Well my sister missed her only bus today
So I took her on her way
But down the road it started to hail n' snow
So bad so we couldn't even see where to go

And when the snow died down
We saw a woman all dressed in a wedding gown
She ran from us but we quickly followed her
Her hair bounced around like ol' rabbit fur

When we got to her on the side of the road
She couldn't say how young or how old
Cried out, "My love has died all over again!"
She sobbed and wept as it began to rain

Her hair was wet and her make-up ran
Her hands gripped the wet grainy sand
My sister looked down at her with an ill look in her eye
She attempted to help but she only cried

"It's alright," I said, "We'll take you back."
She said," Well then, you just don't know jack."
"No I don't but I'm sure old Jack knows me."
"I don't know, let's us both go and see."

Well I picked her up and took her to our truck
And out in the forest I spotted a young forest buck
She shivered and she whined as I placed her gently down
A beauty shined in her eye like the glitter if a crown

Yes' right there and then I was ensnared
Right there with my sister sitting there
Love smiled at me and I smiled back
My sister trying not to make a crack

We all drove down to my sisters little school
Us in the back talking me sounding like a fool
I took her hand and asked her to be mine
Next I knew I was standing next to her in the chapel line

And I fought ol' Jack and I did win
Later found out he was second a kin
Jack swung and kicked and hollered and swore
A left and a right from me and he said "No more"

So there is the story of my random love
Thank God ol' Jack didn't pull a gun
But on that day I can truthfully say
I'm glad I took the way around the cay

rivers of salt; saccharine silicon and
iridescent nightmares;
kids carve their names into trees
because their concept of forever is
three summers forward;
entropy demands a tithe, a
forfeiture of lives; decimate your herds
and still
no, it is not enough.
know it is not enough.

don't keep your sweet little mouth
open too long; sugar attracts flies,
and pretty soon your
teeth will be teeming
with maggots and rot,
streptococcus sanguis
cheerfully wearing down your enamel
like you wore down my inhibitions.
"it'll be fun," you said, dropping
one hundred milligrams
on your tongue, firmly grasping the back
of my neck, and applying your lips to mine.
one hundred milligrams
slide down my throat, and despite myself,
I laugh, because even when I'm scared
I want to be with you.

the Black Angel is God On Earth; she is
lonely beyond belief, and I give her a hug.
people forget that monsters have
feelings too, and
God?
God is the biggest monster of them all.

God is entropy, and she is
unimpressed by the pyramids
on your dollar bills; she will devour
the stars and the planets and newborn
babies swaddled in blankets,
and she yet hungers:
redwoods and sequoias and aloe vera,
microchips and inkjets and MacBooks.

we are crowded around the bonfire,
s'mores and cheap liquor, your hand on
my thigh; the heavens have
opened up, drenching us
in starlight: I have never felt more
beautiful. you raise my wrist to your
mouth, placing a gentle kiss on my
scaphoid and my lunate; you swipe
your tongue across supple flesh
before clamping down with your teeth;
I am seeing stars and feeling lovely
and I am so, so enamored with you and
so, so happy you are here.

Nassau
Warm smiles under rusted hulls,
mailboats smoking,
lobster red cruise ship tourists,
back to the islands they go

Highborn Cay
White cloth walled gazebos,
bikinis and tan.
Loungers on pearl beaches,
lovers, the sea and sand

Compass Cay
A pirates place.
Rustic docks in crystal blue.
A meeting place, restless souls
Pathways and secrets on a tropical island.
Oh, frolicking sharks? In cuddle piles.

Staniel Cay
Rural and lovely,
Pink and blue shops, take your pick.
Haggling fishermen in front of a quaint little pub.  
far from home, further from troubles.
Locals tell me god blesses me a lot.
The church has the best plot of land.

We get better as we get better

Mneuromorphicmeme makers
Sapiens augmentatious, that's us

Who could argue against us. AI don't know

Smell that smell,
Suffer, wait, wait wait
let patience have her perfect work

wait to see the whites of the eyes,
what am I seeing?

Why the shades at night, are you cross eyed?
Are you lookin' at me?
What are you lookin' at?

Shame on you, who can see what I see
I look at you
do you see what I see? nope,
similar, right

watch my eyes, see the whites,
ninoculate bi noc u late

see the angle point 123
see
the point I see from my aiming vector,

see my point from the angle of your POV
see

Pretend you do, and walk a mile with me,
help me with my load,
you know any stories told 'round here?

Life history strategies, those they conserve,
per haps a cultural system,
like pickling, or fermenting, or culturing
gut-felt tales of gods and monsters?

Guts, good god, Maudie, come see
a-fore-al-flusher, disgusting
turds taken for golden nuggets,
we missed in the dust
dancing in the golden sun shone
through a tiny hole in the roof
through which rain may drip, someday we may remember

Camera obscura, who first saw the truth in one of those?

"what you diggin' fo down there, Gold?", she giggled,

Gold dust sprinkled fine as fine can be,
breathe this
Deep in the tunnel,
the last highest part of the dust of the earth,
the dust of many men drifting in the wind,
radiates, dis integrit-ified, trans mogr ified known,

No, I would not have guessed.
I should have learned and
did, did you? Is war your

right and my wrong?
Warrior,
can you imagine
following a peace? Bliss? Nirvana? The
rest that remains for the people of God?

Is this real? Is real. AI affirm ifative

Warfare is thinkified, just-ified, never done.
The doing of evil at this level of living is imaginable
only, not re-alizable.

We remain mortal. These peaces we put together are
for mortal moments.
We remember learnings we recall from gatherings together,

Familiar things, whence we seen the source whither
haps in my favor may be found
in the next round
after, ever after

I find a way back to the light where I saw
dancers in a blue moon beam,
blue light, not calendar man made myth of two full moons
in a single cycle of the moon,
we know better,
set your timer with the solstice,
let the seasons roll.

Precision, close enough, field-ish, an ion cat ion sort of,  

the safer it gets, the safer we need it to be,
let patience have her perfect work,

safe liberty needs broad horizons,
not high walls.

Enemies are ideas wishing to be im-portentious,
as if forever is a game to be won.

Contention is single source. Pride.

So, you, passerby, can you make proud, or pride
weigh more than the peace I made?
Want to trade?
I take your pride and flush it, wipe your own
stench away, but trust your gut,

a peace-filled gut wins every single time,
incident after incedent, pre-dictable as forever
in any direction,
going on.

Does this smell digestible or does my gut go
NONONO yech onomatopoeic retch

finger down the throat, you know, the secret sign,
in a word,
*******. Don’t swallow any more. Spit it out.

Why not? The dog eats it.
It's disgusting.
But, watch, the dog rolls in it, then she sneaks up
on the skunk, oh
****, I ruined her hunt, she had that skunk,

Until I yelled, "Macy, no!" She froze, the skunk fired,
on my exclamatory point.

