School's coming to an end,
and it's GCSE's,
using all my expertise gained through-out the school years,
It could all end in tears.
Teachers say it's a big deal,
that's what they convey,
it is for them, anyway.

The last few weeks of term and you hand in your coursework,
that was fine, I wish I could shirk the exams,
not very good at revising,
but our teachers are advising us to watch GCSE Bitesize,
but it doesn't really cover what we've learned,
which is a bit of a concern.

We all cram into the exam hall,
it's a bit last minute,
but I'm trying to recall my revision notes.

An Inspector Calls by J.B Priestley,
something's stirring,
Arthur Birling,
a public scandal is too much to handle,
Eva Smith,
Eric and Gerald both had affairs,
but the latter actually cared.
That's a start, I guess.

The exam invigilator sets the clocks,
and permits one hour and forty-five minutes.
The Science exams are multiple-choice,
Biology is fine, but Physics and Chemistry haunt me.

Geography next,
tectonic plates,
and the traits of EDC's,
as well as Less Economically Developed Countries.

That's all over,
we await our mark,
the best part is still to come,
everyone meeting down the park,
and that too me is the abiding memory of my school days,
one last time we're all together in glorious weather,
before going our separate ways.

.perhaps it's a good thing,
that i don't succumb to witty
rhyming poetry...
i hate rhyming poetry as much
as Bukowski hated disney...
Homer didn't rhyme...
  and all the better for it...
this rhyming fetish,
whereby, when you start
rhyming, succumbing to
some quasi orthodoxy?
   getting caged?
       better than rhyme...
   noticeable signs of impromptu,
and absolutely no, so
signs of editing...

      if god is dead in philosophical
discussions...
then rhyme is dead
in poetic composition...
    we, really don't need curriculum
poetics for GCSE students...
cages, entrapment,
   not bothering Stendhal from
the brink of a post-existentialist
despair sitting in
that other graveyard,
  the library shelf...
    and seriously?
    why Jane Austen on the 5 quid
banknote, and not Mary Shelley?

and there's a reason why i will
not make a single youtube video...
why?
       on a certain level of the popularity
stratum,
   it's become this,
  american nostalgia for high school,
the gossiping, the undermining,
the atypical Brutus confidant circle
of "content" creators...
   net-novellas -
   a bunch of people my age...
******* up to the tele-novella
       ergonomics that Polish grandmothers
watch, imported from Turkey...
or the English 1985 Eastenders
soap opera...
   ******* have to be different,
through and through,
drive on the "wrong" side of the road,
then they have to start calling
tele-novellas, soap-operas!

short attention span, sure sure...
no problem...
          do your ******* homework
during the week, watch the omnibus
on the weekend...

what's this one youtuber, who said
something about the advertisement blockers?
by the way...
   Samsung?
     all videos have been demonetized...
perhaps on the odd occasion
a vevo ad... but that's about it...

       advertisement blockers?
  seriously?
   are these people so ******* impatient
that they can't locate the mute button?!
i see an advert: MUTE...
   i think of something,
   to craft an anti-zombie
   pause, moment, anything...
    why block advertisement -
when you can merely mute it...
and listen to the vacuous sound
of celestial orbits?

        within a certain tier of content creators,
it's already the ****-smearing,
soap opera, back in a high school
playground "nostalgia"...
  sorry... not for me...
but thank you, for taking the effort,
to take a reed, dive into a lake,
and breath through it,
while remaining covert, hidden...

         again... numbers numbers numbers...
i'm still exercising a freedom of
"speech", but i rather prefer the
practice of writing, as the appropriate
res extensa of the vector origin
for this cascade, the res cogitans
as it were...

   and there really are only two forms
of nuanced language:
a study of philosophy,
   or the study of: law...
      but this youtube **** show...
   this: back in high school,
no revenge time...

                 i only tuned in for the music,
but then these youtubers started
propping up in the recommendation
list for the music i was listening to...

die krupps postscript suggestions
came up with x,
   wooden shjips came up with y...
lao che came up with z recommendations...

on a side note...
   ha ha!
    mark manson's book...
  the art of not giving a ****...
it mentions Bukowski...
  only read the sample...
        that he was a, loser...
and loser is specifically derogatory
term in American society...
to which i reply?
   and what the **** did
mark manson, actually win?
Bukowski at least won
a childhood where his father beat
him silly in the ******* bathroom...

you haven't exactly won anything,
mr. manson...
   if you didn't lose anything
to begin with;

and if you have?
   let's see the follow-up of
to your bestseller,
         of "not giving a ****";
but we won't, will we?
      - hardly brown-nosing,
the guy's dead,
1997... i have to keep
the integrity of the dead
on my bookshelf...
      
      who reads this
reverse masochism of the self-help
literature genre, anyway?
you can't even use these books
as a counter to a decent roll
of toilet paper!
   unless you want to scratch,
ahem, sorry, wipe your *** with
the pages, and start an **** bleeding!

Poem 3
How to raise kids

How can you raise kids that are in good health when you don't see the lies that you're selling to yourself?

I got into to teaching to make a difference,
To add some joy to a kids existence,
I knew, so well, the hurt and pain
That kids in secondary school sustain
The tears and the fears and the dread and the...
"Ahahahaha! Look at his Nicks!! He thinks he's got Nikes but he's wearing Nicks!"
And how it switches you off and makes you not care,
Because you just don't want to go back there.
So, you wander into town to HMV
Til your parents feel let down when you only got an E
Until you failed Art and Graphics and Literacy
But at least you got an A in history...
Because academic subjects are "more important"

How can you raise kids that are in good health when you don't see the lies that you're selling to yourself?

So I left 6th form and I needed change
And wanted to go to somewhere strange
(And new)
Somewhere away from all the drama
At 19 I went by myself to Ghana
"God bless our homeland Ghana
And make our nation great and strong,
Vow to defend forever
The cause of Freedom and of Right"
And I taught
Maths and English
With no books
And no training
And no observing
And I was ******* at it... Really bad
But somehow, i felt the change
Just because I cared and they cared

How can you raise kids that are in good health when you don't see the lies that you're selling to yourself?

A few years later I started teachin.
GTP, hands on, straight in.
My teaching mentor was called Mr Hickey,
He smoked a pipe and drank down whiskey
(In school)
My first proper job was Bradford inner city
It was a bit rough and the buildin was ******
There we had a guy who was a lazy old ****
And he had kids tracing instead of learning Art
When I first got there I was overwrought
These weren't like the training lessons that I taught
These kids had opinions. They needed to engage...
To be taught in a way that suited kids of their age
I nearly gave up, because I felt so scared
But at the end of the day, I knew that I still cared

How can you raise kids that are in good health when you don't see the lies that you're selling to yourself?

In my 3rd year I had this year 11 class
They wanted a good lesson and they wanted to pass
But they needed convincing and I nearly cried
So I tried and I tried and I tried and I tried
To listen
And react
To change
And Adapt
And those kids made me better
And for 3 years I got better
Our grades were sky high
The kids wanted to try
They wanted learn, they wanted to know "why"
But I got to the top and I needed to fly
Because I needed somewhere that I could ask the "why"

How can you raise kids that are in good health when you don't see the lies that you're selling to yourself?

You have those moments sometimes in life, where you know that a decision is important, but you don't know why and you don't know which way is the right way to go with it. This was that point for me. Sat in the interview, saying I wanted to pull out but letting them convince me to stay. That was the point, I think where everything changed.

2010. New job. New government.

How can you raise kids that are in good health when you don't see the lies that you're selling to yourself?

I was head of Art and I got noticed
Within a year I got promoted
Faculty leader of creative skills
This is the part where it really kills
What do you do when you just aren't wanted
When people are angry that you're there
When all of your decisions seem to be haunted
By the ghost of a culture where they just don't care
Where nastiness and gossip always bite
Resting in the coffin of a lost tradition
Kids so bored they're turning white
Beaten down to bored submission
And everyone seems to have given up the fight
But they're still convinced that their way's "right"

How can you raise kids that are in good health when you don't see the lies that you're selling to yourself?

After so much pain, we were getting through it
We realised there was much more to it
No more easy working out of booklets
(The teaching equivalent of rhyming couplets)
But every time you made a shift
The goal posts seemed to start to drift
And this all caused a further rift
The final one I couldn't lift

How can you raise kids that are in good health when you don't see the lies that you're selling to yourself?

