she gave me her cell #,
in a crowded bar
inked upon my forearm,
"in case in my drunkness, I dare forget,"
a common come-on technique,
that reeks of all good things to come

but I failed to see,
in the little letters,
"@ your own peril"

a warning, poorly heeded,
inflaming my now unimaginable
needy neededs,
just a **** come on,
or a warring warning of tumult,
vampirish blood *******?

with cautious haste,
her number I did paste
into my contact list,
'in case of loss, call,'
when sudden notifications galore,
came unbidden from everywhere:

Are you really sure?

these digits seems were posted on a
Do Not Call list,
maintained by monks and bro's,
no, no, not a list of
what-rhymes-with-bro's,
but of fallen angels,
who knew the secrets of heaven

the price extracted for their revealing,
could cause you life long
arthritis of the heart,
per the Surgeon General,
for which the only cure,
endure, endure, endure...

the prize?

endless wonderful new poems, freely given,
but with one strictest of restrictions,
if published,
it meant your slow extinction!

that is why the world calls me
Poet of the Way,
forever trying to find a way,
to away these treasured glories

then one day,
he laughed and laughed,
when he first he read the magic key,
your poem, successfully saved on
Hello Poetry!

and now the poet endures,
even possibly, self-saved,
quite happily

Bella,
My sweet bella

The one who makes me feel like my whole body hurts because I miss her
It's too much
I miss those nights, the ones with the moon by our side
How our drunkness made us close
I never thought someone I've seen six times would mean so much to me
I need your presence, I'm broken
I need someone
I need someone with whom to share my ***** in a bottle mixes with gatorade
I need that sausage smell
I'm writing this while being ******
But my dear Bella, you mean the world to me and I never thought someone would become as important as you have
It's like you put the stars in the skies
I need you to have someone to drown my sorrows in a bottle with. I miss you
But I know sometime, soon
I'll get drunk and do fun stuff with you
Nothing seems fun without you, you might be the missing piece
but Dear Bella, wait for me, as the sun waits to rest when sunset comes. I love you as much as a cherry blossom tree loves it's beautiful flowers that just bloomed

Night #1
Around the dinner table crickets directed a noiseless choir
It's all full of emotion
But I don't know how to
Define a face full of
earthquake expressions
When the stars play guitar
with three broken strings
it sounds like musical genius,
and the grass is waving to it.

"Dude, the moon's coming out now,"
I hear from the crowd.
The autumn brown leaf outside the window
turns green in amazement
And then it swallows the sky whole.

Night #2
I don't even feel my drunkness, I just feel the
highness and euphoria.
I wonder who sees Orion with me tonight.
The triple XXXs behind the drummer and
ringing tambourines scream with
guitar picks and microphones
and I think I know this euphoria is more
powerful than the whisky in my right hand.
I'm the king of upside down guitars that read
"DEATHBOT," and the "B" is backwards
and I don't give a ****.

Night #3
Arnold Palmer and coconut juice
A pair of glasses and a sight that's obtuse
I don't need to see straight
like a wave in the ocean that capsizes at night
And I roll up a joint that is beyond precise.

It was magical. The starry night, under the trees.
The romance, completely willing.
Each person covering in the I love you's of tomorrow and for the rest of eternity

Or at least thats how it was perceived by their story
Everyone knew what they didn't want them to...they're romantic night was a joke.

Stumbled drunkness, followed by lustful "I love you's" and bad decision making

It was all an accident and it was the beginning of me.

Panicked months followed. Fake happiness. Attempts to destroy and forget the mistake.

New years. They made a vow...a resolution to finally be okay.
And for a while, they even tricked themselves to think that.

It was great...for about a year
then he left
she left a few years later.
World War 3 was at a stand still...but only for a while.

It didn't take much to rekindle the fire.
As they say...you always remember your first drunken love. To love forever with them until the day the universe forces you two to part.

(PSH! Yeah...thats not what they say)

There was crossfire immediately

Flames thrown further than light can travel and the only person being burned...was me.

I wasn't raised by them. I couldn't ever possibly be that angry.
I have loving grandparents that show nothing but affection and support.

BUT GENETICALLY...I was *******.
My outside environment only frustrated my inside environment.

It was like the Wiggles vs. Hannibal Lector.

Surprisingly the end didn't turn out as violently as many imagined.
I was always trying to be "saved" but I never understood what from?
The worse that had come out of the entire situation was me...as I am now.

Granted...I have communication issues I'm a bit too sarcastic and the only was I can say what I really feel is through pen and paper. Sticky notes cover every corner of my room, screaming every obscenity that has ever crossed my mind
AND YET....
I think I'm okay.

I'm successful in most aspects of my life. And it had everything to do with my beginning.

I've heard "I'm sorry" ever since my grandparents came to back to school night in kindergarten.
What for?! How many people do you know that can walk through a valley of fire unscathed?

Honestly, don't be sorry...because after what I've accomplished
the lustful drunken night vs. the romance means nothing.

And who knows...it could have been under a tree on a starry night.

i can't remember the last time i was satisfied with
only drinking one cider and 35cl of whiskey,
i honestly can't... then again i plucked two of my
favourite aphrodisiacs that night...
i beat up the whittle 'ichard before
(aphrodisiac no. 1 - exercise, exertion) cycled
to the brothel... then bought myself a bottle
of cider (aphrodisiac no. 2 - no other alcohol
works that sort of magic, no wine, no whiskey,
certainly not beer: cider...
and for that matter a very specific cider...
merry down cider, with a fox playing a violin
on the etiquette... the label... served in a 75cl
portion... 7.5%... medium dry...
so no...  not Thatcher's... or a Hertfordshire Weston's...
it has to be the Merry Down... probably
because of the portion) and did the victory
lap around the park and the brothel around
Goodmayes station...
obviously i bought 35cl of whiskey before walking
in... inside after we ******... hmm...
******* sets me off so quick... i don't know:
seeing a woman on her knees... from behind...
a bit like watching women in churches on
their knees before certain deeds are done...
i think i'm going to go back to a catholic church
one Sunday and draw out fetishes in my head...
kneeling before a cross... maybe Jesus the ******
would have loved to be nailed to some X cross
and then get ****** off by some Magdalene?
maybe he was into sadomasochism...
    who knows... but ******* sets me off on
an easy path of ******...
at least in the ******* it feels more
like exercise as i'm using the upper part of my body
to arch over a woman... from time to time
lowering myself to kiss her when she shows her tongue
licking her lips: i guess that implies: kiss me...
so i do... or lowering my body to brush noses
with her... press my forehead against hers
or just bite her chin...

is it just me or did the band Priest use certain accents
of Lana Del Rey's Summertime Sadness
in their song Phantom Pain? have a listen...
i think they did... never mind...
aphrodisiac no. 3: music... just listening to some
music you'd like to listen to when *******
fills the mind prior to the act with the act:
Trevor Something: into your heart...

