what a ****-pile of ******* (petition rendered
on the hyphenated word compound
i wanted to correct- yeah, all the dudes can hide,
i tried the Oxford crew, but instead
i just got American  colonialism:
the part where you say: i said the funnier joke,
therefore i'm funnier,
TEAM U.S.A.! yeah! **** yeah! let's keep it as
just that... TEAM U.S.A. GO!
we're aiming for sushi right now...
and i love the fact that Green Day's
when September ends is a sidelining the 9/11,
ever you mind dialling 911...
oh, because i was the fascist, tell that to your mother
when baking bagels, ****...
i don't like the way poetry
tries to incubate violence as the non-existence of,
i hate that poetry is written by *******...
i ******* hate these goody-two-shoes more
than i'd care to think abut ******,
who will, given enough time,
become a fetish subject for historians when
we reach a historical threshold,
give it 1000 years he's be a mythological Barbarossa...
that's what i said about him not being
a unicorn.... give it 1000 years and he'll end up
being a hero, just before the
historians make a fetish out of them like they did
with Genghis Khan...
they'll talk about the autobahn before they
speak of the holocaust and constructing Israel,
which we are assured, by fake-socialists
taking on communism by sitting on a train floor...
if that guy Corbyn is a socialist then i'm Comrade
Mao... you never experienced socialism,
i hardly think you're able, like you
said that former feudal made communist
factions were predestined failures of capitalism...
i know you'll fail being communists,
the Chinese are in charge...
you, aren't, going, anywhere!
yeah, believe the socialist sitting on the train floor...
that ******* comes last...
and don't try that fascist tactic for me ti speak clean...
i'm not going to speak with the everyday citizens' speech
talking to the queen... no, i flap the tongue
you provide the wind and the winding,
schooling in over, so is shooing into lining up...
page 64 of Valis:
either knowledge through the sense organs and
is noun-categorised (some say called)
empirical knowledge, or it's arises within your head
and it's called a priori -
i don't see a problem? do you? well...
isn't a posteriori dismissive of empiricism?
to reach a posteriori knowledge you have to dismiss
empirical involvement... also to mind:
there are aren't any sense organs as such.... i'd like
to thin there are... but deaf people wouldn't consider
their ears to be organs, they're still using sign language
and continue living, neither are eyes organs
given Braille... Philip K. **** had more insight on Kant
high on amphetamines than Hegel ever did...
the basic implant? God... a few people
have escaped the a priori and a posteriori argument
for God, most were seduced by atheism
trying to relieve themselves of the argument being
argued let alone argued for a non-existence of such being,
arguing alone proved the argument to be fallacy riddled,
i.e. / as in: it was argued in the first place... for no reason...
i mean we're talking mutation:
how to mutate a priori hexagonal
               through the empirical medium pentagonal
into a posteriori hex once more...
                   the problem is searching for God in
the medium, the Cartesian substance,
the trial and error coin-flip, empiricism isn't about that,
empiricism is about the necessity of error,
i'm bothered about whether God was implanted
in us as necessarily, or whether he emerged to our
a priori mind from the medium of empiricism -
i call that a Darwinian fallacy, i don't think
the human brain can consolidate a harmonious
coexistence with self-belief and being a Buddhist...
the foremost concern is not whether:
god created man, or whether man created god...
we're talking whether the two ever coincided with
needing proof...
                               obviously not.
that part about being a Buddhist? that's shrapnel...
most of us have so much self-belief that we become
eager labourers, and hardly complain,
because the billionaires have ferrets for a haircut.
but as i said, the easiest, aphorism type of reading
Kant doesn't come from Nietzsche, it actually
comes from Philip K. **** in the bookValis...
empiricism was always going to be a watery product,
rigging scientific results, i mean lying about the results
would end up diluting a bottle of whiskey so it looked
like beer and tasted like a 20% voltage on the tongue
pallet: hardly numbing.
so the three tiers: one before, one intermediately,
and one after...
                           how a hexagon passes
through a pentagon and remains a hexagon...
or how a hexagon passes through a pentagon and ends
up a pentagon....
or how a pentagon passes through a pentagon
and ends up a hexagon...
                                             or more simply?
Bleep Beers... or Bibi (when you say b b and then add the
ee, umlaut arithmetic to double up on) -
no, i don't place my belief in the existence of god
from an a priori suggestion, as if i was to invent it...
to later discredit such a belief with a well argued augmentation
from the inheritance to later dispose of such an argument
in the charity shop of the a posteori stance...
that wouldn't excuse or explain the religious inheritance
of the Kippah or the Hijab...
who would be dumb enough to originate having to wear
a Hijab from not having experienced some sort
of necessity of divination? they would have had too experienced
something outer-worldly... god is too ridiculous to
be an a priori or an a posteriori concept...
but he's just ridiculously worthwhile the unifying
concept of phenomenology in that grand empirical theatre...
which means only one thing... our caving in and mining
god in the realm of the a priori is yet another
reality check -
                         summary:
i'm still bothered why not affiliating the hyphen to that
letter will make not meaningful reference, i.e.:
a-        (without)
                                   which means, a priori
(without a prior / without a beginning)
                       which means, a posteriori
           (without an after, without an end) -
it doesn't mean whether you have god as an implant,
whether you get rid of the implant
after experiencing the empirical medium,
you'll nonetheless experience the medium of the pentagon,
establish that sense-organs are not really organs,
because classifying something as an organic makes
life essentially a continuum, but blind men live long
after the eyes are gone...
                    i'm just saying that god as an idea
is hardly a worthy unit, which ideas are, concentrated
thoughts that cannot align themselves to either
telepathy or narration... they're immovable...
unshaken, undisturbed...
i'm just saying we're too intelligent to seek god
in the a priori realm or the a posteriori realm of things...
we were not actually ever going to find him
on the shores of Ireland or Florida...
it's not that ridiculous to find him on the Atlantic...
he's quantum physics after all, pocket presence...
isolated proof... never a collectivisation to enable
politicised coherence... it's a quantum experience,
a quantum experience that without atoms
gets so much stigmatisation as Judaism proves;
the mock-joke of Moses rummaging realities rather than
reality in the desert to the count of 40 years...
yeah... and later the idea of the multiverse...
that's not funny mate... it's horrid...
but there you are safe in democracy... but you're
used to reading the media outlets citing child abuse...
well... what are we missing? APPLAUSE! APPLAUSE!
ENCORE!

