Dear Black Men,
They have been throwing you away like a trash can.
Never to Understand
That you have value, and for your life God has designed a plan.
So Here I am with you, Side by side I place my hands, in your rough, calloused, laboring hands.
Merging together in solidarity just as a musical band.
As you are Always being placed under Servere Scrutiny
At this moment I stand with you declaring that we start speaking the healing language of unity.
Or This will be The End of Our Community.
Before our Village becomes Extinct
within a moments notice like the eyes that blink.
Removing The hate from our heart and brain that have formed into a kink
like the negative thoughts that we think
Overwhelming the mind drowning only to sink.
They are an Important asset to the family  just as the body needs Zinc.
They're An Esstenial Mineral.
Yet you label them as a Criminal, Cynical, Miserable, Pitiful,
A Creature deemed Unforgivable,
But if you look beyond the attributes of the physical
Take a glace At the mental and spiritual temple.
Resting inside is Gods Love that's Unconditional.
Then is when you will see what I see  Indispensable Individuals; Descendents From Israel.
Does the pigment of thier skin disqualifies him as being equal?
Is this Prince of Egypt's Sequel?
Or maybe its the fact that These Men are  Gods Royal people.

And Still you label them a Negros.
But when thier Tribe looks at them we See A heros.
Trying to lead thier people to the mental state of freedom just Moses did In Exodus from Pharoh.
If only it were that simple
To see inside The temple's window
You would see souls so beautiful.
conscious men awoken to what thier mind and innermen has come to know
Or hearts so rare its special.
And Like A super Moon painted on the black sky thier spirits will glow.

They are kings whom are kind and gracious.
Like a lion's Roar thier Words Are Boldy spoken into the atmosphere and Audacious
Their presences is contagious
Their spirit his courageous.

They are men whos wife and children watch intentively and admire.
They are the household provider.
In their minds he sparks a fire
A flame That Inspires.

He's The The soul that lives within.
Their Maghony skin has been dipped into Hersheys Rich Chocolate Melanin
Thier Deep Voice sounds like A roar from Lions Den , Vigorous and Masculine.
They are powerful like strength and of A thousand men.
Thier smile is as bright as the Radient sun warm and Golden.
From what Cloth was these men woven
that such a men of thier statue has not only been called but also chosen.
Theres something they are Beholding
They are just as a campfire in the blackness of the night glowin.

They are men of color
They are the cover for thier lover
They are My brothers from other mothers.

To The Blackwoman they are our
Batmen, Supermen, Ironmen, Tarzan, Patrolmen, repairmen, handymen, guardsmen, Businessmen and Gentlemen.
And We are your support system, your biggest fans.

You all are The craftmanship of The Most High's hand.
Constructed from the dust of the ground on which we stand.
Mixed with breathe of Life created a human being who bare feet ran,
feeling the warmth from the grains of sand, As he Walked among the surface of the land.
Adam, the Earths first black man.

I Wrote this to let you know we value you My Dear Black Man.

.h'america.... the last theological playground of... whatever the mind left behind in the decrepit bulwark that's europe... oh... and those mid-western died-hard hitchcock platinum-blondes in a-waiting... my typo pristine dutch-girls-go-to-church mantra... otherwise? no b'ooh'y'ah! chugger-chugger-chugger-chuck-cherry-choppy-chops-you-*******-cuc­­k-chuckie! quasi-whitman wannabe... billy was a butcher... a thematic long lost gun... billy was a butcher... and all the ripe choppers of pork... gave us a belief in snow; and what some heaved with a falling-of-a-star of dis-.belief: i too was bound to glorification of: what was expected to be known! and the subsequent: wow! i have met only the most limited of men... i have therefore met all men... the "all" men of this rubric of a year, a decade... all that's bygone of a yawn; swear it sn't so! a so! that's not be be sown! i am here too: upon the whim of expectation... merely... waiting... a man comes to be born come his 30s... his 40s? his nostalgia "moment"... former known name of: Jack Lil Lick 'Em Boots... and the crescendo of pauper's black lining of the Wall St. "better oiled"... scalp the ******! and send him unto the rabbi's true blessing... in the cusp of the scalp of the kippah!  and now... you take... your anglo-spreschen-tangle... into the salt-wounds of your h'america! first born: young... i don't like your revision... looking toward Europe with a hope for a sensibility... this pseudo deutsche: pseudo dutch, anglo-; this is no loss of the French or the Slav! this is our celebration! does one have an irish phrasing in uns to be at in it or one? beyond this grip boyo bound glue? this clerical spare of the otherwise leftover skivvy? we have made barons of these minutes.... as if we were to be kings of the coming years... and how we didn't become gods of the atoms... and the men of the suns and planets... that is our... most worthwhile conundrum in a da pacem domine bound; you're going to Beirut on me... or something?!

in my haitus away from this canvas:
naive me thought: perhaps a surge...
again proven wrong -
albeit not disappointed -
so i had to look elsewhere -

i had to look for a clarity of diction...
i had to move away from
the western lands and their:
death of god and their death by metaphysics...

even in this barren english...
i could not figure out:
why are these people,
apologetics from the central leftists...
these liberals...
ditto: i will butcher this name...
i will butcher the pronunciation
of this word...

if there are "questions" regarding
what's being phonetically encoded...
so much for me "learning to code"...
i too once wrote a html encoding...
with all the < and < and > toys...
spacing... {[( gradations... etc.,

i had to look east, after a while writing
schlechtdeutschegrammatik...
bad german grammar...
again: it's posthumous "Latin"...
it might be...
bad grammar german...
or german bad grammar...
deutscheschlechtgrammatik...

spelling is the mathematical equivalent
of... arithmetic...
but grammar? you need a ping-pong
table...
you need something cymru-esque...
a scandinavian-esque bilingual cushioning...

english alone will not solve the matter...
it's not french, it's not german,
it's certainly not spanish...
spanish and how post-colonialism was
settled with a post-racial attitudes of
Brazil...
england has taken too much time
looking up and out of the h'american
*******...
no grand satan 'ere...
no silk road bazar of fruits exotica from...
Teheran...
something more... subtle...

i had to go back to the "tsar"...
and the цэркйэв: 'cerkiew'...
and there i was amused how...
well apparently...
there are a lot of words
that do use the sz'cz...
enough... to deviate from
the Latin bollocking represented via
шч = щ....

that's perfectly logical...
i'm done with "perfectly logical"
if it exists outside of the realm of
orthography...

szczypta soli - pinch of salt...
in russian...
щ... that's a bit of a "question"...
yes, yes it is complicated...

szczery / szczera (he's honest /
she's honest)...
szczerość (honesty)...

no it's not... you german fickle-wit!
you forget the ы!

ah! well then... щыптa....
**** me... disorientating...
they could do all that with greek and glagolitic...
but they still had to keep...
latin: roman: holy roman empire: GERMAN...
lowercase lettering...
akin to a... e... c doesn't count...
since that's a greek cedilla "missing"...
ç... or... sigma... ς -
otherwise known in english as that S
after the apostrophe...
when something is called being:
the possessive article...
a (indefinite) the (definite) - some -ism to mind?!
no... but 's is... a bit like the SS...
in greek...
all in lower case: stephen's and...
στεφηνς...
σtephenς: that very much desired: ha!
ridiculous gag... the "much desired"
alternative to an apostrophe S ('s)...

it's Stephen's! it's Stephen's!
it's Sylvester's!
three articles in english:
the indefinite article (a)...
the definite article (the)...
and the possessive article ('s) - apostrophe S...
eS eS!

russian accents...
ъ, ы, ь...

but i only know of one "hard sign" example...
and that disqualifies the J ever needing a lower-case
"dot"... ȷ... namely... зъ: ż... alternatively
also: rz... and ж...
żuk! beetle! somehow the caron makes it...

szczyt! zenith!
щыт!

