at the point of entry (explicit)

it does not strike me strange
at the point of entry
when the heightened senses and the dark subconscious merge

when the lust and the sweat intersect
with ego desire and self is everlasting everything
that the ***** words secretion is sticky on my tongue

when I pant poems born in rawness and tears
on this the last day of the year
and eyes closed see visions extraordinaire
and the Maker whispers in both ears see!

it is the see of what is me,
it is the point of entry and departure,
one and the same,
conception an immaculate mess,
the emptying and the fulfilling, when unkempt promises
are born free flowing and semi-truths transform into
actualities unforeseen and my child cells of new poems
are injected, stored, awaiting the birthright
and the death of publication,
my moment of privileged perfection passes
and frowns and smiles are
one and the same, silken thread wove open and shut

the precision precious circumcising of flesh and soul departing

the utter collapse from within, the drowning in the amniotic,
rebirthing rebutting my denying that I have no more to give

I believe I belong to you for it is what the desire firing cylinders
say repeatedly in the union of the up and the down cycle:

come, come inside me,
I am the pleasure
you are the treasure
in one cup measured
conjoined container
when the point of entry is the point of departure
and with eyes closed from satisfaction and prayer
I see everything all at the same time, uttering:

I am undone utterly and the difference between
the end and the beginning can be seen only
at the millisecond long seven decade coming
point of entry

12/31/17 5:38am dawn dying and new day mourning

you really want to attack feminism? now's the time... disown the heritage of male circumcision (m.g.m.) - if you're really peeved off with feminism... stop circumcising... then watch the show.

a girl writes something like this:

My mind wanders too far for me to catch up
The world seems so foggy
I can’t find my thoughts                   -

well, no wonder psychiatry invented
secondary fiction -
dissected the individual into ego (brain)
heart (superego) and **** (id) -
or first person, second person and third person
narratives - she writes *my mind
but then writes a ukulele song -
between possession and dispossession the sigma
is riddled - one deems ownership but
is unsure what it owns on the pH (patent hyperbola-scale) -
the world ain't ******* foggy -
it's foggy because at one time to own the mind,
at another you don't, at one time you
own your thoughts, at another you turn into a robot -
thinking = a conscious affair to obstruct eating a
desert when fulfilled - as Heidegger put it (mildly):
we're still not thinking - the one antibiotic that
treats even the SS man's horrid actions:
um d'uh... i wasn't taught to think, therefore
i can plead the insanity parole - mm d'uh... you can't!
the biggest excuse in jurisprudence is lack
of thinking - people excuse their actions by
excusing their lack of thinking - apparently you
can commit genocide and be pardoned by
excusing your inability to think -
you can **** people, torture them, but be pardoned
on the grounds that you were without
the other essential synonymous with soul... thought...
you can walk free and pardoned when you
prove to people you never learned how to think
outside the schooling realm of up-kept Pythagoras
and 1 + 1 = 2 or a + b + j + e + c + t + i + o + n = abjection -
what a waste of time democratic law is -
never mind humans invoking theocratic jurisprudence
through angelic gossip (that won't help either)
of missing phallus - flap flap - flap flap -
go on, nose dive from the twin towers - pigeon **** for
words in the Koran's worth -
forget proving the soul, or god, do what Heidegger did
by saying: i doubt thought exists -
i'd like to define it, a soul is easier to define, something
not prone to destruction - proof of thought is harder,
too multi-tasked - existential Pandora -
it's hard to imagine people actually thinking when
given automatic tasks - no wonder they sometimes
slip on god's great banana skin - unlike animals
who only have an automaton of eating greenery implanted
in them - whether mammalian elephant tusk or
raw canine chew - their automation is reduced to
constantly need to eat - we have more luxuries -
a naturalist's ***-life is a monologue on the Savannah -
keen on dung-beetles, not so keen on oyster-******* -
i can just **** and laugh given i have my excess skin...
you need a sparring partner - because wanking
without ******* gave birth to Onan - why didn't Freud
spot the Onan Complex? oh wait... in the image
of the Gods... all the Gods have *******...
some dumb Iraqi shepherd cut the details off...
and so came the dominance of woman with what
became the ******* excess metaphorical with her excess...
and so the two factions clashed in Egypt;
oh i believe it... i believe it as in to not ridicule it...
too many serious people... terrorists... orthodox clingers-on...
why not believe it in order to spare yourself
the senseless gymnastics of wordplay governed by ridicule?
there's no harm in believing it... when you
don't have to practice the religiosity behind it with
the dress-code included; mind i wear a t-shirt while
you wear the tux? we're going to the same opera,
and it's pretty dark in the theatre... ah... of course you
won't mind!

when i'm drinking i always think
the whiskey bottle
to be in a predicament
of the bus stop;
i mean, waiting, for my
eager slurp (god i wish
i could insert an onomatopoeia
right now) -
i ate that body part and even
nozzled it, i mean
i stuck my nose in it
being ripe... you better have
sunday's news to let me forget;
i swear, performing oral
*** on women's genitalia
makes you into an orator...
or perhaps a gardener -
that skin fold sure as **** speaks!
well, better testimony than
abraham circumcising isaac
against holy ordained orders
not to; but then the cat and dog
doing overt-******* licking
the **** thing;
yes darling... pooch pooch ouch ooh
now chow ready for a pampering?
munch a moo choo cha cha wee wee?
yeah, get that slobbering *****
filler out of here;
oi! bring bang the blonde comb-over ferret!
i ain't doing the spider dangle
without it!

.oh... hi y'all:
or rather - how did i find this in the noun Ohio?

      i guess after watching
the disaster artist
  and no having watched
the room...

the tetragrammaton
is so glaring to me
in the English tongue,
i might as well be
a reincarnation of
Belshazzar
(but not really...
because, to me,
reincarnation
implies
      a fixed number
of people...
and an mingling
of solipsism from
philosophy,
and NPC from the gaming
world...
no, i can't believe
in reincarnation...
saving grace of
the Hindus?
they're not lactose intolerant;
boogie-woogie-boo-woo
ooh things are turning,
freak-y...
why is that a Y and not
an E?
see... the tetragrammaton
is glaring at me...
like an ***** protruding
phallus with the added
"flavor" of a circumcision
snippet...
me? i'm fine...
no snippet...
    i can ******* as much
as i like and not feel
stupid -
or catholic, about it,
having, in my possession,
an unsheathed "sword").

p.s. it really is the case
of circumcising men
as a procreational motivation,
no ******* on you...
plenty of ******* on her...
and how the east meets
the west...
back in the east i'd be a blessing...
over 'ere?
i'm a walking abortion...
a nuisance...
something you send off
to fight in incestuous...
here's my 100 year closure celebration:      
                                                  V!
like the Welsh longbow men... up yours!
who? in the 100 year war...
the French would cut off the...
****... index or *******?
they would cut off one of the fingers
of the Welsh longbow men...
so they could fire an arrow...
P.O.W.s...
so the Welsh longbow men
came up with V...       a salute
to the French... up yours!
i still have mine!

hence? i don't feel ****** jerking off...
too bad, ol' chap,
you've been given an incentive
to find your missing *******
in a woman's *****...
sorry... i actually feel sorry for
you having this imposed on you...
the missing caftan / hood and all...
sometimes i wondered:
does she even know what she's
doing performing ******* on
me? maybe i could cut my torso off
and show her how to do it?

in the east i'd be a godsend,
but in the west i'm an
embarrassment...
great in tissue... greater still
in pointless wars...
             auxiliary pageant...
sure sure...
glorify the women...
      last time i heard my ex-girlfriend
gave birth to her fourth child...
her fourth daughter...
i seriously should have been
born a ******* Mongol.

