What the **** is Cuck?
It’s a brand new ***** word
If you’ve been called a cuck
You should know that you’ve been slurred

You may have come across it
While browsing the Interweb
And seen it used insultingly
When describing a Bush called Jeb

It’s short for the old word Cuckhold
But given a new spin
It’s used to insult someone who’s committed
the Political Correctness sin.

If I may be declarative,
The word is simply horrible,
Be ye liberal or conservative
I’d say it’s quite deplorable

The Donald is no cuck, for sure
When he utters dog whistles like this -
If he says “blood comes out of her ‘whatever’”
The true meaning you just can’t miss

Or when he said the Second Amendment People
Might take care of our dear Hillary
Of whom he impugned would eliminate guns
And promised that he would pillory

Apologies are for sissies
Don’t wait for a pivot or turn
Was it voter suppression that rigged the election?
One day, we may learn

Cuck is the word of the day
Like some chirp made by Pepe the Frog
A new epithet from the far alt-right
Who follow our new demagogue

The cuckoo, like a hawk in flight,
With narrow pointed wings
Whews o’er our heads—soon out of sight
And as she flies she sings:
And darting down the hedgerow side
She scares the little bird
Who leaves the nest it cannot hide
While plaintive notes are heard.

I’ve watched it on an old oak tree
Sing half an hour away
Until its quick eye noticed me
And then it whewed away.
Its mouth when open shone as red
As hips upon the brier,
Like stock doves seemed its winged head
But striving to get higher

It heard me rustle and above leaves
Soon did its flight pursue,
Still waking summer’s melodies
And singing as it flew.
So quick it flies from wood to wood
’Tis miles off ‘ere you think it gone;
I’ve thought when I have listening stood
Full twenty sang—when only one.

When summer from the forest starts
Its melody with silence lies,
And, like a bird from foreign parts,
It cannot sing for all it tries.
‘Cuck cuck’ it cries and mocking boys
Crie ‘Cuck’ and then it stutters more
Till quick forgot its own sweet voice
It seems to know itself no more.

biblondesubgal: hey miss
queenkendraxx: happy turkey day
queenkendraxx: Is it you and your mistress?
biblondesubgal: yes maam it is
queenkendraxx: what are your names?
biblondesubgal: shes kellie im allan
queenkendraxx: She is 25, you are 20?
biblondesubgal: its reversed
queenkendraxx: Do you always swallow the black stud's ***?
queenkendraxx: Lol tell her she should put it in your food so you can have a daily dose Allan
queenkendraxx: Do you have a ***** name Allan
biblondesubgal: allyssa
queenkendraxx: Ask her what she thinks of Allison
queenkendraxx: Allyssa the bbc *****
queenkendraxx: huh?
biblondesubgal: she said she likes allison too
queenkendraxx: tell her she rocks
queenkendraxx: you are her ******* property, huh?
biblondesubgal: yes miss i am her property
queenkendraxx: I do yoga and pilates to keep my body in tip top shape
queenkendraxx: DO you two have pics?
biblondesubgal: no sry
queenkendraxx: mmkay don't wanna share or just don't have?
biblondesubgal: dont like to share
queenkendraxx: that is cool what does Kellie look like?
queenkendraxx: Well I would delete it
queenkendraxx: but I understand
biblondesubgal: blonde blue eyes 5'4ish 36c
biblondesubgal: your first pic was blurry
queenkendraxx: How did you two meet?
biblondesubgal: mutual friend lol
queenkendraxx: was she ooking for a *****?
queenkendraxx: looking
queenkendraxx: What is her black stud's name?
biblondesubgal: not that i was aware of. she didnt get aggressive until like a month after we were dating
biblondesubgal: daquan
queenkendraxx: hehe I will show you
queenkendraxx: pics of my previous and some of my past blac studs
queenkendraxx: How big is Daquan's ****?
biblondesubgal: 8.5 in pretty thick too
queenkendraxx: big heavy *****?
queenkendraxx: mmm
biblondesubgal: oh yes so heavy and full
queenkendraxx: lol ask her if you have a ***** ****
biblondesubgal: she said yes its so cute his little ***** ******
queenkendraxx: ow big
queenkendraxx: how big 5 in?
biblondesubgal: im 5.5 in
queenkendraxx: aww not bad
queenkendraxx: for a *****
biblondesubgal: thank you miss
queenkendraxx: can I talk to Kellie for a while?
biblondesubgal: sure can i watch yall type?
queenkendraxx: yes *****
biblondesubgal: hey hunny
queenkendraxx: Hey Kellie
queenkendraxx: I love your *****, so obedient-- I have one too
queenkendraxx: His name was Matt but I call him Maddeline
biblondesubgal: yeah? was he hard to break?
queenkendraxx: at first wanna see the black stud that helped me break him?
biblondesubgal: yes please. i have my ***** watching
biblondesubgal: dayum
queenkendraxx: gorgeous huh?
biblondesubgal: yes wow
queenkendraxx: I have a pic of his **** too hehe
queenkendraxx: Is Dayquan really built?
biblondesubgal: not like that lol he has abs but his arms arent that big
biblondesubgal: did your man *** you?
queenkendraxx: yes, that is Darius a different studof mine
queenkendraxx: He makes Maddeline blow him--- gorgeous **** huh?
biblondesubgal: yes so big allyssa thanked me for not giving him that big
queenkendraxx: hehe does Allyssaswallow all Dayquan's *****?
queenkendraxx: I wish I could see your pic Kellie, I bet you are so pretty
biblondesubgal: if it doesnt go in his *** and even then sometimes he does
queenkendraxx: he is learning to take it
queenkendraxx: deep in his ***?
biblondesubgal: yes hes gotten 8 in in so far another half inch and we will be ready for thicker lol
queenkendraxx: hehe ever took pics of that and showed ur gfs?
queenkendraxx: lol good *****
biblondesubgal: no i havent thought to do that
queenkendraxx: hehe good idea?
biblondesubgal: i might do that next time lol
queenkendraxx: lol that way he will be your property for life
queenkendraxx: lol he tries to leave you -- you can send them to his friends haha
biblondesubgal: oh he is lol i have him in chastityafter our sessions he goes back in
queenkendraxx: hehe he in permanent chastity
queenkendraxx: lol there is a space in those to *** right?
biblondesubgal: pretty  much ill let him free when hes being fuked or *******
biblondesubgal: yes there is
queenkendraxx: nice, his *** must be gettting nice and loose
queenkendraxx: does he cry when he is being ******?
biblondesubgal: lol not as loose as maddies. he cries like a baby  because he doesnt get fuked easy
queenkendraxx: lol u know Maddie is such a bbc ****
queenkendraxx: you know all about my Maddie, huh?  hehe
biblondesubgal: lol with the *** you showed me she cant be tight lol
queenkendraxx: Do you tell your gfs all about Allyssa?
queenkendraxx: I stuff my ******* in Maddeline's mouth as he is being pounded in his ***** ***
biblondesubgal: no lol ive been thinking bout having a ******* party
queenkendraxx: taking pics
queenkendraxx: or a video of him
queenkendraxx: So you are toned and fit like me Kellie?
biblondesubgal: your tummy looks better but im not to far off
queenkendraxx: one of ur gf's ******* her mouth while the other has her ***
queenkendraxx: you have a great body too
queenkendraxx: how tall are you?
biblondesubgal: im 5'4 you?
queenkendraxx: guess from my pic
biblondesubgal: hard to tell without comparrison. 5'6?
queenkendraxx: ya
queenkendraxx: 5 '5 and a haf lol
biblondesubgal: i was close lol
queenkendraxx: Did you have your first bbc in college?
biblondesubgal: highschool
queenkendraxx: mmm yay me 2 I was 18
biblondesubgal: i was a cheerleader so i got and *** i wanted really lol
biblondesubgal: i was 16
queenkendraxx: hehe bad loved to see
queenkendraxx: how the black studs plowed over
queenkendraxx: the pathetic white guys?
biblondesubgal: what? sry that was confusing
queenkendraxx: well when I went to football games
queenkendraxx: I like to see how the black men tackled
queenkendraxx: the sorry white guys
biblondesubgal: lol i fuked a basketball player
queenkendraxx: lol one time Darius hit another white guy so hard he sent him to the hospital  
queenkendraxx: nice in college?
biblondesubgal: in highschool lol but he went to college on a scholarship
queenkendraxx: nice
queenkendraxx: you a freshman now?
queenkendraxx: or sophmore?
biblondesubgal: im a freshman
queenkendraxx: nice what you study
queenkendraxx: Does Allyssa do well and spoil you?
biblondesubgal: business i want to own my own store like vic secret
queenkendraxx: lol I make Maddeline shop there
biblondesubgal: she doesnt make a ton of money shes a secretary
queenkendraxx: lol a secretary for a woman?
biblondesubgal: yes lol
queenkendraxx: does she wear her ***** *******
queenkendraxx: to work?
biblondesubgal: and cute dresses heels hose wigs makeup
queenkendraxx: lol what?
biblondesubgal: and a chastity belt
queenkendraxx: they let her wear that?
queenkendraxx: not to work lol
biblondesubgal: yes lol its not like slutty but cute
queenkendraxx: do all the women laugh
queenkendraxx: tease her?
biblondesubgal: they think shes actually a girl
queenkendraxx: heheh yayy
queenkendraxx: Do you make her kiss Jayquan's ***?
queenkendraxx: Is she on estrogen?   Maybe you could research that
queenkendraxx: She will grow soft *******
biblondesubgal: daquan lol and yes. i started crushing up estrogen and making it in his food (i sent him out for a second)
queenkendraxx: My Maddeline has such useless little *****--- Does Allyssa have a little ***** sack too?
biblondesubgal: yes it sags and small *****
queenkendraxx: (hehe is she gone)
biblondesubgal: yes i dont want her to know im turning her into my real life barbie  doll
queenkendraxx: One day do you plan to have it removed and be there to watch Kellie?
biblondesubgal: idk lol ive thought anbout it im not sure i can do that to him though
queenkendraxx: lol so cruel
queenkendraxx: a simple snip hehe
biblondesubgal: simple that costs a lot of money lol
queenkendraxx: lol maybe down the road
queenkendraxx: lol I know its cruel but
queenkendraxx: their ***** sacks are so useless
biblondesubgal: hehe hes said how sensitive his ******* are
queenkendraxx: I hate how their ***** goo is so clear and watery
biblondesubgal: why you think i need a black man lol
queenkendraxx: lol u have one
queenkendraxx: lol like me
queenkendraxx: not like you ever have *** with him right?
biblondesubgal: any way you can resend that first pic? it came up blurry.
queenkendraxx: ya
biblondesubgal: lol very rarely
queenkendraxx: I just really wish I could see you Kellie
queenkendraxx: ?
biblondesubgal: idk still blurry
queenkendraxx: you can post it on pic paste if you wanted and choose to show it for just thirty mins
queenkendraxx: and it will be gone
queenkendraxx: Mmky I trust you to keep them private
biblondesubgal: i will miss
queenkendraxx: I don't usually send my pics to people
queenkendraxx: this is Kellie?
queenkendraxx: you can just call me Kendra Kellie
biblondesubgal: yes it is ok lol sry im kinda submissive too
queenkendraxx: hmm its ok
queenkendraxx: can you please put your pic
queenkendraxx: on picpaste?
queenkendraxx: You are submissive to women and bi?
biblondesubgal: ill put one on display is that ok?
biblondesubgal: yes
queenkendraxx: sure, lovely
queenkendraxx: cool I love women too
queenkendraxx: The first time Maddeline was ****** in his ***---I spread his cheeks open
queenkendraxx: It was so hot to see all 9 inches buried deep inside my ***** ****---- it got me so wet
biblondesubgal: mmm i love to watch it go in slowly until its burried
biblondesubgal: you see a pic?
queenkendraxx: My Maddeline is here with me on the bed
queenkendraxx: not yet?
queenkendraxx: try again
biblondesubgal: on display
queenkendraxx: we could be like sisters lol
biblondesubgal: lol yeah?
queenkendraxx: we look similar I think
queenkendraxx: you coud model if you wanted
queenkendraxx: My Maddeline is 5.5 too
queenkendraxx: lol ***** ****
biblondesubgal: hehe thank you i wish lol
queenkendraxx: have a pic of your alyssa?
biblondesubgal: sry i dont
queenkendraxx: its cool
queenkendraxx: wanna see maddeline on display?
biblondesubgal: hehe love to
queenkendraxx: what do you think?
biblondesubgal: i dont see
queenkendraxx: it is
queenkendraxx: on my avatar
queenkendraxx: on the convo window, see now?
biblondesubgal: no accept my friend request
queenkendraxx: ur on my buddy list already hmm
queenkendraxx: should I just put it on photo share?
queenkendraxx: DOn't save her pic ok?
biblondesubgal: i wont save it
queenkendraxx: She told me she is sensitive about people seeing her, I know you won't
queenkendraxx: she wants to know what words come to mind  when you see her face
queenkendraxx: if you think she looks femme
biblondesubgal: yes maam
queenkendraxx: ol Kellie
queenkendraxx: you can be a lil submissive
queenkendraxx: it is cute
biblondesubgal: im sorry lol kendra
queenkendraxx: you are impressed by my gorgeous body, huh?
biblondesubgal: i love it
queenkendraxx: I am Miss Perfect hehe
biblondesubgal: hehe well i cant argue that
queenkendraxx: what do you think of the midde one?
biblondesubgal: looks cute you dont have him in a wig nd makeup do you?
queenkendraxx: no he wears anties though
queenkendraxx: think he would look cute in a wig?
biblondesubgal: hehe you should fully dress hi
queenkendraxx: think he looks femme
queenkendraxx: and radiant?
biblondesubgal: i think with some make  up a wig hes be a very pretty girl
queenkendraxx: yes
queenkendraxx: think he has a femme smile?
biblondesubgal: yes maam
biblondesubgal: shyt kendra
queenkendraxx: lol I have a pic of his ***** **** too
biblondesubgal:
queenkendraxx: Do you have others lovers besidses Jayquan?
queenkendraxx: so you love to shop at victorias secret?
queenkendraxx: what do you usually get there?
biblondesubgal: its daquan lol
queenkendraxx: where did kellie go?
biblondesubgal: i dont shop there often to expensive lol
biblondesubgal: i am kellie lol the man is dauan not jayquan
queenkendraxx: ooh I see
queenkendraxx: lol my bad Dauan
queenkendraxx: lol my bad
queenkendraxx: lol u will laugh when you see Maddeline's ****
biblondesubgal: its ok your cute enough to kmake up for it
queenkendraxx: u2 love your smile
biblondesubgal: awe thank you
queenkendraxx: want to make him your cuck hubby one day?
biblondesubgal: i think hes basically there
queenkendraxx: lol nice
queenkendraxx: maddeline goes to a 35 yr old female therapist
queenkendraxx: and she tells her all about feeling inferior to alpha males
queenkendraxx: and wanting to be a woman, lol
biblondesubgal: hehe you did that to her huh
queenkendraxx: yes she cries
queenkendraxx: in front of the therapist
queenkendraxx: wonerful, huh?
biblondesubgal: you want to get her clittlky a real ******
queenkendraxx: hehe well
queenkendraxx: she has thought of having her ***** sack removed
queenkendraxx: she even told the therapist she said
biblondesubgal: hehe you ruined her that makes me wanna kiss you lol
queenkendraxx: heheh I totally own her
queenkendraxx: beautiful, huh?
biblondesubgal: it is so beautiful. allyssa wants to know if ill let her back
queenkendraxx: hmm maybe in a bit
queenkendraxx: wanna see Maddeline's ****?
biblondesubgal: please miss
queenkendraxx: lol 5.5
queenkendraxx: she said she took it with her ipad
biblondesubgal: its so cute
queenkendraxx: that is why there is a weird angle
queenkendraxx: so small, huh?
biblondesubgal: yes well my girls the same size i  think yours is thicker
queenkendraxx: isy bitsyteenie tiny
queenkendraxx: hehehe
biblondesubgal: hehe can i finger?
queenkendraxx: do you do that to her alot?
biblondesubgal: i dont have one yet i have one on order
queenkendraxx: hehe I do
queenkendraxx: a bbc *******?
biblondesubgal: its black like 10in pretty thick
queenkendraxx: I got her an 8 in brown one too that vibrates
queenkendraxx: mmm will **** her so deep
queenkendraxx: yuuummmmmm I have been with him!
biblondesubgal: vibrates? shoot use that on me
biblondesubgal: wow are you loose? lol
queenkendraxx: lol it was a whil ago but
queenkendraxx: mmm love him
queenkendraxx: ehe you look up to me
queenkendraxx: huh kellie?
biblondesubgal: i couldnt even get that in my mouth
queenkendraxx: how much can you *******?
biblondesubgal: 7.5 in
queenkendraxx: oh mi gosh
queenkendraxx: 7 4 me hehe
queenkendraxx: I sometimes make maddeline practice
queenkendraxx: on bananas
biblondesubgal: hehe that guy almost made me puke
queenkendraxx: when she is not practicing on BBC
queenkendraxx: cause Maddeline is so ugly?
biblondesubgal: i make alyssa practice on my ****** after i use them
biblondesubgal: no lol the guy i deepthroated
queenkendraxx: oh
queenkendraxx: hehe I know they *** soooo much
queenkendraxx: I love it soaking my face
queenkendraxx: yummmmm
queenkendraxx: lol I am making Maddeline practie
queenkendraxx: practice on her banana now
biblondesubgal: hehe hot my ***** is peaking at me through the droor crack
queenkendraxx: lol *****
queenkendraxx: you two have your own place
queenkendraxx: are you at a college dorm
queenkendraxx: or apartment?
biblondesubgal: apartment
queenkendraxx: I should make Maddeline
queenkendraxx: ******* her banana
queenkendraxx: on cam for you, haha
biblondesubgal: oh my gosh id get so wet
queenkendraxx: let me get her, and you can speak to her for a few mins and she can put on a show
queenkendraxx: would you enjoy that Kellie?
biblondesubgal: i would love that miss kendra
queenkendraxx: I am so wet too
queenkendraxx: I have my little rabbit vibe
biblondesubgal: hehe im just using my fingers
queenkendraxx: she is getting the banana one sec she is coming
biblondesubgal: hehe she a good girl for you
queenkendraxx: Hi Miss Kellie
queenkendraxx: This is Maddeline
queenkendraxx: Should I keep writing in this pink?
biblondesubgal: hey girl you dont have to call me miss
biblondesubgal: yes its a good color for you
queenkendraxx: just Kellie or what?
queenkendraxx: I feel like I am being disrespecful
queenkendraxx: I saw your pic and you are so gorgeous
biblondesubgal: you can call me kellie its ok. thanks i wanna eat your girl out
queenkendraxx: yes my Mistress
queenkendraxx: you love BBC
queenkendraxx: like my mistress?
biblondesubgal: yes are yougoing to show me what youve been practicing with your bananna?
queenkendraxx: uhh yes
queenkendraxx: may I touch my ****
queenkendraxx: as I do it?
biblondesubgal: well ask your mistress
queenkendraxx: she said for this show you can decide for me
biblondesubgal: lets not do it right now
bi

