Canoeing
written March 7th, 2021

I have spent the last few days
canoeing the Mackenzie River
making the journey in a book
with maps and words.

As I read it takes me back
to canoeing in my youth
the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness
along the northern border of Minnesota.

I can feel the paddle
pulling through the water
and hear the loons
crying at night.

The land around me
almost untouched since
Huron, Chippewa, Cree
Dakota and Ojibwa eyes
were the only ones
that had ever seen it.

Now I travel in thought and memory
the clear cold waters of the lakes
the portages through forested hills
taking me from one gem
of a lake and a memory
to the next.

In Algonquin, before the dawn
before they’re clouds, the fog rises
tucked under the echoing loons
above the fat smell of wet soil
before the day becomes day
before you are a person
and the light of day breaks
the green sky casts a hue
incubating the lake
until life becomes life
until you become human

Third weekend in July
I love canoeing out on Northwood
Lake, early morning hours melting
into the pines, as I head toward the
island where the wild blueberries
lie. Tiny morsels, abundant and packed with
the taste of summer and beepollen and freshwater
and snow. Minnows nibble my toes, each one
a solid worm for the biting, as I slowly
fill a one-gallon jug, berry by berry,
to use for breakfast pancakes and
Belgian waffles cooked golden from
the waffle iron. Some of the ripest
berries plop into the lake. I swipe
them up before bass or sunfish
see them; always leaving the
green berries behind.
Pausing to taste some, they
split between my incisors;
I marvel at the flavor
while a loon’s haunted red
eyes stare at nothing.
Blueberries split like
relationships
occasionally do,
sour at times, always
leaving a taste on your
palate. Families, young
lovers picnicking on the
beach lake, confused couples;
they branch off, moonlight
silhouetting their outlines;
silent elegy softly blossoming
downward as their paths skew.
They won’t cross again.
My jug filled, I oar
back to the dock,
ears filled with
humming of birds,
insects, boats;
brimming with
the bream from berries
splitting apart,
and the intense
silence of blueberry
picking in late July.

I know we may never be one of the dream people
who make their faces and words, world symbols.

writer, actor, 
filmmaker, photographer:
These are things we say we are. You and me.
We need no one to define us. 
our minds keep and align us 
cozy in our deception like wigged-out mothers. 
But we need others to believe that we are what we are
in order to make us reality.

An artist without proof is an empty box.

And we go unfed, 
though we ache like ***-hungry puppies.
Unable
to do a **** thing, but weep,
yearning to **** on a whopping heap of the good-life.
But we go
unfed.

Early twenties, and we're burnouts already, you and me, 
about the meaning of life and the government and *******.

We met in college
my adorable Humanities degree
cupped in hand with his.
We found solace 
in our disappointment because when we kiss
our sadnesses take root into each other.
So our rough, restless, god-angry loving
never stops
metaphorically, that is.

His desire puts me in a box, and he comes in with, 
and we talk.
My desire sets his box full of flames
so he can climb out, and get free again.
But he knows life puts us all in a box 
and you have to do things people want
in order to win the green paper you got just to keep
that box. One day
I hope to live in the same box as him.

Until then 
I'll be in a foreign land, passing out the alphabet and bandages
and ignoring the world of green paper, 
as I live in a box without a lid.
And, as the hot rain drops, my brain makes a fist
and I picture him.

We are now becoming quite a beautiful film, you and me
as he keeps his longing fastened up to mine 
like a pair of overalls.

All the books I needed to write since I was seven years old will,
kills to say, 
never happen, quite possibly.
But still
I am attempting this thing, this poem 
for you and me,
because
of the feeling inside to throw buckets of paint at the door.

The feeling I get at 2am 
to cut holes into my fingertips
in order to string out an art piece from them.

The feeling that long, sunny Sundays give
to drink tea and wine and go canoeing while
a novel ***** out of me like a bleeding baby.

The feeling I always forget to jot down
after being ***** or mugged or misjudged or beaten to bruises 
when everything is as painstakingly raw and red as poems 
are wired to be.

The feeling that comes when it's just us, 
he does things to my body that makes it crack into smiles
fantastic enough, it can't help but shatter like a mirror
all across the floor. You and me.

We exchange our hearts like gifts, and they are 
empty boxes.
And it's all

I've ever wanted.

Whether it's winter and skiing,
or it's spring site-seeing,
Either summer and biking,
or even late fall hiking;
Whistler has it all.

From snowshoeing to canoeing,
even as far as golf to frolf,
Whistler is the place to be,
with so much for you to see.

There's zip-lining to fine dining,
or ice skating and fish baiting,
including a tour of bears,
you choose your story to share.

Many come from far away,
just to live the Whistler day,
as we bring people together,
while they make memories forever,
because Whistler has it all.

I paddle as he talks
Of life, and the veil just behind it
The water plops as he plods,
On about the things humans never deserved
Saying we have no true structure, style, or word
All is annihilated by the Absurd
Yet with his nugget of knowledge in mine
I paddle on

