The feeling is never mutual. One person does while the other is responsible. A heart that is mendable because of its tenacity, knowledgeable of the fact that utopia is less than fantasy. Yet, to do it alone.. is nearly impossible. Finding that one is highly improbable. An explanation that will never be audible, so instead we listen to what is. **** the "norm" and **** people, I am tired of hearing mumbled curses. Ridiculous verses of what it truly is, and where it truly lies because it is so difficult to love without taping ones pride. My everything has already fallen, and I am without pity. **** the old and **** the needy. All individuals are entirely too greedy, having gratitude for barely bleeding. I am me; and if you do not see me, it may be for a shallow breathing. Heaving from hallows whilst gazing from clouds, so strung out but highly aroused. Questing for exchanged vows, told to be better off by myself. I have heard to listen to your brain for your heart will stray, though my heart is decisive when my mind is arrayed. Stay, go... Stay, go, stay is how the story goes. A beginning with no close betrayal by those never suspect of foes, yet a wolf in sheep clothes.. Always building up anticipating the blow. Continual drinking, refusal to grow since I would rather not remember the feeling at all.

It’s my thang a langwitch spellproteckter go getter- sleek katrina stereowrite braid these monster tentacles aww now cute buzz pro bro-intellectual collaboration gush &fush; & fleek flecks firecompass full of grandiose art verses culture legions sing over and outty 5000 package cursive dialog primer kilameter romance make it equator atypical retro passion that ****** away cuss words p phucker! grade cheated tempo cuntgrunge klue move shadows to stand alones while in line to get in the barfuck gang outside party with smilie txt tshirt and a computer on diet coke kush telescope acid whatever like you feel like emitting or like have 9 thoughts about or like forgot about escaping like post fever social media to become a social sensation out of perception the limited yet coveted cherished harps and fairies and twinkly shimmery **** that doesnt growl or grunt huh? Speech please dont
As if i had the guts to stomp on a butterfly-award speaking dear diary fanatics central stranger than fictive red read (aloud allowed?)Which one. politically slurred thousand jury chapter grew some serious social security numbers and dyed them to prove a cutup battle wins the war
**** **** fick fock u
Mindseekers

oi! Bronson! **** ya matey! i'm a sardine oiled up! that paddy is gonna hang like a dog on a serpentine of a leash's worth of walkies... that paddy's gonna hang and ask for the relay gun at the Olympics going off... paddy was never the bricklayer... paddy always gangrene flex, got lucky in Arizona and New York, forked St. Petersburg and only forked a steak nibble... Bronson settled into retirement just fine, came out a ******* act-tor! pepper the bobby with parking meter fines for his bureaucratic funfair study... sooner or later Jimmy the literate will turn up, and replace Bob the illiterate swine cuffing someone ******* in an alley.*

oh, i'd probably become
an english teacher
and sing ****-yeah
when the drone army of
Amazon couriers fed us
the next 21 hour trip in
defence against the Koran...
so i guess ha ha is in order.

and with every mythical Mrs.,
you tell 'em about the castration
in the synagogue, and never about the
baritone in the morgue.

have you ever had your guts ripped out.. freom a few simple words?
or litsening to a song and your whole body runs cold...
have you ever had that moment in life you just stop?
have you ever felt yourself collapse, your tears running red, your blood running cold, and free?
sometimes you just get tired and weak, you wanna give up. but you gotta feel that inner sreangth.. no matter how bad you wanna jsut stop and collapse.
have you ever hand that nihtmare that your all alone ad everyone has abandoned ou... where your doors are shut, the hall is longer then youve run,
have you ever had someone jsut rip your guts out and let the hang around your neck till the last breth is a sorry for the mess you lived.
have you ever had that break down wehre your falling and no ones there to pick you up, they are holdingoyu down, inthat black mack covering they one true love of death.
my dear you are all I dreamed about for long then I lived... I am the borne of love... fallen from the sky, and that is all I do.. it fall.. everyhting I tried jsut fell and dropped fron under me.
no one can beat me.. yet Im in this **** hole of my years...
behind this smile ws the knowlage that everything is going to be okay and ehres this cold hard fact that this **** smile wants to cry everything to death
behind this smile, this fake mask with the tear stained eyes, I am not as happy as I play it to be, everythign crumbled into a million peiced, half them got fixed and it all seemed to be okay but its all too fast and this little baby is motherless. and this little babys daddys the soldier that freed the pain of the world.
hush little baby dont you cry everythings gonna be alright...
this little lulliby for your life.. go to sleep little baby everythigns gonna me alright.

