Creamy shinny skin some what like
Bronze,

With a limp like a **** some what
Like the fonz,

He pocesses  a hot touch as much as an African summer,

With a choice voice as loud as the crackeling of thunder

So cool  he talks with his walks when he runs he slides so smoove when he groove he glides

. i'm not against psychedelics... ****... syringe in excesses of LSD... but memory is also a psychedelic drug... albeit there is no excess of colors, and it's not b & w, but sepia tinged... i like the notion of a sepia curtain... maybe that's why i have my head ******* on so tight, and a hardened heart, to be able to write this... while others write, having drunk as much as i have, like kindergarten 5 year old, children!

i'm not here for the 80+ years that don't matter,
lying lethargic, semi-conscious,
demented, in a care home bed
where i'm abused for ******* my nappies...
i'm here...
   for the 16 or so years that really matter...
hence?
   i like to watch the metamorphosis of skin...
i never understood women who
cut and wait for some"magical" revelation
of internalized pain...
   those four stumps worth of knuckles
upon which i exhausted the amber of
a cigarette burning?
   second look?
      nice to see the many layers of skins,
prior to, and not including the bone...
     liver damage, whatever, bring it on...
i'm waiting...
  i can't, but i'm hoping...
to sow unto my skin the faint tincture
of a gangrene tattoo to
boast ink in Frankenstein green...
mingling with tongue numbing
yuck of bruise plum, and a dash of
Vishnu blue...
       oh i'm waiting: i can't wait...
   death is such a farce:
like i explained to my mother...
  you know... sometimes you're after
the pain: since you've reprogrammed
yourself, to enjoy it...
                  no, no *****-whipping
wimp diarrhea -
   i want the "furry" liver...
              i'm waiting, and i'm waiting...
and...
            nose-bleeds are past my worries...
i've had one in school, during
english class...
    no problem...
  can you believe it?
my neighbor's cat, Bella,
an albino climbed roofs, climbed into
chimneys...
   was knocked by a car,
presumably...
               and is in need of an operation,
might have one of her hind legs
amputated...
but she's also anemic...
so she might die during the operation...
poor ******, she...
                    heterochromic to boot...
      the sort of beast, which,
if being a Saudi Sheikh...
you'd love to put an Afghani burqa
over...
            Fonz... eeeeeeeeeee...
why bother with a counter argument?
the European variant of the niqab is
already in place...
sorry... the women you see in movies
or *****? ever see the same quality
shopping for underwear?
      not once...
                 it's such a sad little world
out there, jealous men...
who can't afford keeping
            castrato men for their, "harems",
and, evidently, don't poke enough
****** to keep the concubines entertained,
whole strap-on ******?
well... they're just strap-on ******...
ha ha!
                  ha ha ha ha!
        oh sure, i'm a loser, honey bee...
point being: i much prefer the company
of whiskey to that of a woman...
oops... did i say something, sheepish,
i.e. b'aah b'aah b'aad?!
   couldn't figure out the stuttering A
in diacritical markings...
since there isn't one...

   as i asked my Jewish convert into Islam...
i don't mind the Quran...
but what's your opinion on the, Hadith?
no answer... dumb look...
akin to: how do you know about that?
it's my eight's in a row right
to know what i consider, hostile.

         well, given that in Hindu...
the H... is a surd, rather than an authentic letter...
e.g.? dhaal...           that veggie
curry made from lentils?
there's no H in the name...
it's not a letter... it's an orthographic
inclusion of: consonant (d), surd (h)
                      vowel(s) (a, a), consonant (L)...
unless you of course deduce
there being a microcosm of the macron
hovering about one of the A,
deducing the other A is not necessary...
i drink...
because my excuse rests on the argument:
i'm not here for the 80+ years,
a life filled with an exhausted memory
bank,
    that is of no use
when it doesn't allow itself an
immediacy of convergence in
    what bicycles are founded upon:
teeth and chain, overlapping...
immediacy of overlapping -
memory... that alternative to psychedelic drugs...
some people take this over-bountiful
drugs to exemplify colors,
hyper-inflate them...
i just remember,
   and i know what memory is,
compared to the educational rubric
of, say, learning the Pythagorean equation,
how modern schooling is...
primarily?
   a memory erosion tool,
of a personal life, but more esp.,
  a childhood...
                  you want a drug more
potent than the Amsterdam legal mushroom?
RE-MEM-BER.
               like i said:
i can do what others won't do in
80 years... i can be content with
the zenith of doing what i do,
within a space of what excess drinking
allows me...
      the rest?
   either nostalgia... or regret;
i don't have the time preference to entertain
either...
esp. if what awaits me is
a sober case of dementia,
   and bedsores (odleżyny)...
             but sure, **** me,
go for it!
                   i pray to god that i managed
to fulfill my "evil genius" plan,
of drinking myself to death...
**** it... i have to match the sensible
life expectancy of the poorest of
the poorest African nations...
    don't really feel like living up
to the European turtle, neck,
demands for glorifying medicinal advancements.

