos...
better pain translate...
oh, sure... you want to be readied
at clinging to something serious...
you sometimes stand around these puppets walking
around: his eye is bruised... blah blah..

yeah... these butch girls have tattoos...
i have... scars... i prefer scars to tattoos...
what?!
     ink is expensive...
                       pain is freely given!
children sort of adore people with scars
than tattoos...
         i love children... they adore authenticity.

i truly must have had one of those, very, very memorable nights, that i somehow also want to forget, so implant myself with false memories, oh, i've seen this done in a clinical environment, in psychiatry: it's called regression - a psychiatrist will call you up, he or she might have a handy student overseeing the "interview"... then he / she might insert a sort of: on the whim / "by the way" a speaking out-loud, referring to you in third person... e.g. oh... he was abused as a child... again.. to reiterate, today i woke up thinking i was screaming into the deafness of the night, not screaming via de profundis... more like... vitriol energy screaming: you ******* idiots! but i have proof... a nice, plum of an eye-sore... no mascara could do it justice... so it must've been a decent drinking session... my father just asked me... who gave you that LIMO... slang in ****** for a black-eye... LI-MO... thrill! i can find that in katakana: look at me go! ****... on L in Japanese... no trilling of the R either... WONG, WONG WONG.... let's see...  ha ha... oh but there is... you just have to be a rat, scuttle around the "palace" for a while... リ゜
                       モ
so when asked: who gave you the black-eye? i replied...
i was having issues with my shadow, who else?
i was punching myself in the head so hard, hey presto!
plum! ha ha...i always blame the shadow, we're always wrestling, no drinking session without a proper, fighting antagonism, the day  my shadow stops punching me, i, imagine, is the day some woman will come round and: ha ha... "kiss it all better"... for the time being... i like punching myself, i like... putting out cigarettes on my knuckles... masochistic little art of pseudo-algebra: X here, XXXX in total... it's always a good drinking session when i loose control, it usually happens when something is infuse... some minor biopic concerning Ted Bundy will do it... the erotica: YA-WN... i'm still trying to get paid... capitalism: sure... for some... i'm waiting... if they only pay me, properly... self-employed or PAYE (pay as you earn)... no one has bothered to clarify this with me... capitalism for some... i'll work, **** it... but the idea of bungee-jumping from some high building... no... not too alien... i can stomach the gravity, the thrill... i know that upon impact i'll meet sigma... alias of soul... my body's rent to begin with... no worries... i think i punched myself in the face since tomorrow i'm doing a stewarding shift up in Oxford... **** know's who's playing... i just want the supervisors to see my face... my whittle plum sore... if asked obviously i won't be telling them: i had an argument with my shadow... got in a fight, in a pub, self-defence... blah blah... oh no no... this metaphysical paradise belongs to me, to me: alone!
i almost feel terrible drinking this litre of bourbon,
you can't get better bourbon than ol' Jacky-boy'oh...
every time i open a bottle of bourbon
i'm reminded of the sort of perfumery you'd
most associate with a brothel -
bourbon scents = brothel scents...
bourbon is most certainly better than whiskey...
wait... no it's not...
bourbon is sweet whiskey...
i'm not much of a Laphroaig sort of guy...
come to think of it: on the spot...
i'd prefer a smoky whiskey... a Scotch whiskey
than this... sickly sweet bourbon...
perhaps i shouldn't have done
the no. 1, 2 & 3 (****, ****, *******)
& the no. 4 (the "baptism") prior...
sometimes you start drinking & absolutely nothing
feels right... i think my socks are stinking...
pregnant woman sensitivity to scents,
to tastes? do i really want to eat some cappers
or some gherkins to reach a counter balance
to this... sweetness...
i still haven't checked my newly set up bank
account regarding whether i've been paid
for my stewarding at stadiums...
o.k., o.k., think about going to the brothel...
let me just hope
i can sooth my disgruntled little self
with some decent d.i.y. music choices...
               or... if i get enough in... it really will
not matter what i'll be drinking by the end
of it...
Laphroaig... well... it's a bit like Marmite...
you either love it, or hate it...
i'm undecided... like i'm undecided about
bourbon... any other day i'd be loving it...
today... i'm undecided...
  perhaps i'm just used to drinking cheap whiskey,
cheap generic stuff...
i elevate the drinking experience by romancing
it: fraulein bernstein (ms. amber)
& mr. whiskers... etc.

- it really just takes a cigarette break & looking up
at the night sky... oi! baldy! where's that
old ******! never mind, but a night sky without
the moon is always an ugly night...
now i know what's up...

why did i watch no man of god today?
i had company when watching this movie...
but... how many more, how many more *******
movies about Ted Bundy? sure...
the movie was more about the FBI profiler
Bill Hagmaier... but still...
do we really need yet another movie about
Ted Bundy?! o.k. i know a little...
his mother had him out of wedlock,
he was raised on a lie: his mother was his "sister"
while his grandmother was his "mother"...
i dated a Russian girl for a while...
when i met the goons, sorry, her family...
way back in 2007... in St. Petersburg...
i was given the Ted Bundy introduction...
her mother was her sister...
her grandmother was her mother...
         what a freak of a woman: great ****...
tattoos and piercings...
she did this one number on me...
all scabs on her lips...
imitating the singer from hed(pe)...
wait... i'll look him up... jared gnome-head...
no offense: jared gomes...
all scabby... i implored her... take them out...
i implored her... cut those ******* dreads...
she complied to the point of...
proposing to me... she even chose
the ******* engagement ring...
she wanted me to get a tattoo... i refused...
even though she was this upstart tattoo artist
in the making...
she wanted me to get dreadlocks:
again... i refused...
thank **** that i disappeared from Edinburgh
and headed back down to London...
Ilona: thank you for introducing me to
BULGAKOV... i really enjoyed that book...
esp. reading parts of if
on my wait from St. Petersburg through
to London with a stay at Warsaw...
eh... as much as i love Dostoyevsky...
how he belittles Polacks every time he gets...
not to my taste...

2007... a pivotal year...
to cite Jung from the Answer to Job...
perhaps there are some female readers
in my audience, perhaps the Zodiac is to be minded...
this quote...
Luciferi vires accendit Aquarius acres -
Aquarius sets aflame Lucifer's harsh forces...

a lot has happened since... 2007... don't you think?
oh, look-look... she was an Aquarius,
i am still a Taurus... but that break-up...
my god... what a harsh trip...
i remember walking up to her apartment armed
with a guitar... about to play her a serenade...
REJECTED: ha ha...
pushed back by her ex-boyfriend she was
******* and her ex-boyfriend's friend...
a Russian... ha ha... oddly enough:
called: GERMAN...

it's so almost yesterday... i can sigh a sort of relief
from this memory...
it's good to remember...
i never sought out that quality of forgetfulness...
i want to remember... i cherish memory
above thought... it's theatre...
i want to... remember... select...
what... i want to remember...
so that it can have a recurrent presence in my mind
like... that drill "sergeant" of
pedagogy that instilled 2 + 2 = 4 into me...
the ******* alphabet...

now i know why i have this bad taste
in my mouth from drinking bourbon...
it's not that i'm drinking bourbon...
i love bourbon...
when the Scots took the smoky route...
the Irish took the mellow route...
arriving at bourbon years later:
and on a different continent...
                                     do, i, look, bothered?!
i hope i do: i (might) also hope that you might
"think" i do... but... you're not, you don't
(seem to be)...
so? back to sq. 1: 'ere we go...

mighty fun playing the ******* or are least
pretending to be one...
akin to... pseudo Jack Nicholson
in that cameo role of his as
enrolled by: actor playing actor playing
an actor: Keith Allen...
Bodies... Dr. Tony Whitman...

me, you...Joseph Roth &
the doppelgänger, right & "who" else?!

now i know... that cigarette break really helped...
the bad taste in my mouth...
of course! i must be drinking h'american liquor...
i knew something was up...
couple h'american liquor with watching
no man of god i.e.
not another Ted Bundy flick... o.k.
women are attracted to psychopaths...
wannabe cannibals... fair, *******: enough...

black culture is superior to white culture...
sure... white people are ******* gagging
to incorporate it...
inter-sectionality always existed within
the confines of religion: religion was
always post-modernist... given the current trend
of "thinking": it always... incorporated
outside influences to create a cohesive:
snowball effect... what's ******* new?
discovering the continent of America in a tin
of ******* sardines?!

there's no tree, there's no dog barking...
you're just asking for a a wrong type of a mental
gymnast to make some, weirdly allocated,
point, of ref....
i'm not doing it... god help anyone...
no... not even the ******* devil would get into
this much... anti-fascinating sort of "juice"...
i wouldn't...

o.k. now i know...
i was drinking this most, bountiful of a fully-bodied
red wine yesterday...
a south african 2020 shiraz...
by the name of arabella (name sounds familiar...
an arctic monkey's song?!)
origin: western cape...

i think i must have mentioned
smoky whiskey vs. bourbon...
well... this glass of red was so good...
i had to breathe some nicotine smoke
into the glass... let's go... full out theatrical
on this: "blood"...

to reiterate... why so many movies about Ted Bundy?!
modern ******* is so...
******* ugly... even in the brothel i would never
want to **** women like the women ******
in *******... ****?! come on...
******* with the addition of choking?!

as a child i had a categorical dislike for liver,
pork liver... semi-goulash
with onions... with the addition of mash
& gherkins... or pickled beetroots...
this sort of material, this sort of ***...
puts me off...
i scratch my head and think:
Abel... because H'america was built on
the CULT of CAIN... their fascination
their celebration of serial killers...

prior to mentioned...
America is a CULT OF CAIN...
i'm with the Iranians on this...
     three names congregate...
Kurt Cobain... shot himself in the head using
a shotgun... sure... that's one way to go...
but... shooting yourself in the head...
doesn't simply "solve" the matter...
recall...
   Chrstine Chubbuck *** Adndrei Chikatilo...
bullet to the head...
for both...
a quote from Bane... a Batman fictional character:
perhaps he's wondering:
why someone might throw a man...
out of a plane... before shooting him in the head?!
why would you shoot someone
in the head... in an empty prison cell?!
if you were not expecting them to rot?!
best explored with the added tenderness added
to the attempted suicide attempt of the incel
that Ms. Chubbuck became?

why not make more movies about
the Zodiac killer... anyone?!
oh, sure... here's me readied to ******* to little
Wisconsin... or... **** knows where!

i was having some d.i.y. d.j. issues...
thought experiments... undogmatic & kernfeld...
"issues": yeah, i couldn't remember the song's name...
no, wait, the artists...

last came... the origins of the niqab hebrew
vowels...
the: hmm...
come to think of it... there's more...
such is the nature of hidden things...

Adam Kadmon [tetragrammaton(s)] apex...
Atzilut (nearness)
Beriyah (creation)
Yetzirah (formation)
Asiyah (making)...

vowels like diacritical markers...
caron, tail... umlaut...
well... for the Hebrews...
   A - kametz...
    E - tzere -
    I - chirek
   O - cholem
   U - Kibbutz... some others... i will miss...

the study of vowels, though...
since they are hidden...
the entire concepts of vowels in Hebrew...
the niqqud...
i ask... looking down at the chiromancy...
of, my... right, hand...
did not the vowels arrive in "our" consciousness
via the Sefirot root / branch of...
the Malkhut?!

    Adonoy... you know... when the current people
perform *** & it's so ******* off-putting:
primarily because... they talk...
during *******...
&... i don't want to be talking during ***:
why invoke / invite "god"?!
they can't... Niqqut / Malkhut the deed...
o.k.... not that i'm ******...
just... mildly annoyed...

      you don't need to **** & speak at the same
******* ****'s sake time!

Europe... some weird ******* funnel for
the world to congregate around...
white women... white women and their *******
sado-masochism...
the cult of cain in america...
white women and their afro-****-boys...
cry wolf while i go around arming myself
with Thai surprises& Turkish delights...

i oust my shadow from my presence
with a few drop-dead plums in search for "light"...
imagine me punching a woman silly to
later reason wth me...
oh... but no one is going to say anything about
me punching myself silly "SOY"..
been my: bean my baby?!

      now' the time i hark, now's the time i bark...
now's the time i fill the night with a stomach's
worth of...              GRUNT..
indigestion...

       die stücke, bewegen sich!
schach, ja?! nein?
                       was ist die alternative?!
hund?! leine?!

502 bad gateway bypass:

Ahab bin Haroon:
the lost Arab slave-merchant
who also traded in spices
and silk on the sly...

i'm sure there is more terrible music out there... sometimes
the you-tube algorithm is generous, weirdly a.i.:
it spits out: at random some generosity...
this time round? some band from Sweden,
i'm hugely into Swedish music,
for me the Swedes are currently: what the British were
back in the 60s and 70s and 80s of the previous
century... well excluding Abba:
personally? Abba is more innovative for me demanding
the proper understanding of POP than the Beatles
will ever be... for me it's all about Abba... odd...
only yesterday i remembered this song
by Cradle of Filth: her ghost in the fog...
oh the stuff i sieve through... the last time i was this excited
about discovering a band / artist it was...
****... there's a list:
Distance (when dub-step was a genuine genre)
   :wumpscut...
Die Krupps...
    Tool... but that's donkey's years ago... i have
the donkey's ears concerning that adventure...
King Crimson...
  Ghost... another favorite feature from Sweden...
Wooden Shjips... Demdike Stare...
this is closest to Die Krupps... this new band
the algorithm spit out... Priest...
two guys wearing those black plague masks
later detailed in the Venice carnival...
those Charles de Lorme black raven masks
and one guy singing in... a gimp masks with studs...
nice... i'm getting ***** just listening to
all this dark-wave electronica...
it's the sort of music you listen to to get in the mood
to visit a brothel and sleep with a *******...
i mean, this one song is outstanding...
      PHANTOM PAIN (again, priest)...
     fair enough... maybe this band: the KLINIK from
Belgium that were around in the 80s... are up there..
of course i'm a musical snob sometimes...
you have to be a snob sometimes: esp. when it comes
to music...
am i going to be a Bukowski and say that all modern
music is **** because i'm some classical music buff?
no really... but i like listening to music that allows
me to think about the contortions of the body during
***... and: luckily for me... i've found another artist
that just opened the floodgates to do just that...
if anyone Prokofiev... well: basically all the Russian composers...
i don't mind the Germanic composers...
but i prefer German medieval music: Teutonic chants...
those guys would sing and play...
before Bach's reorganisation into polyphony...

hmm... brothels... the pockets of Jerusalem any man
might wish for... no, i became truly angry watching
the Game of Thrones... you what? some dwarf is going to
have all that sensual fun... in the mind of that grub
of a writer? and i'm going to fall prey to celibacy?
a dwarf is going to have all that fun?
o.k. Darwinism is a lie:
the strongest don't reproduce...
Christianity and Darwinism are not compatible...
who, really, reproduces? the weak and the idiots...
that's what i love about reality:
it's objective... you just have to slip in your subjectivity
into it once in a while: **** a **** of
someone suffering from prostate cancer
into the snow and then sing like Frank Zappa sang:
don't you be eating the yellow snow...
i knew one had to be false: either Darwinism or
Christianity... when i was confronted with
the maxim: turn the other cheek i recoiled with
much anger... what?! i was a child back then...
i think i'm still a child right now...
but i just couldn't stomach that "truth"...
you what?! i can't hit back? i'm supposed to be a
punching-bag?
that's a bit ****, isn't it?

oh but at the brothel... last time i walked up those
frightful stairs and paid the £10 due for entry
asking how many girls were available...
the Madame... receptionist said that two were
available...
i saw one... sitting down... then the Madame sat down:
and she repeated herself: two are available...
i'm in luck... and my god... she does look the part
of a leather chair... her body looks like it could be
stretched to all unimagined possibilities...
that mole on her face adds to her allure...
hmm... next time... when's my next time?
ah... ****... on the 30th... a shift up at Craven Cottage...