/if there is but one use for Freudian theoretics, for a man who has jargon for dreams, or a man who rarely summons a need to dream, for a man who does not have the luxury of a dream worth interpretation, for a man who has not dreamt a recurring dream...

it is far easier to summon
a woman, within the hour,
to the confines of a brothel
room,
    unshackeling her
from the vengence of
artimesia and binding her
to: breaking the sacred
taboo of swallowing
a kiss...
      
        than it will ever be...
to summon a woman to the liberty
of equal fortitude in
playing the role of atom,
  father, son, brother...
      
far sooner a woman from a *****
comes, than a woman
from the ivory tower, cold cut
marble, halo labyrinth,
spotless "madonna"...

   for whatever the need for Freud these
days, i am adamant on
this one church gong echo...
   that Hades could only shed tears
when Cerberus died,
and Charon replaced him in
claustrophobic confines of deity...

after the wake, having slyly laughed
at my great-grandmother's funeral,
i gnashed my teeth hard enough
to scrub off a chip off my incisor,
and toyed with a red rose,
tickling it with a candleflame,
until i, managed to persuade
a bozo cardinal to step into a role
of a humble bishop,
    attired in a rare hue of burgundy,
namely a blood-purple
      mishap of what would otherwise
become: that glaring,  ******* red
of those would-be Kippah donning
Vatican mafiosos...

however much the tedium of a German
thinker, as far removed he might have
been from the airy fairy pancake square-i.e.i.e.  
starry ******* stay-ree?
    squack-diddly- a ******* toobah boo -
Belshezar receiving the paranormal
scribble in Timbaktu?
     squarry... rhombus... alias:
   some sort of etching resembling 90 x 4...

nonetheless: even the most tedious german
thinker.... will be more fathomable
to me, in techniqlaity over style,
over the hot-air balloon contra
zeppelin London bombardment of
french thinkers...
          
          as ever: building on national
stereotypes...
                       sure, had I been native geboren
und spreschen...
the French would appeal to me...
as novelists? hands down...
      no tin drum (perhaps
due to the eng'flush)...
                  or suma summarum
ping (cogito) | pong (sum)
                       Thai for:
**** 'ou lon' thai'm,
                       and then the *******
juggle and gamble
asking for a new version of
the niqab to, expose
the feminine parts...
     chubby Arab mama's hands...
who d' pretty niqab fwend eye
if not rottweiler hazel...
   swarovsky inorganic crystal
blue... hence the Madonna
and the halo labyrinth...

   far easier to stomach the tedium
of a German technician,
than a fence-tinkerer...
   namely gilles deleuze
                      and félix guattari,
since no one is about to call
out names,
   the western plague of premature
depression...
   ontologically old age is predisposed
to melancholy...
    the joy of building a home,
and the sadness, of settling in it
up in completion,
   but depression, and so early?
synthetic, unnatural,
                            cognitive malnutrition.

far easier to summon a woman
from the depth of prostitution,
than it is to summon a woman
from the height of the ****** birth,
and countless the number of
ways a woman can show her honesty,
than act out a juggling act...
how close am i to the materialistic
reading of Oedipus,
   by prodingoutside
              the siamese gene pool?

not far from the mantra of the mantis:
to stand a woman,
a man must disappear...
    hence the madonna reign...

monogamy among animals is more
mysterious than the thought
of god in man...
                   each to his harem and
a pound of flesh each night, thoroughly
funfaired...

      a woman from the depths
of prostitution, even if for an hour...
    it's enough that I have to stand my own
thinking, let alone
            to act in devistion from it...
that I'd have to submerge beneath
   the caucus of agony aunts and astrologers
to amplify,
    what remains,
     otherwise hidden,
   an executioner's transaction...
                    as the remnant daughters
toy the nest.

perhaps this is all but a puritanical
cleft of exhausting youthful swoons prior
to the plunge into responsibility...
     odd... i don't seem to recall ever
signing a contract,
     whereby I,  as an "individual" stressed,
was somehow to rationalise
the efforts of the collective in continuum,
who, somehow, magically found
Genesis Africa...
      but... somehow... can't tell me...
whereabouts, that Dodo Rock actually
fell and made such a great indentation...
dunno... maybe Sahara was
a great mountain range akin to
the Himalayas, given the transition
period of:

Himalayas - Dead Horse, Utah - Sahara.

tapping the template,
or the sanftpunkt
von (dier) cranium,
zeppelins and...
more zeppelins...
               the Jesse James
romance...
and the John Smithy everyday...
gone every Tuesday,
come next Sunday,
a torso's worth of haggis...
pireuoutte hips, missing salsa...
that bane of Pakistan,
   die britischraj...
how many direct articles
does it take to express, but one,
german vector?
ah ah... nein seufzer?
       ja... das bitzkleinundgroß...
tapestry, brovado...
a tongue on a noose...
a head in a korbwaren.

riverrun past eve and adam so
fast it tossed up my chainmail
vest. For a second it shone my
tattered back battle scars.

