Fahnd 'im lyin' int middle o' t'street
bruised an' battered from t'tramplin' feet.
Ee'd crawled aht from some gutter
an' them cries tha' ee did utter
almost like a knife through butter
cut mi quick an' deep.

'Is broken wings ah tried to treat
gently praying that ee'd be reyt.
But when 'is cry became a stutter
t'world rolled dahn its shutters
an' rahnd mi someone muttered:
" 'is prospects ain't 'alf bleak".

An' that poor lost little 'eap
ah cradled but coun't weep,
til mi arms discerned a flutter.
So in mi chest ee'll see the summer
from that 'ollow haven like no other
where ee can safely sleep.

Says I to my Missis: "Ba goom, lass! you've something I see, on your mind."
Says she: "You are right, Sam, I've something. It 'appens it's on me be'ind.
A Boil as 'ud make Job jealous. It 'urts me no end when I sit."
Says I: "Go to 'ospittel, Missis. They might 'ave to coot it a bit."
Says she: "I just 'ate to be showin' the part of me person it's at."
Says I: "Don't be fussy; them doctors see sights more 'orrid than that."

So Misses goes off togged up tasty, and there at the 'ospittel door
They tells 'er to see the 'ouse Doctor, 'oose office is Room Thirty-four.
So she 'unts up and down till she finds it, and knocks and a voice says: "Come in,"
And there is a 'andsome young feller, in white from 'is 'eels to 'is chin.
"I've got a big boil," says my Missis. "It 'urts me for fair when I sit,
And Sam (that's me 'usband) 'as asked me to ask you to coot it a bit."
Then blushin' she plucks up her courage, and bravely she shows 'im the place,
And 'e gives it a proper inspection, wi' a 'eap o' surprise on 'is face.
Then 'e says wi' an accent o' Scotland: "Whit ye hae is a bile, Ah can feel,
But ye'd better consult the heid Dockter; they caw him Professor O'Niel.
He's special for biles and carbuncles. Ye'll find him in Room Sixty-three.
No charge, Ma'am. It's been a rare pleasure. Jist tell him ye're comin' from me."

So Misses she thanks 'im politely, and 'unts up and down as before,
Till she comes to a big 'andsome room with "Professor O'Neil" on the door.
Then once more she plucks up her courage, and knocks, and a voice says: "All right."
So she enters, and sees a fat feller wi' whiskers, all togged up in white.
"I've got a big boil," says my Missis, "and if ye will kindly permit,
I'd like for to 'ave you inspect it; it 'urts me like all when I sit."
So blushin' as red as a beet-root she 'astens to show 'im the spot,
And 'e says wi' a look o' amazement: "Sure, Ma'am, it must hurt ye a lot."
Then 'e puts on 'is specs to regard it, and finally says wi' a frown:
"I'll bet it's as sore as the divvle, especially whin ye sit down.
I think it's a case for the Surgeon; ye'd better consult Doctor Hoyle.
I've no hisitation in sayin' yer boil is a hill of a boil."

So Misses she thanks 'im for sayin' her boil is a hill of a boil,
And 'unts all around till she comes on a door that is marked: "Doctor Hoyle."
But by now she 'as fair got the wind up, and trembles in every limb;
But she thinks: "After all, 'e's a Doctor. Ah moosn't be bashful wi' 'im."
She's made o' good stuff is the Missis, so she knocks and a voice says: "Oos there?"
"It's me," says ma Bessie, an' enters a room which is spacious and bare.
And a wise-lookin' old feller greets 'er, and 'e too is togged up in white.
"It's the room where they coot ye," thinks Bessie; and shakes like a jelly wi' fright.
"Ah got a big boil," begins Missis, "and if ye are sure you don't mind,
I'd like ye to see it a moment. It 'urts me, because it's be'ind."
So thinkin' she'd best get it over, she 'astens to show 'im the place,
And 'e stares at 'er kindo surprised like, an' gets very red in the face.
But 'e looks at it most conscientious, from every angle of view,
Then 'e says wi' a shrug o' 'is shoulders: "Pore Lydy, I'm sorry for you.
It wants to be cut, but you should 'ave a medical bloke to do that.
Sye, why don't yer go to the 'orsespittel, where all the Doctors is at?
Ye see, Ma'am, this part o' the buildin' is closed on account o' repairs;
Us fellers is only the pynters, a-pyntin' the 'alls and the stairs."

eetsy eetsy, tiny feetsy
in the attic dark and creepy
who could be there? Looking at me
Is it Procyon Lotor?

He comes watching every winter
will he really dare to enter?
Enter at my chamber door
Seeking mischief as before?

Comes the creature wild of feature
Fuzzy furry in a hurry
looking for me wanting near me
Only this and nothing more

                         **

Will they hate me and berate me
loving Rhyme the way I do?

Poetaster they will call me
Death, disaster pray befall me

I will be the way I will be
always 'till the end of time so
You can hate me all you want to
You have your way, I'll have mine


Poetry by definition

A highly developed form and
use
of heightened language and rythm
to express an imaginative
interpretation
of the subject

From childhood's hour I have not been
As others were -- I have not seen
As others saw -- I could not bring
My passions from a common spring --
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow -- I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone --
And all I lov'd -- I lov'd alone --
Then -- in my childhood -- in the dawn
Of a most stormy life -- was drawn
From ev'ry depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still --
From the torrent, or the fountain --
From the red cliff of the mountain --
From the sun that 'round me roll'd
In its autumn tint of gold --
From the lightning in the sky
As it pass'd me flying by --
From the thunder, and the storm --
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view --

song in the background: bras mort - disappearing -

what the velvet underground
could get away...
without
the glitz of paparazzi...

i measure the units...
II = a bottle of 8.2% cider...
my usual diet of 4 bottles...
and some added juice...
IIII/ = 5...

that's IIII/ + III = 8...

8... grand duchess B(othered)...
somewhat...

elsewhere... ∞ ÷ 0...
well... no one really likes conversations
with "consciousness" on the fore:
the ontological grasp
of "awareness"...

more like the end of: exploits
& opinions or dr. faustroll.
pataphysician....

all that will be revealed is pata-physics...
if we're talking forms and no longer
skeletal indentations...
at fault logic and the remains...

∞ ÷ 0 = (0, 0)...
without anything being "given"
what's infinity in the copernican "sense"
of up and down...
left to right...
on the moon: where is "north" or "east"
or "west" of "south"?

ha ha... acronym: n(.)e(.)w(.)s(.)...

i'm pretty sure you can-can dance me in
on all of this...
paris was a diatribe of events:
esp. the paris when i wasn't there...

∞ ÷ 0 = (0, 0)

looks "true": again... borrowing the tactics
from german philosophers...
my second name... conrad: is a very white
name...
i beg to differ and use it as a surname, sometimes;

stanislaus: stanisław: stsanislav...
velarized - ******* santa claus and all...
it's not that difficult given
the blank english canvas...
of... sh-atter... š-atter... sz-atter -
ш-atter... on the ch-eap...
cz-eap... č-eap... ч-eap...
it's already in place...
but "we" have so many examples
when the two meet...
szczypta... soli: a pinch of salt...
so much so... practical mother...
russia...
would have us write: щ-ypta! pinch!
because there's also щ-ypać
and there's also щ-ekać...
but the russians do not have the arsenal
of the acute letters:
again.. the suffic -cki in english...
well...

           only in russian can the
             wet-snare difference
between...
the C and K be explained...
ć is the "high german" addition...
   otherwise... in everyday english...
a C is distinguished from a K...
via the cedilla... cyst is actually: çyst...
as is the loan word for waiter:
much inflated in paris as: garçon...
plain and simple in russian...

ц "vs." ч
well... and the greek: moo(n): μ...
perhaps darwinism is the talking point...
alongside marxism and feminism...
but i'm strapped to the copernican "revision"
of forms... letter and numbers...
and how they found a place to congregate...

czekacki - чe-      -кa-        -цки
   cie-kawski... but only if the iota is not given
special treatment... inquisitive...
   ćιe-ka-w-ski...
perhaps no further - still...
                                            -цки...

this is what a world without colour looks like...
grammar was the basic landing... blockage...
the rest remains in abandoning metaphysics...
and...

делтa: some time ago: hand-writting used to
exist, beside this puncture method of:
words in the framework of knitting...
once upon a time,
in a time of snow white... these letters
were used to being connected -
by a weaving... by tide and...
by "agitation":

because these "    " markers are not
supposed to exemplify merely metaphors...
they are to include misnomers and
synonyms of lose association...
for the passing down / weaving
of a narrative...

q, c, k, "ch": cholera...
and s... quote: i will queue...
with the following cue:
to mind -

                from cat to the kayak of karma -
quote: quiver when...
it's almost an orthography -
dizzying heights of giraffe grafitti...
as crude as:
you could cuote... and kuote...
but you most certainly need to: Quote...

you can say: garson... but you need
to write a cedilla c...
how strange... "strange" almost fwench...
because: forget the trill of the R...
the tarantula bit your tongue
and the qat isn't even asking
who would be so audacious as to bite it:
with it... not included on
the suspects lisp... list...

bras mort - disappearing -
can i please appreciate a band that...
focuses on exploiting the bass guitar?
i've been a long lost fan of the bass guitar
becoming more and more prominent -
to step away from the rhythm section -
ambient noise -
    refrigerator background humming -
along with the drums -
and the vocals "in-between"...
how much: you will never know...
appreciate the bass guitar having its due:
cue... of: reaching a status
of prominence...

what were the pata-physics equations
proposed by alfred jarry in dr. faustroll?

they weren't: ∞ ÷ 0 = (0, 0) -
what is ∞                                ÷
when not 8 - "standing up"? divided by "itself"
is most certainly becomes
a coordinate... a starting point...
hell... why not claim a 3rd dimension
of this equation...
and say that: ∞ ÷ 0 = (0, 0, 0) -
and Kant's 0 = negation is to somehow fit into
all of this?

the english speaking world: this most instrumental
of all worlds...
and philosophy and metaphysics is an escape
plan... when darwinism is battling marxism...
and copernicus is in the background...
"west" on the moon!

it's pata-physics - it's not orthography,
nor is it metaphysics - or...
trans-            and the litany!
or basic chemical coordinates of the benzene
ring attaching groups...

what was once tau and the revelations
of anna katherina emmerick's revelations
and papa **** and ubu roi...
has consecrated itself upon the altar of: tao...
道...
           which tau is still part of:
should "the way" come across the crossroads
                  and junction...
to the splintering mechanisms of the mind...
a self- prefixed as individuation's
primer and solid unit of any: "moving forward"
becomes a second-class citizen
of the suffix caste... i.e. self-employed -
topsy-turvy becomes: employed-self...
self-awareness becomes: awareness-of-self...
the )of( conjunction is pivotal...

the alfred jarry equations?

           x = ∞ - N - a - P

and the verb of god - the crusading Y... the cross...
what would a rorschach test suggest
when seeing... the Y the T, † and Xi? the 11th hour?
while also seeing: ☿, ♂ and ♀... or for that matter...
☿ and й...
crescent moon as the crown - a horn toward the east -
and a horn to consolidate itself with the west...

