.i don't know any other music genre, where the bass is left alone, left exfoliating married to the drums, and the guitar? there's no such a thing as a rhythm guitar section in blues... the guitar is consrtantly married to solo... to a sense of orthography... best represented by ´ (the acute accent) without an o: to cream out a "hidden" u, i.e.: ó... or a cedilla (¸) bound to a c: ç to form the greek sigma (ς) - e.g. garçon... waiter, waiter: i'll just wait... that's how i see the blues guitar... the rhythm guitar isn't there, the bass is married to the drums... but the blues guitar keeps the rhythm in a "funny" way... pair up john lee ****** with lightnin' hopkins (on the piano)... and you... keep rhythm, by working solo accents into the rhythm set by the bass and drums... you rhythm by a continous sparring with the solo - you solo by ensuring your remain in the confines of chord, or something much -esque to a chord... milk, cream & alcohol... again and again: the blues... oh my dear the blues... where the rhythm of the guitar is kept with constant soloing... sometimes engaging with the bass and the drums for a reference check of rhythm... but mostly: solo the whole **** through... but it's not the sort of soloing associated with hair metal of the 1980s jerking-off for performance art piquance... sometimes the solos come in the form of chords... it's like i said already... layers:

         waiter -   garçon
                                 and garcon
                                               (¸)

blues guitar? the latter...
                                             solo accents...
rhythm of syllables: gar-çon
                              but mostly gar-con
                                                         ­  (¸)
since the bass and drums rhythm section
is so perfected in the blues,
the guitar is allowed to do what the hands
want owned by the devil...
        a thorough solo to keep the rhythm...
the one genre of music
where the solo works like a rhythm...
     instead of that in between section
of showing off
between verse chorus verse chorus solo chorus
standard of rock...

     another freedom given to the blues guitar?
the rhythm set by the vocals,
of repeating lyrics...
hell... if someone is going to sing
and play at the same time...
                  why explore lyrics as some sort
of narrative... ping-pong along
with the freedom of the itchy fingers...
by having no real verse,
and no real chorus...
                just a steadied momentum...
        and you really need to drink to appreciate
the blues...
                   just like all the hippies
will tell you that dropping acid enchances your
chances of enjoying the 13th floor elevators
or jefferson airplane...
              i don't know which is better these days:
jazz or blues?
sure as **** not rap...
                       and they say the slave trade
was all bad... sorry...
      without these west africans budding
in h'america... i'd still have a clarinet shoved
up my ***... or folk songs...
                  or mozart's woodwind imitating...
or vivaldi's *******' worth of spring...
yes, and we all know that Idi Amin was white...
wasn't he? who died peacefully while
under asylum in saudi arabia...
           Idi Amin was white! oh come on!
he was the last king of sctoland!
              on a side:
   they were picking cotton...
             well... at least they weren't working
the ******* coalmines... where they now?

ever watch that video
of milo
  yiannopolous:
       congresswoman
ilhan omar
           (d-mn)
       addresses
david horowitz's west
coast retreat?

where is the old milo
gone to?
anyone pick
up on the heavy breathing?

there's the stag ***
of only 2 years prior?
he's not here...

         i was never into making
videos,
only because i just liked
those japanese godzilla
movies from the late 80s...

and i'm still a sucker
for modern pop,
currently?
           mabel - don't call me up...
huge, huge sucker
for the expected reaction
to pop music...
synch. vocals and
a very limited circumstance
of lyrical poverty...

sucker... might as well
don a dunce hat...
elsewhere,
on the ibernian peninsula
it's also called
a *capirote...
and **** gets freaky...

i agree...
the northern crusades,
the polacks became christened
in 962...
   the teutonic knights
were ready
to explore lithuania...
we were about to allign
ourselves with them,
ergo: defend them...

