.i have come to realiße that... it's not so much what you write about... but the mere fact of writing... i can't imagine myself being subjected to something, like a narrative, or furthering a character study... i can be the object of whatever is whimsical enough to come into my head of its own accord - i want to forget forcing something to come into this puncture, this dam, this incision that i am coordinating... and it's not that i'm objecting to something, but i am not going to subject myself to - no more than a whim, of its own desires... with no attached: i think so too... it's not about what i write anymore: it's the fact that i write... if i'll be able to spew 3 thousand words tonight... i'll be content... because... i know that i have crossed the threshold of not being left "satisfied": nonetheless constipated by an instagram haiku... mind you... that's a very troubling hindsight note you have in there... wouldn't an object the size of the earth... in a vacuum of space... create its own winds to imitate movement? there is no wind on the moon... yes... and we're talking hindsight from 420BC... the moon landing happened in the 20th century... let's give it some times before that becomes an obvious hindsight too... do you feel movement - rotating - did the turkish dervishes help at all?

the fine line between: competition and corporation,
otherwise known as a: very, very, naive poo'em...

by a definition alone:
it's not so much concerning whether this
would ever become a capitalism vs.
a communism "debate"...

after all - i'm ref. walking a tight-rope...

of the latter, verbatim:
'an association of individuals,
created by law or under authority of law,
having a continuous existence independent
of the existences of its members
and powers and liabilities distinct from
those of its members'...

can i just point out, foremost,
in an environment of competition laws can be bent...
to add to: the spectacle...
the athletics doping scandals:
it's within a spirit of competition...
the sprinters are not corporating for give
a spectacle... they are competing...
for the the spectacle...
ask me again the difference between...
what used to be a competitive event
done during leisure hours...
and what was a leisure event akin
to reading...
and ask me again: the difference between
taking part in the event of competing...
and watching a competition -
and what had to be involved to give
the spectacle its architecture...
i don't think it was so much competition
as it was corporation... never mind for now...

after all... how many times have laws
been bent when watching a football match?
the passing of law is hardly an objective
crux that so many "rational" and logic-"riddled"
people stress - can be made by one man...
sure... laws in vivo - science and what not...
these objective safety-nets...
that can lead to endless to-and-fro...
but i hardly think... man is capable of passing
objective laws: in vitro... notably in -
           in unum: omni...
unless that's a schizophrenic metaphor...
which is already a metaphor when
tested on a bilingual brain...

how many people did it take...
to pass: the earth rotates around the sun?

the heliocentric model...
genesis in the west from philolaus,
heraclides ponticus,
pythagoras (hindsight...
wouldn't an object moving in
a vacuum of space... create winds of
its own?)
aristarchus of samos,
then onto philolaus of croton -
anaxagoras; whoever was
debunked by ptolemy... then so many years...
until enough time passed...
before people could take the plunge and
be certain: for old time's sake with
copernicus - well the people have been sleeping
for long enough...
enough time has passed and we can pass...
this objective truth... that the heliocentric
model is true and that the pharaohs held
no authority as the sons of the sun
in the static geocentric model...
likes Xerxes ordering the sea to the be whipped
to calm down... and become a lake...
some pharaoh must have had a wild
idea telling a sand dune to stop moving
or seeing some mt. sinai said: shrink!
so instead be said: let's build us a... perfect pyramid...
a mountain that looks... geometric from
both afar and near!

or at least that's what Homer would have
said when visiting Giza: Δ'uh!

so a single man is somehow justified
in passing an objective truth?
unless the mob encores...
but what about the jury - a trial without a jury
is any trial at all...
murky ground if you ask me...
i don't expect man to pass...
judgement for a universal equilibrium...
but what i do expect is that:
he doesn't think he's capable of this: grandiosity!
clearly he's not... the objective reality
of falling... the subjective: i'm right as
allocated the status judge: therefore i'm standing still.

competition in a medical environment...
only in the realm of psychiatry...
and the mine-field of misdiagnosed misfortunes...
but i hardly think... competition is a catalyst
for getting surgery done...
corporation, yes...
among farmers? a rare treat....
a hobby pursuit for a selected fraction of
the crop... the dear-to-my-heart "g.m." tomato...
but all the other tomatoes... need to be harvested...
but this my pet-tomato... which needs to be:
THIS BIG! another matter...

sport and competition...
but work... and competition?
no wonder work and competition,
rather than corporation gives end results as...
who's wearing the most trendy sneakers?
who's social media account requires...
the most editing? who's child is the one with
the smartphone? etc. etc.

the bait of the poo'em is that it's naive:
but i think it is - so there's that to begin with...

i still can't fathom that "capitalism" was solely
promulgated on competition -
i'm still having to address the "model" as...
having to retain a "socialist" aspect akin to corporation
to get away with... what later became:
an all out economic "war" of competition...

naive utopian of me to somehow huddle
at the fireplace of corporation...
work - if so many people hate their work...
what would be the only gratifying
alleviation? and i'm pretty sure some places of work
are less about competition: and more about
corporation - as i write this...
the british national health service...
some people will compete by cutting corners...
competition will lead to doping scandals...
competition is... an Elisium for the few
and... a crab-bucket for the some...
call them the 10% cliff-hangers...

i've noticed it in poetry... slam poetics...
what not... this affair is already riddled with too many
****-up ****-wit window-lickers:
of which i am primo...
but i don't think it necessary to compete...
this was never about competition...
not every work is required to be
tinged with competition...
sometimes... it's just better to corporate...
do... undertakers compete?
do... postmen compete?
last time i heard: each is allocated his volume
of letters... it doesn't matter whether
he finishes his chores before the other postmen...
no postman is stupid enough
to take up someone else's allocated letters...
the first finishes his chores sooner...
the latter works overtime without pay...
it's a corporation of endeavours...
all the same... but there is no need to give these
postmen running orders when
they can walk the ******* mile...

competition within the realm of sport is one
thing... i guess a long time ago...
some people engaged in competition: sports...
to escape the general lagging begin plateau
of corporation... Rome wasn't build in
a single day... others dedicated themselves to
slouch and sloth of expanding the cranium
by reading a book...

the naive is still the bait...
is conscripting in an army...
about competition... or following orders and hierarchy
and therefore: not solely about corporation?
hierarchy you ask...
well... wouldn't that be something borrowed from
plutocracy / nepotism?
competition in an army environment...
what if you're in the royal guard
competing at what... shooting more blanks
into the sky expecting to shoot down the moon
at a wrestling-match fake
of staging of a state funeral?!
the cannons sounded... and that's all these
ever did... they were shooting with
empty wallnut shells! the wallnuts were
eaten by gunpowder gremlins long ago...
before the pomp & circumstance was shot
with: aenemic *****...

this is not a capitalism vs. a communism
debate... communism was riddled with nepotism...
come to think of it...
capitalism is not there yet...
but it's already there...
from what i've heard...
capitalism as this utopia ideal is not a meritocracy:
exceptions are made...
cicero was an exception of the roman empire
under nero...
exceptions and genetic freaks...
is this still a naive poem?

i can understand where competition works -
notably in what jobs it might work...
but most jobs require a stable work ethic
of corporation...
perhaps all self-employed entrepreneurs...
"perhaps" have no corporation in mind...
to a greater degree of orientating themselves...
in that corporation is: outside the bracket...
if everyone was suddenly...
self-employed... there would be no fear of...
the robotic onslought to come...
at least then... the microcosm would open...
and there would no longer be any employees...
just self-employed facets of...
"corporations in name only"...
which they already are...
corporations in name only...
given that... the corporations are no longer
competing with each other...
they have consolidated on a monopoly...
and since they are no longer competing with each
other... they have designated their former...
inter-competition into a hierarchal intra-competition
of "employees"...

can a bus driver, or a tube train operator compete?
by law... you can only drive a bus for 8 hours...
to operate a tube train... you can do X number of hours...
and these include breaks... necessary breaks...
can you find competition in these:
ultra-corporative environments? no!
capitalism might think it is necessary to scare everyone
into: the robots are coming! time to be self-employed
and compete! compete!
but some jobs are still: primed to corporation!

could i ever see undertakers competing?
in times of a spiked demand - during a plague...
what is healthy in sport -
is not necessarily healthy in a workplace -
after all... most people detest earning money -
it's a chore - mind you: do i enjoy writing poo'etry?
am i being paid for writing it?
no... i am "volunteering"... for the love of
the art... for ****'s sake... nothing more!
nothing less!