Gossip and lies caused by others stress
Creates a catastrophic mess
Turns people's lives upside down
Gives off the sense that they're a clown
They're trying. They're just really down
Simply trying not to drown
Marriage ending
Friends unfriending
Children's lives are slowly bending
House and finance are up-ending
Mediation sessions need attending
Everything seems to need mending
And the pain seems to be never-ending

How can you raise kids that are in good health when you don't see the lies that you're selling to yourself?

Professional life vs Personal life
Professional strife = Personal strife
Personal wife goes through professional strife
Personal strife =

"I understand what you're going through, but we need to think about the learners."

Stress in teaching is the expectation
Work life balance has no correlation
The pressures of a confused nation
Makes teachers into the poor relation

Goodbye btec, goodbye vocation
Hello Gove and his minds creation
Goodbye Gove and hello Morgan
Hiding behind a gritty slogan
Creating the pressure of pointless change
For teachers to correct and rearrange

How can you raise kids that are in good health when you don't see the lies that you're selling to yourself?

But here's the thing. It's not their fault.
Sure, they've no idea MPs
They've less common sense than a piece of cheese
But all MPs really do is set
Some criteria that need to be met
A league table
Academies
Appraisal
Curriculums
It's nothing new. They've always done it
But it's given to schools to interpret
We don't lose money, we just get judged
We need conviction that can't be budged
We need to get a message out
To every parent, round about
And what this message needs to say
Is "we aren't doing extra maths today,
We're going to go outside and play
Because whatever MPs say
We'll do what's right for the kids
And here's why it's right you know
Cause we want to see your children grow
We're not just for levels, grades, progress
We're also here to relieve stress
We're also here to make your child feel
That happiness is something real
That in spite of all the crap you see
You can become head of art when you failed gcse."
Learn People skills
Determination
Creativity
Imagination
Honesty
Integrity
Sen­sitivity
And empathy
It's not an easy sell I know
You can't measure how people grow
You can't report or give a grade
But they're qualities that are heaven made
And maybe think the same for teachers
We're all very caring creatures
We care about how kids are raised
We don't need to be constantly appraised
Default 100%?!?
Like energy is heaven sent
Like when your kids are down with flu
You just man up, there's work to do
When you've got a quality person who just needs backing
Why give pressure and then threaten with sacking?

How can you raise kids that are in good health when you don't see the lies that you're selling to yourself?

School - this week mark all your books
I need them up to date so I can look

Teacher - I've got to take my daughter swimming
I've got to see my son try winning

School - read through your teaching standards mate
And leave your children at the gate

End of the week the books are done
But head and deputies are overrun
"We'll have to put these books aside
To push our children down the slide"

And good for them. They work really hard. It's not a job to take lightly and they deserve to be there. But they don't have the time to step back and think "big picture"

Let's flip it round and just imagine

Teacher - I'm sorry, I'm afraid I'm ill
School - you can't be ill the learners will fail
Teacher - I need some patience, I need some time
School - the kids need work which is sublime
Don't they deserve that? Don't you think?
Do you really want your learners to sink?

And there it is. The teacher guilt.
Because that's the way that we've been built
We care too much
We try too much
We give too much
We work too much
And we lose too much
We get ideas above our station
About how this job is a vocation
When we stop and look around
The evidence just can't be found
Someone tells me what to teach
Someone tells me how to teach it
Someone tells me how to plan
Someone tells me when to plan it
Someone tells me how to mark
Someone tells me when to mark it
We work to targets, get appraised
Residuals to get profiles raised
It's industry. I rest my case.

How can you raise kids that are in good health when you don't see the lies that you're selling to yourself?

Or, put it another way.

I just think that teaching has lost all its common sense. And it's kindness. It behaves like an industry which is about getting results and meeting targets. There's nothing that measures people's happiness or how deeply moved or affected someone is by what they've learned. It just checks that they learned it. And we are given this guilt trip. That it's about children and that we are affecting their lives if we don't meet targets. We give up more and more because "teaching is a vocation"  "it's about kids", and yet schools use cover supervisors, cut subjects, limit choices etc to save money and get results. So the profession behaves like an industry but the teachers have to give their lives to it like its a vocation. It's not a vocation. At all. It's a job.

How can you raise kids that are in good health when you don't see the lies that you're selling to yourself?

I felt you.
I, felt, You.
Before I even met you.
I had dreamed of you since the 90's
and never known it;
Through episodes of byker grove and Dawson's Creek,
I longed to be the rebel in the story,
and we would ******* into the sunset.

I felt you
In every GCSE and A-level result;
Elation and deflation of achievement,
which led to me to feel the same
in kissing one boy, whilst dating another,
like I was tasting ying-yang in my mouth
pretending it was double dip; sweet and sour,
and realising I never much liked sweets anyway.

I felt, you,
From the take-off at MCR
through the greyhound at NYC central station,
to the VIA rail stop at SBURY.
I felt you in the air of the smoking car,
in the hard ******* in the train toilets,
to falling in love with a twist I was never meant to curl.
And 10yrs later I can still tell you what that tasted like.

I felt you.
In every dance move I learnt to attract a beneficial gaze.
In each time my lover ****** me and left me.
When I was lost in textbooks
and I fell in love with the wrong type of girl;
And as she drowned me in champagne, and I ****** her with my eyes,
I felt, I was a fool for, you.

I felt you,
Each time the make-up *** started,
to when the bruises began to heal;
To when I walked away and became the hunter,
with my tequila shot eyes casting a weary bedroom glaze.
I felt you as I licked each shot glass clean through,
and put on my moves, snorted a line of gunpowder,
and ****** to the beat of the dance.

I felt you,
In every ***** I kissed,
Knelt on my knees, watching the time,
as ***, sweat and spit filled my mouth and nose,
and I thought thank god for that, when it was over,
and I got to light a cigarette,.
I felt you,
As she whispered, panting and hoarse,
'no-one's ever ****** me that good'

I felt you.
As I brought the girl home for the first time,
and she threw red wine round the flat
and ****** me like it was my birthday on the 4th of July whilst celebrating Holi.
She ******* made me that night.
She was ******, and she still tasted like water after getting lost in the desert.
In the red wine we drank, I felt you,
from the seed, to the sun, to the water, to the grape,
as you fell dripping down my throat.


I. Felt. You.
The first time a man undressed
in front of me and I blushed,
whilst running my tongue across my teeth, tasting lust and my heartbeat.
I felt you in each ******, each stare that wanted to slap me for *******, then **** me harder each time; in each bead of sweat that would be licked from my body, to the way I was smelt, to the look in his eyes
and each cup of tea we drank copiously throughout the night.
I felt you as a power was unleashed and surged throughout my body and mind in cruise control.

I felt you.
In everything I ever wanted in my teenage rebel dreams.
In everything I ever wanted in learning the bitter sweet crescendo of taste
In everything I ever wanted in a worldwide love affair.
In everything I ever wanted in a 5yr cocktail world with a dancing girl
In everything I ever learnt from a hidden bruise
In everything I ever wanted in salt, lime and a gunfight, stalking my prey
In everything I ever licked, ******, devoured and became a karmic bruise on my heart
In everything I ever found in the never-ending well of love and heartbreak
In everything I ever learnt about loving something that was broken.

I know this.
I felt it as you kissed me,
and I felt you move
like the universe was between us, within us
and we were joined once more,
by a lip's caress.

Explain why fluorine and chlorine
are in the same group of the periodic table.

He blunders. There’s a question
on polymers soon
so he knows he’s *******.

An afternoon in June
spent regurgitating answers

rehearsed a hundred times
in overcast classrooms.

He knows there’s a matter
of days before his mates
will go their separate ways.

Names he’s spoken for years
will decay over time,
cemented over by people

he hasn’t yet met.
Two, seven, two, eight, seven.
Seven electrons in their outer shell.

He’s surprised he knows,
the answer chiming
in his head like a peal of bells.