work has transformed me, working with people,
dealing with drunk football fans...
i walked into the brothel: three beauties sitting there...
i never thought i had a thing for plump girls
or girls wearing glasses...
but this third one... the blonde... that lied
about being from Romania when in fact i know
from Michaela that she's Poland looked like:
a frightened doe... her eyes almost teary... her lips
moving as if trying to tell me something...
obviously i picked Michaela: she's going back
to Romania for a month to visit her family...
she worked so hard that she managed to have
a 12 room house with 3 bathrooms...
she's thinking about retiring in a year's time...
setting up a restaurant... i told her i make ****
good mint and chocolate chip ice-cream and i love
looking... who knows... i heard that Romania
is beautiful... and she's from Bucharest...
so... easy access to Ottoman heritage... and Dracula...
who knows... life is sometimes a house
of windows that are opportunities...
the same blonde that:

Khadija... Khadira... Khedra blocked me on WhatsApp
just before she ****** off back to Turkey
for a holiday... yeah... Khedra sent me
a photograph of herself with this girl...
now look at her... a frightened doe...
why did she block me? i don't care...
she was there last night... i asked for her...
but she was bringing back £60 for an extra half
an hour with a man she was already busy with...
we said hello: i kissed her cheek as a greeting...
me and my hardly jealous heart...
but Michaela can do i don't think even Khedra
could... after all... with Michaela it was
first time quick... second time longer...
third time quick... 4th time much longer...
first time? i blame it on the fact that she forgot
to pull back the *******... what sort of uncircumcised man
wants to **** without a circumcision imitation?
i know women prefer the aesthetic of a circumcised
man... but at the same time:
in the old ways... a man would be circumcised...
but the woman would have to pay some compensation...
just look at Islam and Judaism...
not the current American raw deal of circumcised
men... that's not how it works...
circumcise a man and his sometimes need to
pleasure himself makes no sense with no *******...

hardly a joke... it's called the acronym FGM (female
genital mutilation, but it's not called MGM male
genital mutilation?! oh right... all those eunuchs
in harems who were walking ******... because: hardly...
Solomon couldn't **** all his harem...
it would probably take him a whole year
to make the rounds and **** all his concubines)...
so unless he didn't have eunuchs to please his concubines
he had the concubines turn to lesbian acts...
even great kings of old didn't mind other men
******* their women... as long as they didn't impregnate
them...
i'm a modern man... i really don't care who she has
been ******* prior...

me? with Khedra... i know why she blocked me...
but it's only on WhatsApp... i still have her number...
i just have to use the conventional routes...
but she must have received advice from fellow prostitutes...
you're sending him pictures of yourself?
you said you'd gladly have a night with him
in a hotel room for free?! are you a ******* or his
girlfriend?!
mind you: Michaela asked me for extra money
for unprotected ***... Khedra simply gave it up without
any extra cost... to be honest... i don't mind either...
****** off: obviously...
****** on? honey... do you have two spare latex suits
we can wear? oh sure... and a tub of butter
we can both jump into and smear each other
and pretend we're snails... ha... ah ha... terrible joke...

but ever since starting work again: i feel more and more
alive... my confidence has shot through
the roof... two prostitutes sitting opposite me
don't really intimidate me...
one tries to be a smart-***... the other is gearing up
because she knows i'll choose her and the third
looks scared...
hmm... i know that Michaela would ask me to pay
extra to perform oral *** on her...
Khedra? she gave it up for free...
i love seeing a woman who shows her hot-shivers
or ******... not ******* are so ******* oratory
as might be portrayed... hot-shivers of ******...
and, to be honest? ****** vaginas are very...
not tasteless... i've had one once... they sort of stink...
there are not enough lubrication juices...
and i mean from multiple men...
it really doesn't bother me...

thank god none of them ever asked for me to perform
****... pop pornographic culture with all that
**** fixation is ill to me... i can understand
if two Russian soldiers on the front feel like
gagging each other's anuses... but with women?

that was Khedra... freebies... i would otherwise have
to pay for with Michaela...
but Khedra is a slim nymphomaniac...
Michaela is a business minded woman...
and being plump: that's an added asset...
Khedra has her eyes open throughout *******
while Michaela has her eyes closed...
hello: a welcome return to the Unbearable Lightness
of Being by Milan Kundera...
i have to see: everything... i gorge with my eyes...
i'm eating: but i'm not eating...

but i know why i only drank one Merry Down cider
and 35cl of whiskey last night, wrote 'Biggie"
and went to bed...
huh! i have a nickname? that's so endearing...
that's so much better than a girl calling you by your name...
English doesn't really have a diminutive
aspect of language: esp. nouns...
in ****** speech you can create diminutive "concepts"
of words: to make them more endearing...
Matthew, i.e. Mateusz can become Mateuszek...
duck, i.e. kaczka can become kaczuszka
dog, i.e. pies can become piesek
woman, i.e. kobieta can become kobietka...
what's the equivalent in English?
it's "diminutive": but it's not an endearing-diminutive...
it's belittling-diminutive, that's the distinction
between the two languages i own...
little women... you can't actually morph the word
woman to imply woman a "tiny", or, "small"
in an endearing way... only in a belittling way...
thank god i know two languages...
fluently: bilingually...
perhaps a third would be useful if i wished
to travel and start a business... most certainly a knowledge
of Spanish would open a world of opportunities...
obviously i'd settle for German... large enough
territory... but? as a personal psychology basis?
being monolingual would be claustrophobia for me...
or equivalent: therefore...

oh man... it would have been such a mistake if
i just settled for my high-school sweetheart, Promis...
when dating her i went to a friend's birthday
party and was presented with a chance to cheat...
she was much younger than me and eager:
i declined her even though she was already all
over me... it wouldn't have worked...
my father: i'm not my father... mentioned only
two women in his life...
one girl who tried to trick him into becoming
a surrogate father... i.e. not raising his own genes...
and... my mother... but i'm not my father:
i think my parents are freaks... seriously...
it's like monogamy and the swan song was all
about them...
my estranged uncle was a serial polygamist...
he tried a monogamy once: FAIL...
she ended up being a journalistic-wannabe
with an abortion as a notch on her belt...
i learned from my maternal grandfather too...
he was married at the age of 18? 19? but cheated
on my grandmother... he mentioned 3 women
in his life... me? i didn't lose count on purpose...
i lost count on the basis of: and how many different
selves of myself have i found along the way?
i can can't at least 5...

but unlike Khedra with her hot-shivers when i was
performing... eating-oysters on her ****...
there was Michaela who said last night:
look! you're making me dance! and she looked
the happiest girl... she was dancing... lying back...
it wasn't a dance: dance... it wasn't a samba...
she was dancing by wriggling happy on her back
after all that missionary ***...
plus?! i now have a nickname: i'm: Biggie...
and... fair enough: i have more beard envy than
***** envy... even though i've been approached
by guys at work with a similar envy... beards...
apparently i have a perfect beard...

