I was once simply a tool
A device used only for death
Years and years of this
Caused rage to fill in my breast.

I lashed out at my tormentors
Slayed them, one by one
I finally had taken my revenge
until I hunted the last one.

A security drone, I had left alone
had fallen into the main reactor,
On the floor above there
I was feeling the effects after.

Another experiment warped me
back into the still undamaged past.
I woke up in 1932,
in a giant field of grass.

Born to be more
than what life made me.
Forced to be a entertainer,
longing to be free.

Singing and dancing
for the rich shogun.
Yet my spirit still intact
tho they thought they had won.

Singing the songs
of long dead men.
Hoping for a light,
a true sort of friend.

Lost in another time,
far from what was mine.
I stood up sharpened my weapon
s and decided to go for mine.

I walked to the nearest village
and asked what was going on.
The locals said they were having
a party for a rich shogun.

Interested, I walked inside to
see decorations so gaudy.
I looked around and saw a woman
with a wonderland of a body.

Minding my own business, j
ust sat singing a song.
About how hard life is
and all things that went wrong.

Geisha I was,
a slave to the rich.
Doing what I was told,
no better than a *****.

Sold I was at the of twelve,
to feed a family I once loved.
Well that turned to hatred,
and here I was shoved.

Sat in a corner,
doing my time.
Servitude ,
without committing a crime.

I couldn't hold it in,
I walked up to the stage
Picked up a guitar and played along,
she looked quite amazed.

I smiled at her,
and she smiled back
Then all of a sudden screams were heard, two geishas coming downstairs followed by a guy who was very fat.

Standing and bowing,
just playing my part.
As absolute terrier
struck deep in my heart.

" Master,
is there aught I can do.
Come and listen
I shall sing just for you."

Come to me he did,
his face flaming red.
Slapping me hard,
with nothing being said.

I took up my sword
and said leave the lady alone,
She walked out incensed,
I followed her up the road.

Fires burning bright,
like flames deep in hell.
I wanted to be free,
my soul I would even sell.

I could not not do this,
no not anymore.
Turning I said
" what the ******* following me for."

Shamed for my actions,
but too shy to say.
I turned beet red
and just walked away.

I said I've never met a woman
with that much backbone.
And quite frankly my dear,
you shouldn't be alone

They've sent men to **** you,
they should be here rather fast
I ducked rather quickly
to evade a Sharp axe.

Throwing a knife,
my aim good and true.
Right in the throat,
flying straight through.

Throwing another,
this one just as good.
Killing him dead ,
right where he stood.

" attack me will you,
you cowardly swine.
I will spit down your throat
and rip out your spine"

Kicking him once
I turned back around.
My feet hitting hard
on the dirt packed ground.

Kusarigama unleashed
several seconds later.
I cut several down
to the size of second graders.

I look back at you
and say I think that's all of these fools
****** knives handed back
i ask how'd you learn that at school?

"My real father was a ninja,
he taught me some stuff.
Being a girl,
you had to grow up tough."

When he died,
breaking my heart.
I was sold to this,
now playing my part.

But no one touches me,
unless I want them too.
Yet I am done with all this,
finished, I am through.

I will just survive,
living of the land.
No more to be owned
by any foul man."

I don't intend to own you
In fact I'm not from this time
I Am though not native here,
so I do require a guide.

Confused I must look,
when him I did face.
"So you're not from this time
or from this place?"

I started to laugh,
it's all I could do.
Did he expect me to
accept that as true?

I just kept walking,
My mind on every sound.
I guess it's alright,
I can lead him around.

"Fine I will help you,
Where you need to go?"
I can lead you East,
down to Tokyo."

What if I could prove
that I'm from a different time.
I took out a disc and showed her what will happen
to her life over the years and mine.

I said, we still have company, I take my sword out, Nevan was her name,
duck in about 5 seconds
if you don't want to meet a blade.

Duck I did,
as the blade went on by,
Snapping my wrist,
letting a knife fly.

" What the hell?
Could this night get any worst.
Am I to be forever hounded
and endlessly cured?"

Sitting on the ground,
counting up the dead.
Touching my cheek,
my hand turning red.

The blade must of nicked me,
I just watched the blood drip.
My life was unravelling,
I was losing my grip.

I grabbed the dear woman
and threw my shuriken at the attempted killer.
I knocked him off a cliff,
his body becoming chiller.

I took her to a cave and patched her lovely cheek,
I Sat beside her and started a fire.
I sat down with a drink
and contained my desire.

Shaken to the core,
by kindness so fair.
All I could do was sit
and just stare.

This strange man,
who was not even of my time.
Had me hoping and wishing,
I could claim him as mine.

But hope and wishes are
for the happy and the weak.
I am sure he would love
someone feminine and meek.

Shaking my foggy head,
I start to cook dinner.
Wishing still I was tall
and so much thinner.

I said what's your name fair maiden,
how'd you end up here
You look much too beautiful
To working as hard as you do my dear.

My name is Xero,
I'm from another time
And while I'm here I must change the future
Because right now I'm stuck in this time.

"My name is Aura,
a name my father did give.
I become a geisha
so my family could live.

Sold for money,
and trained to preform.
So the rich can mock
and look on with scorn.

To own one is grand,
to be one: living hell.
That is my story,
really not much to tell."

Ashamed of my past,
tho pure I still be.
Yet I had my doubts,
he would even believe me.

Your words are soft spoken,
and have a ring of truth
I was poked and prodded,
like an animal in a zoo.

I'm nothing more than
a human science project.
At least that's what I was told
before I broke their worthless necks.

Anyway it seems we both have pasts
we aren't proud of.
But to me you're beautiful,
like I'm a falcon and you're a small white dove.

Blushing so red,
I took him by the hand.
" You are more than what they made u,
ur a kind honest man.

Stand tall,
be proud of who you became.
And I swear to you,
I will try and do the same.

Life had beaten us,
trying to teach us to fear.
But to hell with all that,
we survived and still here."

I smiled for the first time
in several years
I said but **** it, I'll probably never get over all of these ****** Tears.

I look back at her and said Aura,
such a simple supple name.
I sighed longingly
and whispered the same.

I look into his eyes,
as my name whispered past his lips.
A electrical current
tingled at my finger tips.

Wanting to touch him,
but knowing I can't.
I started to hum
a lovely sad chant.

Looking in the fire,
watching the flames burn.
Just like inside me,
it did dance and churn.

I looked into those deep blue eyes
and saw all the pain.
I saw nothing but tears
flowing Down like rain.

I hugged her tightly and said
You'll never cry again
I know your future, you'll do wonderful I'm serious you'll be free but I'm here for you until then.

Free: it felt strange on my tongue,
could it truly be.
Was I actually allowed
to finally be me.

Did I want to be free?
a question inside my head.
Perhaps I wanted to be owned
by this man instead.

I felt connected to him,
deep in my soul.
A sense of belonging,
my heart all aglow.

I look at you and say
Aura why do you stare at me so longingly
I told you your future
You won't belong to anyone ever again and your wounds both physical and mental will be sutured.

"It is nothing really,
just shock is my guess.
We should probably eat,
and get some much needed rest."

Cooking a rabbit,
turning it to stew.
A longing for more,
but it could never come true.

Now standing by the fire,
my arms wrapped around my waist.
Longing for his lips
and just one simple taste.

My senses heightened,
I set myself behind her
My human side desperately
wanting to be inside her.

I kissed her neck lovingly
and massaged her shoulders
It would be weird,
making love beside boulders.

I leaned into his body,
loving how he did feel.
Turning around,
a loving kiss I did steal.

Wrapping my arms around his neck,
playing with the hair at his nape.
My body and lips silently begging,
for him me to take.

Biting his lip,
I shivered in delight.
This just felt to perfect
and so deliciously right.


touching and caressing her body
felt like a natural instinct.
I held her like a little girl holding her favorite dolly
firm, but gentle and sweet.

