.i. if Kant could have his von Kleist... well... who else to juggle juggernauts if not me? as a task of redeeming that poor soul who succumbed to the terminator of all poetic ambitions, with his systematisation off-the-page, as eccentric and punctual as a sunset on a sundial at 16:11... and in case either the spring of sunrise, or the autumn of sunset... but so many hours after exacting a sunset... that gluttony of the eyes to stare at it... 16:11 is the zenith of a sunset in november the 15th... much prolonged when warmer... supersized sun when setting in summer, and all that whiskey-copper wiring for the eyes to stare at it: oh for goodness sake, who really cares for Ikea likened assembling of words... we're not putting together a coffee table, we're looking for Darwinistic entrapment, we're scared of the aeons and yawns... we're trying to create a Darwinistic entrapment saying what segregates us from apes! that's how anti-Darwinism works - if they can easily call you a poet and a technophobe... then that hardly makes you a merchant with a Quran... to encapsulate the language of our modernity we're doing everything against writing the onomatopoeia of our beginning... monkey ooo! monkey ooo ah ah! or a gorilla grunting and then snorkeling... we're encapsulating our language more and more... because beginning with ape and then looking at history, and then looking at the consensus of the contemporary: Darwinism's greatest enemy is not theology... it's history... Darwinism and history are not compatible... oddly enough Darwinism and theology are compatible, simply because they are dynamically equal for the case of furthering both arguments in debate... but Darwinism is an odd starting point to argue, given that physicists argue from the perspective of prior to dinosaurs, prior to all things formed.

how can i begin this? it will leave me having to
write it for two days,
the anti-narrative sketch first, then filling in
the gaps sober... just to get second opinions...
i might have to cook a quasi-Hungarian borscht
and fry up a few potato flattenings to a crispy
yum... first the narrator comes in to describe what's
in store, a bit like a translator comes in and says
of Joyce: that's Irish... well, yeah.
               hence the italic preface...
as some would say, the person who wrote these
sketches worked quicker that an algorithm in asking
and also quicker to copy & paste the required
atomic encoding... e.g. ч and ch
                   э and euro and epsilon...
      once upon a time there was nothing prior
to Copernicus, then the somersaults came,
    h ч y        what coordinates where?
    well of course perfecting the encoding of something,
if things weren't stated awry there would be
no optometrists either...
                  it's not hard to read, it's hard to
remember how to read, given that being literate reached
the omnipresent velocity, the new powers had to
include some new power struggle...
mingling Latin and Runes, Greek and Cyrillic...
     and the proto-Latin of additional diacritical marks...
they exposed the entirety of humanity to literacy
within the framework of post-industrial society,
after hitchhiking a ride on the 19th century donkeys
they suddenly had to reveal their power-secret of
being literate, and by the account of women:
corset bound and bored in salons...
      but something else appeared that didn't really fascinate
them: that over-complication of Latin with
punctuation marks above letters: or diacritical
distinction, crowns over letters, subatomic particularisation
of once favoured: universal applicability...
as a narrator? i have to make a complicated
introduction, the sketch lends itself to do so,
it suggests that not all writing can be as simple as
a nursery rhyme, not all writing can actually
    **** memory, not all writing desires being remembered,
not all writing can be remembered,
                in the mediation of the two chiral opposites
there's fiction, which is suspended in an armchair of
pleasurability... but on the opposite side of a nursery rhyme
or a well versed poem? writing akin to arithmetic...
  something truly painful for those competent with
lettering, but not really competent with ten digits...
      as a narrator who has already read the sketch,
i'm trying to not write a "filling in the gaps" to the sketch
like an art-critic might do to a painting deviating from:
brushstrokes were employed. well... d'uh!
variation of italics as in transcending the pause that
implies a condescending variation of taking a pause,
also excluded are: dot, comma, hyphen, semicolon
and colon.                         dot-dot-dot is not joining up
the dots: it implies a variation of how to anticipate
a punchline: drummed: tu-dum wet snare!
     i am actually a narrator who is trying to find
that other part of me that might digest this sketch properly,
     and return fully competent to pick up another
sketch... if ever there was a narrator in this sketch,
it has to be me, after the sketch has been scripted,
and i am left to suggest a need for a dot-dot-dot connectivity
of the strokes of the pen...
i warned myself: do not overdo the introduction in italics,
you know how picky people are...
whether pickled pineapple of cucumber...
i swear Turks invented pickling chillies...
         oh look! an inflatable gazebo filled with helium!
no one's laughing: only because i didn't mention vegina.
narrative puritanism? you get distracted a lot...
but this sketch is really a thesis for narration,
all i have to do is find the antithesis of narration in it:
an actual narrative!          it stretches for ~30 pages...
   well that's me turned archaeologist with a Grecian urn
with a snap of the finger... because that's how this
sketch looks like: ancient -
                         but understandably modern.
              so .  ,  - and ;
        were racing... out came the world record
             9.58(0)         the full-stop is the bracket-bound
0... i.e. it actually happened: hence the pinpoint...
or in Formula 1 a timed nonsense of ave. m/ph
     noted to three decimal points: 130.703...
                                    or chicane cha chicane cha cha!
as said, this is an actual representation of a narrator
encountering this sketch: so before you lose your head...
i've lost mine!
  look at the correlation though!
we've gone way past atoms with the atomic bomb
and encountered subatomic particles...
    we're not going to get beyond subatomic particles
because we're going to encounter the already apparent
reality of obatomic particle: namely our bodies,
   the perceived ******* (ob- is the antonym
                                                  prefixation of sub-):
             that's were the microscope adventure ends,
    and this is parallel to cutting up a second with
three decimal points, as the safetynet suggests:
                                                              π / 3.14;
yep, the obstructive - hence we can't spontaneously
combust... but then again Goethe's Werther did:
  out of love... down the spiral: you sweet little *******.

