Chimney smoke from a neighbours house seeps through an open frame.
It conjurers images of home in days of innocence, long gone.
Cowboy games and scabs on knees and ice cream as a treat.
Nightmare monsters slain with a mothers hand across a brow.
Lollipops and lemonade a perfect day complete.

flesh smirks cautiously
silent beehives squelching elk
leaps glumly, mules snarl

bluebird builds, rigid
foundlings disappear lamely
incarnations peck

raw conjurers acts
devious shady agile
rosemary boasts, stare

starflower hovers
depression gives birth snidely
harps romping mustang

We, the conjurers

The USA wants Venezuela
And the worlds' press follow suit
demanding an undemocratic coup.
We have been here before
we remember the vilifying of Iraq
and Libya those two counties were lied about
before being invaded and occupied.
Our compliance with this crime is staggering
and do nothing for peace in the world.

If faithful souls be alike glorified
As angels, then my fathers soul doth see,
And adds this even to full felicity,
That valiantly I hells wide mouth o’erstride:
But if our minds to these souls be descried
By circumstances, and by signs that be
Apparent in us, not immediately,
How shall my mind’s white truth by them be tried?
They see idolatrous lovers weep and mourn,
And vile blasphemous conjurers to call
On Jesus name, and Pharisaical
Dissemblers feigne devotion. Then turn,
O pensive soul, to God, for he knows best
Thy true grief, for he put it in my breast.

Action turns will to reality.
When one lives to watch,
the will is snuffed out.

Conjurers of nothing breed apathy
and those with no purpose, rot.
They let themselves be consumed,
to be fuel for those with inspiration.

The wounded gazelle is eaten
and the lion is fed.
Later the lion fades as well,
but not without eating many gazelle.
Progress is purpose and purpose brings the advancement of all.

Hell is a place downtown.
Poverty lines the streets and no one takes action.
This is where inspiration goes to die
and those debilitated gazelle are swallowed whole.
Their sacrifice pushes the cogs onward
toward oblivion and the unquenchable void
of
SELF
INTEREST.

Lush black hair, now turned grey
Strong body, transformed to frai
Eyes of a hawk, lost their way
Partner and friends, passed away
Historians’ teachers’ wizards’ of today
Sorry, what did you say?

From their grans, till today
Five generations, past
Hundred year’s knowledge, vast
A lifetime of charm, cast
Why now sorry, because their last?

Sorry, we can not come this year
          the kids, do not want you here
          the Home, is very near
          you’re a burden to us, I fear
          in your back, is that my spear

These, gentle giants, of days gone past
Small in stature, with very big hart
You’re always welcomed, with cookies and ****
Stories of friends, a dog, or donkey cart
Always a tear, when you depart

They, our living history
Always a hero, in every story
Always told, so happily, even those of misery
Now, it’s all so clear to me
The person I am, without them, could never be

The best, life teachers, I ever had
Especially, in the days, when I was rad
Advice and lectures given, never bad
Even on days, when I made them mad
Now, I reflect on the days I made them sad

These conjurers, of healing spell
Mystics, who future events foretell
Magician, which disappeared terrible
Wizards of good, so humble
They ensured, I do this without fumble

The starless night was lit by a blood red moon.
Tendrils of fog invade the air in pursuit
Of the living dead who walk among us.
Door by door it creeps.
From every crevice it seeps.
Hungry for souls drenched in evil
Conjurers of suffering and upheaval.
The hour has come for retribution --
Iniquity will face its execution.
Gravestones tremble at the passing of the fog,
Awakening the dead from their slumber, years long.
Skeletal hands tear up the earth,
Groping for those who revel in hurt.  
Wolves howl in unison as the army of death
Marches forth to gather the wicked in bed.
Help us! Scream the vile vermin
While being dragged across the coals,  
We plead forgiveness for our sin,
Have mercy on our souls.
Deaf to their cries, the dead carry on
To bury the evil so that it may forever be gone.
The dead return to their graves at morning’s call
To sleep with the wicked once and for all.

MOTECUHZOMA
            Our priests have proven green and tenderfoot
            By goggling at our late, ill auguries:
            Dumbfounded, counselless, they scan their toes.
            For this have I agreed to pawn my pride
            In dabbling with questionable cures
            By calling forth the aid of sorcerers.

PRIEST OF TLALOC
            Dread lord, how might your grace with confidence
            Place mercenary warlocks in your trust,
            Who twist their gifts toward late-night banditry,
            It’s said, to paralyze their shaky preys.
            Tezcatlipoca, our capricious master,
            Might cloud our muddy minds yet murkier
            For slumping to such dubious helps as these
            If they make mock of his peculiar knowings.

TLACAELEL
            Don’t worry. If they cool your fevered fears
            We’ll hail their hocus-pocus as white physic.
            If not, then as black fiends in iron they’ll rot.

MOTECUHZOMA
            Bring in these esoteric ministers.

                                  A guard leads in three Sorcerers

            You three obscure and dicing conjurers:
            Have you beheld grim omens in the clouds,
            Or prodigies upon the earth? You three,
            Who fathom ‘neath earth’s black and gem-jammed caverns
            To skim atop cold pools of stone-blind fish
            And witness those who have not winked at day;
            Who sink into the water’s murky deeps,
            And loiter drowsily among the weeds,
            Mustering fronds and nightshades for your charms.

PRIEST OF TLALOC
            Have you encountered stray and mongreled men?
            Or lightless nooks congeal as dead men’s shades?
            Or midnight women, crablike, creep in broods?
            Shall we be leveled flat by strange disease,
            Or locusts, pirating their greedy shares?
            From sudden deaths, from wars or wild beasts?
            Shall rainstorms sink our rooftops down to jetties,
            And Tlaloc drown us in a tide of bounty,
            Or broil us in cruel sabbatical?

MOTECUHZOMA
            You must not candy up **** truth for me.
            Have you not heard our thirsting goddess cry,
            And nightly croaking from the earth’s deep faults?

I. Yesterday's scraps: many more happy beginnings

i didn't travel to the brothel for revenge:
tonight, of all nights...
no... i travelled to the brothel for a lesson...
a lesson in creating a jealous woman...
a miniature Frankenstein... monster...
after all: what is a male monster?
one denied love...
and what is a female monster?
one denied feeling jealous!
a man might long for love...
but a woman? she longs for jealousy!

i'm still learning...
i was promised an entire night with Khadra?
Khedra? Khadija last night...
if she works a 0-hour contract:
she can choose! she chose otherwise...
obviously i was going to pamper myself:
extra-special tonight:
who has the reins?! me, or you?

and? i was going to choose her "competition"
to boot! because there's one way of making
promises: keeping them...
and there's another... being a whining demand
of self-sabotage...

no! i didn't go to the brothel to enact revenge!
of course i wasn't going to sleep with her:
she promised me that she would give herself
up for the night!
she didn't! ergo? i'm going to sleep with
her competition, her "competition"...

she actually can't have anyone competing with
her... since all the others are "Irish"
i.e. double-sure... pills and  ******...
but i have to admit...
it was the first time that i've been with a girl
who wanted the lights turned down: low...
low... low... almost ******* in the dark...
she asked me for permission
to snort a line of *******: she asked me...
would i want some? no... sorry...

she brought a glass of ***** with her
and a nervous laugh...
a cigarette too... and the most precious
peaches' worth of *******...
and an *** the worth and size
of a watermelon...

i didn't go to the brothel to ******...
climaxing is sometimes pointless:
esp. when you're trying to send a nagging message
of biting someone else's neck:
negging...

i knew i was going to fail the test
of both hard-on and *******...
i drank too much cider...
too much weak cider...
my **** started yawning:
i had to return to the public toilet:
****-break from American Pie:
i did have to lay a membrane of toilet
paper around the rim of the toilet seat...
before sitting down...

i squeezed out a decent loaf befitting an
Anne the Anorexic...
just after stopping by some Pakistani stoners...
asking them for a drag of their doofie...

i need to ****.....