puffing out smoke like the entangling of long hair
with my portable hookah of acid apple palette experienced;
then eyelid the softest skin the warm puff puff experienced
when unable to see the gaseous
entangle of thus compared:
cut off the eyelids and become
serpents, rather than circumcising
exchanging loss of masculine
additives with excess of feminine
pin points of skin like the bloating
of the throat: larynx region with a thyroid
cancer bubbling and blubbering:
circumcise and make men eagerly warring...
and women prone to consecrate approval
as if dreaming... a naked sword without a sheath...
but instead of circumcision, the cutting off *******...
cut the eyelids! what then? i'd begin revision
of man by cutting off the eyelids rather than the *******!
**** me, why not both?! cut the eyelids
and cut the *******, then narrate what excesses of
womankind are worth disregarding:
feminine ******* and perverted religion,
hey, excess skin of man was the culprit once,
now the woman's chance to equate kippah with
a monk's hairstyle, with her own slit of
niqab and postbox of forcing through a hole
as narrow / as tight so that an object capably sat on
can be delivered.

a woman might bemoan her spring-like beauty,
to a fleeting a measure,
but a man will bemoan likewise, for
it ever being there
for no reason other than to age and corrupt
readying the infantile imbecile for suicide;
thus a woman is encouraged to use her
beauty in what only men her age dream of -
which is why so many commit to its finality
in greater number -
the open society and her enemies /
the closed society and her allies -
for it is true, a woman's beauty is a man's
morals -both recede exponentially
while the jungle is erased -
yet neither were to be exploited using
an object neither worth a hammer or a nail...
a man is prone to morals while a woman to beauty -
once they age, man is prone to aesthetics
via sculpture, while woman is prone to jurisprudence
via the debate - loose women....
one turns beauty into more beauty...
the other turns complication into more complication...
whatever i say will not make me commit
to the virtue of animals... nor will the crucifix ordeal
make me believe... i'm Chinese on the matter...
as promised: kneel!
"god" said: i won't.
China replied: chow mein you too!
and that's where i come in.
it's not surprise that women abuse their beauty
without morality,
and that men expect morality so early on with only
pensioner Popes to keep morale when they age.
something foetal must be dealing the cards -
i can't speak for the unfair tactic as playground for
**** with easy women and moral men...
circumcising the "excess" skin is another thing when
circumcising vocabulary - thank you feminism -
i got the part when young girls preferred older men,
but short-breathing me shut with what words
i use... *****! no, wait, let's not insult
prostitutes... DONKEY *****!

.well... if they have been circumcised... but do not succumb to ramadam, or anything hebrew... in a secular world, with the feminist movement... if they're not akin to eunuchs... they're certainly *****-whipped... playboys... and that doesn't imply a positive connotation in any respect for whatever it might counter-intuitively imply for the audience of, one, one who might benefit from such an association.

or maybe i just don't appreciate how
women fiddle about with
an uncircumcised phallus...
how's that?
               how about i tell them:
i can ******* much better
than you will ever **** me off...
how's that?
  clearly...
             it almost requires a reminder
via f.g.m.,
concerning the know and
"whereabouts" of *******...
clearly!
          clearly?
  because this is not some *******
jack-in-the-box yanking game...
retards...
         i'm not sorry...
        only one *******
becided to play back the predicament
on me...
******* on: *******...
peeling back the *******: ***...
what's... the... "problem"?
     **** me... van gogh chopped
off his ear akin to st. peter...
i guess jesus christ was also
faced with the same predicament
as i am:
         the caduceus protruding veins
enveloping the *******...
but in all honesty...
with or without the *******...
all of them would yank at it like
some ******* mongol
attempting to skin a yack...
not fun...
               i can pull it back you know...
but no! oh no!
they didn't have any of it...
yanked on it like it was
a ******* plastic serpent thing...
maybe i should have tried
going to a homosexual:
sure as **** i knew what to do with it,
sure as ****: they didn't,
even the prostitutes...
maybe circumcising the females
while keeping the males
uncircumcised would be the worth
of gravity in teaching ***
to these ******* camel jockeys...
'cos' clearly...
    simply circumcising the men
is not helping...
    numbed phallus heads...
numbed cognitive constraints
with no allowance for empathy...
unless the hebrew imbued concern
for fear for the lax...
   instituted by a deity...
       or the ears...
how about we snippet the eye-lids?!
how's that?
             Onan: yes oh grand one...
but i have my ******* on...
you're looking at you with me looking
too, implying:
but i'm pretty sure you were not
born, circumcised, were you?
oh... you were?
  not ears, no nose, no lips...
no eyelids?
              well... well well well...
how about i help you
              to revise the, "situation"?
i guess all the men i ever talked
to were given the hebrew snippet...
and yet... being given it...
they never applied any religous rules
to made advent from the advantage /
disability - highest moral fabric,
i.e. subsequently unable to *******...
no *******: no jerking off...
             but she has *******...
and a web-cam and a *****...
     my oh my: what double standards!
stop circumcising men
without giving them
   a religious grandwork of rules...
and then... watch...
  giving back to them the *******,
and their already waiting:
                                 secular inheritance...
jordan peterson's self-help
rules for life?
  ah, ah, ah ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!
last time i heard,
most of the men on the north american
continent were circumcised,
right?
      at least that's what
***** movies show off...
    how about less of the self-help
*******, and more of the ******* back?

quarter tunes and squirt bottle bafoons
fooling loons out of cash money bank statements
complacent in textile original files
factual ***** in their feather capped heads
circumcising oatmeal kids. Picture this,
bits of fish in outer, not inner, space.
Dr. men manipulating through card tricks
leading to their pent house, fenced out from fresh air.
Nocturnal ****** pressured into dieting
shedding their skin and coughing up black sticky debris
recently I've found more comfort in scolding hot teas
then in eargasm speed dating or mango flavored cough drops
office cops crop pictures of rundown Puerto Rican shops
sloppy kissing gets me wishing for brass buttoned bell
bottoms
televised ****** questions. Sectioned off sidewalks
body shaped chalk talks for motherless kids to gawk at
steeples crease the clouds spreading rapid growth of ingrown
hairs
I pair myself against bears that tear me limb from limb
I'm figuring on pinning up accomplishments
on the egg white walls of my first apartment.
tarped floors and fluorescent glowing ceiling tiles
riled  up mice relentlessly fussing with nests throughout
the night
typing taxidermists chat next door
I'm more ashamed of my basement floor

the rule of thumb is: you really can't go mad twice, no matter how much you try, it happens only once, and soon enough you regain a footing, on a plateau of lucidity.