I famigerate without taciturn timidity the straits of a straightened jury-rig of nesiote narrowbacks harping the accordion zest and zeal of the plenilune consuetude of a scrivello infamy sprung into the rows of rip-tide acclaim hamstrung by the decline in fastidious upkeep of the timberlask vesicles that avoid the phenakism of prismatic reformation fundamental to transmogrified simpers of dismal saturnine darkness encroaching on the parallax of realms within the dominion of the Almighty for the omniety of the usucaption of the fruitful prune in the priggish afterglow of a noontide eclipse bereaved of whispering retreat in the hallowed wasms of stiltanimity becoming an entreaty to ecumenical barbs of propriety selected without intimacy to folksy bibliopolists but rugged in sterling tribute to the true vine of the appointed ways of sacerdotal triage among a roughshod vanity of a derelict world marveling at otiose rejoinder rather than true spasms of tragedy flickering in the recessive alleles of a careworn culture. The travesty of Beirut is the bromide of current leapfrogs of sentinel lust and malapert destruction forming an ironclad camaraderie with chocolate-box langlauf disasters wed uxoriously to the penury of the brackish version of the catadromous bailiwick of despotic nescience pregnant with sophrosyne redemption at the cusp of a plaid perfunctory quip of quisling intimations of the sketchy provenance of humdingers of comestion lurking in the plodding prowl of a ribald wiseacre of a beckoned billow of trinkochre welded into a conscientious blarney that awaits the popinjays that sculpt brittle redshort fictions into awakened carapaces of a limacine reduction of impoverished fulmination into the neatly sworn footprints of a geotaxis shuddering with magnetism only in spectacle without the overhailing zeal of vintners who specialize in curtailed wine drawn from Caiaphas and soaked with the muddy turgid Siloam as avenues toward the repentance of asunder becoming marginalized as a whimper of taciturn choleric war receding not even into an audible delope as the masterful chryselephantine assault of cryptic auditions in the theater of effete refuge sink into the pelagic oblivion of a remarkable blister festering into inconsequence as the rebarbative emoluments to tattered travesty hearken a battle-cry yet emanated in the reprehensible bulwark of the gerendum of a poised plastered humility aggrieved with such friction turgid on rollicking magpiety that even the larceny of brutish renegades of triumph sink beneath the brevity of accident rather than the fortitude of globalized turpitude weakened by the improper demarche of fuliginous homeless depredation of innocent bystanders flocking to the harvest of war found in insight rather than the perfunctory bromidrosis of the macroscian enmity of hidden maleficence spawning a credenda that is spayed on arrival in the faineant zoolatry of a spelunkers’ madcap dash to flex the filigrees of turmoil in resentment of the amicable truces of a God who never tempts and a lurking lie that never itches for trigger-happy hapless rebukes because the skittish skirmish of futilitarian repose is a scoundrel of the profligacy of errant weakness blinkered by the humdrum din of deafening semaphores of provocative thornbush on the threshing floor of cowardly imposture president of all affairs of spirit and all renegades of caitiff megalography of forgotten oblivion despite the curglaff of vindictive and never vindicated assaults on the integrity of the birthright of Lebanon to wager a presumptive gamble of trifling retribution for the alacrity of suspicions eloping with forbidden mistresses in the humdingers of flackey rather than the troudasque harbinger of a lunacy impugned by a restive triumphant fallow time seasonable for a litany of pretenses demassified for a liturgy of seances with eldritch commiseration in the saw-toothed serration of selachostomous bravado wielded by likely or unlikely culprits of ravenous ruin shepherded by the guilty cardinal sins of the complicity of explosive vanity marauding on the ruins of a fortress debased by pettifoggery of internal excuse rather than the wrath of provocative ire in the irksome cauterized wounds of the inured to deliver spectacular reticence despite such grievous diacope. Evil gilderoys of maleficence carve the sapwood of the periphery to aimless subversions miscarried by the modern atrocity of glamour memorialized as a sound-byte underminnow of a roaring rhombos rip tide as stocks wavy at the curvature of edgy demarche despoil the denuded wasteland of cultural despondency a wagtail to the impudence of famigerated affronts that deserve a sterling recompense wielded by the onerous and operose burdens of a prone decubitus of aboriginal bread seeded from Heavenly realms dissipating into the roars of blinded conflagration too meek to even exist on the ramshackle hillside of a barnstorm of aggression powerless to encapsulate the nexility of unspoken allegiance to destruction rather than the halidom of consecrated marriages balking at the caulked provisions of a slugabed monolith of craven capers on the recesses of abeyance in the interregnum of a time where famous people communicate with me. How can such a charismatic bravado of lurking presidency stoop to the denizens of usufruct in licentious latitudes on the outskirts of consideration even pretend anymore that the vacuum of effluvium (Gal 6:7) can be mocked and milked into the row of centuries blistering through the calenture of apprisal and heaved awakening as the zephyrs of the Occident meet temporal juncture with the coenesthesia of a hibernating trumpery formed by the turnverein of listless lethargy billowing through fumiducts of siphoned lavaderos of hypogeiody that the underground spasms of cacophony could marvel at the historic emergence of a magnate with the most powerful magnetism of God shepherding the true flock John 10:27 because he is willing to be the good shepherd and potentially die for his sheep John 10:11. Remember, whenever you hear a Queer Studies Radical Feminist bloviate on emasculated sardanapalian posture John 8:44 and even though personified as a masculine titan of bulwarks of immense otiose wilted inkburch shielding the world from true meaning, the maskirovka of the Devil is present in the dark trespasses of personal abandon among the wilderness of many marsupial jackals of martles wagtails to an invictive proclamation of invulnerable sappy sopanaceous filibusters against hefty sinew forged the bony fragments of the charnels lost to brief epitaphs never mourned in threnodies worthy of remembrance that the departed died with us and live again through us whether in Heaven as participant or on Earth as an acting battalion of the skullduggery of the mystique of shimmers of God acting on Man’s behalf 1 Col 1:15-16. That the firstborn of all creation obtains supremacy through the finalisms that I seek as the captain of trailblazing untrammeled roads we are reminded of the narrow and wide gates expanded by the explosion of thought that trespasses into the hidebound ratchet of a reasonable bleat becoming a harsh outcry of justice for Lebanon that they feel so powerless in implosion what could aggrieve potentate civilizations to the precipice of global maleficence in destruction. Swarming for alveolate hominid hominism as an outgrowth of alienation by design polarized spectral dangles at jaundice flamestun by the ordeal of oppositive barnacles to the chryselephantine habituation of a masked menace of Procrustean authority to muzzle the free license of armamentariums of a latent man keen to the kenspeckel visibilia that we might have punctuation in the poised primiparas of a hearkened unprecedented in modern history that the traipse of lapse is no longer the tenure of mindless calculation of authoritarian gabble sentries of a mobilized fleet of embodied human ignorance but a foisted sprite of whangams of apothegm that deserve in their gnomic respite from the phenakisms of a philogeant kumbaya assertive in its treony of radical compassion for those who dwell in tentpoles of revelry bound not to the covenant that sent us into light and sparkling in hidden obsolescence that the fulgurant words of Mount Horeb (Sinai) are both immaculate and without trace of sin because Acts 17:30 declares a powerful truth lost to the twinges of time that issued peremptory governance of my theology but through remission I admit the grievances of septiferous blockades of ponderous plodding nescience haunting the spectral aubades of paeans to a high-flown sun darting through galactic space apace of the velivolant sails of divine wind that come in the spree of recompense authored by the vines to which all roots belong rhizogenic and immutable because the demarches of time forget the marches against the cauterized grime of new-world suspicions of aleatory fickle gubernatorial proclamations that issue reverb more than sprinkle flanged atrocity in the sight of the holy ramparts of an active double-edged God who reminds us of our many witnesses but provides not a single latchkey of escapism resident to many hapless homes of the drunken sing-song rhapsody nullifying the psychotaxis of the motatory miserly Draconian charades of Leviathan grasping the tridents of warp-speed revisionism in a benighted world overrun by mandarist fictions that fumigate a pasteurized control of cultural malcontent in situations of dearth infested by the concentration camps of China that remain unheralded in brumal and brutish indoctrination spared from worldwide outrage by the tribunes that are complicit more in malfeasance than they are celebrated for the herald of heinous bletcherous crimes of abecedarian abligurition anointed in waste rather than refined like unquenched slakes of eternal water so that no man can thirst hungry for the daily bread without returning to the providence of God awakened. Recalcitrant by the impudent quislings of repugnasket flarmeys of advenient flummoxed besieged clairvoyance I bask and beaze on the light that never fades because of the brackish whisk of a barnstorm of allegiance that is contumely to a bromide society listless in inferiority of intellect to my former streaks beyond jejune reiteration of the Jehu mentality against the canine fate of Jezebel and her faltered ministry of ewnastique waged as battalion gore of a trifling musket of an aboriginal swim through the oceanic gaze of peerless eternity squirming because of flagging resolution among the spandrels of incommunicable largesse lolloped extravagantly not just for the spoils of hyped pedigree but also a chamade to Heaven to enlist the purblind vestiges of a crambazzled Earth rejuvenated in adolescent esprit rather than callow eclat against the outrecuidance of whimpered miserly conscientiousness that exists in a shorter frame of reference than the provident dashes through a furlough of time and ancestry to cobble together a lapidary bristling excoriation of the tumescent squabbles of mystique brave enough to rarefy the humid pasteurization of a mannequin kenspeckel still-frame jilt of jostled infamy brusque in its curt envies borne of still-born promenades of a whasper between the youthful ligony and the intrepid soul of a collective warrior debased by the adscititious participant to elegant effronteries of the newfangled intellectual vogue that is the grombang of the tralleyripped hamshackle of ostentation meeting mirrored paralysis in sheepish ewnastique creations meddlesome in their ironic frizz of recursion as I lounge on the habits of creation by intelligent lurches of design that appointed the demarcations of all creatures and the mysterious bridge between the missing links that remain elusive to the flombricks of the misery of epigenetic rhizogenic imparlance of desuetude cringing at foresight littered with the disaster of ravished hindsight blushing at the limpid degeneration of the vapid varnish of benighted ligony rather than heroic strides of stoic-epicurean compromise in the apolaustic pursuit of the one eternal God present in rebellion but never the temptress of mendacity and mendaciloquence because the tug I have on speed is ratifying a cauterized casualty in the spumid betrothed wicked snuffs of extinguished furor for a time beyond barnstormed racloir rugged origination and faulty phenogenesis that escorts mythos into actionable litanies of the awakened breed scoffing at the inkburch of “Electrolytes”-wernaggle that besets the queer fascinations of a warped generation. The pytherian swank of artrench embodied in the recocted rendevation of hypetrophy in hubris swaddled by the reductive dranger polluting the realm of compliant complicant complaints of the ashowel of albatross astroud in the hibernaculum of langlauf rather than the ultramontane fiduciary tether to the estrockentch rather than the laureates of plevisable courage found in truest shades of vinsky not the subhastation of a gaslighted galvanization of purebred classy swivels of opportunism nor the ravenous incubus appetite for usufruct in subversion belongs to the behest of an insular nesiote flexing the flux of subversion as the candid posies of saccharine immodesty become relegated figments of the everlasting age of promised propriety rather than rigid stultimathy of hackencrude virtues of virtuosos that marvel at troudasque wonders occluded by the girlcott of Team Biden and his militarized soldiers of desiccation of trumpery and the faucets unbounded by swanky concealed epithets of regaled rentgourge by a hapless objection of the runic destruction of apothecary leniency becoming of the betokened emblazonry of scrimshank in every perfuncturation but embodiment of character shouldered by every chasm of power erected in demolition of the warped egintoch radicalism of the submerged wernaggles of the hopeless minority swimming with autodimplage few have to bear but the truest flock of God heeds my voice and has the sapience to spare themselves of contumely and invective to hearsay of invictive triumph beyond radioglare swirk to renege the musical providence of the chamades to the asterongue I often take for granted by immunifacient degrees of the foretold encroaching upon the crux of a pivotal and pivoted destiny not distant from cordial providence. The sweedle of epigones for the risctender of obligation to subvert the coryphaeus with the rigmarole of gentincture borrowed from the Gates’ formulaic effleck of perverse warbles of collectivized contrition for abetted cultural pederasty limpid in its achieved objective of the crudenzy borrowed from a lacking impediment to arentrum belonging to the knowledgeable happenstance of the glorified dengonin is a denostram that forestalls the agelasts behind porsters of culture rather than legitimate mainlined contamination of wellsprings of fliction of paranoiac enthusiasm might swim in kinkativy blinkered blind piebald girouettism but never dauntless in sematic entrenchment of robust dilettantism as the swaddled corrugation of time into centripetal ****** against centrifugal modernism that alienates propriety while estranging by vacuous vacuums the outspoken progeny of the surviving age beyond the Jay and Silent Bob travesty that manifests as a glower of menacing Bushian invention to tarnish with ****** mythos the drapes of a defenestrated realism of the flinkers of sheepish indignation against many drakstings of intonorous sclerotic mandibles of crackjaw chockablock annihilation of core precepts and institutions indelible from the face of a quixotic entreaty of a ragged intrusion of ageotropic monoideism above the secular-clerical fidelity of honest witness borne of triumph and tribulation festooning the nativist hyperbole into a useless effigy of mountebank imposture silly in precision and purblind to gallantry. Yet I must kisswonk rather than truckle under such ponderous pretense because of a sertivine certainty in the thickets of prudence rather than the tomfoolery of humgruffin impudence scaffolds me to a post-modern ****** that shanks through prisons of guilt and burrows an interrogation of reality supreme over all complaint that the virtuosity of the Gifted (the elect flock that comprehends my volcanic diatribes against mandarism and stomachs them without sardonic pastorauling insults of passerby vicissitude) will spare many nations of awakened perjury against human instinct in the fitness of nations to denigrate the populist squalor of lurid and livid ewnastique wernaggles of the listless buttress against my formal modesty encouraged in all affairs even in aggrieved humility belonging to intimidation rather than spawned jostles through the rumpus of shunamitism that might rankle a later age.  Yentrified morality is a personal flapdoon against the promiscuous pederasty of freewheeling ophelimity and the lurking narquiddity of the traindeque of donnist hedonism to hijack my psychedelic tolerance into an unwarranted and inadvisable sanction into the netherworld of the frinterans of cultural modality that curdact religion into a cosmetic cosmogony rather than a soldiered infamy becoming a beacon on a towering hill growing in solidarity with the pleonasm of existence itself which surpasses crude formulas that already abide by the riches of decorum too much to be admired as trigger-happy fools run the asylum of domesticated irony and the librettos to downfall rather than the wassails of “The Man” becoming more masculine in featured charisma rather than defiled against Leviticus among others who preach belonging to nuclear creed without fission but for true rapprochement to the fusion of the treony with legitimate gripes of unsung complaint among the masculine minority. The traindeque of a baseline complaint aggrieved by the kilmarge carapace of stiltanimity for the hackencrude resentment of the inkburch of illiteracy is a profligate degeneracy lurid in hyped enmity that the envied entreaty becomes the despotic shadow masquerading in shadows blossoming into the full wisdom of the mature sophrosyne heart eager to pour out blessings upon a conservation of recycled epitaphs becoming hearsay in a rebarbative convolution of redacted rigmarole incendiary to whittled henpecks of political engineering but never vapid in their flagging insistence upon an ecumenical toleration of the brooks of modernity and compromise upon which much felicity is aggrandized and permuted against the spoilsport frinterans who encage a dodgy moralism in wilted etiolated jaunty pedigree that espouses the maudlin grievous and ghastly ghouls and sprites that haunt the fictional hobgoblins of the Potemkin Village that finds usury convenient and perjury even more facile for the glib facetious engineers of modalities of hatred unsung by the ribald witwanton “I got a Solution...You’re a ****…South Carolina What’s Up” crowd that never marvels at ingenuity or rarely attempts it in the summit of the climacteric jaundice of hidebound whemmles of ridicule sparring against spartan flagitious wiseacres of genocide of ideation for the revelry of armed missives denatured by raw promotion of the questionable ethics of a flavork of needed slakes of unquenchable desire swarming us with daily temptresses not of wayward women but the disarmed pretense of a lapidary rejoinder to a long expatiation or harangue against hackencrude curdles of rowboat injustice masquerading as sentinel savory destruction of the towering edifice of proclamation. There is great menace in the casuistry of sophist philogeant philocubists dicey with destiny for mincemeat puppetry against sciamachy for the gallionic rise of gammadions in the craven lore of baseline pasquinade rallied to the insuperable causes of tribal shibboleth anointed by secular totemisms of fracture and fricative hisses of lineage that amount to pleonasms of brassage rather than mystagogical mystique of the prestige of human fraternity that shatters paradigms of creed and invites an honest vestige of Noble Savages to roam the Earth yet again unencumbered by lugubrious welters of misnomer and malapropism wagered by artifices of guileless supremacy that is cursory prima facie neglect of even the sororal duties not of sophomoric glib facetious cowardice of backbited backlash of venom militarized for the desuetude of entertained visagists sculpting *****-nilly their version or verdict of decisive apartheid when we should all rally behind the united frontier of the chosen flock in the chosen generation to truckle beneath the pews not of ignorance aggravated by the polluted kilmarge egintoch puritan barbs against publicity choices I now regret (as an emolument to an incredibly euphoric track with a poor miserly message to the enchanted flock inoculated from such diversions) because alighted upon the quenched thirst of salvation I will be judged more harshly as a teacher James 3:1 than the rest of my flock but gifted with the gratuitous salvation carved from the chiselers of ribald infamy capering around with dacoitage and ladronism of the bomans of unsuspecting quixotic caprice I must reckon with the burden of ghoulish shadows on the spectral imprint of my eternal soul relishing in vicarious splendor yet bereaved of quintessential love 1 Cor 13:4 that is necessary for the nuclear conclamation of vibrant hues of resplendent and refulgent providence necessary not from a dynastic perspective but from an aimed providence that alerts dynamism rather than chides with mimes of useless schadenfreude carved from the prestidigitation of the wicked condemned in Galatians 6:7 for the mockers of sanctanimity accorded upon me as gratuity that no man can boast my elite ears and my astute wonderworks of imagination qualified me for prophecy and among the most mesmerizing prophecies registered to fulfillment that the world has ever yet witnessed because the watershed isn’t a bridgewater for the chavish of ignoramus hatred congealed into thrombosis but the narrowed gate enlarges to encompass the swath of man amenable to the flocks that escort me into permanence rather than regale the tridents of a hedonism that elected me clairvoyant at a cost of immaculate splendor registered to the holy clergy of the Sacred Catholic Church and the broader Ecumenical Endeavor that tries to be a seamstress and bridge elemental divides inherent to divided approaches to liturgy which flex their strengths in times of robust fortitude rather than become a subhastation to the vestiges of the pilgrimage to false tabernacles erected by people cozened into charlatan endeavors by the pernicious and persnickety whiplash of Least Common Denominator subversion of widely heralded sentience and sapience enriching the lot of human ambition rather than stoking useless conflagrations of refracturism accorded to the swallock of primposition of the hackneyed hackencrude that swivels with the odious ornery pretense of overtures not to apertures and lychgates of the true abiding Heaven felt on Earth by many Christians whether in sobriety or not without the evil maleficence of a misguided donnism of narquiddity for the grambazzles of aged recklessness aborning on vacant responsibility that is rickety in its magnanimity of absolution because of the ulterior chase for bottom-line top-dollar oligochrome foisted by the cartels that blind true spiritual insight from ever reaching the magnitude of ambition required to shape mountains of revolution among the tertiary squabbles of a conversant Earth open to the troudasque gallop into yield and cloveryield for repcrevel reforms the paludism of the swamp remains skittish about conforming to because objectivism is a renegade of perspicuous light blinkering in hubris and gourmandizing the hinderbaggle of cosmetic pollutions aggravated by the plevisable articles of envy and TLDR politics to “Electrolyte” logic that is a sad recursive wernaggle of the useless buffoonery of humgruffins of tatterdemalion spate rollicking in the magpiety of a timid consentient faltering myth of unanimity among the beleaguered rainbows of many lugubrious tears showering bickering blasphemy upon the mockery of God for the pleasantry of self-aware sheepish resignation that professes only that any form of meritocracy is existentially unfounded only because the beehive elected its progeny the scepter of the ironclad kingdom that wages war against idolatry and serenades heaven with luxury simultaneously. We are all shepherds of providence and there is power enough in collective prayer that we don’t fiddle around with bodewash in mistaken identity but riddle the persnickety blemish of the fastidious critiques of biting sarcasm as a tantamount blasphemy and a criminal repartee of sardonic cloys of inanity foisted above truth. The peevish breedbates who scour my evidentiary pillar of chiseled vertebrae of unbroken bones of solidarity with oikonisus will be sorely disappointed in their truthful audits of my true perception because in every single case it exonerates me from the pulpit of menacing idiots who scrawl random gabble in attempts to sound smart while reeking of iniquity wrought by the gavels of predevoted inferiority of complexion and attitude that gravitates them to an insensate benumbed transmogrified bailiwick of an appalling atrocity of mythomaniacal myths spurned by consensus among those who prize my grandeur above the superstitions of the illiteracy of the rancid rankle of otiose stupidity writhing its own sheepish envy of arbitrary dislike motivated by feminist aggressors waging warfare on turf I already conquered by swaying the intelligentsia to beckon my cause rather than pillory me on a false scaffold of frinteran abuses of the nyejays of bernacle that junediggle in the taradiddle of the nanciful excoriation of my leaden corpse weighed down by the witchcraft of connivance trayning its own delicate myths while avoiding scrutiny for appalling contumely that deserves an audience more suited for fracklings of treony belonging to the trinkochre of the rising alienation and suicides among perverted gay indoctrination that is a scourge on the planet because it willfully denies with its portentous hibbles the regaled wisdom of the culminated age against renegades of apostasy and for the behemoths of true monumental change that sizzles in savory circles among the vanguard only to alarm the Status Quo hijack of my entire endeavors as a covert crusade to use wrecking-ball fashion tactics to cosmetically incisively and insidiously perform a harprick of surgery upon a blameless countenance only for being a thorn to wragatek wragapole slavery which wages war against universal salvation because it gripes with inkburch and circular pleonasms about the most obvious glaring lies and feasts upon the serrated edge of the capers of hatred that frolic in meadows too skittish to enter the barbarian fortress of my forested residence robust in fortitude and glowering with a menacing contempt for runaround psychobabble that obganiates the obelisk of the moribund crusade to make normative ethics effeminate and to enthrone inviolable women’s speech as supreme to any male objections like the Cristiano Ronaldo accuser that came forth 8 months after #MeToo one of the most dishonest campaigns in modern history enthroned by Hollywood elites in gammerstang insurrection against pay-gap ethics done manipulatively with the sapwood of mendaciloquence like Blasey Ford whose physiognomy reeked of maudlin pretense that was so ornery in how obvious of a maleficence the intrepid Abortion Agenda has over the minds of selfish women who prefer ecbolic second-term abortions to the servile gripes of primiparas building new life rather than tearing down the scaffolds of new generations. Hominism deserves its rise because-in increasing numbers-men are derelicted by society and coerced into vapid tallespin enslavement that ridicules itself with the perjury of soul to the soulless vanity of recursive cycles of benumbed narquiddity found in “****** Hero” among other atrocities littering the human fascination with the hinderbaggle of our polluted age verging on totemic blistering hegemony of a few rotten apples corrupting the vagrant ingenuity of the forgotten champion who ushered in a new era of candor in the attempted interregnum of the United States government because I Am Hollywood got the name correct considering how many memorials there are to me in the movie industry. The junediggles of sc-ha-den-freud-e which is as deliberate of a German pun as JUDEn JuDEN which shows the German language is as farsighted as you can get and why many of my neologisms have a German tinge to them. German is an elegant language with botched syntax but a peerless repertoire of vocabulary and even though I love French, the Germans are smart because their language is smart not just because of petty arguments of pedigree which are specious at best. Being dontolesque with  the zenkidu of rengall nauclatic mythos is an artful degree which accords nominal prestige to licentiates while excorifying the obvious metaphors of sunblind logic that scours the scorched Earth of internet diatribes of sophistry and dethrones the Marcie Biancos of the world “Heterosexuality is officially OVER...K Bye” with her 145 IQ and a Stanford Degree in Queer Studies (A professed atheist by her own Twitter admission) with the warped logic to equate a heterosexual relationship for a woman as ******* to patriarchy. For someone that well-studied in literature she sure is a dumb-*** and I will demolish the syntagma of those that root against me for Status Quo preservation in the official interregnum of Saturdays during the Trump Presidency. We need an official referendum on the ideas of termagant illogical anti-egalitarian poison that derives from a deracinated worldview that doesn’t contextualize how powerful language is at shaping thought because if the entire world were Anglophonic every single country on Earth virtually would see immediate dividends in terms of intellectual creativity and limber with concepts and percepts because it is no accident the most successful empire in History the United Kingdom, was favored because of its shibboleths of Shakespearean creativity draped with flairs of the irreverent while gilded by God to be a majestic commonwealth. England and France monopolized a huge majority of history by no accident because although English might be a slightly keener language the French culture of salons of freewheeling intellectual enlightenment gilded the 17th and 18th centuries into absolution despite the Panglossian epithets of Voltaire who was ironically dissuaded from religion because of the All Saints Day 1755 Lisbon Earthquake and Tsunami. We need to be vigilant against encroachments of perceived shibboleths and more keen on an affirmative meritocracy that favors the poor and blesses the meek in their poverty and inspire ambition among them to join the coteries of refinement in thought sometimes harder to achieve with crackjaw lollops in pleonasmic languages that fail to articulate with nexility or forceful wit the true abstractions that govern the pataphysics of the unknown. Language is so decisive over human thought that it is incumbent upon every language to refine its vocabulary to trayne compendious verbiage and trim the hedges of global reform to invite the curiosity of the age to favor all creeds and languages of Abraham and the diverse progeny of a variegated panoply of majestic feats common to all parlance and capacity beyond just the Anglophonic snare because the world needs not a chicanery of blustering churlish buffoonery but an Almighty respect for the consanguinity of all to God’s blessed creation that he inseminated by his deliberate hands to enrich the world with diversity rather than cleave the world with piecemeal skeumorphs of radical propaganda that opposes the modern and post-modern egalitarian streak. One wrong must be corrected, however, the underrepresentation of Hispanics in the media and in film because this grave error is much more pervasive than the ******* LGBT inclusion narrative because these days the lollygags of fashionista odalisques with Obelisks to Baal get more say over the common decorum than the marginalized bronteum of the  rich and vibrant Latino culture which is squelched by the poverty of media and Hollywood representation. Synectics showcases how a henpecked aim at the synaesthesis of culture congregated around our Almighty Father blessed among the nations who adhere to the progeny of Abraham can be more blessed when working together rather than tribal with nepotism and aristocratic in sustained affronts to the elevation of affirmative meritocracy to the forefront of discussion rather than the froward backlash of benumbed narquiddity because the synallagamatic nature of complexity needs to be devolved with industrious ambition to all cultures and the savory flair of the vogue needs not merely a wednongue fascination with an eventual terminus of crudenzy but a sustained intellectual reformation on all fronts to standardize the English language through Hollywood and the Music Industry so that the dragnets of appeal etch a permanent trace into the engraved souls of the true flock John 10:27 are consecrated in divine purpose to reverse the Babylonian Diaspora of confused and conflated purpose that stunts the raltention of humane course and the proper pataphysical syncrisis of an evolved mundane temperament that transcends the circular traps of circumlocution common to the milquetoast industrial titans who winsomely charm with toady gestures the elitism of a moribund philosophy of intellectual thought delegation to elevate the common rhetoric to reach new pinnacles in both tribune and political gamesmanship because higher standards are required even when they surpass some common understanding so that every ambition becomes a conclave for the goal of human unity solidified by the truth of the kerygma and proclaimed to all creation as the culminated synclastic reformation of the idea of indulgence and the propriety of regaled moderation that appeases the common decorum with a shared vested interest in Latin America especially which is besieged by the cultural tenets of obrogated specialization and denigrated by the common myths of warped phenogenesis which should be debunked as a wasm of hypocrisy limited because its callous tentacles lack the charismatic fulgurant equipment of future generations to bear the operose burdens of a quintessential time of harmony united by the hymns for God by God to appease the sentries in Heaven and the celestial realms that exist for our merriment more than our detriment. The sprauncy have the  frikmag to recognize the spuria of apocryphal heresies that encourage kinship above matriotism and shared fortitude for intellectual valor rather than “*** talk TLDR” hashtags abounding on the turf of the insensate wernaggle of clueless charlatans wiggling through life not because they were borne into slavery but because they choose to be Helicopter Parents of “Baby Shark” rather than token mantelpieces of enlivened culture shimmering with radiation of Gods glory as cemented in Colossians 1:15-16 because the firstborn of all creation lives in some form in the ligature of Christ 1 Cor 12:12 because there are so many talents that exist in our variegated world that the mastery of expertise in dominions of conversant fluency will abet the variegated crops of a draped humanity corrugated on its own ironies for the delicate sizzle of beatific felicity multiplying itself in centupled design over centuries to overcome hinderbaggle while realizing the fictions of some drawflark. The strigine world concedes to this upstart rooster maybe considered a parvenu of dearth but luxuriant in riches boundless to all that draw near to the kerygma of Christ and feast on his daily bread found throughout liturgy because we should listen to people like Cardinal Timothy Dolan who is exceptionally astute (perhaps an understatement) to guide us on a regenerative rather than degenerative pathway towards universal attempts at salvation that broach a new decorum bridged by aliens to select chosen emissaries to bridle the fissions of repartee reserved for the forlorn that balk at ambition rather than relish a new era of seditious determination against the determinist fallacy and for the mental health of those coping with autodimplage and sheepish regrets and persnickety articles of remorse because all the world deserves our consolation and desperate attention rather than the trumpery of the circus masquerade of marauding agitprop which congeals into thrombosis of toxicity as the vast majority of Democrats refuse to even hear Trump speak when he is discussing discursive solutions to enigmatic quagmires,for, if more people listened to Trump they would be disabused by the specious claims of his misogyny and white allegiances because his candor is brilliant and despite the prominent advocacy of Biden who has considerable prestige in my memory, we deserve a bipartisan syncretism that unites the world and unifies the country away from the swerve of salacious mythos and towards a rambunctious magpiety of solidarity against the secular humanism of a defunct piety to Marxist feminism which is a crudenzy among the awakened men around the world increasingly alienated by the hackencrude of wednongue illiteracy even trumpeted by the vanguard as panacea when it is a comestible form of poison. We need visionary unity where there was once toxic divisive balkanization of exclaves of limited foresight clashing with new wave awakening to the persecution of illumination itself for not a rigid hierarchy but a flexible structure of inclusion that adjusts to cultural expectancy and modifies the traindeque that strands many in institutionalized poverty especially in Latin America and India and obviously Africa too. The stegophilists of language should herald the aubade of the chavish of redintegration over the squawk of din of squabbles of internecine redacted revisionism beleaguering our lyceums with toxic agitprop even at the highest institutions of learning who balk often at the recycled auditorium of useful thought because their venal tilt is complicit in squelching freedom of thought and our schools should open early so that zig-zag-zoom politics around feldtrounds who are eagerly outnumbered by the patrons who police thought become agentic not with outspoken treacheries but inseminations of intimation to hint at the spectral mystagogical reality we are all members of despite hurdles that beset the hemiteries of odalisques who seek inertia rather than mobilization. The ribald underminnow of transparency is a carcinogen of the rampant siege of Status Quo coarse hypocrisy for tentative flings with cadged cloyed saturnine professions of the landmines of atrocious miscarriage as I soldier on in the causes of the poor and the forlorn to become enriched by the glory that God delivers with munificence so that all might be enriched by the emanations of the true vine and in distaste of error I rebuke the armada of belittled armamentariums of the cantonment of deep-state breedbates boiling over potboiler frikmag that exists as a transcendent obscurantism flowering in decisive times to warp the contextual footprint of a life served in the service of all the oppressed people as a kind of Moses figure raised by the elite and fighting for the criminally oppressed and the ****** of mediagenic hyperbole is dissatisfied by my glowering spectacles because they dismount from the equipoise of the righteous gallop towards ecumenical solidarity at untimely punctuations of juncture superseding the flictions of frikmag dethroning my righteous valor and provident sanctanimity to prowl like predatory wolves the fathers of the casuistry of mendaciloquence to accentuate the stridor of inopportune squalor of the selachostomous regimes of teetotaler totalitarian freebooters who prevent bootstraps from manufacture as they gradgrind the world into ergonomic insufficiency while I provide a Kamacho-like galvanization to the broader world that favors the consanguinity of all animate sentience to the aboriginal vine of the universe that plays with the toyed cadge of oppositive support but lends credence to a more evolved view than the crudity of encapsulated travesties inserted with jaundice against the lyceum of freedom of thought and the celerity of headless horseman galloping in partial interregnum to crown the strobic stridor of the stiver of the steven of contarianism engineered for walloped ringleaders of the renegades of heresiarch sedition in their odalisque oaths to Pagan dieties carved from the sapwood of gullible Illuminati naivety that professes allegiance to the worst whangam ever invented Baphomet and his faked cronies of ewnastique free-for-all diminutive crags in the renown of dawning light becoming cagey struthious structuralism embedded in sclerotic wasms of the wanhope of a nullified message becoming a sacred creed to the attentive while the lilt of the otiose drawl in serpentine convolution a ribald pleonasm of circular circumlocution that provides locomotive linearity rather than leapfrogged slogmarches into the province of the territorial alignment of kinship against the partisan hollertrap and the stigmatophilia of obsessive persnickety popinjay beadledom the last stronghold of the rickety resistence to this Saturday interregnum which presides over the better part of the intelligentsia if not the common pedestrian parlance because hortatory weights cannot be described in any other way than metagnostic flickers of Yellow Submarine vandalism of a pristine living animation of the humane spirit that prizes the plight of the poor and the blarney and blench of unjust opprobrium faced by the institutionalized bailiwick of flictions of gammadion gallionic posture when in fact they register as seismic entities engraved upon my Christian conscience that strictly welcomes the emigrants to truth from whatever consecrated virtue they originate from because all are capable of the same light and the same compassion of a beatified humanity rather than the relish of deep-state castophrenia which belies its own ribald gay mockery on live TV as not a single twinge of ****** attraction overtakes me in matriotic sardanapalian effrontery of a hollow but sadly hallowed vainglory of the hierodules that bury the coffers of patriotism in a sad LGBTQ graveyard of landmines that demonstrate a complete disregard of the nuclear family and should be decried as an outcry against redefined Christianity bolted to unshakable irrefragable beliefs in the constitution of man and women wed together in one monogamous flesh with the occasional cuddle of close tithes to the ******* of friendship as the slavery of sin in Leviticus 20:13 falls to the wayside because this patriotic lewdness is a vapid fatuous derangement that is a new low for the United States attempt to inoculate China from religious accord with the broader world and should be seen as a Chinese maskirovka worthy of the heaviest disdain and I will disavow America if it continues to bandy the tripwires of Chinese boondoggles under the American banner and pretend its pretense isn’t lagging under its own bletcherous abecedarian elementary fallacy of psychobabble oblivion of dark saturnine brusque termagants of tatterdemalion cloaks of the selfsame illusion of a desperation of China to wreck the United States economy and inseminate Florida, Arizona and Texas especially with the Coronavirus to swing the election in Biden’s favor with or without US Complicity to expedite the course of a virus which sees no resurgence in any other civilized country in the world while the heroic Russians, Germans, Israelis, French, British and true American Christians banish the barristers of bad taste as an acerbic poison on the wellsprings of a flagitious flag I would kneel for in the knells of disgrace if the pompous and completely inoculated missives of Buttigieg ******* continue to roam shepherded by deep state elitism to wreck the opportune moment of religious revival for petty reasons of chryselephantine gambit and gimcrack for institutionalized poverty which my ambition is to heal completely by sacerdotal deeds and consecrated prayers in the Lord whose peace surpasses the temporal despair of senectitude and comforts the grievances of the aggrieved because Galatians 6:7 is no more true than the fatuous display of muscular idiots waving American flags for turpitude rather than flogging very perverse Gay men in the streets which might be a more fitting outcome even though I must remove the plank in my own eyes first to see the irony of the detested. The doytin is no longer misguided by the nanciful derision of the vociferous clangor of the venal Gates mafia militia wrecking ball vaccination Bezos crew in Medina which is a mettle I can’t match when you own every citizen in the world in a few square miles of nesiote territory the denizens of conquest besieging religious sanctity with profane outbursts of corruptible linchpins on the public lynch of the strepsis of periblebsis that vitiates commonwealths of supreme sputtering regimented clairvoyant superlative alabaster wealth of the isangelous protectorate of the supreme God that supervises his careworn flock into the storge against the scourge of prosodemic stigma stained in bleeding heart liberal bathed tears of pseudoautochiria of Jim Morrison glaring in the face of the triads that Killed Him in the French Connection ******* of 71’ that outnumbered his hobohemia of loyal jewish bohemians livid in the rhapsody of nurture rather than enfeebled by the unfurled destiny of the Soul Kitchen he foresaw to his own pitiable demise at probably the hands of strangulation because no autopsy was performed. Although repetitive Transparent is a real anthem for oracular mystagogical transcendence a mandatory hymn for the ryseolagnus of the poetic verve of a new wave swooning the cordial progressive of atmospheric oneness with the primordial vine and the vintners that congregate on populated soil to feed a desolate destitution of synoecy or synaesthesis in the syncretic rhapsody of the subfocal ageotropic plenilune yet saturnine lugubrious toil of those that shovel through the albatross of ewnastique recapitulation to the same tired “Its got what plants crave, it’s got electrolytes” wernaggle of the hopelessly dismal inkburch of illiteracy crawling like a Hyacinth House on a vacant graveyard turf guarding the legionaires of rapid-fire zig-zags through a serpentine curvature of the ligaments of fabricated space warped through prismatic lenses of aperspectival time aspiring for ventriloquial enamored rapture upon Earthly parallax with tapestries of refulgent cascading wandering wonder that meditates its own lucubration with careworn tutelage against the wasms of dying oleaginous swelters of redshort opportunistic vultures swooping with Raven’s claws against the odometer of viewership surpassing records in unspeakable wisdom that crowds out the crambazzle toonardical wreffelaxity of the tiresome nuisance of ornery brawn muscled into a formidable triage in vengeance for Jim Morrison’s scripted eviction from Earth either by poisoned ****** or by  Asphyxiation by the French Connection avenging RFK and the cultural revolutions of 67’ in Haight Ashbury and the widespread percolation of treacheries fathomed to the most obvious degree in showmanship that it bristled as an affront so severe that even the patronage of Paris wasn’t immune to infiltration. His threnodies will always be sung with Triumph that the hallowed day of a monumental soul eluding the darkness of purgatory into the welcoming aborning light of the noontide progeny of eternal ataraxia awaited him in the stagecraft tub of blasphemy bellowing ratcheted warnings that not even the palatine grasp of a potentially divine being was inoculated from the deep dark chasm of nefarious skullduggery for boasting so widely and openly of his professed foresight to glamorous to be hidden as the beacon of virtuosity that galvanized a generation to flout the  futtocks of a keelhauled vision of sanitized purblind mortality that the fear of death rarely crossed the mind of the greatest fearless poet of an entire epoch that we may pray that Jim Morrison feasts in Heaven atoned for his sins and is at peace with God now. The substratose congeniality of marginalia on the outskirts of pederasty in cultural miscarriage owned by hierodules boundless in their lurid debaucheries that they might be remanded for being custodians of hostage to a prolific nescience  reaffirming their dying posture in the extinction of sardanapalian coverthrow of repcrevel camorras of ladronism and dacoitage always cauponate in imbibed throes of lewd AstroTurf outrecuidance glowering at sanctity with a bereaved psychobabble divorced from the purebred empiricism of true giants of industry that are almost insuperable in their extortion that their darkness in deeds of Kobe Bryants assassination do not go unpunished at least in Los Angeles. His untimely death as with many others registered on the Richter Scale because Come Clean perverts from Kansas City wanted San Francisco to win to clean the mops of janitorial revenge of the subturbary rickety foundations of a flailing moral compass so wicked in arbitrage that no subreption undetected would flourish among capernoited vigilantes of poached titanism and illuminism scarring the vestiges of enigmatic encroachment upon untouchables daring the frights of the Living Daylights of scurrilous rebukes so scathing in their menacing depiction of negligent bromides of token sacrilege and scarred sacrifice of a scarecrow example of how the prosodemic scourge of befuddled turgid pristine transmogrified heralds scampered away with pseudoautochiria that afflicted Jimi Hendrix suspiciously as well. My support is behind the justice warriors aggrieved by the Beirut explosion because they deserve a vindictive outcome that quells the quislings of atrocity of the popinjay beadledom of the unspeakable tremors of seismotic popples of unrest warranted in Lebanon the homeland of Keanu Reeves a saint among men for his peerless grace and agraceries of the smog of myth evanescence becoming perdurable swings of the humdingers of berated jaundice becoming the prerogative of the revenge of a city leveled to the ground by suspicious skullduggery and I am surprised they lay dormant for this long in their protracted grievance over the ghoulish frights of one of the most unheralded major events in recent memory. We need to highlight the plight of Lebanon so that world leaders are frightened even of intimidated people tranquilized by terror rather than enlivened by the propriety of redacted rejoinders that serve the ulterior mission of a Titanic bravery that never sinks beneath the sumptuary treacle of grombang grambazzle and supercherie of the supercalendar of poignant repined repose derailing an emolument to ecumenical solidarity. Lets highlight Lebanon as an inexcusable trespass worthy of some mighty reckoning if not a riveted war but at the very least a devastated twinge of outrage.