II. The Proper Verse

i adore nights such as this one about to unfold,
i have taken only a few sips of my whiskey and i already
know what i'm going to write:
usually it's the opposite, i have to drink enough
for a cognitive blitzkrieg in the vein of how Nietzsche
described it: that a thought or an idea
comes somewhere from "elsewhere" from outside
is conjured out of thin air: a spontaneous combustion...
it implodes then explodes into writing
whereby even listening to music is not necessary...
although: i'm sort of nostalgic-happy when it comes
to my choice in younger years...
i.e. either collect the oeuvre of Led Zeppelin or
Black Sabbath... obviously i chose the former
and regretted it when i listened to Vol. 4 and heard
Solitude for the first time and only regretted it
because it was so cool to play that song on guitar
in my ex-girlfriend's parents' house when it was only
me and her younger sister...
yep... my secret crush: love at first sight...
when it was all wrong: i was 17 and she was 14...
when it was all wrong... but not as wrong if i were
to say: i was 36 and she was 14...
     i get the whole ****** element but then again
i don't: i mean... i inherited a large stamp collection
from my late grandfather... so that would make me
a philatelist rather than a lepidopterist...
ergo... it's a teenage thing, there aren't as many
restrictions of taboo when you're that young...
    and i don't think there's anything remotely allied
to an "evil thought": there's just thought...
but anyway i was playing Solitude on her father's guitar
and... believe... that song... on the guitar alone...
in a large house that's usually mental (ex-girlfriend,
mom, dad, two brothers and Priya and some guests round)
this song on guitar where there's only you
and your former secret crush... it's haunting...
   she thought i was playing some blues...
i should have corrected her by playing some blues...
but i didn't... the kitchen was in a mess from the previous
night so i told her i'd help her out:
i cleaned the dishes while she dried them...
     after that i left... keeping my secret love a persisted
secrecy... so much so... that after several years
and several ****** women later... it vanished...
as did my idiotic youth...
                   but what the hell am i saying?!
i didn't sit down to write about that, then again:
digression is a very cool instrument of narration...
i learned it from my English teacher: Syr Tomas BOONCE!

last night... i ate too much during the day...
i rarely do... but recently i've had this unstoppable urge
for dairy foodstuffs... cheese... kefir...
yoghurt... milk.... cheese... kefir...
backwards and forwards... i know i'm actually craving water
(well, "me", i.e. my body)
but instead i want dairy foodstuffs...
mind you: all dairy products have more protein
in them than actual meat... i could never be a vegetarian...
proteins from beans is not the same...
another mind you: i don't know why
In the Evening didn't make to Led Zeppelin's greatest
hits album (well, at least the one i had
back in the day) but D'yer Mak'er did...
i owned the album the song's on...
but it only came to my attention after watching
Sharp Objects starring Amy Adams...
that show was a BELTER...

so i traded in my "emergency" €90 for...
ah ****... the Indian on Villiers St would have
given me £72... but i wanted to double check...
went to the currency exchange in Romford's Liberty
Shopping Mall... **** it... i'm not going back
to Charing Cross so i can get the 72 quid...
i settled for being 8 quid short...

and as i was sitting there in the garden after dinner
with a bottle of cider in my hand...
should i go today? should i?
only yesterday Khedra dismissed her wild plan of
inviting me to her house for a night of Trojan
fun of me pretending to be the 300 and "gang ******"
her solo... well... hence the "...":
     because it would be ******* her brains out for
the whole night, as it once happened with Ilona
in St. Petersburg all those years ago...
     i miss that night... i remember asking her...
so... how many contractions of O-spasms have you
been through? 7? each for every of my heads...
a nice rounded number: doesn't mean that an even number
would be any better than the 7ΓL
(eh! who the hell said that our modern numbers
came from either India and are morphed Arabic numerals)...
**** me... the Romans used letters as numbers
IX + XI = **... we already had letters in the form
of our letters... whether Greek or Roman...
Bb = 86... P = 9 I = 1 S = 5, 2 = Z...
sure thing: with "hindsight"... well whatever history
dictates: i'm not going to bother regurgitating...
with fake news and propaganda: there must be...
NEW TRUTHS... self-made truths to bring some sanity
to the individual not swayed by any external *******...

i knew it was going to be a bad idea...
but i went anyway...
i knew i would come across (i need the German in
naming this noun compound, i.e. state of being)
nebeldenken: fog thinking... nebligdenken:
foggy thinking...
and oddly enough... or rather: hardly oddly... i did...
foggy thinking is what some "experts" would enter
the scene and prescribe a man some chemical solutions
concerning a man's phallus not working...
well... rising... and only lasting for a few minutes...
i don't call it an erectile dysfunction...
it's more complicated than that...
******* oversimplified ***... oversimplified and
made it crude and rude...
i sometimes watch some vintage Italian movies
that would have been broadcast in erotica cinemas...
my god... back then people used to be so classy when
it came to ***... and gentler... none of this modern
trash... yeah... modern ******* is trash...
it feels infiltrated by homosexual acceptance...
         too much **** and not enough sensual *******...
on both sides of the *** "debate"...
i'm so happy that no one has asked me to penetrate
them anally... either man or woman...
because, honestly? if i think about the joys of having
a fire-******* from sitting on the toilet oozing out
durchfall... thoughts of waterfalls... everything coming
out: but certainly nothing going in...
(and the German spelling is easier...
that H-surd is awfully off-putting in the English spelling)

****: that Black Sabbath song Solitude wasn't on
Vol 4 but on Master of Reality... d'uh!

i should have waited for some other day...
i get paid on the 1st of each month and thanks to ol' Lizzie
dying... i'm looking at a "spontaneous" extra
£500 to boot... thank you Lizzie...
i know there was the whole black armband affair
and what not... but this time round i was thinking
about the money: although i love crowd-control,
esp. if i'm a supervisor and i have at least 4 licensed
security guards under my control and 5 unlicensed
stewards and a TfL worker from the tube station
and some police officers to manage the crowd...
i have to admit: Wednesday 14th was a ****-show
on Villiers St... people were so ******* annoying
that Charing Cross St. put in place what they use
during New Year's Eve... not straight down Villiers St.
but up to Adam St and full circle:
half the crowd heading to the Embankment St.
half to Charing Cross... thankfully i only had one
guy jump the barriers... a complete ****-show:
the wrong B plan... thankfully... come the actually
event of the state funeral...
       19th of September went: think of a warm slice
of toast and some butter... think of silk...
the two teams of my fellow supervisors in that one-way
traffic system only had one burst of people...
about 40 of them... they did **** all throughout the whole
day... i managed all the traffic... it was splendid...
basically: 40+ people were not needed...
i supervised the whole affair of people getting home
safely with... about 10 people: that's me included...
and a few barriers...

oh to hell with being felt loved by a woman!
there's no greater curse on a man than a woman's love...
puppy love... yuck...
a man needs to feel useful! used!
useful! a man needs to feed off and feed responsibility:
authority... man thrives on competence...
not complacence...
a woman's love is no more for me that me
adoring the first bloom of Magnolia come the earliest
telltale signs of Spring...
a woman's love is sickly-sweet... it wears a Thespian's
mask and with that comes the whole entourage of
disappoints and hell's furies...
i would swap a woman's love for a cat's love
every single time...
just like the story of Esau and Jacob...
a bowl of porridge chosen by Esau instead of a birthright...
then again: them two being twins...
is a woman's love for a man a bowl of lentils
or is it a birthright? from what i've heard and seen:
men are not given a birthright to be loved by a woman...
a woman is very much Esau's choice:
i'll take the broth... have my tummy full...
instead of striving for the role of patriarch...
i don't believe in the love of women:
i do believe in a love for women...
like i believe there isn't a vegetarian diet and the like...
there is only the seasonal diet...
fruits during summer... vegetables in the wintry months...
like the elders used to eat...
but love from a woman is a curse, not a blessing...
it's a jealous irrational love... it's Pandora's quest for:
suppose woman were to be endowed with a Faustian
thirst for knowledge... Pandora is the antithesis of Faust...
a Faustian curiosity is not akin to Pandora's curiosity...