- and since i'm no longer writing:
i'd be writing if i were monolingual...
or... if i was animated by
the sort of Knausgardian bilingualism
of chop of swede: marker norgie...
but... i'm painting...

i forgot how to write when i could
see "synonyms" of sounds...
entombed in two different phonetic
encodings, namely elevated latin
and "pan-greek": cyrillic...

the variations between:

й and ы...
i.e. via е - "ye"
ё - "yo" (there's an umlaut in russian?!)
"у" - yew and you...
the gamma subscript...
ю - "yu"...
and... я - "ya"...

with regards to this rubric...
i am in the middle...
i can see a distinction between
a "y" (whine why and no I)...
hardly a jotted anecdote...
and yes... the closest the russians
ever come to Cracow is with ы
to a western slavic y...
ask me: toй - ask me: toȷ...
who needs a dot above the J
in the lower-case... if...
if... there's no absolute need for it to
be there: unlike some greenwich mean time
focus?
it ȷust so happens that...
the better clasp of the equator is
married to Greenwich: London...

dr. who time lords:
bellybuttons of the world: the english are...
again: i have to remind myself...
ı am not wrıtıng... ı am... paıntıng...

1(one), l(el)... I and ı(ıota)...
i guess an apostrophe would suffice...
ıf it's not an "ı"...
ı'ota... ı: oath...
sure as fıgurative "****" it's not...

ı must wrıte some more examples
in russıan...
to get me off me mark into
some "wax lyrıcal"...
ıslander mentalıty of the hen'glısch...

see how "the dot" can appear...
and disappear, as one see fıt?
and ıt makes: no little bıt of...
"dıfference"?!

i need to sleep on thıs "exercise"...
dot-pop-up...
dot-fold
dot-pop-up...
dot-fold...

w­­ıll eyes gets it?
hardly...

the rest of these cosmopolitan *******
focused on gwaffiti awt...
which is welsh for: GRA GRA...
when was the last time you heard
an englishman trill an R?
ı can't remember...
give me a night to soak up the pickling
juıces... i can't remember the last time
i heard an homest trIll eıther!
pauper me...

it's probably because of the welsh:
GWA GWA! gwadleıth cowonew...
or coroner row row row a rombat into a rue:
or a woo...
rhyme: contorts...
shapes and disappearing: oopses...
a whole multıtude of 'em...
come like the tıde...
leave... lıke a tilde... quası N:
it's a... H is a zeus...
and J is a Ha Ha Ha wrap-up rap of
laughter: in spanısh: of course...

i don't wrıte... ı paint...

impromptu interludes, quickened:
i'm a marriage of two continents...
and one island...
east of moscow...
asia... west of warsaw and...
these gloomy island pits of
idiosyncracy... never quiet the icelandic
answer to norway...
or greenland's answer to denmark...
but an island... nonetheless...

- to hell witth cascading linear cascades
of narrative: i'm blind to the optics
of "the narrative" in the paragraph
format...

i will look back east...
i will look at the russian script...
i will look at it as a time in ******
history equivalent to:
why didn't you just think of it as Greek?
but "my people" didn't...
and i'm not exactly a "why / didn't"...
i'm part of the excavation machinery...
i come with what was served...
i will leave without
leverage...

and here is the russian icon translated
from the Babel...
the following are orthodox letters
shared by one and all
to the western lands...

а б в г д e з и й
к л м н o п р c т
у ф

a b v g d e z i j
k l m n o p r s t u
f

now we leave: łen łill that be?
we should all somehow know...
to łork out a When a Where
(notably with the "h" being but a surd)...

mother how should i further this?
herbata
hasło (ha-s-woe)
hołd (**-**-w'd)

to no other: otherwise only in scotland:
the loch of tipsy work...
albeit: orthographic distinction...
хęć - a whim a desire...
a loch is no: cheat of a lake...
latching onto the otherwise boredom caron
exposed...

дух (ghost) with a душa (soul)...

else there's c dissociated from the s...
and more so with a kappa kaput...
the drumstick slick on a wet snare of: tss...
ц - almost...
then morphing into a ць -
yet in my version: no so silent...
ćma: moth...
цmokaць / cmokać: to click with the tongue...
to kiss smackingly -
to ingest food via a smoczek...
a smoчek - a smoček... the baby soother...

this is my third day having to return to
this canvas...

first thing's first:
palatization (palatißation)
is not... a name of german crusader song:
palästinalied...

this is one of the main reasons why
i can't imagine myself as being able:
to write a novel -
i can't bear this birth of words into
this pseudo-Kandinsky -
it would be much easier with painting
something for a year -
than writing for a year -
the same thing, over and over again...

if i write a "poem" or, rather, a poo'em...
i expect the concept of
ensō: a circle has to be drawn with
a single uninhibited stroke...
when the body is set free and the body
merely complies...

comparison... if one were to draw
a most pristine ensō...
one would never achieve an ouroboros
depiction... it's quiet impossible
to use one volume of ink
attached to a stroke to complete
a circle... let alone a depiction
of an ouroboros...
what starts off as concrete soon...
fades away... thins out...
until there is so little ink left
on the brush that individual hairs
of the brush start appearing...

a pristine depiction of life...
but never the hardline ouroboros
depiction: this cerberus of reincarnation:
i never would have believed in it -
given that: there would have to be
a limited number of souls...
the thought that i might be introspective
enough as to be one of these: "elites"...
and the rest... were "n.p.c." drones...
zombie-esque drifters...
that had no psychological infrastructure
to have memory and rubric of learning
bound to them to be: invested in?

i am still going to write this Kandinsky...
one way or another...
but i can say only that:
i can imagine myself returning
to a painting - and painting it for a year...
but a book?
if a poem can't be written in one sitting...
it's not a poem...
this is not a poem: this is a novel
equivalent...
the best to my ability: which is none...

all i will ever manage with this
is a pedantic scrutiny of russian orthography,
how i don't follow metaphysical arguments
of the germans, the english or the french,
because i don't dream that often,
and when i do dream?
i dream up nonsense...
last time i dreamed that a hiena was
biting at my arm like a corn-cob...
but it wasn't biting to draw blood...
it was biting and cackling in order
to tattoo me... it bit into my arm and detailed
indentations akin to braille...
a pianola roll...