     N = ∞ - 0
P = 0
             definition: god is the shortest distance between
0 and infinity... or...
what's ∞ - 0?              to me that's...
                     8 - o = b...
little boggling - hardly upper tier: Bobby...
which is a 8066: breaking 7 / Γ(amma)
in: when Alice finds that ******* mirror
to genesis with!

                          hello... my name is robert, the bruce...
otherwise: the psychotic is rarely the psychopath...
imagine... let us not imagine...
a pathology a priori... genetic: inherent...
and a pathology... acquired...
a newsfeed for the world to allow you to be -
in a solipsistic purgatory...
never quiet the hell anyone would imagine...
nonetheless...
dante's inferno is was sell the myth...
come paradiso - a firework display for all
and any psychologies...
a claustrophobic "oops" and "la la"...
because.... such is the presence of god...
one would sooner monologue for an eternity
in hell... than...
come across... "the meaning of life"...
the "bruce", the "almighty" the...
simple questions require... a labyrinth's worth
of an answer... never a sigh... nor a...
stipend in being: stupendously... constipated...

to be literate is but one tier
in this layer-cake of... if the world adopted
a lingua franca - a l'inglese:
the fear of a scandinavian bilingual society...
the fear of a rampant schizoid virus of
the tongues - while the native population
is supposedly falling behind
in acquiring its own zunge -
which the new-commoners and comers have
no luggage over...
claim...
perhaps the welsh are not the cucks
the english "think" they are...
given that... there's only a whiff of gaelic
coming from the highlands of knox...

coch barwn...
east of berlin... that reads as...
кoх бaрłн - red baron -
no: it was not, ever: coach or: cot death...
and coč... it was always going to be:
loCH ness...

chwynnu goron: **** crown...
again... no ******* cha-cha-cha...
х(ły)nnу -
ł(y)dka - calf - this isolated letter is
a lighthouse-cause...
гoрoн...

       perhaps i'm just tired of looking
at paintings... perhaps i didn't drop any l.s.d.
and i need to see...
the breaking of bones...
when a feud between the orcas
and a ***** fledgling erupts in the sinking
of a titanic...
and the ribs are broken...
i.e. N - H - H - И...
otherwise: pleaжure...
or... seiжure... or better still... no caron above
either the S (fake) or the Z (probably right)...
quiet sooner... ж = ß -
for better, or for worse...

i could write a pwetty poo'em...
i really could...
but why i don't, will not,
is not really the focus i'm willing to give...
a throng as an answer,
for a bare minimum of words -
a pseudo-haiku...
to just... allow the children to come
forward and spread their wings:
that would sooner be found...
as broken with ever other Icarus...

i know a triangle when i see it...
a H a ² -ed,
      more pataphysics from alfred jarry:
a² = (-a)² + y² = a² + y²
whence: y² = a² - a² = 0
   and y √0...

square in html or in halifax scribble...
JAVAscript baby...

let's find the red herring and the excess of
tape... when... the "H" shrinks and explodes
into a square form...
and... there's that mem (ם) for every samech (ס)...

one can simply tire of painting...
can't one? in that royal pronoun ref. pointer
that was always gender "neutral"
and always considering the auxilliaries...
the sycophants...
there was always that sort of grammar to mind...
to mind in it being: a hanging affair...
a guillotine spectacular...
a bit like gravity...
come... the lesson in grammar:
from zee... harking inn-glee-m-hush-puppies!
this is not a formal language...
this is a language better looked at...
i did sneak a...
it's only conspiracy theory...
but what are the odds?
budweiser teamed up with heineken and
stella artois... and to cut the sales
of the mexican... corona beer...
they said it was bat-soup and a snake-bite...
chinese biological-warefare...

come to think of it: i can't find anything more
entertaining to "believe in" / entertain at this moment...
but what would a communist esque
building look like?
believe me when i say...
painting bores me...
the picasso niqab / frenzying with mosquito netting...
above all other amateurs: the prized bull...

here's a painting... again: square: H...
mem and samech being weaved in...

              ◻ ◻ ם ◻ ◻ ◻ ◻ ◻ ◻
              ◻ ◻ ◻ ◻ ס ◻ ◻ ◻ ◻
              ◻ ◻ ◻ ◻ ◻ ם ◻ ◻ ◻
              ◻ ס ◻ ◻ ◻ ◻ ◻ ◻ ◻
              ◻ ◻ ◻ ◻ ◻ ◻ ◻ ם ◻
              ◻ ◻ ◻ ◻ ס ◻ ◻ ◻ ◻
              ◻ ◻ ◻ ◻ ◻ ◻ ם ◻ ◻
              ◻ ◻ ◻ ◻ ◻ ◻ ◻ ◻ ס

Here at last we meet,
I and my melancholy stare,
facing an image so sweet,
a soul so pure,
a canvas so bare

Let not be influenced by the darkness
Do not be deceived by my uninviting stance
for my time is up, or surely drawing near
throw me one more glance,
grant me one last dance

Creeping while weeping,
sleeping while dreaming,
may your life be filled with bliss
Hoping and beaming,
with tears streaking
perceiving visions of the ******,
walking the abyss

Perfection escapes both I and you
for beings like us can never be
That essence is no longer,
we must purse
content with yourself,
for you have grew

At last we meet again
a meeting I have dreaded forever
happiness there,
now to gain
but are we strong enough to whether.

with ego as foetus:
    i do get a chance to give birth
to a thought,
  notably a minor critique,
or, rather, digression from a
newspaper article...

all this posturing and lying
deserves a mundane truth,
   one that doesn't even
register on scaling historical
events: as ever having
happened...

             an article by
julia llewellyn smith (welsh
roots, i gather?)
               on a book by
        emma koenig -
           moan: anonymous essays
on female *******...

come to think of it:
   i always held a suspicion with
regards to this bounty...
  i never could envision
the sort of male ****** with
trust involved...
      
  once with a ******* i ate
mine, ******* and remained
silent...
           a sensation that could
only be replicated with
what brother zygfryd de löwe
  experienced, looking up
at a hanging noose on
a titilated by the wind hallow
tree...

       ever wake up with
an auditory hallucination?
          simply with the word
uchyl?
            namely - pry open
a door?
          only today i "think"
i dreamed of reading
the book of Job, and standing
before a blackboard
   with a rubric that read,
something along the lines of

- - - - + - - - | + + - + + + + +
- + + - - - - - | + + + + + - - -
- - + - - - - - | + + + + - - + +
- - + + - - + - | - + + - + + - +
- - + - - - - + | + - + - + - + -
- + - + - + - - | + - - - + + - +
+ - + - - - - + | + - + + + + - +
- - - - + + - - | + - - + + + - -

i can't say that's "verbatim",
but it merely represents
the excavation of a dream
where + / - were used...

         and a recurrent thought:
cognitive narcissism...
   **** mirror...
        apparently i'm the most
fascinating person on
the earth,
         although i know that's
a cheap thrill delusion...
          since i'm no magician:
it's a mirror womb,
   like any madman appears
to have fathomed....

but i was suspicious of
the female ****** for a while,
this... acting in the bedroom...
this, supposed clarity
vector for the impetus that
guides man...

             having taken "advice"
from an ukranian,
then a romanian *******...
      i remember vaguely:
did i just pay for a kiss?

      winners! and losers...
who are to mind
   the gravity of the plateau?
can't tell them apart...