i knew it was going to be a bad idea to go the brothel...
everything was wrong (but believe me....
that evened out sooner rather than later)...
usually i need to be a complete donkey of exhaustion
having finished a 12 hour shift before i can stomach
more physical strain of pleasing a woman...
i know my body better than i know my self...
i do know my reflexive: myself...
but the reflective: my self is still an ongoing project...
it all depends on how my thinking mingles
with that fickle creature of memory...
let's face it: who chooses what you can and cannot
remember? i don't mean that erosive substance
we are all subjected to via pedagogy, i.e. schooling:
whether it be 2 + 2 = 4 or a, b, c, d, e, f, g...
or the Battle of Hastings, the year 1066...

what man in his right mind would be appeased by
monogamy, that sacred egalitarian model conjured
up by man for fellow man,
so that all might have their fill, where is it now?!
there are no traces of it... the same men than conjured
up this model have passed away and gave
any if not all authority to the whims of women!
now? women are toying with the affairs of what
was once a noble admiration for the spectacular
consistency of swans...
so we've been told: don't admire the swans...
don't look up at swans: look down on monkey!
for me there are only two basic maxims that can
be extracted from Darwinism:

a. nature abhors a vacuum...
b. everything is useful / used...

nature doesn't provide either excess or a less...
well... it does: those 7 lean years
and those 7 years of excess... but nature is no mother...
it's not feminine: nature is asexual in that
it's an equilibrium... (7/7? Joseph's interpretation
of the Pharaoh's dream)...

i know my body: i will never know my self
in so far as i also know myself...

mein gott! it's only half past ten and i'll be finished
by around 12am... i'll have at least half an hour
of enjoying drinking and listening to music
and i'll switch off my workaholic-alcoholic
modus operandi and just drink and smoke and think
about having ***...

i knew it was a bad idea... i started drinking too early:
i was rested...
the bladder was going to be a massive obstacle...
a full bladder and an ******* are always in conflict...
i should know: ******* with my still intact
******* is a bit like a woman *******
using a shower head to trickle-up-a-tease of water
into her ******* regions... i still don't understand
why non-Jews are circumcised in North America:
it's barbarism... MGM...
male genital mutilation: a sword has a sheath...
that sheath is used for *******...
you take the sword out of its sheath... i.e. you pull
the ******* back... hey presto!
you're circumcised: no need for a kippah...
or a monk's tonsure... or for that matter...
a promise from a woman with her ******* NIQAB...
that should be white in colour... at least!
and be made from linen! breathable material...
"breathable": material that might allow air through...

i don't care if they keep wearing those
NINJA-PARACHUTES (better than Boris calling
them postbox attire)... right now girls in Iran
as shaving their heads and growing moustaches...
something is clearly up in the world of Islam...
like i mentioned already... i need a second schism in Islam...
i need it to happen in the Turkish "quarter"...
how else to fight all the prior years of terrorism?
attack Islam with ideas of reform...
that's the only attack... oh two-*****-shaken
while dropped into a ******* Mojito...
sure... a **** that gives off whiffs of mint-scentedness
is fair enough by me... but you're not going
to deter ZEE MUZLIMS by going after the Hydra
of chopping one head and waiting for another to sprout!
you go to the source!
you try to improve on: "PBUM" Muhammad's first try...
revision: not revolution... Islam can be revised...
but not with the Saudis and the ******* Pakistanis...
you aim for the fringes... the cosmopolitan Islam
with a richer past than the one dictated by
the conquests of the Arabs...
Turks are a fine example... the Persians another...
****'ite Islam allows for more... ah crap...
too many vowels... i always have a problem spelling this word:
just like the Anglo-Sphere speaks of ****** words
having too many consonants the same is true for
this word: too many vowels... i'm not even going
to try... i'll "cheat", use a search engine...
man-u-vre-ah-bi-lity...
                        maneuve­rability! ah... that's the one!

on a side note...
    it's true what "they" say...
bragging rights... and consistency...
some people amass a great following...
a great following breeds many comments...
i'm pretty sure that's an indicator of low quality content...
why is it low quality content?
it amasses many comments...
me? i don't have a fervent crowd... neither did
Pythagoras or Hey-Zeus... what could 13 men do
in order for a sight like that of St. Paul's Cathedral
take? competence? fervor? determination?
certainly not mediocracy...
                i still don't understand the Pythagorean
fetish for beans... high fibre high protein...
i mean... can you imagine to sit through one of his
TRIANGLE LECTURES having to stay silent,
but unable: filled with the dread of irritable bowel movements
(due to the fibre) trying to keep in a **** / farts?!
i like my audience, they must like me...
since... they hardly ever bother me...
and as long as i spew regular material...
i might as well leave a disclaimer:
hey bro! her sis! buy a book! try getting to the author
directly! you think that writing a comment
on a copy of a book you just bought
will help?
   not since the advent of the printing press has
there been a chance for the atomised man to bypass
certain restrictions... back then it was the Churches
and the solo-book project for the illiterate man...
now? editors of printing houses have: **** all on me...
i'm bypassing them... i'm not looking at the sales:
i'm looking for hungry minds... curious / sceptical
minds... why would i think, ****: dare me "think" about
this prospect of waiting for some acceptance of an editor
of low or no TASTE?! ha ha... ah ha ha!

i love nights like this... you get caught up in many surprises:
on the one hand by your own mind,
but at times by nature itself: it has "suddenly"
started trickling the most gentle rain...
if there could be a rain song: a most soothing song
of praise for the night... rain always makes more sense
during the night than during the day...
just as the horror movie genre:
the horror movie genre abused the night...
a proper horror movie?
oh... it happens during the daytime...
   Carnage Park (2016): please don't disturb the night
with all of night's allure... people are sleeping,
foxes are roaming: shh!
sha shtil, makh nit keyn gerider
der rebe geyt shoyn tantsn vider...

**** me: so much already written and i'm yet to make
my most truthful testimony!
release me! make me make it! i'll give you all
the oaths and still not utter your name!
lodge me between the combat between
King David and King Solomon...
i would gladly pay to see that combat of cognitive
ability!
each and every man will sing a psalm...
but live up to the wise expectations of what a king
observes?! and make them categorical imperatives
like a shopping list for turnips and carrots?
hardly any...
thank god i'm not a lyricist...
i prefer words to be dealt with in the medium
of the digestive process of thought:
than a life-experience enacting:
let's face it... most: if not some... of these supposed
"wisdoms" are false by the nature of the person
uttering them...
a king's choosiest appetites
are not on a pauper's menu...
back in Victorian times oysters used to be the food
of / for the poor... look how oysters have
been elevated...
but oysters are not my Aphrodisiac... nor is chocolate...
physical exertion is... as is tiredness...
as is cider... as is tobacco... as is a little glug glug
of whiskey...

i think long gone are the days of keeping aa woman's
integrity in place for curbing a man's desires
and unfiltered "having"...

i think i'm reaching some variation of a crescendo...
i must be... if i switched "moods" with my song of choice...

i didn't go to the brothel to punish Khedra...
she promised me a one night SPECTACULAR...
i didn't get it...
i was simply lashing out against her to
disappointing me...
i was like: weren't you supposed to spend
this night with me?
her "best" excuse was: the brothel was missing
women....
right... fair enough...
E-NUFF... don't ask me how English language:
that globalist witch of a tongue works:
of all the Empires in the world...
only two imploded: the English Imperium
and the Soviet... the latter... less gradually
than the formerly...
you do know that there were plenty of peoples
living in between the Germans and the Russians
on the "event horizon" of the geographic "debate"...
i was forever CYNICAL about
a story akin to the "****** birth":
let's just pretend fostering a ******* was
much less an adventurous route for a woman to
keep...
ugh! you peoples keep too many vowel en-routes!
too many vowels!
no wonder your people are still scribbling
graffiti on brick walls:
you are half-literate!