and that's the only details of the dream
i can remember...
perhaps i strained memory...
perhaps people who dream...
are fond of forgetting...
perhaps i don't dream because i can
remember being 4...
a shadow (my maternal great-grandfather)...
a large piano, a small piano...
he worked a retirement as a security guard
in a kindergarten...
i once spent an afternoon with him...
i have seen pictures of him...
but i don't remember the face in the photographs...
he sat me before a bonsai piano
while he sat at the large piano...
and i guess: we were going to be the new
Chopins or something...
he's still a shadow... a grey form...
perhaps a extract of memory that reaches
back 29 years is the reason why i don't
dream... then again...

what if i were to have recurrent dreams?
i've heard people have recurrent dreams...
i just have details of dreams...
i'm not complaining but...
it has become exhausting to simply sleep sometimes...
to replay that lullaby of the void...
yes: yes... i will return to russian orthography:
give me a moment!

well, on my "haitus" i had to look beyond
"conventionality"...
there was a period where i found
the glagolitic script - i said to myself:
there must be an equivalent alphabet to match
the runes...

there must have been a way to encode
without the romans and greeks...
after all... there is the St. Cyrill alphabet
and that of Methodus...
how many ethnic groups are there
on this old, yawning continent -
minor point: old age is not plagued by
yawning - only youth yawns...
old age is cured of yawning -
hanging over them the yawning death...
when father - when father - will this old
ponce come into my *****?

glagolitic and cyrillic?
well Ⰱ Б...
Ⱂ and P... which is not exactly lent-greek...
i guess it's only "wise"
to go back into the modern scribbles...

there are so many branches
to be plucked off a pine
to reserve yourself with ending up
to owning a pike...
so what would it help me:
if i had to reverse and ezra pound
my way forward...
bubble bulging roma notations?
i see: when that chisel in marble
V is not supposed to be a U...

EVROPA... etc.

i need to bring to the fore my own
distinctions...
spread: universally within the confines
of the people that speak it:
i even had to made balkan additions...
like the caron S and caron C...
to hide the english gimmick
of SHarp and CHeat...
evidently we use the Z to replace
the H when stressing our "demands"...
Šarp and Čeat...

so back into russian?
i almost forgot that i said...
their orthography is not worth the dog's
bollocking of a lick...

i was wrong, obviously...
but even the russians are supposed
to be allowed their idiosyncracy -
their orthographic pedantry...
russian orthographic pedantry?
ah...

when е met э...
was also the time when э didn't meet з...
this is pedantic...
another russian pedantic "detail"...
how many Y's or J's do you need...
to detail: the elongated-iota?
before... "****" becomes confusing...
within the confines of gamma...

i'm pretty sure the russians have
fixated their attention on the Y/J "debate"
working from their central premise of
the english AYE... I... the pronoun bunker...
der deutsche affirmative: ja!
yah in the hebrew respective for: wisdom...

let's see... i'm pretty sure the russians
have all the vowels bow to this mecca
of Moscow, cite me: and please reiterate...
that i use J and Y interchangeably...
i don't imply: to jot - to "dz"ot...
or Joseph in Ypres...

otherwise: a yeti climbing a yew shouting: yes!
it's not exactly jargon -
but... a prefix y- in english...
is not a suffix -y in english...
which just... "out of the blue"...
demands to be associated with the iota
of: ply... and yet: it's no i.e. e'et...
it's neither ate or the fwench and (et)...
it's a yeti... but not a jetty!

never mind... back into the fussy russian...
i'm pretty sure you will find all
of the pentagram (vowels) bowing before
the altar of pseudo-gamma:

                                     ю (yu)
                                    /
(details in) й ------ я (ya) -- ы (oh look, solo!)
   the above"rant")  |
                                  у (which is a u)
                                /   \
                     e (ye)       ё (yo)

almost... but i'm far from learning russian...
i find these orthographic details...
coexisting...

зъ = ж = ż = rz = ř / ž...

eastern, mother slavic...
beginning with a western slavic translation
"innovation"...
central / western slavic...
balkan slavic...
oh we are such famous clarinet players!
because what happens
when the caron is sliced into two...
and an acute ****** pops out?!

hence the зъ beginning...
yes... it's not "silent"... it's simply not
palatalißed... the tongue doesn't tip-off
the palette... the sound escapes via
the gritting of teeth...
with it: the tongue can rattle and a trill
R is heard...

зъ (ż) contra зь (ź) -
życzenia - well wishes| źródło - source...
now to only write these words
in russia - without knowing the russian
noun-denotations...
for orthographic purposes...

жыченя... or is it... жычениa?
зьруд... problem... can't find the english
W in russian... or the ****** Ł...
there's the english V... the ****** W...
but russian doesn't translate (Вв)
so vell into wery: not so weary but
nonetheless very not so, so...

my problem is not about that though...
this poem this poo'em this:
a pigeon drops a zeppelin-****
on your top-hat implies good luck...
no 13's or black cats crossing your path either...
i could most honestly spend
100 years of each of the 100 individuals
bound to the salt mines in the vicinity
of Beijing... and i would still find myself...
without tears...
because this is the most inexhaustible
crux: it's really bugging me foundation stone...

i won't even mind the modern greeks
at this point... they do use diacritical markers
too... but over-do it... as if compensating
or trying to compete on level par
with their metaphysical dittos...

чaхa: czacha... almost slang term for:
czaszka... чaкшa...
and this is by no means "smart"...
i can't solve crosswords puzzles...
well i can: but i need to find myself
in the company of my grandmother...
in the morning...
i would have had to drooled over some novel
from 7am until she gets out of bed
come 9am... we'd drink coffee and i'd
smoke cigarettes...
and it would be a month prior to christmas
or easter, or the interlude...
and... i'd be freed from writing or
reading anything in english...
either me looking at diacritical distinctions
in the realm of orthography between:
russian, ******, balkan...
or... me never learning french,
or attempting to: ever, again!

******* suffix-eaters...
dyslexics in reverse...
say one thing: write another thing...
this is probably born from my frustration
at being unable to learn french...
perhaps after having acquired english
i was given german to learn...
but no... first hurdle... french...
flop!
now it's a diet of no crosswords...
some sudoku from time to time...
and my new hobby after having found
"too many" googlewhacks...

so there's nothing smart about this:
this is in no way useful to anyone -
being the sort of person
to "mind" whenever one's being asked
to spell their surname...
it's hardly that difficult but...

would i go for the echo sierra charlie
hotel lima echo romeo tango...
or go out full greek with it?
perhaps the greek...
since that would solve the problem
i've had for a while,
concerning the eta / epsilon "debate"...

how does a greek laugh -
what is the crux letter via which
a greek laughs?
you see a H shape on the horizon...
but you... hear the noun: eta...
you later see the name eta...
but that's eta: without an apostrophe...
the apostrophe 'eta being the "surd" H...

in greek then...
epsilon sigma... **** it... there's no "sch"
of a german worth in greek...
let's cut it out:
epsilon lambda epsilon rho tau...

otherwise in russian...
once more:

ś(lub) - wedding - сь(люб)
"soft" sign - ' - apostrophe -
or ACUTE elsewhere...
why not сьлуб?
i don't know... it's not like сь is even
minded in russian...