Sentenced to the hygienist, because I got that Indian virus.
Wish I was more like Leonidas, for my warrior self was vanquished.
Got a sense of anguish, as I don’t even know my own people’s Language.
Why did I get banished from my own land, and these immigrants now hold thee advantage?
Feels like they on a witch hunt, ain’t life a ***** huh?  
Can’t even make a quick buck, because I’m seen as a stupid ****.
Feel like a sitting duck with the ****** locked, **** is this the feeling of a cuck?
Stories always end up sad but Afterall I’m just the ******* of the brady bunch!
Brown skin cursed kin and a desperate sin so I gotta eat outta garbage’s for lunch.
Trying not to use victimization as a crutch,
but it’s like I’m a kid who got tricked into a game of double Dutch.
Crazy braided brain, deranged rabid rabbit spewing train going down a road of pain.
Come on yawl don’t you want to see the freak from cirque de soleil?
Trying in vain to wash away my shame, but the colour of my skin just won’t go away, oh what a shame!
So, I’m left crying and thinking about dying, hoping to be anything…
that may stray away from my family name.
For I’ve realized that I’m stigmatized by the whitened eyes:
that be educating lies of me being the one to blame.

No more will I be ok with this forced recital!
No more will I sit idle!
No more patriarchy, and **** the curse of ham nonsense used to justify you being spiteful!
**** your racist sentiments man, my colour doesn’t make me homicidal.

Brown clown, Down syndrome gnome!
Torn men, torn women left in prison zones!
Burn them, **** them, **** them right in they home!
Don’t frown, don’t make a sound, just stay on the ground.
Hands behind heads, then shot with lead, like a dog from the pound!
Lost and never found, but this just the curse of being brown!
What’s this now?
Nothing but wards of the crown.
Just a *****, just a glitch, that live in some crack towns!
Or reserves doesn’t matter what the word
Or what the place is when one puts on war paint on top of their savage faces.
Here’s the thing *****, I’m not scared of staring ya down #okacrisis!
For as see it colonists are no different than isis.
I know we deal with vices,
But it’s just the effects of dealing with your hepatitis!
And I just might be bias,
But at least I’m not a delusional racist!
It doesn’t matter if it’s Past, present or future violence,
I think it’s about time to end the silence!

I think it’s actually real this time,
That I'm waking to sweet bird songs,
not the cancerous “Cuck-coo” from some clock at the end of her hall.

When I wake,
I want to see sunlight burning holes in window ledges,
feel the chill flowing down my cheeks
fighting the warmth falling up from my feet.
I want to smell that sick stench that says I stayed out one shot too late,
taste the combination of this and those that feel like trash behind my teeth.
Forget for that brief instant between this and what comes next,

That last night wasn't really love.

That the girl-on-my-right used to be the girl-who-could-ride
that too many drinks plus too many winks leads to  "My place?"
No hers.
that too many drinks plus too little cash leads to "Taxi?"
Let’s walk.
That too many drinks plus two a.m. leads to, well,
You know.

Before falling asleep I feel ashamed at forgetting her name
turn on my side, close my eyes, and wait for the Sunrise.

Only to be roused by the of the **** cuckoo at the end hall.
I want to punch Daffy Duck in the face,
break the road-runner’s neck,
introduce Donald to rotisserie,
and tie Tweety to the tail of a cat.
All I think of is rage
I could burn the clock, burn the house, burn... burn out, and pass out.

This morning is real, it feels real, at least the hangover does.
Last night's emotions are technicolor fantasies, only as real as the beak on an animated bird.
The sun slips through the blinds and finds a rainbow trail of clothing,
starting at the door and ending with our own little *** of gold.
I roll out of her arms and slide down that road
turning it into a line of lacy wears.  
Sneaking down the hallway I feel the sun’s warmth
and hear the birds chirping, calling me to the door.
Behind me, I hear the cantankerous pretender
crying from his wooden nest on the wall.
His sound almost as sorry as his message,
lamenting he can never break his cycle.
never can wake up and feel
what's actually real.

.you can't persuade me... yes, i realiße that my language is riddled with overt-pronoun usage... dunn'oh... something in the air, i guess... yes... that's the german ß - an interchange of S and Z... which is not an Š... more piquant... akin to the distinction of an Ś... but not really... no... you can't tell me that you can read Braille... and play the guitar... no ******* chance in hell... less stiff little fingers (a decent band)... and more: numbed tip fingers... mid-of-the-road type of guys... blind lemon jefferson... you think... that... after playing so much guitar... he would be able to read the solipsistic / idiosyncratic invention of louis (b)? **** no! and not that blind lemon jefferson worked the ******* cotton-field either... but... fingers... numbing... playing the guitar... so... these's cucks managed to create a slave trade with these... hunk Zulu / n.b.a. warriors? alternative universe! alternative universe! no... you can't read braille while allowing yourself to play the guitar... so these feeble ancestors of not mine... managed to... enslave these... afro hulks?! the **** happened there? where some of the Europeans like me? oh, right, strapped to the Baltic... and non-existent for around 200 years... identify?! identify?! i was born 5 hours from Auschwitz! just because i learned English, doesn't imply i'm playing identity politics... but i guess, in England... only a Somali might... no chance in hell you'll play the guitar like blind lemon jefferson... and have the tender finger-tips of a louis braille... better start to learn to juggle oranges.

what would be the antithesis of
a... sodomite?
   someone from the city of *****?
a... gomorrahite?
****... that could work,
given we had people known
as the hittites...

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the new: small ***** emoji...
so...
           why is there a small
***** emoji...
with a dark complexion?

what?
           last time i heard...
and i did hear it from a *******
during... something
that resembled *******
but more Picasso figuring
out cubism...
      she told me...
           with not satisfying
impromptu...
   'all the black guys have
big *****'...
   yeah... i paid the 110 quid
per hour...
   but didn't say anything,
figuring,
stick to the proverb...
marshall...
  cicha woda brzegi rwie...
so i was basically looking
at either...
   the mariana trench
of a **** or...
           so like an amputee...
can i get, some sort
of girth expansion
or a length extension...
or should i just put on
a strap-on *****
to mechanically **** my way
out of a de profundis
                      like Jonah?
oyster yap-yap...
       i don't think my
"tool"... has anything to do
with...
   what i'm looking at...
something, something
from the kama sutra...
how... a rabbit man should
not **** an elephant woman...
nice metaphors
for... size... & depth...
so i turned on something
to relax from listening
to too much classical music
and having a wet-*****
over it in conversation
over lunch, und tea...
gets me all the time...
da pacem domine... templar...
sure... not my favorite
choir lullaby to hush myself
with... but as far as i know...
the hospitaller knights weren't
too keen on... curing
the ails of the heart through
song...
            
but the miniscule emoji...
like... the modern hieroglyphs writers
are attempting to
signal... having evolved
to speak... cratylian?
  (sign language)

they are!
   they are!
        look, they're communicating
with the orthodoxy
that makes dyslexia: stigma...

but... i have never heard
a ******* tell me that
all white men have... adequate...
******* examples...
but i have heard that all
black men have... the adequacy...
and a tall tongue,
a labyrinth and a serpent's
equal length of it...
to waggle through
conversation, till they reach... 60!

envy...
only if you're watching ****...
i even sometimes forget...
are those the *******...
or the ***?
  you know... the "grand canyon"
of fixation?
dunno... for me ****
is mildly, or at best...
one step away from
the Reinnasance nudes...
      depends...
i suppose if i was blind...
i'd be into the sounds of the grand O...
but static works best work me...
i guess: i like to imagine
what would be... working from
an instilled frame...

moses' worth of **** on
mt. sinai...
or jonah's de profundis
worth of **** in
a belly of a whale...
your pick...
       again... language is
not a ******* scimitar...
it's a...
                       yeah... that thing...
fun emoji, that one...
      cuck...
if you haven't been with
a *******...
what the hell is all this...
this...
                     in in between
she's telling you about
a friend of hers who was
slaughtered while
working Barcelona...
  and then she tells you
you're nice... because you
just feel like kissing...
   and it's like:
  me? me hitting the dating
scene in anglo-saxon culture?
psst... can i have that whiskey
and beer and solitary
confinement
with a claustrophobia's worth
of thought that, does require
someone... shuffling and dropping
snippets of my output into
the local square?

   i only felt compatible with one
woman in my life...
   if i were a bull
and she was a cow...
and i had overlords who needed
us to do nothing
but perpetually breed?
sure... it could have worked...

gomorrahite...
          that other emoji...
the blood drop...
i heard, somewhere, somehow,
only after the fact...
     i nagged her for ***
for well over 2 weeks...
she was on her period...
       i heard that *** during
a woman's period alleviates
cramps...
or... how does this even fit
into...
   warm water, in the bath,
****** on...
                chirping *******
sparrows...
   a few days later
   7 hours non-stop...
   the Trojans had landed...
so yeah...
             little **** big mouth...
or... miniscule omni,
        big **** makes a mouth
the depth of... what?
          it's not like...
there's only one depth of
****... is there?
   contra... new meme...
like the o.k. sign...
         but all fingers holded...
with the index set
     on the thumb...
  expression? how deep?
    
but the modern hieroglyphs
are evolving into cratylian...
    yet i still don't know how i'm
to read emoji...
via sign-language...
   and have a light-bulb moment
of the subsequent: ah!

    maybe...
   being made literate
i am to unmake my literacy
and learn to emoji...
   i know that there are
interpreters of these... "things"...
like: i'm giving the explanation...
but then...
   have no sparring partner
to use it with...

     so i figured...
              better before i go blind...
then at least i can write some
⠃⠗⠁⠊ ⠇⠇⠑...

so yeah...
how's that chopping off the diacritical
hydra coming along...
with regards to the pointlessness
that's hovering over
                    i (ι)      and j (ȷ) -
well... at least the caron over
an s (š) indicates something...
   i.e.:                         šarp...
      sharp!...
                       the **** are either of
those dots supposed to represent...
some... syllable, breath,
intra-word
   "pause"... ' - apostrophe scalpel
                  incission for the tongue?
like... t'ango...
where you use the apostrophe
attached to the t'
    to almost swallow your tongue
before you burst out with -ango
   as if (to double of the metaphor)
            you did a geyser with your
mouth upon hearing a joke
    with, just prior, having a sip of
a fizzy drink?

modern hieroglyphs imitating
cratylian (sign language):
                  and all these letters in between...
good to know that
whatever literacy was left,
became entombed in:
to code...

                                which...
starts to resemble...
                something akin to...
the language police take on
remembering to recite dyslexia
               of f@%&!

> shift a little bit to the right
           < shift a little bit to the left...

yeah, that labyrinth's worth
of ego...
                         or egg'oh...
     depends on how much modern
graffiti you want...
stolen from a brick wall of
  #tag...
                          i suppose...
    enough of e.e.cummings will do...
to push you over
the edge...
     and forget to even use
that ingeious israeli invention,
the u.z.i.,
                      tongue in the bucket,
and all those itchy tips
of fingers, readied to do
the devil's bidding...
       while the holy... the holy...
sing! sing! sing!
           grind lips
against a pig's snout...
      and stand stark naked...
uninhibited...
                         or at least...
that's how i see language,
                      or what is truly
my own... my use of it.

The cuckold sits with empty pride
at all that's on display
he does not yearn for awful truth
'bout where she is today.
he dreams of travels far and wide
and promises the earth
he knows not that his dreams are lies
a source of lovers mirth
when she returns as day goes dim
he'll try to light a spark
he does not see that it's not he
who owns her weary heart.

you can undercook pork - a little bit of pink
is rather - favourable -
you can undercook beef - a little bit...
let's go full bleu: which has a name... pittsburg
blue...
but please don't slaughter the cow,
send it to the butchers for the cuts...
and then shame it by cooking it well done...
thrice the cow thus dies...
aside from... fish...
well...
i was never a fan of chicken *******...
because whenever someone cooked them:
i.e. my mother - they tended to be... dry...
chicken drum-sticks and the almost grey area
of muscle flesh close to the bone -
these days? the former schnitzel fan has
become a chicken roulade fan...
because the stress for 165°F - and 5 minutes
worth of rest... for the cooked meat...

Ciara - another daughter of U Kʼux Kaj -
she can still be felt in the early night
when walking the streets...
some storms never reach essex -
and that's probably why i decided to grow
my beard long - to feel it combed
by the wind... this elongating chin to match
the moon's scythe -

point being... cooking chicken is unlike cooking
beef or pork... because...
well beef is born from blood -
in the body of another -
the mother - the pork is born from blood -
in the body of another - the mother...
you can undercook it... most certainly:
esp. the beef...
trouble with chicken: is the trouble
with undercooking fish...

to perfect the cooking of chicken meat...
is very much like cooking the perfect
soft-boiled egg...
you want the yoke to be runny...
and the white to be a: ścięte białko...
a coagulated white...
it's quiet amazing how chicken meat
behaves like the egg - the protein
in the atom -
how you have to mind cooking chicken:
for that juicy chicken breast roulade -
in the same way as minding a soft-boiled
egg...

i've never noticed this...
apparently that's the glaring obvious...
it always was!
beef you can undercook: cook it perfectly:
overcook it...
pork you can undercook: cook it perfectly:
overcook it...
chicken? you can only cook it perfectly
or overcook it...
undercooked chicken is a bit like...
finding a raw scallop nugget kiev-esque
in your chicken -

perhaps because: we can eat a poultry abortion:
the egg -
that i forgot or never minded to think:
the meat will behave like the egg -
the protein is borderline with seafood...
after all.. the birds are fish with wings...
that we managed to domesticate
a wolf and breed it with a dingo
and give it a bark...
how did we pluck the hawk from the sky
and gave it marching orders among
the strutting gehenna-game of the wehrmacht
with the geese...

i have no "beef" with the british and their past...
how many zulus became slaves?
hot topic...
if only a people were as fortunate -
not to be landlocked -
the last known invasion dates back to
1066 - nothing is spoken about the ottoman
empire or the mongol empire at the gates...
perhaps other people too...
could have their idle -
and been left to their own devices...
their high tea and all sort of *******...
but i'll still bemoan that...
this language does not have any orthography...
but it does have: n'dubz...
and a york-shyre from peckham and the rest...

