I've always had a fondness for gingers.
Don't ask me why.
Maybe it's the hair,
Whether it's sunset orange,
Dark auburn
Strawberry blonde
Or just plain red,
I love it.
But there is something within the people themselves
That just makes me go awwrr
And makes me want to hug the affected person,
Affected meaning, well,
Gingered.
That's a verb, right?
For example,
My three-year-old brother is a ginger, the only one in the family.
I like to call him any of the following:
Ginger Baby
Little Ginger
Baby Ging'
And really, really cute.
You've got to love gingers.

“Never trust a ginger”
she sings giggling looking at the red head next to me.
Her song is a pretty good representation of our friendship.
Throw in a ***** bump and some dorky dance moves
oh yea
that’s the definition of our friendship.
Laughing and dying at things no one else gets
actions no one else see’s
and mouthed words no one else understands.
That’s just a little inside view of our *“love”.

“Never kiss a ginger”
It’s a little late for that don’t ya think
blackberry tea and coffee making her laugh till she dies.
Hysterics that break her down till she’s on the floor rolling
rolling down a hill and being so dizzy she can’t get up.
Oh but she’s a monster that chases you around
trying to tackle you to the ground.
Falling off the playground rail and hitting her head
just like in our story
so she lays there laughing hysterically.
All I can do is shake my head

“Never kiss a ginger…twice”
yea that’s a little better.
he won’t be telling my slightly stunned, amazed face its cute again.
The face we later joked about
mouth dropped to the floor
eyes wide.
Like did that seriously just happen.
Our dumb and quirky reactions to everything
exaggerated, excited yeses
and happy little dances.


"Never date a ginger”
I’m not nor have I ever…
where do you get these thoughts that run through your head?
Ok I can’t say much
my mind wanders to the strangest places
and leads us to the greatest conversations.
Like cops on bikes with prisoners in baskets
leading to Mortal Instruments characters all riding one bike.
I’ve no idea where our minds get these strange ideas and imaginings.

“Never love a ginger”
I never said I love him
don’t let your mind wander
dangerous things happen when our minds wander
anywhere from dinosaurs ruling the world to death
and the things in between are sometimes worse to think about

“Never like a ginger”
OI!
with this again
I don’t I promise there’s nothing there
now please shut up.
Yes, yes I love you now please don’t attack my legs again
I really don’t feel like falling on the floor
it’s not very appealing.
Uh-oh

I've always liked gingers
But I've never met a ginger I liked until you.
Your flaming hair echoes my desire.

I once again write this poem in time,
as the hands tick with the clock.
To take a stand and declare, that surely
"Redheads Rock!"

Blondes may have some fun, and
brunettes can put up fight.
Now we come more bold and brave,
as our flags wave "Gingers Unite!"

Don't think we will be bullied.
We will defend our honor as our duty.
Too all the coppers, golden, orange,reds...
and to I - the "Auburn Beauty!"

i have absolutely no qualms when it comes to working
with women...
but let's face it... in this profession...
all the thrills are gone when women have joined
our ranks:
when once upon a time this was an exclusively masculine
profession...
there's so much less chance for violence,
also thrills... which makes life: livable...
bearable... but unsatisfying to the eternal quest
of man's: ooh... what's there?! what's that?
domesticated licking a wound that has yet to be
inflicted...
             i'm bored... and every other one is
having some mental health crisis...
               the asylum imploded and the worms
are wriggling out to be unable to see the sun...
i was paired up with this poor little thing today...
why do women trust me to the point
of revelling in revealing all their personal problems?
i don't get it...
am i a ******* psychologist on the side?
do i have a rubber ear or something?
  sure... i'll listen: but i'm asking myself...
              every time i ask to be placed on either turnstiles
or where the action is... i get the easy shift
at Fulham... in Bishop's Park... which is a doodle...
which is a yawn...
   but my "supposed" supervisor... Emma...
she once dyed her hair acid green... now she's
fluorescent purple...
           hmm... women and hair colour...
when i was younger... i had this archetypical
burn for blondes...
    i was obsessed with a girl named Milena...
a girl named Samantha... a girl named Janina...
all of them: blondes...
           ***** blondes... blondes of all types...
     but now?
               god almighty: restrain me! gingers!
i finally reached an argument to find this current
girl... 5ft... something or other...
only today i managed to spot her ***...
tight... small... firm... almost like a Christmas
present...
but this little ginger number is unlike
my prior ginger investment...
   this one's not whiskey hued... auburn... darkened
ginger...
this is a lighter shade...
                the same pale skin...
but she's more prone to patches of freckles...
i'm going mad over gingers...
      i can't help myself... there's something so appealing
about these remnants of the Celtic...
you work with women... and... somehow...
you working together they start treating
it like it's your first ******* date...
can't i just be coupled with a guy and talk about
Heidegger's hammer?!
they're good people...
            but... i really don't want to work in an environment
of autobiographical context...
i'm here: to do X... by the time Y comes around
and we clock out... i'm Z: on my way home...
looking for a shop that's open that still sells beer...
the **** i hear i should be paid double...
i get it though... i get it...
i'm human... we're supposed to share our little
stories... i was paired with a girl that finally allowed me
to open up...
i'm guessing there's a Whatts-Up group...
i've been hearing the same ******* questions from
about 6 different women...
today i explored the fact that:
yes, i've been engaged... she broke it up with me and
is now on her second marriage...
do you have kids? to be honest? i don't know....
which is sort of funny...
even if i have i will never know about them...
why are you the only child?!
oh, you know... i was born two weeks after Chernobyl...
even my grandparents remember that spring...
you had streaks of autumn hues in the trees...
my mother didn't have a second child because
she feared... because of my birthmark
on my right shoulder blade... since removed...
she might have ***** mutations... bring forth Siamese twins...
a burden...
            nature is cruel: so should man's intellect...
be likewise...
          hey presto... what did we pass?
a piece of a bird... well... a bit of the torso and a wing...
where's the rest? sort of fits into the narrrative
of... me having a piece of flesh removed from
my shoulder-blade... with an overgrowth of muscle
around the collar-bone...
i just want to be in the stadium...
where the action is...
i get ******* put on the easy shift...
'i want to work with Matthew!'
               they are seriously sussing me out...
all of them... single mums...
i don't believe any of these women are single...
   my "supervisor" keeps nagging me about...
when i misheard her...
she said: hello DARLING...
i thought she said: hello DADDY...
   now i'm ******* Daddy... she just keeps on nagging
me about mishearing the word...
i listen to music on full volume...
i should be deaf by now...
                but she can't let it go...
in the background she has these weird
mobile conversations concerning family courts...
she's in the process of being divorced...
most of these women have dated... dated...
reproduced with absolute *******...
   and that's my problem, now?!
                  now? it's a bit like that sccene
at the funeral of Ernest Menville in: Death Becomes Her...
he lived... the better best days of his life
after 35... after... all that crap...
it's a sick ******* ploy...
   why am i working this easy shift?
  
   oh... right... somewhere down the middle
my supervisor turns into my mother in need of painkillers
complaining about backpains...
i know where this leads...
women give birth... the ultimate pain:
couldn't we just bypass the whole drama and give
them a Cesarean?
oh right... then the Bible would be all wong: wrong;
women would not have to give
birth in agony... sorry... sowwy...
m'ah b'ah... b'ah... bad...
costs too much: mind you...

but what the **** am i? a ******* hugging-slot-machine?!
we're working, no?
so... why am i hugging these women on their
whim?!
one of my ex-girlfriends warned me about this:
i know, i know i am not a godsend for women...

do... plumbers hug when at work?!
do plumbers hug? it's like that meme:
can two straight men share an umbrella?!
i get it... being friendly... fair ******* enough...
but... a woman approaches you...
kisses you on the cheek... hugs you...
hell... she can get away with it...
       because of man's constant "hard-on"...
but... do that in reverse and what do you get?!

i'm as lucky as i'm unlucky...
the women that surround me?!
   they share stories of men treating them like ****...
see... that's the problem...
when you're a man with too many interests
from women... you sort of become a woman...
because... women start treating you like ****...
you sort of become their dumping ground...
let's see what we can get away with...
i'm pretty sure they don't know that i frequent
brothels...
   i'm going to get paid tomorrow...
Thursday... another shift... come Friday?
i'm going to text Khedra and get my *******
****** off...

                but this one ginger tonight...
she's a curious little thing... i know she is...
we were about to stand down...
    the "supervisor" already called it in... since the crowd
was dispersing...
but what did this: new cutie ginger in my life
do? she drags me for a one-on-one into the park...
to "check": optics...
   i'm not going to brag...
    i love women... which implies: i don't want to understand
them...
i love women too much to want to understand them...
and i do see it... some guys have no ******* chance...
you have bad teeth? or no teeth?
no chance... bad hair? i.e. oily... not washed...
no chance...
            bad posture? no chance...
not ironed shirts or trousers? no chance...
sorry... not calm enough? no chance...
                           nature is cruel... so should be man's intellect...
it should be like sandpaper when
all you want to ask for it... gliding your hand
across a body of water...
no no... that's not going to happen...
    time to roughen up...
                 i need sand under my *******
while i rub rub a... ha ha... an "SOS"...
                   working with women is weird...
even my father once exclaimed...
yeah... saw a female bricklayer...
    i'm not sure if she was a butch type of lesbian...
she must have been i remarked...
that's how homosexual relationships work...
they still return to the dynamic of:
someone's going to be masculine while
the other is going to be feminine... no?
           surrogate ******* the medium:
which is ******* harsh... i could be blasted for frequenting
brothels... but... surrogate ******* is...
akin to boxing: a punch below the ******* belt...
that's... not ******* with the ****...
but ******* with the womb...
that's ******* harsh...
                    
    every single ******* time i work with these
women i'm suspect... i'm always ******* dating...
i don't want to date...
i want to work...
            no... no work here...
cuddling... ugh...
                but this one ginger number...
the one that dragged me for the optical illusion
of being in the right place at the right time...
what a tight ***...
again: when i was younger... the archetypical blondes...
but as i've aged... gingers...
Celtic beauties...
    an antithesis of...
                Cerdic & the Saxons in the film King Arthur...
gingers... i'm starting to build up
a fetish for them...
they ooze... beside the clot of freckles...
that... mmm... milk-prowess-synonym of their...
tender... skin...
              
    no... sorry... i'm sort of blinded...
"work" has become sort of become sort of a schoolyard...
girls on boys
boys on girls...
                 what a load of *******...
i tried it with one ginger... Valentine's flowers...
crard... banana loaf... home-made-wine...
not good enough... not complicated enough...
   vinyl collection? not good enough...
well ******* not good enough...
           there's always another ginger in the poker-hand...
mind you: her *** looks... hmm... better than yours...

what a pretty little thing...
if i managed to give her the blushes...
i'm sure...
i'm pretty ******* sure...
i'd see as many freckles as i'd see on a Dalmatian!
like i said:
i love women too much to not want to understand them...

oh man... this ginger cutie...
what else? if not a single mum...
instead of a hug she dragged me into having a one-on-one
convo with me...
    oh sure... it's great... in the "upper tier"...
but it's not like they settle for you...
you're in the leftover crowd...
   chasing forever the middle ground...
  
            the safety net of...
                  it's nice seeing those ringed fellas running
around with problems...
i'm not joining the club...
                      dying all alone... in a hospital...
can't be that bad... learning from my grandfather:
compared to living a life of absolute misery for over 40 years...
no... thanks...
    as long as i'm desired...
better... than being kept by one ******* sparrow-sing-along.

I was like the jungle king,
She was like the jungle queen,
She was running ****,
Except wearing those flowers,
And I was wearing the waves,
That kissed me otherwise ****.

All those strange creatures on the beach,
They all ignored us for burning together,
Burning for sin,
Craving for sin,
Like the reptiles being swallowed by their dens,
The **** of a man,
Kissing the pit of a woman,
The evolution of thirst,
The ******* of burst,
Everything protected by the transparent curtains of water.

She was like the jungle queen,
I was like the jungle king,
I was ******* her crude,
Except my censored spermatozoon blushing out,
And she was nowhere to consume,
My sapid feelings in her faked frame.

How lovely is the freckle upon the fire child,
How beautiful are these sun kisses.
What a summer that transpires under blue eyes,
What virtuous hands to clasp mine in camaraderie.
To all the sparks, the red heads, the gingers, the orange licks of heat:
Continue to burn, for it is amazing to see.

this was today:

a splendid breakfast, ****** black intestines...
whatever the hell they put in those...
pig brain cartilage, blood, liver... barley...
fried with some onions, eaten with a decently toasted bread...
then... figuring out what to do with the ****-show
in the garden, three trips to the recycling centre
with rotten timber, and, some spare parts...

conversations with father...
football, the Grand National... i hate myself for this...
i'm not a gambling man...
but each year like clocks go back come the winter
months and like clocks go forward come the summer
months... i place a bet on the Grand National...
a bit like Harold Norse might have claimed
at not being a man... i'm not a man...
i don't gamble... i hate gambling...
today proved my point...
   yet again...
         i don't know how Bukowski or Dostoyevsky
managed a habit... i'd much rather work some
menial work and... then... yeah "gamble" with
a *******... gambling for me is more the thrill
of the unexpected than: expecting to fall-flat on my face...
having unprotected ***... but... just checking:
she might inform me... a ****** doesn't make
a lot of difference... if... you're not smarting-up
with your hygiene... so i get the exclusive no ******
******* into her... that's gambling...
a different sort of gambling...
  i'm the horse and the jockey...
the bet? oh... that's somewhere in the back of my mind
when i pay for an hour...
whatever... i'm a man and i'm not a man
in how the normal man would rather place a bet
on a horse than... have unprotected *** with a *******...
all... or nothing... that's me...
because i'm so ******* with myself...
i only bet a £1 on this one horse... each way...
so even if he came in 5th... i'd get a return...
so each way implies: a £1 bet you cough up £2...
for security... and he was running so splendidly for
about 28 fences... at times first... at times third...
****** gave up... after the last fence...
came in 6th...

