i can't stop feeling this pounce of melancholy,
and i mean: it's like a lynx pouncing on my chest,
i can't even claim a clinical dimension to it,
it's a sadness that comes on two fronts...
   it's a sadness that i left Poland when i was 8,
and the greater part of my life was spent
using the English language...
         and i find the Anglophone world so devoid
of consistency... all this post-truth
          labelling...
       this throwing of the cartesian maxim the other
way around, the "i am" really does
   predated the "i think" scenario on the hopes
of asking for a genesis, a (0, 0) / (ο, ω) coordinate
beginning... yes, i know more of a dougnut
   and less the orbit of a planet in the latter case...
     i can't believe i'm getting this technical -
but it sometimes happens, you know?
i don't really like it... i'd love to write about less
claustrophobic matters, less constrictive intellectual
matters... and before you shoot me down
by denouncing the crass lack of motivation -
                i am frail in undertaking another "poem",
and i mean that as a way of saying:
              terse narration and no claim to technique,
or at least that's what i know is modern...
           i watch the following list of videos
as a sort of freak-natured lullaby while drinking
Obey the Walrus         I FEEL FANTASTIC
Agamemnon Counterpart       Username 666
Cursed Kleenex Commercial      There is nothing
Performance Olivier de Sagazan 2008  
     The Wyoming Incident        My Dead Great
Grandma’s Coffin in My Own backyard!
K-Fee Car Commercial       Pretty Woman
Fatal Diving Accident        Girl Goes ****** During
Makeup Tutorial       Paris Catacombs Lost Footage
Shaye Saint John – Hand Thing (yes, copy & paste
given the uppercase lettering, i can be lazy
once in a while) -
                          so i do see a lot of potential in
these clips... if you can't dazzle them: might as well
scare them...
                      but i watch them and then write
a native-language poem while listening to
    music accompanying a zbigniew herbert poem
by tadeusz woźniak - and i get all nitty gritty
when using a language i should have forgotten
aged 8... and i type one out and i am brought
to tears with it... and then it vanishes from the html
blank...
             and then a deeper horror sets in,
which Ezra Pound would have liked
and it merely means: ten quotes by Horace,
a video, with only 230 views on youtube...
                    no one would dare say carpe diem
like a cliche after seeing this video...
             but still the sadness persists...
and i can't make it systematic, not systematic in
the sense that it might appeal to the zeitgeist of:
the January blues, or... i need the pharmacological
rainbow...
        i have a miniature vineyard... enough for
35 litres of wine... and i make the wine myself...
i pick the grapes...
i crush them, i buy the yeast, i melt the sugar until
i get runny sugar-thick water,
   and you know? out of the 5 litre holders for it...
i get about 10 pristine bottles of wine,
roughly in the range of 15% a pop...
                   from 35 litres i get about 10 pristine bottles
of wine... quality-wise: the stuff you'd expect to
buy in a shopping market...
       and that's the sad part...
it bothers me that i've waited for long for the wine,
i might have mentioned it a few months back that
i do actually make my own wine... but given the addiction
it's a product that could only last for something
worth celebrating...
                     these days people speak of a marathon's
worth of abstinance from the stuff for a month...
    which is a bit sad, given that if people ventured
into producing their own alcohol, they'd have
a Dionysian month of binging on it... and then having
11 months being sober... until the natural cycle comes
back, like the rare event of a comet...
    i'm sad i lost a few poems on the way...
but i'm also sad that the drinking should begin by spring
and that i'm ****** already...
                  that i'm still buying whiskey,
and when i do actually drink that one bottle of clouded
wine today, i'll feel a sense of the most minute accomplishment...
   i can't stop facing this industrialisation of
everything... whether it's alcohol, or art...
   or intellectual debate...
   sure, i'll listen to Breitbart for a bit...
then i'll listen in on how we've began mutilating
language... then i'll think of god, and recount
kant's concept: imagine the pangs of despair i felt
reading through the second volume of the critique -
if you do: you'd be surprised by what's involved
in transcendental methodology...
    what could possibly obstruct you in the existence
of: said word... not enlarged in religious practices?
   i am comforted by the fact that kant deals with
god on a non-religious basis...
    religious i mean: worthy of a reciting only one
book a thousand ******* times and building churches...
if god is merely lodged in your mind and allows
for a narrative, who is sane enough to take that
narrative initiative from you, considering the fact
that you're not bound to kneel and read only one
book a thousand times as if that one book held
the sole capacity for your vocab exfoliation and learning
of the alphabet?
     how can you ever be bound to a cognitive detestation
of god? that really must be painful...
considering that thought is so ****** whimsical, frail,
   picky, panicky... give it all you want...
you can't establish a cognitive detestation of god
  on the simple ground that thought is being bombarded
by a 5:1 ratio of the senses versus 1 non-sense -
    which god evidently is: given the numbers of
the good-church going folks... kneeling lunatics i call them...
but the simple fact that you want to do a lobotomy on
yourself with atheism, is a bit like saying
you'll censor the mathematical statement 1 + 1 = 2...
      at least the concept of god is: language exists...
and can i add to that? if a being as such exists:
he wouldn't consist of games... the verbal colliseum
of anagrams and crosswords... language you seize
to be entertaining... it would spell out a clear
format: a x, y, z      vector precision:
    starting from point (0, 0) moving to (1, 1),
  (2, 2)        to ( 5, 5) etc. you'd get a y = x graph...
   not a ******* parabola of nuance and political
chess... or nuanced ***...
                    and is that a.i.?
           well: the french question about man inventing
god because it would be useful is much better said
these days since we we have the capacity to create ourselves...
and given how it looks: i'm going to be a caveman
trapped in a two-dimensional world of the collective
consciousness by the time the true avant-garde in this
medium starts... creating a god became boring...
so many had to recreate himself in the robotic form...
    man is currently needing this exploration...
forget the space project... it's a case of definition...
but i'm still melancholic about the wine...
     i've been waiting to sniff it and feel the sharpness
of the alcohol for a good 3 months...
       and i really wish i could write in my native tongue
so easily as i do in my acquired tongue...
     i'm sad because i'm drinking the whiskey
prior, rather than getting completely sloshed on
what alcoholism looked prior:
    it's that curse of town insomnia and how we don't
celebrate enough of what comes with natural
cycles...
              which means that ontology is dead...
given we've managed to tame the seasons...
  means that any ontological question, based on
the cycle of wine-making, brings us to a more dreary
position than with nietzsche's god is dead...
look here: at least you have something tangible...
   you can't erase god from thinking...
it's the primost a priori essence of every, single man,
it's not an a posteriori fact,
god is there, in that a priori medium like space
and time...
                              and why do people never claim
that god can contain a dualism, primarily because
the herd is encapsulated by a monotheism?
              if god could ever be an a posteriori you'd
be forced to experience some sort of revelation,
and later encounter the evil contained within the concept's
dualism, so in actual sense: be considered mad:
for not making certain choices in life and wishing to
reach for the pulpit... mind you: i had such an experience...
and my life didn't become better for it...
     evidently i should have pressed harder for
the ontological argument of: marrying the girl...
but then the same ontological argument came back
to me when i started making wine...
                      meaning i could produce alcohol
on an industrial level... and forget any ritualism involved
in consuming it prior... since i would only be
left with an addictive socio-pathological use of the
once celebrated, collective engagement by waiting for
autumn to ferment and keep me warm through
the winter... which i suppose is when all the Greeks
were kept together... drinking and ******* rather
than bother to exploit natural resources like gas and oil...
but hey! that's just me...
         but there's a sadness behind this...
start making your own wine and you'll see it...
which is to say: i don't know whether i'd have lived
a happy life with my russian fiance...
             i have only a quantum idealism to mind
expressed by fanciying myself counter to the history
i'm writing right now...
    so why is god as a priori bound as time and space?
well... why would you otherwise get so many eager
atheist gobs to reach for an argument?
                  i find that the most authentic atheists are
murderers... why? they have transcended
    the cognitive debility of an atheistic argument...
      i'll prove god does not exist by "thinking" about it...
my my: what a lovely congregation you have there!
      i'm not even trying to be clever here...
  well... there's an antidote to this scenario...
               so he's permanently lodged in our a priori
  "consciousness" (might as well do away with psychiatry
******* about with its three-layer cake of
con- subcon- and uncon-) -
                   and he's not lodged in our a posteriori
"consciousness" - i hate becoming the fiddler on the roof -
because what then? experiencing the omniniscence
and the omnipotency and whatever other trait that ******
thing does, would translate as what?
     at best a monotheism... or a place where people concentrate
in numbers... not necessarily worths of being beyond
the estimates concerning their congregation...
            it's dangerous to claim a god in the a posteriori
realm...
                that's why the safest place to keep him is in
the a priori realm... where all the big things happen,
or don't happen, depending whether you're from New York
or Hiroshima...
                    and following from kant's distinction
in transcendental methodology concerning time and space...
and god...
                 it dawned on me that he did see a distinction
between mathematical language and the lingua of
  doodling and anagrams and all those poetic jives that
give no precision...
    if time... then space...
                    if god...            then nothing...
and how are dual in the a priori realm...
       only that with regards to time and space
i'm more likely to throw a 1, or a 2 into conceptualising
these things, than i am to throw an a, or a b into it...
    algebra is secondary in talking about these two mediums...
why? because i'll get a definite rationalisation of
time and space... if i tell you the fastest man on earth
can run 100m in under 10secs...
                       if i throw in x y z into this: i might as well
end this whole narrative with: oi! Zeno! give us
that Achilles joke!
                when i mean god i mean: medium of
communication... that's not necessarily a democratic
omni-versed plateau of sponging everything every human
has to say...
       but i primarily throw 1, 2, 3... 4, 5... 8, 9 and 0
into the a priori conceptualisation of time and space...
  but if i do the same when i throw in the other symbols
into the a priori conceptualisation of god and nothing -
sure, mathematical symbols can be phonetic encoding,
as one, two, three, four... five, six...
          but apply them as one two three four to time and space
and there's no way to rationalise time and space,
because time and space is met with a nonsense
in dealing with a phonetic encoding of 1 (as one) -
due to the vacuum of space... and the timelessness of
    time as a ref. point fixated upon... let's just leave
it with the vacuum of space... 2 overpowers two (because
of to and too), 3 overpowers three (because of free)...
4 overpowers four (because of for)... not only that:
but they're more about photographic memory
and visual conceptualisation ease - no one really bothers
   a - z to be anything more than: what they actually
are as phonetically: awaiting pronunciation.
sure... letter can become mystical in a sense of:
   y looks like a tree (other than pine),
           H is a rugby goal...
                               w is a cosine graph...
                    y is a serpent's tongue...
              but that's mysticism and that's also: fair enough!
what bugs me is the opposite of the a priori
magnetism... as opposed to space and time...
god and nothing...
     well... if i throw 1 and 0 into a priori thinking
about working time and space...
  i'll get, say: 365 days in a calendar year...
               or that the acceleration of earth if 9.8 metres
per seconds squared... (cubic gravity evidently
becomes a bit pointless -
                                        imagine it:
   9.8m/s(superscript)3...   or 9.8m(superscript)2/s...
or whatever variation...
no wonder the chemists got the ****-end of the stick
when they were told they weren't allowed into
the heaven of superscript... but sent to the subscript hell
of writing dwom oxygen... ah shame: Faust! i'm coming!)...
yes... but throw 1 - 0 into the a priori
"conceptualisation" opposite of time and space,
i.e. god and nothing... the best answer you can get
is matthew chapter 1 verse 8... or SIX SIX SIX!  boogie man!
well... not... you throw in the symbols α - ω
into the a priori "conceptualisation" of god & nothing
and you get, e.g.: δατυμ -
which basically means: it can't be meaningless -
       otherwise we'd be stuck with animalistic intuition
and intelligence, overloaded with sensual intelligence
and not marred by the murk of thought...
  how this devolution happened is beyond me...
  no amount of wit makes up for the sensual sharpness of
a monkey shouting at a congregation: spy! snake!
and all with the bare minumum of phonetic distinction...
    thus α - ω are slightly meaningless when it comes
to time and space, i know these symbols to enter
this a priori venture, but we're still primarily talking
about using 1 - 0 symbols to get at the knitting-work...
just like in verse, i say of a crossword
    sound of Valhalla (4),
                 and you say: 1 across... horn!
                              and then we get the pretty picture.
3a.m.
       and the wine ritual is about to begin...
      

you might only grasp this sentiment, within the framework of in extremo's song melancholie.

for many night i've sat, and thought about
it: for in the night, there come several
questions, namely:
  why is the moon so inconsistent with
respect to the sun,
as in: you see the sun, either with clear
sky, or with the dulling english grey
of overcast, every, single, day...
while some nights, remain devoid of sighting
a moon?
  that glittering scythe of death,
and the eternal sleep?
    why?
           i don't want a scientific answer now,
numbed by fact,
  i want the first generation fruition of
inquisitiveness, of the plague of doubt in
giving the "wrong" answer,
  i want to know as to why:
each & every day we see the sun,
but not in the case the night:
to see moon also apparent as the constellations...
some night, i howled, and didn't see
a moon...
         then again i did see a moon at noon
in the wintry season at noon...
****** did a quantum trick on me...
******? which brings me to language disparity...
gender *neutrality of pronouns,
does, not, exist!
     i can't believe i'm currently living
in a mental asylum...
  but i am! and so are you!
   play the mad-man's game!
play it! pronouns do not allow "gender"
neutrality... they never will!
what's at stake is noun-genderism...
in a language, far far away:
the moon (księżyc) is male...
the sun (słońce) is, female...
  pronouns are irrelevant in terms of
"gender neutrality" as if ascribing
conjunctions, articles or prepositions with
a gender bias...
you want gender "neutral" pronouns,
i want you to learn french!
go on, ******, learn french for me!
****-****-cat-fiddling-cross-dressing-junk!
learn french!
you want an assault on orthodox grammar
with your "catholicism", go on!
please understand that certain languages
have certain laws!
in polish the moon is male,
in english luna is female...
   while the sun is female -
while in english it's: louis XIV...
you can't attack pronouns with gender-neutrality...
they're already gender-neutral you
****-tards!
    why didn't you notice the ****** nouns?!
why?
   oh wait... 'ere comes the, ******* asylum
brigade with their nag hammadi dictate...
gentlemen! applause!
you can't come around dictating
orthodoxy of a language with your
lunacy!
    try the idea of:
spotting the ******* moon once upon
a night in summer... believe me:
you'll chance to live through a moonless
night!
       unlike a day without the sun!
grrr.... yi ha ha ha ha!
    i'm going to wake up the graeae and
tell you a fourth secret, once you take
to the crucifix being replaced by
a cannibalising cauldron!
     grrr... rattles of branches shaken by
a wind, and the scuffling footprint of brushing
against fallen branches that become twings...
imbeciles! imbeciles!
    english nouns do not possess
gender!
     you can't call a table either a he or a she!
english doesn't have this "luxury"!
  in french or in english you can
attest to the moon being a he,
and the sun being a she,
in english?!
  o.k. i'm so ******* berserk in my observation
that's beyond making an
"objective" injunction:
  moth on my keyboard, the trinity of
0) -_ and p -
  i don't mind attacking religion,
but when it comes to grammar:
   this is probably the worst attack "imaginable";
it's *******! english does not permit
gender distinction to nouns! esp. inanimate
nouns!
     gender "neutral" pronouns conceptualisation
if a lunatic asylum... sorry,
but these people require a safe space,
and a strait-jacket!
you can't reconstruct the "unconscious"
foundations of a language: well,
you can, if you're north american...
      english already has a "gender neutral"
medium: it has gender neutral nouns!
  how can you make pronouns "gender neutral"?!
you already have a gender neutral
pronoun... it!
           just like you have a "noun neutrality"
of thing!
just like you a "neutrality of pensiveness" -
nothing!
  given the current year:
    forest gump seems, quiet the bright fella'.

mild no. 8901 i really enjoyed...
              difficult no. 8902?
    made one mistake... pretended to do
a crossword by filling in two squares
in complete black...
                   was the mild no. wholly relaxing?
i guess you enjoy something if you take
a long time to keep being
engaged in it...
                   i just wanted to reveal some sort
of conceptualisation of the tactics...
  e.g. III ≠ II = I.
                                       and it can really seem
as an autism doing these puzzles...
akin to understanding symbols
          +      //    |                Γ           L;
you're basically belzeebub eyed darting crazy...
thankfully my grandfather proved
the point that he can solve crosswords,
and i can do these.
           i'm not competing, i'm no *******
samurai equivalent with these,
        i don't have an ideogram capacity
of some asia... i just translate the "complex"
asian ideogram as gypsy: cha chi chong chew;
but it's the concept of sitting on a leather sofa
and doing a mild su doku for half an hour
while drinking *****;
but the following symbols used?
that's the level at which i decipher the puzzles;
      jokingly                 6      9 also helps...
reading into the patterns                so does 3     and    ʒ...
    who the hell reads mirage while
encoding it as /mᵻˈrɑːʒ/, when all you need is
     the diacritic ż.... to either write: me-raż... or
akin to yen: mī-rāƶ:
                                  ******, wanna play? let's play!
      let's play it: daddy **** me long time in thai.
all the bankers that retired from the game
walk these streets with dogs and feel lonely...
yep, and i'm feeling "lonely"
     with linguistic alternations;
    i'm going to down this ***** sharpshooter,
and probably feel less lonely by turning arrogant
into utilising an empty space / canvas.