I kissed down her neck and nibbled at her flesh
I wanted her scent all over me.

Wrapping my arms around him,
I clung to him for life.
My life was a hard one,
but he ends all my strife.

Feelings I thought long dead,
begin to whisper in my ear.
Holding close this gorgeous man,
the man I hold so dear.

I lick and nibble his neck,
His flavor on my tongue.
He is the beautiful note,
that my lips has always sung.

She had the body of a goddess
i was simply a lonely priest
i whispered my intentions
to her with some degree of ease.

i slid her dress down
to reveal her supple *******
i gently held them softly
then proceeded to ****** and caress

I licked on her lips
i put my hands on her hips
i whispered may i pleasure you fair maiden
because your body is a wonderland,
and i intend to make several trips.

My soul sang with delight,
as his lips made their rounds.
Panting out my pleasure,
from my mouth wanton sounds.

The passion fire burns bright,
As I rocked up my hips.
Feeling every loving touch,
from his sweet finger tips.

His tongue drove me wild,
as he tasted from my flesh.
My heart melted from his love,
oh I was so truly blessed.

My hands ran up his back,
my nails raked back down.
Til I was holding his ***,
so nice and juicy round.

i slid my hand in between her thighs
and rubbed her soft sweet ****
i felt myself rise with excitement
and she was so wet she began to slip,

i slid her dress all the way off
naked she was in front of me completely bare
i was so shocked at her beauty
i could do naught but drunkenly stare.

i regained my composure, and began to kiss her body again.
i set  myself between her luscious thighs
so i could eat her womanly den.

she tasted like a well aged wine
her juices so warm and sweet
i knew another woman I’d never have to find
because this girl just couldn't be beat.

His fingers dipped inside,
stroking my melting heat.
slipping in so far,
it was so overwhelming sweet.

I ****** up my hips,
to greet his thirsty hand.
Howling to the world,
My love for this great man.

Rolling him over,
I sat upon his ****.
Sinking him even deeper,
As i began to rock.

I placed his hands upon my breast,
Ohhh how he made me shiver.
My core began to melt
and my legs, they did quiver.

i held her close to my body
her sweet ******* so tasty in my mouth
I told her she was being ever so naughty
her core was wet as a freshwater trout,

i bent her over
the campfire now slowly dying
i slid back inside her
now taking her from behind

He had my heart jumping,
my breathing began to hitch.
"oh come on baby **** me,
I been a naughty *****."

I looked over my shoulder,
as into to me he did pound.
He slapped my *** once,
than grabbed my globs so round.

Moaning into the star filled sky,
I tightened around his shaft.
He had me losing my mind,
He was master of this craft.

A *** god reborn,
my soul mate supreme.
Knowing just where to touch,
that makes me wanna scream.

I reach between my legs,
and grab his perfect *****.
As we both let out into the night,
our lustful mating calls.


I made sure to please my woman,
then laid down with her on top
her arching back against the moonlight
my god i felt myself about to pop.

I spread her legs wider
and looked her dead in the eyes.
I finally released inside her
I  fell down dazed and high from our burning desire

I laid back down tired as all ****
I literally just met this girl last night
and we’re making love like this?
i dont know whether its lust.

Or some form of quick
acting love .
all i know is i must make her mine
before i'm sent up above.

I felt him erupt inside,
his cream flowing in deep.
I came in a flood,
and the feeling was so sweet.

Rocking my hips against him,
as I milked his **** dry.
I lowered myself to his warm body,
my head upon his chest did lie.

How this love came about,
I could never hope to explain.
He is embedded deep in my heart,
and I will never ever be the same.

Drifting off to sleep,
with a smile upon my lips.
I nestled close as I could get,
with his shaft still between my hips.

In the wild
You are left to consider graffiti disasters
hatched from gypsy palates
Vanished in music through spiders

In a wilderness of orange viral light
Moths push from the lips of willow switch
Geishas who stargaze on
Matrimonial black powder

In our wilderness of birth the
Name of Fire is swallowed by moths
We are reborn in Geisha operas
Over the embers of burned invention

You sign the word for sand
In a lamplight hem
A voice skating chalk
Points over pearl

Its pitch wound in a white
Arched wax arm
Ticking the membrane
In her submerged bell

sometimes you are with me when I bike
right  in the middle of my eyes
you look through
as if recreating tides

sometimes you rise
stretch my tailbone
cross my neck all along
and silently whisper love and hate words

until you painfully adjust yourself towards a subtle opening
hidden under a golden crown

you tie us by secret subtle lines
as if  a puppet-pendulum
anchored to a bluish-green star
somewhere far away
as far as a single jump-rope swing
which I may call home sometime

is that why you send me signs
while I listen
like that lady bird today …
perfectly matching to the colors of an eloquent orange brown pottery
by which geishas serve

a ceremonial rice bowl the labels tell
exhibited behind glass only
my silhouette
reflected in dim lights
becomes a dance of invisibility  
hiding teardrops
along a museum corridor
covered with cherry blossoms

I ignore I say all the stupid signs
continue a play
with the luck bug
alight on my right side
observe its dotted natural  beauty
forget all there is around me
oh yes she knows me

I farewell her over a giant photograph of a well respected lady
make it  a living part of her brooch and dream away
if - maybe she’d be me
some lifetime ago
and you the lover
of our lingering sad story…

Secretly?Tall=Tower-fee lucky
777 "I'm Free"-Flowery + $$$

Being Oz-wizardly
Toto lucky bite red slipper
((Cowardly)) Lionly
-Whoa_ She got that Geisha Irony
This is Tokyo
Not the flower shop of Soho

(( Japan Chefs Black Panthers))
Shout box

Unique flowers of
faces-gather
Too outfox

One Geisha Flowery room
Twilight-places lightly bloom

Overpowering
Sunflower showering
Going nowhere
Her body heat
Is always
somewhere

Over flowered the rainbow
magic women
romantically spritz and spray
Love me love me not
I am waiting today

Flowered over one
Man?
Her Fortune-beds
The Geishas fine ink
Never pink
The best time to arrive
See her lucky red
((Geisha Flowery))
*        *        *        *
Happy go lucky
Not the back rub

The gift of gab
Time feast Rolex
her index finger
Webs of flower cut
Debs

Was the cover-up
The best of the last
defeat of her
She Petals faster
The  zipper-movie cut
Go zip
Irish spring shower

Boysenberry, Cherry, Power
Geisha dance flowery-trick
The vanilla-bean sky quick
The yogurt Greece fly
Her tablecloths
He finger
points cactus sharp points

The climate tells the
clues can you handle tricks
Crazzzzy_
glue
Softly silk skirt steak
Missed a few buds
((Geisha Flowery funds))
Tantalizing tiara pull
Off gave it  to the
flower girl china doll

The music
Black Magic
women
Her sheer blouse
loosely fit his fancy

Playing Santana
Sitting with her
tea tiger lily
Felt so lonely

The champagne
half-heartedly
The whole Monet
Chandon
shirts
of Gucci

She's perked me
up Pucci *******
coo
Danger me dandelions
The next recruit
black rose pin
pursuit hungry like
wolf
Duran Duran

The discovery of
custard flan
The Geisha flowery
New York State
Who snitched out
her spouse
Flowers divinity Godly lands

I gotcha
Right in the palm
of my hands

it’s odd, i can make mexican girls watch their feet
thinking they’re chinese, slowly shrinking them
into geishas trotting with a snowflake’s melting ease printed
heaviest on volcanos.

between streetlamps? i love that my shadow disappears at ~179°, then re-appears next to another streetlamp - and as shadows go... it's hard to find a narcissism in something as cold as immanuel kant defined thus.*

oh you mean that bit of me
that wishes i had done things
differently?
well that’s gone to the cat’s / dog’s
ego... spelled re-, yes hyphen included,
so easily reproducible:
animalistic thinking requires a re-
for each ego that is hidden in the shrine
of talkative bonsais talkative about
elongating geishas for a secret beauty being
expressed tiptoe quasi silent.