- you simply can't undercook chicken...
you can either cook it to perfection...
or overcook... anything undercook is not going
to be eaten!
an undercooked chicken breast roulade?
that's scallop nugget in a kiev-esque chicken..
but why didn't i see it sooner...
how chicken meat would behave like
the egg when it was being cooked?
after all... what becomes of the yoke
when translated into the full-grown chicken?
the internal organs? the bones?
i'm pretty sure the egg-white translates into
the skeleton...
and the bones? it's not like the egg-shell
implodes...

in my hand i hold a chicken's egg:
a poultry abortion...
in my hand, also... a babushka doll...
this: little matron... бaбушкa...
because who would have thought that...
cooking the perfect chicken roulade...
would be akin to... 15 minutes extra...
when working from a soft-boiled egg...
oven-baked of course...
prior to the skin needs to be butter-fried...
and you can't enjoy
a chicken's neck... if it's not poached...
too many bones: not enough meat...
the neck of the chicken needs to poached...

again: one feels inclined to stress the importance
of curating the meat: curing it is one "thing"...
but it's almost an art...
as long as you respect the meat...
i find that most vegeterians or vegans
become thus...
because they have not learned to respect
the meat they're about to eat...

beef you can undercook... the sooner you do so...
the less chance that you'll butcher a second time
with a well-done: eating sand...
wishing it was poppy-seeds itching at the gums
between your teeth...

to respect the meat is to also bite off the heads
of the bones... for the over-cooked marrow...
i once held 30 or so poultry hearts in a cusp of hands...
hands prior to romeo & juliet's amen and kiss...
before i imagined what 30 hearts would otherwise
look like: if i was given the remaining body parts...

or 30 poultry stomachs readied for the broth...
with groats...
i too would become a vegeterian...
if the only chicken ******* i ate in my life
were: usually over-cooked...
dry... simulating imitation cheese
and chalk... the sort of meat: overcooked...
whereby your teeth start to experience
protein glue... and it's hard to pull the jaw
from the skull apart...

i have mentioned pittsburg blue, haven't i?
you can undercook beef and pork...
but you can't undercook chicken...
now unless you want to encounter
a pocket of a raw scallop sensation...
a chicken has to be treated as well as an egg...

most of the time you need to undercook
beef and pork...
but chicken requires...
oh glory be to the poached egg on toast...
the scrambled eggs undisturbed fried on
some pork dewlap...
when you can tell the difference between
the yoke and the whites...

such a versitile creature - this domesticated
hawk... this chicken marshal...
this would be cannibal... i've seen how one
becomes butchered with an axe -
one chicken, one axe - on stump of wood...
the rolling eyes of the decapitated...
the other chickens didn't mind...
they'd run up to the altar with the running
blood of rivers making letter markings
on the woody crumble...
and drink the blood... peck at left-over
flesh from the decapitation...

"gender expressions"... and... what's that?
leftover grammar from french...
translated from inanimate objects:
as being either endowed with a phallus
or a floral pattern -
but in english almost all objects of worded
interaction are gender-neutral!

native tongue "endowement"...
słońce - sun - is feminine...
księżyc - moon - is masculine -
krzesło - chair - i'm siding with masculine...
stół - table - that's clearly "gender neutral" /
alias: hermaphrodite... alias for the *******...
son / daughter of Aphrodite...
kamień - stone - masculine...
góra - mountain - feminine...

and so the heavens opened and became:
short on breath and soul...
the groundwork of earth...
the earth itself... started to nibble
on the delicacy of feet - the wind whispered...
and the echo: and the footsteps...
and the dutch clank convened and called it:
marriage!

how grammar transcended casual english
usage... how it bypassed orthography...
how it never attained orthography...
oh yes... the russian have it...
but... who would have expected it...

n'est ce pas?

what was once the gestalt primer...
that became a rorschach test...
i say: it's either a ink-blotch of a pelvis or a moth...
but with regards to the selfie:
i always require two mirrors...
i still remember the days when someone
would take a photograph of you being:
oblivious...
as if god: the narrator...
convened and descended upon the scene
and imposed directions of keen: montage...

the basis of gender neutrality of nouns...
it can't be extended to encompass verbs...
an oak: dąb - is male...
but a pine - sosna - is female...
all fruit bearing trees are female connotations...

whatever sheryl crow's debut album was...
wasn't alanaise morissette's jagged little pill -
however the conundrum spins with no
favor for the electric currents passing via
Ariel... give me the wind god...
the daughters and barons of: the lesser involved!

because i'm a far cry the alpha...
kindred of the omega... and all that alphabet
of meaning behind letters...
"self-imposed"... less a ******* and more...
feeble guide of watching others get
pleasured by the mantis
and the black widows of tomorrow...

a cactus would grow in my palm should
i witness germany re-united:
at least that's how the proverb stood its ground...
before common or passed on "wisdom"
learned to gravitate toward...
soap bubbles pop... charcoals smoke...
ms amber becomes a river
when there was no river expected...

the tides are hardly shy: they're buying time...
this one last commodity of the rotten mind
of the gambler...
puny prophet - of fate -
alongside the weathermen of a forgotten
afternoon: come birthday prior to noon...
and the fungus umbrellas chat
among themselves in a premature autumn
cascade...

fungus or just... lungs... devoid of a body?

my god: the kids are going after the grammar
that has already absolved them...
knitting mosquitos and lambasting
gherkins' worth of would-be:
pickled cucumbers...

that herring tartar... with dill and juices...
that baltic sushi never to arrive
at the cusp of the Caspian sea...
Molotov shots;
the Russians will always bring glasses
and ***** with them...
because... they somehow can...

- and that's because...
sheryl crow's debut album wasn't
alanaise morissette's...
but never makes the cards of a...
poker-match-up to better not earn
money if all that money is a gambler's
Eden...

- there are better ways to get away with
cooking an egg...
there's this entire myth of...
no poultry sushi...
mein gott! how the meat agrees with
abortions...
you can undercook beef,
you can undercook pork...
but when there are poultry standards...
they're just as risk-aversive as when...
a soft-boiled egg is required...
same with meat...

this direct translation of the atomised meat
in an egg white...
how it needs to coagulate to pristine juice
and all that perfect *******...
and... ****** via the runny yoke...
because i believe there's a puritanical
aspect of all life in general...
when hard-ons are sold
within the quarantine confines
of a viagara episode of: ***** into a hard-on...

chuckles and whittle charlie chaser says:
no man was ever ***** into a hard-on...
no?!
when charlie met chuckles and chuckie
and charles...
it must be a russian "thing"...
they have them... and hide them better...
there's nothing to hide in english...
just bad grammar and trans-grammar....

i.e. чa-чa-чa
            believe me... they managed to fold...
hide the caron in that alice through the looking-glass
of greek mu: μ - or (h)atches open!
how about hiding...  (letovers: č              č
the caron, in russian?          č č             č č         č)
or the H and the Z in english and polish
respective - whole - attached to the S?

epsilon lying back... the toil
of Sysiphus is a bore: шit...
****... and... шarp...
and... mateuш...
    
maybe people... or so we at least,
have inkling to hope to be receptive of...

щ: twice the hiding caron...
it's not that the russians don't use diacritical
markers - they just hide them differently...
the self-exposed vowels...
last of the reminders...
because there's the carpenter's obligation
to chisel a Y into an I...
or at least a J...

to add this currency of momentum is...
to... leave without a memory spare...
whipped along the trail via
a maine ****'s finicky worship of
air that will never translate itself
as being: breathed...

and yes: i drink... i drink to relax
my lexicon from the everyday strict: rules
and obligation of formal mr and mrs
and what doesn't fit into
a metaphor tuxedo...

over-cook pasta: we'll never talk again...
over-cook beef or pork: ditto...

it's an art to treat cooking poultry meat
with a quasi seafood status of scallops...
to curate a soft-boiled egg -
not quiet the abortion portioned
within the confines of a lost shell when
thrown into the dead-bath of
a lobster's litany when the neither alive
nor dead is cooked...

some bloos is necessary when it comes
to either beef or pork...
but you can't just have undercooked
poultry...
the grounded clipped wing marshall:
the decency of cooking poultry has
to be equated with cooking
a soft-boiled egg...

otherwise the common saying:
one apple a day... keeps the doctor away...
well...
one poem a day... keeps the psychiatrist away...
no? who are the circus freaks
the pseudos and the quasis of what...
has to be compensated by mr. rather dr.
surgeons and... the better half of whatever
becomes the butchering degree:
a degree in: what's not to be eaten...
but what has to be left intact
and reused?

less the homosexual yet still la la land...
not quiet cuck...
but still... every time i visited...
and never managed to peer at
the sort of first-person doom shooter experience
that otherwise third party sources would
allow me when...
the best fallatio is done in third-person...
talk about having someone to sit
on your face like...
never the literal metaphor translation
of ****** acts...
face-grubber from alien and...
performing oral *** on a woman...
no... none of it is true!
******* and winding archaic clocks...

some would even call it electricity should
it come from a burning candle!

The rage came over me like a wave
She must think I'm stupid and naive
I shouldn't have checked her phone at all
Curiosity had been gnawing since I heard her call
Hanging up guiltily as I chanced upon her
She didn't even try to defend her honour
Just chatted **** and hung her head
Our marriage is hanging by a thread
Now I've seen all I need to know
She's met someone else, a body blow
Do I fight him, knock on his door?
Threaten him, punch him, give him some more?
Should I tell her I know what she's doing?
Breaking my heart, our home in ruin?
I guess I'll just do nothing at all
Unable to break through our man made wall
Just hoping this nightmare will go away
Returning to semi-peace no more to say
Ignore it and bury my head once again
Hoping that this time will be the end

Little Princess Perfect without a single flaw
Thought that she was perfect in every way she saw
But one day she ran into a crazy, orange man
Who said "I am better and will beat you because I know I can"
Princess perfect laughed and her court well they laughed too
"You cannot win against me and my loyal crew!"
Little Princess Perfect and the man with funny hair
Got into a contest that seemed far from fair.
Princess Perfect with her legions of subjects said
"You're a sexist bigot and have an orange head!"
So the man replied to her face "And you're a crooked cuck!"
"You're also sick and greedy you lying, corporate schmuck!"
Little Princess Perfect who thought she'd already won
Laughed and played and called him names while he continued to run
"I will make this kingdom great once again I vow!"
And multitudes applauded him as he took a bow.
"You're all deplorable!" Princess Perfect cried
"How can you sleep at night taking this orange faced man's side?"
"Princess Perfect your days are numbered." he said in return
"People want this kingdom great. That's for what they yearn"
"People will never choose you!" Princess Perfect said
"Look at the polls you orange ****! You're as good as dead!"
And all her court agreed she had already won
So laugh and play they did having unending fun.
Then when the day came to decide the combatant's fate
Princess Perfect with her court could hardly stand to wait.
"Get ready to celebrate my loyal, faithful fans!"
Princess perfect cried to all throughout the land.
And as the kingdom came together and began to count the votes
Princess Perfect felt a lump deep in her throat.
"What the hell is happening?" She cried to her staff.
The totals made no sense to her and all had ceased to laugh
"This is impossible! He's pulling way ahead!"
Princess Perfect panicked and her soul filled with dread
"I am Princess Perfect! I know I cannot lose!"
But the kingdom voted and the crazy orange man they did choose.

The candle smells like pink hibiscus
And the flame bounces a bit
As the fan waves past
I play with his chest hair
Nuzzle into his side
"Will you leave me if I have cancer?"
I ask
"No"
He says
"I like to think I'm not that much of a cuck."
He says
He strokes my side
Kisses my forehead
The bright white light from the TV shines off my pasty back
"Guess what?"
He says
"I love you.
Even if you have cancer,
Even if you don't have cancer,
I love you."
My exposed chest shakes
As I forget how to breathe
He runs his fingers over my *******
My possibly cancerous *******
My soon to be nonexistent *******
My figure defining *******
That I love so much
That I'm petrified to even think about losing
He holds them
He holds me
A tear falls down my face
But he wipes it away before it can get anywhere
Before it can fall
On my possibly cancerous chest

before listening to all these podcasts...
where was i, having not listend to
some BBC4 radio?

have i had to become... this necessarily:
unscripted...
no mention of mily balakirev...
the moon starts to fade -
yet somehow retain its strict form...
as anything within the confines
of a vacuum...

where is the rust or anything akin
when you try to push opposing poles
of magnets... and later suppose:
oh, just the planets...
hindering a Holst composition...
barricaded by paper
anddoodles of a blunt pencil...

today i thought -
about time: i reread the only book
i would ever reread...
richard brautigan's troust fishing in
h'america...
the coalmine... and watermelon sugar...

whether or not invited:
life always happens beside me...
and: that's not a clerical error...

best choice of sedatives... come friday
night... i'm a... footnote presence...
to watch a movie in a cinema...
you'd probably require a bag of pop-corn...
poets and bureucrats...
the advent of cinema is...
me learning to use portions of:
the reconquista of braille in the realm
of stenography...

Tiro: how to encode sounds quicker
than by the current standard of
letters... stenography and...
what would never become a rigid rubric
of orthography...
or diacritical preference in
the "borrowed" tongue...

a mongol invasion sets you back... 200 years...
an ottoman invasion sets you back... 100 years...
russian influence sets you back...
300 years...
and your people's petty frivolity...
damaging for the ranks of romanians
and lithuanians... 400 years!

to be an island folk...
imagine... not being landlocked...
further exploring work...
while summoning avenues of:
the better part of friday...
and that culture... my... how it thrived...
like today...
i heard of a tobias in germany being
charged shooting strangers...
in 2 locations... then going back...
and executing himself and his mother...
some stabbing incident in a mosque
in regent's park...

me shopping for vegatables...
a niqab ninja... sorry... you can overstate
an "east european" accent if you want
with these words...
i have rubber ears...
"we" are to protect the people...
who are likely to cause us harm...
because no khaki is available...
or mustard brown...
how, can i, own, a memory...
of the 20th century... and the wars
in tow...

i can tilt a glass of cider and call it:
gods' ****! that i can do...
but i can't... somehow make myself
available... to this... frankenstein monster
of: well... wouldn't it be...
just oh so ******* nice... if we came to the feet
of the shadow of a tower of babel!

poland was always a problem among
the english:
we didn't ask you to start a war...
so why blame the ******* plumbers!

then again... what sort of "cuck"...
is invaded by both **** germany
and soviet russia? the sort of cuck that
learned to ha! "escape" with this mediocre
english... the stereotype follows...
all the polacks are plumbers...
just like all the englishmen are gays...
savvy?

because no cinnamon man would
allow the raj to wilt!
and we are... keeping the best of our
affronts!
because there's the north,
the west, the south... but the east
is a sentence of stressors..
that the east reminds everyone else:
"in europe" of the madmen...
as douglas murray said it best...
"microaggression" or no aggression...

i'm tired of the english gentleman...
as i'm tired of the ape...
the english ape...
perhaps i'm more inclined to think
in louis XIV terms of: heliocentric
sun casts no shadow...

move, elsewhere? oh i'm pretty sure
i have invested my time and effort
in a grievance that i want resolved...
but that i will not see it resolved...
all the better! i will not see no societal
betterment, either!
i like pickles... do you like pickles?
first i will go deaf before i will go blind...

i'm tired of being a past...
as i'm tired of never becoming a future...
and in the currency of presence:
the now... forever the fluctuation
gamble... with nothing of a waterfall
certainty...
i am... a cotton binding bundle...
among the scraps and irritation scoops
of rock...
baseline: a hark of a crow
when one expects an opera sung by...
******* mermaids!

in essex and i'm shopping next to...
a... perhaps i have not liberated myself from...
perhaps i'm still 8 years old and i'm leaving
snowman footprints on the concrete...
from the monolithic culture of...
the grand babel... that's being exercised in:
beta stages...

perhaps because everything is signatured:
made in china...
it really doesn't make a difference...
breed us... the sustainable mongrel!
i quiet expect myself to
hiding away in Kenya on a beach...
thinking about Ghanian timber being imported...

that this language is english...
i'm sorry... an englishman isn't using it...
doesn't that tow behind: usurping the natural
buoyancy of a boat?
called a duck... at least a duck doesn't sink...
then again:
perhaps i'm not supposed to peer into
these "surnames" of views...
what if integration was all wrong...
eh... madmen from the east...
as long as we get, but one,
egyptian artifact of a pharaoh!

please don't include me in this arithmetic...
no... don't...
oh yes... those... very sensible gays
we hear a lot about... "elsewhere"....
it's always a metaphorical ditto and elsewhere
and: foraging for sensible with the irish...
mother russian sent me...

why is it that...
bilingual is, but no longer is...
the newly frozen focus frame
of schizoid?
              don't mind me...
          after some time enough of the people's
sanity begs itself: the consort... approval...
and rating...
am i mollusk bound to a shell...
maybe whatever, probably not...
but... if i were to don the niqab...
i'd be all the more welcome! for the cocktail!
so why did...
england... pretend to care about Poland...
and state: war! against Germany...
why did you ******* even bothersome yourselves
to "care"?
wouldn't you like us to...
be... currently... spreschen deutsche?!
ich kennt ich würde!
i wouldn't mind... the ****** tongue disappearing...
i'd still be... using the remains of Latin...
given this phonetic encoding, is not...
phonecian... or... cuneiform...

i've come back to say... you really didn't require...
to save us...
perhaps having german as an envelope language...
we would have become
the second scandinavia... the south italy
of the baltic states... perhaps the baltic sea
was to become the new... mediterranean...
the new rome... outlier whittle bright scon...
and all those people and nations involved
in bringing the baltic sea ambitions into fruition...

oh believe me...
but i've invested over 20 years of my life
on these isles...
to have to return to: forevever not welcome...
with the history of less...
to stage war to defend a people...
that otherwise become: gutter-scouts...
while the niqab-ninja walks like a scared cow...
oh sure... if you're culturally confused...
don't run up to me asking for resolutions...
why would even defend poland when **** germany
and soviet russia invaded...
daydreaming your little: lawrence of arabia:
universal man... the god-riddled man valentines'!
have 'im!

i'm tired of the stereotypes...
the middle-men that we are...
not being the higher tier russian oligarch types..
you "not racist" peddlestool proximity...
but it's o.k. if it does have to include
the Polacks and the Irish...
*******... no go zone.