****** her 7 hours straight
once, in St. Petersburg
just before i was to fly out,
and...
      you say she faked those
pseudo-epileptic spasms
mostly resonating at the altar
of her feet?

   i've had 3 pseudo-epileptic
spasms in my time...
the clenched jaw imitating
the crocodile macht...
     the gut-wrench:
supra-indigestion sensation,
and then the jitters...
  cold-sweat...
         a second birth...
the slain strobe body...
        a persistent vagueness
of the performance of
blinking...
                   pain like
              a disembodiment...
a death: with a near-life
experience...
         an agitated maggot
on the tip of a human finger,
rather than a fishing hook...

custard pie...
     yummy, eh?
    
  well... if no ******,
                            why not pain?
could just imagine the sensation,
thrill, and the Ural wind...
         beating me to the gallop,
like some...
                   forgotten smile,
laboured from a face with
    missing features...
               like the kind of tenderness
a womb is given
to superimpose
               the fraility of a flower...

how chunks of meat
can be cooked with attention...
slowly,
   as to not craft a makeshift
   McDonald charring scars...
of a... fast.

    so you're telling me
that through those 7 hours that
began with a **** me
sunset, to a ******* sunrise,
the pseudo-epileptic spasms,
were, fake?!

        mind you: it's hard to fake
a spasm...
                  not in the way i described
it,
        some nights after my first,
aged 14+, i used to fear falling
alseep with clenched teeth,
considering the fact that my first
spasm was
                   propagated by
a clenching of the teeth...
        i authentically feared clenching
my teeth...
      reminding me of the electric
potency of a worm, moving
down my spine like authentic
mandarin writing...

                     but faking an ******?
man will only know,
if he eats his up with a grain
of silence...
                  if all is thespian:
                                 then all is not...

justice already hangs in
the satanic compedium of affairs,
"apparently" justified
with man's latter fall:
             and you will not know,
the difference between good,
and evil,
       having miscarried the extremes
of a blatant index execution,
with...

             a ******* thesaurus!
minor-noun subordinates and,
lumbering excuses to play:
                   hide & seek once more;
although now?
      ******* off a few people
along the way.

the english: can't ******* hark,
can't ******* trill... the ****, can they do?!
   |ch| is not cheap...
                       couldn't laugh
even if i wanted you to.
       yeah: the "missing" O...

    so why bother with Hollywood,
if you have a Medussa's worth
of an actress, lazily occupying a bedroom?
    
i already said: i was and am,
       suspicious of the female ******...
till i became suspicious of mine...
    and: hardly lost it...
               hid it... in the ecstasy of
the drunk's laughter...

                 and the winner is!
twice removed actress
                     bulging in cushions like
a bloated tarantula...
                   considering the ape...
who is to tell me i'm not right
in borrowing the "metaphor"
      of equating women with a mantis?

too much seems to be borrowed
from animals
in the english speaking world,
  to further an investigation of being
human,
         too much has become
of the deranged, zoological tiger,
writing out a lemniscate
    to appease the democratic
continuum of:
             the tiger isn't adored...
                but the cage, certainly is.
              
a female ******... huh...
                  pseudo-epileptic spasms?
and this article?
plain outright lying,
   i never imagined people gambling
                                               with lies,
    but then again:
     i'll become, less naive,
on the day of my death...
  my pontius pilate hour of:
          you couldn't exactly ask
for a Parisian waiter to tell
me the secret of high-chin, long-nose
*******?
            who cares about lobsters?!
                   mind the Parisian waiter!

Paris: it's not exactly an excuse
       being Croat, speaking English in Paris,
missed opportunity though,
   je-b'a-n'ah      ku-r-v'ah              ma-ć!

and the winner! is?
           Zeus and Hera once debated
which *** derives more pleasure from ***...
but that, a woman,
   deviates from ******, altogether?
         and the man,
      becomes a seagull chick,
fed regurgitated ******* all the time?
   you can't fake pseudo-epileptic
spasms...
                
                  and i know what is and what
isn't considered a finality of
paying for an hour with a prozzie...
    considering the fact that you,
actually know what you're paying for,
when she's not being paid to
act the: pinnacle role...

               well: it was either to go and
see a priest, or a psychiatrist...
    but evidently the ******* knew
better... on how to educate me in
the art of: sifting journalism-on-saturday
diatribe...

                you almost want an
introduction of the concept of a sabbath
to journalism...
      
   but the missing O?
             leaving a man so gullible,
or rather:
                    i could buy into the fact
that i have a replica to "mind"...
   but being rejected from being
able to give, rather than receive pleasure?

she said it herself:
   a rare quality, for a man to mind
giving, rather than receiving pleasure...

to be left in a perpetual doubt,
                     is akin to being denied,
        which is hardly a happy phallus...
i like your supposed
   *liberators"...
                       looks like the "excesses"
of skin prior to circumcision have
a secondary purpose...
     christ, would you believe:
they can make a ******* out of that, thing?

"Once upon a midnight", ghostly,
Partied many, dead ones mostly.
Feasting in the graveyard, sprightly,
Black fanged werewolves gorged, engrossedly.

In the bone yard, drab and squalid,
Apparitions (staring stolid
Neath the veiled moon, clouded lightly),
Sought fresh bodies, lean but solid.

Fiendish eyes shone, light and sparkly,
Ghouls and demons danced, so darkly.
Maggots munching mush unsightly,
Black blood streamed like ink, quite starkly.

Fetid flesh oozed, flowing freely,
Through the crypt doors, cold and steely.
Shadows, ashen, pranced contritely,
Ebon serpents slithered eely.

As it happens, all too often,
Zombies dimly closed the coffin –
Ra, the sun god, rising slightly
Hunger pangs were soon to soften.

If you ask, I’ll tell you blankly,
When you’re feeling dark and dankly
Come to where this happens nightly.
They’ll enjoy the feast, quite frankly...

;-)

Apologies to EAP

this ungodly hour come the first past
midnight...
nothing has been achieved...
not really not anything to tease
a mirror into shattering...

                             i could have raised
a pagoda in the garden...
                     and orchestrated lights
beneath it...
drank a beer with gloat...
still nothing...

      somehow saved up 2,700 quid
and thought: perhaps the brothel?
somehow to make cake of
two bodies alien to each other?

how about i buy a bicycle?

   then the thought of...
           private health... notably dentistry...
i very much like the idea
of using private practice to...
treat a tooth...
       i was told that the next tier
of treatment is a root-canal...
that this was the last use of any filling's
worth...
unlike my grandmother
i'm not to keen to pull my teeth
out... to wait for a bouquet
of prosthetics with teeth and
fake gums...

               the little money i have
the more i think about private fees for
densitry...
             quiet impossible to justify pleasure
by now...
give me a kippah and no *******
and who's not a happy bunny?

             even if a socrates is cited
by cicero: the soul (of the philosopher)
       treats the body with contempt and seeks
to escape from it...

fair enough... but what if thinking implodes
and becomes an oyster noumenon...
thought: a medium
between itself active and it vacant
(res vanus) -
                
   what if the sigma-animation tension
of soul is...
    a claustrophobia = thinking...
         lately thinking has become a claustrophobia...
i ask the body to remind me
of: how i unconsciously best know
to throw at a bullseye...
to ride a bicycle...

   the soul and its contaminated
yet to: subsequently none of it to be
explored... banquet of dialectics...
          the truth of opinions...
  as if... waiting for...
        some "other" orthodoxy...
to move toward...
very simple, forgiveable...
                        cul de sac eventualities
of life...
           to be somehow caste into a reflection
on the subject of the sea...
some variant of the elevated mirror...
sea and the added dimension of time...

yet still: thinking has become
a claustrophobia...
    
for me the genesis: and add of abstraction
was always thought,
and the exodus too, thought...

rare to find this gross elaboration
of thought: the "moral" -ought
into the confines of... the peacock
that's consciousness:
           tier below con-science...

that somehow facts could be a con(-)
and manipulated thus...

i'm yet to finish dickens' pickwick
papers...
but the edition i started with
was over 150 years old and therefore
encompassed tender binding...
i'm waiting for a cheaper
paperback edition:
and a trip to Loon'don...
i want to "the end" upon some
variation of transit...

çpectial: spe'SH'al...
          spez-            et al.
                         spectate...
                 arranging less a river:
ratio... narrative...
and more... cuckoo and cucoon...
it's all here:

      as if... vowels were odd numbers
and consonants were even numbers...
clearly:

                  TH

   θought... the surg of GH...
            
                   but:  θe...
           in that it's V'eh... definite article:
exactly! the point!
it's not a feather: nor a feafer!

   fe(r)-ver!
                                clearly diagnosed
articulations...
well then... english is as "bad" as fwench...
lost the trill-R and harking are we?
Tolstoy's i'm still eager to re(a)d...
past participle: not the colour, i.e. red...

otherwise: reed: i.e. read...
        the             æ               siamese twin
adam & eve **** and a d.n.a. circus
for: lost, "forgot"... ****** passing on...
the complexity...
of the success of gay outliers
with their satanic grins...

   ænema of the state: project solo...
a cough medicine... drip drip drr... err:

            i see a word i hear
two variations...
and the two variations...
unlike
                  ... please... tease me with
algebra...
                √a = ą

                            cushion!
let's tease!

                much easier with shared...
etymology...
congested / confused...
constipated:

                SH(arp) = SZ(arp) =
                       Š(arp) = Ш(arp)...

              CH(eap) = CZ(eap) =
                Ч(eap) = Č(eap)....

                in that there are modified short-scripts
of numbers...
     h / ч / μ and just one more
and we'll have ourselves
a full guise of a copernican rotation...
geocentric!
with the use of two mirrors!

it's sitting blatant and in my lap
useless as moth *****...

but the idea of exploitation...
i think of...
the many times i would care
for raw meat: in how i would
tender it...
explore it with the metaφor
of butterfly...
and tender fingers; loss of bone...

                my marathon foundation...

there are two F's...
    sounds alike...
but when written...
          i.e. thought / philosophy

the infinite space of: θ "=" τη
                           and of φ "=" πη
                                                (no greek will
tell you the difference between η
                                                 and "3" / epsilon)
mongol brides yet to be attired...

   it's actually impossible to write thus...
hell...
emperor claudius:

   Ⅎ = φ
    F = θ                   and cHeap...
             or pHilosopHy...
            and tHought...
          etc.

          i hear a sound... but then i can't see it...
the "difference" being...
changing alphabets it no new knot of
nuance...
                     hear a yarl...
speak a... "speak" a yawn...
a yawn is a noun
for the otherwise onomatopoeia...
a sigh: to boot...
no... noithing greater worth of
a sight...
nor a sigh...

                         it's the worst
sort of music! un- or -imaginable!