that's what i realised when i was thirsty today...
i started jerking off to pictures of Turkish girls...
Romanian girls...
Hispanic milfs... i'm so ******* turned off by
loud-mouth western *****... probably blonde...
i'm turned off like...
you might throw a stone into a lake:
i'm sinking to new depths...
i need the olive skin the raven hair...
the supposed highest prize of a blonde white girl?
n'ah... n'ah ah... that's not happening...
like to like... now i truly am turning the other
cheek... of my ***!
i'm simply not interested...
give me a Mongolian girl... a Siberian Russian
lass! something juicy... something plump...
i'll take that... i'd not fidgety... i'm not bothered...
just something to squeeze...
a plump plum of a woman of Romanian stock
is worth my eyes i'd have to waste
on otherwise stuck-up English nuns!

oh, but this Madame really broke the camel's back...
i thought camels had humps:
rather than humps... i'm going to **** her next...

i fell in love with literature a few times in my life...
i can't remember the first time, proper...
but the first time: not proper was on the 86 bus riding
to school reading Stendhal's the Scarlet and Black...
i watched the t.v. mini-series first:
then read the book... i fell in love with the book...
French... though... i could never learn it:
too many surds... written one way:
but spoken another... i love how naturalization works...
you pick up local prejudices...
i've picked up the local prejudices of a
hatred for anything French that can't be eaten...
but i also picked up a German-philia...
i love the German tongue... it's the elder of
the dynamic that exists between the shared
constitution that's allocated to the English-German
schematic!
but the French?! as a tongue?!
write one thing: speak another... i *******, hate it!
no wonder i didn't learn it in school:
i should have been taught the elder Germanic tongue
of the cousin of English!

the other time i fell in love with literature
i was in St. Petersburg dating a Russian: well... a a Siberian
girl... she introduced me to Bulgakov...
i knew some Russian literacy prior...
but this novel avoided me...
now? i'm living in a currency of a hallucination...
Behemoth? that black cat in the novel?
he's not black... he's ginger...
ginger looks better when staged against the green of grass...
Behemoth is Quarus...
and he's not fond of either ***** or chess...
i'm fond of whiskey and su doku...
he's...he's fond of sleeping and pretending to count...
and... mind you: if he were given a name
from the book of Milton: it wouldn't be Behemoth...
it would be Belial...
plus Behemoth was black... Quorus is ginger...
and ginger looks so much better against
the backdrop of the green grass...

i ******* abhor these people that are dog-lovers...
these... leash-handlers...
what's your bother with cats?!
cats can be ignored... yet they still manage to come back
and implore you to give them attention...
dogs...leashes... muzzles if they are of a certain breed...
stories of children being mauled by dogs...
**** me: men and their ****-takes of companions in
the form of dogs! why do i prefer cats?!
guess i'm a believer in the gods of ancient Egypt...
Set... Anubis...
darkness draws me to throw the arguments required...
the fox and the wolf...
i can't stand smart: implosive, modern...
cosmopolitan sensuality!
it's riddles with a fake woman!
all i see is a fake woman on a fakeness of possessing
a womb... sitting with a crown of timber
on a throne of sand!

well... i could have asked for a better afternoon...
but you rarely can... ask...
if you're drinking and there's this couple of woodland
pigeons perched in your Eucalyptus tree at the end of
your garden...

Woodland Pigeon Nest Building....
it's a note i took...
rarely.. no.. clearly impossible to witness
crows mating... or the cackling magpies
for that same reason... but pigeon?
i know that the woodland folk are larger... cleaner...
but they still heave the same ontology
as their cosmopolitan cousins...
how many male pigeons i saw rejected
by theiir female counterparts?
too many: i saw too many pretend to fly
into a tornado when a female rejected them:
they lost about 100 points of an IQ scoring
when female rejected them:
they hafe that glass-look in their eyes
akin to: what the **** just happened?
did i fly into a tornado: or was i actually supposed
to fly into one?!

i love women... like i love dogs...
hmm... leashes... muzzles...
i love cats more though... esp. thorough-breeds...
Maine *****... what leash, what muzzle?!
they're like prostitutes...
they like good company...
they're kept by keeping good company;
one's own...
i was making the bed chastising Christianity
i would have spit my phlegm onto the sacrificial altar
if i knew better...
no, you, silly little ****!
you're not going to own the stature of Belial
in the Legion to Come!
you *******-dim-whit! you sacred cow
of Golgotha! i will make 100 beds before i see you
make statements of the sort you made:
even the most evil men in history have made wise-sayings!

you have no ******* excuses!
you... sacrifice for the entry of hell into this currency of
realms a bit of it... what sort of harrowing was
it that you didn't decide upon staying down
there and reigning, ensuring everything would
stay in order? never mind...

a beast is stirring in me, i can't tame him sometimes,
i was supposed to wait until the 30th of this month
to return to the brothel after a shift at Fulham
unfortunately i have already began preparations
for the past three days... stroking the "whittle Richard"
while taking a ****, sometimes several times
a day... school uniforms... legs in nylon...
bare legs with knee high socks...
my head starts whirling with a sort of gravity
that you feel when standing still and not falling...
i need a woman's scent on me...

that's stroking the "whittle Richard" without
climaxing... that's what you do: to get the blood flowing,
i knew men as young as 16 who were pressured
into using *******-supplements...
     me? i really did have to think about Margaret Thatcher
and try to get a *******...
well... no... it wasn't Margaret Thatcher...
the middle-aged woman across the street...
not a beached-whale... but not exactly ****-curvy
that plump-peach come plump-peach type...
still... i just saw her today and was like: yep...
i'd do her...
   i remember going crazy once...
like the prostitutes tell me: you're good mad...
not the bad mad type: the good mad type...
again: prostitutes, psychiatrists, priests...
                                                    i tried all three and
it seems the girls know so much more...
but this woman across the street had a thing once
of walking bare naked in her bedroom without any
curtains... this one particular evening i was lying
on the sofa watching Silence of the Lambs...
she walks in... bulging ****... like a milking concubine...
such unfolding of fat that i got a ****** within
seconds...
    she walks out... but that's not the point...
minutes later her elder daughter walks in... also...
bare naked... it's enough to get a stiff one and then
watch it drop... to then get a second one...

but that wasn't the end of the whole "silence of the lambs"...
no more than five minutes passed...
her young daughter walks in: also bare naked...
another hard-on... oh for ****'s sake...
i felt like being Marquis de Sade in that film Quills...
where he laments with a funny sort of anger...

then ****** me! ******* you, Abbe!
have you no true sense of my condition?
of its gravity?
my writing is involuntary,
like the beating of my heart.
                                       my constant *******!

like today... i managed to catch a succubus
upon waking... woke before 8am slipped downstairs
for a cup of water... walked back up for a snooze
but instead of lying in bed laid on the floor...
in between dreams and nothingness
some fat girl was kissing me... *******...
oh for ****'s sake... in the morning... all this peeling
and unpeeling of the phallus...
i feel sorry for those circumcised *****... i really do...
i mean: for those circumcised *****...
they will never experience the joy of *******
as they will never experience the joy
of doing it yourself to yourself proper...
as they will never experience the joy of having
that ******* strangle the head of their phalluses
to a more prominent *******...
nor find a woman more exhilarated when she finds
our that you can do that trick...
i couldn't even if i wanted to... be circumcised...
i have two protruding veins encircling the tip
like those two serpents of the Staff of Hermes...
Caduceus...
                 each time i pull back the *******
i risk the chance of rupturing the veins...
now that would be a beautiful death... bleeding out
through one's ****...

went to the supermarket to stock up...
as usual this gorgeous Roma girl was selling the Big Issue...
the only socialist magazine i ever buy...
i don't buy the magazine for the content:
i buy it for her gorgeous smile... and those raven feathers
of her... her mocha skin...
anyway... skim reading...
HEALTH... how *** education is failing the young...
sophia smith galer...
oh right... this old chestnut...
because we had *** education in a catholic school?
i remember lessons on drugs...
the catholic system about educating children
about the perils of drugs involved...
ha ha... nothing about LSD nothing about marijuana...
alcohol passed them by...
we learned about the perils of either sniffing
glue or inhaling aerosoles... wow!
is this ******* Ukraine?! am i living in Ukraine?!

of course *** education is **** in England...
those ******* prunes are not plums
they're not wine and grapes: they're raisins...
ugh... no wonder i've been living in England
since the age of 8... now 36 and i still haven't slept
with an English girl... or a Scottish girl for that matter...
what?! it's true... Australian, French,
Romanian, Ukrainian, Turkish, Thai, Russian,
i'm guessing Ghanian... at least two black girls...
Kenyan? i'd love a Somalian girl...
let me think... nope... no English girl...
are they nuns or something?
             the *** education focuses on risk-assessments...
mind you... i did a risk assessment with
Khadija... she just giggled and said: living dangerously?
as we had unprotected ***...
now... a ****** would make sense...
if it was a full body ****** suit... that sounds
ultra ******* fun... but no role-playing...
just the raw back-wards and forwards...

truly: a man realises sooner rather than later that
he has three prime faculties:
imagination, thinking and memory...
and that he falls into at least one of the following
categories... recognising that, he: himself
is either a political animal,
a social animal... or a ****** animation...
i don't why he's an animal politically or socially...
but is a ****** animation: maybe because
*** animates man more than the other two
categories...

and when i mentioned that i abhor Thespians
with a passion: i wasn't referring to Thespians proper,
i was referring to the pornographers...
*** is unreal in reality: or at least it ought to be...
esp. if armed with two mirrors on the wall...
there are woman who can't keep eye contact
during *******... others that eat you with their eyes...
mind you: you can't learn about women at
first from women... you have to learn about
women from other men: of literature...
it takes about 5... to start learning about women
from women from yourself...
by then it's a solo project... it's not even an ego-tripping
affair... if beautiful women can share themselves
around... while those less fortunate have
the pillar of monogamy: you learn from the beautiful
women who went the route of prostitution:
well... nature is bountiful, it ought to be enjoyed:
fully! i can't just not share my love among
many... it would be unfair on the others to only
commit to one...

today i did the unthinkable... back in high school:
although it was a catholic 'un they admitted
the usual perverts... Egyptian... as young boys
we were comparing ****** hair and **** sizes...
we even measured our ***** in private and came
back with answers... i did it again...
everything looks small in my hands...
the width of both my hands and still there's
a head showing... i could pick up a basketball
with one hand by the time i was 16...

but all of this is good! it's vitality! it's virility!
as i gave this Roma girl £3 for the magazine
she smiled and said: god bless you...
where's my carriage?! where's my horse!
it felt so medieval...
i thanked her and already thought:
the gods have blessed me already...
they made me mad... and as you probably know
about the nature of madness:
you can't go mad twice... i'm recovering:
i was blessed in an instance...
oh hello there... little fella...
a grasshopper, aqua-green was clinging to my arm...
i tried to cycle ever so gently...
hitch-hiker! you're coming with me...
you're going to be so happy in my garden...
cycled with the little ****** back home...
put him on my index finger from my arm
onto the plum tree... a nice addition to the beauty
of my garden... the peaches and plums are bulging...

you couldn't possibly not learn anything
from Voltaire's Candide...
but i still don't understand English girls...
they talk the talk but don't walk the walk...
i don't understand ****** girls either...
the idea of boredom: in and of itself: by myself
is manageable... but sharing that special
instance of boredom with a woman:
to be bored by a woman? sounds insufferable...
and the damning aspect of this reality is probably
most likely to arise from ******-politics of constraint...

i couldn't stomach marriage... for one i couldn't
stomach having a piece of metal on my finger...
i abhor any symbolism of wealth in the form
of rings put on fingers...
i need my fingers clean... bare...
to me rings on fingers are a sign of a ******...
priest or otherwise ****...
they're disgusting.... just like earrings...
well... apart from those thin... very large rings...
and necklaces... all manner of piercings...
i prefer scars to tattoos...
  
hmm... anyone heard of... VAGINISMUS?!
a ****** pain disorder...
pelvic spasms... prevention of entry...
pain... i remember this one session with a girl
i really liked... no... it wasn't ****...
but she started crying during *******...
i hope she was crying about the fact that
i was slightly large back then... before i left
the realm of psychiatry and anti-psychotic medication
and let the world be itself... random...
yeah: but that felt ******...
you're ******* a girl and she starts crying...
psychosexual disorders...
depends what mood i'm in... and how little exercise
i have undertaken...
i mean: if you match up with a body
your mind has fetishes over...
plump... slightly larger... you simply can't
last a marathon of pumping
in the *******...
it's a bit like the GPS of birds migrating...
there's no explanation, proper, just a mystery...
i like this aspect of reality:
that not everything requires to be explained...
it just is... mysteriously so:
not magically... mysteriously so... because?
it's not an explanation can't be willed... summoned...
but... a human explanation of what's already
so ****** effective will not change the will
of said mystery... it just ****** is...
man can't improve on it...
and talking about it with explanations rids the mystery
of its aesthetics!
and we want beauty in our lives, don't we?!

well... i can't stand myself being this ***** and
not having an outlet... i need an outlet...
i need... flesh... i need two bodies prancing about
like toddlers in mirrors...
i'm finding myself thirsty...
i need to write an antidote to all that pornographic
exposure... i need to exercise...
i need to grasp Chinese selfless philosophy to
sooth me... i can't stomach the Greeks
or Christianity these days...
i need a second schism in Islam...
this would require... un-circumcised men...
men who might appreciate ******* with the feeling
a woman feels under the shower...
un-circumcised men who don't require
a payment for their circumcision with a woman
wearing a niqab... well... if she really wants
to... then at least linen... closer to white than black...
my god... Jesse Glynne... both ginger
and with curly hair...
    no no... i'm not missing out on the brothel tonight...
i'm already seeing how my eyes have lost
their iris and sclera: they're all shark-like
consumed by an expanding pupil...
oh... i'm serious... the Mamluks and the Janissaries
were serious people...
i have nothing left under the shadow of the crucifix...
no "higher event" manual argument
to turn my apostasy into a re-confrimation of
a faith that punishes rather than celebrates...
that moralises that punishes pleasures with pains...
this... sterile Greco-Hebrew conspiracy
against the Roman way of life...
as long as i scribble with these letters... the rest can burn:
it can moan with a mouth of a wound
that will never heal...