i'm Biggie... now... a few years back i was
KAKASHKA for Ilona: little ****...
it could have worked with Ilona: if i wasn't a ******
and she wasn't a Russian...
Russian pride against Polacks was already
stated by Dostoyevsky demeaning us...
even though i'd be the first to celebrate Russian
isolationistic culture upkeep...

i don't think i could love one woman...
that would be selfish... after all... all the most beautiful
women are either prostitutes or...
actresses in the pornographic industry...
strange how beauty works: it works perfect in nature:
nature wants to showcase itself for the greatest
number of people...
that's a bit like beautiful women...
that's why beautiful women in Islam are an
antithesis of nature's parody...
i heard one Pakistani once tried to teach me
the "mystery" of Islam...
if you owned a jewellery shop... and you had this one
massive sapphire in your shop...
would you want to keep it in the front window
so that anyone could look at it...
huh? he continued: no... you'd keep it hidden
in the back...
                       rrrright... huh?!
he actually didn't mention: so people would ask about?
how could anyone know that you have
a massive ******* sapphire in the back
of your jewellery shop?
point being... why have a jewellery shop
if you're going to be so selfish about what's beautiful?!
you're a ******* jewel merchant or some stingy
****?!
then again: the allure surrounding women is the same
in the west as it is in Islam...
make-up and the NIQAB...
in the west make-up does what a NIQAB does in Islam...
it's the same-****: just a different cover...
i look at a woman in a NIQAB: i'm curious...
i watch a woman heavily overdone with make-up...
i can sometimes say:
there's less paint on a masterpiece than there is
chemical junk on her face to hide her imperfections
that: i might find appealing...
sure... with a NIQAB i can only see the eyes...
but with western standards: i see eyes... exfoliating
in feline fakery... and the rest of her is doubly faked-up...

thank god i'm man... i just need to wash myself
on a regular basis... trim my beard... shave my *****
region and my arm-pits... no chance of me shaving
the hair on my pirate chest and my stomach...
apparently Michaela likes flowing her fingers through
my body hair and teasing my *******...
tonight: i need more whiskey...
not because i'm miserable: i'm happy...
that's why i continue to drink and not get drunk:
i'll feel drunkness when i stop writing and relax...
until then my memory is working overload...
and this is only memory from yesterday...

maybe that's why i don't dream so much...
i don't dream because i'm not seeking escapism
some people seek via imagination...
since their memory faculty has either been eroded
by pedagogy... or? as Bukowski once noted:
some people never go mad: what horrible lives
they must least... a recurrent spontaneity of
"amnesia": or simply looking down on people?
not treating them fairly, lovingly?

life's not difficult: other people make life difficult,
their games of hierarchies...
life's not difficult... other people make life difficult...
and? i could never understand men
who associate cats with lonely modern women...
celebrating dogs...
oh **** me! cats are the best: esp. Maine *****...
then again... maybe i have a spezial cat...
why dogs and men why women and cats
why blue and men why pink and woman?!
who said?
   and who didn't say: cats of Ancient Egypt?
the Pharaohs probably owned cats...
what about Muhammad's favourite cat? Muezza?
who the **** said that cats are efaminating creatures?!
these Bonsai tigers are just as much fun
as dogs... if not more! why? you can have time off
from petting them: when they be themselves
and... no leashes! no muzzle! fickle sleeping and feeding
patterns...
but i agree... there's one negative of cats
that i remember was a great positive having petted
Bella... my Alsatian... well... two...

cat's can't pull a sleigh... with you on it as a toddler...
you can't ride a cat as toddler...
but you can a dog... like a Shetland pony...
you can't be a toddler and put your hand inside
the beast's gob and pull out an imaginary tongue...
and... this is my biggest envy of dog owners...
Sundays at my grandparent's house...
chicken broth... basically an entire poached chicken
in a soup of... choice of vegetable to create
a chicken and vegetable stock?
carrots... root parsley, fresh parsley... celeriac...
baby celery... leek... garlic... burned onions...
the usual seasoning... vermicelli pasta...
but that's the biggest difference between cats and dogs...
i don't know why cats stopped drinking milk...
classically they drank milk...
as a child i remember glowing with glee that i owned
an animal that would eat the leftovers of the food i just
finished... dog are special in that way...
some of the soup wasn't finished...
Bella the Alsatian was whimpering after the leftovers...
she got a bowl... a bountiful bowl...
she loved her chicken broth...
   with the vermicelli... with the vegetables...
and added to the mix? the chicken bones...
my grandfather always bemoaned the fact that me
and my father ate our chicken to the point of biting
off the cartilage off the bones... i went further...
i bit off the heads to get to the juicy-dry marrow...

a different season for a different animal:
i loved dogs for the simple pleasure that they would
eat what you couldn't finish for dinner...
but i love cats for the fact that they behave like
ferns... sorry... houseplants...
you can ignore them from time to time...
they only come up to you when they feel like approaching
you...
the rest of the time you can just ignore them...
but when they love you: it's unlike a dog
waiting for you to equip yourself with a leash...
when they love you: or rather: you're ******* more interesting
than any human prior... they rarely scout for more room...
you've already enlarged their perspective on existence...

perhaps i could be your neurotypical man by
any standards: in the Old Testament style
of breaking away from my father and mother
and chose a wife: i tried it with Promis...
i hated the experience... i have to abandon my mother
and father... in order... to marry you... woman...
and... abandon my mother and father...
in order... to give a **** more about: YOUR... mother
and father?! seriously?! that's a raw ******* deal...
i haven't been raised by my mother from the age
of 6 through to 8...
and by my father from the age of 4 through to 8...
collapse of the Soviet Union:
if it wasn't the brain drain (that came later)
it was a labour shortage in the early 90s...
i don't think i'm clingy... sure... if my parents raised
me throughout those LEGO-years...
i'd be out of the house already: or? no... the cost
of living... what? at least i have intellectual comparisons
with me...
times are changing... i was lucky to be out of
the cosmopolitan game of dating ever since i went
mad aged 21... my whole 20s are a fog...
i woke up mid-30s sort of happy to be simply
alive... i'm happy for that "conundrum"...
i missed so much that was required of me to miss...
i can go to the brothel with a clean conscience
of being able to satisfy prostitutes...

