.that rare chance to be a spectator, of intra-cultural h'american difference(s), notacibly between REP-ZION and ONI-SION; wow (clearly)... i never thought it was, this bad, looking "forward" from the old continent, the schadenfreude mentality is, a bit, like, a paddy walks into a psychoanalysis clinic, slouches into the chair and repeats: where's the beer? h'america has become an unrecognizable culture-export powerhouse, the doubt plaguing these people is, rife... the fear? unfathomable, when it comes to expressing deviances of paranoia... once upon a time: great ******* music... now though? eh... not so much, esp. on scale of what's deemed acceptable... sorry... back on the "old continent", we're looking on, clueless... i've only just recently become exposed to this sort of content, these... hobbos of the internet... come to think of it, given these guys... failure is the only self-serving absolute to make deviation from up-staging the homeless, in reality, and these, leech test-dummies... current export of american culture? zero value... i'm still figuring out as to why america would require a cultural import "levy" on content creation: guess the teenage girls will not be enough as consumer digest "scrutiny", worth the base for an economic health analysis... the greatest country in the history of man, and they are unable, to perform with the sort of late 20th century hard-on... bothersome, i agree... but Europe is not exactly the place you'll be in want of finding inspiration... that's the last place you'd look.
there's nothing more **** than
witnessing a spring blossom
in the ivory moonlight of
the night
in my neighbour's garden,
which i'm feuding over,
which i "encouraged"
to move house...
sure... i wrote a poem once,
became so content with it
that i slipped out a wolf's imitation
howl,
couldn't bark, i spoke...
and he reminded me of it,
asking me to: tell him,
when i was going to grill some
meat on the b.b.q.,
i said: you're ******* mad,
he said: you're the madman
howling at night...
i replied: touché my friend...
last year?
june / july?
they have an autistic kid,
which is what you get when
you're circa 60,
and your maiden is circa 50...
apparently me minding my own
business,
smoking a cigarette,
perched on a windowsill,
sitting on a folded leg,
crushing my ankle,
smoking out into the night
was the problem...
but it wasn't the heat,
oh no no...
the same heat that left me
moaning and groaning
upon waking up,
the same sort of heat
that made me sleep through
dreams that literally threw me
out of my bed,
and pseudo-suffocating
on the cold wooden floor...
or running into the garden,
in nothing but underwear,
to find the cold grounnd
with a cranium riddled with grass,
and trying to sleep an extra
2 hours on the cooling earth,
in nothing but my underwear...
but yeah...
70cl of whiskey...
no... i'm not feeling it...
give me some more...
just make sure that the spring
blossom appears
before my eyes in the night...
i was being, resonable,
who is to dictate whether i can,
or can't, smoke a cigarette
perched on a windowsill of
my bedroom, smoking it out
of my window?
i told him,
and later her:
your property: your rules...
my property: my freedoms...
****, i must have been speaking
mandarin,
because that sort of "logic"
didn't translate...
well, 50cl of whiskey in,
pepsi and a lime,
and i hear the right song,
what happens?
an electric surge,
a stimulus of pleasure,
orientates the number of
hairs on my head,
and move right down into
my groin and testicles,
and...
starts to "thrill" me...
like i'm sort of self-automated
robot ****-bot,
goosebumps...
chills...
i never felt so good
about not ******* as i did,
listening to the right kind
of music,
and looking at the right kind
of thing...
spring blossom, white,
in the night...
i'm guessing it's a pear tree...
oh but i'm considered
mad...
but i live next to a neighbour
that tells another neighbour
to clean up her dog ****
because the, fumes from the ****,
can somehow affect
their already autistic offspring...
i hear the little ******,
like any child:
cute gurgles of speech...
but the **** i hear,
when he's being told down,
**** me...
i talk more ******* romance
to my cat than what i hear
from behind the wall...
and me, smoking out of my window,
is a problem, during the 2018 june /
july heatwave...
no no, the heat wasn't the problem...
talk about leaving a dog in
a parked car, next to some supermarket,
with the windows closed...
i can only be just so much
reasonable, then i lose the plot,
and the plot becomes:
sane people pretend...
