It all moves out of view
This spacial slideshow of curious imagery
If you know the place, the images cast nostalgia, a padded sense of familiarity and recollections
dragged out of dusty boxes
If you don't know the place, the images leave an odd awkward sense of speculation,
the stories taken for granted behind other irises that leave you pondering
If the driver doesn't want music, the mind types itself out, fingers picking through the paperwork
The hum gains its repetitive dulling thud, and you have two friends
Sleep or boredom
They both ****

If the driver wants music, boredom still looms in the air, hanging from
the rafters from coils made of dust
But the potential for the pretty little day dream to drop across your lap is something to be admired

Here's where you learn whether you respect your driver's taste
And whether your man enough to say anything about it

And so you are polite, whether you like the music or not
The world outside still takes your eye between the small talk
Billions upon billions of cells joining in sweet matramony so many times over its a wonder so brilliant
that it would break the mind
Joining to form that house. Oh it's gone.

Your mind fills with your life
Two parts goals, work,  study, ambitions
One part relationships, lovers, friends, fueds
A dash of media intermission, those things you saw that were cool
All stirred for 3 hours with a touch of day dream sauce
Wait until the journey ends and you can forget all about it

.one of those low... low oh my god how low... hanging fruits... i.e. check... check... *****! akimbo in a "critical" pose of... Skiba's take on the current polish-"lithuanian" government via: pchła szachrajka... everything is just all oh too all too ****** obvious! without that blonde quiff... without graffiti sport of the politicians... the words are as cheap as the most ******* *****-*****... when all one desires... is an unveiling from the territory of: the virgins under the niqab curtain of the house of Saud! yes yes shouts the ****** without the requisite body parts... one side lost to the dolls... the other to the guillotined ******! sport a longer beard than Muhammad... and a mullet longer than the... well... longer than the hassidy-yoddle of a curly-furly payot... or less.. strapped-on than those anglican... victorian sideburns... moi? moi? je suis... encore de... l'efforts... "kazik" de kulte... nous respiré... nous toussé... nous étouffé... nous seulement oublié que à rire... i think that debate was sort-of-settled when i found that... the french... share my etymological-root of mother grammar? the french also forgot, "forgot" to trill their R... instead... hark it they did... and... well... que à rire... i was "sort of" expecting a(n) - the N needs to see this...  forgo no god: to see the french "rear"... riré! god forbid the exclamation mark was the denoting: just enough padre... that western slavic shares the same grammatical structure as fwench... and what english is german and is also backwards... that the english hid their R-trill in the science of numbing... comfort... anesthetic and the tarantula kiss... well... fueds of neighbours... at least one of the ten commandments should suffice them... me? well... a ménage à trois includes me and at least two ******?! no? then i will not be labouring myself over the women publiushing print in the Style magazine of a Sunday edition of a newspaper... with some mr. candy not being on social media... ergo the internet is HER playground... otherwise my amazon.com and the disappearing highstreet... and internet banking... and none of the sort of things teenage boys were getting to test with come the late 1990s... now that social media... run a peacock's full Monet and symphony before her eyes... she... "she" has the reins?! how does a horse turn left? is it... left at the reins tugged with the jaw... and the right heel pressing into the torso? i should have learned some french... i've been to Paris twice... lucky for me... there's not a third's luck of chance to replicate the summers of: 2004... and... whatever the year was... the hostel? oh sure... it might have been: the fleeing three ducks... the three drunken ducks... yep... or just... the 3 ducks hostel... we drank ourselves silly and started running toward the Eiffel tower... because... that was November... and it was Paris... and don't let them tell you any ******* about Paris... Paris come the last efforts of autumn... when it doesn't rain... that's Paris for me... or at least: that's what Paris was... i would be beyond being tired: the youth is gone... there's a beard instead of long hair... and there are those puffy cheeks from drinking rather than from gluttony... n'ah... more likely i'll be the one sending a postcard from Sobibor... or some... god-forsaken place... if not... dreaming of Istambul... and soke rat-infested ****-house of a scribbling me: the noon with tide... to sketch a shadow of my own... very purposively built... architecture of demise... i'll leave as i lace this life with: destitute... well... god forbid i should be leaving this world with a Solomon's harem... or Muhammad's ambition harem... or... a panic in babylon... or... i should hope... to be leaving this world... attired... with... that sober note... Belshazzar was left with... i'd want to left with fear... exactly: a fear that i should be made as an offering upon the altar of sacrifice of reincarnation for the hindu deities! here's my: "my" tetragrammaton.

