based on a you-tube video: milo yiannopoulos vs. hysterical feminists; 1 17 2016.

i've never hard long relationships,
the last one i had was a long long time ago,
she said: i enjoy pain -
maybe - but i did also:
i unsheathed my ***** and put on
a c-ring on my helmet:
yes, circumcision does ease
the florals of afro lips
              and you find the cut off skin
in the ******* all the more appealing
all the more necessary to fight for,
oh wait: or so you thought.
hijab blah blah: take away from man
and we're constantly in feminine mourning:
akin to Darwinism's motto:
     there's a reason for everything; everything!
and there is! that's the universal suggestion,
adapt, create a reason for such adaptation -
god in mind (without prayer and laments
at funerals or judges' commentary) -
        ha ha how about we make Poles the
scapegoats, ******?
                well: now i really feel special,
are we supposed to say: yes good lord,
aye aye sir, kiss the ******* of Brooklyn
queens?
                 but you know what's funny...
bird songs...
             birds have an aesthete -
sure, they **** me off when spring comes
and the window is open and it
starts to feel like Africa at noon (i admire
the colonial powers of England:
how did they manage all this ****** heat?!) -
i'd spend a day there and then say:
**** it, get me back to the Scandinavian
refrigerator, can't stand this, ******, heat!
look at me: piglet albino!
                some say white some say
black, some say auburn some say chocolate
some say emerald, some say copper,
  some say pink, some say piglet -
some say 'you squinting, or something?'
try: white boy does a Buddha on marijuana -
people think Buddha is ******...
****** racists...
     one Czech who travelled to Mongolia
told me a secret: the Mongolians don't like
marijuana -
                    the Czech? met him at U.C.L.,
called Jacob - oh sure, grand guy,
                     so if you suddenly interpret
Buddha as ******, get serious:
      look looky at the squint -
then on the page the cipher: renmimbi
and 100 yen -
                        tugged by a ******* yack.
****** complex but then in Latin
simplicity:
                      chow mein -
or chewed a rubber tire and hence came
locomotion: a jaw in a pickle jar,
at every cannibalistic gathering of connoisseurs;
burying my great-grandmother i was
attacked for my expression of guilt:
when the priest started his litany i started
laughing... laughing a funeral, ha!
but it's this you-tube (hyphenation does not
exist in logos - anti plural, hmm:
or to use shorthand off words, i.e. images
to convey less wording and optical adventure
on the sly: hyphen! here boy! tear these
superstitions apart: like in the medieval
period charms and spells and Merlin,
so too the Mc and the i-) -
but enough about the funeral, that video i
referenced first:
                   a throng of crows sounds more
beautiful than humanity talking over each other...
it just hit me! like a bulldozer -
      we are actually so divergent from a unifying
causality, having conquered all natural
predatory forces, that when we're actually
accountable for being collected and told to
say freely what we want, we sound so
****** disgusting - i listened to this video
until i heard that a 10 second silence was required...
        the same we give to those who passed
in war: that's the difference between Western
Europe and Eastern Europe:
the division lies with the idea of remembering:
western europe has the first world war covered,
eastern europe has the second world war covered -
hence the ****** poppy parade;
       and how could i completely integrate into
such a society? what, be fake? relinquish my
bilingual ontology and hollow out, ethnically
cleanse myself? sure, i speak the tongue:
but i treat English as rooted in all things Germanic,
given my baptismal name: Conrad - hell, what
could possibly go wrong.
          i, will, not, assimilate, into, this, *******,
culture, like, some, ******.
                end off!
it would mean: oh you're be happy here,
but forget the 8 years you spent in Poland and
developed a psyche -
i hate it when people force a soul on people
without the capacity to develop it...
  ******* freak saints with their autistic children:
if the thing in question is unresponsive
         toward developing the mere notion of a soul /
a self: why does the church implement this