I’m not one to reminisce
about bad times but the fish
I had wrangled had rattled so fierce
I bell ****-boreward into the fox
of fishing hooks.

Dangling pirate hands shredded
sails salty water waves filled my
whales -- “ARR ME BACK”
The fish cackled and got away.

The boat was in the Abiquiu river, a ways away
a way a lone a last a loved a long
the riverrun

in love with the sign language i taught myself: wave, and then extend your *******... it's called a hang-job in signlanguage; it's like waving a goodbye, with the goodbye being more a ****-off, than a goodbye: god give me better grace, i love the shake of the hand as if jerking off, and subsequently the extended ******* to add the compliment; ****! it almost feels like the welsh V!

i know how it feels being an "illegal" immigrant,
second time round though?
   legal as a kite, or a yellow submarine,
but that's beside the point, as i told my father
today: you've seen the state of english
these days? these acronyms and the middle
class favouritism of emojis?
you've seen it? this is a language?!
these are covert methods to prevent people
from learning computing code!
**** em, someone has to shove em,
kick em up their lazy **** *****!
           work you cunty *** sleazes!
work! what? not congregating on
the monasteries? imagine me as a rabid
dog, owned by henry viii, about to chew
off your leg!
   ****** thinks i'm not "properly" integrated...
so why is it, that i know english language
better than your ****** populace?!
riddle me that, all day, from monday through
to sunday, and the irish bank holiday,
a ****** like me loves a bit of
riverdance on the sly...
       so?
                hello?!
                   so you gonna ******* do it,
or retreat into your lil 'obbit 'ole?
******* *******...
         no wonder the i.r.a. gave up:
who gives a toss about fighting transvestite
***** after 20+ odd years...
even the spies were like: you will not
find me engaging in this sort of *****
for the next 'undred years...
   i'll genuflect st. paddy's shamrock
and call it jewish twice over,
than behave like those, ******* perverts
of the ęnglischspreschen* -
and that's what you call fishing,
my mired youngling.
i tol my papa: ******* keepin' wit'
the times?!
    look at 'em... ugly 'n' "spontaneous"
like the ******* elephant man...
         ooh: goonah fly an eff off wit a kyt...
like **** you yo will...
     fly me a yorkshire spud 'stead 'irst...
you ******* dartford dodger....
       said the 'ackney lass...
see: i speak more english than the 'acking
english....
     it's about akin to 'eaching poker:
you learn the cockers:
you learn the:
                   two doors down luv,
and if ders no shlang for that 'ort of phrase:
there ****** ought to be, next week:
    ya 'acking cockney 'onker!
now i feel like a right *******...
         or like i really need a propah
jerking off... which is y means that
it can only be
answered in jai jai, or the slip of tongue
on led zeppelin's d'yer mak'er, as
the scots 'aid - druid in make-em mon -
   what's that, maca ******* roons?
       tall order, for slanging off almonds,
****, 'et's toast 'em,
           ******* were never gonna
          learn the ******* bagpipes anyway
just tell 'em to learn the dog whistle,
or the orchestra's triangle.

the diacritical markings are there for a reason, they are intended for a sharp japanese pronunciation: no breaking apart of su-from-doku... soodo(h)koo! hai! there's a reason why i have managed to ask myself the reason for transcending mere letters... reign from above: in the realm of diacritical markings... hence? hai... as the japanese would state (very quickly): sūdokú! hai.

