It’s Friday 30th June 2013
And I am not not at Glastonbury
The circus inside my stomach believes it
As it relives the act of the opening night
The generous performance of Prosseco
That now sing somersaults inside
It comes with not not being at Glastonbury

This weekend I’m a transient party goer
And I’m spreading the love of not not being at Glastonbury
Anyway who needs Glastonbury?
I’m here choosing my music track by track
On the way to meet my gran
Yeah, Granny Mac’s not not at Glastonbury either
So bring it on not not Glastonbury

Not not being at Glastonbury proves expense
Almost like Glastonbury itself would be
And now without phone
Not not being at Glastonbury develops realistically
‘Nother day and not not being at Glastonbury took me home
With old friends drinking aplenty
And more

Not to brag but I even jogged at Not not Glastonbury
Through fields and through the city
Undoing the damage done whilst not not being at Glastonbury

Tonight not not being at Glastonbury
Will peak when we get involved culturally
Shakespearean act performed in his Globe
You don’t get that at Glastonbury
But we’ll hold a drink through
Making the most of not not being at Glastonbury

By tomorrow my insides will feel like they’ve consumed Glastonbury
But here’s hoping we’re still able to get our art hit
Endurance is part of the test of not not being at Glastonbury

First thing in the morning and we’re counting the pennies
Because we’re not not at Glastonbury
So it’s never a bad time to buy *****
We’ve a young Argentinian as extra company
One of so many friends made at not not Glastonbury
Intent was succeeded with a turn of events never forseen
It went wonderfully wild whilst not not being at Glastonbury
Post play and pop with pa
Whilst wondering further afar
Party greets on a reclaimed beach
A gift given not by Glastonbury
So right now the Thames is actually the best place to be
Due partly to the unpredictability
For you know good times and good people come with Glastonbury
But the friends and offerings not not at Glastonbury this year
Have shown a surprising  shared love for not not  being at Glastonbury

Even if the comedown tries to equal the fun
It would be worth it this time, not not being at Glastonbury

Come Glastonbury, demand your suitors
Eliminate the negatives of their days
Show the signs of cheer and promise
Crystal clear and sun bright
The walkways between the tiny shops
Where escaping through to back doors and out
Inside spirits claim your soul
Wrestle your pathetic reliance on consumerism
Your slavish concern for fashion
And your unhelpful TV dinners
There in Glastonbury only truth is spoken
Revealing the weaknesses of our human frame
Our minds that suffer from prejudices and bigotry
Cleanse your soul, become yourself
Give up the senseless living that has dominated
And driven our daily chores and lifestyle
Discard them all and believe that man
Is just a tiny part of this cosmos
A spirit and energy of the completeness
Not the embodiment
Not the utmost but a small part
Perhaps a much lesser being than any other...
Despite everything we are special
You are special in your individual capabilities
Each soul a grain of stardust
Waiting to be reunited in the cosmos
With the rest of the wonderful plethora
Be calm in the knowledge that you
Your heart and soul
Are one and only
Unique
Even today in Glastonbury

.    like cardinal Leto remarked, having received news from Versailles... why is it always the ******* French?

perhaps in a less crude manner,
drinking wine,
while eating raw fruits -

  always a bad combination...
no *****, no meat?
   bad idea... wine, and raw fruit
akin to strawberries?
    irritable bowel movements...

- and that's because Einstein
didn't discover the concept of
gravity, in the format of: sideways?
in the form of orbits?
   expansive waves...
   that allowed for the elliptical interpretation?
like the old
              argument:
      (heliocentric) oval...
             contra the (geocentric) circular
"concern" for...
   whatever is up / down
            sideways in
      the Copernican terminology...
because there was ever a "shape"
concerning the universe,
  and not a medium,
            an extraction for the metaphor
for water,
   gas, liquid, solid...
              and the fourth aspect
of ancient elements:
   its existence in a vacuous "space"?

- but i can't fathom the French at this point...
once upon a time...
one Frenchman equated the motivation
for a "summa summarum"
    to be bound with a thinking,
and a curiosity...

            the current fashion of Latin
abbreviations...
   this... cogito ergo sum?
   it's nonsense...
    speak it long enough...
   and you'll find yourself inclined
to suppose that cogitans per se:
is a motivation, an impetus to exist...
yet... so much of thought it "wasted"
or, rather, to craft an impetus to
"doubt", within the confines of fiction...
but the motivation has lost its
origin within the confines of doubt,
and has been replaced by
the Freudian unconscious,
   a serialized phobia fest... notably
including a, clown...

originally, thought (per se) was
a secondary motivational outlet
that precipitated into being...
    first came... doubt...
   but... these days?
               doubt is a conspiracy theory,
no longer an emotional thrill
to prop-up thinking...
   and we have the French existentialists
to thank for this...
for they subverted their own
idea...

             negation has replaced doubt
as the origin, and motivation
for thinking...
        yet... this sort of "thinking",
has made, its materialization, so, so...
obscene...
    i can hardly find it surprising while
i took to propping two worthwhile
economic outlets...
   prostitution (since they will spend
the money i give them...
on things... i wouldn't even care
for propping up)...

    and... alcohol (scotch whiskey,
russian standard *****...
    shveedish cider...
                     german beer)...