****** sin against abortion? if i were an agony uncle
i'd tell the girl: think about that scene in
the film Prometheus (2012)...
       i don't get how something that can't even
create the mere idea of a soul actually have a soul...
limited instinct, sure: but a soul?
     hence Santa Clause: or where all innocent
idiots go - provided by Satan's Clause, which in
jurisprudence suggests Disney as the patriarch.
still, with so many eloquent minds about
in history and as in now,
put them together and they sound so ****** ugly:
humanity can create the abundant leaning tower
of Pisa (or let's just call it the ρoμbυs of Pisa) -
we can't recreate a congregation of sparrows' song
nor a lion's roar in a **** way: like grrr -
            what i said above?
we have the power of the atom bomb, and we
decided to champion science, but in the case of
application? we're lazy! we create these sadomasochistic
saints who never bothered to do research into
what might happen - shoot me,
       if we exclude the mere notion of god
and do as Marquis de Sade did and champion nature
(who, by the way, was actually a militant atheist)
        we can't avoid the economic barbarity of nature:
it's inherent cruelty -
                    and this is the modern curse
of outrightly censoring a certain part of human
history as if "it didn't happen".
  it did happen, no wonder i have a plot of land
near Cracow reserved for Jew snow (ashes) -
    it's almost as if to say: because the black plague
didn't happen in the region: here's the holocaust!
      and you'd think this might bring me closer
together with an Egyptian... n'ah.
       as i once said - *oni pyramidy, a my kominy
they the pyramids, we the chimneys.
            maybe the Yiddish evolved in Germany
had something against the Polish Jews?
                            maybe...
who knows...
                 civil wars are known to happen -
maybe that was a subversive version of a civil war,
given that Israel didn't exist, you could have
the Jews of Manhattan ******* at the Moscow
Jews and it all became expressed in Poland...
         they did have a saying, those Polish Jews
back when the money was there -
   nasze kamienice, wasze ulice
(our houses, your streets) -
            as my grandfather used to say:
they fought the war with the rifles bent,
shooting into the sky or into their foreheads
like any Jehovah's witness stance to war was deemed
appropriate to join the cult.
         now i can say, kinda proudly,
sure, your houses our streets -
                           nasze szubienice (our gallows):
or was the free Palestine movement slowly
dying?                  all i know that by the time
we reach 2099 - things will look drastically anti
1999 with that party culture -
      someone just decided to cut off the *******
of a great poker player - America is these days
castrato - Castrato America! Castrato America!
they blame immigration, i blame them
bribing "saint" John Paul II for ******* displacing
me...
            i lived in a city where there was
more than just football taking place: water-polo
for ****'s sake! my father played it!
             Olympic diversity: not this inbreeding
****** of sport coverage:
television, a.k.a. the box? more like a zoo cell.
             the busy market place where i was born?
just banks, no shops, just banks.
  they tell you **** on the internet isn't real:
then t.v. is desperate,
and no teenager commits suicide from a weak
grammatical membrane to invert naked words
into clothed words: red (noun) etc.
and let me add: where are the editors in this place
and are any necessary? no -
what's troubling to the west / capitalism is how
socialism has resurfaced -
          it's not called social media for nothing -
sure the model is capitalising on opinions and conversation,
but how ugly this socialism now looks;
       my grandfather? he's living in a safety net
of actually having a pension -
                   he retired more than 10 years ago,
way prior to reaching 70...
              this is Poland, the so-called "acid satellite"
states of the Soviets...
    where the **** will your old be with "sir" philip
green and the 0-hours contract?
                                                      nowhere!      
oh i would go back: had i not lived here most of
my life and built a greater capacity for the language
beyond a large majority of natives:
  oh look, here comes the Rotherham Pocahontas.