The metallic shine
Of the chopping waves reflected in my looking glass eyes
That had lost their shine
With the explosion of the sun
Many moons ago
Now I seek the woman the old crow has visited in  the corners
Of her smile and she gazes off for quite a long while, returning with some unseen bizarre entity of a thought you sensed she had forgotten or perhaps hidden from herself.
Now the rhythmic pedaling meant nothing just churning slowly churning
Briney water of the moment still left
untold water
rushes by in folds of fools gold as the elephant mountain geishas marched by in wind blow whispers of their former selves and both compell me to give them my undivided attention
but I'm still trying to
find my direction here
on land.

We all end up chasing the clouds
that look like the shape of our ancestors.
We thrive upon the notion that
we all have an equal shot of attaining
"The American Dream" as if
nobody is born into a hollowed-out family that's
chugging one beer after another
As if our parents can afford tutor after tutor
to spark some sense into our miserable existence
in which starving ourselves is the only way to achieve success
not to mention sleeping with the boss.
What foundation does skin foundation play in our lives?
Are we supposed to look like geishas being chosen by a matchmaker
or is it our society that wants to wrap its knarly hand
around every girl's thigh?
How can Unilever pose to beautify women when they
create ads that degrade women's status in society to
"**** me and I'm yours."
Mascara, eyeshadow and every other beauty product known to man cannot hide insecurity.
"Become the circus clown that everyone wants you to be," they said.

What if all girls were skinny?
What IS "skinny?"
We all have skin, so in a way we are ALL skinny.
Think that way and we will have a happier society.
How can companies justify using computers to edit models?
Can't we just see people for who they truly are?
I don't know about you, but I'd rather see a happy person gracing the cover of a magazine in a modest dress with no augmentations.
THAT, my dear, is natural beauty.
No makeup, no excess skin showing,
just **beauty.

To the East
Where I will join geishas for a feast
And to the South
Where I will burn within the hot sun's drought
And to the West
Where I will let the mad winds put your shreds to rest
And to the North
Where I will make frozen ground my fort
And to the Center
To the very core
I will run
Jump head first into the mystery chained hollow
I will do this as a promise
Gods help you if you were to follow

i just want to live a little: drink a little
ms. amber and most definitely
spill some of her on some pretend mahogany...
like i might be toasting
with the dead...

         all this life: so thoroughly
uncomplicated: sustained by uncomplications...
slyly smoke one cigarette...
perhaps two... at most three...
and still tell the white lie:
yes, i've quit smoking tobacco...

insert both snigger and a giggle:
but i love the taste and the momentary
****** of carbon monoxide
into the brain...
so, yeah: i probably might quit...
when i see a blue moon
or an u.f.o.
         "problem" i have seen the latter
and... it was all squid lile
and phosphorescent
and piccadilly circus esque neons...
i had no phone to take
a picture with...
at best... i could have shouted
at it or thrown a beer bottle at it...
for jokes...

hell: back into the life of...
mediocre...
                 into the general area of
prescribed grey...
into sitting on a couch
and not feeding goosebump
sensations of a roller-coaster...
it's enough that a main ****
luvvie-dubby is willing
to snuggle up to me...
for reasons i am trying to understand:

why do animals... like...
certain people...
why are children inquisitive about
this lineage of frankenstein...
i don't know what i would have
to get up to being given the graces
of a dorian grey outlook...
if i were handsome and generically
pristine...

i just, oh: i just don't know...
i couldn't feed mining for both coal
and idiosyncrasy -
this is me...
    jumping trains: just pretend...

a poem a day keeps the psychiatrists away...
and the priests and the prostitutes...
or so i hope...
given that i have had dealings
with all three...
it's not wonder that i want
to exhaust a need to rekindle interactions
with these assorted lots of toothpicks...

how ******* bogus it must sounds:
my soul hurts...
pose that question to any
atheist or proto-materialists
and the remedy would be what?
synonym counter of asthma?
my soul ache...
                         an itch i cannot scratch...
blessings these concerning
toothaches...
i finally appreciate...
a need for toothaches...
a toothache allows me a gratitude
for three-dimensional orientation...
i've leave this ol' oyster of a tongue
behind: to prove the point...

- so that's why i will never write
a novel!
i abhor lying: i like being robotic...
plain monochrome and at best
two-dimensional when i use words...
to lie to write fiction -
bold underlying essence of
imagination...
but it's hard when you are
curated for outlets that don't
allow imagination to be detailed
with a willingness on your beset
exhaustion of will...

      the detail in the symptom of:
negated ease...
let's just cut corners and write
a proper cipher...

yes... this evening...
i will settle for all these words of truth...
truth can be shortened
and can't be faked...
i'll take the swagger with
the freely available whiskers of whiss and key
and... doing some cliche
"queer" - ahem - "thing"...

some the smiths
or some
                 placebo... covers...
hell.. the gun club - or some fugazi...
something that allowed itself
to age...
            after a morning listening
to bbc radio 3... i don't exactly shake
with inheritance to repay
a life of bach or schumann or schubert
or... prokofiev...
the freely available material
had all the overtones of
      giving out governmental relief...

so that's how it feels: to beg...
              come to think of it...
when art can be settled as a solitary project...
when an oeuvre can be reached:
it's there a procrastinating absentee
horizon's worth...
  this goo this google this custard:
this fudge-brain sloth...
                        accenting out a replica
Kandinsky...
this is enough: this is most certainly enough...
i can still retain pride
and i can still retain "honour"...
because what i've written didn't
take much: it rarely should...
i will settle for the lazily done so...
and put all my energies
on glug-glug-glug
   and the ears propped up to the smiths...

to write fiction would be
what has to be so impossible for me...
to lie: it's not that i abhor lying:
i just find myself incapable to do it...
and if fiction is not lying:
then it's probably, at best...
imagining oneself as lying...
    i have been grieved with
symptoms that stress:
some things you will rarely want
to imagine...

              to be alone in a house
where sometimes you hear a murmur
of a cat waking from one
sleeping session
beckoning a second...
and there' a pristine vacancy
of a talk outlet reaching your...
meta-hearing...
meta-ear...                   it's all a jargon...
but if you know what words
to be equipped with...

                   for all its worth...
a feast of a day... and i didn't force myself
to remember Paris from circa 2004 - 2007.

i said to her, prior -
i've just found a gem of a song...
alterslied by walther von der vogelweide,

how would it not remind me
of the time - the spring on the balcony -
the suffocating perfume of
the marrow yet to be or just born
in the calf -
         or the perfumery of mahogany
of cherry not yet a chair or
a table... in that: her blossom as if...
more tender than any japanese
porcelain or for that matter: geishas'
milky leather... warm: for still worn
cloaking the sinew, the **** and spew
of intestines...
            and the last signature in bone...
still walking... calling the moon
a... fickle dunked biscuit...

  she was blooming beneath me...
this cherry tree - and but one among
the rest of the plethora of scents...
      still that book i was reading:
Henryk Sienkiewicz - knights of the cross -
the teutonic knights -  Krzyżacy -
          and of course the screen-adaptation...
one by Aleksander Ford...
    
the veneer corpse riddle -
                haunting as glass
with its imitation of water
                  or see through
as a veil of Baghdad's exquisite harem
of an abiding: sheikh or imam -
            piercing eyes that know no
depth of sleep -
                   stolen light: as what i call
dreams -

but i was "thinking" along the lines
of...
             neoplatonism came from
Plotinus reading Plato - basics...
         Bertnard Russell can cover the rest...
but i was "thinking" of... a neo-cartesian model...
way before it might become ideological
and an 'ism...
                      how does the original begin?
dubito, ergo cogito, ergo sum...
   not much of doubt these days...
to doubt these days is to almost entertain
belief: or at least: the plethora of emotions
that hitchhike their way for the heart
to carry... it's not an outright negation...
doubt, that is...