but how can you even claim an existence,
if...
       there is no thrill...
of what is the secular expression of faith:
i.e. doubt?
  how can you replace doubt -
a motivation for thinking, materialized
into being... with negation?
  jean-paul Sartre attempted this inversion -

doubt has been replaced with negation
in his system...
             it's like that cliche of an English
1960s ***-joke / ***-like...
       this... frivolity over a blatant lie...
a lie so... bogus...
    so ineffectual in translating a hidden truth
that... you allow it...
   to care for the cheap comic aspect
of the execution...

but how can the French suddenly
feign to disbelieve their secularism -
   resorting to the antithesis,
namely:

  original

  doubt motivates thinking,
  which subsequently motivates
   being within the confines of reason,
or rather, reasonableness...

20th century existentialists

negation "motifs" thinking,
   which subsequently motifs
"being" within the freedom of non-reason,
or rather, unreasonableness...

   and by negation,
   i don't mean the atomic conceived softening
blow...
   akin to: dis-ease...
    i.e. (as i explained it to one old man
in a park, walking his dog):
  a negation, or ease... a denial of...

how can the Cartesian model work,
when the 20th century French existentialists
began with the presupposition:

   i deny, i think, therefore i exist?
where is the original thrill of
the secular aspect of faith, within the boundaries
of doubt?
              gone... vanished!
****! a **** on the London tube,
during the rush hour,
  during the heatwave
                of the past month!

                   perhaps this only comes
as a method of assimilating an increased population,
within the confines of the Taoist maxim:
the best way to aid the world,
is to forget the world, and let the world
forget about you...

             perhaps... the Andy Warhol 15 minutes
analogy...
      that in order to encompass the individual,
the world, and the individual within it...
   the approach had to change
from the original, exciting, exploration
genesis of thought, bound to the genesis
of doubt...
             having to be replaced by
a genesis of denial...
      the second tier of a secular society...
    the zeitgeist of Herr Censor...
to filter through what we see so often,
faces, bodies...
  but would be much more comfortable
having been bound to Plato's cave,
         of complete shadow theater...

perhaps... but the original tier of
secular societies' alternative to church prescribed
articles of faith...
                     to have replaced
the thrill of doubt...
      with this... Byzantine pillar of denial
as motivational groundwork for
thinking impetus
   that becomes an article of being?
am i the only one to see the frustration,
how, people abhor their being,
being founded upon an act of denial,
rather than an act of doubt?

     the once thrilling maybe (gnostic):
   has become the stale, "i don't know"
    (agnostic) - as if... people can't tell you
whether zebras have stripes!
   where there was once an article
of secular faith (doubt) -
   now?
                        there's not even that!

p.s.
  there has to be a much needed new mantra,
all publicity: is bad publicity -
unless of course you're riding that
fame juggernaut and are paying
for your all-inclusive status akin
   to madonna: since fame dies off
and you, none-the-less invest in the momentum...

one day where i drink a bottle of wine,
half a liter of whiskey,
   and i'm apparently not "screaming" in
my sleep from the heat,
the whole, "apparently", as i retorted:
at 5:15am? i was alseep! i was asleep!
how can i stop screaming in my sleep
like a banshee:
the sleeper and the blind man both see
eye to eye regarding the future to come...

one day without engaging in internet
content: of my own accord,
next day? this... this... lethargy builds
up in me... i end up thinking:
i can't do this any more,
this insomnia culture globalism of
24h news reels is tirying me,
i pick up the sunday newspaper
which i found to be respecteable...
the sunday times,
  i peer into the magazines...
toxic masculinity,
    desire: what three women want...
i'm bored...
well more tired than bored,
bored-tired...
                 what women want:
what an exhausting question...
**** fantasy, beta-male provideer...
yada-yada-yada...
                    
    the only relaxing aspect of the day
(apart from the shade) is watching
england beat india in the cricket...
i always loved cricket sport terminology:
50 overs... innings...
wickets... 6 throws of the ball in an over...
the rest? i'm no atlas...
i don't like the world crashing in on
me with all its problems...
not because i don't have the right
advice to give,
but i remember the most modern secular
motto about giving advice borrowed
from Athos of the creation of alexandre dumas:

the best advice? to not give advice...
you cannot be held accountable
for giving bad advice: and people complaining,
or good advice and leaving
people in your sphere of influence...
asking for more - non verbatim... of course...

second categorical imperative?
tao...
              the best way you can help
the world: is to forget the world,
and let the world forget you...

                        you only need two absolute
maxim vectors to orientate yourself
in this world,
a third is nice, but: it can be kept loose...
at least two on a tight leash...

but one night spent drinking,
not writing anything:
and i am... spent!