New faces means more money for me nerds  first show since operation



Nerd'.   Hi everyone and welcome to safely home new faces means more money for me and tonight we have grey ham kennel tea with his little song, take it away, dudes
Grey ham kennel tea'

I was a little tea ***, but I grew up
Into a big coffee machine
Cause I want to give people stronger stuff
So they can work hard all day
Yes, they won't have time to play
Show your legs, ya **** girl
How I wonder what life would be if you showed them nw

Up above my eyes so high
And to me your be like a pretty diamond in the sky
So, now **** girl, you showed your legs
And now I can go back home to eat scrambled eggs
Fruit salad, yummy yummy, on your **** is even better
Fruit salad, I want to try some that
Is sitting on your **** right now
Go Santa Barbara go, give me something entertaining to watch
Oh yeah, go Santa Barbara go
Yes, go right now, and we have to move
Go Santa Barbara go, right now
And we'll cumm, all over the place
Yes, my girl needs to be romantic, I will bang the jukebox
And hey presto, somewhere over the rainbow starts to play
Yes, it's sooooo cool, like me, the Fonz
Nerd'.   Thanks Lionel and now we have made a decision on who wins, and I have been handed a letter, yes, I'm sorry, we have no extra money
Nerd'.  Thank you Grey ham kennel tea, we'll see if I want to give money to you,
And now here is Lionel Fonzie with his song, I wanna be cool
Here it goes
Lionel fonzie'
I will ride my motorcycle all over the town

And I hit the juke box and instantly music
Starts playing straight out of it without money
Cause I am cool man, and I ain't gonna change
I am cool man, yes, I will be cool forever
I go out and I always get my girl
And she really wants me, no she isn't stuck with me
Cause I am the Fonz, girl's think I am really really cool
And the young ones today will say I'm sick
And maybe I am, to them I say
Cause sick is another way to say cool, man

from my health insurance from my
Opp, so sorry, I was relying on paying you with that money, and I have to say, tough luck,
So no one wins
Lionel Fonzie said'. You get paid to do this show don't ya, ya loaded aren't ya
Nerd'.    Yeah well sorry, that is my money, and you can't expect me to pay my
Money now can't you, cause doing new faces means more money for me and you get what's left at the end of the day, sorry, that means
nothing today
Lionel and gray ham'.   ***** you nerdy
Nerd'. I have to go, see ya next time

They say it's a free world and I have the freedom to speak my mind.
I see people on television recanting their lines, reporter's at the door and offenders peeping through the blinds.

If speech is free then why do I have to pay?
When someone takes offense to the words I say.

Now this doesn't sound like freedom to me....more like selective or should I say controlled

shutting my voice down like a person on hold....

When I say what I feel, it becomes a problem.  
Funny thing is......resigning or being fired appears to solve them.

Why is it insubordination when i'm using my right that is freely given.....not by man, but the One who has risen.

Although, they are free to say whatever they please.....
meanwhile...am I really supposed to smile and say "cheese?" ......when I feel like spewing a few obscenities.

I've been given a write up and I have a meeting with H.R.....
They are only referred to by letters because no one knows who they are.

My Facebook has offended many and my Twitter too.....let's not mention Tumblr ....that's a bit much to chew...

Where the Hell is the freedom of speech I'm entitled to?

No freedom online, offline, not even while I'm standing in line.
Some female telling me off because I said something about her behind.

She was fine, but had on see through .....I'm checking her out...because you know how guys do.

Now my freedom of speech is put on delay, because I can't express what my mind really wants to say:

Lovely lady your looking good with more cake than a baker, skin brown like bronze....precious for sure....I don't mind your company...I'm not expecting anything more.  You display a touch of cool....thumbs up like the Fonz.....

I want to take you home and shine you up like chrome.  I'm on my Macaulay Caulkin....I have you home alone.

The teller says "Hello sir and is that all?" snapped out of my fantasy and sadly disgusted.

When they say freedom of speech those words can't be trusted.

I've learned that nothing is free when it comes to man....although freedom can be purchased, so allow the money to secretly fall into my hands.

"Freedom of speech.....It's not really free at all."

I’m straining my arms and I’m pulling my shoulders,
from pushing each line and carrying our shared boulders.
And my hands are burned and skin’s scraped,
knuckles cracked and broken fingertips,
a few careless words escaped
and I wished to push them back behind my lips.