Get your noses out of that stank hole you half-man beasts.

Most of you walk around with **** and **** on your breath; Disgusting punk cuck skanks clean up, lazy vermin.

alt title: nox! νύχτα! noc (nychta)! / gwnaeth nhw anghofio

four days on antibiotics because of a tooth-ache...
more like a gum throbbing...
a nerve ending shouting session...
and what did i learn?
i love being sober as much as i like drinking...
i don't think being drunk is even invoked...
it misses me, "somehow"...
the "well not really"... i find that to be drunk,
proper, you also need a side-dish
of a stimulating conversation,
as done per solo: well... to the gallows of stupor
with you!
beside that... today marked the day
when i remembered what a bee sting feels like...
the first time it was me laying mud on
top of this helpless bee... kneeling
in the mud... getting stung...
today... this little zeppelin ******
fell off a tree and into my hair...
while attempting to brush it off
i gained a signature of its needle
and a little bit of its ***...
the part where it dies from taking a fatal shot
at: please, someone... comb my hair!
acute pain is more than whatever is on
offer in the hallucinogenic realm of things...
mushy-fungus-hitchhiker:
ride i am not...
acute pain sharpens reality and "reality"...
take me, 4 days sober... now i'm having
a formidable sessions...
i'll get to what's bothering me in a second...
i'm almost happy to say that i'm drinking
to shake off all the clove-buds and other
anaesthetics that numbed me comfy...
but a whiskey in the morning...
even if you're going to do all the chores
in the garden...
let's face it... there's no good mood of chore
even if you spike it with drink...
some people don't relax when writing...
some people constrict themselves and out pops
out the **** of fiction and fantasy...
i tried watching t.v. this evening...
i never bother to turn on the radio...
i'm my own d.j. plus that thing the wind
was doing with that eucalyptus in my garden...
the thing the clouds were doing...
i think that's plenty of fire while
the t.v. can die... on a Friday...
i once asked for a sabbath for journalism...
even though the Sunday edition with its news review
is probably the best day... so a journalistic sabbath
would be a Monday...
t.v. can ******* on Friday...
i do adore being sober as much as i love drinking...
after all...
from 118kg down to 101.8kg...
i can already feel the sunken cheeks of slimming...
i even started to admire myself
in glass while watering the fruit trees in my garden...
i'd swear that i grew a beard to
make a second emphasis of contortions on my face...
**** on me! here are the first!
of the world... buzz-words...
hypergamy... blah blah...
   *****-donations...
   ha ha... well... it certainly looks like...
no sooner rather than not ever...
we'll be ******* our third cousins... for sure...
well... if you think about it...
a whole lot of women...
going for... a whole lot of *****...
from one man...
    isn't that... ahem... complicated?
         unless he's a magician, a psychiatrists
and a tree surgeon...
i see! melodramatic o fortuna type feel:
if all these women...
   are being impregnated by this one...
bank account...
  that's all he is... a yellow walrus...
what are the chances of... 2nd generation ******?!
2nd, 3rd... sure sure... back in the old testament
days... same father... two "opposing" mothers...
no complications...
just, that, *******, riddle... of... forehead...
against... a... brick... wall... to... curb...
demands... for... original... thinking!
just saying... happy to be drinking...
shivers and shakes and demonic faces of hallucination
come 2am... oh... and dreams...
bogus... dreams... nonsensical dreams...
dreams on a whim for Eloise to ****...
to midnight!
i have a new drinking salute...
   nox! nychta!
                 oíche!
             so we are, aren't we... certain...
of... best for "moi" but not when another
"moi" best of... come together
in a slobbering case of gene pool fog...
cousin-some-share... that imbecile father...
well... here's me not dreaming
of any other dream-gene-pool...
i'm a walking abortion, don't you know?
i just came late... much later than expected...
expected the golden horde to allow the same
freedoms...
in the old days... the chains of the mistake
of that one night stand...
i can see it now...
it would be impossible to be chained
to the next come next sheered ****** the better
mechanised no better than deus ex machina:
i.e. **** in machina...
the bus-driver... the ******* plumber...
i surf with words...
i don't hold... lend me a sociopath and a brothel
and we'll have us a jolly good night...
i have about £140 quid for the occassion
and two litres of whiskey to get us through...
well... me my shadow and a cat i'll call...
mr. bowler...
because girls in yorkshire are disappearing...
and that's old news...
i see boys disappear all the time...
hardly teased by sweets and bad parenting
tantrum traps...
what came from barbie and what
came from g.i. joe... certainly not fans
for chess or su doku...
sorry but if the police are not willing to do...
anything... what the **** am?
a slave herder?
their father?
a "concerned civilian"?
                   i haven't been ****** for free in well
over a decade...
coming to 15 years...
   i'll let this one black girl off because
she had a skinny ***
and my ex was friends with her
and she slept over and i gave have a few
k.o. cocktails and... we matched...
on that karma sutra scale of...
i assure you... no elephant ****** a bunny...
as a tease of prep for childbirth...
could have had a cesaerian...
            paid... the napkin... paid...
the magic... what carpet? probably paid...
oh... it's sobering, proper sobering to pay...
notably: ******...
a ship might sink... but that fat-flat-skim-reading
of skin will never fade from my memory...
i'm sure my lips were leeches and i had
her eyelids... with the mascara itched onto them
i write this...
to-ast!
          night! nox! nychta!
                       i have no heart to either write
or drink during the day...
give me the day and the clear dichotomy
of the body and the mind...
i want to be drunk of the exercise of the body
to calm the mind...
but i also want to be drunk on the mind
to not exercise the body...
for me there is no mind-body dualism...
there are punctuation points that favour
a mind-body dichotomy than a dualism...
like...

writing is an extension of thinking...
it's not an invitation to waggle your tongue...
but of course... i'm proud of my students
who only recently were illiterate and are more
than eager to speak aloud what they can read...
rather than "think" it...

to excess!

why would i "believe" to be a molusk...
brain-and-bondy-entwined?
this sponge of a... pickled... brain?
bound to a duality...
clearly defined rubrics...
if numbers are things...
words are beings...
and that genesis of numbers: nothing!

singen! singen! doof schweinschnauze!
who ever said we'd need those
72 virgins underestimated our
need for...
       ahem... siebzig-zwei...
      rottweilers! arithmetic that against the 3
gratis eins of cerberus... blah...
it's no fun drinking when...
well... your excesses are not mine...
st. augustine... a cololoquy?
           ah ha ha... a soliloquy...
colloquial is akin to: n'est c'est pas?

          shh... me my, moral: ought-i narrative...
project zero... Munich: munching:
tripping at fahrenheit gizmo degree 106...

did "we" invite anyone to make this
a spectacle of teasing only-fans stature?
how can you ***** words?
put them to the test of graffiti?
is that it?
sell them cheap... make some counterfeit
robo-jungle-jingle work
the shorteing... already short...
missed the mark...
excuse the farmers...
you savvy with the tractor?
the Romanian strawberry pickers?
how about the the concept of a seasonal diet?
i don't really need strawberries
in winter...
i don't actually mind... no strawberries at all...

i'm here... whatever freedom might be
allowed for me in the land of
the freed Polacks strangulated by the powers
at be that were: in the 20th century
in the variant of the Russian...
Soviet... Prussian...
****... ends up with the Belgian
chocolate... kite-runners... typos...

not 'un of their F-F-F-F-ANG...
LE
however the ******* vont or...
want...
because you don't you toy
with words that "they" might like...
they have a cat that suddenly expressed a:
*******...
while i have a cat tidying up cushions
in which he and i will later sleep in...

white town: your woman...
playing pool at some end of
the hammersmitth & city tube load-off...
somehow the 1990s keep flooding back
to some: chess... innuendo...
shifting bricks... shifting bottle of ketchup...
my greatest love: shifting angry pockets
of IRA...
oh... wait...
       "gwnaeth nhw anghofio"?

like these isles were merely "conquered" on the focus
of Loon'dun and Birmingham alone...
oops the mosque of celts up north...
i'm just heightening: hibernating my expectations...
the Welsh and the Cornish...
my tribe my no tribe...
every time i might be reminded...
that i'm not a ******...
or part of some greater idea of "nation"
that's a diaspora of ******...
i'll sooner disappear into the 'indu *******...
marry a healthy second slur of Vishnu...

bogus: i see these brown-beaters i'm a *******
copperneck myself...
i will never be allowed to go back... "home"...
thanks for the integration play...
hybrid "lost soul"...
since English is so integral in all of things...
plum... pecker...
*****... screwdriver... nail...
hammer.. solipsism...
                to amount to n identity in English is...
so myopic... forget the tenderness of Linguo-Empire
froth.. bothered... full-stop...
the mythological blonde and her mythological
ape-short-cut elephant tusk: cuck-eye...
hello! me... (sign language interlude):
B... O... W...
       O... U... T...
              forget the braille and morse...
oh... wait... you were waiting for the cuck daddy...
but... if the cuck daddy is not ready to reproduce the
cucked baby girl... daddy's girl...
a generational pardon...
i'm not ready to reproduce:
        brick black block stwong dwyck...

oh i'm pretty sure:
one of those: pic. perfect pictures... please!
i'll die sooner than be found around
one also gagging:
having to appease
a Zulu hard-on...
like i "said"...
70,000 walking ******
on the lips of Libya...

              the envious green, eye?
the all-seeing... green tumult?
have them... i'm "dying"...
let them rot in gloat of
being rabbit **** finding out
about a camel phallus...
because... that's... how... it... works...
TOOL, FOR THE IVIORY LADY...
now i get to exercise a freedom
of tongue freed from lap...
rap or "just arrived"...
scrutiny of literacy...

           it's not like the Hebrews were ever going
to be celebrated for their physicality...
the ***** was...
thank you... for taking take of spunge-nik...
mythological blonde...
thank you... piston... tool...
           because your egoism had to pay of...
wouldn't it?
if all you have... to trace pride worth with...
******* worship...
based on size...
you know... the ancient greeks found
a large phallus a demeaning meaning in:
it's barbaric...
a bit like a shallow ****...
might also fit the criteria...

               have "them" their ******* interracial
bonanzas...
please let them have it...
let them feel morally superior...
give them a generation or two...
"we'll"... start... the bleaching process... ha!
the EURASIA monstrosity is...
heave! who's Arican?
the angwy west kind?

      german assimilate sort?
i always found the darker skinned Kenyans
best beyond having to tame... blisters...

but my parallel universe father-in-law
could be a summary of
paul young's love of the common people
and...
      the kinks... living on the thin line...
my parallel universe...
that's before... love come's first:
thirst... and lobotomy me tow two blue too...

give me a ******* bicycle!
i would most likely most clearly most
want to generate my own momentum...
than have to heave a hoof to tow too!
but i ****** your elder daughter while
my eyes turned me into a ******...
i: epitaph...
   supposedly living "since"...
give us scrutiny... enough lager...

                                 i laugh naked into the night...
it's supposedly cloudy... isn't... tell me...
it isn't?!
of those summers... of those springs...
i could tell you the no. of freckles...
no i couldn't... but i could tell you...
that bomb great bomb of flavour that's
a black cardamom in a...

          **** me... if the antithesis counterpart
of moi can **** a black boyo...
like... readily like... there's rat poison:
like there's a need for propaganda like there's
a need for insomnia hard-ons...
good for her: m'ah n'ah'm'eh izzzz...
fowel: fow'est...       GYMP...
            forest trail...
             you kept bizzy.. no?
so...
          she's busy... and when she won't be
busy she'll be burying herself
in ****** spermbanks...

as free as a southernfairy:
not being a southernfairy ever might...
you... friggin'... ******* future of moon-key!
i said:            quoth      bwy?!

I can just picture it
Your super close to finishin
Nutting into ***** socks
Tugging at your wimpy ****
I know that you think of me
To an unhealthy degree
Writing all those angry songs
A loser limpdick sing-a-long
I can't seem to blame you much
I have that effect on all I touch
You didnt deserve it though
So now you get to watch me go
While I upgrade to bigger **** and you get to imagine it
I'm smiling up at someone else
While you sit at home and touch yourself
So obsessed with my life
You're a cuck without the wife
I guess you couldnt handle me
We're from a different pedigree
No longer on that failure ****
Or living in a trailer ****
Crybaby **** don't work no more
So stomp your feet across the floor
All the way to mommies room
But she don't love you either dude!
Man you cant seem to catch a break
My ******* were all a fake
But if you need a diagram
You know where the **** I am
I'm out here focused on myself
While you threaten to **** yourself
I bleed success and excellence
I am too good for this all this mess
Remember who the **** I am
When I destroy you on the stand
You say you used to be abused?
What a ***** boy *** excuse
I am not your baby girl
I'm rocking someone else's world
So take some notes and highlight bits
It says right here that you ain't ****

standing on the hellbender periphery...
something happens in
the anglo-lingual world...
something correlating injustice...
"whiteness" - the babylon circus...
you name it... and somehow...
this doesn't explode to other areas
of the world, but merely implodes...

perhaps it's the same in france and germany...
how scandinavia (notably sweden)
succumbed to this: i will not or rather:
i don't want to know...

i actually miss not having made
myself available to my grandparents
for this past month...
i'm pretty sure i would have read
and read and stayed sober...

4 years outside of the confines of both
england and december teasing january...
a hip-replacement surgery of
a very demanding mother...
turns out... her worries were unjustified...
if the surgeon was happy...
the nurses were happy...
it required almost a month of passing...
her vampirism draining me...
until some physiotherapist explained
it to her...

but that's not enough...
to vacuum each day to better keep her
impulsive-compulsive ticks in check...
as much as i like the joke of owning
two bonsai tigers...
and i haven't minded the cooking,
the ironing, the whole Cindarella shabang...
but when there's all that...
and there's the father loitering
around waiting for a new contract...

all the great things i ended up doing
with a degree in chemistry...
this is my last outlet...
get busy scribbling,
drinking and... over-rating my ambitions...
but all these anglo-lingual problems
just invite themselves in...
i listen to them and...

on the doorsteps of Russia...
can you imagine what sort tangos this
multi-cultural experiment would dance
in Russia?
that's practically an Asian entity...
or in the Balkans with its still preserved
Turkic presence of Islam...
anywhere where...