     but what's frustrating about betting on horses...
or football teams...
like with this girl Jeminah... single mum...
bankrupt / a bad credit score...
i get these wrong sort of butterflies in my stomach...
when i start courting her...
drop round... one time... twice...
i promise her a bottle of homemade wine...
well... first "date" we just talk... job issues...
i already know she's bullshitting about me behind
my back... i keep a watch... second date
i bring the wine and some banana loaf that i too
have made... i'm getting these stomach crunches:
this is such a good idea! my ego-phallus is demanding...
but... my digestive system is rebelling against me:
check again...
   i had this ****** on a line and sinker!
if only i had the sort of intestines that might warn me...
about what could be or couldn't be
a good bet... i had him in my sight!
the Grand National Winner!
   i had him... there's no logic to gambling...
but this time around there sort of was...
   if i could only have the gut feelings in-tune with a
winner... like i might... with a female: loser-project...
*******, cycling drunk to her house...
leaving flowers in the middle of the night...
hot-head me... well... yeah...
you go to prostitutes from time to time...
you're going to get a hot-head...
               ******* ginger lasses...
                       but if i can get these right sort
of sensations concerning women...
who the hell cares if i don't get the same sensations
when it comes to horses, running for a gamble?
long-term projects... i like those...
i'd much prefer earning an honest wage
than winning some spare cash on the sly...
i hate gambling...
   but i ******* had him!
             i was looking through the list...
   Longhouse Poet: 14 - 1... poet... poet...
                  poets... Irish poets... W. B. Yeats...
why didn't my gut find my brains? i asked my father
on one of our trips to the recycling centre...
chances of a 7 year old winning it?
i heard... not since 1940?
  no... no chance, he replied... what about the 13 year old?
Blaklion - last time a 13 year old won
the Grand National was back in 1923...
but i had this Noble Yeats... **** me... 50 - 1 on my mind...
i was thinking... Longhouse Poet... Poet...
Yeats! come on!
  see... this is why i hate gambling...
i get the proper gut feelings when it comes to women...
no... she's no good... three ******* days of
constant stomach crunching without doing
any crunches... constipation... ooh... i'd love to simply
**** her: but... she's of that sort of age
where... a casual fling isn't simply going to cut it...
can't i just replace these gut-wrenches when
it comes to betting on the right horse...
just once a year... i had the ******... in my grasp!
there was also this horse: Freewheelin Dylan...
but... Bob Dylan is a lyricist...
   he's not the Dylan Thomas... so... three poet horses...
i just sort of ******* knew...
but... money muddles judgement...
unless... it concerns prostitutes...
    because that's what gambling has replaced:
the old religious superstitions...
talk of demons is equivalent to the talk of luck...
to hell with it...
              the same old religious superstitions have
been usurped by secular gambling habits!
so... why do i get these gut feelings of repulsion
i first think of as infatuation: rightly so...
oh... she was a cougar i'd love to pass...
why can't i focus that sort of gut sensations
when it comes to betting on the winning horse?
easy money...inherit a mountain:
without how many pebbles it takes to give
a mountain its form...
     maybe i'm lucky... in that respect...
     maybe life has allowed me to... hmm... see:
the bigger picture...
    if i can cough up for one hour living dangerously
with a *******... and... this sort of woman...
is not shoving me her offspring down
my throat... while's she's looking for
beta-bucks deluxe... i think that's better than
betting on a winning horse...
  give me the menial task... forget it...
earning money: freely... easily...
         but... i'd love that Spiderman sort
of sensation on a good bet...
mind you: i had a good-sensation... a premonition...
i just listened to bad advice...
with women? i don't listen to any advice...
i just... cruise... automatically solo...
     but thank god i only gamble with a quid's worth
once a year... i had W. B. Yeats in my mind...
ugh! it's so frustrating!
   like with the women in my life...
the mares keep nodding: upon approach at the first
hurdle... last hurdle... the image of:
pretending to sniff my eyelashes...
          the horse is looking for: side-lining it to:
side-lining "blinkers"... no good...
this... custard... is fresh?!
              stay up to 1am... wake up 20 minutes prior
to 8am... have a croissant and coffee at Putney Bridge...
before the lazy-assed Somalis: depending...
decide to... feel important...
which is never... fair enough...
Thames goes down to glue...
          i hate gambling...
                i never gamble...
this is what it might possibly feel like not having written
Crime & Punishment...
which, given the current year?
feels... pretty ******* good! oh, no...
no high-brow type of motivation to keep
the European literary up-keep of "culture"...
that load of *******... is long gone...
enter African: grime... enter... horse-****-imitation-sludge.

that way yesterday:

just at my annual check-up with the nurse...
the woman sat there, amazed...
although still worried about my high-blood pressure...
we agreed... no matter the diet:
i avoid fruit, i don't like too much sugar...
i prefer eating vegetables...
come to think of it... only yesterday i ate a...
medium-rare slice of beef with nothing
but salt, pepper... some toasted sourdough...
i was going to make myself a creamy mushroom
sauce with too much parsley...
but i was like: n'ah... not going to happen...
i'm a puritan when it comes to beef...
less is more...
i even told my mother: in it for the calories...
i don't care what it is...
like Socrates once said:
some people eat to live...
while others: live to eat... i'm of the former
persuasion... but don't get me wrong...
i like the chemistry experiments that go around
cooking up a decent curry...
work was fun, always is...
i'm always very, hardly: talkative...
unless i'm probed... tickled... in the right way...
after being rejected by Jeminah...
that auburn... conker... beau...
                       my god... after being rejected by her...
i've built up a fetish for gingers...
sure... the mythological blonde...
the Turkic raven hair black...
   but gingers... and Gaelic...
   i feel like an elder Saxon coming to these shores
when i see that pale skin, those freckles...
i see ginger i turn into a bull that charges
against: fuchsia... because bulls never charge
against prime colours...
like red... bull charge against a hue of something
between red and purple... almost UV...
fluorescent... fuchsia... is a hue: it's not a colour...
per se... since it mingle red with purple...
or... is it blue?
           i've learned that rejection by something
specific makes me more predatory if other similar
examples proper their heads up...
ginger girls... pale skin... freckles...
i'm ******* zoning in... cruising... circling...
but it's not my fault if women find me intimidating...
this one at work... oh my god...
if she was 20 years prior... from Dublin...
i already told her: i have a James Joyce hard-on...
what did we talk about? her working in a care-home
with dementia patients... Gaelic...
like i had this friend once... her name was:
spoken: N-E-E-V... kneeve in English...
that's already adding letters: not said... the surd K...
but... how was her name spelled?
******* Niamh... Niamh said is... *******
Neave?! she loved learning French, i hated it...
merde... again... what's that loose E doing in that word?
that's what i love about ****** spreschen...
distinct syllable, distinction between vowels and
consonants...
westerners tell us: too many consonants! too many!
the easterners might counter with:
TOO, MANY, *******, VOWELS!
i can't see what you're about to say if
you write one way, but speak another!
   but my nurse was very much shocked...
two years ago i weighed in at 117.9kg...
she weighed me today... 98,7kg...
        lean, slim, pretty *******: i dare say...
what did we talk about?
oh... that blood pressure "thing": it runs in the family...
144 / 96... the second measure is about...
circulation or something... the first can be high,
that's good... means you're pumping...
problem with her middle child...
   the elder son managed to buy a house...
the middle child is having issues... i choked about being
the only child... and... well... with me?
it would have to become borderline patricide...
i think she got the joke...
   the son gets along with his younger sister...
blah blah...
then... on a scale of 0 to 5...
depression and... anxiety...
the anxiety questions i put back to her:
do i look anxious?
   depression? can i use the term melancholy?
my grandfather died "recently":
i'm sort of churning out... being reflective concerning
mortality... how's that?
i cycle like a madman... well... that was lovely...
just watching her face... behind that 2021 *****...
how did i do it? walked at first... marathon lengths...
to St. Paul's and back...
  then i got on my bicycle...
but... you see... i had this friend... he was a big too...
but he avoided doing cardiovascular exercise...
hit the gym... later? problems with loose skin...
it takes time... cardiovascular exercises tones you:
since you're applying repeated strain...
you're not trying to bulge up...
you can't turn fat into protein mass...
you need to burn the fat off... then you can start
building up protein mass...
and... repeated strain... is more important than...
just pumping iron...

They are both orange or gingers, as in my dreams
both crazy and funny, like you and me
and in our faces, in the morning, they won't scream.

In the apartment we'll never split rent together,
between the rooms we'll never kiss in
the kitchen we'll never cook in, not for each other.

The litter boxes we won't take turns to clean
the food bowls we won't refill, like you and I never did
wiping mirrors until they glisten and gleam
and looking back now, it's a relief indeed

The bills we won't compute, pay and solve,
the fights that we'll never have.
I find comfort in our inexistent marital issues
and the divorce that we'll never have to encounter.

I'm thinking about becoming a pornographer.
I'm thinking about sitting behind a camera.
I'm thinking about being an unseen voice.
I'm thinking about nobody seeing any part of me
except my **** while it's being ******.

I'm thinking gingers with tight *****.
I'm thinking emo girls with *******.
I'm thinking of beauty being manipulated.
I'm thinking tall, slender, bearded men with long hair pounding the **** out of the biggest ****** in town.

***** attract me.
It just depends on my behavior.
I have a ****.
A nice one.
With ***** that make it look tiny.

I love ******
I love ******
I love ******.
I love ******.

The creation of a ginger man who's name is ginger fred  
Such a ***** ******* when he had tarts in his bed
Those tarts where all so fruity they made his chocolate lead
His icing went all runny as they ****** his ginger bread

He would pop the cherry's and the strawberries he would ****
The blackcurrants we're okay they're still quite good to ****
He'd watch two lemons licking and pay them each a buck
Having all those tasty tarts he could not believe his luck

If he ends up in a jam you know what he's been licking
All those ******* jam filled tarts is the place his gingers sticking
So if you see a ginger man with all his buttons missing
You can bet your bottom dollar it's tarts that he's been kissing

One **** is just not enough his antics he'd be tripping
He would have a complete box even if it was crippling
With his ginger crumbling and his melting chocolate rippling
Some jam tarts are exceedingly good so **** you Mr Kipling

i only watch documentaries about geographical regions, makes sense, seward's folly, about 70,000 inhabitants in that state, half of them living in the capital Anchorage, the rest scattered with huskies - not one car was built keeping this in mind, horsepower yes, but huskypower? no... they can eat 10,000 calories of fish-head soup a day and never tire... blessed companions.*

mind you it was a terrific trip,
the only tour guide being a fine television edit;
the squirrel without trees
and a hole, adding to the hibernating comfort
with grizzly bear fur shed -
we're so poorly evolved to fit the theory
of darwinism - so poorly evolved -
no theologian in me to quantify an existence
of something, but quality-wise,
we're so poorly evolved,
no fur, no hibernating system to automate
a shaking to feed the brain from time to time
a rise of body temperature from -3°C...
out of 6 months of winter and 65 days of perpetual
darkness at the zenith, the omen of
oncoming spring with the northern lights...
we're so poorly adapted in comparison -
i too wish for the Arctic fox's fur rather than Gucci,
hence i wear tracksuit bottoms and find it
easier to scratch my groin of ***** hair whereabouts
and my ***... no fancies beyond -
it makes sense to do these seemingly "caveman"
antics walking the english labyrinth of suburbia
at night, having a few beers and smoking
cigarettes... no guilt, no point of fancy...
so this alaskan gerbil survives the winter because
of the highly evolutionary coping mechanism,
man doesn't have that by-product of evolution,
man is actually the loser in the whole dynamic,
he needs to chop wood, breed huskies for the
sledge joyride, actually use inanimate objects to
sustain himself for the core: warmth, and not wetted...
we haven't really evolved, we simply devolved...
i'm telling you this isn't a theological argument,
it's an argument from observation...
remember the imposition of aesthetics
on the Doberman Pinscher and the Rottweiler,
the "circumcision" of the tail, cutting them short
to speed up the emergence of man's coccyx?
no one played "eugenics" with that -
well, the lynx looks like that, tail cut short
by nature... the king of a decaying moose carcass:
first the ravens came, then the bald-headed eagle,
then the coyote, last the lynx...
the victors of the fight? the ravens, they nibbled
bits of the carcass and hid them in shallow snow
that acted like refrigerators, and ate their investment...
only the intelligent scavengers...
prior to a wolf came in the night and did
a dietary autopsy of opening the carcass up -
up here no parasites, no insects... too cold...
the uppermost town?
i can't remember, extraction of oil bound to be there,
polar foxes and the usual gingers who
moved with men and found the atmosphere pleasing -
but still the fancy of the Chilkat river,
where bald eagles congregate to become fishermen
of salmon, which congregate to swarm and lay caviar...
sitting ducks, the salmon swim upstream,
lay the caviar, become favourable for the bald eagle palette;
but we're so poorly evolved,
we have no fur, no hibernation tactic to sleep
through the harsh winters...
we only have each other - and that doesn't really help
having evolved to be so selfish -
if man evolved he's become too parasitic -
so many dependencies - whether that be from
a herd of grazing cows or organic chickens -
to the excavation of crude materials for warmth -
we're so poorly evolved - it's almost sad -
biology and photosynthesis, chemistry
and hydrochloric acid, physics and gravity -
indeed excuse the gods from poetry and you're
altogether excused from writing it.

well, thank you England, but bye bye,
but hey! the blonde ferret  will be your guide,
anally sniffing Kentucky. say bye to Hong Kong -
say bye in Bengali to India বিদায় (bid-aya). oh sure,
feel pride, but there's the Zeppelins missing,
Focke-Wulf Fw 191 too... Londoners Yorkshire proud
as turnips.... horse and carriage people... blame the Poles!
invite the Syrians... the Hair-rash gingers
from Dublin never mattered... feels good not feeling racist once
you greet the Syrians unable to work the coal-mine, doesn't it?
a bit like donating to Oxfam?
go **** forward mind i guess where the triceps will
come from... remember that my
great paternal-grandfather was a **** with a
Wehrmacht dagger - adding to your closure on debility,
and the Irish jingle - or as someone said:
the show must go on... i just laugh at your little
racism nibbles - never heard a viola in an Irish jingle -
heard the Titanic, for sure, the perfect pub buddy
had a self-conscious moment - there's always the KKK
and the graveyard - unless you're not being
democratic, which i am aware of;
dogs and as suits the master - coagulating glue
for the thick thick contrast between φ and θ, esp.
in ascribing the title genius to a child, via spelling,
when φ and θ are side-by-side, e.g.:
as women said: i knew better than your concern
for digestion, so i grew a foetal-turnip while
you harboured a thought;
i guess the continuum mattered greatly to the thought
excavated, but i held life dearest,
and the foetal-turnip mattered most...
well, as Moses wrote: i'm anything but man,
so loving you (woman), will always be like
digging up turnips along with fishing for shrimps,
a bogus affair needing fishermen and half the sea
of awaited selectivity for the metaphor
there being other fish to catch; whatever;
****** come cheaper than dating, and dying for the third
or fourth time, i can't wait being aged 40;
by this point... it really doesn't matter if there'll be
a gathering to celebrate my name in Trafalgar Sq.;
by now there are other priorities, like turning on
the radio and not stealing MP3s; i only compound
the self with consciousness given history -
history makes me self-conscious, a shame of not having
invented the refrigerator or the kettle, or having
a thought concerning gravity to no use for someone
climbing the god-body of Tibet that's Mt. Everest.