Curiosity got the better part of me as thine swiftly splaying fingers
typed Matthew Scott Harris (yours truly) into the google search bar,
lo and behold, and much to my chagrin and amusement,
others with mine namesake constituted roles in various walks of life carrying out their wonderfully wicked whiles and ways,
sans existence covered the gamut earthen realm
from administration of President Dwight David Eisenhower
the celebrity circuit, where his claim to fame and fortune
as movie Producer (born in Jacksonville, Illinois)
for silver screen cinematic debut enterprise finished regal Dimension far off beaten track pocketing a degree (from University of Illinois)
in Civil Engineering, After practicing as an engineer for several years,
a decision made to open a restaurant in Chicago
with nary a harbinger - After operating popular eatery for more than ten years,a whim directed destiny viz hit time to make movies
arced renown sent same nom de plume doppleganger
quest skyrocketing
analogous to aligning skill sets into stratospheric isobar
which exertion pitched head stone carvers to acquire vital context
where next of kin content with obituary hiz death
unexpectedly Tuesday morning, Feb. 24, 2015 of Loudonville),
tomb epitaph incorporated passion as avid outdoorsman,
who loved fishing, hunting, and canoeing. I aced as supervisor with telecommunication company, Telecom Towers Inc.
yet by some stroke of premature pronouncement,
whence during funeral the coffin lid rise a jar
scaring the s**t out the backsides per mourners,
where demise found sights drawn to undertake
a totally tubular career as graphic artist from Buffalo
(Educated at RPI), who constantly looks for work today, and to mar
row, out of necessity to pay bills, as prodigy with plugging numbers and spitting out calculations
attained plaudits as financial solvency ****, and par
for the course irresistibly tempted forging credentials -
with a self crafted faux pas star
re: expert as a fraudulent Loan OfficerNMLS # 240801 -
but Youngblood’s hired fretful dexterous dude for extra cash tip play *** tar, while police got tips from wagging tail, and unfortunately butter field bursar ruse landed rising star into clinker
sans Cook County Inmate at age 49
CB NUMBER 19043182, when arrest occurred Tuesday,
January 13, 2015 11:53 AM, and released the next day due to first
time misdemeanor plus absent recidivist incarceration possession
of 5000+ grams of Cannabis, which exposure to magical, miracle
and mystical herb set sites to become a professor
Clinician of pharmacology to help fight the so call "drug war".

the attention deficit hyperactivity disorder
poem
is a strange animal

with lines
monosyllabically
short
and then
perilously   freakishly    faulknerically
long
but not to worry

the trick is to ***** around
with the readers' heads a bit
let them wonder
   what's going on
get them used to
   obnoxious departures
   sudden jolts
      of expression
   devious detours into
     obscenity, indecency

these are the
tourette's moments
of a poet's creative life:
a move to keep those with the
attention span of an infant gnat
awake  alive  responsive

some may expect poetry
to take them down
safe  bland  routes:
         a snowfall enhanced by red robins
         perched on a rustic fence

         a lake with canoeing lovers cooing
         in a shimmering moment
          
         heartfelt elegies
         quaint quatrains
         hip haikus

but can these images
really keep you entranced?

well, can they?

it isn't like i didn't warn you
or the horse you rode in on

My Dad built a whoopee room in the basement of our house, that's what we called it back in the fifties, basically it was a free barroom; he worked tirelessly, tiled the floor, knotty-pined the walls, built a Formica-topped bar, with foot rail, and a pool table center stage.

At one end, he pasted and framed with the utmost care, a life-like mural, a bucolic scene of mountains, pines trees, some guy canoeing across a deep blue lake, right underneath an eight foot, padded bench to sit, toss a beer, gab Red Sox, Pats, Bruins, Celts.

The guy could make anything, fix anything in his neat as a pin workshop, totally in control, competent, a rack of tools, his innate ability to figure out, you name it, he’d fix it, in hands-on kingdom this man did it right, measured twice, cut once.

In the Mr. Fix-it realm my father welcomed me, drew me in, shared his man in the know ways, I fetched his tools a quick study daughter, I observed knew ahead of time, like an operating room nurse ready to assist the famous surgeon at his work.

But then without prior notice he’d grow silent, retreat, drink copious whiskey shots, get mean, angry, tried to outrun the never good enough farm boy he once was, this love starved kid would engulf my honest, hardworking, overly sensitive, insecure father, then we all suffered his childhood trauma all over again.

I wanna moonwalk upside down on a cloud. Do The impossible. Things that aren't physically allowed...
The unthinkable. The unachievable. Everything unbelievable.
Saturn stride on an asteroid belt.
Swim on the suns surface as long as I wouldn't melt & live to tell how good it felt.
Run a moon marathon.
Ride on top a mastodon.
Float on an angels wings & pluck on her harp strings.
Slay a dragon wearing chain male with a long sword & as the rain fell scoot away on a long board.
Walk on water & rise on sand.
Crumble to pieces & return to solid on command.
Perform all my own stunts.
Be a double dog dare devil.
Be everywhere at once.
Always be next level.
Quadruple backflips always landing upright. Catlike. I wonder what that's like?
Perfect.
Supreme.
Living in a dream.
Surfing on shooting stars.
Canoeing in Milky Way bars as we all snicker. Keep going. Rowing as the chocolate stream grows thicker. Graham ******* life jacket. Icing filled lifesaver ring marshmallow packet. Candy cane Twizzler string racket. Lemon, where's my head at?
Drop the ball. Been there done that.
Rabbit in a hat magician.
Endless scarf transition.
Habit forming tradition.
Senseless. Don't know where the end is. Nowhere. Everywhere.
We're all right here. Left of where you're standing. We're all falling. A different act of landing. Stalling. Waiting... Weightless. Comfortably relaxed. Anticipating the parallax. A soul eclipse. A solar wisp of her lips. Kissing. Puckered. What you've been missing. Feeling a bit like you've been suckered. Willingly overwhelmed. Reminiscing.
A play on words. Play on. Hug tight on the curves. The days gone. The night is forever. Sunshine's for the birds. Maybe it's twisted. Take the road not taken. The unvisited. The one not listed. Take advice. Take it again. Take it twice. Around the bend. Bound to press send. Copy & paste it. Don't waste it. Even if it's sloppy give a chance to taste it. It could be sweet. Sugar it soft. Repeat. It's worthy. No need to worry... What's the hurry? There is none. Visions blurry but it's still fun. Super funzies. Adulthood in onesies. Toddlers in slacks. Giant bottles of milk with twist off caps. Baby sized six packs. Reversed living. Invert your reality. Introvert personality.