at least we know something personal about Muhammad
that's more than however many wives he had...
a man of his times of his region...
i can't be a judge of that...
but at least he had his favourite cat: and we know
his name: Mu'izza...
like i had a favourite cat of mine:
Darshan... who my Sikh neighbour killed
by poising him because: she offered to take care of...
but couldn't be bothered to clean up his ****
or give him food... easier to **** the poor creature:
make him suffer kidney failure...
i was visiting my grandparents
while my mother and father were holidaying
in the Maldives... two days before they were
supposed to come back... i woke up with a stinking
fear... i phoned them up, i need to go back home!
i'm worried about Darshan...
a silver beast of a Maine ****...
dead... "kidney failure"... i was so stricken
with morbid emotions... after he was cremated
i found a Croquet buggy...
took all the pieces off... strapped a belt
to the handle... walked into a World War I
memorial graveyard...
had a hammer and a chisel with me...
started carving off a piece of grave...
put it on the buggy... dragged it home...
picked up the ashes... started digging a shallow
grave in the garden... buried the poor sod...
then placed the hacked off gravestone above him...
i'm still not speaking to my neighbours...
they're scammers anyway...
that's how Sikhs and other Asians get to flaut
their money on rich weddings and Rolls Royce
limousines... sure sure... i hear you...
they own corner shops and get rich by selling 1p
gummy bear gelatin sweets by the million!
like, ****!
oddly enough... i'm sometimes perched on my windowsill
throughout the night till 4am...
4 break-ins... "break-ins"... and some during mid-day...
******* insurance scammers! SCAMMERS!
i saw jack-****!
no one broke in into their home...
that's how Asians get rich: that's how anyone rich
gets rich... they're not playing by the rules...
thank god i'm willing to make sacrifices...
i don't want to get rich: i don't want scammers
or gold-diggers in my life: i want to build up a natural
filter when it comes to resources!

if there won't be enough women in my life:
i can always test my "fertility" with cognitive ambivalence...
i can always think about more things than most
people are not willing to think about...

after all: Muhammad had a favorite cat... Mu'izza...
since Darshan passed away at the hands of a sadistic
*****... i now have Quarus...
i'm not going to be easily relieved of him:
easily divorced from him...
he has more nicknames than the times i actually utter
his name...
what was the name of the donkey that
brought Jesus to Jerusalem on Palm Sunday?!
no one knows because he had no name...
i'd call him Quizy... Quizy... no... don... key...
REGALO TECLA... or? DON TECLA...
but Jesus didn't give a name to the donkey...
psychopathic, if you ask me:
animals you ride, or pet, to be: nameless...

just maybe: there might be some sympathy for me:
it almost feels like i was there...
when Mel Gibson released that movie of
his: the Passion of the Christ... i cried when i first
heard Aramaic being spoken on screen...
i think i cried throughout the entire movie...
i was so moved that... some other guy in the audience
started crying with me...
maybe it was the music all along...
i'm a sucker for a decent music...

but i just couldn't stomach the raw deal of wedding
a woman: a man is to abandon his own mother
and father... esp. one who wasn't raised by his
mother from the age of 6 through to 8
or by his father through the ages of 4 to 8...
who spent his early developmental years
in a house filled with 20 other immigrant
labour-drain men... for about a two years...
the fact that my father was abandoned by his own
parents: through divorce... i was raieed
by a ***** of a grandmother and an alcoholic
grandfather: i loved them...
but she was such a ***** to the point
oh him pushing her through a glass door
and breaking her hand...
i blocked all of that out... maybe by way of blocking
out several personal memories i have been
given access to access certain historical details...
i question them: unflinchingly...
why didn't Jesus' donkey have a name?
while Muhammad had a favourite cat with a name
like Mu'izzi: i know it's Mu'izza... i prefer Mu'izzi...

my Quarus? a clever cat... i bemoan the fact that
he won't eat my scraps... from dinner...
that's the only great aspect of what Bella the Alsatian
and Axl (the Dobberman) used to be capable of...
they'd eat what man leftover...
i'd call cats vegetarians if i could...

i know that the definite article in Hebrew is HA...
i.e. ha-satan: the-Stanley... the Stanislav...
i forgot to remember what the indefinite article
is in Hebrew... oh... right... there isn't one...
to define someone: definitely is to suppose:
laughing at it in English...

the whiskey flows slow and cold...
my heart it growing slower and colder...
i like it, that way...
Biggie... oh **** me... then again: Michaela does stand
about 5ft2 beside of me... while i'm towering
6ft2 above her... no wonder she picked a nickname:
Biggie for me...
the smaller she is: the plumper she is...
the more endearing she becomes...
you just want to cuddle her...
the more tender her forehead feels and tastes like...
she mentioned: i haven't washed my hair...
i tell her while sniffing it:
it doesn't matter... i washed myself prior to seeing
you... you think i'm going to wash myself
after seeing you? i want your scent to fill my bedroom
with your ****** perfume...
i want to dream of orchids! i want to dream
of lavender! i want to dream...
of a desert and your being the oasis in it!

i love women... but some women are too proud...
too stuck up...
they miss out on a lot of fun *** can be...
can't we just have fun without taking to
the serious business of paying gas bills?!
are we simply things before the altar of the eternals?
can't we spontaneously break the rules
for the eternals to be envious of us?
have we, seriously become so shallow:
so boring, that the gods abandoned us due to the fact
that we became imitating immortal:
their own boringness, manifest, that we stopped
being mortals?!

if i a were an immortal deity, and had to overlook
the modern man? i'd die too!
i'd die from boredom!
i'd die from predictability...
i'd die from looking at mortal men and thinking:
we're the luck?! where's the gamble?!
where's the unpredictability?!
where on earth is the stupidity on earth,
that might make these men take enough chances
to later allow them status of sage?!
everything is being to closely manifested in keeping
a "slave" stock of workers...
no one wants to dare... and if they do want to dare:
it's all for the wrong reasons:
no for reasons akin to: i! i am Spartacus!

people say awful things about slavery...
i wonder... what slave was ever homeless?
what slave was ever left without food, without shelter?!
well **** me: if you're not a self-developed
business man... chances are: sure... you're not a slave...
just someone who earn a wage...
but someone who earns a wage is not someone
who's someone's responsibility
to demand the person bestowing said responsibility
to keep the slave: alive, fed, sheltered...
by simply earning a wage does not imply
my status is better than that of a slave...
is it? IS, IT?!
i just earn a wage... i have to provide food and shelter
for myself... as a slave: and not a wage-earner:
i had to have food and shelter provided for me:
for my services...
i didn't care about money because i was already
given what money would otherwise provide:
or rather, in the ancient realm: wouldn't...
since shelter was inherited by the manor
and food too... from owning farmyards...

i don't think slavery was bad... wage-employment
is far worse... esp. those zero-hour contracts...
no one can tell me that's beneficial to anyone...
zero-hour contracts is worse than slavery...
at least as a slave you had intrinsic value...
obviously disposable...
but as a wager... SLAVE CONTRA WAGER...
you have no instrinsic value:
you only have extrinsic value:
you're doubly disposable...

           like the concern for INFLATION:
the end-product is inflated...
but the manufacturing mechanism isn't...
then there's the deflation aspect of
football clubs increasing the payouts of their
football players... but not decreasing
the price of their tickets to attend a match
or their merchandise: t-shirts etc.!
fair enough: pay the players more...
but at least have the decency to cut down the ticket
prices to see a football match...
or the price of the merchandise...
but no... these clubs either keep it at the same price
or inflate the ticket prices...
but if the players are earning more?
why should the people pay more?!
surely they should be paying less!

