chlej (verb): to drink excessively
or chlaj: you do it,
  or even chlać (noun): to do so.

it's an aesthetic variation the acute
scalpel incision on the c: piquant -
the Ukrainians call the Poles: Lachy -
which is not the sound of witchy itchiness -
it's not the sound of cheap:
but something akin to a hark -
potency of how the French literally don't
trill or cartwheel their Ar (argon?)
           and thus say the literally Greek
rho (ρ) - thus the story of: chleje (i am drinking
to excess, but i'm not going to repent
for these antics, **** it: every single
psychopath in us to his gamble).

thus said: some say that diacritical marks
are also punctuation marks
that somehow became dislodged from
the linear function and entered the trigonometric
expression of tangens -
            offshoots into infinity -
or how the western niqab is a pair of sunglasses -
or how every autistic darty eyed celeb
dons them to hide those creepy eyes -
while psychiatrists only ask *two questions:
a. are they biting their nails      and
b. what about eye-contact?

another funny word: ryło -
czerwone (red) and czerń (black)
           czerwone ryło: etymological
ambiguity: it's either gob or cheek
after being pinched by a set of knuckles with
a punch - no Victor Frost wasn't here with
a -40°C Siberian pecker of a smooch -

kot srający na pustyni: variation of a selfie pout
(a cat ******* on a desert) -
funny thing, Darwinism, that sound encoding
didn't evolve to utilise diacritical marks
      as duly (not dully) expressed in Joyce's
end of Ulysses where all punctuation is lost
and left to the dynamo of babel...

there are, truly, more fun moments in poetry
than rhyme - not to mention the anorexic variation
of prose with cutting short the paragraph:
yes, that famous mishandling of paragraph that
poetry truly is... due-lee and dolly -
then the peeps said: oh yeah, that clone sheep -
dolly in science-land, and hence the wonder.

but i do feel sick having watched aeroplanes
and birds, trees, the wind, and cats and all that
dynamic harmonica and never use that
reverse of a freemason handshake (could it be
plural possessive, i.e. ownership?)

****, i'm drinking and then comes the functioning
alcoholic doing the Apache thunder dance
with alchemic cooking up a pumpkin risotto -

o to historia z kantem, co podwujne ma dno,
gdyby napisał ją dante,
to nie tak by szło...

       and here lies power...

        ą (ogonek) my evolutionary step forward into
a tango - tailed-a - or me says me monkey
why Anglo without tailed-a?

    sz = sh = š        cz = ch = č
                    rz = ż = ž                       :
look at them, those humanists, they just as horrible
as scientists, they're doing their *******
electron travels like they might cite Gulliver's -
and they never tell you what's going on,
until someone places a skunk in a room full of them
and once attempting mutiny on the Mayflower,
are soon the horde of Mongolian rats
escalating into a fury of a furry tsunami as an attempt
to conquer the seas in the numbers...

but in all honesty, i feel ill if i spend a day not
using these phonetic encryptions -
i see too much colour, too many shapes,
too many shapes not governed by man's
     geometry - and only in this medium can i
rest my drunken head while "as if talking in my head".

now, i can accept the serious criticism of
philosophy against poetry -
            but when journalists are at it...
those gob-smacker-chatterers are in for a plum hue
under one of their eyes - that ambivalence of
my tongue actually waggling away into concern
  is the point where i use my hands more to
craft the dough of some who might be
victims of a Westminster ******* ring of
   aristocrats (italics sometimes implies sarcasm).

oto historja z kantem, co podwójne ma dno, gdyby napisał ją dante, to nie tak by to szło.*

