I’ve tried to bury my friends
the way you‘ve buried yours.

But their skeleton limbs
unearth my amygdala

shoot through my catacomb skull
in a morbid hail of
bone and grey matter.

Beneath this demented firework display,
the ghouls jitterbug in their demon florals--

if only their hauntings
were as beautiful as their gowns.


Billie Eilish,
I’ve tried to bury my friends

but their remains
could not remain
buried.

My brain
bubbles and blisters
like witch’s brew

as I succumb to the hellfire
of regurgitated memory.


Billie Eilish,
I’ve tried to bury my friends

but they’ve stolen away my oxygen
to resurrect themselves.

I guess I am only what they
feed to me—
dirt.

Billie Eilish,
this trauma is a tomb
I cannot worm my way out of.

Billie Eilish,
my head has turned to stone.

Billie Eilish,
I’ve tried to bury my friends
but

they ended up
burying me instead.

I feel like Billie is HEAVILY inspired by MCR and Frank Iero.
Examples:

Stomachaches = Album by Frank Iero
Bellyache = Song by Billie Eilish

"I'm Not Okay" = Lyrics/Song by MCR
"I'm not okay" = Lyrics from the song 'Listen Before I Go' by Billie Eilish

"I'm Okay" = Lyrics from the song 'I'm Not Okay' by MCR
"I'm Okay" = Lyrics from 'You Should See Me In A Crown' by Billie Eilish

Six Feet Down Under = Song by Frank Iero
Six Feet Under = Song by Billie Eilish

Don't you think so too?

I Don't Love You- Song by MCR
I Love You- Song by Billie Eilish

All the good girls go to heaven-Lyrics from the song This Is How I Disappear by MCR

All The Good Girls Go To Hell- Song by Billie Eilish

In a world of sound and fury,
Where the pop stars dance and hurry,
There's one who stands apart,
A shining star in the heart.

Her name is Billie Eilish,
A force of nature, a whirlwind's wish,
With a voice that's sweet and sly,
She'll make your heart sing and fly.

Her style is bold and unique,
A fusion of dark and light,
She's the queen of the beat,
A rhyme that's tight and neat.

She sings of love and pain,
Of life and all its gain,
Her words are like a river,
Flowing forth, forever and ever.

With every note she sings,
She casts a spell that clings,
Her music's like a dream,
A world of wonder, a world of scheme.

So let us celebrate this star,
This shining light in the far,
For in Billie Eilish's song,
We find our hearts made strong.

⚠Trigger Warning; the following poem contains subject matter pertaining to suicide, self-harm, and eating disorders⚠
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how do u know if ur having a nervous breakdown
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signs of a nervous breakdown
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IS PATH WARM
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empty
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thirteen reasons why hannah baker slitting her wrists
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i wish i was dead

my stange addiction - Billie Eilish

No, Billie, I haven't done that dance since my wife died
There's a whole crowd of people out there who need to learn how to do the Scarn
Don't ask questions you don't wanna know
Learned my lesson way too long ago
To be talking to you, belladonna
Shoulda taken a break, not an oxford comma
Take what I want when I wanna
And I want ya
Bad, bad news
One of us is gonna lose
I'm the powder, you're the fuse
Just add some friction
You are my strange addiction
You are my strange addiction
My doctors can't explain
My symptoms or my pain
But you are my strange addiction
I'm really, really sorry
I think I was just relieved to see that Michael Scarn got his confidence back
Yeah, Michael, that movie is amazing
It's like, one of the best movies I've ever seen in my life
Deadly fever, please don't ever break
Be my reliever 'cause I don't self medicate
And it burns like a gin and I like it
Put your lips on my skin and you might ignite it
Hurts, but I know how to hide it, kinda like it
Bad, bad news
One of us is gonna lose
I'm the powder, you're the fuse
Just add some friction
You are my strange addiction
You are my strange addiction
My doctors can't explain
My symptoms or my pain
But you are my strange addiction
Bite my glass, set myself on fire
Can't you tell I'm crass?
Can't you tell I'm wired?
Tell me "Nothing lasts"
Like I don't know
You could kiss my as-king about my motto
You should enter it in festivals
Or carnivals
Thoughts?
Pretty good reaction
Pretty cool, right?
You are my strange addiction
You are my strange addiction
My doctors can't explain
My symptoms or my pain
But you are my strange addiction
Did you like it? Did you like that?
Um, which part?

I wish my name was Ryan or chase and I had no hobbies or interests outside of smashing hoes and the gym.
I wish I could just eat Panera everyday and drink with my bros and go to Peru with my daddy's money. I wish I had all the connections and sure-set entrance into the firm
I wish I could meet some newage ***** named McKayla with a flower sleeve who listens to imagine dragons and Bobby eilish and have some kids. I wish she'd cheat on me with Kevin and take all my money and then divorce me and accuse me of **** and send me to prison where I get ***** too. I wish my sons grew up to be junkies and overdosed on fentanyl. I wish my country became some culturless ******* devoid of value and meaning and was a consumerist nightmare and I worked like a peon for a bleak future. I wish I knew how to make spaghetti. I'm a ******. I wish I was gay amd cared about Taylor swift or popular media. I wish I had a loaded gun so I could go to the gun range like a normal sane practioner of the second amendment. I wish I could be god and make rainbows. I will stop now. It's so boring
Lol lol lol lol lol

S I D E      A
"already mine"         : us the duo
"us"                           : james bay
"broken things"        : clairity
"the night we met"   : lord huron
"delicate"                   : taylor swift
"life me up"               : mree

S I D E       B
"august"                                        : flipturn
"stupid"                                         : lizzy mcalpine
"i love you"                                   : billie eilish
"mirrorball"                                  : taylor swift
"through the dark"                      : alexi murdoch
"if you ever want to be in love"    : james bay

Being back home, in my childhood room is like climbing into a time capsule. I left for college quickly, back in ‘21 and I’ve only been back here once, briefly.

My closets are still full of my old high school clothes and there are shelves that line the upper walls of my room with maybe a hundred “Disney Princess” collectable statues (my favorite is Ariel).

I have one wall space behind my bathroom door that has a hundred yellow stickies on it - reminders of old assignments and quotes like, “Do you hate drama or create drama?” and “Imagine your future.”

Everything seems carbon dated. It gives me an impeccable, knife-like sense of ennui. I want to cherish it all or burn it all, depending on the time of day. I went to take down my old Humphry Bogart and Billie Eilish posters yesterday and Kim said “Noo,” in such a sad way that I stopped.

Hold on, let’s overthink this.

I had a hard conversation today. I broke the news to my cats (Belichick and Tom Brady) that school starts at the end of the month, and I have to go back.

They took it well, I think. You know how cats are. I’ll know in a day or two, if their good will has turned to sour offense - they'll claw something up.

Belichick seems to be watching me extra closely though.
.
.
Songs for this:
Lava by Still Woozy
Can't Hardly Wait by The Replacements
.
08.01.3PM

life from the crossroads,
meeting a blood clot
already thickened from
running sweat, a stone's
throw from a ***** four
letter word: P-A-S-T

in another stream (one
wayward than my own)
i would be he, shivering
and possibly unrepentant,
emphatically gone too
far beyond anyone's
morals.

yet in another, i live out
the dreams of the father,
or 'sins' if pure honesty
had its say. what i wouldn't
give for a beautiful wife,
obedient children, a gold
standard like this stanza's
length; prosperous--

preposterous. in my own
uncharted stream, i would
live out troye's dream. free
on the inside, eons removed
from demi's 'sober'. what
choice does one have but
to make pop stars their
patron saints? maybe
mr. a-z has the answer?

scribes and stagehands,
satirists and spirits so
wishfully kindred, i smile
in solidarity. each line a
flame of pathos, each tap
a letter in loosening of
veins, like makeshift gifts
of a medium we inhabit.

to my girl, a lady-to-be
of such unwavering faith,
love someone even when
the party's over. keep
your billie eilish close by
like a bluebird in my heart;
highwayman to highwoman.

but most of all to Him,
patient with my inevitable
candidness just as he would
if my bargain held up. if we
were in love, I might just
learn to trust myself again.

⚠Trigger Warning; the following poem contains subject matter pertaining to suicide and self-harm ⚠
----------------------
May 30th, 2018

These wayward breaths
lead me to
the Dead Sea.

"This is where you belong;"
whisper the spirits
of The Deep--
"this is where all
broken things
come to die."

The Dead Sea
is my bathtub-
ramshackle tiles,
contorted shower rod
bowing under the weight
of the fraying curtain.

The water sprints
in a scalding race
from the tap,
its gurgling clamour
veiling the sound
of Billie Eilish
playing on the speaker
(isn't it lovely all alone?)

I stare at the Exacto Knife
clutched between my
water-pruned fingertips.

And
the moment you pick
up a knife instead of a
shoddy razor blade
from a dollar store
pencil sharpener,
you know you've
hit rock bottom
(did you know
the Dead Sea is
the lowest
point on earth?;
have you ever experienced
the remarkable plummet
of that kind of low?)

I trace the patterns
of invisible
constellations
on the terrain of
my flesh;
at first,
I am too afraid  
to press down
but when I do--
my god,
when I do--
I draw blood
with the same artistry
borne from a
painter's hand,
each laceration
a brush stroke closer
to someplace beyond this
sadness.

⚠️Trigger Warning: The following poem contains subject matter pertaining to substance abuse⚠️
~


Dear Billie Eilish,


I wish I could make you proud


it's just


I DO


need a


Xanny


to feel better

Hey - call me back when you get this
Or when you've got a minute
We really need to talk
Wait - you know what
Maybe just forget it
'Cause by the time you get this
Your number might be blocked

Look - now I know, we could've done it better
But we can't change the weather
When the weather's come and gone
Books don't make sense if you read 'em backwards
You'll single out the wrong words

"It's not you, it's me" and all that other *******
You know that's *******
Don'tcha', babe?