a google-whack for the ultimate news reel: #jigo'hudami.

and not another Shakespeare to come, #blues,
and not another Milton to come, #blues,
and not another Beckett to come, #blues,
an not another unforced Bukowski to come, #blues,
and not another papa Ginsberg to come, #blues,
and not another fusion of poetry and jazz, #blues -
not another, the lost interest in jazz,
the it's been done, and only in America, #blues -
and not another Dostoyevsky to come, #blues,
and no one is digging digital trenches like at Ypres
             capitalising on the gambling of
giving it all, even if it means giving it for nothing
imagining daymares of homelessness, #blues -
and no more fusion worked from the stale juggernauts
of voice in the wilderness, or voice among aghast silence -
and no one is writing intoxicated odes in a Dionysian
woodland shade naked or at least half naked - #blues,
and no one new knows how having voyeuristic eyes
not looking at your poetry on the internet feels like,
before the broadband hyper super hyper mega tron
optic wires before the ancient tee p p **** dial to
connect - rotary dial telephones and aesthetic patience -
dial-a-meaning now, collect, appropriate, discard -
super-communicative efficiency like the Chinese
but in lesser number - lesser number - a moment to
unwind - choose a graphic for the front-cover -
Dali? really? quote: morbid and dark and a surrealist?
surrealists wrote their poetry at the beginning of the
20th century - again, what a treat, cook up a 21st century
manifesto - overshoot the mark - the macabre non-Gothic,
and so no angel with a sword near the chapel entrance
but a gargoyle - a gargantuan bore - agreed...
and not another william blake to come, #blues,
and not another richard brautigan to come, #blues,
dual citizen of the world - from one underworld to another,
Morse code typescript, or telegram poetry -
poetry telegramic - the reinvention of the cut-up technique,
but less paper clippings of single words shoved in
a hat like someone about to wear latex gloves and write
a ransom letter - telegramic poetry - the cut up is more
linear, less word from newspapers cut and then picked
at random, hoping for the big winner - conscious of
the river course - telegram! - opening page from
l'Étranger (e.g.):
mother died - - - - - - - telegram - - - - - - - at Marengo - - -
2 days leave - - - - - absurd already, apologies for death -
- - - - - (yes, a reader, not the narrator, and not - - - - - - - -
explicitly like a telegram) - - - - (self-explanatory auto-) -
- exactly, at every turn some excuse, but what a grand
excuse, god's turn, excuses after the fashionable 15 minutes -
nothing prior - - - - lunch at Céleste’s restaurant - - - - -
starting to look anti-autobigraphical (i.e. written much too
late, not day-by-day, *Kronos Witold Gombrowicz) - - -
calls Emmanuel to be lent a black tie - - - joke, karate - -
not so funny - - - d'uh, belt - - - mourning band - - - - - - -
with a white ******* rotated 45° from that famous
re-interpretation - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - good something -
running for the bus - - - soldier's shoulder, sleep - - - - -
warden absent, waiting with a chatty doorman - - - - - - - -.
well it could work -this telegram style, it's the easiest style
to read, the Nova Express proves it, the Soft Machine
proves it, Naked Lunch proves it - the incoherent distraction,
well, coherently incoherent - sometimes you want to
see a tornado rather than an open stretch of road in a desert -
a ****** tornado - whirling and whirling with Loki
playing a flute - and something about the great milkman
being choked by a marshmallow monster in the sky -
or, of course, with the sensible people - an Ikea assembly
manual for a chair - with one but the most crucial ***** missing:
metaphor for the 10% books, that's 10% in, 20% up on sales
of audiobooks - hyper-readers, ages: 18-24 - 24-35 (21%) -
and then thick mud ahead, an opera of yawns and a gym
membership one tier above the no-fun zone of sometimes
an index wet and a judo flick of the page - or any other
comparison - but on the plus - and not another Walt Whitman
to come - #bangersandmash, and not another Pound
to come - #blues - in with the pretentious you say out
with the feral? maybe... maybe not - but all of this for only
one sentence: to be nervous over ethnicity and vocabulary -
shouldn't exist - to pursue active censorship of a person's
vocabulary is to undermine them completely -
when corporations copyright words because they're logos
i can understand - but people copyright words something's
obviously wrong, somehow i imagine corporate influence
at having taught this lesson - it should exist - or... in what tone?
but already, people what inoffensive and frail - they
want cushions but don't want stones - and it's every single
time - where once words flowed freely no words stumble
against everyone being politicised - it's hard to do your job
these days, whatever it might be - some would say once
the figurehead a throng of courtesans and you knew of importance,
you were so far away from the seat of power you enjoyed
one sq. mile rather than daydreaming about if you ruled
the world - cost-effective inefficiency of politics -
life? unaffected - and it's not even some glorious technique
behind it - the same children that lied have simply
learned to evolve lying into negation - ah, whatever, #blues,
#Rakı.