      insult me: expect an insult back!
what's that "*******" in Shakesperean?
you bite your thumb at me, sir?
what does it look like?
if you have a rabbit's worth of front teeth on the ready...
you lodge them between the fingernail
of the thumb and the thumb itself...
then you pretend you bite down...
while flicking your thumb forward...
until you hear a "click"...
yes... i am biting my "thumb down" on you sir....
the mediocracy of lost expectations...

oh, but the event? i knew i shouldn't have...
i was drinking too much before it even started...
12 hour shift... one bottle of cider... a walkabout...
a glug or two of either whiskey or brandy...
i'm dehydrated enough to have my ****
lubricated by the glorious spat-spit-on of a woman's
mouth...
i was going to be deflated balloon of a man
tonight... i'd get a ****-blocker...
given my adventures with Khedra if i didn't
chose her...

prior to i was wandering trying to empty my vowels...
sorry... my bowels...
it's always that affair with the little *****...
ugh... i'm nervous... i know she's nervous...
cider... moon.... cigarettes...
the echo of footsteps...
but i drank too much...
i was out of place to perform....
i stumbled across two Pakistanis smoking marijuana...
walked past them... walked back...
i implored them: who's your seller?
they wouldn't disclose... can i try some?
more than willing: it's good to make "friends" in the night...
i took one ****... i told them: don't worry...
i'm not some undercover copper...
i did hope they might think i'm some MAFIA
quality-tester...
that my role was aligned to the MAFIA:
walking around testing the stuff being sold...
like i told them... 10 years ago...
these Vietnamese punks were selling the herb
lined with fibreglass!

i told them: make sure you get your "herb" from an Afghan...
i took one poke at the joint to see if it was
alright... they offered to give me the whole "thing"
up... i was like... n'ah mate...
i just want to **** on the quality:
nothing has changed since my marijuana-psychosis
over 10 years ago... it was still the same concentrated
potency... it made me caffeine high for a while
from an alcohol stupor... but nothing
per usual transcendental magnimonity...
basically ****: basically trying to sniff wet toilet paper
crap of "green"...
regurgitating snot...
mind you... they were playing pirates...
with a green light that might blind airline pilots....
as you do... smoking the herb and not thinking much...

but i wasn't an undercover police officer testing them...
i was a quality surveyor of what's being sold...
high minds think high "things"...

oh, but once in the brothel? i knew i was walking with
a limp ****! i knew that once i showered her
gifts of lingerie i'd ha ve a ****-blocker in place!
hey presto! a ****-blocker!

imagine sitting opposite three women.....
funny "thing"... being:
YOU ****** ALL THREE OF THEM...
now... CHOOOSE A "FAVOURITE"...
pardon the Judgement if Paris!
me in a brothel:
of all the women...
among the ****** it is the hardest to chose from!

i didn't terribly punish her...
not by whip or a scalding tongue...
i love her...
chocolate.... i hate chocolate....
by this brazen tinge of brown...

choke on TATE- CHICKEN
Britain my LAST ***...
with the Lilies dies my bride...
             aren't we equal to serve the crown
she was such a beautiful *** to ****,,,
lest we don't remember...
she was a granny "second to last"...
first... first comes the state...
somehow the latter affairs of  familial ties.

- imagine... sitting across a room with three women
you already ******...
choose! huh?!
choose! you have but one favorite....
and two "left-behinds"....

leave a woman sweating all over her body...
sweating...
pass on a *******...
three women: all of whom you ******...
choose...
sweat all over her body:
her pretending to ride
you on the corner of the bed... OTT...

but there's also something equally satisfying...
it's only shared between men...
working with Emmie at the Ice Rink...
i'd say we're on par... looks wise, dimension wise...
she must be a stunning 5ft11
me being a 6ft2 220pounder
and she too is a... HEALTHY specimen...
she's not obese or anything... she just reminds me
of Alison Taylor... she's a big girl for a big... boy...
i have to admit... i couldn't stop eyeing her up...
and i'm guessing these two guys i know: knew: know...
whatever... started chatting with me...
but kept on looking at Emmie as if we weren't
simply working together: but we were dating...
there was no jealousy in their eyes
there was more... a natural state of affairs...
they gave off vibes akin to: wow! nature has balanced
itself out! this guy has found someone compatible
with him!...

**** me... she's already updated her profile picture
on WhatsApp like 3 times already...
fickle creature that's memory: snd finicker creature
that's woman to boot!

she's a gorgeous Dagenham exemplification of
what an English girl ought to be...

then again: Marie... sure limp **** and all...
but i only had a limp biscuit of a hard-on after i refused
Khedra a bedding... well: i thought i was punishing
her for refusing my Spartan night of frolicking...
instead... i switched off when she brought in
a random punter into the room next to us...
in the way she started "moaning" i knew she wasn't
getting her usual pleasures...
that's when i switched off, shut down...
Marie had already dimmed the lights so **** low
she even called it a phantom illumination...
that's the first time i rekindled the time i slept
with that Spanish wild-one Tamara...
all that cocoon *** steaming under the bedsheets
afraid of beauty and nakedness:
her living arrangements didn't help either...
i was turned off by her living with three homosexuals...

there are only two ways a woman can get
bad dating advice:
1. from other women...
2. from homosexuals...
mind you, i have nothing against buggery...
i've kissed several men in my passing this mortal
wound of flesh... tonguing etc.
but...

we weren't actually engaged in much backwards
and forwards piston action's worth of
lubrication... i was sitting on the edge of the bed
and i just tucked her in into my arm's girth...

i just chose the right sort of music...
OTT... Jack's Cheese and Bread Snack...
bingo! i was caressing her thoroughly... inner thighs...
outer thigs... tickling behind the ears...
kissing the back of her neck... biting her shoulders...
massaging her *******... esp. around the *******...
poking and pinching her *******...
waiting for them to become *****... plagiarising
her hands... horribly since they were three-quarters
of my size... detailing the curvatures of both
knees and elbows...
      i knew she was nervous... she was like a tiny little
mouse unable to contract pleasure vocally...
with onomatopoeias...
a nervous giggle... here and there...
plus she had to sniff a line of ******* and down
a shot of ***** to get over her inhibitions....
the dimmed lights... which: to be honest...
exfoliated her nakedness into a lily's tease of attempted
suicide...
oh **** me... my father bought some lilies for
my mother the other day...
to the agony of her discomfort...
that's when i decided: they die... which they will...
and seeing them as they are...
they'll stage me a Philip contra Elizabeth timeline...
if one goes... the other will soon follow...

how will i dictate my fate against fate itself?
well... i won't to a Curt Kobain shotgun stunt...
i'll but loads and loads of lilies...
i'll shut the windows and the doors...
insulate myself in a limited amount of oxygen...
place the lilies near me...
loads and loads of lilies...
i'll smoke some marijuana... i'll drink plenty
of whiskey... and then... i'll... i'll fall asleep...
and never wake up! hey presto! problem solved!
mortality best cared for!

i still can't forget how she sweat all over...
she even asked me: am i hot or is it hot in here?
i replied: no... it's only you...
even with a limp ******* **** i could make a woman
sweat from all her pores...
that's almost better than giving a woman
an ******... that's me and that itchy-numbing
on my fingertips whenever i shared my property
with neighbours letting them play my Nintendo...
itchy-numbing of the fingertips... itchy-*******-numbing!

come to think of it... if i'm serious about becoming
a teacher... this was by far the best way to start:
crowd-control, public security...
if i can deal with a bunch of drunk RETARDS
then i could harness the same sense of authority
over children... better still: i have an inquisitive mind...
i'd just be doubly inquisitive about them
being either not inquisitive or stale...

maybe that'a why i enjoy PAREIDOLIA so much...
esp. come the night and the moon
and the clouds... i revel in this "****"...
perhaps that's why i abhor crossword puzzles
and that's the reason why i write with wry intent
on morphing nouns into misnomers...
i'll deliberately call a table a chair and a chair a table...
for gimmicks' sake to craft an antithesis
of Descartes sitting at his desk
pretending not to do some telepathy...