is this still a naive poo'em: yes... sorry...
i forgot to be caustic and there's no rhyme... my bad...
but this is not a capitalism vs. communism
tirade... from the yoke of the soviet union...
i learned from my mother that...
flues weren't really that prominent...
not until the 1970s...
by then it was a common theme...
biological warfare... while the crown-virus has
yet to claim a life outside of the mandarin
genetics: in the age of propaganda journalism:
you hear a "truth" one day...
three days later you're singing along to your
own "biased" / solipstic narrative...
after a while you have to adopt the "autism"
of solipsism: the world can only bite so much
out of you... you have to turn to standards of delusion
to match to their: from the many, one...

in sport, competition is the "zeitgeist":
it's not a metaphor, it's a misnomer...
but given the " " ditto brackets - i'm tired of looking
for the: "required" word... sometimes...

by the 5th definition of competition...
it's not as direct as corporation, competition
needs to borrow from an -ology...
again, verbatim: 'rivalry between two or more
persons or groups for an object desired in common,
usually resulting in a victor and
a loser but not necessarily involving
the destruction of the latter' -

what is untrue about this is that...
the destruction of the latter is paramount...
at least these days...
am i to believe that capitalism was not,
not ever, tinged with a belief in corporation...
that it was always, somehow, only about
competition?
what was communism born from?
when did the abolishment of serfdom happen
in russia? 1861...
the abolishment of slavery happened
in england in 1865... 4 years after...
but... but!
in russia? the slaves were thought of as...
people from within russia...
in england? the slaves? en route a trade from
one foreign place to another...
wow!
all slavery: either foreign, or domestic...
and to think that communism was a "failure"...
hard to imagine... truly hard to imagine...
given that... communism was born...
4 years prior to slavery in general was abolished...
of foreign to become "nationals"...
what does english he-he-history tell us about
native slaves? four years prior to the slaves
moved from africa to the cotton candy fields...
there were slaves that were not: ***** out of africa...

reperations who's who?!
why didn't capitalism bloom in russia...
why will it never bloom - oligarchs and...
currency of modern western capitalism:
nepotism...
who is jared kushner?
mr. cushions mr. cushtie...
mr. minted in: network baron...
slavery was abolished on the international scale
in england in 1865... four years after...
internal slavery was abolished in russia... 1861...
isn't that the sort of wow you were expecting?!
so when was slavery-slavery abolished
in england?
again... if internal slavery was abolished in russia...
4 years after slavery on an international
stage was abolished...
communism was a failure because: per se...
or... was communism supposed to be...
a short-cut attempt to catch up to capitalism?
was it a failure in catching up to capitalism?
in the 2008 financial clash...
where was Poland? recession free...
again... communism was a failure per se...
but... was it a failure in terms of catching up
to capitalism?
to me... it's still catching up...
when again... we're talking... freeing people...
only 4 years prior to people who would
otherwise still be... rummaging the romances
of Kenya and seeing no albino tourists sipping
brandy on their shores...
perhaps better for the whole load of us...

i ask, again, in my naive way...
that's the difference between competition and corporation?
not much...
a football team needs to compete with other football teams,
but it needs a corporative methodology behind it...
you can sometimes spot a maverick who wants
to be the solipsist in the team and become
nothing more than the top goal-scorcer -
then again: a kevin de bruyne and the number of assists...

if there was to be a level playing field...
everyone was to be self-employed...
what fear from robots?
competition on a ford's:
each man is a cog in the assembly line...
you can't compete... were you supposed to?
i thought that the only reason sport
was fun was to be compete and corporate...
it wasn't solely about competing:
not even in tennis are you ever competing...
unless you're serving a ****-ace...
competing but also corporating:
for the spectacle: with 19shot rallies...

to reiterate: this is a really naive poo'em...
is has to be!
- again... before capitalism became this hell-scape
spiral of: fear of robotics / a.i.:
let's just see if we get enough self-employed
people on board...
oh sure: the self-employed undertaker...
the self-employed bus-driver...
i'm sure there was, what's not called:
a "healthy spirit of competition" in work related
niches of existence...

i'm an alcoholic living among workaholics...
not a pretty sight... believe me...

i'm sure that capitalism... must have began
with: a "healthy spirit of corporation"...
that one henry ford would benefit more than
all the assembly line workers: fine...
the brains is allowed the conscious efforts
to move the eyes, close them,
use the jaw... bite... do magic with the tongue...
the liver has no knowledge of alcohol...
the heart isn't exactly aware of either veins
or arteries... fine... a henry ford cigar can get
away with thinking he's not adding
a chimney to the whole affair...
or a rhine-valley load of chimneys...
the stomach doesn't know what taste is...
sure as **** the small intestine knows
what it feels like to be a woman:
should it find itself unfortunate to have
a hitchhiker tapeworm attached to it... etc. etc.

but i imagine the capitalism had a sense of
corporation before...
it worked too many psychopathic sport analogies
into itself... precursor to the fear
or a.i. robbing people of their jobs?
testing people in a self-employed job market...
again: oh sure... the self-employed undertaker...
the self-employed busdriver!
perhaps a self-employed cabbie...
a self-employed surgeon?
how would that work?

        what's that? the cult leader... would not find
a job status match... in a corporate market of ideas?
then a ******* maverick he is...
esp. with such dates as: the brian jonestown
massacre hovering over his head!

perhaps i am naive is reiterating:
work implies corporation rather than competition,
in that work implies chores...
i've seen this in my father -
he doesn't underand household chores
on the basis on corporation -
he understands them on the basis of competition...
and he's to somehow... take pleasure
in the "free bread and circus"...
when the circus is not what it used to be?
once upon a time: the circus involved
men... who were footballers...
but they also did part-time metallurgy work...
they would clock in at a certain hour...
then be let off work to play a football match...
they weren't paid: professional:
disappropriate wages...
because their "work"... was over-inflated
by the gambling syndicate dicta...

there was a utopia in Poland...
it lasted for... roughly 30 years... from 1945
through to 1975... after that the herrings
didn't want to be pickled...
the baltic sea started to boil and the fish
strarted to froth at the mouth...
it's not a nostalgia segment: i was born in 1986...
this is mythology: curating the temporal
standards of modern journalism...
history: what time ago?
50 years? elvis was abducted by aliens...
n'esst ce pas?!

slam poetry competition with fellow:
poo'em eaters...
can i jut take the armchair with Horace?
i don't feel like competing...
what am i competing for?
volume... a new YA novel?
i will not ***** language...
even if it is a language i acquired:
and it's not a tattoo native first come first served
expression...
this is not a capitalism vs. communism
affair...

all the: towel in champions of capitalism
have made it clear:
start a traditional family, start a farm...
milk some goats...
pluck some eggs... living the dream:
brown fingers and all...
                       way way out from competition
in the workplace...
so... no need to corporate...
solo does it...
                                and if i'll be needing some
milk... i'll likewise claim: an autistic
pension and enough barren land to feed
goats organic glue and toilet paper that
magically morph into... a propaganda poster...

olim truncus eram ficulnus, inutile lignum:
once i was a stump of fig,
a wood without use... this is my best Horace:
thank you, goodnight...

what is to be competed for?
rather: what it to be retained, kept, status quo
enclosed... this pride for corporation?
competition in the workplace can only go as far...
not all professions can allow competition...
some will forever retain their base:
corporation...
to compete outside the realm of sport...
sport... those with enough awareness
of the body would pursue it...
those with a bit more brain in tow...
wouldn't... the ghost limb terms:
there's nothing of note
when it comes to competing with i.q. in
mind... or corporating...
there's this ancient feat of "solipsism" and
self-bettering... rather than running
the "expected" mile...
was capitalism always this:
chicken-shack-shackled into... wishing to squeeze
out drinking water... from pig ****?

again... this is not as easy give-away
that it's a capitalism versus communism base scrutiny...
all the eastern european laid-deeds have made it into
their chandelier filled land-allotement sights of
better ****** that gynocentrism...
i don't mind...
      yes... because among the bulgarian strip-party
i'm the ottoman janissary turned
well spoken sheikh... when morocco is given...
a fictional name... and i'm the Ali
that rubs Muhammad's lamp and
averts the... most ****** schism...
oh sure... Islam would be a pure religion...
and they would be allowed to complain about
porky-pies...
but... you see... how long did it take
for a schism to emerge between the orthodox grees
and tha catholic italians?
how long did the islamic schism take
to grovel and dig trenches?
not that much...
after all... Shia... Persians... Ali Woke-oh-Haram...
and the ****'ite... the ***** muslims...
the Saudi bin-Ladens...
well... that schism... didn't take that long...
some whisper about a schism in the monotheism
of the hebrews...
ha ha! i write ha ha... but even i have to laugh
out loud... a monotheism an inbreeding
of something more than genes...
fix the idea... and continue!