oh i didn't write something to change the boundaries,
i wanted to capture the digital narrative,
or how the hope of destroying all forms of theology
with our a.i. gravitas, we started to
apply the digital anaesthetic -
and cradle the numbing effects of:
                 us, in experiment,
or: us, in a medium of synthetic material...
             either way pushing us apart friom actually
inhabiting organic matter...
           the many of us these these are merely pawn
in the game...
                  we're pawns in a construction site
of all thing theretical... meaning it's truly 2D by comparison
to the 3D structures we see...
       the element that will truly give a.i. it's ego?
wait wait... why with latin dead and me not speak it
but i have this theoretical baggage of ego?
            ego is only short of en egg should i decide to
write it... arbeit macht frei must come from
counter-conceptualisation of the remains of the roman
empire with self- (hyphen included), to remind people
that it's all about work, and how we will either loose
or free ourselves from the re in the setting sun to echo aeons...
that might be the case...
            but find me a modern day writer who has
to use this medium of people talking over one another...
find me a writer who''s lodged in the internet like
a cherry atop a cake...
          who can't be gagging for a log cabin in some obscure
place, who has to be in the thick of it...
       i'm not writing to change the world,
i'm writing to describe the status quo...
            qua norm, or should i say "norm"...
from status quo comes the question: qua status?
     when i write i think about throwing a pebble into
a lake, compared to throwing a pebble into a river...
compared to throwing a pebble into a sea...
to be honest? throwing a pebble into a sea is
the most involving...
                  and there is poetic subconscious in this,
which i will unearth: the pebble is supposed to mean this:
the three forms of water are supposed to represent
another this:
                                 the pebble is supposed to represent
a soul, a concentration of my my, my sigma (total),
and the three tiers of water are supposed to represent this...
that said, i watched
    an internet video... by angry mgtow...
an answer to white women are rejecting beta males now /
blonde in the belly of the beast...
   first thing: why are men using the internet
deemed more "creepy" than women?
    we've already embarked on this a.i. project for the sole
reason as to overcome theological argument and
religion... we are living in a Frankenstein experiment,
but the "problem" is that we're only working on
the software package of the beast...
         the hardware can wait... we're not going to replace
our fondness for busdrivers and cleaners any time soon...
  we love our manual labourers...
                  american woman! stay away from me!
american woman! mama let me be!
   (it's daily, over and over in my head, that line and
many more kindred sing-alongs)
   we've already been drafted into creating the software
of the a.i. beast, it doesn't matter that the
hardware is already there but that we've stalled its
potential... the software is harder to be bound to
the logistics a limb might be drafted to exhibit basic
tongue of movement...
          all compliments to women:
they're the irrationality that will give the a.i. the spark!
           meaning autonomy...
  and how could i not even sound like an atypical man?
don't date the opposite ***?
              tease urban living with what life's like in
the middle-zone of outer-urbanity, i.e. the case of
a ******* bungalow? ha ha.
                              but this video got me like i might
catch a herring, and i do love pickled herrings...
raw pickled herrings...  it just got me
when i said: i'd like to move to the Faroe Islands...
no please, spare me the misery...
                         it's hard not to be
sexually antagonistic (sexist) - esp. when you're
not a sheikh with a motorboat and a fluffy moustache
that might brush-up against the ******* like
a vibrating ***** while you taste the pastries of flesh
with a saintly glee...
             every time i performed oral ***
on her i felt i left that hot-spot having slobbered
a tonne of lard... smeared a tonne of ****** cream and
that my face became phosphorescent, or an anglerfish:
which is the first sign before you don't even
bother to care to launch a space mission apollo 13
into the depths containing stars... or ask
      ridley scott...
                          i think he's the one dubbed:
coping mechanism... unlike philip k **** this guy's
a coping mechanism, a rare spectacle:
science fiction obstructs actual science...
                     i'm glad he's around and i pray that
we truly explore the depths of seas before going up
there: where the sun don't shine.
                  but this video got to me...
                i can't relate to it, either with the masculine
theory or the feminine experience...
i don't know: it almost feels like i live in a time
capsule at the best part of the 20th century when
i could still buy compact discs in a music shop
on a high-street... when there was no over-arching
agarophobia and claustrophobia telling us
when it was worthwhile to leave the house...
   and when it wasn't...
                         i opened another bottle of wine
that i made myself, and i don't know...
                  we started by ridding ourselves of god
to later replenish that end with a death of us,
it's almost as if we're staging parameters of being human
in this 2D construction site, on the basics:
merely exchanging opinions...
                                         i have, coming naturally:
this curiosity with the internet...
   i remember times of hotmail.com chatrooms...
      it's not as old as some people will claim the burden
to be, but the times when the ****** medium was
being sold to us... before facebook and subsequently otherwise
people were still very much comfortable before the television
set... but then people became less interested in
music and decided music could only exist in software
and not hardware, and i started to forage the berry shrubs of
youtube for music...
  i hope i don't precipitate any thought toward
nostalgia... bearing in mind i did establish myself
on the memory of having been to the cinema
to watch the films blow and austin powers 2:
the spy who shagged me - and in the latter case
i laughed at the shadow-scene like i might at
a laurel and hardy... and in the former case i loved
the music... and that's before comedy became too
"intelligent": too canned laughter...
revisionist existentialist, when dittoing can no longer
mean borrowing, or passing on a meaning,
                     or d.n.a. competition, when the end result
is but ~ (approximate) / ambiguity...
    the too intelliget: canned laughter...
                   the last time i really laughed at the movies
i was watching austin powers 2: the spy who shagged me...
the tent scene... it was the epitome of comedy,
a laurel and hardy slap stick incantation of a viewer...
   i guess it only comes with a sense of an individual
finding something so simple funny, that when
the same individual is dropped like a paratrooper into
a cinema audience: his laughter will become akin to
a virus, and thus become infectious and the individual
in mind because the cursor for canned laughter
later stored, to witness a televised episode of Friends
or Fraiser... which... would you believe it: aren't funny at all.
what was i going on about in the first place?
      ha ha... dunno... which makes Nick Harper a comic
genius... every time i see him
i laugh like a tickled ******* dangling off a bull horn
and two words ring a bell: mein shawl! and yes: it's
dramatically flinged, like i might be found
******* against the wind...
   quick question! five easy pieces rebel or cool hand
luke rebel?!

sometimes you really get this feeling of, well,
i really can't be bothered when puzzles become too difficult,
that i end up, not enjoying them.
    who the hell wants to engage in a puzzle that
they can't solve?
         it's not exactly cheating,
                and it's doubly-not "exactly" taking the easy
road...
                    the brain is fat... it's not a muscle...
  you can't exactly create tendons branching out,
out of "thin air", stressors like sūdoku...
                                             doing these puzzles is like
translating a chair into a massive bean bag...
          otherwise known by the chair, as a dream of:
the boogie man...
                     the chair is "thinking", ****!
                                               i'm going to become redundant!
but at no. 9049, i finally found, the last, possible conceptualisation
of the asian ideograms, that ezra pound fascinated himself
over, to knock on the doors of an asylum...
                  all it became? i'm a reductionist in this perspecgtive...
all it became?
          start doing the puzzle, and all that matters
                        is your eyes differentiating between + & x...
that's all it became,
              a question that said:           can't + be an algebraic
unit of abstract meaning that can be toyed with?
        looks similar to x...
   but sūdoku, really can be reduced to an +,
     as in, once you start solving a puzzle, your eyes dart around
to provoke the acronym n.e.w.s.,
                funny enough... after you reach the + stage,
you can bypass the x, and... ha ha... this being written
  in england... jack (of the union) has to come along...
so the darting of the eyes turn into george and andrew...

                        \       /
                             +
                         /       \

but that's my final say on the japanese puzzle...
                      i suppose that's a way of saying: there's an x
inside a +... like there's **** symbolism in the hindu symbol of
the *******.
  but this is the zenith, or the limit of conceptualißing
        the sūdoku puzzle.
oh, you know what name cats have given me?
    ya-beł...      i once wrote it like a jehovah's witness,
y becomes j becomes dz -
                      no, not ya-beew...
                                    i can't explain to you refining
the phonetic encoding...
              not since letters in the alphabet have such
****** names, comared to the greek: alpha
   (n.a.t.o. encoding) alpha,
      beta...          bravo...
          gamma...        ­    golf...
                              delta delta...
                            epsilon                  ech­o...
                                     zeta                   zulu...
                          theta / phi                           foxtrot...
i'm not going to write the whole of the two alphabets out...
**** it.

it was only the first screening of ex_machina,
but the words 'deus' and 'placebo'
were uttered after a walk of thus pondering:

understanding this movie requires kant's
critique of pure reason matter of frankly,
i lost the kantian concepts of *a priori and
a posteriori using the cartesian method of understanding,
gravitating in my realm of understanding
almost unconscious why the cartesian uncoupling
of the kantian compounds is required:

invoking a purely cognitive aspect of analytical
and synthetic i took the temporal realm of
pre- and post-, which is respective of the definitions
of the above italicised -

when watching the movie... apart from the groovy
part where music has no central role as is usual
in all horror movies... the aesthetic of horror movies
has been cleaned up thanks to technology,
that knife into the chest like knife into butter
is perfect... the knife into the chest also perfect...
it's the robotic of man's daily routines done by a robot
that does the horror bit...
it's music replaced with claustrophobia,
the theory is mesmerising... generally speaking
phobias are tiny... and the horror scenario
losing focus in terms of music and instead
focusing on an expanding phobia, like claustrophobia
is a gigantic leap in the horror movie scene...
i wonder what the moving imagery of arachnophobia
would look like... without technological frankensteins...
a massive thematic move but still trendy with mary shelley's
original idea... more clean cut... no scar marks...
a beautiful frankenstein emerges...
but enough of that...

the kantian translated with cartesian methodology,
losing the a priori and a posteriori coupling
with analytical and synthetic notions -
like me when i first learned language,
21 years later i've just started the analytical procedure,
prior to these years, the cut-off point at 21
i was merely synthesising the language,
so well that i even managed to phonetically
strain my tongue to fake having a limousine
and a mansion and a horse... posh posing fake...
it happens - no geordie no scouser no cockney in me...
just mundane pure elocution to a ****,
harmless if i'm being honest -
but no, no no, i mean i had to synthesise the language
first, before i lost all possible synthesis of it
attributed to vocabulary... it's then that i started
to analyse it!

so this robo chic... i was thinking:
what's the analysis to synthesis ratio in her?
that must be balanced, right?
there are so many things to analyse in life:
all those biologists, chemists, forensic scientists...
but only one successful synthesis - almost
like free will that does not dare to conflict
with other possibilities...
there's no before / after concerning what one knows,
a symbiosis has to exist between these two things -
it's not that she's artificial, she's pure analytic,
she can't be pure synthetic:

deep blue is pure synthetic - he was given all
the possibilities of a chess mastermind,
he's purely synthetic, because the only thing
he can analyse is chess, and in only doing so,
he can only synthesise the authentic craft of
playing chess and nothing else, meaning he has
limited parameters -
but this robotic woman / frankenstein
would be lost in terms of pure synthesis, unlike
deep blue - she's pure analysis, meaning
the interaction is almost two dimensional,
meaning that if man questions his free will,
she would also have to do so...
i'm thinking analytical intelligence (a.i.)
either pondering suicide, ****** - morality
in total... and being drunk...

the same conceptualisation applies
in my own scenario, using the cartesian methodology
on kantian concepts i realised
my thought is an interchange of analysis | synthesis |
analysis | synthesis... this interplay
is staggering... first i cognitively synthesise
then i cognitively analyse, ping-pong.

i have no care for attaching a priori to
synthesis or a posteriori to analysis, or whatever
dogmatic building block is expected,
in the temporal sense i see the future
as ordained by the faculty of imagination
and the present as ordained by the faculty of memory;
in the present there's only this:
a lot of verbs, some which i can control, some which
i can't... depending on my noun bank account...
that same old fascination with flowers and
the complete and utter lack of apps. for deciphering
names of flowers...

but of course there's a moral to the film's plot -
it mentions consciousness and awareness to something...
a bit like man being conscious of his evolution,
hence the necessity of forgetting **** sapiens
and embracing deus placebo...
after all... it will please the vanity of man to
think himself a god...
and in so doing... craft the possibility of a deus sapiens...
a rational god... given that we're still monkeys
in spandex shooting bullets at innocent random targets
in the minority.

did i forget something?
four beers does the trick... i watched a great movie...
now i'm going to drink some whiskey
and paint my room blood red
donning a dracula bun of hair tickling with excitement:
but prior... if the universe is an undifferentiated substance,
say... water... i imagine the geometry of it's boundlessness
concerning the capillary effect of water...
what sort of geometric shape would allow the singularity
of the universe to provide the parabola of it
being in a tube of glass... in comparison to it...
i'm an indentation... i'm like mercury in similar circumstances...
hello big void... filled with aurora colours and magpies.

only one word prompted me: szło,  i.e. as it went...
urgh... phobias for slavs.... she was drininking tango...
(strachy na lachy, piła tango; czarna bandera! i or spanish y,
janosik! hula huj! niby, oby, nie prawda).
ugh, i sat there, on the throne, with my **** eager,
i felt sick more about a ******* relationship than the actual
taboo infested act... family via ****, what a dross!
back to level 1 of art, heterosexual, and onan,
                it was alway going to be
akin to history, and the caurosel... bilinigual "dyslexia" -
carousel... kabbalah in the moment, loss
of fixation on the tetragrammaton...
and i woke up today, fiddling with my hands
like a blind buddha...
that handsignal he is understood to "wave"
about in statue form, how the ring finger
bends and touches the thumb's nail...
and that's to represent a family,
index woman, middle man, pinky a child...
and why we use acronym base
for putting on a ring onto the ring finger,
touching the tip of thumb,
meaning Caesar said: all good...
outside the coliseum...
so that's what blind buddha said...
and like i already said,
in the future philosophers were sellers
of dictionaries, and lawyers were
sellers of thesarus rex...
you mention the dinosaurs,
and i'm supposed to say: you're the lucky un.
i drank in order to remember
that i must forget...
but still my previous life was flashing
before my eyes...
like i was about to engage in
re-imitating it... a *******'s load of hope
groping the eyes of those who,
stranded in the desert, suggested an oasis...
as the title suggest: always about
cliche, about a faux pas... and yes:
an opera...
  i want to be the linguistic orginating in
chemistry, seems i am,
how the english tongue took to
late christainity, the un-orthodox mention
of st. thomas' gospel unearthed from
an egyptian desert... 30 miles south of Cairo...
or so so...
            i might like to read an existential
novel of the children bound to feminism
and i.v.f., and how horrid it was to live
with your parents, and economy,
   and how the shame came,
in pakistani format...
                 just thinking...
my **** said much more 30 minutes prior,
but the i.v.f. narrative and how our nature
was dislodged by our power to overcome
our foundations, and still people died
in earthquakes and tsunamis...
                 but indeed, szło:
how it went...
                and thus my reason to give it ***...
like learning french, masculine and feminine forms,
of the said word,
  szła = she went; szedł = he was dasein / walked,
ergo revision szła = he was dasein...
   and that's the reason i didn't really
love my russian girlfriend, she said
polish was primarily defined by
   ш ш ш, i said huш, she said: шut up!
   the last love and the only and the end, of a concept
and matrimony to fiction.
let's deal with realities... play marbles,
talk about gambling and gamble...
**** it all away... flip coins and
do whatever is necessary, having found love
is rare more than a peacock feather for a quill,
and let's just, grow up.
every, single, time, that jewish ghetto freak
of a god comes up, an all encompassing word,
that can encompass mere noun, from mere sound,
from mere onomatopoeia, into a verb,
   a lament configuration that just encrusts itself
into the concept of a noumenon...
past terms, present terms, future terms...
and sexuality...
  szła шedł szło...
     three sexes, one, the last, neutral...
               and when psychology comes along to play
the game of anthropology you'll say
what i said... she dasein, he dasein,
   it, the world, happened...
                             and that's a thank you
to a philosopher of lore (20th century) for being
able to complicate my life, and
   celebrate the ghetto god of Jews...
  nah, they can keep the crucifix and their
Judas reward like altars...
  all that gold needs the stink of prayer
and sycophancy... like they do in Russia:
priest stands before the altar, reads an orthodox
verse, his back against the people kneeling
behind him, as the depiction of Judas
in the scenario of the last supper...
and you can't even sit and listen to the choir
doing a rendition of Bach... some church
attendant tells you to not sit...
and appreciate the choir...
"modern" Russia for you...
   what's with this cult of modernity?
we are living in times where modernity is cult,
it's nothing but cult, or the limit...
modernity is a cult of journalists...
they're almost anti-darwinist in their expression...
poetry, poetry has to, attack journalism...
i see no other way to go about it...
   marriage... hmmph! шło, how it went...
well... it went like this:
siała baba mak, nie wiedziała jak...
chłop powiedział.... i to było tak:
   an idiot mongolian played the imaginary
harmonica doing motorboat with
his lips and moving his index finger
up and down against the "slur" of excess phlegm...
(a woman was sowing poppies,
she didn't know how,
a man said: like this... and both became
Glaswegian ****** junkies to "feel" good)...
   i broke up with that russian hyenna
just before she embarked into m.d.m.a.,
yes, i'm a happily alcoholic concept of
sanity, for what sanity's worth looking
at other people claim their rites of passage
beyond religion, beyond anything,
as said: only choice, and subsequent regrets
and joviality: if prominent on the faces
of some you encounter in the fudge of
modern grey matter / area.
i can only say that this current transgender
movement is almost as prominent as
what's inherent in the english language,
how words like table, chair...
pineapple, do not have gender in the language
per se, there's no masculine or feminine
conceptualisation of simple things,
someone who's french might say
a chair has male qualities,
   and a table has feminine qualities...
it's subtle... refined to a very slight
           chance of spotting a variation of spelling...
e.g. шło (how it went), and the two variations,
one for man (шedł), and one for woman (шła)...
evidently the anglophone language has too
much money, and even more spare time,
to actually un-poeticize the nag hammadi library...
i mean, everyone is killing poetry,
but this sort of ****** is beyond any worth...
the genesis of this story begins with
psychiatry and the 1960s, primarily a Scot,
a Glaswegian, r. d. laing, coming straight out
of c. g. jung.... freud is for rich people and
the only oedipus: Wilhelm II of german...
it must be a luxury, it can't be anything but,
it must be a luxury to have dreams
and to also have an interpretation of them,
right? they call them the snowflakes generation...
i just call them freud-tards with their toothpicks
for trees forests of "depth".
looking at the way jesus is depicted, with a
void black halo around him:
i'm suspecting we wasn't a big dreamer,
to lift the veil: an imitation of Joseph,
seven lean years, seven bountiful...
   and how so few of us actually have a rich
dream life... we don't, not everyone is invited
to lead such a double life...
  some do, and they have recurrent dreams,
well, one dream over and over and... what a boring life.
i dream sometimes, but it looks like scrambled eggs,
too many: dreams within dreams...
   then again, if i followed the diagnostics of
w. burroughs, i'd probably feel embodied in dreams
if i shot up ******... or smoked it...
  but i prefer a rested body anyway.
so yeah, a bit quasi-etymological,
those "idiosyncratic" but rather specific words:
шło... id.... that it went / how it went...
  and so it went...
english doesn't have a *** in language,
   nothing to decipher whether a man or woman uses
it, unless you congest it with
   excess pronoun shrapnel...
          excess pronoun and conjunction shrapnel...
the only thing that resembles saxon in post-Hastings
french viking invasion are the way chemical
nouns reflect what a german makes of
antidote to claustrophobia:
                  habbeschneizergoo, or thereabouts.
let's just say: language as theory.
   this is mine... what do you have?
ah... right... a concrete heart, an empirical heart...
does that allow counter defining an origin
not related to the big bang, but a meow or a woof
of knuckling a tree... i.e. extracting sounds
and later appropriating the invocation of sound
to later state pointless mantra, and otherwise
read more, see less?
   if we're talking sounds, or the big bang
is my idea of the φoνoς, look... the ancients
beginning with Heraclitus had logos...
or word, until that concept became ghetto...
now we have so much music, and that one
defining "sound"... i say φoνoς, to counter
the science of the bang... and yeah, it's apparently "big"...
just learn a science to a degree level,
and then relax unlearning it writing philosophy...
you just might spontaneously write poetry,
     and gave a libido of a Solomon, but no harem;
gents! handshakes! handshakes!

i can clearly hear how english mutates...
a book review by a channel... better than food...
the book he's reviewing is goETHE's captain faust:
and the non-avengers...
but no...

i don't hear: stick an umlaut anywhere you please...
i, "for some reason"... do not hear
a: Θ... a göethe... or a goëthe (ladin alphabet -
the germans know about this)...
there is this... goe-ether association...
it's sometimes a riddle of goë, göe...
or quiet simply...
the remains of the ancient latin grapheme (œ)?