SLAVERY wasn't a bad thing... not in my eyes...
i think slavery was a good thing...
you had protection... a SLAVE had more protection
against the peril of a "free" society than a WAGER
will ever have...

what are the chances of me retiring at my grandfather
did? getting a proper state pension,
passing it down my wife after my life,
allowing her last 10 years of life to be lived
in a luxury that only old age might hinder?
ZILCH!
of the people that applied for job i'm currently at....
i seem to be the only "slave": i.e. employee...
the rest are self-employees...
i do my job well because i don't have to:
invoice my presence... i get invoices by someone
else...i trust my "handlers"...
i look at dogs, i look at cats...

who was Proximo to Maximus in the fillm
Gladiator? a mere slave-owner?
really? Maximus was merely a WAGER?
Proximo didn't care about Maximus was more than
a WAGER and more a, commodity?
i'd love to feel like a commodity again...
i'd hate to be treated as a WAGER: as an EARNER...
i think slaves, "slaves" had more monetary rights
than people of our current age...
owning slaves came with responsibilities...
a bit like owning pets these days...
you had to be rich enough...
for one...
you had to clothe them... you had to feed them...
you had to put a roof above their heads...
to be considered a nobleman:
you had to treat them fairly...
these days? none of these rules need to apply...

the system of slavery worked on a decentralised
"bias"...
not on this, current, centralised bias of
the universal WAGE concept....
you're worse than a SLAVE... you're a WAGER...
communism tried to figure this out...
it never came close...
well, it did, for a short period of time...
the sort of period of time where:
drinking whiskey tasted like drinking regurgitated
garlic *****!

it's not working now...
not everyone can be some moon-blessed
entrepreneur... some people are truly allowed
the joy of being allocated the status of PAWN...
rather than BISHOP...
there are people that are like that...

if it was working NOW: it would be working WOW...
people exist for others to be looked up to!
you can't scribble some Darwinistic mantra
and expect people to stick to it!
it's either Darwinism or Christianity...
you can't have both!
there's one alternative... but you're not going
to like Islam...
i don't like Islam... i don't like circumcision...
that's why i'm expecting a 2nd schism
in this grand religion... spear-headed
by the Turks with a bunch of uncircumcised men...

i want whiskey to drip from my beard
while i drink it... and rub it into my chin...
and recall the number of tattoos i ought to have
from rekindling my mind to the past....

no one knows the name of the donkey that took
Jesus to Jerusalem as the fifth: "horseman" of
the Apocalypse toward that fateful Palm Sunday...
but... Muhammad's favourite cat's name is known...
the birth of the Korean script is known via
King Sejong... no one can rob me of this historical presence:
nothing is mythological too...
just easily forgotten...

me? i'm just clearing the path... for something...
more... expedient... more... clarifying...
let's share cats.

I never knew I was lost without you till l read your letter
an found out I was never really
living life
till I made Jesus The Lord of my life
this new life is in Jesus Christ only.
I was deceive by this dying world,
lost world full of Seximmorality,
Impurity,Lustful Pleasures,Idolatry, Jealousy, Envy,Drunkness,Greed.
Now I see how everybody is lost
without your son
Jesus Christ
who holds the truth life
Love, Joy,Peace,Patience,
Kindness,goodness,
Faithfulness,
Gentleness,s­elf-control
I never knew, I was lost without you
till I read your letter.

Well, I finally stated the truth. "idk I'm just tired of it, this drunkness is false happiness." glares up at me as I look about my room. Broke my painting, my sunglasses, wrecked my arm, my liver. Shaking and quivering from too much to drink to the kitchen sink. I think it's time to stop.

I forfeit for this;
mobility  
my mind
served up to
its drunkness off you
bodies full on my lack of finding

sound your disregard &
relieve your knife of
what it had done to me as

I gaze at your sleep in the direction of mine & drowned in fog until I lose
until I turn blue with love
it is there I see her heart
I want to swallow your key
I
blame the weight of the hand
& I frame the finger
I blame the math and pattern

under your mattress I left my gist
thumbs and throat

you just keep switching the sheets

I bring the ocean to hold my thighs down
for every time
that every time
I say it
it is me speaking and not the situation
I forfeit for weather reports and hurt feelings
resuscitate by mouthing off
to suffocate this feeling

About Costumes and Customs


Wear, wear whatever you dare,
Tho, the global locality has no morality...


Animals with human customs,
Humans with animal costumes
Form the world into a modest mode-


In which the smartest ones are silent
While the mass dress in rumbling drunkness,
In happy hues of the humbling violent,
Of the primitive ****-geniuses.


Does ****** equal with the human nature?
Which? Human as savage or creature?
Born or grown?
While sensations design human customs,
Is predestination more than a fake costume?


Does the world hold anything divine?
While we follow an immoral aurora-
Its warming colours in a frozen desert,
That implies no divine unseen scenes?


Questions are colorless, unseen but existing,
Alike to God's infinite fineness-
Probing our customs if they are probed.


Methink costumes as a colorful ocean,
Mesee customs as the change of the world.


We sink in the dying world's dying ocean.

Today I shed some tired eyes
Under leaves, leaves with corners
and sharp edges
Today I shed some weary legs
Upward over the mountain
down into the streams
The fragrant and decaying
The cloying and the stagnant
Odd how a man can look over miles of open country
& see nothing but subdivisions
Odd how a man can look at another
& **** for a belief
Odd how a man can smile into the empty bottle
& see no light through the glass
Bones buried under sand a time, bulldozed another foot deeper
Someones kid hidden behind a picture in a wallet
We hid somewhere, in those bushes in the field
Hid from ourselves
Listened to the creek and tried to decipher language
The tea your brewed sits cold in my hands
And the smiles you shared sit cold in my lips
We drank together on the beach, me and these guys
Selling cigarettes to put food on the table
While their sisters sold themselves
And all I could decipher through my drunkness
Was that I wasn't supposed to be there
Never was, never was

I sit with these ugly ballpoint words and think of you
I sit with these grasshopper thoughts and think of nothing
I sit with my feet in still water, my eyes on dead clouds
I think of the broken days
Blackout wine bottle days
Writing on the wall on where to ride trains to
Through New Mexico, to drift
Fall off the face of it for a while
Bootknife nights

We spoke through the cigarette smoke
How we didn't choke I'm not sure
Made me put them down
For good

It was odd, watching those dogs eat those camels
In the sand dunes
The bodies of a car accident lopsided and covered in someones
sheets
Drove for days, small cities, large refineries
An empty ocean that seemed to carry its sand into the horizon
Dune after dune
Somehow we bargained a pack of smokes for two
Saudi riyal

I drank to much and said to little, she always said
Over and gone, pictures on the fridge
Sleeping at 2, waking at 5
Eyes heavy and the first cigarette
A cup of coffee and the slow realization
That the sun remains to rise