in only came to me upon no. 9242 puzzle...
i wanted to write the most accurate schematic,
i.e. sūdokú in algebraic form...
some might add: a three dimensional
concept, within a two dimensional
working "thesis"...
               i can't stress enough why or how
i'm fascinated with this ****** puzzle...
but i am, and i will never be able to
solve a single *******'s worth of
a crossword puzzle...
     i'll just open a thesaurus and get,
pretty much the same; a short-cut!
**** yeah!
              but sūdokú? that's different:
samuria: soodohkoo! hai... hai.
       better still: haí - shee?
    (said with teeth tattooed with honey) -
oolmoosht a gee of a j, aha, haí?
******* better learn to swim the next
time a tsunami breath comes from the belly
of poseidon; and where was the japanese
army, dropping bombs into the tsunami wave
to distort it, disperse it? where?
         noooooo where, busy cracking tetris;
but i have it! i have the algebra form
of understanding sūdokú...
   after all, it's an imploded lament cofiguration
(i like my cubes, i like my cubes
very much, i like my cubes because i like
hellraiser II (hellbound) and hellraiser IV
(bloodlines)... i like my cubes imploded
onto a page... i like my cubes -
i get fickle with lightbulbs too,
   the on-and-off i.c.d. - i get to think
if i do the lightbulb "trick" enough times...
my i.q. status will sky-rocket)...
   it's a wonder though:
  ever heard someone with a high i.q. score
tell a decent joke?
              i haven't, and i hope i never will;
it would simply break me theory that:
you have to be a complete ******* to make
people laugh...
      really intelligent people don't know
the basis for encouraging a laugh...
  they just employ "intelligent" jokes,
but their intelligent jokes are reduced to be
being jokes... only if supported by canned laughter.
oh yeah...
     so... sūdokú no. 9242?
   reads almost like an auschwitz check-list...
so, sūdokú 9242 (empire of the sun
was godly... esp. the young batman singing
that kamikaze song, shay shoon toong sho -
whatever the **** it was, i cried) -
i worked the algebra format,
i had to, look how complicated the asiatic
languages are,
they don't have the rigid 26 letter format,
they have syllables...
        somewhere between the greeks,
that treated their letters as syllables in
the noun format: rho vs. r...
           and where did the castratos come from?
from the sing-along "republic" of the vatican...
i say a, the greeks say alpha,
         the chinese? *******:
    picking up match-sticks with chopsticks!
and thirty thousand complicated years later,
i'm saying chew, and they have used up
my patience, using | | | | | | | |,
or whatever number was used to write a syllable:
the chinese are good at mathemtics,
why? they have absolutely no concept of
a ******* letter!
   of course they'll master it!
look at them... a ******* billion of them!
i haven't finished the puzzle
but i have the schematics of 1 - 9 in algebra form...

   y    x    
 * x*    xy   x        x        x       x     x     x      x
         x     xyz    xz      xz
         x     xz      xyz    xz
         x     xz      xz      xyz
         x                                  xy
         x                                         xy
         x                                                 xy
         x                                                       xy

oh, i make my sign of the cross,
    it's an optical game after all,
you spot the heretical (english) concept
of a straight line... i.e. you invite a third
mediating coordinate...
   when drawing a straight line you
don't really need the pythagorean equation,
you just get your point (a) leads to
point (b), or you buy an a - z...

the title? i became annoyed at the optical
illusion in the puzzle,
one of the numbers wasn't showing up...
so i clenched my teeth and said to myself:
no way are you going to publish this
not having solved the puzzle...
   i almost finished with a question mark,
but then i spotted the:

   x 4 x
   x x x
   x 4 x                           blunder...
      
i once stated that learning the greek alphabet
could ease solving the puzzle...
now i'm thinking algebra notation will suffice...

oh, i still perform the *sign of the cross...
but i'm not into lazy sundays...
  i blind the blank squares
with my pen, mostly doing
only the: in nomine patris,
           et filii...
                           by orthodox concern
i'm leaving the third "person" blank...
    solving a sūdokú, i only have the #...
oops...
                only heretics know more orthodox
mysteries of a religion, than
the actual orthodox useful idiots dare to mind;
e.g., a choir in a st. petersburg cathegral was
singing, i sat on the floor,
  i was told to get up,
  and ******* the priest who was reciting
the bible and not facing the crowd...
                          wha', da' ****, izz, dis?!
burn *******, burn!
  the roof is on fire, we don't need no
water let the ******* burn,
burn *******... burn!
   you pushed way beyond a justifiable
aggreviance of suggested ritual...
this aint'the ******* louvre...
    i want to be the doubting thomas...
you don't want to execute the rights of
a doubtful thomas?!
   have your little transgender ****,
      guess who you're going to see more of?
******* muslims!
               take the fairy-tale,
forget you ever looked at, or read
the nag hammadi library excavated with
poetic brilliance, in 1945, just after
the twins hiroshima & nagasaki were born;
and before every operation i ever had,
i always asked the anaesthetist... *quo vadis?

always the lactephiliacs, never the cows / always the milk drinkers, never the mongrel eaters of coco puffs; bridesmaids ahoy!