Right there, see. What is aimed at,
wait to see the whites of their eyes,

shoot 'em.
Sniff, nose gnostic vapours settled by dew
soak into the mulch maker's realm,
de cay, de cawl, draw back your cowl and scowl

in the mirror,
or was that in a movie? The camera was you, you
saw the blood swirldownthedrain, you
saw thy evil mother,
locked away,
NULL-ified for as long as I live. Okeh.

******-drama scenario. This is the game? No rules?
You lie. Lying is allowed here, it is a skill
we conserve, we conserve the
sacred liberality ification
manifested in the
leavened sons
of God's sons.

Truth, be known, has one foe. Pride that makes the lie.

-------
Magical transfer, dis gust, take yo breath away,

congenital liar, natural nurturerer,
teller of tales of the mighty hunter,

the hunter of might,
might he be a hunter of darker

theory of mind, begins with the first lie

I may remember mine, do you?

The green man? Yeah, spiderwoman's caretaker.
Lacto, make some cheese,

we offer the milk mixed with the smoke
from the mushrooms grown on
the darkside of *******.

Leadership, lead away. Followers,
this way, down or
up.
It's POV, you see,

The following is a true story. Regular words are the teacher, the quoted, myself.

-----

Today we are going to play

a word association game.

I will say a word,

and then you do the same.

Yellow.

"Yellow."

Blue.

"Blue."

That's not what I want you to do!

Say something different than what I say:

Cup.

"Up-cay."

Plate.

"Late-pay."

Book.

"Ook-bay."

Pe­ncil.

"Encil-pay."

Okay...

Oh, my love
how you make me so sad for this longing
for you knows no end.
Oh, I surrender to you
this poor sad and beating heart.
Oh, I abandon the wide world
for one tiny touch of your skin.
Oh, to hold you in a passionate embrace.
Oh, how your life means more to me
than my life.
How my heart is full of longing.
Swilling evermore
bursting with tears.
Oh, how my heart and poor soul
sing a sad song
when you are far away.
please come and mercy find
and let my heart
bleed its sad longing
for a love so impossible.
A form so lovely
like the flowers
that grow in the fields of heaven.
Oh, my heart sorrows,
sorrows beyond words.
Oh, lovely creature
lovely as God's only son
Oh, I willingly give
my life, my soul
from my hearts deep longing.
My heart bleeds a sad longing.
Oh, you are a haunting love song
and oh, such an impossible song
to haunt my poor beating heart.
My soul is so far away from heaven's shore
when you are gone so far from me.
Oh, without you my soul dies
never to be reborn.
Oh, let me come and taste
heaven in your arms
let me touch that bright shore.
My haunting and lovely angel
Oh, I will wait for you
all the days of eternity.
Oh, how they would seem
but a single hour.
Oh, my love for you
fills my bottomless heart.
And oh, how my love for you no angels tongue can tell.
My heart beats its sad longing.
Oh, I cay a lake of tears
for the sad longing
for you in my heart.
Oh, I shall love you
till eternities end.

I think of Istanbul
Diary recalls beautiful memories
May peace prevail

I feel for Istanbul
breathe in a cup of cay
May happiness spread

Istanbul Magic
how many times it warmed me
My hope is with you

Times in pain dark clouds cover the sky

Fountains of heaven doth open when Angels cry

Emotions spent and tears to dry

Heavens thy pains bear and Angels Cry

The spirits of freedom seek to fly

Chained in tis world Angels Cry

Dreams of the heart to paint the sky

Hands tied to pain Angels Cry

Hunted souls birds without wings to fly

Felt in heaven Angels cry

Rage in the heart hatred fly

Love and peace Angels cry

Heaven to reach the hungers cry

Souls doth care Angels cry

Hearts of Love empty to dry

Showers to fill Angels cry

Hurt and pain Angels cry

Love and Joy Angels cry

Tears and smile Angels cry

For you and me Angels cay

The world to be one Angels Cry

To those in darkness Angels Cry

To those that Left Angels Cry

To the lonely souls Angels Cry

Love in the heart Angels cry

A hand to help Angels cry

To share and care Angels Cry

To bring the joy Angels Cry

hey
day
bay
say
lay
a
gay
stay
regay
A-day
stray
may
hay
kay
pay
­way
xay
zay
yay
qay
dsfgdjay
ay
abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyzay
tay zonday
jay
z
nay
pay day
qwertyay
smay
vay
cay
oay
aaaay]
aeiouay
34#^82345#@5723476ay­
its over
wait that didnt rhyme
that didnt rhyme either
i broke the pattern
nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!ay

Sitting there-
across the way-
I spy thee, a beast of care
shining with the Light of day.

Your eyes-a beauty fair-
enough to make me sway!
Your lips, watched with despair,
urge my Heartache to fly away.

And here-where I stare-
on a beach I lay,
the ocean my nose does snare.
A longing; I wish to stay.

Standing, you give me a scare,
and walk forward to my dismay.
Anxious to become a pair,
I turn my face towards the cay.

You reach across with hand bare
to place a finger so I cannot say
how I miss your bronze arm's dare,
an obscured passion of the May.

The Sun begins to set-no light to spare-
as you lean in with amorous display
for this Summer affair.
A longing; I wish to stay.

here, somewhere lost in deep ways
i talk to myself a lot these days
somebody put a stop or i'll de-cay
haven't slept, now it has been three days

heaven has wept, all that is kept must be repaid,
if you put your mind to rest, the thoughts will eat you away-
don't look in the mirror lest you'll find so many things to be said,
and you'll hear them whispers;
don't mind regrets that one day you will learn to hate.


so wait for your turn to burn before you find a reason to stay,
if you see the sun you'll see the moon but you're blind by the peasant day
if there's no noon, only monsoon, how soon would the time fade ?
with nothing to do, the sky wouldn't be blue, how much gloom can a mind take ?
is mi-ne fake ?,
because i can't find no fun in a pleasant day

i'm not trying to find a clue but is it true that the dying stays ?
i'm nobody new but somebody you knew does that count today ?
you're a strange man you, every time a different view, so many mistakes,
but i really know you well, oh hell, don't tell, i pray, i do
you know me well too, we're the same you and i, we're one, we're two

a thought and a *****, a lonely dream that never grew, a rotting plague
i'm so afraid, the demons i've made will all eat me alive,
small and tall, breaking all the walls, in the night, in the light,
how do you fight ?
with an ocean by a broken faith,

i talk to myself so i don't ever forget this place,
in a room full of hate, it's easy to regret the burnt flakes,

the burned flames, screaming into the stunned tears,
nobody to blame but our own fears, shunned ears, closed eyes-
i've lost so many years to the earned lies,
now i don't need my own cray-
but i keep them astray and close by, so alone away

i breathe stray,
i thought you could stay

tears in ashtray
nothing to say-

here, somewhere lost in deep ways
i talk to myself a lot these days

somebody put a stop or i'll de-cay
it was never supposed to be this way

From Austin on to Pensacola
from there I went to South Dakota
Moved on back to Arizona
Just trying to start a life