                            the boogieman of england's
persistent complaints...
the muslims are not integrating,
the english: we should give them more
ground...
           o.k., o.k.... joe peshi in the role
leo getz in lethal weapon II...
            i too had to integrate!
i said: like **** if you think i'll give up
my native tongue when spoken in private...
you're not getting it...
i'll spreschen ihre zunge, no problem,
i'll even write you pwetty free verses to boot!
but, guess what?
  i will not force you to eat my
sauerkraut, my schnitzels,
                           my smoked sausages,
my raw herrings etc.,
                      integration does not work
within the confines of: pampering to a people
expected to meet you half-way...
what happened when the polonaise attempted
to meet the english half-way?
brexit...
oh come on guv'... is there a ******* tram
echoing its way out of my eye
when you peer into it while i attach
an index finger to the bottom lid to give
you a clearer picture?
           25 years in england: no englush girlfriend:
i guess all the english girls just love, just love love
being ***** by 9 pakistanis
daubed in gasoline...
                   hey: they **** thrill...

i'm tired of the weakness of the english,
the humpty-dumpty nature they are imposing,
self-cencorship,
    appeasing, like neville chamberlain...
bringing back the munich agreement...
not on a piece of paper,
instead... waving a scrap of a toilet roll...
so the english could wipe their own *****
on the promises of the germans...
if this really hurts the northern monkies...
guess how much it hurts the sourthern fairies...
(well... fairy, is a designated region surrounding
devon, bristol, hardly a ******* fairy in essex)...

   why am i foreigner and i share
the same nausea of the natives,
                     exhausted by the narratives?
i guess the english didn't like the polonaise:
but the polonaise are to blame...
came here with a list of benefits they could claim:
without having even lived 5 years among
the natives... housing benefits, child benefits...
believe me: the polonaise are the only
people in the world that hate each other...
to the extent of citing bitter criticisms...
whenever i pass through warsaw to see my grandparents
i am gripped with a sickness:
this homogeneity is too much for me...
shove me back into the east end of London...
too much of the same genetic material...
and that's when the language i am keeping
(seemingly for vanity reasons) fizzles out
into your basic encounter and that basic reminder
that circa 40 million speak it too,
better or worse, but they speak it...

of all the festivals? download...
                                   i wish...
    glastonbury?       not my thing...
kylie? i'll concede: slow? live, with instruments,
rather than the studio original...
wasn't that a cover of
   bowie's fashion?
                  sure as hell sounded similar...
but i heard the cure were playing...
so while writing my father's invoice
i made myself a paperclip bracelet...
   i figured... "let's just pretend to be there"...
and no, the 1980s weren't that bad when
it comes to music,
not now, by comparison...
the cure's kiss me, kiss me, kiss me (1987)
release?
one of those rare albums you can
listen to akin to reading a book...

                       but there's still that persisting
exhaustion... i came from under communism,
from under the iron curtain,
but at least there was the economic aspect
of communism involved...

   only today i watched the story
of the terrible inversion of english jursprudence,
i.e.: guilty until proven innocent...
the 1975 case of the silesian vampire...
an innocent man was hanged...
the original vampire?
    smashed his wive's head in,
then his childrens', then he set himself
on fire...
              then again: the tragedy of those
rare cases of being presumed guilty
rather than innocent...
then the reverse: presumed innocent rather
than guilty and getting away with it,
through the parody of death
and the non existent god...

   there could not be anything more exhausting
than communism without a communist
economic model...
this current state of affairs in the west:
cultural marxism and the yet to be discovered
antithesis of cultural darwinism...

i'll use the cartesian chirality for a moment:
sum ergo cogito...
i don't like using political terms...
but... liberal (classical) - i don't even know
what sort of thinking goes into the label -
in the east? the liberals are exhausted
by a resurgent nationalism within
   the newly acquired capitalist system...
in the west? the liberals are exhausted
by an insurgent communism within
an ageing capitalist system...

         on a side: seriously, why even bother
engaging in any sort of "public intellectual"
debates when the public are only
discussing two books: 1984 and brave new world...
**** it, might as well talk to a camel jockey
who only own and rides the waves of
time in this world only using one...
muhammad...
   whom Khadija **** Khuwaylid
would probably whip into his young
respectable shape...

                  and this is how Ezra Pound comes
into rememberance:
usura... at least the muslims do not
play into the game of usury:
of interest... borrow a quid,
pay back £2.33...
            that's the only way you can
gain respect of the muslims:
if they truly were the money lenders
of this world: which they aren't...
unless a newly blessed...

   among the philistines and the proselytes...
england is such a tiresome project,
even on the outskirts of London...
i'm being dragged down by this intervention
of marxism: on a whim,
on a whimsical projection...
of "adding" values...
            
           communism would have worked...
in exceptional circumstances...
poland... circa 1945 - 1990...
syria: the current year...
  to whatever year is demanded...
exceptional as in: war torn...
where was the marshall plan
   for poland, when there was one
for sweden (neutral) and switzerland
(also neutral)?!
        black youths bothered about
the summer holidays,
having to live in council flats,
  concrete goliaths...
           want to know what it feels like
when entire cities are like council
estates,
with only pockets of remaining
   free-standing houses among
overshadowing council flats?
                                    nee bother...
sure... in a country where:
the house is the castle and there's a labyrinth
of castles constituting outer suburbia...
balconies... that's what the soviet
models had... balconies...
where women could grow flowers...
concrete staccato gardens in the sky...
the blocks of flats in england
didn't have balconies (sky gardens,
          esp. the early ones, massive fault)...
i spent one summer reading
bertnard russell's history of western philosophy...
lying in my grandparent's balcony,
in the shade...
watching passerbys among
          the barking dogs of the neighbours...