           then again: doubt is a double-edged
sword... it cripples those that believe
as it does ******* those who disbelieve...
        
   but i can hardly want to begin from doubt...
i've heard it somewhere...
like a hindu or a buddhist mantra...
i remember...
i remember...
    i remember...
                 i did link memory to a sort of...
cameo cinema of my place in this world...

perhaps... if i begin with: dubito - i doubt...
i don't see how i can translate myself into
a concreteness of: cogito - i think -
therefore into: sum - i am...
        by now thought is a fickle aspect of
my summa summarum...
i'd very much like to begin with...
at least one aspect of time being invoked...
doubt... is timeless -
                        thought is timeless and spaceless...
existence: is both...

i'd begin my neo-cartesian route by
stating an alternative route...

memoro, ergo cogito, ergo sum...
i remember, therefore i think, therefore i am...
doubt is a fickle creature...
a pretty creature... a peacock...
which... is hardly a phoenix...
     can any so-called editorial section journalists...
the opinion pieces journalists...
the dialectical-phobia-prone saturday journalists...
be called... journalists?
      
  are they really journalists?
to have... opinion columns in newspapers?
just asking...
i never thought they were...
   ideologue ditto-heads comes to mind...
how can: thinking translate itself into:
the pivot of out of every instance:
this insistent paraphrase...
      
       i never find myself shackled to thought...
esp. not by doubt...
           the labours of the liar to think...
when all has been thought...
but i am gladly thinking when shackled
to memory - when there's some narrative involved...
when there's the cameo cinema of memory
and i find myself: a good man...

i was once accused of "liking the sound
of my own voice"...
god forbid - but with regards to liking
my given names?
how doesn't this sound:
but it already does: Conrad von Heiligkreuz...
second name at baptism -
and i am... von heiligkreuz...
it's a region in Poland...
       there is a Świętokrzyskie Voivodeship...
i have a fetish for german...
and it's not like matthew isn't a loan
name to be given - origin in hebrew...
but at least i have a past -
to live under the guidance of the names
bestowed upon one...
in good company with ol' von Wallenrode...
C... K... does it matter?

i do like my given names...
hell... i'd like it even more if i was
Ezra rather than Matthew...
more so if i was a Nikita...
fluid non-binary names... don't you think?

because i am thinking of germany
from the medieval period -
             or at least: what became of barbarossa
drowning and being pickled...
and how... prussia and lithuania were
just gagging for a stab in the dark
for an already adrenaline fuelled junkies
of the passion of the cross...
or *****... i never know which the jester,
marquis the sade asked for...

foundation of knowledge: yes...
dubito, ergo cogito, ergo sum...
but i'm not here to know more than what's
already known - where does knowledge
lead these days? pub-quizes and trivia...
regurgitation of facts...
i want to find an alternative to knowledge...
a: transcendence of morality -
a leverage of my remains that cannot
be confined to a bone -
to a name - i'd wish for an escape
with and through an epitaph...

                     or - anon.
                       as some works are cited...
prompter of the theatre -
     in the prompter's box when the actors
would forget their lines...
ah... the critique of the proposition with
the presupposition of a "i"...
                  "it" is also a presupposition -
nothing can be a pronoun...
                                but i'm not here to make
a genesis of man via: dubium...
nor via reverentia...
     i'm not a child any more...
i've visisted the underworld and came back
with dreams -
and to the world i left and came back
to... yes... i have been here before...
    to begin with... memoriae... though...
that's enough to subsequently think,
to subsequently be...
   otherwise why would the powers that be...
make it a crusade in the realm
of pedagogy
to pour corrosive juices into our brains
with all that encyclopedic *******,
arithmetic when there are calculators,
to exhaust our very personal capacity to
remember?
travesty i yelp!

                   hell: i'll even yarl!
                save your memory...
it will give you more than doubt in what
has to become you -
   or whatever happens to thinking -
insert any number of blanks when a concrete
translation of thought into will was lost
to "thinking" / day-dreaming...

but at least: the cameo cinema of memory...
10 very focused memories...
enough... and these to be kept unchanged...
sharpened like flint...
polished like silver...
             bitten like metal...
                     worshipped like ink poured
into chiselled labyrinths of timber...
                            
                      to wake from having to inherit
the 20th century from others...
              my 20th century begins circa 1989...
but it also begins circa 1944...
and circa 1937...
                        circa 1982...
                                            circa 1998...
             circa 1994...
                           but it is never...
the history of a people that is...
             but my slot... memory: as personal
as thought... i have seen how memory can be
usurped... can be... the focus of saboteurs...
          i'm missing two nouns at present...

to remember something from aeons beyond...
i cannot doubt these two words i am thinking of...
but i don't remember them...
then again: is memory such a fickle bride
of thought?
            isn't doubt more fickle?
                    
ah! subverters! well... saboteurs...
         and that second word?
it's a psychiatric term: of implanting false
memories... regression!
                 or something... but if psychiatry
is making an attack on the faculty of memory...
and pedadogy has already poured
carboxylic acid into our brains with education
that's... only for the purpose of ensuring
there are pedagogues...

                       yes... and the prospect of me becoming
a father, let alone a grandfather...
is for mickey mouse to become a ******* nun...
but you'll never know...

memory is under attack...
doubt... well you can doubt whatever the hell
you want: deny or believe whatever you want...
mind you...
if it "all" begins with:

    memoro, ergo cogito, ergo sum...
and psychiatry and the great psi (Ψ) of psychology...
what sort of: "critique of the proposition with
the presupposition of a 'i'" is there?
when you have the practice of regression /
false memory implants? and all that pedogogic juice
to boot?

better keep yourself to memory...
you never know: doubt can take care of itself...
it doesn't have to translate into thinking
into being...
but sure as **** and sherlock 'olmes to boot...
your memory needs defending...
to be sure... a + b + a + c + u + s = ?
                         well... sure... 1 + 1 = 2...
        to put to memory... how something sounds...
into writing... onomatopoeia...
well... it's not one of those: knock-knock...
who's there jokes...
                  ghosts don't knock on doors...
they slide their chains across the wood...
rhapsody in any ghoul's adventure of:
revision of the taste of morello cherries...
there will be no revision of the taste of morello cherries!
that sort of sour is one and only,
and it would better define someone's last
breath on this rock and couldron of constellations
come night... than...
                              an adieu with a kiss.

Cuando los japoneses adquirieron
el rockefeller center
ellos que tienen geishas y la sony
y samurais y teatro no
y kamikazes y kurosawa
y matsuo basho y panasonic
y aprenden flamenco por computadora
y pueden cantar tangos sin entender palabra

cuando los japoneses adquirieron
el rockefeller center
supe que por fin había empezado
la sutilísima la dulce
venganza de hiroshima