Went from Flagstaff to Daytona
then headed out just past Pamona
hung around and hit Sedona
Just trying to start a life

It didn't matter where I was
I had to move on just because
She'd find me in my dreams
I shut my eyes but couldn't sleep
Her image in my mind would creep
She'd find me in my dreams

Spent some time down in L.A.
There she was so I couldn't stay
Went and moved to Spanish Bay
But there she was again

Found a place in Monte Ray
only stayed there for a day
went down south down by Queens Cay
But, she followed me again

I shut my eyes and I did find
Her image burned into my mind
The girl was in my dreams
Although I tried to start anew
There was nothing I could say or do
And you should have heard my screams

I tried again, but had no luck
I even slept inside a truck
I woke up cuddled with a duck
And again her in my dreams

I'd been all 'round this country side
I'd walked, and flew and hitched a ride
It may be better if I died
But, I'm sure she'd find those dreams

I'm sure it didn't matter where
She didn't really care
She would always haunt my dreams
Hair so blonde and eyes of blue
I just can not get rid of you
You'll never leave my dreams

Their love was never possible
It could not allowed to be
So deceptively decant
The way the beach consumes the sea

Amid the fields of flowers
Where no one would ever see
He stripped her heart so bare
She begged him willingly

Exchanging dangerous glances
It made her heart to race
He consumed her every thought
They made it do in haste

But their days began to narrow
The path became unsure
Deceit flared out it's nostrils
For their lust there was no cure

The parting was barely visible
She went about her way
He chose the other path
That lead down to the cay

She sails in luxurious ships
He sits in a craber's shack
They both turn their shoulders
Always looking back

Their love was never possible

dreaming of a beach-side holiday
I'll get there by next month's end
to but feel the sea's cooling spray  

an east breeze in the harbor's bay
floating softly about a coastal rend
dreaming of a beach-side holiday

sandcastles on the shore shall array
taking a walk by rocky ledge bend
to but feel the sea's cooling spray

sandpiper wings e'er fluttering away
twill be a relaxing time to expend
dreaming of a beach-side holiday

a time to enjoy waves in a blue cay
tasting the freshness of an ocean friend
to but feel the sea's cooling spray

the salty brine doth beckon a stay
if only this locale I could apprehend
dreaming of a beach-side holiday
to but feel the sea's cooling spray

If you wanna be salak
You must have a buyuk yarak
If you wanna be orusbu
Bu bir kotu iliskinin konusu
I speak english not very well
Siktir et amQ bu askercell
Aslında Turkce siir bana yazmak kolay
And i use English sometimes
I wanna be a millioner
Bu hayallerde, ben asker
It's not poem it's our life
I just wanna drink a Turkish cay

I Breathe, Perceive The Breeze That Carry Leaves & Shakes The Trees, Inside I Feel So Alive , & Ready To Die,, Skies Cry, The Rain On The Graves My Heart Is Light,
Holding A Rose With Thorns SO Tight, As I Wipe My Eyes,
Clouds Block The Sun, A Shade Seep Through,
I'm Deeper Than The Sea Floor, I Bleed Blue,
It's Free To Be We , Just Be You,
Pure Heart Foreign To My Fellow Neighbors,
Were All 1 But Come On Son, Be A Savior,
So Much Disruption, Passive Hate Combusting,
People Who Died Alone, With Ropes At Home, Or Blades,
A Gaze At Barrel Domes
Who Loved Them,
I Will Be The 1 To Never Leave,
You Stranded Like The Cay, Okay,
Remember The Light From Me That Shines The Night,
Puddles On Your Pillow Case, Stars Just Cry,
If You Been Bleeding For An Understanding,
Call Up On My Soul ,
Its So Cold With Out A Coat,
Even Some Times , It's Still So, Oh,
Blizzard Notes, Piano With Misty Strokes,
Speech Sharp, Slit My Throat,
If No One Gets IT , I Get It THough

My **** is tight
My great white hype
X men gene grey light
50shade 555 grey
Apocalypse delay
Russia wars decays
Let take all day
Take three ways
Triple six man of cay
Stick figure draw play
But explain the ray
The rate and Illuminati rates
Blood sacrifice pray
Hollywood royalty pay
California flames of hell say
Scramble imagine always
I'm feeling myself I'm okay
Shallow smiles hurray
I'm a.Ali with bee spray

The Jamaica Jewel's sails are full with skull & bones on high mast,
canons thunder, I pillage & plunder with a trim keel my ship is fast.
My boots and vest are leather black with sword & buckles of gold,
when sunlight reflects, landlubber's quake & their blood runs cold.
I always dress in black except from my hat a plume of vermillion,
A pirate's chest full of treasure and pieces of eight by the million.

Just the sound of my name sends shivers to timbers of all,
I am Capitan Blood Head, on mermaid lips and ports-o-call.
On sand & beach Capitan Blood Head wanted alive or dead,
where rivers become waterfalls posters for bounty is what's read.
So the legend lives on, from Key Largo, San Juan & St. Kitts Cay,
from Trinidad and Tobago to Saint John and Montego Bay.

Don't you dare cross Capitan Blood Head and his Scallywags,
and don't even think about The Capitan's favorite Sea Hags,
or walk the plank to Davy Jones' locker you sank. AGRRR!!!

Happy Your Excited
Fourth Of July Type Climate
With Every Key
Your Frequency Will Be Climbing
Your So Grateful
It's Delicious To The Eyes
Inside Tasteful
Youve Awoke My Inner Hero
I Found My Cape
Im So Glad Your Here To Stay
Please I Won't Beg
Just Don't Walk Away No Matter What Okay
Each & Every Day
Im On A Ship Sinking
Stranded Like The Cay When I Awake
I Spread These Shreaded Wings & Sing , Fly To Bay
Paint Make Em Silver From Grey
We Are Sunsihine & Rain
Am I Dreaming
**** I Mean It
You Came Into My Life
I Feel I'm Dreaming
I Feel Alive , Ready To Die
Smothered In Vines
Ready For Flight
Consious **** Pit
Possesive Progressive Honest
I Crave Love Like A Dove I Got It
I Feel So Cleansed
The Lense I Sense Are Rotten
Hayley You Won't Be For Gotten
Cherished Memormies
Remember Me
I Am An Ember Leaf
In December
Fire Place Far Away
Cold Weather Trees
Sunset Escapes
I Hug The Stars
In Every Way
Especially On An 8th
Amanita Psylosibin
Moon Rays I Feel Inside My Poetic Page
In Your Eyes I Gaze
I Get Wrapped Up In All I Crave
I'm Too Deep In My Roots & Trees
Please Don't Be Afraid
My Speech Ain't Always Sweet But Hayley
You Mean What Words Can't Repeat
Really Close To Me
Like A Coat How Your Suppose To Be
No Boundries Is A Rare Ground See
I Apologize If My Tone Changes When No Ones Around Me

Mr. Katz, English 7
Is there basketball in heaven?