~ii. i'm actually too lazy to write the sketch and fill
in the blanks... so i'm going to fill in the blanks as i go along,
  or that's what's called the rebellious stance of narrator: mmm,
work in progress, could you see that coming?

ii. a beer in between glugs of whiskey - runes
combined in the ******* / sigma, variant of agliz or
the rune-zeta extended toward a dark shadow of the rebirth
of Ishrael: zoological enclosure; sigma *******
sigma ******* sigma *******, sigma *******...
rune-zeta... we cannot say there are ******
mathematicians and poets akin,
not then one optic encoding states
     a b c d e
         another states f u þ a r
yet another а б (ρ) в г
  α β γ δ:
for worth of gamma into a trill only because of
   a wave, that's ~ approx. on the side of the letter
   e.g. г & r.
   or rho upside down? what the ****?
did Voltaire write this? reading Candide,
i hope he ****** did!
you the problem is pixelated paper? if you know
how you enter a deciphering mode...
                    but you require a personal library to boot,
all that dos formatting,
                       well there's formatting in the humanity
outstretch of this white medium too...
after it isn't all ******* white when all the psychiatric
pills are white too... i have really found something better
than the Bermuda Δ...
       Greek, Latin, Cyrillic and Runes...
i could say neo or proto otherwise,
but i still haven't unearthed the sketch, that
is probably puzzling the Danes, with Cnut on the forefront...
                    but the arrangement of numbers is universal,
but it's not universal, given the particularity of
how language is encoded and why some people are
richer than others...
            but it's still a beer between glugs of whiskey that
makes more sense...
i said, retype the sketch and go to bed...
and i figured: that's probably the wisest of all possible
events stemming from this...
    that's ~27 pages of notes to retype... and i'm already
in a disclosure mode as to expect what's to be jargoned...

p. 1        cкεтч       /      σкεтχ
   necessity of                        (acute
a-       -the           (ism)
is that of language structure,
          only from the use of one's language does
a deity present itself: from within the noumenon
ground work, not the reverse, as in from
(pp. 2, 3)
                 a phenomenological exercise in
the use of language: Islam, Christianity, Buddhism, (etc.)...
       e.g. Islam is a phenomenon,
  it's not a noumenon: or a thing-in-itself...
  for the Islamic god to emerge from Islam's-in-itself
Islam will have to prevent itself from being-outside-itself...
or overpowering other in-itself contentions
but still: to no apparent success narrative of true intention
as satisfactory appropriation and hence lending itself
to a widespread nod of approval.
  challenging space: word compounding, or the space
between conjunctional deficiencies: nod-of-approval (e.g.).

p. 2    concussion (great film, Alec and Will, 2015, NFL)
concussion... Blitzkrieg Alzheimer's....
brain is fat.... dementia = attacking proteins...
  steroids... the noumenological use of language:
e.g. that ****** is an enigma,
therefore his views will not go viral,
and he'll not become fashion trendy...
it's not individualistic idealism, it's reality.
as will die sonne satan - orbis reach more than 5K
views... so... clap clap... clap, clap.
           what i meant about the a-     and -the
and the ism is following a sentence that sort of
does away with conjunctional fluidity,
apart from the big words, i treat all minor words as
categorically conunctional... and, the, a, is, to, too...
given the sentence: brain fatty *****,
brian organic giraffe wall... ******* hieroglyphic...
           stood above the rest, rest assured.
  dementia: invading protein cells
   (bulging prune of the opportune: purely
digestion?) no thought to eat or eat itself like,
cannibalistically. the brain is fatty...
not fat in muscle for mmm, schmile and flex
for the selfie. how about a protein inhibitor?
(by now, rewriting the sketch, i've lost the page count,
it's actually p. 5 of note paged toward 27).
how about the explanation that we're living in
times of post-industrialisation and thanksgiving
feminism? to me post-industrialisation has created
a class of meaningless white-collar workers
and no blues... it's what the Chinese blues call
the Amazonian nomads: ******* happy...
no amount of crosswords or sudoku will exert
your body to do things for others...
   no amount of mind games will actually tell your
brain to be equipped with: a bunch of hyenas... run!
dementia is a result of creating too many
white-collar jobs (thanks to feminism)
and exporting the blues to China (thanks to feminism
and: oh i broke a nail, can i get a Ching plumber to
fix my heating while i get a ****** to **** me up my
****?!) - maybe i'm just dreaming...
it's great to censor dreaming, i mean: you stop dreaming,
you get to see reality, and you don't even need to
read Proust on a ricochet.
  - so we have brain as fat, and invader cells as protein...
protein digests fat... and creates cucumbers out
of people... where do the carbohydrates come into play?
it can't be at the point of a.d.h.d., can it?
     i'm blaming post-industrialisation, the complete
disappearance of the blues (formerly known as the reds,
in the east) for the whites...
or that old chestnut of: my god you're goon'ah luv it!
   to till for worth from the sweat of yer brow -
funny funny funny... to earn your loaf of bread
you will toil...
                   and toil until you are physically assured
that not ghostly / mental life can enter your world /
books... that went well... didn't it?
   i should be tilling a potato plateau rather than
be bound to be writing this epic (by modern standards)
poem...
             but that's the curse of exporting all the blue
collar jobs to China, then importing mindless
white collar jobs to the west, what the hell do you think
would happen, not the pandemic of dementia?
if you do not exert the body, and then you do not
exert / exhaust the mind... do you think
you can secure a narrative with a post-industrial
westerner on the premise of that person simply being
able to solve a crossword? well... i believe in santa
claus too... but i don't believe in him giving out
presents... because to me, in my oh-so-called maturity
that's called an anagram of satan's clause: which is a legal
term for: i can turn civilisation into shrapnel
of what's said and what's to be said: and what's not to be
said. people can't expect to turn honest labour
for the recreational run on the treadmill in a gym...
and they can't expect photocopying in an office space
to replace Newton's curiosity, and then compensate
all this distraction with mind-games...
          can they? well... they did!