gingers in the hay, likewise
gingers in the scoop of
what's to be worth the last,
remaining quote of queen sheeba...
copper skinned peoples she said,
copper skinned to be the remnant of
all other;
i'll see you in siberia,
                 with the mongols.*

just the per se
  lemma;
bed looks comfy,
    best i sit
my *** on it,
prior to some other
philander
of affection,
  or the camouflage, stripes,
guessing at: harvest ready
wheat?!
     i'm pretty sure
i can merge into mahogany
furniture;
and take the down-syndrome
orangutan with me,
while i'm at it.

honestly? if i could be accused of being an anti Semite:
could Freud be called a Semite in the classical
sense of: say, scuttling like a "rat" in sneakers
on... hmm... why is it that when i type on
Day of Judgement... i first receive results for the Islamic
concept of Yawm ad-Din,
   and not... oh... right... i'm thinking of Yom Kippur...
i used to lived next to a synagogue...
i'd love watching these rug-a-muffins with their
curly "dreads" scuttling into their hiding wearing
sneakers... because they couldn't be bound to any
ownership of leather... no leather shoes...
no leather belts... yeah: and i was considered a lunatic
once... get enough people on board...
no secular psychological lion to stress you out
as some weakling away from the herd...
but with Freud? i'm a ******* SS-mensch...
i abhor him... interpretation of dreams?
  hey, Freudy-ol'boy... i think i just dreamed of
the birth of an oyster... i think i might as well
have shoved my head backward like the freefall
head-first of a Lucifer back into the source...
i think i was literally dreaming of how oysters
reproduce... curious little boy that i am...
    i hate Freud with a passion... to me he's not even
a ***... he's just a high-brow intellectual
readied to pamper to the needs of 19th century
aristocratic ladies having to be married to the likes
of Huysmans' Jean des Esseintes...
or Baron Masoch... Venus in Furs...
                      things... change...
         mutatio omnia...
                         all is subject to change...
                Copernicus is rigid... Freud... eh...
not so much...
                               there are fluctuations...
Freud is not rigid...
        his intellectual outpouring is subject to change...
unlike Marxism with it's rigid idiocy...
because its focus is on the personal level:
i... i return to the archetypes...
               Freud can't do that for me...
i do that for myself...
                   imagine a lion yawning when
watching a boxing match... because... the spectacle
per se is boring... he has to take care of this
mental "******" having a panic attack...
i can't imagine being this abusive to my mother...
a ******* train about to derail...
    even she said... as i sat down and talked with her...
trying to comfort her...
in my scenario: my mother would be crying...
while i'd be the one making last judgement remarks
about the society i'm living in...
in her case... she's the stern one...
while her son is crying... having a panic attack...
while i'm trying to hug him... comfort him...
i'm the one who drinks half a litre of whiskey
and then gets a double hit from adrenaline
while cycling...
   thankfully i had this... i'll mention race...
once... i'll mention race... once...
thankfully i had this black steward under my supervision
that helped me sort this sack of **** out...
like... what's the ******* stereotype?
akin to: one flew over the cuckoo's nest...
that... all the head-cases were handled by black guys...
are they more tender? are they motherly...
lion-prone imitation? and i'm the ******* remains
of a Mongol horde... i too can be tender...
touch touch... but black guys are tender creatures...
i don't even know what that meme was about...
about them being Orc... what African tribe ever
left Africa to invade some other piece of land...
well... beside now... but now they are invited
by the masochistic ruling "elite" of Oops-orp-U...
        even at the Fury-Whyte match i was wondering...
why have these two gals walked out of the VIP
restaurant, the 1-20... 1-120 club... club Wembley...
whatever it's called... conversation sort of claustrophobic
in there? a great bake of ***...
mind you... i can get the same for £120 per hour...
i don't need to spend £3000 and a date for a boxing match...
Mammoth doesn't discriminate when it comes
to females selling their sexuality...
just standards differ... beauty in the eye of the beholder
sort of *******...
         sure... nice piece of bagels... but not worth
£3000... i can get the same for £120 for an hour's
worth... hey... that's how life goes...
    why i abhor the Madonna-***** Complex
and why i'm invested in the ******-Cougar Complex?
beside the grannies... i'd **** anything that moves...
or maybe it's to do with...
   oh... this story i heard... see... i was born
with a Chernobyl tattoo... a birthmark on my right shoulder
blade... a sort of mark of Cain...
later down the line i had it removed...
which implies: loss of muscle from the shoulder blade
area... now i have excess muscle surrounding my
shoulder blade...
        but anyway... when i was born... silence...
then the nurse that was taking care of me...
tried to choke me... **** me... which... translated
into an enlarged heart problem...
  i was also ridden with a hernia...
                blah blah...
                        if i have any animosity towards women?
it's unconscious... which translates as:
transactional, purely ******...
   to hell with looking for a Madonna...
that part dropped off... i just took the ***** part
and made it into a ******-Cougar complex...
            and i like tending to people's needs...
                                   but i'm also, strangely: misanthropic...
when i need to be... i am...
when i don't need to be: the recluse i become...
i just can't stress it enough...
  you know: when you've been hurt by women
on an unconscious level...
as a baby in hospital... because of a Chernobyl
strawberry mark on your back...
hell: if they hate you so much from birth...
what are you going to do?
hit them back with love... go to the prostitutes...
**** the priests and psychiatrists...
you want to touch... feel around the other's
body like a blind worm... like an octopus...
wrap the whole of your 6ft2 100kg around
them... make them as tender as an oyster...
gulp them up with ever kiss every slobber...
every plum tattoo of the pelvis as you ram them
into convulsions of mini-spasms of Morse-Code
ecstasy...
         but i hate Freud with a rare passion...
that doesn't translate to all other Hebrews...
                 i find revulsions when orientating myself
around his intellect... his supposedly
rigid... archetypical findings...
                   the dissemination of the herd...
                       **** me... i need the herd intact!
so few are the calibre's worth of being... stealth...
of being predatory...
             at work i'm always of this mentality:
there's no ******* psychologist's couch safety net...
it's the closest i've come to my daydream
of having joined the army...
          but... conversation comes first...
physical stress comes later...
          if at all... like only two days ago... with that
panic attack sack-of-****... being mouthful to my stewards...
appease this little ****** as much as possible...
i don't want to use force... hey presto! it worked...
he did eventually sit down next to his mother
and watched the match... even she said...
i lived in London for 15 years... i know where i'm
going after the match... but he doesn't...
he doesn't have any money on him...
so i said to my black: yes: BLACK steward...
good job... don't worry about it... he has a mobile...
she has a mobile... they'll be able to find themselves...
- but i hate Freud with an anti Semite passion...
even though i'm prone to the occult...
an advocate of the Kabbalah... because...
Ha-Shem has all the necessary requirements
of phonetic sense in Roman script...
   because Ha-Shem didn't destroy the Roman script
like he might have and did...
destroy the Egyptian hieroglyphs
                 and Persian cuneiform...
   since the Romans never enslaved the Hebrews...
the Hebrews which became the Yids in Germania
were allowed to flourish...
    even under Casimir the Great they were allowed
to flourish in ******-lack-lands...
   and that's because of, what? they brought us a
Trojan horse equivalence of a suffering on a cross?
subdued "us"?
         i hate: equally... Freud as much as Christianity...
kneeling... giving ******* to some concrete
emblem of... the biggest troll of hell:
the Lord of Mosquitos...
     Ba'al Yah'Toosh...
                          come to think of it... there's Israel...
so why am i still "thinking" about the diaspora
of Yids all around the world?!
  ****** was a vegetarian...
                    Eva Braun had Jewish genes...
   you think, her masterplan wasn't
    for the resurrection of a Jewish nation:
  to be finally freed from being subconsciously
"European" and... strike the hornets nest
of Islam?
                         Helen of Troy...
           Elizabeth Bathory...
                       ****** Mary... yeah... only men were
ever evil...
          i'm starting to think that Henry VIII
was a mild mannered man... until...
   he stepped into a pile of **** of ****...
                      best bet... with prostitutes...
i'm trying to understand why so many men are
hung up on women they can't keep...
me? i'm clueless as to why my cats like me...
and i'm still trying to figure out
how people can post adverts for their: "lost cats"...
eh... "lost"? cats don't become lost...
they just figured out: you're a **** keeper...

    gingers... Jemminah... ah man... when i cycled past
her walking with the most un-remarkable looking
man... sort of her height...
i knew something went terribly wrong...
intimidation... i must have intimidated her...
bringing along my own home made wine...
and my home made banana loaf...
reading her boy's poem out-loud to him...
like Frank O'Hara i hate the colour orange...
but i love oranges...
   and i love ginger haired people...
add some curls to the canvas...
we're talking...            no... we're not talking...
Jess Glynne... we're imagining...
                 i guess i wasn't looking for a Madonna...
and she figured it out...
that's why i hate Freud and that's why i hate
him by doubling up on coupling him with
a *** perspective on European matters...
that's why i once made it prominently known:
i'd rather drink my own *****: which i did...
than drink the metaphorical blood juice of red
wine... then i'd puke on the crucifix...
rather than **** on it...
                     emblem of too much easily
available fixations...
                        no thank you... i don't need
a woman attired in a niqab when i'm freely in possession
of a *******...
if i could: i'd take the snip... if i were guaranteed
a leash akin to a niqab on a woman...
but i still don't understand why it's
only called circumcision and not MGM:
male genital mutilation...
        is that some sort of a libido trick
i'm not "yet" aware of? does China or India
have the same methodology?!
   i think they don't... not with their population size...

my mother was never mothering...
i'm sort of lucky...
she cries before i get a chance to... probably laugh...
implanted in me... the archetype of a blonde...
that soon died... recently a hunger for
girls with ginger... curly hair woke me up
to a new pursuit...

if i were looking for a Madonna...
ugh... sick... Freud...
    i wouldn't be looking for a woman to tend
over me... if i had children... yes...
over them...not me... leave me: the **** alone...
and how it's framed: all the fault is relied
on man's existence: per se...
this per se: is crucial... without men...
you couldn't implant these sick: Semite ideas...
into crushing the European soul...
it's like these Semites are fighting two wars...
one with the Arabs: the actual war...
but with the Europeans... a spiritual war...
so... why ******* this **** far north?!

o.k. Kippah brother... you know what happened
to Balaam?
            you will not lead these letters into extinction...
you made your offering... of the crucified man...
now the crucified man is making a comeback:
let's change him a while...
redress him from a crucifix packaged into
an iron maiden, how's that?!

right now... i'm *******... and i'm rarely ******
off... but now i'm ******* fuming!
i'm scratching my nose... i'm pinching my lips...
i'm looking for my forehead...
all the more looking at the people
most oblivious to change...
            
                no! i will not be sexualised by someone
who has been deformed by genital mutilation!
i will not accept his intellect! ******* ******...
nein! nie! niet!
             i'll only accept uncircumcised intellectual
arguments... by now... yes! i'm a ****!
in the broadest sense imaginable... i love the uniforms...
god... give me a Hugo Boss schwarzanzug...
                  i don't hate the Hebrews...
i just hate the intellect of one Heb...
                         with a William Hazlitt follow-up...
i am not going to be pacified into
a **** **** of an Islamic invading party...
but i will fast with them...
like i told them: it's not for religious reasons...
fasting gives me a chance to concentrate
a little bit more...

                            but... honestly?
most of the people i'm working with...
they'd be better suited to an extermination camp...
they're so ******* useless...
you can tell they have been borne from
an uninhibited ****** thirst...
        they're useless...
   a space... a time... but function? no...
that's missing... like a head might be missing
on a worm... oh... wait... worms
don't have heads... just mouths...
         i pretend thinking that these Muslims
have eyes... or ears... but i mostly see heads
that resemble mouths...

well if the leftist media wants to conjure up Nazis...
hey! hey!     oi! oi!
                                     like my once known fwend
once stated: plenty of Nazis in Poland...
so... not in Ukraine?!
            whatever...
lazy-*** Somalis...
                      i think i'd be a good gas chamber
operator; because i've reached that point
where...
           people exist... for no ******* ulterior
reason... they are just rigid... chess-pieces types...
retards...
         or they pretend to counter authority
with some ******* scam argument...
                 it's simply for me...
                                       i'd be a great gas chamber
operative... i might blink once or twice...
but i'd most certainly yawn...
                   i can't the believe the animosity for humanity
stirred up in me...
             it's almost: godly...
i'd feel less if i were allocated the status of farmer
and required to keep company with a herd
of cattle... this isn't cattle...
this is a splintering pseudo-herd of a mix
of scammers... busy-bodies... sure... the large proportion
is compliant...
         but the rest? what could give either or them
more relief? shackle them... or gas them?!

i don't know... it must be an ancient curse of feeling:
when... people are uncooperative...
the whip and lashing sort of comes out in me...
the army-esque rigidity...
it makes me feel like i want to shave my beard
and just keep the moustasche:
   like some British Empire officer...

           i abhor thinking these thoughts...
    but they are, necessary, they are the required learning
ground in order to inhibit their execution...
to their fullest extent...

      i need to think these thoughts through
in order to not enact upon them...
i need to curb my impulses...
coupled with: showcasing them... better i show them
than hide them, ferment on them...
and later... much later... do the much
utter worst...
            
                      i hate Freud... seriously...
all he had was internalized masculinity? there was...
nothing... external?! all man... women
sort of "stopped" existing?!
women stopped existing during the 19th century...
which... made them non-accountable: primo!
during the 21st century...

                              no wonder, then... why wouldn't
Islam pounce! at the freely available
****! it's not "our" women would ever mind...

me? i'm just trying to clarify the collective
narrative... it's nothing personal...
         i'm walking with Horace... i simply don't
care;
   why would i care? for "western europe"...
we're the non-existent jokes of Alred Jarry...
"eastern eruope": via language...but geographically
we're CENTRAL-EUROPE...
   yeah: here's your *******, glorious: SUNSET...
you generous *****!
                        i think that's what always ******
off the Russians... that they were...
relegated as pseudo-Mongols...
                      even though: Kiev was founded
by Swedes...
                       that would **** me off...
                                 if someone kept labelling red:
blue... i'd get *******... on a microcosm level...
i would... i would become so *******...
i'd loose it! simply!
                                     i'd start a war...
why excuse the Iraq or the Afghanistan invasions?
seriously? this side of history?!
**** it... if they can invade Iraq / Afghanistan...
why not us?!
          any news from Syria?
                          
the world can ******* and be the world it
chose to be...
i'm just thankful that... massive lizards
were made erased and these weren't
massive insects.