.and believe me, you will never get into the music of Bohren & der Club of Gore... if you weren't played a lot of classical music as a child, and having graduated from classical music, moved onto jazz music... you will simply not get this band, notably the bass fetish fest on the album Midnight Radio; how did i graduate from classical music to jazz? my GCSE English teacher, a Scot, a Mr. Bunce... THOMAS! he experimented with writing on the basis of our music, my writing partner were to explore whether "satanic" metal music induced violence... we were supposed to speak... but didn't really... first my writing partner's song choice was played, Raammstein's Rein Raus... then mine... Slayer's Spill the Blood... but then one day he brought in a jazz CD... Jazz on a Summer's Day (a compilation)... with the opening track being art barkley's moanin', sooner than later i was asking him to borrow that Ben Webster album, where you can listen to the best cover of the song: how deep is the ocean... and then came Miles Davis... i was probably the only 15 year old who listened to the message literally, and followed the advice the day after, having bought the album... he said... whoever doesn't own Miles Davis' kind of blue by the time they're 30, well... then there's something seriously wrong with them.

who would have thought...
that wes borland
could craft such atmospheric
instrumentals...
well...
     given how atmospheric
the song hold on
was on chocolate starfish
and the hotdog flavored water,
i'm not surprised...
and almost akin to
to tom verlaine's album
around...
you take one listen
to the song jubilee
from the album crystal machete...
whatever the hell he did
with big dumb face
with that death-metal growl...
i'm happy he finally found
his strength to compose
purely instrumental music...
obviously he's not a guitar
maverick,
   in terms of showing-off
like some Van Halen or
a joe satriani...
the whole point was to craft
something akin
to the comparison with
the album kenotic (2005)
by the band hammock...
yes, great... you can pick up
the frets,
the solo *******
into excess..
but like food...
   where the balance of flavors,
and texture are important...
texture translated from
a critique of food...
into music?
       atmosphere...
the haunting lingering on...
a simple nuance,
   matched to a perfected
repetition...
what texture is in food,
atmosphere is in music...
now... i figured...
   if john frusciante could
tap into a purely instrumental
album,
  and forgot about singing...
he'd probably come out
with a Grammy's worth of
an album...
             i mean... i like his music...
but if he continues to
preserve the multitask
endeavor of singing,
and playing guitar?
    he's not prince...
                 but if wes borland
can move away from
  that... ******* that was
big dumb face...
and make something akin to
crystal machete?
then john frusciante
can pull-off a tom verlaine...
or at least work with
something akin
to davy graham's
virtuosity on the track
blue raga,
from the album
              large as life and twice
as natural (1968).

i'm going for a new style, i've been with these
metal origins for ages, long hair post-hippy
crap for too long, too much shampoo and definitely
too much brushing, i finally realised the stink
of what long hair encompasses, high maintenance,
too much of it... doing the monk, grow a beard
keep it 1 millimetre away from a skinhead,
more places to scratch my head... but the other reason,
and i mean the other real reason...
there's an elephant in my brain and he's practising
the ivory section of the orchestra, quiet similar
to the trumpet and trombone, but not quiet like it,
i still remember high school, chubby kid
prior to the gcse prom, a summer spent with my
grandparents cycling like mad about 50 kilometres
in the polish countryside, eating grapes for supper,
by the time i came back, the trousers were too
big that i had to use suspenders (at a party this
fat guy was wearing them, suspenders didn't catch
on because it was Transatlantic english, he thought
i was talking stockings and high-heels...
annoying since the two can't work out that both
are ENGLISH and not french slang in Calais
when Henry the 8th still had it: brace... oh loop
de d'ah) at first and then tailored myself to a good suit...
suddenly i was thin, donning a french braid
and was the Johnny Depp for a day after Blow
came out, the younger girls asking shampoo i was using,
that exercise regime i had, and what kind of fruits
i was eating... but prior to that i was the chubby boy
with a knack for geek stuff... and this one memory
really sticks out, 16 at the time, art class, massive crush
on this girl, a rose one valentine and then i quickly
sketched hair in her youth looking into a mirror
with an old lady in the mirror... i don't know the motive,
but this same girl was... see i was born elsewhere
and she was born over there, and she didn't recognise
and biological connectivity between the two,
a fully integrated-assimilated soul... but the comment
was a fiery burn... hence me ageing and finally realising
i'm looking like less of a James Hetfield and more
like Immortan Joe... i can't remember having hair this
short (i'll include a picture)... but her comment was
about an ethnic signature regarding the cranium,
indeed it's true, but the self-identifier as such an ethnicity
only having acquired the use of the english language
as a lesser characteristic... she said something about
occipital bone being less protruding in slavic men:
a flatness on the back of the head... that got me, don't ask
me why, but the sheer sneer of her comment got me...
it's as if the lack of occipital protruding was some sort of
evolutionary defect, a meat-head syndrome the ugly cousin
of a skinhead... and as if a missing protrusion on
the coccyx was also degenerate - monkey on a tree,
monkey on parallel bars, monkey on a tree,
monkey on the high bar... monkey on a... you get the picture;
it's this strange analogy, there are absolutely no
benefits of a missing tail... well there are...
you remove the coccyx and you turn into a monkey
in a constrained space, a limited space, you get the
gymnastic on the floor flipping and hoping you're not
******* like a marathon runner after 20 miles...
but the evolutionary benefit of a retracted tail is only that,
fast runner of the monkey form, but not a cheetah,
compare the lynx... in monkey form you needed a tail
to travel, not do gymnastics... but that cranium comment
got to me... and i'm almost 30 now...
like watching this programme about Alzheimer's...
i've been practising deep sleep for a few years now...
sleeping pills don't work without alcohol (even though
mixing the two is "prohibited") and some sort of
paracetamol... i sleep for more than 8 hours...
deep sleep is the kind of sleep where you don't even
dream... because your brain is a sponge but not
a unconscious muscle, deep sleep cleans the synapses
or neurons or whatever... check out
BBC's Horizon take on it, great program...
what i mean about remembering such a particular
event from school is what i call selective memorisation,
when a chance opportunity comes in your life
you get to make a lot of choice: where to live, what job
to have... but you sometimes just can't make choice
in the realm of cognition, unless it be in the faculty
of memory or imagination (daydreaming) -
thinking is the only aspect of the brain that's related to
all the other organs in the body, after all the brain
isn't in some pickle jar along with ****** rats
bred and stored like pickles until they turn yellow
and are used by biology students to dissect... the brain's
muscle, it's automation is thinking, like a heart's
thump-thump-thump... whereas memory and imagination
are component of the mind's threshold with the soul.
and guess what... after being called big 'ed too
they didn't realise i won't go bald, it's in my genes,
my paternal grandfather died with lots of hair,
my father will die with lots of hair...
   and i'll shoe-shine those baldy neos with a laugh too.

(churn .0
charged
q1.O - a 502 bypass)

following yesterday's ****** of an internet experience,
someone who staged being appreciative of my work
began to divulge his own innermost secrets,
two failed marriages, Vietnam...
ambitions for changing society....
childhood misery... so i replied... i tried to make
it out as empathetically as i could on some points...
and as sympathetically as i could on others...
empathy? childhood misery...
being uprooted from my homeland...
forced into learning a new language at the age of
eight with no prior knowledge:
thank god i was equipped with some flare
for the universal language of mathematics...
come to think of it, mathematics saved me...
no some crazy-*** algebra... although give me
a quadratic equation and i'll all teeth in...
so i disclosed my own "stuff"...
i'm only 35... this guy must be nearing his 70s...
he turns around and blasts at me:
only i can tell you my miseries!
you can't tell me yours! thank god he only blocked
me rather than report me...
i've archived the exchange...
once i was "instructed" that one should start reading
philosophy when one becomes older...
what's the use of that?!
when someone nearing 70 does the leftist manoeuvre
of having no discussion?!
he can stage his little tirade and block
while i'm left scratching my head...
so when do i get a chance to reply?
a 70 year old man... i was expecting more...
i'm glad of the two of us: someone matches
their age... tired old ***...
he can do his little snippet of grotesque
******* all he wants... i hate internet drama:
i avoid it at all costs: i'm yet to record a video
of myself or push out some audio:
i think i won't bother... it might attract the wrong
sort of crowd: the sort of crowd that think
reading is boring / a chore...
is this a variation of gate-keeping?
no... it's just a filtering process for the readership...
it was supposed to be this great escape come
Friday night...
well... the true escape only came today...
i finished studying up on my NVQ preliminaries...
almost finished the English section,
one section left... i'll do that tomorrow...
fill in the first module for the NVQ...
today i sat down to the mathematics section...
GCSE statistics, mode, median... mean... range...
but i swear to God, not at GCSE level did we
ever touch upon the: estimating the mean
of a frequency group...

e.g. the sequence already rearranged
to find the median:
   11, 15, 17, 20, 20, 28, 32, 39, 46
to find the interval?
   range: 46 - 11 = 35 ÷ 3 = 12 ergo...

groups   freq.   mid-point    f x m-p
11-22        5           16.5             82.5
23-34        2           28.5             57
35-46        2           40.5             81

Σ(freq) = 9
Σ(fxm-p) = 220.5
      estimated mean of a freq. group is therefore:
25...

i don't remember doing this sort of statistics
at GCSE level, it has taken an NVQ qualification
to look at this...

mind you, my mathematics was a bit rusty...
but i'd rather spend a Saturday evening doing this
than... said above example...
dealing with people i don't want in my life...
who know perfectly well that they're not
compatible with it: too boot...