            the concept
of reconquista came after
the crusades...
         i'm pretty sure it came
after...
           jihad is reconquista...
worded differently...
   is it? the crusades were one
thing...
     jihad = reconquista...
         the current form of jihad?
it's like crusading...
     to claim a jihad is to claim
reclaiming lost lands,
there must be some muslim genius
who could come up with
a counter term to jihad:
the jihad on the offensive...
rather than on the defensive...
we need some muslim genius
to come up with a conquering
ideology of islam...
   umayyad script...

i'm reading into the video
and i'm like:
is he angry...
       or is he simply scared?
all that heavy breathing...
maybe it's both?
   do i "think" about
throwing him from
a roof... are you sane?
as they say:
in a mad mad world,
the only sane people
                    are the madmen...

talk about memes finally
coming across "genetic"
mutation...
                why are all the "liberals"
and "progressives"
so surprised by mutation
creeping into memes?
doesn't that usually happen
with genes?
so... what's with all the outrage...
if memes exist outside
of the biological reality
of genes,
then... surely,
any counter-thought
from the est. order is equivalent
to a mutation, isn't it?

               so... what's the outrage
about?
    well if genes are going
to by hijacked by a mutation,
why would memes be immune
to a mutation,
akin to the o.k. hand sign?
you want a script?
i learned this at primary school,
but you need two hands
in tow:

   (right hand RH,
left hand LH,
   thumb TH
         index I
      ******* MF
        ring finger RF
pinky P)...

and now the motion

   RH (I + MF hand down) slap on the
the LH palm of the open hand...
   RH (I + MF hand up) slap
on the LH palm of the open hand...
RH (I + MF
               V shaped insertion
of the V shape into the LH's
side)
      clenched fist of RH slammed
on the open palm of the LH...
clenched RH with an extended TH
poiting toward caesar's favour
in the coliseum (thumb's up)
moving away from the LH open
palm...

   translation?
   why, don't, you, ****, off...
primary school,
some of the kid's parents
must have taught them this sequence
when their children told them
that some foreigner ******
was attending primary school
with them...

                   poor milo though...
notably in that video...
           he's either really angry...
or he's ******* himself...

i'm still left with this sign language...
i don't even know if it's correct...
a kevin spacey "conundrum"...
i'm not exactly going to, *******,
am i?
                knitting and picking
points of criticism...
   made easy:
   no niqab, no turban,
   no copper skin,
             no black skin...
no wonder my fellow countrymen
are leaving
with a massive F          and a U
from this island...
                    good for them...
if i was sane enough,
i'd also leave...
      but given that i'm also a dual-citizen...
well...
         milk the ***** for
her last worth...
    this language...
                    the people are another story,
but my lover affair with
this language is exactly
this.

in the middle of the road,
you said you wanted to be a canary—
"because God doesn't have eyes
in the coalmines"

You live beside me in my apartment complex
We are only separated by a wall
We are miles apart
Your blinds are drawn
Your TV's on
Does it help drown out the sound
Of the world whizzing by you
The dreams it denied you
Your children not knowing their dad?
What keeps you up at night
Pacing the hallway?
Do you dream of whales and coalmines like I do?
Is your life the way you imagined it would be?
Maybe I'll ask you these things
Next time I pass you on the stairs
And you look away
Then you can go back to your box
And I'll go back to mine
And we'll share a wall
And nothing at all