ah! my favorite!
goń! gonitwa: a race -
the verb impetus: race! chase after!
гoнь!

since ы is the "odd" one out between
the application of "ь" and
and "ъ"...
come to think of it...
ы gave birth to: ю (yu), я (ya),
у (u), й ("y"), и ("e")...
i... i.e. and... in ******...
akin to those languages that use e...
to also imply and...
ё (yo)... how did i miss the umlaut
infiltrating the russian 'bet...
i blame catherine the great!
and... е (ye)...
is that the pentragram?
u, a, e, i, o... yes! we have it!

i truly had better days when sudoku was
the better puzzle to fill a day with...
not this... from glagolitic, to greek,
to roman, to post-roman to russian
and back into...

if we are all "supposedly" literate...
begs the question why: why oh why the emoji...
the *******-wanking hieroglyphics...
the :) and what not...
i guess to better escape this sort of
headaches... minor chances of everyone
becoming a bilingual:
but what's there to brag about
being bilingual!
i guess the polyglots do not have such
headaches of detail...
they just... bypass these rules and regulations...

to better guide me:
if i managed to sift through james joyce's
finnegans wake... and didn't find any
diacritical markers in it?
can't i compensate?
i'm compensating right now!
if the 2010s as a decade was a decade
filled with... sisyphus titans akin
to kant, hiedegger, kierkegaard,
knausga(a)rd, joyce...
beckett - yes...
again that hollowed "y" distinction!
it's not a sisi: yes yes problem...
hardly me being ***** either...
e'ver... i'ver...
ain't that a *****...

clarity of diction... the best motto there is...
crab-bucket-intellectualism:
alternatively the focus away from
any ontological stressors of "example" -
ontological and its variant of
a priori:
perhaps, given that the ontological
is an a priori argument...
here's my crossword puzzle -
ref. thesaurus rex...

and by no means... at all...
etymology is the better variant of any known
history...
when this bundle of words:
that an ontological dialectic can be achieved:
that ontology can be given within
as much as an a priori: bigot! focus...
with as much as an a posteriori:
wizened unicorn quid pro quo tanz!

hamsterwheel loopholes or:
crab-bucket intellectualism...

now: i really could have put these words
to better use... to make them linear...
less cryptic... but how can i?
i'm solving a crossword puzzle in reverse!
i don't expect the easily scared moths
to entertain this fire...

i expect midgets to be dancing...
before my eyes...
whenever i listen to
faun's tanz mit mir
or in extremo's rotes haar...
when the bagpipes and the flutes
kick in...

- since if i were to write a coherent sentence:
succumb to a linear narrative...
i'd people reading this to be also found:
easily talking about it...
perhaps i don't enjoy freedom of speech
as much as i enjoy the freedom to think...
perhaps i haven't written anything
worth speaking about, regurgitating,
making vogue, working for some intellectual
period-piece of "vogue"...
perhaps this is a shared problem,
hidden in a cipher...
of: how i can't heave this tool...
this tapeworm of existence,
this medium of god...
to later trash it, to have nothing better
to do with it other than play-games...
worded games... crossword puzzles...
perhaps i need a crossword puzzle to imply:
neighbour's share some words...
together... but then write them differently...
perhaps i require a crossword puzzle...
to read into some russian...
on the praxis base of english...
flying past Warsaw toward the itch
of the edge of Asia...
breathe the air - the heart of the continent...

perhaps i would have never managed
to escape this world if i ingested
mind-benders of the h'american 1960s
revolutionary schematics of the:
new-humanists... crash course in literature:
only one magic mushroom trip away!

фoрк ин дэ рoaд (fork in the road)

ИN...

some shared words, of etymological
curiosity...

(fork) вилка - wilka -
polish? wilka? that which belongs to
a wolf... widelec...
видэлэц...

(knife) нож - nóż -
well... orthography comes into play...
while people can have their...
ahem... in-the-meantime metaphysical
playground...
the ground, the word,
the geology is already here...
written alternatively?
нузъ...

i take a different stance to the common day
****** back east...
when russia starts slagging you off...
you put on a Boris Yeltsin mask on
and dance the drunk panda dance...

(spoon) ложка - łyżka -
in polish? ah those russians... ло ло...
лож: lorz...
lo lo and behold the translated
quasi-russian into the borders of europe...
ł.w.(ызъка)...

black and white (черный и белый):

czarny i biały: rho-si-ye!
char-nee-ye! bel'ye)...

perhaps the timing is a bit off:
the proper wording would be:

czarno na białym -
not: in black and white...
чaрнo на биa-wh-ым...

knocked-out to be honest...
the russians use ый like that?
YJ? oh right! i use it too!
in the prompt:

tyj! tyj ty grubasie!
hmm... -asie...
it would do me a lot of good...
if that iota didn't have a decapitated
head of a halo hovering above it...
why? so i could introduce the acute
slant over the S and surd it...
i.e. -aśιe...

тый! ты груб... exactly...
grub-               -aсьие
тый! ты грубaсьие!
to grow fat: тый!
              "problem": -aśιe vs. -aсьие...
well... it's there: сь...
but it also isn't there: и...

but it isn't: but it also isn't...
i just managed to find out that...
in warsaw (if i lived in warsaw)...
we have that conjunction: -ый-
however rare it is: it is there...

any more delegations from Moscow?
tyj! tyj ty grubasie!  
and i will write these last few words
and know why i don't really feel like
solving crosswords puzzles...
or doing those i.q. schematic tests...

**** it... the welsh should know and help me
out... concerning?
how it's YN and not IN...
how it's Y and not I when referring to THE gwyll:
dusk...
y gwyll o hywels: the dusk of powells...
only the welsh would know my "pain"...
yn y gwyll o y hywels:
in the dusk of the powells...

taking a step back - a step back...
yes yes, apologies... if my punctuation...
is too much of a ******* arithmetic!
too bad!

p.s. and yes... don't leave anything lying
around in the drafts or as private...
chances are... with a 2 day delay...
this will never be fed into the LATEST feed.

Maybe some doubt is exactly what I need;
the staleness may be temporary,
the hollow self-perceived.

I know being humble is exactly what I need;
forgetting who I have been
and seeing who I can be.

Maybe this monocracy is really what I need;
a self-governed dictatorship
that disqualifies my needs.

I hope feeling insecure is exactly what I need;
a push from behind will only make
a non-believer be believed.

But, maybe decision describes my every need;
without the aid of a constant bicker
and without putting off some heat.

I feel that this disclosure
of the real life I should lead,
may bring back the epic epicenters of things I can't believe.

But, maybe it's this doubt
that fringes the end of human being.

Or maybe its the chattering
of hate I've built while teething.

Or maybe its the "no one"
that stands beneath my feet.

Or maybe its the "no one"
that hovers over me.