- **** me... it was such a joy learning about
compound interest too...
FV = P(1 + I)ᵀ

i.e. / e.g.

X invests £3,500, the interest is at 3.5% p.a.
for 6 years, the future value of investment
is therefore:

FV = 3500 (1 + 0.035)⁶
      = £4690.33

the interest?
   I = FV - P
   £4690.33 - £3500 = £1190.33...

i also forgot about the rules of BIDMAS...
brackets first, integers, i.e. 2⁶...
then the division / multiplication
(left to right)... then at the end... the addition /
subtraction...

e.g. 15 ÷ 3 + 3² + (10 + 6³) - (2³ - 2²)
  exactly... even i thought i knew...
it's so welcoming to refresh the simplest of maths,
esp. when you've been hiding in an ivory
tower of writing...
                       5 + 9 + 226 - 4 = 236...

as someone in my mid-30s... i can truly attest:
there's no point seeking wisdom among
one's elders... they're just tired old gits...
perhaps not all, perhaps some Socrates might arise
once more, but they're just like the rest of us,
if not worse...

they behave in the same incredulous ways
as might be expected of any other generation,
esp. the Millennials: yeah, thanks for down-beating "us":
here's this, for not giving us enough slack...
like these "elders" were the ones who fought
in either of the two great wars...
***** please... all they know are proxy wars
and "collateral damage"...
the next time i'll be looking up to an elder
gentleman, he better not mind me drinking a beer
& smoking a cigarette while sitting on
a bench with me... chances are...
he might disappear for a while & come back
with a vintage Rayleigh bicycle!
so we'll talk about Rayleigh bicycles...
bicycles in general... how his son works long hours,
how his grandson has trouble speaking...
thereby i'd comfort him: wait a while...
he'll come through with his speech...
the rest of them can follow suite with the rest
of the generations...

if i could have only posted a rebuttal...
one way traffic system of conversation?
mein gott: i would have never guessed!

such a splendid Saturday night:
no need to go clubbing, pick up low-self-esteem girls...
well... nothing usual there...
i sort of missed out on the whole hook-up
culture... i spent most of the time in a brothel...
once every half a decade:
when a cat irritated me by insinuating she
was ready to be: geared-up when she was
being groomed... i had to fight the whole
******* foundation... scratch a few bricks
with my fingertips before i finally lay my hands
on a naked body of a woman...
that it happens so rarely: i'm all the more thankful for it!
too much... is numbing...
too little, quiet the opposite... prolonging...
invirogating... ****... invigorating...

oh but the fun really began when working out
the schematics of a die (a pair of dice)...
i never knew that the opposite faces added up
to 7... 6 & 1, 3 & 4, 5 & 2...
optical mathematics... just like me riding a bicycle
minding traffic: unconscious spatial coordination,
but in this version: more concentrated...
                 3

1                            5
       2                             6

                  4

that's a cube, by the way... i have left out
the lines of enclosure...

or the following schematic, reg. 3D objects...
within the confines of algebra, standardised by X
to denote space & count...

plan, front, side... in this instance, variations of front?

       X                      X                    X
X X X               X X X             X    X
X X X X            X X X            X X X X

lego blocks... Danish bricks... something or other...

for my meagre efforts, for everything that doesn't
associate itself with the genius of algebra,
or conjuring up... a E = MC²...
after all... even if i did...
there would be an Oppenheimer with his
reflection from the Bhagavad Gita...

well **** me, at least it's a welcome break from
"solving" a sudoku...
eh... it's almost like looking for a median...
it's as "complicated" as linguine doesn't
represent spaghetti... savvy?

what a Saturday night! but i was rewarded,
for my meagre efforts...
storm Arwen brought... accents of snow...
oh those ballerinas, pirouetting...
how i missed them, not enough of them
for the sleeping corpus to even mention them,
not enough snow for snowmen,
for snowballs... not enough for any proof of snow:
you must have been awake from midnight of
the 27th of November through to the 3am of
28th of November to notice these ballerinas...

you must have also acknowledged:
the night sky is more beautiful since the return advent
of the moon, i don't blame him for ******* off
to the southern hemisphere: looking for winter months...
i welcome his return...
finally the night sky makes sense:
since his return...
all the future worlds of unexplored constellations...
the nights have become... eye-piercing gladness bound,
chained even!

finally the cold is here, what i'm most comfortable in,
to reflect the skin i imbue...
winter is the most alive season for me...
almost anyone can share
the taste for summer... esp. at the "riddle"
of the equator...
oh the northern splendours,
how i adore this cold... if i could i could spend each
night in the forest sieving through
the last, fallen, autumnal leaves...
for scouting for a height of scent invested it...
sweetness of decay, come winter...
freshened by the absence of insects...

also, recently... i've been talking to this girl...
i'm 35... she's 50...
rarely can i compliment a woman for...
finding new music i might like...
it happened once...
i was 21 she was 18... she introduced me to...
in extremo & Дельфин...
i tried introducing her to GONG...
& King Crimson...
                             well... "**** happens"...
but this girl, introduced me to...
HALOCRAFT... Greek instrumental band...
i never felt so... kissed by a warming of a tide...
i think i introduced her to something of my own...
she probably heard of the bands already,
girl for now, woman already...
beside that: a dream to be had...
i can't remember when a woman would influence my
listening diet... music used to be such a private affair...
how would i break away from listening to too much medieval
music...
i sort of suggested... your suggestion
is almost synonymous with hammock's: kenotic...
no, not boards of canada... or 65 days of static...
that's too post-rock...
or even:
godspeed you! black emperor: F# A# ∞...

i guess my "consolation" comes without regrets...
i can't look up to my elders,
i don't have any contemporaries...
the best bit of advice i ever learned
was from Alexander Dumas:
they best advice anyone can give anyone is...
to not give any advice to begin with...
i practice this rigorously...

i can't look up to older people like prior generations
might have...
lechery riddle old ****-wits...
time moves with me...
there's nothing to look up to!
two failed marriages... this that & the other...
i'm glad to have not failed in marriage...
it didn't take me two ******* takes
to realise my failures...
i learned it the first time prior to engaging
in a single one!

perhaps that's why the old sod blocked me...
he failed twice,
i am: highly unlikely to fail just once...
maybe he was afraid of... himself...
mostly people fear others... not because
they can see themselves in others...
rather: they are finally able to see
themselves: in themselves...

                  don't you think?
whatever you might be "thinking"...
i might thinking of "thinking"... to begin with,
this sorry-***-tale of 8 winds
& a sqaured number of sorrows...

            i can't remember the first time, the last time,
when a woman's recommendation of her music
taste appealed to me: appeased me...
such a rare event... it must be celebrated!

storm Arwen came, i can't cycle around my vicinity,
no matter... she brought with her
an accent of snow...
winter is here: the night sky is reclaimed by
both moon & constellations...

alles gut: reicht
dies alle gut: ist genug...      
    
       dies ende:
                               anschließend somit weit!