what do women call them? mombods?
frenzied... ever frenzied by reality:
a reality with a doubled-up emphasis:
a reemphasis... i love reality:
cubism in its simple term of:
"awkward" bodies...
           i should know a little about that...
i was fat... then thin... then fat again:
now i'm a bullish bulk of a man in his prime...
i will not do any torso work except for
press-ups... i like my lamb-stomach pouch...
plus... body-hair doesn't look good
on a six-pack... plus a hairy chest:
i sometimes go to work with an unbuttoned
shirt... ooh... people noticed i have a hairy
chest: like someone sprinkled pepper on it...
yeah: two legs too and a beard...
one of the guys started cracking jokes that
i'm a lookalike to some actors from the 1980s...
***** or film?
but a hairy torso doesn't go well with
a six-pack... i'd have to shave...
i saw one br'uh on the train the other day:
i seriously distrust men who's bicep girth
is either similar to their calves...
biceps triceps... whatever...
   i distrust the look of men when their arms
are larger than their legs...
absolute ******* posers...
they must be pumping some sort of juice...
some variation of steroids...
but my god... a plump woman:
i don't mean a single mum sort of beached whale
i mean: ****** plump plum of a woman...
i lose my mind...
              it's truly a hot summer if i'm
thinking about *** all the time...
i just can't stop... it's like a second quest for
rediscovering gravity...
and all the glory of a "cis-hetero-normative":
ah ha ha "*******" that comes with the ancient
whisper from Ovid...
i just discovered this trend on twitter...
i don't know whether they're scam accounts
or whether they're authentic...
oh man... these women are thirsty...
about time to play...
(a) watermelon man - Herbie Hancock
(b) backdoor man - Howlin' Wolf...

   and you're telling me? you're telling me?!
the African man not exposed to the English
language and "slavery": coal-miners?!
i thought the Polacks were the industrial "*******"...
working coalmines and the metallurgy...
you're telling me? you're telling me?
the African man could have conjured up jazz
in Africa?! the African man could have conjured
up the blues?! in Africa?!
you're telling me the African man:
and oh! oh the misery! could have conjured up
these fiendish: liberating arts with his African
speech?!

well... if the Hebrews received reparations from
the Germans for the Holocaust...
i still wonder... who the **** is going to pay "us"?
the Germans won't own up...
the Russians won't own up...
are we asking for free money?
   no, oh no no... we're asking for more strife!
that's how you live: proper: you strive...
if a lazy body: then an agitated mind...
if a lazy mind: then an agitated body...

that's how life: works...
look at me... i've returned to listening to the blues
because i'm thinking about ***...
i can't stop myself thinking about tomorrow's
shift and what will follow...
i figured it out... keep agitating that dangling "thing"
several days prior without climaxing...
then after the shift drink 75cl of apple cider...
wander around the brothel...
then buy some whiskey, take a sip... walk in...
and? perform...

         oh to hell with chemical additives... ****** my ***...
there need to be: plans in place to perform
on a whim... with someone you never slept with
before... oh... but there's one honey in my eye...
that one from a ******* i had...
the one i wanted to do solo...

my god: listening to the blues and thinking about ***...
it's almost as good as drinking ms. amber
or eating self-made mint chocolate-chip ice-cream...
blah blah: n'ah n'ah... moaning about a past...
always with the past...
if it weren't for the Africans exposed to
the English language we'd have nothing worth
of modernity...
these weaklings moaning and groaning
walking on nuggets of what ought to be feet!

if it weren't for the Africans exposed to
the English tongue: complete strangled by it...
why didn't they try a Canadian taste of bilingualism?
or the Swiss try at triangulating Italian,
French and German?
like Napoleon said:
a man who knows two tongues is worth
the worth of two men...

by now i'd be stuck with the ******* moths of
history still pretending to like Mozart...
or Bach...
             but listening to the blues
and thinking about ***... and drinking...
and then going cycling...
i just want to gear up to some lazy motorist
who might tell me i'm a terrible cyclist...
i just want to heave out a terrible mouth:
an ill wind of breath: i want to vent out anger
for anger's sake...

while cleaning the house: dearest Mary...
you like cleaning the house? my mother asked...
no, dearest mother...
i hate cleaning the house...
but what do i love? i love a clean home...
i abhor sloths... i abhor people with no self-awareness...
i abhor people with no self-hygiene standards...
but i also love flies... isn't that a pretty picture...
wrap me up in a fleece of flies
and tell me to run into a morphed spider-web
with a black widow sitting at the centre
all pretty: feminist...
borrowed themes from the insects:
the modern woman as the Mantis and the Black Widow...
sure as **** nothing mammalian about her...
well... beside the prostitutes...

i hardly think i ever paid for lies...
it's a sure good sign if they're moaning
and groaning with their mouths already full...
now all i have to do
it pretend to play the violin while stroking my beard...
i can't escape it: the blues and thoughts erotica...
peaches and cream...
mint and chocolate-chip ice-cream...
pork and thyme... beef and rosemary in
a Turkish Lavash dish, wrap...