by now even i know that christianity has reached
a status of polytheism...
it's the same jesus... sure sure...
via no other than the orthodox,
the catholic, the protestant (calvinist, lutheran)
standards... or the baptists... or the jay-***-***-V-and-G
standards...
next thing you know: the vegans are
the gnostic monks!
because it has to be a joke at this point...
if christianity is a monotheism...
i'm mother theresa and that albanian
that stole george w. bush' mickey mouse's watch
on a state visit...
so to complete the holy trinity...
i'll be... alastair campbell... always for the giggles...

an alcoholic among workaholics...
who always had the satan's postbox concerning
the niqab... the same ones who were to be always
quoted: the beast from the east...
jesus is coming! look busy!

i mean... no need to look busy...
when the high a tide is making a comeback...
would you believe it?
if you saw the words... united kingdom...
england, scotland, wales... ireland...
that this was not moldova?
this is a language these are letters so arranged...
by an island-dwelling folk?
if you're the first, driver...
shotgun! who are we smuggling in the passenger
seats behind us?

imagine my surprise at the rereading,
with the typo: a missing (s) in letter()
and a missing (d) in arrange(d)...
i call them... the lost key of solomon...
or my own personal, hybrid,
hard-on...
oh god kept me with a phallus...
while giving all the angels a proper chopper
of the ol' wood... **** to stump...
i'm the one that wasn't circumcised!

and all i now have to sing about... is...
a forest of pines! a forest of pines!
pines pines pines! yippy caye!

Conscripting the Dead

Saturday Night, 12 November 2016

They’ve drafted now his hymn of innocence
Into their revolution against the poor
To sing in praise of dreamers they despise
To canonize the poverty of the rich

They weaponize the poetry of love
And drive sweet words into cold camps of hate
There to be regimented and uniformed
And beaten into a tribute unwilling

His alleluia is not their war song
It cannot be; it is his hymn of hope

I've abandoned a withered state, fumbling
Toward your ecstasy - opening windows to
A brave new world: What a scene to behold!
My heart has calmed consuming life’s tonic -
I'm filled with attraction, alike an alchemist
disposition to discover their personal legend
How far, do thoughts travel? Become aware,
we’ve covered only but a few hours of sleep
The vicissitudes of motion - by faith we move
At luminal speed, ’til visions dawn and we’re
Before a sky clearing moon
Shall we recline in that loft above?
While it be suspended in the fetal position?
Or tarry until morn’ when reflections are reborn
From spurts of spontaneity, to cycles of growth  
Apprehending blessings so as to appreciate the
distance of our obstacles
For camaraderie's had since severed –  
And authenticity perfidiously pilfered –
And liars became prosecutors of liars
Pregnant with delusions of grandeur
Freedom is the temporal prison for
Revolutionaries wails of conditions
Psalms of sentimentalism provoke
An emotional tug of war, conscripting
another soldier of love – wearing a fig
Leaf of inhibition and foul remains of
passed transgressions...
Where to turn to when you’re cold?
Intransigent echoes give no warmth
I’ve fallen into the (d)earth of sanity
Erstwhile
        Fumbling
                   Toward
                          Ecstasy

The refrigerator did it...

Results are in,
The crime is solved,
The botnet's done its ***** work;
The refrigerator has been caught
Just standing there,
But running just the same,
Cool as a cuc...
Never mind....

No appliance now is safe
Connected to the Net;
Programs roaming find some space
To pick up every megabit,
Conscripting all the little brains
Thinking on their own
To join together,
And while it's cooling Easter ham,
My fridge is on a mission now,
Releasing spores of spam.


(Check today's news...kind of frightening, but also funny.)

The memory of her sits on a balcony ledge, cigarette in hand.
My green light at the end of a dock.
And this time I am reaching out
like many before,
in pages and poems past.
Macbeth’s face is a book.
Her body is an atlas
tracing a beautiful continent.

Follow the long tributaries that lead to shallow deltas.
This shore begins softly and forms into slender feet,
quiet but powerful when outstretched an angler waiting for prey.
Odysseus, only, can hear this Siren play.  

Follow her legs, those tawny plains,
unbroken, guiding along welcomingly,
inviting curiosity and conscripting imagination.
An oasis.
And her torso is a valley from which
her laughter is ****** upward and resisted until uncontainable.
Dimples break and burst like earthquakes.  
A ridgeline is all that awaits until we see her face.
She is the Americas from bottom to top.

Follow her decorated canyon mouth
but know it is merely a diversion.  
Her eyes are icebergs, which shyly reveal themselves
to sink ships and drown lovers, for always.
Her hair is aurora borealis,
the northern lights,
dancing colorfully
to an unaccompanied waltz
heard by everyone but her.

As the memory of her sits the smoke billows around
like clouds traveling down a coastline
only to dissipate
and disappear.

the first and the single greatest
discouragement from writing
always begins when people
ask you about money,
not necessarily that they want
money, but that they see
art as frivulous, something
to do on the side... and sure enough
most of art is done that way...
on the side... but then such art, what it
becomes, is an expression of chance
opportunism... i mean...
surely there's enough people in
the world that can allow one
man to write a few ******* poems
out, it's not like they're conscripting
young men to join salvation army
in syria or anything as ridiculous as that;
but in all honesty i don't know what
it's all about - first they tell you
to not get in trouble, then they tell
you art belongs in a high school art room,
then they put artists on peddlestools
when all they produce are massive blobs
of colour in a random way, or
make a messy bedroom an art work,
or pickle a shark in a plastic aquarium,
open spaces, strings of metal, ropes
around rodin's kiss... all kinds of airy fairy
bits 'n' bobs... then mediocre seasonal
greetings poetry: rhyme christmas with
business with busy bees with jabberwocky
or something like that -
but indeed the foremost discouragement
people place on you is to get your worried
about money, concerned enough that
you begin to wonder - are they really
chasing their own tail and insert that
serpent-eating-itself into you?
i mean, all the italian renaissance masters
didn't bother with adorments and fashion
for proof of being rich - they had a motto,
only one: we're not a bunch dumb peacocks!
how about i paint you a mona lisa
and make myself shine like gold in rags?!
surely enough modern art, on that
massive scale, in galleries across countries
is obsessed with space, perhaps the lack
of space in real life, the almost claustrophobic,
the sheer number of people on the streets,
all it's fighting is technique and detail,
it's trying to be a child again,
it cannot stomach the fact that old techniques
were never passed on, or if they were
they are like a magician's deception -
whatever that means - i just think that
what modern art has become is almost
architectural - how on earth could
you elaborate on a square is beyond me -
unless of course it isn't, in which case
it's forceful intellectualism:
trying to squeeze out some orange juice
from an old & dry orange.