We're just a bunch of stupid kids. We pretend to know about love in the hopes that it will fill the gaping hole in our chests caused by the lead bullets of our parent's words or our friend's mockery. In truth we try to be mature and 'grown up' but we're not.  We're just 9 year olds stuck in a 15 year old body, trying to create a jigsaw but we've got missing pieces where our dreams should be and Reality has either hidden or destroyed all our aspirations that were so important when we were little. Now we're struggling through GCSE's and getting by solely on coffee to hide the lack of sleep, expected to decide our future when most of us can't even decide what to have for breakfast in the morning. I guess what I'm trying to say is...
We're just children.

They are digging up Richard the Third
under a car park
the last warrior King
to die in open battle,
whilst 10,000 youth cower they were
cheated out of  their Grade C's
in  GCSE English.
With Chivalry sped,
the bien-pensants long gone
another message reads,
the anonymous ripen
their secular plot,
trust in no one
not even yourself
yet blame the last of the good.

why is my usage of the english tongue, like your fake of treating it like a teacher, when, you're, clearly not? you're not a teacher... you never will be... get that ridicule out of your head... i can survive on the street... death doesn't scare me... but living on does.

my eyes are aquariums,
as if a Russian regret,
so sold, former giants
sized to height of a thumbs up,
i have no heart...
i have a stone, a stone, a stone,
the lake beckoned us
to dream; and instilled with
Narcissus' stillness-of-self-love
we are no more to know;
i will not love for a newly wed
care of divorce -
my eyes are aquariums -
my tears are the fish that span
2 seconds of memory....
next time you feel personal,
aid will come when you support West Ham;
a joke's a joke when it makes
you uncomfortable...
i have no affinity to secure placement in
Marxist theory and subsequent applause;
i was never born to a roofer father
and a mother who cared for Jewish mothers
of lawyers... i was never actually here.
i received a copy of *Bernard Shaw's
Complete Works from Mrs. Rockmann
after completing my GCSE's...
no matter, an Egyptian spat at my mother
and father who sat with me in a high-school bench,
who i played happy birthday to...
while ******* the mother of my child...
i might be deluded... or i just might be misinformed...
whatever... bagels 'r' us... salty beef to boot...
just get me off this orb and hopes of an eternal
tomorrow; i'm done!

If you are not like me then you will never probably see
The million thoughts I dream of being everyday
A sailor, a wrestler, but never a candlestick maker (ambition people, come on!)

We all think outside the box but end up never breaking out
Tesco’s, stuck on the till, idealist conceptions up on a hill but sat here earning nowt

Its human instinct to better yourself
Flunked GCSE’s, a mortgage to pay but still dreaming of better days

Am I the only one who thinks like this
I work to live, not live to work, the optimist in me always wanting his bliss

Life begins to **** this wanting of a concept
Sorry lads, the time is now, be like them and live with the debts

It’s what you do that counts, that journey from start to finish
Live like a king or slide away and diminish,

A million thoughts

JJB

I,m sitting here wondering
why I ever went to school
cos every course I go on
they treat me like a fool
they ask me easy questions
that my nine year old can do
like three times three
or what is two times two
so was there any point
in learning what I learnt
my gcse passes
might as well be burnt
no offence to my advisor
or the learning concepts staff
but you really got me thinking
someones having a laugh
cos I really aint a fool
I,m a pretty clever bloke
and I,m really wondering
if this all a joke
it makes me feel inadequate
I feel like shouting out
come on Jeremy beadle
its about time you popped out

i make no apologies
for my words steadily
building into anthologies
but i feel i must say im sorry
for my lack of poetic knowledge
leading to reams of verbal slurry
i must add at this point in proceedings
that i think im doing well given educations failings
but dont expect too much entertaining
theres only so far i can go on my GCSE gradings

At least I'm not you. I used to look up to you but I'm taller now. Sure, I've yet to get a job, because I've gone from education to education for the last 16 years but at least I have GCSE's, and less scars, oh and less drug addictions. I've yet to have a girlfriend for more than a year, but then again I don't have a son I cant see without a social worker present. Sure we both spent time in Winchester but I was at Uni drinking pints and forgetting to do the reading whilst you were sat in a cell in HMP Winchester for possession and assault. You are every excuse I make when I don't want to be nice for a day, my reasoning for why smoking can't be that bad and definitely the reason why my Mum is so proud of me even when I don't do as good as I could. I feel angry yes, but I write poetry or listen to Les Mis whilst you punch holes in walls and ingest things designed to knock out horses. Yet despite your immoral, at times repugnant behaviour, I'm still jealous because your beard is better than mine.

iskra (title): par (the body to bypass the 502 bad gateway)

O these tender winter nights,
when the moon graces the skies at night,
i missed him....
in my native tongue he's known as ol'
baldy... he's not known by the name Luna...
just like the sun is a she...
& not Helios...
i missed him... how i missed him when
the nights were short...
when the biting air mingling with
frost didn't nibble at the hands
and explore x-rays...
bone-father... pristine eye:
he who discards unnecessary dreams...
will never allow recurrent dreams
to fester your mind...
   i look at this migrant crisis & think...
why are these people looking for
an elder of the north?
am i the elder?
    another question: could i be as welcoming
with a ***** attested to Abraham...
- once upon a time
i was taking a train from Romford
to Liverpool St...
a single mum with her child...
the child approached me
with a book & started reciting  the words...
in deutsche... i tried to hide weeping...
oh course i shed a tear...
a child was reading to me
about... operating trucks...
constructing scaffolds...
             doing the "magic" that diggers do...

ULVER - KVELDSSANGER:
you can just skip to the song: Utreise...

i imagine that if i were united with a woman,
the role of father would drastically undermine
my relations with the woman...
pointless talk...

i'm currently undertaking a
nvq level 2 stewarding course... so a preliminary test
of your English & Mathematics skills...
i almost completed the English skills test today,
i'll do the Maths tomorrow:
i always preferred a su doku to a game
of scrabble / a crossword...

overall score... 56%...
passable... grade C...
now the stats...
comprehension at 80%
text comparisons... eh... 50%
implicit meaning 33%...
  
    you're getting the drift?
poets should never be NVQ tested on their language
skills... you start reading e. e. cummings
or william burroughs?! FAIL... outright fail...
too much freedom you see...
you have to have a return policy...
a return framework...
you need to learn English parrot...

language features... at 75%...
using glossaries (67%)
organisational features (ditto)
bias (a big ******* fat 0... it ought to be O%)
bias... maybe i just misread something
or... never mind...
NVQ level testing: it's not like getting a BSc in
chemistry... oh **** no...
it's a mind spaghetti pressed...
you need to be double sure... i.e. wrong at least once...
****'s sake...

fact & opinion (50%),
writing style (75%),
written communication (60%)
writing (33%)... seriously? seriously?!
format & structure (40%),
organisational markers (60%),
persuasive language (33%),
complex sentences (50%),
GRAMMAR (80%),
verbs (75%),
     punctuation (36%),
   spelling (78%)...

   but bias at O%? you ******* kidding me?
i can't tell the difference between reading
propaganda in newspaper & reading directions
to get from A to B?

NVQ jokers... you must be stupid...
let us help you...
******* left high school with some A-levels
now they think they can rough up a BSc
owner... you know... i did this one ****** module
at university, some sociology course...
they told us to write an essay...
that we couldn't plagiarise...
what the **** did i do?
i plagiarised... we were supposed to be monitored
some some giant precursor of an A.I. Brian...
brain... that was supposed to pick up plagiarism...
sure... but if you know the "magic" of rewording
& have a ******* thesaurus handy?
i had to listen to some music,
my focus was elsewhere...
i plagiarised the essay: through & through...
managed to get a 1st for it...
did the, "system" catch me ought?
of course it didn't... so much more computers
& rules & what became my totem...
no wolves on these isles... the foxes will suffice...