and it happened to me, i thought we had a verbal
contract, a sort of understanding,
  some locket of trust -
  as i charmed a swan out of *loch lomond
to her giggling pleasure,
     and charmed her with a bedroom filled
with candles,
      i should have known that with my third
persistent impotence she was trouble -
   by the fourth she turned into melting butter...
i can and will be an *******,
  i gather that, but there's only so much
mea culpa crap i'll mantra into my life,
we had a deal, she even suggested to be on
anti-contraceptive pills, because she hated
the rubber inside of her:
  talk about a reality check in the alternative
universe of ***** latex ***,
where the whole body is attired in a catwoman
outfit...
    never mind...
         and when she called me hysterical
about hearing voice saying: i think i'm pregnant,
i told her: you know what you have to
do? what? get an abortion...
   i'm still punching myself in the face from
time to time about that,
but i only said in shock what anyone would
say in shock, then again,
  being a man: i have no chance at redemption...
by my own honest shame even golgotha is
a ******* **** mountain of insignificance...
    i retracted my position on the "enforcement"
weeks later,
   but but then she was already on track
in her insidious ways... wooing another worthy
pundit...
     i'm not painting a picture of a saint,
just another schmuck who stumbled upon a great
****...
             who was promised contraceptive
precautions, who didn't mind the rubbers as much
as "circumcising" himself during *******
by pulling his ******* back, ending up with
a purple pheasant head...
       point being, then the attempted ******:
a complete fail,
   yes, i understand,
           abortion, bad, ******: acceptable if
the person is alive...
       i get the cosmic joke,
      i deserved the attempted ******,
like i deserved the wooing of a girl of 19
with a swan and loch lomond sunset -
   and her scheming plans to "settle down" -
like **** she settled down, last time i visited her
she was already married,
  and at a party, with the slashes arm down
the route of veins, talking to some other guy brag:
oh, i ******, great ****...
     am i worried about being a suburban
cenobite these days?
    no... not really...
           only mostly, in that i am looking
at the greatest mistake that ever came my way
in life: a woman...
       and i did have the antithesis of atheism
happen to me, a psychosis -
or what's called:
    having an awakening with regard to a soul...
a second breath, a thought with a body,
the feeling of a grand puppeteer and the inversion
of unconsciousness, onto an otherwise
formerly body of perfected obedience...
  it still bothers me,
for all i know the kid has been born,
  she's a russian national,
  she's a madwoman,
               if ever the kid would have me talk
about his mother and his surrogate father
he'd blink once, turn pale & subsequently die...
    i "hear" this buzzing in me left ear
that i attribute to: why aren't you paying alimony?!
i'm supposed to pay alimony,
      for what, for a lie?!
  oh right, man up, man this, man that,
              i have enough ******* that states:
there's no chance of pregnancy if you
planned it... well thank **** i didn't...
   the "passing on of genes* argument,
that english existential blackmail argument
is about done, which is what all english philosophy
is these days: blackmailing...
       genes are there, the little ****** wasn't
aborted, someone tried to **** me,
i'm still here, the argument's over...
    there's a balance attained...
and yes, that sentiment by bukowski is spot on:
some people never go mad,
  what horrible lives they must lead...
and don't they? opinionated *** cracks unable
to summon ****-pant into the bedroom
having courted a swan beside the shore
of a scottish lake...
  to later find that she cheats on her husband
and i'm not the husband...
          yes, i did suggest her having an abortion,
but she didn't exactly suggest:
let me move to london with you...
  she sure as **** managed to follow a rich boy
from st. petersburg to edinburgh,
no! i'm done with this mea culpa crap!
i'm done with english existentialism being
nothing more than bribery!
  i'm tired! tired tired tired!
              o.k. fair enough, i can settle on
a status quo, but i can't settle on a friend of mine
acting out the judge, the jury & the executioner
part, i apologised for the suggestion
of abortion, i wanted to make amends,
to retract my original position,
   but was i given a chance? no...
     did she keep up with her infidelities? yes...
    did i keep my status as a suburban cenobite?
sorta... broke it with a ******* after
getting bored with my hand...
    oh, what great horror, when one of them
exclaimed after a string of onomatopoeia
"nursery" rhymes of ******:
  that's been the second time;
what the **** does it take these days,
    a slaughterhouse akin to auschwitz to compare
to the moderately good, but sincerely un-evil man?
guess i'll have to showcase evil
in some perverse way to get the proper
badge of "honour" around here...
   for striving down the middle is about
as recognisable as ******* a pig, donning
a facemask of a goat singing:
  jingle bells, jingle testicles,
                     banging all the way;
might as well call it the moment *** became
******...
    you know why the pharaohs had eunuchs
to guard their harems?
   you do know, right? no ****** back in those
days...
   can't keep a harem without entertainment,
the eunuchs were the ****-lords of the harems,
they were the modern prozzies!
the pharaoh ****** these women to *******
and have heirs, but he needed ****** to
"protect" the harems for entertainment purposes...
****... the ****** "guards" did more *******
than the pharaohs; thus said:
you can compliment the size of king solomon's
harem,
       admire it...
   but back when ****** was not available,
you really can expect me to believe in solomon's
******* stamina... the size of the harem
i can imagine, the stamina of the kind? nope,
esp. since there was no ****** to turn that
limp donkey of a phallus into a galloping
steed, revising 1000+ bored "housewives".

you see them, the sober angry girls
maturing into what the establishment
wants them to be angry about...
they're nearing 40, they're *******,
no, seriously, they're *******...
you're drunk with extrovert
apathy: nonchalance, and you see them...
it's actually scary seeing them...
they're so angry... so ******* angry...
they're like having just undergone
I.V.F. treatment... they're so angry...
they could do a better job circumcising you
than a Rabbi... ******* off
your ******* clean...
i'm just happy to have a day with another
drink... but there she is,
******-up with the biological clock
about how having children was like
deactivating a bomb - equivalent of an ******* -
seriously though, walk the outer
suburban streets tipsy, and walk past a girl in her
early 30s...you're a dead man... seriously, you're
dead.... that look of hate will become a tattoo
of auto-suggested deliverance...
she won't relieve your part...
Darwinism ensured that mammalian ergonomics
turned into insect ergonomics...
the mantis and the black widow revealed
why the fathers for justice movement took off...
Darwinism reduced mammals to insects,
invoking the rise of feminism -
well, **** yeah! applause! but in terms
of keeping up the example, please treat me
as truant; i just can't be bothered,
because your objective narrative is just so ******* boring...
honestly... and trying to rekindle the subjective
narrator will not work;
as you already said: who the **** wants to hear
about partying on a Saturday night? bravo! problem solved!
if it's non-inclusive, and a omni-inclusive recount, then
it's hardly a reason to mind for a worthwhile exercise in literature.

Releasing The Seed Savage

Rooted and built up in the receives-refiner,

Being  comfortable among the treasures of abounding

grace after the fullness wherein that see the glorifying signals.

Circumcising the mysteries in the ark within the praise,

putting the impact of desperation in the charity which is the

bond of perfectness.

Chiefly sanctifying the gasecious enablement within the

spirit jubilee through the investment of biblical images…

flying greatness in the ordination, gathering up ***** by

the encounter of joy unstoppable.

Testing the test of time within the voracious vibration,

Spouses the humbleness in the gifts reassurance synergy.

Sworing the signals among the baptizing destinies with full

Back-up, in much potency entering the higher of profession.

Penetrating the hope firm living through the genetic-exhortation.

Bearing onto complete witnesses in the crow nest multitudes.

Fertilising the ministration within the marvel of spiritual allocations,

In the banquet  therapy where of spread the echoes the virtue at upper room.

Revolutionalising the secret  provision to 1000 Times More into

the “Just-Tidy” faculty.

Furthering the enterprise within the infalliable proof.



Your Sensitivity-in-the Voluminous,

SURETICE TONGUE

Email: believingvirtue@gmail.com

RHEMA PIPELINE.Releasing The Seed Sava

.you only need a few crux-words, to trigger, the adequate response narrative/diatribe reactions... the "unnatural" suspect, of the inhibited curse, of will, like suicide, people are afraid of the people who express either, an inhibited ("free") will, or, the uninhibited ("free") will... because that's not even worth the staging of an exhibition to begin with.

the thespian curtain:
wish the soviets were back?
wish the soviet were back?
wish the soviets...
never mind...

            in terms of life:
either hard-earned cash,
or just pure brute honesty
"pays"                  "conundrum"
      the,
   "adventures" of a mediocre
life...

       sure, i was 18,
she was 13...
i was dating her sister...
it was ****** up,
this, "love at first sight"...
but then i began to "reason"...
outright rage,
for ensuring a moral
plateau, "compass"?
feeding into these
apathy-zombies,
these moral police waiting
in line cashier wannabes?

fazed...

                there's nothing
alien to the human mind,
unless,
it's provided by a reciprocated
psyche of equal status....

it was, "wrong"
for a 18 year old, catching
a disney snippet,
of a beauty,
of a 13 year old
not acting upon it,
"circumcising"
himself to a reality
of, what later became,
his experiences in
visiting a brothel...

b'ah! b'ah! b'a'a'h b'a'a'h bad!

i began ******* aged
8...
find, me, the *******
******* who
encouraged me to
transcend age restrictions!
no priest:
no Guns of Navarone.