one day, one ******* day!
   and i'm already exhausted from the castrato
english narrative...
pandering to the people you expected
to integrate...
  no! you're not changing your standards...
your standards are perfectly reasonable!
i'm tired of the english pandering
to the sort of people who, will, not,
integrate!
               i integrated in a way
of respecting both the english culture,
as well as hiding / preserving my own...
why don't i just do the following:
   pisać po polsku?
                      like some czesław miłosz?

ah... good point... at what point
is the standard of integration appreciated?
when nothing is preserved?
surely integration is supposed to
accommodate some variation
of preservation?
     i might add: that's a fine line...
preserve all? no integration...
preserve some? integration...
                    preserve none? no integration...
food is a cheap target to example
with...
                   it's a low hanging fruit...
given that even i find indian cuisine
   the most superior in the world...
food is a cheap target concerning integration...
but the niqab?
  when the local english authorities
are employing face-recognition
technology and when testing it...
are forcing people to uncover their faces,
subsequently arresting them out of protest...
but not the women wearing the niqab...
out of? out of what?
   a secular society shouldn't be allowed
to discriminate against any religion...
it should discriminate against: all religions!

                isn't that what the secular ideology
is all about? the... softcore version
of soviet atheism?
        secularism of the west (miltary-industrial
complex)...
"vs." soviet atheism of the east
  (scientific-industrial complex)...
           i'm still so ******* tired
               of this bogus trap of "necessary"
                       commentary.

Many make up the festival
so many warm hearted

Who would deny a place
to the hot fire
of the hash fudge maker

I promised myself
"I will get there next year!",
With the people I trust though. Not the ones from the crowd.

we will save together,
and re-watch the history,
and plan every outfit, every detail to a tee.

we will travel together, laugh together
and come across unforgettable moments together.
But nothing will be planned once we step in the gates

to realise we are ready.
being Graduated and Free

The first time I saw you,
I didn’t expect to fall for the fact that you always hold my hand first,
Before you even kiss me
Or wrap your arms around me.
I didn’t expect to fall for the way you watch me when I trace the bones in your body,
Giving each its specific, anatomical name.
I didn’t expect that every time I looked at the stars,
I’d try and find Orion’s Belt
Because you have these three freckles that connect like a constellation on your chest.
The first time I saw you,
I didn’t expect to find myself thinking about your voice,
Or the scruff on your chin,
And how it felt when it’d brush against mine every time you kissed me.
I didn’t expect your smile to become a force
That could weaken me to my core,
And fill me with warmth and a quickened heart beat.
I didn’t expect that every time I saw the lights from Hartford,
I’d be thinking of your laugh when I couldn’t stop admiring the view from your house.
The first time I saw you,
I didn’t expect I’d fall so hard for you.

I keep wanting to write about you,
And I think it's because we haven’t talked in a few days,
But honestly I’m not sure what to write.
When I think of you,
I see your smile grinning so brightly at me,
And I feel your hand holding mine tight.
But I don’t know what to write,
Because when I think of you I just want to talk to you,
And hear your voice and your laugh,
Even though you’re usually laughing at me.
I don’t know how to write about the respect you show me,
Or the fact that you always want to know more.
I don’t know how to put into words the way you make me forget about the bad,
And fill me with good.
I keep wanting to write about you
Because I met you at the wrong time and I fell too hard.
I want to write about you because I don’t want to let go yet.

In sparkles and butterflies she's coming to grace the stage,
it's said,
astonished to be made aware,
the stage at Glastonbury 2014,
is to share,
Dolly Parton and her bits,
diamante maybe dressing her ****,
the queen of country,
along with Debbie Harry,
what a strange combination,
let us all pray,
that Glastonbury doesn't drown this year,
I fear perhaps it will!
(C) Livvi

it's largely based on the introduction, drunk poetry of Bob Dylan's blonde on blonde, or Dave Bowie's heathen albums that can be treated as fully-loaded novels with missing charting song, you can champ the narratives akin to nearing ancient symphonies making Nietzsche more of a German Chopin than an idea formation, excusing himself with too maxims; yep, Bob Dylan's blonde on blonde given Nick Hornby's care for the music in what's a fluke of care for piquant fidelity, country and blues, bought at a supermarket; or avoid both and head straight for Ticlah's si hecho palante.

