ever since i was young,
my gaze was drawn skyward.
i could tell you the story of orion,
and how to brush bernice's hair,
before i could tell you that two plus two equals four.
i know more about our vast universe,
than i know about many of my friends.

if you are not well acquainted with a pisces,
let me give you a bit of an introduction:
we are compassionate, imaginative,
we adapt to whatever is thrown at us,
and my personal favourite,
we are unfalteringly loyal.

however...
we are full of self-hate,
prone to laziness,
we are escapists
and horrendously easy to manipulate.

i believe my horoscope today is complete *******.
i do not feel utterly lovely,
i know i will not score a date
because no one feels for me romantically.
i've nothing to flaunt.
the horoscopes are saccharine lies,
but, those traits? those are me.

my soul is ancient,
i feel the pain of struggles i have not faced,
or rather, have not YET faced;
i will split my soul in two
i will break my bones
i will give every drop of my blood
i will breathe my last breath
for those that i love.

i spent two years of my life giving my heart and soul to a sagittarius.
philosophical, adventurous.
i admired him so.
but his negatives--
inconsistent. overconfident.
careless.
he was a burning house.

my mother, also a pisces, when all was said and done,
told me to stay away from those sagittarius boys.
they're dangerous for wary, fretful fish like us,
who ask 'from what bridge?' when we are told to jump.

The beaten path is hardest to go alone but it makes one stronger. One never wants to admit to oneself that misery is the predecessor to change, ushering it like the pilot ushers the plane down upon the runway.  This is a new destination you'd never have known. That is why we go up and then down, otherwise you wouldn't care for clouds. They'd be like stop signs posted on every street of every town you can't escape from. Don't you think whales like to take a dip in our atmosphere with the same exhilaration we dive down into their ocean? Marine life has it's trials, it all seems so buoyant and peacful, but its another jungle down there. Beautiful until you live it and predators lurk every corner and algae field. Everyone eating the next guy, if its your residence, it is no vacation. Its not so simple just cuz they've not got rent to pay and corrupt politics. Babies on the way while no financial burden make most species crazy. Try being a single mother just trying to keep your kids well enough hidden just to go off to find good eats for them. They have very emotional lives out there, full of pain and suffering. If whales could get drunk, mermaids would charge and set up breweries. But the ocean would dilute any profits, and two tons of blubber each would call demand too high and so whales throw themselves into our world just to escape. They could gulp the air so low key, surfacing like submarines, instead they splash mountains with their ferve, the same way we get down, tossing cares across dance floors. And we wonder why when  they take a breath, they reach for the sky, they just want to be free, where nothing of their world can touch them. And we wonder why when it's not enough, they just give up, just like us. Massive escapists desensitizing to the joys in the depths of their waters. We wonder why we find them so sad layed up on our beaches, you see it in their despondent eye. They just want to die in that memory of exhiliration. One. Last. Time. But they're not happy. Cuz they were always chasing a high that fleetingly springed them from all worry. They lay knowing its the last time and they wonder what's gonna become of them when its all over. They just figure what lays on the otherside, or even nothing has got to be better. Maybe they're right,  or maybe all the off kilter chemicals got the better of them. Full moons got them all emotional just like us, gravity pulling all their painful memories to the surface, pulling them up out of the ocean all hopeless. Shoot maybe some of them dont even mean it, they were just so tired of the krill or baby seal murda life, or sharks poaching their babies and needed longer and longer til oneday they got too sleepy and the tide snuck down too low. Like when I pass out in the shower when it's hot enough, I swear I was about to get out..then, ****. Maybe that's why they're so ******* sad. They didn't mean for it to be over, they just got caught up in that feeling. I bet the old ones though go on purpose, just to spite the sharks that took their babies out they'd rather rot in the sea breeze they loved. Or maybe they're so depressed at the loss of their child they just want it to be over. They carry their babies in their bellies just like us, I bet they get depressed like us or the smarter dogs. Being a whale, or any sober creature can be very hard, but at least if you're not running from it, you might see through the storm for the beauty of its strength, releasing fear to just stand in awe of it. You can learn to cope with pain in at least better measure to sprinting in laps, without intention, you're just on the track, even if its as vast as the pacific, adriatic, atlantic, doesnt matter all the waters you cross, they all just ran back into themselves. See, the whale can only cope, no emotional escape route, so no matter what comes, whale is miles wiser. Their calls sound a little sad but so hauntingly beautiful. Do not beach yourself humans, in your little ways everyday. Stop feeding this disbelief in yourself. You were given this brain to choose to overcome this pain, to communicate in new ways. If you get tired of something just cuz you're used to it, you've done fell off your rock, you slipped to drown in your own riptide, to get pummeled to death. Or as my Papa woulda said, you're not playing with a full deck. You drown in intoxicant, whatever your vice, liquor, uppers, downers, shopping, food, flirting, ******* to numb life's beating. You're running from sobriety, from reality, from those people you don't love anymore cuz they can't jive with your illusions. You'll look for every reason why your psyches not the problem. If you'd not only accept but seek the need to heal,  you wouldn't need constant change of scenery just to feel something, to feel snippets of sanity, mini vacations from your daily miseries. New people, places and substances are just so exhilarating, cuz you can't handle yourself. If you could, each listed above would be blessings of oneness, not necessity. Running is only blocking your life from mattering as much as it should. You squander potential wandering in circles inside yourself. I smoked **** habitually since I was twelve, it didn't really hurt me right, just my dump trucked loads of brain cells? Wrong! Sobriety is the hardest but most rewarding excursion so far. I delight everyday in the opportunities I can receive just cuz I can think so clearly. I have an occasional shot or glass of wine with coworkers and think God I feel good. Then go home and think and plot, how can I attain that joy without consuming a dollar, compromising my body?  How can I be so at home in my skin that I don't need that just to feel like this?  I'll let you know if I ever figure it out. It's the big ******* mystery, isn't it. I THINK my point is,  we would never know what's so good to be cherished if we always had it made. They call it a beautiful struggle, and i really think they're onto God with that one. Wherever your feet lay, next time you look down at them in dismay, remember your pain is the best teacher you never had to pay.  It makes you great, it makes you an epic ******* trilogy of the past present and future.  You'll get through this day, I promise you. Whatever it proves to be to you, I pray oneday you hold the kingdom. Oneday you'll praise yourself for holding on. Oneday you'll stop running. You'll just wake up and feel at home inside yourself how the wise whale makes peace with the ocean. Tempering the binges to the surface. As above so below. You just have to find the thrill within the hand you're dealt and make yourself better for it.