- but even to me,
it was ****** up...
    come one,
       liking my ex-girlfriend's
sister, 6 or so years my
junior...
  it's like...
experiencing my
first "thrill"
for liking black girls,
when integrating into,
this, "grand scheme of things",
of a multicultural society,/
project.

       we're talking transgender,
but can't allow ourselves
to m'eh fathom
the currency of
basic transcendence...

     teen love...
**** me...
   i never learned / experienced
*** until i was at university,
and even then,
it was b'aah b'aah b'aad
to glorify Napoleon...
unless...
taught by some surrogate
impregnated canadian
****...

         then napoleon was all cool!

it's not paedohpilia...
what i'm talking about is
platonic love...
         can it exist outside of the realm
of its original experience,
inter-******,
between an older man,
and a younger man?
   can...
   platonic love,
a variant of succumbing to
the experience of selflessness,
become exhibited in
an inter-****** encounter,
i.e. between a man,
and a woman?

       i'd love to see the count
of agreement,
to the counter of,
non-agreement...
      does it change,
once the years pass...
say...
   i'm 33, the girl is 23...
   is the state, still intact,
to make implementations
of power,
to have me to have to
cower in "fear" of repercussions?

if not? then we're clearly not
talking about anything specific,
are we?
       yes, yes,
tame the adults,
while the teenagers are riddle,
rife,
   with antics such as:
sending naked pictures of
their genitals,
because some *******-"riddled"
****** didn't have the *******
to walk into a newsagent,
and buy a pornographic magazine...
to make jerking off
regular, even by my standards:
that's a ******* ******...

what? no clue to the rose hue?
no, no shrivelling *******?!
no "hint" of suspence?
ha ha! gavin mcinnes, proud boys,
all inclusive,
once you tell 5 brands of
cereal brands,
while being punched...
'ere's one...
    buy a ******* pornographic
magazine! how's that?
deal?

           no? oh... too proud
to do it yourself...
i get it, i get it,
the "loss" of ******* doesn't help...
you know where
humbled jews come from?
where i come from...
there's no "loss"
of ******* audacity in the thinking,
i might not be german,
but i am also the one who
inherited
the "love", the, "love"
of russo-german expansions...
took two ******* ******
to **** around with
this one ***** of a nation...
third in the nostrils:
if i were to truly keep count.

now...
we settled?
no, of course we're not...
i'll just have to keep drilling
these words,
into all the available onlookers
and "ponder"
what will happen,
subsequently...

thank god i went to a brothel,
and thank god
i bought a pronographic magazine
before this **** became
prevalent, fwee...
on the internet.

my treat...
     but the litre of whiskey,
is on me,
  for me.

am ende meines lebens angekommen, möchte (meschte) ich armer sünder auf diesem pergament zeugnis abgeben / having arrived at the end of my life, i want this poor sinner to surrender to the parchment-transcripts, handed over...

i haven't really listened to pop music in a long... while...
o.k.: i'm lying, there's a rubric of pop songs
i revisit habitually
like the religiosity implosion of church
from church-state (which, given the Vatican,
still exists) toward the church (one end)
state (the other end)... as with the disillusionment
of the concept of state... or is that nation, ethnicity
etc           etc            etc             ?      ?
                                                   ?      ? woo! a question sq.

i'm feeling very much **** clerical...
i'm a cleric of the Third *****...
times are great, given that someone had the *****
to put the unfair Treaty of Versailles
to some well-earned rest...
         rest assured: i will not be grieving the death
of letters, names, locations of birth
with some Auschwitz'ian sudoku...

nāmé (vornàmé)
  sur... name: nachnāmé... surname...

Grzegorz... Brzęczyszczykiewicz...

      (jak rozpętałem drugą wojnę światową -
how i unleashed world war II)
borrow from the film

verschließen! verschließen!
    
what is a V to a ******? Y has a name: igrek...
and V has a name: fał...

den mund halten? sort of confusing...
ver-shly-ss-en...
      my y oh why not not an i
when sometimes also an e...
ply-i
            Plymouth... Y done there right and proper...
say Plymouth one more time...
do you say: Plemouth or Plimouth...
you don't even utter mouth in the name
of an English city: plYmΩΘ

      the Y is a "hollowed out" iota or

ị: given that English, language, not the people
do not use diacritical markers
expect for i and j: aye, yes, affirmative and
jay... which is squeezing in jade... too...

Plymouth: my mouth is bleeding and i'm plucking out
teeth with my tongue...
i count 32 teeth... but only 26 letters in English...
i was getting assessed for an SIA license
today in Barking... the first Q that popped up
was: how many letters are there in the alphabet?

i should have written
a e i o u b c d f g h j k m n p q r s t

instead i wrote down:

a b c d e f g h i j k m n o p q r s t u v q w x y z...
yeah... with a Bachelor's degree in chemistry
you'd think i'd get that right....
apparently i have a blindspot for L...
jeez... i only had 25 letters...
had to check my phone...
twice... once for a missing letter Lil and El
and another time about what % and
the ugly baron of fraction (synonymous)
implied...

Barking Surrealism... i'm in England and yet
i'm being checked for language proficiency...
but i'm bilingual... don't talk to me about
schizophrenia and "losing touch with reality":
England has lost touch with reality:
outright...
my math wasn't so bad although...
i did get one question wong like wok desperado
because i answered the Q with
the better deal... not the worst deal
for a mobile phone contract...

now if i was an INDIGENOUS English fellow:
yeah... that would be intimidating...
but since i'm an immigrant myself...
well... (insert snigger): this is a bit of a topsy-turvy
tickle... isn't it?
i'm not ambitious enough for a middle-class
sitting at an office table gherkin festering...
but can you imagine...
being asked by an Asian or an African
if you speak the adequate English... in England?
which makes me think about the genius of
Russian hackers... do they speak proficient
Nigerian in Russia?! really?!

i was thinking about becoming a soap model
for adverts in Ghana half a year ago...
the pale complexion might give me a booster...
this is... absolutely, utterly:
Barking Surreal:
East End Surrealism...
i'm being assessed about my comprehension
of the English language... in England...
the **** do "people" speak in Antarctica?
penguin?! or do they speak chicken cluck cluck?!
and strut like geese? goose is the singular:
geese is the.... ha ha ha: mein *****!

this invention of a para-neo-**** cult of ideas
was bound to happen...
this is: a para-neo-**** cult of ideas:
it's a sort of bewildering scenario of: huh?!
it did happen, it has happened: it's happening, now?

personally i'm rather thankful that Europe has been
"invaded" by hordes from Asia and Africa:
i have a fetish for Indian and Latino girls...
i tried a black girl once...
she aimed at giving me a plum bruise on my
pelvis... she rammed down rammed down so hard
i almost forgot i ****** her in the dark...
it was pretty clear then that i was: no... she was...
aiming at circumcising me with her *******...
but i'm not a Heb' so no circumcision: thank you:
i have that excess skin for when i don't have
a ****** partner so there's no room for me to
make ******* a fetish...

but this was weird: i get the mathematical conundrum
but the language conundrum?
there are 32 teeth in the mouth of man...
as there are 32 letters in the Polish alphabet...
see! the wrong "aryans" lost the war...
Polacks from the 16th century onward
felt inclined to cite the migration of an Aryan
tribe toward the Vistula... the Sarmatians...
fake Aryans conquering truer Aryans...
drop the Q because that's like a faking C and K...
and drop the V...
and you get ą, ę, ć, ś... ó... ł, ż... ź...
technically you could also have š and č...
but then then Czech educator... theologian...
Yan (not Jane) Huß comes into play with Czech
and ž... and š and č...

to hide the Z in ****** or the H in English:
but then... no point hiding the H in English for too long
since: memories of Viking raids and the Norman invasion
you have enough free time to conjure up games
akin to football, cricket, rugby: goal oval ball H...
imitation of water-man and earth-man...
pass ball backwards but move forwards...

so much for meta-relationships:
i'm stuck in London, it's raining, therefore dreary therefore
i'm on reflective mode and melancholically adrift on
a memory-cinema of staying a month on
Kauai... funny how she says: Lay-che-ster...
Leicester... that's... Lester...
why not Lay-K'eh'ster? why does and who
advocates the C to become a K
and when did someone make his penny
on turning the C into a Σ?

   since that is the case, no?
ς = ç (transliteration-plagiarism):
there is no W or V sound in Greek...
R from P and P in Π - Greek to Latin transliteration
wasn't a complete plagiarism
that turned Zeus into Jupiter...
to this say Greek is reminiscent of Spanish whenever
employed in speech, or: zu sprechen...
sometimes even zu spreschen...

another quill... for my ugly peacock: -sch- / ś

grössenwahn - feindflug

a great motivational song to do bureaucratic
wordings of: filter the men who speak das zunge
from men who don't speak: dass / das das zunge...