-Billie Eilish
Party Favor

if a little boy sitting alone in his room listening to billie eilish and painting whales can cut apart his life, so can you!

welcome to thoughtspace training. if everything went well first session, you should be starting to feel the headaches.

don’t worry, it’s normal. sometimes the headache might laugh or whisper. that is also normal.

if you close your eyes, you can find your headache a name
and maybe, if you want more headaches around
you can give yourself more later

but of course, before you know anything about what you’re getting into, let’s cover the basics

your headaches will talk
and yes of course you can tell them your secrets
headaches are an equal replacement for therapy

now that you’re distant and cut off from your emotions, it would be nice to introduce that

headaches have feelings
like people
but smaller

and you can feel those feelings when they are not yours

like when you’re sitting in the back of geography and you cry
because there is a dog on the whiteboard

maybe you don’t know why. maybe you feel like you do know why but you don’t know what why is and maybe all this feeling makes you tired.

but don’t worry

the headache will give you social confidence
it will run down the stairs to ask out your crush
and then it will run away
and then you will have no friends

but you will be impulsive and funny
so who needs other people anyways

tore my shirt to stop u bleedin
but nothing ever stops u leavin
-BILLIE EILISH

I.
"howl"
florence + the machine

II.
"mine forever"
lord huron

III.
"embody me"
novo armor

IV.
"carry you"
novo armor

V.
"the 30th"
billie eilish

By: Cedric McClester

A rap debate is
One thing - Ye
To decapitate is
Another (let’s say)
If I were Pete Davidson
I would run for cover
Cos I think he’s up against
A *****-whipped brother

It’s one thing to
Be hating - Ye
It’s another to be
Insinuating (Say)
You wanna ****
The guy your ex-wife’s dating?
Is that something we should be
Readily anticipating?

Your moves have all
Been childish
You’re coming off
Very Billie Eilish
For a man of your talent
That’s not very stylish
And it ain’t gonna get you
Any mileage

It’s obvious that
You’re hurting
Of that the world
Can be certain
So how do you show it
By flirting?
Better take your bow
Kim’s lowered the curtain







Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2022.  All rights reserved.

******* broken hearts - Billie Eilish

You can pretend you don't miss me (me)
You can pretend you don't care
All you wanna do is kiss me (me)
Oh what a shame I'm not there
You can pretend you don't miss me (me)
You can pretend you don't care
All you wanna do is kiss me (me)
Oh what a shame I'm not there
What is it you want?
You can lie but I know that you're not fine (oh yeah)
Every time you talk
You talk 'bout me but you swear I'm not on your mind
You can pretend you don't miss me (me)
You can pretend you don't care
All you wanna do is kiss me (me)
Oh what a shame I'm not there
Everybody knows
You and I are suicidal stolen art (oh yeah)
Pretty moments sews
Stitches into all your ******* broken hearts
You can pretend you don't miss me (me)
You can pretend you don't care
All you wanna do is kiss me (me)
Oh what a shame I'm not there
Somebody new
Is gonna comfort you
Like you want me to
Somebody new
Is gonna comfort me
Like you never do
Every now and then it hits me
That I'm the one that got away
But I guess being lonely fits me
And you were made for begging, stay

i'm a poet i'm a rat i will scuttle in darkness
and shimmering teeth
smiling at the moon
because i

walked the old haunts with myself
where i would sit in the night
drink and lament: by lament indeed
i indeed would cry
like a baby
unabashed like a baby a man-baby
not a man-child
but but a man-baby

i'm no Peter Pan or for that matter
Dionysus
what a poor choice of a demigod
coming from a man high on
barbiturates...
who?! who do you "who"?!
i'm not evening asking i will not drop
the "N" bomb...

        no... i will: with my Hot-Vizier
a man who knows Islam
i swear to god i need to find release
and release i will find
i need the stabbing numbing of the heart
i need to numb the heart
once more
forget this Eden
this slow ebbing Eden...

Nietzsche and the mysterious catatonic
Pole he became...
O wait: i'm a heavy drinker
i'm a mini not-me Dionysus
imagining my psychiatrists wondering
about that original diagnosis
as psychotic
and schizophrenic they mistook for
being bilingual: or they completely forgot
that i told them i heard
"voices" in English
but didn't hear them in Polish...
i wonder where i fit on the spectrum
of categorizing intelligence as a mental
disease:

but i did tell them... square in the face:
once you let me out of "here"
i don't know where DA will be or become
with all the:
-ing
-ing
-ing
-ing                          getting to rubric stance
rather than float about like
rogue planets
devoid of concept of meteor
or sun....

Geidi Prime to Geydi Sigma...
the satellite team nocturnal responding:
skin? mostly peeled otherwise
to my imagining: crawling...
thrombosis -
i like the sound of that word:

skin is crawling with nettle-worm
fluids...
we're constantly itching, Sire...
life is good but we have to complicate
it to make more bearable
even with the surplus of advantageous tools
women have the internet
and washing machines
men have AI

and i've never used too many APPS
but every time i mention that
i used chatGPT to help me complete
my NVQ Level 3 in Crowd Management
it's as if i never actually
studied a BSc in Chemistry at Edinburgh
University...
truly...

              i never once used a dating app...
not once... i never used a dating app...
me? i just went to the brothel.
simple(s): i.e. image-talk:
but not e:'moti)c;ons)

    (there: ode to e. e. cummings
in one word)

                 Arènes de Nîmes:
ahem..
AREN (not, i think: AR Eh)
de... d'uh...
NIMZ... not

Boris Brejcha concert:
i wish i was managing security at that event...

re-calibrating my mind
no... my eyes...
this is a problem of the eyes not the mind
the eyes have blind spots...
like so: put Cyrillic not Greek
to good use, for the sake of the Romans:

a rubric Anti-St. off Peter and Paul,
a reply to the Hebrews, rather simple:

ж = ż (or rz, depending on the context
of orthography,
i.e. able to differentiate between
rzeka: river and życie: life...
now for the rubric, short... and sweet!)

/                              ж = ż
/           у = υ (because of
Γγ               gamma) i.e. ooh ooh /
/                х = CH or samo H, not Z
   HEIM INS *****
         HEIM INS *****
*****...

                      ц = c     tylko c... nic wiecej!

before i entertain the tail on the e
for the sake of Polish
i best regress to Greek from Cyrillic
i.e. these letter elude me:
are problems for the eyes
to see past:

             Ξξ
                 Χχ               these two...

because i know
that...

              Ψψ = Σσς
                                       as    

        Ψψ ≠ Π(Σσς)π

                       approximate to subscript
is identifying a small letter
a progress from Cuneiform and Katakana
i must admit:
therefore establishing chemistry writing...
equations of not words
but artifacts of mind on stone
like able to identify minerals in a Dickensian
pleasure of reading
but i will never finish the Pickwick Papers
i'm sure of that
i abhor English literature
i don't understand why i had to read
Shakespeare like it was a measure
of writing skill rather than skill of recitation
because Shakespeare is not
among the: pardon my Swiss critique
just borrowed it: LOSER poet...
threw in a few sonnets to compensate
but think how lazily they were allowed
to write akin to Seneca...
akin to all these lazily living (also) writers...

ah... back to the rubric of Cyrillic...

           tylko c... nic więcej! nic! poza nic!
            nić

                      [t͡ɕ]

oh yes, that's music, the bilingual music
of speech... maybe i can't write music for the guitar
but i can write music for the instrument
of speech that is tongue...

                       ч = chequers...

mind you if i don't find it a problem with
very popular words
like szczerosc: truthfulness...
i could not probably note improve
but if emoticons are aplenty then
at least troll the **** out of the Roman alphabet
like the lazy Cyril trolled Cyrillic with
the easy e and a
and...
but all that effort in I

щ =       šč

point being: if szcz = щ
surely there might be a letter equivalent to
       -ść

dość! enough!

       thought in reverse:

                         don't make me bring out Jan Hus
and the Czech diacritical study:
you have to remember that there is still
this strange Pan-Slavic
that no Germanic person could or will acknowledge
since: can you believe it!
they don't speak English in Paris!

hence the new Tetragrammaton emerges:

    borrowed from sigma and Caro

   ZHZH...

             ha! and what vowels to throw into it like
stones? perhaps best to think about breaths
but it did dawn on my
when uttering THe letters like so:
the frictive variation of F
that is... in THE but not in THought....
but is also the same in ALthOUGH...

и
         и и
и и и

or

и
ииииии
и

    (meat and two veg, ha... not funny)

Cyril you lazy sod!
hey! look! lookie lookie!
no wonder then: so lazy on the a and e...
bud is going to be the next
Hackney ganster
educating the youth
saying that there is not need to panic
when using AI to pass
NVQ exams:
but believe me...
supervising is dull work...

those forced labor camps in Schindler's List
looked ******* authentic...
then the mood switches
and the women arrive in Aushwitz
and then you know:
a death camp is not a forced labor camp
the snow is falling
the dogs are barking
and the guards are ******* smiling!
i mean: if genocide was that bad
then imagine:
hello eternity hello god
and the people who are last in line
are in front of you:
...
   ...
      ...
******* smiling?!
how genius it must have been
to try to reunite the modern Hebrews:
unchanged
with the Ancients of Rome and Babylon
and Egypt:
to no avail! to no, *******, avail!
they stopped fearing uttering THE NAME
to now openly testifying:
oh, so complicated: say what you will...
we really don't know how to say
the word right now...
we never did... plagiarists of Gilgamesh:
store front: Jesus Saves...