*** and tiredness... nicotine is better than
caffeine...
                  plump plum *** of a woman...
pigeon voyeurism...
it's not like you'll ever see crows mating...
in the open...
but pigeons do: ***** *******:
of the 100 rejections you see...
there's about 2 that make it with all that flurry
of flapping wings trying a ballerina's balance
of doggy-pigeon style *******...

oh... oh: i feel so liberated with all these women
feeling so liberated...
    i can have multiple ****** encounters
and feel no shame... none... zilch... nada...
thank you: woman...
i don't need to be your wage-slave-labourer...
i'm just going to cycle to the Chadwell Heath
bicycle shop to inquire about the cost
of fixing up my £500 TREK mountain bicycle...
i'm getting tired of the road-bike...
i need to get off the grid... Havering County
Park is beckoning...

i'm freed! thank you, woman!
you have you little ****-boys and i have my serious
women who like *******, proper...
there's the money on the table:
no dinner dates... no cinema dates...
thank you!
  thank you thank you thrice thank you!
no commitment...
let me just tap into this thirst pool of single
yummy-mummies... these
yummy-sloppies...
                  hell: i might even get some **** for free!

i need to watch this twitter trend...
i mean: if i simply exposed myself like they expose
themselves... it's infuriating:
not impossible to deal with: just ****** infuriating...
here comes the donkey:
and here comes the stick and carrot...
  it's like that with these doubtful women...
already coupled... probably married...
mums: definitely children on that Titanic of a
sinking woman... yet she wants more: more: more...
validation points... more validation points...
is she still ****-able: question:
is she still able-to-****?

                       do we really need to explore
the dimensions of latex gimp suits?!
i don't think so...
                        wholesome... porridge style *******...
starve a little... then blow your head out with
a shotgun of slobbering on a dozen oysters
that compose her one pretty little ****...
floral patterns and spring in her eyes and mouth...

one more ******* "******" starts telling me
he's the victim of some white *******...
i'll tell him: you little dip-****...
the African man would have never enriched
humanity with the blues and with the jazz
if he wasn't exposed to the English tongue!
it's not like these people worked the coal-mines!
my god... oh! bemoan the labours of cotton-picking!
my god! each cotton bug probably weighed
the worth of gold back then!
it's not like people are not in the fields these
days plucking up cabbages!
waste of breath / space sort of people argumentation
practices: always ******* awry...

i remember when we broke up...

          chasm of melodies or something along
those lines:

a leftover of a roach
come 2pm
and the Ladies final at Wimbledon
is just happening:

as is the Tour de France
so i too did my little tour the Havering:
halfpenny would be nice
just to stand a bit taller

well: rarely does it happen but apparently
it sometimes does:
a blind-spot poem from last evening
left me waking up thinking:
what the hell happened last night?
autopilot on: apparently...

i first came to England as a semi-legal
but technically an illegal immigrant
back in 1994 when you still had a high street
in Ilford on Cranbrook Rd
with Blockbusters and Quick Save
and the likes
and it was nothing like Bangladesh
but oh well:
by 1997 we were visited by two Home Office
officers and about five police officers
i remember that burning sensation
even now:
grandfather was visiting on a visa
the previous day we went to a fanfare
and i won a massive cuddly toy for mum
by sliding ***** into holes
while the camel atop was running ahead
i remember i was on fire that day
i just started year 7 at Canon Palmer Catholic School
and was ready to make new friends
so my father jumped the fences of
the garden
i recently bought a cat and was mingling
getting to know him
1960s Batman movie was on t.v.
and we were eating breakfast
and as my father said:
the Home Office makes raids on Sundays
when no one really works
even the illegal immigrants
so when these two shadows were waiting
outside the house:
it was about a day or a week shy
of the Law
   since by 1997 my father was living up
to 7 years there
and by Law if he made it that far
he couldn't have been DEPORTED...