.poet, or philosopher, it doesn't really matter which is which, or whether the two are indistinguishable, notable in the former scenario, when someone has an eclectic bounty of interest is simply not love-scorned or love-nostalgic, love-idealistic, does it really matter? i was once called a philosopher: a teenage girl said in third person (as if she was a puppet and some-thing was moving her tongue): 'talk to this philosopher'... not in that sarcastic way that philosopher is an misnomer or an abused term of: self-gratifying grandeour, it was quiet genuine, but: imagine my shock... i had an ambition in life, it was to perform a service to thinking: without doing as much as hammering a nail into a plank of wood, that's the ambition of any thinking man: to borderline on telekinesis or telepathy... that was Hegel's modus operandi, his categorical imperative... after all: ego is a metaphysical tool, while thought is its metaphysical canvas... the mere suggestion that a copernican inversion can happen in physics "contra" metaphysics... it's already apparent, any word can behave like a hand touching the sacred object / subject of transfiguration and become something else, even a misnomer can find itself given solace to the user... for now i've forged a belief in the ultimate: away from the absolute in relation to omni in unum - one first has to learn to think, before having to learn to feel... mind you, i don't like the current nietzschean inversion of the cartesian equation: (ego) sum ergo (ego) cogito... esp. among the youtube political commentators, too many examples to give: i'm a classical liberal, i'm a progressive, i'm a liberterian... i don't really like seeing: i am, precede i think... i don't even like the origin-argument of this inversion: i exist for the sole purpose of thinking... after all: i think prior to being, since i can also daydream and not be what my thinking suspects as a possible truth-outcome... that's the nature of the freedom of thought: i don't have to be what i think, i can find thinking to be a pleasure, when the senses do not offer me any pleasure derivative, e.g. eating can sometimes be boring, chewing, chewing, *******... i eat because i need to live: i don't live to eat... i really have under-appreciated Hegel, i should really visit my grandparents for two months and read the phenomenology of the spirit: i'm trying to replicate the saying attributed to him (verbatim), but i doubt that i will, i don't have the patience to sift through all the quotes, but it goes along the lines of: beware oh wordly man, to not be a pawn in a thinking man's game... hence my suggestion of philosophy entering into the realms of telekinesis and telepathy: you get to see things play out and people express the origin story, of your own memetic generation of the original idea... how are poets finally alligned to philosophers? good thing that i studied chemistry at edinburgh university: we return to atoms, words are no longer enough, sure, they are, contrary to the statement...  (why did i under-appreciate Hegel? ah... had my head stuck up heidegger's and kant's *****...

integration? great!
but i'll meet you halfway...
i'll eat your fish & chips,
your englush breakfast,
i won't sing your anthem: god save the queen,
****** anthem, too short,
but i will whistle through:
the british grenadiers' fife & drum...
like i might through la marseillaise...
i'll meet you halfway...
i'm not a former colony member,
commonwealth,
i'm not some ****- paying bribes
to the british powers
to join in on a world cup of cricket...
this is what happens when immigration
turns sour...
they either lesrn the host tongue,
or they don't learn it...
or they can't distinguish the two:
speak polonaise at home,
speak the hosts' sprechen outside of it...

if the ******* aren't suspect:
by not being bilingual...
the arab beatles... jihadi john...
ringo star h'ahmed...
george ali...
paul mecca rashid...
oh i'll settle for integration...
but don't you ******* think i'll give
up my mother tongue
for "c.c.t.v." close-ups back home,
home being my private lodge...
like ******* will...
i'll speak your tongue in public...
but i'm not ******* former commonwealth
****- riddled with a need to play
cricket, "forget" my tongue in order
to compensate for olives
and sun-burnt bananas!

a former colony ****-**** is about
to dictate the rules for fellow
europeans, on the tram-ride from
Birmingham to Nottingham?
seriously?
but of course the englishman
will favor the former colony pet bush-monkey
from sri lanka...
since the brit can't really dictate
to a fellow european his superiority
complex... which he can...
with a petted copper skinned
toy-ting...
who brought 'im a korma curry!
nice one, ol' laddy...
right on the plonker...
i'm not finished!
i'm just getting started!

gehirnablassen:

perfectly respected immigration,
given that so many english girls just love
the attention their **** minders,
sexually abused,
not really making it as nurses
or... ahem... karaoke superstars
worth the while of britain's got talent
or voice of britain,
or...whatever the ****** show was
that gave birth to one direction...

so a.... brain-drain? good immigration?
the best!

i can sit awhile by myself and count...
1. the sparrows,
2. the swallow,
3. the starlings,
4. the crows,
5. the magpies,
6. the pigeons,
7. the woodland pigeons
(fatter, with dog collars),
8. kestrels
(one is enough to begin
the count)...
9. the blackbirds....
10. seagulls... seagulls?! 25 miles from
romford to southend! seagulls?!
this far in-land?! fair enough...
11. a robin...
12. goldfinch...
i just sit and watch these birds
in my garden, i sometimes spot
a darting frog in the garden,
i'm more english than the english...
i actually enjoy owning a garden...
the "english" surrounding me
exemplify a bbq. as a luxury parade...
what's so luxury about marinating
some meat, and then grilling it?!
please! enlightend me!

gehirnablassen...
brain-drain immigration,
the type asiatic tiger-mums brag about
at child olympics...
for the required rubric stature...
******* mothers, basically...

)  notes to preserve completing
what remained: pending...

1. χaron χaos - cha-cha-cha       khaos / chaos...
2. theaetetus - so / ma   letters / syllables:
graphemes: sz phi theta
compound syllables (caron s) - Na (sodium)
3. music choice...
brain damage perturbator ft. noir deco
virga iesse floruit, gradual of eleanor of
britanny...
4. pride / stubborness (not equal to) honour,
tolerating islam is not the same
as respceting islam...
german 19th century fascination
with islam...
θought and φilosophy...
greek in warsaw, giving him directions,
talks: sounds so much like spanish...
5. england a nation of singletons,
idiosyncracy... social pressures in poland
and even in h'america missing in england
to marry...                                         (

1. well, let's begin...
        it has taken me two days to complete
my utterances... i've just spent 40 or so minutes
listening to the last of the youtube
stronghold (dangerfield -
               from hash to ******) -
i can relate on the literature,
i can't relate in taking steps of replica...
i started smoking marijuana
aged 21... i think you should start later...
drinking while being a teenager, fine...
i hanged around with some irish in my teens,
we used to have sleepovers at youth clubs
play pool, buy ***** mags and drink
white lightning: bumb cider...
but given that i was sold chemically
enchanced (negatively, i might add) marijuana
that turned me psychotic...
ah... psychiatric terms, used by the mainstream
like some casual metaphors...
     recently i was at a health scrutiny hour...
yes: my psychosis was made stable in
a schizophrenia: which is a new word to describe
bilingualism... oh the english natives!
what competent people...
  no, it didn't become bipolar: psychotic depression...
lucky me... lucky in that:
           bukowski: isolation is the gift...
the rest are a test of your endurance...
no **** sherlock!

  i just look at all the particular instances
when english (the language) breaks rules...
    heidegger merely pointed out
that there's a difference between chaos
and χαoς: well cheap and cha-cha-cha...
but when it comes to the ferryman?
some would say: χαρoν...
otherwise? do the raj bidding of inserting
a surd H... nibble at the tetragrammaton...
   and call the ferryman κ - αρoν
                                            (h)...
this isn't the only example: cheap, chisel...
        chemistry... it's not chem-ístree...
      it's kem-ístree!

2. poor *******, the english,
   they can't discuss orthoraphy...
hardly, to begin with:
what with i (ι) and j (ȷ) -
you have already cut the diacritical heads
of come the CAPITALS: I & J...
what a simple hydra to vanquish...

2. theaetetus - so / ma   letters / syllables:
graphemes: sz phi theta
compound syllables (caron s) - Na (sodium)

                     i like this one...
   letters, syllables, graphemes,
sodium: Na...
  the key and the door analogy of the keyhole...
feminism: it wants to coagulate...
to group existentialism with
scholastism...
sorry honey... play your footie:
*******!
                    key being inserted:
φought enters θilosoφy....
yes, the graphemes are elevated,
beyond the stature of consonants...
didn't you ask?
oh, you should have asked...
- socrates: can yoy give a rational account
                    of syllables, but not of letters?
- theaetetus: it seems possible.
-socrates: quiet; i think so too. at any rate,
surely you'll have an answer about the first
syllable of 'socrates', if someone asked
'tell me, theaetetus, what is SO'?
- theaetetus: yes, my reply would
be that it is S and O.
- socrates: so there's your account of a syllable,
isn't it?
    - theaetetus: yes.
- socrates: all right then, tell me alao of your account
of S is.

sorry... after this point, for B to be a surd?
bottomless pit... let's ask what is a letter,
what is a syllable... and what is a grapheme...
the greeks bargained on dialectical markers...
which they dind't need, since the latins needed them...
what is a syllable is also: what is a grapheme,
and how to account for "strange" vowels?

the greek thought, they thought,
"thinking" that only the greek language
was correlated to universal thinking...
and that universal thinking was only associated
with greeks speaking... pish-poor choice
if you mind...

         syllables... individual letters...
weren't consonants synonymous to syllables?
esp. with added diacritical markers?
play-tongue-think-tank with the greeks...
sooner or later they fizzle out as
redundant...
         couldn't keep Constantinople...
will not regret or revive the bounties of
reclaiming Istambul...

i once claimed to tolerate islam...
tolerating islam is one thing...
    respecting islam: quiet another...
i can attempt myself at
respecting a cloning device...
which any religion is: a cloning device...
i can tolerate it...
which, doesn't imply i respect it;
i wouldn't eat a meal with a muslim...
and sharing a meal?
is my fullest acknowledgement of
respect, i tolerate islam,
i, tolerate it,
   thank **** i don't respect it.
respect it like some 19th century german
philosopher... hegel or nietzsche....

what is a syllable "compensated" by
a grapheme, esp. with a hidden consonant,
akin to the caron "s"...
      i.e. šeep: look at that...
the first time orthography was introduced
into the englishsprechen...
   hid the H: šeep... sheep...

well we already know where the greek
letter went to: modifying scientific
constants... after all π = 3.14....
    Σ = summation...
            last time i checked...
letter, whether consonant or vowel
orientated,
took up more meaning beyond
translating the optic of encoded
sound into expressed sound...
    they became surds...
          tools to think with,
only secondary sound symbols...
you no longer translated the representation
of the sound,
there was an idea behind the letter...
disguised as a "letter"...
chemistry minded the syllables:
Na: sodium, salt...
   and that was that...
              
  fai(s) çe q'(u)é voudrā(s) -
written, but otherwise a surd...
fwench has the most examples...

3. music choice...
brain damage perturbator ft. noir deco
virga iesse floruit, gradual of eleanor of
britanny...
     mind you, i will gladly whistle about
three songs while walking...
this is the part where i become an arrogant
*******... teaching yourself does
that to a man, there's no pride in being
lectured, ordered to regurgitate...
for all that pomp & circumstance
that makes pride & prejudice shy...
    she should have always been
first choice on the fiver banknote...
jane austen my ***...
            mary shelley was the dog's *******,
through and through...
the three songs i sometimes whistle
while walking, taking a whiskey for a walk
(good thing i don't own a dog)...

a. beethoven's symphony IX
     allegro assai vivace - alla marcia...
b. la marseillaise...
   c. british grenadiers - fife & drum...
shhh...
    (for all the worth of shakespeare's
poetry... robert burn's:
aud lang syne...
        hell... i can't write sing-along poetry...
poetical commentary...
which still beats poetry worthy of
thee theatre...
shakespeare, no shakespeare...
aud lang syne:
   old long gone song, refurbished)...

5. england a nation of singletons,
idiosyncracy... social pressures in poland
and even in h'america missing in england
to marry...

       isn't it obvious? england is a metal
asymlum when you wish to see it as such...
somehow and "suddenly" all the social
pressures disappear when nagging either
a polonaise society or a h'american society...
i'll be critical of applied english,
as a language...
but when it comes to living?
               second to none... when i was younger,
and growing up in poland
the english were know as gaylords...
or the bellybuttons of the world...
now, having grown up among the irish
in the outer east-end of Loondon?
want to talk to a 6ft1 115kg "******" about
his lack of obsession with marital status?
his complete disinterest in dating?
what's a dating app?!
                 the same kind of "******"
obsessed with templar chants?
dabbling in helvegen?

  dating... what a weird concept...
whenever i get a chance, i'll sit with a thai
surprise (bisexual, female)...
manage to take her home, play her some
jazz... **** her in the garden...
                            walk her home...
"date"... when it comes to prostituites...
when it comes to prostitutes...
    britney spears  - criminal,
     rihanna - shut up & drive,
   lady gaga - telephone
                       holly valance - kiss kiss
delta goodrem - innocent eyes.....
gay boy got gay rights...
what a boring time to be alive in...
just when homosexuality was no longer tabooo,
norman stephen "typo" *******...
boring homosexuality...
  antithesis artistic homos...
gays are boring me with their antics,
i'd also love latex love triangles...
but...
  i'm not joining in,
since i haven't been made welcome...
         welcome this:
the rightful pucker of a knuckle count's worth
of a sucker!

    i've experienced only: 3, loves at first sight...
kot... i rememher her surname,
she was the first to kiss me,
aged, roughly 7...
    priya.... my ex-girlfriend's
younger sister...
                          isabella of grenoble...
who took my virginity...
oh, ****...
        there was freckles galore daniella...
at st. augustine's... rabbit to her...
there was... milena...
there was samatha...
                there was jadwiga...
                       there was janina...
i fell in love too many times...
there was ilona of novosibirsk...
   gregoria who licked my face
like a cow...
                 the ukranian *******,
the bulgarian prostitutes who i stole
kisses from,
the serbian strippers...
   packaged boy,
  postcard ****-acto...
                 the australian fling...
half hindu half scouser...
towering beauty with the looks
akin to tweety bird lips (as my irish friend
noted)...

women... ah ha ha...
           i guess 3 months is long enough
for me to be with them...
    last time i checked, she was on her period,
and i was gagging...
last time i checked: ******* a *******
her period alleviates the period pains...
she didn't let me,
instead? i received a week
bound to reading Bulgakov...

           condoms are great when used
to **** a ******* her period...
that's how i started to hate relationships...
*** monopoly..
   and readings from cosmopolitan magazine
about the out-dated
idiosyncracy of relationship statuses...

4. pride / stubborness (not equal to) honour,
tolerating islam is not the same
as respceting islam...
german 19th century fascination
with islam...
θought and φilosophy...
greek in warsaw, giving him directions,
talks: sounds so much like spanish...

     i can tolerate islam,
but, i can't respect it....
    how could i respect it?
           i met a greek in warsaw....
he sounded like a goth,
     how the spanish tongue sounded
much akin to the greek zunge...     

chamaleon tongue,                    shape shifter,
bez akcentu w piśmie - więciej akcentu poza pismem
(trainspotting scottish), welsh, cockney,
east london altogether, pakistani english, etc.
e.g. rather, or raver, i.e. not rayver
(someone who parties at night on an ecstasy pill)
but ra'ver, like verging on a new discovery,
it's not even the = ~v but is actually v...
english is a chamaleon tongue, you say 'nostic
when you write gnostic, i say diagnostic,
therefore say gnostic, you say 'nome, i say gnome,
as cf. with diagnostic;
then there's the case of the per se:
you say chamaleon - no kappa there apperent, eh?
but there's chappie, chap, chuckles,
no kappa in a millionth chance
to also say nough'ledge for knowledge,
a bit like that gnome of yours...
as i said before: a language without
a written insertion of stressors / distinctions
will produce a massive array of diacritical
stressors / distinctions outside the written format,
but it will also become as complex as to
allow adults with learning difficulties e.g. dyslexia,
and that horrid internet slang of shortcuts:
i ate my 8 when i was late for my disco date
with the cha cha cha melon.

          mind you: i always seemed to "mis-pronounce"
words in english... first came puma:
i was laughed at on a primary school bus
heading from st. augustine's (half-way between
gants hill and barkingside) to the barkingside
swimming pool: where i learned to swim
by myself, very much akin to me learning
the english language, by myself,
dropped into the deep end,
i was a complete mute...
my parents were also learning the zunge...
so they couldn't exactly teach me,
i had to learn it myself...
      so it wasn't puma: with that hollowed
out U...
      i.e. pú-mah... it was: pew-mah...
or piu-mah...
           weird...
                   then i found other examples...
i was once more corrected
when it came to the celts...
                       it wasn't cedilla "riddled":
çelts, but Kelts...
    funny that... the football team from glasgow
is dubbed çeltic, not celtic: isn't it?
i loved being corrected about my
pronounciation... get corrected enough times,
and then... light: you get to sprechen such
things as:
   what sort of orthography aesthetic discussion
can i have with an englishman,
when his sole diacritical markers
hover over an ιo: iota: i / ι...
   and that dotless antithesis of java - ȷ -
like in dante's canto XXVIII:
                               Bertrand de Born,
two completely pointless orthographical -
as i would rather call them:
indulgences rather than errors,
otherwise not necessary...
             excess spelling... and particular,
hidden, pronounciation variables...
that's as much of an orthographic debate
you will ever get from an englishman,
given their lack applied diacritical markers...
hey... if the english speaking peoples
love their "reality" chequers...
   their metaphysics...
           i have something as pertinent, ready,
orthography is far more interesting
to me than the grandeour of metaphysics...
so now we have to figure out
the third sister... given the already associated
benzene ring directions of associating
compound groups:
   ortho-,
                      meta-,
                            ­           para-...
  can't just leave it to paranorman / -"normal"...
para- needs to be associated with something
else if we're going to venture
with orthography and metaphysics
and further...

    another decent example?
       gnomes...           gnostics...
why is the g treated as a surd at the beginning
of the word, hence? 'nomes hence 'nostics...
but all the more apparent in a word like
diagnostics?
                               i guess i've found my
new playground: the english vocabulary.

p.s. if there's a hay patch at the beginning, the nasal flute
will ask larry 'the lynx' saxophone to hark it out with rasp
gritting of phlegm... but if it's somewhere else down
the piccadilly line... it will act like a nudist spy and resonate
less than expected; probably mingling with f, i think.

i could have loved,
i once loved...
   i could love once more...
but then...
i'd rather be dead.

story of my life...
the breath, and depth
of a love for you,
overpowered me
to cite...
however many times
i'd rather see hell
than i might see you...

and from what
i've seen...
      from what i've seen?!
i've seen you more
times than all the hell
i could wish for!