also called: rifles without bullets...
or... how the red army battled
against **** germany...

one poor **** was sent running
with a rifle...
another poor **** was
sent running with bullets...

no need for bullets i guess....
just... hitchhikers... so (idle thumbs)...
        Prato Rifles &... Burdock Bullets...

unless one of the two poor russian buggers
met the other one...
and either had the bullets:
to subsequently get the rifle...
or had the rifle... and got the bullets...

reverse all logic... when it comes
to the spezial Prato Rifles & Burdock Bullets.

Not time to hate got work to do
Not taking on criticism
They aren't doing my work
Done proving myself
Just trying to better myself
Working harder working
Being smarter prefer to be alone
Working behind the scenes
Able to get it done have fun
They don't have your heart
Different mindsets brewing fueds
Trying to find a common goal
Done complaing do the work

what's the "real'' difference between pedagogy and ideology? don't know, but it's probably equivalent to: a bunch of dwarfs among a bunch of children... spot the ******* rottweiler.

the "problem" with individuation
     on a level of pedagogy -
it's all fun & games to be attired
in a catholic school uniform -
rebelling against the "suggested"
attire by wearing a black
shirt, when otherwise expected
to attire yourself with either
a white, or blue shirt...
          and so you can breed a sort
of people that don't really have
a high school narrative
               akin to the h'americans...
who cling to high school fueds
without engrossing themselves
in the years as if: they ought to be prized...
yet there is a problem...
   at school a mantra hovered over me...
the mantra was ushered in like
a ghost, and it clinged to me like
a spectral mushroom...
          you are different,
   just like everyone else!*
it's hard to craft an individuation process
with this mantra hovering over you...
simply because there's a question:
different to / from what?
     where's the that that i'm supposed
to align myself to,
while simultaneously
            not aligning myself to that?
i honestly can't be bothered
to play a second game of pedagogy...
because ideology is just that...
    i have to be ******* myself silly
in thinking that this requires an
oversimplification...
        you are different...
just like everyone else...
               which is a quirky paradox
that hovers over you
  when you're supposed to wear
a school uniform...
          because: how can i?
          well, at least i can escape the hell
of having to cite high school
"dramas" in my later life...
            is there anything memorable
about it, prior to infusing myself
with delusions?
   not really...
                  the ontological basis for
the existence of memory is
bewildering: no wonder it needs
   the surrealism of an "education"...
        seems more pardonable to watch
rust form on a shipwreck...
       because what can i actually "keep"?
it would be a natural answer to
amass a large number of things
  to counter the fact that:
           i'm trying to hold a handful of water
in cusped hands, when it
comes to remembering something;
but i do retain my list of riches
  in terms of a: past experience...
      and i cling to these artefacts like a tyrant...
         but i am not fortunate in
that i have been given a debilitating mantra -
i guess:
   the point when you stop blaming
yourself is when you curl out of the egg
that the "guiltless" people like to shove the jack
back into a box of solipsism...
oh yeah: they're also real...
        i hate the gimmick:
   the only person you can blame is yourself...
tell that to the Auschwitz survivors:
           'cos i'm also not buying;
not having to blame yourself
is the most liberating act of punk;
ah, but to mind: the misnomerism
         of narcissism -
            and the general ambivalence
regarding "immaturity"...
    trust really is,
  far harder to fathom than truth...
because there's no abstract to hide it in...
back to:
   what the ideologue doesn't understand
is that: there's no second (attempt at)
                                        pedagogy.
why on earth would i rob a person of
   their moral duty merely question?
   a person without a moral sensibility is
               also a person without a question:
morality - a guideline worth
  the abstinence with respect to
                                    having a choice;
versus the regret of not having it in the first
place.