****, this ****! **** it!
well... if tribes galore is what we're mining
then at least the Chinese
and the Indians (blue blue)
don't need mentioning their post-tribal
period as civilizations

in this brief civilization yawn
of Europe
we begin tribal again
thanks to the import of labor from
"elsewhere"...
no... there need not be some right wing revival
i just need to watch Schindler's List
with one more beer
and compare the guards
at a forced labor camp
and the guards at a, the, death camp
and begin to wonder
how the logistics of fooling so many
people to the bowels and furnace of
the birth of Moloch came about
so willingly so sheepishly
fooled by a bar of soap
from work camp to death camp
i'm still rattling my brains
about the coordination of the spectacle:
logistically
if you ever worked at Wembley
esp on the egress.. outside...

i can imagine volume: of people: like water...
90 thousand people dispersing from
a Coliseum
after an event it takes roughly 2h...
circa 100 people per tube carriage...
the logistical endeavor: the livid and drinking
insomnia of it all:
if i were a police officer not a security
officer
or a chemistry teacher would i have
the same sort of language freedom as
i am afforded, right now?

money? for this?! you kidding me:
the 20th century literature is still somehow
the stuff of envy while
i'm doing this for the best reason
other than reading a book
and that's called taming the ego
and ensuring it's like a voyager and all
the suitcases are packed
because i can't stop thinking that
i'm an SS-man or a Harkonnen
because that's how i begin to understand being
human...

mind you i was impregnated with that
thought: of being an SS-man
by my teachers in school:
although i have green eyes they saw blue
since green is rare
because the repressive genes that give blue
eyes
overcame the possessive genes that
give brown eyes
but i was white or somehow grown piglet
in no tux of pink
and blah blah a history reference point
to that song about a Bomber like
a glass bottle on a wall: the IRA and the RAF
joint: closure:

defunct bombs: only architectural damages...
(would prefer that in a non-plural
expression, i.e. damage... never mind)

        so much for heartache when she goes
all teary commando and
i get to feel **** that's not: ****
then i make a quick and sudden
incision and the festivity is over
and i'm tired of living but adore the mantra:
arbeit macht frei

and it's not just that people lose
intelligence when congregating
it's just sad to behold such affairs
on a daily basis
when you could, quiet simply:
isolate these examples of man
and not be as disappointed as
i found myself being:
on countless times...
these... things... magi-jigs...
              
             suppose i didn't want to write
the script to the Apocalypse... what then?
Nietzsche had take 1 and take 2...
everyone is feeling embarrassed by simply
being alive...
or strangely alive...
#metoo: getting the jitters like a girly girly
i so wanted for that Billy Eilish #LUNCH
song to not be a ***** ANTHEM
but it's like the White Stripes' 7 Nation
Army at football stadiums...

tummy ache: tum tum...
tum , tum tum tum tum tum

maybe i might just get the rhythm right
with but one word but
the best, acceptable punctuation
(and no, no diacritical markers...
who's who in the know of known who
i.e. knows: who knows)

tum, yes... about right... 5x tum after the initial
punctuation...
but there is at least one other
that i will turn from the comma
into an apostrophe...

tum, no... 6x...
just listening to the song: sorry... right back no back
just shoulders...
and that Cain plum on my shoulder:
am i an angel or just a simple man
devoid: please please poetic audience
tactic me some variation of a hard-on
no no, pretty: pwetty please...

tum,tum...

****'s sake can't count
what i see though is:

tum,tum'tum'tum'tum',tum

       something like that...
the basics... no gradations of splendor:
just the POINT of INTEREST...
smoking barrel of a gun is a fake
when the chimneys of Auschwitz
are not touristy destinations of Giza...
am i, hearing you...
yo-yo...
sorry... ear wax... am i hearing you just
right
before the altar of the god Alter and Pronoun?!
maybe... ha ha:
by now who **** knows! right?!

You're a short, ugly, unattractive man?
You don't deserve a girlfriend.
You don't deserve respect.
You don't deserve anything.

So why don't you just crawl off somewhere and die?
I don't want to have to look at you.

So spake Her Royal Highness Billie Eilish.

hmm... come to think of it, is dyslexia a truly unique
phenomenon bound to the English language,
or could it be stretched toward the French tongue?
i don't know... but i've never heard of a dyslexic ******:
i have heard of a ****** with terrible orthography skills...

well i do speak a barbaric language, there is a clarity of
letters and syllables where i come from,
there's none of that sort of *******
that: is written THOUGHT but is said:
F... FOUT... that seems about right...
              it must be a French "thing"... maybe that's
why i never learned it... that phonetic dissonance
of writing one thing then speaking another...

sure, very barbaric of me for clarifying what's
written and what's being said...
French is bad, English is also bad...
German just compounds their words
to make them appear chemistry dictionaries...
maybe why English still retains the Pomeranian
aesthetic of compounded words,
akin to hydrochloric acid... oh! wait wait!
where's the hyphen?! ****! where's the hyphen?!
why isn't it hydro-chloric acid?!
Oxford, wake up... please do, when you do:
let me know...

oh but i'm writing this without expecting any change...
the people, so far, can, simply, *******...
i don't actually mind... all these "objections" are
for my own personal amusement...
i like minding these things without actually worrying
about them to the point of changing them...
like... i'm not going to read anything concerning
English thought... philosophy, etc.
beside Newton & Hume... no, not even Locke...
i don't know why... perhaps the roads are the best
in Europe... perhaps the English are a people that are
the most practical and don't necessarily have to think...
let them speak: ******* love to speak...
but thinking is not really their hard-on point
of concern...

the English are a practical people...
but it infuriates me... Charles Dickens... what orthography?
you're not using diacritical markers?!
that's just a nicer word: a misnomer of calling
a spelling mistake a: spelling mistake!
******... Charlie: yo! ******!
you have, your having paranormal, your metaphysics...
you don't have ORTHOGRAPHY if you don't don't
have diacritical markers...
for example, can you hide an H within the word:
SHARP? can you? let me help you out...
       ŠARP... see that?
see how i hid an already surd of a letter that's H?
ask a Heb... Hebrew... one arm of the tetragrammaton
is a surd: vowel receiver... the other hand
is the basis for the definite article and laughter: ha ha! ha!

but like i already commented to someone before:
living in England among English girls...
****** this that number and so many... none of them English...
well then... they must prefer their anti-racist preferences
of Pakistani men that might groom them...
Pontius Pilate pose... what?!
my hands are tied...
free will, no?!
                        and all i ever wanted was to be loved by
a woman... given the current climate...
can i get a cat instead?!
i'm not going for android ****-buddies...
down to the brothel... once every half a year...
or whenever i feel like it...
when, i, feel, like, it...
not when she's expecting me to be turned on...

that ship has sailed and the last time i heard:
it's sinking...
mein gott, these supposed alpha male **** boys...
you know how hierarchies work on the ape level...
right... on the human level a woman will walk
up to me and tell me: can you please take care of
"Andrew": he seems to be wandering off...
i don't need to earn an x amount of money to keep in
mind: we're here to prevent another Hillsborough
incident, aren't we? i usually receive glum looks
looks that read: i'm just here to get paid
i have no duty to uphold... well **** me...
alpha male... this Greek alphabet soup that became
doubly exemplified with the Covid delta...
omicron... what ******* letter are we on
in the hierarchy of men?
what letter are the women on?

             the way i see it: ensure everyone is included...
esp. the ******: fringe-bracket...
i'm not even a ******* supervisor but i'm asked
to be mindful of other people...
what the **** do we do, except, for the best part...
loiter? pretend that we're doing something...
8th February... Fulham FC vs. Millwall...
i'm gagging to be pitted against the Millwall fans...
i want to show my teeth and rolls my eyes back
to show nothing but the whiteness of my sclera...
hopes are high: expectations are low...]

NO, **** FOR  FREE?
NO! YOU IDIOT FUCKINBG...
WANKERs! *******..
****** CRAB CRAB SCRATCHERS...
alpha male **** boys... does *** have to be on
my mind so-much-so-frequently than is expected?
do i have to harbour this fluorescent
insomniac libido, do i have to play along
to the gimmick of a Duracell bunny?!
come, on! i've checked out modern ****...
it has gone so bad that i'm actually looking up
vintage 1970s Italian ****...
i don't watch the modern stuff... it's ugly... it's perverse...
once upon a time there was a feeling
of art around performing *** for an audience...
these days... ugh... all that gagging all that slobbering,
spit... *** has become: truly... unappealing...
what i do with prostitutes looks and sounds better
than the **** i sometimes encounter
then subsequently quickly turn off: because, it's,
a ******* TURN OFF...
the more liberated people became the ******* ***
they tend to perform...
and i implore my readers to transfer having
read some Marquis de Sade...
but this stuff... if women want to be ****** like they're
being ******... with no pseudo-Tantra escapades...
no... i'm not doing that...
give me a Turkish prostitutes that is still the only
woman in the vicinity who knows a little
about setting boundaries and i'll take that...