.
Leap of faith
Object of affection
Vision of beauty
Eclipse of the heart

Lilly
Orchid
Violet
Edibble arrangement

Lusciously
Overflowing
Voluptuous
En­chantress

Lascivious
Osculatious
Virginous
Epicu­re

Lustful
Orgasmic
Veracious
Eruption

Lady­ Love
Obscene Love
Velvet Love
Erotic Love

*loving lovers loved lovingly lovable lovely love

i wouldn't be looking for a grain of sand
(biology and physics involved in
the extreme of timescales as necessities
of prescriptive ontology akin to paracetamol),
to pass the time looking at paint dry
or the kleptomaniac amphetamine ******
trying to allocate time a spacing: clepsydra -
i'd be looking for a Napoleonic mountain -
something grand, something audacious -
something crowd pleasing; i'd be looking
for a mountain rather than a grain of sand,
a Mohammed's brow of pleased foresight
forged by pleasing excitement: when
-ed got in the way of -ing upon revision -
the necessity of the verb: (to) please.

and of him they said three things:
1. the death of death
2. the man who turned himself into a tree
3. of the men that will instil fear
    into the children of others
4. did you know that there was a child
    born without a brain in Poland?
    yep! no brain, he could talk and walk
    but he didn't have a brain... no, not that he
    was a hillbilly intellectually... he literally had no brain...
    just a woodpecker in the cranium of war-drums bellowing
    out a familiar tune of geese strapped to a
   methodology of synchronisation...
(5. rightfully alcoholic and apostate catholic,
      know any better sedative?
     Priest Rydzyk: radio Maria:
     hoi hoi huj! as if the Vatican isn't the
     oldest name for Mafia -
     usurper of education in orthography,
     a question of aesthetic and lessened
     rigour is relevant: as is the prevalent
     notion of *chomąto - or the missing tail
     on the a, as in o & n:  the ą stress was always
     nasal, so, chomonto - unless we encourage
     the English to use diacritic marks,
     we'll have to unravel what makes a couplet
     of diacritical vowel and consonants -
                                  and not cheap -
      but hope -                   c's apparently
      optional, or, would you believe,
      a monopoly... d'uh, what else?
      the more i hear of Poland
      these days the more i make assurance
      to not speak anything but English...
      chomąto, i.e. noble herb? no!
                               horse collar - to oar the fields
for french fries - just like the modern children
who say milk comes from a supermarket
and not a cow... the Bermuda ****** tweak
of revisionists' scandal: to improve humanity.
altogether another way to say
                     behind this man there was no woman
for you to imitate writing and outright
subordination -
                              shady creatures, women,
long lost artefacts of womanhood:
the Graeae sisters and Medusa - ******* saints
in the feminist dogma -
                                       soon to be released:
feminism and Plato, feminism and Nietzsche,
feminism and ******, feminism and Leibniz,
feminism and Einstein, feminism and Putin,
feminism... **** me! the long lost theory
of everything! we've found it! stop digging!

For ever live forever involved...

E mprical truth
V ented emotions
O rdinary til eternity
L ongterm fascination


L eap blind folded
O utstanding sensual emissions
V iolin heart beat
E quality yet devolved in my eyes.

7 days for 1nce a month you're vermillion

taste like in the middle of copper thighs

2 lips magneticly parted

by 2 lips 1 tongue

and weeks a year you're like iron
and salt and copper reddish between
hunks of femurs pours a 12 times

dear, the crawling vapid sweet acidity
of 7 mouthfuls of queer drink surge
delightfully opaque crimson gallons of

         you

          r clefted

      love h

           eap

                    is



      the best kind of drowned

.poet, or philosopher, it doesn't really matter which is which, or whether the two are indistinguishable, notable in the former scenario, when someone has an eclectic bounty of interest is simply not love-scorned or love-nostalgic, love-idealistic, does it really matter? i was once called a philosopher: a teenage girl said in third person (as if she was a puppet and some-thing was moving her tongue): 'talk to this philosopher'... not in that sarcastic way that philosopher is an misnomer or an abused term of: self-gratifying grandeour, it was quiet genuine, but: imagine my shock... i had an ambition in life, it was to perform a service to thinking: without doing as much as hammering a nail into a plank of wood, that's the ambition of any thinking man: to borderline on telekinesis or telepathy... that was Hegel's modus operandi, his categorical imperative... after all: ego is a metaphysical tool, while thought is its metaphysical canvas... the mere suggestion that a copernican inversion can happen in physics "contra" metaphysics... it's already apparent, any word can behave like a hand touching the sacred object / subject of transfiguration and become something else, even a misnomer can find itself given solace to the user... for now i've forged a belief in the ultimate: away from the absolute in relation to omni in unum - one first has to learn to think, before having to learn to feel... mind you, i don't like the current nietzschean inversion of the cartesian equation: (ego) sum ergo (ego) cogito... esp. among the youtube political commentators, too many examples to give: i'm a classical liberal, i'm a progressive, i'm a liberterian... i don't really like seeing: i am, precede i think... i don't even like the origin-argument of this inversion: i exist for the sole purpose of thinking... after all: i think prior to being, since i can also daydream and not be what my thinking suspects as a possible truth-outcome... that's the nature of the freedom of thought: i don't have to be what i think, i can find thinking to be a pleasure, when the senses do not offer me any pleasure derivative, e.g. eating can sometimes be boring, chewing, chewing, *******... i eat because i need to live: i don't live to eat... i really have under-appreciated Hegel, i should really visit my grandparents for two months and read the phenomenology of the spirit: i'm trying to replicate the saying attributed to him (verbatim), but i doubt that i will, i don't have the patience to sift through all the quotes, but it goes along the lines of: beware oh wordly man, to not be a pawn in a thinking man's game... hence my suggestion of philosophy entering into the realms of telekinesis and telepathy: you get to see things play out and people express the origin story, of your own memetic generation of the original idea... how are poets finally alligned to philosophers? good thing that i studied chemistry at edinburgh university: we return to atoms, words are no longer enough, sure, they are, contrary to the statement...  (why did i under-appreciate Hegel? ah... had my head stuck up heidegger's and kant's *****...

integration? great!
but i'll meet you halfway...
i'll eat your fish & chips,
your englush breakfast,
i won't sing your anthem: god save the queen,
****** anthem, too short,
but i will whistle through:
the british grenadiers' fife & drum...
like i might through la marseillaise...
i'll meet you halfway...
i'm not a former colony member,
commonwealth,
i'm not some ****- paying bribes
to the british powers
to join in on a world cup of cricket...
this is what happens when immigration
turns sour...
they either lesrn the host tongue,
or they don't learn it...
or they can't distinguish the two:
speak polonaise at home,
speak the hosts' sprechen outside of it...

if the ******* aren't suspect:
by not being bilingual...
the arab beatles... jihadi john...
ringo star h'ahmed...
george ali...
paul mecca rashid...
oh i'll settle for integration...
but don't you ******* think i'll give
up my mother tongue
for "c.c.t.v." close-ups back home,
home being my private lodge...
like ******* will...
i'll speak your tongue in public...
but i'm not ******* former commonwealth
****- riddled with a need to play
cricket, "forget" my tongue in order
to compensate for olives
and sun-burnt bananas!

a former colony ****-**** is about
to dictate the rules for fellow
europeans, on the tram-ride from
Birmingham to Nottingham?
seriously?
but of course the englishman
will favor the former colony pet bush-monkey
from sri lanka...
since the brit can't really dictate
to a fellow european his superiority
complex... which he can...
with a petted copper skinned
toy-ting...
who brought 'im a korma curry!
nice one, ol' laddy...
right on the plonker...
i'm not finished!
i'm just getting started!

gehirnablassen:

perfectly respected immigration,
given that so many english girls just love
the attention their **** minders,
sexually abused,
not really making it as nurses
or... ahem... karaoke superstars
worth the while of britain's got talent
or voice of britain,
or...whatever the ****** show was
that gave birth to one direction...

so a.... brain-drain? good immigration?
the best!

i can sit awhile by myself and count...
1. the sparrows,
2. the swallow,
3. the starlings,
4. the crows,
5. the magpies,
6. the pigeons,
7. the woodland pigeons
(fatter, with dog collars),
8. kestrels
(one is enough to begin
the count)...
9. the blackbirds....
10. seagulls... seagulls?! 25 miles from
romford to southend! seagulls?!
this far in-land?! fair enough...
11. a robin...
12. goldfinch...
i just sit and watch these birds
in my garden, i sometimes spot
a darting frog in the garden,
i'm more english than the english...
i actually enjoy owning a garden...
the "english" surrounding me
exemplify a bbq. as a luxury parade...
what's so luxury about marinating
some meat, and then grilling it?!
please! enlightend me!

gehirnablassen...
brain-drain immigration,
the type asiatic tiger-mums brag about
at child olympics...
for the required rubric stature...
******* mothers, basically...

)  notes to preserve completing
what remained: pending...