NVQ *******... just regurgitate:
it's not even remotely related to learning... its a parrot
parody... but... after the initial test...
let me tell you...
i never learned so much grammar as i did now...
not under the GCSE model, for sure...
if only the English punctuated like the rest of
Europe apply diacritical marks...
but i write: outside the realm of giving a flying-****
& a gingerbread to consider what's
formal what's informal... it's... arrr... art!
you bring me down to a level of proficiency in
understanding: oi! black: to the right...
white's: down...
to the centre...
                        it's somewhat debilitating when
having to make distinctions...
what is from what's... because somehow
the practice of... congesting? concentrating...
compounding words is... informal?
if the apostrophe is so hideous when it comes
to don't vs. do not... **** away with it
when it comes to the possessive article!
don't use it... so how does: it's Sams bicycle look
like now?!
pretty ******... people make up these rules
only to give themselves gatekeeping stature...
gatekeeping hierarchical procedures...
o.k. o.k. i get it...
but i'm writing this only as a retaliation:
don't think some of us don't know what's
happening...

i'm ******* gagging for the mathematical questions,
i hope a su doku comes up...
it probably won't...

i never had so much encounters with grammar,
people who don't write poetry have ****
for brains...
there are so many formalities...
... is not even a recognised punctuation:
"strategy"... you can't allow yourself
the " " markers... whoever wrote the NVQ exam
obviously didn't read any Heidegger...

i forget that the 'obvious' intention is...
i generally appreciate 'said' as a quote...
"x" indicates toying with metaphors, misnomers &
insinuations... but no... oh no...

studying history doesn't give you the luxury of
studying grammar...
seems like grammar is fine... 80%...
bias at a big fat 0 of O%... come on?
first they test you, then they double-sure...
language so rigid is bound to be:
a non-language...
                      
        soulless "thing"... but fair enough...
after the last, failed, terrorist attack... i'll plough through...
i like tending to the flock...
i like the look on...  faces... that seem to recognise me...
as if they know me from a dream...
and there i am... in the flesh...

my Indian companion... i fixed her clip-on tie
for her, i took the knee doing up her borrowed
steward jacket... blah blah...
she told me she was diabetic, complained about
how for a week her other companion told her
to watch her sugar intake: i will have nothing to
do with reminding you of anything...
she was freaked out by autumn leaves
piled up in the park, how she was afraid about
not knowing what might be lurking
beneath / in the pile...
i told her about my apprehension
with regards to swimming in the sea...
how i much adored swimming
in waters where i could see the depth:

swimming in glass...
how she was afraid of cycling after falling over...
how her mother made the analogy:
cycling is like flying...
only today, with my hood up...
yeah... it really is... your view is so unobstructed...
if you don't look down and spot
the tip of the handlebars...
you can almost forget your legs are peddling...
she finally managed to fathom enough
strength to kick a pile of leaves:
to no surprise... nothing but leaves beneath
the leaves...

a walk in the park... i like the idea that a woman
must be comforted...
i like women with suspicions of reality...
one little phobia here...
another little phobia over there...
i like pocket-sized minds & hearts...
its fits "in" nicely: to whatever grand event is
happening, otherwise...

the match "might" have been taking place...
but the park was so gloriously available to wander
in alone, at peace...
it made more sense playing the authority figure
with a walky-talky...
asking people to drink up their beers before
getting to the venue...
such a... simple role... not a plumber or carpenter
in sight... if this is work... then i don't know
what loitering is... all it took was a change of attire
to turn: this load of ******* into work...
from what otherwise would be considered...
loitering by the load of *******...
simple!

O but the moon is high in the sky & winter is finally
playing the ******* accordion like
it might be slapping a heron against a rock
to death... love it... no other month is so magical as this
one... while all the people slip into a pseudo-hibernation
faze... i find myself rejuvenated: realigned...
the cold serves me abundance that no fruit
can ever bring...

gone are the bothersome insects, esp. the flies...
while the cats self-impose their own curfews...

why is it, that in Poland you see hordes... of crows &
kafkas... hordes of them: like clouds...
but in England... solitary wind-bits...
at most... in Huginn & Muninn pairing...
as if the ravens in England adopted the nobility
of swans... in Eastern Europe them come as...
messerschmitt: schwarzkreuzwolken...

         furchtbar!
see... when the English speaking world starts
playing funny... political, social, whatever...
grammatical... i tend to "forget" i speak English:
oh how i adore this tongue...
it's an armchair, compared to all the other tongues...
with one exception: the elder English,
which has to be.... most probably...
if not the modern variant, then any other variant of...
what was spoken in Saxony was also
probably spoken in Thuringia,
Swabia... Pomerania... etc.

    like the guy who delivers some of the packages
to my door... der glücklichenmann...
for a long time i couldn't place him,
his "accent" was no accent at all...
several scenarios later did he disclose his origins...
Deutsche... ein glücklichendeutschemann!
ich muss sein in güt: gesellschaft!

eh... perhaps the German grammar structure
when translated into English was
***** a little by French grammar which:
who borrows from who:
western Slavic grammar is so similar to French
grammar... if i were only this,
before... i was taught by a self-righteous monolingual,
later a Spanish woman teaching French:
perhaps i could be speaking French right now!
im diesem augenblick!

but the guy leaving packages... only today i picked
it up... he does have an accent... he has a German
accent!
he hid it so well prior... before he freely disclosed
his national identity... i wouldn't have known...
now he accents his speech like a German might...
prior to: undistinguishable...
amazing... i could the same with my ******
mother tongue... but i'm schizoid...
i can make clarifying distinction between the two tongues...

only today... for once he sounded so German
when speaking English, he almost had me fooled thinking him
a Schwiezer!
das "Himalayamann"...
    mein gott: so ich gedanke(n)...

but English can only become insufferable once,
of twice, three times i strike gold...
i end up drinking and teasing some German....
it's not like the zeppelins are coming,
are they?!

let me know... i must know... the part where i'm to be
educated about a minority status,
by a minority that is becoming: less & less...
minder und minder ein minderheit...
i'll cook my own ******* curry:
this that & the other...
too bad you will not "make east" of my peoples' food...
how much, do you ******* want?

it seems:

genug ist nicht genug!

i turn to German to make a "sacrifice":
i turn to it for: TROST...
English is too cosmopolitan... at times...
in London: all the ****** time...
i looked at Derby supporters when
they played Fulham like animals...
not in a bad "sense": someone ought
to herd these ******* home
to a warm pillow...

i don't like being reeducated concerning
statures of anti-racism... that's ******* *******-wanking
reemphasis...
i can't be... anti-racist...
i can be: counter-...
i can... not-,
           but anti-racist is a belief in the inhumanity
of those that express their, little, piquant...
tastes... i can't be anti-racist...

if i want to **** a chocolate ice-cream cone...
mein gott: weltpolitik!
nein! nein! nein!
          zu hölle: mit diese scheiße!

it only takes one ******* would-be Jihadi to
identify you as a German
before the 2nd concludes...
hey... why don't i try pretending to be: German?!
women of my own ethnicity can't tell the difference...
let us, do German!

such sights to see... solche ist winter!
ausgedehntnächte...
der mond...  neugier ohne frage(n)...

Sitting watching the rain fall
Long needed after the heat wave
But dealing with temperatures of 40c
Gave me a focus other than pain

Four months have passed by
And I still wake up with aching heart
Even now I try to fathom it out
But still not knowing why

I still go to pick up the things
You loved from supermarket shelves
I look at the empty spare room bed
Where you used to lay your head

No more writing journals together
And listening to your stories or news
All that is left is an empty space
In my heart that is full of the blues

I’ve begged and I’ve cried
Knocking loudly on heaven’s door
For her to please get in touch
Either to her dad or me once more

Does she even care, does she know
The pain that we feel deep inside
Perhaps she thinks we cut her from our lives
I can only suspect and surmise

I hold onto the hope that all will be restored
That life will return even better
We didn’t even get to see her prom
Or know her GCSE results
How are we meant to forget her?

