****!

mit ein(e)
gernierung

of... ******!

MACDONALDS
for the protestants
MCDONALDS
for the catholics...

and **** the rest of it
whoop di do d'ah
whoopsie!
   **** it...  

i always called the IRA
the ginger ninja brigade...
******* *****!
ha ha!

is that even permitted?
like...
oopsies?!
   oh ****..
the steam-roller is
giving it a shot at reading
the earth,..
flat...
   map on paper?
**** me... no app....
            
******... you ever navigate a car
through the German Rhine roundabout?
what's in it?
Dortmund.. Essen...
             you know that constipated
part of the road map of Europe...

               ever navigate that trippy
conundrum ******* of navigation?
beside me...

              can't speak german,
won't navigate in german,
no matter how many
Mercedes-Benz they pump out
from the Henry Ford institute of
the reclining chair,
supposing
   die krupps to be squidgy clean...
i think the european translation
reads:
die Dortmund Ringe...
das Rhine Ringe...
**** allocating yourself to a rally car...
   navigate through that sort
of German *******...
          achtung achtung...
autobahn ende!
               vorwärtskreis
might as well salute for a second
coming of... hítlear!
    shaking Stevens?
  huh?!
               knee on the no contra
the know: bother...
the english won't know...
isn't that nay?
   i listen to too much lawyer
jargon...
             i'd love to listen to
poetry...
but... i figured...
   lawyers play the slight of
the sly of hand that poets
exasperate into toying with words
to accomplish art...
lawyers? the impasse of
judgement?
  **** me!
                  apparently the argument
goes:
down syndrome...
psychopaths...
'ere by god's grace...
   much grace, my lord...
             too much grace...
        
two salvation pointers:
(a) i won't drink with them...
(b) i won't eat with them,
(c) there is no "c" that isn't
a "d" that isn't an "e"
        "f", etc!
you get a zebra...
you get a null bonus!
a ******* safari of an automated
anti hamster Boston outfit!

i've seen a u.f.o.,
yep - a weird orb - hardly a helicopter -
and hardly an aeroplane -
i disclosed it once to a "friend" -
   apparently in europe the entirety of
the oddness of the universe can be caged in
the mind of a psychiatrist - that's europe -
apparently every odd observation
requires the secular
"priesthood" of psychiatry -
everything, has, to, be: normalised;
the sort of *******-tickle-talk
that allows you to return
to talking about the weather...
or yesterday's eastenders episode
on the by pedohpilia bankrupt
b.b.c.
  so? **** it, play along:
the funny people will crack any
time soon...
         even though i have seen
an u.f.o. i'm sticking the the british
take on "sensibility" i.e. lying.
so this paddy walks up to me,
a british citizen like any other,
but has this "royal" airiness around
him...
  he thinks i'm mere peasant
and he's a ******* monarch!
          he suddenly think i can't
comprehend english...
but he can... then i ask him
to recite the alphabet... paddy can't!
sure, you see a u.f.o. when
you have to immediately curb your
enthusiasm, because you're in
europe, and europe is "sensible" -
     so you practice your sense &
sensibility: see no evil, hear no evil,
speak no evil: but **** me:
think up a tier of horror
                  above the holocaust!
if we're allowing science fiction,
if we're allowing the "dream"
but never the reality,
  if europe discarded idiot priest
for a psychiatrist,
i'd probably prefer the idiot priesthood
to the secular "priesthood" that's
psychiatry...
        i've seen an u.f.o.,
but as you might expect, i'm "european",
i'm supposed to be the sensible one,
the never: over-fluttering in
excitement -
                       ****, i saw a u.f.o.
actually means: i saw ****, nothing
really happened.
            i'm occupied, the drinking is
hardly a drag, and the music i'm listening
to isn't that bad, after all;
hell, i must have been drunk watching
this electric light orchestra "glyph"...
you start to try to convince people,
   when the people try to convince themselves
belonging to some day-to-day
everyday mundane collective "sanity" -
**** it, you do what you have to.
a bit like this "surprise" regarding the
transgender movement...
         3 year old trannies...
   ever read r. d. laing's the politics of
experience and the the bird of paradise?
i hope to hell that r. d. laing will overshadow
freud, perhaps even jung...
after all: what glasgow giveth one
does not dismiss so easily...
                not without a brawling
spectacle in the back alley...
     what glasgow offers: one does not discard
even upon a 2nd reading.
                 and this is truly a topic of
the proper regard:
          all of politics is an aspect of experience -
as ever, with respect to heidegger:
   there's there-being -
but there's also mit-sein:
     with being, i.e. what?
                           mit-sein has no actual
coordinate to ensure a contract of
analogues -
             not a flat earth my aß...
you ever navigated a car via
    antwerp, eindhoven, venlo, duisburg,
  essen, dortmund, hamm, bielefeld, hanover?      
that serpentine is a ******* killer...
you travel east from that muddle of roads
you'll be a ******* general of the boyscouts...
      no, no GPS... play god, looking down
on a paper, yes, paper map!
            navigate that ****!
       oh right, 3 year olds and trannies...
why the surprise?

       jesus said to them:

   when you make the two one, and
when you make the inner as the outer
and the outer as the inner and the above
as the below, and when you make the male
and female into a single one,
      so that the male will not be male
and the female not be female, when you
make eyes in the place of an eye,
          and a hand in the place of a hand,
and a foot in the place of a foot,
        and an image in the place of an image,
then shall you enter the kingdom.
    (the gospel according to doubting thomas) -

so... trannies?  
              
      a ******* elephant in the room...
it's almost like people don't want to cite
where this entire zeitgeist furore originated from,
i.e. from the "heretical" gospels of
the "lesser" followers of "christ"...
         by now the whole affair
is staring me in the face with burning
coal-eyes...
            if only the nag hammadi
library was found in modern day israel,
and not egypt, and not the story of
the flight of joseph and mary to egypt -
   and not the account of the secular historian
josephus in the reign of nero,
   and the book of revelation ref. nero
rather than augustus...
               hey, i inherited this crap...
even though the old testament is ridiculous,
at least it's only so "ridiculous"
as to be "ridiculous" given the time-frame...
the new testament is just a blatant lie...
a blatant greek lie...
        it's the nadir of what came prior,
i.e. the excellence of poetic harvesting by
the greeks -
         the new testament is a death of poetics -
a religion carved out of:
    the uninhibited testimony of
ever perpetuating the hunger for the next
groove messiah...
       odd, jesus christ perpetuated -
             moses christ sounds a tad bit sour...

never mind, perhaps, sometime in america,
as it stands, in europe, we're stressing
keeping up appearances,
  we're being sensible,
                  we're being the apparently
"well-attired" -
                  there's a "we" that has agreed
upon the secular priesthood of psychiatry,
i'll just ask,
    is it worth the spectacular,
given that so many people are gambling
with the mundane?
       so? shut up, and try to laugh internally;
it didn't help me having either 1 of
the 5 senses to craft an account of
an oddity...
     i was told to step back into line...

   and this, by ordinary civilians...
           i'm pretty sure that army personnel are
more liberal to such odd events, than
your everyday grey-day joe:
you know the guy, you pass about 100 of them
in an urban environment:
that face, so unmemorable that it's almost
like looking at a concrete slab.

- you've seen a u.f.o.?!
- nope, i must have been blind drunk hallucinating,
  sorry to disappoint, ol' chap.

I started watching football when I was eight

At that moment I had everything to hate



The next day I went with the squad

I played with a poor morale



Than as the time passed by

People said Ronaldo in Madrid is *****



Than as the Manuel Neur got the fame

Messi got him chipped later in the game



In June they compared Andre Gomes with James

For real? Thats just lame



Merle said "Football players are like prostitutes"



They said "Giroud comes to show off his beard"

Footballers like Yahya dont even drink beer



While some footballers go to the club when they hit the big time

Tottenham striker said "He cant remember going to a club last time"



Bayern Munich bailed out Dortmund with a loan in the past

Oil money of PSG on Neymar gave me a flabbergast..

i was about to start writing this up when i thought:
another whiskey Quincy? **** storm,
spilled the remains of the one i barely touched
before having to pour myself a:
puritan Scot in Cheltenham.

now, i heard people say any town in Essex
is a ****-hole...
                            fair enough...
but there are darker recesses of England you
must get to know before making that
assumption...
                  sure, London, proper London,
zones 1 - 4, E17 (post code, outer reaches,
Walthamstow, used to have a dog racing
track - played there once,
like a typical Paris catwalk, those hounds)
can skive off Greater London
                    like New York can laugh off
New Jersey, it's pretty much like that...
the only thing is: Londoners don't know what
exists outside this area: the buffer zone.
this is the buffer zone...
                 you experience England outside of
this very sensitive area of integration,
take for example a 3 hour coach trip to
a little town of Cheltenham in Gloustershire
not far from Oxford (a hub of learning)
and Bristol (Massive Attack, and that
bridge by Brunel - funny, engineers are above
architects, in that engineers build things
that *work, architects are like science-fiction
novelists rather than scientists -
do you know how many problems workers
experience, because an engineer
"forgot to mention" something essential in the plans?
at least an engineer gives you a read table,
all architects work for Ikea -
          ah, here's pieces a - z,
put it together yourself) - anyway...
              spilled my Quincy whiskey, now i'm a puritan
of scotch - unlike that damning quote from
1950s Hollywood: whiskey with a drop of water...
   ok ok... a little **** of ice floating about...
when will the nagging stop? no one says jack
about putting water into authentic absinthe...
      why? cos it goes cloudy green when you do!
(too much digression, news paragraph).