title: \scrap\
body:
/methods/
|in|
/to/
|and| \back\ - a 502 bad gateway bypass

well, you drink, get up, you drink some more,
you vacuum the house,
you correct the tomato soup your father has
started, blitz it up, sieve it,
add more Kashmiri chilly powder, sugar,
two chicken stock cubes: the sour cream will
be served individually... you'll cook the vermicelli
later on...
maybe it's just me: my parents instilled in me
a sense of dis-belonging to my fatherland...
since i left Poland when i was 8 years old...
they instilled in me the "argument":
what has Poland ever done for you?!
well... when the regime changed...
and my father married up... my mother's father:
my grandfather, was a known Communist Party
member, that's why he rose in rank
to become a foreman: brigadier in the metallurgy
industry... so after the regime change:
stigma... obviously...
what did Poland ever give me? erm... ah ha...
a childhood... my memory bank goes as far back
as being 4 years old... that's the expanse
of my consciousness... 4 years old... standing in
a darkened room... watching a football match...
Lothar Matthäus was my hero...
Germany was my favourite team...
          maybe because his surname sounded like
my name... maybe i'm just a reincarnated German...
even though: i don't believe in reincarnation...
an abhorring idea... i.e. there's only a fixed number
of souls... migrating from one zombie body to
another... but i'm thinking... Poland has always been
human traffic junction...
name them: Mongols, Huns, Goths, Vandals,
Russians, Swedes... there was even an elected Saxon
king... Scots... perhaps an ancient past has woken
up in me... "my" people once spanned the lands
between the Baltic Sea and the Black Sea...
"we" used to own Kiev...
        so my father left me when i was 4... he in turn
was abandoned by his parents: raised by his grandmother
and her second husband... so not really his grandfather...
first grey hairs at 18 taking care of him...
an alcoholic father who was a diligent worker
but who tended to sleep on park benches completely
out of it: my father would get the grunt and jokes
about his father: who abandoned him... blah blah...
oh, my father's a ****** when it comes to drinking...
a complete teetotaler... i haven't been so "lucky":
i just enjoy it too much... esp. when cooking or doing
household chores, gardening or... ahem: this...
doodling...
my mother left me when i was 6... we were all reunited
all the way in England when i was 8...
allegiance? well... perhaps if we weren't deported
when i was... starting year 7 at Canon Palmer R.C. School...
i had to lie that my grandmother died...
i just remember punching the wall... crying...
giving the Home Officers a death-stare when
he commented on me having a nice p.c. -
watching my father and mother get hand-cuffed...
we left two weeks later and i spent a year back in
Poland watching the 1998 world cup,
reading Umberto Eco, the Little Prince...
     was home-schooled... focused on the math...
again... thrown back among people who
didn't speak English... a bit like being thrown among
people who didn't speak any Polish...
ping-pong! even my grandmother remarked
that i was losing my capacity to speak my mother tongue...
all in all? i reckon it was a good thing...
since i doubled down in my "schizoid" bilingualism...
i wouldn't speak English in private... i still don't...
no chance am i going to play the atypical immigrant
plotline ranging from India to somewhere
in Africa where first generation immigrants
don't teach their 2nd generation immigrant children
their mother tongue: to fit in... to "integrate":
while those kids rebel against the whole establishment
and blow themselves up: why? out of spite for
their parents... unconsciously... they might think it's
against their host country... but it's unconsciously
against their parents... for not leaving them an open
avenue with a chance to return: should they wish...
to speak their mother tongue...
  but now i wake up... hmm... what did Poland ever
do for me? i remember being spat in the face...
by fellow countrymen as a young boy...
my grandfather's reputation as a Communist Party
member spread? who knows...
children are cruel... the change of guard was certainly
the pivotal reason why my parents immigrated...
fun facts from world war II...
it took **** Germany and Soviet Russia longer
to subdue Poland...
than it took **** Germany to subdue France...
i mean... France... Napoleon... a colonial superpower...
but that's how it goes... i'm sniffing gunpowder
on the doorstep... what does Poland owe me?
what do i owe, though? splendid first 8 years of my
life... childhood was more fun in Poland
than it was in England, there was a sense of community,
of belonging... all that shattered: disappeared in
England... even though... those weekends spent
with Peter Richardson and Kieran O'Mahoney...
yeah... no complaints there... we used to run round
5 storey car parks and play a game of spitting
down on people walking in...
   this one time i managed the impossible... my phlegm
landed on a guy's head... oh the joy we shared...
a security guard caught up with us: but we blagged
our way out of it...
whatever my feelings concerning Ukraine: historically...
the UPA genocides of Galicia...
and in general... but at least... we're taking in refugees...
women, children... unlike Western countries with
their superiority complex... we're better... because we've
been taking in... cultural enrichment gangs
of fighting age men... where was that?
                           Cologne? hmm... my my...
                      ref-u-gee?! i'm gleeful at the irony in all
of this... but i'm waking up thinking... **** me...
explosions as far west as L'viv... hmm... that's what?
2 hours from the border from the fatherland?
should i be thinking about conscripting?
      well... if i still didn't have a job... by now...
                         i'd be thinking about nothing else...
but it's on the cards...
       hard to imagine... but that there's a real chance
of me conscripting to go to war...
like: i would never celebrate war in poo'etry...
      venerate the warrior... i'm far too an existentialist
to give into the myths of war...
it's just new... there was never a prospect akin to this
ever... for me at least... but now it's on the cards...
would i pledge my allegiance to England
as more important than pledging my allegiance
to Poland? should the most horrible happen?
      being a dual-national... i have all the paperwork...
i have the tongue... the prospect of me settling
down with an English girl fizzled out completely with
Jeminah and that trio of storms that raged over
England days prior to the Russian invasion...
i translate that as a butterfly effect...
a broken heart in England and elsewhere... Russian troops
stomping their boots...
   and believe me: there are more deluded people out
there... western leftoids who are just a headache when
it comes to this subject matter...
for me... even contemplating conscripting in the ******
army feels... rather... surreal?
    but if one has to level a few КAЦAП heads
so be it...              whatever needs to be done...
etymologically, i think this intra-racial slur lent itself
from the word: KAPTUR... meaning hood...
   since... it would almost take forever for England
to be threatened and i still hold a little grudge
against England for being deported when i was a child...
2nd time: oh... all manner of legality...
but seeing how England started treating ethnic minorities
(even though i am, technically an ethnic minority,
ethnicity comes prior to race)
sort of ****** me off, a little, an itsy-bitsy bit...
esp. how these ethnic minorities started gloating
and boasting, blowing themselves up...
   eh... just an itsy-bitsy bit of me tells me:
i might just have to pledge allegiance to a country
i only spent 8 years in... and the summers with my
grandfather from the ages of 13 to... 21...
even though i'm not equipped with those people's
mentality... i don't know... i really don't...
but pandering to racial minorities: that are no longer
******* racial minorities...
whenever race comes to the fore and ethnicity is
ignored... it's a bit like telling a Welshman he's English...
just because they're both white...
****** me off... big time...
  you go to Africa and learn: the Kenyans are
importing timber from Ghana... well...
because a Kenyan is a Kenyan and a Ghanaian
is a Ghanaian... who gives a **** whether they part
of the same race... a Kenyan is not a Ghanaian
and vice versa... that's how you spot the real racists...
on the western front... child-speak...
roses are red, violets are blue...
                                   all felines... all canines are...
Alsatian shepherds... it's almost like an inability
to see a three-dimensional object in two-dimensions...
ha! that's exactly it! these people can't see
a cube on a piece of paper!
i'm still trying to figure out who subverted these people
to this level of nonsense...
the old Soviets?! the proper left, all those years ago?
you think?
i don't know... i'll let the ideas ferment a little...
see if there will be any Russian teasing with lead
on the Polish Ukrainian border...
                           but it's going to be hard...
i don't really have a tongue to defend...
          that fear of being made extinct by either Russian
or German in the years prior to independence of 1918
is long gone... given the ****** diaspora across
the world being as prominent as it were of the Hebrews...
i clearly don't have a ******'s mentality...
the only person of importance for me back there
is my grandmother... and that's about it...
fight for... a memory of a place from when i was 4 through
to 8? is it really worth fighting for?
i'm not going to move back there...
                            fickle... fickle little me...
i would have more concern to fight for England
than i would for Poland...
just like in the old days...
England states that it will make war against
Germany for having invaded...
yet no English soldier fought on that land...
while ****** soldiers were involved on English soil
in the air-force...
                     such are the days...
                          then again: i can't imagine fighting
for anything as obnoxious as LGBT+ rights either...
for the grand dodo project... no offence... sure... be gay...
have your kinks... but... fight for these rights?
as a man who has been stripped of the possibility
of starting a family based on the fickleness of women...
i'm more of a free agent of any idea i wish to will...
and will it to my advantage...
                oh it's a bit different, right? when it's on
your doorstep...
    can't exactly hoodwink it... can't put it to the back
of your mind... it's staring you right in the eyes
and you're not expected to blink...
                well... the cards are on the table...
                 thank god Ilona got engaged with me and later
broke the engagement off...
like i said at work... 2 weeks ago...
having a Russian girlfriend, right now... would be sort
of problematic...
yes, yes: NOT ALL RUSSIANS...
                         but... yeah... whatever.

A seed found furrow in my brow
Awaiting harvest, hungers now

Through my fertile mind’s palimpsest
A vine breaks soil where memories nest

Pushing on with a writhing stem
From deep brown earth toward blue welkin

With nostalgic rays, a star unfolds
a leaf, a story, yet untold

Each bud a poem that’s yet to bloom
In flowered couplets for the moon

awaiting dawn, for petals pleat
to release a blossom’s fragrance sweet

And from one strand a spider weaves
a gossamer web on trembling leaves

to capture prey that seeks to read
Poetic verse among the weeds.

