There he is!
The man in the suit and tie!
Grab him!  Tackle him!
Strip him of all his clothes!
He's indignant!  Look at his face!
Humiliated!
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!
****** pound him!
Pound his ****** face in the dirt!
Slam it!  Slam his head!
Against the pavement!
SLAM IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Claw his back!
Scrape every lair of skin off him!
Nails aren't enough!
Give me the knife!
OOOOOOOO look at the little man cwy!
CWY LITTLE MAN CWY!!!!
There are more of us than there are of you!
And that's why you mean nothing!
Skin him!  Skin him! Skin him!
**** it hurry and skin the ******!
So we can move on!
**** him!  **** him! **** him!
Shove it up his ***!
Look at him cry!
Pathetic!!!!
Worthless!!!!
Is he begging?!!!
Beg more *****!
I want you to beg!
Beg for death!
Beg for it *****!
BEG FOR IT!!!!!!!!
Hahahahah you convince me!
Bash his head in!
*******!!!!
Look at his brains split open!
It's all over the pavement!
We won my friends!
Today was a victory for the masses!
Now we can go home victorious!
Raise our ****** fists to the sky!
Today was a proud day for us all!

.a man dies and whoever remains: become to intolerable - no one is willing to achieve a former status quo but life demands a status quo of sorts... that now there's a dragging sensation: a drawing toward the grave - how death beams illuminating while it eats memory and strikes at the bells of: what was, now impossible... otherwise: caricature since now and caricature culminating with now... a man dies and whoever remains so intolerable: how would it sound sacrificing my body to the memory of the sea - how strategic, little man... man of consequence and of no little to begin with... my words less than tabloid smearing: my words less than the purpose and worth of butter on a piece of bread: yes... i smear ink into phonetically encoded shapes - letters - are a reminder: for the canvas of toast and too boot: some butter to spread... collateral: always this collateral - free thinking basic structures and the great trampling - a levelling that is the antithesis of former explorer guises - to have to uproot and to deface to have to "revise": to actually keep going "somewhere"... not "i": either a kleptomaniac or a hoarder of history... unless we start stacking all things measured to heave high, high... with our past to overshadow mountains... such "things" we have allowed ourselves to keep... to have cherish so: yet to have it scrutinised too and sold off so cheap... before the bravado of authentic objectivity: or some other wording... a suddenly died... i was wishing this for him... not this supposed brainless ol' ****, ol' alcoholic the same ******* excuses with that woman! burdensome leech... the same ******* excuses with this zombie-esque woman: this... "grandma"... i'm not here to make "friends" with this language: i know of people who have managed far more worse with it! thank you, very much! i'm not above settling seances with grief: if he only died authentically with a barely tolerable voice from the other side... but all these 3 months of secrecy... and all these scraps of money to concern oneself with: grandma... *****... now it's all about coordinating a re-orientating reproach on the matter... life so cheaply... "finished"? and she "thought" it necessary to bring god into the whole equation: that god might allow such awkward gesticulation for the body to endure... princess unicorn no less... spoke such honey coating bundles of lies... she still thinks the lie was spoken as if staged... as if she forgot her lines... the rot and the fermentation process needs to sink in... after all... the grandiosity of the event already happened... a supermarket cashier inquired as to why i was so dressed... a funeral attendee... 'was it a nice send off'... oh sure sure... a nicely packaged prize come to think of it: the corpse left some stamps... so... no problem... but how cruel the immediacy of a family member... i thank the ******* of an egyptian deity that i didn't invest in the purpose of family... i am certain of a painful death... a lonely death: or rather - a death with the world... not this... inheritance vultures... he didn't leave anything to be contested!  well... he might have... but i already have what no one else thought of as important... his stamp collection... what would have been better? a collection of pornographic magazines? ***** please... i wasn't expecting this from my grandmother: i was already towing baggage from a friendship... but this is just... the ultimate purpose of pessimism... to hell with stoicism... and all those words used for peacocking arguments... i'm chopping raw hind of a bull... i'm plucking out eyes from fish... i'm... doing my last, probably only interlude of thought before the agony of fire strips me back to the basics of passions and an ****** of pure, pain of conversation: detailing the withholding of truths by a bad liar... by a ******* phlegm of a pleb sort of culmination... more n.p.c.: but somehow still my own trajectory, here, "nuanced": now... shellshocked - blitzkrieg antics... after the funeral her envy for adolf ****** was so ******* pronounced: yeah... imagine my face... a stone somewhere was smiling with glee... because this has to absolutely make no... ******* sense! she calls a day prior to the death... she doesn't call a week prior: she calls when it is in the hands of the hospice folk to bring the agonia to a close... she decides to call a day prior to the death and on the day of the death... 3 months just escaped her... this is a woman who supposedly has a grandson... em... yeah... how do those lyrics sound like now: ***** tricks done dirt cheap... this is only banal evil... bored evil... i just remember all the verbal insults against him... at least i can celebrate him not hearing them ever again... oh yeah... and the h'american election happened... please... can this political enthusiasts bother someone else with their insomnia... 3/4 of the world is sleeping... it's not that important that, or anything new... come spring after winter, summer and back toward autumn... it was nothing new that democracy is what it is... a casino of telling the most ****** lie... he pushed the epitaph concerning the necropolis mingling with democracy... in manus tuas... he said the only democracy was the democracy the dead would revel in... i need to call her up and tell her... that she needs to include an epitaph on his grave... fiat lux let light be made)! or floruit (one flourished)... genius loci (spirit of the place)... habeas corpus (you may have the body)... i like this last one... most! a fitting epitaph to write on a grave... n'est ce-pas?! habeas corpus ad subjiciendum.

well d'uh: no brainer...
i got to say goodbye to a corpse...
and that's always better
than saying goodbye
to an urn of ash...
and boy... if ol' granny decided
to fulfill the wishes of
her deawest deawest son
and had him turned into
a bowl of ask the ash:
and i didn't get to see him...
all suited and booted up
for the ceremony...
my god... the day you see
a corpse in an open coffin...
days old...
and you have anything
remotely fear: insinuated...
about... taking a casual
walk in a graveyard at night:
or in a forest...
i'm still dreaming cyclops:
i am not some
appeased dream architect:
i'm dreaming void...
a grandiose wound:
a yawning abyss...
a corpse in an open coffin...
in one of those prosectorium
waiting rooms...
where the tiles are not
that kind of: medicine proof green
of a post-mortem dissection...
they're woven from
white through to a darkening:
grey thoroughly...
oh hell... it's fun...
seeing a dead body like that:
it elevates the "beauty"
of what's casually a mere:
script at the end of a film...
sun, truck, lampost...
fox's worth of road-****...
the unlucky woodland pigeon
that miraculously died
mid-flight and wasn't seen
roosting for miles
on a pavement...
it's beyond sobering...
since you know all the requirements
to have paid the attention to detail to:
when there was a soul:
and now... given the absence
of the sigma of animation /
the sum of animation...
the heart can rot on its own,
the liver the kidneys...
it's not like there's anything
pulling all of his materialistic wizardy
by the *****...
seeing that...
and then come night, the solace
of solitude...
a forest or a graveyard...
i've come across scarier places...
living rooms of strangers...
in all honesty:
these chicken shacks of
bad actors in general...
a walking on stilts when telling
a blatancy of a lie...
now my comforts are
"criminal" / certainly counter-
to whatever bias could
come prior...
hardly one of those tim burton
hard-ons for the gothic and
quirky!
that i wish my grandmother
a speedy ****-off because
she had 3 months to tell me and "us"
what's what
but who the **** calls and speaks
of a death a day prior
then a day later... the death...
3 months of a descent!
well... lucky me that i got to say
goodbye to a ******* corpse:
not the still living ******* my pampers
momentary lapse of
lucid recollection...
and this world has to:
terribly, somehow, also, happen...
and its like this coincidental
metaphor for: the centre cannot hold...
yes, come the big world:
some mythological granny **** of
the blonde...
but hey... it's ava lauren in a suit:
and to boot: booted...
karmalaiah 'arris...
and you're like:
whittle 'ichard primo...
i'm already on the dumpster with me:
blood first arguments sinking
a blind eye and grizzle tooth load...
before i even allowed myself
to take a bite...
******* geocentric carousels of
north/east/south/west:
the one acronym: prior to
the methodology of the h'american:
scotus etc. luvvie-dubby
for the acronym chant: u/s/a!
yeah, case closed... let's pretend
how tomorrow unfolds...
by 1am i'll be a sleep-walking
slinky... toss the cards...
the grand-picture...
the world is not some forthcoming
as to allow... both engagements
and sympathy:
the immediately available response
is all reflexive: **** reaction
scream! oooh! ah!
           sooner i'll be allowed
to contemplate an indigestion "problem"
than a death of a would be patriarch...
then again:
you always marry into the woman' family...
thee sorry old story
of leaving your parents in
the gutter... your new father:
in-law: god bless his soul...
you ******* cleaving *****-worth-of
an-itching-monkey!
you! turnip quasi
aladdin's paladin and magic
carpet ride...
she allowed me to see
the corpse... 3 months: not a word...
and here are these...
puppets... bemoaning how unidealic
love forever is...
solvd me the question of
what love is:
this bogus cwy-baby pseudo:
irksome welsh "sympathy":
******* cwy-cwy: trill your
******* R!
tarantula bit you you can't start
a rolling escapade
with a tongue?
you some O'Haera or too drunk
too soiled to notice Irish?
let's just, hope... i...
haven't... the capacity to express
an authenticity of sorrow:
tilting on: "properly" with the:
authorities of who's to, read, what!
out of their own pockets:
it's... ******* free last time i heard!
question of bias...
this slap of meat:
will become either a plum poke tenderness...
or a brussel pate....
like they do in the prisons...
notably the russians...
they inject vaseline between
their knuckles... so they build
up a... pouch-of-a-fist...
no... oh no adrenaline shots... none
of the fairy liquid:
dandelions speak we dust it over
with unicorn horn dust...
n'ah... none of that...
it's my grandmother: i probably
should have not expected as little
as this... but then i like the idea
of her keeping up with
ghost theory...
she can haunt the castle
of her **** for: however more
concern for life is in her...
granny can *******, and how...
i might have... favoured her...
when she did... cwy... there's that welsh
spelling again...
but not come the advent of
a, death... take me up on seeing scenery with
you... any day: or the 3 months prior...
but... this...
of course: the limitations
of the conscience of liars:
you start to blame yourself:
oh why didn't... call...
you have to blame yourself:
she's not going to blame anything or anyone:
there are no exceptions to the rule:
thumbs galore!
seeing his corpse:
he did die...
having... kept...
an immaculate proof of fingernails...
an immaculate proof of fingernails
being kept: as swiss passport for an agreeable
handshake...
again: once more...
ask me tomorrow
and i'll reply likewise:
granny can die... if i ever see my
shadow fleeing:
that! i'll sooner mourn!
you would expect:
grannies are tender loving creatures...
unless my grandfather wasn't
a somewhat tamed lover of
keeping books... a philatelist... too...
i got it!
he just wasn't a don juan *******
philander of an unlimited access to:
***** liquor!
whatever the story:
there's just enough desired
discretion to pay homage and defend
the passing party...

both a philander and a philatelist?
what's next?
a zoologist and a d.j.?
i've ascribed myself an audience
with prostitutes:
the 3 Ps... priests... psychiatrists...
prostitutes...
in the current climate...
who's body's who?
i am mild mannered enough to know
that i'll be paying for a ****
rather than a free meal or a professional:
waggling of the tongue:
let alone the placebo of the corpus christi
*******... n'est ce pas?

yeah... just prescribe
me the ******* of the bull of Titian...
etc.
i'm sure to make enough
skin out of it for a Muhammed's rug
ed gein esque piece of:
fidgety: ain't it? unshaked ******* sack?
**** it... almost grainy...
stubble prone... begs the knees to question:
wha' and w-i-i?

unshackled extension of patterns
of predictable behaviour:
moi! contra ol' granny?!
shouldn't i have... none?
  n'ah: let us play the allowed game
of psychopathy...
who's watching, anyway?
it's not like we're going to sing a song...
a tiny little song in the centre
of the earth... wiener blut...
and what happened within the confines
of the fritzl case:
circus of horrors readied as freely
available bread! corpus... christi!

        by the looks of it...
there was ever only one individual
sentenced to undergo the torture
of being crucified..
only 'im alone... psychopath uno!
and i am... to mea culpa this sort
of *******?!
i would cling to islam as a janissary sooner
than i might clip a sheep's worth
of wool...
i don't like this sadomasochism...
no... i like the shape of my own shadow:
but how the hebrews and the greeks
will pursue: even being the toursits
come auschwitz! this shadow
of the cross..

i am a sheep attired in wolf-skins...
i sheepeople blah blah from time
to time...
who are you? who am i?!
ha!
i sometimes think of myself
as balaam... sometimes nero...
as ever... konrad von wallenrod!
in the hindu circus of reincarnation!
am i... ahem... not... allowed?!
i take to grimmace:
by the body entomped:
one soul "sold"...