Thoughts I had as you drove away
1. You were never as beautiful to me as the moment I realized it was the last time I would see you. I suddenly noticed tiny things about you, like how seeing the back of your neck hurt more than seeing the hue of your eyes.
2. I probably would have eaten that **** bacon quiche if you had cooked it because I don't know how to say no to you when you look at me and let me lose myself in the calm lake of your soul
3. I have wondered three hundred and forty eight times in the past two weeks whether or not you are happy now. I have seen you three times in fourteen days and each time you looked a bit strained, which is strange because I distinctly remember the twinkle in your left eye when we were canoeing and I wonder if it died, or if you hide it under your bed and put it on only for special occasions.
4. I wondered twice as many times when I stopped being a special occasion, if after opening the present, ripping off strands of me to get to my heart, you decided what you found was not worth your light. So you left the box open, the gift wrap spread all over the floor, and you moved on to another present, leaving me long forgotten.
5. Does someone else get to see that spark every now and then?
6. You grabbed my pinkie at that dance and didn't let go, even when the blood rushed out and it turned blue. I didn't want to let go. I think at that point I would have rather lost my finger than let go of you. We had known each other less than twelve hours. You oozed confidence, didn't know the steps and yet you went for it. It was the hottest thing I had ever seen.
7. I thought ****, he is going to be my best friend. We are going to eat pop corn and laugh for hours and sit in silence and if happiness were a glowstick I would wear yours on my wrist and give you mine so I would shine on you and you would shine on me.
8. I never got around to getting my glowstick back.
9. You never got around to giving me yours.
10. If happiness is a glowstick I am a toxic liquid broken by inadvertence and hidden under your bed so you don't see the memories I wrote all over your room when I broke open.
11. I am not alone under your bed. I am a broken glowstick and there's the twinkle of your smile lying beside me quietly, wondering when you will wear it again. It fits you. Just like I fit you.
12. Maybe the things that fit you all end up under your bed because you are afraid we suit you so well you wouldn't be able to remove us from you, we would become like ivy, climbing onto your walls and spreading all around, breaking through your window and intruding into your house like a disease.
13. I am not a disease.
14. I would wrap myself around you and cover you like a precious gift when darkness hits so you would understand you are my heart. I don't need to put you in a box or under my bed. I don't need to put you anywhere. I want to display you, show you off like something fancy I have no right to own and yet. Yet here you are.
15. You were my winning lottery ticket.
16. The moment you drove away, I realized the ticket sat on the empty seat beside you.
17. They announced the numbers on TV tonight, and as I sat here I could not remember what numbers I had chosen. Maybe I won. Maybe I didn't. But because you drove away, I'm afraid I will never know.

Swaying Pin Oaks wave to me from
my window perch , a veritable sea of gold
and green in contrast to this dark living room
I remember these majestic Water Oaks as
seedlings , held upright by kite string and wooden
stakes
Cedar trees standing o'er twenty feet tall , Wild Plum
trees congregating for a quarter of a mile
Dirt roads at each intersection , a lonely state highway
for riding bicycles and collecting empty pop bottles
Watching afternoon Whitetail Does from July cornfields ,
carving walking sticks from Hickory , climbing
Crabapple trees for midday snacks , canoeing trips on
the Indian Creeks
Where do memories find rest as the body quietly withers away