   i was leaving London on Friday,
murky the way i like it... Albert Bridge never seemed
so out of cinematographic urgency -
               but the west end with its grand buildings
appealed to me to start imagining
                    Oscar Wylde ghosts leaving these places
for promenades in top cats and tiaras for the ladies...
                     west London... the best way to see it
is in transit... preferably rather urgently...
                    and in a coach with other people not paying
attention...
                       the Thames receded into the estuary (
as it does), those housed in boats experienced a wake-up
call with a 10° ***** into the mud -
                                past the Chelsea pensioners' abode,
past many monuments to be exact...
   and then onto the open M4... past Windsor Castle
and the streak of aeroplanes about an aerial mile
apart landing at Heathrow -
                                  3 hours later, there i was,
in Cheltenham - chitty chitty bang bang,
apparently dubbed the hub of all English literary
endeavours - well, if you're going to host
a literature festival, wouldn't you claim to host
it with at least one patriotic son of the word?
did i see any statue of a famous poet or writer in
that little rugby stockpile of excess triceps?
nope.
           well, at first i thought it was cute...
                                a little Portobello, albeit
without the St. Petersburg paintwork on the houses,
houses as grey as the skies...
                                           got lost looking for
the b & b hotel i was supposed to be staying at for
the night, went into a gas station, asked,
i was apparently only adjacent lost -
                           old school, map printer and no
g.p.s. on foot -
                                  i once read a map and navigated
a car from an obscure Essex city,
to an even more obscure city in eastern Poland,
past the dreaded Penta Germania consisting of:
Düsseldorf, Duisburg, Essen, Wuppertal and
obviously Dortmund -
                                           i call it the whirlpool
of navigation...
                            anyway, so i found the abode,
what a nice little place it was, shied away from
all the traffic - a lovely garden,
a room fit for a journeying writer,
          actually, everything a writer could hope for
to lock himself away and write,
            tunic scenic - everything to ease the literary
constipation - the surroundings, the whole decor,
i even took a picture thinking: shame if no
Balzac were to not emerge from these rooms...
                           i sure didn't,
i dropped all the things, took a shower,
went into town to do the g.p.s. topographic of
the city so i wouldn't need a map in the future -
bought a bottle of whyte & mackay with a huh?!
apparently this brand isn't popular...
               went back to the room and found myself
drinking in front of the dreaded sight...
well... it was a room fit for a writer...
               but it had a double bed in it...
and a mirror at the desk...
                                    i downed one puritan glass
and looked in the mirror: i don't need your company.
looked away and found to my amazement the
truth of modern writing: the industrialisation
of writing... it emerged in the 20th century when everyone
did it by himself, with a typewriter -
        the industrialisation of writing on an individual
scale can be quiet debilitating when trying to
rekindle the quill... i didn't write anything, i doodled,
and those were bad doodles, it wasn't writing,
it was doodling... i drank a quarter of the bottle
and went out...
        went into the first bar, ordered a Guinness and
and sat down by a table with a
(later disclosed) Gloustershire University student,
a Canadian, jacking-off a script for some
B-short-movie in a public place: to catch the oozing
exfoliation of inspiration from crowded places -
if ever that worked, it might have ever worked
in a graveyard...
                             we were joined by his friend,
some peasant, we got chatting, boy, it was such a thrill
to exchange names... the Canadian's name
i did remember: Darcy...
                          he had that look about him that made
it worthwhile to remember his name,
ah, when names fit the image...
                         chubby, pig-blondish, hairy...
i'm guessing a native of Quebec...
                               but i could be wrong.
so a few hey hey, yeah yeahs later i asked if they
knew something about this gig on the festival slot
that was starting tomorrow, 5 p.m. and for free...
sure sure... got to eye the guide... so i asked:
so, maybe we could meet up at this place at this time
and go from there....
                                  Titanic looked more graceful
sinking than the reply...
                                                 i had to really check myself,
this isn't London psyche chess, this is:
we are small people from a small town,
we think a charming stranger is a serial-killer...
                    the Yorkshire ripper case scenario,
not last... first.
                              i might have been ******* a lemon
by then and pretending to be drunk squirming
a Buddha look - i pretended the polite noting down
the details: suddenly i didn't think like attending
this ****** venture that would start at 5 p.m., end
at 12 a.m. and according to my travel diary:
having to wait 2 hours to catch the 2 a.m. home.
so i went to the first instalment of the "literature"
festival... lemn sissay and salena godden -
and i have to admit, it was a corker - a true
a champagne cork popped and hit the crystal
chandelier and i laughed... and that's how i lost my
virginity to "spoken word",
                                         i wasn't listening to poets,
but i was thoroughly entertained, i swear that
at the end of her performance Salena pointed into
the dark (great tactic, how can they be nervous
if they can't see anyone? they stand on a pulpit of pure
light and see black ahead, where the nerves?)
and said: esp. to my friend over there...
                i might have involuntarily back-laughed /
snorted like a pig trying to catch enough lung volume
for a ha ha...
                          got chatting to this lovely middle-aged
couple: told them: i'm being ***** with gags.
                prior, i was watching the queue build up
into the room, with a god-awful grin on my face...
i couldn't take it off...
                         perhaps because i was looking at
the demographic and thinking: where are my peers?!
i spotted about three people in a close age proximity -
the rest were farts and soon-to-be-farts...
                             now Sissay freaked me out...
in a good way... i met the two after the show,
i brought two copies of my own printed work to give to
them... i had to ask their publicist if i was allowed
to touch the Aegean marbles... luckily i did,
but then i asked the stupid question to Sissay:
so who were you trying to imitate when your eyes
were bulging out nearly gauged out like a Pink Floyd
song video of: teacher! let these children go!
               i should have associated something African
freakish in mask, a strengthening - the sort
of look that New Zealander rugby players put on
to frighten people off when dancing the haka -
he really did talk like that...
                                       the little devil voice didn't help
either... but i only asked that "stupid" question
while mumbling something about how hard it was
getting published and how anyone aged nearing 40
forgot the free press of the internet emerging and
how he asked for a q & a after the performance...
and... hand on my heart:
                                   got asked one question...
          and answered... only one question...
                                        a complete and utter ******* meltdown...
   not: oh yeah, so who's your major influence...
                      a Samuel Beckett moment from not i.
later i standing outside and smoking, a grand English
dame of the west approached me,
chitty chatty kiss the hand later i got to say the most
famous line known to the current Englishman:
unfortunately... from Essex.
             honest. anyone asks you in Essex the question
they always ask: so where you're originally from?
                         anywhere else in England
they just ask you: whe

/                                                    so...

    gravity is a vertical

powerhouse...

  while magnetism

is a horizontal equivalent...

i get it,

     well, not really...

a fear of the night?
    
  counter a fear of open space /
large crowds...

   can the two never, ever,
be synonyms?

        but there's a sensation
replica akin to magnets...
  
  and the sensation doesn't express
itself sideways,
but within the confines of a copernican
up and down        \/===....

sideways? nothing,
up and down,
like my neighbours playing
my nintendo,
and almost experiencing
an itch, on the tip of my fingers...

you can't get this if you're
not a one child policy artifact of
chinese politics...
            enforced "solipsism" type of:
oh, look at you!
    not in my boat?
not a giraffe?!
          comes the time when
you tell a ******: overboard
with 'im!  ****...
bypassing: walking the plank...
he'll either giggle with the dolphins...
or look dark eye with the sharks...

but you can sense a magnetism
with a naked hand,
eased away, or rather, lost to the night...
there's this obstructive force
you entertain with north-north
facing magnets...

      sonny corleone type,
akin to the nonchalance: hey! a pizza!
        no biggie!

            what's gravity sideways?
yes, copernican, gravity horizontally?
police academy joke...
             what's magnetism vertically?
what's east, left, right, west,
up, south and down-trodden centre
                       (north)?
                        
     i thought flat-earth implied that:
you could actually navigate a car
past the rhine spaghetti of

duisburg, düsseldorf,
                  essen, dortmund...

you want a flat earth?
it's there...
   reading a printed map,
navigating a car like
      competing in a rally race...

3D earth is about useful
on this navigational crux of
travelling to poland from england,
like an ice-cream on a rolly-polly
shoved up a dead turkey's ***
on the 4th of july.

no one questions the facts
at this point,
   but somehow it's worth unquestioning
the copernican genesis
with a bundle, unfolded,
and stressed as: ably read;
i.e. what the metallurgy professionals
demand a technical drawing to
be...

      i still don't know whether gravity
is allowed a, sideways, a throw,
a horizontal aspect of existence...
  rather than increments, of up,
shying away from a jamaican 100m,
or the somali 5000m
                       for a sip of water...

maybe the heatwave, coupled
with: maybe the fasting...
            but magnetism is akin to
a sensation of numbing...
       sure as **** gravity doesn't
express itself sidewise...
             and magnetism is
left right up down and center
equally, being the same:
nodding approval...

                   magnetism and
a numbing sensation of obstruction
on the tips of your hand...

   gravity is too objective
at this point...
              it has exhausted itself
as a subject matter with einschtein...
and whoever roman polanski was...

             magnetism and the skeletal
unravelling...
   a numbing sensation on the tips
of your fingers...
   since... what's west of nowhere
when there's the universe that
is a one dimensional proportionate
aspect of "space", confined to a "time"?

a sensation avert to falling,
bound to encompass even
the sameness of such expression within
dreams...
an up, to a north, a down,
to a south...
           but then... regressing
to defame pluto as a planet...
  outlier moon... ice, thingy majig...

    magnetism! in the palm of my hand...
a numbing sensation
on the tip of my fingers, and then as
the entire hand outstreched...

   the concern for understanding
magnetism, will be,
what the 19th and the 20th century was
concerned, within the confines
of electricity.

it happens rarely, but nonetheless it does:
an alcoholic walks out from his cave,
he walk the sticky wet cement from the onslaught
of rain, laughs-out-loud at the brew
of conjurings in his mind,
enters the supermarket, buys him ***
& pepsi, asks the cashier for some pen & recipe
paper,
scribbles something down -
   and then returns to his abode, less an alcoholic,
and more: a tornado.

what was scribbled down?
  a *******, rather than a thought -
psychology gets away with much
abuse of the ego,
    there's much to be said as to why
"ego-tripping" is underway -
the super-ego is abusive per se -
giving its origins in procrastinating
parents, that dreaded looming shadow -
and the id? does it expand into idea?
i thought not, no, it doesn't:
the id is by no means a worthwhile
segment of the psychological trinity,
it's not an unconscious ego "formality",
it quite simply is: a psychiatric form
of a scalpel: the probing - *it, the probing
vector that - hardly something
worth keeping:
that "benevolent" honing in on /
probing aspect of the "ill mind":
and the no-too-destructive doctor...
but what i wanted to find was a unit,
something specific...
  something that turns an alcoholic
into a tornado, when walking back from
a supermarket...
              a unit? yes! a unit of thought!
to craft a mathematical orientation that cuts
and measures "thinking"...
  i could only come up with the Φ-Θ
complex...
              since id becomes idea, and sometimes
the idea does not last, i wanted
to find the abstract...
  please mention the key & door analogy,
please... so much for omicron and zero;
but it's much more than that,
honestly, it's about heliocentric historiology
and geocentric historiology:
and history per se.
  when did one history end,
and the other history begin?
does it begin with the fail-safe idea of
the anti-christ, that precipitated into anti-matter?
or was it october 4, 1957, with sputnik 1?
or was it april 12, 1961, with yuri gagarin
in vostok 1? or was it that the ancient
maxim ringed true with laika beating
  albert?
this anglophone existentialism of puritanical
and exclusive darwinism is a bit like
shoving by ******* into a monkey wrench
and shouting: sneeze! (rather than ease up
on the squeeze).
   anglophone existentialism has become
nothing any intellectual should attempt
from the european continent,
believe me, i've been watching it for some
years... the anglophones have reinvented
existentialism by blackmailing the 20th
century movement, given the maxim:
you have to! whether in bed or in haystack!
you know what? *******!
you stop blackmailing my need to reproduce,
one thing's for sure:
darwinism & existentialism: don't *******
mingle, my dearest suga-pups (shoo-gah
paps, for posterity)!
     and we're talking jackie nicky joker's
sunset boulevard makeover.
hold on, hold on, when did heliocentric history
begin? surely you can stress the theorists
with copernicus or galileo...
  so the heliocentric history began in
the 20th century, mid-way...
and? didn't humanity simply enforce
geocentrism with satellites?
                        i still feel more orientated
around a geocentric historical realism,
than these mundane sci-fi heliocentric
ambitions that: mind the quake:
seem posthumous realism in...
              about 20 generations later...
i never understood why everyone who
"believed" in a flat earth was stupid...
well... "stupid" enough to be able to read
a map, and not rely on a g.p.s. *****...
    like i said: you navigated a car from england
to a remote part of poland, passing
the ****-hole near dortmund in germany?
   that's a ******* blast...
try navigating a car through that ****-show
of ******'s **** of the autobahn...
              but sure, if imagining an orab
from outer space helps: go for it!
i'm a man, a flat earth is practical!
   i get from a to b, i don't suddenly launch
a ****'s worth of monkey goo into outer
space asking for a meteor shower in return!
and that has to be said:
did satellites enforce heliocentrism,
or did we regress back to geocentrism?
   ha ha... what, a, funny, question...
        obviously the latter forest!
dip *****, plonkers, gits and gumps...
the whole lot of them!
       heliocentric history is infantile!
imagine: was that theory conjured up on
three-dimensional paper,
   or was that the best we could come up
with: in terms of abstracting the imaginative
sphere, i.e. on a two dimensional canvas?
it's not like copernicus conjured up
the heliocentric theory, while scribbling
on a statue, or making break-through
graffiti on a building...
   so? is it such a bad idea to interact between
the two perspectives?
                it's what i always asked for:
the humanities replying to scientific relativism,
i.e. perspectivism!
   a dog is man's best friend,
   while a monkey is man's worst enemy:
hence laika beat albert to claim
  the heavens above the allure of azure,
looking down, and licking its genitals...
my my, heliocentrism began with a dog
licking its genitals... what a mighty event!
and it's not even a century old...
seriously, don't people think that
heliocentric history making is a bit
of a loser's game?
      history is, and will remain,
for the most part, a geocentric affair,
even if star trek advancements come along;
i simply lifted the heliocentric curtain:
since, for most part, history
partakes in geocentrism,
    and heliocentrism as "history" is best
summarised by the news talking heads,
always coming last,
        along with cute, puppy stories,
or that panda that gave birth in some zoo
in china.