clue: i found it hard to support the English
football team... ever... ever: like never ever:
but 2nd time coming:
i'm becoming slowly converted:
never say never, ever...
i found it hard to support the English football
team three lions on the shirt:
yes: and three cheetahs on a tree...
so...   but i always had been a fan of English Values:
especially the stance on anti-racism
being a part-time question of authority
before finding my own ontology aligned with:
well i work with blacks Muslims and kinks
so we have racist banter from time to time
between the guys
like one Somali chuckling with:
'i'm a confused racist...'
whenever the same Indian Brigade would come
along and cluck cluck Bengal but but
Muhammad jihad...

1997 we were asked politely to leave
rather than being deported but it was a sort of:
deported at your own discretion:
i don't think they expected a child to be present
so we had about 2 weeks to pack our ****
but you couldn't explain to a boy
of 11 about politics of geography and ethnicity
or whatever
maybe they shouldn't have allowed
the Polish War Government residence in London
but only yesterday i learned
and i honestly didn't know
that it was: **** Germany, Soviet Russia
and the ******* Slovaks who also invaded:

das ist neu! das is neu!

                  ha ha Alfred Tennyson's charge
of the light brigade:
Iron Maiden with The Trooper...
   ha ha: Charge of the Krojanty...
or: like: ever:       the Winged Hussars at Vienna:

as much as i am a contemporary by being
a fan of sport... not particular about factions:
i leave that to the primal man:
funny sort of giggly not funny as in sneering
and devilish but funny-giggly
i'm also a fan of history:

    no i wasn't there but i can still ride a horse
i first learned to bicycle:
peddle: not push: what the ****'s a push-bicycle?
peddling is now pushing?
the **** am i pushing?!
this counter-intuitive working with and against
gravity to capture motion...

well for Bruce Springsteen and at least two
Taylor Swift shifts
i asked to be demoted...
**** the authority and **** the climbing ladders
of "career":
i was like: once upon a time: here:
i'll be there:
like LESTER BURNHAM:
who was actually my Julien Sorel of the screen:
hero... anti-hero...
my two major influences that captivated
the youth and half-beauty in me
were LESTER BURNHAM on screen
and Julien Sorel in books...

           but seriously: i woke up to some unsavory sounds
coming from the garden:
circa 8:30am...
i looked at my phone: did i really call Edie
drunk around 2am?
maybe: looks like it... did i even talk or pretend
to talk?
not unusual:
then i peered from behind the blinds:
Alphonso (Alfons denotes
****, the cat brute of the area:
i'm starting to think about getting an air rifle
and start shooting at the ******)
was there getting nervy:
Quarus in the background trying to
pacify the situation...
but then i see Veroniya
all geared up: seconds later i just see this
Tasmanian devil whirling tornado of needles
of teeth and claws and a pillow emerging
from the roughing up:

Alphonso starts to do cat-wrestling with
my Veroniya...
boy vs girl: this is not play-fighting:
this is going to be:
i think that castration creates very aggresive
female cats
and pacified male cats...
i think the castrated male cats are rather
content
while there's something evil about castrating
female cats:
they, become, vile... tender and vile...
but i wasn't having none of it!

o.k.: when i was younger i tried to intervene
in nature
mostly when i heard a woman
talk about the beauty of a lion hunting blah
blah and oh: so so cruel
the poor Bambi:
yeah: same ******* "Bambi" could knock
your lights out with the buckle of the hoofs
and give you a second brain plum proof
of: itchy-itchy signature oof! terrible headache
i did a skim reading of that scenario
once with seven horses lining up on a hill
in a field at night...
as once i spared a dying bee the agony:
i poured some honey into my palm
picked up the poor ******
and let him O.D. from the honey:
watched the ****** pull out it's long mouth-tongue
and start drinking the pure nectar...
a peaceful death: of a bee...
         by honey O.D.