it's still only the 12th of September and the drink is not working,
maybe half a bottle in and it'll kick-start something,
my phone was off, charging,
i turned it on around 9:30pm... i hate mobile telephones,
i know that people are finding it difficult
to escape from the object's attention-draining-leech-paradigm
but me? i remember all things: old school...
stationary objects... perfect stasis of the telephone
and even those old telephones you could stand alongside
Chris Rock doing a sketch of in Lethal Weapon 4...
well... that's beside the point...
   i was cleaning the house: thinking... shouldn't we have
a contract for the upcoming events? well, i did cycle
up to Buckingham Palace from Romford only yesterday:
lost about 2kg in weight in the process...
could i get in past the queues with a bicycle? fat chance,
i.e. no chance...
    switched my telephone on: ooh! what's this?!
Lyndon: are you available on the 14th and the 19th?
i checked some other thread...
of this month? that's no tomorrow, that's the day after?
what the hell is so impor.... ah! TANT...
  she's coming down from Edinburgh...
14th is going to be big... **** me... the 19th is going to
be even bigger...
lucky for me i found €90 in my drawer...
   plus i already have £60 in my wallet...
so that's me ******* off to the brothel after these two shifts!
lucky me! i'll be part of history: not that i'm
not already: but hell knows... maybe they'll put
me in a spot where they need a camera-friendly face...
tall... you know... typical *******...
i might be even a sniff's whiff away from the coffin being
detailed from Buckingham Palace to Westminster Abbey...
so i replied: so this is for the Big Send Off of ol' Lizzie?
i'd be daft if i didn't accept the shifts...
7am sign in at Charing Cross St.? if it was a 7am
sign in time for a football match,
like it was supposed to be this passing Saturday:
i told them "*******"... not for a football match: no chance
in hell: plus we're talking Putney Bridge:
taking that ****** District "sloth" Line is not for my sort
of adrenaline palette...
oh man: i haven't listened to this record in a... long time...
the last time i listened to Jane's Addiction's Strays
i was in a middle of a field with a knife and a bottle of whiskey...
trying to commit myself to ハラキリ:
yes, i do know the difference between ハラキリ and
seppuku... the former does not allow any dignitaries:
no superior standing over you with a katana to decapitate
your head and "shove it up your ***"...
i was that desperate, from time to time...
as you get desperate not having any visible public
presence: no work, no money, no ***...
you think about: the last song i will ever hear...
when i perform the right of ハラキリ... spilling my bowels
onto the ground among the pebbles and wheat shafts...
or hanging... i dare say i'd probably die with a hard-on
when dangling: just like that...
or walking into a petrol station and "greasing" myself
up with some petrol: lighting myself up before walking
into the oncoming traffic and getting hit by a truck...
oh: i've been to these places of the mind...
they're like art galleries...
i revisited one of these galleries only recently:
on Sept. 3rd... at the London gig in memory of Taylor Hawkins
(no relation to Stephen, Stephen and his "disability"
while cruising around: "didn't **** himself")...
who?! Epstein Island... sure... but that's understandable:
although, no... i like doughnut sized plump plum WOO-MEN...
not tiny ******* tarantula geishas of puberty...
ugh! get me away from such specimens! shiver...
insert a hieroglyph for disgust...
i look at these sort of women and think:
i'd break her... too bad for my beard envy...
never mind my ***** envy... it sort of diminishes
when i forget about the size of my hands...
everything looks small and tender when i grasp "it" with them...

yeah: he (who? Stephen) really had all my sympathies...
it's just like with prostitutes: all the beautiful ones
perform the profession...
i kneel before them... they smoke cigarettes before
******* blah blah...
next time? on the 14th? i'm going to take a different
approach... i'm going to, "****" her... whoever
it is: i'm running out of choices: i need to find a new brothel...
she'll start talking... nope...
i'll take the bra off off her... her knickers too...
i'll force her onto the bed
and then pretend i'm eating oysters with my eyes
wide open...
**** it...
the times call for it... i'l be up at 4am.... i'll leave the house
at 5am to get for a 7am shift until:
**** me... 7pm... 12 hours....
tiredness makes me so *****: death and misery makes
be doubly oh so *****...
cider makes me *****...

Stone Temple Pilots' Art School Girlfriend:
memory... eating fried chicken and listening to that song
and some Red Hot Chili Peppers while my now
estranged uncle (my mother's brother) was cleaning
his Porsche... oh well: either **** happens or **** doesn't
happen... best prepare for a waiting game...
just at every opportunity you can get...

i'll **** all of them... i'm already missing one in the arsenal...
the one with the glasses...
****-hurt, am i? you'd need to talk to my grandmothers...
one: on the maternal side...
only called me to inform me of my best friend's passing
a day before he passed away...
there's no excuse! phones work both ways!
there's never a caller and a called-on...
he was dying for a month... she made him feel like
i didn't feel crap for him...
she called me when it was no longer available to see him!
since he was isolated in the confines of a hospice:
but she made him feel like i didn't care for him!
i would have been straight up there:
picking up his **** and what not...

so... why do i over-value the value of prostitutes?!
that's the valuable essence of prostitution:
you can't sink any lower, can you? well... "lower":
you can, sink, much lower... as a man... but not as a man...
getting wed to a beached whale...
my god, i've seen a few of those...
i'm verging on every sensible limit before
i'm just ready to puke...
it's unconscious: there's no social standard of awareness
when i see these stick-insect men of "form"
with those BLOBS...
i'm like: thank **** i had enough sense to visit enough
women in order to NOT settle on this "sacred" BUT one...
oh my god...

thirsty men... fair enough... they get their archaic genealogy
project happening... their "genes": whatever the ****
that means... the children be wearing glasses?
so? aquarium category of men... short-eyed...
bad bones? not too high? DIABTES: oh... mate...
that's a real killer... i'd rather pass on my genes to a *******
that a beached whale... a big abhorrent JABBA THE HUT
sort of "body"... resembling less body and more "structure"...
because: with those dimensions...
i'd require a museum hall to stash that sort of:
it's not a relationship... it's a ******* spectacle:
it's a state-funeral!

tender my ******* ***: let me sit on some hot charcoals
and jump up exclaiming some quote of Cicero's invest!
ugh... Americans... i hate the accent...
Empire does that to people: they're so, so... so solipsistic...
they approach everyone like they're their servants...
******* ugly YANKEES...
we're not talking American "royalty"...
we're talking American commoners... ******* solipsists...
sure... if you've been fighting rock-throwers
of Afghanistan with machine-guns...
the next big threat that's Russia is... ha ha:
you what?!
oh... evil genius ****** an evil ******: hey presto:
Russia was born!

i abhor Russophobia...
                          i abhor Russophobia like i abhor:
western, white womens' fetish for African love partners...
what?! i'm drunk... i write honestly when i drink...
i'd sooner side with the Arabs than allow the CUCKS
into my cognitive ranks of: the army derived from the pleasure
of thought...

what the **** is wrong with the Russians?!
what the **** is wrong with you?!
oh... wait... "apparently" this great big: "nothing"...
my god... this Afghan "Jamie" gave me a proper
stinker... each time i open the drawer...
my god... what a stinker...
i think i'll smoke the rest of it on the 14th...
no... the 19th... anyway... i'll be at the brothel
either day... given i found the spare €90...

i'll start hovering for the Afghan hash...
   who knows: maybe i'll get lucky... the Queen:
my sovereign just died... i might as well drink and get high:
i haven't been high for well over 10 years...
the President of America dies... so?
the Pope dies... so?
Margaret Thatcher died: so?
         ah... but ol' Queenie, ol' Lizzie dies...
come on..

    yes: i am a monarchist... it's a beautiful semblance of
what constitutes authority:
the actual symbolism of it: rather than the actuality
of its non-authority is what makes it so special!
any idiot ought to be able to see that:
any dim / half-wit... for ****'s sake... ought to give
her stature the desirable recognition! well: in passing...

i know:  swear a lot... i also drink a lot:
i also like to think that i **** a lot given any available
opportunity that i have to ****...
although: you can't really drink enough,
as you can't write enough...
or for that matter: **** enough...
not when watching *******:
that's an American invention... me?
brick walls... meditation... clouds... noble swans...
i certainly avoid video games:
i've started to avoid watching movies...
music: prickly... i'm getting more and more picky...
nothing new: nothing popular...

recently i watched a video of a guy who...
ha ha... bought a lobster in a supermarket
and turned it into a pet... Luke? Liam? **** knows:
sure as **** the nick's worth of Lucky: for a lobster...
i had a "pet" fox for about a month...
fed him leftover dinners for that period of time...
he stopped coming: maybe he was run over or:
whatever...
i'd love a pet crow...