poets are gagged by writers of prose,
no wonder they write so sparingly,
      they are gagged in the sense that they write
as if asphyxiated: they need breathing room.

well sure, if he can revive the Polish steel industry
and i can go back to steel plates and pillars,
then the rust belt will get a polishing also.

or what's called: shrapnel before the waterfall of
narration: darting eyes, and poncy **** all the way through...

     muse... muse...

        well, how about we take the fluidity out of language?
declassify certain words into one grammatical broth,
say words like i and they
                              a  and the    are all conjunctions?
how about that? let's strip it bare, after all: what categories
of words exist for us to primarily speak (let alone think)?
     nouns, verbs, adjectives... adverbs?
       but all those words in between are so jungly classified
into a tangle that i'm about to sprout a handshake
          of a Japanese vine grip: and never let go...

an actual extract from the sketch:

      https that doesn't recognise UCS
                   and insists on IPA cannot be deemed
       encyclopaedic

              i need runes for this! i need runes for this idea!
i don't need transliteration right now...
                but hey! that's an idea, etymological transliteration...
bugly term, sure, but the previous night i was thinking
  of transcendental etymology, as you do, likened to
carbohydrates... so it was transliteration after all...
but a dead end when it comes to geometry and Pythagoras...
      
    three words... and they are computerised (i guess you
have to buy a decent book to decode this), a bit like
buying paint in a d.i.y. shop...
       16DE (dagaz / d) 16DC (ingwaz / ŋ / grapheme of n & j)
                  16DF (ōþala / Valhalla / o / ō = oo),
in total d'njoo / d'nyoo - even i concede the fact that this
is a ******* mind-******... it's a ****** congregation of
four optic encodings of phonos... i moved away from
the ancient greek fetish for the logos... i'm looking at
the phonos... not the logos with Heraclitus et al.
               φº θ þ фª f

ªgreek
  ºcyrillic                ever see a prettier pentagram?
                      i haven't.

(false original title:
škic / cкэтч / φº θ þ фª f: thespian pandemic - pending)

looking at the phonos is painful, actually painful,
it's like reading a book with a myopic pair of glasses:
a ******* aquarium blurry right there, befor...

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

'e'? were you: was i, looking for an 'e'?

i can say this much...
what do you get when you mix a shot
of whiskey with a shot of bourbon:
i'm moving between bottles...
it's nearing christmas eve and i'm a ripe
taoist... i.e. i better this world:
by not having the world mind me...
on the odd occasion: oh... you're still here?!

yeah... i'm still here... i have glued-to-fascination
with my shadow... i'm just waiting
for the atom bomb to relieve me of a body
but ensuring my shadow is kept intact...
as if it were a Monet signature on a wall...

but i lament... the momentum has vanished...
i don't even know why i'm so idiotic as
to presume that: from the hour 22:00GMT
to the hours 00:00 circa 00:30GMT...
something will land into my lap,
my lisp... my cranium the oyster shell
my tongue the oyster...

it will not... i can't simply **** anything into
an existence that doesn't want to exist...
perhaps lurking in a canvas of:
"lost luggage" in an airport...
perhaps "there"...
i could be excused my... lethargy...

when was this written? back in 2018?
so i was thinking about teasing cyrillic even then?
wasn't i?
sketch cкэтч or?

what do you get when you mix a shot of whiskey
with some bourbon?
a Burguandian whisker...
i am not going to sound witty...
Ron's key...

that's still a cyrillic "or"... isn't it?
шкиц: škic...

i'm... deflated... nothing "new" has come my way...
i would have thought that...
reading some Knausgård would have /
could have... invigorated me:
reading him was supposed to be my:
dialysis my transfusion!
my zombie-go-to-literature...
it has proven an exhaustive enterprise
to begin writing again:
i became too comfortable
in reading - i almost forgot
the agony of writing...

alas... a contemporary of mine...
and someone well adjusted to prose...

notably: who would have thought
that death in june - the calling (MK II)
was something to be recorded in 1985...
for one: i wouldn't...

but i did begin: back in november 2016...
begin what? to tickle the cyrillic alphabet...
which is way before i discovered my reply
to the runes... to the ancient greek...
and this... "ancient", ahem... still in use...
latin script...

that script that went into the molloch couldron
of being invested in to code...
pristine as the hebrews cited:
how many holes in it?
to write onto a canvas of 0?
q Q R O o p P A a D d g b B...
which leaves...
W E T Y U I S F H J K L
Z X C V N and M "out of the equation"...