Justin Bieber's Dreadlocks Show
How White People (Still) Steal Everything
(vice news)...*

yep, and Beyoncé isn't... because it's natural
for hair in a sub-saharan environment
to be without afro curls... smooth and slick...
and partially blonde... ain't it *****?
yep... tell 'em how it is! women out-cold
in cold sweats due to sunstroke should they
have demanded hair fitted for a near Arctic
environment of near perpetual darkness
among gingers in scotland.

foxes are hyenas of the north,
i don't know
whether they feed or
do otherwise,
when they dry cackle their
onomatopoeias
that i imitate with laughter
once a while;
but they do sound congregational:
so much so that i would expect
an european to be a better import
than god to american society;
but the sounds of the night
that come from these gingers
seemingly laughing:
foxes are hyenas of the north.

502 bad gateway bypass:
chuckle baron,

mishaps at 0.5 degrees
of a circle.

picked up an unfinished cigarette from a jar i have
placed on my windowsill
instead of an ashtray and smoked it...
ooh: those ***** little pleasures...
    so ash on the filter... and in general:
***** cigarette finish...
                 sipping my whiskey...
   found a new band i can't stop listening to...
SJÖBLOM: which is a surname by several
Swedish people... the album? demons...
i always found that the Swedes have an incredible
pop sensibility...
a bit like Abba... a bit like Roxette...
it's infectious music...
   i don't care whether someone calls its "emo":
it's not... there are not screeching vocals of teenage
angst... it's melodic...
it's a bit like discovering Alt-J or the XXs...
or Porcupine Tree...
           then again: it's like trying to find the antithesis
of the major bands of the 1980s...
i needed to get something from that decade
beside only listening to the Cure or Depeche Mode
or Duran Duran... since that's what my uncle was
raised on...
turns out the 1980s were probably the best
decade for music: nothing mainstream matters
when you discover post-punk, dark-wave...
and no: not that pretentious indie music from England
from the 2000s...
   even Brit-Pop is bearable compared to that
strange movement...
   i was a child when Brit-Pop was a major force
to contend with American Grunge and Metal...
      to be honest: anything from the 1980s that wasn't
mainstream is... better than anything mainstream
that came out in the 60s or 70s....
   dad rock...
                well: progressive rock was never mainstream:
King Crimson will still have a special place
in my heart: i don't think there's a better album
than: in the court of the crimson king...
    it's my youth...
        well... Roxette's Joyride... that album is pristine...

tomorrow's F.A. cup final between Liverpool and
Chelsea ought to be fun... i'm already gearing up...
how long to stay up and doodle?
what time to wake up...
    eat something prior leaving?
shine my shoes... doubly iron my trousers...
iron a shirt...
     i already asked to be placed inside rather than
outside... near the VIP section... near the Royal box...
hell... i might even brush against the future
King of England...

i sit back and remember my grandfather:
how long has it been?
   2 years since he passed?
      he was a peoples' person... he could make
people work for him...
   i'm sort of growing into this role too...
even though: we're not talking: proper work...
in a metallurgical plant...
heavy duty stuff... Die Krupps - im schatten der ringe...
i still don't think this is work...
trying to make people not drink in view of the pitch...
trying to make people not drag their mobile-shishas
in stadiums... searching bags...
general security *******...
    i guess i don't think it's much work:
but it would have been... if something like
the Manchester Arena terrorist attack took place...
maybe i'll be made a supervisor again...
last time at Wembley i was frantic...
   a Tyson Fury boxing match... trying to tend to about
20+ people under my supervision...
this one guy... mental health issues...
broke down crying... poor mother:
i'd get slapped about for saying the stuff he said
to her: and she bought him the tickets...
the amount of time it took to calm him down:
panic attacks...

while he was running backwards and forwards...
insulting my stewards...
i had to step in... thankfully this black guy helped
me... a steward under me...
it's like in those 1970s movies about mental asylums...
all the orderly seemed to be black...
i didn't want a response team involved...
i hoped the two of us would reason with him...
and we did... he stayed...
he didn't know London: had no money
and as i sat down with his mother
she told me he was being a little brat...
a 25+ year old man needed my support...
cried in front of me... while i tried to tend to him...
touch... touch... hand on his shoulder...
   etc.: no need for the details...
i just said to him: you paid to see this event!
it's not fair that i'm getting paid to "sort of" see this
event too! look! bright lights! stay!

i still bewilder myself... this isn't work:
i don't treat it as work... i've already got used to
the infrequency of toilet breaks...
sometimes i come home constipated like a turtle
that only ate sandpaper...
   and it takes me about a day later to recover...
i don't even mind standing like a ceremonial soldier
at Buckingham Palace:
i swear... 4 hours on a bicycle is less exhausting
than standing still...
what's sometimes on the news?
ceremonial soldiers dropping from exhaustion:
because they're imitating statues...
which is more exhausting than... movement...

this is a "joke" of a job compared to roofing...
whenever i tell someone i used to be a roofer
they're like: what's that?!
Romford is the capital of roofers...
oh you know, tar work, hot-melt, waterproofing
roofs? on an industrial scale...
that summer of 2004 was probably the most
glorious summer... working, sweating on
a housing project in Beckton...
   shame that in the same year: i was on site
when we heard the news about the bombings in London
my ex-girlfriend was going to catch that
bus that exploded...

i think she missed it because she was running late
or some ****...

i miss those days: because tending to people is
hardly work if you are both an introvert
and an extrovert... although: i don't really know anymore...
i've recently come across this acronym I.N.F.J.
acronym: i watched some videos...
mein gott: what ego-stroking...
sometimes: no, all the time... it's a vanity project...
this sort of categorisation of people
is laziness... psychology is lazy compared
to philosophy...

   ooh! really?! are you that special?!
the term advocate? in the ****** language?
it translates as: lawyer...
   but it's true... i've seen people with these S.I.A.
badges that are trigger happy on violence...
i'm always certain any issue can be resolved by conversation
alone, by building a positive rapour
by standing your ground...

psychology is boo-ring to me... it's predictable:
it makes people predictable: cagey... caged...
superficial... psychology used to mean something...
it used to be theoretical: almost philosophical...
now... since it's pop culture...
it's useless... you better look into the underbelly
of psychology: psychiatry... after all...
psychiatrists are psychologists *** pharmacologists...
that's the ugly side...

or see a priest, or see a *******... or read some
philosophy...
         i might have been hurt...
but it was a sort of a pain mollusks feel when:
that ex girlfriend of mine that was almost blown up
in 2004... she once told me that as a child
she would pour salt on snails...
    
         yeah... and when i was much younger
i came across these two boys that caught frogs...
smear them with lipstick and then set them alight...
go figure...
  
to lessen suffering... i always thought that was best...
perhaps that's why i don't think i will ever
have to put up posters of: LOST CAT...
on trees in my vicinity... how can you,
for ****'s sake, "lose" a cat?! you don't ever "lose" a cat!
the cat has had enough!

just a little bit of tenderness... understanding...
i'm thinking: if this isn't work: crowd control...
i should maybe start looking into work related
to metal health... it would be sort of funny:
a guy, diagnosed with a psychotic disorder
starts working in a mental hospital...
    that would be kind of funny...

on a scale of 1 to 10... how mad are you?
10: mad enough to read Kant and Heidegger in the 21st
century... i think that's mad enough...

what a ******... only two days ago
people were complaining about traffic surrounding
Romford... what happened?
a 22 starling... a boy... not yet a man...
jumped off a four storey car park...
and a pretty pancake he must have made...
between 8:52am and 9:02am he was.... GONe...
gone...

when i was having a hard time during my "breakdown"
i tried to imitate Odin... by hanging myself
from a tree...
the noose was there... i was sitting on the branch...
i dropped... ******... the branch broke...
some of us are not so lucky...
even my godmother mentioned this story once...
drunks and madmen... we have all the luck in this world...
we're talking... 7 storeys... high...
in one of those Communist style living blocks
of concrete...
the guy fell... like a... ******* sack of potatoes...
landed in a bush... about an inch from
a metal ****...
got up and simply said: o kurva!
                           oh ****...
and walked on: for another dabble with some
***** mistress...
                                
i sometimes wish this was fiction...
but drunk people fall like sacks of potatoes...
there's no defense mechanism...
they don't try to pretend to fly flapping
their hands in the air...
i remember when i tilted back and fell down
the stairs... did a Lucifer's dive...
of being born: head first...

i don't remember any bruises: any plum tattoos
on my body... that other time...
when the summer was really... really hot:
unbearable in England... 2016?
i'd wake up gasping for air... run but naked
into the garden and lie on the grass in the shade...
but this other time i escaped my bedroom
and decided to snooze in the hallway...
i rolled from side to side... dropped about 2 metres
down onto the stairs...
like a ******* sack of potatoes...

falling to your death: it must feel like that "analogy"
in Salman Rushdie's the Satanic Verse...
one of the characters drops to earth: laconically...
is that the right word? while the other...
is hardly in a freefall...

this 22 year old darling was lucky: he died...
i would have thought it would take a much higher height
to drop dead like that...
at least he didn't survive the fall and have become
bound to a wheelchair and being fed milkshakes
of protein through a tube...
let's be absolutely frank about this fact...

but that's the luck of drunks and madmen...
i was about to start work on the Olympic Village
prior to the 2012 events...
i panicked when my father said:
you'll be drug-tested: he always ******* lies...
they do test... but not to the point of paranoia...
i was about to start the next day...
what did i do? i ****** off to Athens...
the next morning...

i've never been to Athens! i remember catching a bus
from the airport to some random hostel
in view of the Acropolis... on the mountain side:
illuminated... it truly reminded me of Edinburgh...
although... there's not much on Arthur's Seat...
by comparison... first night?

in Athens?! drinking absinthe... putting a hand over
my eyes... left? right? then spontaneously giggling,
laughing... pointing forward...
from what i later heard: it was the ******* district
of Athens... the philosophical quarter of Athens...
plenty of "bums": did i meet a Diogenes of Sinope?
nope... second day i met a few guys who i thought
were Syrians... i got into a car with them...
we drove far ******* far from where i was staying...
to a *******...

at one point: what's the policy in a *******? no touching...
i had two broads on either side of my shoulder...
mingling my lips with their collar bones...
elbows... that parts of the body men can biceps and triceps...
*******... running out of money fast...

escorted by one of the gorillas (bouncers)
to withdraw some more cash: account empty...
******* my pants... literally... i ****** myself...
over excitement or whatever...
sneaking out onto the streets of Athens:
a city i've never visited... we must have been driving
for about half an hour...
yet my drunken GPS woke up...
how i made it back to the hostel:
i will never want to know...

amnesia...

i return to this memory because i remember the coach
trip from Greece... via Macedonia...
Serbia... via Hungary... via Slovakia...
the snow of Serbia: just outside of Belgrade...
looking like a ghost when i encountered my grandparents...

it's a burning in my mind:
i was so cautious whenever i visited Paris...
when i went to Stockholm... i was always so sober...
but in Athens?! random strangers?!
*******?! **** it...

i remember this girl talking to me dropping a green
peg onto the table: insinuating:
i'd like a private audience with you...
i even remember what song was popular in Greece
back then: Rihanna's: only girl in the world...
it was playing on the bus from the airport...

but "we" freefall like a sack of potatoes...
there's no hands flapping...
that boy was lucky: thank god he didn't end up
in a wheelchair... being fed protein milkshakes
through a tube...
lucky *******...
   i sometimes wish the branch i was sitting on didn't
break and i managed to hand myself to
the eternal night of the gods...

but like drunken GPS: how it gets turned on...
don't ask me:
i must have migrating bird genes...
how do storks migrate back to central Europe?
storks... most associate with ****** mythology...
i must have a pea-sized-brain or something...
since... first time in Athens...
and... driven to a ******* minutes from
the city centre where the Parliament is...
**** my pants... and still manage to walk back
and get a good night's sleep!

it's a bit like when i first came to England aged 8...
what knowledge of the English language did i have?
maybe one... or two words... having seen them
written down...

you want to know the slang term for klawisz?
i.e. klaveesch? a button... a key...
on a keyboard... or a piano...
in Poland it usually refers to someone who's
a prison guard...
everyone: or rather, everyone ought to know
about the failure of the Stamford Prison Experiment...

i'm not a klawisz: in this "work" i'm "supposedly"
doing... i'm the mediator...
i never ask for assistance: those... sadistic little
busy bodies i could twist a wrist off if i wanted to...
talk... talk talk talk...
violence comes last: first comes metallurgy...
first comes roofing...
first comes: the art of judo...
first comes compromise...
brute strength comes last...
  but all these ******* i'm working with are:
technically: "rapists"...
i don't agree with their techniques...
talk... talk... we're civilised people... or: i hope...
i believe anything can arrive at a compromise...

i'm already working with people who have
complaints... made complaints...
like that one time against Liverpool fans
when they played the semi-final at Wembley against
Manchester City...
i had a woman from Liverpool walk up to me and kiss
me... she wanted to feel what ***** on a man's face
felt like... and when they were walking out
en masse... ugh... childish *******...
one started tapping me on my shoulder to my right:
i looked left... "no one"...
then some other started tapping me on my shoulder
to my left: i looked right: "no one" there...

i love that we can return to being children!
that's the whole point!
i know i' return to being a child by being
easily irritated!
but at the same time... this easily irritated me
understands that: it's archetypical!
i'm not serious about: whatever the hell this is...
but people can be... dealt with:
without employing: even the least amount of force...
with my own eyes i can attest that:
convo... mere convo...
if by staging this macho you create a subversive
allure of authority...
guess what... i'd rather **** than showcase a taste
of strength...
        
no no... none of this: you think you have authority therefore:
i have no authority to ****...
but i'd rather **** than showcase
a sputnik's worth of authority...
because this showcasing: this grandstanding is:
a load of *******...
it concerns people who never had
to wrestle with themselves to cycle for 4 hours...
who had to break themselves...

that's all it is...
it's just in plain ******* sight!
why didn't i get laid when i dropped round her house,
twice... when i defended her integrity on one of our
trips back:
on the way toward the shift the guys were
making ****** jokes...
i told her: i'm coming back with you: don't worry...
what did the boys talk about? ******* cereal brands...
she didn't have to posit her elbow on my knee
and relax... she didn't have to do anything:
drink my wine... laugh...
giggle... smile... sing in front of me...
she didn't have to invite me into her home...
she didn't have to make me want to drop her
Valentine's flowers in the middle of the night...

she really didn't require me to make her
feel the requirements of feeling protected...
apparently any football hooligan is immune
to the argument: imagine if i were you mother...
a different story if i just stand there and... wink...
oi oi... ups to two toe nothings, eh eh?! wink-wink...
wanna giggle?!
i know a proper rattle that even giggles me
about...
    i like to... put out cigarette buts on my knuckles...
you... want to try?!
it truly is a: transcendental experience
of "emotion"... well... more like feeling...
well.. more like...
              can i break your knee into cartilage?!

but she was so perfect! ginger 'n' all!
ah man... a ginger girl... just 4 years older than me...
a ******* bombshell!
she already mentioned that this guy wasted
20 years of his life to approach her with enough:
******* or... ego or... ****** or... unicorns...
and i was like: **** it: bungee!

   eh... no wonder... what a glorious shrimp: ginger: imp...
there's another one on the horizon...
but this one is less cougar and more: mousey...
but ginger and freckles is like...
cumin and coriander... powder... curry base!

well i get what i can get... alttürkischrabehaar:
old turkish raven hair...
i was born with a fetish for blonde haired girls...
sorry... the story twists...
gingers... Celtic gingers... time's up... the night's
most welcome.