30 minutes... from Havering Road to Barking Market...
compliments of owning a bicycle:
and using the Elizabeth line...
even by car alone the travel given
Bangladeshi traffic mantras would take me
close to 2h...
**** that...
every time i cycle in these "no go zones"
filled with Asians but no Ching Chong Wa's...
i'm worried about traffic accidents...
reminiscent of: niqabs are tunnel vision and goggles
and sometimes like crow-eyed
you see the first dinosaurs proper in chickens
before flight took off and chickens became
pigeons and it's scary to not find it funny
seeing how: i can't see! i can't see!
in the corner of my eyes those women
donning niqabs...

but i can get away with it
when i also see the "other Asians":
Sikhs... who... some even become proselytes when
it comes to the turban... shave their hair
and don western clothing because it's classy...
obviously the Muslims are an ****** hostile group
that need to feel comforted by
suicide bombings and shalwars and pajamas...
and those Palestinian headscarves:
but please... give me those guys
and not my ethnicity-shared-zombie-plot-holders
who came out of the Harry Potter transgender
apocalypse into the fore of political antagonism
a cause of causes...

basically ginger-bred foot ugly foo jimmy carr
typos... like typo is best defence for spelling
******* correctly?

i did listen to Edie though... every time i go
cycling, what do i eat should i feel peckish?
i eat 160g of chicken breast...
sometimes hot and spicy, sometimes bbq...
sometimes chinese chá-wah...
   but no carbohydrates... just the meat...
and oddly enough: i'm full for most of the day...
apparently i have a problem
because i sleep-eat... i also sleep-talk...
i truly miss being intimate with a bulb...
a woman... i don't understand *******...
to me... there's nothing better than an older...
voluptuous woman...
like my grandfather, Joseph, used to say:

a woman of full trim...
*******... ***... thighs...
and she is just that...
thanks to her i've forgotten what ******* is...

so we started talking about technology
how i use chatGPT to be able to write so freely here
for a canvas and an audience of 2
while also having to do the dreary prosaic...
and she sends me these filtered pictures
from tictoc and... given my access to AI...
seeing these "improvements":
but no no... she has the tenacity and the intelligence
to also send me the grotesque shots of herself...
in one...
she's the spitting image of: Schlitzie...
the pinhead circus freak!
and that's what's so fascinating!

the reality is: she's somewhere in the middle...
she's not some model
but she's also not some pinhead circus frrrrrr...
frrrr... (her daughter can't trill the R...
do the rattlesnake, ha ha)...

Edie: i beg to differ... there is no V in Greek...
ergo? Matthew...
last time i heard TH = Θ = F...
TH = PH:
phonetically... obviously these two letters
exist... identical phonetically
but when written down to exfoliate
in a change of meaning...

but now we have to be borrowing from Norse...
i.e. þought...
       and ðe: the thought...
how many times: it's not M'ah-view:
it's Math: mathematics...
how is mathematics different from Matthew...
the added T?
ma-th-ematics
ma-th-ew...
                  how on earth is that even phonetically
conceivable, that, i'm getting in "wong wonky"?

alðough ≠ alþough... clearly... all-foe?!
because given whatever Nordic letter:
although is said:
ål-v'oh... there is no T no H no G no H...
but that's how English is:
sort of French: two languages in one...
the phonetic said... and the counter-phonetic
written: of meaning off what is said...

å: owl - aul... even... or... that's plenty...
owl: ah! áwl! á = !
but punctuation dictate... surprise?

Maþew or Maðew? my view or my few?
thank god i don't like the sound of my own voice...
but this is good... this is good:
being brought down back to basics,
asked by Asians in England whether
i speak English in England...
this is good...
but like i choke-joked with her:
would a second language help?
people in these clerical positions are not exactly ready
for outliers like me who find this whole
schizophrenic-society funny...

i was once allocated the stigma of a unit
of schizophrenia i plagiarised and let go onto my environment
with stunning results:
well with bilingualism: am i not schizoid by
default?
oh right right... the intelligence typo:
must be... i somewhat wish i was born in a time
when people like Ezra Pound were committed to
institutions where no crimes were committed beside
wonk-fink...

          like the fetish for fascism is a...
in vivo depth-charge energy drive while
democracy is a cuckoldry in vitro sloppy seconds
of off "something"...

oh poor Amber... at the last Fulham shift...
she got a lesson in stoicism...
poor thing... maybe 17... came to the shift
without eating breakfast...
i sided with her: neither have i...
give it 30 minutes... she'll crack...
and she did... at first she was drawing doodles
in her notepad... then she approached me
about feeling ill and vomiting in the toilet:
wait there... i'll get someone...
found some safeguarding stewards:
apparently a grandma of sorts
who came round with a chocolate bar and an apple...
poor thing felt better... immediately...
girl: you don't go to work fasting
if you don't tease at the joys of
Stoic-Ramadan...
i like to feel the pain from hunger the the light-headedness
of not enough calorie intake...

obviously she went home: in tears...
but at least i found the help to pull her through:
this difficult task of mismanaging ****** fluids...
only recently i discovered i have bouts
of IBS: irritable bowel syndrome...

it's kind of funny: irritably so:
being of this branch of immigration that molded itself
into English society just at the right time
of seeing English Conservatism deplete itself
of any conservative credibility...
likewise seeing English liberalism turn into
a freakish illiberalism...
i too can become hyper-focused on grammar
and prune-those-nouns to "shape"!
i too: can become a grammar-****...
and with glee... not that i might mind to correct:

who doesn't like the odd schadenfreude of someone
buckling on a spelling of onomatopoeia?
because riddle me this: C U DER...
there is no seeing no you nor there, n'est ce pas?

nicht verloren: ein rückkehr:
schtill friedhöfe von Flandern:
             were once old foes of Europe fought for
bread and silk and the best societal ideal
to amass these billions of souls...
to be later scolded for... von ihre: fehler besitzen:
noch! würde nicht besitzen zu!

then again: the Hindu conceptualisation via reincarnation
is what? a pseudo-Vatican of the chosen / elected souls
migration through a zombie-land of flesh...
if it isn't then i don't know what 1 + 1 indicates
with = 2... reincarnation is a cognitive-caste symbiosis
for stereotyping the internal prejudices of the Indians:
lighter toned in the north:
oh don't you mind those Bangladeshi munchkin monkeys...

to think that only white people can be racist
is absurd... how did it come that i'm finishing this poo'em
on racism: page politics...
write two encouraging comments to get your poem
posted: another zombie sob story
white white white supremacy
patriarchy... kind of handy that feminism managed
to create a feminist platonism without actually
providing a female plato...
or a feminist german idealism without providing
a female kant...
because, you know: **** digs deeper than ****:
cognitively: some "bias"... must be the purple hair dye...

i blame white girls who haven't had a proper
**** but have only been exposed to ******* for this...
and "they" blame men and exposure to *******
as if: pedophiles are exclusively male...
and never, ever... female...
like it's all hush hush about female exposure to
******* that they spew these tangled *****
diatribes about white-fetish and father-double-fetish?!
missing... probably with some action: necro?
you'd hope...

can't get the decent **** so turns to political activism!
turns to narcissistic delusional licking of wounds...
can't use an AI chat bot because too busy
throwing on AI filters to save up on make-up when
catfishing...

/to recraft, if not to refind, the thrill of rhyme in poetry, as if it were a sleepwalking happenstance of: déjà vu... coincidentally, in some countries, they'd rather teach memorisation of poems than of soulless mantras in bones without marrow... rhyme as... happenstance, rather than a pedagogical drill, which would wake even Beethoven from the resounding, fading out, echoing... tennis match instead of orchestra phonics... termite lingo, for nothing more than: hello, my name is bob, insignia safety.

yep, went to a Puerto Rican *******,
a Bulgarian, a Romanian
and a Ukrainian...
because... apparently,
all the engliah girls were recovering
from a moral hangover...
or saddled to the baby-sack
aged late teens,
since going to the gym was no fun...
forget about womanising...
walk into a herd of nuns...
and you'll be circumcising
yourself, using nothing more than,
a routine check-up
at your dentists...
           ******* hybrid chastity belts
those "Rodin" marvels worth
of ****** / dodos and butch Panzzy
wha-wha "boys" in leather
and acne, could become...
    and never allow language to succumb
to a poetry with a: death to language
by rhyme...
      fluid as god's given amber (beer)
and ambrosia (milk)....
       that spontaneity of rhyme that's,
actually rare to find...
    unless I interrupt the narrative,
don't give me 2 x 2 = 4
     with roses are dead,
      violation of the blue rule:
   rhyme in poetry,  in reality,
is like a *** note...
               easier toying with "arithmetic"
in puzzle...
or rather: women sooner remember
kindergarten rhymes...
      no wonder,  antagonism
of St. Thomas' gospel...
              at Hel, a curvature,
and dead end...
                              i am apparently to
be bound to despair...
            sieving lies like ****
through the regurgitating gobs
of flies...
               plenty of leprechauns
dancing the jiggle in the pope's
2nd take on a soupbowl;
should he ever mind to retire
into clemency,
   from the bombast and opulence
of peacocking perched,
prior to...
           a "necessary" memory of
ancient Egypt,
    translated into a framework
of erasing today, and conjuring up
tomorrow.