Herr ******* Cogito... Zbigniew Herbert to boot!
i drink because i'm enough of sound mind
and have tasted insanity to know:
when the great wrath of the godly wind comes:
you just **** back...
****: that's a cunning word in my mother tongue:
it's not burping via your ****...
it actually means: LUCK... you have ****...
you have luck...

Jack's Cheese and Bread Snack...
and how she insinuated ***... sweating... sweating
through all her pores...
i'm ******* losing my mind all over again:
but at least this time round it's not to something
abstract: a priori... this is all a posteriori
fervour...
i've been here before...
   i'm sure of it...
the mammal that came from an amphibian form
to this gesticulating skeleton...
i admired forg: ha ha... frog tadpoles...
their wriggling ways gave me insight into
how my handwriting would turn out...

like my grandfather said: chicken-scratching...
i'd tatoo his words onto my body if i had
the audacity to give sacrilege of body
as a gift to the gods...

how she sweated... my god... i've seen plenty
of *******... but none of the flicks compared
to that, THAT experience...
******* is ****... *** is too personal to be
exploited in such a way as to turn man
into thinking he's a ******* Duracell Bunny...
switch on... switch off...
you need to be in a "mood" to get a hard-on...
and just as quickly you can turn-off...

i know why i turned off...
but i also turned on a second gear...
i turned off because i declined Khedra...
and i turned off because i heard Khedra in the next
room not being pleasured in the way i would
have pleasured her...
and this... and that... and the "other"...
plus she's a petite creature and i wanted
to feel someone compatible to: my, SIZE...
i wanted a big girl with big floral patterns of *******
that i could massage...
i gave away my hands for her sweating
all over her body doing the bare minimum
of listening to the song of my choosing...
as we shared a cigarette...
as i kneeled before her...
because... let's face it...
i'll **** on the cross before i kneel before it...
it's the antithesis of the inborn ontology of man...
the first anti-Christian lesson i taught myself?
the cheek "thing"... reek!
someone slaps you? you slap them back!

ROSJA SIĘ MOBILIZUJE: JAM ZA!
and so they should be...
this infernal cognitive-parasite "creature" of western
conjuring is not ******* welcome in either Russia
or the Orient... it's not a serpent...
it's a ******* tapeworm!

me? i'll be ******* Eastern Women till the sun
never ******* comes... Romanian,
Bulgarian, Turkish...
sure... i'll make it a personal fetish of mine
to think of any fuckable English girls...
once they're done playing victim and succumbing
to the "egalitarian anti-racism" while
getting soaked in gasoline by Pakistani ****-gangs...
maybe then...
until then... no, thank, you!

well... brutal times require brutal measures...
and a kind, heart...
a heart the size of a pebble... and just as tough...
what?! just because the VESTERN VOLD
had a hard-on while failing in both Irq... I-RAQ...
Afgantisan... lobbied the indefinite migration
via the collapse of Libya... that... Russia... RUSSIA!
would ******* bow down to these *******
loony tunes?!

Dear Uncle (Ras)Putin... blah blah...
France's testing of their nukes in the Polynesia...
GOD-ZILLA!
   GOD... ZILLA!
                    i don't care whether or not i'm on
the right side of history: sure as **** i'm on the right
side of *******... and i like to ****:
which is why i'm not a train-spotter or a stamp-collector...
or someone who dabbles in LEGO and putting
together a replica of Optimus Prime...
just give me **** and i'll be happy-camper like
it might be a bowel of oysters...
oysters... mmm hmmm... oysters & ****...
i love oysters... i love ****...
i love naked sweating bodies...

i love the smell of hair... esp. unwashed hair...
it's so solipsistic... like farting in a crowded space...
the taste of keratin borrowed from biting nails...

you that feeling when you smell: weakness?!
i'm guessing the Islamists have had enough scent of it...
they figured out: what's the point?!
they're already implosive... they'll destroy themselves...
there's absolutely no need to attack them...
Muhammad asked Ahmed:
want to throw this tennis ball against a brick wall?
i throw, you catch... you throw... i catch...
how's that? Ahmed replied to Muhammad...
sounds... dandy... let's play.

because, that's, what, it, *******, is...
all that's "western" is RIPE for the taking...
i won't even blink when i see it desecrated...
i'll be the Poet of the Coliseum...
watching it all unfold...
i mean: i was scolded for not being confident in my
youth... now that i've aged:
oh... lucky me... guess who's also lacking
in confidence... all of the women...
will i go out of my way to try and...
no no... i don't have a car... i don't have a fixed hour
paid work contract... i don't have a house...
no no no, no no no, no... exactly!
so if i don't have x, y & z... why bother?

to the promised land of the brothel!
and even there, there are some without the slightest dignity
of being pleasured: of having confidence...
but... i've already paid: so i can work with that...
i'll gladly unravel those timid beauties into
******* floral killers of a Lily!

oh well... c'est la vie... comme ci comme ça...
some people learn to live with
a ******* hernia... or athritis...
i can live with this... i know why i'm single...
most women could not handle me...
actually: i don't think even my mother believes
she can handle me... i know why i'm single...
i'm the selfless ****-wit that wants
too many women... and occasionally... on a sly...
a man... i can live with that...
sure... from time to time i reopen an old wound
from my teenage days or romanticism and idealism...
oh! wouldn't it be great! to have a sole woman for one's
"solipsism" to destroy?! yeah...
that would be grand!                          in theory.

dearest mistress of memory: leave me be!
stop youe hanging around: let me get on with my life!
just you and only you... one faceless woman
after another...
i have plenty! i have about at least 10 on the go...
i'm deciding which one is warmer than
the others... and which is more jelous than the other...
i'll talk to one... i'll tease another...
i'll **** the third proper silly...
i'll settle for the one with the child
to not think of womanhood to begin with:
rather than behind...

i still can't escape the feeling of gratification
making her sweat all over her body by simply
having learned the geography of a woman's body...
made of ice: apparently...
mein gott... what a wonder to behold...
in my hands oranges... in her hands watermelons...
a spider of a hand crawling atop another spider
of a hand that was hers...
such tender aspects of the FLESH...
like stripped culminations of the pig rediscovered
on a woman's body...
i forgot who i was...
a butcher?! a sadist?! a wizard?!
i must have exemplified myself as "someone"
if she still felt nervous
after snorting a line of ******* and downing
a decent glug of *****... pretending to laugh: nervously...

i should have been told much earlier on
that most women have a very limited sense of self and space...
for that natter time too:
most women have zero to no self-esteem...
if you asked a 20 year old me what the "problem" was...
i'd tell you: oh! all these girls! hive minded high-brow
they're pompous *******... finicky...
walking a a pair of ******* on a leash without either ****
or dog!
but now?! mein gott!
strange... how things change...
they are so... limited...
they have become so timid... so... fresh...
they're the fresh flesh on a leash...
and still: they don't think they are...
i don't like suspect packages....
these women aren't...

i don't want to end writing this poem...
today is the 23rd... i get paid on the 1st...
i'm already practicing my plumbing with take-two!
take-three! sessions of a hard-on...
lucky a man with very little hobbies...
all i think about it *******...
even ******* turns me off: finally!
it's unrealistic! far from ever it being so...