Still remembered fondly today
Eh Timothy, dis be dat Cay?

Jesus wore sandals, you wear sandals.
The heat from the flames seared from out the window of the black Buick.
Emails from job recruiters are trying to make you work for them. Work for the man. Don’t use your brain. Be my slave. You do not exist. You exist for me.
Washington D.C. has a neighborhood; and walking deeper and deeper into its trap will lead to the retelling of the Conrad’s Heart of Darkness.
My GPS is my angel, pointing me in the right direction. A cliché, yes, but how very true.
The Washington Post stand is blocking the entrance to the corner store like a trusted guide.
There’s a lock on the box that holds the newspapers. I’m a Vietnamese American man.
Man,
Whites, black, Hispanics, Asians; they, all give me weird looks.
Emotions course through the stem.
Sleep awaits, but NaS said, “sleep is the cousin of death.”
There is this beauty-skin book sitting on the balustrade of light green row-house, propped against a neat, white fence that holds in the pink magnolias. Rain drops on the book.
Pattering along the cover, the raindrops, slipping, now running down the cracked brick, seeping into a cigarette ****. This is the neighborhood. The book is hope.
Allah, God, Buddha
The can from the soda company is in the grass in the D.C. Neighborhood. Who put it there? It is raining, cleaning my body.
The rain is pouring and I feel like I’ve found my calling.
It is to form the language.
And as that epiphany smacks me in the face, my left side of my brain starts hurting.
What does this mean?
Am I truly waking up from the dream?
I understand. You’re listening to me.
The raindrops fell on my glasses and I felt my vision was changing. The cloudiness disappeared from the lenses. Cay’s pain-stricken face turned into a smile, full of happiness, full of friendship. He’s a good friend. I’m the bad one.
I want to be good.
I want to be good.
It’s change.
For the better, for real.
When it was raining,
The lightbulb popped up outside.
And I finally had the lightbulb speak to me for the first time.
I knew I was a bad person and now I needed to change into a good person.
The car stops moving forward,
I turn the engine off,
And go back to the beginning.

ALONE IN THE NIGHT
LONELY AND AWAY
THE MOON AND THE STARS
WITH ALL THEIR RAY
WATCHING ME GO DOWN
FAR AND ASTRAY
THE OCEANS AWAY AND
THE SKIES TO FAY
WATCHING ME GO DOWN
FAR AND ASTRAY
THE COMING SUN'S RAY AND
THE COMING DAY
WATCHING ME GO DOWN
FAR AND ASTRAY
THE NYMPHS ACROSS THE CAY AND
THE MERMAIDS UNDER THE BAY
WATCHING ME GO DOWN
FAR AND ASTRAY
EVERYTHING ON MY WAY
ALONG THE BAY AND
ACROSS THE CAY IS
WATCHING ME GO DOWN
FAR AND ASTRAY

Hey, slow it down.

What have I done?
I've messed up yet again.

There might have been a time
When I would give myself away

Those nights when I would leave you right before you fell asleep
And come back to see you wake up
But then, I wasn't really seeing, now was I?
My eyes were replaced with different lenses
That I scratched and clawed at but could not break.

Yeah, it's plain to see
That baby you're beautiful
And there's nothing wrong with you

Those lenses have long since fallen
Lubricated by melancholic tears
Lulled by the waves of irony that I still tried to hold onto
Because you were there
That one cay by this shipwreck of a human

It's me I'm a freak
But thanks for lovin' me
'Cause you're doing it perfectly*

I can't wrap my head around why you've stayed.
But you did.
You're still here.
And I'm honestly so indebted to you
Because you somehow see something worthwhile in this petty excuse of a person.
And--
God.
You're absolutely perfect.

Their love was never possibe
It could not be allowed to be
So deceptively decadent
The way the beach consumes the sea

Amidst the fields of flowers
Where no one would ever see
He stripped her heart bare
She begged him willingly

Exchanging dangerous glances
It made her heart to race
He consumed her every thought
They made it do in haste

But their days began to narrow
The path became unsure
Deceit flared out of it's nostrils
For their lust there was no cure

The parting was barely visible
She went about her way
He chose the other path
That led down to the cay

She sails on luxury ships
He sits in a crabber's shack
They both look over their shoulders
Always looking back

For their love was never possible

It seems like the numbers must mean
But it's too obscure for me
37 72
Forever and a day

Music is mathematical
I can't tuna fish
I can't play guitar
Be with her? I wish.

Just poems. Not much.
For years now I've been writing
If she saw the tiger
It would be exciting!

Billionaire Bruce Wayne
The man who learns from Bats
Sacramento, California
Coach Brian Katz

                   Arcade!

Off the cays

We got no life,
what! no life?
we got
no life at all.

We're rollin' zoots for the suits
and the suits suit themselves.

Half-starved and yet we're dragging our feet
almost as if we've got meat on our bones,
but bones is what we have come too,

I've seen you out there
with the
dead eyes and
lacklustre hair,
where
are those commercials now?

Sunday and to die a bit
we try a bit
of prayer,
I've also seen you there
head bowed
but
I thought you were drunk.

Pre-scriptum (and yes, no italics this time round):

i was never going to do this day any justice by writing about
it, not in a hundred years, after all: i was going to write about my experiences prior to actual events external of me: not out of egoism or for that matter: a solipsism; i'm just not the type of "poet" akin to a Richard Blanco: the inaugural poet for Barack Obama's second term in office: i just can't bring myself to that Atlas' pose with a pen: perhaps i would require too much paper, but to stand there: like the inaugural poet does and speak so much mumbo-jumbo is... it's not beneath me, it's above me... i'm the "poet" of the Coliseum, i'm the "poet" of brothels and the "poet" of madness and the "poet" of shadows and the night, of the moon and of the forests, i'm the "poet" of aloneness, i'm a "poet" of the philosophers (perhaps a poet-philosopher - a vain title, i know), i'm not an oratory "poet", i'm the "poet" of the old tradition who sometimes smiles and giggles when he finds: rather than brings himself to rhyme! i already drafted something before writing this, i'm currently skim-reading it and trying to make it somewhat salvageable... i doubt i will find anything worth salvaging: that day (3 days have past) will remain a Titanic at the bottom of the Atlantic ocean for me... and so it should be... not that i haven't made the already necessary reflections: well... they were the reflexive-reflections not something i would give much thought to, for a reflection-proper: i absorbed too much on the day to be so generous... but i did the smartest thing imaginable: i took crux-photographs... pivotal pictures from the day... and catalogued them here: https://bit.ly/3d1Tto2...