i have absolutely no idea
as to happened in
the past 10 minutes...
  but it did...
        news of a sweet
  *******
hanging himself from
a well established group:
oh **** me,
back in the day, me and my
friend sam used to pretend
being punks and skateboarders,
we'd head to the RM1
nightclub and go mental
on metal and alternative rock
music,
   and then walk back
from romford to ilford,
singing *backstreet boys' song
forgetting to take the bus...
so yeah, under-age drinking,
sticky floors,
       mushrooms growing out
the ******* ceiling, the whole
dalmatian...
      given the drunken eye
it used to remind of:
   is that a cow barking,
      or am i ******* hallucinating?
no, i swear, that dog
just mooed!
   so why is that moon still up
in the sky?
   death pulling a joke with
                       its scythe sceptre?
the holy grail in the other
hand, consisting of an emptied
cranium...
  in my version of shakespeare
   of hamlet
yorick wouldn't be found seeking
"narcissus" talking to a skull:
   he'd be drinking wine from it!
what? god conjures
   parasites, man conjures dracula -
what's the problem,
    at least the former is just itchy-weird
while the former: oh **** me:
           zee makaber-romantik!
- but just now i started
looking at a youtube video:
thank **** i didn't get into
the community of making videos...
it's like revisiting a schoolyard
   playground:
watching these recent videos
is like telling yourself:
where was i when i should have
been watching
the english soap opera of eastenders;
where was i?!
              evidently not glued
to a t.v. like  that scene
from a clockwatch orange...
                  it's when people
get together that all hell breaks
loose...
  and yes,
    i'm one of the "cis" men who
can't believe that blaire white
is transexual... argument?
she's not a thai / brazilian surprise...
those ***** (pretty) boys
can pull a quick one on someone
like trainspotting's begbie...
  i must have said this before...
   well, i'm making time for
not being of the sort of people that
watched soap opera...
             about a fictional east-end...
i have the east-end of everywherer,
the internet!
               incy wincy spider came along
came along to a portion
of his web, sat down with a fly,
looked at the example and said:
forget our previous hierarchy,
i'll play the lion,
you play the hyena -
         these two are just about ripe
for zombified-dentistry of
biting the larynx;
but in all honesty,
   looking at the internet and the content
i sometimes watch,
   i could have been high-brow
about not watching the soap
opera eastenders...
   but now i'm in the mud within
the internet orientation...
   it was bound to become
just that...
                 thank **** for
producing content that is
not-passive, and can be absorbed while
falling asleep;
but still that image of a grown
man all the more
   pleased, to drink a cold glass
of milk upon waking up,
and not needing that ugh of all ughs
that's a "compliment" of corn flakes,
or shredded wheat cereal...
  milk on its own is just fine...
   i know that i'll turn my ****
into a geyser with a chili powder accent;
which is something you'd
probably call: **** *** in reverse.

.                 what the ****?!
ghost-beard...
geistbart!
.                        a third of my face is
   missing!
it's not exactly
a skinhead shave...
but i'm sure only last night i was
fiddling with something
akin to a reggae violin!
- and when i talked
to strangers...
introducing the term
meathead:
i wasn't implying
skinhead...
    i was always fascinated
by the spread of
in-group slang...
i was talking to two
metal music advocates...
invoking the spastika...
   (borrowed term
from styxhexenhammer666) -
funny as a rabbit on steroids,
and amphetamines...
the term meathead
is not a reference to skinheads...
back in a Stratford pub
i was actually referring to...
head-banging...
   meat-heat, head-banger...
well... if there's anything
to go by...
   you start heat-banging,
awaiting ram horn clutches
in a mosh pit?
          meat-head is
not a neo-**** term...
it doesn't imply a shaved
head... it implies
head-banging yourself
silly...
     like curating a piece
of pork slab or a beef stake...
where the **** is
the third of my face?!
       i swear only yesterday
i was fiddling with
an excess of ***** stemming
from my ****** features,
notably the chin... huh?!
where is it?!
    meat-head ≠ skin-head...
you... ****'ah ****'ah clueless
broods of community service
employed by a news collective...
when i introduced the term
i was thinking about
a heavy metal festival...
and the boys that head-bang
their grey matter out,
like some rugby players...
            i could have been thinking
about the brain,
as i might be coinciding
rare fungus, or oysters,,
except that fat is not exactly meat,
notably with an electric current...
meat-heat ≠ skin-head...
it implies the activity of
head-banging...
        the caucus of the drill-sergeants
that are woodpeckers...
it was never supposed to
be a degrading term,
more... self-deprecating humor...
     count me in as also
accustomed to head-banging
and the mosh-pit,
at the London gig where
Slipknot filmed their
    heretical anthem
video...
   i was in that maggot pit...
****... half of my face is missing...
i was starting to enjoy
growing the sort of ***** on my face,
like a 1970s **** actress might have
done, around her: floral *****
of incubated Venus analogy...
   **** me... a third of the volume
of my face, missing,
  in the space of a few hours...
can't exactly compensate such
a loss by jerking off 2 times more...
need to find a toothpick
or something equivalent...
  to fiddle, and pass the time with.

It's an antiquated photograph.
That dates back to when I was .... oh
half this bad.)))))))
It's like saying coffee whitener.
Isn't time and space.  
Retrace the clock to
get my ******* amateur status back)))))).
No lori from retail staff says coffee White ners just that non lactose crap)))))
She likes the coffee bitter and she might just ******* have it Black*
Talking about the cack. *Oh **** I might just be
A nother spastic asss ..... )))))but
Im asking for bombastic love.
To drastically eradicate bad habits that.)))))
Crash me into
Straight jackets
And plaster my drag photographs....)))))