THE ALLAN FAMILY STORY


THIS WEEKEND I AM HAVING A BREAK FROM MY BROTHER, MUM AND DAD

AND WENT CAMPING IN THE MICHELAGO FARM HOUSE, TO GET MEDALS

IN THE DUKE OF EDINBURGH AWARD SCHEME, YA SEE, MUM WAS WORKING

SO DAD TOOK ME SHOPPING TO GET LAST MINUTE SUPPLIES AND THE NEXT DAY

WE HEADED OFF TO MARIST TO BOARD THE TRUCK, AND PAUL GRAHAM

WHO I THOUGHT WAS A REAL COOL DUDE, SANG ALL THESE GREAT SONGS

LIKE EYE OF THE TIGER, COURT OF KING CARACTULOUS, AND MANY MORE

AND WE ARRIVED, AND THERE WERE NO BEDS, JUST HARD FLOORS, THIS ISN’T ACCOMODATION

THIS IS UNCOMFORTABLE, WE COOLED BACON AND EGGS, BRAISED STEAK AND ONIONS

AND I ATE A SPACE FOOD STICK, AND JENNIFER JONES SAID, THAT IS MY SPACE FOOD

STICK, AND I SAID, NO THIS IS MINE, I IGNORED HER AND WENT TO TALK TO BRENDAN AND LANCE

CAUSE, THEY UNDERSTAND WOMENS PROBLEMS

YA SEE WE DID CANOEING AND HIKING WITH OUR BACKPACKS ON, AND ALSO, IN THE

MIDDLE OF A GREAT NICE COUNTRY DAY, THEN I CRACKED JOKES WITH SOME OF THE GIRLS THERE

AND STEVEN SANG EYE OF THE BULL FROG, AND I WONDERED, ALSO OTHER WEEKENDS, WE AS THE SENIOR MEMBERS

OF THE DUKE OF EDINBUIRGH, WE HAD TO LOOK AFTER THE JUNIOR MEMBERS OF THE AWARD SCHEME

AND THIS WAS A MORE COMFORTABLE SEATS, THIS WAS COMMUNITY SERVICE, WE ALSO DID MEALS ON WHEELS,

YA KNOW GIVING MEALS TO THE ELDERLY, WHO CAN NO LONGER FEND FOR THEMSELVES

THE MOST POPULAR PLACE WAS HALL VILLAGE,

AND I REMEMBER THE TEACHERS MAKING ME KISS RICHARD, BUT I WASN’T THINKING OF GAY ACTITIVTY

YA KNOW, JUST TEASING HIM, BUT I WAS SAYING, I AM AN ADULT, IN THIS SITUATION

YA SEE THE MANY BUSH WALKS AS A KID, GAVE ME A SENSE OF ADVENTURE

AND ALSO, GAVE ME THE CHANCE TO HELP PEOPLE IN ANY WAY THEY SEE FIT

IT GAVE ME THE FEELING OF DOING THINGS FOR MY FELLOW HUMANS

I HIKED UP THE SNOWY IN THONGS, I WENT TO WELLINGTON CAVES

YEAH, I AND MY TWO MATES, BRENDAN AND LANCE WERE LIVING DANGEROUSLY

BY NOT WEARING A LIFE JACKET, WE’LL PUT IT ON LATER WE WOULD SAY

BROTHER KEVIN BRENDAN, LANCE, WHY HASN’T BRIAN GOT A LIFE JACKET ON

YA KNOW THE FUCKEN RULES, AND WE ALL HAD A WOW OF A TIME

AND SANG SONGS ON THE WAY BACK, WHAT ABOUT ME, EYE OF THE TIGER

AND MANY MANY MORE, AND WHEN WE GOT BACK TO THE SCHOOL, ONE GUYS PARENTS

WEREN’T THERE, AND MY PARENTS OFFERED A ROOM FOR THE NIGHT

BUT HE DECLINED IT, IMPLYING, I DON’T WANT TO GO TO MY HOUSE

I IMPLIED, WHY NOT, YOU NEED SHELTER, I GOT SHELTER

HE SAID, WELL, NO, I WILL JUST WAIT, TILL THEY ARRIVE

SO I WENT HOME WITH MY PARENTS, DAD SAID THE RAIDERS WON, IT MADE ME HAPPY

AND I WENT HOME AND TOLD MY BROTHER AND DAD AND MUM ALL ABOUT

MY WONDERFUL DUKE OF EDINBURGH AWARD SCHEME EXPERIENCE, THIS IS COOL, MAN EAT MY SHORTS

AND THE ALLAN’S CRACKED JOKES, I SAID AND HE, MUM THOUGHT HE MEANT ANDY

BUT THERE WAS NO PHONE CALL, SO THE ALLAN’S ALL RETIRED TO THEIR ROOM

MUM AND I WENT TO BED, CAUSE IT WAS A BIG WEEKEND, BUT THE NEXT

DAY, I WAS PARADING AROUND THE SCHOOL,

brian allan’s big race




today at lake ginninderra there was a bike canoe and foot race from john knight park

to the steps of the belconnen mall on benjamin way and brian allan was competing along with

other people who live around belconnen, and the opening song to start the race was advance

australia fair, so as soon as the anthem was finished everyone got on their bikes and started heading to the dock where the canoes are,

brian allan got onto a fabulous start really pumping iron in his legs riding down the cycle path

listening to i want you back i gotta get b through to you, i want you back, and brian just hit the lead

about 2 km away from the canoes and bria sped right down and had an unbeatable lead

and when brian allan reached the canoes, he had a great lead, and it wouldn’t have mattered

how bad he did in his canoe, but as brian got started, he started to hear the other bike riders

coming toward him, so he started canoeing and headed right for the other side, but brian’s arms

weren’t strong enough and when brian made it to the other end, he was 4th in line and had to make some ground

but the canoe was slow and brian was worried that the next pack would catch up to him

but brian got out and started running toward the steps of the mall, and because brian likes

christmas, as he entered they played christmas where the gum trees blow, there is no frost and no snow

christmas in australia’s hot, cold and frosty is what it’s not, and brian was running past the crowd

brian, brian brian, the crowd yelled but he wasn’t going to catch the leading 3, but brian stuck at 4th place

and brian sprinted down the road for the final prize point, and when brian allan made it to the steps

yeah he won $145, which meant, even if he los to 3 races, he still won money for his race

and brian went to the water booth to hydrate and started joking around with the other prize winners

and brian sang, i am the champion, you see, you see i travelled from start to finish, oh yeseree

i am the champion, i am the champion, i only came 4th but i won $145 yeah i am the champion of the world

and then as the other racers were coming in, the caller said, we have got our top 4 money winners worked out, so we will start

the presentations and brian allan came 4th, yeah and he was ****** happy about that, like that nobody counts except for brian

and when brian was gven the $145, he cheered so loudly, yippee i ay

the poem read

brian is the best person

better than the rest of them

he is better than everyone there

i know he only came 4th, but that is pretty good don’t ya think

brian is the best person

brian allan is the best

and when the last place came running in, they started to clear up for next year

saying this was a great race

Re: ah... what better way to while away the countless leisure

hours,while coronavirus (covid-19) assails humanity across thee

globe? (covid-19) assails humanity across thee globe? he answer to

that question my friend... explained within attached gobbledygook

(safe at any speed to open without latex gloves, nor face mask)

courtesy - Curiosity got the better part of me as thine fingers typed

Matthew Scott Harris into the google search bar lo and behold and

much to my chagrin and amusement, others with mine namesake

constituted roles in various walks of life carrying out their whiles

and ways sans existence covered the realm from administration of

President Dwight David Eisenhower the celebrity circuit, where his

claim to fame and fortune as movie Producer (born in Jacksonville,

Illinois) for silver screen cinematic debut enterprise finished regal

Dimension far off beaten track sans degree (from University of

Illinois) in Civil Engineering, After practicing as an engineer for

several years, a decision made to open a restaurant in Chicago with

nary a harbinger - After operating popular eatery for more than ten

years, a whim directed destiny viz hit time to make movies curved

renown skyrocketed quest analogous to aligning skill sets into

stratospheric isobar which exertion pitched head stone carvers to

acquire vital context where next of kin content with obituary hiz

death unexpectedly Tuesday morning, Feb. 24, 2015 of

Loudonville), tomb epitaph incorporated passion as avid

outdoorsman, who loved fishing, hunting and canoeing. I aced as

supervisor with telecommunication company, Telecom Towers Inc.

yet by some stroke of premature pronouncement, whence during

funeral the coffin lid rose a jar scaring the s**t out the backsides per

mourners, where demise found sights drawn to undertake a totally

tubular career as graphic artist from Buffalo (Educated at RPI), who

constantly looks for work today tomorrow, out of necessity to pay

bills, and as prodigy with numbers attained plaudits as financial

solvency ****, and par for the course irresistibly tempted forging

credentials - with a self crafted faux pas star re: expert as fraudulent

Loan OfficerNMLS # 240801 - but Youngblood’s hired fretful

dexterous dude for extra cash tip play *** tar, while police got tips

from wagging tail, and unfortunately butter field bursar ruse

landed rising star into clinker sans Cook County Inmate at age 49

CB NUMBER 19043182, when arrest occurred Tuesday, January 13,

2015 11:53 AM, and released the next day due to first time

misdemeanor plus absent recidivist incarceration possession

of 5000+ grams of Cannabis, which exposure to magical, miracle

and mystical herb set sites to become a professor Clinician of

pharmacology to help fight the so call "drug war."