educated people make this distinction -
and they'll catch "you" out on it...
since... they represent the Hyacinth Bucket brigade...
gynocentrism doing a snail-trail:
one step forward... two steps back...
it's beside what the linguist "says":
a bucket is a bucket a ***** is a *****...
otherwise? glorifying such a harsh reality
of a surname like: bucket... but not beckett?
no... "samuel"? well then...
it's not a bucket if it's somehow
translated via chernobyll as: bouquet...
is it?! is it?
because even in french: they self-cannibalise...
i.e. they "eat" some letters...
they write one language: but speak another...
what isn't bucket what is nonetheless
bouquet? well... isn't it: bouque-?
it's not even that... boo-k for the ones that
still hear... and can write grafitti schlang...
in some variation of a german...

becuase educated people can get away
with treating GOETHE...
as?  '/ˈɡɜːrtə, ˈɡeɪtə'...
or in simple-me-and-you being bilingual...
fiddling around we arrive at:
Göerte... which is "said"...
but this "lunatic asylum" exception has
to be written: with a clarity of a *******
Greek THETA... a fin! the end!
which always makes lying easier...
when you can: say (a)... but... but...
imply (b)... like some "metaphor"...
some forever useful tool of nuance...
some "spectacle"...
it's easier to lie when... you say (a)
but are "implying" (b)...
then you can blame it on...
not allow the literacy of the masses:
quite as much... you require... exceptions
to the rule... to **** out the lesser educated
"people"...

don't get me started...
born? Ostrowiec Świętokrzyski...
perhaps i should have never left...
3 years in Edinburgh...
over a month in St. Petersburg...
somewhere in Paris, Stochholm, Venice...
Athens... Belgrade from a distance...
Amsterdam... two weeks in Kenya...
and a nonchalant attitude surrounding
London... a strong distaste for Warsaw...
a myth of Cracow...

and no, i haven't been everywhere...
but... after a while... does it really matter
where you go, if you're bringing
expectations with you?
expectations and postcards?
clichés? clichés expectations and postcards?
and... a whole lot of strangers
you haven't met?
tourism and: feeding the ghost town
mentality... perhaps a ghost town would be
something to behold... instead of this...
atypical metropolitan casualness of avoiding
each other... busier busier: and no more
busy than once pronounced dead...
but wait for it: you're at least given a "scene"...

but no... i know one language that
makes pedantic orthographical observations...
but i also know a language that...
write one way... speaks another...
whichever way, best, to suit it...

and you "know" it would only be Fa-Ber'g -
no... borrow the j- from je suis...
if that last E was not an acute É...
but an grave È (grave... or? gráve...
grrrr'av... not a hey hey grave...
GRA-Vity)...

hence? my point exactly..
if the diacritical markers are respected
in fwench... with an acute É and a grave È...
why do "we" need... I(i) and J(j)?
why not... I(ı) and J(ȷ)?

besides... ever imagine writing an autobiography
like a Knausgård... defender of the runes
for a sentence in volume 1...
major google-maps ****** *** volume 2...
i write that with a "glee"...
i mean... you can be immediately be put off
writing an autobiography...
just to avoid the mediocre descriptive elements
of using something more complicated
than a hammer...
for an otherwise... less than a hammer's worth
of banality: evaluation of modern banality /
procrastination...
no one we have been given these complicated
tools... and to the best of our abilities we
best procrastinate, using them...
i hardly think a hammer would be used
to... pretend to play the drums...
but yes: Knausgård... the defender of runes...
irony... but the mr. google-earth guy to turn to...

yes... and before i discovered a past...
there were the runes... and there was
forever this latin morph of the barbarians
"thieving"... but there was also the glagolitic script...
apparently! and before that there was the greek!
and... somehow... i did arrive at having
to master some vague understanding of
mother cyrillic!

- but prior to... did you know what
slavs love cabbage? all the pakistani point this
out: slav love cabbage!
today? i watched the film Layer Cake
and made some cabbage soup...
Layer Cake being? the pre-to-a-bond-film
taster for the actor Daniel Craig...
it was hardly a Guy ******* Ritchie film...
woz itz? but... a decent actor advert...
with "hindsight"...
if i watched the film then...
or as i whatched the now...
and all the known actors jumped the train...
well... cabbage soup... base?
a decent polish / jewish chicken broth...
most of the chicken goes into a ***...
except the *******: you make a *******
roulade with that...
and proper potato bakes...
potato bakes like Heston Blumethal
boils a soft egg...
tatties in cold water... until they start boiling...
then you hunch over them...
boil them for a decent fiver...
turn off the heat...
again... hunch over them...
like an inquistive condor waitig for
the water to stop bubbling...
asking the question: are we all ready...
for the oven? yes, my toy soldiers,
are we, ready?

apparently they taste like christmas
tatties in waistcoats!
my my... what a lovely affair!
cabbage soup? you really need a complete
lack of imagination and a work-around
using root veg...
the european way...
but what is preferred is ensuring
you make a cabbage soup like...
a slav treats a cabbage like a frenchman treats
an onion: you suffocate it...
an hour minimum...
until the crass ******* boils out...
and you're left with...
a sweetness... and softness...
bay leaf all-spice (english spice) included...
some kiełbasa (etymology?
root... kieł- derived from the plural?
kły... canines... suffix -basa?
baza - base... canine-base...
something that requires an understanding
that elevates the dog, "debases" the man...
no quran reader will understand this:
for lack of a better word: shaming food...

where would pakistani cuisine be...
without the pantheon of hindu spices?!
i'll eat like a dog and in so doing:
live a tier above a king...
i still find it highly unimaginative...
to call one fruit "forbidden"
and one meat: "impure"...
whatever Gabriel spoke to Muhammad...
never really explained crab meat...
crab meat crab meat...
the Maldive muslims eat crab meat...
what's crab meat again:
when it concentrates a comparison
with ol' porky porky? scavenger of the seas...
what's with the muslim beef on pork?
and god was critical...
of his perfected animal worthy of
consumption... looks pretty silly from
Beijing... so Beijing is ensuring that Muslims
"look silly"... well... "live"... silly...
so god was so... this that and the other...
then he lent his "all knowing wisdom" and said...
no... this one animal... which you can...
butcher and make use of...
all that's missing is the oink and the hoofs!
or whatever it was: i can't eat the oink,
the grunt remain's the bacon's owner...
and perhaps the "hoofs"...
but such a pristine animal...
tapeworms come... much larger in size...
from aquatic flesh... so...
tic-toc... tic-toc... pull a sly porky on me or...
Gabriel my ***...

the Pwophet sez!
much easier these days: to, "get away" with "it"...
camel jockeys turned oil barons...
yachts... whizzed-up-*******-white-****-****...
and never... the odd-ball from
that long extended lineage of the family
living with a cuddles *****, soft toys...
east of Beirut...
that pencil girth's woe explosion in the sky...
"built" by people...
who employ slave Bangladeshis for
a sunday's worth of sabbath cricket in the desert...
i thought that deserts were only good
for waiting for qurans and dinosaur blood
and myopia and... the odd dehydration
hallucinations?!

i'll eat some sushi to sober up before
i accompany my mother: circa 60 getting
a hip replacement surgery done on her...
i'll sober up: but first things first:
spew...

mind you... below you will find some
ancients inscriptions...
i had to wonder: if the precursor text
of the anglo-sphere people...
the germans and "celts" of the british isles...
the welsh... the scandinavians...
was bound to runes...
before the latin men came...
what did "we", the slavs, use?

before the greeks allowed us entry into
the realm of mediating the otherwise:
quasi-fathomable?
cyrillic is what came: AFTER...
but there was a prior...
i'm no longer interested in the prior...
no more than i am interested in greek...
i once slurred russian cyrillic
for not having any diacritical markers...
i knew they had them...
but that they were... crude...
for lack of a better word...

how does that theory sound?
the: ex Africae omnis est Africanus...
sorry... what?!
giving my scrutiny of phonetic encoding...
am i closer to speak...
or thinking, and if not thinking,
then, reading?!
by the looks of it...
i devolved from encoding in
chinese... perhaps not so much:
sanskrit... but i most certainly suffered
moving across Siberia: obviously: not "i"...

mind you: i've looked at "it" and thought...
me, reproduce? add a stranger to the equation
of my family? i'm just happy to end
the libeage... thank god i don't have
some inheritence complex abounding...
no expectation, no "legacy" akin
to a surname like Rhodes (circa NY)...
i was born with one ****** surname,
which changed... i'll die with another ******
surname: that never made it to a status
of Eshlert... nonetheless! i'll leave...
like a ******* Einstein of an acronym:
E = MC... good for me! bravo ty! bravo ja!

beside the egyptian hieroglyphs...
i'm yet to read something...
from... Congo... perhaps i'm just too ignorant...
or the -igger shade was just too much
that it... grabbed my attention and
i forgot that the victim olympics didn't
happen every 4 years...
but every... whimsical time-span of...
a quarter of the length of a fortnite...

whatever: all out of africa implies...
i'm writing in a devolved chinese...
frozen bits across the siberian fickle desert...
next stopover? Novosibirsk!
no need for pyramids in Novosibirsk...
no "awe" to be found...
when you're toe-dead numb from
frost bite.... is there?!

my letters are a sieve... they allow meaning
through like hands praying to cusp water!
it's, the, reality...
you have ****-wit socialists on one side...
and then... this hyper-inflated
darwinism is all historism on the other...
middle ground, people!
"democracy"! i stand stand both the marxism...
or the darwinism... but arguments failed...
or? we can have the extreme of both ends
of the argument! enough of reading
Pasternak will teach you...
hey... shhh shhh... the collective can
congregate any minute now...
they don't need that many intelligent people
to rally them...
what your, "your" side needs, though?
if enough brass people: stupid enough
to entertain, to lulluby...
em... that's now much to "go on"... is it?
the intelligent with pour gasoline
on a fire...
the entertainers will simply pour
cold milk into a saucepan that contains
milk you're warming to...
melt some butter some honey and an egg yolk
to self-remedy: devoid of big pharma influences...
a witches' brew for a cold and soar throat...

side note: do i "worry" about not having children?
if i lived on the Faroe islands,
Greeland, Iceland, Norway -
i most probably would probably mind...
small town mentality: enlarged...
then again: my family, "my" and "family"
is not exactly accomodating...
why am i not spending time with my grandparents?
at least one side... the "patriarchal" side
drops off: accomodating the madonna anyways...
a sister (my mother) and a brother (my uncle)
are waging a war...
this... "eastender" soap opera is...
i don't have the finances to grativate away
from it...
enter children? and they'd be more ******
up than i already am with my libido
and no outlet... i've stopped seeing prostitutes:
no because i felt "bad":
that one time we only pretended to be
leeching / kissing oysters just because
i forgot to trim my ***** hair:
like some western feminist argument
about the exploitation of romanian women "matters"...
when... the labourer drones of men
of building sites... coming in to work...
hangover... might perhaps... stop...
fuelling the english lush economy...
i didn't want to have children because:
family-wise? things, "things" are messy...
and there's no magic carpet to get me out
of here... not when the last surviving remnant
of a past... i.e. my grandmother,
talks to my dementia riddled grandfather
with the words...
and he stresses them: you no good...
skurwysyn!
elaborate? sure! z-kurwy-syn...
from-a-*****-son..
my grandfather's mother...
well... let's put it in facts...
my grandfather is an illegitimate (
oh **** me, i spelled that right, drunk)
son... his mamma then married...
the father of this illegitimate child...
was a polyglot... spoke 7 languages...
emigrated to the U.S. of A...
remarried, fostered some shards of glass...
and sent his last postcard...
from Niagara Falls... before jumping
into the kamikazee sun...
oh my family is perfect...
then this mother of his...
had two children with a man...
who would beat my grandfather...
which is why he became a "pioneer"
coal-miner aged 15 or 14 or 16...
then this one kid ended up being
fostered... then this "watermelon" of a kid
(nickname) came out...
from a love affair... and when the "*****" died...
his quasi-foster father lived with him...
and in this custard: he...
the father semi-god-know's what...
abused the old man for putting up with
him as a love-child: in wedlock...
and... well thank god there was
no epitaph to begin an end with...

me and children? i am gracious,
i am kind... i don't want them to inherit this
history... which is worse than
a history of germany... at least those *******
had the nazis... which is worthwhile
in terms of exploiting them via video games
as those: evilz badz guyz!

i always think: the sooner i'm dead -
the more chances i have
to either dream... or breathe...
currently i quasi the former and accept
the reality of the latter...
but me and children? my, own, brood?
em... for some capitalistic driven darwinism
pressure ploy of narrative?
taxes and retirement plans for
the western: placebo: aged?
grand'm'ah and gwand'p'ah not fit under
the same roof... set them on the butcher's
path toward the "shop" of wrinkle
and: pristine effortless economic
endeavor... the pig's the lot...
economic meat and... about as barren as a dinner
plate scooped up for examination
once a pauper sat before it to supper...
ingenious! if only, if only we were all born
into a Charlie ******* Dickens' lot of life!
then, only then, we could, we could
perhaps, perhaps: write about it!

i have seen how people have lived their lives...
how... they had wish to write about it...
which always involved a lot of other people -
movie scripts written by directors
and not... actual manuscripts of scripters...
they would write... but then:
started to gag from **** at the mere of thought
of being: brutal, honest, honing...

people either write an honest autobiography,
they ghost it: have someone write a biography,
they write an autobiography that's
designated as: tabloid...
but most importantly... they forget...
a "Moscow"...
when i was in Moscow... i felt like i was
in London for the very first time...
a last time...

i did mention that i didn't envy the russian
diacritical approach...
the odd: miss and "there"...
but no... i didn't envy them...
to me there was no russian orthography...
there is an orthography: which you mind
above any metaphysical discussion...
when, and only when... aesthetics comes
into play...
i.e. rz = ż and ó = u and ch (cerp i ha) = h (samo ha)
this is how orthography is born...
sorry... i'm too "busy" dealing with
orthographic ******* to even mind
your "metaphysics" or a death of (it): interim...

as i stood at the feet of the tower of babel...
i started to su doku the pieces that
pleased my eyes... and the pieces...
left in leftover arabic squiggles of
the remnants of the 20th century...
and the new emergence of environmental
beijing free-of-syndromes to spawn
the 21st... or...
the child of a one-child-state-policy
without a Beijing... only a gradual evaluation
of... concerns for...
not giving birth to yet another ****-wit
of the world's counter to: another
****** of a gullible persuasion...
given that law is blind...
he must have been born: deaf!

- you didn't see me coming;
i didn't even see you leave... -

since the greek letters i tend to most "forget"
are:
- gamma lower-case (γ) because
of the upper-case upsilon (Υ)
- lower-case zeta (ζ) becaue
of the lower-case "11" (ξ)
- eta, lower-case (η) is no real grief
with lower-case EPSILON (ε)
until... you enter the cyrillic
"debate" of е and э...
- lower-case NU (ν) and lower-case
UPSILON (υ)
- Ξ (Θ, Φ) i.e.: XI, PSI, CHI, PHI...
return: that first 'un' is an ale'ks...
alex... but it's not an X in the way that
CHI expresses itself in CHurCH...
lay-teΞ...
- then again... greek orthography begins
in SIGMA... those... quasi-germans...
those remnants of the northern / teutonic
crusade... those Pruσσianς...
or... Prußianς...
the greek F and the greek "F"...
key into a keyhole: Φ...
key turning in a keyhole: Θ...
the iota of four uses... Θ, Φ, Ξ... Ψ...

but that's only the greek... i will not touch
on the glagolitic... until, barely skimming
the draft months earlier...
until i come with my own diacritical markers
and show you: how i was wrong...
yes... the russians do use these markers...
but they, mostly... do not "accent" them...

because i'm no Ezra Pound i didn't have
to imagine going as far back
as the Taoist ideogram...
because i remained bound to the anchor
of europe and...
i really didn't find anything of worth
in africa encoding: silence into their
verbiage with anything:
beside the odd spell of hieroglyphs...
so? i am not an Idaho man...
or whatever mid-western miss-western
******* the genius came from...

i don't have an ideogram:
i have a synonym... the sound is exactly
the same... but Charon 'ave their eyes!
mind you...
ądam and ęwa are off limits...
as is: ł... then again: given that i write in english...
em... "yes, and no"...

but here's my rubric... a rubric implies:
i will not narrate this crap:

don't get me started on the russian variations
of Y... i once said... because the greeks had
names for their letters... and the romans didn't...
well... in western slavic: Y "why, I" has a name:
e'GREK... iGrek... e and i are interchanged
between the western slavs and the islanders...
but the russians?
let me Shakespeare that for you:
pre-scriptum - don't ask me...
how oh how a german umlaut infiltrated
the alphabet: i blame catherine the great...
you have...

е (ye)
ё (yo)
й (-y-) - which acts like a "ȷUDAS"
ы (ý) - alt. to? ıGREK
ю (yu)
я (ya)

all that's missing is a: иы variation?!
let me check my pentagram of vowels...
e, o... u, a... oh right... IO-T'AH-T'AH-T'AH...
sinking the ******* POTEMPKIN!

it's for the best: i'm entrenched in two languages...
which makes me "schizophrenic" /
bilingual... ergo? i have to write in at least:
four... pepper in some latin etc.....
and modern slang? i need that...
and some german... and perhaps a dash
of Gaelic... and some scandi-navigational
pseudo-romancing the rosetta stone...

the rest is quiet "simple"...
a french-atypical acute... because there's no gr'ah-v'eh!
grave ole...
and a dot... like the dot used for no real purpose
in english...

i.e. ь involves the acute...
while the ъ involes the "horde" symbol...
either the dot above the Z in ż or the caron
above the R: ř...
alternative interpretations invoke
even more: 'hide and seek" mechanisms
of the russian Y...
  объект: interJEct with an obJEct...
thus? there just seem to be gradations
of hiding a why (y) with its added vowel...
and its mutant й... crescent mongol moon...
and all the rest of "it"...
since when you "borrow": yew borrow...
you get something along the lines
of: e.g.:

ć.        ць: c.f. surnames ending with -CKI
ń.       нь
ó.      "u" or? Loonin...
ś.        cь
ź.        зь
dz.     ž (dzik - boar - the wild adjective is a tautology)    
ż.      ř       rz   (зъ) or? ж...
ł.       woad... łagodny (he - gentle)
                        łagodna (she - gentle)
š.      sz.      ш             (sh)
č.      cz.      ч               (ch... you're not foreign
to graphemes... mr. Æ ms. Œ...
you simply haven't seen it applied
to consonants... only vowels!)
щ     šč     (szczypta - pinch -
a germanic, saxon "ch" is a cz...
or a caron above the C...
ch' ch'.... akin to the caron above the S...
sh' sh'... so far away from "god": YHWH...
yet so close, so, close!)
ha ha... a "dangling bit"...
and i thought the russians weren't
good at hiding "things"... from ш to щ
you have hidden: a caron a "c"...
a ****'s CHeap... in a dangling "left-over"...
of an otherwise caron S... heap of SH SH ****...

in terms of the cerp and ha and samo ha?
the greek χ (chi) comes into play...
but not like a cheeze...
more like a vowel-catcher breath...
eerie as ****... a HA HA with...
cHA cHA! i.e. like the surds you allow
hindu words access to: gnostic -
'nostic... or... knife... i.e. 'nife...

it's no surprise for me, now...
out of all the black caribbean kids,
the indian and pakistani,
the africans... i was one of the first
to: come out swinging from under
the iron curtain:
distrust levels? high... near almighty...
not enough "japanese" in me
to squander a late debt from
Hiroshima or some other etc.

in some remote original draft...

as ever, i drink, and am a nobody, but then i find myself inclined to look upon the god of gods: whatever remains of worth for the phonetic encoding... whether latin, greek, rune, cyrillic, or ⰒⰑⰃⰀⰐ ⰒⰉⰔⰏ (another googlewhack)... the glagolitic phonetic encoding... sure, first they'll ban the runes in sweden, before realißing that... there's another alphabet... the glagolith...
                  Ⱉ = Ω, given Ѡ = ω...
         this alphabet has been suppressed, long enough!
to be honest? i've never seen a more beautiful letter,
anywhere, other than in the glatolith...
     Ⰿ = M = ᛗ...
                      maybe that's why i like my given names
so much...
                            ⰏⰀⰕⰅⰖⰞ
                 i too! i too have a past!
             i don't need to peer into pseudo-arab ***
the quran religiosity of hieroglyphs
of the northern africans, camel jockeys!
                             there's, oh there's so much
more at stake than the runes...
                what of the Kiev Rus vikings?
this, this is their language:
                ⰕⰑ          "ⰏⰑⰆⰅ"          (może = maybe)    
(to = this)
                                                   (ⰜⰀ = trzeba, trza /
                                                            tsa)­
            ⰕⰔⰑ (tsa)           ⰃⰀ (ga)     ⰂⰀⰓⰉ (vari)
               (gadać = converse... gavari)

    Ⰴ (d)                ⰆⰫⰕ (żyt = fathoming life)

                             ⰆⰫⰕ (worthwile noting:
this is out lot of, a, life)...