for some strange reason i woke up early,
usually i miss the morning staying up
till 5 or 6 a.m., like a vampire scared of sunrise,
winter is my most productive period,
summer my least productive,
spring and autumn are seasons when
magic happens, just today the oak tree was
brushing away its flowery bloom
before the fat yoke of chestnuts would fall
a few months later, the spring bloom
of pink or white was already tailored for
the excess greenery of summer, over a period
of two days the flowers withered and
the green leaves appeared.
she once complimented on my cooking skills
and my taste of music, notably *tool,
i first met her when we got together in the
student flats and two girls were *******-up
frying pancakes... the dough stuck to the
frying-pan... so i said 'you need to put some
oil into the mixture!' hey presto a Michelin star
on my attire rather than Victoria's crux
of a soldier... that's how it goes with philosophy
nothing pompous i promise you,
Plato misquoted Socrates talking about
looking funny at men who sought brothel comforts
(the norm in Amsterdam, no guilt, no tabloid spice,
o.k. o.k. Leo Getz style, 'it's like going to the gym,
she was South American, plump, she had a little nergo
boy fetch beers for her clients, she kept the window
open so passersbys could hear her moan after laughing
at my addressing her genitalia with may i taste the fleshy
floral patterns? ah ****, didn't work, you get to write
about *** and it just ends up a string of cliché
like philosophy and the maxim - prostitutes and the
Gemini lips, try kissing both at the same time);
i'd be funny-looking at the other route of philosophers,
mainly through the army, i'm all lazy eye cross-eyed with
those *******... (i do "pending" interludes since
with drunk finger playing the keyboard i tend to
delete by accident about 1 poem for each 10, heartbreaking
experience) - lost the drift, i must be in Birmingham:
no river... no flow. standard model always included
rivers for people congregating, in the countryside
a church would be enough, but for urbanity a river...
this phenomenon of canal cities like Venice is
truly staggering, call it the Maldives of the west,
the Maldives of Europe, 100 years from now
it will probably be more than a Glastonbury fashion
statement of donning farmer John's galoshes.
i've lost the plot... fun-*******-tastic!
oh yeah, the pancakes... well after falling in love
with organic experiments i learnt to love cuisine,
well d'uh cooking, my flatmate just cooked risotto
after risotto until i started pulling rice grains from my nose...
esters and perfumes, the smelly ****, like pickled cabbage,
the grand joke of british asians...
yeah sauerkraut and chicken escalopes are the grand
joke, although try shoving asian spices under your
armpits and you'll be walking the catwalk of Versace for
sure (hey man, stick has two ends!)...
it's an escalope and that's hardly the profanity of
a chicken Kiev, also called a schnitzel... but not schabowy...
you know there's this great aesthetic joke concerning
polish graffiti about the orthography of ****** / phallus
in poland? yep, the variations: huj, hój, chuj, chój...
technically they all sound the same,
they're found next to the anarchists' A and swastikas
on communist apartments.
she wanted so so much, i was at the end of the third year,
and there she is, moving out of her student accommodation
to live with me in my private flat (rented)...
i mean, great... but i'm about to sit my final exams
to get a piece of paper telling others i'm qualified...
what a ******* mess: i know a 3rd of examinable material
i was studying i'll fail, physical chemistry is not my
strong point, organic i can ace, inorganic i can do well on...
but she's there, full-on intense teen... it's a juggling
act that requires a clown, rather than a man,
i'm not saying i'm perfect, but there's too much idealism
in her that requires a hefty stash of pecunia bratus
(money trees)... ah i wish, but had i wished it
i would be writing such uninhibited poems...
up-to-speed... on today's menu!
that's the culinary abhorrence of poetry, remembering
ingredients in recipes rather than rhymes,
for example Thai green curry, and the ***** curry,
the former with spoonful of green Thai sauce to replace
the use of lemongrass, and lime leaves,
actually the limes we replaced with lemons,
the Thai sauce was added, the garlic & ginger paste used,
onions, mangetout added last to add a crispness on the bite,
new potatoes avoided, half a jar of Thai green curry paste,
Thai fish sauce, not salty enough soya sauce was added
(both light and dark), coconut milk of course, caster sugar,
chicken (well, d'uh), basil... yes... basil! lemon zest
and rice, chilli powder!
the second curry involved: cumin seeds, fennel seeds,
a cinnamon stick, garam masala, chilli powder,
turmeric, chopped tomatoes, sugar, chicken stock,
chopped coriander... all in all this is a culinary attack
of poetry, it's not clearly an ancient revenge,
but when i was younger i was instructed to memorise
a poem, aged circa 7... the poem in question was
school bell, i didn't get why we had to memorise it,
it wasn't anything spectacular, i protested,
gave an oath in swear words against my classmates,
got told off... culinary principles invoke the need
to memorise recipes rather than poems,
curbing the influence of fast-food outlets...
i rather remember the ingredient lists of dishes than poems...
indeed i did make these dishes today,
but only because i switched the radio off
and inserted bought art into the device:
Tom Petty's and the Heartbreaker's greatest hits
and !!!'s (chk chk chk's) myth takes album.