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

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

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

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

Czyszczoń:
                     čyščoń:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

in east delano
with all the mirrors;
i am bohemian boy
canoeing trash river,
stapled to the floor
and gunning bigger skies.

serpent belly,
i know the earth
and wednesday to wednesday
there is press
of fern and leopard
and fermentation and sloshing
concussion.

i see brick
and black
right now.
i see pattern
and small print.

could you open your mouth;
as to pour out the rain?

What, Wednesday?
no way,
surely
we had one last week.

I'm going to complain
not sure who to
but
that's what I'm going
to do.

Actually
I'm already on the jubilee
five fifteen
and I've never seen such
a motley crew
except on
' Captain Pugwash'
and they were just
cartoon characters.

It's cold
because it's nothing
without a mention of
the weather.

West Ham
like boiled ham
but
not as tasty.

And it's her again

woman with the candy floss hair
I'm wondering how it stays in place
she looks as if she doesn't care.

Canning Town
a bit uppity
needs a
dressing down
but
the vinyl man gets on
records under his arm
I want to say,
your day has gone
but
I don't.

North Greenwich,
not the American village
but close enough.

Lots more get on,
the tube moves on
I stay seated.

Canary Wharf,
do canaries tweet?
I'll find out on Twitter
later.

Canada water
not quite Canada
but the water
is nearly there.

People off,
maybe going canoeing
or going to work
I presume
which leaves me room
to stretch my legs.

I'd have to stretch my imagination
to imagine the next station,
yes it's,
Bermondsey
a wait and see place
south of the river.

Onwards
with John's words.

Next bridge
is London Bridge,
we're
getting  ready to cross over,
no!
not the great divide
just the Thames

Southwark?
never heard of it
although we stop for
a bit
to let people off.

Waterloo
under the clock
at two
at three
at four the policeman
says,
what are you waiting for?
I move along.

Westminster, a
den of thieves
a lot of chaos
I'm still
here.

Green park
greener now we've
had rain
and the next stop
is
Bond Street
I'm
nearly at work,
what, again?

.i figured... the only time that coffee makes sense, is when you pour some double cream into it, riding on a decent teaspoon of sugar, only then...

my mouth the altar, my tongue the priest...
just like the way it sounds,
but beyond that...
                 last time i heard parasites
akin to the tapeworm (tasiemiec) -
are lodged in the proteins,
the flesh of animals...
                 pigs, apparently are not
easily susceptible to hosting
a parasitical embryo...
        while fish incubate the largest
form of tapeworm embryos...
mind you...
               why doesn't the Quran mention
anything about seafood?
aren't ***** the scavengers of the sea?
shouldn't the Quran treat *****
as pigs?
              wait a minute more...
did anyone hear of the outbreak
of mad cow disease? oh yeah, over
ten years ago,
                       i was anticipating
a school trip to Glasbury-on-Wye
    (Powys, Wales) for some fun activities:
horse riding, canoeing, caving,
              cross-country walks, yada yada yada...
we didn't go: because of the outbreak...
so... pigs are so so bad?
what about pork liver?
    surely all the organs are "clean"...
    it's almost as if Satan whispered into
god's ear and chuckled...
  so god pronounced the decree when
he took off the headphones while
listening to the choir of sycophantic angels...
and so arose the time of the chuckle
"brothers"...
           i'm pretty sure that *****
are scavengers, feeding off the already dead
fish stock...
and they are Muslims on the Maldives,
and they have a recipe for crab...
pu ja...
                      so wait...
           you think that pigs,
domesticated boars, farmed,
                                 are foul because...
they have a tendency to be slobs?
   and the dog licks his ***...
                               and testicles...
          and people are not slobs when
given the opportunity?
                          pork liver can't incubate
a parasitical embryo...
nor the cartilage of either ear or snout...
    just because the whole bunch
of them are sheep-shaggers
                        means jack ****  to me.
my mouth the altar,
                        my tongue the priest.

last time i heard: memory is worth more than gold...
well... that's how it seemed
when my dementia riddle grandfather
spoke nothing of memories...
sometimes shifting to current events...
to events of yesterday: family grievances: kept...
like tidy Lego projects...
memory is worth more than gold...
the memory i have of him during the summer
holidays i spent with him
and the last years of his life...
chalk & cheese...
he was a finicky character to begin with...
as you might be:
heard shouting: herr! bite bon-bon with memories
of world war II... and actually running up
to two black-clad SS-men manning
some anti-aircraft thump! pump up lead...
being given sweets and
having to go back home... putting your hands:
glued together... under the tap...
ah... memories... more solid than gold...
quick... no... wait...
german for gold is: geld...
back into latin:
               grammatically it changes...
aurumvelox...
     gold-quick...
           they are: here was a drowning man
gripping to a razor's edge...
what did he have as armour?
memories...
not... don quixotic delusions...
he had... a cinema of memory...
what stalled his final demise....
it wasn't solving a ******* su doku puzzle...
the irony of "mental brain power":
associations with purple throbbing muscles...
oddly enough:
killer proteins **** the fat that's the ******* brain...
oddly enough...
i write: i was never good with crosswords...

i will never be good with crosswords...
but listening to come in with a reel of memories:
i always thought that memories
were exclusively personal: but as an old man might:
share...
his bothered brain skimmed and repeated
itself... at times i think i was talking to someone
frothing at the posit of: in third person...
even though he never consciously ventured
to stress third person pronouns...