I **** the mood in a sour June,
opulent misery, scorched Earth,
exchanging platitudes with old faces,
full of *******; full of hot air.
Both sides of the fence
at war with themselves,
feigning inner peace and profit
across the beer garden table.

I talk of hangmen and floods,
child brides and dressing gowns,
my hometown under the mythic spell
of collective memory loss.
We have forgotten our place
in the comfort of our urban sprawl;
sirens caterwaul past the high-rise,
past the vacant church with locked doors
and the homeless on the street.

A commonplace emergency,
young male suicides, women *****
in the safety of their homes,
taught a kindness through physical force,
the way the gun drops to civilians
in countries saved through the filter
of television screens; of dust and distance.
I sit and write and think of ****,
of old loves, anxieties-
they call me crazy all the while
for not committing to the scene.

Now Afghanistan is a blueprint,
extended diagram of steady-state destruction,
a conspiracy of white man dreams,
farmlands bruised by machines of war,
by the ******* Boot,
the feeling we have been here before.
All the while, the illusion persists,
car parks filled with smoke, professional escapists
with their 9% lager, bags of tobacco,
and the megalomania of art.

I **** the mood of a whitewashed June,
advertised freedom, a mortgaged Earth,
exchanging currency for a chance of peace,
the zen garden smoker, the looted mind.
Both sides of the fence are collecting bones,
at war with themselves, whilst my eyes are red
and my philosophies, ******.
They call me crazy for dreaming of escape,
whilst never leaving the confines of home.

Think that the dolls in houses
get mad
or depressed
shoved in closets
untouched till the day they are shoved into the attic?

I opened my doll house
and all that I found
were porcelain skins
sprinkled dust
on the plastic

they got out

I am a French horn, a bottle neckless hourglass and butterscotch tape

You're a red harp with veins painted on the side

When I come home, you see me as an acrylic heap with chips of lead and belly aching homing words

Scotch sticks and smoke smells and the stitches are uncomfortable on my neck where you often warm your hands

I am a masquerade of shellfish clamoring on about the epitome of burlesque humor

You’re alien to anything other than sourdough and design

I have structured my thesis around burlesque and you fail to see the humor

When I fear the apologists

You fear the escapists

I am the tigers of the world, borrowing viciousness

You’re a long pause, loved and disquieted, painting my stripes as veins

I’m freaked out now because the apologists are escaping and the escapists are apologizing

At this clear impasse, you pity and press on until my fingers at the French horn drain to my sides

I am an island in a puddle of sand

electric impulses knaw
at nubs formerly known
as finger tips,
worn down to bits by
the desire to drench
this world with one
simple thing that may
or may not be
everlasting

i'm in search of
a replacement for
flimsy false hopes
and finicky heart pokes,
for flat lined finite
chopped up bits
flying up nostrils
in hysterical hits

even escapists smack
walls from which
they can't slither
through silently,
walls covered in
mirrors full of
faces fueled with
hostility

all the faces are
my own and it's
time i find some grace
before i finally
pull my last astonishing
escape from this place

We are all escapists
one way or another
moments overcome us
to our moods we surrender

comfort to seek
wounds and bruises to heal
courage and patience to renew
while past scenes their unwelcome presence reveal.

We are all escapists
one way or another
life is indifferent and takes no sides
we laugh and we cry, we rejoice and we suffer.

Believe not those who proudly declare
they are the invincible optimists
when the tides of life rock their boats their hearts sink
overnight they would turn miserable pessimists.

I feel the dirt,
and it's not as easy as washing it off to get rid of it.
It's been piling for years
up, in, and around me.
It's in my nails,
and I feel it pumping in my blood.
But worst of all,
I hear it in love.
It makes my attention weary.
And as I'm in the midst of it's dirtiness,
all I can think of is how I can put more strength into asking God how do get rid of it..
'cause I can't stop it.
But I won't stop trying,
it's not worth another option.
I'm no super hero,
so who believes dirt doesn't shine ?
Because i can see,
That It's glaring in your eyes.
Memories don't live like people do.
So just like that,
the ocean lives in my living room.
I sure hope I can fall into it while I throw myself around.
.. At least to cool off.
And why deal with the problems,
when you could just deal with the symptoms right ?
Throw it to the back of my conscious for the time being ?
I hate having to do that.
I hate living with dirt.
It's like a secret, mostly.
We talk about it cautious.
I think of it, grossly.
Even though it hangs, closely.
When it is in mood,
you'll hear it.
Somewhat ghostly.
This has got me shaking my head a lot.
Crap out of luck.
Like some average Joe smuck.
Like I can buy it.
But I'm crap out of a buck.
Life is a storm,
It won't miss me if I duck.
It tempts my strength to soften over time;
i just won't have that on my watch.
Dirt belongs only in certain places,
on the footprints of your guilty traces & in the past of professional escapists.
Usually on the end of a pick.
Life is a garden I hope you can dig.

Joe Dirt said we just gotta keep on,
keepin' on.