1. χaron χaos - cha-cha-cha       khaos / chaos...
2. theaetetus - so / ma   letters / syllables:
graphemes: sz phi theta
compound syllables (caron s) - Na (sodium)
3. music choice...
brain damage perturbator ft. noir deco
virga iesse floruit, gradual of eleanor of
britanny...
4. pride / stubborness (not equal to) honour,
tolerating islam is not the same
as respceting islam...
german 19th century fascination
with islam...
θought and φilosophy...
greek in warsaw, giving him directions,
talks: sounds so much like spanish...
5. england a nation of singletons,
idiosyncracy... social pressures in poland
and even in h'america missing in england
to marry...                                         (

1. well, let's begin...
        it has taken me two days to complete
my utterances... i've just spent 40 or so minutes
listening to the last of the youtube
stronghold (dangerfield -
               from hash to ******) -
i can relate on the literature,
i can't relate in taking steps of replica...
i started smoking marijuana
aged 21... i think you should start later...
drinking while being a teenager, fine...
i hanged around with some irish in my teens,
we used to have sleepovers at youth clubs
play pool, buy ***** mags and drink
white lightning: bumb cider...
but given that i was sold chemically
enchanced (negatively, i might add) marijuana
that turned me psychotic...
ah... psychiatric terms, used by the mainstream
like some casual metaphors...
     recently i was at a health scrutiny hour...
yes: my psychosis was made stable in
a schizophrenia: which is a new word to describe
bilingualism... oh the english natives!
what competent people...
  no, it didn't become bipolar: psychotic depression...
lucky me... lucky in that:
           bukowski: isolation is the gift...
the rest are a test of your endurance...
no **** sherlock!

  i just look at all the particular instances
when english (the language) breaks rules...
    heidegger merely pointed out
that there's a difference between chaos
and χαoς: well cheap and cha-cha-cha...
but when it comes to the ferryman?
some would say: χαρoν...
otherwise? do the raj bidding of inserting
a surd H... nibble at the tetragrammaton...
   and call the ferryman κ - αρoν
                                            (h)...
this isn't the only example: cheap, chisel...
        chemistry... it's not chem-ístree...
      it's kem-ístree!

2. poor *******, the english,
   they can't discuss orthoraphy...
hardly, to begin with:
what with i (ι) and j (ȷ) -
you have already cut the diacritical heads
of come the CAPITALS: I & J...
what a simple hydra to vanquish...

2. theaetetus - so / ma   letters / syllables:
graphemes: sz phi theta
compound syllables (caron s) - Na (sodium)

                     i like this one...
   letters, syllables, graphemes,
sodium: Na...
  the key and the door analogy of the keyhole...
feminism: it wants to coagulate...
to group existentialism with
scholastism...
sorry honey... play your footie:
*******!
                    key being inserted:
φought enters θilosoφy....
yes, the graphemes are elevated,
beyond the stature of consonants...
didn't you ask?
oh, you should have asked...
- socrates: can yoy give a rational account
                    of syllables, but not of letters?
- theaetetus: it seems possible.
-socrates: quiet; i think so too. at any rate,
surely you'll have an answer about the first
syllable of 'socrates', if someone asked
'tell me, theaetetus, what is SO'?
- theaetetus: yes, my reply would
be that it is S and O.
- socrates: so there's your account of a syllable,
isn't it?
    - theaetetus: yes.
- socrates: all right then, tell me alao of your account
of S is.

sorry... after this point, for B to be a surd?
bottomless pit... let's ask what is a letter,
what is a syllable... and what is a grapheme...
the greeks bargained on dialectical markers...
which they dind't need, since the latins needed them...
what is a syllable is also: what is a grapheme,
and how to account for "strange" vowels?

the greek thought, they thought,
"thinking" that only the greek language
was correlated to universal thinking...
and that universal thinking was only associated
with greeks speaking... pish-poor choice
if you mind...

         syllables... individual letters...
weren't consonants synonymous to syllables?
esp. with added diacritical markers?
play-tongue-think-tank with the greeks...
sooner or later they fizzle out as
redundant...
         couldn't keep Constantinople...
will not regret or revive the bounties of
reclaiming Istambul...

i once claimed to tolerate islam...
tolerating islam is one thing...
    respecting islam: quiet another...
i can attempt myself at
respecting a cloning device...
which any religion is: a cloning device...
i can tolerate it...
which, doesn't imply i respect it;
i wouldn't eat a meal with a muslim...
and sharing a meal?
is my fullest acknowledgement of
respect, i tolerate islam,
i, tolerate it,
   thank **** i don't respect it.
respect it like some 19th century german
philosopher... hegel or nietzsche....

what is a syllable "compensated" by
a grapheme, esp. with a hidden consonant,
akin to the caron "s"...
      i.e. šeep: look at that...
the first time orthography was introduced
into the englishsprechen...
   hid the H: šeep... sheep...

well we already know where the greek
letter went to: modifying scientific
constants... after all π = 3.14....
    Σ = summation...
            last time i checked...
letter, whether consonant or vowel
orientated,
took up more meaning beyond
translating the optic of encoded
sound into expressed sound...
    they became surds...
          tools to think with,
only secondary sound symbols...
you no longer translated the representation
of the sound,
there was an idea behind the letter...
disguised as a "letter"...
chemistry minded the syllables:
Na: sodium, salt...
   and that was that...
              
  fai(s) çe q'(u)é voudrā(s) -
written, but otherwise a surd...
fwench has the most examples...

3. music choice...
brain damage perturbator ft. noir deco
virga iesse floruit, gradual of eleanor of
britanny...
     mind you, i will gladly whistle about
three songs while walking...
this is the part where i become an arrogant
*******... teaching yourself does
that to a man, there's no pride in being
lectured, ordered to regurgitate...
for all that pomp & circumstance
that makes pride & prejudice shy...
    she should have always been
first choice on the fiver banknote...
jane austen my ***...
            mary shelley was the dog's *******,
through and through...
the three songs i sometimes whistle
while walking, taking a whiskey for a walk
(good thing i don't own a dog)...

a. beethoven's symphony IX
     allegro assai vivace - alla marcia...
b. la marseillaise...
   c. british grenadiers - fife & drum...
shhh...
    (for all the worth of shakespeare's
poetry... robert burn's:
aud lang syne...
        hell... i can't write sing-along poetry...
poetical commentary...
which still beats poetry worthy of
thee theatre...
shakespeare, no shakespeare...
aud lang syne:
   old long gone song, refurbished)...

5. england a nation of singletons,
idiosyncracy... social pressures in poland
and even in h'america missing in england
to marry...

       isn't it obvious? england is a metal
asymlum when you wish to see it as such...
somehow and "suddenly" all the social
pressures disappear when nagging either
a polonaise society or a h'american society...
i'll be critical of applied english,
as a language...
but when it comes to living?
               second to none... when i was younger,
and growing up in poland
the english were know as gaylords...
or the bellybuttons of the world...
now, having grown up among the irish
in the outer east-end of Loondon?
want to talk to a 6ft1 115kg "******" about
his lack of obsession with marital status?
his complete disinterest in dating?
what's a dating app?!
                 the same kind of "******"
obsessed with templar chants?
dabbling in helvegen?

  dating... what a weird concept...
whenever i get a chance, i'll sit with a thai
surprise (bisexual, female)...
manage to take her home, play her some
jazz... **** her in the garden...
                            walk her home...
"date"... when it comes to prostituites...
when it comes to prostitutes...
    britney spears  - criminal,
     rihanna - shut up & drive,
   lady gaga - telephone
                       holly valance - kiss kiss
delta goodrem - innocent eyes.....
gay boy got gay rights...
what a boring time to be alive in...
just when homosexuality was no longer tabooo,
norman stephen "typo" *******...
boring homosexuality...
  antithesis artistic homos...
gays are boring me with their antics,
i'd also love latex love triangles...
but...
  i'm not joining in,
since i haven't been made welcome...
         welcome this:
the rightful pucker of a knuckle count's worth
of a sucker!

    i've experienced only: 3, loves at first sight...
kot... i rememher her surname,
she was the first to kiss me,
aged, roughly 7...
    priya.... my ex-girlfriend's
younger sister...
                          isabella of grenoble...
who took my virginity...
oh, ****...
        there was freckles galore daniella...
at st. augustine's... rabbit to her...
there was... milena...
there was samatha...
                there was jadwiga...
                       there was janina...
i fell in love too many times...
there was ilona of novosibirsk...
   gregoria who licked my face
like a cow...
                 the ukranian *******,
the bulgarian prostitutes who i stole
kisses from,
the serbian strippers...
   packaged boy,
  postcard ****-acto...
                 the australian fling...
half hindu half scouser...
towering beauty with the looks
akin to tweety bird lips (as my irish friend
noted)...

women... ah ha ha...
           i guess 3 months is long enough
for me to be with them...
    last time i checked, she was on her period,
and i was gagging...
last time i checked: ******* a *******
her period alleviates the period pains...
she didn't let me,
instead? i received a week
bound to reading Bulgakov...

           condoms are great when used
to **** a ******* her period...
that's how i started to hate relationships...
*** monopoly..
   and readings from cosmopolitan magazine
about the out-dated
idiosyncracy of relationship statuses...

4. pride / stubborness (not equal to) honour,
tolerating islam is not the same
as respceting islam...
german 19th century fascination
with islam...
θought and φilosophy...
greek in warsaw, giving him directions,
talks: sounds so much like spanish...

     i can tolerate islam,
but, i can't respect it....
    how could i respect it?
           i met a greek in warsaw....
he sounded like a goth,
     how the spanish tongue sounded
much akin to the greek zunge...     

chamaleon tongue,                    shape shifter,
bez akcentu w piśmie - więciej akcentu poza pismem
(trainspotting scottish), welsh, cockney,
east london altogether, pakistani english, etc.
e.g. rather, or raver, i.e. not rayver
(someone who parties at night on an ecstasy pill)
but ra'ver, like verging on a new discovery,
it's not even the = ~v but is actually v...
english is a chamaleon tongue, you say 'nostic
when you write gnostic, i say diagnostic,
therefore say gnostic, you say 'nome, i say gnome,
as cf. with diagnostic;
then there's the case of the per se:
you say chamaleon - no kappa there apperent, eh?
but there's chappie, chap, chuckles,
no kappa in a millionth chance
to also say nough'ledge for knowledge,
a bit like that gnome of yours...
as i said before: a language without
a written insertion of stressors / distinctions
will produce a massive array of diacritical
stressors / distinctions outside the written format,
but it will also become as complex as to
allow adults with learning difficulties e.g. dyslexia,
and that horrid internet slang of shortcuts:
i ate my 8 when i was late for my disco date
with the cha cha cha melon.