Plant and spider thus conspire
conscripting minds of like, inspired,

to sew words of thorns, that never wilt
till every bough, a bookshelf built

i simply can't believe the irony, well, it's irony in a historiological sense, and yes, if there's an affix of -ology ascribed to history, i.e.: how history tends to repeat itself, then the ironical history, the poetic history is also in place, history is by far, imbued by a chronological rigidity... oops. what does this concern, the lampooning hysteria of: the fall of the west, the fall of the west, the english are coming! sure, the germans are ***** sadomasochists in their own right, collectively, unlike the french singular development... but that's beside the point. you know what i've conjured? a prediction... western civilisation will only be revived, by the fall of the western / wailing wall in jerusalem... odd, this ha-kotel ha-ma'arav, this haa'it al-búraaq: you know what the slavic word for beetroot is? burak (ckq): western civilisation will have to be beaten to a beetroot pulp of ****** scars, and the western wall will, first have to fall, before a 4th temple is built; but this wall will have to fall, before the western world wakes up... it's going to be a painful process, but for the western world to reestablish itself: the jews will have to bid goodbye to their most sacred sanctity, their mecca, only when this happens, with an equilibrated sense of purpose arrive for the current sphere of affairs... not until she(h)-lo(h) beit (שלו בית) is erected, will the west seize its dodo project; i.e. his house; curious, isn't it, how the jews are teasing with this waiting game, then again: it is much much easier to desecrate mecca by the muslims, building profanities around the al-masjid al-haraam (wait, isn't haraam the word used by "allah" to state: forbidden? funny, funny that, ah who cares if it's one extra A); because what stands in the rebuilding of the שלו בית? oh, nothing, just the kippat ha-sela... muslims would sooner part with the mosque in mecca, than the dome of the rock in jerusalem; but first? the western wall must fall.

it's just a cliche to state, but this whole
notion of latin, being dead?
  this nietzschean
   *lateinisch ist tot -
  looks like god is alive after all...
why? take for example that every
single english t.v. show ends with
the credits of when the show was made,
the year? always given in roman
numerals... every, single, one...
that's for starters... oh, by the way,
what alphabet are we using?
   isn't it latin? my, what a coincidence,
and look! it rained from heaven
to enforce it, since the "barbarian"
north men, der nordenmänner
invoked diacritical enforcement -
   diacritical enforcement -
ya,    nordenmaanner (i can count
you know, it's just two dots above
the a, come on, don't be english
with your: i don't know how to pronounce
a word)...
and in the current year, anno domini
that's 2017 (MMXVII) -
we still see latin revived, up-kept,
nay, i'll go as far as to call it: cherished!
it would seem there's a pattern -
well, what with the egyptian enslavement
of the jews,
     and subsequently the destruction
of jerusalem, and the babylonian
enslavement (by the way,
chant of the hebrew slaves from verdi's
opera nabucco? my my) -
but you notice something?
  the romans didn't enslave the jews,
hence they fermented the most potent
zeitgeist for the hebrews,
    a strong priestly caste -
the hebrews bloomed under the romans,
because? the romans thought
very little of them in their physical
capacity, that role was allocated to
the nubians, and, moreover,
they thought about their intellectual
output even less -
      how could the jews compete with
the grecian intellect in the ancient world?
it couldn't! so they let them be.
sure as **** we can say that
nubians were the slaves in rome -
thus in a precursor to the final culmination,
try conceptualising newton's laws,
or einstein's relativity,
   using roman numerals, alternatively
known by the greeks to be the seven
headed beast from the book of revelation:
I V X L C D M -
  but at the same time, try to grasp
the aesthetic beauty of ancient rome,
the coliseum using modern digits
0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 - both systems are:
incompatible, or should i say: chiral.
just imagine HOW CONFUSING IT MUST
HAVE BEEN, AT TIMES,
  TO ASK FOR XLIV APPLES
at a market...
         staggering, man's ingenuity -
and this is why i keep all evolution bound
to script, the aristotelian measure of time,
rather than the platonic measure of time
conscripting forms,
   given the similarity of man to ape;
but that is still beside the point -
i wonder about the divine judgement with
respect to the romans and their
relationship with the hebrews, even though
they did destroy the temple
in jerusalem...
           well, i just look at it like this:
perhaps the remains of spoken latin is
"dead" in that it is muddled, but it is muddled
because the script has such a wide
geographic region of it being used -
              it's as if a universal medium was
achieved, for the greatest accomplishment
of the romans, is their script;
but the hell happened to the egyptian hieroglyphs,
or the babylonian cuneiform,
well, what? they became extinct!
           what does this suggest,
that the romans could not be blamed for
any foul play with respect to the hebrews,
the latin script was spared the fate of
the both hieroglyphs or cuneiform -
so much so that it didn't even succumb to
to the nordic runes, as it could have -
could have...
                  and it certainly didn't become
quasi-greek, as cyrillic script emerged.
         ergo?
gott ist nicht tot, seit lateinisch ist leben.

(foward: any spelling mistakes i apologise for, drinking and furor never go hand in hand.)

i'm finally starting to appreciate the differentiation between a: demand for, and b: need for... by demand i'm sure that what's implied is force, by need, i'm sure the concesus rests upon will.

the only true maxim of democracy,
that every adherent of
the democratic model needs
to learn is:
         you really can't please everyone,
so why then the stigma behind
fringe groups?
      what is this, bubbling beneath
the surface: democratic
           status quo collectivism?
it's there...
               and it's not so much on
economic issues, as it is on political
issues...
                easier to share ten quid
between ten paupers,
   than to share ten ideas for
  the pyramid scheme of the most
loud-mouthed
                           (so-called) "leader"...
always the whittle doggy barking,
always the whittle doggy
barking in the night...
   but what if i told you that you
can walk past a stranger walking
a rottweiler, and pet it on the head
without receiving a bite?
           people will persist in learning
this default establishing rule of
democracy:
         you, can't, please, everyone...
but then what happens when
fringe groups start to congregate...
well, then you can't please inter-group
politics...
        and so the grand spiral...
        who said that socialism was
ever a model to contend with capitalism?
no one!
       socialism exists sporadically,
in circumstances of homogenous
enterprises, as ways to establish
a competitive plateau...
               capitalism could never and
never will be a homogenous concept...
which is why i'm worried about
the notion of america today,
with it's "quasi"-socialism,
          it's nationalkapitalismus...
aus moderne amerika...
                          there is a past,
there is a present,
  and there is a future,
            there is no "again"...
                as odd as it might sound,
          some things do not cling to be repeated,
nor cherished, nor hoped for...
      from the ruins there comes no
identical structure the provided the ruins
in the first place...
      but the idea of a nationalkapitalismus
movement is real...
       as any globalist will tell you...
       america had national capital in
the zenith of the 1990s, when
levi jeans had the tag attached to
them: made in the u.s.a.,
   and guess what...
               the quality was too good...
the product was too durable...
           a cheaper workforce
with less skill could only provide
a buying and selling momentum...
           which the american product
restricted...
   because of its high quality...
             you think, there will be
a revival, of men conscripting to go to war,
when all they ever did, was
stack shelves at a supermarket?!
i'm buying candyfloss from now on,
you want some?
          it's not socialism failed,
but it was the only thing available
to people without easy money,
western europe and the Marshall plan...
    when... what?! neutral Shveeden
received some money?!
what did zee geerman's zoo?
                sink, a ******* fishing boat
a mile away from: schtook'ulm?!
zei switzermann gott sum too!
  huh?!
           playing with the *******
                             seasaw again, 'ebrye?!
apparently if we all clung to
socialism, we'd be a ching ching m'ah hi-n'ah!
suddenly!
           one's the other, and the other
is the one...
            and to think,
in a land with so many loud mouths,
you have more of a worry to buy beer
than to own a gun...
                  put hey...
LAND OF THE FREE!
                  LAND OF WESTERN chow-chow:
rho-main...
                         lesser need to sell
cabbage...
                  art! is... free...
                          i guess we all have
to denigrate ourself toward the status
of grafitti artists, who, mind you,
  work on group-dynamic esteem prop-ups...
urban tribalism...
                 because there's no
actual grafitti, if it's not on a brick wall
you erected...
                        mind what you want,
i offer freely...
              but begging has taken an ugly
turn...
            with the current technology...
travel to Warsaw...
   and see the most authentic beggars...
you might see some stray dogs too...
          mind you:
it's hard to spot either of them
in a western land...
            no, not because these lands
are that much mindful of their existence...
in those circumstances...
"euthanasia" is apparently, "legal".

what social stigma about wearing masks?
well... in all honesty...
i do feel kind of stupid wearing
latex gloves and a surgical mask...

i am, not, a surgeon...
     where's the body to find an atlas
of my arms?
    nowhere... exactly!
       i was almost punished into wearing
a mask outside...
i started thinking of halloween...
where is my devil mask...
where is my... madre muerte mask?

but what of the social "stigma":
the conspiracy theory and tin-foil hats
and waiting for the sputniks
of the whittle green-men?

social stigma...
                 ha! i quiet like it...
i can what all the women dodging
physiognomy affairs have done...
since at least 700AD...
   i can't look this "affair" as a social
stigma concern...
i just... pretend... there's a niqab vacant...
any distinguishing features...
oh yeah: that beard will just not fold
in under a surgical mask...

then again: what i wouldn't...
but otherwise do...
with a devil's mask...
               right about now...
             suffocating in...
               or rather... exfoliating with...
show me the proper gimp suit!
the old halloween should have
mattered...
       oblitarated by...
caughing... everything looked so serene
when Chernobyll didn't have a will...
but at least...
there are no side-effects...
akin to lilac mushrooms growing out
from under armpits and between
toes...
a hideous affair...