granny can ******* nonetheless...
i belong elsewhere to start the argument:
ex nihil!
to praise looking for a raving
lunatic with too many words
in his mouth...
i think that's where "i think" coincides itself
for an ulterior purpose:
i suppose i breathe...
i propose that i also eat!
scraps of meat...
salted pork... works miracles
with the miracle men of the crescent moon!
as does the "excess" skin
of ******...
not that i would sacrifice my ******* *******
so easily...
i need to pretend to shake hands with
ghosts: forever...

oh you can have my tonsure my kippah:
prior to my *******...
any excess skin concerning the ****?!
ha ha!
i just want to make sure!
you... never... grit...
actually... can... ever... know...
who's playing who's game...
being so blatantly pass... arrogant...
with one's lies?!

i believe the horde... i believe the herd...
i'm yet: i am utmost...
questioning... the little... incy-wincy... spider...
details of... consceince unravelled...

yes: the universal percentage detail:
translates back toward all subjectivities!
a fraction of objectivity: 0.01%
will later govern all the subjectivities of
the 99.99: thus proclaimed:
sterile grieves!

how well connected are we: aren't we?!
we hope to suppose:
and a neighbour allows...
not that we: we just... bungie-jump
into a ***** of the social contract!
no one is readied for this side-project
of society...
oh... wait... the police are policing
hate crimes of "hate speech"...
**** it... ****... pillage...
the balkan states are ripe for an
ottoman takeover...
was i about to blink to imitate...
nodding?!

yet as much as i might sway with
a phatom lady:
upon pretending to toy with a tango:
my toes are replica shrapel toys
with the toils of grip:
my little details... at best
my least bitten-into toenails...
             how about i grow a beard
of a goat's concern...
or grace a camel with a metaphor
of a needle...

this one hebrew is by no means
a noah: i... have to... pretend a martin luther...
they have their ****** tel aviv and israel!
what's not to "like":
h'america?
isn't that project of inquiry
burning it solid last in a ******* toaster
of mc and o'
                     celtic broods concerning
who's to divide up Boston?

the jews have their: recovered land:
i'm sure they can take back
their prized tool of converting
the northern folk with them:
it's not like the polish concenctation camps
ever gave them the *****...
because... no! oh no!
the germans didn't know about them!
yiddish wasn't born into german...
it was also and always this:
pan-slavic gensture of:
will you please integrate:

well hello sheepeople!
  you almost were deserving this
congregative... charm...
            no offence... time the conquest
of france... and the... french resitance...
yeah... once the germans and the russians
came simultaneously...
to carve up...

like charles bukowski said:
the trannies, the gays and the jews
have all relevants "things" to say...
they're the power brokers...
we're just the imbecile:
ant esque drones...
trained monkeys...
    'becile crispness of the tongs...
leisuring wet brass...

we allow people such ghostly firaments
of purpose beyond their expected
concern for a grave:
we allow their little besooth lying...
how cheap and zombie-esque they have
to become: grandma in tow...
even these closest to us...

it's like we are forever tugging
a warring: total...
never helped by a prospect of calm...
forever from those closest to us...
b'ah!
take it from us from the most 3rd party
sincere...
there's hope:
you will never have to heave
to be expected to...

can i tell christ to *******?
no... he's not welcome!
if i have to use muslims for the task:
i'll happily be "coincident" -
test the role
myself via the roles of
janissaary or mamluk...

honestly? what can christianity offer me?
an aching pagan ritual hope
of an ailing translation of heaving?
who? the congregation
hybrid?
      no... scrificial lamb
on the satire of shadow with a cross...
come the mongol teasing
the mountain of skulls of baghdad:
and... england is still a place where
a shakespeare or a dickness is to be born...

me? i very much like the romance
of staging a janissaary or a mamluk
prospect...
who's dead and who:
looks like...
whittle ol' grandma
can *******: be on her way...
sooner my shadow runs off with
the sunrise than i might giver a shitload
of care: she could have prescribed me...
when alt-vater was breathing his last...
yes...
because hemarrhoids and periods
were... forever alien to us!

Q vs. Q.

half Q:
is that: queue
or quiet (shh) or
quint... essential:
or quaint:
q: to a degree of
similarity:
as if: like:
quiet vs. quaint
and this word
in between: not quint...
KITE: Q-WHITE like...
"x"... ah!
in a small dosage:
quiet vs. quite!
cwy-yet vs. cwy't!
that's Velsh for
woe-yew-you-
woo!

she really should be throwing these empty promises during *******, this is the 2nd time she had this WILD idea when we were *******: she just comes out with it: ooh! i'm not working on this or that day: why don't we meet up?! first time round i tried to compromise by telling her: let's spend the day together, go to an art gallery, have dinner and i'll arrange a hotel room somewhere... that backfired... some excuse... this time round she said: can you come to mine for the night? it was supposed to be today, a new excuse: not enough girls are working in the brothel... i'm not even disappointed, not hung-up... how can i be? it's paradoxical for a ******* to somehow give up her earnings when you visit her... the second time she had this WILD (personally? stupid) idea she mentioned me going to her house: i broke it down to her... why suggest something like this, if you can't promise anything and: why wouldn't you be apprehensive, i would know where you live, i might be the sort of guy who'd enter a state of jealous frenzy, there are countless other possibilities, i could turn into a stalker, mind you: i'm paying to have *** with you in the brothel, but the default of you turning around and telling me that i could have it for free and for the whole night? of course i'd ******* like a Trojan cohort, all night long... but it doesn't make sense for you to devalue your position and giving it up like that... i would have to bring gifts instead of money, because outside of a brothel setting i wouldn't be paying you: i'd have to lavish you with something you yourself couldn't have the power to exchange... i just don't want to understand why she's having these wavering moments: either i'm that good in bed or she's... she's already talking to me about her perspective on life: she showed me her project back in Turkey: a 5 bedroom villa... if i could? sure... i'd probably move to Turkey... i don't think her past would interest me even then: mind you... as a single mother it would be a lot easier to foster a child given that child is a female: i have enough of an imagination having read Marquis de Sade's ****** to know that... it's best to stay away from a mother and her son... a single mother and her son... it's different with a single mother and her daughter... but i do hope she could finally make her mind up... stop fantasising... i know i have stopped being disappointed: it's just that i was ready to make plans for tonight and now my plans are shattered: no matter... i have a bottle of whiskey that i need to control my irritable bowels after yesterday's shitless day being strapped to a 12h shift... with no time to take a ****: i arrived home and only managed to squeeze out two little KAKASHKAS (little **** in Russian)... today the **** heavens opened and i was making up lost time that would have been spent on the throne of thrones... but i remember playing this game before... if it isn't with Khedra now: it was with Jemminah some other time (the girl who dried to spread rumours about me drinking on the job) - i saw her eyes initially glare up with glitter upon seeing me for the first time, then she sabotaged any prospects... but that's beside the point: she also invited me over to her house, i already knew where she was living, she invited me over, i pampered myself, decided to bring a bottle of wine of my own making for her to taste; well, if it's homemade it's going to be somewhat cloudy, i don't have industrial scale filtering machinery, so in order for to not think that she was drinking poison i brought with me a bottle of Franziskaner Weissbier with me: also cloudy... point being, she invited me... thankfully i turned my phone off (per usual) when travelling, i don't like being disturbed, i walked to her house and there she stood: surprised... apparently she sent me a text just after i left whereby she informed me about "being unwell"... like hell she was... the moment she started drinking my wine she was doing little dances and singing along to her favorite Dua Lipa songs... so i know the "game": but it's less a game and more the ontology of a woman... that wavering double-doubtful standard that women have: oh sure! they're so ****** confident initially! but when it comes to following up on her spontaneity she can't do it! i don't know if a woman needs an advocate to follow-up on her pursuits and wants... but like with Jemminah and like with Khedra i feel tired at all this wishy-washy talk of doing something and then backing out of actually doing it... how many times have i been apprehensive when thrown into the deep end of any given situation, having to overcome the initial nerves, adapting to the situation: meeting on the ***** of gradations and: sure as ****... whether walking up that ***** or walking down it... adapting with whatever comfort is allowed to muster! this game of female promises requires looking for appropriate music... DELTA KOMPLEX - darkside... never heard it before... but i'm just tired... i'll just have to distance myself from Khedra... i have some spare €90 that i will exchange and go back to the brothel and ignore Khedra... she already said it's alright that i go with some other girl when she's there... i guess i have to now, this little sadness: because i have to call it a little sadness is not some grand complex of depression... mind you: i'm already tired from a shift that truly pushed me, so it's a mixture of little sadness and exhaustion... i just don't want to be promised anything in the future...

a backlog in my writing habit... it has become very messy,
but the spontaneous occasion called for it...
ever since Thursday the 8th of September i haven't
been able to stick to my predictable habit...
anyone with a hyper-focus for habits will tell you
that breaking a certain, no, that breaking
a workaholic-alcoholic's habits is terribly lethargic:
a person like that: like me loses momentum...
becomes sloppy... boring; prosaic...
    like now: i don't know at what point i will rekindle
myself to my self-poetic... when i will i will feel
a sense of pleasure in my writing, until then i am merely
ploughing along: digging a trench...
but in order to find something spectacular (again)
i will have to write this mundane garbage
  of overt self-awareness...

Thursday 8th September 2022

she died on the dot just when we thought we would
be able to cancel the match between West Ham
and Steaua București... but the general admission doors
opened at 18:30... she died on the mark...
so it was too late... the whole shift felt surreal...

after the shift i headed to the brothel,
met an Afghan "Jamie" who gave me the best **** outside
of Amsterdam...
who did i **** that time round?
it wasn't Khedra? it was that blonde girl who didn't
want to have penetrative *** and instead
spent half an hour hyper-focused on *******...
but since the 8th i must have been at the brothel
another time... no... it was in the ante-chamber
where all the prostitutes sit like judges
rather than you as the person choosing which one
to take with you Marie's name-day birthday
(it used to happen in eastern Europe)
IMIENINY...
                          Khedra jumps up with a protest!
but it's my birthday on Saturday, i'll be 17 (again)!
o.k. i'll come on Saturday...
no! i did see her between the 8th and the 17th
at some point... i remember promising her that i would...
whichever day it was...

Wednesday 14th September 2022

a terrible shift at Charing Cross Station:
literally a ****-show...
a plan B in terms of organising crowd traffic...
so many rude people...
when she was moved from Buckingham Palace
to Westminster Hall...
the access to Charing Cross Station was
blocked at the top of Villiers St...
i was placed there... we had one jumper
over the fences... which was good...
but people were so ******* that they had
to walk the extra 500 or so metres to Adam St
and back onto Villiers St...
                        why were so many people buzzing
with that angry disorientation?
hell... 12 hours... i think that's when i saw Khedra
and promised her to come on Saturday...
it must have been: i wanted to relax by *******...

Friday 16th of September 2022

i took the Thursday, but promises being promises
i took the whole day to think about:
what will i give her? i can't give her a book...
or a music album... flowers?! eh... nah...
jewelry? Matthew: get stuffed: think! think!
it's "too early" for jewelry... it's not even "early" or
for that matter "late": it's just a simple NO...
she's a *******... i do take making "love" to her
seriously... but let's not go there...
she'll put a ring on her finger and admire it
she'll put a necklace around her neck and admire it
in a way that will make her feel like she has
dominion over me...
what else is there? something that i can benefit from?
d'uh! what did she sent you last time
you finished *** and were just talking?
a picture of herself in **** lingerie...
standing on tip-toes exposing her magnificent ****
of an ***!
well then! it's settled! you'll go and buy her lingerie...
mind you: it's not like you're stupid enough
to pay for the entire hour like you used to:
£120 is too much: those £60 half and hour sessions
are much better... because you can go more
frequently... mind you... if you went back
to those hour sessions... she would waste your time
for the second part of the hour...
or the first... however it works with them...
since then, i.e. figuring out the dynamics of the brothel:
i think i can afford to give her a lingerie piece
worth £50... and that's what i did...
i went into Ann Summers and leeched off the female
whims and fancies of the nerdy girl behind the counter...
i had to correct her when she chose a pink three piece...
she chose the most terrible shade of pink...
it was glaring almost fluorescent pink... shocking pink
i'd call it... i said i preferred the rose pink:
the toned down pink... oh... and the tights?
they have to be white... no... black would go terribly
with her Turkish complexion... they need to be white...
Khedra gave me her size... just bra size... 36B...
seeing how a bra looked on her after ***
i told the nerdy girl: she's exaggerating...
she's much smaller... more like 36A or 34B...
if that... 34A...
the nerdy girl asked how tall she was...
i eyed her up and down then took out a "measuring tape"
of comparisons and my four horsemen of the apocalypse
i.e. the index, middle, ring and pinky extended
and abstracting height to the height of Khedra
when we part and i kiss her on the forehead...
she's smaller than you... that's when she picked out
the *******...
**** it: it's a gift both of us will benefit from...
she'll feel **** and i'll be one step closer to buying
her a latex suit... or some **** like that...
it will be a feast for my eyes while she'll feel ****...
i saved up enough on going the 30minute routes
rather than the 1hour routes...