          mind you: i always seemed to "mis-pronounce"
words in english... first came puma:
i was laughed at on a primary school bus
heading from st. augustine's (half-way between
gants hill and barkingside) to the barkingside
swimming pool: where i learned to swim
by myself, very much akin to me learning
the english language, by myself,
dropped into the deep end,
i was a complete mute...
my parents were also learning the zunge...
so they couldn't exactly teach me,
i had to learn it myself...
      so it wasn't puma: with that hollowed
out U...
      i.e. pú-mah... it was: pew-mah...
or piu-mah...
           weird...
                   then i found other examples...
i was once more corrected
when it came to the celts...
                       it wasn't cedilla "riddled":
çelts, but Kelts...
    funny that... the football team from glasgow
is dubbed çeltic, not celtic: isn't it?
i loved being corrected about my
pronounciation... get corrected enough times,
and then... light: you get to sprechen such
things as:
   what sort of orthography aesthetic discussion
can i have with an englishman,
when his sole diacritical markers
hover over an ιo: iota: i / ι...
   and that dotless antithesis of java - ȷ -
like in dante's canto XXVIII:
                               Bertrand de Born,
two completely pointless orthographical -
as i would rather call them:
indulgences rather than errors,
otherwise not necessary...
             excess spelling... and particular,
hidden, pronounciation variables...
that's as much of an orthographic debate
you will ever get from an englishman,
given their lack applied diacritical markers...
hey... if the english speaking peoples
love their "reality" chequers...
   their metaphysics...
           i have something as pertinent, ready,
orthography is far more interesting
to me than the grandeour of metaphysics...
so now we have to figure out
the third sister... given the already associated
benzene ring directions of associating
compound groups:
   ortho-,
                      meta-,
                            ­           para-...
  can't just leave it to paranorman / -"normal"...
para- needs to be associated with something
else if we're going to venture
with orthography and metaphysics
and further...

    another decent example?
       gnomes...           gnostics...
why is the g treated as a surd at the beginning
of the word, hence? 'nomes hence 'nostics...
but all the more apparent in a word like
diagnostics?
                               i guess i've found my
new playground: the english vocabulary.

p.s. if there's a hay patch at the beginning, the nasal flute
will ask larry 'the lynx' saxophone to hark it out with rasp
gritting of phlegm... but if it's somewhere else down
the piccadilly line... it will act like a nudist spy and resonate
less than expected; probably mingling with f, i think.

uncouthed, in the plain, in the pleasant, in the big upward outward (foreverandever) the sky. andl eap tu pt ot ouch the grotesque marvel: the sun; who's infinitely finite strands of lovely fingers briskly gallop on the smooth earth. a fine lady, he loves most, HER.,;';,.

Beware for it is coming
Everyone will soon see,
For it is upon us now,
Old young, new born
Reach inside yourself
Every moment counts.
-
They think its all *"OK"
Hell on earth will fall
Each persons moment.
-
Will they *crumble
Or rise above this all,
Reap what you sow
Leave the material
Death is following
-
Every last thought
Not everyone's the same.
Do you want to be alone?
So the world ends, but stars still turn.

and a verse, like all others, by those not contending for gravestones visited post-mortem, post-fancy, post-zeitgeist, post-whatever-it-is-that-makes-people-visit-jim-morrison's-grave-­leave-a-spliff-****-off-not-smoke-it-allowing-some-***-to-take-th­e-advantage (at the pèr[e] lachai[se]ª) - and it still is, the most vandalised grave in the world, and kept that way... unlike that ****** who chipped off part of the gravestone from ed gein's grave, did some voodoo praying: give me a heart of stone, and strong bowels!

you know what they call whiskey
and bourbon and cognac back
east? perfumes...
    then again, i don't blame them -
but back east the girls drink
beer with blackcurrant juice
and sip it using straws -
  and there's certainly no ale: or cider...
and ***** is drank blue (extra cold) -
and never on an empty stomach -
and always in shots that feel
like downing gomme sugar syrup...
         me? i like the perfumery liquors,
thing with ***** if you're
mixing and on an empty stomach:
you need sharpshooters to tell you
there's alcohol in the brew -
but add some whiskey and the smoking
wood, and the caramel,
   and the thought of salmon
in their scotch sushi form of smoked
rushes through ahead of ms. pepsi.

ªpèr[e] lachai[se] -
  the french are more deviatory than
the english when it comes to clear
syllable cutting - oh the french can
bake you a fine my my a very fine croissant,
but? they're, ha ha, terrible phonetic
butchers...
      the brackets? exclusion points -
although written, not said...
      then again the lachai[se]
is debateable - but that invokes their
cousin's lingo, namely the german
geschärft und stehen neben zu ein spiegel S,
   la-chez... or láchez (without the english
conduct of eradicating multi-syllable
  germanic);
  it's still going to be pèr[e] lachai[se] =
pèr la-chez or pèr láchez -
   and even then it becomes: *sharpened
even further: things don't come cheap -
and the french as the biggest culprits of
writing one way, and speaking another!
the reason why french, is probably
the only language that makes it difficult
to learn, therefore keep a native language,
therefore establish bilingualism,
       therefore have acquired proper
diacritical fusion for a passable accent -
likewise for the french to lose their
diacritical specificality -
        is because english can accommodate
a wide range of accents,
even though english is also culprit in
avoiding clear syllable inccissions -
    but the english accommodates the pict
talk, the cymru talk,
  the gaels the french: H and the R -
the germans: mein goot ęglish axezoont;
nonetheless, the french are bigger phonetic
culprits than the english...
     perhaps that's why i never "bothered"
to learn the ****** frog-stomp:
no... i just preferred the evolution of a letter,
i.e. R... i preferred the english tongue
numbing version to the french harking it...
as i made fun of that tarantula bite
of the english tongue: while retaining my
slavic trill of R.

i've been trying to purge myself from
having read a novel:
      at almost 1000 pages -
it's hard not to:
                 i was told: easier to watch
the movie-adaptation...
        but i'm reading a different book now
and i'm stuttering...
  i have to claim the fallacy
of philosophical literature as being riddled
with the competition of fictional
prose: i keep "stuttering" -
i.e. rereading what is obliviously
there to either absorb or accept -
           not in or with a high-mindedness
i write the following words:
i abhor a need to strutter reading
a work of philosophy...
               it's already painful encompassing
a paragraph, let alone rereading
        a single sentence -
         i assure you: you will not recite
a work of such kind with a belief that
doesn't allow me to question, whether you
are, or that you aren't an: actor.
             oh, sure - we write about what
we read, but there are so many out there who
write about: what they never read...
an uncomfortable word for me,
notably due to the past participle red -
   and to do so in the moment: reed...
         some sort of glitch in the grapheme
æ - ash - something truly gravitates a "soul"
to agitate a body into writing this...
for all the perfections of the modern world
there is a verbal anomaly...
       as pedant i am prone to spot a bulging
crevice... and the shrinking dreihundret...
    i know i will visit my grandfather's
house only once...
      as told to throw the rose into
the fresh burial ground of my great-grandmother
i said: NEIN...
  and later took it home,
put it under a candle inspection,
and gently burned the red into purple,
to later gnash and grind my teeth's
worth of chipping one of them,
just after the wake, sitting alone in a kitchen,
drinking *****...
               i have no germanic affiliation
but it pains me to see them this way,
this medieval masochistic...
                   so i sometimes utter
a few words in german: for no reason
and for no concern for posterity -
  no Berliner can assign me a lineage...
     prior to the chipping of the tooth
there was the laughter on the bus
while the priest did his: evading the status
of a common women who died -
   in the meantime, just recently i solved
what first appeared an unspectacular
"plagiarism" of a ***- puzzle...
  hyphen? forgot the spelling of the rest...
   and in the two number blocks:
  alternatively odd / even numbers, i.e.

3 | 4  1 | 5  6 | 2
2  1 | 6  3 | 4  5
4 | 6  5 | 2  3 | 1
5  2 | 3  4 | 1  6
1 | 3  2 | 6  5 | 4
6  5 | 4  1 | 2  3

just like the sudoku - although alternatively
even / odd in the brackets...
   i attempted it with a sense of failure:
there are three isolated instances:

3 |                       | 2
...................................
4 |                        | 1
...................................
1|                         | 4
..................................

     by comparison sudoku was easy...

+++ 3, 3, 3
++ 3, 3, 0
+ 3, 0, 0
- 3
                      or something like that:

plus the        | via _
                                             x x x
                                             x x x
                                             x x x...

and how many times i wished to be
H'eh-sooz from Barcelona -
        too many to count the number of springs
i already count to: 31...
     well then...
              
    does the following allow me manliness
or armour?

              ****'s a bit wonky...
   funky wonky... but still: dual-stirrup on
that eight legged donkey!
   apparently drinking doesn't allow you to:
"properly" count...
                        
           for if i had an apple i could
press ******* a key and not let go and
it wouldn't be a ctrl c cntrl p scenario
having to copy "eccentric" markings added
onto letters from the HTTP beast...

name an instance?

                 súdòkū -

well no, if i'm being deviant why establish
the study of orthography?

           yes, the -niece word can be contained
with a samurai blade sharpness
    mono-syllable...
            hai...
                      but slow it down?
this is what slow motion looks like...
slow motion in terms of applying
diacritical marks...
     you can almost be thankful that
the english-speaking world has
to only contend with:

                    a. punctuation marks
                    b. hyphenated words
                    as reconstruction of
                        a germanic genesis -
                       missing in chemistry...
                  
hydrochrloric acid is best condensed
and not left as shrapnel...