the mind sometimes overpowers
the body in the same way that the body sometimes
overpowers the mind...
i switched off... this time round...
but it's hard... you sit down in the ante-chamber
with three women...
problem being: YOU ****** ALL THREE OF THEM...
and there's one favourite among them...
she promised you a Spartan Cohort Night with her...
so you try to punish her:
by NOT picking her...
well... that will never go down well...
since she already allowed no ****** usage...

maybe i should think about... building a play-toy-thing
train-set or... **** knows what...
i just love women too much...
i love seeing how many mistakes they make...
i'm not saying i'm perfect...
but it's  gleeful pleasure seeing a woman
make a mistake... it's a bit like... seeing yourself
being born...

upon the great ***** of time...
   a figment of your own imagining... neither conjured
up by the mere spontaneity of thought...
hardly an affair of imagining(s)...
never mind the byproduct of memorising
one iota's worth of: iota, omicron, tau, alpha...
by the dim blue glare of the iris...
no... my iris are greeeen...

each and every day the everyday happens
and i feel obliged to borrow
all the necessary talents from the Thespians...
i am "i"...
                there is still massive heed of the grand
moving parts... some stall... some arrive with
no conscience with gravity's whim...
who, are, you? peering into my disclosures?!
my soliloquy supposing
the dead have no ears?!

  have no stomach the food to digest?!
a truly be-spotten sort of: awaiting feed...
time for the freezing of the tides...
liberate the Arab from his self-induced
indulgence!
fancies of fanaticism....
              of worded "things" worth "digestion"...
a tongue of youth
as precursor for the unfathomable futures
to come! old men have: not dictate
in my life! they reek of stinking socks
not since the times when old men claimed a superior
notion among the the youth...
i have nothing! nothing! to learn from the people
i should be learning from!

old men die... that's what they were
supposed to do in the first place...
old... men... die...
i too will die... but not before them!
but at least they could have ushered in a few
decent maxims... instead?!
instead?! i have no maxim conjurers!

these pandered to old FOOLS!
i sometimes wish i were a cannibal!
then again: the prospect of eating these
"leather chairs" is pristinely:
disgusting!

                        i am: ******* livid: i am abhor!
ABHOR!
                 i will shout that word...
**** it.... no mountain near me...
i will, climb, up... a ******* hill..
and extend my tongue and mouth into a shout
and i will clarify: I ABHOR!
best we burry you *******...
you think... us... youth...
will sit back while, you had all your, fun?

it's only one coin-flip away...
i want my fun too!
you're going to tell me, no?!
are you going to tell me, no?!
you... frail... old... man?!
you're going to tell me, no?!
what did you tell your elders?!
the same **** i'm telling you?!

ooh... what a telling!
i'm 36 years old... i'm going to have all
the prostitutes in the world and more!
i've, had, enough!
no! i haven't! had! enough!
i need... more!
i need more!
        i'm going to create the reality
that Darwinism subscribed to!
                         i want, more!

i'm hungry... i'm vengeful...
i'm... oopsy-turvy... i'm...
baron of Emeralds... green Irises...
                
just like the prostitutes suggested: why are you
looking at me with so much ferocity,
with so much intent?!
why?! i'm eating your soul...
******* it out from your eyes...
you, are, mine!
the eyes disappear when the eyes roll back
into a canvas of sclera...
but not until then...

why am i so intent on peering into your self?
if it bothers you so much:
why, why... why don't you close them?!
are you afraid of being unable to see what's
worth being seen?!
tender doe... why... why... oh why so...
scared? life didn't get back to you with
its revisions of adequacy?!
too bad... maybe next time.

finish this, Matthew, finish this!
yes: we know already...
you had trouble keeping up a hard-on because
you thought you would be punishing
a ******* who's wild idea
of inviting you back to her home for free
*** backfired: as you know it would...
****-locked after you chose another
and then broke down limp
       hearing her walk into the next room with
another man and not hearing the sort
of moans you heard when she was with you...

i can't forget the dimmed lights...
contorts... archaic precusor-Cubism...
   the body sweating all other without much exertion
being applied...
if only the moon could drool moonlight
like a dog in Pavlov's experiment might drool
for the reply to a ringing of a bell...
my hands turned into spiders...
my hands turned into eyes...
but i wasn't angry or ashamed at my predicment
of under-performing...
if she was sweating all over her body
and i wasn't impaling her bur rather caressing her...
*** is... complicated...
it's not even close to the pornographic depictions...
i switched from a performance artists
to looking for something deeper...
a bit like...
well... what's within wheat?
   the category of carhohydrates... fibre...
it's the same with ***...
                                simply squeezing juice from a lemon
is not even about the point of squeezing
or the lemon...
    sometimes lethargy kicks in when you're trying
to switch ****** partners...
esp. difficult if you already have three sitting opposite
you whom you all have bedded...

Monday... i'm going to have to revise my liquid intake...
i already know that it requires me to juice up
with one strong cider... and drink some whiskey
on the side...
while kneeling before her naked body...
or sharing her cigarette...
then again: maybe her nervousness made me nervous...
after all: she had to snort a line of *******...
she had to drink half a cup of *****...
and still that nervous laugh as if Khedra was going
to **** her...
i have recently found that women are...
terribly nervous...
it's so unforgiving to find oneself in the company of a nervous
woman...
then again: maybe this should be a thrill for me?
oh, Marie is going to take me a while
to unravel... she's too petrified for any penetrative
***... she's pretty content with performing
only oral ***...
    i wonder... why...
  she's the first girl who wants to do it completely in the dark...
she feels insecure or rather: wounded...

whatever the reasons are...
    this tiny: heaviest of hearts i frown at and with.

p.s. 4/4

e|-------------------------------------------------12---
B|---­------------3--------------------------------12---
G|---------3--­---------5----- 2h3h2-----------12---
D|----5------------------------------------­3-----------
A|--------------------------------------------------­-----
E|-------------------------------------------------------

­and then my usual blues...

Oh look...
I feel hollow once again
Why?
I don't know
Everything drained out of me slowly, but when it was all gone I felt empty and alone.
What does my mind go to as soon as I am empty?
It conjurers up a thought to fill the space, and an action to distract me.
Dizzy and timed, all I want to do is sigh..

You ask me why, referring to another thing.
But I can only look at you.

you know, cats prefers feathers of crows, to yarn ***** of synthetic wool rolled up into "playthings"... oh wait, i'm white, i have not base in providing knowledge, only copper-skinned people are wise... use whites are a piglet's word short of extinct... go! sinjit! go! turbans plop! go! bunch of queen sheba hoes... the wanking patronage of lahore's preserved existence.

which just shows how many actual cat-ladies
there are out there in the world -
and the mystery of missing cats being
explained:
even the ****** cats go missing
with these women,
me? i can't get rid of my maine ****
male...
****** rapes me, with his presence!
******, please, *******!
****** comes back...
says: your bead, mine...
   what am i, ******* flintstone shortcut...
and yes, i think that whoever "conjured"
up the idea of a yarn ball of wool as
entertainment was wrong,
you pick up a feather of a crow,
dip it into your makeshift dip of ink,
and then give it to your cat..
watch it pretend it's a dog with a bone...
and then see the lullaby...
by the way, how do you get a cat's
respect?
     you either sleep at much as they
do: of you beat them at their sleeping pattern...
i've managed to sleep longer than cats,
which also means i am guardian of
their toiletry pattern -
  the female maine **** prefers to be
petted when she's incubated by
a boa tightening of a hold -
the male? just an empty bed and a crow's
feather, then he snoozes,
and i shed a dear:
listen to some johnny cash,
and feel complete...
        and then i compare that to
the islamic rites of prayer,
the way you wash before making dues -
which is so much against;
******* with the dues of
elevating the necessitated
*******..
              while shaming the actual
efforts, that overshadow both
psychiatrist, & priest...
           i shame the dog-collar
bigots, and the psychiatric ******
insipid conjurers of "hope"...
who deserve as much tuxedo
as a straitjacket...
and a lot of these "doctors" have
a woman lying by their side:
which is always a bad sign...
none of them a dog, or a cat...
     ever heard of a serial killer with
a cat, or a dog as accomplice?
me neither! go fetch!
      aport boy! fetch!
         sing my a *******
johnny cash song you ******* '****.