Yours truly an aging baby boomer
long haired pencil necked geek
trademark disheveled characteristics
whipsawed ever faster around sun.

He (best buddy and alter ego of mine)
snapped, popped, and crackled
firstly his crown out ******
subsequently skinny arms and legs
(I'll spare ye the ****** graphics),
whence obstetrician able, eager, and
ready underscored with italics

to pronounce hosannas  
regarding garden variety
generic wrinkled newborn
emerging out birth canal
asthma noggin heralded
scrawny newborn, now celebrating lxiii
plus deux orbits around nearest star,
which birth sported an ordinary

uneventful, nonetheless miraculous
biological secrete heave reproductive tricks
immediately screaming
without assistance courtesy
Gran Prix (now pronounced as ******)

also envision Dolby surround sound
nsync with spastic kicks
'o mine straggly mostly
gangly lovely bones mox nix.

Within some nondescript building
named The Christ Hospital
location Mount Auburn
Cincinnati, Ohio
(the buckeye state)
record number C57587
gingerly handled courtesy
Doctor James Mackay McCord
(ushering none other than me
into the wide webbed world)
bestowed upon ***** of Harriet Harris,
thy young mother of prolonged labor
as his bony *** easily
slipped out uterine crypt,

whereby with Vernix
caseosa, the waxy or cheese
he appeared made rather dipped
in tallow, thence unexpectedly whipped
minuscule fist ready to bump.

Once placenta and fetal membranes
(unnecessary as wing ding)
discharged out ******
after birth of offspring,
and thar weren't no more
major contractions in the offing
ma mommy lovingly did cling
to her bundle of joy and bring

maternal breast I ravenously
did suckle fortunately toothless
against her tender ***** trickling
(if mammary serves me correctly)
I presently recall no iota of inkling
what events transpired, nope
no recollection about me circumcising.

Moost likely I felt Jew bull lent
glad yours truly chose decent
mother and father, which opinion
subjected to radical change,
when as grown adult child
living nonsocial under

their roof forced to hire agent
provocateur to practice sparring,
when standoff event on horizon,
which eventually begat ultimatums
their red hot poker rage spent
belittling, cursing, damning...

quiet as Unitarian Church mouse content
internalizing later smoldering
anger I needed to vent
in retrospect diminutive little boy
tied to mama's apron strings
afflicted with mental

health issues inherent
of course hindsight gleaned
social, psychological, neurological...
healthy development got rent
asunder partly explaining
why I became indigent.

evil comes to the conclusion
that:
           if it's not a res cogitans...
then there's
a res vanus...
         that's in need of being
filled!

             only recently my
algorithm reach for encompassing
a touch-with-a-"history"
has been blockaded...

      i find it harder and harder...
to view a video,
beyond the 2016 and the 2017
arena...

     A.I. is what gave us, man,
in an S. I. environment
                (synthetic intelligence)...
something that composites
a continuum,
     rather a stable posit to work
from...

        the easiest route of
miscarrying, exploitation;

   what? existentialism wasn't about
the hyper-exploitation
of punctuation marks?!

      dumb dumb d' dumb
  drum roll...           expectation.

god looks at the use of language,
per se,
   not at language, used,
with a per se, and a subsequent
usage of,
             without a per se!
                            becauase, how on earth...
am i to make a humanist
statement...
                 by "over"-complicating
the said, use,
                       of using language?

can poetry even become a mediator?!
membrane!
                    well, **** me!
hands tied behind my back scenario?!
            tiananmen sq. "whoopsie"?

death by a riddle...
  or death by pachelbel?
    ****'s left to right right to left
when using the basic hand-"gesture"
of expressing a papyrus
          "tattoo" of a handwriting?

eek-onk?!
yes... becauase there are no
pigs in the desert...
  which i buzzfeed use
to offset a lack of salt...
       ******* copper,
brazen with melt choc. "aura",
sultry quacks of a melody
requiring a choir
             of transgender *******!

can't exactly look at a sunset
having "acquired"
the current socio-pathos
conformity narrative...
it's like watching
a really bad hopak aversion
to a take on performing
ballet...

    oh... so bad for the toes of
ballerinas...
    what about the cossack knees?!

never mind the handerchief...
what about chaos theory,
butterfly, hurricane...
                 and the sneeze?!

surely the world cannot be
unfathomable,
yet fathomable...
   within the confines of
a metaphor...
              a non-"literal"
      ascription of: losing count
of the number of given examples...

A.I.?
  what? the argument to express
putting a ****** on
a circumcised phallus?!
   i don't mind...
but owning a phallus not
circumcised...
   stop basing your intellect
on me jerking off...
      S. I.: synthetic intelligence...

       ha ha...

  putting a ****** on a circumcised
phallus...
          
              i like that...

  no wonder the ones with
circumcised *****...
  do not know how to express
pleasure from a ****, jit-jitty-jittery
one-off with jamaica in mind...

to always require a woman?
must be painful...

             learning from my
grandfather... and the *****
of a mouth that constitutes my grandmother?

            go through that one
with me, one more time...

                 so...

                no *******?
       and you wear a ******?
      and it's not latex in being wholly
****** clad in it?

                          guess only the ones
with an intact ******* can
play the part of an audience...
and even, remotely, enjoy
the dutch spectacle of watching
***** without a Cain-induced
grievance...

                             harsh though...
circumcising...
    and even remotely,
      implying a second tier of an impetus
to miscarry
the original:
     well... i hope i'll receive
an epitaph "marred" by an inscription
set to stone....

          any argument from
the non-circumcised party of women
wondering about my final
statement on the relief that
comes with: no. 1, no. 2... and no. 3?
f.g.m.
   is probably the only "answer"...
you'll ever, get.

before i might launch into an armchair of a paragraph...
no... nothing of the sort...
r.em.'s song: nightswimming... i have my own
version of ulterior events: nightcycling...

i'm not much of a lyricist...
nightcycling: such nights are all but forgotten...
how i miss the traffic
how i don't miss the traffic...
how my face isn't in need of being washed
since there's so little sandpaper debris on it...
there was never going to be a photograph...
the moon was perhaps almost always
a glass-is-half-empty: most certainly a frozen
biscuit: a pretend-tooth that's
glazed with a shy colour: a hue of diluted
sepia / wheat... yellowish as bone allows...
or antiques...

          nightcycling... hardly years from now...
or even days... it makes so much sense to be alone
that it doesn't even bother me
to sometimes wish i wasn't
when i know: that if i wasn't...
i'd be pulled toward wishing i was...
i don't want to feel that sadness:
that claustrophobic energy of having to
chain myself to... at best all the *** at worst
all that... anaemic conversation about:
how we might be the best, better: couple...

a sensation like no other...
perhaps if one were to kiss bone...
or perhaps like biting off
the ends of chicken bones
to get at the marrow
once all the meat and sinew has
been munched off: almost
slurped... most certainly
bitten: subsequently gnashed...
- eating frozen blueberries...
                 till the tongue turns
blue till the tongue is numbed
till the teeth start to itch (which
is of course impossible)...
but words make it possibly... eh... maybe...

it was raining throughout the day
and... i had to wait for the night
before i cycled...
in between...
   i made... raspberry... ice cream...
the classical way, using egg yolks because
i have no fear of salmonella...
at worst: i'd get my intestines cleaned
out with some diarrhoea...

such a simple recipe...
2 cups of double cream...
1/4 cup of milk
1/2 a cup of sugar...
heated up...
5 egg yolks beaten... 1 cup of the mixture
mixed with the beaten egg yolks
at 165°F... then all together...
12oz of raspberries blitzed up...
sieved through so the seeds would
not agitate... 1/4 cup of sugar
and some vanilla extract...
mixed together... with the cream
chilled in the fridge for 2 hours...
then into an ice-cream machine to churn for...
roughly 40 minutes...

later... two small brownie slices
and this... "ambrosia"...
if it rains... might as well make some ice-cream...