          -             -      so best to huddle
and count the space between your fingers
when waving like a... ******* idiot.

but i am still going to "stutter" when
reading a philosophy book -
    which is a BIG X (a ******* twist
of +) -
                 plus...
            because i've heard of women who
have reread entire books...
    well... **** two birds with one stone...
read a philosophy book:
     you'll be reading it twice in a single
sitting...
             no point rereading if you're
already rereading it already -
i.e. making cogito scriptums -
   mental notes...
                    
   and then when you get a chance
to hound a blank echo tunic worth of
a page? hell becomes: democratic -
       and each has his own: say...

        why wouldn't want to play around
with punctuation marks in a language
that has no diacritical precedence as bound
to Latin - with the only insinuation
being the lost artefact of carving graphemes?

     already pointed out:
    cheap and short -
   spot the graphemes!
             because, sure as ****,
     there's a difference in cattle heap
       and summer hornets...
                
to imagine: i've learned a language in order
to unlearn it, or better still: relearn it,
   and become a pedantic aesthetician...
  
wel... but if the germans can make S S
     into a ß - ah... the noun game -
   it's a digraph and not a grapheme because
the two letters are twins worth
merging and
not siamese akin to... worth cutting apart:
             is that not just a B, but also
nuanced as merely Zet?via
                      gro-z-es - vizier?
        where is that H to catch the O
   prior to anticipating the hyphen?
      back with god...
              i have to conceed a remark though:
something really made the jews smart
if what smart meant was: hiding vowels,
or rather making vowels into
diacritical marks akin...
       which i can't say the same about arabs...
  lucky the oil's there...
  
     this riddle will exhaust me
and i will never write a decent effort to
satisfy me...
     thus i rather leave it at that:
having exhausted, rather than abadoned
  this palace of a former blank space...
there are bound to be squatters ready
to inherit a peel of an orange for zest
of an orange i just ate.

   but i still manged to drink alone:
under the banner of to-ast!
    and that really is the distinguishable
desire to apply diacritical marks
when to and too are indistinguishable
    when otherwise: pool and pol(l)
are apparent -
         something is honestly wriggling
in english trying to get out...
maybe a death of a certain bilingualism.

chopping two heads of garlic for:
however long that might have lasted -
each tooth cut into a fine matrix
of miniature cubes -
cut to the point where a fattiness
oozes from each garlic tooth:
sticky saliva-esque ('l) and it's not...
the kind that comes bursting
with onions spitting venom -
how bewildered to be answering
the door when a delivery man
has just dropped a package
and you've also... just been cutting
onions...
   a tear that has to transcend
both grief, happiness and pangs of
beauty -
the garlic?
     the feel of fingers after having
fingered and slobbered and
come glutton on the equivalent
of **** and a devil's dozen
of oysters -
                a recipe for pickled
cucumbers: that they were cucumbers
that would become gherkins...
yes... thinly sliced 4kg of cucumbers
to 1kg of sugar... this and that:
some curry powder...
left in 2tbsp of salt to gush with brine...
and then... the pasteurißation
process - fudge packed into jars...
the lids not fully twisted on...
some breathing room -
"baked" in an oven at 120 degrees
for less than an hour...
taken out... the lids firmly ******* on...
then the jars flipped upside down
to stand...
for safe-keeping...
to boil the impurities away...
boil giddy broth and all that scratching
youth of cucumber away
for a smoothness accustomed
to marble...
funny that... the onion - how it is
the only vegetable to have some variation
of a venom and is still
the only metaphor of a snake -
the tears i shed over these Baßil plucks...
   in english: ß is an interchange:
once a sharpened S...
i know of sharpening eSSeS...
cute acute is the final form:
           ślizg (off ślizgać: to slide -
i.e. one has the slang attache -
a bit like: having the groove)...
you can almost hear it: at the end of
each hush: it's never a hush:
it's a huś of a librarian...
        a howl of it might i add...      
- crude caron is the: not yet blunt...
meat-eater.... teeth indentations... grooves...
          shackles...
the crown: šaro-
             followed by two halves
of a crown -ść               i.e. greyness -
which is still not borrowing from
the ingenuity of the russians:
szczera (too many consonants my ***...
too many vowels you roman dogs!)
   SH-CH -
                       Š + Č = Ш + Ч = Щ
        we could have the "ingenuity" process
of this evolution of... an "apostrophe"
from the depths...
   but... catherine the great was
a german lass... and even though: Ц
sits proud and could have been...
                    it wasn't... since...

Ц ≠ CH(eap)
         or CZ(art)
           or ČaXa...
      it could have: what was it...
a mirror inquisition of mu to begin with?
give me 100 years and a book burning
and i could "correct" this burden...
so it ******* fits...
i'd even call in the mongols to implement
this change...

the germans already say: цentrum
and write zentrum - herr tseit!
                                 herr schtick-a-lot: цar...
щerość  - truthfulness...
                                         / ščerość:
two coronas halved -
or... sharpened...
                     and to think... this little adventure
has me dancing above a latin script!
and... deviating from some ur-greek...

we could do this minor change:
"pan-slavic" borrowings from
the 19the century in the balkans
under the ottomans -
           this hypered breathing tool
to extract the yet Siberia - Hades bride
a near pristine ****** -
in this cosmopolitan confused multi-
of an english...
i am here to express and drag back
into the "darkness" of the east
memento...

  that the greek had names for
some of their letters: omicron, omega,
alpha, beta, gamma...
but that the latins had:
vowel-and-consonant: syllables
instead of proper names...
delta - a sensation for a prefix letter...
and a suffix name scoop...

cut my ***** off and feed me
operatic candy...
when you open a bag of
    chimichurri chimichurri:
chim chim churri...
no... when you open a bag
of been-sprouts after
the best-before-date...
    you know the perfume if you have
ever... fermented grapes:
it's that in-between scent
of fermentation -
it's quiet off-putting...
but it's passable...
              but english is both
the currency of the present...
the language of empire
the lingua franca: although:
the crescent moon in the shackles
of the sheikhs:
who moved these youths into
europe if not the project harem...
and fatso old cat laze'ohs of
the woman's drudge:
a heaving tide of custard flesh...
boiling with lazy bop-bop of
bubbles...
                    we can discuss it in
english: never mind the natives...
we came, we saw...
some of us didn't bothered feeling
at home...
although: we once hoped to be...
never... *******... mind!

i'm here for two "letters"... well...
sounds... in the russian text...
great orthographer that i am:
the english can have their metaphysical
this certain debate that...
that uncertain debate this...
it's not like the english will ever
employ diacritical markers...
a recurrent theme: a stressor on my mind...
it will never be allowed
a pop fission - it will not claim
an epidemic status -
mind you:
the priests the psychiatrists and the
prostitutes... minor of the 3:
the four horseman... the "poet":
the poo-etcetera...
  try try, try bring fail...
"ignore, ignore": "happiness"
will find its trail...

                 but once! in a time of...
poesy and cerebral palsy!
sound: ping pongs of echoes pf
dying elephants or whales...
            the stomach of the disgruntled
indigestion that's the best assumed
presence of: sea...
            
it's become certain:
in youth to write while listening to music...
tone deaf i: too could reach
a tornado of words... that...
let's be frank: i never recite what i write...
i write best from what's
yet to be seen... i uncover what's hidden...
i don't pretend to measure sounds...
if my voice had the same sensation
to encompass blowing into a saxophone...
no... a horn...
this monotone gravity of breve -
this great aeon bespoke sloth of
an otherwise riddling tongue turned
into an ancient worming from:
from a time when man did not pass
onto his futures -
a memory of some ancient - fabled oned -
a once that turned out to be:
full of replicas! i.e. archetypical
wounds... that forever bleed...

best this written in a silence that
wakes up with an imitation wind...
two letters... russian... beside ur-greek
to me... exported to as far east
as Kamchatka.... which is practically
north of Tokyo -

it's a contested scenario... this...
Цц vs. Чч -
if it was handwritten for the envisioning
of... the:        Ш + Ц = Щ
i'm sold... aren't you sold?
  ah... envious of handwriting fluidity -
now: digit plucking - each letter a solipsistic
"counterstrike"...
     yes... looks like we have ourselves...
the... *****...
             clearly...   zee... ШИЦ!

inversion of mooment - the crows are
near tonight: they are quarreling with the gods...
or perhaps that's just the ***** foxes
teasing leather -
   that i write and there's no music
to distract me: elevate this already
impossible...

i go to sleep with alarm bells ringing...
robert duncan's realisation that he was a poet
aged 17... upon leaving high-school
i did stand before the entire cohort
of my contemporaries and recited a poem:
over which i cried two days prior...
an epileptic seizure gripped
my body from neck down...
but i did manage a recitation...
    i was supposed to become a chemist
now i'm looking for a part-time occupation
in the n.h.s. as having:
good organisational skills and...
a sense of humour...
or some BICS: for... part time gigs at
the ol' B... B... C...
i don't mind i just want something
to execute an elevated trance of
robotics to let my mind wander...
outside the confines of robo-brutus-robos:
anti-caesar: oh look! "us"!

two "inconveniences" of the 20th century
motivate me...
the despots and the shan franshishko poets...
there's that famous gozilla
of a tornado... there's that...
Bulgakov centre piece of a collection
of... best kept hush-hush among
the moth community...

   that language toys with me that
i don't want to have a competence with it
concerning that i don't have a narrrative
that i'm all tickety-fuckety
when it comes to clocks and eternal silences...
a clock on earth... vacuum...
a boiling kettle on pluto...
given only these two ***** for juggling...
it's... kinda boring... isn't it?
how is one expected to juggle
only two *****?
two oranges... better image... get go image!
i juggle time... i juggle space...
both so impossibly impersonal:
i'd loot a grave for an epitaph that
might make an irish joke down
a pub about them...

       and they kept 'em "*******" in the sports
and kept 'em prized athletes... coz cousing
'arab?
well... they knew those hebs
were expendable from the ghetto-go
prior to the gassing stipends...
it's not these whites keep:
samson strength of david-esque
ingenuity...
it's not like the hebs matter in the world
of sporting events...
gift of the gab... i guess that's what
prizes them above all else...
gifts of "superstition"...
to me? there is enough phonetic evidence
to summon me to showcase
that... the tetragrammaton is...
a spider in a web of english:
surd H(atches)...