"sane"... people...
pretend...
i was falling out of my bed
gasping for cold,
running into the garden
to find shade and a grassy patch
of land,
but it was me smoking
cigarettes outside of my bedroom
that was the problem...
flimsy... ******* flimsy...
i had to bring this up,
it's the sort of petty information
that translates itself into a kept
momentum...
i'll never read a book by
stephen king,
not out of spite...
unless that could possibly be
the same sort of spite as to why
i will never read j. r. r. tolkien...
the movie did its bit,
by the standards of the hobbit...
you could have had 9 movies
in total...
almost a star wars franchise...
it doesn't help that
i watched the fellowship of the ring
9 times at the cinema...
one time with a family friend
who was so obsessed with
enter the dragon...
that he watched it circa 30 times...
****,
i'm starting to feel
the loosening effect of the 60cl of whiskey...
guess that implies:
i'm ripe...
for blah, blah blah...
at the end of the day,
i have limited imagination,
which eases my inability to lie...
truth, or mantra...
and the state of h'america these days...
i remember times when
europe would be barraged by
the cultural export of h'america...
now?
socio-political commentary
excerpts via... the usual channels...
how the **** didn't i make
a move to inact the more extreme
play-roles of *******?
oh, right...
the first and only
canvas plot
of *******...
Bronzino's
cupid, venus, folly & time...
i focused on the tender,
oyster-like tongues...
and the entire spectrum
for the fetish of ******* a sister,
if i had one...
*** outside of the mind
is so, so: ******* un-spectacular,
overtly competitive,
but if you have some sort of
a taboo cage,
which you dare not break,
well: hello arousal.
that basic translation
of metaphor:
phallus this,
enigma ***** that,
Terra Mater of the phallus...
transgender...
Neptune... the god of
the pearl ivory genitals
of a woman...
depends...
if you know what a ****
feels like...
most prostitutes have
the professional decency,
to oil up, even if they are not aroused...
an oyster in a desert scenario?
i might as well have been
circumcised within the interaction...
complaint?
years later,
after she first courted me
with the words: you will not deny me...
**** me, first date is over,
and she still owns a DVD copy
of the machinist...
good "thing" that i visited
a *******,
now i know what male ****
feels like:
dropping a sort of viagara
into the food,
and then not oiling up
for the, ******,
cocoon ***, under the bed-sheets,
in the dark, feel, of, things...
at least with a *******
the lights were on,
we didn't do it under bedsheets...
i showed my chubby,
she showed her chubby,
and then i washed her
while we took a shower together
afterwards...
two prime examples...
she was struck with a quasi-paralysis
when she came to an ******,
reality-breaker...
my casual average little richard
could do that...
and she couldn't fathom it...
apparently i was only her second
in the trade...
m'eh... **** happens...
forest gump ran across the h'american
continent...
forgetting my genitals...
because i didn't trim my *****
hair for a sensible act
of experiencing *******...
'good man' / 'nice'...
the **** was up with
jackie boy?
well yeah: i'd be a moralist
if i managed to put a strap-on
on mickey mouse's head,
whenever the lightbulb moment
came into drawing the *******
cartoon for: a bright idea.
hell, i love writing about ***...
given that it's not exactly graphic...
unless you come around
to what i have to say about,
Lucy, and south park,
near Seven Kings...
in between Seven Kings
and Goodmayes...
the "affair" of the
kit-kat...
4.... 4/1,
*******...
but all of this is hardly spectacular,
it's nothing akin
to the "castration" of marquis de sade
strapped to the iron maiden
of the Bastile...
his writings are worse
than his actual deeds...
that origin story,
the one with the profanity
of the crucifix used as a ***** on
the ******* who reported him?
tame, his imagination was more wild
than his actual deeds...
come to think of it,
i don't even know how
the 16 year old me,
came about his most brilliant work,
the short ficto-essay ******,
but i did,
i'd love to put a staff
into the Vistula, just in order
to change the current...
but... clearly... this is,
one of those instsances,
where a Moses metaphor,
will not do the required, trick;
the sheer impossibility of
the act,
transcending the physical
groundwork
of laws that give man,
a mind,
and a stability of vision,
a future,
well...
that **** just went out of the "window".