škic / cкэтч / φº θ þ фª f: thespian pandemic (pending):
i better rename it as... circa 2016...
that's way before i even acknowledged
the cyrillic text applying diacritical markers...
i thought them too crude at the time...

beside borrowing outright from greek...
the already at hand oddities of glagolitic,
notably: Ⱎ...Ⱋ...

it's only a single word i'm using...
i have abandoned all notions of metaphysics
in favor for orthography...
i'm not going to burden myself
with: what's after the physics...
i'm after: what's now...
in the respective tongues...
2 tongue deviations from
the original latin and greek...

what came with the runes and what
came with the glagolitic scripts...
what was ****** and had to succumb
to inter-breeding...

come 2020... i will have one clarification
to base my existence on...
pronouncing the growth of my ****** hair...
i will hope to aim at a length of beard
that will forever hide the neck...
i will aim at... somewhere to the level
of my heart... when i will then manage
to turn my beard into an orchestra's
nieche of violins when i procrastinate with it...

since 2016...
i have identified russian in ******...
i've seen it... finally!
зъaрт... i.e. żart
and the "hard sign" becoming a "soft sign"
in źrenica: зьрeницa...

i still think the russian orthography
is... as... primitive as the western slavic...

after all... зъ = ż...
зь = ź...
the balkan slavs have a caron...
which is neither a hard or a soft sign / acute...

their caron is... ч (č) or cz...
CHeaper in english...
and their caron is ш (š) or sz...
SHeep...
or the two together...
and always шч (šč): szczekam...
i'm barking...

pu-shch-air... a rare example in english
of the puщair...
but then lookie lookie 'ere:

CZACHA... skull...
ЧAХA...

perhaps this is my "revenge ****" on russia?
hey! boris the kremlin mascoot...
come and 'ave a look...
with how i disect your orthography
on the / with the language that asks
too many metaphysical questions and no
orthographic curiosities!

i'll meet you in Warsaw... given that you're
probably moving from Novosibirsk...
and i'm either in Stockholm...
Edinburgh or the outskirts of London:
Warsaw will be halfway for both of us...
you don't have to like Warsaw...
i only like it when the Ukrainian smugglers
and the Mongols appear
in the West Warsaw coach station...

smart as who? i am discovering this for
the first time myself...
i was only teasing it back in 2016...
way before i found the right sort of accents
in mother russian...

i do know that that crescent oddity:
above the ja: йa... is what it is...
if you only cut off the head in english... ȷ...
again: it's я given that most russians
are pulled toward an anglophile world-view...
they all see the window to europe...
the baltic and st. petersburg is somehow...
London... and the atlantic...
like hell it is...

i guess i feel it was a waste of time to
have re(a)d Kant, simply because:
i'm not here for the schematics...
i want to know how my thought my labyrinth
building architecture is coming along...
but with no one to talk to about it?

i found the categorical imperative most
dissatisfying... i didn't want to abide by universal laws...
poetry is already shoved out of waiting room
of the republic...
if my "poetry" is not a categorical imperative...
and it's not quiet a a hypothetical imperative...
it needs to be sharpened on a thesaurus
and some grammar...

categorical (adjective)... imperative (adjective)...
well two adjectives never imply much
if there's no noun involved...
and i'm pretty sure that... if i sharpen
the next word i'll compound with categorical-
in that hyphen construct that's only
allowed in oxford dictionary english:
since it's not: propergermannonhyphenfaustian:
i.e. carboxylic (carbo-xylic) acidity...

poetry doesn't belong in either
the categorical imperative focus...
nor the hypothetical imperative focus...

i.e. i must write a poem... to feel better...
i must write a poem... to organise my thoughts...
no! a poem is not a maxim is not a categorical
imperative! a language of poetry is not
a language of morality: it's a language
of experience - or a lack / a lackey's "sentiment"...

i need a... categorical: impetus!
it's not enough to have read kant's critique of pure
reason... it must also involved
having re(a)d the: groundwork of
the metaphysics of morals...
but i'm a democratic reader...
i need to hear the other voices...
i can't be a kantian scholar...
a snippet 'ere, a snippet v'ere (funny how
THETA disappears when making the posit:
THERE - ver!)

who needs metaphysical absolutes...
when orthography (or a lack of it)
in english... spreads open its legs...
and the tongue remembers its tongue-brain-phallus
stage of co-existence in the oyster?!

i'm pretty sure that a categorical imperative
is by no means a categorical impetus...
this had to be written,
but it had to be written in order to disregard
anything a priori... prior to it...
a poem is a shady concern for action or inaction...
it's a deviation from the cartesian crux:
res cogitans (thinking thing)...
into the cartesian levy (res extensa)...
it's an action of inactivity...
as much as it's an inactive activity...
"the rest"...