where did i meet her?
where did i...       meet her?!
i wonder:
as i find christ the historical
not the mythical being
the individual too
and i wonder
upon the death of the Pope in England
like the birth of the Queen in the Vatican
i guess we are tanking
engines and minds
and i was once a child among nomads
of the world
and i am not a citizen
of the world
like a Cosmopolitan Greek said
so some Ancient Greek Philosopher
i am the Nomad of this World
Citizenry comes at a Price...
i can't remember his name
but i was called in the dead
of night
how did i meet her
reading the Dune Saga
watching youtube Polish cinema
trying to fall asleep
i think i meet and met her there
no wait:
i still sell it
as i met her on a poetry
website
but here the lowest low
the Firs Supper
Table
and what upon it?
one candle
and one glass of wine
white
and i was at the last supper when
i tried to talk St Juda(s)
out of it
i was the singular-plural possessive
and the the plural article
there is a third article in English
A- -THE- -S

             the last time i had straight
gin was yesterday and
she loves talking to me
and Martin Luther King Jr
is a train hurdling black hbistory
forgotten
the drown trodden the conspired democracy
of the ordeal gave us
the work-outcasts...
and there is great ordeal in the Lung of London
but this circus of the individual plight
i met her elsewhere
and i knew
who wrote what
i said christianity had to employ the devil
at the table....
whether before the ordeal
or after:
come the Resurrection
the devil was invited
to Lay Judgement upon the Death of Juda(s)
for so many years
that in English my Polish
and my Polish my English...
Glass Glee
Gloss Toss McGuire Irish Pope
we need an Irish Pope
we had a Polish Pope
we had countless Italian Popes
how about from Puerto Picco
aims fat *** at the throne
and says:
i'm an apostle: so i heard
MAtthew the Apostate Apostole...
who wrote the book of the illiterate
or perhaps grafitti artz... fartz...

i think i met her on night shifts
while going on a date with her
in...
Vatican City and Surf the Tides
of the Thames:
***** thoughts of the water...
i implore you:
there is champagne in this water
and some wine
but i think i met her there
on a date to the cinema
i imagine that
if all the Nations under the Banner POPE
and that under banner PRESIDENT
TSAR=PRESIDENT
and DRAGON-ONE-PRESIDENTE!
Al DENTE!
1L Ll 11 ll 1l l1
7 carrots: two gems...

           the :idea: a "form"
came upon a high of conversation
but we need an Irish Pope
and if no Irish Pope will Arrive
we will have to forget history
and the arrival of the Polish Pope
so clingy to his throne
i'm shaking until i will be done...
the first Pope in Retirement
then the Pope DEath-Crusader
south American
and imagine looking at the fueds
of the King of Kings against
their respected kingdoms...
and crowns i still see:
in the gob of the gargoyel govlket
gobldet
goblet
       fire etc. tutti frutti!

                        we need an Irish Pope next
i said to the Irish girl Yvone
and i was like?
you want to poison out the false priesthood
of the false prophet
then take christianity
and think it ANTI...
take the same items and spin the world
against them...
christianity is historical
therefore it is open to universal narration
therefore if i... rock the ******* boat...
i am catching more fish!
imagine the illiteracy of the writers
of the gospels:
no: they were written for them
like the Quran is the best religious text
of Femaleness : familiarness:
death sentences Us from I's...

in the orbit of IOUs... in orbit:
what has been resolved
you
and
me

you and me
what has been resolved
that death took a mirror
and labyrinths were spawned:
but you can take christianity
at your peril
there are still so adamant of the truth
behind it:
i said: it was HAwaii...
so not really America:
more like... Polynesia... i want to live there..,

