there's either a tribalism to return to, or there's a return to trivialities, pedantry and offing on incredulous banalities of modern life; modern life, what a treat: more like cubicle life (ref. p.t.s.d.).
yet among the rubble, there's hope -
the intricacy of little pleasures -
*klein freude... apologies:
i have both the annoying tendency
of an englishman saying sorry
for no apparent reason,
which, to the english, is a bit like saying
'hello' - and i have a fetish for
the deutschezunge (german tongue) -
don't ask me why,
i can only guess at the idea
of heaven as being a place where
i speak german...
but then again: i'd miss the
trilling of the R in slavic...
**** it, whatever.
- it's high autumn (by the way -
and by the way: colon = italics,
and - hyphen at the beginning works
just as well as a semi-colon, i.e.:
a hovering manoeuvre of interjection;
i'm not kidding you,
it's no mere heimlich).
- i found it debatable,
full-stop inside... or outside the use
of p.s. linear (bracket)?
..., now that's a cliff-hanger:
suspense! wow! houdini just
entered the building, and he left an hour
later, as elvis.
cheap jokes: keep 'em coming.
- now i've heard of magic tricks that
wow audiences, e.g. swallowing swords,
but doing the cockney magic trick
of swallowing letters?
never!
can you imagine swallowing
letters?
a bit like the perpetually asiatic
swallowing of the H -
khan - whoever has khan
as a surname, and is from pakistan -
grand-grand-grand-grand-grand-grand...
grand-mother must 'ave been
genghis' khan's concubine...
don't you think?
**** got: wacky!
funky wack, shimmy shimmy shimmy.
- and yet (yes, with a hyphen
+ interjection, you can begin a sentence
with a conjunction) -
what's the only good
thing you can say about the nazis?
gucci ****** gabanna and never
looked back,
it was one, giant, fashion ****...
everyone, even the poles,
always, and i mean: always -
pays the nazis the compliment akin
to a z. z. top song, because they were,
sharp-dressed men;
and my i add, there's no grand oops
to be minded on either your's,
or my behalf;
i can almost see these actors or
background images of "actors"
without one-liners (cameos are for
people famous in other fields) -
frothing at their mouths,
so eager to don the uniforms of
the wehrmacht...
well, might as well
reference it now...
my paternal great-grandfather owned
the ss ehrendolch -
the dagger with the insignia that spelled
out:
|m|e|i|n|e| |e|h|r|e| |h|e|i|ß|t| |t|r|e|u|e|
problem is: i don't know if it was his,
or whether post-war "totem":
i'm thinking of the correct word,
but i can't find it... you know -
like scalps were... hmm...
not memorabilia...
ah, **** it, totem it is.
father never really talked about it
beyond owning it,
then again, his mother came from
Silesia, and Silesia was annexed from
germany and given to poland,
while the russians took l'viv...
so... hands in the air, i honestly don't
know the correct version.
- ah, but that's beside the point...
autumn, i have a fetish for this season...
its sheer opulence of scents,
far greater than that spring provides...
it must be the cold,
the early nibbling of winter's chill,
winter the crab, lobster spinster that
pinches and never forgives,
and is never asked to forgive.
the grey skies, the endless night -
the season where the crow and the kafka
orate the deathly silences -
of which there are seven -
and my my, watching snow fall in
the night... that's when god reveals
he's transgender, and lifts his skirt up to
revel in the image of venus...
but that's how nature is, evidently,
the near monochromatic colours of
decay, ranging between the heart warming
browns, reds and yellows or oranges;
i agree with frank o'hara -
orange is a terrible colour,
but not when it mingles with the others,
when it does so, it compliments them.
yet the decay of non-animate objects
(well, trees are animate, but in slow motion) -
yet the decay of nature on the level
of plants, unlike an animal or a fruit or
vegetable... nature showcases decay as a:
bouquet of sweetness...
i could never imagine watching
something dying to be so,
******* beautiful...
melancholic beauty -
perhaps because the death of man is so
****** depressing,
and that fact that you already have
the a priori of spring being recurrent
and just around the corner...
whatever is...
autumn is never too long,
but always too short...
and just behind it,
the humbled trees,
with their shady skeletons and lost
crowns of lost hair...
seemingly mangled and stringy
by some sort of arthritic deformity...
still, a humbled tree,
makes for an enlightened man.
p.s. the perfume of smoking wood,
cinnamon and butternut squash
cloves, cardamon and perhaps
a tinge of fennel... and
foxes mating in the night,
almost makes me un-wish wanting to
hear wolves howl.