Saturday 17th September 2022

brought my gift to her... oh how she loved it...
while she was putting it on
she exclaimed: how did you! how did you
get the right size for me!
i always walk into a shop and never get the right
size lingerie!
i said nothing... i was just looking at her
looking at herself in the mirror...
she became so excited that she pulled out these
massive black stilettos and started prancing about
like a flamingo...
she took a few pictures and sent them to me...
legs crossed: legs uncrossed...
pink?! like for a girl... well: do you see any other
girl in my life, right now?
oh she loved it... i loved it too...
obviously we didn't have enough time for me
to ******... she gave me a line of *******...
i sniffed it... felt nothing...
i came too late to the party... give me coffee
and a cigarette and i'm happy:
then again... i quit caffeine...
since last time where i was doing all the work
arching over her in a *******...
thankfully this time round she wanted to be on
top: in the former instance she was biting me...
like my cats usually bite me when i purposively
**** them off... at my arteries...
this time round i was biting her...
and no: i am yet to see a pornographic flick
where the actors bite-tease... sure... ***-slapping...
mind you: when she slapped my face it wasn't
like the slap i received from Ilona when i visited
her in St. Petersburg: that slap of an "unfaithful" hello...
unfaithful with who? my ******* grandmother?!
i'm so happy i was only engaged to that witch
and she broke it off...
i like the idea of giving women the choice...
all the women in my life have always broken
off the relationship... i'm glad... it makes me feel like
the better person...
but that slap by Ilona, compared to the slap
on the face by Khedra... call the former Mt. Fuji
and the latter Mashiters Hill...
it was a slap and a cusp all at the same time...
the former: if it could be possible would have
spun my head right round...
fair *** my ***... women are cruel:
once the gateway to Darwinism became open:
it's a monkey-mantis we're dealing with...
hence? my grandfather's advice was appropriate:
keep your heart small... watch big things happen
while people remain small... as small as your heart...
that's the day she promised me:
i'll be off from the brothel on Tuesday...
during ******* she implored me to come and see
her in her house... stay for the night...
this is getting silly: my heart was somewhat sinking
into this promise but i knew she would pull out...
why? i already spelled it out for her:
but what if i turn into this stalking ****?
what if i become jealous blah blah...
how could i? i'm already sharing her with other men
it's not like i could seriously think about
keeping her: when she doesn't want to be kept
by a single man...
is it just me or is it that the more beautiful women
are like the beauties of nature?
they are selfless in how each and every man
is allowed to appreciate the beauty of nature?
i'm scratching my head thinking...
if these sort of women love ******* so much:
why refuse them that right?
and the women who are wedded and are child-rearing:
i'm sorry... but... having a ****** thought about
these women is near-almost-impossible...
i can't not because i don't want to: i simply can't...
me?! i'm a ******* Gargoyle...
i know my complexion is awry...
the best thing going for me is a full crop of hair...
a somewhat beard and a physique that
i actually worked for to attain...
i suppose my intellect: but then again i haven't
matched up with anyone on the sort of intellectual
i'd enjoy to reciprocate...
it's a beautiful world: but a daftly boring world...
there's no grand darkened poetic scheming against
the everyday language...
but she dressed up... rode me... i bit her this time round...
sure... great... i'm still tired from my Monday 19th Sept.
shift...
promises promises... no good to me this time round...

Sunday 18th Sept. 2022

i shouldn't be writing this right now,
my day started as early as 2:30am and i'm sitting here
trying to find some energy:
the three bottles of cider are sort of helping...
the extra nicotine is too: i've giving up caffeine:
i wouldn't say altogether but at least
in the coffee form... i don't think Pepsi is...
whatever it is... i went to bed at around 10pm yesterday
having come from a shift at the Romford ice-rink...
where the Raiders were thrashed by the Leeds' Knights
2 - 6...
i was so ****** nervous going into the shift...
why? i was going to be working with Emmy...
gorgeous girl: a gorgeous big girl: not fat: big...
a girl ideal for someone who's 6ft2...
all the decent postcards of what a woman ought
to be: thighs... *******...
i worked with her before at Basildon's Show Me Love
Garage festival: when i first spotted her:
ah! that classical English: Dagenham beauty...
i worked with her father: she bore no resemblance
to his ugly visage...
during the shift i asked her: so do you look like your
mother? can i see a picture, i'm just curious...
well... nope... she didn't even resemble
her mother... but i swear to god... i had to have a 330ml
can of indie ale before starting the shift... why?
my stomach was getting squeezed:
i needed to drink some alcohol in order
to puke some of it out before seeing her:
i felt like a teenager again...
she looked like the sort of English girl anyone might
want... a simple beauty:
just the right size for me... i'm guessing 5ft10...
but well rounded... probably taken...
but why i puked on the way to the shift i will never know...
i think i just built up this naturally Ancient Roman
need to regurgitate something
without having to put the index-middle tool down
my throat to agitate the throat to subsequently
agitate the oesophagus... it just comes naturally to me...
i start to crunch my stomach and torso muscles
and puke comes up... what relief...

Monday 19th September 2022

what was a Sunday...
today? Monday? i had to get up at 2:30am
to catch the N15 bus from Romford all the way
to Trafalgar Sq. for the Queen's Funeral...
i left the house around 3:10am... walked to the bus stop
and caught the most magical bus (trip) into central
London... sightseeing the whole of the East End...
from Dagenham... Barking... Upton Park...
Tower Hamlets... the bus didn't travel up to Trafalgar
Sq. because of the road closures for the occasion:
it stopped at a Thameslink interchange about 600m
beyond St. Paul's at Ludgate Circus...
the rest of the way i had to walk: about 20 minutes
to Charing Cross St. where the shift started...
again: supervising...

i must admit, i was planning a different route:
N86 then then N25...
from Romford to somewhere just after the A406
so the N86 could combine with a smooth
cross-over onto the N25... get to the vicinity
of Holborn and walk down to Charing Cross:
i never thought the N15 started off from Romford
and went all the way to Trafalgar Sq.
last minute changes: but i still had to wake up
at 2:30am to get in for a 5:30 start...
HERR GROG doesn't even summarise
what i was feeling... but thankfully it wasn't
a football match... to hell with getting up for
that sort of *******...
Wednesday the 14th taught us a lot...
this time round the crowd was better managed...
i didn't have to close off the Villiers St. entrance...
the crowd was flowing without any chance of
stampede or crushing... the two teams down the circle
route in fear of over-crowding were left:
pointless! i was supervising the entire flow into
Charing Cross underground station
and the Embankment station with the greatest
of ease: having only about 8 people "under" me...
at the debriefing the manager shook my hand first...
oh sure sure: "teacher's pet" *******:
no! it... just... ******* worked...
we were better arranged this time round...
no complaints... nothing... we had a river of
people and we didn't have to resort to PLAN B
because PLAN B was already tested on Wednesday
and "management" realised that it didn't work...
i must have robbed about 40+ people of
any consequence to work...
i too was a pawn... but they were super pawns...
unmoveable pawns... all the traffic came through
my position...
but **** me: compared to roofing? this is a ****-poor
job: sure... people's skills... you get a grumpy steward
from time to time: you talk them into comfort:
hey presto! this one Mark was giving me beef at first...
but i had enough sympathy to reel him in...
and? he reeled in...

at one point i attired myself in the clothing
of persuasion: i persuaded these two Sainsbury's
managers whether or not they had any free food
that was "just about" going out of date?
hey presto! of the 16 supervisors...
and 140+ staff... i was the only one walking around
with a Sainsbury's manager giving out
free sandwiches to the staff...
i did that once already: at Wembley...
i walked up to a burger kiosk and asked the seller:
so... these burgers... when the public stops buying them:
what do you do?
we throw them away... ooh! that's a shame...
you mind giving them out for free to my stewards?!
that's how the army works...
you know how you get compliant troops?!
you feed them: you clothe them...
those are the two sole prerequisites of
compliance... *** is too personal...
you feed them: you clothe them...
that's it...
    we did a round with the Sainsbury's managers
to all the positions and gave out free lunches...
hugs... fist-bumps... blah blah...
the manager didn't do that... i did that...
i kept everyone happy... well fed...
hmm... i try to imagine myself being in the army
sometimes... i think i could pull that KINK off...
i think i could... i have a third eye that's not about
some Hindu Shiva third eye of the mind:
i'm thinking: third eye CCTV crow...
third-person look-around...
i'm not even ego-tripping: i'm tripping on
the sort of authority that allows people to congregate
and loosen themselves onto and into the world...
hmm... this might just work...
unlike a busy-body female boss-***** supervisor
control freak... i decided to be male:
as males decide to be... hands-off approach...
an approach akin to: let's see what works and what doesn't...

she's send me photography of her face
like she's some "version" of the Greenwich Meat Time,
meridian: i always thought the Greenwich Time 0
was more important than the ******* "horizon"
of the EQUATOR... time... more than space...
is more important... ugh...
i'm willing to send her pictures of my hand
pointing at something, or the cat sleeping in my bed
with a wooden SHASHKA hanged upon my wall,
a branch of oak that looks like a sword...

o.k. fair enough: this death surprised me...
i'll only be content when i finally see Charles' visage
with a tenner i'll spend...
i'm ******* off to the brothel tomorrow...
today was a day of recovery... i'll need my usual diet
of whiskey and ****...
last time round: i tried performing a 69 position:
1. she didn't like the fact that
i "wasn't looking"... i was... but my sight was
obstructed...
she wanted to show me how **** the lingerie
looked almost tattooed onto her...
2. i blamed the *******...
it wasn't the *******...
we started going the 69er position:
i start tasting these nasty chemical:
snort a line of paracetamol...
  it's not *******... she said...
it's my anti-contraceptive pills...
i flush my nostrils... i gag at the mouth...
but lucky for me she explained...
well... if she offers to take me back home
for a nioght of ******* and then she's not willing?
i'll just take another girl! simple! no?!

i'm moving the "holy" roman empire a tad bit east...
     i mean... you'won't recognise it being an empiere at first...
not like you'd historically imagine
the austro-hungarians...
            but the austrians were
***** about the siege of Vienna with yan sobieski...
      the hussars v. the janissaries,
year: 1683...
              a message to muslims:
well... if you really want to cherish a piece
of history... how about this one?
no? no good? ooh pooh bear...
yo makin' me cwy!
       cymru! hu! ha! cymru! hu! ha!
  feel free to protest when the right parties
antagonise and the liberal media doesn't protest...
i'll be like the icelandic football supporters:
hu! ha! hu! ha! ***** please... smoke you
hookah.
   i call it close proximity, symbols that disorientate
people, a bit like c k q...
   so too ᛋ (es)            and ᛇ (ee)...
****! first you tell us to snore, imitating wide-awake
sleep... now you're telling us: go fight them!
   am i sensing senile ******* giving out instructions?
or am... just... hallucinating?
              it's like this war where you're thinking:
these women?     do i really really have to?
    me me me... me me me... meme...
                 gene? no! meme!
                                  oh right... so and so... dodo?
i literally have no motivation vector...
                   literally none...
                  i wish i had one... they call the niqab oppression
but pass-by the fashion magazine and it burns
their eyes out... literally... so they don sunglasses...
and it's all: cool cool... so wazz up?
                 they eat more images than fruits of
vegetables, it's like they... well it really is that they
have to be reminded: 5 x day (five a day)...
                     and i thought i was ******* with a chemistry
degree... but that's just me...
     i just said: the holy roman empire has shifted
a little bit to the east...
                              the germans are groaning
and the austrians are moaning... only because
  the poles started talking the same tongue as the hungarians...
and it's like: why not me? why not me? why not me?
you really want an honest answer?
   yes yes yes!
                   'cos' you were a bunch of *****; savvy?
just wait till they call me "infantile" because
i'm living in a world where history is money and
nothing really becomes monetary...
    ******, you talking ultra-alchemy to me?
                   so if i tell you a stone is the required
unit of currency you'll tell i'm about to don sunglasses
to see better?
                        you've just noticed a party trick
where the table cloth was made redundant: but all
the silverware and glass and cutlery remained in place...
and you're like... where's the meteor?
                  d'uh d'uh dodo... you're looking at it!
next thing tomorrow, i promise you, i'm going to
queue up to the tax officer and tell him:
give me a woman! that defines motherhood! as a JOB!
            you mean that biblical figure hiob?
   no! well... that's when i start finding pregnant
women really... just get *****...
                                 who the **** defines it as a job?
     for some time i really thought it was
the welcome leverage on the existential basis...
         but with homosexuals and surrogate ******
i'm starting to think: i really did read oscar wilde, didn't i?  
               i shouldn't complain, i might be
drawn into                 an era where i had to draw
water from the thames where people took a **** into...
but then again... i live in a place where there's
the river rom... and i know a place where i can
drink crystal-clear water... a little stream surrounded
by a number of horses equivalent to the nazgûl...
so the inverted caron on the u is akin to the umlaut?
just asking... i truly thought you were putting
on a bow-tie to become appealing with a tuxedo;
        oh *******... add the ambiguity of " "
            whereever you like.... take to sneezing underwater.

never really understood punk,
or rap...

  i tried, and tried...
went to the pillars...

