cheapskates:

what a nice,
and at the same time
privy word....

    recognised within
the framework
of people

          who don't bother
to pay for art...

because they think,
well, they don't exactly
think with
any orthodox care
to state a fact...

    this is going down
the rough & tumble...

        people stop paying
for art,
   they stop earning a soul...
i can't blame them,
but i also can't earn from
them...

   meaning they're neither
appreciating nor
consuming
      the adequate response...

the mob rule said:
20th century artists had
too much fun...
          
am i going to side with
chopin piano antics
or that of sonny clark?
d'uh... obviously the latter...

imagine free cabbage,
and free meats...
   for some, ******* oblivious
reason, there's free art...

    at this point artists mighy as well
cite herr ******...
  the "failed" artists...
and that's implying
a non-inclusive stance
for the man regarded as
a anti-jew-****** with a jewish
girlfriend that was eva braun...

christianity has no other patron
saint of artists, other than
kinder adolf...

  fa-king irony...
                
as far as the current zeitgeist states:
thieving is o.k.,
          stealing is smart...
          so, stop, complaining,
you, dumb, ***, *******,
whether, you, like, or, don't, like,
the karaoke, import,
into mainstream, media:

i just hope you choke on this
cultural output,
   and take it like a *****,
that i know you are;
  i hate cheapskates...

                  i just imagine these
people having as much knowledge
of music, as the music
farmers used to hear,
i.e.: grunts of horses, snorting of pigs,
clucking / clocking in of chickens...
            
  never, in the history of man
has stealing become so normalißed...
so nonchalant...
                up yours and the a.i.
cherokee algorithm...
                
              what a bunch of wanks
and yanks put together...
  you just feel like
              smashing them with
the edge of a cricket bat...
   till they resemble a crimson
balloon stuffed with plums.

with no maths for happy
i divided my ' why? '
by Zero
and fell in Love again
like a sceptic
with a wild falsehood
masquerading as
a plausible
X = " WHY ? "

but  we know not.

better i should makes waves
in the cavernous
and strike wood
with earnest flint, and cheapskates
on golden ponds of ice
unfathomed, mostly
dark good
with sternest glimpse, for pete's sake  
and i could go on, twice
as unaccounted, ghostly
numb soot
in the worm's mint sutures; an armour plate
of Unreal numbers.... kites
in the unfounded, frozen
in the floating point
of a Reason.

or I could call You.... hmmmmm..... ?

i'm going with Loki on this one... as taught: φ... is the iota needed? never mind... φιλoφαρσα - let's just play musical hiding places: φλoκεφ - and subsequently losing an omicron with ρ, or iotas from φ, χand ψ - it's a Jewish game... a Vegan milkshake sort of gangrene bruise on how aesthetics are different across our ethnic spectrum.