you know, on that N86 bus listening to dikanda's
https://goo.gl/OAUjMe (ketrin ketrin),
while going to the brothel, where i kissed *****'s
eyelid skin i turned my heart into a lung...
and it burst akin to muscled stress of the softer tissue,
by heart was the black horse of the race...
she would only be worth £110 an hour...
but in my heart... a lifetime... so classical fm is
asking for three songs to be enlisted in the hall of fame
here are my three:
1. something to think about (christopher young) -
   hellraiser ii,
2. no time for caution (hans zimmer) -
    interstellar,
3. spectres in the fog (hans zimmer) -
     the last samurai, competing with
(4. any other name (thomas newman) -
     american beauty,
and....
5. carpe diem (maurice jarre) -
     the dead poets' society);
i always found classical music invoked
by fast image exchange most adhering
to a modern public... after all...
the notes written down are transliterated
from moving geometries
asking for a human face...
that one abstraction leaving another created...
so enriched we can be living and leaving here,
but leave and live here cradled and crawling
and nothing more than an attempt for
a crafted shawl of woollen care...
assuredly we were the blank canvas,
when the sheep and lion were clothed...
the lizard inwardly having its blood cooled...
and we the mediators...
to evolve from an origin of such biological diversity?
why will darwinism claim to be a humanism
and let no humanism in?!
if darwinism branched from science for a populism
of understanding prepositions as propositions
(given that propositions are allowed expression
with far many more complex words than prepositions,
given the former are deemed a nature or origin
and the latter a nature of coordination)
why allow it a humanistic simplicity
and complicate humanism to a non-expression's
extent of a complexity? darwinism cannot grasp
humanism's complexity per se, for each its own per se
allowance... darwinism cannot relate to humanism,
since humanism deals with the one diluted into the many,
while darwinism deals with the many concentrated into
the one:
and noting the varied dimensional usage of pronouns,
the singular (engaging), the singular (disengaging),
the plural (effective), the plural (ineffective),
to use but a few among others... how would a self,
as either realistically concerned or as expressed
in an atlas pose when one individual speaks of a species
to ever survive... to speak of humanity per se,
is to not speak of being human per se (a self),
but as if under a constant threat from either internal
or external stimuli, it's to speak as if human
but hardly being human... darwinism only said
in simpler terms 1 = ~∞ 0 1 (one equals
approximately infinity denying one... expressed
further: one equals approximately infinity denying
oneness, hence ethnicity, hence disparity,
the infinite approximate is due to the no. of equally
represented identities of reflection as one's akin
in historical content for a vanity representation
of ego) / although there's a parallel disparity:
1 = ∞ 0 ~1 (1 equals a reasonable infinity
of the semblance collective, as approximated within
one's own constitution, denied by the constitution
of the semblance collectivised denying 1 its
oneness by a division, into pop. psychology
of subconscious, unconscious, ulterior and posterior
assembling of identification in order to relate
a concrete un-divisible one, to a oneness
of ~∞ 0 ∞†, whether governed by animate or inanimate
things, worthy of either representing
∞ = 0 ~1, or ~∞ = 0 1 (infinity equating itself to
a denial of an approximation of one,
or approximate infinity equating itself to a denial
of one) - by most standards a collective power
increases, while an individual coercion with
such increase in power is diluted to mediocre representation
of what was once hoped for to be an individual...
as worded: i'm about to inherit a pickaxe, an igloo,
a herd of sheep, a land arable for regular hunts
to provide sustenance, but as i said, the oddity
of increasing vocabulary as body-building index muscle,
will hardly teach you the physics of quanta in
the realm of modulating grammar,
on the basic basis of grammatical as
a method of de-categorisation one word from it being
named, to it being acted upon as a termed way of
walking (differently), or otherwise.