I’ve got the motor warm and running,
and the waves have settled as they should,
I write down just how I find you stunning,
I would voice it if I only could.

You ask if I’m confident and I tell you I don’t know,
can I make an impossible jump,
oh holy Holly, I don’t think so.
I’m no Henry, no Fonz, no Winkler,
I’m not a stunt performer on T.V,
I barely run through the sprinkler,
I sure as hell will find death in the sea.

The rope’s as tight as a fresh noose,
and my ski’s barely fit my bottom soles,
my hands are clenched just too loose,
I would prefer to be sleeping on coals.
The crowd’s cheers become a lashing,
blood dissolved into the water and salt,
an angry tail’s now thrashing,
my situation is entirely my own fault.

I’m jumping the shark,
without a trial run.
Leaving an infamous mark,
just before it’s all done.
I’m jumping the shark,
it’s the end to my character arc.
I’m jumping the shark,
desperation has never stood so stark.

I’ve glimpsed shadowed empty sets
and walked among great ruins,
I’m tired of swimming in regrets,
pretty please, can I hide in your flesh wounds?
I’ve been taking theatre classes
to act like I’m not terribly bothered,
but every beach goer casually passes,
my body that’s been brutally slaughtered.

I want to feel the water the way that I once did,
with carefree wonder like when I was a kid.
But I always hated the sand, and the way that it encased my toes,
but they’re calling me to set to stand, to see how this final shot goes.

The hoop is placed ontop of a mild wave,
I wish that they engulfed it first in flame,
they praise me for being so brave
but it’s I, not the shark, that is tame.
They’re calling out the term “action”
and I look for my highlighted script,
I only read a small fraction
before I thought it best to rip.

I’m jumping the shark,
without a trial run.
Leaving an infamous mark,
just before it’s all done.
I’m jumping the shark,
it’s the end to my character arc.
I’m jumping the shark,
cut camera and roll credits in the dark.

i am a little cool kid looking at my little thumbs

you see i might look timid but i ain’t that dumb

you see i hate people trying to rob me, i am terrified of that

you see if someone hassled me on the street

i will be naturally scared oh yeah

i don’t like trusting people because they scrub me off

you see my little thumbs are going eeeeee like the fonz

maybe i was teasing my father thinking that is what family people do

i really like my father because he protected me oh yeah

i was scared of dogs and it drove my brother mad

how i never passed the dog, even if it can’t jump over the fence

and when i tied myself up because i was scared of being kidnapped

i know i was big but i don’t want people to want to fight me

when a kid said i was his mob and i tied myself up on family

but i ain’t into being kidnapped because it is horrible ya see

i was a little cool kid, never told a lie

that was because i wanted to hold my hand on the pie

you see i asked a man to kidnap me and i stopped cars

to get a ride, to nowhere in particular just so i can feel i have been taken

but my little thumbs and little fingers

sit around the coke oh yeah

i have always watch cool shows dudes like you can’t do that on television and the young ones

and neighbours yeah

and i watched a lot of movies and had popcorn too

i went to Jamison water slide to swim with the kids

and then i go to the belconnen mall and have a puffin donut yeah mate yeah

but if banyone who fought me i would try and say, i don’t believe in violence

cause the world ain’t ready for my eternity things

i know just one thing, fighting doesn’t solve anything

you could win one battle and they come and rob your house

and you look at the ship marks on your legs and then i will shy right up

i know i like being safe in my own little home

drinking a coke saying with my teeth clenched,i am a little cool kid

because i had lyle as a friend, i tried to be a cool kid

flashing my little thumbs up and down

that is how i was a little teenager

flush east finchley commuter toilet  - vile pic included  below 25.10.18

thank you for providing
need one in every town
for sure would drop a few for sliding
categorically as always in kentish brown.
not sure if its got a sprinkler
2018 should have all mod cons
what will cover my henry winkler
to young poetry addicts google the fonz.
where goes the smell
i suppose full on air conditioning
can not see no pipes for swell
this bog has hidden features auditioning.
gold bog and not least
all commuters lining up actually
if george was here he would head east
LA toilets are open in finchley.
https://ibb.co/e1edJA

taxation 19.08.18

getting a vibe
not fake or plastic
rodrigo good sport to join mexican tribe
ryan gets gold for saying fantastic.
story of pain
rodrigo felt the bully
no self confidence the strain
effects are still present fully.
ryan is just chilled
for this gets gold silver or bronze
at home in natural field
happy days might rename ryan the fonz.
really enjoying is verdict
positivity is calculation
a bumper year is the predict
all coming from day 2 and trumps taxation.