1.
The scent;  amber
The color; pine
The touch; echos
The sound; blind
They are
All
of the senses
Intertwined.

2.
Sweet Robin, alight... takes to wing
Bruce's laughter, a booming thing.
Mark serenades, Michelle My Belle
Rog recants exploring tells
Scott japes, and keith's ad libs
Karen oh Karen,   heaven forbid!

Artists Dreamers Escapists Poets.
Jesters Lovers Genius Knowers.
Alarmists minimalists
Extroverted introverts
Fighters flighters
Together
Loners

I fumble for my next dose
Blue chalky circles spill
Onto white linoleum
Clicking for every lost meal
Bounce like My shaky hands
No interest in obeying
Nobody ever stopped asking for an answer.

My first vice
Dependant on malnutrition
addiction, in fear
fists coming down, off the high.
there is no such thing as a familiar crash
Always a new drug.
hands struggle without muscle
We shake together.
Indulged in recall
Dissolved in water.

I sometimes feel bad for my first upper
Too quick to cheat
Carbonated me fat
Made my teeth fall out
Drew me into television
Tom and Jerry became my bedtime
I gorged myself on escapism.
After a seisure I would regret that much of this new drug.
I ration just enough
She forces my shaky hand
Insist I never talk to her while the show is on
the show is everything.
a vacuum, dusty room, spotless television
There is never a crash.
Only crippling mania

I won't **** this new addiction..
Her absence is a gateway to new powders
this Killing drug gave me the power to stop craving more.
There is closure in calling a poison by it's first name.
We call ourselves poison from the very beginning.

the little blue pills are my escapists cure.
I always go back to coffee
kept warm, by an indulgence I can hold around family.
I've a curious tongue, an educated pallete.
Seven years slinging uppers, black.

Before I learned how to read a clock
All I wanted was for it to snow
In maine, I'm skeptical when not frozen.
If I made a snow angel, I would never come down.

Snow makes beautiful quicksand.
It's hard to inhale when drowning.
I am also more likely to expand my pallete on oxygen alternatives when drowning.

The ocean has infectious curiousity
Sirens dwell there for a reason.

if I had a boat.
I wouldn't make it past the poppys

Thankfully, I do not have a boat.
Only weak Coffee

I try to refrain but retch
And my thoughts splatter the paper

True conversation, simple as
The twig caught up in our river
Meandering along
Strips us of the shell they covet
Within layers of their own
Shining opaque splendor
A beautiful visage
That disturbs even the casual passerby

We are not the first ones.

Careless escapists frequent our haven
And their troubles vanish
As ours ooze from our pores
A vile sludge that falls and
Squelches between toes
Leaving us clean, relatively speaking

Upon our exit, we scoop up some of the stuff
And fit it back inside
Determined, the impure
Resolved, the imperfect
To sink further
Into the madness

We smoke by the canal,
getting high;
lamenting our lack of a decent broken home,
British hip-hop in the static of the upper classes.
They're doing more with their time,
old analogue transmissions, sleep-filled afternoons;
a paperback revolution, a snail's pace progression,
those ancient roads of forgotten travel,
the routes we had given up too soon.

I am too impatient now,
seeking The High
over inner peace, those new-found techniques
in favour of old habits; instantaneous retreat.
It's okay, this interludal existence, high-wire dependency
for a feeling ill-placed in sober routine.
We give up on chasing women
to chase heights we know we can never reach.

We smoke some more,
an artist's tomb;
the coffee table piano, old acoustics
with malformed necks, waning ligament of string.
Let's fill the emptied social scene,
appear red-eyed in the daylight,
pawing for a comfortable release.
We talk about hitting those unsung chords,
then we roll another, another,
until we cannot sing anymore.

Two escapists converge
to hustle the prison;
get high on the prospect
of getting high in the future.
We smoke by the canal,
feeling low, unstrung.
The out-of-tune white man blues,
pleading for acceptance
from the crowds we love to criticise.