Yes my teeth on top
That was after i saw her
I felt itchings from every beat of time
I imagined i would take her number but rather borrowed her pen
I forget to smile when we met
When i turned my face to she was gone
She moved with a beam of eyes following her
Its like she hired all men to eye her front back and side
All men were covered in drunkness of her perfume like a smoking room
Her legs were fit too high higher than my approach
i would make a point through so i went again
Closed my eyes and touched her
**** i touched a wrong woman
In her toughes almost kicked with words
I walked away naked in shame
I was angry what i eyed wasnt the best
I moved and landed into a wall
For i had lost the way
My skin went dry when a lady held me by the shoulder
Her hands too soft that she fronze my blood
The other moments i left un said for my ****** had come
She has eaten my far self in kindness
Am now lost yet seen within my eyes
Her subsequent gestures cleansed my nerves off breathe
Didnt die for i kept magnifying through her presence

Maybe it's the residual hangover
From a two day binge talking
But I see your presence a lot
It's hard not to in today's world
And sitting here writing this I am swaying
And every part of me wants to drink tonight
The last three times I have I have ended up sobbing in a corner
With people saying
I'm sorry, I'm so sorry
Where was I going with this?
Right, right
The residual drunkness brought on by a hangover
And the little hints you leave
I'm not sure if they are for me to find
Or maybe you are doing what I do
Or more than likely
You aren't doing any of those things
And I'm so desperate for something
Anything
From you
I'll turn the most menial of things into a mental scavenger hunt
Because it is noon on a Saturday
I have just woken up
I have a hangover
And I have lost all control of my life
Without you

time's imperative need
to always perform
and be in conscious
of all the things that matters--is that nothing matters
Why do we even care?
i witness these movements, in and out,
here and there
As if, at some times, it will make sense
and for what?
with solitude, and with darkness in our minds
we move around--ask these wind,
the waves, and lyrics that you listen to 24/7
trying to relate to what we feel
night and day
in bleak of solitude, dwelling in profound drunkness
ask that who cry with their wide smiles
ask that which whines with their perfections
ask that who are restless in between sleep and awake
for life's eternal burden--that breaks and pierces within
and you must stop worrying
for words can't tell
what we go through
it's a forever going circus.
let's fill ourselves with wine,
poetry, our floating existences..
and these careless words, sometimes deep
sometimes shallow
and must stop worrying.
for each other, and for one another

I'm really sick of law
of telling me what to do
of telling me where to go;

Sick of time, of counting time
Sick of all the adventures I could have
but stay home take care
Same little same bed
It isn't big enough;
A large boulder would suffice better as a bed
In a desert or a plain I don't care.

I want get new fluids up and down my body law doesn't cope
I want excessive alcohol, excessive hugs, excessive moolight
I want it so excessively I want to ***** it
Spread it
Swallow it
And **** it all again
At once!
All at the same time!
I want starvation drunkness under the moon
I want sweating under the sun on the desert plains
I want not bathing and howling on the dirt
Animals would be ashamed
And so be it
I want beat this world and the other and be beaten by it.

Send me some *******' postcards of your places

I wanna visit them all!

how  of,

              
       U wen

've               been

wine amongst such dower trees as Spring:

a perched upon
a string of suddenly
cool night has


           alighted

with weft of surging flower
a stumbling drunkness of **** infinite self

(a parting of easy fragrance   )                  soft

at the hinges

and wet between

the peels of rough human knees:


                                                           (some hand; some soft
                                                            
                                                             At play

                                                             at hurtfully
                                                             entering eager pain    .)


                                                                             t
                                                                             h
                                                                             e
                                                                         sound
                                                                             o
                                                                             f
                                                                         fingers;

            
                                                                 the sound of love.

I couldn't create anything but my drunkness,
Why do we need to go away from this madness?
I need to improve it,
I need to challenge it,
But instead, I choose to cry,
Cry as if anyone can hear me,
In this melodramatic kind of me.
I felt as no-one can help me,
Which I was right.
No-one could help me but the red-wine,
Instead of the corrupted earth, we have done.

I run in the crazy day of joy
behind a red shadow,
exhausting my drunkness  and my madness
destiny flies in vain
I'm ruining myself in the war
my soul full of the blood of the night
I knock on the door of silence
an atrocious nothingness spreads his contempt
there are days when it's the norm
a shower of desolation watering the dream
the ideal is empty and everything is blackened
madness evaporates from its precious fragrance
I have to run again to reach
the bright end before the joy goes out
before madness exhausts his drunkenness
who can dream without being crazy!

Duck walk quacking at the county fair
Nobody even knew that it was there
‘Til Chuck was Chuckin’it at our soul
That’s where we all got our rock’n’roll
Six strings screaming on a fender strat
Dancin’ to the rhythm of a strangled cat
That’s what they said, but that was that
Nativity can be some very strange things
Especially if the infant plays six strings
Rattlin’ your rolls an’ banging your tins
From such things great greatness begins
The original best of all our begotten sins
Drinking is drunk and drunkness is great
But never a way to help you play straight
That’s the precious secret in the alchemy
Transforming chaos into musical harmony
God maybe great but moonshine is beautiful
Nobody ever heard of a sober rock’n’roller
It’s the very thing that liberates the souler
It helps with walk and the duck walk quack
Once you’ve got that, you don’t look back
You’re condemned to a life as a rock’n’roller
Don’t you feel lucky, when a day is made
The bad moon up, and a good band down
That’s the time to really paint that town
An’ start the rocking riot all over the city
Then thank the good lord for that nativity.