interlude: i'm a sucker for pop...
an absolutely sucker...
girls aloud - the show...
it's not a guilty pleasure...
it's just an unadulterated pleasure: period...
i'm not going to turn into a Bukowski
and cite you, you, mythical "you": reader
with a higher taste akin to citing

eh... dogs might be immediately suspicious of
you drinking...
cats are late on the mark...
after all... they ******* for most of the day
into the realm of nacht... nox (noch)
and that doesn't seem t bother anyone...
solipsistic cre-ah-tures...
the hyphens are utilised so that diacritical
markers can be omitted...
i'd love to own a dog...
but... also owning a leash and a muzzle...
walking them in public to take a public ****
and ****...
i sometimes forget i'm not a dog: too...
i like the balancing act i have gathered myself
to perform when ******* at the end
of the garden... five finger chess "groping"
a tree for balance...
sure... the imagination lifts the release
of a waterfall of **** like
i might be getting a circumcision via
some *******... but who cares...
i still have the "excess" skin so i can
do my solo bit... then have to intuitively
pull it back to "perform"...

memory then...
   prior to: Charles Olson... Lamantia, Phillip, no?
i'm starting to think we're misunderstood creatures...
men are... hunters... in the domain of ***?
oh i'll give you "that" women conquer and control
by having more experience...
some beta-provider cuck...
maybe... maybe that's why i prefer
women who tell me to keep my hands off my
phallus when she's enjoying giving me *******...
the experienced woman: i'm hardly a ******:

wait wait... one... memorable ****** encouner
in what became a tease of "abstinence" spanning:
half a decade? of course i'm going to milk it!
it's the ******* equivalent of a:

i'm savouring a "plan": take hallucinogenic
mushrooms when old age finally arrives...
but i'm not willing it to come...
the ******* of what happens under the Hippocratic
arch... there's a...

where was i? apparently "here"...
where's "here"?
i once had an "argument" with a guy in Camden...
well... he prompted me...
i bought him a pint he thought i was hitting on
him...
- you look familiar... everyone's looking at you...
- oh, you know... i just have one of memorable
faces...
the best music producer...
he cited Timberland...
i started thinking of hiking shoes...
i retorted with: Rick Rubin...
the magic he did surrounding johnny cash...
the johnny cash revival...

give the old some new tricks...
of course the cover is better than the nine inch nail
original!
if London is haunting me...
wait till i start haunting it...
all the way from Loughton through
to Stratford... speed-demon on a bicycle...
the juice of momentum straight out of
Beijing... no... believe me: no Mongol army...
we giggle... we leave things hanging: not dragged...

i beg to differ: the authenticity of advertisement
when you don't have the money
to spend... contra: journalistic adventures when
you sponge-of-a-brain-of-prematurely-impressionable
isn't-off-the-cuf­f-"simply"-*******-on...
is that an... "oops" moment...
oh i still have some momentum left in me...

advertising slogans: maxims in vivo!
i trust that more than anything curated by journalism...
stale oh god... the stale rusty propaganda
machinery... i chuckle: i buckle...
here's a keeper of knitted onion ring
being excavated with a copper sheen...

Glasbury...
me, Peter Richardson... Kieran O'Mahoney signed
up for the trip...
oddly enough... not odd at all:
the meningitis curse came...
so did the mad cow disease...
this was prior to us taking our GCSE exams...
they left school while i took up my A-levels...
Kieran became a bouncer at a nightclub:
last time i saw him... last time i saw him
i was walking into an alley to take a ****...
i was handcuffed and was shouted at by some eager
polizei-mensch...
i talked to him calmly why some female police
officer took notes... i was... un-cuffed
and walked home scot-free...
that's the last i remember of Kieran...
Peter though... he was dating this bombshell...
he had some teeth missing... more tattoos than skin...
if wanting the sort of women
that might turn me into "that"?
no... no thank you...

we were supposed to travel to a little village
in Wales (Glasbury)
and experience... i stuck around the education
"prison":... canoeing...
caving... horse-riding (timidly... there was no gallop
invoked)...

i can tell you what book i was reading while
the white boys started to imitate black
boy bulk of urbanity: while sniffing sherbert
playing ping-pong against the walls:
marquid de sade's: ******...
i was first introduced to the jeff buckley
rendition of leonard cohen's hallelujah then...

(sherbert: i don't even, mildly begin
to invoke: sorbet... sherbert... the powdered
dummy gimmick... they sniffed it right before
my eyes... while i read marquis de sade's ******)...

is it just me or... if you've drank enough...
red wine and pepsi: kalimotxo.. aztec revival:
long enough... all the homemade
hard-pressed juice... starts to taste a bit like:
you're drinking... for ****'s sake...
Balsamic vinegar?

- and so we were splint into two groups...
we were only a year apart...
the older girls were dropped off at a location
much earlier to where we were supposed
to find our way back from...
i was in the category of older boys
dropped off with a bunch of younger girls
dropped off much later...

we were given the option:
walk back en route you were dropped off at...
or... read the map...
upon being dropped off
i asked: where are we?
i don't think i was cheating:
all the maps in the city
always reveal a: you are, here!
so i asked and i was given an answer...
i span the: the world-isn't-flat map in real life
and also in my head:
i found a short-cut...
it would involve storming a field filled
with cows... pushing some to sleep
via also invoking a a thunderstorm...

we beat the other team...
this memory is fire in my eyes already
left for dead in my mind...
the girls were exercising in the yard
while the defeated team were walking down
the hill... somewhat mesmerised...
there was no sensation of: i won...
no... there was only: i came first...