.the industrial age is over... i sometimes forget when the middle-ground was made into a sentence... the antichrist, or the demigod son of Hephaestus... the satanic push... to lever the molten iron: over... salt / silicon mines! gears up! industry and the satanic industries... perhaps... just... perhaps... now softcore industry of: etertainment rubrics... sewn underwear from the genesis that they were always going to be: export, MADE IN CHINA... this... grand ideal... but coming along with my bucket and spades... i knew that already, come 1994 in st. augustine's primary school... i had the sponge ****** mind ready to slurp the bubbles of ferocity sally scandals... post-soviety ex-satellite state civi? quasimodo was always going to give me the thumbs up... but when the bells rang... they started ringing for no injunction of a need to 'en masse'... there was a fire... a quiet innocent fire... but all the fingers started pointing...

politics, this most feral sport...
perhaps... "ars politico"?
the art of politics?

right now... boxing seems like a civil sport...
perhaps the damage is not written well
into the events...
but at least the audience is tamed...
probably by bets...
or other forms of decorum...
but in this sport of rhetoric?
in politics?
i don't see how... i don't see how i can
ooh and ah like a douglas murray...
although i'm a big fun of...
almost every homosexual talking...
it's like... that one aspect of ******...
i would have: if i could have...
not have a *******...

said sir lancelot onan jr....:
i have never met a woman...
who could... hand-job / ****-me-off
a prince william better than i...
it's a sad truth when you come across
specimens of women who only known
how to YANK and never... DOODLE
the phallus... with the ******* still
intact...
and *** and *** is just a ******* formality...

darwinism is the modern reinvention
of the copernican ooh-ah!
if copernicus did so: as an "independent"...
Galileo came along with his
mighty telescope... and the martyr's cushioned
seat... while some Greek...
to "us": unknown...

******* is older than beer...
that's my habit...
i look at women in "niqabs" performing
these lolly-pop acts...
and all i see is the niqab...
ninjas of islam mothers of the true believers...
is there something wrong in...
watching others pleasure themselves...
now: **** would be wrong...
if... i somehow managed a proud richie
if... it were... a woman being skinned...
if it was a circumcision of man's phallus...
performed by an iron maiden
gimmick ***...
then i'd be worried...

like that sound-proof of: you're not
in the company of a psychopath...
when someone yawns... you yawn with them...

ostrowiec swietokrzyski is a forgotten town,
once the allure of metallurgy...
because rust belt only happens in
h'america... because the mines only close down
in england... these people were also:
people of the metal...
western europeans "think" that we
moved... because... m'eh...
your metallurgy meccas closed...
ours... "ours"... didn't?!

darwin is the modern version of
medieval copernicus...
and i'm pretty ******* sure...
the ancient greeks, in their childish solipsism...
had a quasi-darwin to begin with...

i'm tired of hearing this worth of ****:
there's not enough toilet paper
to match up with the 111 of wiping your ***
with the index, middle and ring finger's
worth of: grafitti!

but at least boxing is a sport that still
demands a variant of ethics...
there's gloating prior...
but catch a skiving ******* gloating
after... doktor dentist herr sadist is...
waiting... parlor no. 2...
you can simply hear a faint grip
of the christmas carol he's singing...
'i'll hang you on a noose of
poor's joe's intestines i dissected:
** ** **...'
you get the idea where no jokes
comes from?

no sport ethic teaches the contestants
to gloat... to gloat is to be fat...
to be a glutton... no one likes...
people gloating after the facts...
like no one is expecting to hear much
about: the heliocentric contra the geocentric
argument...

i beg to disagree... people have a hand
in endearing the geocentric argument...
in the anglophonic realm...
what have we not heard of in the past
2 years beside brexit, trump?
so... there's a heliocentric model...
that's working? or aren't we still
left liberated by a geocentric model of
the now and the in-between?!

last time i chanced the argument...
nothing "west" of mars...
perhaps "north" of jupiter...
again: what's the copernican "west"...
what's the copernican "east"?
i'm still a ***** ******* remnant
of ****** pact VARSUS... aren't i?
warsaw pact...
and so i am:
i am in england for no "apparent" reason...
the metallurgy advent of europe
ended... even under the soviet
umbrella you were... "influenced"...
only western europe gets to: bemoan?
begrudge?! nostalgia riddle itself an et off?!

- you can watch any other sport
and find less "grief" in it...

tennis! what is tennis willing outside
of politics?
the captivated audience...
esp. with the prime-minister's
q&a...

in football... any interference from
the crowd...
summary? a clause is passed...
pencil & paper muscles are flexed...
law comes into: from sleepy /
sheepish demands: a reality to abide
by, goal poasts are moved...

perhaps that's why boxing is a mythological sport...
it doesn't matter that the art... the sport...
doesn't take into consideration
the entire body... and even if the rules
"suggest" that the upper body canvas
is involved...
the boxing remains true:
as truth said: the interaction between
two fists, the head and a car crash
bound to some later... "investement"...

but at least boxing is a sport of pristine quality...
it can be celebrated...
with a fictive outlet...
the audience is involved but only involved
as a dasein: being there...
politics? i vote...
but i'm hardly ever going to fathom
being in parliament...

oh mein nett gott...
where is tennis and my tennis *****?
that game of: 7 rectangles...
and... at most... 11 referees...
and about 6 ball boys / girls...

ludo politico... this most feral sport...
come to think of it...
there's not much to think of...
but beside the sulking and the gloating...

once upon a time so abstract...
so abstract as there is nothing to abstract with

to exercise a will for the existence of a body...
beside having to justify talking
by simply thinking...

darwinism really has shaped events
of historical consideration to fill up the calendar...
that no amount of copernican gluttony and
gloating could ever surpass...

what was once intelligenstia vogue back
in the 15th century... via copernicus...
is once more intelligenstia vogue in this:
what year are we in?
darwin... darwinism outside of the anglosphere
of *******-tick-tock-******* is...
yet another frictive detail that acts
like sandpaper when attempted to fit into
a jean pocket of events...

it's rough around the edges...
and all this ontological borrowing from ape,
from lion, this ontological borrowing from
ants from... this microscope inside
a telescope... and otherwise... inverted...

i'm at the end of my road...
a most fractured example of what could
possibly be deemed human...
annals of worthwhile autobiographies
my ***...
merry christmas my ***...
this celebration is a bit of a *******-whipping...
i might as well die tomorrow and know
that only one man existed in all of history...
hardly a reason to curl into a foetus pose
a shadow and start biting into a corner
like some mouse for the celebration
of the birth of Leibniz or Kant...
nonetheless...

i am to celebrate... something that's
either a bad-*******-riddle-of-ad-nauseam...

or... how i'm the only person who would say:
you know they unearthed the nag hammadi
library back in 1945... and there's a correlation...
with the history of the jewish revolt against
the romans... written by an "integrated jew"...
a josephus ben matthias...
and how... that doesn't even matter?
because jesus wasn't playing
chinese whispers in the gospel of st. thomas...
and this is all just fine, fine; fine!

to celebrate a "birth" is to also...
make this "life"... what it is... "life" something only worth
the margins and minor notations...

what is relevant when cf. (comparing)
darwin to copernicus?
the awe fantasy ridden vogue of intellect,
the: darwinism is a square box that can fit
itself into any empty lodge of parchement...
a square can fit through a triangular shaped
hole... darwinism can...
be all and end all...
we don't need any continental
existential complexity... we do not need
any 20th century existential ontology...
as long as we have... an explanation readied
via darwinism... a simple 1 + 1 = 2...

i, robot; you - don't care...

Kant is still holding the spot for: bachelor of the year...
215th year coming...
Kierkegaard is a shy second...
but Kant is something akin to
what the Muhammedians would call...
the unison of all five...
the Shahadah is the categorical imperative...
Salat: to think is to pray...
Zakat: to not speak is to give alms...
Sawm: to not think about food is to fast...
(or keeping the motto...
i eat to live... i don't live to eat)
Hajj: ha ha! Paris! or... to go where you're
supposed to be...
rather than... expect others for you to be at...
to not be a tourist! a hajj implies:
be not a tourist! expect to be made unwelcome...
come with a purpose...
that deviates from the purpose of
a stated origin to be made purposive
by you going there!
hajj! don't be a tourist!

i have always found some relief in Islam...
like any Romford bound lad...
Ronnie O'Sullivan...
christianity? not after having unearthed
the nag hammadi library...
not after the words have remained
coincidental... not after 1945...
not after WHERE the nag hammadi library was found...
not after the powers-at-be
attempted to "confuse" / hide the nag hammadi
library as a distinct yet: simultanoeus event
coinciding with the dead sea scrolls...
not after the each quwaitii became a oil rich
baron sheikh... not became the pakistanis
and the bangladeshi decided: **** it working
slave hours in Dubai...

Lawrence of Arabia citation of Islam...
i will fake it... the christianity...
but i doubt to ever have a pillow to lie on...
i am pretty sure i will not make it...
i know the allure of islam...
i know the allure of islam when...
if only some genuine friend of this faith came
across me... before that farce of a friend
worth the psychopath's lying ferret's woo
of an Egyptian... with time:
no... no! no healing!

Islam is younger... christianity is...
how many schisms?
prune, pseudo-buddhist...
catholic, protestant... unitarian...
bishopric baptist... calvinist...
it's a... monotheism...
but... given the many splinters?
i find it improbable to not treat it as a...
polytheism... how many times are most kind sirs
going to divide the ******* loaf?!
until we're no longer even eating crumbs?!

christianity to me is a polytheism:
given the number of times it has divided itself up!
it's a cancer growth spectacular, al fresco!
i can only thank the protestants for this...
poly-divison...
after all... there was only one schism in islam...
and that's the allure!
because i am neither: Iraqi prone...
Iranian il allahu blah blah blahlah ural "who who"...

skin? or tattoo?
i have seen christianity die...
no one wants to talk of the nag hammadi library,
honestly... this is a ******* major event!
the media contest: the unearthing of
the dead sea scrolls is a synonym:
of an event that doesn't even happen...
the dead sea scrolls is an event relating
the death of the prophet Isaiah...
being disemboweled... being a courtesan...
guess what!
if no one is going to be ghost-forsaken
and salted-soul honest!
irish proud etc.! guess what...
like unto like: do as they do!

plus all this anglosphere wet-***** darwinism...
how the ****, did darwinism just hijack all
the arms of the humanities...
everything has to be explained with darwinism...
good! because if every cul de sac of life
was to be explained using copernicus...
imagine!

not even newton is a celebrated
scientist these days...
not even michael faraday...
but darwin is!
everything has to come down to
a darwinism - a branch of darwinism...
there's only one narrative:
a biological / psychological narrative...
how could a mythology surround
a Herr Faust / a Pan Twardowski...

england skipped the myth of the chemist...
the alchemist:
sure... william "Christopher Marlowe" shakespeare
tried to "catch-up"...
the english imagination was lost to king
arthur and the glories of:
being conquered by Rome...
of having been part of an ancient history...
last time i checked... us central europeans...
the germans, the goths, the vandals, the aesti...
the great migration types from the Causcus...
we... we didn't share the bounty of this history...
we're again: the barbarians at the gates...
us, slaves... with this sound-encoding and our
own distinctions: our caron S and caron C...
to sneak-in the tetragrammaton...

and who are, the Italiano?
do the Italians even recognise ancient Rome?
do the English truly recognise the...
what's that artifact... the Stonehenge?
ha! ha ha ha ha!
by joke alone...

darwinism's plague on everything cultural!
everything has to be a reminder of:
genes! gene narratives!
everything has to become a propability
gambit! everything has to be sacrificed upon
quasi-religious statements of: why you should,
rather than: why you shouldn't be feeling
so ******* grateful for a per se...

to me... darwinism is... a neo-copernicanism...
a stylish vogue rhetoric...
you can wear darwinism in the 19th to the mid 21st century...
afterwards? it's just a timid burn on the brain
to have to "argue" trans-generational
sensibility patterns of being the labelled:
made in western liberal free "ouch" spice society...

i can side with islam on two grounds...
who were the janissaries?
Murad I would have retorted:
who were the Jesuits?
if not by foundation, the hands of Ignatius of Loyola?
when who were the Mamluks?
my western neighbors love to...
designate my grand ethnic "etymology"
within the framework of the eaten E...
i.e. a slav(e)...