†a bit much for me, an alfred jarry moment
at the end of dr. faustroll's opinions and exploits...
papa **** got the dangling essence of things:
je suis jarry among the je suis cherub charlies,
if poet does not appreciate other artistic mediums
he can't mediate them,
poetry is supposed to mediate all artistic expression
with platonic criticism... it's supposed to mediate,
with poets appreciating each and every craft...
whether sculpture we scrap metal stolen from a park,
or whether an oil canvas be worth as much as toilet
paper when the painter is alive, and millions more
when he's dead.. we need gravity a demanding
drama to extend drama into grammar...
poets have to become the middle-men of haggling,
they need to appreciate art in an elitist way
in order that art can't become genealogically defining,
like dramatics of the theatre lost between idols
of 1950s screening compared to idols of 19'90s screening...
we need poets as the glue stuck to every output...
we need to appreciate all art other than their own
to discover their own... we can't have the mindless
jealousy bribe us to reconcile composition,
so that poet against poet is still writing poetry...
he isn't... he's writing a polemic... and that's hardly
a dialogue... it's a mortifying analogue of monologue...
and we don't want poetry to be such a belittling
circumstance of the original intent of practice,
why would a poet's rarity be reduced to
a market blasphemy of ultra-eloquent speech
in order that it might be used to scold?
why the jealousy? why?! it reeks of revenge
that only requires a Darwinism to include it,
as sustainable and necessary,
too many monkeys to create a single man...
too many difference in man from continental span
of africa, to asia... to even bother a standing ovation
origination in genetic scrip of a chimpanzee...
script wants man to be genetically above
a genetic script of a banana numbering more genes
that itself... the biodiversity of monkey
is akin to man... why would the two chiral statues
suddenly become gemini of explanation?
it all fits... but it stinks...
well, whatever that was... it's the pride of a language
that keeps darwinism alive...
but theology is closer to humanism than darwinism...
it's a compound logic, darwinism ends with with an ism,
an empiricism... and the only logic accounted for
is a logic of repeat... just look at the forms of these words...
formulated by L and Γ (origin of the kabbalistic interpretation
of allah)... keep the prefix akin to a suffix composed to
an enclosure... theology provides the better logistics
of expressing being human than an empiricism
known to be darwinism... after all a -logy tends to
repeat a systematic use of words...
empiricism a systematic use of facts...
easier to become bored of facts than words.

A prose poem*

It’s all boarded up now, abandoned in the triangle of downtown Roy, New Mexico, but like a lost island named Capronea two-hundred forgotten years ago, I find myself back in the summer of 1977, seven-years old in the balcony of a second-run, small town movie house watching *The Land That Time Forgot in that small-town, movie-timeline kind of way: two years after everyone else. Popcorn brides, my cousins and I walked the movie processional during opening credits, almost missing the proverbial plummeting message thrown out to sea in a water cask. Candy-bored through all the world-war-submarine scenes, I perked up with innocent horror at the spreading circle of blood in the river, rifles shooting into a gaping dinosaur mouth. And the thunk of its neck hitting the deck. Years later I come back to the epic on classic TV. This time I notice the wobbly love story, German metaphysics arguing with British empiricism that lasts only one flirty scene. Now I’m shocked and a little dismayed over how little screen time the dinosaurs actually get, their three Shakespearean scenes, how I still feel all the same heartache as they enact their long and dramatic death throes. Doug McClure is alright, I guess, except that his hair is always blown out to an impossible feathered confection, just like the German Captain who keeps his hat on way past when this is necessary or useful. We laugh with ironic smugness at the stiff Jurassic puppets and the blood on rubber, the convolution of the island’s evolutionary biology. Those river amoebas are a hoot! Oh, the ironic wink that double-crosses itself in the end, an irony that is really homesickness longing for sincerity, simplicity. My husband says he prefers this movie to those Spielberg ones. I give him hell about this but later come around to see his point. Let’s take the movie’s basic premise: we are at the end of history presumably. So even if we could forget all that history, wipe the slate clean as it were, we still wouldn’t get along with our rivals. At least not enough to fashion an oil refinery from sticks and stones, pack up all that oil in barrels, and roll on outa this nightmare.

None of us will get off this island alive. At the end we’re left crossing a mountain of ice with two people whose only hope is to simplify things down to survival and ***—and *** in those impossible furs no less (in dinosaur leather maybe). We can’t help but trip over the metaphors here. They're everywhere. Only back in 1977, we believed them.

AOK: Mathematics
By Rohan Baishya

Now listen up y'all imma give y'all a lecture
About how my intuition led to some dope conjectures.
But to verify these knowledge claims I'll need a proof,
No need to worry though, my logic's up through the roof.
I'll steal yo girl with my geometric paradigms.
Not to mention my bank balance is on a sharp incline.
Imma use derivatives to find the ***** of that *****,
Euclid used geometry, what a big loony.
Now Pythagoras used deduction to find the sides of triangles,
Now I can use induction to find the curves of this fine-angle.
So listen up homie, you're a bore with your empiricism;
I can explain everything with this dank rationalism.
Now math ain't 'bout using memory to cram some equations,
It's all about getting that intense sensation
of using reason to season your supported argument
but sometimes to calculate my Lambo's rent.
But now imma be busy with my new calculator via Fed-ex
So listen up girls, no *** until I solve for x
In conclusion, math is the secret to success
If you believe in the numbers you'll be relieving your stress.
Word

there was a period in time,
when i focused on two words:
and made them relevant punching
bags...
using the definite article i called
them:
   the reflexive         /      the reflective...
strange "dichotomy" pivot to
conceive...
   but i managed...
        philosophy perhaps begins
with awe... but it sure as **** ends with
a vocab. fixation, vocab. being
the foundation...
  the reflexive / the reflective belong
to a quadratic foundation,
two words are missing...

       favorite gig? tool, glasgow...
could have been wolfmother in edinburgh...
but, see...
  tool, glasgow...
a german girl...
  she was thirsty, the maggot pit
was getting crowded...
plastic cups of water were being
passed...
   there was the crushing sensation...
of beta males...
i gave her some water
from the passed plastic cups...
i drank some myself,
i passed the cup behind me...
after a while we started mingling:
i.e. kissing...
         never miss an australian curly
haired afro from australia in
edinburgh: if you can help yourself...

after the gig she just stood there
like a mute madonna
waiting for me pick her up...
did i?
       the *** would have probably
been great... but the kiss...
in the moment?
   that's what kept the memory
alive...
       again...
there was a time when i:
why isn't squash an olympic sport...
why does baseball,
rugby... have precursor justification
of olympic sports status
over squash?
   i liked playing squash...
  fun sport...
               all you need is a cube canvas...
i still remember warming up
the rubber ball, till it became soft,
before you could play a game...
   managing hyper-geometry
while smashing the ball against
the side-walls...
     god... so much more fun worth
of a game compared to tennis...
it's... radical!                      3D!