******* me...
i love you, so, so, so much!
when you gave me
Bulgakov
while playing video
games...

your fudge plump nose
that i loved to bite
during ***,watching your
*** in the mirror...
your laughter...

your snigger, and subsequent
laughter...
your exes...
    your plain dross
of brown hair...
      
i live and i die:
remembering you....
   i am...
merely a memory of you...
and you know that i know,
and i know, that
you also know...

i am born within you,
i am born from you,
i think because of you,
i am thought:
because:
  i am you!

                you are
the shadow that
gnaws at night!

       your shadow
eats, the night!

  you are a love,
that describes love in
fiction
and makes wise men,
fools!

              my lust,
my Islamic bow....
              my enduring,
first, and last, Surah...
  my sigh...
my laughter...
   all that is me,
thus made unto you,
thus...
      
     all that is me,
be made: unto you.

and she has a name...
Ilona.

well, probably the longest relationship i ever had,
so we're doing it with a ******,
on the bed, on the floor, in the bath...
and then she suggests an ingenius plan:
i'll take the contraceptive pill, and you take
that gimp-for-your-****-rubber off,
and then you ******* into me, because i feel
like i need to have that experience.
sure thing babe.
                    oh, by the way? it took me
about three dates to get an ******* in suggestion
of trust...
             what's with this: men can get an *******
prompto! on the first sight of **** and a ******?
i'm not a robot, i can't objectify you straight
away... the ******* my case...
        prostitutes use cream to oil up,
          i need to oil up on a meaningful conversation...
talk milan kundera with you, or share
a similar taste in music... listen to your fetish for
certain pop songs...
                       anways... few months in and
we're ******* in her st. pestersburg apartment...
        so she not exactly a soppy story of
                            the matchstick girl with no shoes...
and she proposes to me at the same time...
   i didn't even get a chance to bend my knee,
buy a ring in secret and surprise her...
                            nope...
         that classical **** didn't happen...
               how often does that happen to men,
i.e. when a woman "proposes"?
                     i'd say one-in-a-millionth's chance
of it happening...
                                so the unearthing of the nag hammadi
library, and the st. thomas gospel and
how you'll enter the kingdom of heaven by
turning male into female, and female into male...
          **** me... that caught me by surprise...
i didn't even see it coming...
                 and then... boom!
     we're not married, she breaks up with me,
gives me back our engagement ring, she chose...
                and then calls me up: i'm pregnant...
        and it's july...
                              isn't it too early for christmas?
i thought we had an agreement?
                    i have *******... a ****** isn't
much of a bother...
            no, but i don't want to explore latex suit
fetishes...      fair enough...
             i'd love to, but **** me...
           thanks for suggesting i read some bulgakov
while you continued to play your video games...
god, i have a fetish for juxtaposing memories,
   like looking into a prism, or a diamond,
or sketching rodin's statue the kiss from several
angles at tate modern, before some idiotic lady
imagined an interpretation, and wrapped ropes
around the statue... so only the most "important"
part of the statue were exposed... but not the actual -

if i profane with my unworthiest hand
this holy shrine, the gentle sin is this:
my lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand
to smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.

Your hand is like a holy place that my hand
is unworthy to visit. If you’re offended
by the touch of my hand, my two lips are
standing here like blushing pilgrims, ready
to make things better with a kiss.

good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much,
which mannerly devotion shows in this,
for saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch,
and palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss.

        ok, shaken pear... we get the picture... amen;
which will never be a frenchy with a *******.

but **** me! i just graduated and i need to get my
footing!
                          i was 21...
                        thank **** i gained british citizenship
and she had a russian passport;
  +, what with her turning all schizophrenic on
me...        what do i know about "hearing" voices?
i was sweating on a roof, roofing, as you do,
                 and it's like:
         what i love about this self-indulgence?
          **** never gets boring, however many times
i recollect it...
                                    i can turn into a proust,
or a tolstoy, simple on this sole act in the theatre
of my life...             obviously i might bore some people,
but, ****, i'm not even yawning, or in want of a yawn...
just recently i became acquainted with the acronym
                         mg...tow?
             mig... tau?        soviet MiG-29? mikoyan?
        gurevich? RSK MiG?  towing what?  
                      that's english for you,
it's not like the french deconstructionism akin to derrida,
much simpler in english... craft acronyms!

and among these, the symmachean forgeries, the vita beati silvestri, could be weaved into this verse, this importune moments, these spontaneous verses, these informal sweeping of the brooms, inside the labyrinth by the minotaur of memory: and too - the scarce words of jack spicer: that poetry alone can love poetry that poems cry out to each other from a great distance, that poets, being ******* fathers, love each other like ******* fathers when they see their children playing together.

and so that brings us up to date, namely today,
bound to a few minutes reading a saturday
newspaper supplement -
topic, hot topic? *rethinking infidelity 'what
our affairs did to our relationships -
it's almost a sad affair -
        reading all this harlequin ******* -
bookish men, finding the "lost me",
finding the "new me" -
the lies and deceptions being worse than
the deeds, lust the liar, love hardly
a cherished concept...
   bookish men, eh?
you mean bookish in terms of marquis
de sade, william burroughs et al.
or bookish in terms of voyage of the beagle
by charles darwin, or the short history
of time: bestseller, with a readership of 10!
eh? which kind?
         while this went on i just had an
affair with my younger self -
  while listening to deep purple's
child in time i got to think: what was that
year? what was that year and that song?
i swear to god it must have been MMIV
when i spent st. sylvester's (new year's eve
in poland - called by the saint's feast
day: sylwester) in poznań / posen -
at the street party, then at the feast,
where i bought a bottle of vanilla absolut
***** -
             and was cow licked by a woman
rather than kissed: yeah!
she licked my face, i wanted a pucker
and the lips folding-unfolding -
and what the **** did she do? she licked my face!
what was i, a vanilla icecream?!
what a beau of a city -
                   and the street party -
and how we all were overjoyed that
the dinosaur band perfekt played that
famous song, which we took the **** out of
going even further back than 2004 -
miałem dziesięć lat, kiedy pierdolnął
we mnie wiatr -
it's a shame i only remember the first line
and how there was also the mosquito
funeral joke to add to the joy of
having friends from the neighbourhood,
rather than from school...
and they complain about the communist
apartments, where children still managed
to mingle as neighbours,
played with marbles, took to the swings,
played hide & seek in warm summer
night...
       kicked each other in the *** trying
to play tag...
      while the girls took to tic tac toe using
chalk to pretend to be amputee
kangaroo hoppers -
          and would you believe it:
memories of childhood in poland are my
smaug treasure hoard -
my sanity...
                  and i remember our first
offence, with paweł & łukasz -
we drank our first cup of coffee -
      a.d.h.d. because too much sugar?
    we started it all with a cup of coffee:
the first sip was the one that escapes recollection
with the current taste of coffee.
the song we took the **** out of?
   perfekt's song autobiografia...
wait wait, where was i? this is was back
in the 1990s... we're talking MMIV...
       and comparing the thrills of infidelity -
what was that song?
  i first had to remember what year i spent
st. sylvester's feast day in posen that year...
i might just turn rose cheek citing this song...
oh yeah, i found it...
through the ultra-unpopular nonetheless
still popular (among non-music collectors)
radio station rmf.fm:
      and i found it...
  jeden osiem L's song jak zapomnieć:
1 8 L, how to forget (in translation)...
some songs have that haunted house effect,
it's a living history left intact not
by memory, but by nostalgia -
    to be assured - nostalgia overcomes
memory, given that memory is already drained
and robbed by schooling children -
to remember the 1 x 12 through to 12 x 12
tables, or the alphabet...
education erodes memory, and we're only
left with nostalgia,
like that nostalgia of the song
Весна by Дельфин, upon take off from
the st. petersburg airport...
   and then croching (english slang term
for wasting time, slouching, etymological
mutation of crouching) at the warsaw airport
with bulgakov's master & margarita.
better off jerking off than jerking chilli and
star anise into the other's heart...
but it's sad reading these 50+ / 60 year olds
behaving like amore idealists -
ginsberg once noted: not even the madman's
love is perfect;
        i'll add to that:
  a bite of lime, simply can't ruin a ***** & pepsi.

since it became plain...
i'd rather imagine a kiss as...
clashing bone against bone
with a doberman of my youth...
biting its next to come
aesthetic "improvement"...
the sliting of the ears so they'd stand
***** as antenas...

where else to scout for unncessary blood?

i imagine a kiss to be equivalent
of something homosexuals dream of...
oh... my all your gracious concerns...
i too never ******
to care for procreation...

that's all before the myth that
heavy metal never couple itself
with hippy quasi-pop music
when it came to song-writting
and ****** abuse...

what?! before the a.d.h.d. phenomenon...
and trans-, transition hormone
assignement "therapy"...
before the junkies did the 7/11...
and the trainspotting...
before marylin manroe started
to speak with a husky welsh accent;
and ****?

i imagine a kiss i imagine a clash of canines...
i imagine full-on Eden ******* as:
tailoring to don some leather:
as little as a belt - as much as a pair of shoes...
let's not exaggerate to have to don
a jacket or a pair of...
"east coast" leather pair of trowlers..
yes yes: thinkestein patrick moore nervy
talk-talk back talk-talk:

there once...
there was...
either way: before the... yo bats me up
tow a granny... perv prior:
me woz a teen hot-take...
a prosecutor's *****...
a jail-bait fan-dom star...
the last voice that's revelling
in your acquisition priv. as a sentient:
self and consciousness in tow...

and it's not... your new found
"ex" english girlfriend...
with her dry rot sarcasm and what not...
because her accent is:
less of Leeds and more of Bristol...
and this is the vicinity of Loon'don
and... the deflated is the only tire
to suppose a turning motion...

and because the story of the happy...
i didn't have to wonder
for a love of my life...
one **** solved this "demand"
for pristine: look-after-each-other...
pay the tax dough...
look after the elders of strangers...
work for free! even!
that's good...

****: because you will better ****
when she's just nearing...
what was a menopause scare...
and the bride and groom brittle brat & sons and dau.
as always: **** with responsibility
to be towed!

always the never new: to ward of evil spirits...
entertain gagging them via
a cackle... more than a spoon's
worth... since Alice is bound to meet
Harry, George and Terry...
i'm probably whittle tow-e...
with... looking after grooming...

Alice's daughter...
somehow the name... Lola Flanery...
mixes itself up with my least Led Zeppelin
album and a song used for one of
my most favorite t.v. projects - sharp objects -
in the evening...
no verse... just a suspect suspense...
and no chorus...
just a relief from there being a chorus
spectacular...

does the film: the blue lagoon really require
the name Epstein...
when you can have a name like Lola Flanery
against Brooke Shields
or the elizabeth taylor jr.

three cockerels to one hen?
target audience i see...
otherwise what is it?
sugar-daddies and their supposed "babies"?
what's not the next if not next
to any forbidden fruit, for man?
adulation for the pre-through-to-hindsight
of what's the guillotine "fruit" / fate...

a man who has spent his time...
without the audience of ageing women...
will most probably look toward...
the pristine...
the purely imaginative...
his own borderline experience
of the crux of puberty...
or... akin to my 8 year old self:
premature puberty onslaught...
to have masturbated without having *******
but to have a later "revelation"
that the ******* of ***** has nothing
to do with "it"...

maybe my own 11th and only observation...
watch a film and the phantom
industry of self-gratification via day-dreaming
disappears and leaves you stranded
on Onan island... hopefuly with enough
leathers' worth of baggage and boots,
belt, trousers and tortoise shell of skin...
while all those no kippah-donning
start looking like scalped-heads...
and none... well apart from the old-skins
and those butchering the week old shadow
of the week old shadow of...
growing bald... via an inheritence of their father...
scalp-butchers-of-the-shave i call them...
skin-heads were and are...
the men who knew they would grow bald
or with a cranium crown worth of beta-male hair...
add to that the weakening of eye-sight
and 1980s pomp?
you get the drift...

this is very much teasing the opportunity...
i've had enough of a chance with one
14 year old in real life...
a black cat was my prosecutor and she did end up
in her father's cab after i reunited her with
a quarrel's worth of a friend
after a teen party...
i was walking out of a darkened park,
climbing over a fence and...
later taught her how to roll a cigarette...
bulgakov... butterflies...
exposing her cleavage...
the niqab would do just as well...
unless you want all the men to be blind...

or if you have arrived...
what doesn't give me a ******
when i look at... barbaian women...
papa new guinea and the historical myth of
the congo? i see sag... i don't see page 3...
i see the wrinkled *******
of an elephant's trunk...
not some glistening phallus of glass
and metal... a niqab is a welcome interlude
to 1 + 1 = 2... the transition period...

that sorry of state of missionary
hetrosexuality in beneath the bedsheets
cocoon ***...
even if an english girl...
with her ******* dry sarcasm...
her... drifter quote having escaped
Manchester... and made it to Loon'don...

it is a forbidden fruit...
it's a delicacy for what otherwise starve
the unimaginative...
one's own sacrilege coming to the fore...
because once a woman ages
and she is not part of your memory:
this new "adventure" of the cosmopolitan life...
of how...
i can play the pawn on an abstract
of a chessboard...
i don't need to play the pawn in real life...
i can do the Leibniz and explore...
what needs to be explored...
and satisfy myself with the prop of librarian...
there's no need for me to hide
my homosexuality by attaining statesmanship
and honours and a Westminster Abbey's
gravestone akin to Newton...
nor the peerage or to sigh at being knighted..

this is not a Eugenie de Franval observation...
it has nothing to do with...
the beauty of the daughter over-powering
the beauty of the mother...
no... much worse...
twice! by my count...

i dated two girls and...
if... the girl was not immediately preceded
by a son... or was not immediately succeeded
by a son...
i.e. if she was the eldest daughter...
and she had a younger sister...
well... that's the only example... twice!
i ended up dating this sister...
but fancying the younger as...
the more bountiful in spring...
the elder... well... what man aged circa 21
thinks about arriving somewhere when
it's Autumn or Summer...
unless it be Paris in Summer...
notably summer... ergo? inquiring as to also
being gay...

i have never met an elder sister that
i wouldn't relieve myself for the younger...
notably because... there was no interlude
for a woman to give birth to the opposite ***...
the younger sister was always more
beasutiful than the original intent...
"original"... "intent"...

there's only ever one sort of love:
the better to be best ******...
like catering... crisp white linen bedsheets,
napkins... a well rinsed palette
of anticipation being met with...
oysters and apples -
soft, supple... yet tangy when spoken of
in cockney slang...

is a poem only that? rhyme?
no... and i have taken a... fiction readers anonymous
session... rehab from fiction!
does it always have to be rhyme...
or... no... i do not have a twitter accound...
or handle... or... what gab.ai is...