        a breath of a dying man
about to... pOUNCE!
but the jews were never cotton pickers...
they were never athletes -
if they ever built the pyramids...
i wonder...
it's not like... they... possibly...
hebrews are intellectual creatures:
they are not... about to be caricatured
with fully functioning limbs
readied for the ******* colliseum...
unless they might me...
nero's torches...
and the greek conspiracy -
after all...
           wouldn't the greeks have
conspired....
to topple rome...
in order to therefore...
retain a dominance of power:
byzantine: years after the western
"concept" crumbled?

you don't keeps jews to have
the masses entertained:
you keep the ******* to falsetto
the ******* roll-a-bit sort of gimmick...
run around... kick a coconut...
come back with a lion's golden mane...
jason and the argonauts...
casimir and the ******* cosmotaunts:

*** note on biGGer?
better: sniGGer!
i count less in niGerian -
the offensive sound - less by scent
of "things": a heb is not a jew is  yew:
from a ***...
you can't leave these tracers or:
otherwise we: shun the *****!
that's great: i too spell a sound without
a necessity to connote malice...
but of course: borrowed lithuanian
that i am: under the hellish
anglo-saxon brute manifesto...
all is glacier and glycerine and
toughening of Karen east of any
that's east... the mouthful of
the Danube...

       to "bleep" out a sound to
mishandle the necessity of meaning:
if the blacks can own a ******
why can't i... not own a ******
in his stead of... to tattoo myself
all aryan:
the jew that never made it to
the coliseum as a gladiator -
this burning ***** hair floss of
st. peter's crux...

  we are still in favour of african
mind: less productive:
readily this body made...
there's now clue as to why
a thought concerning:
Proteus - Herr Frankenstein's monster:
Einzstein: Zuerst- also a -stein / - shtein...
zweite-christus-und-stein!

it's unlike a must it's not this
competition with: social inclusive standards:
of what?
the saxon: project that -
one year excluded the irish...
other year: made great fictions
surrounding Libya...
i have before me a history:
that in part i cannot inherit...
i have these... fickle restrictions:
panderings: walking on egg-shell
moments for...

in my own wery brittle: sam's son:
didn't herr voltzwitz stress:
son of sam-
         em... -uel
                 or... -son?
                          jacob my dear fiction...
continue: bring forth
these nuanced goods...

and my two morning synchs...
a cat that wakes me come nearing 5am:
to watch him: entertain myself...
him taking a **** or a ****...
into a tight bundle of imitation
sahara...
or another... to attire her with
creases of the hand...
to pet her... so that she feels
obliged to sleep in my bed...

there i was concerning myself:
does my beard reveal the cubism
of a violin?!
i still have two russian letters on
my mind...
i'll burn them into my forehead
so that i can allow myself to sleep...
but besides?
there's this, courtous conversation
i am to be having - past participle
and future: yes... i mean no...
i will not be having this
african gladiators contra the yiddish
intellectual sludge extension:
no anglo-saxon sensibility will
save me from this: it's own...
hidden lick o' "squander"...

   pandering... for... enough ******
autonomy... to clean offices...
and find the joy of a mind's escapism...
pandering to who beside
the ******* tended to orators
and giggling politicians?

this is enough of a night's vanquish...
to have: as i have: have tamed.

p.s. there's no proof in you "not being" racist
by having ****** a black girl...
i just wonder: could it have been enough
when the trans-racial incorporation
sequence to create the copper-skin
pseudo-arabs begun...
when it was still a taboo...
   not now... i don't know vot "vey"
vont.... or'zzz dunst noot vont...
lebanon?

             i can see myself, though...
******* some copper-skin imitation
h'arab as far tainted as:
lemon-squinting: there's no sunrise:
come the blessings of beijing...
yeah... i too would like to marinade...
or at least have that prawn flesh
tenderness:
to be able to cook in enough
critic acid... without the use
of over boiling water...
it's called tenderising or:
some other magic word...

            *** notes: yes yes...
thoroughly throughout...
fishing for russian nazis...
            ah ha ha...         deaf-tone... joke.

and they thought
   premature depression
was bad...

                       mmm... hmm...

mainstream uses this
cartesian dichotomy of
anti-dialectics
  with a catch-phrase
                           beginning with:

   'but that's subjective'...

   i'm currently stuck on
heidegger's no. 66 of VII -

beginning with:

    the "object" of philosophy.

so there is no subject,
given the mainstream media,
given that a dichotomy
can exist, if it interchanges
alternative posits
and yet retains
a subject, and an object:
mechanism?

   forget about writing
anything in greek...

    φυσις: fusis - fission -
      fusion -
                   "nature"...
counter via  
                          **** ex machina...
(and with language foremost) -

i'll rob the greeks from
their excessive diacritical application,
and dress up the lost trojan
in english, with a few distinctions...

           τηχνε

funny, eh?
    short e prior to a long e that
doesn't require frankish trebuchet launch
patterns of: from high above...

at least the hebrews hid their vowels,
this, modern greek
peacock stalking a garden filled
with serpents?
           i'm not buying the new testament
crap...
   the greeks didn't promise to
keep the unearthing of
   the nag hammadi library intact...

neither did the latter-day roman inheritors...
**** it, have the football match...

the 19th century, and the 20th century
philosophers could have cited
greek as a case for samson's pillars,
                and focus...

i'm done!

          it's not cheap within the confines
of techno...

                  see the barrage of waves?
now swim, swim *******! swim!

           ⠝⠕⠺          ⠊         ⠎⠑⠑    

        (chee              k'si            shee),

the greeks seriously went rampant
with diacritical application...

         which... did very little...
to matter in dictating elocution lessons
having to mind other languages...

you could have sold that sort
of ******* to the english -
who are: stark naked,
  with no, absolutely no
      concept of orthography...

tongue numbing R - the lost trill...
the lost rattle-snake...

    so what's bad about a subjective view?
is it: implosive to the point
of a disappearing act
   reached with the help of ****** death?!
objectively?
        head-****?!
wouldn't an objective answer
be a head-****,
  rather than entertaining
the softcore software
                      notion of a subject?

i'm in a ******* cartesian hell with
these people...
                  with what used to be
synonymous, superimposable,

   has become antonym, and chemical
"naricissus" of,           chiral...    

                      let us deviate from prisons,
institutions, and asylums, they said,
let us craft an agglomerate, they said...
    a "silent" majority, they said...
and they said this, and they said that...
    of what became a mea culpa juggling
act of a society:
    expose the "tyrants":
                             but hide the culprits.

some, "some", variation of an "alternative"
alphabet... for all the Huguenot castratos...
levy the vowels
as either ah: sighs...
laughter: ha ha...
or prompts: eh? i.e. what?!
ugh for uh: what the hell's this...
oh for: semi-sigh like aroused by
an eureka..... ih / ix... and the 9 of hi: hello...
hollow out the remaining(s)...
i.e.
it's a simple ******* rubric
if you look at it:

A
      eB
        Be
       iC(k)
       uC(k)
       eC(k) - speck... hence
the bracket surd, letter...
         C'e(h)
         C'E
         Çee...
    D'eh
           D'ee / Dē...
       ē / eh...
      eF...
  not iron, i.e. not Fe-
      ***:
Gee.
     not G'eh...
or... eGG...
    ***... gutter feels...
ga-ga..
   hay-hay-t'ch...
   hatch a plan...
rubric of the rectangular:
football or rugby...
laughter has a shape...
   Ha Ha...  or sigh ah: ah...
I: aye aye: awe sinking...
       Jay...
    Jotting details...
   adjacent...
   jesting clues...
why oh why Y, y: i-grek
is not devalued as
a consonant and kept as a
vowel-noun i will never know...
edge-J?
       pledge no?
   K...         Kay? kettle kid me? colt?!
prefix way-day-lady...
it's karma but not...
           Ek... it's K.O.
culprit "c"...
slurp... k'k'k'additions...
   El... EL...
  but not... le (the)...
l'homme...
              la bonne heure...
  but not El...
           Le le o'le!...
     Em...
               eM... not... moi... not Me-o-a-while-o-i...
em em stutter proper...
   eN... not N'oh... or Noah...
     O0....
  O0O0O0O0KO0O0...
                ooh...
   ***
            not eP...
   not ePPing...
                          not p'eh... not PI...
        
             Q: cue... not quack...
not kart...
not kcwack....
             row a boat for better weather...
Q serpentine *****-load...
   cue?
queue?
   quack...
        
             aR...
Re-
      gards... the missing thrill of
the R-subjected to the trill...
      
           kind regards...
eS... not: see sight seeing...
essentially...
        eße...
                         ­ see you C or
a cedilla...
           for each Tea hardly any other
Fwench et et et... or a t'eh...
    
  U umbrella or parabolla...
omega: oo boat or a sound of disgust
via: u(g)h!

      V contra U...
             when: a ven...
  verily: wearily...
          upsilon contra nu...
savvy?
  
     it's called a double u...
UU... W...
   it's called a double U... UU...
W... VV... more like a double Vent...
break a leg... call it a weird marriage of
L and T... i.e. a Ł...

brechta... pan...
X for CH... for... HHHHHHHHH...

Ch
     X
        cH

     either ch'eap or... hark at a bark of woo'
'oo'         em... dead... wood?

Y... forget kind brother...

it's Z'ed... not... E'zee'e (easy)...
          no? i's not A-to-Z'ed...
how does that cover the already presented...
D'ee... rather than Ed...
looks pwetty...
who needs to invoke the R
when there's a missing trill?
who? some Angevine remembrance
project?!