existentialism never caught on in england,
it was under the scalpel of an autopsy,
divided in the extremes,
i style magazines, or in the saturday newspaper
edition of gloss, ensuring the world knows
about modern gladiators' (footballers') antics
with boyfriends at home and the girlfriends
on the prowl - feminism's by-product - hmm -
there's a common saying in england:
'i have an existence, i don't have a life',
well... ex- (out of) every instance, it's a life,
i know the big words sound foreboding,
but let's not make it a life of any concern,
unless you're dressed like Mr. Portillo
traversing the American continent in yellow
chequered shirts and pink trousers and green blazers...
style... gotta have style walking in Wisconsin...
the pretty english 'have a nice day' air about
you without perfumes... yes, Mr. Portillo is
the epitome of dressing like an englishman
cursing Voltaire... lollipop goo to my liking, mm...
hey, i'm just a drunk with an itchy feel for
language... me poet, me poet de facto...
ever heard of midorexia? me neither, until today...
even the rich aren't immune...
tan-lines and short shorts aren't enough to
define this odd anorexia of lost youth...
it's supposedly defined by wearing sunglasses
anywhere than on holiday -
see... this is where french existentialism led
the english - it led them to an answer: itemisation,
overt itemisation - born from every believability -
born from every centric to the the european
continent measurement loss exporting flesh from
the ivory coast to the florida measurement -
a pint for above half a litre - the statue of liberty
had many ******* under her skirt...
including king john as one of the fathers...
they really didn't think about existentialism,
no thought invoked made the shopkeepers sigh
and say: excess itemisation is required -
we need cuff-links, orange juicers via ponce,
we need smartphones, we need leathered shoes
(18 carat-hark pig), and belts...
we need all these distractions to go against
the french suggestion of a 35 hour working week...
live to work, don't work to live...
it never caught on... they decided to protest
against Sartre... because he lived with his mother...
**** me... i should have asked for a surrogate too,
and two daddies... and I.V.F., i should have,
because suddenly everyone became neurotic
with Freudian misuse of the Oedipal theory -
Mr. Portillo and Alan Shearer just left the game early,
one's a backpacker with a camera
and the other is a football analyst - left the game
of chance political slander... wise guys; bravo! bravo! encore!

My lfie si a cdoe,
Taht I wnat yuo ot dodece.

Pealse dodece it.

For me.
Help me.

Smoe tiems tihngs

jsut dno’t mkae

sense.

every person is beautiful
own unique way
search passionately
behind masks

lines have beauty
dare to find
poor grammar
poor vocabulary
creates poem
high thoughts
poor form

yes
form
words -> boring form
easy realization of thoughts
silence
great realization
action
perfect one

action -> beauty
take the action
find
own unique beauty
show beauty to the world

sure you good at something
manipulation of a particular person
walking from A to B
knowingstars/arts/music/history/them/self/dead/alive/animals/series/nature/culture/how to make love/how to give love/how to cook meal/how to kick him/how to make bomb/how to dig tomb/how to switch on/how to vanish zone/how to go out/how to groow tree/how to smoke ***/how to die young/how to climb top/ how to clean dno/ how to be a *****/ how to ******* ritch/how to jump/ how to jank/how to sell stuff/ how to grove up/ how to be cool/ how to play games/ how to **** kid/ how to **** her/ ******* them/ how to be racist/ how to burn atheist/ how to consecrate a car/ how to open the bar/how to speack honestly/how to make mistake/how to kick her ***/how to **** her face/ how to bring pleasure/how to aim/how to **** brains/how to treat/how to threat/how to choose/how to snooze/how to pass exams/ how to break arms/ how to chew gum/ how to write Elizaveta Bam/

do you like knowing?
do you like pass knowledge to others?
knowledge of something else
not about you
we don’t care about you
nobody cares
somebody cares
just for self-profit

**** war
**** tyranny
**** hatred
**** god
let’s share the beauty

panie nocy, daj, mi,
                        być gwardi wart
                                            o sen o nocy...

panie nocy, daj, daj mi,
i noc, i twój sen...

                                              i niech ja,
       będe miserium gratis...

ten fałsz klawisza pia-ni-na...
co...
         nad sen ciwila:
chytliwim uchem
"słucha"...

i still don't know why
a cat might look
at someone, human,
in a believing way,
a loving way,
a replica manner for
a tommorow
akin to a today...

  ****** can't close his eyes
with me clicking on
the keyboard...
     guised with the ever so slight
blinking artefact of my eyes
in conjunction
with his eyes...

  to impersonate:
                 a genesis of Bach...
there is none of that...
no grand orchestra
in an even more
grand "typo" for an orchestra
in a cathedral making sound...

tu, tu mam ci dać, co mi pada od tybie:
'spierdalaj skurwysynie'?!
sam jeb od
               kotfy i:
                  ciwil...
                              sieki­era...
  dno...
                   i pień...
                                 n'est ce pas?
to tem "im" znowu po:
                                czaj-insku?!
zjebodjed to:
                           to zjebodjed 'yto!
skoro-tak-cie-miano-"synie";
co?
                     coś sfędzi?!
      a propro tvo, ta "matka"?
                      wole
kata siekiere: ni twe slowo...
         rozum twe warszawa polak,
szwed,                 czy harceż: czyli szefc?!

    poliaku: doj mi! znowie!
po cym: ty... farfaku znowu
                poznajesz: sibie!

o! o! o tym kocim! ogunem
                  a co śpiw zwe i tym i o tamtym
da swoje: hibił pan o krym! co nit?

to! to! to morda żniwa
   o czym smerc
                   se da o wróbla dać
                                    znac!

ja...
            ­           zabiore jej tłumu tchu!
a wnet:
                   dam:
                                      im duše!