Four months and still no change
The world keeps turning days come and go
Our hearts keep on yearning
Rain is falling life is hard
And still we do not really know
WHY!!!

last time i heard: memory is worth more than gold...
well... that's how it seemed
when my dementia riddle grandfather
spoke nothing of memories...
sometimes shifting to current events...
to events of yesterday: family grievances: kept...
like tidy Lego projects...
memory is worth more than gold...
the memory i have of him during the summer
holidays i spent with him
and the last years of his life...
chalk & cheese...
he was a finicky character to begin with...
as you might be:
heard shouting: herr! bite bon-bon with memories
of world war II... and actually running up
to two black-clad SS-men manning
some anti-aircraft thump! pump up lead...
being given sweets and
having to go back home... putting your hands:
glued together... under the tap...
ah... memories... more solid than gold...
quick... no... wait...
german for gold is: geld...
back into latin:
               grammatically it changes...
aurumvelox...
     gold-quick...
           they are: here was a drowning man
gripping to a razor's edge...
what did he have as armour?
memories...
not... don quixotic delusions...
he had... a cinema of memory...
what stalled his final demise....
it wasn't solving a ******* su doku puzzle...
the irony of "mental brain power":
associations with purple throbbing muscles...
oddly enough:
killer proteins **** the fat that's the ******* brain...
oddly enough...
i write: i was never good with crosswords...

i will never be good with crosswords...
but listening to come in with a reel of memories:
i always thought that memories
were exclusively personal: but as an old man might:
share...
his bothered brain skimmed and repeated
itself... at times i think i was talking to someone
frothing at the posit of: in third person...
even though he never consciously ventured
to stress third person pronouns...

interlude: i'm a sucker for pop...
an absolutely sucker...
girls aloud - the show...
it's not a guilty pleasure...
it's just an unadulterated pleasure: period...
i'm not going to turn into a Bukowski
and cite you, you, mythical "you": reader
with a higher taste akin to citing

eh... dogs might be immediately suspicious of
you drinking...
cats are late on the mark...
after all... they ******* for most of the day
into the realm of nacht... nox (noch)
and that doesn't seem t bother anyone...
solipsistic cre-ah-tures...
the hyphens are utilised so that diacritical
markers can be omitted...
i'd love to own a dog...
but... also owning a leash and a muzzle...
walking them in public to take a public ****
and ****...
i sometimes forget i'm not a dog: too...
i like the balancing act i have gathered myself
to perform when ******* at the end
of the garden... five finger chess "groping"
a tree for balance...
sure... the imagination lifts the release
of a waterfall of **** like
i might be getting a circumcision via
some *******... but who cares...
i still have the "excess" skin so i can
do my solo bit... then have to intuitively
pull it back to "perform"...

memory then...
   prior to: Charles Olson... Lamantia, Phillip, no?
i'm starting to think we're misunderstood creatures...
men are... hunters... in the domain of ***?
oh i'll give you "that" women conquer and control
by having more experience...
some beta-provider cuck...
maybe... maybe that's why i prefer
women who tell me to keep my hands off my
phallus when she's enjoying giving me *******...
the experienced woman: i'm hardly a ******:

wait wait... one... memorable ****** encouner
in what became a tease of "abstinence" spanning:
half a decade? of course i'm going to milk it!
it's the ******* equivalent of a:

i'm savouring a "plan": take hallucinogenic
mushrooms when old age finally arrives...
but i'm not willing it to come...
the ******* of what happens under the Hippocratic
arch... there's a...

where was i? apparently "here"...
where's "here"?
i once had an "argument" with a guy in Camden...
well... he prompted me...
i bought him a pint he thought i was hitting on
him...
- you look familiar... everyone's looking at you...
- oh, you know... i just have one of memorable
faces...
the best music producer...
he cited Timberland...
i started thinking of hiking shoes...
i retorted with: Rick Rubin...
the magic he did surrounding johnny cash...
the johnny cash revival...

give the old some new tricks...
of course the cover is better than the nine inch nail
original!
if London is haunting me...
wait till i start haunting it...
all the way from Loughton through
to Stratford... speed-demon on a bicycle...
the juice of momentum straight out of
Beijing... no... believe me: no Mongol army...
we giggle... we leave things hanging: not dragged...

i beg to differ: the authenticity of advertisement
when you don't have the money
to spend... contra: journalistic adventures when
you sponge-of-a-brain-of-prematurely-impressionable
isn't-off-the-cuf­f-"simply"-*******-on...
is that an... "oops" moment...
oh i still have some momentum left in me...

advertising slogans: maxims in vivo!
i trust that more than anything curated by journalism...
stale oh god... the stale rusty propaganda
machinery... i chuckle: i buckle...
here's a keeper of knitted onion ring
being excavated with a copper sheen...

Glasbury...
me, Peter Richardson... Kieran O'Mahoney signed
up for the trip...
oddly enough... not odd at all:
the meningitis curse came...
so did the mad cow disease...
this was prior to us taking our GCSE exams...
they left school while i took up my A-levels...
Kieran became a bouncer at a nightclub:
last time i saw him... last time i saw him
i was walking into an alley to take a ****...
i was handcuffed and was shouted at by some eager
polizei-mensch...
i talked to him calmly why some female police
officer took notes... i was... un-cuffed
and walked home scot-free...
that's the last i remember of Kieran...
Peter though... he was dating this bombshell...
he had some teeth missing... more tattoos than skin...
if wanting the sort of women
that might turn me into "that"?
no... no thank you...

we were supposed to travel to a little village
in Wales (Glasbury)
and experience... i stuck around the education
"prison":... canoeing...
caving... horse-riding (timidly... there was no gallop
invoked)...

i can tell you what book i was reading while
the white boys started to imitate black
boy bulk of urbanity: while sniffing sherbert
playing ping-pong against the walls:
marquid de sade's: ******...
i was first introduced to the jeff buckley
rendition of leonard cohen's hallelujah then...

(sherbert: i don't even, mildly begin
to invoke: sorbet... sherbert... the powdered
dummy gimmick... they sniffed it right before
my eyes... while i read marquis de sade's ******)...

is it just me or... if you've drank enough...
red wine and pepsi: kalimotxo.. aztec revival:
long enough... all the homemade
hard-pressed juice... starts to taste a bit like:
you're drinking... for ****'s sake...
Balsamic vinegar?

- and so we were splint into two groups...
we were only a year apart...
the older girls were dropped off at a location
much earlier to where we were supposed
to find our way back from...
i was in the category of older boys
dropped off with a bunch of younger girls
dropped off much later...

we were given the option:
walk back en route you were dropped off at...
or... read the map...
upon being dropped off
i asked: where are we?
i don't think i was cheating:
all the maps in the city
always reveal a: you are, here!
so i asked and i was given an answer...
i span the: the world-isn't-flat map in real life
and also in my head:
i found a short-cut...
it would involve storming a field filled
with cows... pushing some to sleep
via also invoking a a thunderstorm...

we beat the other team...
this memory is fire in my eyes already
left for dead in my mind...
the girls were exercising in the yard
while the defeated team were walking down
the hill... somewhat mesmerised...
there was no sensation of: i won...
no... there was only: i came first...

Glasbury... in the mess-hall...
all the Celts congregated and excluded me...
i ended up spending each morning
at a table with a bunch of black dudes...
i was the only white in the "confirmation":
who were they?
Ivory Coast, can't tell a Nigerian
from a Kenyan apart?
race was always second... the spaghetti of
ethnicity comes first: like a thirst...
i can be mishandled as a German
or an Englishman by a Pakistani or a Turk...
for a while...
but trip me up supposing i'm Russian...
oh... that's no go...
i will, not, begin with you supposing me
being a ******* *****!

well... wow! aren't we all supposedly: merely:
white?
one whitey sitting at a breakfast table
lined with blacks...
give me that spread of butter:
women tend to ruin things associated
with men associating themselves to men...
only now: while i remember it...
give me a war! not this ******* pharmacological
adventures of the sedated thirst for life!

i've been down this avenue of secrets...
i know where it leads...
"secrets"...
i'm to be most sedated: most crucified...
all metaphors... all metaphors...
if i wait long enough the women will start
to dish out white feathers...
seeing me as some impostor of:
where masculine / machismo ought to lie:
dead...
what's the phrase, turned colloquial?
oh... wait... i knot it...
   "it's...               complicated..."

perhaps i'll refrain from phrasing:
no... i won't...
i'm... supposed to... somehow...
feel... emasculated... for wanting... to live...
in a clean... abode... owning cats:
but being free from feline "perfumery"?!
i'm... somehow... to feed...
emasculation? i want to live in a scent-free environment?
this is the right time: appropriate
of imitating that m.t.v. video of the queen song:
i want to break free?
      
sure: dogs and men and all that:
i don't like owning a leash:
i don't like the idea of taking a dog to take a ****
in public...
i have cat-litter... but on the odd occassion
the cats will take a **** in secret: revenge
against the neighbours...
look at me... walking around the shadow
of a dog's ****: jazz hand clapping
picking up leftovers of a chop suey... mulled:
into a tired worm of an ****: last reserved:
wriggle (put) out...