why is it, that journalists suddenly
think they're the respectable class
of profession?
      no one respects journalism
after the *milly dowler scandal...
   really? the best they can do is do that,
or simply troll?!
       **** it, i'll **** the rest of it...
there's no point in asking, pleading,
regressing, or revising...
    it's like asking for a monkey
to act as a ghost and instead of
stating ooh! stating a boo!
         sure as **** a jew got hurt with
missing H...
oh right... a pole said it...
the vermin class...
      nibbles nibbles...
rats got you nibbles...
      show-as your leggings -
i'll pride a nibble!
    not so proud then...
  what a shame...
      the usual sussex nuns come along:
and state the atypical ENGLAND,
entertaining as about three quarter's
worth of saudi arabia;
retracted in the comment section,
mostly by homos,
         or people who read as much
of a the ideal mention of headlines in newspapers...
then channel four says:
e ain't no ****!
     oh, wight, whites on whites...
**** ju ju juicing for the cumin
and coriander paste...
      finally!
multicultural england!
    i can finally bash a **** without
being called an anglican west ham supporter...
and?
if i don't get away with i?
  applause! manchester 2.0!
  or do i have to remind you, that my ethnicity
was called vermin?
      you know how turban bashers are born,
how these turbanators are born,
and orientate around muslims rather
than sikhs, and how you should have
read the placard, of the polish r.f.a. pilots
who fought in the first world war?
come next ****, i'll make another japatti.

.i'm not going to perfect this piece of writing, since i know, that it will sink into the bottomless pit of time, and even if i give a **** about it being remembered, it won't be... there are authentic observations in this... the authenticity is in the fact they are being remarked... but to even bother to make said observations dogma, or perfected... no... not a chance... i can't be bothered... i'm already thinking about what i'll gorge down before going to sleep... a tuna, sweetcorn and mayo side... i showed the way, i'm not going to provide the pristine scholastic schematic of the interaction between tongue, lips, teeth and the breath; least of all... people will draw different conclusions when they look into their mouth while ushering out an R... notably in English... with the extinct trill, in orthodox text: atypically associated with the letter... bee sting ow something... these people mowphed the lettew Aw into a lisp and wewe stung by a bee, so they widiculously speak like so? calling it a lisp?

all the president's men...

   i just woke up from
a period of the 1980s,
the 1990s,
the naughty-naughty
double zero d'd'digtal
aging of the digital world...

the Mongols are coming!
the Aztecs are coming!
death cloud don counter
measures, no. 6...

but seriously...
what the **** happened
to journalism?
you think that i am nostalgic
about the music from
the 20th century?

i'm nostalgic about
the sort of journalism
displayed
in the movie all the president's men...
the current stuff?
thanks for the crack...
but... i'll just stick to either
sober, cigarettes or *****...

what happened,
why all this bogus...
worse than fiction dissection...
words are... violence?!
i thought that words
were meaning?
i thought that words
were phonetic encoding
devices?
  from the phonetics
came the linguistics...
i thought weren't
mono-,
  one-dimensional,
they had a resonance
to them,
the words were stereo-....
words, are, violence...
let that sink in...
words, are... violence?!
you sure on that one?

words are the skeletal
representation of forms,
words are the elevated status
of hieroglyphs...
they are the conjurers of
ideas, narrative, otherwise
hidden / lost names
and nukes of meme...
ideas... working from the basin
of images...
  
words are violence...
wow!
     it's like the previous
years were backwards
chimp frenzy of violence...
but now?
now is a different playground...

i thought that words were meaning...
so...
     all meaning is now hate?
so... if i wanted to encode someone's
speech, by lip-reading...
the B pouch of the bubble lips...
P, also similar...
   M the vibrating lips murmur...
A: hidden breath catcher H
in dentistry...
        open mouth...
O genesis of an open mouth
getting smaller...
   U... open mouth...
forming into a bird's beak worth
of lips...
    so many instances...
wait... how many times is the tongue
actually used... to provide
letters?
A: x
      B: x
C: ✓
      D: ✓
E: x
          F: x
   G: ✓
                H: ✓ (not in Slavic, though)
I: ✓/x
   J: ✓
    K: x
        L: ✓
    M: x
  N: ✓ (tongue pressed to the palette)
O: x
               P: x
             Q: ✓ (the tongue is tensed,
   when the breath is passed...
like when you fold your tongue
to look like a ******, ever so slightly...
the letter actually rests upon
a tensed tongue, slightly folded,
retracted, and the breath and pursed
lips being subsequent)
    R: ✓ / x
         unless you had your tongue
numbed in western Europe,
on this letter, or harking up
no excess phlegm from a non-existent
flu in French... this is the rattle
letter... rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr rolling a ball...
rattlesnake...
  you pass a breath... whereby your
tongue waggles... repeatedly slapping
itself against the palette...
otherwise... just a boring Ar....
S: ✓ (no explanation required...
          the tongue presses against
the palette... a breath is passed through
it... and a hiss is made)
T: ✓ - the tongue bounces off
the palette once it has been pressed on
it for a while...
U: x
    V: x
        W: a misnomer in terms of vowels...
or in terms of consonants...
   it's a duo-syllable,
and... well... not exactly given status
as a letter, a mono-syllable instance
of either vowel, or consonant...
it's the only name of a letter
in the English language...
a double-U (shh... it's a double V)
X: ✓ an exploratory variant of S:
choking tongue on the rub-rub with tonsil,
pulling back, and then behaving like an S...
Y: ✓
                 the shape?
  pursed lips, expanding to an open mouth,
almost smiling, pivot on the tongue
caught on the schematic            i
Z: another alternative to S...
tongue pressed to the teeth,
a breath passes above it...
   a vibration, the teeth unclench
their bite... and an -ed comes out...
but the tongue posits the Z,
so unlike the S
             the breath is ejected
-ed
                 rather than inhaled
           es-

tongue versus the palette versus
the top two incisors,
contra breath and lips...
of the bones...

What we are
and what we see
are already known
in the universe,
She
knows everything

I know only the
three
F's
Friction
fission
Fusion

Or is it all a stage
and we're just
a conjurers
illusion?

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i sort of lied when i said that i don't dream:
but it was a white lie -
i do... but with the frequency of a solar eclipse...
that's why i prefer saying: i just sleep...
but sometimes... i wake up: but on the snooze
button for, say... about an hour...
and i fall into a gentler sleep: nothing too deep
where the body rests... blink a few times to catch
some sunlight and then hope...
just one more hour... maybe i'll conjure something
up...

           i was lucky today...
that code above? it's for a right angle triangle...
i remember this dream from... ages ago...
i was on a *****: ergo... it must have been a right-angle
triangle... right at the bottom...
and i dreamt that i was running backwards and
forwards on this *****...
while... sheep-like creatures were rolling down
the *****... followed by demonic-like creatures
chasing after them with scythes...
chopping their heads off... but...
i had the duty of saving these sheep-like creatures
from a fate mush worse... a fate worse
than getting your head chopped off?
behind me: nothing... an abyss... non-existence
or... as the Biblical translation puts it:
you get to meet God... you are not coming back...
into anything, even remotely resembling
either a heaven or a hell...
   and since nothing: the word itself... is categorised
as... a pronoun... nothing once said:
ehyeh asher ehyeh... so... any more "pronoun" debates
on the plural market of they?
hell... i already absorbed some of this propaganda...
if i had a twitter (****-er) account: in my bio
i would write a royal spoof: preferred pronouns...
one, we...                 there... sorted...
the royal route...