/ the death of death...

                  is that like a legal case
done via a priest:
                          you're married!

the **** am i supposed to do
with that sort of statement?

clap-hippi, sorry,
  clap-happy like a seal,
    doing its best in a florida resort?!

****... clown without make-up...
yet another, slow...            
                       f'aaaaaaaaack,

must be an irish "thing" in me,
living in england:
  and i've never actually socialised
with an englishman...

      mostly irish pseudo-gingers...
and the gingers...
      although like what white
will be: a minority...

                said my prayers,
pat on the buttocks encourging
me to become the choir boy...
  no no,
**** me, that's a terrible joke...
i'd never think about
singing in a church choir...

but guess what?!
   what?
          ever find it odd that a cat might
fall asleep with the sound
of a letter-keyboard
ushering in sounds?

  keys:                    alphabetí-co!

it's not some Bach monstrosum
for a ******* piano:
           digits up to...
****... 26...
   q, 1, w, 2, e, 3, r, 4, t, 5, y, 6,
u, 7, (**** it, not punctuation
marks with this chunk
of a tartar ready beef stake):
u7,
        i8, o9, p10,
      a11, s12, d13, f14, g15,
                  h16, j17, k18, L19,
                 z20, x21, c22, v23,
             b24,         n25,     m... twenty... six!
i look down,
      i look up...
          i look down again:
i look up like an animation
   of a down syndrome analogue unable
to crack a middle-class respectable joke...

and then i'm supposed
to orientate myself in a copernican:
trebuchet load of rock
      as projectile
                                  way?    

sooner the pigs flying
than i do, with what the islamic devil
answered:
               prior to?
        or prior with?
       i bow: i'm beneath them...
they bow... they're beneath me...
handshake?
     we'd settle on gambling...
how about a hierarchy of
mutual respect?
     and less lunatic...
*** in the air forehead
kissing the ground style of prayer?
and less christian blockjob scenes
of bending knees?!

              no?
well... we can settle on continuing this
lunacy... no problem...
  but what happens to islam,
in symbolic terms...
   when on their flags there is
a scythe moon...
  and lonely star...

         but when the moon is full?
what then?
   what of the lunar empire
                   of the nomads then?
well no pigs would only make
sense in the desert...
   but...
   the fungus theory?!
   no anti-fungus coupled
with anti-pork in the holy bybble-blah?

so fungus is o.k., but pork, ain't?

then counter pop-cult
              -ulture
the evolution from ingesting fungus,
perspective...
              ****... ate pork: became a newton!

A cottage in the country a woven roof of thatch
In the kitchen a fat lady her knickers on the latch
Pulled down past her chubby thighs exposing her hot hatch
Within those apple gatherers a juicy damp wet patch

Wearing an undone apron with her bra unclipped to match
A wooden spoon is waiting she's cooking up a batch
Arthritic hands maybe a snag but not much of a catch
Spoon up her hole to stir the bowl using her wide ******

Two 44dd mixing bowls a mixture of flour and ginger
Sugar hurled and butter twirled with her vigorous ***** ninja
Spoon dripping salted essences oozing down that wooded stirrup
Ground cinnamon is added with her special golden syrup
A touch of soda bicarb an egg mixed in with her *****
Spoon inserted actions ***** squeezing wince and cringe

Shaped and cut a ginger nut ***** mixing makes you ache
Ovens hot sheet trays are got greased slid inside to bake
A warming up made from her cup is this a big mistake
Gingers fine if dough is prime so now who's on the make

Your on the rise what a surprise now you are awake
Placed on the side with tarts beside I wonder what's at stake
Rampant ginger smells so good some pieces fall and flake
In bed with tarts a fancy start when Fred has had his cake

Roses, sweet and beautiful
Tight dresses, **** and attractive
Blood, darkly enchanting
Sunsets and sunrises, glorious
Lobsters, steamed and buttered
Feathers of a cardinal, bright
Ladybugs, cute and adorable
Mars, mysterious and desolate
Wine, fragrant and romantic
Gingers, the hottest hair color

\alt

work-around title: Çymru among the Ottomans (Ę vs. Щ)

a propos: pre-scriptum... in the background demdike stare's - janissary , for one reason or another... the fantasy of being in the legion of either the janissaries or the mamluks... hell... let the sultan have his harem... he's still going to favour the slave girl from the north... Hurrem... give me this one ******* from a past of romance... this Khadaia... i'll see her once more just to catch her name properly: all i have is the prefix Khada- while she hushed the suffix... over all that's on offer in this playground of freedoms... hedonism never tasted this... limited... when it is so freely available... 4 years without touching a woman's body and then... resurrected with a pulverising urge to touch one once more: over the debacle of grooming a female cat who was eagerly entertaining trans-species ***... *** is ugly esp. when animals come to the fore...

in all honesty: i wasn't convinced when i initially
read the list of ingredients...
not at all: or one bit...
i wasn't going to read the instructions
or... watch the video...

   i forget which flatbread i used...
gözleme? no... there was a SH grapheme at the end
of the name...
not the SH of hiding the H with
a Czech caron:  š...
the Turkish variation...
               the cedilla "s":    ş...
certainly not bazlama...

lucky me: first the Turkish barbers...
then the Turkish prostitutes...
now Turkish food...
i had a similar fetish for Indian girls...
hardly a fetish: one uneventful
summer: should we say...

ah... here we go... lavash... flat... bread...
funny how...
oh i can just imagine...
the year when... the ancients stumbled
upon using yeast when mixing
flour and water... watching the first
yeast infested bread rise up
like a sunrise in the heat...

blame the French... or don't blame them...
it's hardly mesmerizing watching
a hot pan with a tortilla on it...
the earth would still be flat for thoese
civilizations...
or how... yeast was used to make:
wine rather than drink ultra-sweet
grape-****-juice of the diabetic h'arabs...

no... i wasn't expecting the recipe to turn out
as it did: better than the local Cypriots
making imitation turkish with their doner-kebabs...
all those raw vegetables to somehow counter
the grease of the lamb...
raw (albeit) spanish onions... i.e. sweeter
and juicier... raw iceberg lettuce...
raw tomatoes... raw cucumber...
pickled chillies...
two sauces... a diluted chilli sauce and...
yoghurt garlic?
i've been gagging for some yoghurt mint:
but no... no... none of that...

- now i'm back from the days of drinking ms. amber...
i'm back on the drip of "blood":
wine sooths... wine... progresses: slowly...
esp. cheap wine in the form of kalimotxo:
the blood of Montezuma!
a toast to Montezuma!
    gradual involvement in intoxication...
never a lag like with ms. amber...
never waking up still drunk...
             drunk in the process of drinking...
much better...
and when enough lubrication has been
downed: 2 bottles for a night worth drinking
through...
3 hours of sleep at best: but all this...
mind like a whirlwind...
ms. amber: you have stiffened me for the last
time... your supposed
cure for my ailments come too late:
i'm stiffened: i'm numbed by you...
i will no longer associate you with good
tidings... never mind my own deeds...
now i prefer a drink that will creep up on me...
there will be a statement surrounding:
succumbing to gradation...

- the same year the ancients
invested their genius / imagination into pursuing
the use of yeast in baking:
making flat-breads become sunrises
as they... started to ferment... grapes?
all the stags and the bears are in on it
come autumn when they fill their belly's full
with rotting... fermenting fruits...
and stumble around the world
like they might be inclined to acknowledge
the existence of Bacchus...
a bear's drunken walk: i can't match
with a dance... perhaps these words might
just suffice...

- come to think of it... since i'm in all my 35 year old
splendour...
i think i fitted the bill for being
an "angry young man"... most of us were...
but... thankfully... as i've aged...
i've noticed how so few people have
the capacity to drink some sense into themselves...
even Nietzsche preferred barbiturates...
i can't say that i would:
in vino vivo! veritas comes after...
animation... scandal... trenches...
at 35 i can say the anger has... slowly diluted itself:
i guess the anger was at youth itself:
it must have been...
to be angry at being young is every man's
ball & chain...
with two exceptions of Paris and Adonis...
now... the sweet melancholic cloud
that makes my sense of humour subtle...
sharpening my ridicule: since i'm still yet to
receive pointers on wit
and...  reactionary tongue-whip anecdotes...
oddly enough i picked up a copy of
Rousseau's the social contract & a letter
about spectacles...

why haven't i picked up Rousseau earlier?
mind you... with this tongue i now use...
i could never read Rousseau in english...
i can read Bertrand Russell in english...
but every philosophy book i ever read was
read in my mother tongue...
the tongue with all the fancy diacritical stressors...
"so-called" by the people
who don't use them... who have Charles Dickens
calling a spelling-mistake
an orthographical transgression... ******* to that...

- suppose i wanted to paint...
well... writing is not exactly painting:
Frank O'Hara noted how terrible orange is
on canvas: unless the orange stands as
synchronised by actual oranges
in a still life depiction...
orange elsewhere? on a metallic alloy
on a bicycle... i cycled a few schoolboys
once on my Trek Marlin and heard
a compliment about it...
i should have painted...
but then i like that self-deprecating joke
i once heard a Glaswegian say
in class: how was copper wire invented?
two Scots arguing over a penny...
i have diacritical marks for contorts...
and if i'm really desperate:
as i sometimes am: i'll lend an eye on reading
some katakana...

why haven't i read Rousseau earlier?
perhaps i was too stupid too young too naive...
perhaps i should have a tattoo of
Robespierre on my buttocks...
perhaps... just... perhaps...
like someone might have a tattoo of
Roy Orbison to counter all that's Hey-Lvis
in that waterboy flick...

wine is like oil on a bike chains...
for the brain... the wine tide as i explore...
a slowly breaking of the dam
of formality...
but i'm not painting: come to think of it:
i'd hate to paint...
i like skeletons: i like sounds...
i like to walk into a forest at night
and listen to some wild animal tender itself
on breaking a dry branch:
or... misstep on a crunch of dry
autumnal leaves... while i bask shirtless
in the moon on a throne of a stump:
where once a tree stood proud...

that there exists a culture of celebrity:
a vacuous life-support machine of cringe...
in my vicinity: some trees have a higher
status than "people" in the greater prospect (potential)
of the world...
of note... this tree: let's call it Henry-eta
near Chigwell... bulging: crass: entity...
breaking all manner of contemplating girth...
famous: by my concerns...
hard not to miss...
try figuring out: celebrity in a forest of pines...
stilettos or anorexic models...
by then: prostitution doesn't seem that
bad... that bad when compared with
what "they" do with the models...

skeleton and skin being adorned with:
a second layer of fabricated: skin... nothing more...
a body that grieves its former status
of being: mandible... all over:
i think of models as i might think of glass...
a shattering: a breaking...
a variation of... arthritis...

        oh... well... in between the wine:
ms. amber returns: like a stimulus... an injection...
to keep me focused on the cascade...
i'm yet to cover the ground of narrative
i was keeping fresh in my mind...
ah... yes...
of note... only in England...
the multicultural project...

  i still retain my native tongue...
in the privacy of my own abode: i speak it...
i don't speak English...
i speak English to the people who speak
English...
a formality...
English in England is a "lingua franca":
i pity the natives for not have enough
incentives to learn another European tongue:
i guess that's what's happens with
"spazzial relationships" in the shadow
under the yoke of cousin ******* the h'americans...
pity them?
oh no no... blame them...

who was Yusuf Stalin? a Georgian...
tactical subversion of the Russian people...
where is the Georgian alphabet and where
is Cyrillic, or Greek for that matter?
where is... Armenian?
"where" is code for: comparison...
   like the supposed people integrated into
English society:
these... born & "bred" types... typos...
they speak English... at least i can resemble
an Englishman...
most likely i'll be mistaken by some
quran pushing ****- as being a German...
insult?     (oi oi... mr. -stani, don't worry...
the English just slosh with slang sometimes...)

the people of the subversion...
they speak English but... ha ha..
if they only managed to retain their mother tongue:
perhaps something of England could
also be retained...
clamouring like ******* ***** in a bucket
to no avail...

Napoleon's ditto: a man who knows two tongues
is worth two men...
all these new integration projects
who want to integrate so bad... so so bad...
that they "somehow" forge their mother tongue...
talk English as the language of mediation:
it's not yours...
it never will be!
**** me... if all these people retained their
mother tongue rather than playing:
i'd feed you to the pigs for playing
this ******* drive-by stealing mobile phones
"gangster":

what if ol' Adoolph was Swiss and not
Austrian?! imagine that... no... wait...
you don't have to...