- i really can't see the problems...
other than this: this is a very terrible piece
of writing... look at it...
flabby, disjointed...
different problems in Russia...
or... ha... written in the vicinity of London...
with a mind-set still bound up
to having Belarus and Ukraine as neighbours...
and Russia too...

on the hellbender periphery of "whiteness"...
this whole: we were colonial powers once
argument... is sort of dead on my ears...
even i can attest: the darker skinned Kenyans
and the lighter skinned Nigerians...

i'm actually tired of the whites
who are pushing their transcendental *******...
never more free if they didn't push their
ideas and instead learned a new language...
apparently england fares the worst
when it comes to bilingualism...
circa 30% of its 15 - 35 year olds speak
a second language...
compared with Denmark: circa 90+%...
germany circa 80%... Poland thereabouts...

for some reason i was never taught
to "love" my fellow-countrymen... being an émigré...
how much of it was an automated: self-exile
and how much of it: we did this for you
to have a better life...
better life - as i now ask...
it's a life... i don't have comparative literature
to call it any better or any worse...
it is what it is...

i'm tired and i'm drinking:
which usually implies that i will be more honest
than usual...

the better parts of me i've left with other people,
what i have accumulated is,
the worst part of them... mostly their: sanctimonious
appeal... or the bigmouth strikes: yet again...

even Russia is a multicultral societ...
but there's no prancing beyond the better part
of the trough of Moscow's snippet piglets...
moss-co... opt in or opt-out...

the lost ability to consecrate one's life
in postcard snippers of photographs:
that once upon a time other people would take...
but now you take yourself...

imagine a man that masturbates once...
every "blue moon"... on / off...
what door is opened most frequently
in the house? the fridge is opened more times
than even the front door...
and then there's the selfie barrage...
because... looking into a mirror is no longer
enough...
if photography can be an art-work...
what the hell is the photograph
when one can focus in on something in a mirror?
are people who take these photographs
are afraid of looking in the mirror?

to have to stand completely stark naked...
mollusk-esque...
and the world's not quiet an oyster...
and all that: one punch sucker and it's
not so much a one punch k.o.,
and a one punch k.o. and a postmortem...
i've seen one of these examples:
"i.r.l.": i even hovered over the body
with a bunch of bystanders and said
out-loud...
'well... this sweet ******* is
not seeing next spring' - i.e. getting up
and having life-support machines
attached to him...

evolutionary: to begin with...
it's norman normie normansky...

oh yeah, i've seen a one punch post-mortem,
i've been to a brothel,
and i've been to a strip-club...
but still in Russia...
and esp. in Poland...
on the periphery of "whiteness"...
and there was no "cipher" to follow-suit....
what's expected is...
not expected...

because the button of cleavage...
which... let's face it...
one can't distinguish it from the peach
of an ***...
i wonder: would i, ever be bound...
to the grand canyon; "exemplification"?
please, stress any "further"...
two croissants doing the rub-rub
in an imitation game for two mollusks *******...
as ever: looking for
a tomahawk and a... scalp...

but in Russia: you would never see
this pseudo!
pseudo is a cuss-word reserved for petting
hunting dogs...
when you want them to aport! in reverse....
not in Russia, not in Poland...
good cuck-luck taming Ukraine...
perhaps all these ******* ever knew...
was how to seem: mouthy...
appropriate... and what better place to start...
than some obscrucity equivalent
to Rotherham!

oh i see it... when the THETA becomes the V...
rover nor rho-f-f rho-f-f...
******* r and am!
or simply quartz... and spam canned ham!

i was never expected to be the thief among
prostitutes...
kissing and the dosage of the reprimand
buther... cut always below the bulk
of a knee... survived the thinning
of the shins...
in psychiatric terms my "codition" is alluded
to as: the crude soup...
never was a more sane man demanded
to feel inadequacy...

but i salvaged for better complaints...
this is not even, remotely assertive of...
when i want and i will not
disparage from sound savegery
and... "that thing in the back of my mind"...
the sane people call it:
the hallucination of morality...
they're all hush hush about it...
they don't want to be prescribed:
shock-treatment of... being dropped into
an ice bath... to hell with their bowties!

jesus mary and joseph...
i could never become a jack the ol' ripper
though... i became a tapeworm of kissing
when it came to the canvas of
prostitutes...
parasitical lips... bite-down tooth envy
of my great-grandfather...
what i could never kiss...
i always wanted to bite to tease with...

now my libido is satisfied...
i can claim not being the hyperbolic outlier....
i don't need a wife,
a mother in law... a child...
a shadow life of a Chikatilo...
to lend myself to Cain...
i can absolve myself with the rites of Abel...
how... oh how this most pristine how...
i only supposed i'd be dead...
and not playing both "victim"...
prosecutor... and inspector columbus to boot!

conventional language scares me...
there's so much hiding behind
immovable objects...
that in turn the moon or the table become
quasi-deities in a world
littered with demigod *****!
of the polytheistic gods...
which one... didn't chance a common semblance
to a *******?
perhaps i've earned this rigid tongue...
rattle and sawdust itching from it...
first bound...

last resort: this is not about to become
a conventionality of language...
this is not going to become...
an aud lang syne...
this is not going to become: tea-party
forget me: forget me or taste the forget-me-not!

revised lent topic: on the hellbender periphery...
how these post-colonial former subjects...
well unless you're in Poland,
Belarus, Ukraine, Russia...
mein gott! i really should start knocking
on Russian's door, more often...
this sort of ******* that's allowed
in England would be... most likely...
quickly suppressed...
for the good of the people:
it's always: for the good of the people...
oops... " "...
yeah yeah... "for the good of the people"...

the colonial ambitions...
and the guilt of being white in eastern europe...
which is why i can never master
the english conundrum...
while kenyans are darker than the nigerians...
but in their dark-choc...
seem to be basked in coconut oil
that oozes from the Indian ocean...
Kenyans who import timber from Ghana?
and the Nigerians...

oh sure sure sweetheart!
we can revive the Balkan enterprise...
you just say when!
we'll have the christian serbs run amok...
over the islam minorities...
sure sure...
it's almost akin to: teasing Russia
to climb out of its Caucasian bed-root...
when it ****** with the Turkic peoples...

and of course... coming across the
Afro-Europeans of the colonial present, past,
and future... there was only one history
of / for the Europeans...
origins in Africa...
sorry... what about the Indo- prefix?

here we have the sanskrit...
here we have the hierogylphs...
but... what of the writing of ancient
Kenyans?
i'm no better... came st. cyrill and his greek
contra the glagolitic...
which is... probably southern slavic...
and... there were the runes
and the ancient romans fighting
the tribes of Danube... but never as far north
as the Baltic did they come...

but in mind: i'm always going to be bound
to the periphery knocking on the doors
of Kiev and Novgorod...
with the Mongol also citing:
he too knocked...
something happened... had his hand cut off
at the wrist with the remnant budding
leftover of the Crimean Tartars...

so... this passover former colonial...
"grief" is now running former colonial society's
mischief?
am i white, or am i asian?
i will never know...
Islam and what? the crusades of the baltic states
by the teutonic knights?
and Europe and Europe and Europe
without the english, the myth of troy revived
in Italy... and the proud yet backward
greeks...
i too thought: if it's not feral enough...
it's feral enougn where english is not spoken!

after all... england is a far far away place...
even if i'm currently "living" in it...
it wasn't invaded and all it had to propose was...
its own ******* to the external world...
pristine england...
pristine p.s. england...

this anglo-phile... ahem... "problem"?
in ukraine or in russia?
it's a problem and a problem of this sort
is treated with a sort of amnesia...
equivalent to:
today's Monday, yes?
oh... today's not a Monday?
will i still you if you mind calling it a Tuesday?!

the body intact bound to a vicinity of London...
the mind... detached... elsewhere...
perhaps it was the over-rationalisation
of the darwinistic approach...
again: even copernicus didn't or wouldn't
have entertained such an over-reach
of his heliocentrism become dogmatic...
copernicus who?
exactly! only someone like wittgenstein
would celebrate copernicus...
the west only celebrates galileo:
because of the trial...

i can attest though... mendeleev is secure!
is it perhaps odd...
that some ****- would not find
differences between a croat
and a moldavian?
a kashubian and a silesian?
a scot an a welshman?

imagine my ah! gasp!
the tribes within a tribe...
the "home" team consisting of liverpudlians!
and the "away" team consisting of scousers!
liverpool f.c. supporters of the former...
everton supporters for the latter...
but we're all white!
i'm "white white" because i've acquired
this tongue and i can...
somehow... forget mein: wurzeln...

mind you... elsewhere?
that word... root? in deutschezunge?

wurzeln: decipher: nurse! scalpel!
wur-zeln...
no no... this will not do...
wü-ř-eln
alternatively...
wü-ž-eln...

and that's not "woo"... it's a V-not-U...
voor-zeln!
alternatively there's the ż (rz)...
which is equivalent to either ř or ž...
ř = r(z) and ž = (r)z...
"when" and "where" you know that's
an orthographic distinction to begin with...
i.e. ř = r(z) and ž = (r)z
when rz = ż...

i really have "real" problems to mind
of my own, on the periphery of:
the "western lands"... st. cyril is biting at my toes...
as ancient roman bites back...
the alphabet intact...
you either learn some greek...
or you don't gloat about being lazy about
not having acquired some passable "knowledge"
of cyrilic...

so? here's to taking another selfie from the perspective
of fearing to look into a mirror...
and here's to some new obscure modern hieroglyphic
take on the "thumbs-up"... and: shmiley :)!

better i stick to the diacritical markers...
niche point of interest...
niche to the point of claustrophobia...
but of all these anglo- problems?
these "racial" problems?
yes, yes, racial problems in "eastern" europe...
of real concern...
the russian empire and the kazakh people...
mongol remains...
ottoman remains...
western europe now being nothing but
shame for the rest of us...

"the rest of us"... "us"...
"we" could have said... before they had a chance
to gloat... to buffer gloating...
to pride themselves beside pride per se...
to mistake pride for gloating...
before "we" came and learned their language...
and found the leashes of their starved
dobermann hounds...
the mediocre liberal elites of the dutch...
the belgians and their... swiss ambitions...
hell: did they really have to invite
the swedes into this "problem"?!

perhaps this is written in english...
sure as **** it's not written by a native...
i'm no more an englishman than
a parsley root is a ******* carrot!
although i dare say...
that essex hue of being: toasted...
coming from a lazy afternoon at a snippet
of a Brighton beach?
the well-tanned look?
no... even i don't want to fake being
Thai in December...

i thought i'd ease the "tension"...
who can say: i'm piglet pink with a dash of
cranberry... cosmopolitan cocktail whenever i
pretend to "feel like it"...
otherwise porky leather...
and then... the layers and hues of...
copper and chocolate *******...
then there's that amnesia rust...
and there's always that porcelain japanese...
the albino iranian and we can have
a ******* **** contrastic hues...
copper over there, some cinnamon over here...
some chocolate in between
and some porky leather 'ere...
personally i think i'm more sepia than white...
there's still that visible blood in my veins
that allowed me to conjure up:
the blue-bloods...
better in german: der blaugeblüt...

perhaps: when in rome...
well... the vandals and the rest of the evil brood
had to, at some point...
tell the romans... you're not being yourselves...
there's no longer a social cordiality in place...
there's no more: when in rome...
because i'm not native of these lands
and of this tongue...
but i will not be... smothered by some
*******-worth-a-roasting debility mongers
and mongrels of: subversion!

you should visit Russia from time to time...
if you get a chance to **** a siberian
******...
hell: don a ******, she'll tell you she's
on contraceptive pills...
then "all of a sudden" you'll find yourself
wondering: matt! i think i'm pregnant...
months after the relationship ended...
and she's on her next pair of gloves;
but she's calling you... for you to pick up
the pieces...

diese englischprobleme ar nicht mein "sache"!
and if there's a heaven...
i pray to god i speak some obscure dialect
of german... bohemian german...
silesian german...
i'll even settle for gothic german!
not for some love of the people...
i just want to imagine myself as having
died a: lebkuchenbäcker...

a gingerbreadbaker...
since *** didn't cut it...
and ******* became a yawn...
there's only this...
the remains of exploring language
without having those stiff, polite...
practical, teasing an escape from solipsism,
formal... samples of language use...
this is the best i can offer...
to use language for the sort of reasons...
that with the language thus used...
i will not have familiar ground to stand /
walk on... since this language does not
exist in the dignified everyday:
lick-the-envelope... seal it... send.

.I: the minotaur teased at the labyrinth and the tornado

i was readying myself to keep these words stashed
long enough for the drawer to be overflowing with them,
i waited for the closet to grit teeth and give
birth to a skeleton - i waited and waited and i felt
like being a dam no more -
i wanted to keep the waters like i might keep
a foetus - but of man and pregnancy -
only a tapeworm at the end of this alley of wishing...
after all... what is a the umbilical chord without
a mouth - what is a tapeworm this hyper-reality
of scientific synonyms...
                              i wanted to write a few, a words...
like i might be a tourist in Dublin... mouth made into...
gob gloryhole having my teeth removed...
some sand poured into a sock the sock shoved into
the abyss whenever some ref. to Joyce might be noted...
ah yes... succinct beauty in words....
never that rambling narrative...
space!
                               cascading words... and...
better no myopia... reading congested paragraphs
of Kafka...
it will be duly noted later...
                    a short poem about...
drinking 13: hop house lager... and a diet of bushmills...
making it up to 12 units per night...
and the full dosage of amytryptyline 25mg and
250mg of naproxen...
   and saying: better finding the dead...
the gun club - jeffrey lee pierce...
                   and just drinking... putting on the radio
and no longer... foraging for the d.j. headset...
as ever... sticking to new rules... nothing posted...
social media "grit"... attention ******* -
like counting falling stars of a niche viewing...
or some other grand muddle of things...
as i once told the doctor:
there was once a "carpe diem" narrative lodged
in my head...
there was the squirrel impetus for thoughts
the nuts that would become an entire tree and a day...
now? only shrapnel... riding the betting beast
of day-by-decay-by-day...
               if attempting to cook with hops...
i'd recommend sticking to hop lager...
stay away from the ale... stay away from the ale...
ale overpowers... with the hops...
i love hops more than i might ever love chocolate...
i love hops more than i might ever love chocolate...
but not when it's an indian pale ale...
it has to be a hop feast of a mr. guinness' lager...
and next to his stout... there's no other beer on
these isles i would be found drinking...
you learn to talk by talking...
you learn to walk by walking...
you learn to write by keeping your mouth shut...
keen eye - one eye blind...
as i have been...
walking under a constellation -
i call it scorpio or rather...
the exfoliating-צ (tsade) - and so too up-side down...
i too might have mistook the constellation
as... ayin (ע) but there's a spine to this up-side down
letter...
they dare not say the word: n•••••
but dare to say the name of the name:
ha-shem: tetragrammaton - as easily as the fizzy
fizzling out to a stalemate of jesus: hey'zeus!
just saying: there's not a kippah on me or a snippet
of ******* to be made into an earring "missing"...
i have no gamble in this...
perhaps... this is farewell poetry...
the adieu poetry of: what began with Casimir III
when the YIDS were given asylum in the north...
this musst be farewell poetry...

i never liked the word: jew... and yew: well...
that's a tree... well: to borrow from the ******* german
of the hebrew slang...
yiddish... and ergo... you have the yids...
which i find a more pleasing word to hear...
after all: a jew sounds a menace when...
compared to dew: due...   a matter of:
do i mind the sound of fork on porcelain?
do i mind the sound of nail on a blackboard?

how i once complained: the english and
their cats and kettles...
                                  and then... their cysts...
the greeks and their omicron and omega...
their (F) twins: theta and phi...
of course... no diacritical marks were harmed
in the process: since none were used!
what's not to like about 'ebrew and their
   two vowels that act as consonants
(ע) ayin and aleph (א) -
even if the argument stands:
the letters have a name, unique...
but we use the first letter of their name...
the prefix A- and discard the rest...
have i ever mentioned the minor a in 'ebrew...
the kametz? oh yes... there are five minor vowels...
well... there's only one minor vowel the 'a'...
given ayin and aleph...
the rest remain in the sheol of diacritical
marks... yes: left to right
               (ש)(ל)
                            indeed: where is tzere (e) and
cholem (o)?
         me too... can't see them...
because... they're not there...
just like a spanish... abajeño - abahenyo...
acompañada - (panyada)...
          there i see the equivalent of the hebrew vowels
in that halo and pentagram...
not in latin, in greek... the rubric...
A)lpha - a...
B)eta - b
G)amma - g
D)elta - d...         the prefix rule of letters
having names...
exceptions? a bit like roman numerals...
6,6,6    - X)i - 600 (χ)
            - Ξ)ι - 60 (ξ)
            - Σ(igma - the exception -
then again... a cardinal number...
             -    6 (ς') and that's always written
with an apostrophe...
akin to how... braille numbers are
                                         prefixed with ⠼

          why not expect the same prefix rules to apply
to hebrew?
    after all (א)lef ≠ (ל)ef
                          given (ל)amed
                otherwise... (ב)et, (ג)imel, (ד)alet,
                  and how did the other "adam"
get tangled up?
        well... he became tangled as a suffix...
                  of (ז)ayin... hitting the snoozzzzzze
button...  (L, B, G, D) respectively
                      and... (ע)yin ≠ (י)in
                                                        given... (י)od
           so much for pandering - cucking out...
                                      while... comparing the name of
the name within the name: ha-shem tetragrammaton
Æ: adam ******* eve...
but a minor "threat"!