- i don't want to fall in love... ever again...
it's not that i'm hung-up on an ex...
come to think of it: i'm hung-up on myself...
what a lot of love wasted on someone
so rotten...
i wish i was myself the time i fell in love:
tender, young, naive...
then again: perhaps not...
i don't want to be a father
i don't want to have this responsibility
hanging over me like Damocles' sword...
cut the curtain... and the violin strings...
i don't want to be weak: dependent on someone:
i don't want to share my autonomy...
i'm growing tired of the idea of love...
i like to keep it very... formal...
perhaps no one is gesticulating or pushing airs
of 'yes sir'
         'no sir'... perhaps i'm not gagging to be
a well tailored waiter...
i'd shoot those lazy-***** who order shopping
on that metaphor of kangaroo...
bucket-list to-do:
don't ever place an order: go to the shop yourself...
******* pickled brains...
break each limb into pieces:
throw the torso into the pool... hope that it might
swim...

the wind blows from the south...
i stand in a cricket field on top of Havering-atte-Bower
and look at the great span of horizon...
there's Kent... there's ol' Thames...
my eyes are eating the distance apart...
to nowhere...

- well... if you put it like that...
scribbling: i was cycling at 30kmh...
suppose i was cycling quicker...
the metric units inflate the achievement...
while imperial units... deflate it...
it's only 18mph...
the metric system loves zeros:
0000000000000000000000000000000000
the imperial system: quirky...
loves decimals of Pi...

what a lazy night...
what a lazy of writing...
nightcycling...
something must have happened...
so few girls on the town partying...
did something happen?
did their income source dry up
or something?
i've had eyes of women clamour onto me
like they might...
give me ******* while simultaneously
circumcising me...
or pecking at my liver...
that's why... at the Turkish barbers...
it's almost like going to a brothel...
but when getting my bush-whack of a beard
trimmed... i close my eye while
the barber does miracles with a blade
tendering my neck...
eyes wide open... when ******* is performed...
since... well... that "hole" has teeth...
it might be pretend-oyster in the act...
but it's also a mouth that bites...
salivates... breaks up large chunks into small
chunks...

love... yes... at the brothel...
i like that sort of love...
i'm happy to not end up being an old man
who still has presumptions about:
the nobility of swans...
it didn't require either Darwin or Copernicus
to find out... the birds...
you will never see crows
gagging for it... you'll never find crows
asking for voyeurs like pigeons gag...
the crows do their funny... morbid b.d.s.m.
at night... no one's ever looking...
the pigeons? in full sight!

why i get a full glare of... pigeon courting...
i'm seeing... niqab clad ravens take:
"second purpose"...
not to mention... a... widow and widower swan...
my... how... they coupled...
never mind Rod Liddle...
i don't like the way he writes:
but god... i love how he speaks...
i don't very much like how i think:
that i perhaps think: at all...

my libido suffers from strobe-light
insomnia i dare call: quasi-epilepsy...
my dreams: i have shrapnel...
these buildings seem rigid enough:
it'll do... i don't need to make a broth
out of... bones... no skin... no meat...
i feel a crippling nausea-sickness
whenever dropped into a place like
Warsaw... or somewhere far beyond
the home counties...
like Cheltenham...

               it's oh so... monochromatic...
so... missing arrogant Muslims:
London: loon-bin...
this be, Islamabad... if only Polacks
had the same arrogance...
what an obnoxious lot we could have
become...
ask the Romanians?
the Turkish prostitutes... or the barbers?!

England belongs to the English...
thank you for keeping me: tightly knitted to a tuck...
friar...
you'll have to move aside...
while i make some space for my...
gluttonous... thought...
for several years i stopped seeing skin
colours... i stopped seeing ethnicity...
oh... grand reveal!
some equilibrium antics bringing
pronoun "concerns"...

                    ah ha... a world so tame...
i just want to **** on it...
i'm lazily itching toward "something"...
  look here... see an angst-riddled
existential paragraph...
if the natives can't bring some authority
to the table while the minorities run:
******* rampant...
it's like... living in slow-motion
of the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth
being carved up... dissolved..
like the crown of Poland wasn't ever
a ******* of foreign rulers...
because... lineage didn't matter...
a  Duke of Orléans: could be the king of Poland
but not the king of France...
because... ******* of kings...
Poland... was readily giving it her sway of...
"favour"... alas... the fate of keeping
lineage... inbreeding... weakened genes...
pizza antics in... ******* Woking of all places...
silly Andy... willing Andy buckled on
the ginger gal...

nzuri argan oil... supposedly it works miracles
than any... other... recipe for keeping
one's hair looking: prim... intact...
wind-relieved...
better than any hair-gel...
a well oiled crop of hair is better suited
to... daily troubles than...
applying some stiffening agent...
hair like... deep-fried linguine... ugh...

that i believe advertisers more than
journalists...
a Warsaw fountain... someone abandoned
a dog in there... the poor thing was
running round and round...
me and ol' Joseph...
testing me? my mother takes centre stage
when his memory sparks...
a pain akin to a cut excites...
a spontaneity...
but a pain that cuts towards
a numbing...

like Tolstoy said: every family is ****** up...
it's almost insensible to curate
the formality of strangers with
all the baggage being... towed...
sinking... me... drowning...
but making raspberry ice-cream..
while it was raining outside...
hanging the washing on the lines:
i was expecting a silenced orchestra: timid
of sparrows...

to hell with the constellation of stars...
just watch what the birds are doing...
last time i heard... cats do not require
leashes...
i wish i could have the sort of audacity
of hands i have with cats:
translated into how women are
treated...
at the brothel... at the brothel...
open a bottle of bourbon: i'm there! sober!
strictly oops in-and-out-of-"it"...

this is not even my land...
one which i might wish to defend...
who are these pseudo-post-Soviets...
the originals i could have cited as borrowing
from pan-Slavism...
although mistook took place
concerning... the disintegration of
Yugoslavia...
if the Germanic people knew how to dispose
of the Hebrews...
the southern Slavs knew how to dispose
of the remnants of Muslims...
ugly affair...

time by now has to escape its own clutches with
a... debilitating: yawn...
pass the pawn... crux... lineage!
pawn... broker...
bishop... tilt! tally the rooks...
shoot the horses dead-centre
before they have a chance to retire from
the races...

that i have a fetish for recycling..
that there's a **** to tow...
that there's a **** to tow...
there's some crippling Gehenna
of corn: baking...
snippet: clue...
   whatever happened to the incredibly
sensibly native people...

like ha'hum?

.when circumcised men talk about the pornograhic usage of un-circumcised men... the whole: ein, zwei und drei of sitting on a toilet... well... i've heard, that some circumcised men read a book while expanding their ****... what's the problem? this is a conversation to be had between circumcised men shaming *******... what about 1970s Italian *****, and Bronzino... and still-images reworking the imagination as to what could be established with a photograph of a body; who the hell ever suggested watching *******-*****?! are you talking about the sort of guys who never managed to experience buying a *****-mag from a newsagents? circumcised men... never my sort of calibre of intellectual titans... uncircumcised men: different story... i don't actually know how to talk to circumcised boasting males, they're as weird and incels to me... actually: weirder... they have a stipend for raising the more: unnatural line of argumentation; em, would it be more natural to talk about circumcising lips? what else might you not need? how about the ears and the nose? you don't need those lame artifacts! ****, one better! why would you need... eyelids?! you don't need eyelids... why would you need eyelids?! if you don't need a *******... the logical conclusion arrives at: if you don't require a *******... you don't need eyelids!

you know how relativism
doesn't exist
within a subjective
dialogue?
   in the statement:
relative:
   a subjective experience
is absolute...
and an objective ".........."
  is... relative...
with the only worth it is supposedly
able to summon...
i.e.: nothing!