            i had to run out: i stormed out:
i embodied fury:
naked apart from a bathrobe...
O TY SKURWYSYNIE!
SPIERDALAJ! WĄT!                  WĄT!
chased the ****** away with Veroniya chasing
after him...
Quarus distraught later crawled into my bed:
he's still there while i typo and make promises
to not typo:

               that sort of human intervention
in nature:
yes: with petted animals...
in the wild?
                well: i once caught a mosquito
and held it up to a spiderweb...
hey presto: mummification: because that's
how the Egyptians were inspired:
no?
but there is no homage to Spiders in Ancient
Egyptian culture: is there?
are there no spiders in Africa? not even in the desert?
but spiders are the gods of mummification:
not jackals... spiders are architects
like bees are architects hexagon:
hmm: lineage borrowed from Giant's Causeway?
maybe the scarab: rabbi scarab rabbi:
i'm just curious about spiders and mummification
in this instant...
                i mean: see it in nature then see it
in culture... so...

            but i'm slowly becoming a convert to
supporting the English football team:
because i have no affinity with the Spanish: unlike
Germany...
even this whole 1997 debacle and how:
it was so much easier to deport people not something
***** nilly: i can't complain:
i was about to lose my bilingualism
i was about to speak broken Polish...
it was nice to be reminded
of my heritage
for that year when "we" sorted our legality
and the job was done proper a second time
with lawyers etc
obviously a change of name
but first time my father was young and he was
hoping for the 7 year benefit
but obviously if i didn't go back to Poland:
i was home schooled: or rather i taught myself:
upon return i was in the top tier of mathematics
but obviously the education system
was ******* because they thought i spoke
bad english perhaps my written wasn't all good
but speaking:
not like the first time of hiding in toilets
strapped to a **** unable to speak
because i literally couldn't speak the language
and then that moment
i remember running up to my teacher
at St Augustine's (Barkingside)
                   with a book and exclaiming: eureka!
i can't understand what i'm reading!

which is weird listening to all the Banana boats
and 400 in one day in 6 of them
and no one has the ***** to deport...
but it was so much easier
perhaps white on white made more sense
but then why bother starting a war
against Germany just because Poland was invaded?
shouldn't have bothered:
so i don't understand why somehow
the Implosion of the Empire made it fair game
for the former Empire to come back
and haunt half Tory but never again
merry Tudor England...
                      and from a perspective of the continental
European: neighbor of the Germanic
and Turkic people somewhere slowly southernly
the weirdness that is the Italians
with the ancient Romans sort of ghostly Dasein
a there of a still standing and replica practicality
of the Coliseum... poet of the Coliseum:
sure: because i think that the work i do now
is kind of faking it, acting:
it's not like construction where you're producing
something a house, say...
which is why i don't understand ex-military
working in this industry:
getting all serious and trigger happy
demoted to a high viz otherwise standing pretty
in uniform doing my "work"
at Wimbledon...

             such became self-evident that with
Brexit in 2016 there would be a second
surge immigration to England
like that of 1997 with the Kosovo crew who
would sit all pretty in cafes outside
of Ilford train station
like now we have Albanians sitting pretty
and doing legal jurisdiction extensions of
"human rights" affairs in cafes not
100 meters from my house
and i get that people need to move in
semi-nomadic sporadic outburts

apparently the "eastern Europeans" were
too keen workers:
great! now we have sub-continent of India
lazy-pants working broken English
and fidgety on their smartphones
because the traffic and stench of Bombay
is lost
and even the Pakistani girls are like:
**** get me away get me away
that's the last thirst of Islam to conquer
India but alas: not, to, be...
those polytheists and their: AU NATUREL
ways of passing on water
better to throw ashes into the river:
maybe my body is ash
and my blood is rye
maybe that's my body: my blood...
some ash flicked off the end of a cigarette
into a shot of bourbon! yes! indeed: that's it!