*******, once upon a time... had an allure...
these days it's just block-a-chop
see you at the butchers' market...
let's chop up some pork 'ops...
   it's ******* disgusting... no wonder i don't want
to watch it...

imagine getting your kicks off listening to
portrait of m.r boogie - christopher young -
from the movie sinister... imagine yourself being good...
seeking out... an archetypical role of / for evil,
because... the current state of affairs of "evil":
is... somewhat mediocre... tame...
tame by the comparison associated to the mid-20th century
Germans, or the isolated instances of Wankee
individualism stressed by that glorious bunch
of psychopaths...
    
modern *******... for, ****'s, sake...
i have to dig out old Italian ****** to get a thrill
of how ******* doesn't have to be all about
a teenage girl with down's syndrome slobbering
and crying out her mascara... or that everything
that's heterosexual is **** related...
can i please just ******* on my bicycle,
feel the cold wind, feel the cold?
can i please just do that?!
******* so old it sort of reminds you
of a period of cinema best associated with Singing in the Rain...
when the talkies first came in, the jazz singer
and what not... i sometimes watch *******
so old that they have "dubbing": voice-actors that
compliment the *** workers since
the *** workers have terrible sounding
onomatopoeias when they ******?!
that's how far back i'll go, because this modern crap...

sure... i do have a fetish for...
gloryhole bukkakke thrills: Robespierre would have been
so proud... less decapitated heads...
more de-membered phalluses...
squirting out yoghurt juice... anonymously...
i can't say i'm even into the lesbian ****...
modern ****... alias of too much blah blah...
mommy this, daddy that...
there is just a massive undercurrent of ****** running
through it... i feel sick...
talk during *** is already bad...
i was tested at work concerning this...
the women i work with asked me whether it was...
ahem... "polite" to refer to someone as "daddy" during
***... you're ******* kidding me,
was my reply... not the exact words but,
ergo implied... who talks during ***?

you want a slobbering ****** at the end of your
popsicle... drooling spit, gagging... crying mascara tears from
the ******* or do you want something sensual?
this modern crap is... i'd rather watch a horror movie...
at least seeing makeshift conjuring of a monster
would give me more... erm...
"whereabouts"? but people, do this ****, to themselves...
no one forced them to do this...
they do this of their own accord...
i'm happy that i'm not earning the sort of money
that might associated with being tempted by
gynocentric broads...

i'm free... i don't need a validation mechanism...
having enough *** is not a social status...
i frequent the brothels whenever i feel like it...
if having *** implores me to think that
i am living a completed life... seriously?!
   how much VIAGARA are you popping?!
how do you deal with the expectations...
i consider the concept of the Greek alphabet soup
according to... brotherhood...
these part "alpha" **** boys know ****...
can you be part of a group, including the ****** males...
can you keep them accommodated?!
no one is stepping out of line,
someone is in control: even though they are
hierarchically below some supposed said: "supervisor":
some senile ***-whip?
yes? no?!              well then...
are you talking with everyone on the ground...
everyone o.k.? it's all Indiana Jones happy for all?
yes?! no?!

alpha buck ****-boy deluxe...
if ******* women was my sole modus operandi...
why would i custard my head thinking about
Newton?!
that's all there is? *******... erm... would be nonces...
existence... can, be, orientated... around...
the... non-existence, of, women, should, such, demands...
be, made, necessary!
you know what it takes?
just look at an old woman...
a woman you could never, possibly,
be attracted to...

she most probably has her "****" sorted...
time, the balancing aspect of all things...
why the Greeks never associated some demigod
to time: perhaps they had... but i'm just too lazy to know of him,
her... it...
i do have a concept... the rich thinking that
they own everything...
there is a Hadean Debt...
you, do, know, that... this life is on loan?
right?! and the resources you're using...
you, didn't... generate, yourself?
so you do know, there's a Hadean Dept?!
the debt owned to Hades?
you do, know that, no?

you didn't create the coal...
you didn't create the atoms, nor the wind...
people have become as sloppy governing people
as they have become...
having... unaesthetic ***!
what am i even writing?
        bet keep this within the confines of having
written too much, i'd appreciate it immensely
that people do not reach this rambling episode...
of course i'm not going to delete it...
but it's hardly anything worse than tabloid journalism...
sure, i sometimes turn on the ramble-mode...
how would you feel...
being 35 and unloved?
           there would be some venom in your words...
Teutonic monk song can only get you
this far, after a while a sleeping beast comes
to the fore... wounded, proud -
i can see old age and it's not a pretty picture:
i'll sooner do off with myself than reach that
rubric... there's no competition when it comes to old
age... i'm not sticking around...
i've already located the crux points on my body
where the arteries are... a sharp stab of the knife...
in my right armpit... just above the right side
above the collar bone... i'll bleed out...
unless... drinking takes me sooner...
**** this *******...
    i'm done with playing nice: although i'll still
play the nice... but not being loved by a woman...
take me! mother, sea!
take me! in a storm!
               take me, the night! let me marry death!
fickle peasant girls that might subsequently
require a plumber...
in my age gap that's all that's left...
single mothers... who were the fathers?!
if there was... ha ha... one... i'd be surprised...
worthless alcoholics... maybe i should have taken
the approach i took to my maine *****...
two of them... i once found a hot **** in my bed...
o.k. changed the sheets... beat both of them:
who done it?! who done this loaf of scrappy peanuts
in my bed? meow! both received a beating...
second time... caught in the middle of the act...
ah... you little *******... you're going to ****
where you're later going to sleep?!
smack... smack... later washed him,
wrapped him up in a towel and mummified him...
"mummified": tied a bathrobe really tight around him
with clips... sat him on a table in the garden
while hanging up the washing...
maybe i should have slapped a woman once or twice...
maybe then they might have stayed...
i feel ill thinking that this might have been
the correct modus operandi...
even though i smacked my cats about for *******
in my bed... who's in my bed, right now?
the two cats i smacked about for ******* in my bed...
well... one of them did... now we're pals...
i sit on the windowsill, he sits on the windowsill...
we greet each other with a head-****...

it's sad, though... to keep a woman one might have
to resort to mild violence... slap her a little...
oh **** me, no... no...
   i'd rather be a monk...
i don't do well around fickle creatures...
you're either part of a legion, a cohort... or you're a *******
rebellious outlier that can be duly ignored
and disregarded...

esp. with the modern ****... i don't watch it...
i have to sieve through and find the classical
1970s Italian ****... when *** was a joy
and not an endurance test for gagging *******...
no... just... no...
            even with prostitutes i do my best
to be tender... this current bollocking works ill on
the eyes... right... so a Billie Eilish tells you that she's sick
of modern ****...
i'm a "nobody" and i can tell you the same...
so much heterosexual *** orientating itself around
****...
can't i just poke an oyster?!

then again: do i have to always be *****? do i need
a libido insomnia on top of an actual insomnia?!
what am i, a ******* Duracell bunny?!
jiggy-jiggy-jog-on-constant-hard-on-androidd?!
maybe the "alpha male" **** boys can play that role...
solipsistic vectors of this world: egoists...
make sure they get pampered first...
but try to get as many normal people and weirdos
on your side to satisfy a service...
      of sure... those **** boys will be right up there
in authoritative roles trying to make everyone inclusive:
never demeaning the presence of creature less than they...
yeah...

          they'll be up there... alpha male **** boys...
pistons... clogs in a vaginal machine...
   not much to go around being an artist,
or a plumber, let the dust settle... until it can be governed
by a next whirlwind.

listen before i go - Billie Eilish

Take me to the rooftop
I wanna see the world when I stop breathing, turning blue
Tell me love is endless, don't be so pretentious
Leave me like you do
If you need me, wanna see me
Better hurry 'cause I'm leaving soon
Sorry can't save me now
Sorry I don't know how
Sorry there's no way out (sorry)
But down
Hmm, down
Taste me, these salty tears on my cheeks
That's what a year-long headache does to you
I'm not okay, I feel so scattered
Don't say I'm all that matters
Leave me, déjà vu
If you need me, wanna see me
You better hurry, I'm leaving soon
Sorry can't save me now (sorry)
Sorry I don't know how (sorry)
Sorry there's no way out (sorry)
But down
Hmm, down
Call my friends and tell them that I love them
And I'll miss them
But I'm not sorry
Call my friends and tell them that I love them
And I'll miss them
Sorry

Let me set the scene.
I'm lying in bed, tissue box in close reach, trying to remember
what it was like to not be sick.

Switching between scribbling
in my diary and expressing
my thoughts and feelings in the margins of my new favourite book, trying
to write down and capture
every new understanding, new perspective,
all before I forget.
     And become the person I do not want to be, again.

I'm in a state of reflection and growth.
I'm in a constant battle with the idea of perfection.
I can now understand that self-awareness comes with the grave consequence
of self-realization.

Will I achieve self-actualization?
What does that look like?
Is it possible?
Am I worthy? After everything I've witnessed, thought, felt, and done.
Who determines that worth? Is it me, you, them, or him?

So, Billie Eilish's "No Time to Die"
and Lana Del Rey's "Young & Beautiful" loop
in the background, making everything that much more profound.

I zone out - thinking about the reality of having an old, tortured
yet romantic soul
in an era filled with superficiality.

I regain focus - thinking about my longing for summer,
a desire created from its association with love. See, once October hits I hibernate looking for comfort in a mate.
A mate who happens to be a good talker
but understands me.
Because that's all I have the energy for
until it's summer again.
See, in the summer I can love again.
Love him. Love life.
Love myself.
As I typed 'myself' I repeatedly misspelled it,
as if it couldn't be true.

Writing this I fill up on self doubt
wondering if I will ever gain the courage
to share myself with them
Completely.
I get frustrated,
thinking about how to tell my truth
in a lighthearted manner.

Again, my mind goes to summer
spending time with my family and friends
and finally swimming in the salt water again.
I have always been such a show-off
About how good I was at treading water
my whole life.
I grew up a quick sprint to the water
during a few points of my life.
And now I constantly long
for those destinations and many more.
Destinations where I'm a sprint away from treading water again.    
     Cause otherwise I'm drowning.