   n.o.f.x. - decided:
    better stick to the polished
L.P. quality
    of i.n.x.s.
               welcome to wherever
you are
  (that really is,
a complete album,
      like roxette's joyride)...

orange goblin,
    the refused...
    the ******...
i was sold
a.f.i.,
   as being punk,
just before e.m.o.
came about...

               yeah the ramones,
***,
         still little fingers...

but i was always a meat-head...
i remember trying
to crawl out of
a slipknot mosh-pit
when the london arena
was still standing,
near canary wharf...

meat-head?
   not a skin head...
the guy who used to headbang...
not that i ever aged
from my beginnings...

i already mentioned
schumann...
   and all the other great
pianists...

    god module:
   that's...
     slaughterhouse music...
if equipped with
something akin
to wumpscut
or tanzdiktator...
  you're basically
looking for a comb-over
relief to once,
upon a time,
  using your head
and spine at the butcher's...

meat-head...
  i've survived a
brain haemorrhage
aged 21...
no one believed me...
so they enlisted me
in the danger-brigade
of schizophrenics...

         i'm looking around
with **** similis
and thinking?
   this is very unusual...
hell... i should be so lucky...
no other medical condition
is given as much
poetry, outlets...

   schizophrenics
are like the cardinals
to the bishop melancholics...
and the pope?
   no one's ego.

funny... the best metaphor
ascribed to cancer is...
what i found,
growing off a tree...
   mistletoe...
mistletoe is a botanical
parasite...
sure... cancer as giving
alien birth that is never
born...
   but somehow,
people have a fetish
for schizophrenia,
or... not having read enough
poetry...

psychosis...
contra ingesting hallucinogenic
drugs...
they are, quiet the pair
of magnet opposites...

     so this one instance when
my girlfriend told me
i would be more comfortable
without the ******:
it's like she didn't see...
i imitated circumcision...
it was already
uncomfortable...
    
              abortions: well...
excuses excuses excuses...
   with no job upon
graduation?
                 where did i leave
that "oops" moment?
so i went to a *******
to check...
    no... the rubber is not
that bad...
  i already have
the sensitive part of a *****
intact...
   sure...
if i was circumcised...
then not using
   a rubber would mean
something...
    
   gathering from what i learned
watching das boot
and the german joke
about yankies being semi-semite,
i.e. circumcised...
   i don't know if,
i can follow...
the argument...
   provided by a circumcised
male...

   give me a minute...
......................................................
­...................................................
.............­...................................  
.......................................................
no,­ sorry, what?
the circumcised male is
to dictate to me...
how...
       only once did i have
*** like an uncircumcised ****...
when a *******
****** on a rubber
before i managed to fully
undress myself in her presence...

and i took a risk every time
i "folded the umbrella",
"took off the tux",
    my top-hat... whatever you
want to call it...
what with the two protruding
veins...

     excuses excuses excuses...
counter-argument doesn't even
exist...
           there's only the moral
question,
         or there's: no question...

landed in ****...
   and in so doing:
started doing choc angel shapes
in the mud...
while a litany of
democratic pigs asserted
that was to become of me:
flesh... or bone?

the days when circumcised men
talk down to uncircumcised men...
the circumcised men...
who haven't been humbled
by jewish orthodox rigour...
*****-nilly...
            no w'oh m'ah nou cwy...

it's a European
"superstition" to assume
all american men as
being circumcised...
    or maybe... looking at all the ****:
that's just normal...
it was always going to
be a "necessary" revision
of the human product...
like... cutting off your big-toe
or your ears...

  hell... maybe there's a middle
ground...
   all uncircumcised men
should be coupled with
     all the examples of f.g.m.
because, somehow...
the two don't work...
might as well write
the kama sutra rubric
for monotheistic religions:

circumcised men
uncircumcised women

                         uncircumcised men
                         circumcised women

circumcised men
circumcised women (islam)

   uncircumcised men
    uncircumcised women (fans of simon
                                    & garfunkel).

when it was a square...
no more! no more!
the simp... the the otherwise: not
a simpleton?
it's not a -leton suffix "base"...
not as such...
as such: m'ah... and walla walla...
bear neck non-standards
****... neck-beard
"berserker" qua-soz...
and... that trucker "napkin"
with a baeball CAP-toid...
                  otherwise it's uttered:
the Mendelssohn Report...
or: would you believe it...
a secretively mis-diagnsosis
of the Dover Effect: for... wooing
the unsuspecting proto-gender
weirdos into: a backstage commons
senction...
was... effectually lingering
in the protoplasm stage of: mr. and mrs.
docile: smith...
the churchill - or the standard, base,
definition of an egg -
would never be or become,
the simplified scrutiny via
the egg shell,
the yoke and or whitey protein:
shaky-shaky stephens...
given you're best insured...
in treating chicken meat...
like you'd treat boiling / poaching an egg...
cascade of "in-words" and
"out-words"... **** furthest east...
and then: no slang tongue...
meme for access...
automated to sieve through...
bogus audience... out of 100 people
curated for: "statistics"...
99 of them would have read a snippet
of... let's not crown ourselves with
bombast and waiting for credibility
insurance.
one simply tires of either playing
the lame / superiority game...
or any "game" in transit...
it's not better or no worse...
as long as there's a medium of:
INSTRUMENTAL people in between...
which, also implies...
i can lie down and rot...
because... i have no privy to this...
instrumental, developed staging
of the: necessary man...
precusor:
nature doesn't allow for vacuums
to obstruct its: recycling furore...
    i am somehow necessary...
as much as heidegger becoming necessary...
ontology: not exactly what is...
what is, is, a thespian monopoly...
and the adverts of use-by-dates of...
life, and... "not" life...
with they grey-area of: best before...
"exodus" dating...

as some might say:
cardigans and sputniks...
cardigans and spuntiks...
chequers, cheese...
mr plasticfantastic and... a hitchcock blonde
cwy bay-be:
cwy may be a' loan-sum...
exactly when orthography makes
an entrance on the english speaking
stage... clearly: of non-events!

i should have never experienced school...
all the best lessons in the "school of life"
have had to come after...
thankfully i'm a thoughtful drunk...
but my extended pedagogy honeymoon
was to my liking since i was in it...
having left it...

i don't even begin to fathom leaving
anything at all, or for that matter: having engaged
with to begin with...
i can almost imagine myself
being the chimney-sweeper...
i hear the name: samir... and i'm reminded:
about my "good old friend"
with a father that sides with my mother...
i'm trying to not rage against a defeatist
ratio of 2 versus 1....

i go into the night and wish to find a variant
of baptism with the cold rain
sprinkling me with aura and demand...
but it's no use... the rain comes the book
is never to be finished...
back into the wall: you brick is all that
is allowed to resonate...
perhaps transcendence is a word mostly used
as a joke for...

and only if you were given
the ability to expand your consciousness...
with an amazonian extract...
or some swiss-CIA-magic puree...
on yer bike and down the hill we go...
i've come to center around the truth
of being less and less welcome...
my friend samir... it's almost as if i was
plotting to keep me in this...
surreal state of: full command of the body...
the mind is still allowed some function,
crossword puzzles and what not...
for some death comes with no sense
of closure... i wait, i wait, for death...
i look for it under the carpet of spontaneity...
i look for it in outright violence and
drenching myself in flammable liquid
and then dancing of the nearing: being extinguished
candle dance...

i see i birdge... i look for: the heights
and the broken neck and spine...
it's better i write these words and not feel inclined
to fathom them with an inclination
of the base of: acted interim...
for negative consequences...
there are jobs! but all the best jobs are passed
verbatim... no one finds jobs via
third party sources...

unless.... well if one is a pariah...
an anathema... whether it's an objective reality
is another matter...
feeling is rather much intuitive...
and if this right-wing celebration of objectivity
and anti-subjectivity is to be found
elsewhere, i.e. "elsewhere" outside of the realm
of psychopathology?
the "old man" was looking for a *****
apparently "lost" to aid his glasses being folded
and kept in an ennui...
the old matriarch sent her bell-boy to figure out...
why the bell-boy managed to serve her
sorrel soup and those dumplings...
for dinner...
her o.c.d. started kicking in...
with one walking stick she pointed at the fridge
being unclean...
how the bell-boy "forgot" to vacuum
the house... a second day coming...
i have a bottle of whiskey for company...
and i'm not going to sentence myself for anything
better to bribe about...
the father sides with the mother
and i have no siblings to conquer the world with...
not sentiment of treating the lateral in transition...
going to school was never my idea...
i should have moved beyond merely
denying myself being confirmed in the catholic
act of: good faith...
but university was no better...
i've learned more on my own that was
i was necessarily prescribed...
even my british citizenship is only a piece of paper
that can done-away with like
a tabloid press release on any given day...
it's a bogus transaction...
for the sins of visiting a ******* i am to be
punished? what of the everyday ordeal
of thse casual fucky-fucky that pass on s.t.d.?
the only reason i believe in a god is that:
he will not speak with a human impertinence...
in that however mild caste hierarchy...
even with a republic in mind...

for ten years i spectated oddities in the night
havens...
stars... moving beside the constellations...
once i witnessed two stars somehow
joint together moving across the sky...
sometimes a delta constellation...
otherwise they were stars...
and they managed to pulsate as if giving birth...
and then hush down and still persist
to move...
for not basis of escaping a constellation...
which they were never a part of to begin with...

and i was naive at first,
then i found the cynic...
and then another... cynic...
and then another cynic... cynic... cynic...
and now i'm looking
for the marriage of the stoic to death...
because i don't look for death
as a mark of despair...
i find it as a reflection on redemption!
i conclude with myself:
happy are those who have...
crossed most falsely a street...
why do i have this spatial awareness
and cross it freely, safely?

oh this cynic will become a stoic...
but only in death...
death... is a marriage i see coming...
death has become a she...
in that she's the other woman:
which is not a poker hand of:
the "other" woman in the pursuit of
adultery... this "other" is no less than
a second mother...
the mother that should have given
life to me...

what theatrical wording:
to be born of death...

- because i'm yet to "feel" - or lack...
for a "better" word for "know"
when it comes to the deciding a better
happenstance of an outlet...

that i am no more than a walking abortion?
the roulette of the housing staff
of Downton Abbey...
i still cook the better half of the meal...
but that's still not never not enough...

the lacklustre of darwinism being
so widespread...
how darwinism is so widespread and common...
and there's no voice of "god"
or a david attenburough narrative to billboard;
how this is never the enlightened age...
since each individual comes and goes
from starters: a priori...
not even with the collective quest of man...
there's no a posteriori status-reality...
there's always an a posteriori starting:
bothersome brick and clown...

- because you never visit russia and get slapped
in the face by a girlfriend...
for not lying...
visit your dementia riddled grandfather to be
is not you having the ******* attitude
and having a beta-******* the side...
if ever that's a conversation starter...
but i didn't back i just ****** harder...
until the 300 Spartans would appear...

and for all that the sun has to offer...
the night the moon and the stars...
not being ****-brick-built
for the affair of the goliath gorilla
versus the lion... in a match-up...

i much appreciate the phrase:
to be born of death...
i see life and a second coming as an arrival...
the rotting corpse doesn't bother me...
i will be forgotten and a month will pass
and the flies will become
all fidgety class A...

some + + + to mind afterwards...
you can never wake up from a mother:
sort of loving you...
it's no movies honey...
it's the basic tricklets of mantis...
and you finally arrive at death:
death your second mother:
your real mother...
who is not part of the nitty-gritty
aspect of *** as both a pleasure...
and a procreation "tool"...

the only reason as to why i abhor darwinism
is not that it's wrong...
it's right... but... i "like" i "dislike" has nothing to
do with this... no one begins anew:
with some social engineering focus
and only cites this one theory:
darwinism... "confusing" the circumstances
of the crows, the lions...
the bears for god's sake...
even the heliocentric model does how as far
as what making an geocentric model exit
allowed with the discovery of gravity!

to me darwinism is a plague on all manner
of thinking... whether that be
bow-tie-and-towing thinking
or, quiet simply... puppet that *******
***** gag of a mouthful...
and let's see her...
spit teeth and lecture us on...
"forgotten" basics...

i'm either simply tired... or quiet simply:
enough!
tired or sad...
funny... the better part of "madness"
is better associated with
a seance of lethargy...
the mad are "lazy"...
or perhaps they're "lazy"...
because the collective money is spent...
un-collectively...
even in capitalism...

i play Igor the Ignorant...
harry and meghan markle...
***** 'arry?!
are supported by... tax-payers?!
really?! oh wow!
there's that argument of:
shut the **** up...
and there's the argument...
which i majestically prefer...

walk into a field in the depth
of night... find some horses...
then pretend to be holding
a cube of sugar...
or a slice of apple...
then... manoeuvre your head
dislocated from your body...
jack-in-a-box style...
when the horse falsely nibbles
on your skin...
and retorts with a gallop while
standing...
luckily missing your ******* 'ed...
because the horse "thinks" you're
playing stupid...
no... just the roulette...
i'm looking for my mother death:
have you seen her?
i want to impregnate her
with a makeshift ***** consciousness...