This is doubt pure and true-
and I know it wants a piece of you.

you know that citation i told you
about, mad matt - forks in the road;
i get more feeling from tina turner's
thunder-dome song than
i might get from a human
rights tribunal over cold coffee
and the 8 years i spent in isolation,
in a free, democratic, society -
prison within a prison
(better still had i been a norwegian terrorist
i'd get a savvy ivory plated toilet seat
to sit and sow *** goosebumps against!);
what a domesticity this has spawned,
i'd send all the homeless to
commit a petty crime to get shelter...
i would; i'd tell them to get a knife
and coolly sit with a would-be
victim slightly cutting them
but not killing them... and repeat...
and repeat... tie them with akimbo
and hold a knife to their neck...
just for a roof over their head...
no squalor no rat infestation -
i'd make all homeless people
fake crime... just for a roof...
                                   i'm surprised they
haven't already...
                                    hello! i say... hello?
hey man you know i'm really o.k.?!
the pen in my hand will tell you the same...
but when i'm writing poetry don't give me no crap;
'cos the smallest thing might make me snap:
you stupid dumb **** god-**** mother-******!
ah you know, song lyrics when the Canterbury Tales
make it to quiz shows and leave the cobweb covered
libraries of former educational audits that universities
are, no longer training monks or free-thinkers:
just little ***** eager to deface their former
presence in boarding schools with binges of what
it was to be in schools with periodical reality-checks
never angling chequers of nod and conformity -
universities aren't about being educated these days,
it's about an alcoholic allowance for pretty clubbing
antics - i've never wasted as much time as i ever
did in my life - i got taught to be bored of
menial tasks - when, within the framework of
human population, people are expected to
learn the joy of menial labour akin to having the
leisurely capacity to craft thought to no conclusion
worth investigating other than as a barrier
to accept the menial concordance with
what others utilise thought toward: a lack of
risk-assessment risking life or limb to climb a
transverse in the highlands -
perhaps an insect-like life for the former,
but then again an insect-like thinking for the latter -
how two anonymous timings
and how two anonymous spacings
occupy what we demand to be relative
when it's actually "relative",
between people, space is anonymous with regards
to time, and likewise time is anonymous with
regards to space... not necessarily non-existent,
i'm not going into ******* atheism
of non-existence over certain uncomfortable
truths... i'm stating a lesser hurt,
anonymity -
a mountain-climber walks into a supermarket...
indeed... a man walks into a bar joke series...
it's not that space disqualifies the chance
existence of time... the mediating
connection is that of anonymity, best
prescribed by people having different roles
in what society allows them to express
a hunger for whatever the hunger later invokes...
hope you don't hunger what
is translated as a chance meeting with
that zoological species known as paparazzi.

i'm a mangled sort of man... i'd love to tease the whole alpha-male / beta-male dichotomy... use some other greek letters (i will use one) like γ-male or σ-male... someone in history once said... i'm the alpha & the omega... well... i'm an omega-male... i go to brothels, i ride a bicycle at night on Sunday when the air is crisp and devoid of wind and traffic pollution: devoid of traffic to begin with... reaching speeds that make my eyes water... my estimate it... 30mph... i don't date: never have, never will... why would i pay for food and hope: "hope" for getting laid, when i can bypass all the ******* with a *******? i don't own a car because i don't want to pay road tax... i don't want to pay for parking... i don't want to pay for insurance or an annual m.o.t. check... obviously i have to fork out on an inner tube from time to time... a new tire... some chain grease... even on the outskirts of London... if i wanted to cycle into London to admire it... hell... it beats walking in and around the sights... even if it's a 15 mile sloth ride's worth past Little Bangladesh of: from Ilford through to Mile End... it's a lot easier not being native of this land... even the foreigners have this knack of citing: born & bred... well... born 'ere... hardly bred... i was living on these shores from 1994... my father came in 1990... he would have been legally allowed to stay in 1997... since... every illegal immigrant living for 7 years... covertly... in England would be allowed to stay... we were deported in 1997... on the day that we heard princess Diana was killed in a car crash... my grandfather was visiting... trauma... the day before we went to a makeshift entertainment park with... oh i remember it well... the name of the ride is a bit murky... but it was like a ferriswheel that started spinning horizontally before slowly changing to a vertical rotation... i was fierce in competition sliding a ball into several holes on an elevation to win a... crimson rottweiler imitation plush toy for my mother... which i did... the next day princess Diana died... the home office came... with the police... an old school version of Batman & Robin was playing on the t.v.... my father made a runner... they caught him... i watched as my parents were hand-cuffed... in my room i was standing looking at the wall when a home office police officer came in and said: earnestly... nice computer... i turned around and gave him... eh... a death stare... when the commotion was over i was sobbing and punching the wall... while my grandfather didn't know what to do... they released my parents after a day's worth of interrogation... we were politely asked to leave the country in a space of a month... or two weeks... so we sorted everything out... gave a newly bought cat to my ****** uncle etc. and left... for a year... the world cup was happening in France (1998) while i watched the final in complete blackout with my great-grandmother, Mary... i even remember the opening ceremony... but the place was changed... i was to be put into a school for autistic children... generally... problem children... i couldn't just... be reintegrated into the schooling system in Poland... so... i was home-schooled... math... and still... reading books in English... that's how i came across... the Little Prince... all my friends designated my a: traitor's role... we changed our surname... a ****** name in ****** to begin with... even ******* surname in English... if only there was a German SCH in it... much more sense... yes... i was, am... was... an economic migrant... like your Turk in Germany...  but since we're talking... someone from under the old Warsaw Pact... suspicious?! well... no suspicions now! i don't even know whether they're my countrymen... it only takes one Muslim to suppose you're a German that... well... i'll go with that... but hey! now the natives have invited the Afghans to a Scarborough hotel... and it's... going... oh so well! am i still a "racist" if i ****** a black girl and dated a half-indian? ****** a Roma girl... a Thai surprise and... ooh... the love of my life... if i had to put it into 30 minute's worth... ol' raven haired Turkish delight... my ******* yummy... at this point... i'm all shovel & dust... i simply don't care... that's the plan... as i once remarked: the best plan is to... have no plan... just the will to overcome personal griefs. i'm not native enough to care... we were supposed to treat England as a stopover before, hopefully reaching Canada via Argentina... but then that massive crash in Argentina happened... i returned to England... somewhat... refreshed... i'll write in Ing-Leash... i'll speak in Ing-Leash... i'll even... for ****'s sake THINK in Ing-Leash... but in private?! to hell with speaking this language! i'll speak in ****** while teasing myself with some German! hell! i'll even employ Greek! Latin!

it's hard to orientate your unconscious when you
hear stories that...
being born with a Chernobyl "tattoo" (on my right
shoulder blade, later removed)...
plagued with hernia...
and the fact that some nurse tried to **** you while
in hospital... monstrous hybrid...
i wasn't born a monster...
             how i became one...
                            at least intellectually...
the assassination attempt by this nurse
was a failure... my heart was enlarged...
enlarged to the point of, what?
loving everyone... the select few...
now... it's the size of a pebble...
i sometimes feel its gravity sinking my chest
into an implosion...

hence my suspicion of all women...
well... except the prostitutes...
those women i'll love even if my whittle wichard
malfunctions because i'm so drunk &
so limp that i end up asking her
for words for eyes, mouth, freckles, fingers
in her Romanian... later the same girl
is donning pigtails... but no schoolgirl uniform...
of course i'm suspicious:
it's unconscious: from what i've been told...