why would i side... with this... variant...
this... "variant" of "christianity"...
for a ******* carol-song-***-by-*******-yah
hard-on quest?!
you heard them...
old saxons vs. new blut saxons in
an orchestra of zeppelins hanging over london!
or... the lagoon as i like to call it...

check you "history" your etymology...
oh... because "they" would correct "misunderstood"
etymology... with a counter:
akin to the ethnonym -
loan words baron!
it's just "a missing E"...

it's still mainstream darwinism...
i imagine the years under the Polish-Lithuanian
commonwealth...
the Ukranians must have been like...
enough! enough of this Copernicus ******* already!
Ave Khmelnitsky!

after all... copernicus was right...
the sun does not move around the earth...
the earth moves around the sun...
copernicus was right... we were wrong...
the earth moves around the sun...
but... the affairs of the sun...
are not... the affairs of the earth...
and those... bound... to inhabit it...
the sun is important...
but... soap opera triviality is...
somehow... more... important...
drama of the callous nature of man...
is... more than... the vacuum riddle bundle
of billions of years is...
with its... mere H-to-He exchange of gaseous
bundle warmth...

one thing that governs my cruelty toward
how darwinism is exploited to fit
every ******* crevice of everyday life...
that one's: its supposed universality...

but then... this trans-genus trans-species
"comparative literature"...
it's not enough to be imitating ape...
again: which ape?
the chimp alone? the gorilla?
the ******* macaque?
why would i devolve...
having the body of a gorilla?
a gorilla could wrestle a lion to the death...
i, albino quasi gremlin bonkers IQ...
get to... pet a bonsai tiger!
yay!

two things went wrong when it came
to... "people, thinking"...
vogue ideas...
the copernican revolution...
and the... revolution of darwinism...
oh we can forget about marx...
we all know what was wrong about that...
i'm pretty sure some greek knew that already...
but we're stalling...
for **** know's what...
since: not being vular by now is not going
to help the "clarification of verbiage
over civilised tea and scones later" either...

if only these darwinist concentrated on
the source material...
but... to throw into this "existentialism"
a mix of peering with scrutiny at an ant colony...
at bacteria... at tapeworms...
and... somehow... being...
once more... the center of the universe...
of analytical diarrhoea?
in a heliocentric schematic?
**** me... are you sure...
this heliocentric argumentation was only so good...
as good as... when you didn't have to
navigate a west and an east...
on a map...
going through the Rhine valley...
via Antwerp... via Essen...
via Dortmund on the autobahn?

again... what's a copernican "east"?!

respectability argument: to be honest, being british, i think you're being asked to be required in kenya.... unless french, and much needed in the ivory coast; unless of course bound to south america and resurrecting aztecs; but that's you, snogging Pocahontas: and there's me still thinking about L'vov in Ukraine and Vilnius in Lithuania, like some Greek torching Athens in order to reclaim the stature of being enclosed by the Koranic identification of being once named Byzantine.

i make children in my sleep. parisian monkey dogue;
i'll sell my mother for a chance to *salute!
seigel... heil! is that drowned
   or drunk monkeys? is that the fluffy *******
or the furry moustache?
      vexen ßeß -
    i'm getting the itch....
              the children rebel,
they read:
                   azure eyed
and the keeper: those americans
aren't selling the idea of democracy,
they're selling patriotism...
               we can't find patriotism
after vietnam...
               i told you i sold the children
the idea...
           they're hanging with me in the night...
they're engaging everyone with
drunk's antics... and 9 depths of Dante...
                          when no-one aims to be
intelligent, rather drunk...
                    high-streets of Aleppo...
             only when children take to invoking
a priestly Saturday...
     caste-made worth's of a *******...
i charge to culprit the salutation...
                    for whatever coaxing
i too mind the hoax -
                               veneered in vex -
                   broadly gathered with a klux.
x x x... x x x... wind-farms of Bavaria.
    tragedy in Dortmund, and navigating
the E34... i think they call it the Bermuda
spaghetti tangle...
     schloss... Mathias Pfred...
               y'ah, dirt-ridden with the Rhine...
                            neun counter eins...
       luft, feuer, wasser, erde;
      zahnseide nach naiv chittern, denken bürste;
ich nehmen die kontinent für schweinkratzen:
kichernd beifall - cacao Brad Pitt... suede
in foxtrot a vexing the ***** of mustard with
merging ginger and brownshirt; skunk
marching the heb toward allegiance texan,
for that pretty period of living in the 1960s
and the early 21st century...
and god said: either a german or a pole
will be my puppet joker, or i'll have
a resurrection of israel! ****! why not, i'll
have both.

bah bah black sheep... ok... the black sheep knuckled you to sleep
and now you’re asking for directions using a map and not a satellite navigation
across europe, esp. tremendous in germany near dortmund
and the rhine cities getting confused... but that’s no reason
to drive with ease from new jersey to florida with a glum pickers' pride
en route... i can play the ‘i spy with my little’ game into midnight passing me and spare myself inventive optics -
like shadow like hallucination in consistency, both flimsy,
i can recognise the real filth from packaged recyclables
from the orient.
well there’s that and there’s old russell the schizoid affective
outside tesco drinking a bottle of old speckled hen
and talking about snowfalls... 3 / 4 years ago last time i spotted
saint clause... i slipped and imagined myself breaking a knee...
didn’t happen... what happened was was a clearer truth:
why this fake image stimulant... i cant’ watch the stars
but have to subconsciously watch candy crush?
it’s ****! i want the days within the insignia of war,
i don’t want my subconscious patented with candy crush,
i want the stars to remain... better an autocrat than a technocrat...
at least a human face... adolf touchy-feely,
here we go...
i imagine all those rivers of heraclitus concerning a coordinate
known as a waterfall... and post-humous exactness expressing peace...
then i spot picasso on the roof outside my bedroom window...
i support his elevation through evangelicalism from halo to angels wings...
you know what the three wise babylonians said...
you scared them to egypt you idiot announcing reign of the ditto,
you scared them them with myrrh, melchior you’re already close to malachi,
that will do... look at it... it’s babylonian already...
it’s a babylon of orthodox christianity (greek / russian), catholicism,
protestantism, baptists, pantheists and other offshoots
like being mormon!
well you can never make an omelette by the dozen involved
without asking the thirteenth egg: chicken or egg first? crucifix?! oh.

there's nothing specific about the horror
movie mandy...
except for... the neu-horror
akin to the neon demon flick...
there's no real prosthetic concept
such the platitude of a b.d.s.m. afternoon...
the use of colour strictly blatant
like a ferocious fuchsia...
            neon dotting...
              come to "think" of it...
       i don't have the capacity to write
a harlequin novel... i'd rather sketch...
intelligent music... meditation duels...
very much akin to king crimson...
i dearly underappreciated the album red...
i watched the movie in the zenith
of the sun...
   but unlike carnage park...
                the aura of suspect & suspence...
horror without the night
is very much a custard pie and
excess fudge of bass with ghostly drums
in the background...
king crimson: in the court and...
    
horror movies that do not use
the night protagonist...
                       or that there ever will
be a concerning shadow...
i can't escape a mere generosity
of the genre...
   there's a need to incubate half-a-heart...
herr fripp is forever
and understudy of...
            convenient pop...
read a book for an hour...
or listen to some king crimson for...
the same amount of time...
this brief interlude between
jazz and classical..
               it's not bayren: brahms...
or stiletto miles...
               it's this hybrid sentence...
alpha blondy: jerusalem...
    culture: iron sharpening iron...

i'm alive yet quiet dead:
in the court of...
red... larks' tongue in aspic...
     but not... discipline...
      not in the wake of poseidon...
islands... a cello for a bass guitar...
so much of me is alive
as to associate the virility concept
to a cucumber...
and penic envy to a watermelon...

i pass the care for i.q. as
a buffer zone of bluffs...
                there's no horror movie without
music...
                 the music must overpover
the anaesthetic of images thus... presented...
the tartar steak... some sushi...
      may i have listened a thorough-through...
of some band... but...
it's a *****-count gymnastic...
years later...
   only years later...
some archeological dimension...
whereas those that write...
for the prizes of the literally mortal...

                with variation: it's music...
but it's also gesticulation at music...
there's only one redeeming aspect of the b.b.c.:
radio 3...
i can spend 2 hours lying in bed...
there's no at the hour news revival...
i dip into copernican south...
Galileo's west...
         no adverts... i press the snooze button...
10 minutes becomes 2 hours on
a sunday...
for all the critique of the b.b.c.:
any critique of radio 3 is... unwelcome...
honest to: god or no god...

interlude: exercise in grammar as
a guitar... what did fripp contribute...
beside... the early death envy of
a hendrix...
                         governing body:
mr. clapton...
          well yes... nice... a solipsistic adventure
of taking a ****...
              smart is about to
be disgraced as:
the capacity to merely sit in awe at
the music being presented...
that's it!

              nothing more!
             i.e. why are intelligent people
such complete and utter morons!
testing cushion fabric!
testing cushion fabric!
breaking a tooth on an umbrella!
painting rain!
painting sunrise: an edward hopper
altar sacrifice too!
painting sunset with a golden serpent
and some Turner...

my words are a crease in
this borrowed fabric...
           for a loft pretence guiding
a shakespeare...
to amend: what man made of man...
it's impossible...
the same grief is thorough
throughout:
that man... did unto man...
what has to be...
exacted within the confines
of: pressing history...
that there is no advantageous period...
of time lost memorial toward
a nostalgia... my nostalgia my...
ancient my zenith of primed
personal golgotha...

               no nearing progress with
a suffocating bias / excuse:
because the 20th century was...
i might have read don quixote:
but did it leave a living imprint
on my mind:
at what point will / can...
thinking become a claustrophobia...
while the ego a brick:

borrowed lyrics:
impaled on the nails of eyes...
some pseudo-dated prelude...
   with quill and silver... creasing...
impaled on the nails of eyes...
guess no borrowed lyrics
after all...
new york... 1970s cement and grit
as borrowed from swansea's
best:

impaled with the nails of eyes...
          i am either deaf
or half pretending a dislike
of Penderecki...
  
my zookeeper's question of
zebra stripes... these desired less...
question of...
beef as some honeycomb...
the served intestines within the confines
of hexagon questioning pentagon...

my dear fat lady and fat saxophone...
squeeze... my dear mr. fripp...
my echo in the beatles...
the grand technician that could
be... punk floyd and wet
   tobacco readied to be chewed and posited
in a chequers' game from
borrowed best: Shawshank and...
    pork choppy shackles!
to the bone for the bone for the...
youth of a Michael Cain!

              we once played two archetypical
wishes of a game without competition:
a hide & seek...
   and that... somehow...
clouds were to be impregnable castles
or widow swans...
myriads of syllables...
akin to mandarin sorrow-keepers...
that the consonants were to
be world renowned...
while the vowels: mere punctuation
reminders...

      all this... with a concept of 5pm tea
and a sunset... and something...
beside englishness...
like a rhetorical question
and a mud quest of a ancient roman:
germania...

such extremes: but no belittling jazz...
obviously it's all too complex:
a xeno- is not... but is... charcoal...
                 chisel and chaser...
having the bewildering complexity
of a brain-drain immigration
and the totality fluke of a globalist
glue... like... the old-blah-blah...
like no new: ha-ha...
                     because england has already
desired financing... tame ireland...
and... that solipsistic endeavour
post hong kong...
to seal the envelopes and all minor,
bogus... details...

my best english somewhere akin
to australia...
                   nowhere near quiz and aussie land...
this everyday anglo-spandex:
towing the moon beside...
the riddling antithesis
of old broke russia a soviet:
caricature...
because kazakh borat heb' sayo says so...
                
weathered stones and complete mountains...
futurist seas...
and some complexity of
red beside a shading and noun
to grip a culture of the best weathered moon
attire of: punctuation with
meteors and acne...

such pristine 18 minutes past midnight:
drinking because shadows are neglected
and that's all because bohren club der gore...
and there's a city in germany akin
to Essen...
                and Dortmund...
and a football team like Schalke...

besides... believe me: there's a Jupiter...
and that Jupiter is also Polyphemus
by the grief of the storm...
               that all the saints reside on Saturn...
and however unfathomable...
this can alone stand to make
the universal testament...
           i am but a clay fish of clingy sorrow...
i breathe the unfathomable...
i digest the lesser things of
incompetence: dandy...
          
               i worship anatomy like i might:
make an adventure of myself
within the confines of... tailoring...
suiting... pristine perfecting...
what a not-magic: this grammar spectacular!