So, this is the poem that I will end up writing
when no other poem is willing to do the work.

This is the poem I write when I'm past not
being able to sleep and I'm beyond
even trying. This is born of body burnout.

This unfolds as I unpack myself from
bags beneath by eyes.This is an ugly poem
unfolding from ugliness.

In this poem, I'll make an ambiguous allusion
to someone who is missing. The kitchen
feels suddenly too small.

This may be one of a few kinds of resentful:
parental, psychosocial, rebel-without-a-cause sentimental
but the poem blames something for what it is.

This poem is to say I am not a talented poet.
I'm a poet with a stammer, a non-poet, speech impaired,
a poet with neither the rage nor the riot.

So this poem may even plagiarise, for
not even poets have measured how much
the heart can hold. -Zelda Fitzgerald.
This poem throws itself down the stairs.
It burns down the asylum with stolen words inside.

How do I urge this poem to do better?
I can't, I can only keep writing it.
Writing out my resentment, my restlessness.
Wretchedness, Wanting. I can even break
linguistic, grammatical and syntactical
regulations By capitalising some arbitra-
ry Words and messing with enjambewhatnow.

This poem has found a neologism.

In this poem I CAN RAISE MY VOICE
for my wanting, and then in the same poem
shut my voice into a music box
to leave on your nightstand.

This poem has managed a neat trick. Illusion?
Some rhetoric magic. Some see a rabbit appear from
nowhere. Others see a girl being sawed in half.
.
The best (- though, at what?) could see both
but know it's not really about that.
They know it's about appearing as something
that are you not and that's a craft in itself.

As I or this poem already told you,
I am  not a talented poet. I am just a girl
masquerading as someone she's not,
because she doesn't know what she is yet
or wants to be or could be, yet.

She and this poem may seem to have more
to them, to be even interesting,
but both are waiting for you to grow bored.
"

She never understood
why she loved books
The way they are much more capable
of warming hearts on a stormy night
than a cup of bittersweet coffee.

She never understood
Why she hated capitalising
and hated the word ‘why'.

She never understood
Why her favourite word is still ‘incredible’
And why she loved repetition
And use of periods.
And commas.
And conjunctions.

She never understood
Why she always wanted to cut her hair herself,
But if she was bird
She wouldn't fly across oceans and seas
Because she wouldn't trust her wings that much.

She never understood
Why she always find herself late at night
Thinking about why and how
She can’t kiss the past good bye.

She never understood
Why she easily lose herself to others,
Like rivers to oceans,
And how she finds someone worthy
If he makes someone’s heart happy.

Somehow she can never love
Or hate herself wholly.
It was always between self-love and self-loathe.
And *she never understood why.

I looked to heaven today and I found God, to my surprise
He was pointing at me and laughing
Watching me spiralling.

He thought it ironic how I said I didn't believe in him.
He wasn't offended even a little bit
But he let me know that he didn't believe in me either.

I can't blame him, I don't reach out or try to talk to him anymore
And the only times I say his name are all in vain.
Even now, I'm slightly ******* him off by not capitalising "H"s or calling him "Lord".