i'm going places...
i've been to st. petersburg... that should
be worth enough... stamps...
but i have had these "adventures"...

a herd of them! in a field!
two albino stags and a litany of the elders
standing watch...
me them the night the moon
and the field...
and... the horse is mad!
i didn't extend my hand to pretend
i was holding an apple!
or a cube of sugar!
horse's mad!
sir john the squire!
i said 'ave 'ee!
no the horses said:
the buckle do-better pretended his arm was
the apple of concern...

oh sure sure...
the never mind the 'ed that was about
to be kicked in by the buckling hoof...
my most n'est-ce pas kind sir!
like i said:
i'm a walking abortion...
and thank god that i'm to be excused
from moral, fatherhood, status...
character flaws...
the lest of me is... the best of me...
esp. anti replica stature...

but i do love my mother...
never mind i want to be this premature
freak of her's in having the privvy of
dying before her...
that would be, most, lovely...
i always fathom a life worth living as also
having the chance to die before one's own
parents...

as i love my second in coming to fruition
mother... namely death...
and whether a heaven or a hell...
i am assured a nap...
a kipper for the better part of...
acquiring some, Velsh!

yn coch, coch?! flacid.... bunker baron thereof!
mild instructions of the oxford bunch
with their chief sermon-writer...
hardly a Knox when a Wittgenstein would suffice!

is red, red?
i only ask... since i'm an acquired body
to a most fulfilling mind of concern...
looking for "converts"...
among the welsh...
the scots? hardly the gaelic bunch are they?
they prefer to stress their:
accents of speaking the lesser
Westminster & Eton bra... brachhhhh...
loch! not lodge of cheao:
and no "N" either...

i spent three years in Edinburgh...
and 10 years in vicinity of London...
and all this time... i should have taken
a ***** in the centre of Caerdydd!
eh... funny simples and symbols...
you never know who to side
with on these islands...

gorllewin neu na gw...
close proximty to gw? zło - evil...
but there's no... coming back with:
friends, romans, countrymen...
lend us a ****-bag of lemonade non-fizzy!
syrian or lebanese intellectuals...
starve for this sort of base,
content... or none do...
perhaps we're the porky-pie starving:
Glasgow holocaust ready...

cornwall... of south wales...
the white cross on a black canvas...
korn-walia... cornwall...
walia - wales...
siding with the picts was a mistake
concerning this already...
troubled heart...

cushion savvy - always accessible Velsh...
drwg yma... drwg yma...
na pentref ynteu na ddinas ddiogel...
or some other "monstrosity"...
esp. when the Lebanese french speakers
come! and... they've already come!

but i was expecting to learn some
gaelic from the scots...
unlucky for me...
that i still find the welsh as outsiders...
and retaining their: tafod!
there can only be one...
proud people of these isles...
and that's the welsh... the Cymraeg...
eh... opaque petty englishmen...
call it a Kymraeg...
i call it via zee fwench cedilla avenue:
Çymraeg!

blah blah mon petite cherie!
**** a fwanchmon mon je sui allias: non?!
learn some welsh of 'ebrew... no brou?
no velsh b'woo?

a mishtaken identity cry-oh! asis?!
cwy... oh... asist... this T is a
monsieur tapisseriesourd...

vell 'ear all better left "off":
mistaken-hier or hum ha or otherwise...
the inquisitive nuance of the wording...
plus the spanish queer-position..
of the  levitating wheelchair bound?

the horse the "fake apple"...
the nibbled on hand...
the near-miss kick on the head
hoof imprint and...
that god awful beauty of a full *****
of a moon! to leave a feeling
of crescendo... had i died...
i'm always looking for premature
death...
this sort of luck?
is no luck at all...
no wonder i find the gods
reticent of an existence...
this comedy of i...
given this pronoun injustices of
the freed peoples republic of the congo...
grammar lessons! chop chop!

faking a handshake with a boa constrictor...
the snake i don't mind...
the chimp pretending to fake fwendsqueeze-it
is bothersome...
some of us remain idiotic till the end...
i would rather the reality of a tiger...
than poker-mind a fellow ape...

darwinism quote: so so...
here's to finding the right sort of tapeworm
infestation... a barrage of eggs
in a single slice of dodgy bacon...
i just can't stand...
pretending... when what i'm eating with...
i much rather prefer to eat...
and not talk...
because... m'ah curiosity and...
the chicken drumstick aesthetic appeal...
and the mostly assured lanky
extension of the human arm...
which equates itself to the lanky
almost meat-free representation of the duck's...
"leftover"...

how else was this not to be conjured from?
everything i say is disbelieved...
i say red: it's "blue"...
i say blue: i'm a better renown of a safeguard
cabbie matching up to my Lebanese status
of: doctor...
i'm also drunk... i'm tired...
i know that Tahir means little bird
in Pakistani... or little pigeon or at least that's
also a synonym of...
the bird that got away...
probably a sparrow...

2am looms and i have no worth of a woolen shirt
on my body...

english people exploring grammar school
*******...
the pronouns and otherwise...
the "gender neutrality" of the ROYAL:
ONE ought to...
and WE should think so...
hello! the leftoever crown of the guillotined
head?! for all the coom'on'R's?!

stealth theiving of common...
chemistry's prefixes...
trans-...
cis-...
the sort of prefixes mostly associated
with studying chemistry!

- i can be expected to least fathom the...
unpredictabikity of any sort of..
forthcoming: how, ever,
to diguise this coming onslaught and
monstrosity...
this wing clipped...
this lip purged from kissing...
this ear to listen,
this eye to see...
these fingers becoming
dexterity prone via a simple task of attempting
the tirade of a piano...

one was expected,
we were all so hopeful...
gender neutrality of pronouns
for god's sake!
no mongol would think twice
to call it a cheap-steal....
even if poland was named: crown...
and lithuania was....
lithuania... the "left-over"!

mam marwolaeth!
pwy e gobaith darganfyddiad!

the pre anglo-saxon england:
this arthurian myths of:
   some celtic bride and some leftover
legionnaire regaining status:
or gaining status -

pre anglo-saxon england:
oh god... that cocktail of celts and
the welsh...
well: it's anglo-saxon england
that entertained the vikings...
and later the vikings that settled
in northern france...

the monstrous export of
the anglo-saxon republican export
from the h'american colonies...
a strict work ethic...
work hard...
em... how hard can you work
in an environment of
window-dressing...
of being a cat-walk exemplar...
work hard...
stacking supermarket shelves?
can you turn bulging machine
having:
the capacity for unforgiveable
spontaneity:
i figured: a poem a day
keeps the psychiatrist away:

the apples are rotting...
the bears are getting drunk on them...
staggering around senseless seem-like
in a cider tango...

a work ethic... where... mostly...
the ethic of work is: dasein -
a mere being there...
a presence of something that
doesn't discount the rubric of:
the long-stretch of time...
mannequins at work...
staging a cul de sac coup d'etat -
work ethic...
after a while competing
with machinery:
in a thespian despotism
and a d.j. roulette is not enough
for: me to spew rhyme after rhyme...

i would hardly want to disgrace
anyone at work...
lucky for me a dream i had
only yesterday:
i was chased by a faceless throng
of people who wanted
me to stand on a stage...
and persuade the "less initiated"
with new testament jargon:
i was invited to become
the last conventional:
the confidence man: an orator...

not a politician... as such -
not a rhetorician... not lying for
a purpose: more... lying for lying per se...
i rarely dream where i can bring
back images of the dream...

i honestly don't know what
the "whiteness" argument is with these
critical-race theorists...
these neo-marxists...
i latched / i eavesdropped on a conversation
and i'm: precisely here:
nowhere...

      work efficiency: baking too much
bread... what is... "work"...
it's certainly not something as
crystal clear as...
sitting through a le mans' episode
of 24h within the confines
of the marathons of a football match...

snooker nears the concern for
the spectator -
          
  but i'm just eavesdropping -
   i can't buy the new left from the west...
      there's just too much idiosynchronicity
that pulling it apart:
i want the ride on the roulette -
rotondo - ferris-wheel -
i just can't buy western socialism:
it's pretend hive for a season
mentality...
      a whim a vogue:
                 a fly rattling the purpose
of space abstracted to its erracting
flight confined to a cube...

i'm hardly: well... how doesn't it feel
being mistook for a german or a swede
in england...
then again only copper-skins
on edgware road selling quran pamphlets
asked me whether i was german...

i must say: i didn't mind that...
if they suppose i was russian...
i might have minded that...
               i am always this little boring
mr. incognito a retail
of non grata -
          my poverty of history:
i'll ***** myself around the world
never making it to grand h'america...
in england i'll...
honest to god:
gladly scoff the battered cod
and the chips come a friday...

          i don't need to see the sea:
ha: on the continent people had
to plan for summer and for trains
and transit... to... "get 'em away from
the mountains": no camping freaks
among them... lazing on the beaches
until the sun might turn into
crab-mouths nibbling on them...

come on though...
oysters?! that semi-solid sponge of
goo and glue managed to earn...
itself a rolling-pin's worth
of a shell...
well... the human brain is no better:
considering that it was hijacked
by a mushroom... come
the post-aquatic process
of redefining standing-up straight...

perhaps i own my bedroom:
this little guise for the world to understand:
but then one cat if attempting
to sleep in my bed
and the other in the armchair:
while i'm sitting reading
the pickwick papers
sitting against a cold radiator -

she doesn't like me teasing her hind
near: what is her tail:
my imaginary coccyx and her
cranium 69 psalm...
she harks at me...
she butchers me with boxing gloves:
i am expecting
******* sized up to mosquito replicas...
she draws blood from the index...
i smear the drawing of
blood onto her furry nose...

i was too young to have fallen
for such a love of ***
that would never translate
itself into a "love" that could
have us: find each other...
pairing and piling up with
a glad tiding of responsibilities...
i still remember
this "other" one as she took
me to a party just before
bloc party arrived
and a girl might inquire me
as to why i wore
a eisen-kreuz t-shirt...

               it must be self-explanatory:
i have yet to live the unforget-
-able life...
this colt this Abel this leisure of activity:
when pitiable Cain has to wade
through the tsunami of...
the roman gentleman:
forever out of context:
      there's some "inevitable" and there's
some "traditionalism"
       and there's PREJUDICE
against occupations requiring manual
labour: these befitting slaves...
mind you: retail trades have
come through the aeon as...
devoid of criticism or allowing
a self-awareness...
      
concerning now i am no high-brow
thinker:
i am ashamed to "think" to put
this fudge-packing to paper...
wow! no paper!
pixel digits of beelzebub's voyeurism...
i find my agony in
that: physical labour needs
to find its detail:
i can't find escape in the per
se of poetry from long ago...

i need to rise up i need to rise
with aa riddle: to riddle the princesses
with my own lost joy, joke & rhyme...
butchers' pressures for
*******...
the detailed art of the inconvenient
**** stressed with:
ghosts macabre:
if the niqab was addressed
by some variation of: Coco Chanel:
the long white 'un...

i'd love to see a niqab paraded
in white...
               i was the con-stipated...
i was the con-findance artist being
chased by a face clot of bass riddling base?
who's o.k. who's not this new:
pristine vogue of perfect?
my shattered little blessed purpose
insignia of g'aah g'aah:
better: blah?
no reiteration within the confines
of nervousness -
i will not seek any variation
of new york...
i will not make conquest
of coastline h'america...
give me my mundane suppose
euorpa and
some ******* mediocre "supposed"
teasing anti-adventure fly-over...
grey-the-grit-grey-first-born...

i the summoned echo of Abel...
while Cain has his pop-tarts
in the h'american
celebration of serial killers...
and: mother siberia welcomes!
oh god... who needs them shackled
up... let's just drop them...
into a geography that might
expand their minds!
wouldn't it be... fair?
no new africa this new Sib?!

it would account for the moon-goal:
ha! mongrel / 'ongol...
very funny: as english always is...
when it can be tested
with phoneticism...
and a dickensian sam weller's: gadanie:
spreschen...
best kept patriotic: nervous angle...
no new blue: all old blanche... ha ha...
nervous ******* twinkle...
borrowed bliss... no north 19th century...
ha ha...

  but it's still a chapter or two where:
the dickensian narrative sort of:
left me: as it left him...
just pass the time...
as every novel does:
line the lineage...
mould - just enough dough
or words for the readers
to: ahem... "mishap"
a tumbleweed moment...

execution of the antithesis of
"buddhist" posturing:
not finding a cushion to not think...
read a book in an iron maiden
fixation:
play the freely available russian...
i will never come across
the intricacies of h'america from
a postcard...
i will never make it to iowa:
iowa per se...
outside of the federal export
narrative of a myth of a
nation-project...

   i want to see the sort of
h'america the rest of the coastline
decided to **** on...
but i've already seen st. petersburg
from the perspective of:
great *** and no one ever wanted
to listen to bob dylan...
there was a necessary stipend
of reading a bulgakov...
         which i did...
          while moscow and metallica was...
let's just forget it:
i find the most pristine ideal
of a day...
come my little solo rummaging
of the woods come the raj spices
of autumn...
come these ancient woods
that will never borrow acorns...

i went back a side-step back
toward the ***** of abraham marx -
and i came back:
trojan projects:
mass graves of Ypres:
deserved by the germans...
have these mass graves...
but a solitary statue of...
at least the achilles heel of "st." michael...
will you not dare to claim
the laughter of Ares?
then succumb to a "saint" and michael...