      ⰛⰫⰛⰍⰀ (szyszka = cone, of the ᚦᛁᚱ /
                                     ⰡⰑⰄⰟⰀ - fir /
                              jodła tree)

see, i can't solve crossword puzzles...
      i don't know where i would begin,
fathoming this sort of "plaything" thesaurus...
i can play a solitaire mahjong,
i can solve you a su doku puzzle
without wanting to compensate myself
by competing...
                  
   but i do know...
                    what conjured the atom,
the letter?
  what conjured the atom, the letter,
and subsequently, the alphabet?
        noun...
                  the cipher conceptualißation
of making a name, smaller,
so small, in fact...
that letter emerged, and names were
no longer indicative...
of a meaning...
  so much so, that units were
formed, fathomed...
and when merely giving names
to these units, akin to the greeks,
alpha...
        which had to become a-lpha...
and beta had to become b-eta...
          well... only thanks to the latin men...
they became songs...
sing-alongs...
   very much thanks for the H vowel
catcher of the hebrew god...
ah... said the castrato...
  b'eeh sang the castrato...
           em...
  obviously the devil managed to keep
some of the letters...
z'ed...
                 it's still bewildering...
how the latin men "reinterpreted"
the northern runes...
   as the greek men "reinterpreted"
the north eastern glagolitic script...
and to think! to think!
    Ⱃ = R = ρ = rho...
         but what happened, "elsewhere"?
ᚱ = R... but... but... where's the trill?
R, as a letter, looks like it's about
to hide a leg... and start rolling...
ripping apart all other onomatopeias
associated with the rattle of a rattlesnake,
or the sound it could make,
to associate itself with the sound
of water boiling... where did that "go"?
with the french hark "innovation",
and the english tongue...
being bitten and left numb by
a tarantula?!
                      
  point being... i never imagined myself
much of an archeologist...
i always found:
  if you state your "necessary" freedom
to speak?
you're a tongue inside one cranium,
at a particular time, in a universal space...
but, like kierkegaard,
you care more about a freedom to think?
i'm "here", i'm "there", i'm "i'm"
like heidegger might state...
                  using this very modern
language that's english...
          but then sliding back into...
an obscure region of history...
      in two places at once...
        at a universal moment in time,
in a particular space...
                   talking exhausts me,
whenever i start speaking for more than
ten minutes,
there is a cotton mouth infestation,
my tongue turns into a serpent about
to shed a layer of its skin,
and, if i'm lucky,
i will not swollow the tongue...

                    and why wouldn't the runes
be more protected, but currently under
siege -
             both the latin text and the greek
text (respectively),
had the ambition of performing an
x-ray on the runes and the glagolitic texts,
treating them as pseudo-hieroglyphics...

but they found similarities,
   which made this foreign phonetic
encoding systems relateable...

ᚠ = F
                ᚢ = U         (copernican "up-side-down")
ᚨ = A (strange sort of arithmetic, / \
                                              )
               ­ ᚱ = R (d'uh)
   ᚺ = H...
           ᛁ = I
               ᛋ = s
                ᛏ = t (what's with the "bending knee",
so much for the supposed: "arrow"),
               ᛒ = B...
           ᛖ = Σ = E...
                   ᛗ = M...
                   ᛚ = L...
                  ᛟ = o - crude version of circle...

so? the latin men had an easier way to
fathom the runes, and ingest them
into the x-ray vision of post-latin...
   the greeks with the glagolitic script?
much harder...

         Ⱂ = Π = P = ρ (rho)
                 Ⰰ = A = ᛉ = Z...
             Ⱇ = φ = ᚦ = θ...
                             Ѡ = ω...
                Ⱑ = A...
                          Ⱔ = ε....
                                            Ⱚ = θ...

but i agree... you couldn't get "our"
peoples to where we are now,
with these pseudo-hieroglyphics...
   after all: Ⰿ (M) is a beautiful letter...
in glagolitic terms...
          but... it's too complicated for us,
at this moment in time...
it might have had all the necessary
practicality in its necessary time...
that it was allocated to...
but... given people these days
are looking at X-|ɔ\
                              / \ /_ / ?
                            how ******* hard must
it have been, when,
the phonetic encoding,
was as hard as it, to now, us,
it seems?!
                   so... whatever is happening
in sweden, right now?
       i'm not bemaoning it,
   i have a tattoo... it reads: Sienkiewicz...
the swedish deluge of 1626–29... a.d.,
          **** it, ban the runes...
i've "just" discovered the gagolitic phonetic
encoding, the sort of **** that
st. cyril and methodius had to work with,
and it wasn't as easy as translating /
incorporating the runes...

                     oh sure, i'm waiting...
                 first they ban the runes...
   then they'll have to learn something akin
to the glagolitic script...
             returning back to their x-ray
latin lettering...
                       i still can't believe that
james joyce got away with writing finnegans
wake... without ever employing a single
diacritical marker...
spewing out... what became the modern
english grafitti spreschen...
   e.g.: lolz...
                              und: L8ER...
it's like: the worst of the worst of what
already is the worst in the form
of the h'american demands for acronyms.          

after watching an old couple walk
past me into the supermarket:
    or unlike the men climbing
           the matterhorn:
   which from postcards seems so
much more majestic in its formidable
shape than the goliath everest
    (from postcards) -
                 5 miles, a dark forest,
  and i can show you where english
druids chant: satanus in excelsior!
   and i thought i spoke bad english:
it's: in excelsis satanus...
       i would have approached them,
but then i was alone,
      and there was one idiot shouting
and about a crowd of twenty disciples:
you could hear the murmur
   adhering to the chant from a distance
of about 300 metres...
                    i only had beer on me,
no goat blood, no woad pigment...
                crash a party when they
were having a party in complete
darkness?
                     it's a good thing there was
a song change on my headphones
               and for a minute i picked it up...
wait a minute: i thought i owned
these woods, walking at night?
               ragnarök blood of Hvalba:
unfortunately the norse founded
kiev,
           so if they founded kiev,
                they must have past where
i made mark as: the land immune to
                                       the black death...
if i were an academic with a stipend,
   i'd write another boorish book on the matter
to attract moths...
          but the old couple, hand in hand,
shrinking but not exactly disappearing...
     in me the inherent conceptualisation
of a twin, like a limb missing,
  but with all my limbs intact...
              yet still a twin gleaming in my mind,
as the story i was told in my childhood
no echoes like a behemoth ghouling:
    they said to me:
   did you know that in this world there exists
a person that looks exactly like you?
         what? so i started looking,
      not leonardo, not brad,
                    can't compete -
            if i really am the stronger twin
                 who sent my twin to the plough
and the hearth... am i not to suddenly
    lick ash?
                  but the old couple:
   what a rarity to see, dwarfs,
                                  of former majestic
forms... elsewhere the single mother with
a baby in a buggy at 10 minutes to 11 during
the week, bewildered by reading
frozen foods labels...
           oh... about the supermarket...
grr... mein gott!
                    Surabhis! Surabhis everywhere!
the joy of walking into a supermarket
last, aisles as spacious as any king's
    lonely castle...
        but in the hours 12 in the afternoon
till about 5 in the afternoon?
        traffic jams!
                   zombified shoppers, women,
of course, children to boot...
                           how many times i might
have bumped into them...
      gaze lost, hazy eyed...
                 sometimes i had to walk down one
aisle, emerge from another, just to pass
  a woman standing fiddling with her
hair...
           the new meeting place, apparently,
but that's beside the point,
   the more i listen to radio,
  the more i learned that i'm far from
a music snob...
            take for example:
       free deejays's song
                            el amor es un party...
what? cuba not pretty any more?
              but there's a worthwhile observation
in there:
        only rich men have the chance
        to play a woman's game of "the chase"...
        only rich men get to "chase" women...
        the poor schmucks?
                          ****! have to live with them.  
****... i need to find that
    one exchange in ingmar bergman's
film wild strawberries:
            when the old man wakes from
a dream-memory in which he is
the ****** of a **** scene...
        where a woman is teasing a man
to the point, until he transcendes
                   a teasing woman,
                       and finds a Jezebel...
so upon waking...
                the "children" are picking
flowers in the rain...
                          and there's talk of
abortion...
       at this point it's gone beyond
castration...
                      the conversation invokes
the death-mask of man,
    or man as tomb, and woman as
the robber -
                         apparently once impregnated
man cannot ask for his ***** back,
and in some twisted way:
           and as much as i'd like to "cheat"
having found the screenplay online,
   i have the misfortune of owning the ****
movie...
        and how i like returning
to silent cinema, black & white, foreign,
with subtitles...
                     at this point,
because didn't place the subtitles: on top
of the screen, but at the bottom...
   well, **** me: am i looking for
Cindarella, because focusing back
on those faces means i seem them without
lips and merely eyes and noses,
   and perhaps a chance to spot
   a wriggling, morphed into an insect
st. peter's, if not van gogh's ear!
              or the lost "art" of handwriting...
Cinderella? my focus is so low from
      the action, that i might as well be
  watching, either a ballet, or a *******
riverdance!
             dr. isak borg (a)
marianne borg (b)
        dr. evald borg (d)

such a weird and heart-numbing thinking
went into writing this...
i have a history, a past:
regardless of having children and with
their existence: some sort of guarantee
for a future...
that i have a past, a history,
and it exists... outside of its current
written format,
that i can escape with or without having
children: that i would have probably
later ***** mentally...
having ingested all this third party
quasi-history propaganda
for the only history that's being
salvaged: the insect prone libido
of a status quo... well then...
let my "failure" be the patent for all future
success.

could it possibly begin with the well-known question,
as to whether a "histoical" jesus existed?

well... to answer that question, you'd have to ask
an actual historian imbued in the *zeitgest of the times,
and if this zeitgeist was that of: the spreading of a revised
monotheism that was judaism, and judaism alone,
you really have to look up someone who lived
in the stated dates of temperal constraints;
and as such, there is only one reliable source -
         josephus ben matthias -
         born in ~37a.d., at the time whem emperor nero
ruled the roman empire,
                   at first one of the leaders of the jewish
revolt, who later "converted",
    caputed in galilee by the romans, his life was spared,
and he gained roman citizenship, befriended titus
   and vespansian...
                            more importantly, his surviving work,
the book       the jewish war.
                      now comes the appropriate cascade of
apocalyptic insinuations...
                  when the greeks wrote the new testament?
they weren't in decline... but in a way were,
       in that they held no reasonable conceptualisation
of time, or the passing of time, for that matter decay...
i guess they wrote the new testament in desperation,
  in relation to the past, and the present, leading toward what
future they hoped to envision, as byzantines they
would eventually become...
          just like the defeated trojans became romans,
in what's recorded in rome's gensis that's virgil's
                                             aeneid.
apologies for the moving backward and forward with the facts...
but it's crucial for some sort of clarity...
    a poem can describe a day, i.e. singled out events:
    like homer, and the trojan war.
journalism?     that goes way beyond a day,
       it can be a week, but it can also be a decade...
  for example the war in syria, might boil down to last a decade,
but journalism can cope with a decade.
         history on the other hand? it can't last a day,
  it can't last a decade either, as such...
             by historical standards, a decade isn't worth
investigating... unless it is by historicirty enthusiasts -
who will, for example, give you detailed accounts
   of the punk decade, or a grunge time-period -
           they stress historicity, because they are biographers,
or even autobiographers... but that doesn't make them
historians are as such.
     why? because history deals with centuries,
and centuries as such, that need to have some sort of connectivity...
  what comes after the historical timescale?
     as the above stated question suggestes.. did a "historical"
jesus exist?     now we have moved beyond a historical
conceptualisation of time... and into a realm of λoγoς:
   which echoes down the ages with the help of φoνoς -
mythology, that is the upper tier of history,
it's the modus operandi for people who want to remember as much,
tell as many stories, as it takes to encode at least
one millennium - hence the need to apply the cocept
of myths, and the logic to that is: you can only hoard so much
in libraries.
     so why should mythology be so confused with other modes
of recording time? homer's epic is not misunderstood
as myth, because it takes days into concern, so far removed
by mythology, that they can be taken as reasonable observations
of the times he lived in.
        anyway... what needs to be done now is to explain
the greek confusion with time in the period of history that made
them the conquered, rather than the conquering...
           thus on this basis, a citation from the historian of the times
josephus ben matthias...
      the jewish war, chapter 7, judea under roman rule (page 147),
1981 edition...

  'a greater blow than this was inflicted on the jews by the egyptian
  false prophet. arriving in the country this man, a fraud
who posed as a seer, collected about 30,000  dupes, led them round
from the desert to the mount of olives, and from there was ready
to force an entry into jerusalem, overwhelm the roman garrison,
and seize supreme power with his fellow-raiders as bodyguard.
  but felix anticipated his attempt by meeting him with
the roman heavy infantry, the whole population rallying to
the defence...       the egyptian fled with a handful of men and
most of his followers were killed or captured...'

     riding on a donkey into jerusalem (30,000 dupes), rings a bell,
the flight of joseph and mary to egypt? rings a bell...
  now the timescale problem of the new testament, the precise
hyperbolic aspect of it...
       crucially? the unearthing of the nag hammadi library
in the egyptian desert.
              hmm... so far so good... i don't buy, for one bit
that jesus was a hippy from the word go!
   the whole resurrection story doesn't fit the bill...
                       he was a war lord... or a false prophet...
seen by jews as an egyptian...     the question is... where did
the actual crucifixion take place? on golgotha, or somewhere
in egypt? well... given the historical account... it must have been
in egypt... and after that: he went back to judea as
the hippy described in the new testament...
         what puts the pieces together is the above historical account
and where the library was found... but on top of that!
    the book of revelation... and the code enclosed in it:
ΧΞΣ    - grafitti, against the emepror nero...
        you don't get any reference to augustus -
you get anthony and cleopatra... so given when the historical
account was written, and the zeitgeist embedded in
the book of revelations?       hmm...                ch'e      ks'e     si.
did the historical jesus exist then?
    if the jews didn't see him as an egyptian,
             and if they later didn't move the accounts from egypt
and self-lacerated themselves with tales from golgotha?
   who knows... maybe the holocaust wouldn't have happened;
on my behalf, that's just wishful thinking;
but the greeks were just as bad... what came last for them
came first... and what actually happened, to them didn't happen...
        is that irony that the jews were somehow
grateful for roman occupation? i mean... did any other
babylonian king enslave them, and tell them to oput a garden
on a ******* ceiling, like nebuchadnezzar ii did?

the form might be that of a poem, but to be honest,
it has nothing poetic to it -
                  i wanted to feel angry -
to vent anger out,    i drank during the daytime:
daytime and drinking?
                                                       ­         bad idea.
                               daytime drinking
and fasting and smoking
and coffee? a doubled-up bad idea...
         but i wanted to feel
a wrathful voice... i got bored of my otherwise
gentlemanly attire and what not,
i wanted to waste my tongue into
anger... best propeller of the act?
drink during daytime...
                          when night falls,
the lazy one comes out.
                   consider this -
some use language to encrypt, not
to to simply memorise rhyming and
bounce bounce the bubbly pink ball
on stage...
                    Pavlov's lapping tongue
of a dog overheating -
             philosophy deals with
double phonetic encryption,
                  that's a psychological reevaluation
of what language is, from the standard
of the three tier cake:      consciousness,
                                      s­ub-  " and un- "    -
again Christianity plays a great deal with
the point of a trinity -
                               that's the secular version,
a populist version for each individual
regardless of the church's credo -
                    but as i was saying:
philosophy deals with a doubled variation
of phonetic encoding:
                      primarily for one reason:
this is primer for idea forming -
               isn't it?
                             the first level is that of
being able to read the encoding -
   like a music score...
                                   to write a s k
              and then say the word: ask.
but the second tier of encoding sound is
to translate it into optics -
                   the basis of idea forming -
not the basis of making sounds, but to peer
more deeply into any sort of narrative -
sometimes a single word can pull
the gravity of thought
                                 away from the narrator
ego, and into the realm of the id:
        which doesn't narrated, but
    conjures up ideas: to me the source of
all "magic" formulae -
                          here again, a classic plagiarism
working on the basis of a trinity -
          i dare say dualism is so unfashionable
to most people, as is monism -
             people prefer triangles to explain
their psychological life,
          and circles to explain the physical life...
   dualism is out of fashion that
it would seem to be more (dangerously) fashionable
to be of split-mind - but never mind that -
romanticising any medical condition is
a faux pas.
                                i was spurred on
by reading a review of O'Hara's poetry,
namely the poem sardines -
                  the reviewer writes how the poet
'actually writes his poem by breaking down
language into its most basic units - words.'
well... technically this is where the other point
of phonetic encoding comes in, the third tier...
words aren't as basic as you might think -
they reside in the realm of meaning,
but also a realm of being bound to a thesaurus -
(apologies, i'm not trying to be pedantic,
  you might see where this might be going,
in terms of sharpening the point of
               what's language and
the basics of language - yes, a niche topic,
as usual, pedants ahoy)
                          words are components
(or compounds)... letters are units, akin to
mathematical digits...
                          but then again,
kilometres are units -
                                 as are miles and hours...
surely then if worded
                   the representation would be that
of a/z                             rather than
                                   p/o/r/r/i/d/g/e          
      a/z seems like a better basis for unitary
conceptualisation of language
                        using a, b, c... z as the basic
units of language... yes... much more so than words...
            because the third tier of encoding
is based primarily on letters,
                                       yes, we know the
plight of the Palestinians, but the Jews have something
i want, and use, quiet frequently,
although with variation - there's no
              toying about with gematria -
i don't accept this method of investigation -
              i find absolute futility in it -
not that i can't grasp it, but i find it useless -
         it's this third tier where ideas are formed
without any distinct orthodoxy -
                           so:
tier 1. phonetically encoding a s k to say: ask
tier 2. phonetically encoding a s k to think:
                                      what am i going to ask for?
tier 3. phonetically encoding a s k to then
            (primarily) venture into encoding
                                              a s k i n g f o r p a t i e n c e.
we're not dealing with Chinese ideograms,
    we're dealing with a linear juxtaposition encoding
   e.g.
     a b c d e f g h i j k l m n o p (q r s t u v w x y z)
the bracket? i first learned the English alphabet
as a sing-along... to my memory i forgot the rhythm
of the song (i was 7 at the time) and subsequently
             the rest of the sequence... but that doesn't
necessarily mean my vocabulary suffered because of it...
still linear juxtaposition encoding, as above, only
         n y m p h  (x y s t)
                             a b c d e f g i j k l o q r s t u v w x z
                   (a b c d e f g h i j k l m n o p q r u v w z)
                                           e x o t i c s (friz)
          a b d f g j k l q r u v w x z
                              (a b c d e g h j k l m n o p q u v w)
                 ...
                                    