i'm an egoist like i might be a spider -
a quizzical pointer and a loiter of hubris:
that word again...
   i must have mistook hubris for hiatus -
i see no future for the arguments
concerning genes -
         beside: solo project i -
                and what will continue is
the concept of a species -
i am quiet thankful that i don't demand
the face of the slobbering gods to be
of a particular inclination -
     in that: i was never fond of english:
philosophy - once the parameters
of darwinism became established:
there was no longer any blinking involved...
or at least missing the abyss -
the abyss forgot to manufacture dreams
and the darwinistic enterprise wanted
me to peer into it with unflinching metaphors:
and scarred details...
that a man might refrain from
potentially petting an arachnid...
   then again: i'm only a cat person because
******* are one thing...
but parading with genitals of dogs
is just another daydream -
      once upon a time:
                   it wasn't like the darwinistic adventure
came with a cute poetry akin
to the copernican revolution:
cited: he stopped the sun and moved the earth...
perhaps to borrow from history:
when people were wrapped up in
a "solipsism" of their own species -
           that not much from "elsewhere"
could be borrowed, tailored to
a mimic... incorporated... slyly suggested...
the full bodied and ****** consequence
of the old lies and emotions of squabbling
men and ferocious women -
beside this current neuter:
flimsy generic loaning of insect:
             ontology?
                for what was deserving for men
to imitate: a rhetorical crux / pinnacle...
that would never become a cocktail of
more robots more a priori nibbling at
the old unfathomable god:
a god outside of a polytheism that can
only become a brain-freeze and a tongue tie...
it's not that darwinism isn't... a truth beggar...
but you can't exactly make incisions
of an existentialism with darwinism -
how the 20th century becketts got "away with it"
is beside me...
but i can't be a man no more
a brick when i'm facing a comparison
from an alien revelation of insects:
to **** is to be eaten - just as much...
hell... i wouldn't mind being eaten
as long as i couldn't be milked...
         i am truly alienated by the task of
preserving genes:
there are a billion chinese and a billion
blue indian raj examples to pick... from...
it's not like the species will die...
i am no atlas and this solo project
is bothersome to have to question: to begin
with...
  i never liked darwinism because
i knew it would go far beyond a mere
observation: it had to be incorporated -
the behaviour of lions or of insects -
          after all: i am not subject to my own
undeciding human...
                  any more than i am:
objecting to: the crowd pleasing objectification
snooker or borrowing from:
these ambivalent critters of pouch shadow
and a thought...
             i'd want to summon
the old gods but there they are...
no subject matter ignites their need for
a presence...
            they might as well have secluded
themselves on the gentle silence
of a scratching orb trace to tease saturn -
i want to find the crows mystifying -
i do - but that doesn't help much...
i don't want to delve into life that's not
immediately concrete -
i followed a whiff of making concrete
but then i knew: ****'s the real stinker
and the juice...
                    i played a ****** when looking
at a spider feast on a moth...
days prior i was inviting
moths to the nursery of my bedroom...
- you simply can't create a cosmopolitan
allure for cafe existentialism with
priding yourself on darwinism -
it's not wrong it's just: i don't want to
borrow from the very base, crude:
psychopathically teasing tendencies
that... well... deviations from mammalian...
if "we" borrowed from elephants alone...
from whales...
were we oh so solipsistic prior...
yes... we must have have been...
we domesticated horses...
we domesticated dogs...
   we created bonsai tigers...
             we probably petted poster / glue
nibbling goats...
we forgave the cannibalism of chickens
when one could meet the stump
and axe: a golgotha like congregation
of drinking blood...
         a violent old god...
death and jester but a pretty innocent
apple...
now a benevolent god and a fruit:
a bundle of metaphors and metaphysics -
it's still the old trick of poetic cannibalism -
i'm sure that if i worked on the apple...
i'd get a cider from it...
am i cured from the curse of the wine -
what if my body is a rumble of whiskey
and a potato chip?
  is my corpus "antichristi" this...
wheat "buckle"... what if i can turn
the bread into a consecration of meaning
with... a ******* gnocchi or a noodle: bundle?