the mere thought of ***** would
have torn us:
that rash you think might be everyone blushing
i spun the wheel
and came the Catholic Politics
of a Pope that's Queen King and President:
if you think about hierarchies
and the modern world
and you think about Tibet
you think about the Vatican
when you start thinking
about the West, culturally, verbally...
      society's elder...
when Journalism throws you societal scary norms
and in the same newspaper
echochambers
you allow newspapers enough date
and people employed in PRINT
like Whitman journeyman printer
i wonder for blood my ink inked tool?
just think yourself the Anti-Monaco
mind residential of the the Vatican City of the
Celestial Ground Workers Uniform
something or other:
you find yourself in the Vatican democracy:
the Pope just died....
are we having elections?
are we looking for the... BUDDHA...
not that i am competing:
but from the Man-Child antics...
and to which count (0,0)
of (0) negating-negation
the res per se... oculus pro oculus...
the octopus:
i wonder how this theocracy is unlike
the monotheisms of the orient
of the people
you don't know how
Cambridge was founded?
in Ocford
over some bad wine at the tavern
and the murderers of Oxford:
intellectual Luciferean triumphant...
i say that's how Bologne Rolls...
maybe a car... twice a donkey...
there must be
an Irish Pope
just to give this last breath
this last gear
a dying thread...
it needs a last goodbye
it needs a death "our father"
and it needs it political...
like how the President of the United States
St Peter blindly listened...
so maybe some old ***** died
and Charlie was less playdough and more
playwee...
    but all this clarity bust:
and dog just falling asleep counting chickens
clucking
and how many dentists would mind
to change the arithmetic
the Pope is dead and i was almost dreaming
it and when
he ventured into prison, overcrowded...
on a wheelchair
you know the myth of the old elephant
when walking from the herd
and dying alone
and nailed into one...
just the Irish Pope would do after the South American
i think Europe needs an Irish Pope...
it had the Irish American KKK JFKKK
so we now need an Irish Pope
who will be ASSASSINATED
like the POLE ALMOST WAS
when he undermined nCommunism
and i think gave Capitalism a PArasite PRism...
the dark state of the people
living in England as ghosts
the Welsh, the Scots, the Irish...
and what the Hell was
first the Romans
then the Anglo-Saxons
then the Vikings
then the Normans
and then whoever we thought defitting
and perhaps there were some of us
alligned
away from the ruling class
and their paupers and their underclass
and there's me thinking
about living in England
and especially London by demographic
i'm thinking
that i'm living among the Welsh,
the Scots and the Irish
and that Englishness is a playdough
doll of thought
when you have people who cite
their origins with Alrfred's and Rocks in Sword...
because i must be living
on an Island
that's stricking a role Alphabet:
Afghanistan:
i allow the res extensa:
in the mundus-extensio
and the world happens and i enter a stage
of the world-happening
world-happening: dasein imploded...
wiederkehrendereignis...
zufall-passieren
happenstanc­e-happen
and there was talk of the French Pope
whoever is elected Pope
will have to confide with the Anti-Pope
who in my sight of history
and i believe in history
i believe in tomorrow
history dictates so
that the next Pope will have to be
of either IRissh or French Ancestry...
i believe so...
i was ast a football match but
all throughout i was thinking about it
and my wife believes in the belief of christianity
yet i believe in the historical world and time impetus
christianity is:
as something that transcends religion
in that it can be a lived experience
therefore:
the gospels were written by the devil
who asked Thomas to doubt
the devil was still alive licking Thomas' ear
asking for van Gogh St Peter
and what happened to Juda(s)
when the Empires crumbled and dust of a thousand
became a fleck and diadem of sand
in the unit of one...
i was still the tongue
in the ear of Thomas
when you sat at the table
with my glass of wine filled
and a candle
and how stagic a deliberate magical act
did with reality in images
resonance disruptive
like i called them:
the devil's dozen
and if there was a man, 13th:
how could humanity sound so shallow
but if illiterate Muhammad
and unlike Socrates the illiterate
from low society
image Christ not being a friend of the low people
but a friend of the high people
and the trouble was with Translating Socrates
into Christianity:
because that's how it happened
the metaphors of the rich bleed
now that the rich are so numerous and over nothing
because that's how time will
become Auschwitz-Golgotha...
but imagine if in those days
the exceptional people were illiterte fishermen:
literally: and no sophists...
who would not convince people:
oh my day and night so literal now!
imagine...
literally but christianity's images
of sophistry for mortal gains does not
give guidance to thinking
beyond that brief ordeal:
because it can't be translated
how much i want to chew on ****** and bite some ***...
but i protest
reality is less of a hell without
*******
reality is less of a hell without
*******
reality is less of a hell without
*******.