wake up at 5:30, make myself some eggs on toast with
a slice of cheddar to melt while the eggs fry,
drink two coffees smile smoking and watching the sunrise,
take out all the dishes from the dishwasher
i put on before going to sleep,
prepare the cats for being alone in the house,
go out at 7am and buy a newspaper i will not read,
take a shower, **** myself up with about 8 different
products concerning hygiene and perfumery...
****! where are the nail-clippers?!
did my parents really have to take those nail-clippers
on their holiday to Jamaica?
****'s sake... the turkey steaks have ran out today
so i'll need to cycle tomorrow and buy some
more... get a whiskey some Pepsi and now obviously
nail-clippers! i can't have nails longer than a
a centimetre of outgrowth...
    dressed in a white shirt, charcoal suit trousers,
black clip on tie... oh those shoes...
spent a good 20 minutes polishing them before
going to sleep... and that intimidating long coat...
left the house at 8am... arrived at the car park where
Dan the supervisor was going to pick me at 9am...
well... i was half an hour early so i went into
a McDonald's and bought myself a third black coffee...
stood in the car park and smoked...
texted him 10 minutes to 9am: good morning Dan,
i'm already here, but no one else is here...
he came, we shook hands, exchanged very basic banter
and waited for this Nigerian that works with us
and is always... but... even to my surprise...
Francis came running on time, 9am exactly...
subsequently we drove to Mark's Gate where we
picked up three girls... filled the tank near Ley Street
on the A12 and stated speeding toward Oxford....
for the match between Oxford United and Portsmouth...
we arrived at the stadium and the induction
began... the usual crowd was there....
but then there were also these... 20+ extras...
weird looking *******... all Pakistani
or some other middle eastern caricature...
***** eyed, ***** in general: almost ******...
the names were cited: some Muhammad al-Hamza...
some Ahmad Ahmad...
and these two African who looked like they
just came fresh off a migrant boat that crossed
the channel in the past year... zero amount of spoken
English...
i say that quiet frankly... they started conspiring
in their own group, they were highly undemocratic
and not a grain's worth of motivation in
then... they were there to simply be there...
but not do any work, as it later appear they did
no work... they were first allocated the role
of searching people and working the turnstiles...
the people poured in sluggishly...
then when the tsunami of people hit it wasn't
the usual fluid way... they create a bottleneck of
human traffic... and, from what i heard after the match
some searched girls as young as 4 inappropriate
while not touching boys... but the policy was
always that children under the age of 18 are not
to be searched...
                        someone managed to bring in a flare
and set it off, Francis can attest of the flare hitting
him in the back leaving a bright blue mark
on his high-viz. jacket...
    when it came to checking if any of the seats
were broken at the end of the match,
i had to do two rows, when usually one person does
one row... ******* disappeared for a *******
curry or something... kiddy-fiddlers...
    nonces... sorry: but that's the reality...
i asked Dan prior, put me up close to the little knobs
and teenage idiots from Oxford...
he said... oh sure... i will, but not too far up...
what ended up happening? i was placed on the away
side's "no man's land" section that separated
the home supporters from the visitors...
somewhere in the middle of the stand as the supporters
were coming in...
seemed pretty o.k. - then Portsmouth scored the first
goal in the 13th minute... oh **** me...
that's when it took off... i rushed up from the middle
of the stairs to where the action was happening...
i wouldn't have been able to keep the stairs
freely available for people to move: when people
were adamant on standing on them...
the end result was Oxford United 3
                       Portsmouth 2...
so you can imagine how much action we received...
and we were only manning the concentration point
with only the 5 of us... one of them was a woman...
so... there were only 4 of us trying to push back...
30 if not more drunken, rowdy teenagers at a time
when a goal was scored... hell, it sometimes felt like more:
it probably was more...
since they started running up to the no-man's-land
and escalating their taunting and jeering...
i've never heard to many base insults thrown at people:
local ******* patriotism... the Portsmouth fans
taunting the Oxford fans: where is the ******* library?!
Oxford is a *******: i wanna go home...
we pulled through... but i have my first bruises from
the work i'm currently doing... i'm sort of happy...
why? Dan put me into the deep end...
i'm already asking another supervisor whether
she can get me to be inside the Fulham stadium
when they get to play Millwall...
but i noticed something... the other stewards had
to mouth the young ones off... shout them down...
i tried not verbal communication, hugging them...
holding them back... reassuring them with patting...
the other stewards had panic in their eyes...
i don't know how my eyes looked but not once
did i have to throw a punch...
            some guy prior was walking up to his seat...
happily drunk, he stopped and asked if he could
stroke my beard... which of course i allowed him to do...
now came the moment when we were facing off...
i just gave him a look: mate... don't pull this off...
we've had our pleasantries, don't ruin it now...
got a massive fat chunk of a handshake from a senior
guy and a big thank you for keeping things
at bay... well... for £10 an hour... working a 5 hour shift...
but... leaving the house at 8am and only getting
back at 8pm? come on... come, on!
i bought myself a bottle of whiskey and some Pepsi
and a £3.65 pizza... which... i had to "beef up" with some
extra cheese, some extra peppers and some extra
sweet chilly chicken that i cut into sushi slices:
as thinly as possible... fried in chilly oil, with some
gochugaru chilly flakes and a drizzle of sriracha...
oh, but those Pakistanis won't be working there
ever again... they made the rest of us look bad...
bad as in: the stand supervisor always says:
i will not name names... but from the standard you set
prior... and today's dip...
i haven't been stressed this much in my 21 years
on the job since... at least  years ago...
   i sat in silence on the way back in the car...
the girls tried to make conversation with Dan...
he was sorting out some other door-work at a nightclub...
someone was giving him beef...
i seriously need to help him out
get my S.I.A. badge as soon as possible so i can
move onto nightclubs...
but... my first bruises...
whatever bonus could i receive?
the Portsmouth fans were taunting Oxford fans
by shaking hands with me, calling me: oh look...
we've won one over...
and those two pretty, pretty girls giving me the eye...
perhaps i ought to get paid more...
perhaps i ought to get paid for writing
this *******... perhaps...
but i've long been of a school of thought that
shuns money... Diogenes of Sinope...
  i don't really want more money than i need...
but at the same time: i don't want to be a ***...
why wouldn't i want too much money?
if i have too much money: then that will obviously
attract a woman... and she will inevitably spend
that money... men in general don't really spend money...
****-boys spend money...
men spend money out of necessity...
while they earn it by fulfilling a higher obligation:
merely earning money is not enough...
something useful, selfless has to be pursued...
simply, no?
- well i have these two postures anyway...
plus the long coat might be slightly intimidating...
hands behind my back, but also hands up front gripping
my high-viz... oh my, i don't know what hurts more...
the lie i tell my colleagues: yeah,
i got these burns on my knuckles from making
pizza... why tell them i'm a sadomasochist that
derives pleasure from putting out cigarettes on
his knuckles whenever he knows:
falling in love with a girl with so many red
flags is a bad idea: Matthew: do i need to translate
this bad idea to you, by making you enjoy pain?
i guess i have to... i watched the elders of the Portsmouth
hooligans looking at me when i showed them
my knuckles... burnt...
a peacock might have its feathers to strut with...
they might have their tattoos... me?
i have my scars... they should check the one on my
right shoulder blade... i always fantasise
that the gods clipped one of my wings while
the other remains intact, albeit invisible...
there must be an intimidation tactic running through
my mind... always ensuring that my clip-on tie
doesn't look like a clip on, looking at my nails
to see whether they're not too long or whether
there's no dirt beneath the fingernails...
stroking my beard down so it doesn't appear too frizzy /
bushy... checking whether my shoes still appear
polished enough thought several people might
have stepped on them...
if you look the part, above tier presentable:
not scruffy... not... under-kept...
people have this tendency to reciprocate respect
if they themselves look overtly-presentable...
scruffy kids ******* really easily from a steward that's
extremely presentable...
it's the better dressed kids that want to jump up
to your level... of the optics of presentability...
or maybe that i have Slipknot's song (sic) playing in
the back of my mind anticipating something:
esp. anticipating "something" concerning young men
that do not have a soothing outlet via
*** and have to resort to the sort of camaraderie
associated with football hooligans...
these colts are not going to learn anything outside
of this realm, i sort of respect that...
maggot pit that they are...
but if this is their only outlet of being able to feel
together... with their local patriotism...
maybe i just don't try too authoritative measures
when dealing with them...
perfect set up for doing this **** up,
getting my reference and then setting myself up
for applying for being a high school teacher...
even though i always enjoyed watching football
on the t.v., now that i'm in the background at matches...
i'm only interested in spotting out the pretty girls...
to sooth me... while minding all the young lads
desperately seeking out a ****: but not finding it...
turning all their energy to a camaraderie...
chanting their little chants...
   drunks off their *******...
it's very much akin to the atmosphere best associated
with nu-metal concerts of the 2000s...
music by the Gen X'ers for the Millennials...
and "they" said we were going to be the angry generation...
i think that Gen X has more beef and still
has more beef with society than my generation
will ever have...
******* Pakistanis fiddling up 4 year old girls:
searching them by touchy-feely then ******* off
not giving us back-up...
oh, they'll be fired alright... the joke run at the induction...
so... this is what reading a list of names
of the newly assimilated by the Home Office:
by the immigration blah blah looks likes?
no wonder, absolutely no wonder all the Polacks that
came circa 2004 have ****** off back
to the fatherland circa 2016... 2020...
well... if the English want Pakistani **** gangs...
and not fellow Europeans... because they might have
a little feeling akin to: ooh ooh... we're racist...
well then... what if i'm the Omega Collective Unconscious
Initiative and i sent out a covert Braille message
through dreams to my fellow-country men...
*******... don't come back...
the English "think" they have this sorted?
                      i'm going to be choking on this sort of a joke...
but if we're not welcome,
while **** gangs are: ******* welcome...
why bother staying? milk some of this rich protestant
cow and *******: not since the outliers have
i heard of a prevalence for a collective kiddy-fiddling
initiative...
but we all know that the English never want
to call themselves racist... that's why they need
sacrificial lambs from their tribe to ensure that they're
not suspected as such...
i'd sooner spend an afternoon with a silent Nigerian
than spend it with these *****-eyed curry-festival goers...
who appear... disappear...
while all the white guys do all the leg work...
in that of drunkness... but i love it...
it's the stink of a hormonal overload... mixed up with
a little bit too much alcohol...
even though... when i drink a litre of whiskey...
i drink a litre of whiskey to loosen my tongue...
open up my mind... relax...
i once used to entertain rock climbing...
eh... nothing close to cycling in heavy traffic...
then again... cycling is still a tier above crowd control...
pushy-beefcakes... half my age...
now i'm wide awake dreaming of sleep...
i don't want to sleep to dream... i want to sleep:
in order to sleep: Freud can *******...
only rich people have dream interpretations...
or if someone comes with a recurrent dream....
seriously? a recurrent dream?
              what's, wrong, with, you?
it's like the inverse of the learning curve associate with
putting your hand into a fire...
people who have recurrent dreams are like
people who put their hands in a shadow
and expect for their hand to somehow not
spontaneously disappear!
they learn ****... nothing... zilch!
that's why they have recurrent dreams...
i'm glad that i rarely dream...
only yesterday i slept for two hours
and what did i dream of?
eating burgers...
i woke up slobbering on my pillow...
the dream: became reality...
yeah: i wasn't eating much of late...
i never like cooking food for myself...
when i cook... i need to cook food for someone....
cooking food for merely myself is kind of pointless...
that's why i'm thinking of that
single mother Gemma and her son Reinhart...
because... i'd like to cook for them...
even though she lied at work about me drinking on
the job... of smelling of *****...
all the same while another colleague
compliments me on how i smell: how good i smell?
come on...
belittling bazar logic from the ancients terms
of the Persian Empire...
this sickening mentality is the middle-easterns...
denegrading...
the role of dogs... in OUR affairs...
sheep-shaggers of the desert....
**** these camel-jockeys... these necrophilic sorts...
pyramid-engineers...
kiddy-fiddling and sheep-*******...
call the Welsh of the south...
         wankers... the base of humanity...
if there's any left in any of them...
zoo... i see zoo in their eyes...
         i see cages... i see an inferno like no other...
they stink of  eating ****!

