They say
(and I'm not sure who they are)
but they say this

They say
that it's better to light a candle
than to curse the darkness

Well I am no candle
Because I run off of electricity
and I may not be the brightest bulb
but that only means that if you turn me on
and leave me alone
I will die faster than
flourescents
for instance
I'll flicker with the ticker
that contantly hovers over my head
while the others
will give yellow light to everyone
they know
and everyone
they love
Which is all I can dream of

And what they say is true
It's better to light a candle
than to curse the darkness
So don't leave me to be the curse
and don't leave me to be what everyone curses

And I know
I am not the brightest bulb
so all I ask
is that if you turn me on,
turn me off before you leave
so there is still a little flicker left in me
so somebody else
can turn me on again
and maybe then
I can be the candle that gets lit
rather than darkness that is cursed

I am constantly surrounded
exhausted
exploited
by opinions
that mean nothing to me
constantly searching
screeching
for something
that makes sense
to me

there is a part of me that I love and a part of me that I hate only it's the same part of me which I love and hate and they are contantly struggling to dominate

Looking out into the blistering night
further my travel to reach a mystic height
why can't i get there yet?
the distance increased when i misplaced my steps
why can't i just get there?
across the glaring beam of the central star
my journey to meet my love feels so far
i try to avoid the malignant zone
oh... But i'm soon to find my home.

I need to touch her shoulder
these many nights have been getting colder
oh lord all i wanted was to just hold her
through the months of walking
my wishes stem from contantly hoping
i still avoid the menacing zone
oh... But i'm soon to find my way home.

It's true that if i do not give up the fighting
i will prevail to witness my dream sighting -
of a woman that i glorify as my queen
a soul that has cared through my days of being green
will i now make it?
who knows, but this trip feels like i've walked to Rome
i see her, standing within Zion now i've finally found my home!

You know your breaking me

So why wouldnt you let me heal?

Instead you apply the daily dose of salt to my wounds

Your lies contantly chipping away at the walls keeping me safe

Safe from the old pain the wall was built to keep away

You are the cage
The border
The fence

The love, which you used to simulataneously ensnare me and keep me with you, its poison

The kind of poison that doesnt **** you
It affects you permanently
Becomes a part of you
And then in the end
You will die with the poison sitting stationary in your veins

not able to think
but able to write
because my fingers are working
while my brain is sleeping
but "your brain never stops"
that's what I thought
until my mind went blank
and my hands didn't stop
adapting a mind of their own
contantly writing
without thinking
because my mind is numb
and I am dead
but my hands are alive
typing and writing
not sure where my mind went
but my hands
they're telling my story
without  my consent
without my consciousness
without a breath between words
or thoughts
because my thoughts are gone
and now belong to my hands
and I am gone
but I still stand
with my body numb
and my mind blank
while my hands carry on

maybe we weren’t for each other,
maybe we we’re just like group of stars—
desperately refracting light in the darkness.

maybe we’re just bunch of atoms—
aligned in a specific pattern,
ready to be dispersed,
to be a new cluster of atoms.

maybe we weren’t a compound,
maybe we weren’t like the other elements,
that were made for each other,
to create an inseparable bond.

maybe we’re just an element itself—
constantly waiting to be discovered,
constantly waiting to be classified,
to be put in a particular group,
contantly waiting for the chemical reaction to take place,
but time stopped,
so as our reaction.

#

I go contantly in circles,
the past and the future addled together
making a bow,
my hands shake so desperately,
i don't know which way to go.
What awaits me in the end,
i can't help but to fear,
deeper in hell i descend,
with every falling tear.
Which way to select,
so my heart won't ache ,
i can't help but to suspect,
the past makes me fly into a rage.
No back ,no forth,
when i said to myself "i'm fine", i've lied,
my compass shows no south or north.
                   Can't you see that i am terrified?

the time it takes to travel from
ostrowiec świętokrzyski...
mein klein
        scheisseloch
               aus geburtdorf - - - - - - - - - - - -

arriving at Stansted airport...
at the passport
    hall...

    achtung bitte...
then some Spanish...
and at last English...
i almost forget where i was...

i was about to write an epic...
saturated with so little
of thought...
but, alas... bombarded
by two shots of bourbon,
distracted by
something found between

a mountain, a chair,
a man and a fern
(yes, a cat... sleeping in my bed)...

imagine being sober for
over a month!
  imagine!
one IPA beer throughout
the "tenure" of holy holy holy

- - - - - - - - - - -
   my little ****-hole
                       from, birth-village

       what?!
i'm not going to learn German
being so god-**** entrenched in
Englisch and Schlavikschisch...
"too many consonants"...
that's what the English colts
used to say seeing western
Slavic for the first time...
"too many" consonants...

    sounds like "t'oo mime'any"
    pronouns in the post-Germanicus
post-isch              Eisland...

EPIC! EPIC!
over a month sober and...
new year's resolution?

  don't visit a brothel...
buy vinyls...
   and visit that
gresham publishing company
in London...
with the collection
of Dickens...