- catholicism - well: perhaps born into it...
but i'm missing the confirmation language
that even the great atheistic tinker and tailor
and: how biology and the rule of
the thespians killed off the alchemists and
poets...
            let's just pretend! let's... let's...
just... pretend...
             years later i can finally appreciate
Al Purdy...
   i know what put me off...
the notes in a copy of his: rooms for rent
in the outer planets...
i need to buy some rubber
to erase these pencil details...

             female handwriting -
i know it... the letters are al bubbly...
they're not akin to chicken scratchings...
bubbly ******* of toads...
"unsentimental view of nature"
a real "treasure trove of antics"...
what put me off: what always puts me off:
a need to annotate poetry:
to teach it like one might teach
a bunch of young Frankensteins
a lesson or two in anatomy...

that language so already sacred in it
being scarce has to endure...
a postmortem of additional details
of: that it can't be left alone like
a floral insignia on a base dulling of
Hittite brown:
     a bark of wood the colour of cardamom...
the argument of: well...
those egyptians were so advanced
back then... even the Iraqis...
hell... the Greeks were advanced peoples
too... looks like they took a *******
bicycle to hiatus land!

burdening me with a past and:
that darwinism doesn't really life...
a concept of / a "concept" of the Avignon
Papacy...
  i'm strapped mr. gill and mrs. gimp all
latex to a spider and some
******* chimp'zee bonanza...
           no one teaches dogs to swim...
in a priori dimming they: know
a duck from a water...
   they know a pancake from a victoria sponge:
hypothetical:
borrowing from the 1960s:
a hitchhiker in the form of a mushroom
apparently opened my eyes
and i am now: the ego-son
of the fungus with potential to:
amass the same sort of gorilla build
architecture from... scraps of...
a plethora of vitamin sources...
i'll eat the deer...
the tame the boars and shave them
to attain crick bacon...
the ******* gorilla will laugh a blank
autistic look at me:
weighing in at a K.O. from...
papyrus and twigs and perhaps
a concept of: straightening bananas...

this slow sludge of walking "backwards"
from **** sapiens to **** similis -
this opposing venture into
anti-literature -
it's not that the mirror of hopes
is now a glass grieving from a lack
of shadows...
  no one wants to find themselves
beside: an exfoliation of tongue...

once more: the church bell of the uvula...
the brain the sponge...
my liver the punching bag
of an alcoholic opponent -

    that bukowski is some this that and
the other: and he knew:
the pressures of 100 years...
that there was also this Al Purdy...
and i too made my own wine -
pretending to blindly support
a Vest Ham -
             way way out west in the east:
that i did see a tease of Venice but
that i probably will never venture
south of the thames to
this cut from the home counties
of: how Burial (dubstep)
originated...
strapped to a mythology of the north...
Thames: a river without a clarity
of mountains:
how the Thames cannot
be celebrated akin to the Vistula
or the Danube...

              murky grey fonz -
this lingering tide amass of custard...
england's last lacklustre exertion
from the 1960s...
some kingly riddle ransom of
crimea associated for the purpose
of crimson -
a taming of purple in the hue
of hooded Burgundian -
  my solving tiresome base for
eyes -
    it's not that Greenwich mean-time
could ever be "important" -
insomniac polyphony of the hours
in passing...
   is more beside the equator...
some topsy-turvy pancake a butter
lofty toast:
that toasted rye that toasted
sourdough... or a ciabatta slice...
             is more and more than this
arrogant prize of english worship
"Blumenthal"...
        
a bonsai tiger's eager inquisitive prompt
from behind a door:
retreating like a lasso or
a folding of bedsheets -
or an ironing of unironic jeans...
some things to be worn should
be best unironed -
   notably jeans -
          azure: clarity chippy of:
variation:
   death's desire to come along
the purpose of lost purples:
in denim like a...

              arbeit macht frei will
forever stand the test of time among
the workaholics...
it's as little infamous as it is:
the currency of keeping with
details of a towing of two un-opposing
factions...

these service jobs and their lowering
of physical exertion:
substituted by gym maintenance -
service jobs and the "work" of...
loitering the hours in...
                 these service jobs and the clocking
in of hours: eternity begot the yawn...
adam begot the scratching of the head:
god conceived of the hierarchy of
taking the knee:
satan borrowed a circus and
a seizure for the future of
ronin imagination...

   can a fire itch?
        i'm pretty sure the licking of ice
can be allowed a fathom of both
an itch and a burn and:
       towing glue...
pockets of dry water staging coups of
crystalised details
of attention *******...
  
and a: between...
   the suffocating mantle piece of...
morbid avenues:
the t.v. robbed the zombies
of their pitiful dues...
machinery hatchling detail...
                  a burden of phallus and
a hammer...
crude "avenue": a **** the size
of a nail...
all life a coffin an scalp that snow
is also dandruff -
and there is nothing of a limit to tow
a continuity -
the species will survive...
the species will survive:
there are enough "stupid" and *****
people to preserve it...
more ***** than "stupid"..

             they are not to be...
coerced with submissions on the grandours
of religion...
having to preserve their appetite
of disinhibition...
they are to be kept on their own
worth of: kept perpetual:
there's no siding of the **** similis project
akin to the lizard kings with the meteor...
so it happens: the moon was sleeping...
when that little nugget of: oops...
****** up the tides and sleeping
patterns of proto-happenings...