- is this the requiring a language
of the ordeal of formality...
the advent of an evening dress attire to cope...
my language my language lost...
it's hardly first beginning english...
it's not this... my i play tourist
and fashion all the details of
professional cricket?

               my god! the white wooly
cardigan with cut sleeves!
           there's also that ambition...
to abide in a shelter from
the wind and rain...
whereby the ratio of:
books:bricks...
is in favour of the former...

yes... because it's impossible in english...
to even question shakespeare...
i believe the one true counter is
a dickens binding experiment...
          a near impossible...
dabbling in sour apples...
in ****** rhymes... into existence...
island dwelling folkish and a people...
some critique of the continent...
beside that far far away in an africa that
never became: mongolian siberia: ah! ha ha!

ladies on the road: the beatles...
giggles... true and truant laughter...
the clash and beatlemania...
beside the concern for the thames...
a river squeezing the torrents
of postcard haven: some beside
a Tokyo...
no... lucky for me...
before that dire drop... some months
and miles away...
i guess i best go ******* up
and broke blind on the hint of history...
last reserved...
glittering dumplings best sold:
by the beast... sober, armed
with a ferocious violin... and a glittering
compensation  McQueen...
tiger found ferocious nearing...
boing-boing: and some... quizz
of "future": yes... borrowed mongol...
bistro Jing-Xing.

title - skim-reading
body- arrogant...
something, or other.  502 blah blah...

i was going to sit down at 8:15pm and watch some
footie...
Liverpool vs. Arsenal...
i looked at my father dragging a work-bag
through the house... oh... right... new contract...
i did watch a bit of Dortmund vs. Mainz...
if he's not watching the match?
i'm not watching the match...
watching a movie alone... esp. a horror... fine...
but a football match? forget it...
earlier in the day he called me
a drug-addict... what? because i went mad
from smoking marijuana aged 21...
while there are idiots who do not discover
the mystic aspect of the herb?
no... no choir... no great wind to disperse it?!
that's not my problem...
a lot has happened since 2007... a lot more is
about to come...
only aged 35 did i try some *******...
here's to me being a drug-addict...
         sure... drinking aside...
should i mention that my mother: your wife...
is addicted to... ****** painkillers?!
who's the ******* *****?!
            he says... give me three reasons why you
drink excessive...
in your 20s...
weren't you given a house?
didn't you have a wife?
didn't you have a child?!
       apparently i'm not working...
i need to have a hammer in my right hand
and a nail in my left...
that's work... crowd management is not work...
the Hillsborough Disaster could have been
prevented by: magical ******* fairies!
the Manchester Arena bombing could also have been,
prevented: by magical ******* fairies!
flap flap! flap flap their wings resounded...
not that there were fellow Islamic fetishists
working as stewards at the venue: that might have
allowed someone with a backpack filled with explosives:
not even sneak in... just walk in...
oh... i didn't feel like watching the match because:
i'm no longer entertained...
       he zeniths with:
you're the reason why your grandfather (his father in law)
died early... so i retort...
seriously? ich bin TOD?!
           i am death?! **** me... i have my SHASHKA...
where's my horse?! let's get this Apocalypse
going... i'm starving to have some fun...
i couldn't possibly paint...
the canvas wouldn't be too blank...
by definition: i'm not a man...
no colour, no shapes...
           perhaps if i dreamed a little: perhaps then...
i reiterate... to him...
so if these women are into boxers...
             if they want to be first abused...
then... somehow... loved... enough of giving them
banana loaf recipes... enough of giving them homemade
wine... ENOUGH OF THE FLOWERS ON
VALENTINE'S DAY! ENOUGH!
let reality become as miserable as it must: become...
i don't even have to become as vengeful
as a Columbine shooter... i'll wait...
i'm good at waiting...
           i'll fold my fingers into a pseudo-fist...
prop my chin on it... and... just... wait...
              how often will you hear your father tell you:
you're the reason why your grandfather died...
"early"... 80+ years is... ******* early?
that's ******* lucky...
                  psychological abuse: schmooze... blah blah...
i can deal with that...
i'm always on the counter...
              anyways... nothing new...
life is war...
                 vita est bellum... get used to it...
don't get too comfortable...
   comfort erodes the senses...
        comfort: blah!
                     on your toes! up up up!
UP!
              i was the sole reason that nailed the last
remaining nails into my grandfather's coffin...
i'm a drug addict for smoking marijuana:
sorry... i didn't exactly choose to go mad...
      who was the first person to scratch his head
absorbed by thinking? who discovered
the process of fermentation to craft the first beer?
do... we even know?
but we know... who had their first thirst for
necrophilic architecture with the ******* pyramids...
useless mummified **** and all...
people who raised graves as high as the mountains...
obviously Africans... retardo-experimento-primo!
who needs a grave... that big?
oh i don't imply... the Congo or Kenya...
fair enough: no-seasons people... it's all uilateral
thoroughly... but these... Egyptian *****...
can i call them *****? death cult folk...
               stack 'em! stack 'em higher!
JENGA!
           death cult platoon... people so advanced
yet... so scared of their mortality...
that they might have to...
   *****... graves so intimidating it would take
the ******* of the Eiffel Tower to overshadow them...
imagine waiting that long... after the Eiffel tower...
all hell broke loose.. vast urban areas...
desecrated by the shadows cast by skyscrapers...
man learned to get a second hard-on... it would seem...
i became non-existent during dinner...
even though i made the salad... the three choices
of dressing... blue cheese... honey-mustard...
olive oil and balsamic vinegar...
               hmm... cucumber... cherry tomatoes...
salad... red pepper... an apple... spring onions...
   anything else?
and when you were in your 20s...
you had a wife?
you had a house?
you had a baby?
why do you think i want your wife's (my mother's)
manicurist to bring her BAMBINO
along her with? why do you think i want to...
play around with a toddler?!
BECAUSE I DO!
    something ancient, by modern standards of life:
forbidden is waking in me...
like... me... eating a root head of a swede...
nice crunch... i hit 40 years old:
i'm pretty sure this urge will die...
but... right now? it's wrecking havoc...
  just taking the bambino to catch some sunlight...
while holding her exposed naked feet to escape
the cold... but hey... if the women are after...
boxers... men that will abuse them...
nice reality... nicely done...
          Pontius Pilate me... it... just... makes...
my... life... easier...
   i can sort of "disappear"...
                who's to be blamed? who's going to
chant that infamous mea culpa?! me?!
n'ah ah... not a fat ******* chance...
                          god is cruel: the world is crueler...
get used to it...
       silly little idiot me...
falling in love... stomach cramps... butterflies...
it was never going to work...
during a ****... swiping left left left left:
yeah: he left... how many times will you swipe
left in order to get it right?
             single mum... bankrupt...
thank god for my stomach...
             it was nice... i ought to give more credit
to the dog... for licking the wounds on my knuckles...
yeah... the dog gets full credit... she?
oh... ***** can ghost me all she wants...
i think she sort of... misjudged her value...
now i'm cleaning up...
                     i'm not a banker...
i'm not a lawyer... i'm much worse...
                     i can be freed from earning the sort
of money that might allow me to buy: ****...
see... i'm much worse...
   not caring... is a weapon...
             i don't buy status...
   i don't... celebrate status by showcasing
hierarchical bypasses...
    i just stand next to someone with a disability
akin to cerebral palsy... and they... respond to me...
like a normal human being...
fiddling with their hand in their pocket to give me
a promised cigarette...
i really wanted to learn German with her son...
scheisse! die meisten alt laden auf hoden!
so i replied to my father:
i'm sorry... the idiots want to reproduce...
i have no magic wand to make them stop...
if i'm going to be nature's outlier...
      the thinker outside the realm of *******?!
well... so be it... i'll be food for psychologists...
but wait... the logic of the soul... what soul?
given there's no god? you mean... the sigma brigade?
sigma, i.e. the totality of man?
those guys... no... thank you...
                                         they can fry.

what the hell happened to
fruit of the loom t-shirts?!
the brand, what happened
to it?
   sorry, i'm continental -
i don't don the dross dress-code
of quasi-Victorian-esque
modern Britain...
grey is fine,
as is black... well... black
not so much...
but grey is fine...
          albeit you need color
accents...
a vague azure pair
of shoes...
a shy plum purple
t-shirt...
no... wait: fading plum...
   and that works with the grey...
you can get away with
any color combo. when attached
to a grey canvas of
trousers and an overcoat...
i should begin calling
a specific grey by its true name:
Wehrmacht grey...
   like khaki is
       mustard green...
brown? i thought
that fresh mustard
seeds come in the guise of
green?
    so the left wants Nazis?
****... i can't believe i'm
trolling...
   and yes, the earth is "flat"
when you're reading a map...
ever navigate a car from
London to some ****-hole
3 hours away from Warsaw...
through the the Rhine
spaghetti of roads?
   near Dortmund?
using nothing more than
a paper map?
   what help is a spherical
earth... when reading
a two-dimensional map?!
        i know the earth isn't
flat...
but that doesn't help me
reading a map...
         i'm going from A to B...
i am C...
             but i'm not going
to posit the third-dimension
of C connecting A to B -
because C is me,
in transit from A to B...
           hell...
whatever happened to the fruit
of the loom t-shirts?
   loved the colors,
loved the logo...
**** ME!
i'm wearing just one such t-shirt...
probably about 20 years old...
stretching it...
the label reads:
STYLED IN USA
MADE IN IRELAND...
    wow!                wow!
i'm wearing this pristine
  t-shirt... that will not stretch...
the color will not fade...
        just because it was
made in Ireland...
      that's so ******* rare...
sure... Sri Lankan cotton products
are up there...
anything that doesn't
require the statement:
made in Ching Chang Walla(h).

the darkness of the hour
the minute
and the day
now the second
and the universe has come

i have unplugged my 3rd pair
of eyes
from my constipation
and now as my mind
relaxes
i see her and i

don't see her
and i'm not going to advantage
myself a card of James
Joyce
and Finnegans Wake
and the daughter's premature
dementia
perhaps the ill fates
of those who begin to write
and write with meaning
rather than journalistic
mumbo jumbo
let's ***** a statue
of a writer like
Sienkiewicz at the end
of that long straight street
of Kielce

siala baba mak
nie wiedziala jak
chlop powiedziel
a reszte to bylo tak...

missing like
i was missing at Wembley
yesterday
and through most of today

i'm living an organic life
i overheard
the news i wanted to hear
on the radio today...
at 4pm
just as about the serpents
were uncoiling from
the suntans... freckled ginger
nightmares...

only 56 arrested...
plenty of IC3 Black Hitlers
making fun of Asians
in turbans
notably the Sikhs
it's like you
invited one sort in
and another sort appear
and...

i wouldn't be drinking
but let's face it...
the literary genius of Bukowski
as a... as a... ******* postman
and the genius of me
well... perhaps a Miroslav Holub
the benchmark of writing and
science
but then there's too much Greek
referential in it...