impetus is not an imperative...
an impetus sources its meaning in a per se
investement... of itself - in itself - for itself...
an imperative?
in pronouns... impetus: i want... i will...
imperative? you want... you will...

an impetus is self-dictative...
an imperative is: indicative...
someone would rightly claim...
those that mourn indicatively...
will don the right garments for the process
of mourning...
which is indicative and devoid of
the per se manifestation of mourning...
it is an imperative when compared to
the impetus to mourn -
which is self-dictative...
which does now shallow itself in
grief by making a socially agreed to fiasco
of a very specific choice of wardrobe...

basically: however you like it...
an IMPERATIVE ≠ IMPETUS...
the year is almost over and i want to break-off
the dust from the thoughts that fudge-packed themselves
as worthy of occupying the minor instance
of having to count a depth of:
not dead within the year of being written.

Praeludium in via ...

Vidi heri mane quando ridebam coloribus egregiis,
Eradere auro , trans tabula caeli , tentorium ...
Excelsus super omnes montes mundi mole fratres
Nimborum desertum , ubi non sit humana exsuscitatur .
Et non vidi nobili altitudo futura ...
Bonitas terribilis Vidi , *** indomitus.
Et peregrinare in ea carne existimarem Semel tamen divina ,
Nunc datum est scire , et non confundamur ab eo opus .
Ambulavitque *** Deo, quod nunc facio , et passus est ... accentus
Proditio amor et passionibus , quamvis non recipiat ecclesia ,
Divinitatis naturam , ne occulta omnia confitentur ?
Audis tu solus in universo ab duces ineptum
Ipsos victu pascuntur finguntur mendacii .
Sed ambulavit in vobis, ex ea ipsa mundi redivivi ,
Proelia ante hos annos multos, in carne nostra, amissis vate sacro .
Nos sequi vestigia veterum monumentis, ut ostensum est ;
Quia ex nihilo nati sumus , et adhuc in filiis tuis, ac spatium vivendi ,
Latebunt , quo melius in manifesto , vultus ingenio tegmina.
Ego sum primus , et consilium ... Memini tamen alta urantur
Humanis uti licet , *** aliena michi negotium.
Lorem quid ad ignorantiam et extra ,
Quia vidisti me in tenebris, in ardentem rogum meum .
Si sustinuero , praeire , ubi angeli labuntur ...
Quis autem, si non satis est dedicata piget.
Irrisorie , quoniam ego scio quod salventur , et saepe etiam ,
Post tantum est **** , et sic esset forma in re firmatam ?
Imago Dei , huc ad nos omnes in sanguine ipsius ,
A primis ad ultima, ut alpha et omega, gladius acutus .

Prologus : ( Os meum labitur )

Puer fui servus ad aras tam sacras ,
Hymnis immaculatorum : et absque iniquitate .
Quod *** ipse portabat diadema thons nudus ...
Expositum Spiritus meus, qui intellexi gravitatem.
Quis credit sanctum profanae habitu virtutum
Et illi qui in eo sunt ut carnifices ovis ad occisionem ,
Innocentes cogit induere larvis ad porcellana et operuerunt capita sua ,
Et filii eorum diriperent pueritia , vinctus catenis rudis .
Sicut teenager : ambulans in naturis hominum omnium adprobante ,
Et egressus est a me omnes, qui violatores extiterunt in coinquinatione verebatur .
Angelo fidem reperto cecidi inveni sanctitati
Nomen meum in ea , et curet abluitur dubium inveni .
Venit ad nuptias, et omnes dedi uxorem proditione ,
In solutione huius coniunctionis nostrae et sine intervallo in solitudinem imposuit ?
Traiectus mortalis caro mea reliquit me solum in sanguinem ,
Cor ejus scissum est , absque omni cultu ex ordine funem .
Angelus autem meus et leniat iras mansit dolori
Mea lux, in vigiliis, in nigrum, quod est victa ,
Admonens quia carnis mortalitate ... maxime
Angelus vult me et tremor et durum accepimus.
Et ego factus sum quam ... traumas vitae ac lacrimis
Et dimisit , in specie quae sunt post , veluti a me plagas .
Nox deinde calor intensior saunas percipimus ...
Sicut est mihi in choro , relictum est , nisi ab illo esse extensum ,
Et invicem tradent , et mortalem , ut impunita essent, sed numquam mihi ...
Non tradent ; effundam spiritum meum , et non totum .
FYLACTERIUM creare ex omni me , et oculus innocens ...
Quod amari posco sum ​​ut carbo margarita alba et nigra ;

Section I : Sacrificium Doll

Part I : ( litus sanguinem )