    - as i am having "my" kitchen refurbished...
the surrealism of a fride-freezer
occupying a space in "my"
living / civil room -
where the t.v. is this altar of mundane
sacrifices...
at least there's still a concept
of a bedroom and the need for
a bed and the thorough avenues
of abating sleeplessness...

       i dare to sleep because i have
no wish for a *** life that's
a demanding expansion of...
custard-**** of an alter-ego of paragraph...

biting the ******* of
a schadenfreude category:
by the time she becomes an exhausted
**** in the pornographic clogging
of exhausting the machinery:
there were some organic components?
there was a "riddle" of
a lumberjack and a carpenter..
associated to.. ahem... wood?
i want to wish for a plain & simple
trucker analogy...
but then the agony of
conjuring up a chair & table...
and a rocker... and one of those
serpents of moses...

    god blessed grievances
to make elaborations with mahogany
that it would never become:
tantalizing marble:
                            
in a periodical inconvenience of tome:
this time: my lacking...
i will never find it an easy ride
to appeal / appease the
morbidity of the throng...
  having to tow a romance
of england...
a little detail a little of everything
and everywhere...
a pact with celtic / ginger
*******...

    ooh! hot coal... i am an european
5ft8 dwarf... a 6ft6 african goliath
is picking my cotton...
and i own a whip: and i am:

       nie z tego rodzony...
                            it's my little alien
planet of: but it's not important
right now: 100 years from now
when... my contemporaries are
a wish for sanskrit in both
itch and dust...
      
                biGGer... beTTER...
tease the doubling of consonants...
i'm tired i'm just simply tired
of excusing my contemporaries...
whatever they wanted to be
achieved: they have achieve it...
i'm proto-****** little cog little
blister: tamed mustard...
my little nowhere this "here"...

                good enough...
   a variation of aleister crowley bids
you...
      a night knitted with dreams...
and no... pangs of the horror of doubt...
closure for the things eaten
raw... a beef superstition
surrounding... what came to be known
as a tartare steak.

        god - to appease a minor public...
this little ******* gauge of a little public:
this carthage beside a blooming rome...
no... i'm not: excuse me...
i'm not native: this tongue is acquired...
i will not be mentioned in
the colonial anals as
this ******* imbecile of coercion...
this past without ridicule this past
with: goliaths toying the junctions
of exhausted base q. to an "i." unfathomable
first...
               runner junction...
i'm becoming tired of either
side of this bothersome argument...

hail babylon! hail an impeding tomorrow!
**** the 100 year from now.
best of me: no fear mongering
game to tow genes as me too:
a gamer invoked...
humanity survives...
the individual dies...
perhaps a beethoven is riddling
the hive with nuance...
humanity survives:
the individual dies...
i probably wasted my life on
ambition...

   then again: i didn't waste it on
a delusion of a societal project of
poly-                 multi-culturism -
                     i wasn't born on the Faroe Islands...
i had to come about an itching for
life: ventured for a cleaning and a kippah
for a tonsure -
i came across a grief of scalping -
i came across a curry...
i imploded an empire and sent out
invitations and became...
day by day less and less of London...

i ventured out of London and i found myself
in: inbreeding territory -
i became... sick from the homogenous  
zebras of parlance...
   black on black: white is white...
       it's a sickness from detailing
the aftereffects of gravity when having
to sort-out: a belief in the promenade...
            
   whatever... 100 years from now...
i will need to be dead:
for my writing to be elevated from
mere hobby to... this suffocating pride
and orthodoxy canon i want
it to exfoliate in...
then again: no...
                  then again: i am not in a position
to leave behind a pyramid...
i might leave some rattle and bones...
but most certainly not the toils
an wavering of others...
for... a flimsy prospect of: transcending
ambitions...
best played out as truant...
gobshite a god-envy
of a rhetorician's envy...
         stutter to excavate punctuation...

   yes... tomorrow and that: again...
and come sleep come death
come... the tiresome first breathed...
red and ginger...
ginger a tinge or orange ******* with
brown... this precursor of
loiter: a dirtying of earth with ash.