Leibniz and Newton sitting in a tree...
one was gay and had to cover his tracks...
the other settled for role as librarian and...
whatever luck the german sentiment
could ever burden...
before no crown of the almighty myth of
Arthur... but donning the cufflings
of some minor prince of: say... Brandenburg.

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com  
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

                                    “Wimbledon to Ban Russians”

                                                    -News Item

Tchaikovsky, thus, is forbidden to go
Akhmatova is well and sternly gated
No one will greet Dostoyevsky, oh, no
Tolstoy missed his train (some are elated)

Bulgakov won’t be there at center court
Nor yet his Margarita on her broom
Tsvaetaeva will certainly miss all the sport
Gogol will watch on tv in his hotel room

And is there a point to any of this
Except for a popular boo and hiss?

i think i once had a broken heart...
i think i was in love once...

i guess it was more about
the great *** -
it's not like we talked much:
she "was" russian
and i "was" a ******...
she might as well have been
a german:

i can imagine how great
it would have been for
the in-laws to have met...
i can only imagine...
thankfully they didn't...

i was once told: if you can't
find a girlfriend in england:
go to india -
advice of a man who
did just that...

i did almost the same...
working with the greenwich meantime...
Novosibirsk...
a girlfriend from Novosibirsk -

glad girl who escaped that
hellhole and made her
way via st. petersburg to edinburgh
and settled...

me poor oddity: boy...
from a... ahem: haha... "village" -
once a pinnacle of metallurgy industry...
those pivotal poles of
the stade de france
were made in my town...
i know so because my grandfather
worked on them...

yes: i think i was in love once...
she was a real homely affair...
she cooked great food... NO!
the *** was bonkers...
one of those summer nights
in st. petersburg we ****** for hours...
i asked her how many times
she orgasmed in that frozen
snapshot of epilepsy...

   a truly materialistic affair of "love"...
she was on her period
that seemed to last a month...
i still managed to encourage
her to do it in the bath with
a ******... sure... flakes of skin...
anything to ease the cramps...

yes - the *** was everything:
as any boy fed *******:
this easily available "taboo" for so many
years prior to: a canvas to work
with: *** before a mirror...
the supposed conversations
we might have had:
i liked the unbearable lightness
of being -
she introduced me to bulgakov
and in extremo -

           i can't possibly write poetry:
i can't fake in instagram disguises:
i am burdened with prose:
listening to music doesn't help
this anti-lyricism -
there's this sludge monster of
a tongue and a hidden formality
that only works with sparkle
for a niche audience:

niche audience! i don't know what
you're doing here...
i frankly don't know what i'm
doing here either...
we're here... souring in memories...
but i want to forgive myself
for: not going down with the titanic...

imagine: i was sent a letter
from a charity that deals with
alcoholics... they asked me to donate
anything between a fiver or a 20 squid pop...
yes...
      greed of charities...
the same like that anglo-saxon
work ethic: when enough saturation
happens and there's only loitering
left...

skin's burning...
i'd like rhyming: i'd also like
a bouncing ball trapped in perpetual motion
of the bounce:
              bounce: pounce... donce...
i agree: i write very little of
what's already nothing...

     caged gargantuan brat i probably
could stand before a mirror
but i could stand before
a painting that distorts the complexity
of a whiteness of both
lie and magic...

"i" am the fisherman and from
the sea of thought i managed to hook
a tackle of a greasy emblem of what:
a hiding protagonist could fathom:
yet this also brings me into:
the great crushing wheel...
caligula smiles: metaphor caligula smiles...
to have to experience these
bouts of automated thinking:
that everything is this:
**** in machina - and to seek god
as the only way out:
superstitious of those not yet
having arrived at
a cosmopolitan sensibility
of packaging **** arguments of:
transcending this nail needs hammering:
this bacon would require frying...

the *** was great...
there was only ***...
      she liked how i became a chameleon
of diacritical marks:
she had an "accent" i couldn't
be pinned...
i noted that: she had that breath
and a tongue that was a bulging
soul...
               i didn't mind:
after all an ****** of "onomatopoeias"
during *******...

*** primo *** primo...
come to think of it:
i don't think i've had deeply concerning
conversations with my mother...
or with any woman...
well... not to reach the crux
of my being:
   lament?
                   all too easily available paper
and a freely agreeing audience...
thank god they do not find themselves
eagerly commenting on
my ball-and-trimmings-of-a-worth-of-trollop...

hyphen compounding of words:
a very anglo-saxon t'ing...
it's hardly german...
it's not like there's a precursor
story with... anglo-swabians...
or anglo-pomeranians...

         write this mediocrity: go to bed early...
no! how could i be this grieving lover...
i couldn't...
yes... i played the stalker for
the odd occasion -
   i couldn't possibly have fathomed
where she went...
i'm mundane matthew who
grew up with dogs:

youth is all about dogs...
started to hit the plateau with cats:
thankfully my home doesn't give off
whiffs of cat **** perfumery -
these cats lounge in a sterile environment...
but she went down a route
of serpents and spiders...

i am a clarity of arachnophobia -
i like this irrationality -
it's not so much an irrational fear: phobia...
as a reflex...
it's what wakes me up to encompass
the body... that can sometimes be lost
to automated thinking or the sometimes:
pensive reflection purpose of:
what thought arrived at when
it was not supposed to be lost
given the ****** summons
of: "work" - i.e. loitering as a security
guard in a supermarket...

i deserve this pseudo-flaubert fate...
madame bovary might be the book...
but anna karenina steals the opening
of all books...
how does it read, from memory:

all the happy families have the same
story: a generic clone...
but all the unhappy families are unique
in that their stories are:
tenured by misery being selective...
anti-verbatim... d'uh...

       someone once championed
the pickwick papers and encouraged me
to read it...
come chapters 30 - 32...
this book was serialised...
it's no don quixote... it might be
for some native...
but then again: i don't remember
anything about don quixote except
that... the windmills happened
prior to page 100...
you'd think that seeing the ludwig minkus
adaptation of ballet at the royal opera
house would jolt my memory...

hell: bolshoi or no bolshoi...
fickle memory...
i have a ceremony of about 10 permanent
memories -
some have arrived up to now
with a fire of permanence...
"memory" is a yet to fade out cliff...
time the sea and the wind...
i still have to challenge the prospect of:
what i want to remember...
well... what i probably must(ard)
in the arithmetic rubric as every child
must...

i know of the people who talk down
you rekindling a memory cinema...
how it drags for so long that you're unable
to dream... or make futurism a
possible quest: what do i have of
a future to bundle up:
stretched within the pressure of now:
                 nought-here...
    from the Omicron to the doughnut of 0...

give me a day where writing is
not necessary - when drink stands alone
and the bed is teasing...
no phantom body of feuds...
i couldn't have possibly moved furthest
to a shackle...

she became anachrophilic and that
was a tarantula in her hand...
it would have to become necessary
to feast on so much of:
well... i stood before a shelf of
the oeuvre of Dumas and... guess...
well... i was expecting
for people to not have read as much...

we're writing we're digging graves...
we're covered by the fact that
some come as journalists...
that thespians will not gradually belong
to the shadows alone:
that this has to be my lot:
i have to settle with
the mediocre: but what's
almost heartbreaking is that...
i didn't become the cost-efficient
purpose of a ceiling...
i supposed this body or this
mind would never have to fail...

      it's so unbecoming to be this:
collage of works best works least
works at all...
the *** was great but then
my arachnophobia would never allow
itself to be coupled with her
petting tarantulas...
so it's not much a broken heart...
it's the willow of whittle dangling
richards taking a bow from
pump action into a custard pit:
flowery itching: eeeeeee...
no coinage to make purpose
of buttering those floral
patterns of flesh...

            rhymes a' eternal:
closure for a meditation on the tetragrammaton:
apostrophe for each surd H -
hatching a "plan"...
come! come join me!
in this eternal furnace of mechanised
will;
well... there's no burden of freedom
in this already prescribed
papacy of guised choices:
a masquerade of: suppose
the serenity of the atmosphere of
the moons..

   a crushing free-fall...
motivational speakeasies -
                    i am sour... almost nostalgic -
there's a definite article of
a past... the past being deservedly so: the...
but there's also the indefinite article
of the future: the future being undeservedly
so...
it's just one of those prized
assets of a tongue:
a grammar and a nuance...

that it was the anglo-saxons...
but not the anglo-swabians...
            let's see how much of a muddle
of mine is deserving my egoistic ploy
to mind the "numbers"...
how much of a muddle i have made
to crave an itch from a stone's
scratching: to detail the whole lot!
for sale! for sale!

my... my my... how miserable this
least expecting consolidation
with mortality...
a freezing over with details
of understood biases...
               i want to call my **** clearly adow my dog...
then again i am reminded:
i like cats because there's no
believability of tokyo cosmopolitanism...
and there's no leash...
if ever i owned a dog i wouldn't
like to also own either a muzzle...
or a leash...

i therefore decline the need to own
dogs...
no... to no one to anyone...
               bark at an echo...
howl at "dutch wood"...
                 i will only don a white shirt
if i can be settle for a sensibility
with... grey creases come
the suggestion of noon.

i owca syta: a więć i wilk też...
   (and the lamb satiated: therefore the wolf too

i like this new dynamic:
i have "simply": quiet simply forgotten all
about ms. amber...
or mr. let me make you see clearly
of *****...

beer takes too much time...
at the same time you can't mix it...
and drinking beer with ice-cubes:
can be done... but it doesn't exactly look sassy...
warm beer is dogs' ****...

wine wine: more wine!
the first bottle is to impromptu me:
what sort of life can there be
without having a chance to reflect upon it?
day to day: day-in... day-out?
what sort of life is that?
investing in old age when it:
"perhaps": ha ha... that might of all "might"
happen?

the first bottle is for reflection...
sitting at the end of the garden
with a snail squiggling from one
end to another of a shed...
do snails have ears?
the first bottle and the clepsydra
of the grand travel annals of snails...
i gave him my left shoulder...
behind my head through to my right
shoulder: the time: about an hour
to "suddenly" disappear...

the first bottle of wine is for reflection...
the second bottle: i haven't started it:
is for lubrication...
nothing to speak of...
but enough to break my fingers on...
on this... canvas:
why am i not a painter:
i'd abhor being constipated with...
colours... forms...
it would be a pain to draw a face...
since i'm prone to the phenomenon
of pareidolia...

ever since having my bicycle undermined
by some ****** humour of
loosening the clamp on my front wheel...
if only the wheel came off
on the Gallows Corner Roundabout...
that would have been funny...
i had enough: ever since i have systematically
undermined all the knobs and bolts
throughout the frame...
the whole thing was going to fall apart:

psychological warfare...
there was ever going to be one cure for this...
a sharpshooter...
i didn't care what it might taste like...
half of gin... a quarter of whiskey...
a quarter of tequila... some pepsi...
it didn't taste that bad...
2 litres of water...
and a most pristine route...

up to B1459.... through to lower Bedfords Rd
onto Noak Hill Rd
Chequers Rd... Coxtie Green Rd...
through Pilgrims Hatch... onto Ongar Rd
into Brentwood...
past the Brentwood Catholic Cathedral...
or... Bishopric... ugly pseudo-Baroque "thing"...
all the way on the A128 via Ingrave
turning into Bulphan...
  and then... on the flatlands of Thurrock...
toward Upminster later Hornchurch...
eh... a marathon in terms of distance...

i can still listen to Kasabian's West Snyder Asylum
album if the mood is right...
like the time... my own time...

i took a sharpshooter on this bicycle ride...
a bit like the British drunkards
vs. the amphetamine charged Luftwaffe pilots...
or Isis state fighters...
who were also on amphetamines...
i wasn't going to disbelieve my bicycle
because one silly ****** thought it would
be funny to loosen my front wheel...

come night and thoughts about ***...
prior to... you are bound to cycle past...
a man... of similar age as yourself...
walking a little gremlin of an offspring with him...
look on his face?
it's hardly content... it's engaged...
most certainly...
such authority... such conviction...
hell... no... such responsibility...
but such a distance at the same time...
after all... if a woman were to ask me:
you don't want to have children:
you don't want more meaning in your life?

it didn't take me 2 years to read Kant's
critique... i own a 2 vol. copy...
i read the first vol. and subsequently, "subsequently":
"lost" the 2nd volume...
have children...
Kierkegaard's either / or...
in the environment when my dementia-riddle
grandfather was still alive...
a blessed month... i managed to squeeze in
Maldoror to boot...

have children... or read philosophy books...
oh that the days can be filled with:
whatever is already left available...
it doesn't have to come down to waning in the vicinity
of movies...
i'm stiff going to punch myself
in the face for not having acknowledged Rousseau sooner...
i once did that: punched myself in
the face until i woke up with a black
eye...
i once counted how many knuckles
i had by putting out a cigarette on
each of them...
i think i came short...
the scar on my ring finger knuckle is
more pronounced than on the other knuckles...

muddles: i had something in my mind
prior to all this:
i'm not going to compete with Bukowski
over achieving old age...
he only started scribbling his poetic doodles...
right about when i'm at now...
that i can't escape admiring him:

an itchy memory:
in an Our Price record store
in an almost ancient Victoria Station...
when my uncle was still relevant
as was his knowledge of music...
he suggested i buy
the Prodigy's music for the jilted generation:
i said no...
i wanted the Molasses of En Vogue
to sing me: don't let go as a single...

i think of love i drink wine: this is... supposed
to be... blood... i think of love
i start conjuring up vampires and
werewolves... i can be so unforgiving...
but it only took one ******* to attest that:
i'm a good man that i forgot to date...
or inspect the matter further
in the sandpit of dating games...
just give me the clarity of transaction...
i'll be back for more...

the next hour: the only hour with this
Turkish nymphomaniac...
Khada... just this next hour...
i'll promise myself the next half worth's of
a decade to pass me by sexless...
she already finally cured me of
the memory of Ilona of Siberia...
of St. Petersburg...

never before had i experienced a woman
who would tell me
to keep my hands of my phallus
when her hands... and mouth were
performing: "miracles"...
finally! i wasn't a pawn of expectations...
for the first time i was on
the receiving end of whatever it is that's
***'s about...
a bit like... i had to find a doppelganger...
TEANNA TRUMP...
Caribbean Mulatto *****-Queue-of-a-Queen...
and it's not even like she's hiding
her prowess as sending men:
dumb on their ways...
but she's hardly going to compete with
the songs of Solomon...
even with his count she's not going
to bother itching with some proverb:
she'll just advertise so more...
until...

but she's good at what she does...
why take it way from her?
i've been prone to have wasted
£120 on an hour's worth on a timid *******
when i should have only dripped up
£60 for half an hour's worth of:
limp ****, kisses & cuddles...
that's why i need to spend an hour with Khada...
because the last time i only spent £60 on her
for half an hour's worth and...
perhaps i'll sign my self-published poo'etry
in katakana...

never a a sort of ******* that might make
you want to finally forget a past
relationship?
**** me... if it only cost me £60 per half an hour...
that it might cost me... £120 per hour...
and she'll be so ******* base about...
timid ******* is something for quasi-paedophiles...
i don't like my libido undermined
by games of: you're in a brothel
and she's a ******* stiff...
you end up teasing at necrophilia...
what has suddenly immobilised her...
you later turn up and she's donning pigtails...

i could have had children:
i didn't want to...
not in the current climate...
   the current climate... have daughters...
let them... stress that... anti-racist anti-patriarchal
narrative... a N / // / //' PLAYGROUND...
by the boat-load...
i'm tired of wanting to excavate this:
mythological blonde from the depths of
her...
give me the Turkic ol' raven haired
witch...
                         but there still are:
mythological blondes... most probably
jogging around the flatlands of Thurrock...

supposedly "good" people never, really:
do anything good...
well... the only "good" they ever achieve is...
stressing the golden rule of Confucius
to the point where they become
solipsists... they never do any good as
the supposed good of:
avoiding people deemed to be a metaphor
of typhus...
the good of avoiding the ***** colony...
a lot of good that is...

to do supposedly enough good but end up:
decrepit - old - a solipsist?
how many prostitutes would it take
for me to kiss before:
the fire... the judgment inflames my blood
to give earth a stomach a mouth
a hunger... before the disgruntling sound
of "hunger" might be satiated:

are we the moral fathers and mothers
of the free will of these automatons?!
less the vote: these autocrats in democracy?
how much freedom is not enough
freedom for: not having children:
i'd abhor the need to put on a leash...
while at the same time watching myself
put on a muzzle...
bring into the fore a cage!

the bicycle and the *******...
for that sort of ***...
i am awarded a spell of amnesia from a relationship:
finally freed after coming close to a decade...
she has already been married: twice since
i last saw her...
bandaged right arm... stupid *****
decided to slice it up along her vein routes...
she was still playing video games...
ever since she prescribed me
Bulgakov i was already reading Kundera...