                          otherwise...
one almost wishes for there to be symptoms
more potent... more visible...
not this... shy flu...
  this: headshot and dropping dead...
like those victims of john allen muhammad...
i'm not hearing anything about...
bubonic plague blossoms...
leprosy flakes... mushrooms willing
to grow in man's armpits... lilac...

the evolution of a virus... well...
let's mind the aesthetic...
and let's mind... the evolution of the virus...
of not exposing itself as immediately...
evident... there are no apparent...
"facts"... only subversive narratives...

       i don't mind wearing a surgical mask...
i do mind that there is no surgury for me
to undertake...
i promise you: even Dickens could
waste a paragraph on this sort of:
self-congragulating... pompously formal
language refrains...
or what-not...

        all i'm saying...
if death was baptised with: the great anonymity
of the communist gulags...
no numbers even to date... to unearth...
then "the virus" was giving into
the great aesthetic of turning into stealth:
covert...

           in that self-replicating perfection...
by god: to have only a tsunami to see...
or an earthquake to feel...
or follow the herd nihilism and fatalism of
Pompeii...
         but there are no lilal mushrooms
growing from my armpits...
no bogus pillows of fuss
when pierced turning into... sparkle of
the communication highway of...

      the next lick of the post-stamp...
the stampade of: clickbait: sent sent sent...

"how soon is now?"
  well i've been using female deodorant...
and reading poems by colts...
16 year old boys in first time loves...
and i'm beginning to become...
very... fond of female deodorant... dove...
esp... since it equips me with
a scent of soap... under my armpits...
which is such a neutral scent...
and there's nothing sporty...
or masculine about it...

             i'll just baptise my hands
in the earth... as i garden...
and feed into the concept of: esq. as borrowed
from the victorian period...
and... forget to read the newspaper...
most probably the times...
that centrist... right? i guess right...
magic-"thought"-machine...
but the weekend comes and the opinion
columns come in...
and there's this restaurant critic...
with two houses...
one in London and one in the Cotswolds...
and i am...
                     there's no...
     basement or a single mother...
            there's no attic...
i would love to have an ed gein little brother
handy to go... kite-running...
or chasing mice...

     this is the newspaper of me being...
"best... best-of: besting" a crowd of the...
ahem... "well-informed"...
     i am a restaurant critic...
        i am not...
                    i much appreciate the old halloween...
if they could see us now...
i see the devil... and he's... only a dumb...
irritating b'aah b'aah... trembling at the gown
before losing it... knee high...
to a ****-it-all-carousel ride up
an imaginary everest...

            i will have to think about about
squandering handshakes...
but of course i will not...
i'll see it an acre ahead of me...
a possible suspect...
so i cross the street...
and in all this glory of british idiosyncracy:
i can become as weird as i want to...
what... with stories of people purposively
coughing... sneezing... spitting...
on key-workers...
  and all the other workers...
the idle... membrane caste...
the office paper-parasites...

                    of the work most terrifyingly
viable... and... necessary...
oh the woe of insinuation that...
they can indeed stay indoors...
because: such is the demand for them being
preoccupied with "professions"...
such "important" very "important"
hobbit-people...

      the surgical masks are go!
i've been so... so ******* jealous of playing
Batman every time i saw a niqab strolled
casually... i can finally be what i've always
wanted... a ***** of Muhammad's harem...
i can... start considering a tortoise shell
like a... like a... stained glass fraction piece...
to fit it with burning embers of replicated
quest for: gesticulating devotion...
fit the riddle with singing chandeliers
and... calcium... a pouch rock of the most
necessary fiddle-with...

the ****'s up with american-english...
and a surname...
i hear it... first time... probably the last time...
'coal-bear'... o.k. i type it in..
coal.... bear...
   wait... no... wait... this is not a joke...
this is not some 16 year old's love... frenzied fancy...
it's gavin mcinnes...
coal... bear...
      must be a canadian "thing"...
it's still not a joke...
keeping up appearances...
   it's mrs. beau-kay...
            beau-             -qay...
McfuckingQee...
     one of those nookie incidents...

is that the one where...
the H is a surd...
and Bill gets the preferential roman
empire treatment of: m'ah: air...
or "mayor"... or... mÆr?
           marr... merr... myrh... fff... fff...
   "coal-bear"...
mrs.: bucket(t): yes the added T because...
hell... samuel... beckett...
        col-bert!
                  col........... bert-rand ru-ß-ell!
ha... the germans will never see this one
coming... sure sure... the... digraph of S und Z...

what about the digraph or R and Z?
in... oh... the e.g. of schwarz?!
i'm no german but... the ß is a little bit: "devoid"...
looks like we need a russian roulette...
schwarц!

             w'ah w'ah... volkswagen:
                 woo... wearisome: verily though...
why this... pandering to the francophones...
coal-bear... am i... DEAF... or something?!
colbert...
              ah... if it's not coal-bear...
but... simply: colbert...
it's like someone with a surname...
smith... or: kovalski...
          what cow?
                   ******* excesses of anglo-saxon
immigrant leftovers of phonetic
schlomo slang...
                     what's wrong with a distinct
and pristine... crisp piece of paper tow
of an ending with T...
oh forget the R... the tarantulla bit you:
you tongue is numb... you will not find the trill
of the R, ever... again...

- and the trouble the punk is that...
the cool kids: the gatekeepers...
and... what's "allowed" and what "isn't":
that mojo ****-fest of...
come before the court of the crimson king...
can-do...
C = K...
            but... calipathe isn't exactly a (k)nife...
since... the latter is a surd...
a greek rubric:
                            ψ = π = σ = "sigh"...
but not really...
              ψychology...
                      in that... ψyχology...
"C"overt... and a chimera...
but not a... CHeat!

                  i could never fall in love with punk...
sure... high fidelity...
and... stiff little fingers... the end...

                 Calvin Klein...
                      if... once upon a time...
all it took was a ****** to woo
the spontaneity... now there's a blue...
chequers and chase?
can i please become
the next... "next": Garrincha...
and become a ****** again:
and lose "it": to the goat... like he did...
or to a cow... standing upon...
a peddlestool?
or the stone that... Sysiphus rolled up
that vanity avenue of a...
hill?

the intricacies of a fly biting:
but first regurgitating its juices...
to slurp up the digestive puddle first...
i say... who would need any exposure
to bone: to later wither in a proclamation
of a shmile... better the puddle of
the stomach: intuitively...
laid before you...
all that's required is the milkshake...
and the slur(r)-p'ah!

******* ideologues of darwinism...
so worried about their hard-ons...
they shun the alcoholic goldfish...
for... a ditto-head paradigm...
     to boast about the ape...
always with those apes...
there is never... any... mention of
the nobility of swans or of rooks...
or the motherhood of whales...
it's always with those... ******* apes!

i like the sound of mimic...
involuntarily conscripting the volume of...
bugs... i like the sound of...
toasting... crunching...
"slimey"... yet... "satisfying" sushi...

ha ha... mr. colbert... no no... apologies!
coal-bear!
mr. colbert, n'est(-ce) pas?

again: to reiterate...
no... nein nein nein...
one of those "et tu" scenarios?

tout de ce?!
                 arm-band... a dragon
for the yield:
           Çymreag...
       as i am past looking up...
the h'american *******...
because i've been regurgitating its...
cultural "woke" with so much...
so much of what's otherwise...
the whittle oasis of europe...
this chinese libersation
army of microbes...
has allowed "us" to...
put a... sinking sensation of the last
h'american export enterprise...
youtube videos...

           because i love each and every
language: so...
that comprise... this... well...
established... lack... of... egoistic...
cuckerry (with viagara aids)...
lucky for me...
the brothel: bei der bereit!!!!!

any english is better than the english...
spaghetti twiting its way out
of the confines of... h'america...
   yes: dear citizen leader...
yes... citizen king... yes yes yes!
yes: before we get to speak to the president!
there's a membrane of mcdonald's to
sieve through!
yes... mr. here: yes mr. right!
oh yes: mein mein "j.f.k." my raynold:
reginal... raymond and knline and keagan...
and my... reagan!