**** your incongruity -
i tend to make an event of walking out
from this house
with an apple in tow...
and like some philosopher...
leaving enough flesh prior to the core...
before ackowledging
the possibility of the magic
trick being towed...

i can eat the whole apple and
there's no cider coming from the seeds...
write the metaphor of the bible
anew:
apples are not new to the riddled east...

ah! ah! ah ha ha ha ha ha!
the riddled east!
give 'em the nocturnal flesh
of a phlegm compact fig...
  give them the dates...
the oranges... the lemons...
         who was moses to give them
the apple?
last time i heard apples originated
in kazakh territory:
which was picked up
with the mongol migration...
along with the beijing plethora
of dumplings...
  
england is still far far away...
ready to make it's surf exploration first...
thirst for moon in north h'america...
first come first served:
last time i heard:
iceland didn't beat them...
because... ha!              ah ha ha ha!

first i played a recorder...
cheap plastic...
no... there was no mention of a flute...
i was english i was i never never...
but it's not like...
i had the vantage point...
of the english...
since no one really wanted
to live on iceland...
england prior to the anglo-saxons...
yes... these:
leftover peoples: troll...

ich muss "troll"...
      shwemme-affe-contra-hund:
scheissegrubestapelregalneu!
   ich: ja... westen bankrottberliner:
mein ebenfalls: kaiserbrötchen!

one might simply tire of pandering
to the germans...
one simply can...
as one might excuse oneself to teasing
the mongols: via the russians...
so... it's a no man's land...
through and through...

   i.e. where's what middle with
the middle of the east
that's also: "york" and the yacht and
the islamic mystics: rumi from afghanistan from
the 13th century or otherwise...
the senior draft?
no... solipsism adventure: primo!
the bangladeshi are slaves
when cicero had to speak: proper...
necromancy for the believe-ability
of the existence of arabs...
camel jockeys...
            the nobel routine handlers...
shadow rubric oopses -

there is not need for a coupling for
communism with Jainism -
when the doggy-mom does her bit
and the thief from Camden Town
does his: leash to lynch...
empires the metaphors:
the peoples the jack 'o' cracks:
pancakes... and the littering
to street with...
all thoe romanian / bulgarian
****** you didn't ****...
because ****'s son slashed the broker
on the northern duaghter
you...   hindered...
  stroked bloke & towed
fiddled barrels...
   like some "ilford"...
          
the "solution" is...
all tongues but no spanners...
the "solution" is...
all tongues but hammers...
              my best inclined: fugitive
of a body... this fetish toad-ape
a colour figurative
of imitating traffic heed...

my best blotched narcoleptic
blond-Fe....
ironing suitor...
    ape gesticulating
supposed applause...
for the audience to cwy away
an about: a'goo...

               cicero minded: might have...
"slaves" take up the deeds of
aesops in the deeds of the row-men...
or the same-ethno-minded:
belittled brain-custrd-fudgings...
A                           A                       A
my exploited nuo lambda...

i wriggle with a rare
rage most impossible...
i tinge these letters:
the spice list for a karma sutra
of
outdates the necessities
of the new testament as:
any new sort of investment:

didn't you know?
the serenity of a composition...
bach will never ride
a donkey:
among the four horsemen...
there was one with death: implicit...
towing a donkey... riding: slow...
and it's not that i might make
bach pop: or propping up...
i have no romance with
some borrowing of
"amore" of italy:
               pizza pardons?!
i quite like the tenderness
of the "in-between-bits" of
liver... stendhal!
the rubric details:
                         i oppose a suggestion
that something could be claimed
to make monstrosity
of sketching forward this...
ahem... modern...
man...

"we": i found it very much necessary
for the modern man to talk
this borrowing from nuance...
this bowing-down
burrowing:
thorough.. through...
my long lost asp and bulgar...
the sort of exotica that
the british never tasted:
it was Bulgaria that was not...
not ever... Haiti...
and because of... what?
white's what?

       middle of "my" jerusalem?
i can't fathom a... "middle yeast"...
from a region that doesn't
need beer...
ergo and "ergo"...
the riddled east...
troll the overt-simplification...
that let's me toll up stupid
and there's no necessary
i.q. quest -
yes.... the pay-back for
toying with both tourist
and the cricket teams / themes...

my last middle...
it's an yeast! a brain-borrow:
born bread-winner"
riddled "eat"!
oh ****...       tiny tony
and that major SHA-SHA!

the cats seem completely devoid of any fact -
any of the usual seasonal claustrophobia
associated with this month...
let the sane grey days return: pronto!
i'm dying from this... hanging expectation...
4 years of christmas outside of a protestant
country - where: i'm unsure who's who
or rather: who's celebrating what...
civic christmas... throw me back into a catholic
country with no internet access...
with the only entertainment being reading
a book... among the pensioners where:
a chance meeting someone my own age...
died along with the death of the metalurgy
industry... little ol' me aged 8 moving from
one place to another, learning a new language...
fraternity cwy (that, that almost looks like
a welsh word)... baby?
no... i just don't know what to make of christmas...
it's been 4 years in the making...
perhaps i became too used to all the catholics
celebrating this period in a religious sense...
perhaps i could jigsaw my way into these 3 days...
by during christmas eve everyone settled
their grief and beef... they have been fasting...
"fasting"... i.e. not eating meat of the earth...
eggs and fish and... mainly fish...
and christmas eve would be night...
of utmost humility...
i did serve up a circa 15 dish supper...
the prawn cocktail came out of nowhere
when i had leftover prawns from only using
one can of crab meat for the prawn, crab,
smoked salmon cream cheese pate...
trout caviar and dill to garnish...
i made the poppy-seed roulade...
the chocolate coating with sprinkled coconut...
the fish ala greek was there...
the red borscht from beetroots and the dumblings...
but... nothing was really there...
i did all the work preparing the supper...
over 2.5 days and... we sat at the table for...
perhaps an hour... we ate with our eyes
and i didn't even eat a complete slice of bread...
we ate with our eyes...
tomorrow will be no better...
i've already prepared the meat that will be sliced
cold (pork and beef)... i'll just bake the most
perfect tatties... and the pristine sized carrots...
i'll probably bake some peppers and an onion...
and some garlic... glaze it with some honey
and balsamic vinegar... probably sprinkle some
cumin seeds to boot...
and there will be a portion of bigos too...
and... we will still eat with our eyes...
we'll be somehow fasting...
perhaps it's easier... when you have a grandfather,
a former stouch "communist" looking for
god in the depths of dementia and lethargy...
perhaps the superstitious grandmother who
came to the city from a small village where:
farming was still done...
but i guess... family...
they're all ******... but now i see how
the english treat it... in no way different to everyone
else... but i really did think i was going
twice-over mad... when...
classic.fm started it's groundhog day repertoire
bound to a hour on repeat...
if i hear... another ******* christmas carol...
if you play me another aled jones: walking in the air!
i'll flip! so i turned the radio off in the kitchen
becoming soothed with being *******...
somehow irritation became a music that
my body found comfortable...
what a staggering difference between a...
protestant christmas eve and a catholic christmas
eve... 4 years and... this being the 5th...
i have absolutely no sense of anticipation...
in a sense: pst... remember... you're in a protestant
country... in a post-nationalist blah blah...
these are civic festivities... they are irreligious...
i was going to bake butterfly turkey ******* tomorrow...
stuffed with thyme infused butter under
the skin to give the ******* moisture...
but i have already made the pork and beef...
tomorrow will only be the most spectacular
sad day... i can't stomach it...
i couldn't stomach all the presents prior...
thinking about it now...
perhaps until the age of 15...
i can't begin to fathom being so easily let-off...
time and its claustrophobia... 'tis' a season to be
merry... merry about what?
in that civic sense.... outside: even faking
a religiosity is better within the confines of these
3 days that... staging some pseudo-bollocking...
looks like the in-breds are coming home...
the same ones ashamed of their family throughout
the other days in the year...
i can still remember a christmas...
it must have been 1990 - i was four then...
it's a memory but it's more or less a painting...
a round table... the great-grandmother was still
alive... and the extended family was there...
aunts, uncles... cousins...
now? it's either me and my grandparents...
and an uncle... or it's me and my parents...
and at a time when... you're still not sure whether
your mother is having adverse side-effects
to the anaesthetic after a hip-replacement operation...
in god's given everyday-grey-mantra-of-monotony:
this would be a walk in a park...
but given: what's to be "expected"...
i was once told a proverb:
you look best with your family: in photographs...
perhaps that should extend to friends too...
oh i do remember what life ought to be...
a weekend in Paris circa 2004 and 2005...
summer and... once in autumn...
it's but a figment of my imagination...
introspection without anger...
my unit of thought that has not succumbed
to a psychological scrutiny -
a gimp suit and some pickling juices...
well... it's hardly an anger when the romanticism
of depression: melancholy is so ripe...
but to the cats it's just another day...
and here's me... with predicates...
celebrated christmas: matthew "celebrated"
christmas by cooking a supper on christmas eve
that everyone decided to eat with their eyes...
a meal that... has matthew a wife,
a daughter or a son?
does he want a wife and a child?
would that change - the otherwise overshadowing
impasse of existential "problems" that
could never mature in their...
mainting a sense of: a problem...
if such problems were replaced with...
not buying a daughter / a son a gift they'd want...
not earning enough money to treat a wife
to something?
problems and... problems...
i guess i should be content with my problems:
"problems"... i should be happy wearing my own shoes...
even though: i wish i could have seen this
food disappear, today... hollow bones left:
even the marrow ****! gone...
perhaps then i'd be happy... if i cooked and what
i cooked: disappeared...
that would be a thrill...
but then... "beggars pride"? is that even allowed?
murky waters of everything that...
i remember that look...
timing... a beggar woman outside a supermarket...
a man giving her spare change...
oh he wasn't looking at her giving her the money...
he was looking at me giving her the money...
the guilt-tripping...
i can almost imagine: in a cashless society...
she suddenly takes out a debit-card payment
machine and... i give "charity" via...
what already is a cashless society...
does racial distinction have to be minded -
you're expected... hell... i expected all this food
to be eaten by ghosts of my dodo cul de sac
family... last time i heard:
the worst gift for christmas is a card filled with
money... i've received those once or twice...
i have to agree with myself:
this should not have been written...
but given that there are no typos bound to it...
i did something that tradition required...
which is a real shame that...
it can: that so many things will die...
before i actually die...
and for some reason...
there's nothing of despair bound to it...
only an irritability: cookie-coating it sweet...
it's irritating that something will die before
i die... tradition... social norms...
cultural cliches... call it what you like...
autopsy: to "blame" a "at-no-one's-expense of fault"...
a chair is a chair...
a moon is a moon...
today is just today...
tomorrow is just tomorrow...
2am is just 2am...
a glass of whiskey is just a glass of whiskey...
there are no consequences...
just detours...
perhaps somewhere a mind less preoccupied
with writing this little something...
tending to far more important problems:
to life's problems... not de facto problems...
nothing existential... nothing continental...
nothing associated with: jean-paul sartre
did his autobiographical stunts...
lived with his mother... was given a state funeral...
beneath which there's that english pride
of country and estate...
you've made it son... being freed from all
familial ties... at least...
or perhaps: i was given the wrong first impressions?
come to think of it...
i don't know the english...
i went to a school in a perdominantly irish
neighbourhood...
last time i checked... the irish went back home...
why the **** i didn't go back "home"...
perhaps it would have helped if i was born
here, in england... perhaps then i would have this
urge to go back "home"...
and almost every time i visit... i do...
but only because the grandparents are there...
no... no conclusive wisdom here...
it's christmas and... there's no church presence...
and i'm not comfortable not sitting back
in a secular malaise of my own reading
some Knausgard...
becaused this secular malaise is everywhere...
and i don't have a bunch of catholics
surrounding me... gesticulating the point
of these festivities.... that's mighty bothersome...
which is an exagerration on my part...
why there's a chritmas tree in this house...
well it's there... almost monochrome...
silver and gold...
and it's just there... and... i'm starting...
frankly the period of anticipation is more rewarding
than... whatever it was that was being anticipated:
but never came.

ever since i've quit smoking: beside those two
self-congratulatory puffs at the end of
each day...
                    more and more people are smoking...
in movies...
        they look so... content with
the stampede of the locomotive breath...
                interludes into 5 minute incissions
of absolutely dis-satisfaction...