i admit: not as prolific as the antics of
the Cosmopolitan Messiah:
not Moses the army tactician turned
plagiarist of Assyrians
i'm pretty sure he was too busy to have
bothered writing anything
and back when people wrote into stone
i hardly think
there's any concern for the relevance
of: by the spoken stubborn of Judaic
the Covenant of Journalistic writing on the wind
and speaking on paper...
but i can't exactly do one better
than Jose of Jerusalem: but i might have
implored him:
you can't lift the sins of the world:
alone...
you coming back with short-circuit the entire
logic of monotheism:
by a Second Coming you will actually destroy
the concept of: one life one death one god
that is my trinity:
one life one death one god

the Hebrews always faulted themselves
by imploring the second coming of Elijah...
this is a logical profanity of
the supposed superiority of monotheism
toward polytheism and within
the confines of polytheism there are many
universes and alternative routes
and only the Elect number of Souls
of authentic approach toward life
moving like ghost parasites in the composite
body of zombie-people...
sometimes taming the ego sometimes
not taming the ego
given a different status to say:
the former realization of being leprosy afflicted
or too rich or too crazy to handle
Damocles' and the Sphinx's authority
of the riddle...

   but mythology is never part of the Hebrew
history:
there are myths in other cultures
but the Hebrews just don't stand for mythology:
mythology is just like histriology:
there's the logic of: and how much time has
elapsed since we've seen something spectacular?
enough? well then:
we have to re-categorize our approach
to this story being kept in the collective consciousness:
no, not like the collective consciousness
of ants:
but one person alive, living next to another person:
also alive...
can attest that there doesn't have to be
any cryptic Jungian collective well-being spring
of COME FORTH the aliens demonic
humanoid angelic archetypes anti-plagiarism
unlike teens trying to compete for attention under
the guidance of peer-pressure...

reincarnation has not toast of clarification
in monotheism:
únus vita únus mortem únus deus!
depends how you punctuate:
****...
         U R AN OOSE
  goose: para- ditto: Dodd... instead of Tod...

              time to have fun in language and with it
and given no paper
is a carrier of: enough to bypass gatekeeping
with enough spacing
and hot bagels off right off off the bat
and who cares about money
i have Martin "Schumacher" Batuk in the background
half brain not dead
about to be airlifted from Poland
to a nursing home in England
since his calamity occurred doesn't mean
that he'll remain there:
and the ***** and giggles of my grandmother's
dementia is like: a cherry a cherry a cherry smiling
like my lover's buttocks:
i had to get a wake up call
took to smoking a cigarette with coffee
then did two angry masturbations
trying to find female ******* kinks of the teacher
and student... but once that was over
and i did my 3 times the *****
had a shower
and cycled to: African Christian Ladies
opening up a stall and singing and blasting bad
Nigerian Reggae at Collier Row
just outside the Tesco where i came in for
a supply of bourbon...

jeez: that Travis Scott demographic... hmm?
i was not expecting it...
we were all gearing up for the **** Kid
demographic from last year
where African Power and quasi-nationalism
was espoused and it was like a Malcolm X
rally:
but it's still funny watching the dynamic
of black on black
the former slaves: as caught and sold
to European merchants:
the idiots of the tribe...
       and it's not like slavery meant
that no Africans remained in Africa, right?
   it's not like every single African was enslaved:
there were those that stayed behind:
and it's not like picking cotton was:
compared to what the European *******
did coming from the east
and the Irish in the coalmines and construction?
oh: ugh! backbreaking work: picking cotton...
the sun so awful all that brain freeze
and suntan and: i had it once... what's the word...
sunstroke... yes...
not enough Afro curls on me heed to go ahead
and... somehow not sigh?