oh i'm so familiar with this thought-out plot
of "privilege"... for a while in England
i forgot about race...
now... it's glaring in my face... i went along with
the narrative for so much time...
now i'm asking questions a child might ask:
why are these current... "illegal" migrants allowed
to stay... rough up a hotel in... wherever...
while in 1997... i was politely told to leave?
i might be petty now...
but back then...
back then from the few outliers there was no real
concern for race...
then again: the attack from the grammatical
side of things: pronoun me you this that i & the other...
it's hard not to see a second recurrence
of a culmination crux that galvenized
a Charles Manson...
this **** (time) is on repeat! it's absolutely...
petrifying!
it's like the 20th century... at least its later halve
is... what it is! something best avoided but
at the same time: unavoidable!
nothing's current: in that everything is recurrent!
it's not like history is dead...
nothing ever really dies...
and since it doesn't die...
and cannot return to something resembling
a linear setting... it has accumulated itself
in... time as cyclic... ergo non linear...
the 20th century has given us that...
i always thought that space was a cyclic invention...
what with the orbit of planets etc.
but time seemed to be forever... linear!
that's not the case anymore...
prior to the 20th century... sure... time, with hindsight
appears to be linear...
but now?! now?! it's a cyclic mess!

today i was pondering ******* off to Poland
to keep my grandmother company...
become an English teacher
and live in a ******* of my birth...
the metallurgical industry is non-existent...
what will i do? teach more ****** girls and boys
some English to come over here for
the brain-drain and what... surf the great tide
of... the world sub-staining?

double-standasrds... why can't i inherit the merit
of my fellow country-men in the survival
of the United Kingdom...
those airmen who had dog fights with spitfires
across the English sky?
i can't: i wish i could...
i need to make my own mark...
like in conversation with my mother, today...
she can compliment on my i.q.:
but beside my i.q.: i'm "lazy"... i'm narrow...
i'm whatever insult pleases you to entertain...
my mother is like my past girlfriends...
if you want a ******* cushion!?
here! lay your head on this stone! ******.

my father always had the softer approach...
my heart it spent...
it has shrank to the size of a date...
a pebble...
                    i'm listening to:
for ****'s sake... Templar music...
  die eisenfaust am lanzenschaft...
and i see it! i see it... women!
they require so much attention from stone-hearted men!
they need to be slapped-up a bit...
no joke...
      they go off on their trans-racial escapades
and return... what? *****?!
******* gloomy... properly disinhibited...

******* curry... so much science goes into
a curry... i need to have it explained...
bake me a proper baked chicken:
Kurvinder...
oh wait... you can't!
you're going to dice the chicken ******* up...
forgo using the entirety of the corpus
hardly saute the meat... just soak it the gravy...
tell me... lucky you:
with the addition of spices...
curry isn't exactly the highest extent of
the collective human: cuisine...
but the way it's being ate: subsequently sold...
it's the only cuisine left available...
i like a curry... but for, ****'s sake...
i also love Baltic sushi surrounding the mythology
of the herring!

dill! dill! & a creamy sauce with pickled cucumber!
i never attached much concern for
the love of my mother: i don't she ever allowed me
to attach it...
she has even prescribed her final will as being...
lost on the "tablature" of medical students...
she's to become a corpus readied for medical practicses...
i can't bury her... curry her... scatter her ashes..

if my mother doesn't wish me to be a weakling...
my father sees unimportant...
tras-racial sexuality is such a faze
for a lot of these girls...
it's great mingling among Kenyans
******* fellow Kenyans...
no one ever asked... in pop... context...
don't do Orangutans...
resemble...down syndrome specimens?!
oh i get the gorilla, the chimpaneze...
but an orangutan?
the eyes are not... bother somely close
together?
to reiterate... the people selling "us"...
Darwinism are not selling us
the... Wittgensteinian admiration
for the Copernican model of
heliocentricity... oh wow... the first to not...
make it a summit of discovery crediting
Galileo... such an un-western "thing" to do...
*******...
          i'll be siding with the Russians and
the Ancient Greeks from now on...
you... plausible palsy... ******' retards!
no... you had your fun!...
now comes the wound... now comes the salt!

i was illegal once... i learned my lesson...
the day itself was made "illegal" since princess Diana died...
then i became legal after a hiatus...
best be... the happy camper...
             now? Noah! Noah!
you want me... to... reintegrate: inegrate myself
to suit... there was a ******* Warsaw Pact...
the pan-Slavic movement that nourished the birth and kept
upheaval of the Soviets...
the Slavs were to come together...
sure... beside the Serbs who...
well the Ottoman Empire were supposed to do X...
we'll do Z...
but we excluded all the barbers..
Y? oh **** knows... let's call in "NATO"...

it's welcome though: we're the... ahem... little people...
apart from the women.. they know their worth....
they can be snatched up: h'americana ridiculed...
subsequently let loose!
by numbers... i reduce my concern for reality
with tye numbers i'm given:
i'm always like... this ****... best not happen..
in my vicinity... if it does...
i'm out... no... there's no "game".

i'll say what my mother is of afraid of saying:
we're walking abortions...
sorry... but that's what we are...
i believe that there's traction... serious traction for
this opinion in...
the "land of the free"...
i personally feel like a walking abortion..
i ought to feel like... argh... grr...
sort of ownership of manhood..
i substituted ***** envy with beard envy:
but now...
no.... even my mother disqualifies me
as being... "proper" recipient...
of... "reciprocation"...
lesson learned...

  i need to become a dis-hearted...
a... a heartless man.
cool cool...
i can do that...
                         sell me some painkillers will you?
or am i smooth as **** i'm willing to **** someone
on the *****-nilly!

perhaps i never urinated on a homeless man...
i'm pretty sure i spat a wonderus spat...
from 4 stories in a car park...
to get back at the colts who spat at my father
when we visited Chessington
world of "adventure"...

otherwise... i'm so mangled...
i use both the imperial and the metric systems...
e.g.
185°F for an anglaise sauce:
custard... which implies
you don't heat the eggs prior to beating
them with the milk & cream...
sure... gelato is superior in taste to ice-cream...
but gelato isn't equipped for storage...
ice-cream on the other hand is...