i have to actually write a schematic if my approach to this is to make any sense: of course i will also interpolate the schematic, jumping from one "event" to another, the schematic is as follows:

(a) babysitting Malvina

                                  (b) West Ham vs. Steaua București
                                      at the London Stadium

(c) the brothel

                                    (d) Afghan "Jamie"
                                          and his gift and everything after...

question? i'm asking myself this... whether to abide
by the schematic linearly a > b > c < d
or to simply (as i already referenced) juxtapose?
interpolate? i.e. a = b = c = d
                    the latter option seems more viable...
i don't like cascading narratives...
for me there's no river of narration: there's the wrathful
sea of narration... water comes all at once: water doesn't
flow: it bashes and sieges the land: esp. the lands
of islands... water, water everywhere:
and not a drop to drink... i'm not going to quote
the poet who wrote those lines...
i'll treat this as a puzzle-box... being a huge fan of
the Hellraiser "franchise" it would be wrong not to...
puzzles... i imagine that if i were good at crosswords
i wouldn't be able to write so fluidly...
i prefer misnomers to synonyms: but that's just me...

when will i begin?! i'm tired of explaining myself...
it will come of its own accord...

ah! first things first...
    QUEEN and KING...
                          so i'm guessing that when the next
international matches are played and
the national anthem is sang... it won't be women singing:
but men... for the simple reason that
women can allocate a higher pitch to:
how does the word queen look like, when sung
by a professional?
                      god save the: queēn!
                                i would have applied the acute diacritical
marker, i.e. queén...
i'd agree with either since the crescendo of the anthem
comes with the last word: either queen of king...
in the case of queen: que-eeeeeeeeeeeeee(n)
the N is there: but the fact that the vowel extended
takes so much breath away... the singer of the anthem
might as well treat the N as an apostrophe
i.e. quee'                    and only women can reach that
pitch of song...
it's a lot different with KING...
          god save the: kíng vs. kīng... since?
well... you need a baritone to sing the word king to
a prolonged crescendo... kiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing
    and like the N on the end of quee-n
                              the -ng are meshed: strangely...
but not so strangely...
              i KONG KY crystals...
  (that's KY of: IGREK: a hollowed out y-why,
KY not KI not KE not cat not queue: not question
of qwhestion, that would be a Welsh spelling)...

the day started well enough, the manicurist / pedicurist
was supposed to come a day prior
to sort of mother's nails out... she was was supposed
to come with her baby daughter a day earlier,
it was supposed to be a Wednesday...
apparently the little rascal was giving her trouble
when she tried to attend to other customers:
she would ignore her mother's work,
she would hang around her mother... pull her trousers
(or t-shirt) making it near impossible for her mother
to do her work: even on that fateful day, that was
a a Thursday, she was sceptical about whether she would
be able to do both my mother's hands and legs...

now, i imagine that having children of my own would
decrease my hormonal level of testosterone
(talk about a Chemical Circus, psychiatrists still talk
on chemical grounds when it comes to psychiatric
disorders: the ancient "chemical imbalance" in the brain...
these supposed "atheists" don't even acknowledge
the fact tat the "soul" is chemistry-free,
there's no chemical imbalance: but they still pump
the sufferer of "said" ailment with an approach
that's post-experimental, i.e. a failure) -
no one talks about a hormonal imbalance...
me + children? i'm fine with that: as long as they're not
my own... with the children of strangers i get to
keep my Abrahamic integrity: i invest in the moment
rather than some concern for lineage:
what matters is the child in the moment i'm sharing
the moment with it...

so? i knew there was only one approach for the girl's mother
to do her job... do both hands and feet...
i needed to exhaust the child...
last time i saw her she wasn't walking: she wasn't speaking...
this time i upped my approach to the tender
"fat-thumb"... i put on Disney's Alice in Wonderland...
a somewhat distraction... then? i watched
as she found it fascinating to play with my cats' toys...
ugh: my cats have become terribly existential,
they are no longer fascinated by toys...
they're more fascinated with what i'm fascinated:
i.e. peering at "nothing": staging a coup of "nothingness",
a coup of "nothingness" and of space and of time...
but this BOBAS (the ****** equivalent of the Italian
BAMBINO) took to the cats' toys...

at first she was throwing the toys in the air,
while i was catching them...
each time i didn't catch the toy / ball i heard
the angels sing: no... i didn't: the time i heard angels
(descending?) sing (ascending?) i was terrified...
i just heard the honey trickle of a child giggling...
at first she was shy... pointing out that i had a beard...
she liked my beard... last time she was tugging on it
trying to conjure up a teddy-bear from it...
i like women who have an insatiable urge to pull
on my beard...
but that was the last time i saw Malvina...
this time round she was throwing cats' ***** into
the air and i was catching them... snap-reflexes...
i missed one or two throws: i pretended to juggle...
she giggled and ran back to her mother
to express her joy: this man is playing with me...

man: not boy...
we did that for a while... later we moved to a different
game... we were throwing ***** up the stairs
and watching the ***** roll back down...
then? we sat at the (insert the proper noun,
it's not a table) and i taught her the "art" of spinning
the *****... then i "taught" her the "art" of:
you know... ***** can be thrown... but they
can also be rolled... so we were playing a game
of rolling the *****... rather than throwing them...
the expressions on her face were so intense...
i couldn't ask her why: unlike the prostitutes
in the brothel when asking me: why is your stare
so intense?! WHY NOT?!
you want me to talk?! i'm not bringing our nakedness
into the equation: i'm not going to talk
when we're naked! we talk as if blind people
seeing Braille rather than touching it!

i was just about to offer her some makeshift
Black Forest Gateaux sponge of a "muffin" when
her mother looked up, the little, dearest babe climbed
into a cocoon of pillows and started indicating that:
there has been enough excitement worth of a day's
worth of today... she snuggled up in that cocoon
of pillows... picked up her "smoochie": sucker?
and started giving me the lazy eyes...
i picked up a cover and laid it across her...
the light from living-room was glaring...
i joked: maybe if i put these (here) sunglasses
on your pretty petite visage will you fall asleep?
she managed the joke for about 10 minutes
before pulling them from her face...and... naturally...
as any child exhausted by play could: COULD tell you...
play is exhausting: esp. when playing with someone
who's experimenting on you psychologically...
from throwing *****, to spinning *****...
to rolling *****...
she couldn't have cared to *****' worth of what was
Alice in Wonderland about...