now, let me sleep.

Uncover a bottle
loaded with strong water
pour the liquid in you.

later...
part drains out
balance is stubborn
runs in the veins
ascends on the head
takes full control
builds drunkness!

going by its orders
body balance vanishes
staggering commences
a fall of a victim

it is not over yet
some
turn bars into bedrooms
turn bars into ****** contests
turn bars into toilets
turn bars into boxing rings
turns bars into quarreling areas
suspend traffic laws and crash vehicles
and many upside down scenes

to wrestle and control
strong water
drink less!

and what the ****, would i ever do...
blooming, robust with happiness!
with happiness i'd have to tow:
contentment! with it... a sense of an achieved
life! a purpose!
a gehennah of utopia! a zenith!

such that death is...
the lesser sire of the deity's omni- litany
of chores...
gravity and the prizeless,
personification of Atlas...
what is death?
i too await this feeble magic trick...
i too await this conjuring of dust...
this summa summarum of:
where proverbs began and where
proverbs end...
i do not feign to look again at:
the insect i didn't ****...
i curse each time i blindly stomp
on a marshmellow of a mollusk...
but with all clarity of
intent!
a mosquito i will...

i wonder, however, how this might ever
find critical traction...
grief for selling...
the maddening ordeal of a well tuned
tongue to the already *******(d) crowd...
no...
back the household chores!
the house needs to smell of rhubarb!
by now i couldn't only feign drunkness:
if i weren't so lethargic with
grief that, that is has
become almost a leisure to weep...
it's a saddening realisation that:
at best, for man, a quest for shedding
sharpening of diamonds...
for beauty...
and for the lesser sire -
a tired excuse of perseverance...

       what would i ever do with happiness?
it would exhaust me
as this sadness does...
i would have to live a life
without expectations...
without nuance... without a freshly begot
inquisitiveness...

for all that might leave me content...
i would be: by default... a malcontent;
by the default paradox of
universal fraction that is, i too, man.

Taboo subject.. end of the concept
Packaging time
I ask dad if it's wise...
And he actually replies....
No asking its actually time...
Sike kid... damage your eyes...
Elapsed ****.. collapsed in a matter of retractable spines
that back the
Matter of mind until
Inception of collateral action
Sadly applies....


I'm like **** son this crazy as **** and...
Mother loving mud mucking truck of a subject.... I love your corruption of discussion but I won't touch this
Much detention of budget....
I'm supposed to plummet corruption
And raise consumption of loving
But something had me..
Crunching my stomach....
**** it... slum love sees me ghetto
And I admit I untouchably love it...
Like sons to a summit
Peaking like ridges of country pines
Extending from mud pits .. in the numbness
Of winter and the crumbs of son to the mother to son in...
A witness of love at the summit...
Till food prices plummet
And the poor is full in the stomach
Something of a drunkness
The world is end of discussion....