On every window east of private school
Like look you guys that *** named clarence actually has a past)))))((((((
In cranbrooks yearbook.
Look here's my outdated classic autograph
Next to the crazy waves
And the knock off.
Korean minted starter cap.)))))
So **** the world we falling back.
Apparently I'm clarence.
In the rap game. But just how fuckn sad is that.
Come see my photograph
Its hanging next. To your *** therapist
A real ******* time traveling.
Distractive **** that smells like aqua man...... you ******* face the fishy underside of aftermath....
They'll drop you in a river.
With concrete boots. So ******* how now dah

i should have never experienced school...
all the best lessons in the "school of life"
have had to come after...
thankfully i'm a thoughtful drunk...
but my extended pedagogy honeymoon
was to my liking since i was in it...
having left it...

i don't even begin to fathom leaving
anything at all, or for that matter: having engaged
with to begin with...
i can almost imagine myself
being the chimney-sweeper...
i hear the name: samir... and i'm reminded:
about my "good old friend"
with a father that sides with my mother...
i'm trying to not rage against a defeatist
ratio of 2 versus 1....

i go into the night and wish to find a variant
of baptism with the cold rain
sprinkling me with aura and demand...
but it's no use... the rain comes the book
is never to be finished...
back into the wall: you brick is all that
is allowed to resonate...
perhaps transcendence is a word mostly used
as a joke for...

and only if you were given
the ability to expand your consciousness...
with an amazonian extract...
or some swiss-CIA-magic puree...
on yer bike and down the hill we go...
i've come to center around the truth
of being less and less welcome...
my friend samir... it's almost as if i was
plotting to keep me in this...
surreal state of: full command of the body...
the mind is still allowed some function,
crossword puzzles and what not...
for some death comes with no sense
of closure... i wait, i wait, for death...
i look for it under the carpet of spontaneity...
i look for it in outright violence and
drenching myself in flammable liquid
and then dancing of the nearing: being extinguished
candle dance...

i see i birdge... i look for: the heights
and the broken neck and spine...
it's better i write these words and not feel inclined
to fathom them with an inclination
of the base of: acted interim...
for negative consequences...
there are jobs! but all the best jobs are passed
verbatim... no one finds jobs via
third party sources...

unless.... well if one is a pariah...
an anathema... whether it's an objective reality
is another matter...
feeling is rather much intuitive...
and if this right-wing celebration of objectivity
and anti-subjectivity is to be found
elsewhere, i.e. "elsewhere" outside of the realm
of psychopathology?
the "old man" was looking for a *****
apparently "lost" to aid his glasses being folded
and kept in an ennui...
the old matriarch sent her bell-boy to figure out...
why the bell-boy managed to serve her
sorrel soup and those dumplings...
for dinner...
her o.c.d. started kicking in...
with one walking stick she pointed at the fridge
being unclean...
how the bell-boy "forgot" to vacuum
the house... a second day coming...
i have a bottle of whiskey for company...
and i'm not going to sentence myself for anything
better to bribe about...
the father sides with the mother
and i have no siblings to conquer the world with...
not sentiment of treating the lateral in transition...
going to school was never my idea...
i should have moved beyond merely
denying myself being confirmed in the catholic
act of: good faith...
but university was no better...
i've learned more on my own that was
i was necessarily prescribed...
even my british citizenship is only a piece of paper
that can done-away with like
a tabloid press release on any given day...
it's a bogus transaction...
for the sins of visiting a ******* i am to be
punished? what of the everyday ordeal
of thse casual fucky-fucky that pass on s.t.d.?
the only reason i believe in a god is that:
he will not speak with a human impertinence...
in that however mild caste hierarchy...
even with a republic in mind...

for ten years i spectated oddities in the night
havens...
stars... moving beside the constellations...
once i witnessed two stars somehow
joint together moving across the sky...
sometimes a delta constellation...
otherwise they were stars...
and they managed to pulsate as if giving birth...
and then hush down and still persist
to move...
for not basis of escaping a constellation...
which they were never a part of to begin with...

and i was naive at first,
then i found the cynic...
and then another... cynic...
and then another cynic... cynic... cynic...
and now i'm looking
for the marriage of the stoic to death...
because i don't look for death
as a mark of despair...
i find it as a reflection on redemption!
i conclude with myself:
happy are those who have...
crossed most falsely a street...
why do i have this spatial awareness
and cross it freely, safely?

oh this cynic will become a stoic...
but only in death...
death... is a marriage i see coming...
death has become a she...
in that she's the other woman:
which is not a poker hand of:
the "other" woman in the pursuit of
adultery... this "other" is no less than
a second mother...
the mother that should have given
life to me...

what theatrical wording:
to be born of death...