MONEY IS LOGIC
i said those words with love in love
and when i tell her
this isn't going to work
life became gravity
and my heart became hardened
she still doesn't believe me
like now
i'm matching her pound for pound
and i'm shrinking to the pride
of a Dwarf living among
Men and Elves
but i'm becoming a cunning fox of a peddle
no stool... a hobbit
a sort of Irishman
of Europe
naive but still persuasively accurate
in my reading of reality:
now becoming abstract
now not so abstract
now becoming abstract
now not so...

      and this life and breadth of losing breath
on speaking come and hount
me
imagine someone: also writing
while doing their "supposed"
wage labor... enslavement
well what is to allow differentiation
between en masse dictatorial of
a tiny minority to another tiny minority
to another one
form Poutin through to Twump
and to no who in Damascus

because looking into those eyes
of CP (close protection)
former Deutsche police officers
those chauffeurs
of the "stars"
where one looked like Roberto Martínez
so i asked: is... is there anyone important
making arguments here
for a discounted entry, i.e. for free?

well i was mapping and mapping
my supposed schizoid hemispheres
onto the schematics
and drawings...
i was allocated the supposedly
deafening of defeat placement
at the Spanish Steps where the infamous
Wembley breach happened back
in 2020...
but that was on a national level
with a national interest in bread
some circus
perhaps football
but who can tell given that most football
fans are not opera fans
and i could indulge drinking heavily
before going to the opera
but going to a football match
i don't understand why or how
a sport is to be enjoyed intoxicated
rather than sober...
drink too much and instead
of 22 wankers with 20 running
and... one shift
i was left mesmerized just watching
the officials
notably the sideline priests

MONEY IS LOGIC
and sometimes i shift from watching a game
to watching the crowd
to watching the grass
to watching the floodlights
to watching the sideline referees
and that's that
and i'm no more happy than discontent
than less happy than discontent
and i ponder Hemmingway's simplification
and then i just allow things
to flow
without haiku interruptions

and i was so gearing up to being on the Dortmund
side for the event
i was so shy in jokingly choking
on spewing out, in a shout

words much ascribed to the fetish of:

ACHTUNG! ACHTUNG!
ARBEIT MACHT FREI!
ARBEIT MACHT FREI!
ABLENKUNG MACHT ZIEGELNAGEL...

ZIEGELNAGEL:
******* doft dorft ooze SCHTOOPI'D!
some "things" need reworking
and revision

i much preferred the Deutsche fan demure
and i'm Catholic
as ******
and the French are Catholic
and the Spanish are Catholic
and so much ethnocentric scribblies
in America from Hin Land
and Cha -
   i mean: what's a ****** to do
if not swerve: entertain...
ride rollerblades round and round
on a roundabout: backwards
listening to Mario and Luigi's cassette
seriously dude, seriously GANDU...
gandu gandu...
no joke

that's me Wallace and Gromit
i call Warren
and Ahmed Ahmed and Uzeer the ****-
-stani
joking about putting wooden knives
in each other's pockets
to have to peer at and through 90K people
congregating to have
run

so there was this Muhammad Muhammad
who felt ill and decided to go home...
i stood there among charging police
horses and barking police dogs
while about 300 people ran across the cement
while i was holding a freebie
worth circa £1000...

steward accreditation and a high viz jackets
and you think i was stopped?
you think i was stopped?
i'm experiencing a hyper reverse engineering
of voyeurism
on my skin
like this skin has become leather...

beside from Hamza and Sikander
i was not exactly given a hot take on staff
and it turns out as
the cordon was put in place and about 30
papa echoes stood in front of
about 40+ stewards and SIAs
i was standing in front of the cordon
ensuring legitimate customers
were ushered in
while the pranksters were being
pranked
because the UEFA tickets were interactive
and required special pen UV or not
just PINK with dotted lines

well to one argument i said:
but i know you're lying
by the face you used to lie...
and the argument counter
said: but this is my face...
to which i replied:
honestly: this is my face too...
a joyful attention to detail
and to think that drinking is a good excuse
but i drink to excuse flourishing
in a heightened environment for
stress hormones to exfoliated
and drip-feed-me
this inexhaustible feeling of furor...

i drink to excuse myself
even today while i settled down
to an afternoon with father
and we talked about Martin
and that bewilderment:
but i drink a liter of whiskey
and what... beer killed him?
ten bottles that's 5 liters of beer killed
him, every day for 2 years
well by that account i ought to be
dead
and i know my head is hurting
not because of a dehydrated brain
i say the brain bleeds
and the brain sweats
but i'm constipated hence the nail
in the head

        so i made us a halloumi (grilled)
entree on a salad
of cucumber, pepper, plum cherries (tomatoes)
salad greens,
radishes... and roasted pecans and hazelnuts
with a dressing
of oyster sauce,
yogurt, chili infused olive oil
blah blah
ouzo - citrus infused soya sauce blah blah
we had a beer and we talked
and i was just wondering:
am i just tired...
no i haven't had anything to drink
but at least he understands
and will know: he's tired...

and i was tired
and blah blah blah...
well if i were to have my last days spent
in the presence of my father
cooking him dinner
having had an adventure
at Wembley
and exchange that
for ****** favors for about a year
with Edie...
conversation-wise
can she even hear me?
i wonder...
even Reyla wonders whether she's heard
i too wonder:
i don't think i am heard
i don't think Edie hears me
i talk to her and it's as if she's the one wanting
to talk talk talk talk chalk
talk talk chalk chalk talk chalk...

MONEY IS LOGIC

that's the words i sent her
when i contemplated going to visit
a brothel
last night
it became painfully stupid once
i was on the N128 on Cranbrook Rd
heading toward Romford
that i was in no mood
for ***
or for that matter paid for ***
and with no fear of a libido:
maybe if i had a ****-ring on me
i would have
but that's my and Edie's discover
but i didn't bring the right sort
of rubber with me
i had already withdrawn
         over £700 and i told her

but if i can't sleep on your lanai
like a dog

but if i can't sleep on your lanai
like a dog?!

           dogs... who cannot sweat
but excessively salivate...
well: so much for the purpose of mascara
of the camel lashes
of your young girls walking about
like miasmas of ghosts of beauty
that once was
that i almost had a dream of women
who would slice rotting onions
in half and then smear their bodies
with to imitate getting a suntan
in winter...

             yes: i am yet to undertake
the task of learning from hallucinogenic au naturale...
from fungi
from LSD papercuts on the brain...           (papper?)
it figured... all that potential, wasted,
on those happy-go-****-me hippies from the 1960s
so much potential squandered
there was no gearing up to something
rightwing
coherent,
when exploring these territories for a flavour
of what only was a timidity of an Huxley...
(payper - paper - papper - patting - pet hates
no bounce bounce in titter - tittering -
no giggle in ****** - just a word, a spelling
accuracy - get away with Saka and inking
someone darker
and we have colts with Spanish fans
returning from the match on the Metropolitan
Line-Z_

                    whoops!               )

and i did walk into my room stark naked
with all the constellations
when Reyla was sleeping in it
a 13 year old girl
and i laid by the bed
like a guard, dog
and i was rudely woken up
and told to move
because somehow nakedness outside
of the hyper-context of ***
is not simply birth
and death and all beside
the supposed thrills of taboo...

well it's not like i was starstruck either
i saw Jamie Redknapp (i didn't know
there was a silent K in that surname)
at Fulham once
but yesterday i saw him twice
or rather the first time i didn't see him
but was merely giving him directions
and what disappointed me
was rules being broken
for a familiarity contest
because a somewhat some-what-may
of having previous affiliations of
"guarding" poo-poo-puppy of a son
that Quadrant that "frenchie"
oh jeez...

          well i too performed a Hajj
to the innermost residing place
of the visage and i too
found Jesus to be misguiding
with that affair of long hair and bearded
that look is so...
so...
so ******* outdated...
it should be made... illegal...

not that i am: drunk, or high...
i'll leave that scrutiny of "policing"
to the federalists on sleep patrol...
because i don't know why...
somehow this separation of church-
-from- -state
while this nagging insistence
on no separation of...
LANGUAGE from STATE...
it's as if we're living in a time
a wasted time
a waiting upon time no time no waiting
to begin with
a time of a LANGUAGE-STATE...

echoes of interpretation from the East
i hear rumors...
a CIVILIZATION-STATE
equivalent of Rome
Russia
China...

so what? now we're all literate
yet illiterate in coding?
not able to use chatGPT
i was having a conversation with a girl
of my dreams
face unveiled yet hair covered
like i abhor hair
like i love flies in champagne in flutes
of glass
like this doesn't really matter anyway
like i want a late Monday
while the cats keep coming
uncircumcised because
you can't circumcise a cat's phallus
but instead castrate them
why not then castrate the Semites
and call them the ****** breed of intellect
just shying from the joke
of circumcision?!

         SARDAUKAR...
and what are not the Mongol chants
in Dune?

SARDAUKAR...
and what are not the Mongol chants
in Dune?

plagiarism, cultural appropriation?
you tell me...
the Mongols came to Poland
the Mongols didn't reach England
the Mongols didn't reach England...

SARDAUKAR
i can sing like a Mongol hunger-strike
protest...
HUMUMGUNGUNGOON
SUMBOONKAKOOMAMOON

SARD­AUKAR...

with all the bowels and stomach
and no eyes and no mind
all bowels and heart
and echo
and no breath.

the 56 sardaukarii.

the old face returned to the mirror
and almost instantly the melancholy lifted
and i stood reborn
in the wine of gravity
and of vanity
and it became so simply to obviously
so simply obvious
that it had to be right
that going to the Turkish barber
is like getting a ******* from
a wife
and i'm just burning my eyes out
i mean i'm burning my eyes
i'm scratching at them
if ever she might think i'm infidelity
personified
and i will not use of "right"
since no consequence of will
to balance the right to
and the right from
i.e. the evil and the good
and the good and evil
i have the right to breathe
but no will to life
but then a will to life returns
and i wonder just
now about Nietzsche's un-kept moustache
and i think of the weather
in England in June
and if this is summer this is the worst
Scandinavian summer
because in Sweden
there is a midsummer and a summer a twilight
and the white knights of St Petersburg
because i know that
there are the keys and gates
to St Peter's Gates
in St Petersburg
and not in Rome
not in the basilica of St Peter
but in a city of St Peter
and that is in Russia
and i think that's where i was
and oh god i look
**** again
because ****** hair
does not belong on a man's neck
like it doesn't belong
on a woman's feet
shins to be exact
and not on her face
and not in her arm pits
but sure as ****
i love to slurp a furry oyster
like i might be
the white man killing
the hairy elephant away
for having enough food to do
to do
a do of burning wood
to keep coo coo
a cooing a sensation of the fuckery
of backgammon and chess
and card
and other video games
and i was in the girl
talking about Roblox
and Play-station 1
and playing Metal Gear Solid
and Tenchu
and oh boy boy boy boy
no, sorry, girl, Reyla...
do you know how much time
you are wasting
by the modern gaming torture?
this is torture i remember
gaming like it was a narrative
a narrative sport
unlike the sports of hunting ducks
with spaniels
or fishing
i hear men disgruntled with the bread
and the circuses
and i see them hating going to football
seeing it turn into
a secular religion (gap and throw me
a bone
when i go to an event
twice as drunk as if
but really tugging my children with me
to keep me awake
now i think of the sudden rush
of exquisiteness
a piquant sharp
chilly sauce no hot towel
no i'm not here to relax
will finish watching Breaking Bad
with dad
and i will make Slavic schnitzel
and misery of cucumber and dill
and maybe onion
maybe the spring ones
oh jeez the **** is back the **** jaded
**** is back
resurrected
what of that un-kept mustard-gas...
mustard-gas...
mustard-gas... moustache..
    attache... mustard-gas attache...
but Martin now Merlin
does not remember me
he remembers Kamil -
now i'm thinking this is pair bonding
and this German philosopher on
youtube...
technology, internet...
authenticity "vs" profilicity -
i.e. the art of profiling
self
others
oneself
and others

my selves and my nouns
and my grammatical bumps
and skids
a road
a road to far away
i

i was just thinking about including
England in the Scandinavian
League
from Medieval Times
given that North Englanders
have more Viking blood in them
than South Englanders
which have more of the Swiss Bloodline...
from their reading of history
and close associations with
the Europe the Union
the Chains
i mean North England is like Wales
and who knows where the boundaries
lie
of this new sprout Kingdom
of which, i, Jarl and customs' manager
wonder in clue huh clue huh
the crows of england
fly in mythology
of Huginn and Muninn
which is while the crows
of the continent fly
in thracks - throngs....
          in market places: a carnival of flesh
flesh of the feasts of war
now subdued and no longer
heroic
like heroism and idealism (except for that French
dualism of *** on Descartes' table
cushion me
dearest teacher, the secrets...

            the crows of Odin
fly above England
while the crows of Barbarossa fly
over the Continent of Europe...

   ᚠᛄᚢᛏ

                    ᚦᚩ-

              (                   ­              ᚬ ą)


:) :) :) :) :) the apple machine forgot
to press ******* keyboard to find
the letter... ᚬ ą -
missing on Apple Machines...