     ...
                         (b c e g
                                                            - interlude -
   well, technically, you could say that diacritical
marks are used for the purpose of dissecting
words into syllables, that's not to say
          latin compound fixations on meaningful
  prefixes, such as: aqua-        or omni-
                   (yes, the etymological section
of the dictionary is the most interesting part
of that book - as counter to Darwinism,
                     or something less intrinsic with
visuals, and focused more on a shorter history
of mankind, the less ridiculous time-frame,
         or history without Alexanders and Socrates -
                  SS... the English hasn't fixed
the notation of pluralism here...
            something akin to ß      or σ          or     ς
                    is begging to come out of this problem...
lets just say the ending variation of sigma denotes
the plural, so, etymology, or history without
       Alexanders and Socrateς / cruder or more
masculine Socrateç... Tess' - as in: it belongs to Theresa)
        as Plato noted, i too, like Socrates
are investigating how my name ought to be written,
by the looks of it, from what i discovered
               i apply diacritics as syllable identifiers,
or: how to cut words up -
   ergo? even though this is not orthodox,
my name, should be written as
                   Máteuš -
                                               the acute a
stresses the cutting up of the word, i.e. the first
syllable is identified, primarily because diacritics
stress non-prefixes, i.e. simpler variations of
what a prefix is (a loan word), or a sound that
has an ancient meaning, for example pre-
or pro-, meaning the word was forced into the shackles
of being accompanied by a hyphen
when the ancient tongue disintegrated and its grammar
was no longer adequate to accommodate
the barbarian tongues of the north...  
so it has come to this: diacritical marks are not
exactly aesthetic concerns where not writing an
acute o but rather u is displeasing to the eyes...
      it's about seeing where the syllable incision has
been made... shame the English never adopted it...
but then again: the Empire blah blah blah, Star Wars
blah blah blah... special relationship with America
blah blah blah... that old chestnut -
                  or can anyone forget their eccentricity
of doth and         all that Canterbury *******?
   or even Shakespeare's English?
                                  i'm on it... well,
apologies... internet encrypting, acronyms and
eight and L8 for late. it was never adopted -
        and never will be... ****-naked Charlie
and ****-floral-naked Angie...
              sitting in a tree, one two, one two three.

  - post-interlude -

              (b c e g...
                                           i really can't be bothered
   trying to finish this little scrabble -
           i mean, looking up words
                       so i'm left with the last possible letter,
or no letter at all...
                                  what with
    the six vowels a, e, i, o, u, (y)
                                                  nymph as a word (though)
is the closest you'll get to the pronunciation of
     y (why)               in                   Polish...
                            ny-                 or -ymph
                                 obviously cut off the μ and φ...
but if you're really bored...
                  you could probably finish that
little game... for no reason, whatsoever -
        as already stated i'm more interested in things
contained in the interlude, but then again games like
this provide the capacity to abstract and return
with actual application of an idea.

it's really not worth the circus of a woman,
to agitate all those acrobats into saltos...
i felt it was worth shaving my beard
today,
wanting to scratch my face,
somehow,
turn my cheeks into
sandpaper...
   but you know
what scared me?
not that i immediately reacted
to my immortal
by evanescence with tears -
but listening to the song -
it helped to agitate the "placebo"
post-script reaction...
i just call it a delayed response
since the tarantula bite was too strong;
and that i never did have a
feminist girlfriend...
no, i just walked past a house,
down the street i most dreaded,
i once passed the house
with someone in a car
and the person beside me said:
clearly abandoned...
**** me, i'm turning into
a tim burton caricature...
  and yes, the house looks scary,
its overgrown in shrubs...
but i'm crying! i'm crying...
i walked past the same house today
having fasted the entire day,
and ending the day by eating
a hoisin duck wrap having
the testament: you could feed
me that crap all year round,
and i'd still tell you that i ate
something different each day...
that haunted house though?
   that overgrown, depilated ironically
overgrown...
     i suddenly felt a fear i've
never felt before,
   i felt it once passing the house,
but not to the point in tears,
i can only respect the lingering adam
"lost" in the garden...
       there was actually
a light burning inside this house tonight...
this house of biblical service...
**** fearing the devil!
your comical phobia
are the same goats, bulls i'd slaughter...
do you know fear?!
  do you know fear?!
  ever walk past a supposedly abandoned
house?
having that eerie feeling of
someone watching you one day,
being assured by the facade of
abandonment,
   to later find a light shining inside
the same house?
   i ******* to horror movies...
this **** is just tear jerking,
      i'm stressing diapers...
     people worry about c.c.t.v.,
i'm worried that i suddenly decided to walk
past this house,
   spectating a light in its deathly
harrowing of absence of all else present:
namely the son shadow
           being present inside...
****** please, give me any horror movie
and i'll triple the hard-on with orff's
o fortuna to boot...
   there is nothing scarier than seeing
a house that is all too clearly abandoned,
shrouded in weeds and the doubling
effect of a graveyard...
to, some day,
      during the night,
passing the same house,
      seeing a light on in the house...
******, give me a ghost, a poltergeist,
a hell-bent goat...
          what i just witnessed is far from
comic, and its also transcendental horror...
at least looking at a grave you can
find solace in the notion of the person
dead...
        when i twice, thrice, four times dead
thought this house was abandoned,
you really don't need to see a ghost
to stare into the heart of fear,
just a house you supposedly thought you
"knew" was abandoned,
no ghost..
      this grave of a house,
          with a light shining inside of it;
and this, coming from a man,
is not so much a fear,
   these are not exactly tears of fear -
rather, tears of lament...
   the most hidden of man's fears:
namely - sadness,
   and only melancholy can be the greatest
of man's fears...
         that great prematurity of death,
within the living.
         it really doesn't take a ghost,
but a "supposedly" abandoned house,
who you pass, from day to day,
to suddenly appear alive,
   with a lightbulb appearing from its
gravestone lingering windows,
  like almost a name, to conjure
memory, of that celebratory candle resting
on the gladden heart of turmoiled fate
bound to a hadean hush,
          celebratory for all saints,
       sinners, heretics and fiends alike;
you really can't even begin to conjure my
state of horror...
   conjured, like a poison dart,
  with me numbed,
walking further on,
as if nothing had actually happened...
people don't actually realise how much
horror works in the dimension of music
and delay...
    the music is obvious,
the delay effect of horror is, much, much
more subtle...
  that's called horror: "subtitled"...
          music is obvious in the genre's demand...
but the realisation of the true horror
is in the delay effect...
  the "post-traumatism" effectuality -
given that being post-traumatic is not
that you've seen something horrible,
but that you've seen something horrible
you never imagined you could have done...
   hence the the delay conceptualisation
of horror being inact...
            p.t.s.d. is the delay conceptualisation
of horror...
  and much of the horror genre is
about music, as it is about delaying the initial
burden of apathy, or rather shock mixed
with a libido overload...
  horror is nonetheless: music and delay...
   the delay becomes what it already was -
        a caseload of dreams;
music wise? just a bad taste in pop subsequently.

ksywa* or ła(h) ła(h) - or just simply ksyva -
   and that's really pushing it,
                        it almost looks russian -
                like the łord:     vechki vechki vesteya
you do the german thing and it becomes
             veschki veschki vesteya -
                         i.e. véshkí véshkí -
                            and the acute accent means?
throw the ****** into the air!
                            and hope to catch it, when it lands
on the iota with a dot above it, like a halo,
     or the parlance of a saint gibbering (by now you know
that you can pronounce the dz unit, because
           you reall don't say gee-beer-ing;
                       or ****... you write it as jibbering?).
       oh... the word ksyva?
                                    when we're still in school
we get nicknames...
                       what was my nickname?
  given to me by a bue of a blonde?
                                                         ­      dad.
  that ***** you up... it's not like you get to handle
a nickname like that as if it were akin to: ****, cunty,
                 *******...             wormhole....
                                                 c'mon!          dad?!
what sadist does that?!
                                  how about a variant, like:
     herr mannelig            or herr holger.... and then
we can dance and cheer and drink ourselves to death
   ahoy valhalla! - style
                             i put the hyphen there because
i wanted to encapsulate the whole cheer! but not really.
    followed up by: like.
                                        but i'm really proud of myself,
i managed to solve a du doku.... ****... a su doku
                  completely off my rockers, and as you might
or might not know, no. 8987 is classified as fiendish....
this is the first time i managed to solve a fiendish category
su doku without being allowed the 4 clues
       you get when you phone up the publishers and
get the autocue...
                it looked like this:

8 7 5 9 2 3 6 1 4
2 3 9 1 4 6 5 7 8
6 4 1 7 5 8 9 2 3
9 2 4 5 3 1 8 6 7
1 5 7 6 8 2 3 4 9
3 8 6 4 7 9 2 5 1
7 6 8 2 9 4 1 3 5
4 9 2 3 1 5 7 8 6
5 1 3 8 6 7 4 9 2

          but all this leads to is more conceptualisation,
*******, the orientals invented something
  beyond western imitation, i.e. beyond the haiku!
this really is the chiral form of the haiku!
                       some puzzles have timed designations
for being solved, e.g. samurai sudoku no. 555: 34min.
         who the **** times this sort of bewildering activity?
capitalists... competition... how about i just do the puzzle
by way of relaxing, when doing it, rather than competing
from some ****** plastic imitation of gold's worth of trophy?

i'm trying to find the genesis of the puzzle's existence,
sure, i can fly to japan and talk to some yogi, or yoga or kung fu master,
but i want to do it myself...

     the best i came up with?

        convergence / divergence of the co-ordinate concept
                   of a two-dimensional graph...
          exploiting the two-dimensional conceptualisation -
          into a three-dimensional "space".

          well... because it's a bit like this:
      
     (.)squared
                       (. .)squared

                                               (. . .)squared

     (. . . .)squared
                                      (. . . . .)squared

           and you're basically for interlocking coordinations of
the same number, e.g. 5 with 5, 6 with 6.

        these beastly, dragon-equivalent orientals really know
how to play the numbers game, for one: there's a billion of them,
and second: they don't have an alphabet...
           like marco polo suggested:
             they write out the equivalent to a da vinci -
but all it sounds like is ma! or da! or ya! -
      among variant, in that, almost infinant "number" of interpolations.

in germany it's called a sharp s (ß)... in poland it's just called an acute s (ś)... in english it's a revival of the original germanic intention of quasi-interpolation that the other name for ß is intended for, to suggest: es und zee; as showecased by the example that's the title... the english have this "competence" riddled into them... they can interpolate the s with the z, and the z with the s... as long at the two letters are lodged deep enough in words, i.e. not as heads (primarily, since i do not know of any words ending with a -z)... e.g. zebra... saber... sophisticated... zero.

but in all honesty, it's not about that... even though that
stated, can become relevant some day, or other...

   it's more about su doku, no. 8966...
                as the categorißation clearly indicates,
a tough ******* to crack open into a complete
solution...
                 ha ha... if they won't bend with zeppelins
or messerschmitts, or a yunkers yu (yew) 390 -
tackle them with a ß.
                                         anyway, back to the su doku...
back to no. 8966... ******* is difficult,
he's not budging, so i resort to writing something,
        relaxing my eyes on letters, rather than,
something equivalent to what the chinese would
call the 4th book of the torah (book of numbers) -
               but what i'm playing at is...
                 the fourth dimension allusion...
          su doku isn't a pain-of-fact      x, y, z
conceptualisation...
                                          ­     it was conceptualised
by asians... no wonder you can become a bit cuckoo
solving the puzzle...
                                        or at least i do...
    i do have a blind-spot for super-fiendish
     and fiendish and even difficult puzzles...
                        but then i like to relax, and i'm not
going to allow my brain - which is fat -
              become invaded by killer-proteins of alzheimer -
in the same way i won't be told that my brain
     requires flexing... like a killer protein would like
it to flex, to then invade the plump and delicate *****...
ah yes!
             the conceptualisation schematic!
                                     it's based on coordination....
       \ | /
     _   9 _                                 so it starts off like that...
        / | \

   but then ***** off and does this:

      
     (5, 5) > (5, 6) < (5, 7) << (5, 1) <<< (5, 9) <<<< (5, 4) etc.

     (it's about positions, coordinates!
                         you're not talking x, y, z style graphs,
  you're talking x, y, z, g        graphs....
                              )       i.e. the worth of having two fivers
on the graph is good... by comparison having a fiver
and a six doesn't bring you closer to the solution,
      and the rest is just:       < less than << even more less
    <<< even even more less    <<<< les dennis?

in reverse?
     oh you mean the upper part of the spectrum?
in summary it's sorta like:
      the algebra of xxxxxxxxx
             and the punctuation <<<<<<<<<
      or yyyyyyyyy and >>>>>>>>>

and it goes likes this:

     (5, 5, 5, 5, 5, 5) > (5, 5, 5, 5, 5) > (5, 5, 5, 5) > (5, 5, 5) > (5, 5)

the difference is obvious... because it just is...
you don't apply the addition emphasis of the < or > mark...
because it's ****** obvious that you're adding the same
****** number to the su doku graph:

  obviously until you get to (5, 5, 5, 5, 5, 5, 5, 5, 5) -

   if you're serious about drinking, as i am, and you do
one of these puzzles?
                            the world of colour disappears....
and you're stuck on a ******* carousel -
                     and you're thinking:
      what are these l.s.d. junkies on about
                  trying to see more colour than necessary?
try this!
                          it's a bit like a nostalgia
                    for black & white cinema...
                                                      s­ilent movies?
n'ah... that's going too far back.

i find the children of immigrants born in a foreign land,
learning the inorganic tongue
parallel to the organic compartments
of schizoid conditioning, in the haystack of splinters,
the perpetual contradiction -
the unsure waves without a final
commencing tide -
i find these children the most bothered
to hear the coin flip, two sides  exposed: to be asked
whether the integration process was fulfilled
and the organic tongue was cut off
with the question: in what language
do you think? these children who are
in the cultural poverty of the jihad
who only speak cursor singled out words,
who have to welcome a cultural identity
by relinquishing one of their parents,
who's parents never taught them bilingualism
as an asset rather than a source of complaints,
who would sometimes dearly impress themselves
with inorganic points of view that might
**** their parents - like the cultural cleansing
of long forgotten welsh or gaelic: this among other
signals of a loss of posterity - forced into a smouldering
cauldron of ease, that's hardly at ease -
i find these children the most stunted culturally,
bringing no identity, no pride of distinction
that could empower all of us -
for the best they can bring... is a cookbook;
perhaps the sole reason for the failures of
marcus garvey was precisely that - the ancient
tongue turned numb, then turned to gangrene,
and slid from behind the ivory gates -
there's that: the need for an organic symbiosis
with the origin, but perhaps by then,
the west indies were too appealing to be left
for other settlers - but as all musings go -
there are many unknowns - the ancient tongue
perhaps shed, but the tongue given proved to
be too restrictive in its original guise: for the whip
and the exploitation led to a linguistic rebellion
of creating a unique people-owned dialects,
people were given a phonetic manna - for their
own safeguard, to deviate from all manner of
orthodoxy intended for the education of
"civilised" classes - which only proved the instability
of the english tongue, the existence of phonetic
approximations with beautiful orthography,
but a harrowing due to this beauty by certain
obstructive forces of the perceived tongue silent,
encoded by the 26 digits, inflamed by many laws
of particularised pronunciation: which established
english as an almost universal tongue on earth:
the lingua franca - a language that has no conceptualisation
of exhausting heat of noon and siestas,
of stressful nocturnal living expected for the friday
and the saturday every week, rather than everyday
usual - so if i were to write out all the particularised
pronunciation examples i'd be here all day - if only
but a few evolutionary traits upon inheritance of
the latin alphabet were allowed for the english language,
there'd be less bewilderment at having to excavate
deep into the caves of memory, the echoes shouted
from the depths of these caves would not actually
resonate as echoes do, but would be sharp and distinct:
one of each; or as they say of the y from the tetragrammaton:
the vowel modulator, invokes vowel-morphing:
ply (i)                               as one example
                                          and the first h being the vowel
stabiliser,
                 oh                       poker      
                 eh                       extricate (ex-tree-cate /
tri                                        bi),
and to stress a basis for kabbalah, once all theories
of worded expeditions become exhausted, as either
accomplished or never-to-be accomplished, e.g. utopia,
the only thing remaining to do is to check the limits
with these atoms in simple syllable compounds,
where a safeguard is kabbalah - not so much a mention
of elocution as the intended process of inquiry,
but apart from meaningful prefix syllables like
pre-, pro-, con-, a-, super-, trans-, meta-, ortho- etc.,
i see what optical dissections guide me back into
the realm of meaningful words:
the second h is reserved for laughter, the only
consonant that allows the freedom to laugh, given
laughter has to be expressed by one consonant
and at least 2 vowels, and no other consonant allows this
to happen.

it was bound to happen, after all my fascination with
the complications he was writing about
became incubated in a hibernation for some time,
but i already said, once before, you get the zest,
you get this unending hunger like a vampire
should you come across philosophy last, esp. after
being unable to blossom in chemistry's affairs
to a suitable self-satisfying level of expertise,
then all those migrating electron diagrams in organic
chemistry give you enough to read philosophy without
cringing or finding it too difficult - counter reading
it with major literary works and you're part of
the circus frenzy; so yesterday's afternoon and
apart from all he mentioned to a dichotomy rather
than a dialectic about empiricism and transcendental
idealism - the expansive topic of regression...
i just had to spot regressive bookmarks, or
bookmarks of regression that people unearth as if
from the dead; such is the nature of these bookmarks,
people do resurrect them, in as least number of
examples as possible:
a. i've met a Greek who was still bemoaning
    that Istanbul is still "actually" Constantinople
    (the local turk has stopped selling
     black market cigarettes in his shop
     imported from eastern europe, so now i'm
     resorted to smoking the portable shēsha pipe,
     that lovely creamy extra-thick smoke
     of pure jasmine, which cigarette smoke
     anorexic and blueish-grey can't compete with),
b. actually i don't have an example at this point
     because i digressed about not being able to
     buy cheap cigarettes, but there are plenty others...
oh! right, the atypical American example
with the constitution and gun laws and how
it is rarely argued that the government is turning
bonkers and someone might get a thrill from a second
"French" revolution, or some other horrific affair.
c. ah forget about it.
so within his abstracts, from one per se to another,
a simpler Kantian conceptualisation is
a Matryoshka doll, he purposively defined things
as in-themselves, and to him a noumenon (thing-in-itself)
was far better understood than a phenomenon,
because phenomena i'm guessing he too thought
were discriminatory, unfair, bewildering,
for example: why did the Beatles matter? it's bewildering,
you can't juggle such a question on your own
terms, you can't play the Rubik cube with such a question,
fair enough if you want to play the clarinet,
but it's like that, best epitomised in the film Amadeus
where Antonio Salieri bemoans the phenomenon that
Mozart is... the sophisma figurae dicta (sophism
figures out statements) to no advantage - for example
the liberté, égalité, fraternité all men are born equal
*******, i.e. can i run a 100 metres in under 10 seconds?
NO! of course Antonio is persuasive, in that he himself
is persuaded to talk, because he cannot fathom
the phenomenon that Mozart is, and he isn't - as such
phenomena are hard to grasp, you can't put in anything
into them other than envy, respect, jealousy, joy
or whatever you wish akin to the central character of
Steppenwolf who wants to walk with the giants,
thinking the giants are waiting for him... are they?
the noumenon is oddly enough more fathomable,
it doesn't necessarily attract, it neither necessarily repel,
in its abstract formulation it can never be a phenomenon
at best it can be a sub-phenomenon, it can work below
the surface of things, but there will never be any
glitter or princely yawns surrounding it.