- of note: if ha ha h'america of the united
is supposedly this beacon: this success story
for all the english speaking people of the world:
it should: by now... be... a well oiled:
bilingual Behemoth...
like the Swiss "project": of the Benelux or
the Scandinavian heap of blondes outbreeding
gingers...
h'americana should be well embedded
in a fluidity of come English come Spanish...

if h'america could be a success story:
it would be a bilingual conglomerate...
i guess it's just easier to speak only one zunge...
no?
how many tongue arrived on these isles?
i should be learning Romanian come to think of
it...
no one is going to meet me half way
concerning my: tongue...
while these asiatic ******* abandoned
their mother tongue to play petty
gangster... i sometimes fall asleep:
counting teeth... i have no worthy comparison
with the point of sheep:
i like to imagine teeth...

how they become the lesser half of Mongol:
with their mongrel "forgetfulness":
if we just cherished the medium
of the tongue used to invite commerce:
real or meta-...
perhaps... we wouldn't be cycling through
Barking looking at people feeling comfortable
donning those Pakistani pyjamas!

don't get me started on the Rotherham
"livestock" affair... i have no sympathy for
not being ******: looking elsewhere
at ol' Turkic raven hair...
at £2 per minute i'm not going to...
suddenly... "suddenly" do what?
pity the high earner
while she *****-off the concept of *******?
thank god i still have *******:
which implies i can ******* with pleasure...
but while interacting with HER...
she can peel it back and i'm left with
her tender mouth and my numbed metaphor...

castration, mr. ******... doesn't feel so bad...
compared with having your "excess" skin
guillotined...
i started to ******* long before i had
any use for *******...
the thrill is in the shaft...
aged 8 i did it myself...
circa 10 i taught a boy a year younger
about the joys of jerking off...
in a bath... while my mother scrutinised us
while she ironed some clothes...
oh... the gloves are off...

it might be a bare knuckle fight:
but i wrapped a leather belt around them
for a sense of purpose... alias for security: covert...
if the beacon of the world
grew up: sensibly: as a bilingual federation
it was supposed to become...
what? the Swiss are all schizophrenics:
for having the capacity to use 2+ languages?
******* retards:
you live with the reckoning that:
some people deserve their own bollocking...
you hear it... in the distance:
like churchbells...
esp. at night... when the air thins out...
i have no sympathy...
no empathy...
the remains of Malcolm X's mantra of
how there can be a never-ending war:
a "cultural" war:
just use the women as ammunition and
shields...
they're dump enough: Sabine as they are...
bring women to the fore of warfare...
you're not dealing with Gaza strip slingshots...
you have invested yourself in: trenches...
show me a Panzer i show you a naked
white girl...
the prize for all these sub-Saharan gambits...
i don't want to **** sub-Saharan girls:
maybe Boko Haram might...
can i... tickle a Turkish *******?
wait: do i "have" to?

you bring women to the fore: this little shitshow
will never end...
drop an atom bomb: no difference...
the supposed "collateral" becomes
the biggest asset... mind-bending load
of: otherwise what a sword ought to do:
the biggest killer: compassion...

don't worry... the recipe is still invested in me
scribbling it down...

- persisting with all these: Asiatic bundles of
"integrated" joys...
living among these isles...
you begin to wonder:
now... i generally think of the Welsh as a bit...
cuntish...
but... at least they have this...
unnerving ambition to retain their:
Briton spreschen: before the Anglicans
and their Normandy landing quasi French
came along... the Welsh still retain their
*******:  Çymru...
i lost faith concerning the Scots...
they're just... accent clowns...
accent clowns...
          they trill their R and sometimes forget
to F their TH with: t'ings...
like their elder cousins that... perhaps:
might... usher in some Gaelic...
astounding: the concept of the Welsh:
because: they are more a concept than some
concrete evidence of nationhood...
oh: they're beyond merely organic...

some says the king's route was to mind:
from London through to Edinburgh: more like St. Andrew's...
all this time, though...
it was en route to Cardiff...

- of these isles... these glorious isles:
where's the Gaelic in a man from Edinburgh?
the Sikh beat you to that tartan turban
or something:
posers of accents... the whole lot of you...
one up with the Velsh...
at least they still retain their concept of mother...
and tongue...
accented pretenders: it's not what they speak:
it's how they might: speak...

******* sing-along sprache Gael...
i simultaneously don't want to stop writing this
as an excuse for: not wanting to stop drinking
wine!

back to that Turkish recipe...
i had to make a full roundabout at some point...

even now i still can't believe it...
frozen beef, which implies: it would be more easily
sliced into an imitation pancetta:
carpaccio?
        **** me: the whole bonanza of nouns!
most not "gender neutral" too!

wine wine wine wine!
bring me more wine!
wine wine wine wine: to hell with whining women!
wine wine wine wine!
bring me more wine!
she can't feed me... i'm the devil in the kitchen:
i'll cook my own!

the "government" of delayed words in
transit toward: a proper translation...
notably?  sunak...
   not aleppo pepper...
   not sunmak...
    ah... SUMAC!
red onions sprinkled with some
salt and sugar... fiddled with...
crushed... a dash of lime juice:
to get the pickling going...
tender hands of a Cyclops...
then the addition of fresh parsley
and some SUMAC...
that's the radish for you...

the meat? beef... beef and rosemary?!
fair enough: let's have "us" a go...
it only takes 10 to 15 minutes since...
the beef is sliced oh so thinly...
plus... the marinate:

4 tablespoons of oil...
2 tablespoons of red... white... either...
wine vinegar: for curing the meat...
after all... you dip any seafood into acid:
it'll cook...
Bolshoi cannibals of ambition
and all that ballet on the side:
raw herrings as: Baltic sushi in a creamy
dill sauce...

believe me: the Ottomans have interrogated
post WWII Germany...
they're stiches and tattoos by now...

tzatziki...
but the marinade of the meat only takes
about 10 to 15 minutes... since the beef is sliced
so thinly: from frozen...
the marinade?
ol' pestle 'n' mortar...
black peppercorns...
4 cloves of raw: living garlic cloves...
2 springs of rosemary...
sea salt... 4 kashimir dried chillies...

strips of Turkish mozzarella...
i'm of the persuasion:
let's see what the Ottomans had on offer...
the ******... the barbers...
this... pristine cuisine...
it sounds like: shuk shuk shugar shig shig:
chug a fog... chappy chappy chim-shee...

bound to the anchor of a revision:
of these isles... i'm starting to harvest more and more
respect for the Welsh...
i'm starting to suspect that...
the Irish don't require:
the Scots seemingly never will...
but the Welsh: forever will...
display their adamant decorum...
to keep in mind their mothers and their tongue...

let me stress is:
ich bin nicht Ęnglisch:
    lie down... szczeka: it barks...
Щ...              

Copernicus Copernicus: seriously:
where are you?! literally: "where"?!
not literally: a somehow a now...
    
counting matchsticks i presume...
to hell with these semi-literate folk who have
the supposed reins: yeah: now... for now...
but not when time is allowed to imitate space
and stretch...
the currency of shouting for "justice"
dies a death slower than a death succumbed via
a crucifixion...
i'm no sadist... i love animals above
the status of fellow humans...
but... there comes a time that...
i'd rather... savour the company of a dog...
above... someone that might resolve itself
to speak letters back to me...

- you can only insinuate when dealing:
dwelling on the furore of the Hebrews...
but in the confine of these isles...
i hae no greater respect than might be allowed
for what's already arrived at:
they have: KEPT... KADŁ...

      EI CWSG GYDA COCH CLORIAN:

almost every Jew will amount to the maxim:
i be: the citizen of the world:
which is borrowed Greek...
   somehow there come to excuse when:
strip-down... striptease...
the last of the Holocaust survivors is dead:
appeasing the h'arabs and h'americans
for their deepened trough and
monzzie?
  yeah: sure thing...
             me and my stupid
delusion concerning that ol' chestnut
of the certainty of death...
i'm not willing to pressure
the delay button... to be honest.

" got any gingers ger" you'd say
                            In you're crude Bristolian way
                             "City did alright today!"
                              Draught bass, skittles
                               Stilton, and port wine..
                               Were just a few...
                               Of you're favourite pastimes
                                You're woolly hat
                                And yer funky bike
                                 Oh my god
                                " what are you like"!!

well, it was going to be a beautiful day, and it is a beautiful day, scorched grass patches, humidity to match that of Thailand... welcome to the Hot Age... well there was the Ice Age, no? there was Moses poetically summarising pre-history with: Noah was very real... more real than Britney Spears... history more real than insomniac journalism, fake history omni-present god replacing medium of writing ******* after ******* after more: swinging *******... but there's a plus side to this heat: angry-thinking... Freud can *******... what dream-interpretation? i have no dreams: and if i have dreams they're so already abstract that i don't need some coke-head to figure them out for me... i sometimes dream in sounds... maybe i should have been the next ******* Mozart! no! i don't have repressed-memories... i don't have repressive-memories: i have OPPRESSIVE-memories... i remember nuggets of gold from the time i was 4 years old... i guess i better leave some notes as i write and come back to them:

- sceptics vs. cynics Ezra Pound Taoist me vs. sceptics  (passion),
source of inspiration for this type of writing? Gombrowicz's Kronos...

i take out an imaginary leash and put it around my tongue:
hey presto! i'm walking a dog...
usually i walk a bottle of cider in the labyrinth
of outer-London suburbia...
i'm glad to be be 30 minutes away from Liverpool St.
by bus and train and 30 minutes' worth of walking
uphill to the biggest collection of...
well... "collection": an avenue of Wellingtonias...
Giant Redwoods (prehistoric pillars) -
        'which is one of only two plantations in the country'...
looks like i'm becoming a local boy...
i think i'm coupled with a gravity that's linear...
i'm less a falling body attached to some molten
iron core of the earth...
when again: what's up? what's down?
what's east and what's north outside the realm
of the winds, in the great divide between nature
and physics in the pupil of yawn-and-death-eating space?
no need to romance the man... someone's toilet paper
is already in pretend-mode of flapping...
so many myths of the moon died with:
one small step... another leap for... man and kangaroo...
i adore the laziness of sloths, turtles,
pandas... and koalas...
but then again: i don't think a lion is the king
of the natural world... i think the bear is...
that bulge of an omnivore... i like Russian thinking
when it comes to choosing emblems...
i like bears... i have this memory of being in the Danzig
zoo... walking into a bear enclosure...
mommy bear was watching... my mother was watching...
i walked up to a bear...
a baby bear, i was a baby too...
he started to nibble on my cardigan...
he must have bitten off about two buttons...
i ran back crying to my mum: he ate two of my buttons!
now i know: why i don't dream...
my memory faculty stretches far beyond what
most people have...
i think that's a welcome curiosity to have...
by the dictates of psychology:
you either remember... or? you dream...
i don't dream... i remember...
i can take you back to the first flashes
of brilliance aged 4... i can take you back to:
aged 5 or 6... when me and the two Kowalski brothers
first tasted coffee: granulated: instant...
obviously: we just became bored of sugary drinks...
that was a ******* gateway drug... back then...
why don't i dream? or why do i dream in
ciphers?
               ah... the memory bank...
i didn't allow pedagogy completely ruin me...
no wonder i treat the current job as a... hobby...
it truly is... crowd safety management is a hobby...
i like organising people:
one woman under my supervision already said:
you're the sort of person one would walk into
a fire for...
        i'm *******: gagging on these compliments...
i don't even think i'm deserving them:
if i am? so be it... if i'm not:
i can sniff a liar pretty quickly...
liars / lies don't walk on stilts...
       they re ******* midgets...
                         i sometimes like seeing myself in full element:
it will be: the most trivial thing that will
set me off...
   my nickname(s) in high-school?
Goldilocks (because i had long hair done into
a French braid from time to time)
Hulk: when i showed my truer face and...
   "that guy with the weird fruit"...
i did eat a lot of passion fruits, pomegranates,
Sharon(s)... etc. etc.
hmm... i'm pretty sure i wasn't supposed to work
the 20th at Fulham...
guess i'm just forever freely available these days...
people can just put me up for any shift without
me complaining:
no wife, no kids... ms. amber and Sophia...
fair enough... mind you: i like the commute...
and seeing the Thames is rather refreshing...
the weirdest river known to man...
mind you: it is an island river...
what ******* river as concept of river of flow
has TIDE written all over it?!
rivers flow... rivers shouldn't behave like seas!
how does that work?
the membrane "event horizon" of the Thames...
and... the north sea?!
huh?!

i sometimes hate London...
back in Edinburgh i used to wake up with a geographical
clarity...
the Firth of Forth helped a lot...
i knew where east was... i knew where north was...
and west and the south...
in London? even if i cycle toward that old Serpent
and Father Thames: i still don't ******* know:
i look across the river: oh right... that's north...
no! that's south you dim-whit!
ugh... i once saw London from an aerial perspective:
flying from Barcelona to Edinburgh...
so we were passing this massive lit-BLOB...
what the **** is this? i thought...
then i noticed Canary Wharf blinking... oh... right...
London!

oh mate... iT IS M'AH... MASSIVE!
it must have taken us abut five minutes to fly over that
giant sponge of civilisation... well:
paying due compliments... but it was HUGE!
it's worth seeing once: during the night...
but only once...
the rest of the time?

i must have mentioned it prior:
bicycle tyre problems...
Chadwell Heath the point of call...
the Halford's corporation couldn't **** me
a pigeon out of a penguin's *******
because: their mechanic was away until the end of
August: Bicycle King instead: done by Friday...
in the meantime i went for a pint of Guinness...

weird... you smile at a guy talking about women
on some other table... you're not weird...
you're just making an approach...
casual conversation *******...
hey presto... you acknowledge each other's presence...
and the chat takes off...
work, music, the weather... you name it...
whatever comes to mind...
it was so refreshing... it almost felt like being
soldiers on the western front: in the trenches...
breaking ***** and marking banter
on our crippled souls...
we probably had loving mothers...
but our experiences with women were:
let's just say cats and dogs loved us more...
we could actually joke with these creatures...

i said i brought a leash for my tongue...
i didn't say i brought the muzzle...
my tongue my dog
mea lingua mea canis!
              paro dictata:
i set the rules!
                                 n'est ce pas?!

there's nothing necessary to inquire for feeble men:
beside... what is necessary for what it
feeble per se...

now: for a sample of Gombrowicz's Kronos
note-taking, extravaganza!

chadwell heath pub promenade
bbq amazing...
missing: doing a refill, smoking a cigarette.
ginger brat: shivers:
      Ovid, book III, opening...
three unusual muses...
reading: music... ****** lyricism...

- and if i dream? strange... i only seem to dream of:
dentes: teeth!
there was this myth concerning my maternal
great-grandfather... how he had pristine
teeth... he used to eat sugar cubes like
a horse might eat apples...
he was the one who dumped a whole load of coffee
beans into the river: Kamienna...
the Stone River...
NN...an oddity in the ****** tongue...
you utter the double N with  stutter...
n'ah n'ah...
                   there ought to be a letter for this
example... oddity...
it can't just be a double N...

                       that's not for me to discover
or apply... but he basically dumped sacks of coffee
beans into the river... long before anyone
in the Slavic lands... on the periphery of civilisation
knew what coffee was used for...
Francis was his name...
he's my earliest memory...
maybe that's why i have dream inhibitions...
my long surviving memory is of him:
as shadow...
playing the piano...
putting me next to a toy piano
and the pair of us playing...

i have grown into a horrid man...
i'm currently listening to:
the Davy Jones' theme from pirates of
the Caribbean... and...
it's not that i'm afraid of death
or falling asleep: i just think the two
are a proper waste of time...
if i can remember living from the age of four:
why would i require a need to dream?
my memory has bypassed all that erosion
from pedagogic investments into creating
a workforce...
i don't need escapism via dreams...
i have my memory for that!

one crescendo two crescendo three!
four crescendo five crescendo six!