Simultaneously identifying with the character drowning and the character making the waves.
What are we all really drowning in?
In self-doubt?
   Guilt?
     Shame?    
                       Loneliness?

I apologize,                                         (sometimes)
sometimes when the unanswered questions
begin to form,
it's hard to snap back into reality.
The reality that the cruel history of our world
repeats itself,
wearing a new facade
each slimmer!
and shinier! then the next.
I play my part in the charade
just like everybody else.

Will I continue to neglect myself to do so?
When I'm meant to be healing.
Will I achieve this seemingly artificial idea of peace with oneself?
When I do nothing but criticize myself.  
Will I ever forgive myself for the
person I used to be?
Put her on the shelf next to the little girl with
enough sparkle in her eye
to make even Toronto feel bright?

Well, I'll just lie here
fantasizing?
       Romanticizing?
                     Idealizing?
Until that day comes.

Be kind,
Evangeline.

- lingo-princess -

tries to rhyme...
too rhyming:
no better use.      502 bad gateway bypass.

it's very logical...
the Japanese approach, to say, something like
the following:
it begins with an ideogram for bird 鳥 (トリ)
                              TO-RI
an archetypical noun-idea complex
but then... follows down into pure sounds...
the Katakana syllables:
カラス (KA-RA-SU) -
i imagine it's the same with other animals...
yep... just checked the category: dog...
and then Alsatian...
            Bukowski wrote this melancholic poem
about bird watching...
me... i like to watch birds as well...
esp. pigeons, urban pigeons and woodland pigeons:
those that are much fatter...
and appearing cleaner...
   but when i watch them... it's the same story...
i'm a ****** of their almost constant courtship
failures... i've never seen one male have
success with the female...
     there's something to learn from that...
stiff: prickly virgins i'm guessing...
                     fun's currently the issue...
       a backlog of the fun previous generations
had from being sexually liberated has sort of stalled
us: also having fun...
   a blatant shift in the Victorian direction...
mind you... if women want the full package these days...
a guy with his own apartment...
sure... and if i had a wife and kids... or if i was
a single father... i just might swing being put on
a list for council accommodation...
fat chance of that: ever happening...
       it's like people on a diet of ready-made food...
if there's no effort in making it...
why bother eating it?
          whatever happened to that free-spiritedness
for celebrated with nostalgia for the 1960s?
gone... fizzled out... died a very strange death...
attempts to celebrate it again with
modern technology and hook-up applications...
yawn... please: up-front...
       i don't want fakery of emotional attachment...
barnackle hearts... clingy...
                no... but looking at these pigeons...
all their recurrent failures...
in my vicinity? how many guys are still living
at home? with the dreaded western concept
of ****** men... with their parents...
      ooh... scary... Ed Gein just around the corner...
with the coroner...
a different reality... to my best estimate...
there's me... there's Joseph next door...
the guy next to my left, Nigerian... and his sister
is also living at home... two doors down...
Sim... and his sister... opposite the street this other
guy... and a few doors down... the case is the same...
because what's the alternative?
sharing a house with flatmates -
would it turn out like from Friends episode?! magically?!
because... those flatmates wouldn't be jealous
if you brought a **** home?!
pigeons get rejected all the time...
but... i see a crow...
             hmm... that's another matter...
   on the continent esp. in central Europe crows
are more sociable... they actually flock...
you can sometimes spot clouds of them that if...
properly arranged... could overcome the sun...
but in England, this mythical land...
once... i'll give you that one...
i saw crows congregate for a meeting of sorts
in a tree... once...
   but the rest of the time?
they usually fly in pairs...
   Huginn and Muninn
                (ᚻᚢᚷᛁᚾᚾ und ᛗᚢᚾᛁᚾᚾ)...
and if they're not flying in pairs... and there's only one...
then it's usually Huginn... the will...
memory... ha ha... sort of forgot to come
along... ****** off somewhere...
had a spontaneous spell of amnesia...
that crow was always going to be unpredictable...
like my memory... it's selective:
i never remember what i want...
i remember what i must...
it must be that pedagogy erosion of rubrics
of alphabet and arithmetic...
  and biological facts that... really don't brighten
the day when you're stuck doing menial
physical labour... seems like... educations
ends up being a waste of time for most...
but... i've never seen crows attempting mating...
pigeons... all the ****** time...
they make it so ****** obvious that they want
to get it on... but crows....
when do they do it? in the night?
otherwise... they look pretty content with
being intrigued... even with boredom...
if birds could yawn... a crow would be like:
what the **** was that?!
  and he'd remain in a pensive pose imitating
a relieved Atlas...
but there must be a slot in me within
the confines of Darwinism - after all...
Darwinism is going rampant in the dating game...
once: the awe of the natural world...
now... the murky world of human affairs...
i'm sort of bored with Darwinism...
   probably because man is on some variation
of autopilot... there are strict ontological parameters
in place... and... you're expected to
not go beyond these: to not transgress them...
seems rather, boring...
too many loops to jump through to get
to a status that might allow you to exercise certain
freedoms...
            who ever said that high quality ***
exists in the upper-echelons of society...
            a year ago it was Madonna...
a month ago it was Rihanna...
                a week ago it was Dua Lipa...
a day ago it was either Mabel or Billie Eilish...
rotation: on rotation: roll on roll off...
                         girls are really on rotation...
the tyranny of youth the tyranny of beauty...
at 35... i've finally sorted out something...
oh: blessed hours of being alone...
well: "alone": this Maine **** is a real clingy
bloodhound sort of a cat, sort of a dog...
why even think you can get the best ***
with as much money as you can muster?
look at me... i'm not bothered...
i like well worn leather...
   i like beauty that resembles something mandible...
ugh... frigid... tight-knit ****** bodies...
inexperienced... almost... ******* alongside
a necrophilia advocate...
        how many? i, either... lost count...
or... i forgot to count...
  but a poet is not a musician in a rock band...
and it's not the right time to boast like
Bukowski might have boasted... just after world war II...
with so many widows and girls who lost their
boyfriends in the events that took place...
always sloppy seconds...
   Mr. Crab-Second-Slurp...
                    ****... i was about to write: Slurb...
**** me... buy a car... and then what?
pay insurance?! pay road tax...
so you own a ride... but you still have to pay up
to owning it? and all that maintenance...
i buy a bicycle... i pay for...
the maintenance that is my own right...
of ownership... tubes and tyres if they get flat...
oil for the chain... what insurance?!
what road tax?!
             could a bicycle leave... ***-holes in the road?
it's refreshing having this monetary ******
in place...
you always know... when not to overspend...
it's very character building to be "cheap":
cheap... well... not being flamboyant with spending...
only yesterday i met myself with a revelation
that only arrived today when i weighed myself...
a few hills up and down between Chigwell Row
and Havering-atte-Bower...
dropped from 102.1kg to... 99.1kg...
   in one session... three ******* kilograms dropped
in 2 hours worth of cycling...
       i'm going to take it easy today...
lift more weights... do more push-ups...
ugh.... this springtime phlegm is getting to me...
i abhor waking up and harking it out;
hold up... hold up...
a glitch... in terms of seasons in Japanese...
why is Spring... not in ideogram?
all the other seasons are in ideogram form...
but... Spring... isn't?

p.s. find the rest, here:
https://allpoetry.com/poem/16435789-%E6%98%A5-%E5%A4%8F-%E7%A7%8B-%E5%86%AC-by-Matthew-Conra­d.

everything i wanted - Billie Eilish

I had a dream
I got everything I wanted
Not what you'd think
And if I'm being honest
It might've been a nightmare
To anyone who might care
Thought I could fly (fly)
So I stepped off the golden, mm
Nobody cried (cried, cried, cried, cried)
Nobody even noticed
I saw them standing right there
Kinda thought they might care (might care, might care)
I had a dream
I got everything I wanted
But when I wake up, I see
You with me
And you say, "As long as I'm here
No one can hurt you
Don't wanna lie here
But you can learn to
If I could change
The way that you see yourself
You wouldn't wonder why you're here
They don't deserve you"
I tried to scream
But my head was underwater
They called me weak
Like I'm not just somebody's daughter
It could've been a nightmare
But it felt like they were right there
And it feels like yesterday was a year ago
But I don't wanna let anybody know
'Cause everybody wants something from me now
And I don't wanna let 'em down
I had a dream
I got everything I wanted
But when I wake up, I see
You with me
And you say, "As long as I'm here
No one can hurt you
Don't wanna lie here
But you can learn to
If I could change
The way that you see yourself
You wouldn't wonder why you're here
They don't deserve you"
If I knew it all then would I do it again?
Would I do it again?
If they knew what they said would go straight to my head
What would they say instead?
If I knew it all then would I do it again?
Would I do it again?
If they knew what they said would go straight to my head
What would they say instead?

aestuosi pedes or perhaps pedes aestuosi:
whatever the order might be
it did bring me unto a rather favorite passage
of Cicero:

“He’s a slave.” But he may have the spirit of a free man. “He’s a slave.” But is that really to count against him? Show me a man who isn’t a slave; one is a slave to ***, another to money, another to ambition; all are slaves to hope or fear. I could show you a man who has been a Consul who is a slave to his “little old woman”, a millionaire who is the slave of a little girl in domestic service. I could show you some highly aristocratic young men who are utter slaves to stage artistes. And there’s no state of slavery more disgraceful than one which is self-imposed. So you needn’t allow yourself to be deterred by the snobbish people I’ve been talking about from showing good humour towards your slaves instead of adopting an attitude of arrogant superiority towards them. Have them respect you rather than fear you.