                                                -ᚱᚴ
­
some ungrateful son am i
while grandfather was alive
Martin was the Prodigal Son
and upon his return
squandered his prodigy
in that he didn't once
lift a book to read
or write with finger
or clean his father's room after his death
and i did that
and now my mother went back
to the house of her childhood
and she can no longer
smell the death and museum of her
father
that i cleaned
that i cleaned
and i think that's why there was so much
shock upon mother returning
and "confronting" my grandmother
because that's now
not a case of Edie and her mother
and my mother and her mother
because now i have four mothers orbiting
me Miroslaw and Reyla
Miroswav...
     Miroswav

          SWAV

                SWAVA POLAYA
niet nad K
clan
klej
              klątva!

a curse upon my family! a curse upon my lineage
Martin knows who
i am i have been unmasked in the visions
of history and monotheism and the journey
of one particular god
who can forget
because not a universe god is he

          i am CAIN

i am the reincarnation of CAIN
    i have the mark on my shoulder blade
the right shoulder blade
where my wing was clipped
i waited and waited
in line to sing or say something in the court of
kings
and then someone clipped my wing
like picking up a telephone

and reincarnation can only happen
in the confines of monotheism
is they are pre-history of recorded cognition
and that does not allow
the reincarnation of Jesus Christ
it forbids it
it is a MAJOR HERESY
to even "think" and even THINK
that the reincarnation of Jesus Christ
is possible...
a reincarnation of Cain
Adam Abraham
yes...
but not even Moses!
not even Moses!

i.e. a Time of the Reincarnation
of the Illiterate
beginning with Muhammad!
ah! he he he ha ha ha he he he ha!
he's the first prophet!
Muhammad is the first prophet
if monotheism is to ever
reconcile itself with polytheism
and the polytheistic "reality"
of reincarnation!

imagine a time and the distant future
of the old figures of the old testament
being resurrected /
reincarnated
to write their own accounts...
easy: just imagine Cain writing a book
just imagine Abraham writing a book
just imagine Isaac writing a book
just imagine...
for a while...
Jesus was pushing the tradition
of saying but writing nothing
that tradition died with Socrates
and that's what ******* the Jewish intellectuals
at the time
and that was that...
Jesus took it for granted and so lazy
to think him illiterate
seriously?
Socrates had no audacity in old age
just old age
but for Jesus to imitate Socrates
in some airy-fairy sort of way
by sign language of the crucifix
rather than jumping mental hoops of arguments
and self-aversions

no... i didn't go and chase up chasing
the wheel in Whitechapel today
or trying to break into a Mosque like i might
want to break into Wembley
tomorrow
but i'm working so
now i look the part
but instead i thought better for the barber
and "stock up"...

   the Mosque can wait the wheel can wait
Ezekiel can't rise up since
he probably wrote
not even Isaiah
but perhaps Elijah
and perhaps there will be no horror
if anyone: echo! echo! echo!
did Elijah write anything? anything? anything?

there's not even the remotest question
of me "sobering up"...
rather a case of me unthinking the need for
the use of letters...
even with these seemingly wax
eyes
of being strained to black and white
like strobe light glittering diamond
in darkness
but if i lift my eyes up
there is nothing but the grey of the day

ah! message to idea
one selfie two selfie
just to look peacock and *****
for her too
looking **** sexed-up and sober
yes just relieved myself
by writing this...
so... yeah...
there was a thought at the beginning
of this:
i'll make sure to message Edie
about it...

             wife, *****, personal secretary,
something along those lines
form penance for going to church
like penance in Islam is a woman
wearing a Niqab
then the equivalence is
women going to Church...
so barbaric and foreign and backwards
and that's the fertile ground
for Christianity since
its culminated failure at the Zenith
of **** Paganism
a revival of the Myth of Lithuania
but fertile ground enslaving Africa
and South America
is not really because there's a Missing Spanish Link
i.e. this can't be referenced in England
but must be exported for a review
to a neutral ground...
no idea...
but since the histories of England
and Spain are so intertwined
well... there is just too much history at times
when there's something specific
about to be optically stressed in
either wording esp in wording somewhere
in painting
which belongs in galleries
and not on papers
in wallets
on stick 'em along lines of walls
and sometimes: no labyrinths
so straight infinite avenues
where no one really meets anyone
so unlike a shared labyrinth
a confiscating labyrinth of both self
and other self
since parallel to us the other and the other other...

p.s.
Hans-Georg Moeller...
notable mention
notable mention...
just wondering what
German phrases to learn
for tomorrow
but chances are
i'll be with the Spaniards
so it won't be much
fun not entertaining
the Borussia Dortmund
fans
although i hope i wish
and certainly on the egress
cordon at DC3 on
Olympic Way...
blah blah...
we'll see, we'll tomorrow is another
another

        some                     other

does it always become a quest
to: pretend to play the violin...
when fiddling with one's beard?
esp... a best trimmed beard
self-trimmed outside of the confines
of the ottoman barber shop?

most probably...
   this self-loving of owning a beard...
all this self-loving of...
keeping a tighter trim on
the ***** region in eden...
   it's not like: i'm playing
with an advantage...
****-sure... not really...
but most certainly half the ****-envy
of a workaholic piston master
to pump pump and...
         push a ring closure on
the matter...

   it's just so easy when...
you can only tell the truth...
          
     and my mother complains...
"verbatim":
   'and how do you think i feel when
people talk about their children...
and i can't say anything about you...
and how do you think i feel when
they talk about their children
and i don't know what to say about you'...

'unless anyone asks...
and they are not inclined to talk to
me directly... tell them i exist'...

oh this sort of shame of conversation
visited the house today...
house: my prison...
2 hours pretending to be empty air
in the kitchen...
2 hours... perhaps teasing 3...
and my parents talked with
the parents of my contemporaries...

married: i don't know whether
happy... hell: i don't even know whether
left with: still interesting leftovers...
married though:
so life hijacked... moving on...
pristine relief from passing on...
                  the Dean Neil and Aaron...
and i'm like...
strapped to a corner of a kitchen
pretending to not be there...
   i sat there... looked at clouds...
the lasted long enough...
      playing rat...
        then i took out the permanent ink
felt-tip...
and drew happy faces on plum tomatoes
on cans...
and angry faces on onions
yet to be peeled...
          
   and i drew an imitation face...
on a milk bottle almost emptied and most
certainly gone south with mrs. sour...
like...
it was blur's: coffee and tv...
but... pig... sorry... big mistake...
the nose? i guess probably missing
in the original... mr. potato *******
a squiggly clean piglet...

   coffee and tv...
              take-over of guitarist singing...
the lead singer thinking of a...
    stow-away project:
                      a bit like what happened
with system of a down...

so now i know... mother calls out:
MATTHEW...
                  मआफऊ (M-A-F-U)...
terrible prank of surds...
                   perhaps add 'ebrew...
         (מַתִּתְיָהוּ)... sorry... no braille nikkud
of the ishraelites...
                    not ctrl + c / + p for...
    Larry Tesler: either...
    hidden vowels: (מתתיהו)
   except for the "unexpected" (ו)...
works fine... (מתיה) - and of course...
this is not a place for trivial matters...
kibbutz / shurek...
          the universe of yetzirah...
formation... who's inhabitants
                        are angels...
a pretty ***** antithesis angel sits
with a genius gizmo on one
of my shoulders... and a *******
devil on the other...
                    
point being: i wasn't there...
  so much for having to talk about me...
as one parent to another...
something to boast with...
something to bargain...
since... as some point...
people tend to exhaust their own...
self-orientating junctions of
webbing out...

to merely think isn't enough...
with the n.p.c. meme and what not...
res extensa matters as much...
       that i am: coming to realise...
men can fathom the rex extensa
concept more: the heliocentric model
better than women...
and their: yes yes... they can have
their res cogitans model...
but also... that geocentric model of affairs...

i'm too a hot-head and a rod...
filled with brimming emotional spaghetti...
i sometimes think: last...
2 hours in the kitchen...
drawing angry comic faces on onions
and mild neuter faces on milk bottles...
i had to...

   then i started to bewilder myself
by holding an egg in my hand...
   a chicken egg: some variation of
a philosopher's stone...
   and doodle i did... on this... favourite...
of an edible abortion...
i was so "crass" enough...
to itch... a quasi-giraffe donning...
a pseudo-shtreimel...
    and a... bloated... chess-board...
and some variation of cubism:
an imitation orb / circle...
   two lines and a line of "morse"...
and the thought...
perhaps the idea of a flat earth
is in no way an aid for...
reading a map... or g.p.s....
   but what if: the currently ascribed to...
form... is... as its orbit... oval?

petty questions: requisite of doodling:
of encompassing time as much as passing
it... since... the space i occupy will
neither spontaneously implode...
or explode: for a libra "question"
of improving my toll...
or disproving my bogus inquisitiveness...
as being... a labour of innocence /
a labour of love... a labour or...
missing the concept of serious matters:
necessarily undertaken...

oh don't mind me...
    who am i... to quest the question
of serious... study in science from
an angle of humanism...

i still think you need to keep oneself
humble.... beside copernican...
to navigate a car...
from england to poland...
via that spaghetti of towing-tie
and spaghetti of cement
surrounding Antwerp and the German
Rhine Valley precursor:
Dortmund... Essen... Duisburg...

the idea of "leveraging" truth...
no... lies... are worth leveraging...
given... fictive-esque inconsistencies...
truth is so *******...
it's... mono-dimensional:
uni-  no-no-dimensional...
         truth is a rude worth among...
peacocking liar...
hell: an ugly word...
            and hell is... never:
a "dasein"... claustro-phobe-cluster:
lost of wit and ****...
besides... the already missing...
                        ridicule...

DASEIN (there being...
there's being) - godzilla vs.:
                        JETZTSCHAUSPIEL!
now "drama": spectacle...
    
   and those... prischtine nails... d'ough done!

decipher...
             a bottle of rice wine vinegar...
yep... the chinese ideograms...

disclaimer... hello poetry doesn't allow
chinese ideograms...
to read with chinese ideograms...
see here:

     supposing i was "bored"...
"by the *****"...
and no... of course... no *****...
   best of tutti-frutti... boom-balloon...
quicksilver and...
              if i had time in a bottle...
          sweet dreams are made of these...

choke-chin-and-chew a linking
up with those 3 million hong kong lottery
winners from the...
revival of the bright-and-bored...
hemp'yre... of the broadening
the wit of a brrr brrr...

water:
      tablespoon:
               teaspoon:
     rice:
     white:
           vinegar:
              chicken?
         corn:
                sliced:
  common characters
in ingredient, marinade,
seasoning:
   sugar:

https://allpoetry.com/poem/15276526-nothing-ever-happens-to-bachelors...-by-Matthew-Conrad-a­dult

me... mandarin and myopia...
me and chinese and: best luck with a concept
of ABC...
the crude sounds... and all these...
elaborations of phonetic encoding?
these games of matchsticks...
x-rays... and chopper-chop?

pretending to cope with a psycopathic
lost pretending for lord-over "cwue"...
but these crude syllables and sounds...
and all the rest of it... being allowed to...
decipher in liquid squid amount of acid
and other... digestive monstrosities...

best no good: no good...
that's best... no good... that's best...
no good: nothing working around
shadowing inhibitions...at best:
no good... this is the only good...
my miser self in stençil... like...
Liberace's closet carnival!

ooh.... yeah!
ha ha! ******* "anonymous"... ha!

the idea of tattooing my entire back
in the tube map of London
came to mind
only moments ago after dreaming up
a host of bodies
semi-naked with other sort of signatures
no inflicted upon
the left-hemisphere of the brain

as such, also pondering the idea of shifting
the view of the world
away from

                           N

            W                     E


                          s

and as such to not combat the asymmetry
but rather embrace it
two islands of water in my cranium
pushing away at
and exploding grey matter into vacuums

not unlike the carnivorous protein of
Alzheimer
                 Alz Heinz
or at least this is me rummaging in Martin's
head
looking for clues of me
and him in me
or rather nephew now reduced or inflcited
the raise of being simply "friend": kolega -

kolega Alz Heiz
                            kolega Alz Heinz

now i see the world like i see London
to the south of me the great whirl
of Thames - old water old father Thames
with son Charon
                      not admitting me to the Oval
to watch the cricket

punctuated with nervous breaths after a micro-dosage
of the forest
in newspaper talk of a celibate tree
found circa 130 years ago
cloned many times
but not having a mating partner
must **** for a tree... currently standing priestly
in Kew gardens i believe...