              yes my wall in berlin...
yes my: eisenvorhang...
ja: meine siliziumpäpstin!
ja! ja! wunderbar!
                   beifall! gründlich beifall!
teufelzirkus!
perhaps... the essential gratification
could have come with...
the slowed down blitzkrieg of
the blitz cloud over London...

                   aber...
                                     what zeppelins?
this borrowed tongue...
and its host...
    to speak... so freely a whittle bit of german...
a crumb of it... in this... peacock garden
of the inverted satellite state and...

i was alone as i walked past
the union jack and i aided my shadow to
concern itself with a reply...
you wouldn't want to think it...
but i think it, nonetheless....
there is no more brilliant concern for
the entity of flags...
in this world... beside...
the union jack...

             what a keeper this ol' jack o' all
trades!
               i'm sorry... my venture from
Galicia teasing ends... here...
on the unionist parade of an ol' 'ipper...
because: god forbid i would become
an albino: integration sensation under
the 'tars and 'anner...
or whatever the name is...
'tars and 'tripes: no?

              vivid... the... insult served upon
the... whereabouts of the wind-hunters...
the Persians and the Greeks...
it's almost like: breathing backwards...
or finding carbohydrates in choking!

because the gravitas is there!
it's not enough to simply allow zeppelins
to drop bombs...
so much more: soul infuriating
a counter-blossom:

that white is: weiß
that black is: schwarц...
         burden my soul for this avenue of
the egomaniac saxon...
the pauper swabian lot of... "Überbleibsel"...

and unlike "our" h'american counter-parts...
we do feast on a "good fight" with...
hands... and the arithmetic of knuckles...
rather than egoism and ******* measurement...
and that long-forgotten backbone
of the... "weltbürgerwahlspruch"!

so much... "arbeitnotwendig" in...
the... vicinity...
  arbeit?! was arbeit?!
         ghost buses?!
                    "necessary"...
parading uniforms?
        that's... work... yes?
                     by the looks of it...
3/4 is not necessary... work... as work is
to be exaggerated...
        abflusseskapaden...
or poaching the seal that... claps...
for the future of the already emptied
theatre!

social stigma...
surgical masks... no surgery apparent...
well i just look at the good sisters of islam
wishing us the 11th plague of god
and all those concerns for the righteous living
through this "tsunami"...
and i'm... given the sort of solace that shouldn't
be required... as i... pretend to imitate
donning a ninja-niqab!

come the end of the year, i finally feel fatigued, a complete burn out, all the excess of calorie intake from whiskey doesn't help, not even caffeine / nicotine boosters help, i'm usually so invigorated by winter, come to think of it: winter always invigorates me: so much that's the cold so much concerning the hibernating insects... ah... yet another thought... i wish i could love a girl like a teenage boy might love a girl... nuanced... androgynous, i remember quiet clearly, i used to don long hair, clean shaven... we were in Valentine's Park once, kissing on the grass, a dozen colts walked past and joyfully screamed: lesbians! lesbians! we had our giggle... in South Park we clashed teeth when kissing, we kissed so much that our lips became numb, another time in South Park she pulled out my phallus and rubbed it admiring its size... me... i thought it was tiny... big hands, can hold a basketball in one hand, could hold one in one hand since i was 16... i wish i could love like that, innocently, naively, whole-heartedly, romantically: with a heart as soft as an oyster... now... i wake up with a hardened skull... i can feel another oyster... my brain trying to escape this body, pulverising my forehead... i sometimes feel a sharp pang in my chest... i think that's where that old labyrinth of feelings use to be... now... it's merely a sinking sensation, a thrill no less, but hardly any reason to explore attachment... to a place? sure... to an animal: all the more... but... to give up the thrill of reality to being bound to a woman?! to give up, my passion for music, hell... even share it?! i'm growing old, at 35 i know i'm still in my prime, but i'm looking much further ahead, i'm preparing myself for... at worst, "worst"... a sacrificial suicide, at best the Dutch approach of marrying death via euthanasia... or... not yet, not, just yet... but i wish i could love as i once loved, so naively so child-like, mind you: i can still **** women like i used to love them in that pageant of innocence... but... beyond that? i'm sorry... that boy left... this man is not here for some mediocre soap opera novella of a love... above-point to consider... why are cats getting all the nagging, cat-lady associates etc. cult of the cat?! eh?! what about william burrough's love of cats? only women own these: bonsai tigers?! why do i have to own a dog... dogs are great when you're a boy... since usually you run around with them, freely, care-free, climb trees while they bark with concern: you're too high up! dogs are great when you're a child, a boy, someone older usually takes care of them, you just run around with them... but as you age... ****'s sake... a dog requires a leash, a dog requires a systematic: walking to take a ****... routine... sometimes even a muzzle... almost constant attention... bonsai tigers on the other hand?! what's with this ******* cat-lady meme... where's the warlock from Warsaw meme? no leash, i can ******* and do my thing, the cat can ******* and do its thing, we sometimes meet up when eating, they usually eat when i eat... the toilet? they do it secretly, or... when they really have to: in the cuvet... i wipe my own ***: why wouldn't i scoop up a doughnut of **** of pseudo-sand?! point being... no ******* walkies... no leash... i can ignore a cat... it can ignore me... if it really wants attention: i'll gladly give it, but it has to ask for it, i'm not going to simply: give it some unncessary excess!

it began with... four letters... very much unlike
the Hebrew letters of their deity...
it began with... ∇ (del): an explosion of Y...
it began with delta: Δ...
therefore it must have begun
with the keyhole and the key being turned:
the iota bound to
Θ & to Φ...
           we'll end it there... although
we could consider... Ψ (psi) -
there's an iota in that too...
but i'm looking for the Greek equivalent
of the Hebrew tetragrammaton...
why ignore the psi? the psychology emblem /
totem... the back & forth of the tetragrammaton
"we're" looking for a name of the anti-God...
starting from YHWH...
we have the fist letter...
∇Δ: del or delta... st. peter being crucified upside
down... hey-zeus hanging upright...
the combination carves: the star of David...
it doesn't matter... in terms of how
Greek letter operate, since: the letters are also
nouns that are used in science as constants...
it makes no difference where the cut-off point
comes... we'll still get a D at the end of
d-el / d-elta... but El... is a real word in
qabbalah... in the Sefirot...
wait a a while... i'll take a sip of some whiskey
while i write down the schematic of
the tree of knowledge... bear with me...

                               keter (cown)

binah                                                 chokhmah
  (understanding)                                   (wisdom)

gevurah                                              chesed
(strength)                                               (love)  EL

                                 tiferet
                                  (beauty)
hod                                                      netzach
(splendour)                                          (victory)
                                  yesod
                                  (foundation)

                                  malkhut
                                  (kingship)

surd H, vowel-catcher H of the tetragrammaton
in all the vowels: throughout...
not the prime, vowel-spawner of
laughter present...

obviously i can't simply use H: that's a vowel in
Greek... the shorter variation of epsilon...
name... H(η) eta...
sure, in the Latin script that's...
the genesis of laughter, the Hebrew definite
article... thank god we laugh via ha ha
and not by any other syllable combination...
that would be... simply... weird...
the first "hatch" of the tetragrammaton is
source of laughter... the second "hatch", H,
of the tetragrammaton is...
in English... a source of silence, of meditation...
sometimes... the H behaves as a surd...
usually an apostrophe replaces the H...
that's as close as the English folk come to
diacritical indicators...
    'atch... 'ate... they're not as bad as the French
with their letter-eating / phonetic cannibalism:
but they're up there...
e.g. is ****- offensive? did i say
Iraqi-*******-STANI?! you, ****?!
it's just lazy speech...

  *******, read the Quran or something...
sound offends you... good! you should start
listening to people talking with a lisp...
the missing trill of the R offends me,
good & proper...
who told people a trilled-R is somehow...
unfashionable, or whatever was "wong"
with a trill of the R? rolling a ******* stone
up a hill, the myth of Sisyphus?

but i have a replacement for the H...
the laughter based H: hatchet + a-lpha...
i also have the surd H... like...
the gamma in GNOME is a surd...
you could... write that word the following way:
'NOME... why bother including the gamma
in a word that... doesn't use it?!
English isn't difficult... it's just *******
pedantic... write one way, speak another...
not exactly evolved... sort of lost between
****** speak and Japanese katakana...

a sort of an ugly merging of tongues...