20kg slimmer... no stretch marks on the stomach:
i took my time...
concentrated on the cardiovascular domain:
all beef: no jerky...
i'm not here for the abs...
i still find it quirky seeing
a beefed up pancake with all that upper-body
poised for looks...
a body that couldn't do 100 press-ups...
strutting... on chicken-thin stilts...
they're not legs...

******* moralists...
1st bottle of wine i reflect with...
in the damp end and all that's night
of a garden's worth...
2nd bottle i lubricate...
eyes, fingers... the unspoken tongue...

next time i fool myself to cycle into
central London...
for all the grit... the **** and scratches
of particles...
do i really need to see so many faces?
content with discontentment:
discontent with contentment...
do i really need to see how important
these people are?
or will i again relive the nerve...
to cycle into the countryside...
explore Essex some more...
and peer into trees and the bushes
and pretend to be looking for a mirror
or some... demonic voyeurism?

if the western women are not worth defending:
there's hardly a continuity clause:
hey! presto! playground!
fly solo my dear! fly... solo!
i won't be choking on... how Turkic women
elevate their harem...

what *******! what...
i have no freedoms to cherish: no love to give:
they have become:
fizzled out... ashen... slob and slither...
my kingdom of ash...
come to think of it:
there's nothing worth keeping:
all of it needs to be revised...

i'll start the fire: i'll just pretend you have
the water...
let freedom(s) become fully exhausted:
it is required spectacle "knowledge"...
let freedoms come,
let freedoms go...
if you won't be dipping you silly ***** into
some wet oyster pouch (punch)...
so be it... take some time to do...
at least with prostitutes you will be
standing on bricks rather than on
sand... lies... masquerading... face-offs...

we're not here to start families...
we here to hope that...
we grow old enough; senile enough...
so that our libido dies...
content with t.v., cricket...
su doku or crossword puzzles...
a teenage girl exposing herself:
my insomniac libido: my forever present
hard-on?
oh sure: as long as she still thinks it's just
a "tease"...

i'm waiting for my libido to die off...
then i'll concentrate on my liver
and kidneys... but by then i too hope
it might be a classic case of
"too late"...

       last time i heard: it's now... jetzt!
hier!
                i don't need a lie...
i don't need an unforgiving English maiden
to tell me what's god from good...
or do-evil from evil from devil...
               i have:
this here land...
and the exploration of upstaging
the momentum first arrived at via
walking...

  these are not... my... women!
     i've wasted their credibility of motherhood
on the shoreline of prostitution!
i'm not willing to have to be forced into
an argument of: what's to be kept!
the whole forest needs to be ploughed:
it needs to be burned down...

in England over 20 years and they're still only
giving it to blacks and abusive Pakistanis...
where did they think i'd go to for:
"compensation": among the Turkic ol' raven haired
types....
lassen: hölle: regel: selbst!

chopping two heads of garlic for:
however long that might have lasted -
each tooth cut into a fine matrix
of miniature cubes -
cut to the point where a fattiness
oozes from each garlic tooth:
sticky saliva-esque ('l) and it's not...
the kind that comes bursting
with onions spitting venom -
how bewildered to be answering
the door when a delivery man
has just dropped a package
and you've also... just been cutting
onions...
   a tear that has to transcend
both grief, happiness and pangs of
beauty -
the garlic?
     the feel of fingers after having
fingered and slobbered and
come glutton on the equivalent
of **** and a devil's dozen
of oysters -
                a recipe for pickled
cucumbers: that they were cucumbers
that would become gherkins...
yes... thinly sliced 4kg of cucumbers
to 1kg of sugar... this and that:
some curry powder...
left in 2tbsp of salt to gush with brine...
and then... the pasteurißation
process - fudge packed into jars...
the lids not fully twisted on...
some breathing room -
"baked" in an oven at 120 degrees
for less than an hour...
taken out... the lids firmly ******* on...
then the jars flipped upside down
to stand...
for safe-keeping...
to boil the impurities away...
boil giddy broth and all that scratching
youth of cucumber away
for a smoothness accustomed
to marble...
funny that... the onion - how it is
the only vegetable to have some variation
of a venom and is still
the only metaphor of a snake -
the tears i shed over these Baßil plucks...
   in english: ß is an interchange:
once a sharpened S...
i know of sharpening eSSeS...
cute acute is the final form:
           ślizg (off ślizgać: to slide -
i.e. one has the slang attache -
a bit like: having the groove)...
you can almost hear it: at the end of
each hush: it's never a hush:
it's a huś of a librarian...
        a howl of it might i add...      
- crude caron is the: not yet blunt...
meat-eater.... teeth indentations... grooves...
          shackles...
the crown: šaro-
             followed by two halves
of a crown -ść               i.e. greyness -
which is still not borrowing from
the ingenuity of the russians:
szczera (too many consonants my ***...
too many vowels you roman dogs!)
   SH-CH -
                       Š + Č = Ш + Ч = Щ
        we could have the "ingenuity" process
of this evolution of... an "apostrophe"
from the depths...
   but... catherine the great was
a german lass... and even though: Ц
sits proud and could have been...
                    it wasn't... since...

Ц ≠ CH(eap)
         or CZ(art)
           or ČaXa...
      it could have: what was it...
a mirror inquisition of mu to begin with?
give me 100 years and a book burning
and i could "correct" this burden...
so it ******* fits...
i'd even call in the mongols to implement
this change...

the germans already say: цentrum
and write zentrum - herr tseit!
                                 herr schtick-a-lot: цar...
щerość  - truthfulness...
                                         / ščerość:
two coronas halved -
or... sharpened...
                     and to think... this little adventure
has me dancing above a latin script!
and... deviating from some ur-greek...

we could do this minor change:
"pan-slavic" borrowings from
the 19the century in the balkans
under the ottomans -
           this hypered breathing tool
to extract the yet Siberia - Hades bride
a near pristine ****** -
in this cosmopolitan confused multi-
of an english...
i am here to express and drag back
into the "darkness" of the east
memento...

  that the greek had names for
some of their letters: omicron, omega,
alpha, beta, gamma...
but that the latins had:
vowel-and-consonant: syllables
instead of proper names...
delta - a sensation for a prefix letter...
and a suffix name scoop...

cut my ***** off and feed me
operatic candy...
when you open a bag of
    chimichurri chimichurri:
chim chim churri...
no... when you open a bag
of been-sprouts after
the best-before-date...
    you know the perfume if you have
ever... fermented grapes:
it's that in-between scent
of fermentation -
it's quiet off-putting...
but it's passable...
              but english is both
the currency of the present...
the language of empire
the lingua franca: although:
the crescent moon in the shackles
of the sheikhs:
who moved these youths into
europe if not the project harem...
and fatso old cat laze'ohs of
the woman's drudge:
a heaving tide of custard flesh...
boiling with lazy bop-bop of
bubbles...
                    we can discuss it in
english: never mind the natives...
we came, we saw...
some of us didn't bothered feeling
at home...
although: we once hoped to be...
never... *******... mind!

i'm here for two "letters"... well...
sounds... in the russian text...
great orthographer that i am:
the english can have their metaphysical
this certain debate that...
that uncertain debate this...
it's not like the english will ever
employ diacritical markers...
a recurrent theme: a stressor on my mind...
it will never be allowed
a pop fission - it will not claim
an epidemic status -
mind you:
the priests the psychiatrists and the
prostitutes... minor of the 3:
the four horseman... the "poet":
the poo-etcetera...
  try try, try bring fail...
"ignore, ignore": "happiness"
will find its trail...

                 but once! in a time of...
poesy and cerebral palsy!
sound: ping pongs of echoes pf
dying elephants or whales...
            the stomach of the disgruntled
indigestion that's the best assumed
presence of: sea...
            
it's become certain:
in youth to write while listening to music...
tone deaf i: too could reach
a tornado of words... that...
let's be frank: i never recite what i write...
i write best from what's
yet to be seen... i uncover what's hidden...
i don't pretend to measure sounds...
if my voice had the same sensation
to encompass blowing into a saxophone...
no... a horn...
this monotone gravity of breve -
this great aeon bespoke sloth of
an otherwise riddling tongue turned
into an ancient worming from:
from a time when man did not pass
onto his futures -
a memory of some ancient - fabled oned -
a once that turned out to be:
full of replicas! i.e. archetypical
wounds... that forever bleed...

best this written in a silence that
wakes up with an imitation wind...
two letters... russian... beside ur-greek
to me... exported to as far east
as Kamchatka.... which is practically
north of Tokyo -

it's a contested scenario... this...
Цц vs. Чч -
if it was handwritten for the envisioning
of... the:        Ш + Ц = Щ
i'm sold... aren't you sold?
  ah... envious of handwriting fluidity -
now: digit plucking - each letter a solipsistic
"counterstrike"...
     yes... looks like we have ourselves...
the... *****...
             clearly...   zee... ШИЦ!

inversion of mooment - the crows are
near tonight: they are quarreling with the gods...
or perhaps that's just the ***** foxes
teasing leather -
   that i write and there's no music
to distract me: elevate this already
impossible...

i go to sleep with alarm bells ringing...
robert duncan's realisation that he was a poet
aged 17... upon leaving high-school
i did stand before the entire cohort
of my contemporaries and recited a poem:
over which i cried two days prior...
an epileptic seizure gripped
my body from neck down...
but i did manage a recitation...
    i was supposed to become a chemist
now i'm looking for a part-time occupation
in the n.h.s. as having:
good organisational skills and...
a sense of humour...
or some BICS: for... part time gigs at
the ol' B... B... C...
i don't mind i just want something
to execute an elevated trance of
robotics to let my mind wander...
outside the confines of robo-brutus-robos:
anti-caesar: oh look! "us"!

two "inconveniences" of the 20th century
motivate me...
the despots and the shan franshishko poets...
there's that famous gozilla
of a tornado... there's that...
Bulgakov centre piece of a collection
of... best kept hush-hush among
the moth community...

   that language toys with me that
i don't want to have a competence with it
concerning that i don't have a narrrative
that i'm all tickety-fuckety
when it comes to clocks and eternal silences...
a clock on earth... vacuum...
a boiling kettle on pluto...
given only these two ***** for juggling...
it's... kinda boring... isn't it?
how is one expected to juggle
only two *****?
two oranges... better image... get go image!
i juggle time... i juggle space...
both so impossibly impersonal:
i'd loot a grave for an epitaph that
might make an irish joke down
a pub about them...

       and they kept 'em "*******" in the sports
and kept 'em prized athletes... coz cousing
'arab?
well... they knew those hebs
were expendable from the ghetto-go
prior to the gassing stipends...
it's not these whites keep:
samson strength of david-esque
ingenuity...
it's not like the hebs matter in the world
of sporting events...
gift of the gab... i guess that's what
prizes them above all else...
gifts of "superstition"...
to me? there is enough phonetic evidence
to summon me to showcase
that... the tetragrammaton is...
a spider in a web of english:
surd H(atches)...

        a breath of a dying man
about to... pOUNCE!
but the jews were never cotton pickers...
they were never athletes -
if they ever built the pyramids...
i wonder...
it's not like... they... possibly...
hebrews are intellectual creatures:
they are not... about to be caricatured
with fully functioning limbs
readied for the ******* colliseum...
unless they might me...
nero's torches...
and the greek conspiracy -
after all...
           wouldn't the greeks have
conspired....
to topple rome...
in order to therefore...
retain a dominance of power:
byzantine: years after the western
"concept" crumbled?

you don't keeps jews to have
the masses entertained:
you keep the ******* to falsetto
the ******* roll-a-bit sort of gimmick...
run around... kick a coconut...
come back with a lion's golden mane...
jason and the argonauts...
casimir and the ******* cosmotaunts:

*** note on biGGer?
better: sniGGer!
i count less in niGerian -
the offensive sound - less by scent
of "things": a heb is not a jew is  yew:
from a ***...
you can't leave these tracers or:
otherwise we: shun the *****!
that's great: i too spell a sound without
a necessity to connote malice...
but of course: borrowed lithuanian
that i am: under the hellish
anglo-saxon brute manifesto...
all is glacier and glycerine and
toughening of Karen east of any
that's east... the mouthful of
the Danube...

       to "bleep" out a sound to
mishandle the necessity of meaning:
if the blacks can own a ******
why can't i... not own a ******
in his stead of... to tattoo myself
all aryan:
the jew that never made it to
the coliseum as a gladiator -
this burning ***** hair floss of
st. peter's crux...

  we are still in favour of african
mind: less productive:
readily this body made...
there's now clue as to why
a thought concerning:
Proteus - Herr Frankenstein's monster:
Einzstein: Zuerst- also a -stein / - shtein...
zweite-christus-und-stein!

it's unlike a must it's not this
competition with: social inclusive standards:
of what?
the saxon: project that -
one year excluded the irish...
other year: made great fictions
surrounding Libya...
i have before me a history:
that in part i cannot inherit...
i have these... fickle restrictions:
panderings: walking on egg-shell
moments for...

in my own wery brittle: sam's son:
didn't herr voltzwitz stress:
son of sam-
         em... -uel
                 or... -son?
                          jacob my dear fiction...
continue: bring forth
these nuanced goods...

and my two morning synchs...
a cat that wakes me come nearing 5am:
to watch him: entertain myself...
him taking a **** or a ****...
into a tight bundle of imitation
sahara...
or another... to attire her with
creases of the hand...
to pet her... so that she feels
obliged to sleep in my bed...

there i was concerning myself:
does my beard reveal the cubism
of a violin?!
i still have two russian letters on
my mind...
i'll burn them into my forehead
so that i can allow myself to sleep...
but besides?
there's this, courtous conversation
i am to be having - past participle
and future: yes... i mean no...
i will not be having this
african gladiators contra the yiddish
intellectual sludge extension:
no anglo-saxon sensibility will
save me from this: it's own...
hidden lick o' "squander"...

   pandering... for... enough ******
autonomy... to clean offices...
and find the joy of a mind's escapism...
pandering to who beside
the ******* tended to orators
and giggling politicians?

this is enough of a night's vanquish...
to have: as i have: have tamed.

p.s. there's no proof in you "not being" racist
by having ****** a black girl...
i just wonder: could it have been enough
when the trans-racial incorporation
sequence to create the copper-skin
pseudo-arabs begun...
when it was still a taboo...
   not now... i don't know vot "vey"
vont.... or'zzz dunst noot vont...
lebanon?

             i can see myself, though...
******* some copper-skin imitation
h'arab as far tainted as:
lemon-squinting: there's no sunrise:
come the blessings of beijing...
yeah... i too would like to marinade...
or at least have that prawn flesh
tenderness:
to be able to cook in enough
critic acid... without the use
of over boiling water...
it's called tenderising or:
some other magic word...