Glasbury... in the mess-hall...
all the Celts congregated and excluded me...
i ended up spending each morning
at a table with a bunch of black dudes...
i was the only white in the "confirmation":
who were they?
Ivory Coast, can't tell a Nigerian
from a Kenyan apart?
race was always second... the spaghetti of
ethnicity comes first: like a thirst...
i can be mishandled as a German
or an Englishman by a Pakistani or a Turk...
for a while...
but trip me up supposing i'm Russian...
oh... that's no go...
i will, not, begin with you supposing me
being a ******* *****!

well... wow! aren't we all supposedly: merely:
white?
one whitey sitting at a breakfast table
lined with blacks...
give me that spread of butter:
women tend to ruin things associated
with men associating themselves to men...
only now: while i remember it...
give me a war! not this ******* pharmacological
adventures of the sedated thirst for life!

i've been down this avenue of secrets...
i know where it leads...
"secrets"...
i'm to be most sedated: most crucified...
all metaphors... all metaphors...
if i wait long enough the women will start
to dish out white feathers...
seeing me as some impostor of:
where masculine / machismo ought to lie:
dead...
what's the phrase, turned colloquial?
oh... wait... i knot it...
   "it's...               complicated..."

perhaps i'll refrain from phrasing:
no... i won't...
i'm... supposed to... somehow...
feel... emasculated... for wanting... to live...
in a clean... abode... owning cats:
but being free from feline "perfumery"?!
i'm... somehow... to feed...
emasculation? i want to live in a scent-free environment?
this is the right time: appropriate
of imitating that m.t.v. video of the queen song:
i want to break free?
      
sure: dogs and men and all that:
i don't like owning a leash:
i don't like the idea of taking a dog to take a ****
in public...
i have cat-litter... but on the odd occassion
the cats will take a **** in secret: revenge
against the neighbours...
look at me... walking around the shadow
of a dog's ****: jazz hand clapping
picking up leftovers of a chop suey... mulled:
into a tired worm of an ****: last reserved:
wriggle (put) out...

here's a banknote: piglet smear worth of
"brains" all-over-it...
bend one knee: bend two... hell!
chop my legs off while you're at it!
i always thought myself as being non-racist...
but i can hardly find a least exhaustive route
debating the natives as king:
to find... the anti-racist conundrum...
chop the legs and arms off!
throw the torso into the pool
and watch the para-olympians take turns!

i can be non-racist: african-american though...
when did the Arabs absolve the slave trade?
the 1970s?
last time i heard...
eh... whatever...
                      but i can't be anti-racist...
it's impossible for the Hindus to not feed into
feeling some sort of superiority...
after all... they freely joked when the hilly-billy-benders
of the joke-brigade of...
the Vishnu-halfwits... whatever you want
to call them: decided: Utopia daydream...

hippies! yeah... the squares were all: trouble when
Kerouac made his...
reading...
   i fear fame more than i fear death...
i always have three posits to make a puncture...
you can't read a pulse at the pivot of the wrist!
you have to search for it lower down...
pulse... puncture...
just above the collar bone on the right side...
and under the the right arm-pit...

i fear fame more than i fear death:
i can stomach posthumous fame...
like Christ born on a crucifix...

oh Emma... Emma Emma Emma Emma...
i asked for your picture: you gave it to me:
how badly i wanted to sketch you...
i did...
what a glorious rag of a ***** you later
became...
beautiful... here's me drinking to a lost
ambition of: not being a plumber with you
by my side: ha ha!
just moments are only worth scribbling
into the depth of night...
they honestly are...
what compensational comparative?
spotting a sparrow...
at the en masse graves
of the Germans... fallen during world war I...

siusiumajtki: 16 year old girls:
****-pants...
i don't like inexperienced girls...
i prefer prostitutes...
it's ******* tongue-numbing to have to encounter
these prospects...
it's no fun...i'll leave it to the pornographers
to agitate...
the east... the south... the mongols... the russians...
the Chinese...
whoever... the Pak-stubs...
conquer all you want... i believe i can attest
with: there's nothing worth to preserve:
or defend...

   first you want to defend all the **** erectile joystick
ups... and then... you... somehow...
"forget"... to defend... where all your...
deviances come from... from the carnal farm
of hetrosexuality?
but... what if... some of us... don't want t breed?
where are you going to breed the argument from?
a curriculum of surrogate mothers?
you *******... **** qwanks?!
don't worry... i know my kamikaze pinpoints...
i'll gladly *******...
but don't you require breeders...
don't you require breeders with a consistency
of conservative antithesis arguments
to compete / combat (against)?

well... if no! dodo project worked...
look at me... i'm ******* happy...
mission accomplished!
crystal clear... whatever the hell that "thing"
was... iron maiden clad... the renovation
of thought as soul as salvation prone...
blah blah... blah.