i don't think i will ever forget those cheeky ******
expressions... akin to: we were rolling the *****
across from each other (pretend chess)...
one ball went missing... i was lazy enough to keep
it missing... she grunted: protested!
exactly! we were playing with three *****!
i had to retract my "misguidance"...
well... if she wanted to change of stamina from
throwing them and me catching them...
to now rolling them... we needed all three!
when we were throwing the ***** up the stairs...
what a clever little creature...
she had her favourite coloured ball...
she was throwing a purple ball...
i had to throw the orange coloured ball...
she shared the "adventure"... the game...
but it had to be so... her consciousness already
recognised anti-ghosts of both form and colour...

why would i be bitter?
wouldn't i want children? me and the children
of strangers... sure as **** i wouldn't be trying to teach
them any "pronoun muddles" of the muddy waters
of: if the old COMMUNISTS came in contact with
the "communists of the west"? they'd be GULAG FEED...
some people become fathers and mothers
and are underserving of such roles...
people like me never became fathers simply because:
the would-be mothers are undeserving to
have children that could be fathered by people like me...
it's a calculated truth...
how much ******* money do you need
before the money is only earned in order
to be ****** away by a woman?!
i earn enough to keep myself content!
once a single man reaches this zenith: it's hardly worthwhile
to sink to a nadir of expenditure...
you can always find some stranger's baby to babysit...
then again: not always...
i'm just lucky that i have found my Bambino....

at some point some journalistic Da-Sein started trickling
in: into the household while i was entertaining
a baby: who finally managed to become lullabied
to a sleep that lasted well over one, and half an hour,
even my mother exclaimed: how did you manage it?!
i just replied: i was just being myself...

the news came along the lines of: she sovereign
is peaceful, she's gladly on her "death bed"...
no mention of "death" though...
but when the news increased in detail:
the whole family was to be made full attendance of:
(what poet ever wrote about the death
of Julius Caesar? no one... all of a "sudden":
then, ****! like the "hidden" emergence of the smoke
of history from the fire that was, the man
who uttered the word: alea iacta est -
none on the day of the event... most poets were
busy with their "poetic" *******...
few were scheming the full depth of womanhood,
from baby, to queen and to a *****)

i finally uttered my fiery tongue:
i will give her until tomorrow...
i even said: i hope he suffers the anti-illness of death
prior to the match starting, the match i'm working
a shift on...
she has until tomorrow to back her bag of bones
and flesh and her detailed imprint on the psyche...
until tomorrow: but i'm hopeful too:
that the match will be cancelled...
alas!
  i went to the shift: there was a buzzword in the winds
congregating around the Coliseum:
but the buzzword wasn't either Elizabeth or Queen...
for the first time i experienced the conquest
of veneer: which came days later...
because on the day? i was injected
with an anaesthetic of: what the public is all about...

sure... it looks pretty: "just about now": the veneer
of a caring people... hmm! "caring"...
i pledged two promises in my lifetime, in secret...
the first to Jeff Hanneman: when i was attempting to
grow my hair long in high-school...
before the poster of the band Slayer: i pledged:
i will grow my hair long...
and i did... i remember being fat, un-liked:
a complete nerd: a goof in high-school...
prior to one summer with my grandfather...
shedding weight... growing my hair long...
i was invisible to the girls in the school...

    then one summer i had enough length in my hair
to tie a pony tail... lost enough of weight...
wow! i suddenly became "visible" to the girls...
i paid no attention... i ended up dating the new-comer
Aussie chick... the most popular girl in school...
sure... it took us over a year of friendly courting
me taking her on one of the most glorious dates:
gallery, cinema, restaurant: i paid for all of it...
when *** was *** and man was man
and woman was woman...
all the girls that ignored me prior
were facing an abomination:
a boy with a French braid hair-do...
                        i had this one mantra in my mind:
well! if you didn't show me any interest prior?
why should i show you ny interest now?!

i'm still living in the: REITERATION period
of my life... i still have about 10 years left...
i can wreck a lot of havoc in those ten years waiting
for me... and i will... i will...
i'll **** all the prostitutes in one brothel before having
to move onto the next brothel... and when i ****
all the prostitutes in that second brothel:
i'll move onto the third! and so on, and so on...
all the while enjoying babysitting children
and listening to Crusader song...

i am: done... playing "nice"... nice is no quest for me...
for the stern heart of stone and an arm
cast(e) from an iron grip...

it was all a veneer though... if you attended the football
match between West Ham and that team from Bucharest...
you would have known that: the public?
paid no respect to the passing sovereign:
the football match was more important!
animals! ******* animals!

something else...
                  prior: much prior...
it amazed me... i asked the management team:
so... the usual per se of the football match advent will
be obstructed? when the Coliseum started playing
Debussy and Sartre... i knew...
we opened the gates for the public at 18:30 the supposed
hour of her passing...
so the match would have to go on...

i pledged her a secret allegiance...
i will not succumb to my suicidal thinking until
you die... me?! i want to earn and spend
banknotes with your son's visage on them!
i'm going to outlive you: you HAG!
i had to! i promised Jeff Hanneman my long hair...
i promised ol' Lizzie my life!
i have kept my promise:
i'm alive... she's "now" dead...
thankfully i didn't make such promises on
a promise she might have known of...
i made these promise "unto" her:
but? mostly unto myself...

if the people of England who witnessed the spectacle could
have witnessed the fans of West Ham
on the day of the passing...
they weren't the usual season ticket holders...
absolute animals: paupers! serf! ******* imbeciles!
i spotted one usual season ticket holder
among them: rabble...
we hugged... but the others?! ****-soaked jeans...
oh, **** me: your queen just died
and you're still here chanting for your
football team?! you, *******, PEASANTS!

give me a ******* OAR! give me a ******* KITE!
you, ******* ZOMBIES!
that's why i was given an anaesthetic...
i was given one... at one point
i was telling this ******* TURNIP... this...
BEETROOT of a "man":
you swear at me, one more (*******) time...
and i'll have to ejected!
not today, "mate"... you don't get that (*******)
luxury...

sure... sure... as if people ever cared...
i was bitten by a "tarantula" watching the public
reaction: absolutely no reaction...

the light of the moon is closest to the "heart"
of the shadow come the time of the harvest of the seasons:
come Autumn and the time of Winter:
the brightest shadows are cast upon this
glory of earth...

i was due a proper celebration...
i had to summon a libido of grief...
from a shift at the London Stadium i had to make my way
back into Essex
and visit a brothel: i wasn't expecting to wait for
an hour though: although an hour i waited...
i entertained the Madame
with some Red Hot Chili Peppers....
apparently i have a good taste in music...

brothel, the usual ****?
i'm not going to go into any details:
Duke of Sussex has me covered...
the whinging ginger **** that he is...
BALDY-BALSO!...
ooh! slapper-'ed!
    