- because i'm yet to "feel" - or lack...
for a "better" word for "know"
when it comes to the deciding a better
happenstance of an outlet...

that i am no more than a walking abortion?
the roulette of the housing staff
of Downton Abbey...
i still cook the better half of the meal...
but that's still not never not enough...

the lacklustre of darwinism being
so widespread...
how darwinism is so widespread and common...
and there's no voice of "god"
or a david attenburough narrative to billboard;
how this is never the enlightened age...
since each individual comes and goes
from starters: a priori...
not even with the collective quest of man...
there's no a posteriori status-reality...
there's always an a posteriori starting:
bothersome brick and clown...

- because you never visit russia and get slapped
in the face by a girlfriend...
for not lying...
visit your dementia riddled grandfather to be
is not you having the ******* attitude
and having a beta-******* the side...
if ever that's a conversation starter...
but i didn't back i just ****** harder...
until the 300 Spartans would appear...

and for all that the sun has to offer...
the night the moon and the stars...
not being ****-brick-built
for the affair of the goliath gorilla
versus the lion... in a match-up...

i much appreciate the phrase:
to be born of death...
i see life and a second coming as an arrival...
the rotting corpse doesn't bother me...
i will be forgotten and a month will pass
and the flies will become
all fidgety class A...

some + + + to mind afterwards...
you can never wake up from a mother:
sort of loving you...
it's no movies honey...
it's the basic tricklets of mantis...
and you finally arrive at death:
death your second mother:
your real mother...
who is not part of the nitty-gritty
aspect of *** as both a pleasure...
and a procreation "tool"...

the only reason as to why i abhor darwinism
is not that it's wrong...
it's right... but... i "like" i "dislike" has nothing to
do with this... no one begins anew:
with some social engineering focus
and only cites this one theory:
darwinism... "confusing" the circumstances
of the crows, the lions...
the bears for god's sake...
even the heliocentric model does how as far
as what making an geocentric model exit
allowed with the discovery of gravity!

to me darwinism is a plague on all manner
of thinking... whether that be
bow-tie-and-towing thinking
or, quiet simply... puppet that *******
***** gag of a mouthful...
and let's see her...
spit teeth and lecture us on...
"forgotten" basics...

i'm either simply tired... or quiet simply:
enough!
tired or sad...
funny... the better part of "madness"
is better associated with
a seance of lethargy...
the mad are "lazy"...
or perhaps they're "lazy"...
because the collective money is spent...
un-collectively...
even in capitalism...

i play Igor the Ignorant...
harry and meghan markle...
***** 'arry?!
are supported by... tax-payers?!
really?! oh wow!
there's that argument of:
shut the **** up...
and there's the argument...
which i majestically prefer...

walk into a field in the depth
of night... find some horses...
then pretend to be holding
a cube of sugar...
or a slice of apple...
then... manoeuvre your head
dislocated from your body...
jack-in-a-box style...
when the horse falsely nibbles
on your skin...
and retorts with a gallop while
standing...
luckily missing your ******* 'ed...
because the horse "thinks" you're
playing stupid...
no... just the roulette...
i'm looking for my mother death:
have you seen her?
i want to impregnate her
with a makeshift ***** consciousness...

i'm going places...
i've been to st. petersburg... that should
be worth enough... stamps...
but i have had these "adventures"...

a herd of them! in a field!
two albino stags and a litany of the elders
standing watch...
me them the night the moon
and the field...
and... the horse is mad!
i didn't extend my hand to pretend
i was holding an apple!
or a cube of sugar!
horse's mad!
sir john the squire!
i said 'ave 'ee!
no the horses said:
the buckle do-better pretended his arm was
the apple of concern...

oh sure sure...
the never mind the 'ed that was about
to be kicked in by the buckling hoof...
my most n'est-ce pas kind sir!
like i said:
i'm a walking abortion...
and thank god that i'm to be excused
from moral, fatherhood, status...
character flaws...
the lest of me is... the best of me...
esp. anti replica stature...

but i do love my mother...
never mind i want to be this premature
freak of her's in having the privvy of
dying before her...
that would be, most, lovely...
i always fathom a life worth living as also
having the chance to die before one's own
parents...

as i love my second in coming to fruition
mother... namely death...
and whether a heaven or a hell...
i am assured a nap...
a kipper for the better part of...
acquiring some, Velsh!

yn coch, coch?! flacid.... bunker baron thereof!
mild instructions of the oxford bunch
with their chief sermon-writer...
hardly a Knox when a Wittgenstein would suffice!

is red, red?
i only ask... since i'm an acquired body
to a most fulfilling mind of concern...
looking for "converts"...
among the welsh...
the scots? hardly the gaelic bunch are they?
they prefer to stress their:
accents of speaking the lesser
Westminster & Eton bra... brachhhhh...
loch! not lodge of cheao:
and no "N" either...