why do i believe in god?
           yes yes, that santa claus of all ideas,
i can't imagine it being an unnaturally
derived idea,
   i can't believe it's a software package
with a virus, as much as i can't imagine
it a hardware package with a hammer...
i can't seem to get rid of it!
and this is not some strand of argument
derivative of any religious dogma...
it really is a software (subjectivity)
   and hardware (objectivity) type of scenario...
every time i hear a woman agonise
feminism, because there just isn't enough
femininity in the world i concede
to the remarks as necessarily true...
  what is contrary to that, i.e. unnecessary
is to state the obvious... and that's the tyranny
of nature... nature is a tyranny,
    for the most part people went crazy
when god became by debasing himself
had a masturbator moment and said:
pyramids and the Himalayan mountains....
      it took enough time to reject the idea
and embody the French counter-cuisine
culture and build a ******* Eiffel...
  i believe in god in the same way that
Milton excused Satan...
      it's when a woman said that raising children
was a job... i was like... what the ****?!
  being a mother is a job?
  so i guess being a father is nothing more than
a plate of food and something to whine about...
  my belief in this procrastination is only
due to the fact that i'm rebelling against
de Sade's deity... i abhor nature...
    i abhor this stance on naturalising everything
that claims there is no outlet to decry the rules...
          i abhor this blind-forthcoming
of all things deciding upon subjugation -
i abhor the so-called "mother" -
      i don't understand nature, and i won't be
in the Attenborough cohort slobbering with
awe-aplenty at her feet.. i will not attest to
feeding the myth that's contrary to the obstacle
a god imposed... with whatever auxiliary arguments
auto-suggestive of the necessary dynamism of
encountering the full potency of human freedom,
i chose to believe in "santa claus" only because
i am facing the tyranny of reducing myself
to a comparative status equivalent of parasite....
      the parts you might add: chivalry and a slap
on a cheek, black friday, and godforbid
      a spectacle of watching football -
20 idiots running on a scratch of green kicking about
a geometric morphing of a tadpole...
score!               a wet hanky to my debate,
could be added.
                 there are a few who allowed themselves
to be the maggot on the end of a fishing-hook,
unlike the marquis, they didn't celebrate nature,
they called nature a derivative of all forms of
organisation experimented with by man,
      all the dogmatism runs counter to what's
expected, it's called a placebo... given that
we already have to abide by so many laws...
gravity... we have to abide by that...
   as with god so with man, he too would love
to embody nothing and not scrap this world -
as we all too would rather become the foetal
existence of pure thought and have no sensual
coercion to mind and grind against...
    but i have already established myself as having
identified "mother" nature as a tyranny,
by comparison Stalin looks like a buttery bagel...
    for the most part the ones bound to the lower
hierarchy already represent by exemplification
      toward an imitable model a sense of
escapism... monks are the ultimate escapists...
they live a life embedded in a non-existent prison...
atheism to them is a celebration of
            naturalised by tyranny...
                         perhaps the concept of god
is infantile... perhaps it's only so constructed when
there's a patent for ritualisation and many to
come gimmicks of looking at lunatics....
        but i have the convenience of reversing
onomatopoeia and extracting imagery from it...
when i think of knocking on a door
i can't see the word knock representing an actual sound
(dentistry already taught me to say a'h rather than aye
because the foremost h in the tetragrammaton
encapsulation creates a marcon-prolonging
desert-like environment of vowels) -
therefore i'll knock on this one more time,
       and hear the cathedral bells of Cologne.
the concept of onomatopoeia is an accurate revision
of barbarism, the fact we still invoke it is beyond
my comprehension of what's otherwise a sound
argument for a making a campfire in Siberia.
   so yes, i have an infantile suggestive concept,
clearly spelling a u t o m a t o n...
   because whenever i look at the hardware
comparatively enshrined in a mountain or a tree,
i can't see a software logic to suggest i put it there...
or anywhere (for that matter)...
   it's because certain arguments are finite...
there're as concrete and definite as 1 + 1 = 2...
                 the counter argument is usually
based upon the bias of man abandoning conscience,
or doing what the hell he likes
and discarding any sense of self within the context
of self-reliance: i.e. being responsible / acknowledging
the existence of causality.
         that's why i stopped believing in the handmaiden
of the tyrant nature...
        it's man's unaccountability strategism -
                 the Pontius Pilate rhetoric -
       only persuasive: because not much can actually
be said, or was ever said... hence gesticulation
of turning washing one's hands into a signum crucis -
as one might say: the binding of a contract indicator -
that's one... enforced baptism is another...
   thank **** i haven't been confirmed with a third
name to match my surname!
                  i just "forgot" to get confirmation
by a bishop - i was never tainted in purple -
     technically i was too rebellious to agree to the contract.

You ask me if having a baby in this world is selfish.

I imagine two stout bodied genderless dwarves.
with beards.
hand pumping a minecart down
subway tracks in Boston.

Hear the rattling
cart wheels along iron tracks.
the crackling fire of a lit torch
Illuminating an obvious macguffin
a glimmering maguyvery boulder
in the side of the tunnel.

This vision is a testament to how well I pay attention
When I have tunnel vision.

One pulled lever slows the minecart to a screaching stop
the dwarves zelda bomb their way inside

There is a man behind it
the size of a mountain
hooked up to a bypap machine
umbilical corded to a television

he does not know whether he is nocturnal,
trusts his wristwatch to tell time
Which was over $5,000 dollars.
trusts this watch
about as far
as he can throw his money away.
So He collects watches.

I ask you.
Does this man sound alive?

Do you think he more closely
resembles a metaphor
For children zombied into media leashes.
another pet to pitch in the graveyard
of working class
blades of grass leaning on the T
nodding off to sleep?

Or is he more like us.
escapists
wandering eyes
With roots in our mattresses
Shackled in the entertainment
Always breathing
inflating never creating.
or breathing out.

Would a child help us out?
would that be selfish?

breath can we still
tubes of oxygen up our noses.
can we rip out the catheder
save with will power
would a child somehow spin
eugenic honey
royal bee propaganda jelly
Would we see the world without sepia
no more screen filters
less headaches
less screen time
advil addiction.
Two less pills taken
comitted to attention.
stuck in tunnel vision
smoke and mirrors
are so shiny after blue pills

This mountain of a man
said to ask the man on the mountain
and I was so deep in my grave
I decided to dig down thinking
If This is hell I must be at the earths
molten core, so the road up
is just as long as the road
in any direction so long as i went straight.
But I change directions all the time.
And I still haven't hit the surface
And I keep building boulders
to keep out the cave rats
and making them obvious,
glimmerig macguffins so adventurers
will zelda bomb them open
and find me sitting here
watching the world go by
losing track of time
But always checking the clock on my wrist.
Because it's so beautiful
and biological.
The ticking is so loud
I'm deafened to the humming
of my oxygen machine.
the television,
screaching minecart breaks
My front door being blown open.
By zelda bombs

I'm stagnant with nothing but
my dreams and a metranome
Counting down to the day
I hate this television enough
To turn it off

Trust this clock enough to turn it back.

For a breif moment hear the
screaching subway tracks
The whirring of my bipap,
The bombs going off
not just at my front door
but all over the world.
blowing open my eyes to see finally

that life isn't worth a bomb shelter.
If I can't be selfish,

**** repopulting the earth.
I am going to paint drooping clocks
eat non-parishables ironically
and Die an honest man.

An endless turn,

A silent burn,

He slips away,

Won’t e'er return.

The flesh is raw,

The lady saws,

I wait her call,

She fights, withdraws.

Escapists flee

When fear draws near,

They toss, they turn—

Nothing is clear.

