There's so many things I could be doing right but I'm sitting in history class with a douch bag of a teacher who thinks everyone is gunna listen to but really were all on are iPads not listing to him. But as I sit here and think when the hell am I gunna need this. I think about how many things I could be doing, but no I'm sitting here in this hell hole writing an essay on whether it was right for President Truman to drop the atomic bomb, which I couldn't care less about. It's so nice outside today. I could be outside laying in the grass looking up at the sky and the clouds, but again I'm here and not there. So I just have to **** it up and deal with it for now.

i remember a friday
when i was ten, or maybe eleven
i was in love with a girl named lyndsay
not that i ever said anything to her
she was dating chad, an utter douch
i was smart
i could explain gravity
but i couldnt run
or kick a ball
so i did my school work
and daydreamed about the day
when i would be the coolest person in the room
simply because i was smart
and then one day, lindsay gave me a gift
a 50 cent bag of popcorn
she told me she got it just for me
so i thanked her, and went back to my desk to eat it
in the first bite was a piece of chewed gum
i couldnt spit it out, that would be rude
so i swallowed it
and cursed the parent volunteer who had been so careless
with their gum
twenty one years later
sitting on the toilet
it occurs to me that maybe lindsay deserved chad more than i knew

hmm... what's "mote" up to, i wonder?
her usual bathtub god analogies
like... **** me... Edith... no Sylvia Plath
put her apple pie into the oven
instead of: reminiscence of guillotine
imitation: into the ******* oven?
how's "mote"?

what a weird /ˌmeɪnɑːʒ ɑː ˈtrwɑː,

   esp with the flirting on the train...
menopause of 50 year old women
and the ferocity of *** in males
still proposing aged 37...

ugly mothers, soul searching...
i did my psychedelic limbo of lobotomy
when diagnosed as psychotic
yet still freely available to freelance
the ancients' practices of surrogacy
because i liked Reyla
and her version of hide and seek
with three stones thrown into a pull
dive & seek... dive & seek...
horcruxes or... that other parallel...
of giving up your love to people
without killing them...

yummy... ******* yummy...
this is me watching the miracle of
India hosting the world cup of cricket
playing so well while
Diesel Australia played so **** but had
coffee or amphetamines at the final
and won...
just like i supported the Springboks on
Kauai'i... not in Kauai'i...
doof-oos... it's ON rather than IN...
island fuckery...

ah... i'm an artist at hand so i'm all:
tender-*******-sensitive with an aversion
to journalism (critique)
and the whole SHABANG on Pulitzer prize
give-aways...

i'll be drunk by 5pm and asleep by 6pm...

no! India shouldn't habe... HA B'EH won...
don't know... ask Loki or chance or fate or
who-the-*******-else-cares
to treat reality with sugar, salt or spice...
it doesn't matter...
there's reason in unreasoning "things"...
less so with the concern for names:
associative faces... oh... i recognise X...
algebra of familiarity...

like explaining to some Fawad Ahmed douch
about the difference between
the Ukraine Russia conflict and
the Israeli Palestinian conflict...
watch my elbow... it's about to do
a nervous ****... oi oi oink... pretty ink white as
the new pink... oi!

but we can be neutral with the Israeli
brigadiers... of bomb bomb hospitals...
decapitating unborn foetus?!
why is the war in Ukraine unlike
the rekindling of the war in the middle of **** know's
where?
you can't be pro-Russia...
but you can be pro-Israel...
maybe the ****** in me and the...

hardly a question of i.q.
intelligence quotient can be replaced
with: a question of intelligence... a per se Rubik
cube dynamic, per se...
you ******* stupid enough...
"******"-myopic ******* to ask
a question, the question: oculus per oculus,
an eye for an eye definition of...
******* fair bureaucratic alliance to
the thrill of Heraclitus' river?

oh wow... a glimmer of soul...
a cactus warming juice just so squeezed...
a window of azure in the sky... soul...
with the murk of overcast skies that's
the signature symptom of England...
i should have never left these isles
for happy sloppy Elvis was puffy
matras of Hawaii...
i shouldn't have played the stepdad
because it's bringing me: the **** down...

my intelligence has become a burden...
i can spent this day without eating...
i'll drink and go to sleep...
my empathy is a crutch...
my mother tells me i have a good heart:
well... the only heart i know and own...
owning is knowing...

i'm just tired, as a northern European,
of hearing the dicta of miraculous wisdom
of a desert people who can't tell
the ******* difference between
the noun hoof and the verb meow...
just so, at a supermarket...
maybe read "too late"...

  i like rugby... so i wear a south african rugby
jersey...
two black girls at the trolleys...
walk past, kiss of the teeth...
the ****?
oh right... impossible bypass...
what now? now i have to reply with:
by picking my nose you shouldn't
be here, because south africans shouldn't
be in south africa?
picking ******* cotton is not coal mining...

although, rest assured... no chocolate allure
in pigmenting coal... ***** plump ***:
oh oh i get it... "black" women angry...
so is the wind...
now i too want to drink myself into
a savvy slurp of the right kind of optics,
political, sign-language stereotyping...
BLAH BLEE        BUSY-BEE...
******'s with Raj style: oh but we lost the world
cup in cricket: compensate compensate
because Pakistan is not privy
to what Bangladesh is honing in on(!)

oh... i wasn't accused of being a pedohpile...
it was just... ever, so, not so subtly... insinuated...
well **** me: JESUS LOVES IS SUPPOSED
TO LOVE EVERYONE AND EVERYONE
NEEDS THIS SORT OF LOVE OF SADOMASOCHISM!

**** this camel jockey ethic sharing
dynamo of the desert people...
like the Holocaust didn't teach them anything...