            *** notes: yes yes...
thoroughly throughout...
fishing for russian nazis...
            ah ha ha...         deaf-tone... joke.

the pre anglo-saxon england:
this arthurian myths of:
   some celtic bride and some leftover
legionnaire regaining status:
or gaining status -

pre anglo-saxon england:
oh god... that cocktail of celts and
the welsh...
well: it's anglo-saxon england
that entertained the vikings...
and later the vikings that settled
in northern france...

the monstrous export of
the anglo-saxon republican export
from the h'american colonies...
a strict work ethic...
work hard...
em... how hard can you work
in an environment of
window-dressing...
of being a cat-walk exemplar...
work hard...
stacking supermarket shelves?
can you turn bulging machine
having:
the capacity for unforgiveable
spontaneity:
i figured: a poem a day
keeps the psychiatrist away:

the apples are rotting...
the bears are getting drunk on them...
staggering around senseless seem-like
in a cider tango...

a work ethic... where... mostly...
the ethic of work is: dasein -
a mere being there...
a presence of something that
doesn't discount the rubric of:
the long-stretch of time...
mannequins at work...
staging a cul de sac coup d'etat -
work ethic...
after a while competing
with machinery:
in a thespian despotism
and a d.j. roulette is not enough
for: me to spew rhyme after rhyme...

i would hardly want to disgrace
anyone at work...
lucky for me a dream i had
only yesterday:
i was chased by a faceless throng
of people who wanted
me to stand on a stage...
and persuade the "less initiated"
with new testament jargon:
i was invited to become
the last conventional:
the confidence man: an orator...

not a politician... as such -
not a rhetorician... not lying for
a purpose: more... lying for lying per se...
i rarely dream where i can bring
back images of the dream...

i honestly don't know what
the "whiteness" argument is with these
critical-race theorists...
these neo-marxists...
i latched / i eavesdropped on a conversation
and i'm: precisely here:
nowhere...

      work efficiency: baking too much
bread... what is... "work"...
it's certainly not something as
crystal clear as...
sitting through a le mans' episode
of 24h within the confines
of the marathons of a football match...

snooker nears the concern for
the spectator -
          
  but i'm just eavesdropping -
   i can't buy the new left from the west...
      there's just too much idiosynchronicity
that pulling it apart:
i want the ride on the roulette -
rotondo - ferris-wheel -
i just can't buy western socialism:
it's pretend hive for a season
mentality...
      a whim a vogue:
                 a fly rattling the purpose
of space abstracted to its erracting
flight confined to a cube...

i'm hardly: well... how doesn't it feel
being mistook for a german or a swede
in england...
then again only copper-skins
on edgware road selling quran pamphlets
asked me whether i was german...

i must say: i didn't mind that...
if they suppose i was russian...
i might have minded that...
               i am always this little boring
mr. incognito a retail
of non grata -
          my poverty of history:
i'll ***** myself around the world
never making it to grand h'america...
in england i'll...
honest to god:
gladly scoff the battered cod
and the chips come a friday...

          i don't need to see the sea:
ha: on the continent people had
to plan for summer and for trains
and transit... to... "get 'em away from
the mountains": no camping freaks
among them... lazing on the beaches
until the sun might turn into
crab-mouths nibbling on them...

come on though...
oysters?! that semi-solid sponge of
goo and glue managed to earn...
itself a rolling-pin's worth
of a shell...
well... the human brain is no better:
considering that it was hijacked
by a mushroom... come
the post-aquatic process
of redefining standing-up straight...

perhaps i own my bedroom:
this little guise for the world to understand:
but then one cat if attempting
to sleep in my bed
and the other in the armchair:
while i'm sitting reading
the pickwick papers
sitting against a cold radiator -

she doesn't like me teasing her hind
near: what is her tail:
my imaginary coccyx and her
cranium 69 psalm...
she harks at me...
she butchers me with boxing gloves:
i am expecting
******* sized up to mosquito replicas...
she draws blood from the index...
i smear the drawing of
blood onto her furry nose...

i was too young to have fallen
for such a love of ***
that would never translate
itself into a "love" that could
have us: find each other...
pairing and piling up with
a glad tiding of responsibilities...
i still remember
this "other" one as she took
me to a party just before
bloc party arrived
and a girl might inquire me
as to why i wore
a eisen-kreuz t-shirt...

               it must be self-explanatory:
i have yet to live the unforget-
-able life...
this colt this Abel this leisure of activity:
when pitiable Cain has to wade
through the tsunami of...
the roman gentleman:
forever out of context:
      there's some "inevitable" and there's
some "traditionalism"
       and there's PREJUDICE
against occupations requiring manual
labour: these befitting slaves...
mind you: retail trades have
come through the aeon as...
devoid of criticism or allowing
a self-awareness...
      
concerning now i am no high-brow
thinker:
i am ashamed to "think" to put
this fudge-packing to paper...
wow! no paper!
pixel digits of beelzebub's voyeurism...
i find my agony in
that: physical labour needs
to find its detail:
i can't find escape in the per
se of poetry from long ago...

i need to rise up i need to rise
with aa riddle: to riddle the princesses
with my own lost joy, joke & rhyme...
butchers' pressures for
*******...
the detailed art of the inconvenient
**** stressed with:
ghosts macabre:
if the niqab was addressed
by some variation of: Coco Chanel:
the long white 'un...

i'd love to see a niqab paraded
in white...
               i was the con-stipated...
i was the con-findance artist being
chased by a face clot of bass riddling base?
who's o.k. who's not this new:
pristine vogue of perfect?
my shattered little blessed purpose
insignia of g'aah g'aah:
better: blah?
no reiteration within the confines
of nervousness -
i will not seek any variation
of new york...
i will not make conquest
of coastline h'america...
give me my mundane suppose
euorpa and
some ******* mediocre "supposed"
teasing anti-adventure fly-over...
grey-the-grit-grey-first-born...

i the summoned echo of Abel...
while Cain has his pop-tarts
in the h'american
celebration of serial killers...
and: mother siberia welcomes!
oh god... who needs them shackled
up... let's just drop them...
into a geography that might
expand their minds!
wouldn't it be... fair?
no new africa this new Sib?!

it would account for the moon-goal:
ha! mongrel / 'ongol...
very funny: as english always is...
when it can be tested
with phoneticism...
and a dickensian sam weller's: gadanie:
spreschen...
best kept patriotic: nervous angle...
no new blue: all old blanche... ha ha...
nervous ******* twinkle...
borrowed bliss... no north 19th century...
ha ha...

  but it's still a chapter or two where:
the dickensian narrative sort of:
left me: as it left him...
just pass the time...
as every novel does:
line the lineage...
mould - just enough dough
or words for the readers
to: ahem... "mishap"
a tumbleweed moment...

execution of the antithesis of
"buddhist" posturing:
not finding a cushion to not think...
read a book in an iron maiden
fixation:
play the freely available russian...
i will never come across
the intricacies of h'america from
a postcard...
i will never make it to iowa:
iowa per se...
outside of the federal export
narrative of a myth of a
nation-project...

   i want to see the sort of
h'america the rest of the coastline
decided to **** on...
but i've already seen st. petersburg
from the perspective of:
great *** and no one ever wanted
to listen to bob dylan...
there was a necessary stipend
of reading a bulgakov...
         which i did...
          while moscow and metallica was...
let's just forget it:
i find the most pristine ideal
of a day...
come my little solo rummaging
of the woods come the raj spices
of autumn...
come these ancient woods
that will never borrow acorns...

i went back a side-step back
toward the ***** of abraham marx -
and i came back:
trojan projects:
mass graves of Ypres:
deserved by the germans...
have these mass graves...
but a solitary statue of...
at least the achilles heel of "st." michael...
will you not dare to claim
the laughter of Ares?
then succumb to a "saint" and michael...

**** your incongruity -
i tend to make an event of walking out
from this house
with an apple in tow...
and like some philosopher...
leaving enough flesh prior to the core...
before ackowledging
the possibility of the magic
trick being towed...

i can eat the whole apple and
there's no cider coming from the seeds...
write the metaphor of the bible
anew:
apples are not new to the riddled east...

ah! ah! ah ha ha ha ha ha!
the riddled east!
give 'em the nocturnal flesh
of a phlegm compact fig...
  give them the dates...
the oranges... the lemons...
         who was moses to give them
the apple?
last time i heard apples originated
in kazakh territory:
which was picked up
with the mongol migration...
along with the beijing plethora
of dumplings...
  
england is still far far away...
ready to make it's surf exploration first...
thirst for moon in north h'america...
first come first served:
last time i heard:
iceland didn't beat them...
because... ha!              ah ha ha ha!

first i played a recorder...
cheap plastic...
no... there was no mention of a flute...
i was english i was i never never...
but it's not like...
i had the vantage point...
of the english...
since no one really wanted
to live on iceland...
england prior to the anglo-saxons...
yes... these:
leftover peoples: troll...

ich muss "troll"...
      shwemme-affe-contra-hund:
scheissegrubestapelregalneu!
   ich: ja... westen bankrottberliner:
mein ebenfalls: kaiserbrötchen!

one might simply tire of pandering
to the germans...
one simply can...
as one might excuse oneself to teasing
the mongols: via the russians...
so... it's a no man's land...
through and through...

   i.e. where's what middle with
the middle of the east
that's also: "york" and the yacht and
the islamic mystics: rumi from afghanistan from
the 13th century or otherwise...
the senior draft?
no... solipsism adventure: primo!
the bangladeshi are slaves
when cicero had to speak: proper...
necromancy for the believe-ability
of the existence of arabs...
camel jockeys...
            the nobel routine handlers...
shadow rubric oopses -

there is not need for a coupling for
communism with Jainism -
when the doggy-mom does her bit
and the thief from Camden Town
does his: leash to lynch...
empires the metaphors:
the peoples the jack 'o' cracks:
pancakes... and the littering
to street with...
all thoe romanian / bulgarian
****** you didn't ****...
because ****'s son slashed the broker
on the northern duaghter
you...   hindered...
  stroked bloke & towed
fiddled barrels...
   like some "ilford"...
          
the "solution" is...
all tongues but no spanners...
the "solution" is...
all tongues but hammers...
              my best inclined: fugitive
of a body... this fetish toad-ape
a colour figurative
of imitating traffic heed...

my best blotched narcoleptic
blond-Fe....
ironing suitor...
    ape gesticulating
supposed applause...
for the audience to cwy away
an about: a'goo...

               cicero minded: might have...
"slaves" take up the deeds of
aesops in the deeds of the row-men...
or the same-ethno-minded:
belittled brain-custrd-fudgings...
A                           A                       A
my exploited nuo lambda...

i wriggle with a rare
rage most impossible...
i tinge these letters:
the spice list for a karma sutra
of
outdates the necessities
of the new testament as:
any new sort of investment:

didn't you know?
the serenity of a composition...
bach will never ride
a donkey:
among the four horsemen...
there was one with death: implicit...
towing a donkey... riding: slow...
and it's not that i might make
bach pop: or propping up...
i have no romance with
some borrowing of
"amore" of italy:
               pizza pardons?!
i quite like the tenderness
of the "in-between-bits" of
liver... stendhal!
the rubric details:
                         i oppose a suggestion
that something could be claimed
to make monstrosity
of sketching forward this...
ahem... modern...
man...

"we": i found it very much necessary
for the modern man to talk
this borrowing from nuance...
this bowing-down
burrowing:
thorough.. through...
my long lost asp and bulgar...
the sort of exotica that
the british never tasted:
it was Bulgaria that was not...
not ever... Haiti...
and because of... what?
white's what?

       middle of "my" jerusalem?
i can't fathom a... "middle yeast"...
from a region that doesn't
need beer...
ergo and "ergo"...
the riddled east...
troll the overt-simplification...
that let's me toll up stupid
and there's no necessary
i.q. quest -
yes.... the pay-back for
toying with both tourist
and the cricket teams / themes...

my last middle...
it's an yeast! a brain-borrow:
born bread-winner"
riddled "eat"!
oh ****...       tiny tony
and that major SHA-SHA!

i'm not                                           a deer hunter;

but i'd love to
ascribe from Cyrillic
to this;
nonetheless;

if one were to boast...
but one never gratifies
boasting...
the rare chance
of being a deer-runner...

because the stag is in concrete...
road-****...
and one only has but one
chance of playing
santa... being the deer-runner...

which not one will actually believe
as one being...

but at least the pronoun debacle
is allowed... a royal
presence of excuses with:
one should...
we also think so...

it was always under the crown's
decree to give this grief some time
to air... before... it was folded
like a poker bluff...
before the altar of:
pronoun exhibit (a): one...
pronoun exhibit (b): we...

we should hope of one's
happiness to be exacted without
the worry for either pauper I
or a they that throng...
prior to the stress that's: we...
that's prior to I...
in that we refer to I as in no way...
allowing a res extensa
of a: they...

i am liberally... classical...
this is english, after all...
i must decline to use these modern...
trangender, canadian, pronoun,
compelled speech derivtives...
pseudo-soviet satellites of grammar...
of the royal pronouns we must
discuss... "proper" or any usage...
for that matter...

the crown hovers above the head
the head that can be decapitated but
still waggle a tongue...
the royal not the transgender pronouns...
rex civilis...
one should hope so...
that we might state the following...
a pronoun! without any faking
a *******, entourage!

classy peoples of this worls and typo Ds
(missing) and...
i only heard the term vegan once...
i subsequently heard:
no eggs... no cheese...

i then heard... *******!
what's breakfast with no cheese...
no eggs?!
how about...
vegan = haemophilia anemic?!
ok booker = soy boy bonanza...
how's that?
what about the steak tartar,
ms. rude carrot root *** whiff
of a ******?

i could be saved...
and how i wish to work
in a slaughterhouse...
it would cure me of...
curating to the alpha-male
museum of sounds via
the ash-tray array
of ****** sound-bitten-bites...
compensating for...
i too wonder...

there's all this music...
but to replenish this diet...
there's that crude onomatopoeia of...
vowels that attempt
to attain consonant status
when a woman *******...
but never does: attain the consonant
status of her vowel elevated pressure
breaths...

because it's the big O...
and no big sigh
that invites the better half
of the vowel-catcher
that's the tetragrammaton in...

i need to know whether
this is venom-bitten
with bitterness...
or whether it's still:
cheap slap-stick comedy -
en route the common ritual of...
a cameo audience being responsive...
a very cult-esque response...
a delmore schwartz escapade via
that hill billy of the velvet underground...
demure of a consitent craving
for preserving a self-deprecating...
not always allowed...

esp. not in europe where...
these days... everyone tells a joke
like a german...
but also has to hear it like an englishman....
a bad,
a very bad... ******* combination...
and yes...
****- and -ing is to be treated
as a grammatical conjunction...
equivalent to AND...