i've been feeding pork and beef to my cats
for months,
   and they love it (i'm wondering why
they don't drink the streotype disney fantasy
of also drinking milk - but apparently
cats are lactose intolerant, and it
gives them the *****)...
          but what i am worried about is this:
there's this uncooked chunk of beef lying in
the kitchen for me to eat...
                                                  it's there, teasing me,
and i'm actually contemplating about going all out
tartar on the thing...
                                        which comes from
what is equivalent to the mainstream forum base
of "virtue" signalling...
                      are there parasite embryos in this
piece of meat? probably? mad cow disease?
probably... i didn't get to go to the glasbury retreat
for almost two years because of the outbreak...
some people don't get to go to the glastonbury festival:
i'm actually considering lucky to have never been...
went?
             yadda yadda: equivalent to be there...
and then heidegger's ontological fetish for being...
whatever...
     it's a raw piece of beef...
                           and it's lying in the kitchen and
i'm supposed to eat it... but go completely tartar?
    it's not mince beef... it's lying here whole...
          it's not going to be a rare steak experience if
i actually do decide to eat it tartar style...
     cultural inheritence? ever experience a mongolian
horde? they did what i'm about to accomplish
with beef, not horse-meat...
                                                 blood-flesh...
sheer... i'm almost turning my teeth into culinary
items of a knife and fork...
   i know i will eat this piece of raw beef meat,
i know i will... because i know that raw aquatic meat
has more chances of containing parasite embryos
than mammalian flesh...
   well... there will be potatoes and broadbean
stalks on the side to add to the flavour... or as some say:
roughage (or fibre).
        but it's the erotica of eating raw beef
that reminds me of the time i "ate" a ****...
                          hmmpf... the perfumes and juices
and aura...
                  the way it overcomes the fetish of suckling
at a sweating armpit...
                             there are gradations in lymph
juices... a person who had a skin (ahem) "disease"
known as acne, and that person being a male,
is twice as like (of the totality of being a person) to enjoy
phem-la... i don't have a proper noun for it,
i hope someone coins the phrase... phemlolo?
               i never knew that ******* only applied to
woman on man... i thought there was a libra in that
definition in reverse... reverse of *******
while ******* a woman? stick your face in the part
your're about to **** with your genitals...
        i slobbered into that part of a woman, teased it with
my nose and spoke so many silent vowels with
the waggling tongue... that i evidently had to become
a part-time eroticist: and that's apparently the shameful
area of the art of writing;
               but you know: as you do in rome...
             now comes the biblical ******...
"forbidden" fruit? that's obvious... it's staring you
in the face!
                          variations of revisionists that cut off
foreskins (excesses of genital parts)...
         it's oral ***... that later translates into
                                          voiced anger, dialectics...
and to think: to state great principles with that part
of the body, and then reduce it to oil up female
genitals? worth it.
                   i really have to reduce it to that,
the mere thought of eating a raw piece of meat that's
in the necro spectrum and will not ooze out
anything equivalent to an aphrodite's perfume
    is brooding over me toward the shrine of thanatos...
but then performing oral *** on a woman's
genital parts is twice as revealing, and taking pleasure
from it? homosexuals do the same, or
are equipped with the same materials:
  it really is a house of cards,
                               the king up and the king down...
yet those who perform this "obscene" act mentioned
           in the book of genesis... of that "tree's" fruit you
will not eat: look... moses didn't speak slave tongue of
the hebrews... and of the people that spoke moses'
tongue, you'd need the equivalent of a rosetta stone...
but now you need three more language variations
to "understand" that's happening...
    probably english... i guess russian... and i'm trying
to think of a third... german?
      but it fallatio... what of the feminine opposite...
and some might dispute this: but i did eat a camomile
in harlow, ****** out of my head...
                              asking the police to take me home
in one of their vans at the end of the night;
fun times in england, with bulgar prostitutes:
who lie they're romanian and then speak to one another
using the cyrillic term haraшo / dobře / o.k.
             still, the idea of what is to come:
eating a steak of meat that's not minced, tartar-style
transcends a literary fascination with *******
literature (akin to harold norse's biography
******* angel) - it will simply remind me of
having once "eaten" out a very flavoursome piece of
****; and then engaged in butchering its face
to contort into O and Ah.

On our bikes, day after day
Wheeling along the West Country Way
From Georgian Bath, that Jane Austen knew
To Glastonbury Tor, our challenge still new

Where are we now, is it this way or that?
Another cool stretch on a railway track
No one fell off, no one got hurt
Except now and then by a few cross words

And so over Exmoor, our longest day yet
It was football, not cider in our Somerset
Sea views and fresh air in Westward **!
We could have stayed longer but on we go

The hills are getting longer, tall hedges either side
Our legs are getting stronger now we've found our stride

The Eden project was on our route
So we had to stop and see
The scene was complete in a bio-dome
With David Attenborough filming for tv

Past holes in the ground where they dug the clay
Along old canals our journey panned out
Then over a beer at the end of the day
Out came the map for the mileage count

On through the ancient landscape we go
Past the odd castle or stately home
Past sheltered coves and beaches of sand
And on to the end  -Lands End-
Where we ran out of land

The Holy Grail, the Chalice of Our Lord
Borne to Glastonbury, the Isle of Avalon
By the holy man of Arimathea
Then lost, and quested for by noble knights

The Holy Grail is present still, each day
In vessels blessed for sharing Eucharist
Whose Elevation in the Upper Room
Was then, is now, and forever will be

In setting fit, in prayerful accord:
The Holy Grail, the Chalice of Our Lord

The ancient town of Glastonbury stands proud
known for its famous Tor.
And leylines that converge in fertile earth
surrounded by human history.
Mystical, today commercialised they flock
soaking up power and to rock.

As this isolated Somerset town is engaging
colourful characters thrive.
Bringing the past and its history to life
as Pagan and Christian mingles.
Once an island surrounded by marshland
an aura of magic is at hand.

Here there's a sense of timeless wonder!

The Foureyed Poet.

The ancient town of Glastonbury stands proud
known for its famous tor.
And ley lines that converge in fertile earth
surrounded by human history.
Mystical today commercialised they flock
soaking up power and to rock.