it was around 2001, i.e. circa 2001 (tautology,
but not for rhetorical purposes, not as tool of the sophists)
when the mad cow disease spread across
England: that beef and hoof and moo genocide
when the cows got their "geriatric" wobblies
their Parkinson's shake-a-doodle-do's -
frenzied like Elvis finding gravity in the knees
and the pelvis with suede and blue dogs...
music before drug affirmative mantras...
yes... then... around that time...
i was still one year short of sitting my GCSEs...
me and this rascal, Peter, Richardson(?) -
we used to roam the streets on the weekend...
climbing trees, throwing glass bottles into the air
waiting for them to shatter... going up multistorey
car parks and spitting on people...
well... i did have an agenda about spitting on people:
another time when i was much younger
i was taken to Chessington World of Adventures
theme park by my father... there we were minding
our own business watching seals
when a ride passed us... one of those train rides on
stilts - a group of boys in a carriage decided it was
fun to spit on people... one massive phlegm landed
on my father's head... i was furious!
i wanted to get my own back... as it happens...
karma can be blind... there are always collaterals,
innocent bystanders while karma is allowed to sentence
some sort of compensation...
karma is hardly personal: or rather people THINK
that karma obeys personal qualms,
you can't harness karma for your own sake...
but people always cite karma like so, especially in the west...
well i did get my own back...
i managed to land a juicy phlegm hark on a collateral's
head from about 20m high up in a parking lot
with Peter one beautiful Saturday afternoon in Ilford...
so i was supposed to go to this outdoors resort
centre for "poor" and "disadvantaged" kids in Wales,
Glasbury (see it? now say it... the Welsh say it
as Glaze-Bury: it's not Glass-Bury, more on that in
a minute)...
          i didn't go with Peter that year because said X...
bad moo moo...
          but the P.E. (physical education) teacher was kind
enough to offer me a chance to go again
two years later... but then i was sitting my A-levels
but by then Peter was long gone:
deciding to finish his education at 16 and go into tattooing,
getting his teeth knocked out in pub brawls,
ending up working in a carpet retailer
(although, much later i found him shacked up with
this honey and i thought to myself: ****...)
so i went to this retreat...
                    we did horse-riding, caving,
canoeing...
                         but one day we were told to do this exercise...
split into two groups...
one group: older boys with younger girls...
group two: older girls with younger boys...
   we were given a map (topographic to be more exact)...
we were driven out into the countryside away
from the resort...
group two (older girls with younger boys) was
dropped off first...
we were explicitly told... you can follow the road
from where you came... or...
so the first group was dropped off first...
our lot (older boys with younger girls) was dropped
off way way further afield...
to this day i'm wondering if i cheated...
when our lot were dropped off... map in hand...
i asked the driver... so... where are we?
a creazione di adamo finger hovered over the map
and pinpointed our starting position
(don't all public maps ref WHERE YOU ARE
on a map? YOU ARE HERE... so i wasn't cheating,
was i? you need to know where you are on
a map before you can start reading it and then
translating it onto the environment, no?)
so as Michelangelo pointed and then drove off
i took charge... ah! i spotted a short-cut through
a little grove, forest(?) and a cow field...
so as the boys in the group were busy trying to chat
up the girls i ended up (unconsciously or otherwise)
the leader of the group, taking responsibility,
being accountable (**** me, this NVQ3 in spectator
safety is really brainwashing me into being an upstanding
citizen)...
          and so... we managed to beat the other
group... so much so that once we reached the retreat
house we were already busy doing physical exercises
in the yard to **** time while the bewildered group
were coming down the hill with that HUH?! expression...
point being:
now i find myself in a similar situation...
if not a physical intervention dynamic then at least
an insinuation at... dialectical-sophistry...
because you don't have time you don't have
a Platonic leisurely for dialectics per se...
therefore in conflict situations you need
a dialectical-sophistry dynamic: to become quickly
persuasive...
like in my last shift at Tottenham Hotspur...
operating a human cordon at the entrance of
the Seven Sisters tube station entrance...
           the Pareto Principle:
        in terms of crowd control...
         20% of people will cause you 80% of problems...
how did i manage the massive queue of people
with only 6 SIAs (security industry authority operatives)?
i left them to it while i studied the crowd
and listened to their complaints
in order to spread my point of view INTO the crowd
for the crowd to hear my own constraints...
constipations... concerns... whatever...
talk to one person and then word-of-mouth
will do your bidding...
"yes sir, i agree with you, but it is not the football
club's fault, Enfield council should have started
making logistical improvements to the area,
they knew for well over 5 years that
the original stadium would be demolished,
from a 30,000 capacity to a 60,000 capacity...
the infrastructure of the area should have been
updated to accommodate for a strain in egress..."
boom bara boom... talk to one person and then
that person talks to another person in the queue
and you contain the disgruntlement...
you also add the empathetic:
"well sir, every single shift i finish as Wembley,
even though the staff leave at least 2h after an
event, i still have to end up queueing with the spectators,
yes, i too feel like i'm cattle and i'm being herded,
but please appreciate the fact that
when these transport hubs, stations, were built,
there was no incentive for a coliseum culture
revitalisation, football stadiums weren't even remotely
near the capacities they are at the moment,
so how would you begin to increase train station
capacities, would you think that double-decker
trains could be envisioned to accommodate more
people in transit?"
i might not be a police officer... but i'm second best...
my mother always wanted me to be:
either a police officer or a teacher...
well **** that... but it turns out: if i do this security
job and write sly poems on the side...
i might have eventually become both... in an informal
sense of the word...
not that i'm thinking about pleasing my mother's
ambitions for me...
i have my own ambitions... or call them dreams...
only today i sent a picture of a note i crafted
upon waking... first thing that popped into my head...
to my girlfriend... in ******* Hawaii...
go figure... but technology has made such relationships
possible, bearable even...
yes i'm going to have hiccups: i'm a man in my
30s... i wasn't a flirt in my teen years or my 20s...
now i'm a natural flirt... and that's my bad...
i've gained enough confidence over the years that
it's hard for me to not be a flirt...
but a flirt is a game without actually wanting women
a flirt is a way of studying women...
i have one i don't need a harem...
    if girls used to tease boys in their teens...
see... girls play a game of tease...
boys play a game of flirt...
tease for flirt... tease for flirt...
but only once you reach a certain age can you start
to flirt proper... and it's usually with the younger
girls in their 20s... who you have absolutely...
respect(?) - no... interest for...
         but then again: is that neurotypical given how
many instances there are of clucky men
wanting to settle down with younger women?
me... ha ha... am i neurotypical?
                    so i woke up... wrote a note...
took a picture... sent it to HER...
and it read as follows:

                        Groß = Groz
                                         (the same Z in Polish and English)
                 Since Zeit = Cajt (not z'igh 't
                                                 but (tseit - in English
                                                   of ****** phoneticism
                                                as above, cajt)
                ∴ - the one time that Braille influenced
          mathematics, not really, but that's
            therefore:
                      ß = Z                 not Ś or Š
              ß = Z (proper, the Polish and English Z,
          which is not the Deutsche Z which is
           the Polish C and the English TSE)
          
obviously i could have looked this up in a dictionary:
but it's so much more rewarding
when you wake up and have an epiphany...
it's better than waking up with a memory
of a dream... because you wake up with a memory
of a dream rather than the dream itself... no?
well that's what memory is to begin with:
the blurred line with the unconscious
and dreaming... obviously when memory is stripped
of this airy fairy day-dreaming construct
of relaxation and utilised proper for: arithmetic
and spelling... well... that's another matter...

scharf: spitz (spits slavic C)...
Aglican X - kss...
sharf Es stumpf Zee             dead Ed... living Dee
for the three K'appa sounds:
                                "
Cat Quip K' (potassium)         'alium

i had this Spaniard called Jorge... everyone
English called him just that... George (not gorge)
Joerge...
so when i asked him i sort of knew what
he would say: written Jorge...
but in Spanish... d'uh J and G are... H...
Horhe...
                        and yes i could have learned this
from books...
but then... people write books...
so...          why not skip the books and read people?