so came the reflexive "contra" the reflective...
a case closure of:
react to it immediately (reflexive),
or?
   react to it by stalling, allowing the ontology
of man to "pleasure" of thinking:
i know that thought is regularly dissociated
from ontology,
gimp-strapped to pure empiricism:
no god: immediate reaction...
    with not god: all you can "eat" /
spreschen dynamics...
       if god doesn't exist...
speak whatever you want,
as much as you want...
     but, to me? god is the source
of thought... hard to find a thinking man
in a godless society...
thinking goes out of the "window"
including "a" god... or: the plural
variation of splintered ambitions,
ambitions and authority...

    mit meine liebhaber wie die
mund: ich leben alles dinge,
              drapiert in quecksilber,
   durch die licht sie umhüllt...

    i already had a narrative...
well that's lost... but with my love for
for the deutzschezunge:
   nein engländer kam
mein weg...
           außer etwas blöd
                    amerikanisch...
    geschätzt sack nase in überall...

deutsche: nutzen englischgrammatik...
   "hoppla"!
             ficker besser sprint!
              
   the quadratic still remains...
reflexive (oh oh, it begins....)
             readings books is a "b'ah b'ah"
sheepish: b'ah b'ah bad "thing"...
less worth of stutter...
safe compounds of the rich....
looking in, aren't you the lucky ones?
i guess you are...

             but then again: i guess
you're not part of the garden state
project... ******* fannies...
***** go ****?!
      **** offs....

   heideggeer...
                qabbalah...
                         20th century peoples,
associated with the reflexive
sentiment(s)...
             imitation...
what is imitation when lacking
intimidation?
                  ah....
the reflexive "aspect" is stimulation...
can't exactly stimulate upon
a "gratification" of: the algebra of x...

we live in times of contra-stimulation...
simulation prone...
when "once upon a time"
the reflexive,
  when "once upon a time"
the reflective....
when thinking was allowed...
and god was disavowed...

what thinking?!
              there's as much of god in
the "discussion" as there's thought...
atheism gave birth to the sophists...
    what would the rekindled
variation of the belief in the gods
revel in, sophistry contra solipsism?
bate nook and a boredom
affair of atheism...

              the reflexive: imitation /
intimidation... stimulation...
             the reflective: imagining /
         coerce...
                simulation...

these days people are not exactly
prone to 19th century into 20th century
translations of stimulation...
   stimulation: being a reflexive term...
these days?
   people are more prone to
the simulation, a: "reflective" term...
it doesn't have to be real to be "real"...
     people reject the "concept"
of reality like might react
to antibiotics...
   not exactly clarity borne...
       once upon a time...
  people were reflexive: stimulated...
these days?
people are reflective: simulated...
  and in the latter sense?
hardly... ever willing to be responsive...
  the crisis in england...
super-bugs... the antithesis of
antibiotics...

    hence? the missing T...
           reflexive "vs." reflective...
  stimulated "vs." simulated...
such puny thesaurus differences...

so now everything in  the deutsche
ist ****-isch?
             wow! wunderbar!
   mögen sie mögen mir!
        englischsprechendwelt vereinen!

    spät kommen

how many people can associate
this observation into their daily diet,
of the fact that
clenching your teeth,
relaxes your eyebrows,
                  from frowning?

maybe that rammstein song:
rosenrot,
     about paedophilia?
                       if you're 18,
and she's 14, and you're
                 dating her older sister your age,
but then: love at first sight
suffocates you...
    you're almost 33,
she's in her 20s...
             you kept that whole
"love at first sight" *******...
   came the weimar, berliner gay
troops...
      with their
regenbogenvorhang,
anti:
             starr,
anti:
                     streng
anti:
                 eisen, bügeln...

        kommt der zeppeline!
how many definite articles
does german please
allow to clarify? die contra der?
yes? well... that's a...
    lohnend anfang...

kommen sie,
   ich werden einst mehr....

how many people can associate
this observation into their daily diet,
of the fact that
clenching your teeth,
relaxes your eyebrows,
                  from frowning?

see... i have a fetish for german...
this english: a little bit of something,
"that", "other", "******"?
well... whatever frees me from
russian...
    i'll clearly succomb to speak
this language,
top escape the russians...
but, i just have to....
          schleppen diese deutschzunge;
ich unterlassen sie
                         mögen es...
i just became aware of the polacks...
favouring loan-words from
neighbouring canons of tongue...
i figured: the rest is history...
  to have to despair over
a sense of continuinity...
within the confines
of a biological reality,
when biological reality is currently
being undermined?
really?!
     i'm supposed to give a ****,
about that sort of *******?!
how about:
an idea transcends the confines
of biology,
what if the kantian
categorical imperative
also implies....
transcending ***,
the casual act of ***,
    the anti-darwinian aspect
of ***: *** for pleasure,
recreation, *******,
and not the origin impetus...
             what is the categorical
"imperative" of ***,
these days?
                      i'm the one who's
"****** up"?
        what about referencing cats...
reptiles in a mammalian disguise?
to bypass the misnomer...
to call red, red,
to call banana yellow,
   to call it: no black swan...
to call...
  how would one attempt
transcendence
of the categorical imperative?
misnomer, purposive,
or non-purposive,
loosely associated
with poetic freedoms to
"misnomer" /
   not address expression
of jurisprudnece,
too closely associated with
juggling a thesaurus...
                                       what now?
                  
    ich haben gelernt ihre englisch,
  jetzt ich suchen für eine flucht!
wenn nein an land,
      bei zuletzt: im mein kopf.

the ship is sinking,
the rats are bailing out first.

the cynics & the skeptics...
what i know about them?
they're not empiricists...
they are dissuaded from
sensual experiences...
they glorify science,
in the pop cultural sense....
but they're not
scientists for the most part,
they're glorifying science,
but,
almost believe it,
by force, to fit in,
to masquerade in
forging perceptions of
an adherence to...
      they might on the odd
occasion, target "witches"
& "warlocks" for the expected:
oh look at me,
these dumb idiots...
with their raised eyebrows
of "surprise" mingling with
disdain...
personally?
i don't like them...
their "superior" knowledge
of science, or
an association with it...
demands much more than
an un- dialectical
         statement of opinion...
bound to a solipsistic
chamber of echoes...
the cynics and the skeptics
are not empiricists...
they glorify science,
but at the same time...
are not certain about
the complete, sensual experience
with their:
retaining sensual restriction,
leaving everything to thought...
and a thought that mingles
more with negation,
and less with doubt,
and subsequently a belief...
they're altar boy equivalence
with the priest being
a *******,
or some alternative sick
metaphor...
again... what do you get,
when you equate the following:
cynic + skeptic = ?
solipsist...
cynic:
concerned only with one's
own interests and typically disregarding
accepted standards in order to achieve them;
skeptic:
a person inclined to question
         or doubt accepted opinions.
so a skeptic is basically
an agnostic...
i don't like them because they're
playing the: you're dumb, i'm smart
kindergarten game...
these obnoxious little-***** are
boiling up my nerves...
they champion empiricism...
but do to have the currency
to serve themselves
a play of courage...
in the empirical realm of stoicism
and the Epicurean school...
they'll glorify science...
but leave science to a sentence
of the safety of a cognitive ridicule...
come the chance to
explore the empirical world...

cynicism + skepticism = solipsism...
while one of the two in the addition
phase of the equation
simply means: agnosticism...
all this "experience",
rushing back to the void of
the cranium...
with anticipation of a cognitive
escapism, and it not being there,
and having to resort to more talk?

when i run back from the ills
of this world...
i beset myself to the abhorrence
of a "necessity" to engage in talking...
come the whiskey,
come the *****...
              as long as there is music playing...
i my science ****...
3 ******* years at Edinburgh...
chemistry of all things,
first one in the family to go
to university...

no... you know why i don't trust
the cynics or the skeptics?
they celebrate science too much...
they celebrate it,
without having become scholastic
enough...
everyone who studies a science,
retracts at some point
toward an expression in humanism...
to me the cynics and the skeptics
put too much effort into justifying,
EVERYTHING on the crutch
of science...
       EVERYTHING...
     you know where science is
currently ineffective,
but, primarily a drug pusher?
mental illness...
it's a massive pharmacological
ponce scheme...
            science isn't working
in isolating mental "illness"
from sociological shifts...
   psychology? either i'm not breathing
in the classical sense,
or i'm hyperventilating...
or as science already stated:
the existence of a soul is bogus!
so... why require psychology?

science, the last bastion, the last line
of defense for the cynics and
skeptics to utilize, mobilize,
arm themselves with...
and most of them...
    haven't even dedicated themselves
to the intricacy of studying either
physics, or chemistry,
or biology... and they do not know...
how... melancholic the study
into these three branches of STEM is...
they can blah blah forever...
convinced, on face value...
that it is a truth worth defending...
but a truth not exactly worth
investigating...

and on a conclusive note...
it's a paradox...
an Epicurean and a Stoic are
the scientists, given their reliance
on empiricism...
cynics and the skeptics?
they're the antithesis of
empiricism!
they're diatribe spewers,
puritanical "thinkers"...
more like ditto-heads to my liking.

after acquiring the english language,
and synthesising it for twenty years...
ugh... breakfast that is but a cup of water
and immediately feeling bloated...
or just imagining that you can live
on food and alcohol... like a diesel engine....
comes to just as much
     trying to catch butterflies akin to
nabokov, or thoughts...
      and are either, so trully necessary?
well... unless you take to calling it
the only relative opposite of picking up
a gun and shooting someone for no reason
other than a per se reason, which
subsequently has to be reasoned with -
akin to this...
  or, dare i say, picking up a philosophy book
and seeing how there is clearly
a child in there, esp. in english -
how each philosophy book seems to be
avoiding the pronoun i -
such is the nature of these books,
    a lot of hide & seek happening -
with the basic formula of: being yourself,
to avoid, your self.
then again as this french girlfriend told
me when she was staying in edinburgh
for a year to complete her erasmus program
from the university of grenòble
and she was doing this psychology experiment
and she needed native speakers...
  and i was given the stick for trying to
fake her science by suggesting that i'd do it...
yeah...
           well i really did hook up with her when
an american was about to court her,
and that's the only time i played the huinter-gatherer
role, or was motivated to do so,
when we went bar crawling and i pulled her
from the crowd and we stayed behind while
the group moved to another pub...
that was the only time i felt a need to do the "chase",
later this thing called the categorical imperative
came along, and i subsequently lost the impetus
to compete...
being a gladiator could have been greater,
what with the hardships of life...
but you can watch these gladiators fall...
quiet easily, buying groceries in a supermarket,
or opening a fridge door...
it's this return to the mundane, the household
environment can really beat a man,
if his life is lived to sample the ancient
field of danger...
   so when i did get the schtick of her empiricism
i decided: well... i'm no native....
and aren't we all so puritan about science
when some of it can't be falsified,
which it can:
        never too fond of accents myself...
native or alien...
               some people have a fetish for
feet or a french accent...
                        but that ***** essex slur...
or however you'd like to put it,
  it's not even cockney, but you get to hear
something quasi-cockney around these parts
more often, given that a lot of londoners
are moving away to these parts...
cockney meets essex county...
or meats it... yep: beats it silly with squalor
and at the same time: sophistication of living
in cement graveyards of an international city...
then again, you walk into a forest at night
during the summer, wearing only a t-shirt...
and it's freezing!
   you can actually hear Gaia breathing...
and then out of the woods and onto the cement...
that rush of feeling a complete change
of temperature... well... that's something.
          oh it wasn't me, i didn't dump that
french bird, she dumped me,
       as an experienced woman in her early
twenties would, to a ****** (who lost it with her),
18 year old.
    memories and all, what a grand cinema,
sipping absinthe on the streets of athens,
the athenian strip-club...
                sitting on a stool looking at a stripper
while holding two women in my arms
and kissing that sweet, sweet tender *****...
what happened after?
   drank all my money away,
                was escorted by a bouncer to a cash
machine... ****** myself
           and scuttled away back to the hostel....
and then took the bus from athens to katowice...
macedonia? beautiful, very hilly...
       serbia though... a plataeu of snow...
and i admit, belgrade from the distance
looked stunnig... esp. because of the snow.
oh right, i was supposed to insert a          )
having begun it with a     (      of an original prompt...
english really does have this natural
basis to invoke a self-conscious pronoun base of i,
it's like there's this need for a double-certainty
of the speaker stating that: it really is that person
speaking... or even thinking...
     polish        as a language? it rarely uses
the pronoun ja, i.e. i,
                          it's just certain -
english has to overtly use the pronoun -
      and it would be certainly pointless to ditto it
out... like some careless selfish womanisers
by the name of sartre...
                   that's the one thing i don't understand
about sartre, how it could ever be, something
about "ego"... more like Igor and doctor frankenstein...
i find that expression, yes, that alone
   " e g o " to be akin to pontius pilate washing his hands:
for whather transgression: i can't be to blame...
and then comes that ****** mantra
of mea culpa... and it just goes on and on...
to be frank, the whole point of mea culpa
is to transcend any invocation of self-pity...
      it's probably the foremost notion of transcendentalism,
well given that self-pity exists in people,
and some people would rather take blame;
indeed, it is my fault that i once had a heart
to feel intimate with someone, or even entertain
the idea of a fwend...
                            if anyone asks, i'll just be
a hermit, in my little cave.

.nietzsche once wrote: imagine the uncomfortable position, of having to speak for the whole of humanity... that's what i think of, in terms ever bothering to read an English philosopher; after reading Leviathan by Hobbes, i was so put off by English thought, that i became a recluse among the Germans... i still can't explain why i dislike English philosophy, but then again, i do: it's so... so... politicized! all of English philosophy is endeared by its culmination in Darwin, that... i rather look at an individual, rather than the entire schematic stratum of society, of human organization... if an individual can organize himself to fit an already rigid social structure, a seemingly predetermined social structural "pathos"... i don't think i will ever be convinced.