II: change of pace

there had to come about a change of pace -
no point drowning in the fast paced logistics
of reacting to almost every opinion -
what words to describe drinking and sitting
these videos - a silent masochsim of sorts...

that and the cheap *****... waking up stinking
of ferret / cats' **** - which:
is what you end up perfumed as...
esp. after calling beer: the gods' ... same old...

one can simply tire of going to bed at 5am
with not much and still: not really admiring the sunrise
come the right month...
i won't even publish this now...
i'll publish it tomorrow...
why? it's a very niche observation...

******* until you're running on empty...
at least to imagine ******* is better than seeing
what i sometimes see...
imagine a sausage factor harem...
and picasso and dali contortions of flesh to boot...
imagine a human centipede...
i can't imagine a need to fall to sleep
fully celibate and "pure"...
unlucky me that i have to manually dispose
of the ***** that's not going to be used
for an egg... unlike a woman who does so...
automatically...
i have to manually dispose of the ***** that's
not going to be used...
otherwise: sperma ut caput!
         i'm empty down below... i'm somewhat
empty in the middle - the heart beats
but is numb - i'll go down and forrage
for a snack after the dosages are complete
after an hour's worth of toil...
then i'll bumilia it out the old fashioned
way... ticking the uvula and the third tonsil
with an index and *******...
till i feel a pinch between my **** and my
*****... that slit of skin that would sometimes
be called: how the coccyx was formed
from the scolded dog's tail...

and of course turn on fama.radio.pl -
between 10pm GMT and 6am GMT...
i don't mind the music they're playing -
when i'm aiming for a KO when it comes to getting
a 6h shift in the land of Nod...
i'm not going to play the pretentious high fidelity
d.j.            (either)...

i could be sitting up with these content
creators... by the way... since i leave no comments
on these type of videos...
having read the blood sports the beefeaters
and meathead bashing in general for the crab crown...
for an up-vote...
a commentary of "concerns"...

i could be doing that and waiting for a blitzkrieg
blah blah i'm usually prone to...
but...
there is an alternative... the radio.fama.pl alternative
of autopilot d.j. and no adverts...
rare footage of me choosing to sleep on
the other side of the bed...
for over 3 years i've only been sleeping on
one side of the bed... but the bed is made for two...
and through the radio and in between
twilight and deep nox "consciousness"
of still hearing the music, feeling myself breath...
the voice as if saying:
now i know what it feels like to sleep
with you: on the other side of the bed...

and other lyrics flooded my head -
each song became a solipsistic advent of only me...
nearing deep sleep or...
that period of the throes...
but i hardly death is knowing -
just somehow "me" telling: fall into the body...
turn the lights off...

i could waste my time with cheap *****
on all these people are are alive...
bogus alive... clickbait alive... video alive...
not exactly blockbuster friendly...
sure... competing with news channels...
but... these are not the good old blockbuster days
of VIDEO...
competing on the medium of opinions...
i binged on that...
but then i had a moment of revelation...
try looking for the dead...
drinking better alcohol...

so i came across the gun club -
notably jeffrey lee pierce - well... he's no bono...
or a kurt cobain... and even if he wanted
to be a chris isaacs... it doesn't matter...
i'll be in bed before midnight...
and all i will have accumulated...
no - no liter of cheap whiskey...
no 4 cheap 8% iders and roughly 35cl of
co-op brand whiskey...
i will have drunk...
what's better than an IPA?
what isn't better than budweiser? the HOPS!
the HOPS! but what's better than
an indian pale ale?

              a HOP HOUSE LAGER...
because you have more of the carbon dioxide...
and less of the staleness of an ale...
because it's a lager...
and... unless you're asking for...
a guinness... there's no better hop lager
than 13... which... is again a guinness...
every bottle every story...
i won't ditto what the bottle reads...

so i'll be drinking two bottles of that...
and... 5cl + 5cl.... let's say... roughly 150ml
of... BUSHMILLS irish whiskey...
yes... come to think of it...
who brews the best lager on these isles?
the irish do...
and who brews the best whiskey
on these isles? the irish do...
that's settle... i will write this before i take
to nod... but i will not...
imagine going to sleep with someone's
eyes prying in on this...
it would be like bedding something
worse than a ghost...
a voyeuristic c.c.t.v. mob-machine
i need my sleep - the reactions are not necessary...
lazily done in the day...
and i'll have forogtten about it...
occupying myself with... trying to remember
a word in braille... or something...
like making silesian dumplings...

it doesn't matter... niche writer for a niche
readership... let's not get too excited;
i'm not going to **** for a viral video
or a viral tweet or etc.

a youtube algorithm can still be found – from the good old days –
compliments: the gun club, mother of earth
followed by… the black angels, young men dead…
and if supposed to feel, less “puritanical” about *******,
while the girl has her ***** at the ready and a video-cam
broadcast… the cure’s album ******* while
watching a sasha foxx  VICE documentary…
before setting on… doing it over still photos imagining…
well… a crude Botticelli… visceral Matisse…
when Lucian Freud met up with Egon Schiele…

just empty empty before a good night’s and 7am beginning
of tomorrow’s borrowed time.

III: revelation 1:0 on the River Niger

i'll be very sensible for for little piece of trash -
i just hope it's worse than a column from
some tabloid newspaper!

honestly... i will bring out all the "self-cencorship"
sensibilities for this one...
it feels that the need has to be fed...

but... i'm sorry that you will not see
it as bi••er - you will see 2 bulls...
and the 2 hexes: &#x2022...

  or you would see motherf•••••...
then again: ck is not an acronym for calvin klein...
nor would it be a... crawling fahrenheit...

not even a Σ(νιγγερ) helps...
and because of all of that... you are ready
to watch pornographic material
and whatever floats your boat over on
rotten.com -

back in the day - we the first explorers
would come across such sites without any parental
control...
but i figured... if everyone is having
a hot day over a sour toothache bound
to the crunch of a pickle...

but if Σ(νιγγερ) is already crossing the deathpit
of sjw wrath...
either you, or i, do not deserve to see greek...
let's see who's ⠎⠝⠊⠛⠛⠑⠗⠊⠝⠛ in the dark then...
will you pluck out my eyes...
or will i pluck your eyes out?
or perhaps: you pluck your eyes
out and i'll just cut-out my tongue, how's that?

- i'll be honest... i'm not even going to compete
with will alexander's enclyclopedia lexicon...
and it's not like i have some...
repressed tauret's syndrome to boot...

   (tokens! tokens! tokens! they say...)

but i figured: you know...
i can listen to patti smith and her rock & roll
'igger...
              but because patti smith can...
doesn't mean that american head charge
can cover it...

but i did come back disappointed when
i put on... Grachan Moncur III's 1963 debut...
the çymbals got to me...
avant-garde jazz... it's no acid jazz...
and there i was thinking that
"too much" of alt-sax is bad enough...
                 not even i can stomach Mahler...
unless i want to self-harm...
holding a cat in my hands...
who's nails have not been clipped
imitating a sufi dervish while Mahler
is playing with the cat in my hands...
i'm terrible at such times...
when it comes to blinking with my eyes...
for fear? for fear of them being gauged
out by the cat... i prefer the scratches
on my hands...

     why would an östlichmann
why would an østligmann come to these isles
and no see a K in plain sight of (Plaid) Cymru?
why not immediately see:
Cornwall - as south Wales?
instead... he comes and attaches a tail...
calls it...                Çyrmru....

why oh why... perhaps because...
the word for dragon... for the östlichmann...
is... smok... the flag does the duty of:
in plain sight...

because there's a revelation at the end of this...
just today i thought: there are non-negotiable
historical events...
i was wrong... notably because of the holocaust
deniers...
you might think that some events in history
are non-negotiable...
i would think some things in life are tinged
with: non-negotiable standards of moving
forward...
                    
but if there's a word that one black man can slander
another black man...
because... whatever the etymology...
someone giggling on the River Niger...
or someone giggling in Nigeria...
the time in nigh... a sigh prior to the gig of giggles...
i get it...

but if a black man can have his own term...
to call another black man with a wink of...
ridicule... then as one: this being black on white...
i should have my word too...
and that's without a screetching mob of leftist
propaganda tools...
or whatever you want to call "them"...

now the eyes can be flooded with all the *****
films and all the masterchef episodes of
how the chinese prepare streetfood...
how a dog has to be beaten dead...
so it will taste more tender...
no... the actual cuts of meat of the dog
are not cured... made tender while the animal
is dead... the animal has to die by:
a softening of a good beating...
some would say that...
europeans didn't become wholly barbaric...
and changed their ways...
because... in them... there was something
of an animal-lover... a safety-net...

             but if a black man can call another black
man a n••••• in a rap song...
it came... via a song by m.d.c. (millions of dead
cops) - john wayne was a... n•••...
communist is dry... although some in the former
eastern bloc would find that offensive...
offensive enough to not speak an apology
to a fellow family member and vice versus
with regards to a papist and born again catholic...
etc. (born again under communism)...
and take that apology / non-apology to the grave
or otherwise stand over the grave and say:
and where was god for you, papist...
as he is for me, your supposed "communist"
brother-in-law? now standing over your grave?

a ****** revelation... come to think of it...
it will never catch on...
if a black man can call another black man a née-ni-ni...
i should be able to call another pig in blanket
a na-na-na...
but no... it will never catch on...

IV: No brainer brain-dead hard-on

i just have come to expect anything
by the standards "western chauvanism":
the world is no privy over my output
come a certain hour...
11pm is the cut-off point...

everytime they mention "eastern european" -
eastern... as in... 1 hour ahead of
gmt?
not the sort of sodden bed-fellows just
30 years ago... and the whole death of communism
bonanza of the early 90s dried up...
"our" women were just "your" women...

clearly: the **** of the sabine women
turned out to be: the revenge of the sons...
or... how the mothers would play off...
the daughters and the sons of the rapists...
against them... if not first generation...
then at least one... down the line...

accents accents... spoken by people with
no diacritical markers...
today i visited a vet... with two cats...
he still spoke of Velencia as if there
was a Greek phi or theta lodged in his teeth...
not a whisper... not a lisp...
an F where a C is embedded into text...

the world is not welcome after 11pm...
therefore this will remain a draft...
until tomorrow, or maybe not tomorrow...
i want to have a good night's sleep...
i'll be waking up at 10 to 7 in the morning
in order to properly shuffle my feet...
and... catch-my-shadow-off-guard...
because i will not be boxing the alpha-to-beta
alphabet of ontology with regards to
man- and -hood...
as one might... at least the circumcised
yids don't gloat...
about their circumcision...
no waving the h'american flag as there's
no waving of the kippah...
or throwing a kippah like a mortarboard
upon a high-school graduation...

does exactly what it says on the tin:
you already did your college graduation early...
*******... tool...
i still need my "beauty" sleep...
no output after hours...
like those laws in germany...
no work related phones, text or emails
after 5pm...
none! no obligation to reply!

england... the country of workoholics...
pish-poor russian alcholism does not
compensate... and that's really stretching
the sterotype canvas...

all i have to do, is think of tomorrow...
and how... i'll suddenly be thrown into
my neighbour's house... the eddie gain no more
to let the dog out...
albeit... there's no immaculate locked-off
room where the mother slept...
even by "western" standards...
they're not quiet sure what to make of me...
a doctor needs an assistant when he "tries"
to help me...
whenever solipsism is mentioned as a cipher...
a cipher is given because:
something needs to be deciphered...

now i'm writing for the drawer... the shelf...
the closet... the skeleton...
it's not much of an "in-crowd" to begin with...
the goalposts keep changing...
once it was a turkish kebab...
soon it was the curry... then the persian sour
grapes... then came the sushi...
then some chinese noodle soup...
sooner or later a pizza sputnik...
old rivals... but i'm not money...
i need to sleep...

p.s. and as much of this last "verse": poo'etics...
is anger: grrrr gritty and how much of
it is a response to niche comedy?
the in-club the breakfast club...
the pandering to the rubber-ears?
        the regurgitated - well once upon a time
they would meet in secret...
but now... they meet in the open...
and anyone can just... sift themselves in...

and this whole... identifying the periphery
of western culture... in eastern europe...
no... not in greece... or the balkans...
eastern europe...
from under the iron curtain... immediately
shoved under a silicon veil...
change of masters...
once a satellite state of the soviets...
warsaw pact blah blah... now...
the leftovers from: and what if the mongols
and the ottomans just... walked all over us...
why didn't ****** start digging the EUROTUNNEL
instead having that hard-on for the luftwaffe?!
thought like an elf...
or... ang...         never took notice of any dwarfish
grit... hey! daydreaming....
fifty shades of black vs. 50 shades of bleach...
there's the cinnamon man,
the chocolate man...
the star anise man... the oak man...
the auburn autumn man...
there's all that:
                 − · 
                 · · 
                 − − · 
                 − − · 
                 · 
                 · − ·             since i'm the ham man...
the piglet pink ms. cuck...
   no... for anyone who goes blind later in life...
i don't see the point of braille...
morse-braille yes... you need tender fingers
to read braille, ergo: you can't even learn
to play the guitar... perhaps piano...
               coco? 'coz' what?
                          i'm a... *******                − · 
                                                                    · −
                                                                    − − · · 
                                                                    · · 
an NZ (נ)(ז)... yes yes... a new... zealander...
which is the hook bait... and sinker...
for that alt. r.e.m. song...
the one that goes... shiny happy pep... pep...
trigger happy woke zombie b-listers...
     there's a name for almost anything in this
shitshow of what a Hamleys Regent St....
boutique of toys would look like...
when you used to play with toys like a puppeteer...
aye'up! as they say in york-shyre.

Career politicians, who cluck
as they strut with an impotent pluck
make me sick with the season
befouling all reason:
they're less of a **** than a cuck.

That gobbler and turkey-neck Mitch
makes me furious—so mad that I twitch.
He obstructs every battle
while jiggling his wattle;
unpardoned, unworthy (but rich).

The patrician political class
is a party that speaks through its ***.
They are lacking in guts
with no ifs, ands, or buts
but I swear: they produce enough gas.