noted: for the sense of fluidity i discard
all above formality of Place or Name: sometimes
on a whim, yes, if prominent: either place or name -

and note that each new line is not bound to
paragraph (¶)
  pillow                             -                     crow

said to measure: expanse of - money, printable sap
of space of (a) page
                        and as such: a sobering ambition,
reflection, reminiscent of youth
and Nietzsche and: if anything equivalent to
Ecce **** can be printed
then this governed by the luxury of not printed...

on morality: as a prejudice?
that's not Nietzsche: not neat: cher:
chim-chimeney-chim-chimeney-chim-chimy-cherry
not him: me,

on morality: as prejudice...
since mortality is not ethics but an allusion
to ethics: morality is like fashion
is a sense of fashion
while ethics is simply the dignity of wearing
clothes or rather of wearing
protection
morality is how there is more to cloth
than simply keeping warm
the allusion to *** should summer come and
summer women...
who are not the women of winter
and how all that attire is exclusive
no, in summer a woman's attire becomes inclusive
or they say: it is warm enough
for the bees and the birds and
honey glazing of otherwise porcelain "anemic"...

larvae like see-through skin
you'd dare to look for a pulsating worm-like
structure resembling an *****.

or is there a subjective experience of having a heart?
i wonder
because the objectivity of heart on the basis
of pulse:
is there a subjective experience of the heart
like a heart is subjected to the clenching of the hand
to insinuated not so much
a fist to further insinuate violence but
a clenching of the hand to insinuate
a clenching of the heart a heart's pang of pain
not pain: real but pain metaphysical
                                                    ­  like love lost love loved
love as a chemistry, binding of two bodies
then unbinding like the need for two rings
of metal coupled...

                   quote:
"on this perfect day...
           i buried my four-and-fortieth year...
philosophy... hammers...
               now i'm going to tell myself
the story of my life"

                                  and that is curious,
or rather this is also how you experience a luxury
of writing should reading be exhausted
and by no far stretch of the imagination
this is a little vain a little sordid or at least there's
an aesthetic to the ascetic -
                                            which is hardly seen
but remains intact
                    perchance on the street outside
a train station three bums drinking wine basking
in the sunlight while everyone else busies
themselves (with themselves):

existential revisionist theory,
a soft beginning, inclined to the romance of Islam
maybe i've been working in the security
industry far too long with a multitude of
races, creeds and chocalatiers
since i believe i see that the future is biracial
at least a new Aztec Mecca
in the smoldering *** of hyped over hyped ***
i see the future as mixed-race
but i don't see the other necessary future
that is in me:

bilingual because it's not just enough
to break a few eggs
into the tease of horror-sexuality of the cis-woman
so much better than the early
sexuality of Bilie Eilish and now out for Lunch
bad guy bad guy
i'm finally making a girl cry
not the one crying not the broken idealist
of my years of 21 springs
now i finally found my wrecking ball
my Damian O
                        O the wheel and O i spin into
o o
o
o
o o
o o  o
o o
o o
             bubbles all not so like bubbles
but some sort of covert mathematics
like algebra but
not algebra because there are no hard-on
limp **** problems clearly defined
no this is more an algebra without letters
as letters or unknowns
with only 9/0 fold Truth
the avenue of awe while angels
stopped singing and instead started whispering
to me
the angels stopped singing
instead started whispering
into my mind's ear

if there is a mind's eye: i third party who and why

sobering thoughts burden me
when i drink two fire-milk whiskeys
and smoke a joint because
i microdose
i micro-dose
what i smoke if a sprinkle
in a giant bush of tobacco
rolled up rolled into a tight bun ***
oh the glutton over the intolerance
to the whey woah woe-ah like woe sulking
over a disco mummy dance
behind a mirror and all the ****
that's equivalent to the population
of octopii of the seas...

all she knew prior was no music
because she was collecting music
then sold the vinyl
melted it into linq:     liquidrice
liquorise... darker than spice
a bit like hash
Hashish Hasha...
         Ashar and the Bashar al-Qud

revel in the following telegraph:

CHRSTNTY XHSTD
exhausted
humanity
somehow
too much humanity
in a single man
existential revisionist
not secular dead end
all politics no myths
just newspapers
not fires and talk
and the one madman
Elijah to go into wilderness
for the voice of god
because humanity
somehow forgot and forgave
itself:
it started forgiving itself
for forgetting and making
upkeep a sort of last resort
of angles in the health
and safety rules at work

ergonomic sophistry
like i'm rhyming to the rhythm
of a song...
rhyme to rhythm of a song

RHYM' RHYTHM
i found the two gammas...
alpha male
beta male
and the gamma male
radioactive...
imitation of Rzeczpospolita
"too many consonants"
not enough vowel glue...

Riff - raff -Ryvm...
very velvet very not sleepy so borrowed
time on the touch of water
from behind a white glove...
no not helium filled surgical gloves
touching the waters of birth
waters of ***
waters of mouth
waters of oral
waters of constipated ***
and anti-birth
for the *** all pleasure
just gay dead ends no children
now my children not my children
all seem like children
and chills...
the waters of periods
moon skies and cycles
and buying plots of land
but not buying with words
like pennies by the simple math of
effort invested in, regardless of rewards
because

capitalism is anti-literacy with
the books it pushes all
autobiographies written by ghosts
of men
who excuse them reaching the heights
being dyslexic...
that's Muhammad the Prophet of WHWH
because is LLH to special for gay lord...

such is the extent of AI generated responses
it's like having a secret internet
that was not there prior
and that's me not even having dwelt among
the super cool gansta rot of the deep web
with all the human perversity
depravity and satan bound to happy-sad japan...

elsewhere the transition from Christianity
to Islam because the Hebrew cult is confusing
enough from how language is a study of the Torah
and how slang is not going to be anything
short of finishing that book
mind you currently on my list
of multi-tasking books
because i have taken the forbidden fruit
of an audiobook of the lord of the rings: the fellowship

but i'm gathering history in books
i can't just overlook, forget,
a labyrinth alley of forest dried and smoked
books, list:

knausgaard's vol 6 of mein kampf
frank herbert's dune
olson's the maximus poems
zhuangzi's writings
the master and margarita in german....

i have all these books started:
problem being
like someone i heard say
about Dickens' the Pickwick Papers...
oh yes...
that's another book on my list...
like this person said
to entice...
the problem with the Pickwick Papers
as a book...
is to have finished reading it...

thus i pledged: start reading as many books
and leave them unread
or rather keep them...
eternity is going to be a long flight
of the citizens of nothing toward god
so it's going to be boring and painful
so i need reading material
and the forthcoming book on my list of books
started but not finished is...

mad enough to spend £47.55 for a book
of 420 pages...
meadows of gold and mines of germs
by al-Masudi...

just because he was an ummi (mommy's boy)
doesn't mean that in some trance
he started scribbling, Muhammad...
anyone can take complications of a man
and attire them to self then somehow
exfoliate counter to the narrative of the supposed
clues to cues for life...
but i will not transcript the answer of the AI
(chatGPT is like the internet as an app
since i predominantly used the internet
to search, regardless of music i want to listen to
best advertised
but search engine for answers
like skimreading like a skinny late
like a skinny girl no **** no ***
so i mean like Google 2.0 that's chatGPT):

see the poem Q.

O misdeeds of love
the honeymoon period
the moneymoon parody is over
and i must have skipped
and saved myself the sweat
and sweets of a bitterness
to come in the skins of
walnuts already stored
in honey: apparently Greek
but i thought that the bitterness
came from adding dried
oregano and thyme:
but no,
such a simple dressing
i thought i added coffee to the rice
cooking it in the pressure cooker
with red kidney beans
onions
spring onions
but no garlic
no garlic because
onions and springs of onions
so just finished watching the movie Father
with Anthony Hopkins playing
Anthony
hopping kinsmen
or history irrelevant because
4th of July is some independence day
while it rained and i stayed
in bed
as if it was a raft
and all around me the Pacific ocean calm
and death like seeking
a light in a ring
or some closed door in a sound
when daft pleasing deafness
but nothing of that sort
just interlude of good and really bad
lyrics
and i don't mind modern music
i need to appreciate it more
i think i found Bilie Eilish just around
the right time
of hearing the taste of a 13 year old
girl...
i remember the right i had
after we went to that cheese conveyor belt
restaurant
and then we went into that
Sailors' Pajamas Shop of Azure in Linen
and the sky in some other fabric
but hued to pinks and dashes of purples
and navy
and obviously to give forms to clouds
some white
like a gleeful moon as the arm
under Mona Lisa's skirt
or is that still one of those high profile
rude jokes?
i feel contemplative relaxing
numb because as irresponsible as i am
i am truly responsibly only micro-dosing
a simulation of being drunk
but composed with body to use elsewhere
than drink for sought joy
not self-assured but in the confines
for some reason i was fed on a diet
of Spinoza is x
while other names for all the Arab
worries a European with interest
in the Quran the Kabbalah...

           bada'tu binaa
li-ah-tafika filahi ba'dan...

    i began with i
to later unravel in god

la nafs la dalil-lasq
        (no self no clues-glue)

al-yawm maroor hawsat qadam

either i am boring and blind
or this hasn't been perfected AI
but sooner here
like a shadow of a shadow:

ka zill zill

that year 1436
some Holy Gutenberg
or a re-history of all these times
these times like
some reeducation of the European
like this twisted arm
across the reach from Deutscheland
to other places on the cupboard
like i am going to bend to
or why i think:
tired waves forgot there
was a shore to send stupid legions
against
instead started looking
for water that was sweeter
how came the marriage
of the mountains to the seas
with sea villain man
and the ****** lake of woman
and the children of rivers
and the children of rivers

how best to have love you at most
fine and
fine fine fine...
at least i got the bill before
the work started: Mrs Wax Marble...
fair enough and all dues
where deserved...

zala: shadow in Arabic...
za **** ****?
ka zill zill
  ah: k'ah zala zill: a shadow of a shadow
is a zill zala's
    i think... how could i offend
AI is smart not stupid
just an idea what is literature
and that poem i deleted:

i'll turn it into Hebrew and then compare

like so:

kmo tzel shel tzel

        achshav be'vadai...
halev sheli nishbar...

  within a whisper: dakhil hamsa

with a whisper: bihamasah

  alternatively: bihamsah...

ookhbirt an tatahadath bialarabiyyah
bialarabiyyah walakin tuliba minka
an tarda kashu'ub bila lisan min
at-tareekh

        you are told to speak Arabic in Arabic
but asked to react like a people
without a tongue of history

ug'bairt an tats'apeek arav'it b'arav'it
aval tiksha ma'al bikh lo am im le'shon
shel historia...
             hiss Thorn Aya...
ЯЦКХ

                      Gud.