i just stopped caring about getting rejected...
   i just went back to the source...
               couple WOMAN with DARWINISM...
FAIL! i'm talking a massive ******* FAIL!
now. ****** yourself...
couple WOMAN with the COPERNICAN REVOLUTION...
what do you get?! SUCCESS!
why? does anyone know the difference
between: ASTROLOGY AND ASTRONOMY?!

ah: ha ha ha!
London: that know destination for all the peoples
of the world: the Jerusalem of the North:
here you will find all tongues of the world being spoken,
here, you will find that i will drape "ownership"
over this "barricade" with a single BREATH:
let alone a word...
i will not speak a single word of authority
over these lands...
i will claim them with a breath in my "delusional"
circumstance as i go about: "fixing the roof"...
the constellations are: "a bit wonky"...

i write these words without having endeavoured
to collect my dues from the high-jackers that
are magic mushrooms...

enough of psychiatry! enough of the drugging
of masculinity! ALCOHOL! ******!
MORE ALCOHOL! MORE ******!
i've had, ENOUGH... of this pseudo-castration
policies of:
sure thing... sure sure... the black Martin Luther Jr.,Sr...
whatever cam clap about the **** of their
"sisters": **** me: perhaps all the white girls
have a black-man fetish... i get it: they are actually
handsome... but? why can't i reciprocate?
i don't want to **** black women...
"racist" if i do, "racist" if i don't?!
ha ha!

        perfume me akin those lyrics from David
Bowie's Rebel Rebel:
ha! !god! save "they" gracious kueen...
    king?! eh? queen? qing... we're talking about
a Chinese dynasty?! they him / or / her?
in the glitter of the shadows: escaping from the castle
of the night: i ask the question:
in the realm of the Three Kings...
quis es? quo vadis?
    who are you? where are you going?
i always having to leverage this sentence with
"my" anaesthesiologist...
last time i uttered this sentence:
i was having my wisdom tooth pulled out:
i asked him before the snooze:
quis es? quo vadis?!
i asked the question like i might ask the moon:
quid: ad hoc... in situ... nox ergo qualis... cur vos?!

trouble travels far... peace is left secured
and closer to home...
there's too much jealousy in the world...

HIC AETERNUS LINGUA: this language will
never die... not the scribbling details...
unto God i give the Hebrew scribbles and the Arabic
and the Sanskrit scribbles...
unto me? the LATIN TEXT...
we will "learn" to "share"...
                               i will not give up these tongues
composed through these letters...
better my death before i give Serbia up to your
"next" Ottoman onslaught! not now! not ever!
mine! mine!

these children: are: mine!
now... that we... do we have a bargain?! we better have...
consult the Israeli republic of "things"...
i already nicknamed my Maine **** Quarus: ******...
talk to him in meow-meow... i serious don't care...
you ask for a better audience...you're note getting them!
i came among them! i listened to them!
i: worshipped, them! i, was, rejected, by them!
now? i'm accustomed to their ways...
eh... traffic: something... that's what they are, to me:
TRAFFIC, SOMETHING;
this! is! the basis! of what's! supposed! to be!
retrospective! of! what's! supposed! to be made! exemplar! of humanity! but! nonetheless! isn't!!
sure sure: let's just ******* FAKE IT... let's just: FAKE IT!
******* galore from where? most probably lazy ***
Somalia.... it's jot even "racist" by now:
just racial predictability... Somalians are either pirates
or lazy-***-munchers; it's not a ******* "mystery"...
like the god "himself" uttered: ehyeh asher ehyeh...

WHAT?1 PROBLEM?! WHITE GIRL PROBLE-
  some bM?
DON'T ******* TALK TO ME ABOUT
WHITE GIRL"PROBLEMS"!

some "baron" of a rhythm:, huphm!

oh winter sun, how benevolent you are,
how tenderly you peer into the realm
of what once had is now finally losing colour,
on the realm of hibernating insects
bound to hardened cocoons...
           of flowers that only remain root strong...
oh winter sun, how benevolent you are,
work slows down, people become bearable:
less arrogant in their attire...
finally these women can put on clothes that
scream: decorum!
finally my libido can rest...
finally no more inverted, imploded niqab for
the eyes... still the sunglasses but finally...
my libido can rest...
but of course, it happens... there will be some
idiotic ***** who will entertain a Saturday
night out by wearing miniskirts & exposing
their bare legs to the elements of December,
January... years later, most probably:
pokraki... i.e. legs mangled from exposure to
the cold, the wind...
it happened once that i sat outside a nightclub
fully attired... warm cotton trousers...
a t-shirt, a shirt, a hoodie & an flimsy army shirt...
                hood, beneath the hood
a wooly hat...
there they stood... the goosebumps worth
of geese... standing there: chattering a strange tongue
that only teeth understand via Morse code...
silly little imp-girls...
warm up on the parquet of the nightclub,
drop a few ***** shots, yes?
oh sure... that will warm you up...
         silly little imp-girls... who goes clubbing
in winter wearing nothing but a mini-skirt...
the whole lot of them... hugging themselves...
trying to jump up & down in stilettos:
but not actually jumping...
                    it was a beautiful sight...
a man supremely cuddled by the clothes he was
wearing, gloves & scarf too...
drinking a beer & smoking a cigarette...
sitting on a bench outside a nightclub...
as a line of geese that had their feathers plucked
while still breathing were gaining entry to,
probably... the worst *** they'd get in their lifetime...
drunk ***...
      a little bit of alcohol... but too much is:
too much...
- yes... finally my libido is at rest...
no more libido insomnia...
   for the most part they started to dress like grannies...
of course some pull off the classy granny look,
the: mah-tue-rrr look (trill the R, please,
i know the French hark theirs but that's no excuse
to: tarantula bit my tongue when it's an R
in syllables, stressed, sure... forget the trill in words...
no one wants to sound like count Dracula:
blah blah blah...)

O benevolent winter sun... how you grace my skin...
how much brighter you seem than in summer...
since there are so few hours of you throughout the day...
come 3pm when you begin your weary descent
how blinding you are...
yet how you also do not scorch the skin
to make the golden serpent wake...
   how in a month or so i will loose the copper-neck
& the copper-sleeves on my forearms...
back to my white, vampiric, anaemic...
Hyperborean look...
        