Ne revoces me pupa enim priscis recesserunt cavernam
Sunt inanima appetant , non realis forma in utero ;
A puero bibere rubeam ore exploratores in vastissimam taberna ...
Dum nati psallens FARRATUS agros effusi .
Vadimus ad domum Dei , in plagis , in magna pecunia debetis ...
Hoc non est ad oras Nunc cruore manant strigitu rubra de memoria , polluetur .
Nulla est enim me primus ad ignitionem gloriae ...
Quando autem mens aeterna , in omnibus placentes, causabatur laetitiam .
In stellis ibi verba quae ego volo inauditum revocare,
Quia descendi ita pridem apud venire primum ?
Sollicitus purus fabrica MYSTICUS chaos genitus antiquorum
Mitti expectant limine signa magica.
Interdictum revertatur in carminibus meis , Licinius, ut audacia ,
Quia oblitus est mei fere est: nunc originem , ut tragici.
*** filii bibere, et se abscondunt nati seorsum
*** aquæ in sanguinem, et super triticum, et arefecit fœnum, et humida !
Signum quod venturum est mutare et laboro mentem.
Facies in luna ALLUCINOR in metu torquetur , horror ...
Dumque in fauces manu stare super pectus
Inter ordines diu frumentum umbra nigro ambula
Genus servo meo animas infantium .
Aestas flavescunt, Phoebe caelesti audent .
Mea sola mcestas lupus sonitum audiri potest ,
Et *** feris leo in pontumque moueri relinquere ...
A natura mihi dolet cupio concupivit paradisus reducat .
Vidi terram terror , ut sanguis in sinu
Ater sanguis in terra , quae facit viventia ululare ...
Sicut **** habet stultitia non dicam prava vel !

Part II : ( Crucifixo et Inferorum Animas Excitat)

Nam inertis est gemere pupa altari parato, in sacrificium,
In lapidem calcarium, et in cavernam, ubi sunt wettest fingit arcus !
Un - res sunt, sed etiam *** vivit in vulneribus animae , ut in glaciem ,
In horrore frigoris fictilem , ita *** pedibus non vocavit.
Serpentipedi mucrone subrecto , remittit praecise a pupa in collo ,
Et non potest dici , quia non habet pupa voce clamare.
Puer, et egressus est a tabernam , aspectus eorum quasi a naufragii vile ...
Ut curem hominem a superioribus agentibus , corpus totum mundum.
Infra in concavis locorum asperitate visa petram
Magna voces resonare in tenebras , et vocavit nomen tacuit.
Eripuit animam trahit nauta Multo gregis
Ubi aereum reddet unicuique antiquum signum desideratum .
Et venit ad bibendum aquas illas vitae malis mederi ...
Porcellana , et liberatus a vinculis mortis obscuris sentiat frigore ;
Animas in captivitate , unde nemo mortalium loqui
Sed statim liberavit remotis perforabit clavi ...
Omnis **** , qui dicitur Golgotha ​​, olim in cruce positus .
Omnis autem mulier quoque, ad quod omnes tales sunt tormento
Et facta est , dum consummaretur sacrificium insita primum sic infirma est,
Et intantum ut nisl tot annis perpessi .
Signati post fata diu Quod murus ignis in Terra ,
Stigmatibus ferre posset ita etiam multa futura!
Quod signum erat in manu mea, ut labatur pes meus, et dimittam ...
Tamen adhuc vetera perseverare illusionibus , et non possum excitare multos .
Ego, qui iam tantum conligati Lorem ferrum quid reale,
Factaque est infinita in dolo : Ego sum ​​, et desiderio erat pax.
Nam et ego quod negas , nisi aspera ac rudia mei liberatione ;
Angelus liberavit me , et nunc inter saevus sigillum frangere conantur .

Part III : ( The Return of lux)

Qui a mortuis Surrexit , frigidior , ubi de somno , ultrices in somnis , per
Et obliti sunt intelligentiae invocatum est super sancta miserunt innoxia verba ...
Et inde apud hominem , ut maneat MYSTICUS sequuntur revertamur ,
Ea aetate in inferno commemoratione praeteritorum.
Qui suscitavit eis manum meam , et pugionem eius lumen gloriae,
Relicta meae effercio fluere sanguis subito currere libero.
Ex profundo flamma surgit millennial amisso puella puer ,
Quæ est angeli redivivam sinit luce clarius ostendit .
Et omnis qui non occaecat oculos ad intima ;
Infideles , in momento temporis ponere in obprobrium .
*** stellae ab Diua sacrorum opera voluntatis
Dum coccineum limen transeat , lucem adfert .
Momento enim omnes in caelo et in terris sunt ,
Sicut dies longus tandem inclinatus ante noctem veniat .
In tenebris , claritas multo maiorem et perfectiorem descendit ,
Eorum, qui dum in nomine meo orbata est devium.
Sicut incensum in conspectu angelorum ira animos eorum , occlusum ...
Ferrum IRRETUS texturae talis effugere nequeunt carcerem
Nam quicquid occaecat vidit lucem et scindit
Nisi quia in templis revellens mortalibus irae.
Et , postquam ipsæ fuerint fornicatæ infidelium , ut uoles, petulans ,
Et factum est in excogitando dogma , quod de ratione immemor ?
Horrendum non fides sit , tamen ita fecisse ,
Ante finem exspectent praemia petunt .
*** enim , ut est in paradisum suscipit dereliquerunt ...
Imago autem libertatis quam servitutis et negotio.
Nimia tempus extractam converterat a gladio:
****, ut spectet ad salutem in lucem , caeca lumina sua .