Lean on
Dream on
Gleam on
Scream on
Ream on
Team on
All gone
in the Algonquin
Yeah Juan
and John
and an ex-con
and the man called the Fonz

i'll starve myself of sleep, waiting for employment...
arbeit! macht! frei!
precursor, some African started knocking:
knock... knock... on the plastic
segregating, the driver from the driven...
i almost lost sight of the "circumstance".... lazily
listening to music: you know:
you loose track of time.. blah blah...
i must appeared as some kung fu master
with a "spare" tire in the "lobby" of my *****...
where's ******? i too wonder...
i'm to be standing ready at Wembley come
9:30am, 37 minutes from "yesterday"...
sure... sober?
lukewarm... sober people bore me... always have:
always will...
i'm not bragging... just giving you enough
fibre to digest... sober people
are as about entertaining as...
a swine's *** makes due for worth of a ******* trumpet!
hey presto! metaphor, & some...
i won't be sober...
i'll be lukewarm... but... i'll be *******:
ATTIRED...
black shoes... blah trousers: not jeans...
with a KANT... black tie...
white shirt... hair kept to a pristine: look 'ere!
im aiming for: STEWARD... Wembley...
you ask...
or not... like the ***** concerning Manchester?
makes you wonder...
sometimes all of man, sometimes just a half...
do you think that if i stroke my beard long enough...
i might find a violin in the bush-whack?
you think?
i'm playing the role of the sceptic...
because i have to: not because i "can"...
canned are sardines: concerning the exploration /
finding out that north h'america exists...
via the Spaniards... not the Vikings...
that was Can-Can-Canada...

i can herd people... drinking driving: big no...
cycling while "under the influence"...
what's the problem...
let's fiddle this "argument" out:
put to the leash: where's the dog?
how i bemoan... seeing... someone walk a dog...
on a leash... 22:33... i'll be starting out
my transit come 06:50...
i'll sober ub... yp... ****'s sake... up...
        obviously i'll not be chanced with sleeping...
too nervy... too...
only since high school did i don...
a white shirt... a tie...

i wondered... could i possibly forget how to swim...
or ride a bicycle... or...
FOLD A TIE?
two attempts down... third... counting... no:
no good... fourth! hey! FONZ!
cherry ******* pie!
sour cherry ******* pie!
learn to ride a bicycle while
drowning!
or... learn to swim while
the bicycle was a prior: a ******* windmill.

i'll be attired...
perhaps for work... most certainly for...
a ******* funeral...
yeah, nice: we're expected...
like schoolchildren...
uniform on the handy, ready, ear-scratching bewildered:

everything so predictable,
so... noon teasing an -ish...
i forget: what i forget i tend to also forget...
i remember halves... or in: scripture of halves...
no matter...
a ******* load of Bond... sh-sh... sh-sh...

Roger Moore was still the best of:
of the best of... of...
what's to be scrutinised with... any... association
with... sean connery....

time the drool... space the hiccup.

but each day: i can conquer with myself
and experience the day
the rest of the world
the res extensa world
with pitfalls of schizophrenia
and the lackey bilingual
lead me AI
to where we talked:
i am making digital 21st century notes
and there's no museum to house
these artefacts
i'll be moving to Hawaii and i'm
letting people know
that is that
and that i have been to New York
and didn't find Whitman
or Lorca
but i found the Polish Embassy
and i found the Chelsea Hotel
and i was the Little Polishman in New York
without a sting
i was a ****** in New York
i was no longer a ****** in London
and i'd give New York a second chance
if i had more money
but i had all the money in the world
i just didn't see new york in the night
big cities
require you to see the daytime
and the nighttime
the real city awakes after night
during the day you say you saw
new york
but you didn't:
i baby... i saw the new york you
want me to glitz with
i saw the 1970s grit
i was there smoking
i was there i don't see
the mirror of a Night Manhattan:
a Night Manhattan is a cocktail:
sparrows and the fox come...
for the children... let the children believe
let me tell you
i left one glass of wine on the table
like the Catholic i am...
i left one cup of wine on the table
on the table:
me! me! me! drink it!
i'll have come water
from the camel's spit please
across the deserts and fortitudes of seas
i came to find all the men
and i brought all the men together
and where they feast at the birth
with a homelessman at the table
comes
the dinner table
clean like a ghost
because a ghost i see
and then comes the body
or is that in reserve?
upon the resurrection
which is why this moment in time
is so splen did
from the clock orientation time:
i drift into dream...

rememeber:
the world will only allow so much of it
before you adventure
into Egypt
and the Cities Cairo and Alexandria
like England drifting parallel
to other islands
i say New York is like Alexandria
the cosmopolitan adventurer
while the stalemate last in London
and Cairo
i was thinking about the underground
and in my head
i degraded New York's
and took to the war of the rats
in Moscow and London
i had no questions asked
in Paris-Berlin-Warsaw...

  i took the route to New York
via the trains
from London: to London: flying over
Paris Berlin Warsaw
PBW...
no sooner will this reality fade
and that drink of water will be
a reward unto Isah...
and the two brothers and the right of birth
some biological ancient arithmetic..