                      people really have degenerated English
grammar very quickly... i'm not even native to
this language and i have more respect for it
than the natives... and... whatever the **** they're
doing with it: it being disgusting...

if you don't respect your language... well...
who the hell is going to take you seriously: in other matters?

but i was truly lucky today... for that one hour
i... i ******* managed to conjure up a dream...
well... when i say: i... it wasn't really me...
        i was sent a postcard from a "celestial power"
that said: well... you're not going to be the sleepwalker
Joseph... but here's a taste of that sort of power...

i found myself sitting on my couch... watching...
the Indian Wells men's final...
Nadal vs. Fritz... i already watched the women's
final Sakkari vs. Świątek -
so i'm supposedly watching the men's final...
because: like hell if i'm going to stay up till 4am
to watch that...
   i look around to my left... moths?
first i checked the meaning of dreaming of moths...
no... wait... it wasn't night-time...
i could see clearly... after all... the men's final
was in the high Californian afternoon...
i wasn't dreaming of sitting downstairs literally
watching the match...
it was daytime...               ah... butterflies...
i can't remember how many... but they were just
fluttering around a vase of flowers...
and some... weird looking cloud of...
    dried leaves... like a glib... was moving with them...
like a jellyfish... like a this like a that blah blah...
and i remember saying in the dream:
what ****'s this?! i have butterflies in my house
randomly fluttering in circles...

obviously since i said something i had
to follow it up by doing what i thought i'd never do...
this had to be an archetypical dream...
nothing truly personal but rather universal...
i.e. not particular... since... like the colour red...
the butterfly is a universal "thing"...
like a dog is... a dog is universal...
an Alsatian is a particular...
                        butterflies... so i looked it up...
wow... oh, cool... i get it... i did write about butterflies
i.e. the metaphorical sensation of falling in love...
yesterday with the sly **** having fire in my eyes
and fire on my face and cold-sweats all over my torso
before i gave "birth" to that abomination...
i get it... this ties in with... my attitude towards women...
i'm transformed beyond belief...
        
    how else would to interpret receiving a dream
of butterflies... dreams, i believe, don't work around
the Cartesian proposition: cogito ergo sum...
i think dreams work in reverse: sum ergo cogito...
i'm dreaming... i wake up... now i have to think about it...
Nietzsche made a footnote: but in the lucid waking
hours of his day... completely ******* wong...
sorry... wrong... perhaps some people are deluded
enough to think they're the architects of their dreams...
a delusion that extends into them having recurrent
dreams... duplications... they think they're the dream
conjurers... they're not... dreams are sent...
you're always on the receiving end... that's why you
get to interpret them: get a postscript angle on
the meaning... i was lucky with this archetypical dream...
there was clear enough symbolism to work with...

that being said: my attitude towards women...
at 35... meeting women of similar age is... rather a revelation
in itself... they have already made their beds...
they're either single mums...
well... Jeminah was... is...
she was probably impregnated by some older
guy in the financial realm of careers...
he pumped her and dumped her...
then she started growing old(er) and figured...
play the cougar card... she met her ex-boxing champ
through her son... her son was friends with
another kid in primary school... who had an older
brother... blah blah...
                beta-not-many-bucks-deluxe...
women: men are supposed to feel ashamed of
having parents... that's what i never understood...
i have to... forgo having my own parents...
so i can have a relationship with a woman
and thereby reject my parents... in order to embrace
her parents?! i need... ******* surrogates?!
well... it worked for my father...
since his parents rejected him and he was raised
by his grandmother and her second husband...
sure... it works perfectly for a man
if his parents are not in the picture...
if he was raised by his grandparents...
but the whole idea of... breaking away from your
father and mother... to be with a woman...
all the while as her gravity pulls you toward
her parents... this whole son-in-law *******:
very unbecoming to simply shun your own
origins... sure... perhaps my mentality is that
i'm being "clingy"... i wasn't raised by my father
from the age of 4 through to 8...
or by my mother from the age of 6 through to 8...

clearly there's a gap... but...
just giving up on an "alliance" like that...
in order to satisfy a woman's needs of HER being
clingy to her parents... a man's parents simply
fizzle out... well then... the woman can fizzle out...
if she's armed with all this ******* feminist propaganda:
i don't need no man... good...
it's not the 19th century... there's no Jack the Ripper
mentality out "there"...
            there's a shaming tactic in reverse...
men vs. men... what's generally termed: simping...
paying E-girls for bath-water... perhaps even a sample
of her glorious juice that's only really her ****...
strip-clubs... well... unless you were me in Athens...
with two strippers either side of me... snuggling...
giggling...
           touch touch... you're going to be spending
money anyhow... i don't want to spend money
on food... i want to spend money for an hour's worth
of intimacy... no dating game...
hell... if she gives you a line of ******* to boot:
not that it did anything for me... i prefer my cognac,
my bourbon, my ms. whiskers - all the right spirits...
and hey... *** olympics are good to go...

   recently i've picked up strange adverts...
erectile dysfunction *******... if i'm not in the mood...
i'm not in the mood... my phallus doesn't have
an inbuilt on/off switch... i have to prep myself
to perform in the bedroom... lucky me for not getting
it regularly... i stop drinking... i ******* without
******* a few days prior... i do concentrated
cardiovascular bicycling sessions... i try to relax...
and then i go in for the ***...
it's a bit like... the comfort of being married:
but sleeping in separate beds...
      
         obviously i can't **** shame any woman
if i'm celebrating my "campaign" with prostitutes...
"body count": that sort of died a long time ago...
i like well worn leather anyway...
mandible beauty... virgins seem tense... frigid...
ergo: i'm no Jack the Ripper... it's not the 19th century
where one starts killing prostitutes...
one celebrates them...
           why? well... if the remaining "available" women
are all single mums... or they have a bad credit score...
in shambles of debt raised by their ex-boxing-champs:
didn't she (Jeminah) mention that he went
to rehab in Thailand?
          **** me... i tried psychiatrists once...
or rather: they tried me... i was usually interviewed
by a professional and a budding student...
i was a case study most of the time...
          they couldn't figure me out... i was never subjected
to the confines of a mental institution...
they... i guess... just let me roam...
they let me loose upon society...
           and my my oh my... what a bunch of fun years
that has been...

but i did tell on psychiatrist...
  i'm reading Kant, Heidegger, Kierkegaard,
R. D. Laing... no... not all at once...
i'm getting my armour ready...
                there's absolutely no chance i'm going
to lose myself in fantasy literature...
i'm not going to be day-dreaming since:
i dream so little... i'm going to be attempting
to chase dreams...
               i was lucky today...
   hmm...           huh?          ha!
                     who would have thought...
                              of all creatures... butterflies...
i'm not even going to look up dreaming of an elephant...
better still... imagine dreaming up a mammoth;
anyway... this is already proving to be a bountiful day.

After the tick and before the tock
of the ticking clock
there’s a time where we exist

In a grain of sand lies a world in our hands
where only we can be
like the whistle of the wind
that others hear
but only we can see

We are the dark where the stars have been
and the deepest sea where none have seen
and like the flight of a bee
we shouldn’t be

We are the force that will never be known
and we have what we never can own

We are the warmth of a womb
and the cold of a tomb

And when the bullet’s fired from the gun
we are the  final breath
before its deed is done

We are a child’s first present
On a Christmas morn
shadows between the light and dark
at the break of dawn




We are the water in the desert
in the madman’s eye
a relentless hope
neither truth nor a lie

we are the music of a rainbow
the scent of a dream
Dali’s melting watches
Munch’s silent scream

The scratch on the sky
the aeroplane leaves
the secrets hidden in
a conjurers mysterious sleeves


We’re the memory of a place,
we’ve never been
a déjà vu or a waking dream

We are less than a moment
and more than a lifetime
and eternity is ours

The beginning of an end
and the end of a beginning

We never are
yet will always be
that’s
you and me