i wasn't satisfied with the cartesian
                                                       ­          cogito ergo sum...
                it's not that i couldn't stomach it,
it was just:               not enough?
people claim that maxim to be the source
of all subjectivity,
          and there's nothing objective about
it.
      all this modern talk of subject vs. object,
i had to employ a θήσαύρύς.
      i needed a square... a solomon's star,
two squares encompassed against each other,
nothing akin to the star of david...
i mean solomon's star, of two squares
imposed on each other, layered
so you get an oκτάγωνον oktágōnon
oh ****! a macron over an omicron = an omega!
                                  oh k'tah goo non...
      wait wait... i was going to write something
concrete, and yes, it was based on solomon's star...
             6 things -

     cogito                              sum
subjectivity             ­           objectivity            king david (6)  
   reflexive                           reflective

   thinking = subjectivity = the reflective
    thinking = subjectivity = the reflexive
      thinking = objectivity = the reflective
    thinking = objectivity = the reflexive         king solomon (8)
     being = subjectivity = the reflective
       being = subjectivity = the reflexive
      being = objectivity = the reflective
              being = objectivity = the reflexive

     (alt. given the atheistic scissors of definite / indefinite articles
    of the / a                     a reflex,         a reflection)

what this means is, what's generally thought of as
the tetragrammaton, but it's not four letters,
    it's the interpolation of the four main faculties,
that are now seen as tripling up, or call them: cubed;
a lament configuration representation.
    
     thinking is subjective in that it is also reflective
  (the narcissus bias)
     thinking is subjective in that it is also reflexive
     (i need a shave)
     thinking is objective in that it is also reflective
       (i am ageing)
   thinking is objective in that it is also reflexive
          (i'll just stop looking into a mirror)...

dear apologies for the geometry of the arrangement
                              of words, i know you'd love to see a tartan pattern
              of interchange, but this **** seems rigid, in the way
   that i wrote it... i couldn't find a way to write a b a b
                     as stated, it only came out as a a b b,
                            or a b c a b c         rather a a b b c c.

but do you see what is even more fascinating than numbers?
    the arithmetic symbols... arithmetic symbols
are very much akin to diacritical symbols...
              i write an over-simplification of a concept using =,
and then all these conjunctional words pop up!
   and yes, in terms of citing heidegger as opposed to
        descartes      there's a great disparity between
                          being     and i am -
                          self-evident,       being = the sum, a total, Σ,
while      i am? it's a unitary representation of the total (sum / sigma)
    of the possible mode of being -
       it's also called ego interference / pronoun inteference
             in the conceptualisation of the cascade that's ergo
                            into the basin that's dasein.

what philosophy call metaphysics?
                         linguistics call orthography...
                                 what chemists call para- positioning on
                     a benzene ring;
                                         or what non-chemists call the paranormal.

what you have with me is a
non-diaviating dogmatism of
the units of language,
common colloquial says is
at best attuned: black is black,
white is white.
i have a dogmatism surrounding
this...
i''m very rigid in the term a priori,
and in so saying: darwinism
  has no a apriori benefactor
to challenge me...
   i'm rigid in words
    on the basis that's i do not
accept the thesaurus manifesto...
  the game of synonym and antonym
will not make me write a better novel,
i just think that's *******.
      the problem with darwinism
attracting a higher status
      than the miser narcissus quote
of looking into **** similis
leaves the biodiversity of monkeys
paramount above the biodiversity
of other species of animals...
i acknowledge darwinism,
but as science clearly says:
it can never reach the rigidity of
being deemed an a priori certainty...
modern man's rebellion is
against darwinism forcing itself
into the a priori regiment...
as a scientific theory darwinism can't
do just that...
     darwinism is solely
    a posteriori in terms of
conceptualisation... i have no beginning
as man qualifying myself as being
monkey-borne,
i don't have enough time to
       conceptualise such a beginning
with all its viable ceonceits as modes
to state a groundwork to an ontological basis...
worthy of execution...
         to a satisfactory basis...
     darwinism can't exist in the a priori
sphere, because science cannot either...
               darwinism can't equate
itself with theology,
on the simple premise that there's a suffix
-logy involved...
                       and the rest belongs
to the archives of mutilated language...
                or the mutilation of, should i be exact
in the dicta.
                 i cannot be born with
an innate predisposition to state that i am
of money origin...
          primarily because the monkey has adapted
in such a way, as to be so life affirming of its
existence that i'd be in no way similar
in this genesis, as i am bound to affirm the
  life prerogatives of a peacock dancing to the mating
call of a female peacock...
intellectually speaking i'm bound to experience
an intellectual shortcoming and a
               desert of worded experience...
the modern narcissus is the darwinist disciple...
                  i can't see anything more
abhorring than that...
                       to the conclusive demise:
making any history makes no sense,
the 18th century? makes no sense,
given we've been prescribed the platitude...
and the stoppage of time...
                   originating from **** similis
makes us no more noun-denotative
acquiresome of **** sapiens than the
byproduct that is **** insapiens...
                            i know the history is there,
and all the facts are there... but given our
current day-to-day... there's no bias for it making
our lives any different in terms of it having
any effect on us to say otherwise...
                      darwinism forgets that it behaves
like any  a posteriori fabric
                     in a way that it wants to become
rigid... but not rigid in a sense that
you might cling to a posteriori becoming
rigid for an equivalent of a one-man
  table-tennis match.... or *******...
  i mean darwinism doesn't have a place in
the a priori in the first place,
it can't be as pristine as space & time, god & nothing
care to allow it to be...
    i have a life-span of a maximum of 100 years...
i can't make history and tell it from the epoch
of dinosaurs to suit the right sort of palette...
    darwinism isn't inherent (a priori) in me...
it's scientific, therefore a posteriori in me...
                 it's sometimes called being stubborn,
or it's sometimes called communal slack...
      even if taken to the court, i can't defend darwinism...
what i can say is that: enough prayers left
at the darwinian altar has left me a david Attenborough
in the pornographic industry spectacle...
because why can't i be as **** similis as i care
not to be **** sapiens?!
                 the basic fact is that i have obscured
the thesarus in my lexicon...
                 i have made certain words rigid...
opposite of making a chair goo and custards...
it's a rigidness that i expect to spar with,
       i need the stability...
   and this makes me the shadow-man...
because i can't compete for a pulpit and a freedom
to speak... i can't!
    i am bound to shadows and book-worms...
and am for the better for it to be so gravitating me toward
the grave...
      i can't say darwinism exists a priori because i just
can't...
                        i say that because biology is the sole
science that does away with mathematical language...
             biology has no actual need for numbers,
          it has no need for He meaning helium...
it has no need for the laws of physics...
when physicists try to find the glue...
biology is already immersed in the glue...
                    biology doesn't need numbers...
yet it's there: eating up book after book in the domain
of history, fiction and poetry...
           the a priori implant of god is so much
easier to forget in the medium of thought
than establishing the a posteriori implant of god
that you simply don't think about...
i have about a hundred Islamic terrorists to testify...
   i don't understand this attack on the a priori
stronghold of certain ideas being sanctimonious...
  darwinism cannot reach the pinnacle of a priori
inquiry simply because it begins with an a posteriori
requisite...
                            which is why the whole affair
went to court... with the monk

Emanation and conceptualisation
Imaginations of constellations
Can I try to reach the stars?
A place within
Inside and within reach

I can’t suspend a resolution of truth
Lay to rest and die alone
Inside a hole of my own creation

Why must you torment me with your lies?

And your life
Relent again
~ Reflect upon the self ~

>> Then write <<

what you have with me is a non-diaviating dogmatism of
the units of language, common colloquial says is
at best attuned: black is black, white is white.
i have a dogmatism surrounding
this...
i''m very rigid in the term a priori,
and in so saying: darwinism
  has no a apriori benefactor
to challenge me...
   i'm rigid in words
    on the basis that's i do not
accept the thesaurus manifesto...
  the game of synonym and antonym
will not make me write a better novel,
i just think that's *******.
      the problem with darwinism
attracting a higher status
      than the miser narcissus quote
of looking into **** similis
leaves the biodiversity of monkeys
paramount above the biodiversity
of other species of animals...
i acknowledge darwinism,
but as science clearly says:
it can never reach the rigidity of
being deemed an a priori certainty...
modern man's rebellion is
against darwinism forcing itself
into the a priori regiment...
as a scientific theory darwinism can't
do just that...
     darwinism is solely
    a posteriori in terms of
conceptualisation... i have no beginning
as man qualifying myself as being
monkey-borne,
i don't have enough time to
       conceptualise such a beginning
with all its viable ceonceits as modes
to state a groundwork to an ontological basis...
worthy of execution...
         to a satisfactory basis...
     darwinism can't exist in the a priori
sphere, because science cannot either...
               darwinism can't equate
itself with theology,
on the simple premise that there's a suffix
-logy involved...
                       and the rest belongs
to the archives of mutilated language...
                or the mutilation of, should i be exact
in the dicta.
                 i cannot be born with
an innate predisposition to state that i am
of money origin...
          primarily because the monkey has adapted
in such a way, as to be so life affirming of its
existence that i'd be in no way similar
in this genesis, as i am bound to affirm the
  life prerogatives of a peacock dancing to the mating
call of a female peacock...
intellectually speaking i'm bound to experience
an intellectual shortcoming and a
               desert of worded experience...
the modern narcissus is the darwinist disciple...
                  i can't see anything more
abhorring than that...
                       to the conclusive demise:
making any history makes no sense,
the 18th century? makes no sense,
given we've been prescribed the platitude...
and the stoppage of time...
                   originating from **** similis
makes us no more noun-denotative
acquiresome of **** sapiens than the
byproduct that is **** insapiens...
                            i know the history is there,
and all the facts are there... but given our
current day-to-day... there's no bias for it making
our lives any different in terms of it having
any effect on us to say otherwise...
                      darwinism forgets that it behaves
like any  a posteriori fabric
                     in a way that it wants to become
rigid... but not rigid in a sense that
you might cling to a posteriori becoming
rigid for an equivalent of a one-man
  table-tennis match.... or *******...
  i mean darwinism doesn't have a place in
the a priori in the first place,
it can't be as pristine as space & time, god & nothing
care to allow it to be...
    i have a life-span of a maximum of 100 years...
i can't make history and tell it from the epoch
of dinosaurs to suit the right sort of palette...
    darwinism isn't inherent (a priori) in me...
it's scientific, therefore a posteriori in me...
                 it's sometimes called being stubborn,
or it's sometimes called communal slack...
      even if taken to the court, i can't defend darwinism...
what i can say is that: enough prayers left
at the darwinian altar has left me a david Attenborough
in the pornographic industry spectacle...
because why can't i be as **** similis as i care
not to be **** sapiens?!
                 the basic fact is that i have obscured
the thesarus in my lexicon...
                 i have made certain words rigid...
opposite of making a chair goo and custards...
it's a rigidness that i expect to spar with,
       i need the stability...
   and this makes me the shadow-man...
because i can't compete for a pulpit and a freedom
to speak... i can't!
    i am bound to shadows and book-worms...
and am for the better for it to be so gravitating me toward
the grave...
      i can't say darwinism exists a priori because i just
can't...
                        i say that because biology is the sole
science that does away with mathematical language...
             biology has no actual need for numbers,
          it has no need for He meaning helium...
it has no need for the laws of physics...
when physicists try to find the glue...
biology is already immersed in the glue...
                    biology doesn't need numbers...
yet it's there: eating up book after book in the domain
of history, fiction and poetry...
           the a priori implant of god is so much
easier to forget in the medium of thought
than establishing the a posteriori implant of god
that you simply don't think about...
i have about a hundred Islamic terrorists to testify...
   i don't understand this attack on the a priori
stronghold of certain ideas being sanctimonious...
  darwinism cannot reach the pinnacle of a priori
inquiry simply because it begins with an a posteriori
requisite...
                            which is why the whole affair
went to court... with the monkey trial...
(and the rest of the argument i accidently deleted...
which is a shame...
                 but then again, i guess i simply
left it trying to reinvent poetic rhyming,
i mean rhyming counter to plague, the hague,
                or vague...
i meant rhyming on the basis of prefix mandatory
reiteration, or the mundane alternative:
repetition, rather than rhyming
and in musical terms: really hitting the *** note
as to avoid even a sense of polyphony...
or polyphony meaning: personnae...
but i deleted the better half of the narrative...)
some ******* about omni re (things again)
culminating in the mora res = res cogitans...
  to think, to delay... a thing that delays a thing that things
when all things repeat themselves...
   by omni re i mean: that bollocking insistance
of autumn... well: it was a nice load of *******,
but then i did **** in my treatment of it;
which is to not say i didn't have more
intentional sentences to work with...
   accidents happens...
sometimes you get champagne,
most of the time: solitary definition of frustration
at the impeding technology...
                     airy fairy, miser's berry.

i really miss fighting... throwing punches,
kicking people's ***... i miss it, because i'd love to
sport a plum... but... the last time i was
in a fight...
            i was only a witness...
just outside a nightclub...
this guy punched another
guy dead...
      no, seriously, one proper
hit to the head, and the guy
was out...
       it's very peculiar seeing
death before your eyes...
  it looked very much like
chopping down a tree...
      with a single chop...
 and the tree lay flat, and it didn't dare to move
to the syllables of exchanging seasons...
    i guess it would be easier
to stomach seeing a suicide
taking place... a man jumping off a bridge
would be easier to stomach that seeing
     a man punch another man, dead...
        but seeing a punch like that
in the face... with the guy falling
down, dead, so quickly?
         watching someone die,
right before your eyes?
  it's no fun... since there's no funeral
to be had...
     it's too quick, because it is:
                               as it happens...
i was off the scene as quickly as possible,
no... i was not going to
be a wtiness... **** that...
   i've been a witness of a theft of a mobile
phone,
   stood in court...
      prior to had to sieve through a bunch
of culprit profile pictures, to identify the suspect,
and so i did, the owner of the stolen mobile phone
couldn't identify him...
    and many years later...
   what, a, complete, ****, he, became;
so much for the human conceptualisation
of either knowledge, or jurisprudence...
    how unlikely it has to become...
                       that i believe in a theocracy;
since man is so "schizophrenic"
                  (i.e. he's not rational... he's split!)
                      in serving his so-called
conceptualisation of, "justice",
           having been... perfected, to a universal /
uniform, socialist, alternatively stated: desirable level;
i base my belief in god,
   on the inadequacy of man, as having
   the sane capacity, to serve a just argument,
for whatever reward, or, therefore "just", punishment;
and this is, an ob hominem statement;
simply translated? i'm just going
to ignore the people that disagree with this
kind of "decree".
  just talk to me, when you see one man, punch
another man... dead; there's a reason for
the sport of boxing, enforcing boxing gloves.

not to mention the notes,
    who the hell enthrones a sadist
on what's a hyperventilating compass
......... and .
                 .
                 .
                 .
                 .
                 .
                 .
                 .
                 .               and .     .     .
                                        .     .     .
                                        .     .     . -
what's called conceptualisation, or
   the timessu doku* no. 8860, dubbed:
finding the first 5...
     fractions 9 / 9  and then 81...
it's an eye-sore, maybe it should be encapsulated
by .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .
    but i left it it at
.  .  .  .  .  6  7  .  .
.  7  .  8  .  9  4  3  6
.  .  6  .  3  .  8  .  .
1  .  .  .  9  .  5  6  7
6  5  9  4  7  1  2  8  3               rectangles and squares problem
3  2  7  6  5  8  1  9  4                 (imitating a drunk
7  .  3  .  6  .  9  4  .                   watching the television with only
4  6  .  9  8  .  x  .  2                  one eye open to stop the carousel;
.  9  2  .  4  .  6  7  .                              ­  i.e. dajjal watching dajjal)

   that x in there? that's important, i think i can't
solve no. 8860 (i.e. finding the first 5)
because of it...
    and it's on paper, rather than on a digital
format, and that's hard to correct / revise /
solve...
                not to mention the ***** working its
purpose...  
                but such is the joy of being able to do something
that doesn't require crosswords...
  can't do them to save my life...
             i knew a guy once that could
do samurai su doku...
            i have to be content with this tier...
getting an eye-check...
          it's the spacing and 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9
   arranged into a

1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9      2      3      8      7      4     3      5     1       (e.g.)

so working from that, it's just as much as
knowing for to spell... it's optically infuririating
to have to compensate on something, somewhere...
some people just see clear spacing
and can do these puzzles quickly...
   it feels hard to attack humanism with science,
the whole thing is hard to figure out,
let alone no. 8860 (finding the 1st 5)...

unless you can compensate listening to the offspring's
debut album, no hero and black magic...
  but it really is a problem of spacing...

     i used the punctuation mark of a dot to emphasise
the digital canvas / pixel accuracy dynamic...
    
               how do you start to conjure these puzzles
into completion? should i put a ruler to the computer screen?
      but that x in the "spelling" of no. 8860
         undid me... just lost the heart to complete...
took me too long to insert anything after that...
and i didn't have a second copy, there was
only one 29th of feb. 2017 coming my way...
  
the best i could do is to write a poem counter
to what the theory states... i.e. not all poems
are written for a need of abandon... most of the time
it's a crossword, or as this case proves: a su doku.

           if poems are ever abandoned, it's to stress a concern
for tomorrow,
                     i really can't imagine myself passing
off a clean paragraph that composes a book,
that a book is composed of,
               i can't really imagine a better form
of punctuation than poetry,
           poetry to me is symbiotic with punctuation,
as in: you might just get to write another
poem / colon the next day...

              or like now... i hate that all these columns
of culture are pristine... then you get to read
the biographic sketch that gave such and such a book
to arise on in no man's land...
   like the koran and aisha...