______

and whatever made man's mind
into a spaghetti tangle...
lessons to be learned:
for whatever the lessons,
i only keep forgetting,
what sort of lesson is that?
equipped with the "knowledge"
of an omni-this
and an omnit-that...
            "knowledge":
    what is, english,
translated into a song in
finnish?
                  nigh of nought!
     metaphors...
you sure you'll lead
them by obscure poetic techniques,
when shunning our
grief?
             what?!
the modern sing-along karaoke,
the modern thespian...
i agree...
   ****** poets came
ashore...
                  none to ever loose
their mind to madness...
and even fewer to,
exercise a rite to sucumb
to the asylum...
          a growing beard
will not save you from
the insanity of the best
kept secrets...
      
my i thank the deity...
as i succumbed to bypass
the P.U.A. reversed dynamic....
how the love
for folk music translated
itself from classical,
choral and jazz works,
back into confidance for
succumbing to folk....

           the sort of carnal
desire / hunger spoken of the flesh
of woman, died in me,
the moment,
when i laid my ability to love
to rest...
   i once loved...
       once was enough...
now if there's a god and i'm
to learn a lesson?
          right now:
god can *******...
                i have learned
too many lessons
to begin with...
any more lessons and i'm still bound
to a scholastic boundary,
i'm still bound to endless rubrics,
and subsequently,
the only freedoms are arrived
at, with the expressions
of terrorists...

                learn how to become
an imbecile!
             god, god, god...
                i'm a "schizophrenic"
but more bilingual thanks
to this, this omni-****,
grand, glad glory of humanity!
save the west?!
save it yourself...
     hope you get some *******
on board...
you have my blessing...
but none of my conviction.

   p.s.

   well, that was the draft,
          skleroza -
   a polish term...
  brechta (he's laughing) -
it's not chatter...
                 like in east german,
          ich is isch: e-ś/sh...
come to think of it,
the english zunge is now
my playground... my circus...
i love, how, i can fathom
a position, of ownership
via acquisition,
    leaving the natives scrambled...
the natives are contained,
they only know one language...

but last time i checked
the news... 5,000 jobs are on
the line... given the english
steel industry is finally buckling...
only 5,000 jobs?
  not so bad...
  around 7,000+ jobs
were undermined from my home
city,
              a whole city
was displaced...
          yeah... it was...
          a steel industry based
city, exponential growth...
            now the english,
know my pain,
of being: immigrants...
   they have it easier though...
there's south africa, canada,
h'america, australia, new zealand,
to fall back on, without
learning a new zunge...
    bon voyage!
          sehen sie später!
   what else was there?
  is the soviet satellite state's
steel industry imploded,
the english steel industry was
only given around 30 years
of preservation...
and that's considered lucky:
the pillars for the stade de france?
they were produced
in my home town...
   ostrowiec świętokrzyski...
too many consonants?
         what's your gujarati like?
not "too many" consonants
              in hindu words, or greek?
    
a mongrel german loan word...
polacks have this inherent
validation process of
integrating loan words into
their zunge...
           it's a ******* etymological
playground,
   came the russians,
came the swedes,
the norse men who founded Kiev
while rowing down the Vistula,
came the Mongol, came the ***
who later founded nation of the Magyar...
oh, i don't need tattoos,
i have plenty of historical events
that already tattoo the insides
of my cranium...

apology: i will use english grammar,
                  to write in der richtigzunge,
i'll never get it right,
but i need to escape this
***** of a language,
this neu-lingua-franca...
this language of globalißation...
            apparently the easiest language
to learn... not if you have been thrown
into the deep end of the pool aged 8
unable to speak a single word...
learning: the hard way,
the only way...

                                                    "easi­est"...
well, given how there are no orthographic
distinctions: and some do appear,
and how the language is plagued
by instances of surd-particulars:
i.e. "silent" letters...
              well... if, so so "silent"
why conjured in the visibility of the eye?
e.g. gnome...     gnostic...
              oh look... diagnostics...
it's no longer "silent", is it?
            and where, may i ask,
is the gamma in a word like:
thought?
          ah... aesthetics anti-orthography...
for all the misgivings i have
with my native zunge...
based on loan words...
                  at least is expresses
a clarity of syllables...
                    thought?
                       ­     phonetically?
     fowt.
                     when when: w,
             fowt.
                             see? looks ugly, doesn't it,
oh but i'm not worried about the new
gate-keepers of techno-literacy,
coding,
     that **** will outlive me... it's only young,
i'm, more, interested,
in the old, gate-keepers,
            the old gate-keepers,
the clergy, the priests, the literate caste...
it's already evident they don't care
for their own power...
so they're getting sloppy in abusing it,
no longer able to hide it as well,
even if they caged marquis de sade
in the bastille... because he was,
probably going to make public his
uncle's deviances...
  and what did the marquis de sade actually
do? he told a ******* to
re-invent the crucifix into a *****...
one "deviance", and then he was hounded...

so if you asked me, what sort of drunk,
are you?
     not your typical drunk,
given, drinking is a matter of using
the sedative property of alcohol...
i was, regularly,
   i dress, well... whatever the night
appreciates and a low body count...
and, while rehydrating my body...
i make dinner for my parents,
busied by garden work,
   i can plant a cherry tree,
say kind words to it,
   even my mother was surprised...
she bore no fruits last year,
only flowers...
        this year?
                     unlike the plum tree...
and i pray to gott,
  that i have enough grapes to make
myself about 15 bottles of homemade wine...
i'm the drunk,
who will write something, akin, to this,
discipline, is, key...
                    grammatical discipline...
as i will stand... rolling out dough,
using a glass to cut little u.f.o. shapes
of dough for pierogi:
           polish dumplings... roughly 40...
filled with meat, sourscrout,
                              onions, mushrooms...
i'm a drunk,
              i don't mind,
    i've seen what a stereotypical drunk
does, namely my grandfather...
                        but i am a god-fearing man...
and no amount of "awe" with regards
to reading philosophy will come between
me and a bottle of *****...
such that i would turn to
          a drunken stupor...
                     sure, the odd occassion
of a drinking session,
turning into me comforting a teenager
on a website, while washing my shaved
head with whiskey come sunrise...
or going into the forest to scream...
to prove to myself:
            beyond the breath,
                             the vox, the schrei.

p.p.s. or p.p.p.s.?
a man threw a crab-meat torilla wrap
at a mosque and...
one pig snorted a sentence that read
as follow:
while i was never a carrion...
a scavenger of the dead...
perhaps mr. and mrs. pig have wronged
the camel-jockeys somehow...
seeing how i sweat more than
a sheep and if i were to fathom the sun
i'd suntan to a crisp-bacon...

bite matthew: bite where there's
a paradoxical impromptu n00b n00b...
so pig is off the menu...
but crab meat isn't?
mr. pig and mrs. pig and the pigglets
roman and lypi
said: because of no furr we are...
least santified because...
we devolved from the boar...
truly we are the Huguenots of the animal
kingdom...
even the bonsai tigers
bound to the lineage of Muhammad's cat...
Muezza...
have it better...
but why belittle us worse than...
what's freely eaten... if not the Beijing dog...
and not the north h'american vulture...
then the ***** of the Maldives!

this supposed eating of ****...
well... a bear will eat the automated process
of fermentation of fallen apples!
and fall over drunk!
no animal will eat ****...
islamic myth...
but there are cannibals as there are
necromanducare...
vultures... *****...
and we eat ***** and even dare to call it:
a most pristine meat...

sure... ******* the dead is only
a human phenomenon...
pigs alligned...
but eating the dead? so... it's not fresh...
and it's not readily available...
and it is allowed to do its utmost
to rot, first?
and Islam begs to blame the porky
but leaves the crab, absolved?!

lamb stinks...
esp. the kidneys...
for some reason pork doesn't give off
a whiff of chanel no. 5 oddity and or
perfurmery!

no better, no worse... there's just this.