Kant among the ancients Greeks...
it's a simple schematic:

    a priori (prior)                    a posteriori (after)
the skeptic,                                  the stoic,
the cynic,                                      the Epicurean...

sometimes... language requires
a momentary borrowing from the simple
abstract of mathematics -
well, arithmetic...
                                 2 x 2 = 4...
the cynic's inclination to believe...
can only have an a priori ontological
orientation, leading up to experience...
hence the a posteriori realm...
wasn't Descartes the prime
example of skepticism?
                     cynicism is skepticism
whereby an inclination to believe
is replaced with a determination to doubt...

now the divide...
knowledge...
                a priori there is no knowledge
to be spoken of lightly...
instead... there's intuition...
or... der instinkt... hey, i still don't
know which definite article is
required for a certain expression in
German... it could also be das instinkt
or die instinkt... never mind...

i settled on this Kantian backwards
and forwards for some "strange" reason...
well... it's niche...
   and doesn't attract mobs...
it's not the sort of "problem" you'd
really see in life,
other than in the leisure time
you could ascribe to periods of prolonged
thinking, or not thinking,
reflecting, rather than itemizing
thought: as an insatiable reflex of
consciousness...
  that dreaded persistence of narration...
bundled together with
empirical bombardment via
the senses...

hence i lean toward stoicism and toward
the Epicurean side of things...
needless to say...
if i can know anything, anything at all...
it cannot exactly come from...
oh wait... yeah... knowledge
does exist a priori,
simply put: history repeats itself...
so you can learn from the past...
****...
                     well, the statement was
about to become hyperbolic anyway...
point being: that knowledge is
of a collectivist nature...
  to my understanding at least...
to generalities,
to succumbing to other people's
"realities"...
                        a pseudo-universal
knowledge of...
  but even if that is so...
having knowledge of the past /
a priori, from what came prior...
implies that you can't have knowledge
of the future!
you can have speculation,
you can take to gambling,
you can guess...
             and you can also hope (for the best)...
but...
a priori knowledge is exclusive
with regards to a posteriori knowledge,
they're not mutually inclusive,
they're mutually exclusive...
oddly enough, this is not a paradox,
but the ontology of... zeit-wissen...
time-knowledge...
                       space... oddly enough,
without being attached to time in
a relativism is... a bit like photographic
memory... when orientating yourself
in a new city, for the weekend...
tall buildings as compass pivots...
yet knowledge a priori
       (instinct, intuition,
    "knowing" how to throw a ball
a certain way
   cannot translate into a posteriori
knowledge through... whatever it is
that allows to make the transition...
instinct and intuition are prone
to the fault of mortality...
i.e. an aging baseball player will not
throw the same ball 30 years apart,
a priori "knowledge" is mostly
associated with a gift...
an inheritance, such knowledge is
nothing more than an inheritance...
   it's an ontological phenomenon per se,
but the knowledge isn't learned
as such... it it inherent, inherent,
   particular to the instance of its expression,
and unlike the a priori knowledge
of the expression: history repeats itself,
we can learn from the past...
it is unique, particular, not universally
viable, it's not collectivist...

a posteriori knowledge... well...
trial & error...
   empiricism...
              with no knowledge prior,
having some sort of empirical experience
provides a mostly new knowledge,
all of science is tinged
with an a posteriori methodology...
it is accumulative knowledge,
on the collective sense...
on the individual grounding...
wisdom...
        to not repeat the same mistakes
twice, which then, "magically"
is supported by cynicism...
    once a person has grasped a glimpse
of human nature,
   and concludes that self-interest
is the prime motivation...
he learns to respect his fellow beings...
in that, said trust...
is a cautionary standard for further
interactions...

all in all...
        a priori knowledge cannot
peer into a posteriori knowledge...
   on a personal level,
  a mere hyphen helps...
i.e.
             a priori can only peer
   into a- posteriori realm;
i.e. (a-) without an after...
  while, likewise,
   a posteriori can only peer into
a- priori realm,
  i.e. (a-) without a prior...
why?
well in the first instance,
whatever was known prior...
is what is known without an after...
likewise in the second instance,
whatever is known after,
has already discredited what was known
prior...

a posteriori knowledge is accumulative,
but it is also erasive in nature...
i.e. it erases preconceptions,
   and all that is a priori...

a priori knowledge is inherent,
but it is also tied, subtly with empiricism,
in that... if thinking was a sense,
a sense of sight... e.g.
   then we would call thinking:
intuition, instinct...
or rather the absence of thought,
and a synchronicity of all the senses...
given that the existence of thought:
cannot be categorized by
the synchronicity of all our five senses,
at the same time...
   the existence of thought is
predicated on 5 - 1 = 4...
at least one sense needs to be absent
from what the remaining senses
synchronize...
i.e.
        i see this text, i hear this music
(chant of the templars),
       i feel this keyboard and the clothes
on me...
but... i can't exactly smell anything
specific,
    or taste anything specific either...
saliva like water... doesn't exactly
have a taste;
ergo: i can think of something akin to this.

The taste of repetition tickles at historical ignorance. The Queen is dead, the Queen, the Queen! Centuries of colonial empiricism brought into the dark corners of the metaverse once again. Heaven is empty. Hell has no vacancy. So why do tyrants swim so well. Why do they sit in their golden, guilted chairs, grinning through their teeth with smug acceptance of their blessings from god? Is the sun still there? Does the ocean still spray waves of destiny? Are the creatures of marginalized society so cruel that they would oppress and condemn as they feel they have been? Was there no lesson? Does man not have its place is history or is the last 100 years enough to **** the need? I hear the mosquitoes buzzing and zooming past my ears. So I gave my blood with reluctant pleasure. This is my new role.

Behold the object

Remember the spirit

“Graceless Ravens Envy You,” by Eric Robert Nolan

Revel in apostasy.
You are the black dove, hovering
High in an inklike arc.

Blacker, even, than
coal-colored wolves in onyx lines seeking
quarry at starless midnight.

More ebon, even, than
narrow sable blacksnakes staying
cravenly in shade at noon.

Darker, even, than
murders of crows, newly legion at Autumn, amassing
among saw-wing martins at dusk.

You’re blacker, even, then the rooks.
Graceless ravens envy you.

Remember your rebirth?
The sun rose,
Your birdsong changed and then
the questions flew from your beak
faster even than the wrens?
Faster than you could fly?
For a moment, they rendered
all the world obsidian.

Remember your feathers burning?
Sunlight striking your wings and then
all the slow alabaster there
singing, quickening into
aerodynamic black?
Remember the flock’s suspicion?

Remember your siblings, the nest?
Remember when
all their pearl heads turned
their backlit crowns in morning sun
ringed so thinly in shining ivory?

Their song was interrupted,
Yours was made a query —
empiricism’s aria.
Flustered, they fluttered
at all the low notes.
There were all immaculate;
you were the color of night.

Now you arc alone —
soar and sin and sing,
unrepentant one.

Somewhere an ordinary dog,
awakening from shadow,
howls at the sun.

(c) Eric Robert Nolan 2015

what england needs now is no **** & dump king, it needs a lethal combination of edward the confessor, philip augustus (the 2nd, house of capet), and george iii (house of hanover); the first for the bluntness of truth, blunt knife of honesty is not honesty per se, per se a weakness isn't a weakness at all, esp. if it's colliding in polite society that understands it as rudeness; philip augustus for the genius of plotting: playing off richard i with henry ii, and richard with king john... george the iii? the one that went into the cuckoo's nest? i need him for the halo and the innocence of others, provided the innocence of others is simply a way with lies.*

which had me thinking,
the bit where i mingled linguistics with chemistry,
the asymmetry of c & k,
of s & z... cat, kettle, empiricism,
i don't know know of another s & z example
that does't involve the ß, sure the s is sharpened
into a z... perfect contortion for 90°...
fair enough... acute angles...
but i mean this quasi chiral sentencing...
c is non-super-imposable on k,
s isn't quite a z in alice's adventure
the other side of the mirror...
but in some instances (due to the lack
of diacritical marks in the english language
to bespeak australian and american and south african
and canadian accents as proof of moth / ćma)
it appears as if i mistook my spelling
even though the english language is the easiest dyslexic,
even i make spelling mistakes in the odd bit of phrasing,
but that's natural, there are no clear phonetic quanta
to base my judgement on...
clearly i can mistake on letter for another...
it's the clear over-individuation of worded distinction
that gets me bothered, finding semblance
in current celebrity culture of the:
gone with the wind / farted into the wind /
****** against the wind looking a locomotive
of dry cleaning, as was don quixote at the dry-cleaners
lance and delusions in hand...
i can arithmetic the word onomatopoeia
from the sound: on oh mah toe *** ah...
but where the hell is the vowel i?
can't find it... found a baboon quicker
shoving it's crimson **** cheeks into a birthday cake
quicker - laughing at whatever i.m. weasel said
when cartoon network was fun and intelligent
and had a chessboard logo and m.t.v. was
all about music videos and not about
16 year old teen mums... is that music to my ears?
indeed it is i.r. baboon ****.
a anyway... it's chiral in the mouth that c and k
it's super super impress tactic of two left hands
acting like one right hand...
but on paper even C or K could say that
one stroke-curving was like 3 segments:
down, north-east across to centre co-ordinates (0,0)
and south-east across to the same centre;
it's symmetrical in the mouth, but
asymmetrical in the eyes -
hurts a lot, like watching english (historically
speaking / moving on / a quality lost with time,
non-possessiveness of a quality,
came the pakistani post-colonial migrants
and gave a shoo to shoe-shine as under the carpet
and all was well in multi-culture of a sociological
experiment) governed by so so many
worded accents as to produce one a and not
one moldovan j (ж)... it's almost japanese
given the news!
so if quanta are incremental units of energy
in the french lingo 1cm,
then higgs are incremental units of mass,
in french lingo 1 of something...
it's still coconuts and palm trees with polar bears wandering
free in poland, given the english perspective
of the colonial past, with polish girls migrating to
the islands of discontent by storm eve;
those prone to eloquent scheming are in confession clumsy;
and those mad are capable of the highest intelligence...
but those with strap-on-****** will hardly manage
a zoo, let alone a human decimal of involvement;
fractions sounds better though,
we need surd markings on some of our phonetic symbols,
akin to diacritic marks... but whereas diacritic
marks stress... surd marks make pronunciation dissolve...
hence the need for censorship in theology akin...
we might require a pseudo hebrew take on things...
hiding the vowels will only elevate all other languages
to the extreme of hebrew, but it will not be enough;
we'll need for an ace of spades over a bible passage:
then revelation and poker faced tango.

there’s usually two ways of writing an abstract
like one might have written one for
a chemistry experiment, a debriefing, a plot
summary as you might have it, although
in philosophy it’s either geometric of algebraic,
to take into account a chance meeting between sartre (b)
and descartes (a) i can only utilise the algebraic
in a framework of a platonic schematic, i.e. dialogue,
and since dialogue then casually, in conversation, like so:

example no. 1 (exercise of good faith)

(a) i think i had
     a brain haemorrhage
                                                               (b) i doubt it.

example no. 2 (exercise of bad faith)

(b) i had
      a brain haemorrhage
                                                               (a) how do you know?
                                                           ­          (i.e. i’ll deny this statement.)

it really is as simple as that, after all, all the ball of wool
untangling in the standard philosophy books is meddled at times,
it is hard to craft an entry of a decent dialogue without
the one-sided stance of monologues that fill the pages of books,
but take any major tenet of the two philosopher’s works
and set a scene of two buddies talking in a pub, and that’s you
having skipped the best 200 pages of untimely meditations
and about 400 pages of being and nothingness - not out of rudeness
but on the simple basis: ****... i understood it!
so if anything can be relevant in modern philosophy, and that’s
modern from 17th century to the present era
it is only relevant when applying a platonic schematic,
because it has to be talked about, and when talked about
simplified, because why would anyone want to over-complicate
and apply an aristotelian schematic of inspection
by writing very crude philosophies by the simple process
of over-complicating the thinking process as that, which
does not necessarily need thought attached to it - like at present,
with western society debasing any original theology
by forcing all the ills of the world as the adequate justification...
the origin of this, you will find,
is not from the people who suffer as such,
but from people who are safe, healthy and satiated with
adequate materialism,
the kind to have a very english middle-class sentimentality
to care for whimsical sensibilities, prudences and etiquette in general,
that's how placebo atheism works, it's still a ****** theology,
the real atheists? hmm, guess... the list is pretty dramatic
in the way they approached coupling freedom and will
and others - that's why i prefer my invention of coupling
a placebo effect with atheism... rather than writing out
a theology of absence - look... here's a trick:
a theology of indefinite absence (a) / theology of definite absence (the),
and then the ism from empiricism.

(after Sarah Manguso)

The darkness of your eyes is a curious darkness.
I mean when I close them. Old dances are equal
in distraction, like the shifts in subjects in a song.
That's just the different voice in a choir, I mean.
I mean, I mean to mean: Meaning from the random
statistical patterns of this... "world"? Is it right
to call everything "this"? "World" seems to mean "here" and yes,
with "us". Like the positivists told the scientists, "yes"
this thing with our eyes-- expansive eyes,
microscope eyes telescope eyes large hadron collider eyes mathy eyes
--these eyes are "I". Would I be comfort,
--and yes, the substance of that word and not the action
that entails the substance being a thing that can be
--would you be comforted by the thing that sees
being the thing that sees you as you? Imagine
some other singer singing that no other such thing
exists besides ourselves. Is that comfort? Is that
a person or a poem? Is everything in that the same? Wonder
with me back to empiricism. Knock on the table
and think of it not as Idea (that beneath our own
that we wished to wish). Wonder
with me on this song, back-of-the-envelope
calculated tipsily, alone, at the edge of a party
--okay, the party of (this) life. Wonder
with me, there, here,
always. And open
your throat.

it was bound to happen, after all my fascination with
the complications he was writing about
became incubated in a hibernation for some time,
but i already said, once before, you get the zest,
you get this unending hunger like a vampire
should you come across philosophy last, esp. after
being unable to blossom in chemistry's affairs
to a suitable self-satisfying level of expertise,
then all those migrating electron diagrams in organic
chemistry give you enough to read philosophy without
cringing or finding it too difficult - counter reading
it with major literary works and you're part of
the circus frenzy; so yesterday's afternoon and
apart from all he mentioned to a dichotomy rather
than a dialectic about empiricism and transcendental
idealism - the expansive topic of regression...
i just had to spot regressive bookmarks, or
bookmarks of regression that people unearth as if
from the dead; such is the nature of these bookmarks,
people do resurrect them, in as least number of
examples as possible:
a. i've met a Greek who was still bemoaning
    that Istanbul is still "actually" Constantinople
    (the local turk has stopped selling
     black market cigarettes in his shop
     imported from eastern europe, so now i'm
     resorted to smoking the portable shēsha pipe,
     that lovely creamy extra-thick smoke
     of pure jasmine, which cigarette smoke
     anorexic and blueish-grey can't compete with),
b. actually i don't have an example at this point
     because i digressed about not being able to
     buy cheap cigarettes, but there are plenty others...
oh! right, the atypical American example
with the constitution and gun laws and how
it is rarely argued that the government is turning
bonkers and someone might get a thrill from a second
"French" revolution, or some other horrific affair.
c. ah forget about it.
so within his abstracts, from one per se to another,
a simpler Kantian conceptualisation is
a Matryoshka doll, he purposively defined things
as in-themselves, and to him a noumenon (thing-in-itself)
was far better understood than a phenomenon,
because phenomena i'm guessing he too thought
were discriminatory, unfair, bewildering,
for example: why did the Beatles matter? it's bewildering,
you can't juggle such a question on your own
terms, you can't play the Rubik cube with such a question,
fair enough if you want to play the clarinet,
but it's like that, best epitomised in the film Amadeus
where Antonio Salieri bemoans the phenomenon that
Mozart is... the sophisma figurae dicta (sophism
figures out statements) to no advantage - for example
the liberté, égalité, fraternité all men are born equal
*******, i.e. can i run a 100 metres in under 10 seconds?
NO! of course Antonio is persuasive, in that he himself
is persuaded to talk, because he cannot fathom
the phenomenon that Mozart is, and he isn't - as such
phenomena are hard to grasp, you can't put in anything
into them other than envy, respect, jealousy, joy
or whatever you wish akin to the central character of
Steppenwolf who wants to walk with the giants,
thinking the giants are waiting for him... are they?
the noumenon is oddly enough more fathomable,
it doesn't necessarily attract, it neither necessarily repel,
in its abstract formulation it can never be a phenomenon
at best it can be a sub-phenomenon, it can work below
the surface of things, but there will never be any
glitter or princely yawns surrounding it.