HAPPY THANXGIVING, Fellow Poets☺

Grew too big for home

Out you go

Fly or die

Hototogisu

What happens the first instant
after our world's end
Is everything still, the pendulum
that lost its surly swing

Does the carven clock sit idle,
not quite enough cuck
to manage one more koo—
But still there’s something left

Or is it a different sort of spring,
not then unwinding fate
But coiling tightly, tighter still
until it snaps, breaks free

Destroys the maker’s hand,
rips down the veil of heaven
And damning every prophet,
sheds wild starlight, wand'ring still

a silent cry
followed by violent shouts
sullen coves
darkened funeral spouts

the undertaker dressed in black
eyes of coal
he never looks back

widow (maker)
spun around
her dresses long
her feelings down

empty shoals
crowned in blue
legs of scars
moon, new

hear her cry
head thrown back
sobbing swallowed
coughing hack

skin transluscent
soft yet untouched
nocturnal creature
fallow of *****

withdraw the bow
pull the sword
unappreciated spied my lord

empty cages open and shut
downward spiral
a violent cuck

harrowed adventure
blighted by (sh)fame
ignorant ties
hollow frame

guilty no more
follow on back
open your mouth
scream from of the lack

trust embellished
overly surmised
internal wicking
her sad lonesome eyes

visit a turkish barber... was better than visiting
a bulgarian *******... seriously....
   a shave and trim felt better,
than any felatio would ever will...
      imagine!
i discovered the turkish barber,
after, just, after...
i discovered a *******...
whether ukranian or bulgarian...
   don't worry...
   i might have a child...
but given that i'm not
circumcised...
         the whole "m'ah" pleasure...
sure... when oral *** comes into play...
but pulling back my *******...
during *******...
      h'uh?!
                 the pulled back *******
was always constrictive...
         boa seeking new skin...
shedding its old skin...
   the **** is this blame game about?!
i don't want to be guilty of
pro-choice,
when... just now...
i salvaged a life of a moth...
  it flew it, attempted to plant
its larvae into my clothes...
   i caught it, released it...
      i hate being plagued by abortion...
i would **** a ******* spider,
a moth, a fly...
         an unborn foetus?!
seriously?!
       now i know why i grew
a beard... it's like smoking
a cigarette... a past-time...
something to fiddle with...
      attention-******* the capacity
to think....
      if i am going to by misogynistic...
stealing kisses from prostitutes
is "currently" misogynistic?!
         really?
             what, oyu never heard
of a story by a ******* when her co-worker
was murderered?!
no?!             then you haven't lived
through of what's desired to be
the worth of: enough!
             i hate being blamed for
an abortion...
        i don't know: she was ******* her
ex-boyfriend, she was *******
a hot-be-free alpha-looks while
married...
                 my moral agony is a lie...
it's not like
    not wearing a ****** gives you
access to "pleasure",
when you're not circumcised...
   circumcised men, h'americans...
for all their moral argument worth,
simply, don't know...
Zeus had the same discussion with
Hera...
    who derives more pleasure from
***... men... or... women?
from what i remember...
sorry... from what i know?
             men derive ******
pleasure by deriving it from
giving ****** pleasure,
rather than experiencing it!
circumcised cuck-load...
i don't respect gentile,
h'american, circumcised men...
i'm not!
                fuckes simply
buckle and give in...
allowing squids to **** them
off!
                  what sort of respect
can i have to the circumcised
gentiles?!
    the jews?! fine... they have rules...
what rules... do circumcised
gentiles have?!
  cuck-philosophy... *******
******* are more ******* than
"you"...

   no! i don't like being asserted
as pro-choice life...
         i live upon a lie...
                  apparently everything a woman
says: is the truth...
               maybe that's why i turned
to celibacy aged 21...
            i don't believe in 2nd chancing
the "problem"...
once is enough... twice is
lowering your i.q. from 120 to 80...
-40...
    escobar'oh menos cuarenta pavlov:
*******: wink wink?!

draft interlude:
(

you know how the british
treat people
of similar ethnic origins,
who integrate,
learn their tongue,
better than than might
speak it,
  and receive letters
from downing st. regarding
their tax dealings?
like ****...
                   they treat them
like second class citizens...
they deserve muslim
attacks...
            i'll lick a stamp
and send a letter to mind
the "problem"...
      i can't be bothered...
      this
p.c.s.d. (post-colonial stress
disorder) doesn't even
begin to nibble -
or tickle at me...
              you made this mess,
you fix it!
           i'm washing my hands
clean of the affair...
       i'm having not part
of it...
    i'm doing a pontius pilate
publicity stunt...
            you can come
to a foreign nation,
and enrich it, and then
you're treated like vermin,
like ****...  
  believe me...
the vultures are waiting
to nibble at the scraps...
              if you're so *******
prone with regards to
kebabs...
stuff your face with them!
then tell the mothers and
fathers of manchester to:
"stick to the facts"
  and repress their emotions...
i can recite you
the home office,
   visiting my house,
the year? 1997...
               and hand-cuffing
my father and mother,
and me punching the wall
of a room...
               your turn...
   pretending to be
   cultured, to be respectable,
to be whatever it is
that you're not...
           two-faced liars...
      i hate liars...
me? i only lie when
i go to an ex-girlfriend chistening
her first baby...
  and i lie, out of a need
for tact...
              it's just uncomfortable
to tell the truth
in such circumstances...
               all it was,
was a lie about staying
for a period much longer than
anticipated outside the
church event, i.e. having drinks
in the church...
    i only lie when i'd might
require a napkin...
             but the bree-teesh
are becoming unbearable
   to other europeans...
   they have these superior airs
thinking that ******* a black
girl doesn't make them "racist"
or whatever label might
creep-up...
        these airs of aristocratic
respectability is bugging me...
            the dukes and earls
are no better than football hooligans...       )

  i.e. the "ordinary" citizens...
they are so over-entitled...
    the casual citizen, given the opportunity....
is allowing himself / herself

overtly toward the stature of king or queen...
pack and parcel,... your ****,
from pakistan, mr. sadiq khan...
                       savvy?
             when will the english just grow
the basic, the basic implies:
a pair of *****... rather than masquerading
behind the cricketer moeen ali?!
is this the part where i day:
oh look... one slipped past the sieve!?
            maybe that's a good "thing"...

i'm talking to something akin
to hautköpfe: skinheads...
   the beschnittenmerkwürdigkeiten:
the "christened" / baptized
             peoples...
                    m.g.m. is no scalp?
as is the *******...
   why should man experience
pleasure from ***?
what pleasure can a woman,
derive from being pregnant?
so... why would man,
derive pleasure from ***?!
        if you will circumcise man...
should all women be
allowed the cesarean section?
well... if breeding with the semites...
should women be allowed
the luxury... associated with the pleasure
derived from *** by circumcised men,
by allowing women the relief from
giving birth, via the cesarean section?

say no... and you know you're and
you'll be wrong.
what's the reality of
the cesarean section?
a day or two extra in bed in a hospital...
what is circumcision
of the male phallus?
egotism...
              pompous *******...
maybe that's why i turned celibate
after my last relationship
aged 21...
          i didn't want the lies...
the finite, unimaginative lies
of women...
the predictable lies of women...
how women can't handle
drinking... and feel no joy
from the past time...
        
                   i can't **** a moth...
trying to nest in my wardrobe...
but when a woman,
is keeping a baby in the oven,
and lies...
that it isn't mine...
                 i become berzerker...
i am blind but slashing...
            i see: blind...
who am i to invest in a ******* child?!
i hate liars...
   liars esp. in the age of
scientific gratification of facts...
at least in an age of mishandled
narratives,
of mythological bribery
liars could be confined
    to an established truant liking
of a variant of comedy / trickery...
to make play of kings becoming
fools...
               but now?!
                           given the certainity?
i'm not willing to *****-father
a *******-*******.

502 bad gateway bypass:

title - veil-machine
body - otherwise no curtains
found.

perhaps: aujourd'hui, maman est morte sounds better in German... heute, mein mutter ist gestorben... maybe: at least in my eyes that have inverted themselves from hearing external sounds and summon thought to the hall of music and said: thinking is a sound, mind you: thinking is all the sense jumbled up - never mind "hearing" oneself "think" or for that matter... without hearing: on the broken bones in fingertips of gesticulating frantically the same as: could you please spread butter on my toast to... i'm drowning! help me!

i very much like the opening line from one of my favourite books... favourite is sort of stretching it, i picked it up by accident in a Barnardo's second hand book store on Nicholson St. in Edinburgh during the Fresher's Week, when i lost my virginity to Isabella and decided that i would adamantly learn French... although i hated French in high school i thought: well... if we started slow and she introduced me to Japanese Anime of a kind i didn't know before... i remember she scolded me for having three picures on the wall, one of Plato, one of Napoleon and one of Marquis de Sade... she didn't mind Marquis de Sade... but virginity for a man is nothing to be kept... it's something that one wants to get rid off... so i started this French course, failed it, because... i didn't attend any of the classes... except for the literature classes... were... to no "oddly enough" we were studying The Stranger... seeing as i "pre-meditatively" bought the book in english... i had to buy the book in French...

oh, the French language... it's almost as bad as English when it comes to surds, i.e. silent letters that are not heard when spoken but clearly visible when written... like in English... little words: to and no vs. too, row "vs." row... to row in a boat... with oars... and a row of birds sitting on a telephone line... a horse is a horse is a gallop and a stirrup and there's also a hoarse... throat... glug glug... a hoarse throat... there's a soar throat too and that's different to i saw and sea-saw and Warsaw and soaring... which is a terrible way of saying: sorry...

rigid was never a language for me... but love is stupid and losing your virginity to an older girl is stupid and... well... i might as well have went to the oral exam at the end of the year and spoken Polish... or tried German... pretending to forget what course i took... instead i just sat there like an idiot... a castrated ... + an idiot... but hell! i aced the literary side of things... i got a 1st for my interpretation of The Outsider... grades being grades... not everything in life that you learn within the confines of: that acid-riddled memory-erosion cesspit of pedagogy has any market value trans-evaluation of: good grades equals better pay... this was a lesson for life...

mother died today. or maybe it was yesterday, i don't know...

for one? terrible punctuation,
i once heard my English teacher tell me...
never begin a sentence in a paragraph of a journalistic
column with a conjunction, akin to OR or AND...
it's bad grammatical etiquette:
it's one thing to reinvent sushi by mixing it up
with some dried, fried onions and a sriracha mayonnaise
and another to serve the same fried dried onions
with a sickly sweet almost Hoisin resembling sauce...
with slices of raw salmon on a bed of rice
rather than those rolls with still the raw salmon
but with some cucumber and creamy cheese
and black sesame to go with it...

maybe i can rewrite that aujourd'hui in German again,
returning to English for German LEGO...
mutter gestorben heute; oder veilleicht
    es war gestern: ich weiß nicht....

i like this: ich weiß nicht...
        it's not... i repeat... it's not:
                         es ist mir egal...
i.e. it's not: i don't care... care... no wonder it's so
pivotal in the German tongue that
Heidegger made CARE so pivotal in his thinking
since: it's so pivotal in the German language
when the German language is translated...
there is no simple, word-for-word,
i.e.  i don't know: ich weiß nicht.
i worry: ich bin besorgt
   eh? i worry is indefinite...
   i is indefinite... there is no definite i...
i struggle is an indefinite phrase...
which i made a joke of once: mein kampf is a definite
expression via ownership...
ich kampf: i struggle is an indefinite expression
of "ownership": since... at any given time
my ego is swayed to "think" of "its" own "existence"
through a muddle of personal memory,
memory erased by pedagogy,
dreams... other people's thoughts...
mein: definitely, since own...
ich? indefinitely, since hey presto here one minute...
hey presto... Houdini pulled a rabbit out
of a top hat not by the ears but by the tail...

today within the confines of tomorrow...
but what is a "today" when you wake up
and remember a dream...
was the dream from yesterday?
was the dream related to yesterday?
just because you went to sleep yesterday
and woke up today... doesn't mean
the interlude of dreaming you had
might make any linear sense relating yesterday
to today or for that matter tomorrow...
so... muddling the yesterday with today
given the accenting of dreams on the psyche...
well... ich weiß nicht (i don't know)
is a rather "passive" attempt... hell: a most proactive
attempt to compartmentalize grief...
it's not: I DON'T CARE...
oh... i do care... but i want to be numb to
the reality that comes first and the knowledge
that comes after of the fact that... there's...
i swear German as a tongue would require
another Heidegger to explore the word
ABSENCE... FEHLEN...
   Abwesenheit is too close, synonymously,
with Abstrahieren...
                heit (-ness)
                   hieren (here)
    hereness... hierenheit... counter to da-sein?
that Dasein is: there-being... me asking: there's being
and be subsequently conjuring hierenheit?!
coincidence... unless that £60 i spent on the black notebooks
and another £30+ more i will spend on the final volume?
maybe?!

maybe that's why i'm so attracted to the continental
mode of thinking, Germanic or otherwise...
i find that, as much as the English adore pressurising
people as atoms into an atomised stated of:
suddenly! the individual was born!
out of thin air! out rebellion!
out of... the demands for everyone else getting
their fair share of intellectual growth...
there is no intellectual growth in the English mind:
the English are too sensible a people to complicate
the matters of thought if there's no:
******* COMMON SENSE FOR THEM AT THE END!
"they" even have a word for it...
it amazes me how sometimes i forget specified nouns
for their destined use... ergonomics?
that will do for a while...

the English don't tend to deal with reality by creating
pockets of abstract reality of:
nicht-sein-da...
            which is a splendid joke that can't be
unravelled by translating Dasein from Deutsche...
for me there is either: sein-da und nicht-sein-da...
a future of a concern, a care...
a waiting pit of that carefully adjusted performance
art of doing the bit of the mortal lot...
i sometimes wake up at night woken up
by the simple fact of mortality:
and i'm glad to be snuggling in bed, alone
with only thinking as my companion...
at least with the thinking my ego can walk through
and peer at mirrors... see its grotesque nature
it's parasitic gluing to a "me" together with
all those wasted daydreams and acts of
non-fruition...
  
i find nothing in English thought that might give
me architecture or backbone to complete
individuality: a process of individuation...
nothing in Locke... i have not bothered with English
"thinking"... the infrastructure is too sensible...
of transport of taxes of... whatever the:
kleinmann erachten unbedingt!

for the simple fact... what is a public intellectual
in the anglo-sphere? a person who goes into
the public domain with a ******* bibliography?
seriously?
backlog of ideas or, something?
regurgitating ideas of the more shy of the intellectual
heap of dung that once could be called
the iq herd?
        at least by reading continental thinkers i
have enriched my private life...
perhaps i enjoy my work perhaps i don't...
i find it absolutely unnecessary to find friendship...
if i can at least stand myself,
conquer this barrage of randomness coming
from an otherwise untameable ego...
let it pass let is pass i say to the innermost "not-i"
while the outermost "i-i" shouts belligerent day-mares
of.... e.g. being cut-short in a queue to a bus...
let that ****** slide... wait... until i bring
forth the reigns of scribbling finger-tips
and all thinking stop! when there's a clear graphic
for grammar, construction, punctuation
and abbreviations (if necessary) of seen sentences:
seen sentences not some ghosts of mere thought!

gut... mein mutter ist nicht tot...
nicht heute, nicht gestern: noch nicht morgen...
i just thought it was weird,
the comparison...
the dimmed lights of the hospital room
she was wheeled into...
and... the dimmed lights of the brothel room
i usually **** prostitutes in...
dimmed lights...
i carefully plucked the grapes off the vines
for her and placed them before her...
i pinched pieces of brownie dough
and dropped them into a bucket of vanilla ice
cream for her... which she gladly ate...
i watched as she ate that baked potato with
an inverted gluttonous pain from coming out
of the anaesthesia...
forgetting she was half alive half head...
some other quarter falling asleep another missing
quarter talkative...
those dimmed lights and the sarcastic green of
the demands of Hippocrates charming the serpent
as: to no avail... the usurper of the sexualised
metaphor, aged throughout Europe,
serpent, the bringer of temptation and hardly
the wisdom...
long before dinosaur bones were discovered
the people were conjuring up fire breathing dragons...
like... pre-meditatively... what?
the fire born was not the meteor and the fall-out
and yet some dinosaur remains
remained alive while the bigger breeds died?!

to think i might have read Kant or Heidegger or anyone
for the purpose of quasi-pedagogy and not have
read said authors for gains in the realm
of personal gains of obstructing access to
the sort of: puddle-people: pfützemenschen...
people who like to see life's point as:
one complication after another
by allow less than complicated people complicate
their already simple lives...
isn't a simple life worth salvaging?
isn't it?!

as they rolled her in from the hysterectomy operation...
in some, rare, cases... a woman's womb acts
like a man's hernia...
i suffered from a hernia as a toddler...
unlike in men... the female version pushes
a piece of tissue inwards... rather than outwards...
my great-grandmother walked with a bulging sack
of a third ******* of a disused womb until her death
because she was too old to have an operation
guided by the Hippocratic concerns:
her heart her stomach might not salvage her
morality with the applied anaesthetic...

but it felt very much like going to a brothel...
i was looking at my mother drifting in and out of a morphine
15min snooze button...
my father looking morbidly worried...
me? smiling face... giggling... trying to fill a space...
my father is a morbidly worried
swan... i sometimes wonder...
would i be worse off caring for my old father
if my mother died before him...
or would i be better off if my father died off
before my mother... i sometimes wonder...
it's still a coin flip... since the reality is yet to come
and i'm having the abstract ready...
this is me looking at my mother in a secure environment
secured by prescribed injections of morphine...
she has also seen me in my "prime"...
what's 40 units x 7 days a week?
280 units of alcohol in a week...
40 units? one bottle of 1 litre of whiskey per day...
when i was at my highest borne Berserker in scribbling
for people who are yet to be born...

we came home i heated up some leftover pasta,
some leftover chicken wings...
some clear chicken soup... it would be considered
a chicken stock by western culinary standards...
ROSÓŁ... but were carrots added?
was celeriac, was celery, was a leek, was root parsley
and fresh parsley, garlic added?
served with vermicelli?
           i watched him relax and watch West Ham beast
Derby in the FA cup... calmly...
the cats were fed... already sleeping in each
of our two beds...

            oh sure sure... romance... like that isn't too impossible
these days...
the congestion of older generations?
to replace them with what?
we cucks united bridging gaps with the already
satiated single-mommies and puppies
of: cuck...
             jeez... headaches from no known sources...