i can keep my demons
but first the cats of the household have
to fall asleep:
i'm rereading Dada poetry and
i'm thinking it wouldn't be easier
rereading Ulysses
instead tackling Proust
and i can't say i'm a pampered fool
but like ****** and KIETSCH
or is tht KIEV i postpone
i'm thinking of going elsewhere
because another drink will not solve
this debacle
when i was falling asleep
about the classical .fm top 300
and that's a 3 x 3 300
i'm thinking the three word clue
the road beyond the word
and that is a crown bite the bullet and cravat
i ask in time-spatial of myself
but in time-temporal i do find
journalistic cannibalism abhorring
and that's the critique of the English The Time
versus the Thrusday edition
of the New York Times...
and i love American liberalism...
it's classical liberalism
it is conservative-liberalism...
it is water i drank from under the pillow
of what *** is given me a chance
perhaps i faded away after the resurrection
and settled down an happily lived a life
according to Joseph the Parrot Merchant
of Death:             Mary the ******
the Widower Joseph...
Christ: whoever gets past the Age 33.

one hour until curfew
so the girl plays the games hard
and into the night
trying to figure you out
and this teenage girl is figuring you
out and
i think that's the darkness
and the light and the arch of kingship
i behold when
i deem such days hailed
unto Ave Spri FONZ...
    AVE VER!
                       perhaps the words you utter
when you can stroke a cat and shyly
ask the night to say for you what you
think: res cogitans trapped in the res extensa
and finding the pre deus cogito
only later so many people come
with their cogito deus pro
these words my god said so
my other words said
these words my god said so
religion is like politics
is a game of child and a game of
play
rather than a game of solve
play isn't solve
although like the English definite article
play is the indefinite article
where: solve is the definite article
and all this in the arithmetic of Descartes
it is geometry in motion
a playbox of sorts
i'm working on it
with my daughter
i am alligning minds
she is insomniac and i have bubbles
in my face...
a sinner i ate too much bortsch too much
all that fermenting rhye rye is giving me
the farts
and it's agony of the farts
need to dilute said food with *****
alas no *****
just some cider
enough cider i think trebble that
into us alone you
no longer reading self-help books about
raising a child
i'm wishing for the day
when you stop reading self-help books about
raising a child
have but one child in your existence
and that being your
ego before the altars of cogito sonos deus and algos
and i don't know but it was easier
to take the blood and count a meter
in stride
if i could just escape that thought
that as much a child of progeny
in my mind and in your mind
there became a curation of the womb
as St Basillica...
           i do wonder how much
German i could extract from the translation
of Master and Margarita i think
i will send her
a copy of MAster and Margerita
in English and in German
why just stop at one language
find which language is easier
perhaps you need to branch out into German
rather than parrot Spanish...
i should know
because i should have been taught German
in my high school rather than French
or Spanish: perhaps...
but this one song is on repeat
and i just remember falling asleep last night
thinking about:
so when we get to the speed of gravity:
what is the mechanism of slowing
down to our speed...
oh shitQ! what is our speed...
if we get to the speed of light
how do we get back to the speed
we're currently speeding on?
is it the speed of light?
is it the speed of... what?! the **** are we talking
about when talking about the speed
of light?!
and what are we talking about speed
right now?!
we get to the speed of light
and then what?
where is the break?! the break! the ******* break!
how do we get back into orbit with Earth
and at what speed is Earth at
relative or not ******* relative
to the speed of light?!

- and that's Ola Gjeilo: Gorrilaz: Night
on repeat.. first song...
and i think about Liszt and Chopin
the virtuosos trying to escape the mind
of the composer
like Wager the Chopin waging war
against the composers...
but then in the age of diminished mathematics
in symphony
from Bach
think about the Virtuosos
of the Piano then think of either Satie or Debussy
and they were the rhythm pianists
while you had the soloist pianists like Liszt etc
and that's like almost a rock band
but instead of a drummer
you would have... the brass
the jazz perhaps the strings of violins
or the woodwinds

cello cello chee...
   the long and a' winding road from rubber bicycle
wheels to hoofs to something magical
if you still have it
like a saddled carpet with a camel's grin
because the curfew is still
coming to one hour prior
and i'm already in bed
brushed up
and just wanting to talk
*** isn't a routine
sometimes we have it sometimes
i don't know: we talk about it
bombard each other with sextxts
in our mind of the sharing of the potency of the dualistic
***: and all opposites:
two individuals sharing a commonality
where at least polar opposites can grow
apart and apart together
merge and dwindle sort of coexist
a sharing of the banality of seeing infinites
when the finite might suffice...