Confused, we bind

Tormented hearts,

What we will find

Is love in shards.

chat bots:
zaby: niet: zeby... (frogs... not teeth)

this heat-wave is making everyone, fffff-ucking cuckoo! i must have lost it about 5 times today... sweating like a pig about to be slaughtered, rambling mad... drank more than i could ever possibly eat... for dinner? the thinner me... two Becks, a pork steak cooked ideally: so the juices were still running... and a few precious olives... with pickled garlic and pickled chillies and plenty of oregano and olive oil... that's it! to hell with this world... to hell with climate-change sceptics... i hate them as much as i hate atheists... i was actually going to post this on the 18th of June... but i thought... i'll wait... it was already been several days of this heat... i'll wait... something is bound to happen: something convincing... the fire in Wennington broke the camel's back... i ffff-ucking sometimes cycle through there... what the ffff-ucking hell happened? scorched earth! the earth's alight! and what am i doing? like **** i'm going on some fancy holiday... like hell i'm going to own a car... i just own a bicycle... i planted 8+ trees in my garden... i tend to talk... i hate climate-change sceptics and deniers like Holocaust deniers and atheists... and all the rest of the secular nunnery *******... the "sensible folk"... they: ****... ME... OFF... like i: don't have enough oath-words to use... i swear like a cobbler when it comes to these matters... today we snapped at each other over the littlest of things: you're keeping the fridge door open for too long... you haven't covered the coleslaw... seconds apparently turned into hours... do i, look... like a ******* camel jockey to you? take this ******* heat and go back to Sahara... that desert that was once a mighty mountain range... all deserts were mountain ranges once... aren't we living in times beside Copernicus... aren't we stuck with Darwinistic pre-history ontology? then all deserts used to be mountain-ranges... now crank up the heat... the sort of heat that makes people mad and animals bewilder themselves... i mention this as much generously later on...

i seriously think the internet can be a lovely place...
sure... there are some pitfalls...
for one: i avoided online dating sites like
the plague... i don't know how i managed to get
fooled by social media...
then again: those were early days...
back in 2005... facebook had a policy of: only university
students... being the first person in my family
to go to university i gobbled some things naively...
mind you: i was already using last.fm
to forage for new music... that's how i found about
Porcupine Tree... Spirit... Gong... to name but the few...
i must have come across Wolfmother too...
i was over the moon that they played in Edinburgh
rather than playing Glasgow...
mind you: i didn't mind that Tool played in Glasgow...
i was willing: more than willing to make that trip
from Edinburgh... that's where i met her...
met: and left her...
    oh man... we were getting crushed... or rather:
she was getting crushed in the pit of happy maggots...
water was being distributed in plastic glasses
so that people wouldn't faint...
   (of course i'm going to portray myself as
someone good... although i tend to think i'm a nasty
piece of work... better to think yourself rotten
than as good... it works to anyone's advantage...
since? there's always room for improvement)
    the glasses were passing us left and right...
someone finally managed to not drink a water from
the cup and it passed into my hand...
what did i do? did i drink it? nope...
            i gave the cup to her... she gulped it down...
the second time i managed to catch a cup...
i drank half of it myself... offered it to her:
she refused... on the basis that the first cup satiated her...
so i passed the cup further down in the crowd...
third cup... i gave it to her... she drank half...
the remaining half i passed down the crowd...
by then i was almost bear-hugging her to give her
space to breath... so much so that she managed to turn
around... we chatted for about two minutes:
the old internet: a.s.a.l... sort of shtick...
                              and by the depth of the music coming
from Tool... we started snogging...
                    did i mind that she said she was German?
hmm!? i'm currently listening to: die weisse dame
                                                                      (d'ah m'eh)...
yes... the Tetragrammaton appears in certain
European languages...  e.g. ANTHONY...
                     you don't say: ANFONY
                               you say: ANTONY...
who's foney / phoney?! is that like someone: who can
be the X-man Magneto but with telephones?!

i probably have regrets... once the crowd was dispersing
after the concert was over...
i saw her standing in some obvious location...
we got separated...
            mind you... did she come alone?
girls? going to concerts on their own? not then not now...
highly unlikely...
but who was she with? a girlfriend or a boyfriend?
regrets... i walked passed her...
   i was about to ask her if she wanted to go back
to Edinburgh with me for some ***... well: not exactly
*** as a one word question... more...
on the lines of relationship building...
    nerves? she ignored me? i was snogging her
just a few minutes and half-hours prior...
            men go to concerts on their own...
do women? rare...
                      women travelling on their own? also rare...
i used to take these weekend trips
to some of the capitals of Europe: alone...
   because... i've been on trips with "friends"...
****** trips... disorganised trips... pointless trips...
i said: **** it... i'm going solo...
                 should i have approached her?
n'ah... she just topped the feelings of seeing Tool live...
a favourite band of mine since the age of 14...
or 15...

what was i "saying"? oh... right... the internet used to be fun,
it still is...
              sure... you get some *******... most of them
are neurotic women... thought-police Katherine(s)...
oh Carol... or oh Caren... or Kerrie... whatever...
             women who have no idea that either William Burroughs
or Ovid or for that matter Marquis de Sade ever existed...
what? i know what cancel-culture is...
i've been banned on... several sites... just outright
deleted... no response...
i was suspended on one website for about 9 months...
what happened, after? the Streisand effect...
my absence imploded...
prior? one of my poems had... maybe... maybe 2K views...

now? i'm packing a crowd of about 50K...
ergo? it's a good thing...
              but it's unlike the internet of NAPSTER
and HOTMAIL... and MSN? what were those chat-rooms
where people would talk anonymously...
with girls in America... i remember those...
that's how we first plundered our presence
in this sphere... obviously publishers wouldn't
listen to us... and we had better things to do anyway...
it was either homework... playing the Age of Empires II
or chatting to people before bots and proper a.i.
was introduced...
way way before internet shopping...
i still remember the classic look of a high street:
there used to be a record shop on each of them...