****'s sake... i studied chemistry at university
to end up... suckling up to...
something resembling a resurrection
of alchemy, a romanticism associated with
the science of chemistry that can only
be translated into... a new kind of wording...
Na: sodium... because... Na is not merely:
n'ah... it's NATRON...
Fe: iron... because... it's not f'eh: it's ferrum...

so beside the instigator crux of laughter...
the surd machinery... the second H of
the tetragrammaton is also a:
vowel-catcher... at first you laugh...
then you... ah... sigh...

how hard it is... to give birth... to an antithesis
of a God... esp. if... the supposed God
is a linguistic parallel... originating in the Hebrew tongue...
being part Greek... part... instigated by
the Latin script...
i need to see the antithesis lettering... prior...

i already conjured up a missing link in the
Greek pantheon... namely?
the god behind: the phenomenon of solipsism...
Solipsus...
that placebo affair: thought experiment...
with real life implications surrounding
autism...

clearly i'm becoming a burn-out...
excessive drinking, writing almost every night...
once i could get away with scribbling
this down in one nightly session...
now it takes two nights...
two drinking sessions...
i just invested 50quid's worth of *****
for the seasonal "celebrations"...

fatigue hits me like a **** tonne of bricks...
i start caving...
better me cycling for 40 miles
than... standing, stewarding a football match...
meeting & greeting the public...
creative fatigue... this sponge of  brain is
a Brian and somehow:
Brian is "missing"..
i'm spent... maximum effort: minimal results...
well... at least as a poet one
shouldn't concern himself with cancel culture
that's affecting comedians...
i hate those monologue *******...
esp. that Carr guy...
it's funny... but it's also irritating:
makes me nervous, half-baked nervous...
just ill...
so, i just ignore him...
i try... but then popular culture
keeps pressing the wrong sort of buttons...
hey presto...
that face, i'd love to punch...
for tax-evasion schemes...
maybe that's why i feel like...
itchy-knuckles... those pursed lips...
some people just have a physiognomy
you want to either: slap or punch...
can i do both?
i feel like doing both...
no offence: joke... ha ha...
am i the only one laughing?

     i've been having problems with digestion
of late... apparently i've become intolerant
to milk... will i be drinking this almond ****
for much longer... the usual stuff gives me the *****...
does it require it being doubly filtered?!
do i need to drink goats' milk
to ease eating a marzipan cookie, & dough?
please tell me, oh "lord":  i can't be away
from not driinking milk: straight out
from the profanity of life's secondary "mother"...

digressing... no more cow milk foir you...
great... if i were a Hindu...
i can eat, beef, now?! no?!
the mother load of measures conscripting me
to not eat beef... has... fizzled out...
cow milk gives me constipation &
diarrhoea...
ergo? beef's on the menu, boys!
goat though... almond... tried oats?!
i need... milk!
cheese and ******* yogurt will not
cut it for me...
goat then... can't drink beef juice...
eat beef... or... wait a little...
perhaps the juice hasn't been
double pasteurized... doubly filtered...
i, never, quiet: essentially...
expected this...

now for the red-blooded meat!
bring it!
if the cow won't give up her milk...
for my digestion...
she best give up her red...
fission of blood... fleshy discards...
scaphism...
truly: eating sometimes... somehow
becomes a torture...
as Socrates is cited to have said:
some... live to eat...
while others... eat: to live...
i do enjoy the spices...
i do enjoy the... smoked salmon
with lemon juice & a creamy cheese...
the bagel! rounded... glutton...
like a *******'s buttocks rounded up
to metaphor a peach! ha!
or the raw herring in a
creamy sauce aligned with a dill sauce...
my preferences...
not yours...

- i hate my mother, then again: i love my mother,
my fatheer ws abandoned by his,
his father...
she's currently doing my father's nails...
i showed her a Botticelli's Venus & Mars...
the one were Venus is an amputee...
the leg dynamic...
i thought it was funny... my mother thought i was drunk...
i am drunk...
come on though... can't get a joke?!
sober people... blah...
about as interesting as Brussels Sprouts...
boring rigorous little busy-bodies...

oh... right... that inverted tetragrammaton...
here:

∇ΘMΦ...

   now, your choice of vowels to impregnate
the consonants,
the Hebrews hide them like some Europeans
hide the H... via the diacritical method
of the stupendous orthography...
Charles Dickens might have cited "orthography":
i.e. a spelling mistake...
you get orthography, when you apply
diacritical distinctions... otherwise just some
"flavoursome fancy"...

niqqud:  which implies...
kametz / patach (a ****** way of saying Ah or... Ą)
tzere / segol (again, the ****** way
of saying Eh or... Ę)
sheva - well, that's not ******...
that's Ing-Leash with the apostrophe ':
akin to 'nome... some "g" or other...
cholem - that's for O(micron)
chirek - why i, i y i not j(aded),
kibbutz & shurek - upsilon for the Greek
while an acute cholem for the ******... ó)

an appellation on behalf of the Hebrews from
a Latin man inquiring about the original
investment of the Greeks in
crafting the New Testament...

can you please... come up with an "Exodus" book,
or thereby equivalent to match up to the
"Genesis": new, thus stated...
thank you for the stated genealogy "study"...
you think you're ready? has Rome died?
has the Roman alphabet imploded,
died, like Cunieform?!
i thought the Hebrew diety either:
ate up foreign dieties and made them demons
(odd show, Beelzebub)
or... smashed the phonetic encoding systems
of other people...
so, i ask... why am i still typing in Roman?!

****'s sake, i can still give you the basics of
how the coliseum was constructed...
they constructed it using VI + IV = X!

hasn't the greatest Exodus happened,
after 2000 years... Israel was returned...
lazy ***, ****'s sake... camel jockeys!
no one is going to write about your trials
and tribulations for future generations
to understand?!
how the Hebrews returned to their homeland...
almost, lazily,
do i need to spur one ******* on
to conclude the New Testament without
managing to haggle the book of the Apocalypse?!

whales that beach themselves...
what... they'll spontaneously turn into
monkeys?!
sure... they're mammals... but it's not like
they'll spontaneously grow the sort of limps
that'll enable them to climb trees!
suicide among men makes so much more sense
when whales perform the act (of suicide)...
i'm on board...
it's not even pathetic, it's just... ******* weird...
i too don't feel inclined to belong...
we can all be jokes: ha ha... banter blah
a few minutes longer... but truth be told...
this sort of ******* has a life-span that:
i'm not too sure whether i want:
to see-through fully, to a conclusion...

best be on my bicycle and block out the world;
the world can burn...
hey... if you want... i'll even involve myself
by giving the burning some ******* jazz-hand /
applause...
because these are the times...
a comedian is self-conscious of comedy
via CANCEL CULTURE...
the poet... they ignored you, they ******* on you,
they already cancelled you...
right... so, now what? i'm supposed to stand
up?! defend comedy?!
oh believe me... this is the greatest gag around!

you didn't defend the poet...
i don't think there's a need to defend "your"
sort of sorry state of "comedy"..
must have been a very bad joke to begin with...
it's the ideal returns policy:
i give out as much love as the love that was given
to me... seems fair, seems...
equilibrated, n'est ce pas?!

Ensnare with my arrogant hair
Barren gorgons
And arid wastelands,
Robber barons,
And Mormons
Alike
And still stormin’
The shores,
Waging wars
Then awaiting the swarm in...
Ignoring the warnings,
Invade any brain draining
Third world conforming
To get back on track,
On the road,
To the beacon
The opportune nest,
Restive garden of Eden
Distribute it evenly,
Plunder its troves,
Then enrichment,
Conscripting
Its voters in droves
I convince the invincible
Youth to support us,
And bury the gentry
Who choose to abort us
Beneath what their legacy
Formerly claimed
A hegemony over
The soldiers enchained
‘Gotta cavalry charge
Of the labor force
Horses
And infantry drones
Who have grown so remorseless
So prone to divorces
Their arguments formed
In a silence’s moment
When omens of showmans
Class clash
Is the act
I remind the fine-diners
Of how to react
To the change
They don’t want
To result from the bill
Like hypocrisy
Eats,
But can’t stomach the ****

Yeah Im introducing the real one...
the one they can't get away from and will all know of
they don't want to deal with a man stuck in his mind,
they don't want no association with his rhyme
but i'll tell you that no amount of pills will make his last meal an unforgettable time

You think you understand it all but really ask yourself what do you know when **** hits the fan then everybody starts to walk out of the door, family is only mutual if you both are in that long-term haul
illest be the ones watching your back and holding the front when you around
the back.

F the system where is the reset button for all this bs life has to offer on a silver plate, yeah I don't remember conscripting to a lifetime of struggle, hustle and pain but then again I can't remember when I fought for survival upon arrival when being brought part of this jigsaw puzzle.