the resurrection of the roman empire happened a long time,
it probably happened when the latinißed
(in english the german eszett works miracles in terms
of how the s and z mingle in certain words, interchanging
in certain words, where even an s is involved in spelling a word,
it’s not necessarily pronunciated, e.g. empiricism is written thus
but necessarily it could be empiricißm) started using
revised arabic digits, given the near synonymous simplicity
of both systems of notation - the near skeletal orientation
of the eye sockets proved that the characters of the language
had to involve a complication - the insurgence of the diacritical
marks on certain letters is keenly metaphorical as the descent
of the resurrected rome, via the heart thumping in the vatican,
the caesars becoming popes and hypocrites deliberating on
what’s supposed to be hidden and what’s to be revealed -
while cyrillic became neo-greek, after all:

Γ (gamma / ge)                         ι (iota / dotted ι)
ε (epsilon / ze)                           κ (kappa / ka)
Η (eta / en)                                o (omicron / o)
π (pi / pe)                                   τ (tau / te)
υ (upsilon / u)                            φ (phi / ef)
ρ (rho / er)                                  χ (chi / kha)
~ψ (psi) i.e. ш (sha);

and because the greeks developed actual names for letters,
it was only rational to employ these letters as scientific
constants ranging with popular demand in physics and chemistry.

παλαιoς Σαμουήλ αλληλουχία - alter.: palaios samou(ee)l - yes the acute diacritic on the eta doubles it to prolong it - allilouchia - Mr. Xavier had an itch, or an itx in Me'h cha cha cha chinos - jaded, round we go around the Babylonian tower of gobble gob blah and babble - as in: for some reason i thought η (eta) was about resembling an acute version of ε (epsilon), apparently that isn't the case, people never tell you! what with Greeks applying diacritical marks (never expected that to happen), to the pseudo-Romans not applying such distinctions - or was that much ado about marching decisions in the having of things? but fair enough, stressing η with ή does get the e out from the prescribed i - some would say people have been dragged into this necessary realm of explanation on the diacritical basis, rather than into linguistic hieroglyphics of what the study of linguistics has decided to do, namely?
                          arithmetic (/əˈrɪθmətɪk/)

                                                                       was it easier
to turn the a and make it equal to e in notation as ə than
it was to add a diacritical mark? this is British linguistic notation
(by the way); was it? sometimes it feels like learning to count
a minute saying: one, two, three, four... sixty!
what am i aiming at? well... let's just call it Project Ukraine,
i.e. the fertile basin of the eastern plateaus of Europe -
this is revised understanding of Plato, who originally dealt
with numbers in the following way:
                a. 1 + 1 = 2 is a proposition of arithmetic
  b. 'i have ten fingers' is a an empirical proposition of enumeration
already we have it: well, obviously... where are the numbers
suggesting i have hands, that there are two, and that there
are 10 digits on them? according to a. i would have to simply
  write 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 - that's the proposition of
arithmetic for b. - meaning the language is to strident in
empiricism... but never mind that... what i am proposing is
a proposition of grammar - using the missing diacritical marks
on the English phonetic encoding, the existence of diacritical
marks on other European strains of the Latin alphabet,
and the fact that by omitting diacritical stresses the linguistic
alphabet emerged - as already stated but to reiterate:

          enumerate ([ih-noo-muh-rey-shuh n, ih-nyoo-])

this being the American version of encoding, kinda looks
like ol' McDonald had a farm, e ah e ah e ah oh - again
the number (/ˈnʌmbə/) of things could be said why diacritical
stresses were not added, or not taught properly to make way
for this engraving of specialised understanding,
everyone, whether pauper, pillar of society, saint or sinner,
poet, ballet dancer or street cleaners understands 1, 2, 3,
better than he understands thumb, index or ******* -
but shove someone the encoding /ˈnʌmbə/ and they'll be
like... huh?! no one gets the joke of the up-side down nu (ν)
as representing in American linguistics: n'ah and then mm -
bear, or however they spaghetti tangle that with their
Texan drawl; meaning? oddly enough the linguistic alphabet
in Platonic terms is actually the opposite of what Plato ascribed
his knowledge of numbers to... meaning when looking at
the linguistic alphabet i'm prone to the knowledge of an
empirical proposition of "enumeration" b. (coin it what you like,
basically involving letters rather than numbers), rather than
the proposition of arithmetic (i.e. spelling) a..

________________

you know what the problem is?
all this omnipresent omnipotent omni-relevant
but actually irrelevant considerations of god lead to?
your self, God found a cure at the Edict of Worms -
we need no celestial c.c.t.v., we need good
and bad, we need chemistry experiments too -
stop being a ***** and live with it,
whatever bad came, whatever good came,
live with the two, you can't turn to some
celestial dictator to cut short peoples lives
and curb the freedom of choice -
it's simple, there are only two... that's Welsh
for ******* - i'm sensible in my belief to feed
him the benefit of denial (only gods can be
given the benefit of denial, 21st century humanity
exposes the need, we live in the kindergarten
times of politics, outright denial, no benefit of
the doubt - i preferred the old ways of
doubt providing good faith as a wavering,
a flag on a pole and a finicky wind stirring it
either side of the flutter - outright denial is
a cheap way out - it completely obliterates any chance
inspection) - so why is this God of all so irrelevant?
your self included, i guess it's partly because he's
a supreme advocate of solipsism -
that grounds him, ah crab, too much verbiage,
i was hoping to keep this old samuel sequence short
and sweet, original intentions turned into this,
Ezra Pound wrote thirty lines and came back
with a haiku's minimalism, Frank O'Hara rambled
on and celebrated the fact that he was a pure narrator,
no character study with that poem of his
why i'm not a painter: one day i'm thinking of
a colour... i write a line... pretty soon it is a whole
page of words (not lines)... then another page...
depends whether you want to drink a beer
or drink absinthe... this poem? in its original intention?
why with all that omnipresence and omnipotence
laid before the altar of presupposed, supposed
or experienced call for existence, he merely chose
solipsism. yep, that's all there was, an argument
by God against the gifts of making him omni-whatever
was argued down: get on with it, i don't want slaves,
your politics is not my politics - however much
you fortune cookie your way into how things work,
solipsism is the way out... and that's why poets
don't invent characters to study with the necessary
voyeurism - like with philosophers, it's god -
and that sorta dilutes everything, to write about god
is to rebel against writing about characters, real or
not, it's to keep a pristine narrative - the debate
about verifying a proof of with miracle is done
in room 102 - not here... i'm talking about
writing, not changing nappies and curing cancer
with a touch of the hand... i mean how language is
organised in the form it expresses.

As children,
Expletives were banned
From our thoughts, words
And pens as a form of expression.

Empiricism has had the same effect
On Spirit, Soul and God
In my writing.

Thank God I have
My old expletives back
To express myself.

excruciating deficits in enjoying a Dickensian plot:
former title...

returning from a former Soviet satellite state:
i'm a little bit timid, about a "freedom" of speech,
armed with the experience
of dating a Russian girl...
gotye?
  i really don't mind...
Polish radio 1... or is it 2?
great shows: some wild affair
in Warsaw, a blues get together:
reminding people of
the band breakout...

.isn't the statement, akin to: i think... categorized as, delusional, under the fathom of empiricism? thought isn't exactly a sense, yet... hollowed-out man ought to know: that any doubt regarding man's existence-crux of "soul" is a denial of the existence-crux of thought...

or something of the like:
grand, bacchic...
a gargantuan "yawn"
of a whale,
    and in this:
     a sea that sends
its perpetuated invitation...
like an ostrich:
                 with a reply...

i believe that
cinema made most sense,
from the passing of
b & w...
via technicolor...

over-saturation,
that was ideal...
i forget the modern
c.g.i.,
and the 1970s
true grit style of cinema...

the lollipop-styled
technicolor movies...

frank o'hara's:
to the film industry in crisis...
well... current year?
2019:
there really isn't
a crisis as a crisis
that is disguised
as synonymous with
momentum...
and "crisis" is momentum...

mind you...
didn't knausgård
call the Swedes:
cultural cyclopses?
well... after watching
black lake:
a t.v. drama...
well...
it's not exactly
a Dickensian tale,
is it?
there's an anti-******
and all...
but...
this show swayed
an English audience:
to appreciate it?

unless creaking doors
and angles of horror:
the non-existent
third party
is an idea for horror
in, Sveeden...
well... what do i know?

it is bothersome:
thought...
notably in the scenario
of it being
counter-empirical...
yet so attached
toward an
ontological "expectation":

yet thought is a non-sense...
isn't it?
i hoped to entertain
"thinking" for the sole
purpose of defining thought...

it is a non-sense...
and yet...
people describe thinking
as some either:
audible or...
   akin to a hallucination:
when that gaping yawn
of the void opens...
and images pour in:
when thinking
retracts, and thought takes
toward attaching itself
to an anchor...

cogito ergo sum
can't exactly be an ontological
statement...
proofs...
    hmm...

                who's to disprove me?
i found that fascinating
how an English argument
lies along the veins of:
Descartes didn't prove
he existed / exists...
ah...
            the space-temporal...
the immediacy of transcendence...
the time-spatial...

thought cannot be a sense,
in that...
   the circus of ideas
that allocate a thinking-crux
toward a convened
attest...
            
          the senses cannot entertain
half of what thought
entertains...
thought: isn't exactly
empiricism, grounded, is it?

i think therefore i am:
an ontological statement...
          god, and thought:
and all the other phenomenons
of:
what circumstances
a naked Adam...
as much awe-riddled
in Eden,
as in the catacombs of the Vatican...

a presence of:
the something prior...

hardly a cliche...
again:
how much of thinking:
does not precipitate into being?

i think
becomes an antithesis of
i see, i hear...
and i am: what i eat...
much of what i think
is worth being recycled
material...

capitulation...
a capitulation of:
   a fiddling with a recurrence...

banging my head
against a brick wall and
still the maxim will not crumble
to dust...

    i think: is a non-sense statement...
and how did it,
or ever will translate
into the ontological focus
that begins with: i am...
i will never know...

freedom of speech:
i much prefer the sentiment:
airing my thought...
i'd much prefer
to be able to air my thoughts
than be given the liberty
to speak...

i can't do anything with
a "freedom" to speak...
i'm the sort
that found Kierkegaard
the most appealing
philosopher,
i like cooking:
i would be great at
cooking in the army...
who fight who and who's
who?

no... i don't like
the freedom of speech...
not because i want to gag
someone...
it's because:
people ought to be able
to be given a second
chance to think,
akin to the interlude
of thought: via the instance
of being able to blink...

yes, i am revolving around
the description of:
being timid...

           yes,
i am alienated in coming from
beneath the Iron Curtain:
a grandfather i remembered,
spending summer holidays
with,
cycling... not being riddled
by dementia..

such idle concerns fiddle
with the current speakers...
such... gimmicks...

   life, once achieved,
having no consolidation
worth is...
                      i wake up and
spend about an hour:
wanting to die...

perhaps i'm faking
truance in being
intimidated by a perusing
******: third party...
the "other"?
yes... yes: i am...

but this is bothersome in
that it is not a verification
of bravery...

          i can still remember
who taught me to tie
my first set of shoelaces...
my great-grandmother...
who figured out:
imagine ribbons...
and i tied my shoelaces
like ribbons...

          hardly a life worth
the importance of being
elaborated into writing words...
akin to:
will Jonah ever be
deemed a patriarch...
the magnetic prospect
of congregation?

i feel it claustrophobic
to constantly agree...

john glubb: and the fate
of empires...
250 years...
except that the Soviet empire...
lasted from 1922
through to 1991...

i am the black dog of
Warsaw:
i am free, but not in the sense
that Locke would deem
me free...

what "i am" has to
predicate what is:
a constraint of "i think"...

i'm sorry, was i wrongly
interjecting from Scandinavian
paradiso?

freedom of speech:
grand idea...

              if i don't push this
written debauch into
the sphere of the prying eyes
of the other:
i will preserve my self,
by entombing myself
in... what could hardly
be deemed as worthy
of representing a mirror...

i have Beckett's watt
under my belt,
i don't know what
an liberal arts college
education looks likes...

and...
            daddy issues...
****'s sake...
i put on two pairs of
socks on my grandfather's
feet
prior to him being whizzed
off to hospital
with a nosebleed...

whatever medium i'm
writing it...
i can't relate with anyone...
daddy issues...
surrogate fathers
and mothers...

         an uncle with a throat
ulcer and a fear of
pancreatic cancer...

here's to me being pristine
in being the sponge
for ideological
grounding of a worthy
infantry scoop of brains...

  yes... this is quiet a bollocking...
Warsaw central still feels
like Mongolia to me,
and, there i was...
native...
speaking the tongue...
Warsaw central
was as appealing to me
as Mongolia...
i'll walk into east London...              
pass a mosque...
drink a beer
and, upon being asked:

Disneyland?!

you won't find platonists (idealists) in german these days, you could have in the 19th century, mingling with romanticism, but these days? you will only face harsh empiricism of the revival of aristotle: esp. given the populist guidence of darwnistic dogma... but still the persiting platonism, whereby there is no longer a base of the idea (ίδηά - absolute variation: έ vs. η, given acute alpha), which has become replaced by the image (εικóνα)... platonism has become narcissism, and also the advertising industry, how platonism evolved to degrade phonetic encoding by creating coca-cola icons - why on earth are word treated as images due to their copyright / trademark restrictions?!