now? you want a record shop?
Romford... that's the only one i know that still exists...
it's like: Mecca...
seriously... come to Romford... buy some spinning
liquorice...
             i don't even know whether i've grown into
England or whether England has grown into me...
i'm guessing both... of course the myth of my childhood
in Poland is locked in the vaults of memory
of my mind... how we used to play together as children...
hide & seek... marbles... tic-tac-toe...
   skipping ropes... oh sure: boys and girls used to play
together... we didn't get as far as cards...
Blackjack... i'm afraid that if i started playing
Blackjack with the boys i would have not moved an inch...
from where i was born...

but look at me now...
    London leech... in and outs of Bow and further afield
as far as Epping... on a bicycle...
this is home... it breaks my heart in a way
but also mends it...
  
hmm... i recently came across an advert for online
therapy... a woman is sitting in a cubicle in a toilet
and is talking about how her mind will not switch off...
questions: self-rhetorical answers... more questions...
then the lights are turned on...
and in a cubicle next to her another woman
tries to "squeeze" out in a silence...
the camera returns to the woman who "thinks"
she's talking to someone... clearly: she isn't...
              i tried therapy... i tried psychologists:
**** me... at least the most they can do is prescribe you
talk and camomile tea...
i talked to psychiatrists...
    hmm... with the ineffectuality of asylums...
being prescribed pills... usually associated with asylums?
ha ha... ah ha ha...
i put on... let's settle on 30kg...
     i was a porky pie...
                   oh! but it was the cure! i was being cured!
i was "depressed" one year... "schizophrenic" another...
"psychotic" throughout... but when i got a brain MIR scan
back in Poland and talked to a ****** neurosurgeon...
i asked: so am i mad?
he replied: if anyone says you're mad... they're mad themselves...

i love England... no... English people are not racists...
they're just sadistic sometimes...
they have a sadistic sense of humour...
and a sadistic diagnostic-rumour: murmur...
after speaking to this ****** neurosurgeon...
i had to go back... back to England...
oh sure... i still talked with the psychiatrists
that were "treating" me...
i still took the pills...
      until one day: i snapped...
        my mother was having spinal surgery...
i just finished reading Kierkegaard's either / or...
no... that was stalemate: read...
i just finished reading vol. 1 of Kant's critique of pure reason...
and... i couldn't find vol. 2...
i was so ******* *******...

and i told her: when i get out of here!
     did she think: when i escape my body?
to me... psychosis is osmosis... i'm going back to either
air... fire... water or the earth...
perhaps a coupling...

point being: the advert? me... i have a post-Soviet
distrust for psychology, psychiatry, atheism...
why demand people have no soul but make logistic
investments into there being a soul?
or the opposite... whatever the opposite is...
                  i wouldn't talk to anyone but a random
stranger...
                     *******... mother-****-gobbling-*******...
misjudgements?! hmm-um?!
    yeah: bravo-me for keeping my anger under control
by drinking... and taking: long walks...
i once became so mad i walked from Romford to...
Harlow... in the middle of the night...
down roads without any pedestrian access...
      sat in a 24h Tesco waiting to buy a bottle of Jack...
talking to this naive teenage girl...
bought the bourbon... walked into a forest
and started eating Lilac coloured mushrooms...
i literally stopped caring...
the "adventure" finished with me catching a taxi home
and sleeping for about 12 hours...

alcohol as a sedative? yeah... it is... it's a sedative
keeping me intact: from boiling over into absolute rage...
i need it to sweat it out...
every time i drink i'm sedated:
i'm like the antithesis of what most drunks are...
they just explode carelessly...
at rock concerts or football matches... reckless idiots:
IF YOU ONLY KNEW THE TRUE POWER
OF ALCOHOL... what focus it can give...
how else did the pilots of Spitfires defeat
the Amphetamine riddled pilots of the Messerschmitts...
how else? how else where they defeated?
alcohol is a war potent contained in the most
affectionate man...
  
mind you: i know what an alcoholic looks like...
my grandfather was an alcoholic...
he was also a stamp-collector... i still have his Soviet
stamps... i wonder... if i really wanted money...
how much could they fetch in the west...
but... since i'm not after money... because i'm of the motto:
ARBEIT MACHT FREI... and i like the idea of
things... formerly owned by others are like
keeping their presence nearest to me...
translated as travelling stars in the night sky...
and i've seen: plenty... of those...
there are constellations... but there are also these...
roaming stars... i can't explain it...

be kind to animals, be kind to these little critters...
this will allow you to distinguish:
or least favour the judgement concerning:
whether you should be kind to all men:
or whether not to discriminate by a higher earned
justice learned from the kindness showered
on animals...

spieglein spieglein!

ooh... i needed that break from that autobiographic
outburst... and as the maxim states:
by the sweat of your brows you will earn a living...
funny that... writing is hardly any hard-lifting...
but i'm drinking and sweating like a mad-pig
from my armpits...

the internet... hmm...
one sample of tracing my footsteps back...
Tantalus < Human Sacrifice < Annual Customs
of Dahomey < the Kingdom of Dahomey...
this is me... going backward...
i just overheard someone mention...
the Kingdom of Dahomey...
   and king Ghezo...