165°F for roast chicken: *******....
butterfly... it takes circa under 20 minutes
to roast them perfectly...
i watch Australian Masterchef and hear
of these stories of... recipes passed down...
grandmothers with traditions...
sorry... world war II happened...
herr bite bon-bon came round
as did the soviets... then i left...
oh i do remember my grandmother's cooking...
she managed to roast a chicken to
the point of making the ******* have the texture of...
chalk!

i'm a mangled sort of creature...
i remember all the months of the year in Ing-Leash...
january, febuary, march, april, may, june
july, august, september, october, november... december...
but i can't remember them in my native tongue...
styczeń, luty, marzec, kwiecien, maj...
i forget june... czerwiec... listopad... grudzień...

i'm pretty sure you could usurp some of the diacritical
"constipation"...
akin to Kwiecień....
you could write it so... while decapitating the iota...
i.e. Kwiećιeń: kwit... cień...
a blooming of a shadow...
flower... kwiat... cień. vs. ćιeń: shadow...

the month of the blooming of shadows...
there are hardly any surds in western Slavic...
let me reiterate... there are no surds
like there are surds in Ing-Leash...
gnome whereby... the apostrophe ought to be
better employed!
'nome for gnome... it's not even that
"too" many words in Ing-Leash
sound the same but are spelled differently...

ich bsitzen die nacht!
as much as i abhor the Hindu percusion
of reincarnation:
come again? there are only a fixed number
of original souls in this project...
the rest are...sleeping souls...
let be abuse that a little...
if there's any genuine reincarnation...
to have taken place...
then i am... Konrad van Wallenrode...
hey presto!
there are only  a limited amount of souls
to b shared the reincarnated... humanoids...
the rest are... ******* zombies?!
o.k. fair enough... Hindu glue...
gi ahead... the rest are zombies...
******* curry retards...
          sure... i'm also a reincasrnation...
i'm a reincarnation of Konrad von Wallenrode,
how's that?!

i'm 6ft2 not 189cm
98kg not... however much stones and pebbles
that is...
i live among these IngLeash people
i look at the coming children...
two women walking a child buggie
spot me... sweating all over my stomach...
the one walking the buggie probably has a hubby...
trips up into a poker face...
her fwend... looks at me and says... WOW...
the **** is this current *******: "wow"?!
i own a bicycle i don't own a car...
i wish i owned a horse?!

i like exercise more than ****** because...
i get to exercise more than i get to ******?!
perhaps i ****** in a way that makes me scout
for pornographic actresses that
like to **** it off while looking into the
"Dajjal"...
                i like those.... there's a lyric about them:
i can **** it smile...
democracy: knock knock...

personally... it sounds like a terrible idea
to have children...
as much as i'd love to...
no... not really... not from what's coming from
the pop culture narrative...
personally... i wouldn't want to... my genes...
m'ah...  put through...
the currency of the current *******...
    i don't... want... to... put... my genes...
through... the argumentations of...
IDIOTS!
to reproduce in order to diminish IQ?!
*******! i'm out!
i'm done... forget this *******!
idiots & their ruling class!

i'm happy to leave this earth to the copper skinned
and the African blessed...
look ast me... there will always be people
readily to come...
i have to make an impetus usually associated
with the argument that claims:
it claims! i must! i must!
no... thankfully i don't!
i have to celebrate individualism...
don't i?!

i have lost what Darwinism was originally
supposed to arm me with...
that's what happens...
societies that propaganda Darwinism to
such an extent as it must be sold...
how is Darwinism equivalent to
the Copernican... blah...
      i don't even think it's project vanity
to flee into... as counter... argument...

from the ancient times: **** similis could
be extracted from **** spiens...
"****": the similitude of ape to man
and vice versa was known to ancient Romans!

nacht(s) ist nicht(s):
gott! mit! uns!
         mien ich! ja: mein kommandant...
alles, dies... braucht zu brennen...
ich liebe du...
       aber... aber...
             ich-du... du-du...
            ich wollen
töten wie du ar lieben!
   i love German...
the worst sort of German i speak... write..
the better it resounds...
it always makes me being clued in...
on the offensive against the Russians!
but i also abhor the Anglicans.

When life is too much and I see injustice
I'm supposed to sit quiet and stare.
As a woman, I can't speak too loudly on subjects
Because passion could show that i care
And caring is vulnerability,
Weakness that disqualifies easily,
And takes away merit of you thinking reasonably.
So when silence becomes the void that you drown in because you aren't able to speak,
I let these tears flow and fill this frustrated river more
After all, I am already weak.

i'm a mangled sort of man... i'd love to tease the whole alpha-male / beta-male dichotomy... use some other greek letters (i will use one) like γ-male or σ-male... someone in history once said... i'm the alpha & the omega... well... i'm an omega-male... i go to brothels, i ride a bicycle at night on Sunday when the air is crisp and devoid of wind and traffic pollution: devoid of traffic to begin with... reaching speeds that make my eyes water... my estimate it... 30mph... i don't date: never have, never will... why would i pay for food and hope: "hope" for getting laid, when i can bypass all the ******* with a *******? i don't own a car because i don't want to pay road tax... i don't want to pay for parking... i don't want to pay for insurance or an annual m.o.t. check... obviously i have to fork out on an inner tube from time to time... a new tire... some chain grease... even on the outskirts of London... if i wanted to cycle into London to admire it... hell... it beats walking in and around the sights... even if it's a 15 mile sloth ride's worth past Little Bangladesh of: from Ilford through to Mile End... it's a lot easier not being native of this land... even the foreigners have this knack of citing: born & bred... well... born 'ere... hardly bred... i was living on these shores from 1994... my father came in 1990... he would have been legally allowed to stay in 1997... since... every illegal immigrant living for 7 years... covertly... in England would be allowed to stay... we were deported in 1997... on the day that we heard princess Diana was killed in a car crash... my grandfather was visiting... trauma... the day before we went to a makeshift entertainment park with... oh i remember it well... the name of the ride is a bit murky... but it was like a ferriswheel that started spinning horizontally before slowly changing to a vertical rotation... i was fierce in competition sliding a ball into several holes on an elevation to win a... crimson rottweiler imitation plush toy for my mother... which i did... the next day princess Diana died... the home office came... with the police... an old school version of Batman & Robin was playing on the t.v.... my father made a runner... they caught him... i watched as my parents were hand-cuffed... in my room i was standing looking at the wall when a home office police officer came in and said: earnestly... nice computer... i turned around and gave him... eh... a death stare... when the commotion was over i was sobbing and punching the wall... while my grandfather didn't know what to do... they released my parents after a day's worth of interrogation... we were politely asked to leave the country in a space of a month... or two weeks... so we sorted everything out... gave a newly bought cat to my ****** uncle etc. and left... for a year... the world cup was happening in France (1998) while i watched the final in complete blackout with my great-grandmother, Mary... i even remember the opening ceremony... but the place was changed... i was to be put into a school for autistic children... generally... problem children... i couldn't just... be reintegrated into the schooling system in Poland... so... i was home-schooled... math... and still... reading books in English... that's how i came across... the Little Prince... all my friends designated my a: traitor's role... we changed our surname... a ****** name in ****** to begin with... even ******* surname in English... if only there was a German SCH in it... much more sense... yes... i was, am... was... an economic migrant... like your Turk in Germany...  but since we're talking... someone from under the old Warsaw Pact... suspicious?! well... no suspicions now! i don't even know whether they're my countrymen... it only takes one Muslim to suppose you're a German that... well... i'll go with that... but hey! now the natives have invited the Afghans to a Scarborough hotel... and it's... going... oh so well! am i still a "racist" if i ****** a black girl and dated a half-indian? ****** a Roma girl... a Thai surprise and... ooh... the love of my life... if i had to put it into 30 minute's worth... ol' raven haired Turkish delight... my ******* yummy... at this point... i'm all shovel & dust... i simply don't care... that's the plan... as i once remarked: the best plan is to... have no plan... just the will to overcome personal griefs. i'm not native enough to care... we were supposed to treat England as a stopover before, hopefully reaching Canada via Argentina... but then that massive crash in Argentina happened... i returned to England... somewhat... refreshed... i'll write in Ing-Leash... i'll speak in Ing-Leash... i'll even... for ****'s sake THINK in Ing-Leash... but in private?! to hell with speaking this language! i'll speak in ****** while teasing myself with some German! hell! i'll even employ Greek! Latin!