here's a banknote: piglet smear worth of
"brains" all-over-it...
bend one knee: bend two... hell!
chop my legs off while you're at it!
i always thought myself as being non-racist...
but i can hardly find a least exhaustive route
debating the natives as king:
to find... the anti-racist conundrum...
chop the legs and arms off!
throw the torso into the pool
and watch the para-olympians take turns!

i can be non-racist: african-american though...
when did the Arabs absolve the slave trade?
the 1970s?
last time i heard...
eh... whatever...
                      but i can't be anti-racist...
it's impossible for the Hindus to not feed into
feeling some sort of superiority...
after all... they freely joked when the hilly-billy-benders
of the joke-brigade of...
the Vishnu-halfwits... whatever you want
to call them: decided: Utopia daydream...

hippies! yeah... the squares were all: trouble when
Kerouac made his...
reading...
   i fear fame more than i fear death...
i always have three posits to make a puncture...
you can't read a pulse at the pivot of the wrist!
you have to search for it lower down...
pulse... puncture...
just above the collar bone on the right side...
and under the the right arm-pit...

i fear fame more than i fear death:
i can stomach posthumous fame...
like Christ born on a crucifix...

oh Emma... Emma Emma Emma Emma...
i asked for your picture: you gave it to me:
how badly i wanted to sketch you...
i did...
what a glorious rag of a ***** you later
became...
beautiful... here's me drinking to a lost
ambition of: not being a plumber with you
by my side: ha ha!
just moments are only worth scribbling
into the depth of night...
they honestly are...
what compensational comparative?
spotting a sparrow...
at the en masse graves
of the Germans... fallen during world war I...

siusiumajtki: 16 year old girls:
****-pants...
i don't like inexperienced girls...
i prefer prostitutes...
it's ******* tongue-numbing to have to encounter
these prospects...
it's no fun...i'll leave it to the pornographers
to agitate...
the east... the south... the mongols... the russians...
the Chinese...
whoever... the Pak-stubs...
conquer all you want... i believe i can attest
with: there's nothing worth to preserve:
or defend...

   first you want to defend all the **** erectile joystick
ups... and then... you... somehow...
"forget"... to defend... where all your...
deviances come from... from the carnal farm
of hetrosexuality?
but... what if... some of us... don't want t breed?
where are you going to breed the argument from?
a curriculum of surrogate mothers?
you *******... **** qwanks?!
don't worry... i know my kamikaze pinpoints...
i'll gladly *******...
but don't you require breeders...
don't you require breeders with a consistency
of conservative antithesis arguments
to compete / combat (against)?

well... if no! dodo project worked...
look at me... i'm ******* happy...
mission accomplished!
crystal clear... whatever the hell that "thing"
was... iron maiden clad... the renovation
of thought as soul as salvation prone...
blah blah... blah.

I'd like to pepper my poems
With referenes to Greek mythology
Or sprinkle a little Norse legend
Throughout my stanzas.
But, alas, it will never be:
For, you see,
I utterly failed my Literature GCSE.

I ponder the fact if I am man-made
If God lost his plans and I was part of the trade
Here you go computer brain, have a go on this
See if you can upgrade here, an upload from my GCSE brain list
You see, we download our knowing from everything we see
From TV programmes, Netflix, and the BBC
Onto our time at school and our parent's philosophy
Why study if I am DNA-made, who needs trigonometry
Then again, are my parents just an implant of imagination
Are my emotions really real, such as love and frustration
As I watch the news and the world as a nation
All governed by robots on a far away station
And to think, they'd even let me think this speculation
...
Wow
Am I different and the last man on Earth
Allowed to write this drivel as mother was the last to have given birth
Have I broken the code they did not want us to see
Or maybe thats it, the last man to haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa­aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaavu;iogbo'ubou'bipbipbipoub
buo
uhbo;ugb
'ougb;i­uv
kjvb;iuvv
bkiuvbyvyyvvviy
Heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeelp!!!!!!!­

JJB

i need music! ****! i need music:
how much talking are we going to
get to with you snoring and me snorkeling
in finding typos!
cats meow: women snore:
not able to find the Sibyls
and moon jive: to then walk...
seriously! feminism is like the epicentre
of what women: in the old:
used to be like: prophets!
the ones giving birth arriving at death also
first... with thirst...
and the woman that heaved a Socrates to
his dominion over people...
is not... the same woman who said
god loved christ and thus sent him
to be a crucified pork belly!
yes! Beelzebub groan... you know this to be true!
rhinos and elephants don't snore!
yes... what is woman in relation to
a grand man like Socrates...
the ******* ****** birth?
i appreciate your insult:
they have width and height and i'm an inch taller
but can't spread your lie:
just say i'm a bilingual schizophrenic
with an addiction to Moscow Army Parades...
because that's where i slumped...
Moscow Day of Victory Parades...
no ***** riot... just the ***** police of western feminism...
music!music!
you snore i need to the feed the cats or something
maybe Reyla needs some breakfast cereyal
maybe she has teenage angst...
o.k.
you just...
     oh wow... don't try to wake up! keep snoring!

daddy is on a mission...
daddy is on a mission...
is that a cat or is that Reyla?
my my MUSUBI...
face-hugger.....
purr or trill: to THOT
THOT         THOT...

oh wait... that's still you snorting the snore of
the snorkel... almost gagging
on purr...
and whimper and so many variations
of nature made compounded by how communication
can be arrived at in the microcosm of the unconscioius
and the the macrocosm of consciousness
that somehow deems Islam
with a rekindled flash of genius...
and i'm sorry: no... now:
begins the new age...

          i'm psychonlaysing people in their sleep:
when my love in hales her snores
the Chimera
of a laughing hyena...
the rattle of a snake...
the rhasp of a crocodile smiling...
the agenda...
inhales... her snores: she sounds like
a spy hog
laughing hyena baby...
then falls silent...
then somewhere a woman i dossociate with
loses her mind....

this phone conversation went on for over 7h and
she'll wake up and realise... i was necrophyliac
with her i was a night walker:
i made the day into a night

and i've been forver asleep...
but she will wake up
and i will explain: once more...
the relationship to AI technology within
the already available confines of
algorithm scrutiny...
and people will know that i appropriate
to a near defunct
study of NVQ study in whatever
direction outside the GCSE and A-LEVEL
******* economic model
of crafting man...
with AI...
what did i learn in the brothel?
what else did i learn in the playground?
this psychonalysis...
no Freud would came the time to make his day
into listening to the woman
he loves... sleep...
that would be a ******* fate worse
than suicide!
my day, come 6pm... involves...
me listening to you sleep... snore... try to become
a walking soma
attentive... a night walker:
you talk to me in sonic riddles...
woman: and then consciously you cry like
i am a hinge of rock to give outlet
to: from mountains came the rivers:
since the mountains reach for the skies
and tickled clouds and said:
i work for charity: give us some filter...
****! no rewind button!
no rewind button!
i'm getting messaged to squeky toy
by people who think
i own all poetry or hello poetry
they want my page to get more traction:
**** me it's not my page
i just don't care!
so paychonalaysis of me talking to you
and writing about you while you sleep:
somewhere in the distance a child
is crying...
last night
a cat fight broke the harmony of the night
with the dogs starting to bark on posit
of authority...
****! no REWIND button!
you snoring is like SNMR:
music worth of ****...
sound of rain on tent
sound of rain on tin roof
sound of rain and thunder
sound of a blizzard...
sound of wind and crows
sound of fireplace crackling...
sound of: surgery...

seriously: i love a woman more
when she has the audacity to insult me...
it feels that...
well: if she can insult me:
but appetisers other men...
weirdly: cut... gem...
          yes: creaking door Thomas alseep...
no ******* barrage of good music:
just subtle interpretations of language:
because man speaks like all the other animals:
but only when he's alseep...
and robot too...

and the insult were like ******* microcosms...
she really can insult me
but then i know the tugging magnetism
that made her leave this conversation
on and ticking...
Gaugin and the taxi-drivers...
just saying...

she's going to wake up and realise
for all her hurt i tried to be a gentleman and keep
her company in her sleep:
so i could hone in on how
there can be: an eatablished:
conversational-schizophrenia...
conversational-demen­tia...
it can be achieved...
but it requires a potency to drive
the human experience beyond the Benelux
easy-way out policy of euthanasia....