                             now... physiology...
all these massive basketball players... currently living
in America... hold on hold... on...
Europeans did what?
go around Africa and catch these specimen?
really? what good is a slave if maimed by a bullet wound?!
hmm...  what i was thinking all along...
Africans ******* Africans over
just like Europeans ******* Europeans over...
same shift... different story...
nothing new...
              so there were these people in Western Africa
that used to hunt for slaves...
and sell them off to traders... and... let's face it...
every trade-person is an impartial person...
money is not the coinage of spirit: thought...
ideas are...
                   we exchange ideas like we exchange
money: but in disparaging circumstances...
point being... i arrived at finding about the myth of
Tantalus...

        that's the beauty of the internet...
you might be looking for something: then again not looking
for anything...
coupled with reading a book...
Tantalus...
             Ovid's Amores: book 2 poem 2...
hey presto! Tantalus appears!
loose talk left Tantalus thirsty for ever
though up to his neck in water, clutching at fruit
always out of his reach

             well then... the beauty of the internet...
you get to build tunnels... cognitive tunnels: they are...
but... but there's also the automated filtering process...
i don't celebrate my work... i don't allow it to reach
advertisement status... i don't censor...
i filter... zeit ist die nur essenz...
              während weltraum: etwas das
                             unterhalt selbst...
wir ar entwender sklaven zu zeit
     oder seine eskapisten...

time is the only essence...
while space: something that upkeeps itself...
we are either slaves to time
or its escapists!

then again: i did start thinking about pre-historic
escapism as most associated with
English Darwinists...
those adamant creatures who find it absolutely
necessary to find the ontology: of a man without history:
a man without memory...
strange creatures... like most English thinking is...
don't get me wrong... it's very practical thinking...
ergonomic... egalitarian... soft-spoken words
to replace the pan-Slavic experiment of Communism...

that's ******* dangerous...
and what's the alternative? is there an alternative?
the English intellect invented
ergonomics and egalitarianism to counter
Communism...
               but it also invested itself in pre-history /
post-history... the ontology of:
prior to any recorded history... there was this
ontolology of APES...
i don't even think Copernicus could have
envisioned such widespread corruption of a simple
idea: nature abhors vacuums...
vacuums are filled by adaptation...

  i blame the mutation of Darwinism on the current
zeitgeist-narrative...
   no history? no history?!
          no ******* wonder i'm fleeing into foreign
languages... i've tested my thoughts on German...
i'm testing my thoughts on Russian...
i have this special case i need to test / write out...
i'm not staying: i'm fleeing...
but i'll be fleeing in a way that a violin
player is fleeing the sinking Titanic...

i need more drink to write this bit...
after all... i'm "changing glasses"...
i'm about to roam around the cheapest version
of Greek...
                       Darwinistic anti-historical pre-historical
ontology... i remember winters of such an abundence
of snow that you will never know...
i ******* hate climate-change-sceptics...
it's too hot!
        it's, too, *******, hot!
                             scepticism is not some *******
NEU-KOOL...
              BONKERS... no! neit! nein! nie!
i don't need lobster-people parading with
suntans... telling me: yeah: br'uh... all good...
like **** it is...
i hate these climate sceptics...
like i hate these Hitchen's era atheist...
sensible people my ****... my ****...

my feet are sticky... my brain is fried...
                     sure sure... let's just "rephrase" our next
no-new position comes the next year's flooding...

what the **** happened to:
CAUSE & EFFECT?!
                     physics isn't working?!
rules of physics somehow awry?"
                    hammer not good for nails?!
THIS IS WHY I DRINK...
i drink to contain my rage...
           but i also drink to fuse with it...
a writing ambition that...
will not be recognised... because:
zeitgeistnarrativ...
people need to hear what they are used to /
what they want...

****'s sake... with these climate change scpetics there's
no physics principle of: X causes Y...
ergo Y causes YX... ergo YX cause XY...
ergo... there's a ******* Z!
better explained?
   x causes y.. no! y doesn't cause x!
it's not a closed-case sceanario... you ****** g dim-wit!

dimmy dumb dimmy dumb wit!
ugh meister fantastisch spinster
   herr spinster: spaghettilockenwickler:
mampfenhausherr!

      hell is a fury that man obeys!
hell is a fury that a man obeys:
because... he inacts its tides...
selfish women discard hell's compensation
for personal gains...
best to spread the fury...
it has been... a long wait...
but worthwhile...
                            wahnhaft?!
                                           wer ist nicht?!

ten kto miał spać... i ten kto miał: wstać...
i ten kto miał spać... i ten kto miał: wstać...
i ten: kto został "zaspany":
  i ten kto ten kto nigdy się nidgy nie
obudził...
           i ten... komu zerk na "co to?":
dodało: nad-skupieninie:
ojra... ojra: coś nie tak!
o kurwa... hyba coś nie tak!

me? i'm looking at these two Russian
letters...
and then looking at these Latin transformations...

Спокойная ночь: spokojnaja no-
             hmm... exactly!
exactly? peaceful night!
but that's not my "beef"...
    J is replaced with Y...
                          since there's no Jeep in *****...
or therefore a DZ... dz = j....

                                     exactly: German folk songs
for drinking... gearing up to writing
while listening to some Russian agnst...
and i've just found... the second artist
in the Russian tongue that appeals to me...
first things first... Faun's Lorelei to get drunk and proper
"stammered" in order to better write...
that's that... but then... something from Russia:

to think...
                            i was lucky enough to... and not so lucky
to have had a Russian girlfriend...
lucky to have visited St. Petersburg and Moscow
but sort of unlucky to see in her cousin's face
that she was cheating on me...
i liked drinking with him: beer and dried fish...
talking about music and history...
i knew what his face was telling me...
he was sad that he knew she was having a French-fling
of two-boys one girl...
i hope i came across to suggest to him:
you know... i have been with prostitutes...
she over-estimates her worth, you do know: that i know that,
right?
i'm only here for St. Petersburg and for Moscow
and for the *****... the beer and the dried fish
that's such a better accomplishment to match
up with beer than peanuts...
you do know that i know she's ******* around?
but let me tell you: just one night...
i'll **** her brains out... i'll turn into a miner and
build a tunnel into her ego so that she remembers
me proper... oh don't worry... this narrative will only
come to be some years later...
i'll need to reflect for years before i realise
what my unconscious was instinctively planning:

good luck trying to be a tourist in Russia these
days... ha ha...
i was already out of the door come the moment
she wanted to turn my long hair into dreadlocks
and wanted to tattoo me...
i knew it was a short escapade: a gentle run
rather than a marathon...
the best part was: when she introduced me to her
grandmother: telling me it was her mother...
and we went to dinner: she introduced her mother
as her sister... and her father as her "uncle"...
she was trying to hide so bad that i was a ******...
a Russian girl?! dating a ****** boy?!
mein gott!                       it's only years later that
i'm drinking this fine wine of memory
in the form of ms. amber (whiskey)...