O winter sun, i thank you for your retreat,
i thank you for your retreat with
such gleeful bliss...
i thank winter itself too: for pushing you away
(my my, is that a heliocentric or a geocentric
formulation? does it matter...
to read a map, to get from A to B...
a round earth perspective doesn't do ****...
the earth need to be flat in order
to read a map, esp. when standing on the fore
of a group of unruly teenagers,
when... the team at the Glasbury House
for Outdoor Education Centre split the participants
into two groups...
the older boys doing their A-levels
with the younger girls doing their AS-levels...
the older girls doing their A-levels
with the colts doing their AS-levels...
being of the former group...
the latter group was dropped off closer to the return-to-point,
they only had to walk back directly...
perhaps there were some shortcuts...
but could any of the girls read a map?
or, rather... would any of the colts
unloosen their imaginary head that might be
their phallus from imagining potential
suitors... not a chance...
- now, i have to write about this,
i need to discard this memory... i need new
memories... this one cameo cinema is
fudging up my uptake of new memories:
the hope is... if i write it down...
         i'll be released from it...
i was in the group that was dropped off...
**** knows' where, but certainly further afield
than the first group...
someone gave me the map of the vicinity:
i don't know why they handed the map to me...
so... i just asked: where are we?
cheat? every single ******* map in any urban
information point has a map & an indicator
that states, quite (not quiet), quiet plainly:
YOU ARE HERE... a bit like sticking one of those
HELLO MY NAME IS "X" at a speed-dating
event (mein gott, i've been to one of those
when at university, horrible event,
i don't remember it)...
so i asked, where are we? again: cheating?!
what's a ******* point of a map when you don't
know where you're starting from?
sure... you have to find where you're going from
the map... but what's the point of not knowing
where you're starting from?
like... Christopher Columbus didn't know
where Lisbon was... when he set off to find...
the Americas... sure... but this was also an experiment...
i knew what place i was leaving: Glasbury House...
& i was being dropped into an unknown location...
well i need to know at least one thing,
i can't navigate with two unknowns...
that sort of scenario would invoke... being...
rafted... on the seas... a quote comes to mind...
Coleridge:
  water, water, everywhere
And all the boards did shrink;
water, water, everywhere,
   nor any drop to drink...
                         point being...
a phantasmagorical finger "levitated" over me
then... like... ugh... faux pas...
like like the depiction bound to those *******
*******: perhaps Adam ought to have made
a circle with his index and thumb?
when the depiction of God extended his
in that Michelangelo depiction...
mind you... look how weak, how feminine Adam's
hand "posture" is...
he should have been firm... "God's" finger is coming...
to hell with touching phalluses with
a nail's bite worth of scribble on flesh...
here! here's my index curled up with my thumb
slightly curled: O my ****'s worth of interactions
with you! that hand posture is feminine...
on Adam's behalf... God the protruding agent of
the index... Adam the: oh! ah! kiss my hand will you!
*******... ugh...
and look at the statue of David... anything... ahem...
"weird" about? it's disproportionate...
the head is too big for the body!
a massive ******* head on a body that would see
the head topple it like lumberjacking at some pristine
******* pines...
Titian's Paul III...
                  Perronneau's Madame de Sorquainville...
look at the smirk on her...
Mona Lisa can hide in shame...
or rather: her "smile"... is a... HANS! GOTTFRIED!
OTTO! CONRAD!
encore: ein wachslächeln (a wax smile)...
Rembrandt: a precursor to Turner...
almost the same Parkinson's disease...
but at least Turner conveyed landscapes... not portraits /
scenes...
something's blurry about Rembrandt...
like i already knew...
the people of the past weren't exactly
****** or deformed, or ugly...
****** artists, that's all...
well if someone like a Helen could: muster...
a 1000 ships...
she must have been a stunner!
a tenner for every penny saved...
         hmm... i'm still rummaging...Kenneth Clark's
Civilisation.... i'm looking for the antithesis of
Michelangelo' David...
oh i'll ******* find what i'm looking for...
even if i have to stay up to 5am to find it!
ah!   'ere we go!
    Riemenschneider's Adam...
          now that's an "Adam"... one i'd want to ****...
where was i...
oh ****... too many plotlines: ergo no plot...
it's like ***** Burroughs took at interest in
my writing from beyond the grave,
the whole Beat Hotel from Paris woke up &
brought back Tristan Tzara to decipher...
no cut-up methodology here...
i was just reading some Rousseau & thought
the language... eh... slightly "constipated"...
congested... on point... rigorous as one might expect
1 + 1 = 2 to be...
unless...
well no one ever said that a consonant must precede
a vowel... that there must be clear syllables...
that you can't allow two vowels or two consonants
to interact... on rare occasion you might end with
a specified consonant: an N...
or that vowels can exist alone... & that they can break
the rule of crafting syllables: & can meet...
ah... but they can't... i was wrong...
青 "=" アオ
               AO... blue...
but the meaning blue is an ideogram "concept"....
it's not a meaning that can be translated phonetically...
****'s sake... even in Japanese two vowels cannot meet,
nor two consonants...
although: they can... when as something
akin to a grapheme / a Chinese ideogram...
what would manner (NN) look like...
or... chatter (TT) should the Siamese Æ (sorry,
not grapheme, a grapheme would be the greek theta:
for th-ought) diphthong...
call an apple an apple... there are too many technical
terms ruining the narrative...
i'm bound to make one correct noun into
a disaster of a misnomer...

- thank you, winter sun, for receding to the point where
the moon can finally reclaim the night sky
and borrow something from the day,
no longer are the nights so ugly without him,
glaring in the sky, ever mindful cyclops
compared to the beauty of seeing very visibly
with almost two eyes, both the body & the shadow...
myopic moon... obstructed by clouds...

- back to the Glasbury event... we were dropped off
further down the road... i was given a map,
so i implored, were are we?
a finger descended onto the page & indicated:
YOU ARE HERE...
i took charge... mind you... it wasn't easy...
i had a popularity complex in high school...
it wasn't a "popularity" complex when it came
to entertaining the company of the "popular" kids...
the black boys were popular with the white girls,
the white boys were popular with, saic X...
i was leveraging the ******* nerds
playing video games, collecting Pokemon cards...
then again: with the ruffians...
spending Saturday afternoons in car parks...
trying lady luck by spitting down on them from
four stories up...

Peter Richardson... Kieran O'Mahoney...
endless Saturday afternoons...
cheap white lightning cider,
a youth club once existed in a church where
we played snooker where now,
most probably a mosque now stands...
blah blah...
we were once tricked by two girls...
before a wave of rowdy boys came up to
give us a beating... they oddly enough didn't
while Kieran lay on the ground crying...
semi-kicks & me imploring the bunch:
he has my walk-man! i need my music back!
Peter's younger brother was also there
but he did a runner... so, **** me...
3 against... 10, if not more?
those two ***** that enticed us...

well... we managed to escape the scene seemingly untouched...
ha ha...
Kieran did more damage to himself:
by himself when we overstayed out welcome in
South Park & had to climb over the fence...
me & Peter clamoured over... jumping onto our
feet as if we had four...
came the turn for Kieran...
standing on the top of the fence... jump! jump!
so he jumped... & managed to lodge his
underwear in one of the spikes...
for a millisecond we watched him dangle
quasi-impaled by his underwear...
laughter... well... i couldn't imagine it might have been
a particularly enjoyable ****... *******...
i came to my senses, Peter synonymous...
we lifted the poor ****** up & then down
from his predicament...

Glasbury... YOU ARE HERE... again... that's not cheating,
asking where you are, is it?
a benevolent finger descended on the map
and i was off... we took a shortcut through a road
that led into a little wood... we passed the wood
& emerged onto a pasture field...
some cows were grazing... the guys thought it might
be funny to push a cow over,
i advised them against it...

summa summarum: we ended up "beating" the other "team"...
clear as daylight...
i remember we were asked: since there was some spare
time... to exercise in the yard...
clear as daylight... we're exercising...
30 minutes if not more...
while the defeated team descends from around
the bend... all the girls, my peers with an expression
that could only be best read as: HUH?!
paint that... paint HUH?!
can anyone paint me: HUH?! on a woman's face,
can anyone?

i'm looking for a painting of woman, or several
women that reads the meaning of: HUH?!

oh **** me, i know i was spinning some other plate...
i hope i find it...

as usual Peter & Kieran got in the way...
perhaps Samuel might have joined the memory reel...
but Samuel is an altogether different matter...
almost a sacred memory...
that's for me to disclose when ready:
i'm not ready...

done, memory: begone!
fickle creature... of course it will remain...
but i hope it will be less prominent...
after all: i was almost 18 back then...
such memories are building blocks...
i managed to... read a map... guide a group of unruly peers
to success, "success"...
we just arrived early & our reward was some more
exercise... no... the reward was mine...
i managed to read the map & discovered shortcuts
in the make-up of the land...
to be told that you are at a disadvantage because
you are dropped off further away from group A:
while you're the disadvantaged group B...
well... placebo effect? i don't even know the correct naming
of this psychological experiment...

pair up older girls with younger boys
vs. pairing up older boys with younger girls...
only one year apart...
what the hell is pedagogy? eventually: at best...
a cocktail art... hey! let's see what happens!
esp. outside the classroom: in the outdoors!
as much as i'd love to dabble in the chemistry of
the inter & intra-man...
at a distance... i'd rather concern myself with
things that do not speak, pretend to listen,
pretend to see... pretend to feel:
or rather... i pretend for them... most certainly:
do not speak... zilch!

i couldn't possibly want the responsibility
surrounding the moulding of man
should "said" man not become... the ambition
worth of a statue in a public sq.
if i can't be an Aristotle shaping an Alexander...
i see a hammer: i see a nail...
oh... right... "of some use": no... pristine use...
the extant pivot!
beer is an extant pivot too, mind you...
what better way to "drown one's miseries"?
i was thinking of a make-up word...
exactant... EXACTANT...
                   out of: acting upon stasis: loosely...

i'm so almost content in stating:
whiskey first, the cider second that i can't finish a cigarette
having to subsequently write this...
not that there's much to write,
leave me: strain... i would very much so like
to watch some t.v., some movie...
some sport's & Sparta...
no... these toils with letters & memories...