Antiphon alpha :
Quia hoc est ut , barbaris quoque innocentiae gentilitium mendacium vendere ...
Numquid et vos vultis emere , aut aliquam nunc forsitan putas,
Ad sciendum neque rationi consentaneum neque aetate sapientes ...
Quod si non moverent malles *** saltare!
Pleni sunt somnia noctes ; Dies mei tantum ...
Ego ad bis et quem maxime diligebam , in purpura quoque , et aprico occasus .
Ego autem haec imago non ad tangere memoriam tot ,
Qui replet in sanguinem furoris me , et frigidam desiderio finis .
Et considerandum est quod *** in ultima desperatione rerum , in cuius manu mea, equo et pilos in ore gladii ,
Nam ni ita esset, nunquam tamen inde trans familia .
Sed abusus est , ut fuit, et quidem instar caedentes sepem
An ut reliquos omnes transcendunt omnia , amice!
Ego superfui , transfiguravi ascendi in fine est ,
Multo magis quam erat, non plus quam diruere animus .
Sed tamen , quia speravi in solitudinem , ut a somno exsuscitem ancillam meam in flamma ...
Ardet , o superi, ut arbitror , usque uror dissiliunt!
De caelo et magis obscurant vestris, et tridentes, et contritio ,
Audio furorem tympana caelo antiqui gigantes hiemes.
Dii irascantur et ecce valide erutas ,
Uvasque calcantes Angeli hominis Illi autem vinariis ageretur ...
Recordatus sum in omnibus navigantibus battleship galaxies ,
In die ortus nubes inter exaestuans, quod ' vaporem ...
Depopulari Sodomam et Gomorrham, ad contumelias !
Ibi eram: et *** impiis non perire denique gemitu.
Ut illuderet mihi : et populus , quia ego bonus sum male velle ,
A Deo est, quam diu tot mala ferre cogetur .
Ego autem non sum solus , quia multa in eo et detorqueri
Deus remittit, nam adhuc sed non est intellectus ;

Section II : Hostiam de Spider

Part I : ( Rident Primus )

Caelum non egerunt pœnitentiam super ulcus nigrum est furore , et in indignatione, et in iustitia :
Et factus sum caro , quamvis intellectus non mortale .
In antro loca , quæ transivi , et dæmonia multa discurrunt ,
Et locis minus adhuc amor in search of a provocare .
In quo autem in craticiis tectoria atria mea, et thronus fuit stabilis ...
Et super collem , ubi dolorum laborum animae perit labor in mundanis ,
Transcendi vincula et consilio fidelium expectabo laudatur.
Ignis et sulphur et, semper est dextera arderent super altare ?
Ridentem cogo faciem meam : non enim veni , ut velle,
Ut in hora *** iam iuvenem, *** proposito aureum ...
Quæ pro impenso super solidum, pretium quis ,
Qui autem non cognovit , quomodo cupiam sibi solvere ...
Furor solitudinis nascitur ira nascitur ex malitia,
Qui autem contemnunt me , quia sine causa Provocantes me .
Quid est **** , impunitatem , ne quis putaret se excusat ;
Quam sapere , *** culturis tuum: mergi , in balneis , in ardentem .
Loquor de inferno, qui est infidelis nescis ?
Neque enim suis oculis effossis clavorum ...
Loquor cruciatus qui daemonia fecerunt superat .
Primus erit mihi dolor meus *** omnis fera voluntas ut ratio ...
Ut qui me conspui caro quod ambulans ,
Nescis modo larva facies mea , abscondens se.
Attendit ad illa nihil nisi insipientis solis erratur in sonis cantus
Tantum numerus ratus e fratre soror .
Sed in caelestibus quae sine causa nata est incestus est alchemical ?
Habitat in me peccatum occultum compages sǽculo.
Sit mihi vim inter gentes auditus est ABSURDUS musica ...
Spiritus meus qui regit omne simile est genitus.

Part II ( vindicta aurum )

In hortos, in quibus cupiditas sanguis rosaria semina ,
I , in manu eorum , qui esurit Quorum sitit aquam surgit !
In quaerere dilectionis affectum bestiis pavi eget
Quid faciam ut pudeat , habet me non elit .
O **** , quo impune ausu palamque vociferari ,
Quod amor sit ex me credis , et me opus manuum tuarum ,
Ut timidus , et cucurrit ad me latere turba depravari ,
In simulata excellentiam tuam , et ipse te vile animal .
Coniunctio oris linguae quasi telam laqueari
Si fieri potest araneae ; et fugiet a turpis ut octo pedes nidum ...
Et *** jam non calidus humanitatis indignum ,
Cogitans te meliorem quam reliqui descendes !
Ut vitae pretium millies , tibimetipsi .
Creaturam factus sum nocte expectant te aranea heu !
Nolite putare quia ego audirem . utrumque stridens cruris ...
Odium ductor tuus , et equi ejus , et ascensorem ejus .
Et in vestra web Video vos, Quirites immune ungues acuti ,
Ad toxicus venenum , quod oculis non potes, nisi te , octo ...
Ex quo bases Caesios sine timore, et sic primum
Ut dolores tuos comedat vos accendentes ignem caelum ;
Detur paenitentiae venia , quae dicis omnia cogit , ne superare dolores ,
Qui tibi semper, quæ videtur , non est potentia ad non noceat .
Et ascendit ulterius sapere plus pavoris tui ...
Numquam puerile ludibrium ulla facta .
Omnis domus tua dissolutae horologiorum ad socium non est ?
In desertis chaos est gaudium, ut si quod habuerunt.
Surgit in novum ordinem , nemo potest negare chaos genitus locus ,
Dum descendes perdunt, muneribus laesae.