the spitfire pilot who dreamed of flying
aged 17
crashes after a stunt gone bad
the Reddit guy with the red lamp
who thought he was actually married to his highschool
sweetheart
who had two kids
and never missed a day of work
living the white picket fence dream O America
instead playing football
hit in the head so bad that the multiverse
manifested itself in his head

some cruel prank best not mention God
and if i do by god
from the age of 21 a bad bad
bad trip that lasted well over ten years
now everyone in the house
is writing

i am writing
my father is writing an invoice
for Knights Asphalt for the work currently
undergone at Victoria
mother is writing a pPełnomocnictwo

                  to ensure care is taken of Martin
that his hard earned money
will be spent on his own care
a cruel joke of early retirement plans
spent 2 years drinking and sitting with
grandmother listening to teenage music
i mean if the brain isn't fried
from inactivity
not even a personal diary or reading a book
where will the mind wander
and how will it recline when looking
at van Gogh's painting of the chair
not a chair but THE cHAIR

                 words so close yet far away
symmetric damage to both
hemispheres as if metaphor
for the growing of horns
and in this happy-state obscene
but certainly drank too much last night
and now have the shakes
oh jeez now the slight paranoia of the receeding
high like i thought it was a good idea
or are my eyes just simply glazed
and am i relaxed is writing appropriate
during the daytime if it's not required
formal

i.e. W. H. Auden wrote that only the Hitlers
of the world write at night
but i wonder whether this is not a tease
now my eyes are not red
but like wax and my mother's interruption
to avert my eyes from the screen

'control control to charlie 10'
'charlie 10 radio check'
'yes yes control, charlie 10 radio check'
'loud and clear charlie 10 over'

the idea being did my mother realise
or not the tear of writing the document
rather than: is her son hurting anyone
by smoking the Amsterdam way
the casual not London way of smoking
i.e. **** is smoked in London
in public and at large events with massive
crowds
me and a colleague of mine
agreed that **** is abused like this
and best enjoyed in private
behind closed doors
with music
some whiskey
and enough music to drive a camel bonkers

i mean: she did walk in and asked me
whether the spoke in my wheel was fixed
i went to the bicycle shop last saturday
indefinitely
one ******* spoke
apparently to be finished by thursday
today is monday
and?
a bicycle shop without spokes
plenty of wheels on display
a bicycle repair shop
is more a shop than a workshop
and that's the biggest problem
no supplies of spokes?
what are these, German car parts?
if you can have a supply of rubbers
then surely there aren't that many
wheel sizes which might make you oversupply
on spokes...

but she walks in with £100 and tells me:
you can have it
if you only go to the bicycle shop
now and buy yourself a new bicycle
how much money did dad
give you for your birthday?
£200...
   well then... off you go...

          (but i really did start writing this poem
trying to heal
and i'm going to finish it
mind you i still have 2 hours before the shop
closes)

obviously i spent £100 on two packets
of Sherbet and that's all the way from America
and i kind of like the idea
of **** coming in packets that resemble
sweets perhaps
this isn't drug abuse on grounds of legality
since bought
     but in terms of how it is used
and what benefits reaped then i imagine, yes:

when i first starting writing and had
the straitjacket of poetry on me
my heart was a mush of nonsense my brain
was a much of nonsense
only now can i see the need for prosaic more
than ever
and no indeed people stopped writing
in the straitjacket of poetry within the confines
of what came to pass in the 19th century
and dissolved by the 20th
and needs a reinvention in the 21st

now a call from Lyndon my company rep
and no i'm in no mood for
conversation that's why i believe my eyes
to be wax and *****
and glazed and not even a glass of whiskey
will make them look sober
this feeling of creativity must pass
as the left hemisphere switches off or rather
concentrates on something immediately
that i know poetry is not written like
one works to grease up and find oneself
a juicy duck
or rather hunt for a juicy duck
with no green overalls
not rifle and no hunting dog
like the ones used at stadiums as sniffers
and the sniffers are gentle dogs
because when the police come with their
German Shepherds then
boy do those dogs talk
less bark more talk
less bark more talk

                and my how restless those dogs
are even the sniffers
are restless dogs
after all these are: dogs at work...

hundebeiarbeiten...

            hundebeiarbeiten...

  ­     we have the Germans coming in next week
and i already have my all clear from
the UEFA that i can work the event
so here comes all the pomp and gravitas of
the Champions' League final
            Real Madrid and Borussia Dortmund

hmm... etymology of names:

       there-mouth and now i'm thinking it's
a good thing that i didn't go since
this is my day off
but i mean i didn't go to the bicycle shop
because however my mother thinks
it the fact that i started writing again
and i haven't been writing for what seems to be
donkeys' year
since meeting Edie
and in the current variation of me
i'm intellectualizing whatever it might be
in the rubric of relationships
and ***
                            and friendship
and i don't know what else but when i'm also
working on my day off rather
than relaxing with the family might tell you
a lot about me maybe i should have done
something like this tomorrow when
they weren't home
because i feel like i'm going to have to explain
myself

this is like a narrative of a child
or at least i am robbing myself of the biblical
saying in how
it is said of men:

         genesis 2:24

  a man shall leave his father and his mother
and hold fast to his wife, and they shall become one flesh

how is that not the case
are we in a shared abode could it be said
that i'm anything more than client at this point
someone who will subsequently cook
dinner
and is this not my own free time to enjoy
my own freedom at least my legs
returned to normal after lying in bed
for a little bit longer

and honestly that experience with the Yorkshire
lads yesterday was mind-boggling
and mind-opening and ego-closing
and ego-crashing ego-destruction
how you can just absorb the energy of the crowd
and work it to your favour
and jeez i was never the roaming cleaner
of my place of work
whereby there was no issue with litter
and how often does cordon 7 call in for cleaners
and ******* bags
and i worked that cordon before
and i took my own initiative and sorted out
the bags myself before
but others who worked that area
would waste control room's time by radioing
in this minor issue that could be resolved
with some personal initiative
jeez
       i never thought i could write about work
that was the antithesis of Bukowski's approach
to work that work is the drudgery
because honestly i think how the Nazis didn't
think because honestly
Jews were a fertile breed of workers
so making fun of that
  they were making fun of that
because there is no luxury time for the scholars
and i mean the jews are the scholastic
people of the world and some less serious
of them sure
they are not the eclectic sort i imagine in my
dreams of worms and books
and bookworms unlike those sandworms
of Dune and more the reality of the Metal Worms
of London
and me travelling in them like some Jonah
mind you
i always held the oceans with distrust
but even then diving i did see plenty of life...

Anahola Beach.
Cannons Beach.
Hanalei Bay / Pier - Black *** Beach.
Kahili Beach - Rock Quarry.
Kalihiwai Beach.
Lumahai Beach.
Makua Beach - Tunnels.
Secret Beach - Kauapea Beach.

    (yes, that was ctrl+c/p
   (some variation on style
(returned to listening to music
after interruption
(paranoia receded
(started raining
(if i was a child receiving money
i would have jumped
at the opportunity
to go get bicycle
but i went today
and the used road bike that
looked **** nice
was already gone
so buying a new bicycle
seems grotesque at this moment
(anything new for that matter
buying something new
rather than used)
seems like a horrible waste of money)
the idea that used goods)
were aplenty once)
and people fought for them)
and now no one is fighting over money)
each earning it

but at a time there was a time where
people had exclusive rights to money
and others had no access to money
but instead: WIKT I OPIERUNEK
(bed and board)
and would be the workers of the household
of a people who were workers
of the world
and these people did exist
and they had a history and architecture
and since architecture is the best
idea of what history is
and a people become
then yes the revival of the Coliseum
i have witness
and i am but a voice in the wilderness by now
maybe i should have been
getting married to my childhood sweetheart
but what is thinking
i don't know: she's with five children
and an older hubby
while i'm the rigid disciplinarian of grammar
because i didn't love her fully
because of her literacy skills or was that our
shared youth
or anything - just not a waste of this afternoon
given it's raining
and yes if i were a kid and received £200
and say i had my own savings in a jar
of pennies and pounds
i would have jumped at the opportunity to buy
that bicycle and cycle happy-mad in the rain
but i'm not a child anymore and
i can't imagine going back
to somewhere where the brain was
orientating itself having spent so much time
in the dark outside of the dark
of the womb
but not like some fetal narrative is even
possible or even supplanting an ego
into a fetus is
   like putting a scorpion into a shoe
and a sock on one's nose: the general gist of:
(i think jyst should be as relevant as gist
and it even looks better on paper
let alone the similarity of phonemes)

  i.3. jy-          gi-                       -st

not station of saint
although both are used as is also st for street

oh **** oh **** oh **** oh **** oh **** oh ****
KAMIKAZE YO
KAMIKAZE YO
カミカゼ ヨ!

                         カミカゼ ヨ!

      I⁴                     and E⁴

since  in the following "magic square"

                             ya yu yo

     ヤユヨ

                  there is no Yadam and Yevie
the other story not told of the genesis of letters
and by Jove the resting place of so many
meanings deposited into Latin script...
unimaginable wonders
and overhearing my Nigeria neighbour
talking
jeez the music is on in my headphones
but this boombox of bellowing
conversations over the phone is unerving
and that time i smoked with him
in the night on the roof outside out
bedroom windows
i thought of Martin
   and his youth living in those communist
flats
    with greenery everywhere
nothing dystopian about it because of the foliage
and popped up ugly hen houses
never mind his youth of spent time
talking with his neighbor out of the window
in the warm summer evenings
sharing stories and smoking cigarettes
the one that lived above him
yes, him, forgot his name and sur
but him i saw him and a few others when
i visited last
and to think they are his peers
and they seemingly congregated to a Wake
but it wasn't a Wake but an Awakening
to see cruel or just fate
have her whims
however to put it fate a cruelty will the justice
or what is a gamble or something
or
           or

too many avenues it would seem...
gently massaging of the face
everyone at work is happy that my beard is visible
again
everyone at work is happy that my beard
is visible again
and i'm happy at work because finally my voice
is visible and can be used
without a loudspeaker
and i'm no longer embarrassed that i sometimes
get tongue tied
because maybe it's because i'm a Londoner
no joking
maybe my bilingualism is a phonetic retardation
from time to time
                   (then the music comes off
and there's the hum of conversation
and no t.v. in the background perhaps this too
the unread messages: i count at least 29)

but oh **** oh **** oh ****
what was actually going to see Kamikaze Yo!
(maybe
oh redemption mother calls and reminds
me to go back and buy the bicycle
and now sobered i will for sure

get some wind in my beard
and in my hair
glide with traffic
but
but but but

oh **** o help me "god":

confirmed work
wembley
7th june
13:30 - 23:15
sign in 12:30

confirmed work
wembley
8th june
07:30 - 20:30
sign in 6:30

confirmed work
9th june
london stadium
06:30 - 18:00
sign in 5:30 (or as close
to it as you can)

                   what did i book myself in for?
a 3 day sleeplessness extravaganza?!
   ha ha: Bukowski and work...
            Mathias Eschlert and: arbeit macht frei; haaaaaa.

p.s.  more like

                                   E


                    n                                        ­            S


                         W

my new compass...  i have to see the world
differently
not like presented on weather chanels
because no the north is not up
or the south down
after all what is n.e.w.s. in space
what is the Copernican n.e.w.s.?
                  
                   best to see the world sideways,
for now, at least.

p.p.s. or perhaps this is mother telling
me to show-off my money
if security staff get teased
and abused at events being called
minimum-wagers
minimum-wagies           etc
if we can get pushed and shoved etc

                        well... sooner rather than later
they'll nickname me: the Negotiator
3 ******* years in this job
and still no physical confrontation ....

              O Leeds O Leeds O Sweet Lords
and Lloyd.