         ******, i partied when there was no party,
i was found singing on a windowsill when no one else
was singing but a sparrow in the night,
the most beautiful thing i ever managed to see
was an insomniac crow, flying while the skies of
england were overcast... a kestrel on my fence,
a robin with a full orange bust fidgeting queer...
and yes, those parkinson sparrows...
   i looked at more birds than might allow me a stipend
to reach the age of 50... and have a saturday newspaper
magazine column actually giving a ****...

   i do not that ignition wasn't the debute album,
but given the sales, it was treated as such...

             i like the fact that poetry entertains sloppy...
   *****, raw, ***...
                    i could never rewrite or revise or edit
this *******, i'd loße my nerve...
                                     i *******... squiggly lines
and random patterns to antithesis phenomenons
that keep repeating themselves...
             i can't believe that writers spend 3 years
on a book, to then give it to critical hyenas...
this carcasss is heading straight down route s. beckett's
watt and j. joyce's finnegans wake,
and ezra pound's cantos...
             this bit of me is not heading for
a bestseller status... is down route per se...
                   because that's what i care, about...
that i am imitating darwinism's natural selection...
well... let's call it a ponce's selection
  and more snobs than screaming beatlemania fans;
or what the concept of persisting royalty does
to you...
            you half **** a refined talk of a    p h via t h
into thy, thigh         or veering into     thesp
                       ian,               or the said much more quickly:
finicky ***** of phonetic arithmetic.

well, it's still better than what populists ascribed to with omni-; which basically led two major "monotheisms" (Christianity and Islam) into pantheism: e.g. - touch a rock, mm, that's god... touch a banana, mm, that's god; stick a thumb up your ***, mm... now that's truly god.

what i was aiming to suggest was the concept
of *deo sapiens,
as an antidote to the overrated **** sapiens
categorisation, which can hardly be the limit
of our collective definition of man set apart
from nature, given his persistent submission
to the four elements of nature, which limit
man's assurance as above helpless animals he
decided to pet or industrialise in farming -
and apart from the elements the existence of
parasites and diseases (negations of ease) -
i only wanted to introduce the concept deo sapiens
to say F U to the Greek demoralising theological
poets, and enjoin the whole concept with
what was already inscribed prior: made in his image,
although image doesn't really go beyond
the demigod Narcissus in what's to be understood:
perhaps we are of the same mould in
the shallow realm of equal representation,
repraesentatio expilo (representative plagiarism),
but with the overruling body of nuance
hanging over us like a sack of **** or the sword
of Damocles, we can hardly continue as these unshaken
prefects of the firm categorisation of **** sapiens,
which is still rather an infant of conceptualisation,
we have no claim to **** sapiens, i cannot think
why man claimed such a firm atheistic belief with
his continual irrationality, perhaps certain discoveries
in science allowed him crossing the Nile of ideas,
thus in the same way as i disregard the categorisation
of **** sapiens i invite the concept of deo sapiens,
a rational god: it's just a massive grave and subsequent
plagiarism with pyramid schemes of dupes!
that thing ain't gonna fly! away from greek poets who
purposively created immoral gods to satiate their
human fancy: indeed an unfair world, but a world
where man can fully express his freedom, and what
freedom he chooses according to his will...
only a deo sapiens would allow such freedoms
(with that one ****** exception that's worth a thousand
stigmas in the shadow of the crux that gave us
so much narcissistic culture via iconography and dyslexia);
or in other words, yes, indeed only a **** insapiens
would dare craft the idea of a deo sapiens
(although in act of good faith / doubt), rather than
a **** sapiens crafting the idea of deo insapiens
(although in act of bad faith / denial) -
and yes, the paradoxical twins, who are actually
Siamese... it's now up to your choice of painting with
will what freedom you wish to see revealed on
the canvas... don't mind me, my hands are in the air,
i surrender... i'm not about to imitate an Islamic prayer
format of kneeling and mumbling something under
my breath five times a day; i'll do it in one smooth
guillotine stroke: hands in the air.

this isn't exactly absinthe! and yes, i was once accused of writing a "word salad" conceptualisation of said language... personally i just think the said  language is, a bit *******; of course not on a per se basis, but simplified by people who speak it, at said time, 2017.

                                           what's this washing-line doing
in my bedroom?!

      is this what you call secondary blinking?

seriously! what the **** is this washing
              line doing in my bedroom?

       is this a bad joke about drying pancakes?

  god... i've been watching too
                            much *hotel transylvania;

either that or i spent this afternoon
   hanging clothes and bedsheets on the said lines

hence the millisecond's worth of hallucination,
what, you can't be serious,
a milliseconds's worth of "seeing" a washing-line
in your bedroom?
    
                          if i'm going to "dry" my pancakes
i'd use a napkin to soak up the fat from the frying...
              oil from pancakes wouldn't drip, or i.e. drool
like dog's bother for excess saliva...
                and if i spoke to a child of mine,
i'd say: i really need to explain the concept of ikea to you...
which would be much easier than any
                                                             ­  talk of ***.

but no, i'm pretty sure it's too much hotel transylvania;

and it's this: snapping out of a dream, or a
                               millisecond's worth of hallucination;
shortcrust l.s.d., and i'm basically blinking out of:
                             a washing-line       in my bedrom;
so we have the underwear.... what's hanging on it?
          underwear, bedsheets, shirts, towels...
                       i'd love to add: napkins, handkerchief,
bowties... but i can't... it's enough for that millisecond's
worth of blink and hallucinatory conjuring of the washing line
in my bedroom to riddle me for the next two days;

           what did a critique of the famous grouse
                                turn me into? ignition for a madhouse?

i guess anyone can be dragged into some zetigeist point of interest; and as anyone, here are my two-pence argument.

so i'm listening to this "dicussion" -
or what became a heated debate...
firstly, since dialectics only works
           one-on-one between only
two people, and is subsequently
reduced to screaming and shouting
if staged in a public place
                    with interjections from
flies and gnats who throw in their
own two-pence worth of supporting
either of the two people having
   a "discussion"...
         well... another thing about original
dialectics,
                 and modern dialectics?
the *mediator...
                   in original dialectics there
was no mediator, unless of course
if you suppose socrates was the mediator,
even so, that ancient mediator
             asked questions...
the modern mediator?
                 doesn't ask anything other than
asking one speaker to not interrupt
the other speaker...
                      the topic of discussion i was
listening to?
             transexuality...
           ****** confusing,
                  something confusing was bugging
me...
          why would i have to call a man
        a transwoman?
                       shouldn't i be calling a man
transman?
                   otherwise i'll be confusing pronouns...
or not using them "properly"...
    i just think that proper nouns are
not being used...
               it's not for the man to identify himself
as a transwoman...
           why?
                     i'm the "cis" man who's supposed
to identify the man, as a woman,
                     and what happens then?
   the man retains his inner-trans conceptualisation
i.e. i am beyond being a man,
              there i must show to cis men that
i am...
              e.g.? i was "fooled" by blaire white,
i thought she was a woman...
       and i still couldn't believe she wasn't when
she did a video showing her pre-transition
photographs...
          see!?    what's this ******* about
improper pronoun usage?
     what is happening is, AN IMPROPER NOUN
usage, by the man, who is a transman
within himself, but a woman to me,
   therefore i have no problem in finding her
attractive;
                  it would be easier to decide in
Scotland, i know that... is a woman who internalised
her transition and became a transwoman
           was wearing a kilt... and phoom!
        the garden of eden, and a river running
though it, down the middle.

disclaimer: i had to change the title, the original was... arsenal of "nukes" / morse code conceptualisation of sudoku - but i had a stunning revelation at the end of this verse.

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

what?! me order indian take away?! what do you have me for, a ****** charlatan? americans have their arsenal of nukes, the russians have their arsenal of nukes: me? i have my arsenal of indian spices! beat that: yoo muvva faa'kers! (you know, said as that chinese guy says it, in the first hangover movie).

i.

finally! i found the holy grail of the indian cuisine,
not so much a website that has all the recipes,
rather: it's a dictionary of all the various
curry broths... cook4one.co.uk -
one you have the lingua coquus -
the lingo of what's what - mind you -
i'm like a "mujahideen", in that i know
only singled out words of "arabic"
and am convinced that i'll be bilingual
to fully embrace the jihad,
although i'm neither, hence the inverted
commas,
  let's just say: i overshot the mark,
and landed in india, and am not recreating
a chemical experiment:
thinking - **** me, a bit humid 'ere,
in goa?
  so the mujahideen's arabic is like my
sanskrit...
but then again: i abide by culinary,
rather than theocratic nouns -
  and i'm already bilingual -
i pity those english monolingual
cripples who went off to syria, i really do,
might as well chop off their tongues:
and sit them in a wheelchair,
and teach them arabic in sign-language...
these "warriors of allah" are nothing
but a ****** farce... if you going to fight
for a cause like that: at least speak
the ****** language...
  or, as the english say: go back home!
good point, born in poland, but living
in england for 23 years...
where's home?
           wait wait, let me get my copernican
compass out...
      well... you'd be glad to know:
my home is in the bermuda delta -
****** keeps spinning like a sufi dervish.

anyway, today of all days, two curries,
turmeric infused rice (yellow, always
nice to spot canary maggots),
and? JAH PAAAA TÍ!
**** the difference in flower...
  what was i using?
   chakki atta (pilsburg group) -
so soft, so tender, so mmm: yom...
  last week i messed the dough:
******! you pour in the warm water gradually...
thank god i saved my reputation
as the curry boss of the household...
and as i usually do with dough...
treat it like a punch bag, can't be bothered
kneading the dough, so i punch it.

the curries? ooh... beauties...
for one it was cayenne pepper rather than
chilli powder...

garam masala in both,
which i had to made from scratch...
do you really add turmeric and omit
adding cinnamon? i can't remember.

the first? (oi oi, 'ere comes my "mujahideen"
lingo in sanskrit)
  a passada chicken curry... almost a korma
but not quite...
     i just remember bashing
raisins in the pestle & mortar, adding almost,
not using any tomatoes,
   inviting chicken stock... etc. etc.

the second curry? a chicken saag -
the etymological derivative being?
   saag: a general term for tender green leaves
(such as spinach)...
    walking into an indian kitchen is probably
more intoxicating than walking
into a parisian perfumery,
                         or a jewish bakery;
said what i had to say, and that's that.

ii.

now, could it really have been a day when
i wouldn't have attempted, yet another,
reconceptualisation of a sudoku puzzle? no.
began as usual:

6 4 1 2 3 7 9 5 8
3 5 2 8 6 9 1 7 4
9 7 8 1 4 5 2 3 6
8 3 4 9 7 1 6 2 5
5 6 9 4 2 3 8 1 7
1 2 7 5 8 6 4 9 3
7 1 5 6 9 4 3 8 2
4 8 3 7 1 2 ι Δ ε
2 9 6 3 5 8 7 α 1  (ι = 5, Δ = 6, ε = 9
                           and α = 4 -
total? 24, the number of letters
in the greek alphabet,
as there are, hours in the day:
no wonder people back then
conjured up a "year 0" -
which actually makes the modern
day stoners, looks extremely
lazy when it comes to whacky
ideas);

but that gave me the idea of trying
another interpretation of this
japanese phone-book...

  how about morse code? to visualise
things... and how the numbers
lodge themselves in the 9 x 9 x 9 (729) box...
i see this 2D puzzle as 3D, oops...
so it came about - yielding the pen and
original zenith of concept, the hashtag (#)...
   (algebraic for end pin-point + insertion):

1a. | | − x
   1b. − − | y

     2a. − − y
   2b. | | x

     3a. − | x
   3b. |  − y

4a. □ − |
4b. □ | −
  4c. □ | |
4d. □ − −

  which begs the question...
    why would you need to invent braille...
if you already had the morse code?
  
at certain events people are competing
in spelling matches... so...
isn't the morse code a lot easier than
braille?! eh?!

i mean, god really is playing chess,
when he's reading braille...

−− −−− ·−· ··· · | ·· ··· | · ·− ··· ·· · ·−· |
− ···· ·− −· | −··· ·−· ·· ·−·· ·−·· ·

       don't you think?
and to think: a drunkard conjured this up;
ah... smoke 'em while ye got 'em.

the greeks worried about the word (λoγoς) -
come what may, but they did add
to their alphabet excess psyche distinctions...
ψικη? or πσικη?
              what i'm talking about is how
φoνoς emerged...
              the etymological origin of
tinnitus? tiny ear?
     i seem to have forgotten why i even bother
to use the dictionary these days:
well... mostly for etymological requirements...
on the spectrum of using language (god)
i put as much effort in the etymological
spectrum of events, as a physicist might
put into the pin-point of the big bang,
or a physician might put into a sore thumb
or a decaying tooth...
    what helped me to move away from the greek
conceptualisation of the λoγoς?
   their polytheism... they had too many words
and could not fathom a singleton
  of their polytheism, that could be equated
to will... or what became adapted by
darwinism's survival mechanisms / dynamos.
but i didn't arrive at the concept of
    φoνoς from λoγoς directly, by some "safe" route,
or a shortcut...    only via γνoσις (gnosis)...
     i read the arts, and i know they're not that
popular, and will seem rather quirky, or just
plain out-right weird...
            but they're there...
but so the "trinity"
                father λoγoς,
                                 son γνoσις
                                              the other, φoνoς.
it would help to mention that see the english language
as naked, given the diacritical attires of other
nations and the remnants of the latin optic of
encoded sound...
                i am also bound to say:
akin to sigma (Σ, σ, ς)... couldn't epsilon
   nibble at eta (H) and join ranks with it, on the aesthetic
premise that you'd end encoding words, such
      as plate (cermic) according to the aesthetic rule:
  Ε, ε, η?
                         only when greeks made too many
sharpened flint-spears of their alphabet do i see the picture
clearly: with the english having adopted no
                   φoνoς principles?
     well, i'm not into charlatan gnosis as such...
   i just "conjure" (speak) the word diagnosis and i know
that a gamma is said... i don't wish for the vogue
   of current times, e.g. (g)nome.
   what i am interested more (it probably won't shock
you and you will join me in the awe):
    the moon doesn't appear in the night sky every
single night like the sun might by day...
   i'm interested in the substance on the moon
  that acts like a mirror...
     sometimes the red moon, sometimes the canary
freckled biscuit...
         and at it's height platinum-white...
                             (tool really do a better version
of led zeppelin's no quarter... just saying)
but there must be a mirror like substance contained
in the geological construct of the moon that
acts like a mirror for the sun, you really can see
the dawn and dusk on the moon's surface...
look long enough straight into the sun and you
see ultra-violet vibrations... akin to the skeleton
of the moon at its zenith during the night;
but surely there is something very particular
in the geological spectrum that allows the moon's
surface to refraction... i hope i used the correct
word on this occassion..
  but as with the modulation of the greek original
(given the diacritical excesses imposed on it
   and the lack of it in english), i could extract
   a meaningful counter: the tetragrammaton...
or what's in english intended as aH           and Ha:
the gemini phonos of sighs and laughter...
   by basically invoking the sigma rule to eh?
    Σ, σ, ς /  Ε, ε, η                       : meaning the lower-case
eta is a shorter version of epsilon...
and like the aesthetic of the trinity of "satan" that's
sigma, it could mean shortening the greek alphabet
by 1... so from 24 letters (as if coincidental to hours
in a day), to 23 letters...
                      and i'm not even greek to propose
a justification for this revision.
                      but this also means why i couldn't
find the phonos equivalent to Y...
                         or why J is confrontational in the other
instance of latin...
                          Υγ                      or oog
so poot not pout or pulling rather than pool;
              i suppose there is not Y in greek as there is
in latin is the **** of ι (iota, as thus stated, with a . hovering
over it like a halo or a decapitated head;
the hideous "dance" of shiva and kali:
well "dance"... *******! fucky-fucky sucky-sucky)
           as such iota dominates what the greeks stress
in their primordial phonos... F (in latin terms)...
just F...             i once heard of the three Fs in greek:
  which wasn't true... someone thought
  it would be neat to add ψ (psi)
   to the coordinates of that might represent
   something akin to the origin of the man who'd see
this mistake θ, φ, ψ;
       psi is the odd one out: hence theology, philosophy...
and that annoying "darling" that's psychology;
as a logic that attempts to fathom the soul as a totality
of imaginable freedom, it seems very totalitarian in
its approach... it's practically a zoology to be honest...
cages... ego here, superego there, id over here...
                i really think that psychology has nothing
worthwhile to add at this moment in time...
                 not when on the other side of the argument
there is no soul, but presicely the counter-argument
         in all the ridiculousness of implanting a soul into
a ***** (white tadpole) and calling it a frog...
       i haven't seen a ribbit ever come from a tadpole...
like i never heard a thought enter a *****...
     it turns out to be bizarre, but then women dictate
the rule of thumb on the argument...
                               which is why the intellectual
development of people who argue that a ***** has a
soul (early foetal stages) begs the question:
        can that thing utter a sentence let alone take to
thinking? no... it's only a potential,
                           at best prescribed the symbol Λ
(in electricity denoted by V)...
                                        oh so many what ifs that come
with that... it's almost like ****** someone
to provide child alimony...
    and it sounds like that precisely...
prostitutes at least cream themselves up before having
*******...
      rapists from south africa?
                        they prefer to spike you with ******
and saddle on top of you with a dry *****...
                                god, the ****** disparity...
    one know and lubricate before *******, the supposed
"smart" girls who teach in boarding schools
                       have no idea what it's like ******* a dry ****;
i'd rather fist my **** any day of the week.

that's what happens when you treat yourself as the famous executioner of Anne Boleyn, not the axe-man but the sword-smith who tiptoed to feel the breeze in socks, and cut, the, head, neatly, a cascading swing of the guillotine! indeed anyone who believes in posthumous conceptualisation of karma, believes in heaven & hell.*

as i speak of the culprit
who left me with a star trekking:
it's not me you have
to fear... it's my mother...
that tarantula will scalp you
and circumcise you - or as i am aware
sharing a body with her;
it's not me you are to fear;
god-forbid i care to know
what awaits you, **** the love via
the crucifix - i'm in awe in what awaits you...
think of your mother when you lie to her...
while i satiate her hungry ambitions in
the bedroom...
                          camel jockey
more like a camel *******.
have your little disciples to hand over -
suddenly everyone in England
was instructed in the practice of psychiatry!
******* *****, ignoramus and ****** d'uh!
i fudged a bump on me'h skull d'uh!
well, carpenter you shall be!
but those idiots in England cared for
a Kalashnikov of opinion
that civilised concern made due with
un-engaged diacritics: arguments in heaven
is a peace in hell, and i'm in it - suburbia
all-around with talk of the enigma that's cricket.

another way to practice philosophy according to aristotelian conceptualisation is to not presuppose awe, it's more like this, write something down really quickly, an imitation of lightning, and then become struck by awe, rather than being in awe prior and doing the dusty practice of... taking your time... bewilder yourself to ask the dumbest question, answer so wisely that no one will take it as good advice but simply as a maxim no one bothers to encourage in undertaking... i too wish i could have that 'cool' disregard for philosophy, but after studying chemistry, philosophy is not a ponce word, but the word to unlearn hard science and learn a humanism, i too wish i could brush aside the word or practice, but unlike bukowski, i'm not really into gambling on horses.