and it usually begins with a white coffee in the morning
with a few cigarettes, so the nicotine tuberculosis
subsides and i phlegm out a schnitzel -
but it works, i ate two meals a day,
i starve still dinner, then eat for closure after
the binge... i rarely attempt a breakfast for champions,
given i usually finish a bottle of whiskey or bourbon
the night before... i call it the mandible diet,
ensuring that beauty is mandible, bendable,
who would **** a skeleton pose, i'm not quiet sure,
the **** industry treats their women like
the lust for flesh in the Renaissance - plump...
or simply mandible.
a fond memory: drinking absinthe on the streets
of Athens before the revolution started,
cackling a mad laugh, just so the Greeks might
remember... so many junkies on the streets back
then, before the bust... junkies with baby buggies
walking down the streets injecting Afghan sunsets
into their veins, never made it to the mount of
Parthenon, like i never went for a tourist trip of
Edinburgh castle... instead... hooked up with a few
Algerians and went to the strip-club...
mm (smile)... fun there...
ah ****, never mind, or today, a bottle of bourbon
and a pint-bottle of Heineken...
then menthol filters and papers for rolling tobacco...
then a quick walk about the neighbourhood...
madman's luck in the end... the karma brigade came
along... the infinite factors involved, more thrill
than from playing the lottery, gambler neutral...
just walk, sulk a bit, laugh a while,
have a drink, have a smoke... walk past the social
centre and it's cheap disco "get together" on
the Saturday, two girls discussing how the night-out
will plan out in the cheap outer-London bars
(not as bad as that bar in Seven Kings...
imagine walking into a house with the kitchen
having carpets... all the evaporating oil,
all the scents... this bar near my school was like that...
it didn't have hard flooring, it was all dressed in
carpets... sickly **** sweat blood... the sort of place
you'd bring your drug dealer to... and unsurprisingly
my drug dealer was a Jamaican, into his Illuminati
conspiracies, who i listened to with human respect
while he showed me aliens, hyenas talking Hindu,
and starving Buddhas breaking the 40 days and nights
in the desert limit... kinda self-deprecating
given he was Jamaican and i was a white boy rummaging
outer-East London grime... but you have to fit in somewhere,
right?)
so the two girls at the bus stop... me hardly the gambling man...
and there is was... smiling at me on the ground...
'would you believe it?' i said to my father
watching the Olympic gold medal match between Brasil
and Germany... 'a 20 quid note!'
and it was, a little bit wet, a little bit gritty...
madman's luck... in my pocket a 20 quid banknote...
that's lucky, that's more lucky than gambling
with 3 lottery numbers for the same amount...
well, actually the winnings are £10 with 3 numbers...
i have found £10 twice and a fiver... but twenty quid?
no chance! well... until now...
and that's lucky... just like that Nietzsche quote
about looking down (and being praised)
and looking up (and being ******) -
well fair enough about cheapskates - but when the probability
game comes up, and you do find some money
on the street (not merely a lost copper penny) you sort
of start thinking: i'd have more odds finding
a laughing gas ******-shell of the bullet of injection...
and there are plenty of those littering the streets around
here... don't know, but i can depict outer
London suburbs like the streets of Sudan... junkies
everywhere... so that's how you play gambler neutral:
you don't expect to find anything while walking
smoking and drinking a few beers...
but it's the sort of exercise routine that pays... ha ha,
literally... which ain't that bad as when you
realise what's happening in the world... in today's
Saturday edition of *the times a real harrowing...
a sketch of the article:
    beware #thinstagram: does social media need a
  heath warning?
           vegan blogger, clean-eating regime,
            masking her severe eating disorder,
            death threats ensued - wellness trend
            tipping into an unhealthy obsession?
            carrots and sweet potato a.o.k.
            result? an Essex suntan... oorangé -
            psychological distress, the doughnut
            schizophrenic - i.e. the doughnuts are
           speaking to me people -
           (i'm not even going for mug smartness
            with a scythe moon extension of
            the jawline, Stephen King is an amateur
            in this respect - look up writing the
            horrors designating your ears to
            every contort of the world... the real horrors
            are the ones you can't escape,
            some of them yours, but mostly other people)
     orthorexia nervosa: crucial, the benzene ring
positioning, all the coin-phrasing-tossers
will probably come up with the other two:
metarexia and pararexia... whatever that might mean...
orthorexia? internet fuelled obsession with clean-eating
Calais / kale shakes (cos it's said Kalé in French, ******)
avocados on toast... who the **** does that routine?
£30 five-day juice cleaners... but still, the only
cure for a hangover is to keep on drinking...
gluten-free sales up 63% from 2012 to 2014...
almond milk sales 80% sales increase year by year
(given only 1 - 2% of people in Britain have a health allergy)...
NutriBullet smoothie-maker (black Friday 2014):
one sold every 30 seconds...
£9 million spent on avocados a year...
increase in kale being sold: 400%...
drinking a smoothie consisting of 12 bananas... /
            and this is happening, these people aren't living their
lives... they're selling them... me?
you think i get paid or do you think i drop a line about
Nietzsche or Heidegger like Diogenes mouthing off
Alexander the Great about blocking out the sun
****** mooove! and by the way, just so you don't think
that i think highly of Nietzsche... that fable about the madman
going into a market sq. with a lamp at noon looking for
god? ironic, because Diogenes did exactly the same thing...
but he wasn't looking for god... oddly enough he was looking
for an honest man.

Brain in the freeway.
Synaptic processes.
Love and care.
Swindles and cheapskates.
A quick review of the perception of your existence.

And....
here comes the cadence as the chant of defeat comes again.

call it a mixtape of hannibal lecter's thirst, and a throng of rats nibbling.

well, according to a well known canadian
psychologist,
   hierarchies, the golden pyramids
of giza -
   as heidegger pointed out: we don't
question enough, with "enough"
answers being given -
    i wonder, what's the answer to a question
that begins with:
    the negative emotion of a question,
is fuelled by a positively adrenaline fuelled
answer?
does the bone translate?
i.e. do the mawlers, the incisors, the K9s turn
    into the brazen knuckles,
later munching on the resorting
    last "defence"
         of cannibalistic intent?
sharing,
as much as anything: being part of a crowd,
it's a bit like as shallow
  as competing for the linguistic fashion
kórwa!* - and very much an acute u -
for the syllable stressors are in place,
as one german student told me:
scheisse is simply not enough...
    same with the word rat...
   szczór -
          if you ever had a problem, my answer
is as simply put as: sz = sh,
          cz = ch -
                       just that...
            sh / choor...
           there's no crowd here, there is no
sense of "belonging", there's only the sense
of sigma -
     beyond that we delve into dreams;
mind you, you already say the czech
republic, and seem to have no problem with
that...
  check, cheque - checkers & wine & cheapskates
& chips &... charcoal chips...
  what's the ******* problem then?
               cat got yer tongue?
you seemed like the sort of people
proficient with language -
  seems like an egyptian plague
has suddenly been showered on you
in the form of a diacritical / meteorite shower:
signs from above!
         and if we don't address the theme of
slavs turning into the next jews of europe,
we'll be handled down the phrase currently
established: vermin...
      vermin likes a bite, likes to bite back...  
as said by king (król) rat (szczór)...
                                gehenna chatter ensues;
mind you, those sadistic gehenna dentists
are itching to make the next patient:
   a marathon man.