it's hard to orientate your unconscious when you
hear stories that...
being born with a Chernobyl "tattoo" (on my right
shoulder blade, later removed)...
plagued with hernia...
and the fact that some nurse tried to **** you while
in hospital... monstrous hybrid...
i wasn't born a monster...
             how i became one...
                            at least intellectually...
the assassination attempt by this nurse
was a failure... my heart was enlarged...
enlarged to the point of, what?
loving everyone... the select few...
now... it's the size of a pebble...
i sometimes feel its gravity sinking my chest
into an implosion...

hence my suspicion of all women...
well... except the prostitutes...
those women i'll love even if my whittle wichard
malfunctions because i'm so drunk &
so limp that i end up asking her
for words for eyes, mouth, freckles, fingers
in her Romanian... later the same girl
is donning pigtails... but no schoolgirl uniform...
of course i'm suspicious:
it's unconscious: from what i've been told...

oh i'm so familiar with this thought-out plot
of "privilege"... for a while in England
i forgot about race...
now... it's glaring in my face... i went along with
the narrative for so much time...
now i'm asking questions a child might ask:
why are these current... "illegal" migrants allowed
to stay... rough up a hotel in... wherever...
while in 1997... i was politely told to leave?
i might be petty now...
but back then...
back then from the few outliers there was no real
concern for race...
then again: the attack from the grammatical
side of things: pronoun me you this that i & the other...
it's hard not to see a second recurrence
of a culmination crux that galvenized
a Charles Manson...
this **** (time) is on repeat! it's absolutely...
petrifying!
it's like the 20th century... at least its later halve
is... what it is! something best avoided but
at the same time: unavoidable!
nothing's current: in that everything is recurrent!
it's not like history is dead...
nothing ever really dies...
and since it doesn't die...
and cannot return to something resembling
a linear setting... it has accumulated itself
in... time as cyclic... ergo non linear...
the 20th century has given us that...
i always thought that space was a cyclic invention...
what with the orbit of planets etc.
but time seemed to be forever... linear!
that's not the case anymore...
prior to the 20th century... sure... time, with hindsight
appears to be linear...
but now?! now?! it's a cyclic mess!

today i was pondering ******* off to Poland
to keep my grandmother company...
become an English teacher
and live in a ******* of my birth...
the metallurgical industry is non-existent...
what will i do? teach more ****** girls and boys
some English to come over here for
the brain-drain and what... surf the great tide
of... the world sub-staining?

double-standasrds... why can't i inherit the merit
of my fellow country-men in the survival
of the United Kingdom...
those airmen who had dog fights with spitfires
across the English sky?
i can't: i wish i could...
i need to make my own mark...
like in conversation with my mother, today...
she can compliment on my i.q.:
but beside my i.q.: i'm "lazy"... i'm narrow...
i'm whatever insult pleases you to entertain...
my mother is like my past girlfriends...
if you want a ******* cushion!?
here! lay your head on this stone! ******.

my father always had the softer approach...
my heart it spent...
it has shrank to the size of a date...
a pebble...
                    i'm listening to:
for ****'s sake... Templar music...
  die eisenfaust am lanzenschaft...
and i see it! i see it... women!
they require so much attention from stone-hearted men!
they need to be slapped-up a bit...
no joke...
      they go off on their trans-racial escapades
and return... what? *****?!
******* gloomy... properly disinhibited...

******* curry... so much science goes into
a curry... i need to have it explained...
bake me a proper baked chicken:
Kurvinder...
oh wait... you can't!
you're going to dice the chicken ******* up...
forgo using the entirety of the corpus
hardly saute the meat... just soak it the gravy...
tell me... lucky you:
with the addition of spices...
curry isn't exactly the highest extent of
the collective human: cuisine...
but the way it's being ate: subsequently sold...
it's the only cuisine left available...
i like a curry... but for, ****'s sake...
i also love Baltic sushi surrounding the mythology
of the herring!

dill! dill! & a creamy sauce with pickled cucumber!
i never attached much concern for
the love of my mother: i don't she ever allowed me
to attach it...
she has even prescribed her final will as being...
lost on the "tablature" of medical students...
she's to become a corpus readied for medical practicses...
i can't bury her... curry her... scatter her ashes..

if my mother doesn't wish me to be a weakling...
my father sees unimportant...
tras-racial sexuality is such a faze
for a lot of these girls...
it's great mingling among Kenyans
******* fellow Kenyans...
no one ever asked... in pop... context...
don't do Orangutans...
resemble...down syndrome specimens?!
oh i get the gorilla, the chimpaneze...
but an orangutan?
the eyes are not... bother somely close
together?
to reiterate... the people selling "us"...
Darwinism are not selling us
the... Wittgensteinian admiration
for the Copernican model of
heliocentricity... oh wow... the first to not...
make it a summit of discovery crediting
Galileo... such an un-western "thing" to do...
*******...
          i'll be siding with the Russians and
the Ancient Greeks from now on...
you... plausible palsy... ******' retards!
no... you had your fun!...
now comes the wound... now comes the salt!

i was illegal once... i learned my lesson...
the day itself was made "illegal" since princess Diana died...
then i became legal after a hiatus...
best be... the happy camper...
             now? Noah! Noah!
you want me... to... reintegrate: inegrate myself
to suit... there was a ******* Warsaw Pact...
the pan-Slavic movement that nourished the birth and kept
upheaval of the Soviets...
the Slavs were to come together...
sure... beside the Serbs who...
well the Ottoman Empire were supposed to do X...
we'll do Z...
but we excluded all the barbers..
Y? oh **** knows... let's call in "NATO"...

it's welcome though: we're the... ahem... little people...
apart from the women.. they know their worth....
they can be snatched up: h'americana ridiculed...
subsequently let loose!
by numbers... i reduce my concern for reality
with tye numbers i'm given:
i'm always like... this ****... best not happen..
in my vicinity... if it does...
i'm out... no... there's no "game".

i'll say what my mother is of afraid of saying:
we're walking abortions...
sorry... but that's what we are...
i believe that there's traction... serious traction for
this opinion in...
the "land of the free"...
i personally feel like a walking abortion..
i ought to feel like... argh... grr...
sort of ownership of manhood..
i substituted ***** envy with beard envy:
but now...
no.... even my mother disqualifies me
as being... "proper" recipient...
of... "reciprocation"...
lesson learned...

  i need to become a dis-hearted...
a... a heartless man.
cool cool...
i can do that...
                         sell me some painkillers will you?
or are smooth as **** i'm willing to **** someone
on the *****-nilly!

185°F anglaise
165°F roast chicken: *******....
butterfly

styczen

january

6ft2 not 189cm
98kg not ...