we know what happened when
platonism approached judaism:
it gave birth to christianity...
namely plenty of "ideas" that
became reduced in value as
icons -
     but what if aristotelianism
were to approach judaism?

psili* and varia -
     the ancient greeks paid little if no
respect for judaism...
   the romans?
   they were in beserker mode,
too busy expanding an empire to
give concern for the minute concerns
of faith, heart, mind...
the "new testament" is a ****
of the original text...
   beginning with genealogy... what a ******
beginning... no edenic poetry...
   no enemy at the fore...
about time to **** the greeks
and thank them, by telling them:
                                   to *******!
i'm not being ***** whipped complaing
about reclaiming the city of l'viv
like you are concerned about rebrading
istanbul, constantinople;
this ******* juvenile nostalgia for
the past, is rife within the greek spirit,
as it is, within the islamic ummah.

if aristotelianism was to approach judaism,
after 2000+ years of platonism distorting
it... you'd get anti-linguists, like me,
    invoked by alcohol-fused berserker mode
of biting into language like
   a greenland shark...
                                     or a bull terrier:
******, i'm not letting go,
     i'll gnaw till my iron teeth clench
your bones, break them, and **** at
                                                            th­e marrow.

something very much akin to the idea
of reincrnation...
  don't look at me,
     the romans loved culinary ******
where they'd regurgitate what they ate...
no, none of the girlie stuff,
you learned the old way:
  ******* down your throat,
then once you trained your throat,
the welsh (longbow man) method receded,
and you could do it on command
of constricting the muscular tract.

what do people really want?
   apart from a pleasure in thinking?
to laugh in their own company -
to be able to laugh, alone,
   is probably second, to the first
"demand" that's: a pleasure in thinking,
a pleasure in thinking,
and the inability to become
     a res extensa - descarte's notion
of the extended thing -
    the anti-thesis
                of the res cogitans -
namely, to avoid becoming existentialist,
to avoid, may i say:
   tattooing the earth with a human presence,
in light of: finding "god".
but in the current western society,
people are doing as little as possible,
that horrid quote-mongering -
that need to compensate via comparison;
is there some grand transcendence
of nostalgia that i'm not aware of?
   god, i hate this quote-mongering -
you always find yourself needing to cite
and then recite, what has already passed
beyond our realm of thought (non-sense),
our realm of empiricism (the pentagram) -
why was it called a pentragram?
                   huh?
    isn't it technically a pentapunctum?
    it's not a word, like the tetragrammaton
is...
               the only geometry the tetragrammton
allowed was a crux... i.e.
                                    st. andrew's orbit: X.
yet i find the modern interest in philosophy
to be akin to the hindu concept of
reincarnation, namely? regurgitation -
a bulimia of ideas akin to a man stepped
into a puddle of glue, and can't move:

to me, it's the most unpoetic of all possible
poetics of a "need" to recite and memorise
texts...
          and that's not even the beautiful
arm-guard of a text, akin to the hafiz -
       well... there's one hafiz imitation
in christianity, but the thing is...
   let's just call it a shame to begin,
for it exists in fiction, and the hafiz in question
is a literary byproduct,
    namely bound to stendhal's novel
  le rouge et le noir: yes, the protagonist
(julien sorel) is the christian equivalent of
a hafiz - he can recite you the whole bible,
having memorised it;
if christianity is to "attack" islam,
                 it can only "attack" islam,
   at the roots - by attacking the hafiz:
the guardians, extensive of the platonic term
regarding either republic or calliphate;
i have dire ambitions for western
culture, in that all this quote-mongering
is... getting on my ******* nerves!
i'd rather listen to a baboon play
                                     a flute via his ***.

g-swizzel books'
video

    my thoughts on recent
booktube drama....

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10 minutes later...

...........................................
   ....................................
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      ..................................

  i'm still blinking...
blinking...
blinking...
dazed & confused
but still blinking...
blinking...
    dazed & confused
but still blinking....
blinking....

the **** just happened?!

and focusing on about
1mm x 1mm x 1mm
focus point...

what the ****?!
is this what making fun of 20 year olds
looks like on the #resist movement?
this is the backlash?

i'm 30... i'm pretty sure i'm
categorized as a millennial...
but is that:
millennial snowflake,
or millennial: up yours!                 ?
you need a pronoun before that
?         insinuation of,
said word? yes? no?

oh **** me, we're becoming
pedantic now... o.k....
UNSAID word... surd... fine...

whatever...
              i'm watching this book review
video and, and...
i'm trying to think!
       but i can't...
i'm starting to focus on
Australia's Master-chef exploits!
i want to think,
i want to think!
             but all i have is custard
for thought... ****...
    
put on some operatic metal,
therion, with the song
rise of ***** and gomorrah...
****... no good...

   back to the critique video...

fake reader girls...
          mental health concerns...
and then... some comments by some
*******...
   my theory?
pedophiles are not into smoking
and nicotine hangovers...
or heavy drinking...
which...               ****** one ******...
never... enough.

               no!

**** me... i thought i'd never manage
to find an echo chamber...
but discovering a safe space?!
wow!
             wow! wow! wow!
this is amazing!
              
   i never thought i'd come across
this zoological phenomenon!
     **** it... this calls for sampling
some if not all of the circa five minutes
of chris isaak's song
wicked love...

      it's like... discovering a village
of gorillas and ****...!
safe spaces! wow!
wow!
   it's like...
i'd really want to have
a trans-gender Confucius- disciple
of a man...
the sort of empiricism that
could be exchanged with
a child like that?!
  priceless!

please please please please please!
please!

give me these leftist monkeys!
i want them, i prize them,
i dream of them!
i want to study the role of
safe spaces as the replacement
concepts of the Gulags...
please let me...
          
i'm as itchy as Mengele...
please let me...
  i'm dying to know!

alternatively:
  can i have the Dian Fossey role?!
it's a ******* jungle...
and i've just come across
the stereotypical left,
the atypical paid protester type...
i'm excited, no argument
against that...

   but please please please...
i want to study these people
at a closer range of affairs!

a web without the print of a creator but instead diagrammatic self evident unfurling stretches in omnidirectional transcendent space crosshatching perpetual fall buoyed by synthetic leaves which provide penultimate impact fluxes to the brain surplusing centripetal stirring while acidic gut indicates the mind has been hijacked by racing network graphics smuggling a chromatic spectrum of strict empiricism that manifests hieroglyphs with junk dna and superfluous deep web code revealing repetition indistinguishable from the loaded traces phase injected to give an illusion of random chance luring emaciated counter adepts to insert all ten fingers in this muck and gaze in its vacant form with eyes now containing double lizard lid seamlessly surgically added while anesthetized in computer god robot operating cabinet hidden behind the gut film of all womb corrals by overlords crowding the sky with shadow mask while will beaming psywaves and psyops to the planet held frozen asserting infinity a zero sum game or infinity a desire sink atomizing discipline to dust blown till even dispersal that settles as the desert of us where ancient cathedral rubble can be picked up without knowing though covering it is graffiti in slang that too is long outdated yet untouched immaculate stands the pyramid where atop the eye burns as infernal chaser back of darkness our primordial creeping from we forget due to whippings under omnipresent dominion as our birth origin and impious realm of ambiguous nondual reciprocity which angered the envious great liar who then swindled the good will of man for instantiation of a fake godhead as virus from infinite space beyond the punched out skyshell by saying “this is everything” signaling intuitors who lack the bandwidth necessary for computing a safe closed circuit to boot load non sequiturs corrupting their internal hall of mirrors by neutralizing all quotients with zero triggering an attempt to apotheose by the lobotomy spike wielding free radical poised to strike once the asymptotically approaching monad of dark energy has arrived and the mantra of hologram reality is hammered into zygote protoconsciousness through fritolay derived nutrients with de as prefix marking eschaton having cropped up like small flames across the plain of man reducing form to powdered grey concentrated potential.

Orbited amongst supraorbited. Predetermined variance is your’s for refusal. Expression is accessible beyond the sense approved surface. Inevitable as it may seem. Vested physicality is greater. Remember the joy of your body, and smirk in the light.

.just like having missed Handel's messiah at the Royal Albert Hall, instead returning sullen and ******* in a brothel... now this... Beethoven's Ode to Joy, me writing this and da-ist-sein taking place all around me; but more importantly: beyond me - preying on the hope, of a divine intervention.

on a site... such architectural Behemoths
of beauty,
were born from the Roman numerals...
to see 31, via XXXI...
     a bit like seeing the ode to joy...
what i would call
   what my English teacher joked around
with when describing the Blitzkrieg
happening while
Wagner's ride of the Valkyries
was playing in the background...
well... time's up...
    plus the moonlight sonata
was overly borrowed...
            notably in geek love
by katherine dunn...
                 imagine calculus, using roman
numerals, are all modern mathematics
for that reason...
  perhaps, just perhaps...
teaching dyslexics arithmetic in roman
numerals, they'd be able to spell better...
after all... what do we have?
  /  i was just thinking that...
since we know what the ancient Roman
numerals were, what were the ancient
Greek numerals, and why do we
hear about them so little? /
   we have... oh look! what a "coincidence"...
anti-Roman Greek propaganda
(how else would the Byzantines
have not arose from the ashes
of the fall of the Roman Empire,
if not via the bible's propaganda...
for me? the book of Revelations
was written first)...
Revelation 13:1...
   a seven-headed beast...
let's see...
   I, V, X, L, C, D, M... by Jove!
that's 'even!
                     i must be in 'eaven...
(keep in mind that ode to joy
by Beethoven is playing in the background
as i mash this out)
- because you rarely hear about
the ancient Greek numerals...
i'm guessing because...
  whatever letter was whatever numeral...
became... a scientific constant...
i.e. a hyper-numeral...
        what with the Rho... ahem...
Trojans suiting the duo graphemes to look
more sophisticated in their sophistry
(Cicero and Seneka...
both loud-mouths, who apparently didn't
bother to think), as in their writing...
just marvel at this:

αʹ 1 ιʹ 10 ρʹ 100
βʹ 2 κʹ 20 σʹ 200
γʹ 3 λʹ 30 τʹ 300
δʹ 4 μʹ 40 υʹ 400
εʹ 5 νʹ 50 φʹ 500
ϝ 6 ξʹ 60 χʹ 600
ζʹ 7 οʹ 70 ψʹ 700
ηʹ 8 πʹ 80 ωʹ 800
θʹ 9 ϟʹ 90 ϡʹ 900

                          (look! look! they had knowledge
of runes! ϟ - soowiloo / sun
   and a chiral variant of ᚠ - fehoo / wealth
   and ᚨ - ansuz / one of the Æsir)

the precursor of chemistry,
the apostrophe attached to
          letters to represent numbers
absolutely genius...
      the ancient Greeks utilißed
their entire alphabet...
  yet the squalid Romans made use of 7...
**** me...
that really is worth noting...
    so the idea of writing chemical
equations like H₂O came from the use
of the apostrophe in the Greek numerical
use of letters...
and to think... the ancients entertained
a dual nature of letters...
they could encode speech,
but also think abstractly about,
weights, measures, architecture,
    triangles...
                          to me they were far
more sophisticated than we will ever
hope to be...
actually...
   doesn't Braille borrow from this model?
the Greek numerals?

the apostrophe is the number indicator...
ergo
         αʹ = 1
                                 but in Braille...
the number indicator is
    ⠼           ergo                   ⠼⠁= 1
oh look!
                     no ****!

now i know why i wrote the title first,
i knew i was going to digress...
Heidegger's aphorism XXXI, VIII,
well... i guess for you to read it...
you have to cough up around thirty quid
as i did...
       i won't rewrite the text...
forget it...
                    it basically summarizes
the ontology of the English...
   covertly, because this isn't an observation
done as directly as Voltaire's...
this is the English mentality....
briefly... it talks about the the veneration
of "facts"... "facts" that however much true...
disintegrate into a spaghetti mesh of
utter *******, or rather a caution:
to not seek origins in "ideas" or furthermore,
building a solid foundation
on theories...
              rather? experiences... empiricism...
i already knew that the English
were suckers for science as their new
guiding voice of having replaced
religion... that was ****** obvious
through their egalitarian idealism...
but yeah...
     ancient Greek numerals,
              the evolution of the numerals
into scientific constants...
   and the concept-borrowing from them,
using the idea of the apostrophe,
to write in numbers into the Braille codex.

ps. to ode an die freude:
  which brings me to the conclusion...
how not similar is the ancient Roman
numerals from how music is written?
from the most simple schematics,
arise the most complex structures...

    (⠼) ⠊     ⠃⠃     ⠃⠙      ⠁⠃     ⠉      ⠙       ⠁⠉

something so simple, can produce
at the same time something eternally complex,
and original...
   music... to think...
we need 26 letters to encode talking,
and with these 26 letter encoding,
we can muster up such vitriol as
to find it better to simply shut up...
  
     A, A# / Bb,
            B, C,
                   C# / Db,
                   D, D# / Eb,
                   E, F,
         F# / Gb,
                    G,
                      G# / Ab....

how many letters is that?
  **** me... 7!
             7 letters...
  and at the end of it...
you have either Handel's messiah,
or Beethoven ode to joy...
who would have thought.
             - and all of this... while drinking
two bottles of beer... ha!

Grab for all the gusto you can
Because TV and beer are all I need, man!
Weltanschauung? Yes, it is one
Not a real complex decision
So, let us for a moment, and as we are able
Look at what hedonism brings to the table
Epicurean hedonism of the quantitative type
It’s what I mean to be more precise

If all there is, is pleasure,
And that’s what’s buried in your heart as treasure
Then you can't turn and be indignant
About anyone else who is just as ig’nant
After all they are just grabbing gusto
Maybe in a different form
But who is the hedonist?
To expect others to conform
        to non-rationality
        to being arbitrary

So what are we left with
When we look and see?
You can’t go beyond and seek a conception
When all is physiology,
      and empiricism
      and behavioral biology
And it can't be psychological
Because psychology is not made of matter
But these things do matter
How do we get to the ding an sich?
After all we don’t all share the same brain-ium
In fact, many don’t even use their cranium
So, we must challenge all the gusto grabbers,
Who’ll get upset
When others don’t live up to their double standards
Special pleading may sound valid
But if all there is, is motion and matter
Then it’s melancholy salad you’ll be served on a platter

So, let me say there’s nothing wrong with TV and beer
But that won’t lead you to the ding an sich
Or from the phenomena to the noumena
You need a Weltanschauung where the abstract can fit
      and that helps us make sense
To have an apologia (a coherent defense)
How do we do it?
We intuit
As God expects us to think thoughts after Him
As the Father of lights enlightens a world so terribly dim