                    4th of july... some variation
of independence day...
                      i'm planning to visit Loon'don...
for a sport of: zoology...
                i'll take a hubris and hiatus magic
pouch of liqour with me...
expecting: riots...
                  
        peacocks and pistachios...
            porcupines and pomegranates...
molotov cocktails and bagpies...
               i just want to see... oxford circus
yawn... i want to take the scenic route
of a promenade upon stepping off
the tube...
        perform the dull task...
of... window-shopping for mannequin
in restaurants...

    oh god... i'll have to trim my beard...
dissolve some sugar in water
and put it in my hair so: stick-ing anti-wind
gravitas...
             i'll walk this mistanthrope
on a leash of good riddles...
            i'll play the part of someone from
norwich...
    not someone from romford...
              Loon'don the tease from
Mashiter's Hill...
              plain as day: the sky-line in
my hungry eyes...
  almost towing a cow:
                  
         and of course i want to be seen...
how otherwise not so settle the matters
of sensibility...
of this ******-fest of: the obeying conundrum...
4 dada suicides: published by atlas press
in an edition of 1000 copies...
2005...
         what a fraction i do own....

        arthur cravan among the four...
the nephew or... some variant of...
related to... oscar wilde...
                 yes... the physiognomy
are a steal... in terms of what's resembled...

  i trip down: don't tempt me... memory
lane...
   world was I: and the war...
   the dada movement in Zurich....
   cabaret voltaire...
                        Geneva? well...
fast paced betting...
          live and try to not get rich...
something to get by... working for...
a loitering wage...
if you gave me... 2 tonnes of soil...
a tonne of gravel... and said...
3 hours...
                 fair-*******-afro-frenzy
    and enough...
         but "work" as a loitering...
                     what "lockdown"?
the neighbour finally put up a fence
after 15 years of her being implored...
the old roots and stumps had to be dug
up... all the way from
late february...
     a new shed... 13sqm of wimbledon
turf to admire and water...
                       i have to forbid myself
joy... though... in telling my maternal
grandfather: i've quit smoking...
    before he dies: and i pretend to wish
to grow old: i hope this happens...
this... carrier pigeon message is passed...

only today the bewildering... sacrilege...
i was watching: corpus christi...
2019... point being...
it was in my native tongue...
with english subtitles...
         i can't pretend...
   i was more eager to read the subtitles
than to listen to the "mother"
and the "father"...
      sure as hell and that they will die...
this language will die in the vicinity...
then within me...
who am i going to speak it to...
i can imagine... "30 years of and tomorrow"...
and i'll speak it:
zapomniejać mówienie po polsku...

russian interlude i'd call them...
i'll most certainly not me...
a lithuanian ****** miłoš....
              i have to arrive at the prospect...
i am not really arriving at
a country left... or a country arrived at...
"nation": ah ha!
                     siamese twin horror:
bilingual freaks...
             i was always told to shy
away from the concept of a diaspora...
unlike... the jew the italian...
the russian oligarchy...
                      and english...
what... i... made... of... it...

neu-concept...
              i... a pronoun category word...
some obnoxious... reflexive-reflective
quadratic of anti-narcissus...
i: a pronoun... perhaps...
but i as... king george minded...
i: verb!

                          i will take: will i?
i like the idea of the 4th of july...
the tokyo olympics...
that one event in the sport calendar...
when... i don't feel infringed...
with a body capacity to...
perform... a palé - i do have a body...
for greek wrestling...
antithesis judo...
but sure as **** a plethora of body shapes...
ping-pong table assured...
click-bait... without a tennis racket...
and that's why...
squash would have been a good
choice to join the olympic racket...
olympiaco(s) raquettes...

   lofty body builders... ant-worshipping...
not relevant though...
sprint a 100m...
climb 100m...
    clearly toned equilibrium bodies...
bouldering and baseball...
no squash...
     tennis is hardly an olympic
sport...
           it's a money sport...
it's a riviera elton john slim jr.
sort of sport...
football? it's a money sport...
rugby? it's a ******* sort of sport...
football is about as much
an olympic sport as...
a curse of a sneeze...
the only reason why brazil
staged the sporting affair was...
because they lost the world cup...
blah blah...

       squash should be an olympic
sport... why it isn't...
and forest ******* gump
can have his... ping(o)-pong(o)
   berlusconi parties: minus... tony blaire...
is all the reason to note...

hmm... blaire... white... that tehran
trans whizz kid...
   i see... no... no... absolutely...
not similarities... within the confines...
of... "a borrowed shadow" of...
   eva longoria...

i had the same plans for halloween...
the same plans for prague...
prague i can forgive myself...
mother has a hip-replacement...
and i'm all up-and-arms: ******...
like the good boy scout
buffalo billy-oh / geiny boy!

                to suffer from a lack of ****...
is not... to find jokes in language:
when one still has... itchy finger-tips...
"suffer"... and "lack of ****"...
best resolve... no clingy p.s.
             no... cuckoldry...
    the fabled ex-girlfriend of mine...
ex-....
   ****... how old am i? 34...
an ex- from... ah... ha ha... when i was 21...
prostitutes... a thai surprise...
and a black girl done at random
when i hosted my own birthday party...
with an art of an *** so tight...
i received a plum tattoo above...
where her coccyx decided to toy with
the... "art of mechnical reproduction"...

walter... "waterboy"... benjamin?
herowitz? i too had a really ****** surname...
like... ******... like stalin...
catholic ploy... take the best of the three given...
we also reserve an option of a fourth
when you... decide to... become...
confirmed... lucky for some atheists:
who have been... unlucky for me...

of the people that stayed...
    of the people that left...
             unlucky for me...
   those that left: didn't "leave"...
the australians...
            left and "left" and it's not like...
they came back speaking
total ******* cockney...

       it's not that i'm even confused...
"overwhelmed" with emotions...
that reveal themselves...
to have to be... perpetually... displaced...
post-modernist...
quack for doctor...
quasi for marxist astute!

                my ideal ex... rich girl...
one spare apartment in st. petersburg...
riches in novosibirsk...
      educated in england...
   look at me... i ****** a rich ****...
a prop'ah... rich ****...
a russian rich ****...
   not old english sloth dough...
not a reperations **** of worship
that choc-a-bloc-of-sowwy...
  a real... oyster binding with teeth
sort of libido... well! ha! lucky me!
for a ******! she's not a mongrel 2nd
class citizen of the turnip and tulip
and...
   beg R'ah-R'ah-Rhapso-silly-Pullin'-Tin!

you know... i can remember
the love at first sights in my life...
she... Ilona... i experienced in reverse...
two girls were trying to fry some
pancakes...
she hook and sinkered my iPod...
while i refined the idea of pancakes...
she looked like...
something the ugly duckling
would bully at... duck school...
filled her gob... smart...

        yeah yeah...
but i do remember all the times
i experienced love at  first sight...
and their names...
the best horror movie i would ever land
in being a critique for...

1. Milena...
                          2. Kot...
      i can't remember her name...
that's her surnane... she had...
                   two younger sisters... twins...
3. samantha... st. augustine's primary school...
4. janina (canon palmer... an ugly affair...
    i hoped i made reperations to...
joining art class and giving her a rose)
    5. gemma la porte...
  6. emma... a big... ******* sensation...
  7. let's just call her Sancha...
  irish girl... two years older than me...
still in highschool...
8. Isabella... the french psychology student...
and god begot: a loss of virginity...
   9. priya...
     who's the 6 / 7...
             the sister of my first girlfriend...
which would make... a 18 year old...
a pedohpile with a... 15? year old...
                      10. predates 4...
cameron diaz in the mask...
    11. is a cameflouge of Ilona...
my love at first sight in reverse...
if i stayed long enough...
i would have ***** myself to oogle
my eyes out and **** her like
some aria giovanni clone...
                big siberian nose...
her myopia and being plasyfully teasing
"short"...
yes yes... beside that... massive plum
bullseye...
        we must call that:
                wetted ****: seconds...
  
see... i have this cinema in my mind...
of first loves... loves at first sights...
more thirsts rather than thrills...
and... then i want to see Loon'don...
in zoological modus operandi...
i want to see...
    window-shopping for mannequins
of... sylvia plath borderline psychotic
shoelaces of soul...

         i want to shop for...
the agony confined to... raised eyebrows
and the confines of... all things made
easily extreme bound to ****** expression...
having to... self-lacerate...
before the pro-social cordial...
i want to see the future martians...
misantrophes... like-oid mois...

i can honestly be trusted with "love"...
call it the muse....
first sighting...
her moles her first trickled...
lob of the forgotten kiss...
the whirlwind thorough lintany...
her lapse in a guarantee of
ear lobes...
    like my... "shy"...
                  occipital lobe....
investigated by janina...
                                
                           that little light in a tunnel...
a summer in masovia... or mongolia...
or.. whatever is called...
crisp... and doughnut...
idaho... jeffrey: jeff'ohs "napoleon dynamite"...
    dahmer...
                                 mon'ghouls:
the goos of the freely rejected...
cousin Sib is no mal. and frying up
with word-blob Sah...
          -eria              contra...
bloat-zilla...                -ara...
                               death-stow genius no-no...
trans-nanny has an eastender melt-meow-down...
the opera goes: fly-be-fwee:
lucky luke and the fervour
of the force for a complete...
****-lawd comeback town: towwie...
gripping basics...
                       king jefffers...
and jaffa... and khalidha...
     and lay-tea-cia... milkin' dozens...
**** ****...
      ******* whapping 'inge...
                 cwy: rhapsody... remembers
to trill that Sysiphus... and -esque...
              
        ***** and blahs the world over
for...  solidarity of...
compensated vitriol...
       jeff is an ugly u(n)(c)kle...
jeff is a ****** loon:
serenity... theme park expactation
project: alpha 50.9...
     he's an an FM in frequence...
and best listened to:
when "reading was a thing":
typo... of digest...
a **** queen and ***** quag...

             calofornian subtitles...
ever since...
   ever since... a petty Hague and Hue...
european conquest of time...
and something akin to
h'america... and its louisiana purchase:
ratio no. 2!
fly-over **** Iowa...

  it's not like... croatia was...
the Balkans was such a small: and ditto:
afffair of... inbreeding folks...
lord: lowd and...
spandex 1980s Berlin to...
give revenue in all things
that catered in retaining...
a loathing of... pertained to...
CWISP...
                    trill the R who?
the french hark it...
the english... larp...
woebot... for every robot...
they... tarantulla tongue numb
that...

                 whyming...
RHYME-B'OH...
            ******* kings and queens...
it's the "united states":
having to annex the forntiers...
the annex
on conquistador...
velcommen mingling xo xo xo...

the "encrypted" sexuality
of a the concept of female hands...
misguided by the proportions...
best hid in a niqab...
but when exposed: pork meets...
buffalo-slingers...
no... arab / camel jockey hands...
are not beijing...
or ***... porcelein hands...
you could... **** a ******* camel neck...
and i am: the beck unfucked cockrel
you best wish: yawn-yacht...
you never never...
ever... called a forking...

   arab women have these fat
hands that black women...
would require... 12" of envy
a white anorexic would require of them...
to muster...
a blasphemy and... a kenyan litany...
some of that sort...
all i know...
jesus be all big with...
                   post-apocalyptic
protestantism in post-colonial...
"oops" of the 21st century...
          forgive i.e. tow what?

               how about...
i allow my grandfather a death
by demetia...
               and then i wait...
i wait for nothing...
or i wait for: "history"...
no... sooner i wait for...
the brothel... than this bollocking waste
of time of... frank zappa is...
burning up like...
            a heretic...
                    within...
a 1m sq. of a proximity to mecca!

how fortunate: the man with... none...
              how fortunate...
             the grievance of a man with so much...
to have to... find...
poker-dole... facing...
a man with the queen's penny...
i am a man worth of a queen's penny...
does that even become know...
respected...
for all the money grieved into
making up...
the honoruable citizens' tax invested:
"quest"...
i am... its last...
           radical... and...
                                     royalist...
i have to come...
with a parade of worded -ings
and thinning paroles!

                         this birth of a new:
a nation of fat-whips and bores!
              let me become inclined to leisure...
for the lost revelation of
a tenure of fiction!

what was "once" a female...
has "become" the homosexual...
what was "once"... the mother in law...
has now "become": the bridget...
and nuance shellshock...
               fraserburgh... kid-joy... ****...
an ode to: joe... the...
                       ben nevis and bon jovi
of... the... "nuanced"...
and...                 "pioneers":
all best reserved...
   for the alaskan and the louisina purchase...
and...
the lost told tide of...
the spaniards: arms...
goths... north africa...
reconquista...
conquistadors...
sooth talking some mayans
and aztecs into: "in-breeding"...
        miriad... moors...
gives us a tan... us... whitey loop holes...
  tanning with a mongrel
cocktail a mongol...
typo... tan ****-up tao...
tanning with tao...
tow tufu **** what?!
       beijing fwend a fwied deifying
pig loco?
vibes... first locomotive **** promo...
last fist comes first and thirst...
no... samuel beckett's sore...
so... sore n'oh m'aw...
   savvy... you... *******... gooseberry
savoured prim nancy?!