Then again, I doubt he gives a **** about grammar or what I think.

oh i'm pretty sure the anglo-sphere doesn't care much for other tongues... or what happens in them: how they arrived to where they are now... but... sometimes... it comes about by the most curious of circumstances when, the natives & / or their extended family of trans-Atlantic cousins (etc.) start to... mishandle their: zunge... then... something wakes up, that should have been sleeping... in a person who treats this tONG in the confines of: acquisition, rather than something... passed down with: accent... idiosyncrasy... "whereabouts": local "allegiance"...

covert excess drinking:
i'm starting to love it more and more:
i get to play both actor,
a shadow... and fictional death...
all is well when you can
summon the... nerves(?)
to also make a distinction between
making strawberry gelato vs.
strawberry ice-cream...
no eggs more fruit pulp
less cream for the former...
plus... "displacing" things...
you wake up... it's... [there]...
half an hour later it's... "there"...
these spontaneous pockets
of amnesia:
these spontaneous bouts of...
AM... née: SHIA...
how else? Zee-E-E'Ah?
there's another name for this:
SKLEROZA...
it's not an English word...
but the symptoms are:
you get to walk a lot...
it doesn't hurt...
ah... memory... such a fickle faculty...
it's like we were engineered to:
forget in order to: push on
forward and... replicate... procreate...
alas... what if you...
don't want to?
   like an antithesis of
Frankenstein's monster...
who... if written by a man and not
a Mary Shelley would...
play the Sisyphus for a while
and then... do-himself-off...
hanging... stab to the heart
while working out the arithmetic
spacing of soft flesh to ribs...

cumin coriander, garlic ginger
cumin coriander, garlic ginger
cumin, coriander, asafoetida... ginger...

"apparently" it's offensive to call
a dish a curry...
it's more or less just: gravy:
gwavvy...
those blue Indians of Bengal
and elsewhere those Reds
and those Incas never really
drank or for that matter: minded
the concept of yeast...
flat as the platitudes of
Belgian mud or a *******
japati...

it's the middle of the day
i've pickled myself in some 70cl
of bourbon from the night
before and... right
now: with a swiggle and a hum...
i'm pickling...
irritably pickling... some sweet
notes to mind: but otherwise...
sour as a stash of lemons...

and that's fine... because i'm also
thinking about the self-help gurus
and the machinery of:
capitalising on everything:
even death and sickness...

my advice is? read the three musketeers...
my advice: have about 3 maxims handy...
categorical imperatives
or what not...
here are the two that i best behave
under:

Tao: the best way you can help
the world is... to forget the world
and allow the world to forget you...
non-verbatim...

Dumas: the best advice i ever gave was:
to no, under any circumstance:
give advice...
since... if people take it...
will probably regret it...
ergo... blame you for it...

- currently there are two words on my mind...
one borrowed from a list:
parsley sage, rosemary & thyme...
the last on the list... thyme...
not... F-I'm...
thyme... time... thyme... time...
such a delight i have with this tongue:
you can say the same set of syllables
but imply a completely different meaning:
esp. sharpened in writing...
perhaps i was born into a language
that is as clear-cut katakana as no
other European language:
apart from the necessary workaround
of consonant graphemes: just as well as
in English: SHould you CHoose to bother
yourself: with...

i'm still not quiet following the whole
pseudo-grammatical pronoun agenda...
*** is never associated: will never be associated
with nouns in this tongue...
a table is neither masculine nor feminine...
perhaps that's... why pronouns have
imploded?

i'm currently in the process of making
a distinction between strawberry gelato and
strawberry ice-cream...
obviously no eggs in the former...
a 2:1 ratio of full fat milk to double cream...
but the cream needs to be beaten...

slang terms:
LASKA - LAS - forest...
LASKA - a fit: most desirable female...
also a walking-stick...
LODY - ice-cream...
   robić lody - to make ice-cream...
also slang for... *******...
OSTRYGA - oyster...
K'WIAT - flower...
     well... something to counter making ice-cream:
lody... gobble down an oyster?

it's not even that any miniscule variation
of katakana would help...
no stand-alone consonants apart from N...
why N?
always clinging to:
vowel: woman...
consonant... man...
mind you: there is still no concept of ***
bound to nouns in English...
the moon is him
the sun is her...

i'm gently drinking: while also fasting...
the combination with immaculate sunlight...
why wouldn't the flowers be rejoicing?!