   Yatsakakh!

and what sorts from Om and from ******
and what sorts from
ambitions and congregations
and the glaring of the zombie screens
like one affair of the night
giving perspective on all other nights
to come...

   so weird ordeal of lettering for
a deity of the desert to become
remotely associated
with the forest long
ago now just farms
and yard and petty squabbles
like there is a history of god
and ecology and favouring
this once soon to be enriched
land of devil's juice
like Dubai
or we the petty invading envious
types
no hardships befallen us
to ask perhaps what of our way of life
and if we were to liberally adopt early
Islam rather than the Greek
**** complications of Greek and Hebrew
say WAS AYN I' BENIN
G:
          big G of formidable heaven
i ask:
what four letters best
to encapsulate some mystery
like to then associate: NOT ADVERTISED

I swear I’m not angry, believe it or not  
It’s just my face
God knows what you’re thinking as you watch me mope around your place
Looking dazed and confused
You could say I’ve been sleepwalking
With a self-deprecating mind set I often find myself destined to lose
It turns out
I was wasting my time wishing for things I thought I loved
Whilst knowing all along they would never be enough to satisfy me wholeheartedly
There’s no doubt that now’s the time to take my leave
I can no longer wait for the “perfect opportunity” if it means I’m existing in total obscurity
The roads I’m leaving behind are darker than the ones that are yet to come
Although those streets will be warped in memories
It won’t distract me from what’s waiting under the stifling heat of a midday sun
Far from those grey leaden skies that burdened me for so long
What was once my home turf quickly became a total disaster
Infiltrated with cruel hearts with ‘go nowhere’ attitudes
Swarming around my head incessantly like awkward fits of laughter
From the classic school yard bully who’s ruined another poor child’s day
But in truth
They’re only programmed to act in a petulant way
Because they’ve been ignored all their life and not taught how to be nice
It might sound basic and dumb to some who fail to see how two wrongs don’t make a right
The kind of individual who carries on as they please in a pandemic
Refusing to see the contradiction in their acts of irrational desperation
Only acknowledging death statistics once they’re highlighted by Billie Eilish
Or any celebrity who looks a little bit stylish
Because evidently that’s the only requirement to be taken seriously
Scientists, doctors, and politicians are just collateral damage to the cause
In fairness, who’s going to take much notice
Of the middle-aged white man in a suit and tie
Telling you you’re all going to die if you carry on as you are
When the leader of the free world’s more interested in taken shots at environmentalists
And banning 'Tik Tok' for “security reasons”
Than unprovoked gun crime and the entire state of California going up in flames for no good reason…
According to him that is
Yet again another act of pure stupidity fuels a government decision
The confusion resonates like a prophesy in any religion
Take your pick, it’s all nonsense to me
Leading to communal diversity and total irrelevancy
From the major issues we’re facing today that aren’t being addressed
Let’s get real, this is one big ******* mess  
When the easy option of ignoring issues of such significance because it might cost popularity in an election contest is taken
In the blind hope the pain is fleeting, and in the long run all will be forgotten
But life simply doesn’t work out that way
Even if there’s always one exception to the rule
I don’t think it’ll be you

what's in a name what's in a name
in the end
within a name there is no name
but a pre-noun and a pronoun
and          that glorious word THING
and boomerang not a boomerang
of I to It
           to I as It           and It a non-It
a spoke
              the spokes in a wheel...
a wheel is an Ezekiel
                     is my first learning of the name:
little Yash                 and jesz? i.e.
are you eating?    my words my silences
my atonement for say:
the miraculous spring afternoon
finding myself enjoying the act of reading:
regardless of what i'm reading:
or rather i am actually reading Frank Herbert's
Dune but i should be reading
al-Masudi's the meadows of gold
and currently that's a first edition
on amazon going for
£47.99
            so until i get a wife and a surrogate
daughter i can and will splash out
on books in the purchasing window
of £30 to £50 and since i'm not rich
enough of rich-autistic enough
or autistic enough
to be splashing on paintings
like that story of the founder of Barbie
no not Ruth Handler
before pornographic magazines
the Swiss invented the Susie Susan Sour-****
to gag men into
the predicaments they found themselves
in as world war ii bomber pilots
then came the infamous poster reel
from Shawshank Redemption and
boys those girls those flinging-mig-magic jazz
of ****
those lonely nights
and days
but mostly the nights
and on my 38th birthday i masturbated
like 3 times
because a day prior i was talking
to a friend outside of the Spurs' Coliseum
and we talked about being 38 and 72
and cancer of the prostate and how he got
it removed and now can't get an *******

i would have killed to venture into
the ear to eye osmosis
of being at the
Boris Brejcha at Arènes de Nîmes...
artist to artist
this is not me Matthew Arnold
a limp **** poet
crying to bed after seeing Liszt play
because music has changed
and there's no genius of music
but a genius of music-inclusion therapy...
"therapy" / therapy?

Friday came a little late: now that i'm imagining things,
writing on a chrome book
in my own room i remember days
when i used to drink a liter of whiskey
and write from 10pm to 5am
having given up smoking marijuana
at the age of 21 weighing in at 65kg
after an experience
with: what i'm guessing...
not Jesus and not Yashwa...
but rather: and i only learned of his name today:

dualism of monotheism: the little yahweh...
                       A

           E          Y         I                   𐤃

                                                   ∇
                  O       U

yad dah...
           YDDH...

                     turbulent lessons in how the consonants
are props and vowels drift in and out
to allow for Semites to transliterate nouns
Semites need to transliterate nouns
which cannot be said
of Matthew of Mateusz of Mateo
but Matthias says it's possible...

the angel: Metatron...

                        i'm seeing Mega:
like the movie Tron (updated like Dune updated)
and the soundtrack and something megalomaniac...
like the affairs of non-existence
of supposing within
pre-noun pronoun
preposition and proposition
are so why can't a pre-noun
exist before i learn the names of things
before i inject conjunctions and adverbs
big and small
i usher in a chemical laboratory of
Ar Na Cl He Fe
no Ar...

natrium chlorum
    helium            ois

                 ferrum...

terra ferrum: iron earth
                              in akimbo venturing for
broken bones and fixation on bones
206 of these...
and i overheard that Muhammad Ahmed
knew the exact number of bones
in the human body (does that include the teeth?)
32 teeth...
   that's 9 vowels and 23 consonants
in the Polish alphabet...
bad tooth England only has 26 letters
and boast all it can about Latin VQ
it does not have...

oh not bones then joints
i heard about the number 350 being cited...
although i sometimes wonder
about O and little o
of degrees and that's really thinking about
the 0 and to the power of
infinity is infinity oscillating in
a duality: even and especially if it's
a monotheism:
why then o why i wonder
at the predicament of Islam
because it is not out simple migration
but the excesses of Dubai must
be hitting the average muslim hard
if they be wanting to move with us
European paupers, no?
us drunken savages we are savages
and we returned to our pagan ways
just as i might have predicted why
Poland defended the pagan power
of Lithuania and why Christianity
never really spread to certain parts of Europe
but was kept in check by some
Russian Greek or Varangian...

i saw it in his eyes when his father
head-butted one of this soldiers
i'd bet i will put a bet on, everything i have...
on Usyk beating Fury...
the odds?

Fury 5/6 ahead of Usyk at 11/10
strange numbers...
i saw Bohun in his eyes
the cossack romantic figure in Sienkiewicz'
with Fire and with Sword...
yes saw it and this is the only sport
i'd bet on with a heart of a gamble
beyond the £1.00 threshold
unlike Bukowski betting on horses
i did similar antics
betting on scores in football...
but nothing major always stingy no greater
thrill than earning money
and saving money
and then spending it on kayaks or canoes
or books or compact disks or
£12 summer dresses and what not
however the trend is these days
last time i tried tapping into anything
relevant on the internet
but same old:

men, bears and £12 summer dresses
that are like the rule
pulled up in the forest on the sly
with no suspenders or tights
just the suntanned skin with no wintry
attaches of still ***** still
playing chess still not playing
backgammon still no chess
unless with a kid
and i loved how i saw the engineering
of AI in chess games
and how the kid was losing and
just because she's a girl doesn't mean
i'll let her win
or that i'd let her win no because
i didn't but i don 't mean playing
chess with a ****** partner
or watching t.v. with her
because no unless there might be physical
dimensions askew like how could
we possibly do it, physically speaking
i mean how could we when we couldn't
and that would be her licking
the eyepop pop-sickle sickly sweet
no teeth grandma ***
or me and her already wrinkled *****
slurping oysters
Bang Dan... Bang Dan... sounds Vietnamese...