                   oh for more of these love complications
on grounds of ethnicity: race-baiting?
too ******* obvious: the Germanic peoples can play
that duty to the "universe"...
i like the subtle queues...

i can just imagine if this affair went west...
if i dated a proper: milchfräulein!
i'd be like: wild-eyed: did your grandpa secetectly
stash a SS-uniform in secret? can i see it?
can i wear it? wait... wait... i need to see the Turk
first... my barber... i can't put it on without
being properly trimmed...
does he? does he?
                                           ah ha ha...

i think schwarz suits me...
although i much prefer
grün und braun shades of clothes...
                           nothing jeans related... suits me...

it became one of those relationships that's best
not have had... best remembered like
the heat-wave of 2022...
i... ******* cycled through the village of Wellington...
i know the area... it's local... well...
as a cyclist it's local... thereabouts to Rainham...
there's this land-fill site near by...
there's the Cold-Harbour...
  when the Thames spreads her "legs" / tide...
i know the area... ******* grass fires?
  you're kidding me...
   i abhor climate sceptics like i abhor atheists...

do i look like a: ffff-ucking camel jockey?!
some influencer girl staging the pride of her buttocks
before some hotel in Dubai?
i hate people who adhere to the heat...
i know that when the mob comes after them
i'll be peddling...
              i'll be licking my wounds...
i'll be writing: sure... not having sweat from my brows:
but from my underarm pits...
at this point i abhore the arrogant-denial
of the sceptics...
                             because this is the workings of bad-faith...
and bad-faith begins with advocating
the adamancy of denial...
                  these ffff-ucking idiots need
another year... perhaps two...
before they change their minds about saying
things like: oh... media frenzy!
   this feels like just another summer!

really?
  really?!
              what happened to me today?
i woke up... in a 180° position to the one i fell asleep in...
i rotated... 180°... how? how does a body rotate
180° while asleep... lying next to a table...
sure... i took down a chair...
but... this is the UNCONSCIOUS speaking:
this is the COLLECCTIVE UNCONSCIOUS speaking
to individuals in their UNCONSCIOUS....
i ffff-ucking rotated 180° in my sleep!

that's not a ******* problem?!
fair enough... let idiots breed...
I DON'T CARE...
I'M NOT ALLOWED TO CARE...
I DON'T CARE...
DAARWINISM EXPOSED A MAN BADLY
DAMAGED BY ALLOWANCES OF AN ONTOLOGY
OF A PRE-HISTORY: AN ANTI-THESIS OF CONTINUITY
OF PRE-HISTORY: BY VARIATION OF SOME "MAGIC!"
SOME MAGIC MONKEY JUGGLING...

no! nein! neit! nie!

       come to "think" of it...
    Communism... the whole Pan-Slavic movement...
i'd like to "think" a little about the letters...
about... the crab-bucket... mentality of "losers"
of capitalism...
these... adherent wastes of time for people
that... want to work...
                  these people that should be readied
for an arbeit mach freit... scrutiny...
the excuses some people give them...
i've never been allowed excuses...
i was either good at my work or **** at it...
but some of these people have been given
too many excuses: based on their race:
get rid of them...
                 how does the verse work?
employ him because X...
well then... get rid of him based on Y...
lazy ******* best starve...
                        
    oh this cruel world... crueler Siberia...
i'm supposed to do the work of lazy Chimera's
of "man"?
                  
Спокойная ночь... bothers me...
esp. when reiterating in Latin...
      й = J = Y...
                  hmm... чь: ć
                               what's чъ?!
      but that's already arrived at!
                                  чъ = č ...

night?                      нoц! noc! night!

                    what's the ******* deal with
the Cyrillic trinity of ь ъ & ы?

                                         "soft": acute?
"hard": caron?
                         but a "soft" is already incorporated
within the noun concerning NIGHT...
at the same time it's not necessary...
that's why for a ******...
Russian is under-formed...

   нoц... contra ночь...
           because? the latter implies:
  when heard: never to be unheard:
   noć...
                      no... not noć...
not ******* nocz / noč...
                      нoц: noc! nacht!

***: *******: BAJA... bajka!
                     you confusing idiots... Chinese separatists
of Beijing...
ъ, ы, ь, ю, я, y living in make-shift *****-lands...

gorąc...
                  gorąц...
                                    na mej głowie...
to tło... szumu... i idiotyzmu...
      this: this entire world is coming to the smallest
portion of the world for: "debriefing":
about being the the antagonist...

  **** it... i'm siding with the Russians...
i don't care...
                      i don't care because i don't care...
i'm siding with the Russians...
at least they have some existential sanity
left in them...
                it's very much unlike siding with
**** Germany most associated with
the Croats...
this is... a civiliation-state scenario...
this is Darwinism in its advent of foreplay...
i'm curating foreplay...
people are so blind... as individuals...

do i look like wanting to **** black women?
ergo... all the poly-racial ****... is... what?
something i might want to keep... or... burn?
i could never appreciate the idiocy of some people...
but? i'm currently having to adapt....
because... people have beccome better than their own
predictions.