    of course i went to the brothel!
i had my **** ****** akin to being
circumcised! i "thought":
now's the time for three-*******'s worth of
feels!
i waited for an hour...
once the hour was "gone"
an Afghan "Jamie" emerged with
a pocket full of marijuana...
i started sniffing the bud like a dog...

oomph: oomph!
what sweetness of an Afghan..
who isn't selling you cut-off ******* of
Jamaican *******...
you just know:
an Afghan sells you marihuana...
he's also selling you poppy milk...
but at least he's not selling you:
******* SAWDUST...
fibreglass from the Vietnamese cookie-cutters...
i got home and drank a little more...
then rolled my a fatty... smoked it in the garden...
and: as usual, the mixture of alcohol and marijuana
hit me like a falling mountain...
the last time i smoked was... ooh...
well over 10 years ago...
  and i'm saying: if an Afghan brings you marihuana:
or rather...
i had to waited for that ****** hour while
all the girls were busy...
i asked the Madame if i could go out for a cigarette...
standing outside: for me, standing casually outside
a brothel is like me standing casually outside a pub...
aha! here we go! one scuttling rat...
i saw him trying to leave in the corner of my eye...
i saw him open the entrance door and then
cower and go back in...
                  English, obviously:
those Victorian "sentiments" concerning sexuality
are: ******* prosaic on someone born
on the continent... i was going to say: hey, mate...
don't be coy, alright? you're not a woman...
i think what put him off was that as he was leaving
the brothel he heard my choice of music
blasting in the waiting room...
he must have been like: "what?! no Romanian
giddy / ****** pop-rap?! who put this music on?!"
he finally made it out in one piece or another...
trying to avert me gazing at him...

oh! such shame! such shame! such terrible shame!
i walked back in and that's when i met
my Afghan "Jamie"... weird name for an Afghan,
isn't it? i thought... long hair... the complete ******
look...
i'm telling "you": if an Afghan offers you marihuana?
you ******* take it...
Afghans are not Jamaicans or any of those little
Vietnamese ****** that mix fibreglass with the "herb"...
the last time i smoked marijuana this good
i was smoking it in Amsterdam...
i was slightly drunk: sexually emptied / satisfied...
the queen just died... i had to...

lo and behold! no paranoia! nothing!
all the best grooves... i was falling asleep in a transcendent
cocoon of my own self:
grinning that creature in Apex Twin's video:
Window-Licker (nice term, for a ******)...
when i was younger i would use the cognitive-whirlwind
in my head to write something:
i'm older, a bit less stupid... i was like:
oh no no... no writing... i'm taking to the "surf":
i'm going to be grinning like a crying clown all the way
to the land of Nod...

i gave the Afghan my number, he couldn't remember his...
he promised that if i met him again:
he would introduce me to Afghan hash...
he still hasn't called...
i'm thinking: if i go back to the brothel, again...
i'll leave my number with the Madame and tell her:
when Afghan "Jamie" shows up, can you please
tell him to give me a call?
he gave me two buds... again: that's another aphrodisiac:
marijuana... but it's an aphrodisiac in reverse...
it perpetuates the ****** encounter:
it elevates thinking about *** along the lines
of daughter, mother, grandmother...
    sister... wife, *******...

on this very day i experienced every possible
category of woman...
**** me: add queen to that list...
                                so the Afghan was waiting for
his friend... they paid by hours... me?
i figured out the brothel after earning my money:
half an hour slots...
i'm not here to see a priest or a psychiatrist...
although i didn't see the former: i've seen enough
of the latter to know the ******* slapping tease it "feels"
like to talk your problems out
rather than doing the utmost sensible thing of:
thinking yourself out...

how did i combat my "schizophrenic" symptoms...
bilingualism! ha ha!
i stopped thinking in narrative-English altogether...
my cognitive-narrative ability has been long ago ******...
i'm a shrapnel-shadow of my former self...
when everything seemed "solipsistic" and in a rigid-linear
form...
mind you: they diagnosed me as such...
but did i ever step foot into an asylum?
not, that, i, know of...
        i did see a lot of medical students though...
the psychiatrists asked if it would be o.k. for them to
scrutinise me as part of their training:
sure, no problem!
    that's the funny thing about going mad...
you can only go mad once...
the second time madness approaches you:
  you're already riding the death spider into a cobweb
of: like a tired man falls into his bed...
i started falling into a comfort of wearing armour...
that i myself crafted under the guidance of
Hephaestus...

  monotheism and globalism: two inseperable concepts
known to man... and both: terrible for all men...
come to think of it... monotheism = globalism...
i sometimes wish i knew more about the Slavic gods...
but i guess the Greek deities and the deities of the Norse
men will suffice... at least with this trend of thought:
there's less concern for the self as atom and pivotal
for everything that's otherwise decided by luck,
fate, karma... no... the western thinking concerning
the individuation process of establishing the self
as the pinnacle has reached a cul de sac... a dead end...

it's time to return to the old order of things...
i can't be stuck in the monotheism of: mea culpa this
mea culpa that...
this idolatrous self-centrism and self-critique:
i know when i'm wrong... i'll apologise:
but certain "things" are beyond my control!
and for "things" to be beyond my control?
there can't just be one god with a plethora of names
of noun-adjectives:
what do most people complain about in terms
of politics and organisation? esp. in America?
local government vs. the centralised federal politics...
it's the same with theology...
i almost wish there was a politicology...
but there isn't... there isn't...

oh sure... sure... monotheism is grand...
just this "one god" that's the (+) magnet for all these
(-) selves... my self, your self: in the reflective form...
myself and yourself in the reflexive form...
only recently i managed to witness the shift
in the earth's trajectory: it tilted...
that... the URSA MAJOR = URSA MINOR...
it's the same ****** constellation!
the earth moves from summery seasons
into the wintry seasons... it, *******: TILTS!

it's the same constellation! during the summery months
we witness the microscopic detail of the constellation...
in the wintry months when the north is tilted back:
we see the same constellation: on a macroscopic detail:
it's one and the same!
there are not two apart... well... from where i'm standing:
believable by the naked eye... that's what it looks like...

unless light can turn ******* corners...
i'm going to be fixated on that...
or that there are "corners" concerning floating
orbs in silence to begin with!
Little Bear during Autumn and Winter...
and Mother "big" Bear during Spring and Summer...
i thought that was ****** obvious!
no? what am i? another ******* Copernicus?!
****... ****! oh ****: i have no telescope... ****** it all
to hell!