PARS III ( Ultimo Rident)

Et sic videtur quod Angelus se et ante deam
Angelus autem nominis vocare aliquis tenuerit formarum.
Et qui in illis est , maiora sunt, ego saepe ad extraneas ,
Fingunt enim se perfectum , ignorant eorum saevitum ,
Num amor crustacea tam veteri quam in praedam , et mendicum ,
Quod minus quam tuum est , quam sumpsi eaque cibum ...
Est autem tarn coquina sicut clibanus tua vadit et ora
Ipse, ipse est extra te praemium virtutis tuae chores ,
Sicut enim res suo cuidam negotium , qui meretricem ... Lorem ipsum leve,
Putas praemium amaret , et mendicum , falli te .
Quid autem vocatis me alienum **** ... amor est malum , et hoc pudet,
Et similiter anima atque animus , quibus tandem corpus infirmare.
Vides tantum larva ... sub aspectu nisurum
Larva ut me in tenebris tenebris latet .
Circa collum tuum habebis , ut falsae aestimationis pendet a mortuis, et corona ,
Quia sterilis tibi relinquo mundum , Intenta ancillæ.
Consurgitur in excitate de reliquis abire tibi , qui sunt cognati mei
De manibus eorum procul offendant pedes vestri ?
Qui manet in coemeterio quasi mortui
Non tollere incorruptione Nimis tibi dubium .
Hue tacito lachrymis virgines flere ...
Ad mea, et robur , in quo praeda, gregibus rursum super vias hominum ,
Ad eos qui non ineptis metus mutetur ,
Aureus transmutare non magis quam plumbea nocte dies ;
Quod verum est de fine , qui scit ... Alchemist
Magistra rerum artes a me in profundum.
Ágite , quod sum aggressus creatura placet mutare ...
Ut res sunt nostrae demiurgorum lasciva oscula enim calidius ?

Omega Antiphon :
Non est autem in Utopia , non videtur quod ...
Donec ut nosmet ipsos cognoscimus prima quaerimus imaginem .
*** et in sacrificio sui ipsius , a volunt reddi obsequium ...
Qui ad reformandam et divina se , *** Leo renata agnus mitis !
Sicut in Christo, ex parte in qua invocatum est cicatrix, et vulneratus est ...
Sed simplex conversio ad dissimilis vultus nolui .
Memini dolore meo, ut acer et vehemens ...
Donee tantum possum emissus dolor servare sensu caret.
Quomodo potest aedificare paradisum non est, nisi in se mutant ;
Mutare ante mutatum esse non est in medio ; quae est in via .
Qua ad paradisum , et oportet eam, et non deficiunt,
Ne ad caelum, nisi quam nos aedificare illud infernum iniustitiis nos .
Utopia , non ruunt ad genus humanum, nisi a te, tu es qui habitavit ?
Nisi quod est extra omne malum quod in se corrumpunt ,
Manifestum enim est , nisi malum, quod mundatam ab omnibus malis moribus.
Tunc malitia faciatis abstulit senex super pluteo tom .
An non intellegat , quid est salvator ...
*** diceret quod non omne quod simplices filii ingredi
Regnum caelorum , et inde ad delectationem pertinere ...
Et quomodo potes perfrui , si tibi placet , cauillando crudelis ?
*** aurora tempore domini nituntur hominum planeta ...
Numquam imaginandi praecipiet ut discat primum voluntatis.
Non armorum vi , nec inutile mandatum ...
Sed *** modestia , et misericordia ; ergo qui ad cor suum in satietatem,
Gáudii innumerabiles et celebrationibus quae causa ?
Sed animus intendatur dolores peccatum lacus.
Ubi plausus rotundum vt quilibet sensus ?
Modernitatem iocabitur ullum definitum ornare.

Section III : sacrificium sui

Part I : ( hortos perditio )

A ziggurat sublatus est , arenosa in calidum lateres , quos coquetis in igne ...
Septem fabulae in caelum, sicut turris Babel ,
Quod in solitudinem, et in

parched tongue
please
mister
cola
carmex
these cracked lips
it's time
to hydrate
this carbo
bi-
sickling
through vacant streets
for a cure
my tummy
is like this town
a desiccant cactus
it's 12 a.m.
in stockton
12 amens
spew
from dry desert gums
i sea
liquor store
icee
soda
this is
no mirage
i found
atlantis
at the bottom
of a coke bottle

peddling back home
         peddling
                 peddling
stop
I dropped


My holy grail
He stops
Is he thirsty?
He pulls knife
Like a sleeved playing card
“give me your ****”
Poor minus poor
0-0
=0
Or X0
After he cheapshots me
Fist meet face
Face meet fist
obliged
Profit
10 cents
Gym membership
Fuzzy lint *****
But not my soda
Or my sweat
Or my tears
Or my blood
It’s time
To hydrate

leads to hyper-    
active hyper-                                        
dependant
carbo-
fffffffFFFFIIIIiiiiIIIIIZZzzzzzZ
                             zzzzlleeee     pOP
               aggggaachugggggggaaaNGGGulp.
-nated
people
who fin
d
it hard to face the
sugarless silence

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

macht frei... arbeit...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

      für einz! ich war auf zweck!

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