as currently developed and largely ignored in terms
of the critique of notation i could encapsulate the word
doppelgänger* as the existentialists
would "doppelgänger", the sad sod in me
does actually think about it,
it would refer to either an ambiguity
of a misnomer,
i took the simpler route and just referred
to a misnomer rather than an ambiguity,
singled out words are not really ambiguous
if you burn the dictionary and forget it
ever existed,
i know doppelgänger is ~doppelgänger,
a quasi-misnomer when referring to a
particular instant, i.e.:
find me a clown with a similar background
to the joker - a drunken father who gave him
a Chelsea grin with a knife in a drunken rage...
but what about the joker who studied chemistry
and fell into a pit of chemicals that bleached
his face permanent white?
as socrates remained in motto of:
reconcile particulars with universals...
me? i'm wondering: reconcile particulars
with particulars and universals with universals...
the latter is easy, one pops up, another, three more,
and they are the cogs in the machinery of two
eyes and only 1 point of concentration:
an optical isolation of a tree, a forest, a constellation,
etc., universals are harmonies,
makes no difference to biology of the universal
23 pairs of chromosomes, or the mathematical π,
is the genome sequence the length of π?
anyway, i could have used the existential notation
of encapsulating the word with " ",
but i preferred the post-existentialism notation
of ~, just to avoid the misnomer qualification of
word usage, but leaving enough space for not
undertaken constantly-questioning ambiguity,
i know i can slide a cube through a square hole...
and i know that an actual doppelgänger of a clown
does not exist... find me the particular of particulars,
finding a universal of universals is easy,
you can just quote me on the 23 chromosome pairs
and π - the universal of universals is 1,
the particular of particulars is necessarily ∞,
non-explanatory orientation, just deviant use of a symbol /
encoding...
i know that the doppelgänger of the joker
acted is an ~doppelgänger, but is not a "doppelgänger",
because the word doppelgänger is not necessarily
a misnomer, i know there are no two identical clowns,
but then there are two universals
clown here                                                    clown there
                                            p
                                            a
                                            r
                                            t
                                            i
                                            c
                                            u
                                            l
                                            a
                                            r
                                            s
clown there                                                        clown here,
and indeed universals are governed by multiplication,
and indeed particulars are governed by addition,
i.e. you add to your individuality to be different,
dress different, speak different, speak different,
but then the universals come along and you're a factor
of multiplication, and essentially an analogue,
a deviating analogue, but then you congregate
and become the punk scene, e.g.
but as socrates said, 'i'd only be interested in someone
solving the problem, but not actually solving it.'
and like in all good mathematics, division and subtraction
are just remainders of an indivisible number,
they are indeed methods, scare tactics,
the former segregation and the latter death...
but after all, we're all human and stomp on this earth
with a unified purpose of having weetabix in the morning.

another sober day, and another day spent gardening,
trimming hedges, forming bulbs from shrubs,
only yesterday i cut a 7ft tree to a hardly seen stump,
today the weeds got the treatment, while a
strange cohort of bees were flying under the decking
with pollen pouches attached to their hind legs,
a little colony, rebellious bees that escaped from
a beer keeper - all of this attached to a hope for a new
rigour: a new year or new techniques, an invested
in the discourse between Dionysian and Apollonian
poetics - only because it annoyed me that the man
who invented this conceptualisation actually thought
Goethe's poetry was the latter... the man died like a
patriarch in a bed, apparently uttering the words:
more light! he enjoyed the latter's rigour, a statesman
and a respected member of the established...
so long have i wished to remember how i wrote sober,
but there's an ulterior reason... i can't be left
with scraps of £9.00 as a bank account,
here's the arithmetic:
                      monday, wednesday,
                      friday, sunday -
                      £11.00 x 4 = £44.00
                      carton of romanian cigarettes
                      £4.00 x 10 = £40.00
                      a weekly saving of ~£50.00
                      (give or take)...
an hour with a girl: £110.00, entry fee for
the madam £10.00...
                                   how many weeks is that
to save up for the pleasure?
let's call it an even month of saving up...
i just remember that one time i was walking from
a pub tipsy... the rumbling in my stomach
was so great, it weren't butterflies in there...
honey bees! 10 metres from the brothel entrance...
diarrhoea... i **** myself from excitement...
i took the seat of shame on the bus, squid of ****
in my trousers, then a cab home with the cabbie
being polite enough to not mention the smell...
that was one time... it's what i learnt about
England and the "roses" of Devon and Stratford-upon-Avon...
cold like the lions of Trafalgar Sq., i've been living
here TWENTY TWO YEARS... guess what?
NEVER HAD AN ENGLISH BIRD...
i must really look like Quasimodo or something, anyway:
you just have to learn to compromise, a healthy
appetite for the carnal in youth - because who really
dreams of wrinkly lechery? even the brothel girls
said that to... one just said: 'who'd want to **** old men?
not me!'

i have being trying to reconceptualiße sūdoku for a while now;
i failed so many times, at trying to translate
it into the equivalent of a western origin,
away from the japanese gensis. i tried many times,
it really took me a few weeks of drinking to finally get it,
i couldn't stop laughing, and i mean: out loud,
because few people can manage that sort of antic these days,
that hedonistic zenith.
                 so while no. 9007 became solved
i realised what i was doing...
                    no. 9007?
                 5 3 9 8 4 6 2 1 7
                 8 7 1 3 2 9 5 6 4
                 6 4 2 5 1 7 8 3 9
                 7 6 4 2 9 8 1 5 3
                 1 2 3 4 7 5 9 8 6
                 9 8 5 6 3 1 4 7 2
                 3 9 7 1 8 2 6 4 5
                 4 5 8 9 6 3 7 2 1
                 2 1 6 7 5 4 3 9 8....
anyway, it became ****** obvious after a while...
i used to do this "*******" in the playground,
but before i tell you the "secret" i need to stress three explanations:
(a)
         --> 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9
               1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9 <--
         --> 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1
               9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1 <--

            the <--           -->        symbols? the direction the digits
were written in...         i.e. from right to left
                            or from left to right...
                 but that's how it all started...
(b)
                  (x)
                        ?               x
                                 +
                          x             ?
                                            x
   now that's a representation of a graph,
                                            the + meaning the axis
the xs representing knowns, and the question mark
being self-explanatory, and empty space that needs to be filled.
(c)
        this is the funny part... this is where japanese reads
itself into english... the zenith of the conceptualisation of sūdoku...
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha....
             oh ****... stomach ache...
          X 0 X
          0 X 0
          X 0 X                or...
                                                 X 0 0
                                                 0 X 0
                                                 0 0 X        all it ever was!
all it ever will be... is just a complex version of noughts and crosses!
or as some might call it... a set of tens!
                            in roman X = 10.
                              but that's before the concept
of 0 existed, so we can count that as 1, to qualify
the whole ****** thing as: 10 10 10 10 10... binary...
  but that's what this japanese puzzle looks like, translated
into the latin alphabet...  noughts and crosses... but obviously
a little bit more complex, since there are nine degrees of seperation...
   it's an optometric trick the asians played:
   in an english idiom variant: you just have to get your eyes around it,
or rather: into it...
                            just look at how complex the oriental
          phonetic encoding is... no vowels? no consonants?
        just syllables?           i guess no leucippus or a democritus,
or an epicurus ventured into china, or japan,
or elsewhere for that matter, to introduce the linguistic atom,
that's a letter.
      question is... are vowels masculine or are consonants feminine?
              or is it the case that vowels are feminine (****** gasps
akin to drowning)        and that consonants are masculine?

it usually happens to you, when you're solving a sūdo(h)kú...

   getting all *spastic-fantastic while solving a puzzle,
my eyes darting-autisitc...
      i had a thought... in an algebra form, associated with
the letter x... or χ (chi),
      relating to, probably the two most famous "quotes",
                     i.e. clichés (clish...          says) -
what where they? cogito ergo sum... and carpe diem...
so i made a little diagram:

                                        cogito    diem
                                                   χ
                                          sum      carpe...

in the cartesian example? you're not prompted to do anything.
oddly enough...
             where did the ergo go?
                               well, it became lodged in the χ (chi) for one...
for seconds?      article scissors... or the basis for atheism...
       what, exactly, is, the day?
                   your birthday? d-day landing in normandy?
     the 8th of march 1917?
                                        funny, eh? i think, i seize...
                 and then the sigma of: a day, the day, or being in general,
the summation of something.
                how about: seize yourself?    sorta like...   carpe sum?
and the infamous: think of today:             i.e.       cogito diem?
the χ (chi) is based on the principle of expressing ergo...
the cascade...
            the waterfall...
              in cogitans no- veritas (there is no truth in thinking) -
  so much so that:         qua res cogitans... no- omni vera -
        as being, a thinking thing... there are no all-encompassing truths.
            what's the 20th century conceptualisation of
the ancient latin carpe diem?  heidegger's dasein...
                             heidegger's dasein is, literally, carpe diem...
a day... and seizing it...
          well... the germans just call it:         tag, for what's diem,
   and seize...    ergreifen, which is consecrated on the latin
altar of the word carpe...
   if a roman were to say carpe diem, a germanic "barbarian" would
reply ergreifentag... or in modern spreschen, dasein...
   as in: being "there", there, also denoting the temporal realm,
   that in unit, requested encompassing the universe, isn't a minute,
or a second... but, a, day: the day is da, i.e. where...
            which is why carpe diem compliments the dasein
conceptualißation, so wonderfully;
        it's also a necessity, to call forth history, as the happening,
or in dasein terms: being...
                   as necessary, on a particular day,
          in the realm of universal / uniform experience,
                of ranging possibility, either fulfilled, or abandoned.

no single man was found to be delusional, having realised the sleeping public, being, just a tad bit: un-delusional; harder still to find a "madness" in a single man, when sanity was even harder to find among the general populace; this is beyond the observation of satisfying norms; there's the rationality of a "madman" and the predator tiger, but there's always the insanity of the herd and subsequent stampede; if there was no asylum notion, believe me, madmen do not congregate... only the sleepwalking masses do; always do.

you can only understand nietzsche by reading
heidegger,
  but at the same time you have to understand
heidegger's concept of pluralism -
in that you also have to take into
account an individualism borrowed from
nietzsche, and in that, you have to attempt
nietzsche's thought process as concrete in trying
to find a bilingual liberation never achieved.
then you have to achieve the potency of
bilingualism.
          saying this much the back bile in me
is boiling, surfacing...
  the idea of a superman is not
an idea of man overcoming man...
   it naturally leads toward the notion that
the *übermensch translates into
        übermenschen -
i didn't learn this language to be:
one of its people, i learned this language
to overcome these people,
i learned this language to overcome,
overpower, overtly reign as their
schatten könig, its schwarz papst...
          delusions ready -
but i'm not buying the ******* joke...
the only reality being conceded with
the übermensch idea is in a conceptualisation
of a plurality...
hence? heidegger's advancement
of nietzsche idea in heidegger's pluralism of
of - übermenschen -
nietzsche's failure was not that
it was a case to be above man -
the idea of his individuation process was
to be opposite: to be above dei volk: the people.
you can can only realise this as a bilingual
strategist...
                  do you think i learned
the english language to merely acquire it,
rather than not perfect it, and let the plebs gain
their common sense vocab without interference?
      the plebs require the tongue being
spoken, but do you think i learned
the language to speak the pleb?
      the idea of übermensch is only
realistic in a bilingual environment,
i.e. in the übermenschen environment of
being a man, having learned the language of
the people, and having the tenacity to
overcome their "natural" competence for it;
you can only overcome man,
when you first overcome a people,
  but overcoming a people means overcoming
the language of the people,
and this means overcoming
            one's nativity -
   in that one's nativity is kept,
  but submerged in a cloud of "required"
use...
                 from what i've learned,
these people do not deserve a native tongue,
                         what they do deserve is
a spanking, a remoulding,
a chance to appease regret,
                     a chance:
        to define the purpose of
                                      repentance;
singing that ailing "holy" anthem of
saving the queen, will buy them
                       nothing more than kippers
past the gates of st. peter;
this is past thank you, past i forgive you.
past sorry, tell me a second time...
                       ******* better squeak
and call it a rubber ducky...
  before the real shrapnel beckons blitz
and blisters 2.oh.

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...

I used to be big on life,
Now i am big in life.
Tis all because i decided to let bygons be (bygons),
And focus on new beginings.
Off the bat hits of life like its the begining of new innings,
'Cause all bats are on the table,
And all bets are off.
Living life raw hence all gloves are off.
They say 'the gods must be crazy' to have me as an offspring,
Whilst im in my meditational contemplation,
Of springing from continent to continent,
Galaxy to galaxy for my next home-run.
The Creator being my basis,
Gallaries and gallaxies i will use for my bases.
Knowing i am the son of the soil in my soul,
I stay unbilical coded to mother-nature.
Culture and tradition be the foundation,
Deeply rooted the fortress to retreat-home.
Rooting-off all regrets
With their repeat habbits,
Whilst studying my mistakes.
Changed the conceptualisation off hobbies,
Into entertaining activities of progress.
Believing in hope,
And having hope in beliefs.
Distinguished in differentiation,
Of data to information,
Information to knowledge,
Knowledge to intelligence,
Intelligence to wisdom.
As i am in the dominion of the wise,
I rise to dominate the (non/un)wise with the wise.

what need of red, green and purple? is that a blind man's conceptualisation of colour? is that "colour": a priori? a man might see much of this world, and be astounded: but let him peer into what a blind man might hope to see.*

when a man with sight spells -
the blind man employs
a sort of "pseudo"-arithmetic -
but i wonder:
        give man sight and
allow him awe peering at a
pyramid: and the squandered
lives entombed in -
   no minor feat: i know -
or rather the freed mind from
making "necessary"
    arithmetic of
                     ⠸⠁⠥⠛⠓
          point being (laugh):
could you ever have the luxury
of a kametz (a)
     tzere (e),
                    chirek (i),
              cholem (o)
                and shurek (u)
   while also entertaining "braille"?
        hiding vowels is:
best study the eye without
it by concentrating on
   the language:
              but the blind man
would be turning in his
grave seeing modern language
so squandered
                 with emoji...
          yes and all that argument
for short-script -
about time we turned
    our peering into our
own ******* into mighty
           enigma machines;
to be blind is to also give
a homeric gaze into matters...
    but would i be amazed
more by the pyramids at
giza...
      or seeing LAUGH
           after the veil was
lifted on the matter
               of              ⠸⠁⠥⠛⠓?
i guess you could say:
building the pyramids
was a motivational tool...
but then again:
        some people do not
sharpen their eyes
  in order to sharpen the tongue...
while others sharpen
their tongue to merely
lullaby their eyes...
    mizaru, kikazaru,
iwazaru...
      then the fourth:
   a living perspective on death:
kamizaru...
    of that said -
i have apparently made
a contract with the dead.

so much of the intellectual property debate is summarised in the cartesian res extensa concept, and so much of that translates back into a theory of schizophrenia... after all, i have taken it to heart to go back to the conceptualisation of the diagnosis prior to the muddles of existentialism, after all, the schizophrenic symptom is like a pish-poor version of prof. xavier, who was modelled on a schizophrenic, and all that tele- fruit wagon, -pathy, -kinesis, whatever you want to equate with the veg wagon of the god "almighty".

and it is just so, the upper tier of the cartesian model
invokes the *res extensa: or the spiderweb of
the actual spider, who isn't a spider,
but a thinking "spider"...
         auditory hallucinations have to be scarier
than visual ones, given that visual hallucinations
are sometimes conjured up recreationally...
safe to say: hard to fear something you can see,
much harder to keep a nerve hearing something:
but not seeing it!
         and once again, the deciphering of biblical
phrasing, that "supposed"
   peccatus archetypus / "original sin" -
the joke is that it was never: original -
   expilo ignarus esse
   (plagiarise being ignorant) -
               funny how a complex mental disorder
can feed the canvas of intellectual property
theft,
          which is why people even joke
about it, because it's not even considered a "theft",
but i really thought that in the "real" world
we moved away from the classroom antics of
getting the easy ride?
   the so-called "real" life is as real as
             a bridge, and a troll living under it...
oh, that aloo gobi curry went down as a treat,
better than the korma,
   it was the madras curry spice,
  and some kashmiri chili powder that did
miracles to the tatties and ol' albino brain
that's the cauliflower... served with chapatis...
nonetheless, there's a strange link with modern
talk of intellectual theft, and schizophrenia,
you have to admit, premature dementia is
probably more a staggering curiosity than
cancer in children...
                     primarily because it is less and less
(year upon year) a physical problem,
rather the antithesis of what some old people
say: i feel 16, in an 86 year olds body...
   in some cases sure: dumb as log of wood,
but in other instance: a hypersensitive acquisition
of language, and hyped awareness of
one's surrounding: the "paranoia" part of
a diagnostic compound: as william burroughs
already said:
    yep, because i knew the name of our
current president;
   but it all coincides (once again, to me being
diagnoses as such, when in fact i was only
bilingual...) - with the nexus being arrived upon
    the cartesian res extensa, i.e. the extended thing...
intellectual property sits along with
  schizophrenic symptoms as: coordinate extensions -
although for the former the extension
takes place in other people is regarded as
the most petty of forms of theft -
     if thieves think burglars are losers,
then burglars know that plagiarists are the ****
of the earth...
    the difference is that, in terms of symptomatology
of a schizophrenic... interruptions -
or as i like to call it: heckling...
why do i have such a niche interest?
     so this ex calls me up at work while
i'm on the 16th floor roofing...
  and she's panicking... she says she's hearing
voices...
  i later learn she ****** my former
school friend with whom i sat arm to arm in
english class, and she tells me: voices! voices!
i'm hearing voices!
                 after i left edinburgh she spiralled
from mere **** into m.d.m.a., acid...
     and she didn't tell me to use the rubbers again
after, on the whim, she read a cosmopolitan
article that probably read: how to trap a guy
by getting yourself pregnant secretely...
me? alimony? does alimony transcend borders?
so can a russian chic ask for alimony from
a former pole now, a brit?
    well, she calls me up, and then the cat in
me became curious, i was a ****** prior to this
medical condition, or should i say,
prior to the whole idea of mental health...
it was prior to then an ****** cousin stuck in
the attic of a surgeon's house,
  bound by the chains of what translated from
philosophical dualism of descartes,
  into the medical dichotomy of post-descartes
of clear distinction: between mind & body...
suddenly, all of a sudden... a convergence
project began, with more and more english kids
exposing the reality of the two, being, seemingly,
non-parallel.
   well... perhaps the curiosity killed the cat,
but i still have 8 lives left.

i've written so little
with what
i've seen...
            faun's
              federkleid...
it's a torture
to have one's eyes
open....
          one does
the point of sight
being           a justice...
brimming with
          winking...
the casual
  conceptualisation
of grammar via
the exercise in narration;
or as i like to think
of it:
             a compensation...
"there", the apparent
   resurgence of "a" people...
it's hardly a matter
in copernican "terms"
regarding a: discretion
concise with "a" direction...
i still find german,
   as a language:
plagued with too many
    articulations of "directness"...
       might as well be
cross-eyed reading
this anti-anglo-saxon
                    crap...
        call for anglo-swabians?
   deaf ears...
            i love how
dasein translates phonetically
as: de-sign;
            or an approximate.
      i'm starting to think
the germans as being
agoraphobic...
        why?!
  they kept defining pointing
at something, existent
or non-existent,
        to remain: "in situ"...
  the the the: f f f,
  θ φ φ θ φ φ?!
       V point?
              veer?
           V point?
         how many *******
fingers do i need to point
at something?!
        index or: five?! D... ah...
   short-script of what would
otherwise become d(ee):
       d'eh point...
     makes sense to cite
          medieval english:
   fair 'ye well:
                  or is that, may you?
  schtern contra schtyrn...
         alias: sharp...
               ich said as isch...
    isch vill... villa: village...
       ******* ******;
you bring your toys,
i'll bring mine:
    knives, scissors, guillotines.
- a nation of thinkers...
more like a nation of:
                 ******* bashing.