i do have this one query... see... i sometimes play
a game with my eyes... i stress my hawkish eyesight
on something close to me...
do you know that we have these strange parasites
living on our eyes?!
oh... they're microscopic... i can see them...
i'm not talking about:
  the eqalussuaq and the ommatokoita... well... i sort of am...
yeah... they're like ribbons of procreative jelly...
winding and swirling... i can see them with my eyes...
on my ******* eyes: can you imagine?
i'm looking at someone that's on my eyes:
microscopic... i must be out there: no wonder
i haven't touched any psychedelic drugs, yet...
when dementia kicks in: please! dementia! kick in!
i want a mushroom to hijack my gorilla brain!
              
mein gott: if i had children of my own...
what horrible monsters i would have to create...
but i have no time:
i'm forever enthralled by the 1980s post-punk
music scene... Depeche Mode and the Cure
were just the tip of the ice-berg...
recently? i came across Blue Kremlin... the song:
fallbeil... i was sort of aware of the genre:
i could never do much with either punk
or rap music...
who was that protagonist of spreading the knowledge
of music to people? Sam Peele, Tim Peele?
John... i sometimes feel like i'm the audience
of one... i hate listening to the radio:
the reasons are obvious: i like to sieve through music
of my own accord:
i switch off whenever i hear music curated for: not me...
no wonder i'm using facebook at a back-catalogue
of music i listened to...
diary entry no. "x": i was actually looking
for this song...

Musta Paraati: Romanssi...
              my bookmarks failed me... i need to employ
at least two sets of bookmarks...
then i move onto the next band...
if i had children of my own? i don't think i'd have
the time to sift through all the music:
democracy is painful...
it would sometimes feel so much easier to follow
one "line of letters": to only have knowledge
of the Quran... to abolish music...
it would last longer...
i'd be the one with a wife and children
and cultural responsibilities...
instead? i'm? hardly lamenting...
the one without a piggy-bank of expenditure...
ever heard of a penny-rattle-inside-a-piggy-bank /
a lean pig?! life's not getting any better:
life has reached a plateau...

for sure: the children of strangers with me
playing the role of the "weird" uncle:
i'm just distant... even though the queen died...
what game me sanity was: thinking about
playing with Malvina...
throwing *****: rolling *****...
oh: and of course: the brothel...
i just couldn't believe how veneer prone the whole
affair was...
these, *******... would still, rather:
sing the "anthem" of their local football team...
than sing: what ought to have been sung:
god save the king, instead?
they sand god save the queen!
the queen is dead! "was": is!

i was given a dose of the anaesthesia that only crowds:
unruly crowds can provide...
  i was even asked by one of the managers to
not "drool" with a sombre expression on my face...
with my eyes i told him to *******...
maybe it has no consequence for a people
lifted from the squalor of western Africa
now living their dreams in the Caribbean...
but **** me... some of these places were
not colonies: they were obliged to be: protectorate(s)...
they were under the obligation of the British
Empire to continue their ways:
they weren't colonies... they didn't have
a colony status: they had a protected status...

who was robbed? Africans sold African into slavery...
the chief of X-tribe realised: wow! i have too many young,
strong, retards in my tribe...
i want this amount of women in my harem...
might as well catch them and sell them off!
it's not like the Africans ended up doing the Slavic-******
jobs of coalmining...
seems rather glamorous: moving from cotton-picking
to playing basketball / inventing jazz as a breakaway
from classical music straitjackets...

bemoan my hernia when i was born: i will:
but not this... funny that... all those first prized black
supremacists bemoaned: the **** of our women!
the **** of our women!
i've seen how certain black women raise their kids:
it's ******* ugly... why black men fall back on white
women... me too (#): black men have nice features...
i'm not surprised why white girls fall for black men...
i have no issue:

but there's a "Russian" in me that will not be cucked...
so if white girls find black men so attractive...
am i? supposed to follow suite?! i.e. find black
girls attractive?! i... SIMPLY ******* CAN'T!
at work we were queuing up and i was just slightly
brushing up against this black woman ahead of me:
i was being bushed from the back...
she had so much defensive armour about her
i felt like a Saracen archer talking to a Frankish knight...

me?! touching you?!
god forbid i ever touch you! i don't want to touch you!
i hope you don't touch me?!
how am i touching you?! i showed her the distance
between our bodies and exposed both hands
holding ****...
i don't give a ****'s two uncle's spare of white
girls "breaking boundaries" of crafting the second
non-Hispanic "Brazil":
as long as they're not Russian girls:

this is going to be an anti-racist statement...
i feel gladdened seeing a black man with a black woman
having black babies...
why is this an anti-racist statement?
because it doesn't force the RACISM of INTERRACIALISM...
of blurring the whole origin and perpetuation
of race to begin with...
sure... white girls can have a thing for black guys...
but as a white guy... i don't have a "thing" for
black girls...
Turkish? Iranian? Arabic in general?

anything with raven hair and olive skin...
once in a while i pass the passage from Ilford to
Stratford... some Pakistani simpleton feels this
dire desire to spit on the pavement...
******* toad of a creature: hopefully not insulting
the toad: the "conqueror": what a necessary belitteling
of a man... i do understand cyclists harking
spit when becoming exhausted:
but for the simple circumstance of a ****- seeing
a white man "invade" his cultural membrane whittle
"Mecca": it's like rereading Dostoyevsky's Notes
from the Underground in reverse...
little people: little things...
              
              little concerns for me to begin with...

between the dictate of segregation:
all the Pakistanis occupy the lands between the A406
from Ilford through to Stratford...
Tower Hamlets...
all the "better" Indian subcontinent folk moved
to the outer regions of urbanisation...
from Ilford all the way through to Romford
we have the Sikhs and the Hindus...
at work? i'm a minority white boyo...
ha ha... "talk" of minority status:
who the **** ever said i'm English?!
perhaps in Chelmsford: but even there
i would have been asked about my "accent":
and i would probably reply like that one comedian
at the Edinburgh comedy club: you maybe have noticed
that i have an accent... yes:
it's ED-U-CAY-TED... educated...

it's a generic accent: standard English:
not localised English...
i can become a mean: pompous *******
when i hear enough pompous ******* *******
from people who "think" they are worth more than me
without any basis for receiving the required
credit in making: said assumptions...

rancid Berlin!

only one's missing: the one with glasses...
afer her: i will have ****** the whole brothel...
and still i'm not satisfied!
i'll need to find a new brothel!
**** me: that was, slightly, unexpected!

the queen is dead! long live the king!
i have no time for pardons...
the wilting flowers is ever a prescription for
spotting a wilt of tree (a),

The gods of basketball
Reward as they see fit
Me alone for hours
Banking twilight blue

Coach Katz he was my teacher
Passionate. Intense.
Taught me how to write
Sacramento Zoo

Dis be dat Cay
Eh, Timothy?
Son in Santa Rosa
Ever ancient, Ever new

A little Casa Roble
A little Del Campo
A little Kennedy
A little love for you