don't know what the constipation is all about:
politically:
the moment i started laughing at the President
of the United States
introducing Zelensky as Putin...
                      so i'm supposed to go and live
among these people?
hardly:
Hawaiian implores me to mingle with the Polynesians
and it's almost done:
getting those ******* out with enough
golf, golf-tourism and tourism...
but not quiet: quite:
ha ha... funny words... not so far apart:
a Dyslexic funfair that's like the opposite of Islam
but not much better
supposedly we're all literate but
evidently no: so if i can but try to come across
as intimidating:
it would very much coincide with one
observation from a Bengali arch-English anti-Bengali:
'why is it that when you talk
people listen to you?'
you know, fwend: i never really had enough
of an undermining ego-narrative in my head
to be bothered by that: or as Heidegger proposed:
beside the hammer...
i.e. laborers talking about philosophy on the job
rather than exchanging *** banter and banter:
Heidegger's Q: or: the proposed:
question-worthiness...

         there is such a "thing" as: question-worthiness...
i question sparingly:
myself? hardly: but not never...
if Socrates utilized: "nothing"...
then Heidegger utilized: question:
hence, from: all i know is that i know nothing
came:
well... Heidegger didn't actually put up a formulaic
simplification away from an aphorism...
he didn't suggest a succinct approach...
i'll try...

           what is best known is what
           is question-worthy...

best? or "best"? to the highest degree:
aesthetically... maybe...
ethically: definitely...
for the generalization of well-being: being well...
good... ergo best:
yes...

       what is best known is what
       is question-worthy...

if someone doesn't prompt a question:
it is best dissolved, absolved from one's concern...
it's mostly ego mash up and consciousness
debates...
but... find me a single thing in existence
and tell me it doesn't have the following expression(s):

                     ?               !
                             . .
                         .__.

look at the face... it's a pretty face: isn't it?!
i think that's my face:
the mountain screams with the eye of exclamation
while also withdraws with
the eye of questioning:
no smile no frown:
two nostrils i gather and two pairs of ears
funny how ears are unimportant in
the language of emoticons...

                    question-worthiness...
i'm so happy i wasted my 20s and early 30s
on reading philosophy
on being scrutinized by psychiatric professionals
being pilled
bloating up to 115kg
                 being ****** and whatnot
ah: the tyranny as espoused by Plato went away
so quickly and never came back
and i started to look at people in 3D...
i started reading people...
people slowly started to open up to me
from seeing a psychiatrist (not by choice)
to somehow being a psychiatrist not qualified
to dish out pharma cocktails of debilitating
side-effects:

          but that i learned from the private imperfections
of R. D. Laing...
a good portion of my literary diet was
orientated in the scared trinity
of philosophy, psychology and poetry...
that is a ******* juggernaut... a perfect cocktail:
and you have to sometimes juggle multiple
readings: the simultaneous approach
coincidences approach:
life feels eerie from not being or feeling
special: crab bucket mentality is sure to follow:
but just being alive:
somehow curtaining and curtailing
and even censoring
a need-to-have consciousness-as-narrative:
ego: flaky...
i have one but it's un-uniqueness
in that "we" share the commonality of someone
says Monday,
another someone says September 1st 1939 anno domini
dough-mini: instead: piquant:
scale: the backward version of
joy to the world the lord has come
not music in the slightest:
so thought inter-personal transit of ideas
like who discovered gravity
was Newton but not Newton's ego
that became recycled:
and only as such... "reincarnation" of the ego
happens all the time:
timeless plagiarism of being of a species
and having a tongue and relating to the same exemplum
gratis of a fellow man...

but i will not have a 20th century itch
of having to keep Shakespeare as a crutch
for verification stratification
of authority of the penned-whip:
i will lose no sensibility being under-appreciative
of Shakespeare:
besides... well... the movie adaptation
of Macbeth...the Justin Kurzel version...
primarily because of how hauntingly the language
was approached: perfectly fitting:
esp with the score Jed... oh! right! brothers at work!
lucky *******...
they had it with the Merchant of Venice:
up to a point but that's only thanks to Al Pacino
and Jeremy Irons...
the Romeo+Juliet adaptation was just
******* wonky: the language too obviously
sterile beyond everyday usage...
the music gave the adaptation of Macbeth the perfect
haunting eerie-.