/                        kneeling? seriosly?!
             can't we accept this act,
counter to standing,
as...
                fruitously-"intuitive"?
to mimic:
          a, "minding a cohort"?
                    death by abundance?!
val kilmer
         in kiss kiss bang bang?
                 like spitzer on anabolics;
       worth contemplation
                                 akin to jerking off to
a "mind", of a toilet paper wrapping
inside of
                      a bottled glue
                                           ooh-moment
of oozing out
                     the necessary extract.
kneeling...
      kneeling...
                          ­ seriously?
                     that's a "bad", "thing"?
church comes... you kneel!
           what's so bad about that,
and there nothing being bad
about a church-state fission
   explained by excess export dynamism
to countries outside
the u.s.?
    you can't, really, can you?
     america all export all extrovert
and then the "shy", introvert
europeans?
                       no woo'm'ah no cwy
bob marley type of
scenario?!
           ****...
       forgot my barth roberts' lost beard...
and m'ah umbrella!
woof woof!
   started to call her: ride on, anna!
barbados via bonkers:
and the pristine
   Cheshire (chess, make a move =  dire):
copper-skinned
                    mixology of *******
evaluations to market standing, army like,
                           up-right: schtiff!
harp of wanting a loss of silence,
   against an itchy finger -
and a heap of hay -
   with a "missing" needle...
            that's a double metaphor that is...
are these poets sure
that they didn't loose a nail
in that bundle of hay?
    perhaps a squinting eye?
     or a lung to admit the circumstance
of drowning?
no?
                              too bad.

i can tell you where the best place to listen to Bob Dylan is...
on a train... travelling from St. Petersburg to
Moscow... no other place like it... no other rendition
of Bob Dylan doing Bob(by) Dylan(d)...

just before starting my last shift there was
this girl that spotted me...
i had to go through about 3 security loopholes...
and there she stood...
bleached blonde? maybe... who cares...
although i'd love an auburn mingling with ginger
type...
my guess was: not from around here:
maybe just maybe: Bulgarian...

but she said those magical words: oh... i recognise
him... he can go through...
**** me... it almost felt like being back
in the schoolyard...
                she recognised me ergo:
she took a fancy to me prior this time and from
the first time she saw me...
back to basics... thank god i was only fished by
one social media company: when...
oh when... it felt sort of respectable...
being in university and what not... club(e) exclusive(h)...

of all the girls i ******... this one feels special...
she looks on par with my looks...
i'm not a "10" or an "7"...
more bruises from bicycle accidents: to "replace"
rather impose the aversion of having tattoos:
but still a full smile's worth of teeth:
ah... the dashing look...
         no no... this feels different...
she has this girlfriend appeal...
             men are pedantic sometimes...
some men are pedantic sometimes, some times...
she recognised me...
hell... she's not a stunner...
sure... **** her up a little and she's probably
an "8"... whatever the hell this entire scale
means...
  
       we weren't flirting... no...
but we're talking about working with several companies
and we're talking... circa... a workforce of
around 2000 people... plus... + that's big PLUS...
it varies...
oh... i recognise you...
   **** me... Hunt for the Red October...
i'm about to be sunk...
         i'm on the girl's radar...
                   with scars on face and arm i look
all the more dashing...

and she truly is... this pretty Jane...
this mundane yet i want to grow old with you
pretty Jane...
she's the sort of pretty that made me have
a flashback of making my first mix-tape
for my first girlfriend...
   when people used to make mix-tapes...
when people used to get influenced
by books like Nick Hornby's High Fidelity...

oh this girl is burning out my eyes out with
a memory of her face...
i've made a full ****** into listening
one of my favourite songs from youth...
Reef's: give me your love...
           i'm always going to be spontaneously
in love...
   not love: "love" i.e. via contracts and marriage
rituals... flimsy love... love straight out
of a brothel... funny sort of love...
the sort of love good girls scream and finger
themselves over when it comes
to music idols / icons akin to Elvis...
                        that sort of love...

               i love the idea of love...
i like the euphoria of the unknown forever unknown...
and i think of of those suppose Muslim
"martyrs": could these... colts...
command an authority of 72 virgins?
could they?
   i've had trouble with two prostitutes...
sure... when was ******* me off
while the other pretended i was a toddler
******* on her *******...

always in 3rd person... it's fun to watch...
but when you're engrossed in it...
do you really want one girl shoving her ******
into your face while the other is doing:
whatever it is she's going...
i need an exoskeleton for that to work...

i pride and prey on eyes... i need eye-contact...
i'm sort of Norman Bates-y... within the confines
of that regard...
i like snuggling... i like to scratch my fingertips
on bricks... on roughage prior to touching
flesh... licking oysters before gulping them
down, whole...
lemon juice or champagne?!
perhaps both...

                           might it even matter?!
i will but i won't text... what's her name
Khedra... are you... upset with me?!
no... i'll wait...
to hell with hallucinogenic drugs...
i just need more women...
let's do this menial work...
   let me earn money for prostitutes
to earn the money to spend...
i'm already sitting on money...
                i'm not bothered...
i don't need to play some investor's game...
i'll just toy with my beard like i'm
able to play the violin...
come come...

                    that's why i'm thinking about
the Muslim martyrs... could they...
really be... more than... dog-walkers anonymous?
it's pretty hard to feel a hard-on
when over-excited while being in the company
of two... esp. if one is overtly-talkative...
talk during *** is such a turn-off...
who needs "god" when you can
have the satan-onomatopoeia?

                            i really: don't: want: to: know!
talking during *** is like talking
when eating... eating with your mouth open...
it ruins the "plotline"...
it's a bad habit... it's something the pornographic
industry...
               "implanted"?...
   incorporated... all that who's your daddy /
      please don't make "mummy" cwy... is that:
even, Velsh?! eh?!

talk during *** is bothersome:
it's a turn-off!
      i need hungry eyes...
             i need... teddy-bears and innocence coupled
with a transcendence into adulthood
of a... repertoire of missing ******-angst...
when naked i do not require "god" as my witness...
esp. when my nakedness implies
there's another nakedness involved...

to tease at life and be unable to testify its fullness...
its completeness...
what a silly life to live... what a life
of jurisprudence... what an iron maiden
of the thesaurus...
   what a life of a lawyer...
what becomes true hurt comes from the core!
from (the) essence...
i too find language pliable...
  to my advantage: or no advantage... per se...

by now? there's no argument no counter-argument...
there's nothing beside the flow of time...
enough has happened...
and enough will happen still
for me to shrink into nothing
because the world has won...
the affairs of the world were always going
to overshadow my own prized assets
of "individuality"... like the hell that mattered...

moneta esse moneta:
     lapis esse lapis...
                        money is essentially money...
a stone is essentially a stone...
elephants and walnuts...
   n'est ce pas?!
    
   cura... facio ego?!
                do i care?!
                              let me think and blink...
cogitare et coniveo...
              
i'm so terrible at translating...
it's almost like i don't care what third party
is involved...
whether Russian, German, Greek or Ancient Latin...
because?! ha ha: i don't...
best mistakes: for others to pick up on...

vivo tractus... the tractat of life...
         principium vita et vita finis....
        
i own my "rights"...
          
apologies are excluded..
                     paenitemus.. sunt...

risprudence excusatus...
the difficulty of "managing" lingo...
             death, dearest,  mother...
i'll just wait..... i'll wait...
life is a pristine ****-show
to begin with...
i like waiting...
                    i very much...
like.. waiting... i'm a sadist at best...
i like... waiting... time = patience...
i like the comfort of pain being returned...
having waited... i like waiting...
no no.... you have no governance
over this...
i said i like waiting... this is an old...
disagreement...
        the kites are flying...
haven't you heard?!
         no?! better aim at giving into
investing into hearing aids!

i'll ******* scrutinise you to death!
i'll **** you like a ******* rampant hog!
**** with me... i'll... ha ha!
i'll explode! savvy??
     no... yoi still think i'm "faking"...

like watching pretty girls walking
on stilts rather than stilletos...
i like watching young girls walking with
Pakistani rapists...
because England... what England?!
matters?!
to hell with your racial safety net
****! *******!

i don't even care about these wonen!
i'm assured by the Russian "queens":
no... ****... you're not coming close!
i'll ******* eat your eat your head off!
you heard me, ****! i'll bite your head off!
or the Russians will!
either they will: or i will...
playground of Darwinism!

nice was nice...
until... now i'm siding with the Russians!
to hell with western sensibilities!
bite a ****'s head off!

there was a poem here...
now there's only a title...
i'm pretty sure: i was assured
that there was a poem, here,
but now that there isn't...
perhaps because of my...
spaghetti fingers so used
to typing and typos that i mishandled
a play on thumb and index:
whether it was the right hand's
or the left hand's "braille" reading
of how best to salvage
this least: this very little...
whether i wanted to edit before
publishing: and i highlighted
the entire body... and while holding
down the ctrl key...
or not holding down the ctrl key
all that came up as the draft was
being autosaved: archived as
a blatant impossible donkey
a stone of Sisyphus nothing nuanced
or new: not a cedilla "c" but a mere C...
that i don't read my poems...
that i allow myself enough space
to merely look at them,
sometimes my own, mostly of others...
i have lost so many poems
like that: by way of fudge and by way
of spaghetti...
although i have not eaten any of these
words...
i am somehow: don't know why...
comforted by...
words of a richard seaford...
              it's heartbreaking for mankind
to have lost anything (that has
been lost) of the Aeschylus oeuvre...
well i'm not an Aeschylus:
true as: and i haven't been dead, yet,
and that it's not like
i might expire with such marble...
such... expansion of time:
would i tire of this sort of immortality?
now i like to think of:
the type-writter: and how i might require
proof-reading... to correct me...
that's ever hardly necessary:
i can do that myself...
but the plague of self-erasure...
by mere chance!
           then watching a 1963 andy warhol video:
eat...
then watching a hart crane video:
whereby no contemporaries seem to
speak... just the elders...
but it's not that...
i like how he has become a man
so completely: human...
by a showcase of anecdotes...
clearly an anecdotal man...
i'm tired of being rational:
    in between herr sapiens and
herrschwine similis...
i'm tired of the safety ******
between me and the 19 century
abyss... i'm tired of the beginning
in ape...
i'm tired... once upon a time
i might have been this tired
but at the same time given a sly-of-hand
of having poker-invigoration
to toy-up-with-hey-presto for
the mind to metaphor in gymnastics:
a quasi telekinesis...
an audience of stones, shouting
at mountains without really needing
to know why no echo bloomed...
then of course i knew i would
require caves...
it's all rather pitiful... this...
staging of a voice... perhaps an audience...
it's truly three-dimensional:
and by that...
it's borrowing on never-finding...
a cushioned little breath of forest...
something: all of this "thing"
whether it's cultural relativism...
whether the geocentric est. shaken
by the heliocentric blurp...
or the gynocentric: feed the altar of
your birth...
otherwise castrated out you go:
but pandering the voices
of homosexuals: it's not like...
it will necessarily be deemed angst riddled...
the over-stated obvious...
i just lost a poem because
of my fat fingers...
i would die for a typewriter and a spelling
mistake: a proof-reader...
self-
      self- beckoning employed prefix
one man toys with a hydra
of expectations...

i think i remember something
from the original...
  something about spacing
and how i look at poems: not necessarily
read them...

a congested myopia / claustrophobia
of paragraphparagraphparagraph...
how i would start my verses
thin at the top...
and wait for them to bulge come
the nearing of the end...

how... scandinavians write sparingly...
without the need to double that
sparingly into a haiku...
that they write a hiatus-esque
"comorbidity" of wording(s)...

something along these lines...
to write a "poem" is to...
sometimes forget to read:
a visual fetish... almost ****-esque...
to look: and not read
in linear / cascade focus...

of note: i do remember this...
what the hell happened to...
henry parland... to henry parland...
i was drinking a cider
and i know that it was raining...
it was impossibly important
for it to be raining...

i said... that you can't write a melody...
to "counterfeit" the sound
of raining -
not the sound of falling rain:
simply... raining...
it's not a polyphony...
but it somehow is...
        you can't exactly...
you can't: but can...
which is that: not exactly... write
a lyric for the sound that encompasses
the sound of raining...
but it's not like...
the choicest of orchestral finicky:
can't exactly summon the violins...
or... tame the drums:
orchestra and the drums...
jazz in its quintet
doesn't really 'elp... ******* either...

IFER vs. IVER... clearly the latter...
phonetically...
but as it stands:
it's still either aether -
E'FER / E'VER and 'effin'
                      falafel eiffel...
                    e (morse count, do the dot dot...
hyphen) feral! theta thou!
- veering into ALVOU...
written: although...
  and you'd need to extend that first
vowel... no diacritical marks in
english... so... insert a vowel!
AULVOU! ah... better... much much! better!

new thought: no need for paragraphs:
- sputnik plate nuanced...
and therefore spinning, too...

thank god!
it passed the beijing censor critique!
half of which is me being
paranoid: and half of which is me
being perfectly adaptive...
the mongols are an elsewhere...
they're rigid halal butchers
and are not beijing sorting
packages omnivores...
so no doggy dog-eat-dog salutes!
if china was a germany...
and vietnam was saint anders
fault...

     and i were an ego fault worth
a ******* doughnut!
yes... i might gresticulate
at imitation cwy-bab
in this foreign tongue of:
VELSH!
when... no tetragrammaton
sire needed...
enough of the demiurge and
the genius pockets of critique
when the parasites are being
investigated...

     a scaffold of bones...
arriving at a muscular brittle...
grieving use of brick...
this tenure of muscular exhaustion.