excuse me: hrabia: wal-do-dechy
     count: hit-to-the-plank (of wood)...
echoes of expressions of a dead man...
clearly i should know:
born into a language with clear:
Clear syllabic distinctions...
more! added to vowels:                     Ą!

oh... but beside the Italians & the Greeks...
just your European neighbours...
i too don't want to mind the pan-Slavic
movement... some called it communism...
i will never understand what
the Russians were up to...
ha ha... pan-Germanic is sort of happening
while everyone seems: coolly bothered
by something with: an alias...

terrible ideas ought to die...
seems like Marxism is not such a bad idea
if it finds volunteers... zealots to:
revise it... Darwinism does account for
mutations... doesn't it?
like a pig that barks or a dog that oinks...
a bonsai tiger... wait... tigers don't growl...
do they?
they snort apathy or something...
i don't know... i was never placed in front
of one...

murmur murmur... m'hmm something
in the place of: too far away from the sea...
from one wave: to another: mω...
oh... look:
           it's only a double-u if it's an omega-yu...
yule...
    otherwise? sharpen the edges:
v'ah-v'ah: empty the room! Wedge & Whinge
are coming in with a pink-elephant
and five blind men!
should have been expecting a carton of milk...
as you would: armed with a mω a mᵒₒ...

well... at least making ice-cream... ******!
gelato! clearly there are no poultry abortions involved!
is not a sour-note metaphor for...
giving ******* to... a hungry bandwagon
of Pakistanis eager to please
the children of Ing-Land...

   - what a sight! a canvas i have returned to
throughout the day... now:
night has come...
how bewildering to stand in the garden
while two insomniac magpies chase
each others' cackle...
one perches in my eucalyptus tree and
rattles, rattles: cackles... stutters...
so much so that even some poor dog left
in the warm air of September replies
with a bark!

how rare to hear birds tell their presence
in the night...
how rare to hear birds in the night...
how welcome these spies:
they must be either magpies or crows...
it... simply: sublimates their otherwise
cautious presence in the day...
and the magpies cackled in the night
so much so: that even the dog was roused
to bark!

- one glug, two glugs: make it three!
whiskey this cold so it almost resembles some
syrupy liquid ought to be imbued with much glee!
i could make ice-cream all day!

esp. since i have found a most pristine recipe!
i'll be ever the most obnoxious
when i tell you: dear reader
of the difference between ice-cream and gelato...

i think i memorised the two recipes...
ice-cream...
    as a warning: i usually halve the suggested
amount of sugar...
whether that be using raspberries,
strawberries, blueberries...
crème anglaise

mein gott! i'm in one of those rare instances
of life, reality where: *** can be compensated:
or thereby a lack of... an Ava Lauren /
Monique Fuentes...
i like to think of *** like a well-worn...
many a times sat in: leather... arm-chair...
i like that: i don't know what the thrill
with inexperience is... all about...
timid bodies... timid: frail... dolls...
i can compensate this desert of the ****-less...
as a curiosity by some Pakistani who

i could make ice-cream all day...
i'd rather make gelato... but all day...
i could make curry all day...
curry and gelato: i'm your man...

- i abhor sober opinions: let alone sobering up
in the domain of dialectics:
i have enough on my plate with
English: the language...
making no attempt to transcend the Latin script
with any sort of addition of
diacritical markers...
Charlie Dickens: good "sport" might have
included the term: orthography...

one reason leads to another... just bad spelling...
but it's only orthography if...
you apply diacritical stressors...
can have an Empire to rival Rome's with their
alphabet... but can't exactly keep
the neo-gothic Victorian romance
alive... on a mere whim...
look at it! disintegrating into vagabond
graffiti... or... emoji! which is not the same
as breaking away from the kanji in favour
of something more: phonetic...