America spews forward *******...
i'm not ally to this current agenda... you know what
i think? i think the Russians are doing
a ****** marvelous "thing" in Ukraine...
much better than Americans in either Iraq
or Afghanistan.... much better:
less a proxy war: more a practical war:
a chess-war... a war of: consequences!

ha ha... the meme that somehow the Africans are
Orcs... the warring types...
the Mongols weren't?
oh sure sure... the English etymological roots
of Slav = Slav(e)... sure... sure...
this is my pet peeve!
my iris and sclera disappear whenever i see someone
make that statement...
i go: ha ha! BONKERS!
what African people ever conquered whatever
part of the world except their own people
which they sold into slavery?!
see! BONKERS!
i go... absolutely ******* gloriously MAD!

i've ben given absolutely:
diagnosed: mad... let me abuse the terminology / diagnosis
a little! because?! ha ha! i'm exempt from
standard prosecution! i can always succumb
to the insanity plea!
i have back-up memorandum queues...
these normal people are just: these normal people...
boorish and above all boring as ****-goes-on-holiday...

i know why i don't dream...
photographs are useless...
me taking a a photograph when i was at most lowest,
fattest? when i took the photograph:
i looked rather thin...
but? when someone else took a photograph
of me sitting in front of a Christmas dinner:
a ******* porky pie...
i don't know how cameras work:
obscurity of the eye of the beholder...
fused with the technicality of the added
technological specimen... hmm...
curiously more curious...

           i know why i don't dream: i have a very poignant
memory in my brain:
the memory of my great-grandfather as a shadow...
here: i place my focus for entering Tartarus...
beyond the already familiar depths of Hades...
i need more! i need to go deeper...
i don't dream because i have a memory of my
great-grandfather as a shadow!
darkness abounds!

                abundo tenebris!
umbra *** umbra venio hic...
(shadow with shadow come here):
i see no need for Sabbaths or for witches...
i need shadows and shadows of shadows...
and thoughts as splinters and trees as fire and ash...
i need! HORROR!
   i need the current people to live their lives
as passively as must be met:
while i quietly pass... pass as the angel of death passed
as the final plague that befell Egypt!
listen! listen! ever so... quietly!
i need them lullabied... oblivious to the SUFLER:
speaking cues to the actors on stage!
LET, ME, PASS!

                some ******* idiot will get in my way?
i will... sacrifice a lamb: and salvage a wasp!

- it was at work at the Wembley Stadium that i first
spotted a doe (female deer) embodied by a woman,
it's so rare to find that LOOK: deer in headlights...
frightened stiff about to be taken for grass by a lawnmower...
mature woman... i'm guessing in her 40s...
all the sort of details a boy would expect from
a ****... seriously... curves, *******, ***...
although: scared eyes, perhaps even scarred eyes...
i kept glancing under my sunglasses,
she kept glancing: irritated somewhat: irritated-fearful,
as if she met destiny and it wasn't what she
was expecting...
            what a beautifully bountiful specimen of
fetishes i've been fed over the years in the medium
of *******...
sure, it's summer now, and all the young and fertile
women are walking around the streets like
its a nudist beach in the French Riviera...
oh man: such under-developed bodies...
bodies that are yet to experience the crunch of ***...

i try to think about how pedophiles think...
then i get the picture...
scrambled eggs... i like they almost burnt...
i hate well-done overcooked beef in the form of a stake...
i need it rare or medium, **** it... even blue will do...
eggs? i can't have them underdone...
i know people who like runny scrambled eggs...
you can eat undercooked beef and pork:
but undercooked chicken? it's slimy...
it's like eating slugs... plus the salmonella...
plus... it feels like raw sea-food...
that's how i look at women who have not arrived
at any ****** potential...
it's ******* ****-ugly... builder-Bob's hairy *** crack
when his blue jeans droop...

young women are like undercooked chicken...
mature women are like rare beef...
BLOOD... JUICE... NO ORANGES...
     it's filth it's suckling it's the monstrosity of coming
to her **** after she just spent a year or so
feeding some rugrat with her *******...
it's macabre, it's... nature...
it's ******* a woman like that thinking:
ooh oops... when will she turn into a Mantis?!
it's like having a bicycle accident... falling head first
over the handlebars and leaving permanent
"tattoos" on your forehead... getting up and exclaiming...
i just saw Francis Bacon paint a **** while ****!
ffff-ucking spectacular! i don't need to ingest
any lysergic acid... i'm good with the head-traumas...
disorientating at first: but orientating after...

more life, more blood, more grime more filth!
more more! MORE!
mind you, is that 'e" at the end of more really necessary?
you don't really say: aMorÉ... do you?
it's not more vs. moor... ooh... i just thirst for fiddly
bits in language... and English?
it's the devil's playground... if Poland is god's
equivalent...
you know... it took **** Germany AND Soviet
Russia to subdue Poland... longer...
than it took **** Germany to subdue France...

oh to hell with the current exported trend of culture
from H'america: white apologetics...
i don't share your history: i've been woken up
from a trinity-partition... i'm not apologising
for ****!
   i think i'd look great in an SS-mensch uniform...
i like black from time to time...
i have thoughts of Karl Lagerfeld's style...
just pretend you're donning fur...
the cat isn't clothed... you're right: #metoo!
i'll done and adore the colours of the hearth...
i'll burn bright in auburn...
in browns and in greens...
    i'll become a... ******* talking tree!

enough!
         too many idiots are running this ****-show...
grammar lessons from people with an IQ of 60...
i'm checking out!
  bye bye...
  inflated overbearing baron-demons of want...
how easily they allowed me to dehumanise them...
i look at black flies and think: ooh!
just the right sort of tickle!
   people have created people like me...

how i can simply have casual *** with prostitutes
without using a ****** and not worry
about any STGs...
sexually transmitted diseases...
i probably drank enough milk in my youth...
broken bones? nope...
but outgrowths of bone? yep...
that's true... i have one on my shin...
hardly a ballerina in me bewildered by a tutu...
i don't break bones:
i leave outgrowths...

hmm... time for a new meditation...
the serpents can be left alone...
two serpents in a pickling jar? a DNA helix...
or... dragons?! fire...
the great meteor when the moon failed
to protect the earth... fire breathing
giant lizards... dinosaurs...
that, meditation: is over...
time to turn to insects... hmm... flies...
wasps...
i like that... the way wasps are born:
pure Darwinism:
insect and parasite combined...
                the larva is shoved into an unsuspecting
body of a worm...
the larva is born and starts...
eating the worm from the inside: out...
imitation cuckoo bird...
sort of the same principle...

                 has Darwinism been truly applied?
has it?! has it?! i call an obstacle i find in man
either: THING... or the OTHER...
ha ha... pronouns... ha ha... ah ha ha... pronouns...
yeah: these people have one:
IT...
                 i'm just a theological mercenary...
either the descent of god or the ascendance of the devil:
the wind blows in all four geographical vectors...
as a ****** they could have sold me Protestantism,
Catholicism, Communism... ******... blah blah...
this... woke little **** of: thank you: but i rather sleep,
is... supposed to what?! make me quake in my boots!
hold hold... let me just twinkle my toes...
do i have... socks on my feet? wait wait...
mmm... furry-toes... yeah: i have socks on...

being the massive fan of both the Red Hot Chilli Pappers
and William Burroughs:
hell only knows where these idle hands will
travel...
i love my bedroom in the night with no lights
on... insatiable: the drummer-instinct in me...
i can't help grooving to EASILY
and AROUND THE WORLD...
hands joined to the torso...
hands attached to hands... no saucepans...
**** it... thighs knees and the head will simply do...
i need to chase after my heartbeat...
out-chase it...

but in the darkness by the silver milk of the moon's
rays... my naked body impressed against the backdrop
of constellations...
Azog the Pale Orc and his Warg Matriarch...
well... mine is ginger and he's no matriarch...
he's a castrated ginger Maine ****...
yes... let's get carried away...
                because the comparison of Africans as Orcs
is a disrespected for me...
the English knowledge of etymology
of Slav = Slav(e) is also slightly off...

just like Billy Joel sang while sifting through sand
to find bones and rocks:
just like the post-Soviets in Ukraine
and H'americans in Iraq and Afghanistan...
what African people conquered any "polite" plot
of land outside of Africa? who?! the "Orcs"?
who are the slaves?
who's anyone, mind you?

Shaolin monk style questing:
i abhor the sceptics... i have this inherent hatred for
the sceptics like Ezra Pound abhorred the Taoists...
i can't: stand their... adamant... pride...
their neglect of being humbled...
how do you learn the concept of humbling?
by being humbled...
and how do you counter the concept of humbling?
upon being humbled:
you transcend and do not: humble...
whenever i was made a makeshift supervisor...
i didn't humble people...
i was caretaker...
because just don't get the whole idea...
they have partial clues regarding the idea of
the function...
today i caught a green-bell fly with my index and
thumb... i took a photograph of my "adventure":
as you do...
because it wasn't me stretching easily melting cheese...
so i guess that's a plus...

i hate scepticism...
you ******* don't know the basic principles of
1 + 1 = 2... CAUSALITY...
seriously? the fire that erupted in that tiny village
of Wennigton was like...
CAUSE + EFFECT = CAUSALIY...
so... i blow up a balloon up with my breath?
carbon dioxide... the balloon will sink...
i inflate it with helium, what? the balloon rises...

what's the impact i have by cycling to where
i need to go? no impact...
well... some extra traffic...
i might overheat my rubber, no?
but in terms of fuel? yes... carbohydrates
in my body... i need to peddle...
what am i burning? my own momentum...
i'm not burning any dinosaur fuel or gas...
i'm mobile... more mobile that people
who overuse their mobile phones...
there was a point: once upon a time:
for telephones to be left stationary...

  i abhor the sceptics: they're like the worst bad joke bad
jokers...
the canine cynics i can understand:
i can understand their cynicism:
fear the dog that fears its owner...
we're currently the dogs in fear of their own
fate: our owner...

i have oppressive memories...
that's why i don't dream... what interpretation
could Freud give:
and all that pedagogic erosioin fron learning
"skills": what skills? that would envision me
as having traction in the workforce?
zilch! nada! nothing! i just think of those poor
people who have recurrent dreams...
poor *******: how can you become so *******
as to have recurrent dreams?
70cl of whiskey won't help?
waking up at 8am the next day...
anxious out of both brain and freeze won't help?
not sure whether vomiting or taking a ****
will ease your burden, that confusion
won't help?!
**** me...
                   **** it... jump off a cliff...
paying close attention to the sunset...
maybe that might help...
                  i can't help you luvvy dubby... teddy...
please don't try to hug me...
i've seen how that works in the workforce...
one bubbly gal... all purple hai with
a hiding twitch in her hair...
   hugs me...
i just misheard a word she uttered...
she said darling: i thought she said daddy...
every since it has become a *******
schtick!
                 ugh... it's like... my ******* *******
tuching glue...
would i like erecticle dysfunction? yes please...
so i'm greeting this big girl with a hug...
the one i'm more interested in...
she's ginger: i have a ginger-fetish...
i think of her as: MOUSE...
anyway...

      let's get the party people pout and get them
the **** out of the way...
i will not describe to them that i have...
an inkling into right-wing politics...
i'm a fascistic nut...
   blah blah...
                    i get the purple-haired frogs out
of the way... by? hugging them...
i get onto the mouse... ooh... the dynamic changes...
i can't hug her...
the purple haired lesbian-fatso wants hugs:
i give her hugs...
but the mouse is special...
she's ginger...
             i love gingers...

i address her with a hand... extended...
she's not a man... therefore? she doesn't perform a handshake...
she.... hmm...
i'm a daddy... about to give my daughter
an ice-cream cone...
  she grips my fingers in the wrong way
that hands out to meet upon greeting...
she grips my fingers... on the wrong side...
i feel: oddly... left-handed...

i thank god and the democracy of satans
for the simple fact that:
none of these people will ever care to wonder
where i spend some of my nights...
ha ha...
oh please... ***** please...
i spend them with prostitutes...
you think i'm that quick to quiver?!
seriously?
i love a game of cards more than i enjoy a game
of chess: after all: it's one game after another...

games... games...
i used to be a big gamer in my early teenage-hood...
i couldn't be separated from my PS1 console
during the weekend...
i begged for a PS2... didn't get one...
i guess gaming caught up to me...

the gaming experience coupled with the internet...
ah... mind-mining...
teaming up... war robot games...
my thrill has finally come...
war robots... mech arena...
better still... the agenda of credit...
me? it's free, isn't it? well then...
but you manage to spot the people who invest
money in something:
they're usually skill-less: not exactly team-players...
esp. when it come to a game that
focuses on two objectives...
winning or losing is just a byproduct...
(a) gaining authority over control points
(b) destroying all the opposite side's mechs...
time frame? 10 minutes in war robots...
5 minutes in mech arena...
plenty of time to contemplate taking a ****...
mind you: either i dilate my ****
and ease out a **** by jerking off to a pair of ****
or i play an interactive game...
on the throne of thrones...
i could be wearing a crown of: dust...
and it would still matter... whether the plumbing works:
or doesn't...

i seriously had to wait for gaming to catch up with
my desired DIET of gaming...
i had to wait for the internet to evolve...
i required an arena... a lottery of... value...
competent players versus incompetent players...
players willing to hone in on their skills for free...
and players... lazy enough to invest money
that is otherwise unnecessarily invested in a game...

i'm coming back to gaming...
i can du soku... ****... su doku  by myself...
what need for crossword puzzles when you're already
a crossword puzzle of bilingualism?
sure... i have polyglot interests...
the concept of RENDAKU springs to mind...
as expressed in ORIGAMI:
                        g = k.... TOE-MAY-TOES...
T'OH-M'AH-TOES...
  
        hey! the people of the never-setting sun!
you're not much different, n'est ce pas?!
but there's a more obvious RENDAKU...
theta phi V...
alTHough... THought... and...
             PH = TH = F...
    but "F" = V... via TH...
                   the Fe? or the V'eh in THE point?!
i'll bring this tower of Babel to crumble before
my toes and then, and then:
i'll kneel among the rubble!
too much of Hell's ambitions have been sung by men
for Hell to simply: wallow in Heaven's tyranny
of absence!
                    we're here...
whoever we are: it doesn't matter...
                       one variant attired to another...
we're mechanisations to counter the absence of human
spirit...
we're the *****-slapping crew...
i pray to god that i'm not alone in my ambitions...
not that i pray...