well i can tell you how similar a visit to a hospital
is similar to a visit to a brothel...
you're chasing...
i found myself chasing the queuing of mortality
with my mother today...
only three days ago i was chasing the queuing of
****** experience with a *******...
i'm yet to join the queue of
losing my father...
i know of losing my great-grandfather: vaguely,
i certainly know of losing my great-grandmother
and i know of losing my grandfather...
i'm yet to experience the loss of a friend,
or... "friend"... someone i used to know in high school...
by then it will be almost like losing
someone equivalent to
Michael Schumacher... or... Nelson ******* Mandela...
importance of whatever and that sniff of ZILCH...

a ******* cat with less to say than already said
will have more to say upon its passing than
Neil Armstrong's theatre for the global populace
and the moon conquered... one step for...
some dared not blink some slept through it...
just as long as the technology of it being televised was
real: it doesn't matter whether it was real...
if reinventing the canvas for a painting was
to be translated into the modern world...
television, per se, as the canvas... would... and is...
more important... than whether
it' a comparison of... the laziest example...
Leonardo's Mona Lisa or Picasso's the Weeping Woman...
NIQAB and the BEAUTY
NAKEDNESS and the BEAST...
or rather... NIQAB and the forever thirst for MYTH
of Woman as once, only then and ever...
faking to decipher by a Flaubert...
the ***** in my mind is the Madame Bovary
for women to pretend to be...
obviously they won't... but? does that matter?

hmm... first in german, then in english

i'm under the impression, that this breed of cats
i'm given the authority of: Maine *****...
behave like dogs... and unlike cats...
how clingy they are, less to me and more to my abodes...
they simply recognise me as the possessor
of space and not a timing of space:
with the requirement of others to fill the void...

katzen sich benehmen wie ***̄DE!
absolve all use of diacritical usage
within the staged, up! "lifting" of h to H...
keep i dotted from above within the confines
of I... or J...
are those speckled "hens" necessary

     ah what fun i could have with this
tongue so barren with the implosion of Latin
with what fellow European tongues ascribed
their idiosyncrasy to...
but of course:
           aber natürlich!
Ęnglisch nicht!
                   ßo! die welt überflutet diese inseln!

sie kam mit ihr zeppeline...
mit ihr senf...
mich? mich?!
ich kam mit die trauer...
keine hure könnte verstehe...

the grey the old the white and the black:
the night and the death to come!

der graue das alte das weiß und das Schwarze:
die  nacht und der tod, kommen.

death before life seems so less not-welcome
when speaking just a little bit of German!
mein gott! what a relief to have found
such miserably happy people allocated
a step-by-step realism of abstracting
pocketed-senses of... to **** with
that "umlaut of Hinduism"!
Heinrich... *******... Tibet suits you oh so well!
******* skiing in that crisp-cut welcoming bond with
the Buddha to serve no future Buddha under the Chinese
regime...

       tat ich vergessen etwas?
                          möglicherweise... sie?

me never think i think this tongue through...
mich noch nie denken ich denken diese zunge durch...

moren bein quartal nach elf...

getoastet roggen-brot:
             pochiert-ei
         spitzen... klacks von
hähnchenspermaeigelbpapst...

                  n'est ce'pas: die toten sind tot?

some variation from a reference point:
that (the reference point)
being a blank canvas...

            to begin with: nothing to "work"
with... beside imagining
a congestion of letters:
that letters become words:
that words become sentences...

writing about: writing...
which is at least a tier above:
writing about reading...
or writing about drinking
a mystical cup of coffee:

or something about either Buddhism
or Tao in that 1960s h'americana vein...
well... for something absolutely different...
californian mathematics is racist...
covid-19 is racist...
god is gay...

how terribly i must feel to not read much
of what women write...
any ******* expression
always suited me more welcomingly...
tongue for a phallus
an *** for a mouth...
                                while Balaam finally
managed to trot to the same
pace of the four don quixotes...

in the age of celebrating womanhood...
crippling words: worded junctions...
the entire problem with nouns...
"problem"...
otherwise the certainty of verbs:
for some... the much necessary distinction
between no nuance no metaphor
no misnomers no fiddly-bits-&-bobs
& clogs & knobs...
vectors: prompts... turn left... then turn right...

so far only one certainty:
the madonna-***** complex...
              and no ambition on my part to
court a nun -
or attempt to subjugate "my" genes to
this carousel of time...
so "selfish" of me to bow out...
so that one ****** two can persist
with that cuck-soaker of
an interracial transcendence of forks
in the road...

perhaps it would just break my heart
to have a daughter...
perhaps i see how too make it into
the realm of mythology
of the highest nobility, that of swans...
****-flinging troop of chump...

mind you: there's already a lady in my life
that never disappoints...
a ms. amber with whiskers
a ms. amber as beer as gods' ****...
a ms. amber sweetest of all: mead...
no wonder i personify this liquid...
only today a supermarket cashier
smirked and said: you drink that like
water...            indeed i do
i replied...

well... if at the end of it i squiggle out
if at the end of it i squeeze out
a poo'em... and don't box myself with rhyme(s):
a drink to joy! a drink to health!
a drink to mew-sic!

ni z gruszki ni z pietruszki:
du tun spreschen deutsche?
              from out of nowhere!
                      not from a pear - not from parsley...
a pear's a pear
but... herbs and spices are not
required to have an indefinite article...
it would be impossible to write:
a cinnamon...
a parsley... unless... a stick of...
    a bunch of...
parsley's parsley (is)
  
         it will always come down to
the idiosyncratic of this love-affair
of:      erworbenzunge

                    (acquired­ tongue)

what can't be offered re. some slurring
and oath-making
in light of what happened at the Bataclan?
the boiling of water...
but in general: a malaise...
a glance... a skim-reading...
a toleration of Semitic and nomadic
*******...

      'there's no water in the desert'...
well... guess what...
there's no ******* arable field in a forest
either! those roots weren't going
to just drop dead...
berry picking in the blackest of thicket...
****'s sake...
said some Inuit on a north american
tundra...
or some Mongol passing through
the butter of Siberia...

                but i guess that's what happens
when you've been sitting on a stash
of dino-juice (oil)...
**** for brains....
           why would a Pakistani ask me if
i believe in god in the presence of an arab?
captain Ahab over 'ere is
building... what exactly in the desert?
luvvy-dubby-bye-bye...

            and it's not i conjured up the term
camel jockey...
it took a Bangladeshi ripping into an
Egyptian to come up with that...
the Egyptian replied with:
bush-monkey at the Bangladeshi...
        and this was in a high-school
where the majority where Irish Catholic...

there was a time when...
there was the proper grammar police...
and when people had faces...
there was a physiognomy...
you could even lip-read people on the tube...
this one instance with a nurse:
i just told her... apologies if i'm not looking
into your eyes all the time...
i'm lip-reading...

  hell... before the pronoun debacle -
you could abstract someone...
you could have a whole range of...
rancid chilly... turmeric...
saffron... cinnamon... chocolate...
               oak bark...
         piggy: albino sheen...
                         pink-froth...
           rabid mongol mongrel...
Caucasian...          flattened occipital bone Turk!

if we can't understand ourselves as
different... by "divine instruction"...
                     n'ah... i'm not going to undermine
the freedom this language affords me!

and there was me walking past
some imaginary graffiti...
at this point: i forgot to concern
myself with the narrative...
it's there: arrived at...
on a whim...
            i am beyond apathetic...
it's not like a feminist nun
could...
spend her time listening to...
a misanthrope...
but we all know...
what the good philanthropists
get up to...

first one read the acronym...
B.L.M...

   another reads...
     A.L.M.

  which is crossed out...
and a footnote is added...
with some emphasis...

        that B. does indeed M.
                        
   hell... i'm throwing a penny
into the pocket...
and ******* against the wind...
with my own...

spin on topic...
   O.B.L.M.
       well... given: A.L.M. needs
to be... negated.

truly: i don't know whether
my tongue is sometimes tied
to expressing a presence of body...
294 havering road was confused
by the postman for 294
pettits lane north...
   so i delivered the package...
12 hours "late" and took
a walk with four ciders...
to catch... twilight in the woods...

i said: ee'mah rather than em'ah...:
it read emma... and wright...
i'm in england and i don't speak
a lot of english...
                i write enough...
    i like to call myself a grammatical
tyrant of this little space of my
own...

and to walk... is to feel one has
legs...
   to hell with owning a car...
when one could still...
love a ride of a horse...

  to walk for a good 4 mile...
up a hill into shaded wooden
nighs of twilight...

a right ol' tourist in these
parts... smoking some marijuana...
headphones tight...
on the cranium like a crown...
about to... take the 103 route
from the north eastern tip
of greater london into...

      but the demise...
as the bus sped away en route...
i didn't see the tourist
on the upper-deck of the double-decker...
on the lower-deck... at the back...

if i had the marijuana...
and the same joy for riding buses...
i'd be sitting on the top deck...
looking buddha-amused / buddha-bemused...

i really did come to the conclusion
that: i wanted to drink to feel a tilt of
a drunkard in me...
4 ciders are 8.2% a pop...
       16 units... and all that ***** whiskey
mixed with bourbon...
and i'm still... typing away like
a hyena...

i dream so rarely... but i woke up with a dream...
forbidden fruit...

    Kirmiji Orzalacht
   Orżalacht - and I saw the word
written in elaborate runes -
   with gold-flakes to dorn its labyrinth...
told I was copying it with
too much detail...
     pressured... told to keep
the phonetic essence of it...
it opened a portal...
       a garden...
   "to bring back the garden
started but not he gardener"...

i haven't heard: or seen... a word..
for that matter: two! in such details...
is it an anagram?
   Kirmiji Orzalacht
                    Orżalacht...
                     ­    i wouldn't just wake up...
and need to write these words down...
phonetic: kir-me'yee o'j'ah-lax't...
                      it doesn't translate...
even with phonetic efforts...

    come to think of it... walking england
along...
one can confuse and pardon...
a people who have been given...
the isolation of the icelandic people...
yet all the perks of a melting ***
of the continental ******* wormhole of history...
the definite history: european...
but also... the double definited...
when some foreign entity feels inclined
to overcome the natives...
it's not... akin to cross the Danube river...
or the Oder...

          with a clarity of borders bound
to the confines of an island...
oh... this pretty land of spare souls...
readied for... retention in foreign *****
of alien fathers and surrogate mothers...
as the raj might prescribe...
with her litany of insurgent spices...
cumin, coriander, cardamom...
chilli... turmeric... star anise... etc.

          a magic hour! twilight in the woods!
the sun is... turned into a drowning man...
her last resort of a horizon of day...
is riddled with razors...
and she's cutting her hands to stay afloat
upon the "meridian" 180!

what mistanthrope?
and at what hour... could i entertain...
the company of a single crow without
a commune...
or the rabbits readily prancing...
             i couldn't abhor the plumber
for the plumbing...
              i couldn't... abhor... the god and
readily given... ghost of self:
the surgeon...
              but...
       when it comes to drinking?
       i much rather exhaust my legs...
and feel that i still have them...
having walked...
                and i much prefer drinking
alone...
  the woods are a cushion for the ears...
and... somehow...
all the eyes warrant a desire to peer at...

drinking with people has always
been my worst lot of... wasting time...
i can't remember...
the last person i drank with...
who succumbed to a hardened:
pensive mood...
always that feminime... melancholic...
diatribe sorrow...
fetish tear-****-offs...
            
                 who could ever want to know me...
i should have remained at...
        Taizé...
                         i would have have gladly
sacrificed the world... thrice over!
to live the life most mundane...
rather than have to suffer...
to live... a life... most mediocre.

tongue licking tombstone slabs...
i hope... my words...
fall like... mountains...
upon a concentrated lot of... stones.

"part and parcled" and that "oh my":
the tender hand of argument:
a left... a right... a left-right...
and right-left and some...
quasimodo (0,0) vector cull for:
that long lost forgotten: "oopsie"...

        oh! right! it's called: the culture... "war"...
it was called the cold war
when the russians were pressuring
everyone to play... their version
of the roulette!

fine... at least when: agianst the russians...
you know... siberian psychopaths...
complete animals... siberian
warlords of some grass some snow...
some siberian tundra...
culture... "war"?
more like... cultural sparring...
war against who and with that:
against who: with what?!
we're only sparring...
there was never a culture war...
there was cultural sparring...
which... evidently had to become
something ******... in terms of...
what was... hoarded...
exchanged...

there is no more a cultural war
than there ever was a cold war...
i like to call it cultural sparring...
hyped-up invigoration tactics:
war! sign me up uncle sam!
sign me up: papa bad bear: russia's
a'coming siberian neglect!

what war?! we're only sparring...
and people somehow have this
deluded presence of...
if we were at war...
there would be a...
                          Schwerer Gustav...
there would be... a Spitfire...
there would be a b-52 bomber...
  culture war...
         "war"... concerning someone
who has ingested the cultural export
of h'america for the past 30 years...
we're not at war!
we're only... merely... sparring!

grandiosity of cuck-filling ****-supreme
and... there has never been...
a Helen likely: worth of instigating...
a "genesis" of events!
*******...
    cultural war?!
                i want to... scream!
would you either eat an oyster...
or some... caviar?
can you please... provide me...
with a slow motion cinema of...
a movie: the presence of an oyster...
i'll eat anything that doesn't move...
i'll **** anything that does...

caviar wins!
concentrated fish stink and palette..
anything than...
attempting: slurping...
a metaphor... a brain...
a wriggling brain chimp: + some
gerbil... oozing out a crescendo of...
loitering... scrambled... abortion
towing: "typos"...

what cultural war?
if the chinese were conscriptd to march...
it wouldn't be an advent of the mongols
at baghdad...
if the chinese were conscripted to march...
lucky for all of us..
they designated a wall for themselves
to be: riddled by a buttocks...
and roots and... a hyphenated orchestra
of blooming...
        
india can spar with china...
2 billion their own equal...
someone goes missing...
it totals up their own concern for:
"cost"...

             there is not cultural war...
we're only culturally: sparring...
anything elevating such events as:
overtly serious is... giving toward misgiving...
it was originally orientating a:
lessening of statue and abiding to probe:
caricatures...

if there was a war... trigger-happy...
trigger-itchy...
       but there isn't a war...
if there was a war...
  israel would... concern itself
with much more than its...
proxy-encrusting-stature-of-a-levelling...

culture war is such an...
over-inflated term...
                     culture-sparring...
like cultural-sparring when the cold-war
was at its height...
cold war... poker salvaging...
two sides warring with: de facto joker
hand-outs...

              no... not this...
this is... a postcard from a heaving
sigh of a haven: that's not heaven...
something more realistically:
heaved... a ridicule with a clue: stone...
because...
that's not what... a levelling
of a mountain gives concerns for...
some rubble plateau...
some... itch... some...

                 ah! that... das boot... theme!
because... who are not...
the german... in grieving a romance...
when not being able to...
give levelling...
to... the crime of frothing waves...

that much i might mind...
the magic hour: the twilight in the woods.

Kirmiji Orżalacht:
               i might somehow wish to want:
to loiter...
             TORA TORA TORA...
it truly is... a samurai slit...
of affairs...
       one army attacks another army...
the palestinian shielf preface...
the japanese attacked a military presence...

auschwitz and nagasaki...
perfected gain of: war...
men ascribed to the expression
of the theatre of war...
warring...
but no... it was not... "fair"...
the pearl habour "unfucked" / "unloved"
had to find...
their suitor best...
when... civilians were to be minded...
a pointlessness of auschwitz...
the blink-of-an-eye hiroshima...

       it was... a fair attack:
         so... who gives a ****... the h'american
soldiers were... sleeping...
sun-bathing in the hawaiiean sun?
        it was... a... fair... attack...
i don't need to be asked permission...
for a worth of persuasian...
years since TORA TORA TORA...
years since PEARL HARBOR...
          with whoever it was that starred
in that... custard fish of fetish...

            great h'america...
auschwitz prolonged by years...
hisroshima: dead-end...
in a blink of an eye...
             because "ukraine" somehow still
matters... the... starvation project...
of the 1930s...
                
  the attack on pearl harbor was
an honest act of war!
the dropping of the atom-bomb...
on hiroshima...
the use of civilians...
to end a war...
                    what is so fair:
as to then heave a monopoly
of exporting movies to...
the last: beside "your" owned
corner of the world...

     to heave a breath against those
best providing...
that's one thing...
anyone well paid would
be best assured to simply shut... up...
but not... when one is sold
a propaganda narrative...

   pearl harbor was once...
tora tora tora...
                      i don't even want
to entertain this narrative...
and their liberty...
and their shining emblem...
whatever it is that they thought
they had...
this mongrel nation et al hybrid
loitering... yes... all that...

there was a once upon a time
invting my parents
to go over... "there"...
           to... schlomo...
and to... jarput-e...
             a ******* stance for a 7/11...
                 how about...
the magic dries up?