Koreans & the Japanese are right up there:
on my... ahem "spice" list of ingredients
of people required...
the origins of writing is to: encode sounds...
to write sounds down...
no ideas... not insinuations...
throw the whole bunch of those
sand-******* into a crab bucket and see
what confused :)( comes out... savvy?

sober people and their sober ideas...
always so... *******... serious!
like they mean it... but rarely do they
keep themselves intact on enacting their intent!
i better eat a dollop of whole-grain mustard before
every meal before i deal with:
sober, serious... sen-si-blah... sensible whole lot of them
get the ***** to launch an offensive
on the groovy... gravy... groovy? gravy train...
**** me: it's good to know i'm getting old...
and out of touch...

i get pockets of nostalgia: time... immemorial...
anecdotal evidence that i:
somehow brushed against...
the pain... the strokes... of time...
and made some spatial-coordinate concerns
moving: for-ward...

ice-cream: 5 egg yolks...
bruised by... ha ha... "bruised" whipped to a lighter
colour... some sugar was added...
two cups of double cream... one cup of full fat milk...
a cup of sugar...
your choice of berries: heated up separately...
blah blah... combined... hey presto! an indigestion
pause... relapse...
depending on your temperament...

that's ice-cream... but... gelato! GEE! LA TOE!
T'OH!
no egg yolks...
    2 cups of full fat milk...
one cup of double cream: beaten... whisked...
it has to... half the sugar you're expected to use...
in the berry pulp...
    
i'll need the RRR... why has the trill of the Ar
disappeared in the Ing-Leash tongue:
betäubungzunge: compounded... obviously...
higher tier Germanic... not this... Ing-Leash...
mongrel sort...
so the adjective comes before the noun:
rather than the noun coming prior to
the adjective... i don't want to be asking for:
proper this... eh... proper that...

the exasperated yawns... gags and yelling impositions
of the "liberal" moralists...
like a god finally said: if i gave them
free-will... can "we" just agree that:
they better experience their full: "potential"?
oh i believe in god: but i also believe in free-will...
one counter-acts the other
in the way thus: follows:
to completely have: free-will...
you can't expect a nanny-state c.c.t.v. omni: gwand-p'ah
moment... can you?
there's... sweet & sour...
there's... sweet & salty...
can't have one... without... the other...

my god! genius logic! look for applause
when all the self-deprecating humour dries up...
clap... clap... clap clap...
how can you expect a god...
when... you're also expecting free-will?
you can... no... wait... you can't be a murderer!
Cain... was a vegetarian...
Abel... ably sacrificed a goat... or a sheep...
or two... Cain was a Hebrew version of:
'indu...
so... the northern European mind simply
boils corrupted with: staged logic
and...  the idiosyncrasies of other cultures...
yeah! thanks for the bread... where's, the, yeast?!

you use it?! you... ever used it?!
yeast: you get to say yes a lot...
you allow yourself to encourage to grow bread...
you also make beer...
no? not handy? o.k.: we'll just leave the "appropriate"
answer for the white women folk: people-kind
to conjure up a "properly": response...

ooh... believe me... i can play the grammar game
like... for eternity...
in between being allowed breaks
to do some proper *******...
like... churning strawberry ice-cream...
or making a curry sauce...

i am: SCHEMING!
i'm not going to allow this language to be
left in... *******: tartan: let alone:
tatters... even though it's not my own tongue...
i will not leave it: to... RUIN!
i'd best keep it in runes....

                    ᚱᚢᚾᛖᛋ...

no... you don't tell me what i am: or i am
not... "supposed" to do...
you settle my score on the fabric of
capital punishment... i die... you live...
but... it's not so ******* simple... no?
leech eats leech...
crab bucket...

she's a... three-dimensional woman...
looking for a... two-dimensional man...
ah ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!
i need to write down laughter:
since it's so silent... so covert...
it doesn't really require a stand-up
comedian's solipsism to ****-me-off...
ha ha!
a three-dimensional woman...
looking for a two-dimensional man!
ah ha ha!