i spent three years in Edinburgh...
and 10 years in vicinity of London...
and all this time... i should have taken
a ***** in the centre of Caerdydd!
eh... funny simples and symbols...
you never know who to side
with on these islands...

gorllewin neu na gw...
close proximty to gw? zło - evil...
but there's no... coming back with:
friends, romans, countrymen...
lend us a ****-bag of lemonade non-fizzy!
syrian or lebanese intellectuals...
starve for this sort of base,
content... or none do...
perhaps we're the porky-pie starving:
Glasgow holocaust ready...

cornwall... of south wales...
the white cross on a black canvas...
korn-walia... cornwall...
walia - wales...
siding with the picts was a mistake
concerning this already...
troubled heart...

cushion savvy - always accessible Velsh...
drwg yma... drwg yma...
na pentref ynteu na ddinas ddiogel...
or some other "monstrosity"...
esp. when the Lebanese french speakers
come! and... they've already come!

but i was expecting to learn some
gaelic from the scots...
unlucky for me...
that i still find the welsh as outsiders...
and retaining their: tafod!
there can only be one...
proud people of these isles...
and that's the welsh... the Cymraeg...
eh... opaque petty englishmen...
call it a Kymraeg...
i call it via zee fwench cedilla avenue:
Çymraeg!

blah blah mon petite cherie!
**** a fwanchmon mon je sui allias: non?!
learn some welsh of 'ebrew... no brou?
no velsh b'woo?

a mishtaken identity cry-oh! asis?!
cwy... oh... asist... this T is a
monsieur tapisseriesourd...

vell 'ear all better left "off":
mistaken-hier or hum ha or otherwise...
the inquisitive nuance of the wording...
plus the spanish queer-position..
of the  levitating wheelchair bound?

the horse the "fake apple"...
the nibbled on hand...
the near-miss kick on the head
hoof imprint and...
that god awful beauty of a full *****
of a moon! to leave a feeling
of crescendo... had i died...
i'm always looking for premature
death...
this sort of luck?
is no luck at all...
no wonder i find the gods
reticent of an existence...
this comedy of i...
given this pronoun injustices of
the freed peoples republic of the congo...
grammar lessons! chop chop!

faking a handshake with a boa constrictor...
the snake i don't mind...
the chimp pretending to fake fwendsqueeze-it
is bothersome...
some of us remain idiotic till the end...
i would rather the reality of a tiger...
than poker-mind a fellow ape...

darwinism quote: so so...
here's to finding the right sort of tapeworm
infestation... a barrage of eggs
in a single slice of dodgy bacon...
i just can't stand...
pretending... when what i'm eating with...
i much rather prefer to eat...
and not talk...
because... m'ah curiosity and...
the chicken drumstick aesthetic appeal...
and the mostly assured lanky
extension of the human arm...
which equates itself to the lanky
almost meat-free representation of the duck's...
"leftover"...

how else was this not to be conjured from?
everything i say is disbelieved...
i say red: it's "blue"...
i say blue: i'm a better renown of a safeguard
cabbie matching up to my Lebanese status
of: doctor...
i'm also drunk... i'm tired...
i know that Tahir means little bird
in Pakistani... or little pigeon or at least that's
also a synonym of...
the bird that got away...
probably a sparrow...

2am looms and i have no worth of a woolen shirt
on my body...

english people exploring grammar school
*******...
the pronouns and otherwise...
the "gender neutrality" of the ROYAL:
ONE ought to...
and WE should think so...
hello! the leftoever crown of the guillotined
head?! for all the coom'on'R's?!

stealth theiving of common...
chemistry's prefixes...
trans-...
cis-...
the sort of prefixes mostly associated
with studying chemistry!

- i can be expected to least fathom the...
unpredictabikity of any sort of..
forthcoming: how, ever,
to diguise this coming onslaught and
monstrosity...
this wing clipped...
this lip purged from kissing...
this ear to listen,
this eye to see...
these fingers becoming
dexterity prone via a simple task of attempting
the tirade of a piano...

one was expected,
we were all so hopeful...
gender neutrality of pronouns
for god's sake!
no mongol would think twice
to call it a cheap-steal....
even if poland was named: crown...
and lithuania was....
lithuania... the "left-over"!

mam marwolaeth!
pwy e gobaith darganfyddiad!

**** with his head they said
while facking eachothers heads
thirty years of delayed *******
poor sods are all pretty facked up now
get a grip you all in your dry empty hollow mess
grinding away pointlessly and definitely so very sore
no need to say go **** yourselves for you're already facked up
******* with Priapism meets unwashed snatchers in commons
all facked up facking themselves stupid so much for facking him up hahaha hohoho the fackers are now all red and bleeding in their mud