why would: ah: authenticity...
38 outside the range
but in the range 21 - 35 have to complete
3 months of agricultural labour
to qualify as citizen of Australia...
i think that's rather nice...
i only submitted the form on a whim
but i received no automated response...
instead a Jamie Chirpseer
got in touch: apparently they have been calling

now i don't know but
last time i "measured"
that's only an 8h50 flight from Auckland
to Hawaii
so i'm thinking why set my foot behind
a door with a mother in law
watching scoop me up Jesus
t.v. and being all paranoid about my status
as ******* on the closed enclosure
of Kauai
but i sure as **** threw a decent birthday
party by the pool
well shared but this is claustrophobic writing
i.e. claustrophilic my ego
says there is a cursor and pre-
to nouns so i'm cleared: cleared by I'II"
however many that is:
1 foot 11 inches last time i checked...
ego-**** that is: the little horn on my head
that turned into a hovering 360 degree eye spin...

seeing those last words written days
ago, happily discarded
now upon return with a pop-sensibility of aging
no new music but there are some unavoidable
stresses in neu alles neu: billy and eddy's
Lunch not naked Lunch not naked
all food in attire:
me sitting in a tuxedo and sneakers
with a baker boy's cap: some unifying piece of attire
whether you're at White Hart Lane
or whether at the Boleyn -
                  unifying attire like some distinction
between the Tribes of London gone out
of the window with the babies in a circus of bathtubs
falling from the sky
because raining cats and frogs
had all the dogs drinking from puddles of beer
morphing into hyenas - crying over Benson Boone
singing all god is jesus
and no god of a muhammad
there is no transliteration of tongues and words on
tongues and words not on tongues
but abstracted thought and missing in crosswords
because like a dyslexic being good with numbers
because is such a terrible word right
now...
but good in manners of speech: or is that speach
like i want to bite into a peachy apple
                         like crossbreeding happens and you
could craft champagne from thin air
breed a german shepherd and a spaniel
or what was used to breed a dachshund
from a dobermann...

   the Q and the Mark i.e.

                     Mark              +                Q(uelle)

                    ­                        =

                      Matt            ­   &              Luke

i came across people interested in religion and
the mammoth goliath that is Christianity
of conversation
and a revamp from the year 1945 from Egypt
the Nag Hammadi library -
and all that invoked by the Church Mothers
maybe another Frank Zappa moment if i could
sing but instead i found my voice
my voice in giving SIA a briefing after having
worked with stewards on a bag cordon
at Wembley...

now how to find respite, next day the cycle
still not fixed so house bound
at least able to wash the bedsheets
and hang them in the garden of sunlight
to then dress the bed once more in all that air
and wool
like floating sheep and perhaps horses with
wings
and perhaps apes to
and perhaps men with four arms and no more
than two feet
and perhaps wheels and fire and the internet
and printing and copying
and all that towers and gardens from Tokyo
to Baghdad -
                               cascade of the human experience
ethics is apparently objective
well i could have sown the swearing ogre oath
i loath in **** me **** me oh **** me
jurisprudence is subjectivity par excellence...
so rarely do you have judgement by the peers
by the jury: jurisprudence -
instead English law and the barrister
and judge and triangles of politics -
i hardly speak in the court of law -
perhaps fellow human will allow
me to think before god:
perhaps i can think before god
if i can't speak in the court of law if i can't speak
in the court of man then perhaps
i will be able to think in the court of god:
at least there's hope with me writing this down...

yes, i put a weird bet on two nights ago...
Tyson Fury vs. Olek Usyk...
bets on, whatever the algebra of gambling
5/6 and 11/10 as a decimal:

      0.8333                  and 1.1111

ニ: 0.747747748
      ホ: 0.9213

if i were to see mathematics with letters,
notably division by the first number
and multiplication by the second numbers
(Ni                   **)

but at least no muddle with too many numbers
like too many notes in Mozart's
'seph II  Holy Roman Emperor (1765-1790)

    ヨーヨー                 (yoo yoo toy boy not
yo! or yo-yo                but no ideogram?

let me rummage...)

                         bandalore... idea: image at least
some     :)                  or some :'(

      maybe get a hummingbird tattoo on my neck
in devotion to the Aztex i.e.  Huītzilōpōchtli

pero āmo tēchentenderoa lo que tlen
tictoah en Nahautl                                 TLEN:
oxi         oz                       oxygen-c-c

                           TKANKA: tis            tss tis tss
Sue: Ssue...                   SS: Ś
                    i.e. tissue:
                                                       /ˈtɪʃ.uː/ /ˈtɪs.juː/

maybe a truly phonetic poem
or a truly transliterated biblical text
a snippet only a snippet because i have enough
of a day to live to spend another hour
or so in akimbo or on my knees
before the writing desk that's my bed
no no: but a short equip-me "poem"
a quirk like a sneeze to base my focus on tissue
and SS i.e. Ś
and other instances i could possibly see it in
in the English tongue...

all of a sudden working with Pakistanis, Bangladeshis
and the Sudanese is or can ever be
about a white English boy with some
post-colonial stresses and ancestry questions
about why the former Commonwealth
Empire imploded and no wonder
given the Civil War in Sudan
why then complain about the English i wonder
but i don't have that problem
given no one can really look sensibly accusing
the Polacks of imperialism and colonialism
base mention of Mongols and the Ukranians
while the Lithuanians dwarfed under Russian Stalinism
and what remnants of German blood
fused during the northern crusades
to give birth to a German fusions of
Estonians, Prussians, Latvians and the Fins
at least we know that the Prussian pagans steered
the gentle happy german soul
for some time or so the romanticism goes...

                  this is still writing under the influence
of Billie Eilish's LUNCH on repeat:
the glad days of my 20s spent never speed dating
not really singing sad songs of psychopathic love triangles
and later sycophantic bare minimum poetry
yuck cringe and are we of the first people
to be given a literacy adventure in proficiency?
so my little historical debrief:
well... it's all funny how i too came on a banana boat
with the rest of them
that astounding reflection of a Pakistani from Luton
born and bred with mosque like a seashell brought
along in the night of the crimson moon
the LESBIAN flag of ISLAM
i.e. the marriage of the girl moon and Venus...
because isn't that "star" with the crescent not Venus
unless that's Venus with a scimitar
and who was the woman of the origins of Islam
running between two hill tops with her son
looking for water?
Hajarah and concubine of Ibrahim?

              at the diner with Ismail having no dinner
but food for thought
in some absent heaven and in some absent hell
but rather in a limbo of grey objects
and a blistering itch of sunshine that
turns a hyperbolic white skin of the north
a golden serpent glee
and invokes spying for the Greeks or ancient
Romans in Lebanon
with: mind you: with all those Pale Orthodox Jews
might just fit in...
but wait: i digress... i've been looking for an ideogram
for a yo-yo... wasn't i?
a yahoo too: a yo-yo playing with a yahoo
when there was whey and rye and lasso and spey
and whatever way was in the where...

          ilocano: aj aj: moje kolano

         (exercise in pain onomatopoeia
         and possessive article: moje / mine
         noun: kolano / knee)

oh yes... and a rubric of the bets i made on the Tyson
Usyk match-up... tailors to the glove
a dash of Polansky on the ring...
left right tango with tango of men
so rough **** so not like ******* a woman
so unlike...

thus:

    no yo-yo: but axle:                        軸
my guess is as good as anyone's
with however many confines of
//     \ |               |||          /|/|/      \|\|\

to quiz up a T                 or an L
let alone an O because so rigid have to swim
to Yippon for the proper edible tongue

now to reveal the Gambler and how i will never be
able to write yet admire
a Hemingway and a Bukowski...

Usyk by technical decision (100/1)
stake... £0.10
Fury by technical decision (100/1)
stake £0.10
Usyk by disqualified opponent (100/1)
stake £0.10
Fury by disqualified opponent (100/1)
stake £0.10
Usyk by decision of technical decision (2/1)
stake £5.00
net return £10.00
Usyk by KO, TKO or DQ (5/1)
stake £5.00
return £0.00

any anyone who might read the newspapers
would tell you
the decision was crystal clear, scientific,
on the margins, within talk of inches and decimals
and... ooh... itchy...
115-112, 114-113 to Usyk
and 114-113 to Fury...

rematch? what is now to be disputed is by winning
through that bet i made: 5/1
or rather 5:1 but ratios would be any less if
using a colon?
                               enough bark to patch up a
cagey sneer and then return to kiss daylights: out
because now somewhat disputable
in the arena or the courtroom
better judgement watching sport
than those daytime zombie land drug-shows
of the courtroom melodrama soaps
and operatic demand for feeding the collective
consciousness split seconds per day
accumulating into binge potato peeling of skin
and intellect on the sofa...
even now: hardly a waste of good coffee
   and tobacco...                with the added "spice"
of BIMBER... beam-bear to spread out the letters
and transliterate: not to imply anything beside
the phonetic arrangement
of the letters as beam-bear: it's still the meaning
behind BIMBER the sweet 45% *****...

(q)uelle: yet there is hardly a similar problem
associated with Socrates...
given the accounts by Plato
Xenophon oh and let's not forget Aristophanes...
especially him
because he was hardly all luvvy-dabbling in
writing works of just fiction...
satire of the lowest man in the village as it were...
well:

who wouldn't have said:

     pleasure is not only unnecessary,
     but a positive evil

i too have had the pleasurable burden and agony
of being able to cite
maybe saying maybe not saying
either way experiencing:
i'd rather be mad than feel pleasure -
further still what of pleasure and happiness
as distinctly opposite or not:
re-imagines (i)
                         the recently digested divulging
on meanings
constricted to words like guilt
and shame...                   thus too:
happiness and guilt                           pleasure and shame.