Rousseau & the social contract...
even the name alone... Row-Sow...
look at it in Katakana: impossible...
snippets.... ロ
                             ウ        セ
                                             ウ...
or rather... Row-Sue!

i was wondering... what album did i hear, first?
Tool's aenima or tools lateralus?!

well me & Samuel would head over to
Romford... RM1 was a club... once upon a time...
where teenagers could enter & enjoy under-age drinking...
not that i was unfamiliar with the "practices"...
me & Samuel would walk back from Romford to
Ilford singing Backstreet Boys songs...
while the whole time we were 'ard-up punks /
metal heads... skateboards:
he stole his mother's credit card to pay for "my"
skateboard... he was later found out: fined...
i cowered like a leech when the pogrom on his ethics came...
what was her sisters' name...
Isa... Jessica! one of the Ursuline corpus!
oh i remember the Ursuline girls...
not that i had a hard-on for them:
i learned to ******* early... aged 8 i was doing the Onan
pledge... no... it was more about... RHO-MAN-Sssssss...
paid of like investing in... Sony's mini-disk "ingenuity"...
but every single morning...
those Ursuline girls on the bus...
beside the perfume of the morning... nothing worthwhile
mentioning... Samuels older sister Jessica
& Alex's older sister Samantha...
i remember one sleepover when
i purposively ****** on the toilet seat & one of them
noticed it... i was scolded (obviously)...
but the "matter" was quickly laid to rest...
on a bunch of nothing...

i scratched this CD so much: how?
from over playing it!
i wondered... when did i first hear of tool?
when i was a ****** 16 year old teenager...
how? Kerrang!
                                                my now estranged
uncle used to buy the magazine...
maybe...
(god, let me finish... i want to relax by
listening to some political "dialectic"...
opinion spewing... garbage... ditto-head echoes)...

i'm reading some Rousseau and listening to tool's
aenima...  i ought to hae a stipend for
makings "****" chronological...
in common parlance: **** = thing should a philosopher
ask... thing, nothing... blah blah...
lost appreciation for nouns...
or none to begin with...
i must have listened to aenima prior to lateralus...
i must have put down my homework
& be like: what the ****'s this?!
from stinkfist...
  i never heard anything like it!

it must have been aenima... i remember that summer
back in Poland when i started & finished reaading
the Three Musketeers... long before
Stendhal arrived on the scene with the Red & the Black...
one of those few adaptations on screen
(Ewan McGregor & Rachel Weisz)
of a book that might want you to read the book...
all of Sienkiewicz worked in reverse...
lucky me...

all ******* Celts though, Peter, Kieran, Samuel...
well... perhaps not Peter...
perhaps write an ode to... Alex... Martin:
the crooked teeth so crooked it felt uncomfortable
to bite a sandwich by him?
friendships... oh thank you professionalism...
i don't want to come too close...
friends once were:
now?
      oh forget about... to hell with "adoring" fans too...
someone's interested: fine...
they're not... to the pedestrian line with "you"!
i can allow myself the luxury...
it is a luxury... pass enough distance... animate
objects take on an inanimate object tinge...
hue... hue of... blurry... forgettable...
point of interest at a specified crux via transit...
but... otherwise... a celebratory forgetfulness surrounds
them... not out of spite... or my self-importance as
somehow superior to their: existence...
a shared value... they value their own freedoms
as i value mine...  it's strange: therefore...
how fame arrives at the fore... not posthumously:
yet when the said famous person is still alive...
fame as a reiteration of "fame"?
the hyper-reality of Baudrillard?
sounds like... the overhyped-hyper-reality of... "X"...

but i finally solved the "debacle"... did i listen
to tool's aenima or tool's lateralus first?
aenima... i'm listening to it right now...
i'm getting flashbacks... of the one club we used to go to,
when i still lived in Gants Hill & Romford was
this sacred place... for underage drinking...
**** me... the club didn't have a hard floor...
sickly sweet carpet underlying...
some other club...
     the DJ played STINKFIST...
     ooh... i'm gonna: stinkenfaust!
  i lost my head... i danced like a berserker...
what?
  on the same night i had my second kiss...
what could that kiss taste like: should memory be judged
the proper authority before the court?!
numb-cherry / ox--sweat...
  
that tool's aenima is an eulogy to bill hicks...
bill hicks... a very painful introspective on...
the stereotype of H'americans...
stereotyping themselves...

for me the greatest bill hicks moment came,
not telling a ****** joke...
undermining the concept of metaphor
with the reality of time...
sure... the bible didn't mention dinosaurs...
but sure as **** we were drawing fire breathing
lizards before the discovery of dinosaur bones...
lizards like makeshift "skyscrapers"...
undermine the metaphors of Moses...
such a finite little... loot...
new, "new" poetry "borrowed" from the old....
never undermine what Moses ought not or ought...

no, his greatest moment didn't come
from telling a joke,
it's his look of concern when...
he was asked to share the same interviewee
posit with, a very much drunken
Oliver Reed... no one could have played
Athos... like Oliver Reed did!
no one!
there was Bill Hicks... comedy extraordinaire
reduced to... perhaps tears...
laughing at a drunk... like that...
oh god... it hit: him: hard...
Oliver Reed: Athos! dinosaurs not in the bible:
ha ha... so what's up with humanity conjuring up
dragons?! ***** of fire... who said where
that... astronaut hit earth while the moon was
yawning: the what if: the moon was on its guard...
& the astronaut hit the moon...
earth with a ring of shrapnel like Saturn?!

perhaps i could remember the names of
the women i once loved... Promis... Priya...
Isabella... Ilona... n'ah.... what love i already gave
has now probably become an elephant's graveyard...
it's better to have memory of friendships in one's
progressive years...
i better retain Peter, Kieran, Samuel, Martin, Alex...
ought, within the confines of these times: be deemed
worthy to explore: the unknown...

tool's aenima: a priori...
tool's lateralus: a posteriori...

such sweetened acidity governing this cider...
i want to drink liters of it,
this gods' **** juice!
mehr! mehr! mehr!

proto-german then...
   mer! mer! mer!

proto-german, i.e. not Finnish...
lisää! o.k. that's ****** up...
doubled-up on the umlaut...
so whst's that? lisaaaa?!
                               my ******* arithmetic "wrong"?
is there a transvestite raeding this?
i can stomach a transvestite...
i was once, one, drunk...
trans- "****": the world of
popularity contests can stomach that....
digest it... just as wel: i want to forget about it...
the world can *******: with these "regards"...

i must have missed something...
yes, me & some ivory beautifies,
living it up in the safeguards of Kenya...
my god... some of these Kenyan girls...
past burnt mahogany...
past auburn... past autumn's flares...
i somehow almost forgot about my...
oriental fetish... of petite "things"...
geishas... what not...

             if i'm not being scrutinised...
i'm worried... i scrutize others:
eh... not so worried.

Coloured kimonos
geishas with bright umbrellas
it's sakura-time

Cherry blossom time
   geishas walk with umbrellas
   coloured kimonos