     - - - - - - - -
(Kandinsky / *******... all over
zis grossenwahn...
great delusion)

   but the time it takes to
travel by coach from
   ostrowiec świętokrzyski to Warsaw?
see...

  you never appreciate certain
types of music genres in
certain places...
opera... where do you listen to opera?
in an operhauß!

            pierdolone kacapy!
rho si si... si si kurva... si i zawsze ja!
    ия
                  siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii
                  jaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

pierdu pierdu: a.i.

        never mind, not today...
not straight off the boat type of...
"poem"...
just a blitzkrieg...
like any blitzkrieg...
reactionary?
                          that blinking
sensation...
        EPI                   LEP           (P)SY    

(we'll come onto greek in
a minute...
just one letter...

oh much much prior to
the antithesis of sudoku,
i.e. mahjong,
               solitaire...
   the OTHER,                    NPC...
finite model theory...
                    heinz-dieter ebbing)  

point being?
jazz? a bedroom and a cafe...
classical music though?

grand architecture or...
the most mundane "there"
   with a crooked mirror of
"being", with what remains:
   das ist:                   da ist nicht!

meine! oder ohne mir!

                      und es ist...
  und es ist...
                          
  the compedium of man's surmount
in but a few words made
totem, god, beast or with a mask
to guise a face upon a lake,
a moon delving into Monday,
a scythe into the sickle
and the plums of fortune
come August's choir of wheat...

a trickle of the poetic,
a tickling of the drunk...
  
  and here in England they cared for
what became dyslexic
hyperinflated:
yoga granny yog'ha
             for the pronoun:
who what where?
      basic... 2 i see two i too c to see
'ere i wh'       her i err
who i... go when?

when is pronoun!
   times what?
who!
when times what equals who!

woo woo woo...

a whole month speaking nothing
but ****** with my grandparents...
drop my tongue into
a barrel of bourbon...
of course i'll exfoliate!

   - and i liked classical music prior...
but...
hmm...
sitting there in the coach,
decided to chose a letter...

i once did this "thought experiment"
while studying the chemically
enchanced marijuana
of post hippy post pink floyd England...
skunk...
how to... pseudo-Buddha...
not think...
seek the holy grail... the third eye...
same **** different cover
*******...

        mind you...
it did work...
where did my thinking unbecome
narration?
oh... right... poetry and
the prophecies of the weather forecast:
the solid 5 minutes
of fame ordained to surpass
the 15 already promised
by Dandy W.

              classical music...
sitting uncomfortably?
good...
now you need a coach trip...
and...

ideal timing...
from
   ostrowiec świętokrzyski
to Warsaw you can listen to
robert schumann's

   fantastical tracks op. 12,
   arabeska c-dur op. 18,
                 childhood's scenes op. 15,
     forest scenes op. 82

and
     beethoven's
     IX symphony d-mol op. 125...
entering Warsaw...
like some vague...
comedy of... Wagner...
        luftwaffezunahme...

orgasmusrittwalküregodemicheservus
­
and i just said there...
most uncomfortable...
  Λ...
                 no... not a syllable...
Λ...
                   two eyes...
and a pin-point...
   on the forehead...
a missing, a hush, no narrative...
a "meditation"
(now, that's ambitious)...

  lambda...

                no... not O(micron,
or     -mega)...
  
           Λ...
  an... "effect"...
   (yes yes, either an ambiguity,
or a misnomer, that "     "     capsule)

         how did i notice Λ?

the digital clock in the coach,
i wanted to encapsulate...
something given,
a priori...

                           not this:
a posteriori mesh mish mash U O MSH,
this perpetual synthesis
of an acquired tongue...

i wanted to block
a meaning...
so i tuned into the music...
   and began blanking, stare-matching
waterfalls to staircaseas...

it began with

   14 : 30

14 : : : : : : : : : :
   : : : : : : : : : :
      : : : : : : : : : :
   : : : : : : : : : :
   : : : : : : : : : :
         : : : : : : : : : : 14 : 31

after a while i deviate
from even minding
the : : : : : : : : : :
   : : : : : : : : : :
      : : : : : : : : : :
   : : : : : : : : : :
   : : : : : : : : : :
         : : : : : : : : : :
  count

   ⠃  b
       ⠅     k
⠭    x
                ⠃ 2

after a while?

    given the λ-effect?

  well... y... h... λ... μ...

              what the hell
is north is there is no
actual Copernican "north"?

sure... the earth isn't flat...
but "where" the hell is
"north" in the Copernican
scheme of things?!
there isn't one, is, there?

hence the blurry:

   magic number on calculator
screens in math class in school:

8008135:
              8, ∞, S, 5, rune, sharpened,
etc.
    ∞, 8: 5 S...

                        5318008: *******!

IO:3Γ

                  1b:6B

              chess?
     poker?
                                bridge?

IZ:ZS (12:25)...

                       over a month spent
sober... with an exception
of watching the Decalogue
8 or 9...
                    (kieślowski) -
with an IPA...
                              (indian pale ale)...

23rd. of November 2018...
i can still remember
sitting on a barstool next to her,
sipping a Guinness...
at 7am...

   i've never seen a woman
read two pages of a book
for so long in my life...
well... attempt to read a book...
contantly checking
her phone...

                 it's hard to feel ashamed
drinking in the morning
in an airport,
surrounded by hefty
***** in a bunch
heading off for a bachelor
party
with one dressed in
Pampers...

                          but i kept
her company...
   **** me...
                       23rd November
2018...
           a lot must have happened
since then...

              she sooner
finished her pint of lager,
i my pint of Guinness,
she checked her phone
more times than i blinked...
and still...
she only managed to
turn only one page
of a book...

     bad luck... 'Dannielle'...
a book, an airport,
a morning cover?
        
   - but i've never seen a person
take so much time to turn
over a page or two
of a book...
this is hardly a place
to call into question
a conversation starter:
so watch'ah reading?
is it?

    didn't think so...
   books, now, then, 10 years ago...
and now...
bypassing standard bearers...
Urban II sorts...
   books as items of nouveau vogue
attaches...

   sorts:
   kippahs of the trendy
Brooklyn sort...

            
hell: **** it... let's wreck this
like a Machine Head song
akin to bulldozer...

   if Pandora had a box...
Eureka had an attic.