this posting will have to wait...
i have a shift at Wembley tomorrow...
Coldplay... it's not like i hate them: i just don't love them...
it will be a dross...
but this posting will have to wait... i might have
to stop over at the brothel to ease my brain from
having ownership of a head...
i'll think about it...
depends on... a number of factors...

for the time being... mosquitos... caught... donning
donning boxing gloves... by the *******...
or... flies... catching them by the legs...
with naked fingers...
ooh... i love those pristine *******...
the green-bells... fertile *******...
they **** more maggots than they eat...
black flies are priests...
i like the tickling sensation insects leave
on a naked body... esp. when they don't deposit any
embryos... of their own...
**** me: wasps and my eye...
i would: most probably: punch myself to death if that
ever happened...
ergo? there's a god...
ergo? simple people make life pristine all the more
difficult...
no one has problems with competent people...
no one... idiots make this world worse
than the best it already is...
the ******* god of norms...
"calculations"... exhibits A and exhibits B...
i'm getting tired of this Atlas pause...
i'm waiting for Darwinism-proper kicks in...
when the dimension of agony-scrutiny and: RE-ALITY
cometh...

no one is going to dictate my useage of
the English language beside an authentic English-man!
no one!
no one... oh... but i'm siding with the Russians...
no one sided with the Iraqis when Iraq
was invaded... no one sided with the Afghans
when Afghanistan was invaded...
**** the Ukrainians: i'm not siding with them...
Cossacks undermined the Polish-Lithuanian
Commonwealth... sold it to the Ottoman barbers...
**** them...
i'm on the side of the Russians...
which makes listening to western journalistic
narratives a miracle of escapism...
i began, to, stop, reading, pointless, books:
already, pointless, to, begin, reading! ******* bravo!
extend the concept of starvation!

no no... now we're talking more... we need more...
there's only one guilt trip associated with hell...
gluttony: the gluttony of death...
there are never enough dead people!
hmm! ******* weird!
why aren't there enough dead people?!

can't you *******, just, die?!
    sure: i'm equally man...
by no summary i am no exception...
perhaps... i'm some variation of an exception
akin to: i bite an apple: i... "taste" water...
wait a minute: you can't "taste" water...
since... water is tasteless...
how pow! either the apple is imaginary
or my taste of the apple is imaginary:
or my ability to taste is imaginary...
or... well... there was no apple to begin with...

ha ha... by now all of philosophy is not a question
but an answer: i just don't care...
and? i just don't care...
it's a must of: there's too much...
and there's too little...
      it's clearly beyond any prior concern
of GOOD and EVIL...
there's just too much... and there's too little...
there are new-rule absolutes...

only a dutious scarab of a servant might acknowledge
this conundrum...
we have moved beyond the gravity of language
concerning a good and an evil...
there? is either too little...
or there's too much! for the time being: problem solved:
i.e. problem staged: therefore: not solved!
hell yawns! more of these i.q. deficient mongrels!

yes, i abhor the sceptics with a similar passion
that Socrates ascribed the sophists,
with equal passion Ezra Pound ascribed his passionate
hatred for the the Taoits...
i ascribe equal measure to the sceptics...
i can bark dog with the cynics...
i like cynicism... i abhor scepticism:
they're so ridiculous ridiculous...
to them? the casausality bound to the physics is
non-existent...

mind you... i don't know what i'm doing with this
poo'em...
i have already broken several instances
of keeping up to the up-keep of
エンソー...

                  **** me... even the Japanese use diacritical
markers, the English are forever adamant
in not using any... even though there's an example
of レンダク (rendaku) in almost every word that arrives
at the "suspicion) of THETA contra PHI...
TH = D in there's a point...
TH = F in there's thinking invoked...
THE= V: THE point...

it has taken me too many takes to complete this piece
with too many interludes of
either staring at my shadow or blinking at the sun...
i will need to abandon this poem at some point...
not that it's unfinished:
it's only that i require a readership of squaters
to venture in its dynamic...
new "things" happened... i need to write about them...
too much happened today for me to want
to perfect this:
i already wasted about half an hour looking
for my headphones...
father... i know i placed them in some easily
re-find location... what did he do?
he stashed my headphones in a drawer with
his shoes and shoelaces...
   apparently too inconvenient...
a lunatic walking around the house with a searchlight
trying to find them...
                no, this poem is becoming silly...

.if my writing becomes as bad as Marquis de Sade's, tell me... i just might have enough of "it" in me, to compete with the novella ******.

apparently it's really bad
to dream about your teeth
in the Slavic culture...
whenever i do dream...
i dream about my teeth...
which could have been
an indicator, some years ago,
that i should have become
a dentist...
   but now? rarely...
a numbing of the bottom
jaw, each evening...
the old fear...
i would fall asleep
fearful of what would
happen when i clenched my teeth
together...
a poignant nerve *******
of pain, working its way from
my mouth, into my stomach,
successfully
morphing into a pseudo-epileptic
**** of spasmodic fits...
fun fun fun...
pain... i've learned...
is always a pleasure
from the most unexpected
circumstances...
of ****** erratic counters...
your pleasure...
my pain...
and i did find burning out
cigarette butts on my knuckles...
quiet enjoyable...
well... some people choose tattoos...
i have my "mark of Cain"
on my right shoulder-blade...
a Chernobyl oops remark...
what? you think that they
picked up traces of radiation
in Denmark, that,
atoms, congested with half-lives
and what not, what?
atoms do not encompass a larger
radius to that of a *******
hurricane?!
      atoms... atoms... invisible...
you think atoms require
the ******* wind to spit some rain
on you?!
back then i was a mature fetus...
as the old people remind...
forests...
    like rainbow strips...
parts green with the oncoming
summer...
but parts dead, autumnal,
auburn... burnt...
and the high rate of cancer among
the ****** populace,
prematurely?
no no... it wasn't Chernobyl,
it's just the diet...
some people prefer tattoos though...
i?
   i'm used to scars...
             i would always prefer
a jawline mark of a shark's bite
to some ****** tattoo...
i would imply: i lived...
which would also imply
the person with an elaborate
tattoo: well... at least you did
the dreaming for both of us...

chopper chopper chopper chop...
sunken well, daft,
attempting to be a parked car...
chopper chopper chopper
down...
chopper chopper chopper...
                     a parked "car" on fire;
and a good man too...
Leicester city blues, or gingers...
a misguided
   Schwarzenegger quote -
   a... -negger quote...
               get to zee chopper!
ha ha... chop chop...
a Qoo Feng Shush quote, or sorts...

i keep dreaming up my mouth though...
like...
   well i did pay an extra £10 to do oral
with a Bulgarian *******...
i'm pretty sure the oysters wouldn't
be much cheaper...
            
if you're going to ask...
  no, Amsterdam is not for the ****...
and yes, it's legal, prostitution
is legal...
             what is illegal,
is running a brothel,
whereby... prostitutes are not
self-employed...
     running a brothel is illegal,
visiting a ******-psychiatrist is,
legal...
                   i prefer the psychiatric
inversion of listening to
a woman's onomatopoeia
via her ******, rather than her:
"eager" listening tactics
which later resemble something
akin to a deaf man's theater fetish
of Thomas Beckett's not i...
key? or ******* nail?
the **** do i put into it,
for it to shut up?
      
and you'd think...
with the drama sharp objects...
so the killer pulled the teeth out,
prior to killing the girls,
so he could receive a grandma
style *******?
jeez... just wondering...
no one thought the sky atlantic
was good enough?
good enough for me...
i mean: several alternative avenues
and ****...

       /    /
     _
    
     /     /               |4| |x| |4|

by x...
               + with
- without
                                obelus, i.e. among
or: in between...

as you get older it's so refreshing to have so little
male sensibility of not getting any:
i.e. "any" from the opposite ***...
i'm currently working about 10 females...
there's me at the brothel: that's about 5...
and 5 outside of the brothel...
i like them as PROSPECTS...
oh sure... i'd date them... go to the cinema with them:
although: what the **** is worth
watching at the cinema these days...
big girls... like Emmie just my type...
a proportionate "hassle"... 5ft11 and chunky...
she has kept changing her WhatsApp profile
picture like 3 to 4 times ever since she gave
me her number... she blew out today...
oh! i was so looking to be working with her today...
instead... i had some random Mo... and Frankie...
Frankie's alright... a butch-lesbian...
which is sort of fun when talking about a nice
piece of ***... she talks about women like
men might talk when not overheard by
HYENA FEMINISTS...
it's very, very refreshing...
me and Frankie... ****'s sake: FRANKLINE...
talk about women like we're about to start
running a marathon....

i had one of these strange in-body experiences
today at the Romford Ice Rink...
my head was thumping: but i felt no pain...
my brain was trying to escape and leave
me without a spinal chord and two legs to stand on...
no pain...
it's an ancient fear... a pseudo-epilepsy once
gripped me... it would grip me
when i bit down on my jaw...
it would send a shockwave from my head
into my stomach... and curl into a ball of
excruciating pain... a stomach cramp bundled together
with a pseudo-epileptic seizure...
the old ancient fear arrived...
i sometimes arrive at it from either constipation
or from low sugar levels...
today? it was neither...

***** TO THE HEAD...
i need to **** someone...
i seriously need to **** someone...
i don't collect stamps... although i inherited
a decent stamp collection from my grandfather...
if i'm desperate... those Soviet stamps will
sell like nothing before them...
i don't collect money / coinage: but i inherited
a decent gallery from the two Jewish women
my mother cared for...
i collect books... one decent first edition of
a Peter Pan variation set underwater...
with illustrations...
if... i'm desperate...
but i don't mind working: i like working...
Erasmus' Colloquia from 1829...
the Beauties of Sterne... 1811...

well then... i'm rich... i just pretend to not know it...
and i don't want to be rich...
i like my current company...
if not a thief... then a *******...
it's all the same for me...
but today... mein gott! ***** TO THE HEAD!

samen zu der kopf!
it wasn't constipation, it wasn't low sugar levels in
the blood... this should be made illegal!
seriously! how can this example of a well rounded
GINGER ****-BEAUTY walk around with
such so much flesh exposed... and with those tight jeans...
hair that ginger that's perfectly burnt auburn...
no freckles... a complexion very much like
vanilla ice-cream... it's not fair!

how can she just walk around like that!
i got a headache that wasn't a headache but
a bedding-ache... some things should be made illegal...
i had to figure myself out...
what the hell is wrong with you?!
you're not constipated... sure... your blood sugar levels
are low... but...
ugh... i need to correct myself...
i literally had to ******* while pretending
to take a **** when i got home...
i masturbated with the sheath of ******* on...
i then ****** off with the sheath off...
why do gingers infuriate my *** drive so much? why?!
i equalised the blood pressure to the brain
and without climaxing gave "it" a rest...

i'm lucky... my paternal grandmother doesn't know
of my existence: well, she "knows": but she hasn't
the least bit bothered about me existing to begin with...
while my maternal grandmother: sort of ****** me
over pretending my best friend,
i.e. my grandfather wasn't dying: when he was...
only informing me of his death the day he died...
sure... i have plenty of animosity for women...
which is disguise as love
for prostitutes.... oh... you don't require killing
prostitutes to enact "revenge": you just juice them up
in the right sort of places and in the right sort of way...

old granny conflicts disappear
like a spoon in a bowl of custard!
mind you: oh, that, four day agony of scribbles...
i sort of wish i would have forgotten by now...
what / who helped?!
Freddy... thus freckled curiosity of a 13 year old boyo...
minding my own business... walked out with a bottle of cider...
we started talking about bicycles...

how much did it cost?
oh... £500...
can you whistle while shoving *******
into your mouth... hey presto! the boy whistled!
how do you do the wheelie?
i can cycle not using the handlebars...
wow! a perfect circus bear!
he did a wheelie while whistling real loud...
while asking me: can i have a take on your bicycle?!
sure thing Freddie... go ahead...
thank **** and all that the gods needs:
local people interacting with the locals...
perhaps if this was me in Cumbria i would be a priest...
i'm clarifying my position...
it feels good... being so localised...
centralised... it takes so little!
i literally have to put in the minimum amount
of effort to get the maximum response...
great hunting ground for experience dealing with crowds
if i'm to take the route of teaching seriously...

Poland is no longer a viable option...
even though i speak the ZUNGE it's... BOT-LAND...
***** to the head...
i was going to wait for getting payment to the past month
until the 1st... but after today's ginger...
NOPE! i need, to, ****!
i'm going to ****! i don't care about ****-wit ****-less men...
i'm going to ****!
i don't care about train-spotters and the likes...
no! i'm not waiting!

i'd look ******* GREAT in a WAFFEN-SS uniform...
i would: and i know i would...
i need to think about my garden of ****...
i'll wake up tomorrow... clean the house...
iron my shirt...
******* to Wembley... and on my way back:
perform the ritual of being tired... *****... tired...
*****... drink a cider... drink some whiskey...
scout around the brothel... and ooh!
too many masculine interests...
all i need is a juicy ****...
  and i know that women are... depends on the "geography":
timid: tiny... creatures....
but they are...

tiny, timid, creatures!
                        they taste better with some tongue in 'em...
but... BEGGARS CAN'T BE CHOOSERS...
ergo? well! ha ha! ergo!

The elegant breeze whistled like a blue flute.
Your floral gown; blue
Danced expertly to its broken blue tune.
Your smile was another color and blue.
From your hands grew a rose
A rose whose color i won't disclose.
This is a poem for Blue
So any color mentioned will be taboo.
Underneath the open covers of blue skies.
A serenade of blue butterflies scattered forth
when blue hearts joined in a bluish kiss.
Electric like the blue taste of mint mouthwash
A blue is like the shine of Sapphire and Topaz
The blue of Absence
When mean rain splash mercilessly on blue panes
And i lay helplessly ensconced in blue covers.
The provocative blue in Pinocchio Lies
Within the blue solace of gingers depths.

so the situation is:
you have a fox in your garden,
the one you feed leftover food
from the day...
and your cat is also in the garden,
some 9pm -
and they're sparring -
or at least sharing a mutual
curiosity -
   the fox will not leave the garden,
the cat will not come home...
someone is in the garden,
shyly trying to implore the cat
to come in, and with vain attempts
to usher the fox out...
one hour passes... no success...
so i, perched on a windowsill
looking at the whole spectacle
go down into the kitchen
and - out of empathy tell this
person...
     you can't do it like this...
it's nature, it will not listen
to you...
   you need a heavy cavalry
charge...
   so?
    i fun into the garden,
the 6ft1 105kg of me and run
with emphasis on stomping...
suddenly my neighbor's dog also
runs out... **** yes...
now we have the two gingers
cornered -
they can't escape into the garden
where they can play the tease
sparring of curiosity...
  fox jumps the fence
into the opposite garden,
the cat runs indoors...
                             **** yeah!