goldfish of an ego:
in a muddle of a "think-tank"
of 70cl of... is whiskey...
i could be her grandpa santa
and she could be my selfish elf
quasi dwarf on my knee:
not readied for a spanking:
i'm so turned off by modern *******

time is a concept i'd rather forget....
father Xavier...
i just want to make ice-cream:
or... make the distinction between ice-cream
& gelato...
& curry... i want to make a bucket load
of "that"... enough to make joking remarks about
an invading envy equivalent to match up to
the Ottoman Janissaries...

i don't like being sold the sole impetus
that blatantly numbs me...
a walking abortion: i am...
             find me in my most reclusive spot...
when the  birds... triple the night...
merge with it... allow the: bystanders!
postcard enthusiasts! tourists! begone!
with Essex: alone!
i don't care much fo the western aspect
of England... POMPOUS SODS
THE WHOLE LOT OF THEM!

anything associated with Bristol
i wouldn't feed to pigs...
sure... they might be the most pristine sort
of people:
they're still a people i wouldn't
share food with... sorry... what?!
you might care that i might care?!
how... custard-esque...
how... bewildering...
i... exist?!
                    *******...
really?! does one digest that fat of fact
with a: hmmm...

         SUDDENLY?!
"diatribe of waking shadows"?

forget it...
the postponed death of Johnny Cash
matched up to the "un-expected"
relief of... false claimants oeuvre!
Elvis... ought to have died...
he died... the end!

I stare up at the ceiling, cracked
for I am not myself
surrounded by broken promises, pity
and empty wealth

the perverse constants throughout
my narcissistic days,
I awake every morning
to an alcoholic drug fuelled haze

sleep deprivation my volatile Jesus
licking my wounds, ignorant to my prayers,
I express my shattered soul to millions, only
for it to fall on ignorant ears that don't care

[YEAH! YEAH! YEAH?]

stitched up eyes, stitched up pride
sensibility running away to forever hide
capitalising on pain, that contagious emotion
an obsessive by-product of loves caustic devotion

f-falling for all the pretty ones
injecting sultry thoughts in my sick brain //-/-

f-falling for all the pretty ones
dragging me through acidic pools of disdain //-

LO' BEHOLD ANOTHER HUMANITARIAN CRISIS!

Most personally known as COMPULSIVELOVER-ITIS!

It sticks like spit, kills my sleep
something I don't want but really need to keep

and the desperation will make you a million
but also burn you inside out -

stuck in this loop of blackening silence
it's a revolution of the broken heart so let's scream, let's SHOUT!!!

From birth, through younger years
You think adults are the best
They know it all, don’t question them
Even ones in stringy vests

But then through wide awakenings
From innocent teen eyes
Your conditioned way of thinking
Is shifting all the time

Morrison’s doors of perception
To Orwell’s “Nineteen Eighty Four”
Digesting Brown’s “Da Vinci Code”
What’s behind Dad’s study door?

I always thought there’s something
Something missing from Mum’s smile
Sincerity, yes that is it
Her sparkle’s light-yeared out for miles

I caught my College Tutor out
Her face was filled with dread
As I asked her complex questions
She rambled and went red

It’s not the work you contribute
That catapults you through
It’s who you know, not what you know
That gets you through round two

It’s realising the rich get rich
Capitalising on the poor
Mocha choco frappucinos
To Primani discount stores

It’s sweaty public transport
Followed by a gruelling shift
Evils from your sadist manager
For laughing at his quiff

Offered a promotion
Yes, they’ve recognised my worth
Then the disappointment fills the air
When they ask me to move turf

From Manchester to Liverpool
A fair distance I would say
But with two small kids and secretly
Another on the way

It’s either this or loss of job
This once was steady job
They’re packing up and moving out
To make room for some snobs

They’re all blagging it, they are
No one gets their dream come true
Kaleidoscope shapes are twisting
Now the truth is shining through

A positive is being aware
We’re all muddling through this life
From observation to motivation
I won’t become a stepford wife

I’ll make the best of this you see
I’ll make my family proud
I’ll bulldoze through eternity
Leaving my trail through the clouds