it's not to be given iconoclast status
for the bow and bread
of the dyslexia stranded
when "bigger" words appear...
and they have this...
niqab of a word ****
appear akin to an email
password's worth
of ••••

you're not saving the planet...
if a chimpanzee was able
to juggle oranges a priori...
then a chimpanzee will be
able to juggle oranges
a posteriori...
and if the elephant snorting and whatever
an elephant is able to do with its trunk,
brings it to a closer
relation to a miles davis trumpet?
then an elephant did and will do so!

problem being: the better part of this
hypothetical conversation i could only
have with myself...
since no woman could ever be as
impractical as to have it...
without an ulterior motive...

if it doesn't exist within the kantian
quarantine of the noumenon
(res per se)...
if it doesn't exist within a viral status
of the:
phenomenon -
if it's not phenomenological -
non replica inductive / industrial
in replication?
ha! and there i was... being fed...
the romance novelty of a stendhal!

ask a man to wage a war...
he will...
but he will never wage one...
from the perspective of hiding the notion
that he might fake being
a mantis or a black widow arachnophobia
prior!
why pray on being so sly
and slighted?
why not wait... breed a bonsai tiger...
and then play a game of tripping him up...
when waging war on...
that is not my woman...
and i actually romanced her -
but then... her petting strategy...
unless it was a Nefertiti -

buckle up... here comes a levelling...
a mr. smith is about to marry a ms. jones...
oh no... there's no née to mrs. jones...
mr. smith married a ms. jones...
benevolent coincidence...
i'm still for dogs and bonsai tigers...
i still imagine a heaven as...
72 rottweilers that i can clash teeth with
and bite and wrestle with...
where this islamic solomon complex comes
from with the 72 virgins...
it's hardly going to matter...

thank god... she was into...
spiders... and snakes...
i was more into... well she was scared of heights...
and graveyards... and i was like: yes! go!
me first!
feeding mosquitos to the bonsai...
and gutting a rainbow trout
giving them the eyes to "pleb" on...

she's still a fond memory of a girlfriend...
i was so close to being branded by her
with a tattoo and some "cultural appropriation"
about to don some caribb dreads...
she is a fond memory...
simply because she was a great ****...
and maybe because
she somehow introduced me to in extremo
and... bulgakov...

maybe... and as all great ***** go...
it's hard to forget them...
even if you're aiming at solo or even...
happily married...
the best **** and... what was it...
cognac with a slice of lemon was an imitation
of... the drawing rooms of Peterhof?

even a street-sweeper remembers
the best **** he ever had...
which involved a trip to the U.S.A....
a hotel room, some LSD and enough time
to watch one sun and two moons
pass for a measure of a day...

once this once happens...
the rest remains to be relegated for
a cameo fodder...
no war, no bastion...
no troops no cannons...
cameo fodder...
up to and including the zenith
of life... bound to the teenager years
culminating at age 21...
and then the descent...
into the everyday grey shade of
a pulp song about...
lost? lost what?
oh... the once upon time magic
everyone is about to... amnesia place -
as somehow to be... "recovered"?!

what can i possibly write about, when i have absolutely
nothing to write about?
perhaps i just write enough... until i reach an automaton
mechanism... nothing will be specified,
there will be no plot, no characters,
i'll just latch onto one rubric after an another...
i'll comes across a revision of atoms:
i.e. of letters... perhaps i might... perhaps i might not...
i'll most certainly prey upon the whimsical,
on the easily ignored sort of material...

i should have become a monk, i would have
gladly entered the ranks of the Taizé brotherhood...
i wish i could fall in love as easily as i once did
when i was 18, 19, 20, 21...
the last serious relationship lasted only a few months...
she invited me back to Russia...
i saw St. Petersburg, Metallica in Moscow,
Novgorod... the riches of little men
and the puddles of poverty of a great people...

*** was hardly the compensation:
since i was giving her... i asked... is that 7 multiple
******* in this one night?
sure... she introduced me to in Extremo
and Bulgakov...
apparently on her period... *** starved on the trip...
apparently ******* helps if she's on
her period, ****** on...
in the bath.... flaky skin residues from
*******... but i had to implore...
she was spinning another plate...
her ex... a boy... boy...
who's father was high up in some dept...

she presented her mother as her sister...
her grandmother as her mother...
silly little Siberian ****...
i liked her grandmother...
i ate orange caviar and some Ukrainian borsch...
beetroots and all...
her grandmother said:
seek a man's heart in his stomach...

i know this part of writing...
i've let go...
the *** was so good...
it only took me 13 years later
to find a Turkish ******* to make competition...
then i knew...
it would take a miracle for my now aged
heart to turn to such, naive sentimentality...
mein hertz: diese kleinstein!
it's so horrible when you have passed
people in your life, that absorbed your powers
to engage in naive: trust, love... friendship...
how cautious you must become...
how defensive...

it's a silly project: silly in that...
there's no return...
the *** was great... but: mein gott!
i was so: MI-SE-RA-BLE!
she had the audacity to propose to me...
she even chose an engagement ring
for herself...
after all... a lot did pass since
i was only a visitor to her land...
a slap in the face for:
visiting my grandparents:
i know she cheated: apparently i did too...
she didn't cheat?
while i was drinking ***** with her
ex? while her nephew was hanging around
with a face that read:
oh... it read a mile's worth of depth...
it was a face of melancholy...

but... i did win the haggle on the opera...
we did see la bohème
we didn't see madam butterfly...
i... I! made sure of that...
she might have known some music...
but not this sort of music...
i shed a silent tear during the performance...
beauty agonises me...
tears come as a relief when beauty
is staged... the sort of beauty that
requires an answer...

no... i don't exactly remember her...
it's me! i can't love like that anymore!
like a 21 year old Adonis...
whoever that was...
going mad... spending the years from
being aged 21 through to... circa 35...
the hermit... the monk...
i missed on movements having been
established...
now, resurrected,
working with people:
how... refreshing...
part of a team... focal points of strict
language usage...

only recently i talked with this girl
about the paradox of memory vs. forgetfulness...
cycling...
swimming... the grey area...
once you have learned to ride a bicycle...
once you have learned to swim...
do you remember how to swim?
do you remember how to ride a bicycle?
no... not really...
you don't remember it...
by extension: do you think about it?
no... not really...
can you forget about your ability to swim?
can you forget about your ability
to ride a bicycle?
can you forget to breathe?!
can you forget to blink?
take a ****?!

ha! but you also don't need to remember
such acts... for that matter:
"think" about them...
tattooed deeds...
massively grey...
   i can remember how i loved...
i can remember that i loved...
but... i also can forget how i loved,
that i loved...
or what love is per se...

i ought to have been a monk in that French community...
i still only **** like a Teutonic knight might...
once half a decade...
should the bonsai tiger i'm grooming suddenly
raise up her hind and expose her ****...
then i'll go to the brothel...
but... even if exposed to an insomnia
of libido polarised by mini-skirts and the exposition
of flesh, thighs...
budge me: if you want...
or don the niqab... either way...

i comfort myself by drinking and listening, humming,
later i will learn the words
to... schwäbischkrieglieder!

example:

wir sind geyers schwarzer haufen
hi(gh)-ah: oho...
und woll'n mit tyrannen raufen
hi(gh)-ah, oho...

spiess vor an drauf un dran,
setzt aufs klosterdach den rotehn hahn!

i remember: how i once loved,
how i cannot love, likewise,
in the same way...
the psychopaths have exposed my weakness...
oh sure, now they're left comfortable:
we're just the ones with the scars...
they little idiotic pomps & circumstances
of youth...
i think if was young, once, too...
do i get a second chance?!
ah ha ha ha!

the collective graves of the German soldirs
in the vicinity of Ypres...
a robin will grace the silence...
but, no, single, *******, bird... at the graves
of the allies... no collective graves at the sight
of the allies... ha... "allies"...
but there was a robin in the grave silence
of the collective graves of the Shvabs...
totem riddle... i'm with these guys...

after supposedly being prescribed seeking love...
i found an alternative...
being part of something that might resemble
the army...
a work ethic... i don't want to love...
i want to be competent within the confines
of what i'm supposed to do...
i don't want to love:
i don't want to be a lost teenager...
i loved, once upon a time... such times are over...
i'm not going to love in a way
teenager might...

i might care, for my bonsai tigers...
for ****'s sake: they're not merely cats...
dog lovers *******!
i hate dog lovers... their ******* routines,
their leashes, their muzzles...
their toys of throw... i hate people who glorify
dog ownership above that of bonsai tigers...
annoying little *****...
children prone... i don't mind children...
but not like this... for ****'s sake...

if only i could fall in love as easily as i once did...
father experience taught me otherwise...
oh well... time to move forward...

no chance, i never will... nor that i must,
either.

i have no contemporaries... i live among no contemporaries... i live among the contempt zombies: some dead here thrown... to suckle at the grinding of flesh: some... peter sinfield wrote... i have no contemporaries... i have this vacant breath: thank god i didn't invest in "family"... less a funeral... more a disappearing act! repeat the tides of spring... repeat the glimmer of ancient winter... remind me... Europe: funnel of the deaf earth... beside our Turkic past... before the Ottoman altar at the grinding: whip... lash... of the pride that once was Constantinople... tide: the currency of time: us nuanced: new... new Brazilian... all mixed up and holy Babel: come the crashing urn: my "utopia" of... my... fading suntan...  kupfernacken... i scribble itching: pretending them to be letters: born from Greenwich... ghostly freelance... such a tidy little place i can ghost... align myself to past: to pass trivial concerns... women marry... men dissolve into a figment of their imagination... the best doggy... the walking abortions that they were already sentenced with... i have no contemporaries... all my compatriots of now are... still in high-school... i have no contemporaries... befitting... all i have ever read was by those already dead: necromancer: reads.... conjure up the devil without fire... with smoke and mirrors he comes... or came... with a cat screaming: cite Bulgakov! i do the *****... rather: i do the ***... he play more the backgammon because... chess is... ******* boring... given the adventure allowed by FFVII... for example... we were teenage boys once... we still are... come to think of it... i don't want to learn of the universe of women and... at least with prostitutes... i have a heart that's the size of a pebble... and a tear the size of a lake... yes... that's plenty.


either the day begins like: pouring some milk into
a glass of water...
or the day ends like: pouring some water
into a glass of milk...

the day, sober... began with:

cussons' imperial leather:
cotton clouds & white cashmere...
a shower fragrance like
no other...
    well... if a shower gel reminds
you of a mythological
sweet / pastry you had
aged circa 4... on a train...
going from Danzig back home...
i guess that's probably right...

but if i'm wrong about that
i'm certainly right about:
a splash of ***... or whiskey...
in a black coffee...
why did i ever bother with cream?!

then defrosting two refrigerators
got in the day...
house chores: cleaning the "stanzas":
the square...
one remorseful hour with
the road on my bicycle...
no thought: just spatial coordination:
unconscious arithmetic...

linger until midnight...
past midnight pretend to sleep for
an hour... then get up and "hunt" for
a glass of milk...

eclipse heritage: mount gay Barbados ***...
a fine fine ***...
finer than any mr. whiskers or ms. amber
has to offer...

why has it not dawned upon the western:
liberal man that...
he's somehow... not... the... universal man?
translated in Afghanistan?
who the hell is going to bemoan
the rise-up of Taliban "two-point-oh"?!
i'm celebrating...
like the partisan h'americans are still trying
to celebrate the Hebrews having their
land back!

i'm happy for the Afghan people!
why wouldn't you be?
well thank you: mr. universal man...
thank you for the railroads...
thank you for your chemistry...
thank you for so much...
but... don't you have an incel "problem":
trying to shove it under a bright orange
carpet of psychiatry...
it's going to be much harder to bribe
these monks...
than it would take to bribe the Jihadis
with 72 virgins...
after all: ever heard of a jihadi that
performed an act of Jihad by killing
his mother, first?

it's like that joke akin to: a priest,
a rabbi and an imam walk into a bar...
an incel, a jihadi and a...
walk into... a nunnery...

mr. universal man... thank god you're
finally leaving Afghanistan...
are the Hebrews the only sacred
cows in your Hindu zodiac?
i believe firmly: leave the people to their
own fate... or demise...
last time i heard... Afghan women
were waterfalls of poetry with their
Landays...

                     mr. universal man has attracted
a multi-cultural palette...
even the Armenian bread like lavash was
some story...
sorry... when was the last time you
heard the ******* backstory of
a croissant?!
only the "noble savages" have stories...
we have turkey-t.v.:
we have no stories... no heritage...
nothing at all concerning
the French fries... we didn't invent
anything: culinary...
never used mint... rosemary... thyme...
we just ******* nuked nuked nuked...

the flat-chested flat-bread paupers
who were beaten by a pancake
and never hunted down: yeast! yeast!
rise! miracle of flour!
rise! like the sun!

cheap-****-sushi...
let them be... let them shove a stick
and a rubber shoe into the mountain
to draw some water to nourish their
goats...

mr. universal man...
why are westerners so concerned with
what might happen to Afghanistan?
probably something less terrible than
what already took place:
i'm of the maxim:
the terrible has already happened...
Viet-Now...

mr. universal man has problems re-abstracting
what is concrete to others...
since... mr. universal man
hasn't lived long enough to have lost
what others are vying for...

he invented all such splendorous games
and amusements befitting a cosmopolitan
echo chamber that he forgot what
a tree or a rock might imply...

he's so blind to churn out an introspection:
a new breed of terrorist he hides
under a blanket of psychiatry...
thinking: this one more time... this time again:
the sun will rise...

these need breeds start with killing
their mother! or end with killing their mother!
jihadis aim for collateral fog...
they're aiming for 72 virgins...
what have you to bribe these "monks"?

eh... there's a romance to be had with
Afghanistan and the Taliban...
it's not unlike
the amphetamine fuelled antics
of the Syrian pseudo-caliphate...
an Afghani is not ****
in the eyes of the Hindu...
he's a less sensitive breed: almost alien...
somewhat teasing the Iranian...
but then again... what do i know?

reminiscence of a time when a troll
of a girl chased me in high-school...
i was cycling up to the top of Bower Hill
when i stopped to change the music...
a woman was jogging against
the tide of traffic i was encompassing...
she too decided to stop "jogging"
to change her soundtrack...
she must have been admiring my Turkish
take on ****** hair... if i had a mirror
i too would be... in between itching
to squeeze the last maggot of phlegm
and acne from my face:
because Beelzebub took a **** on my face!
if he was a she i'd imagine it
would run along the lines of:
she sat with her fully fattened *****
onto my face and told me to slurp!
whizz-kid concerning oysters...
n'est c'est pas?

i feel inclined to dream about joining
the Tally-*** band of brothers...
i'm bored with the music...
last time i heard they were into listening to:
pretending to listen to: listening to:
silence...
next comes a Hegel or a Kant...
attacked by bouts of schizophrenia:

loose term... i much prefer the older
noun... dementia praecox...
premature dementia...
it's less a metaphor...
after all: what is the experience of consciousness:
the science of: drugging up the experiencer?
to dull the experience?
what senses are we inviting when
the schizoid is hardly: half-of-hearing?

ha ha!
of those philosophers' ivory towers that are books:
some followed-through: some unchallenged:
some unread...
like Kjartan on Heidegger in Knausgaard's
vol. 4...
apparently living in London:
well... it's not like you can be ever bored
of London... south of the Thames:
esp. circa the central projects of attracting
postcards... is all the same...
but south of London... isn't it... Kent... Sussex?
that's most certainly not...
the grand underground wheelie of...
Hainault is Greater London...
but Chigwell is Essex... proper...
south London is a different country...
it might as well be Northumbria!