As this isolated Somerset town is engaging
colourful characters thrive.
Bringing the past and its history to life
as Pagans and Christians mingle.
Once an island surrounded by marshland
an aura of magic is at hand.

Here there's a sense of timeless wonder!

The Foureyed Poet.

There was a time when the world seemed
an easy spoil of conquests
within reach-and we were young and blinded,
sure of our steps in every wrong direction.
We were free and unspoilt, unchristened
in the many facts and figures that took us
down a long road to destiny.

Who cared about the roofless sky
the waters rage, the waterfalls incessant spill
and magnificent spray that baptised us
in wonder. Who cared about the drumbeats
at the dead of night
and nightmares that gripped the soul
in its tangled knots. We were Woodstock
and Glastonbury, full of Vietnam wars
and journeys to the Moon and Nixon and
FlowerPower. We were filled with everybody
else but ourselves. We were free
from the chains of society.

And then the cells closed in, the ranks faltered
Moguls took over the stockmarkets
and the jobs were dismantled and monopolised
the riches were ransacked and the free love potions
that came with cannabis and upside down waterfalls
bleeding chairs and rock music
beads and baubles and denim fantasies
became tagged with slave labour and oil spills
and mountains of rubble stored in giant cities
of concrete boxes. All the worlds cities were locked
in invisible borders that shot people down with laser beams
and synthetic drugs and coloured t shirts.
We were locked back into our freedom cubbyholes
that were now governed by empty heads with dark glasses
and steel rimmed belts that zapped you into line.

Four decades of smouldering in the rubble left us
limbless and mindless
technology does our work now
and our brains are frozen and hacked with strange numbers
of which we know little. We cannot love again freely.

The remnants of those decades still linger
on the borders of the soul where butterflies
once flew and songs were belted out one after the other
into giant stadiums where  people danced with bare skins
coated with mud and magic. The pink stripes never really
vanished, but our bodies still alert to joyous music
that the whole world clapped and rattled to. Gone.

Our world was taken from us
and the poor ******* that now stretch down the clogged
highways of the mind and roadways of
consumption without work will never understand
how we lived and learned and laughed
in that free open world.

Author Notes

Nostalgia. Thousands will agree to what I write of a time gone by. We  are now trapped in a sterile world where automation and technology have overtaken our will to be ourselves once again. Soon we will be gone into that other world where freedom exists again.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.

ABJECT:
   experienced or present to the maximum degree
   not: completely without pride or dignity; self-abasing

ergo: AUBJECT:
               having a self-deprecating sense of humor?

   𐰀‎𐰋‎𐰖‎𐰅‎    (abje-)              otherwise

        TA:           𐱃‎𐰀‎
        AT:            𐰀‎𐱅

                𐰶  (iq, qi, queue calf)

𐰢   (m)

                𐰔‎  (z)

supposedly these letters govern:
                 whatever it is they govern
although the latter have
no back no frontal vowel variation
as other consonants

old Turkic as the prototype
for Runes:

               just thinking about the great
migrations of people:

the islands of Polynesia with New Zealand
and Hawaii included
that began in Taiwan
ventured not to Thailand
but across those islands above
Australia: maybe Indonesia probably
given the etymology of Polynesia
and Indonesia being the islands that
peeled themselves off
the Indian subcontinent...

      ergo if the Mongols did the migration
by conquest
then the Turkic people spread from
Mongolia too
but slowly and without much conquest
or Empire building
only as the Ottomans did they
invest in empire prior to them the Seljuks
Tughril and Chaghri...

but before that migrated as merchants
and probably journeymen
not as lamentable as the nomads of
the Twelve Tribes
not really with religion behind
and religion ahead: newly ascribed
to the pagans of their own
mischief and not mischief some genuine
concern for the souls of pagans
i don't know...

but given the letters
there are some exchange of ideas about
how to communicate most
effectively
and in writing and to better remember
then escape from the oral tradition
and all that ******* and *******
to not forget
  
            by now we are living into our 80s
and the bones give way
at the knees and not from a lack
of intuition but old age seems
counter intuitive when it comes to living
and before you could on a whim
and gravitas sense the vivo virilitas
and some vino veritas
  
                          while death was in glass:
mortem in vitro:

                      now we have to carry it with
us: like we always did
but now we can see how death makes
babies and old people
generic in their appearance:
how before we die
we see death and time wrangle us
and crunch us like paper
and before that all there was talk
of the resurrection of the body:
i'm guessing the reality of that being:
on the instance of your death
you would be resurrected as you were
say: 33 and in full strength to
give people a Glastonbury festival affair
but on Golgotha and without
music to fear...

however i don't trust Gothic: the script
is so deviant from Runes
and by then the Greeks must have visited
such places up north
and no wonder their solidified their presence
with the Russians
and what became of Greek was Cyrillic
and some reminder of Slavonic in Glagolitha:

Glagolithic: monolithic: definitely seismic in scope
the history we all know
or perhaps that's just me being pedantic
as i've taken to reading random
encyclopedia articles
and maybe they're not so random
while
the Continent shifts towards the Right
while the Island shifts towards the Left:
but it's not called the right or the left
on the Island
instead you have to sort of sprinkle some covert
wording: Converse to Conserve:
Labor with Public Toils:

         i knew Rishi would lose
after the shifty 3rd term
i don't remember how the past 14 years happened
i remember two general elections:
really remember only two
the second being staged on the promise
of leaving the European Union
the first one obviously to usurp what was
happening: shape shifting democracy
on top
how many minor prime ministers did
we have after Cameron:

Theresa May
Boris Johnson
Liz Truss
Rishi Sunak          - a fine spell:

but i don't remember any of them being elected:
maybe i'm just forgetful
but i just remember the changing of hands
for a third stretch:
and not much else:
i remember some local elections
maybe...
                      but nothing really:

oh:                 so there were elections in 2017
                                                and in 2019...
but those seemed like internal affairs:
and almost sidelined
at least to my knowledge only yesterday
did a Conservative Party
representative knock on my door
and asked me to bring my passport
and vote for the local MP
who was only 0.6% points ahead in the poll

this not so model citizen didn't
vote:
                                               even with the Muslim
and Asian vote:
have to talk demographics
some thought that there would be an Asian
prime minister by the vote of the people
rather than a reshuffle and
one dittohead talking over another
i know how biodiversity is great
but ethno-diversity is yet to be anything
a social experiment:
calmly: bluntly:

     would the native population vote in
an Asian prime minister
                      apparently not so and that's
not to stipulate that low hanging fruit
of calls to arms anti-fascists and anti-racists unite!
no:
i'm not an anti-racist: i'm just not racist...
if Kanye West can be a self-proclaimed
****
   and love ice-creams of Moscow then who
am i to judge myself
based upon politics        but sometimes
it's greatly sobering to have politics ******
into your face
like a milkshake at a politician and if
Nigel Farage is not the tamed Enoch Powell
then: i am a great admirer of the latter
but the former is my contemporary
and i can't see the big picture
just the little man and i myself am a little man
too because
i live in these times and have no luxury
(if it can be called that)
to look at and into history and probably
make the usual suspects list of mistakes...

if once poetry was so potent that
they could incarcerate Ezra Pound in a mental
asylum
that must have been a wonderful time to be a poet
not in the 1960s with the Beatniks
but at a time when a poet could be sentenced
and sent to a mental asylum
like a prison because you know that's
when words were POWER:
and whoever wielding them was considered
powerful...

                  what a time to have been alive:
now they just get the mob at you
and the little censors
     anonymous and like a flash rule of meteorlogical
whims:
               no real authority of the state
against a bothersome individual a poet of no concern
it would seem these days
a fringe lunatic
maybe i should start looking at
kidnapping plot websites and Satanic:
go covert go and start using TOR and the dark web
maybe then i'd get on the right
side of the wrong radar:

sincerely though:
i do remember better schools, better roads,
better transport...
maybe i'm just kidding myself: maybe i don't remember:
under labour -
schools i can probably say yes to
after all i did on ly pay £1200 a year in tuition
fees circa 2004 - 2007
and i really go my money's worth
a chemistry degree in my third year
implied 12 hours in laboratories
then at least 5 hours in lecture halls
   and on top of that i think i did some extra
courses:
   history in year two: that's 5 hours of lecture
and 1 hour tutorial...
failed French but had a French girlfriend
so i guess: half a pass...

         some I.T.: i knew how to build a basic
HTML
    but born way too late to credit from
a .COM                 boom with the likes of Amazon
and there seemed to be no real incentive
to go into the field
perhaps because my father was / is
a construction worker
              work was deemed elsewhere not in front
of the screen: officers were
constructed but not worked in:

as i wonder about the work that
went into constructing Wembley and other Arenas
and i no wonder about the sub-par
staff now employed in these places
and that's a god's green and honest truth

the work itself: crowd management and safety
is a PARETO PRINCIPLE
i.e.:
          20% of people
          cause
          80% of the problems...

the rest of the work is rather dull in that
i put on a smile and a concerned face
and whether i'm sometimes sincere i am not
always: authentic...
although i can be both authentic and sincere
i feel i'm more real if
push comes to shove:
i remain authentic but insincere
rather than
    crush myself under falsehoods
of sincerity mashed up with inauthentic (being)

that's like the complete opposite
of what one can accomplish with Heidegger's
da-sein:
and i have been prone to talk philosophy
with fellow coworkers
but it was not so much philosophy but about
human behavior: and that's not philosophy?
hardly a conversation about individuals
some variation of potholes i.e. nagging i.e.
scheming i.g. soap opera jargon...

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

apparently upon waking i stink
of marijuana and *****:
evil dog demon i
but i did ask her: my mother:
to set up internet banking with me
while she complained
that she still doesn't know
the word trick of ctrl+c/+p
while i do it all the time
something to envy the positioning of my
hands at the keyboard

so ended up spending a day
among the civilized LIVING
not stuck in books
and the DEAD
and it was sobering:
refreshing: boring: but at least real:
and i don't know why
or where i got my ordeal of
Plato's despotic beauty:
that's gone...

               then the love of vinyls and CDs
and then books
and all living dead people not around
me
the Plateau and the Shield Volcanos
one on Kauai
one on Mars
and one on Venus
the eyes of earth competing with the grand
eye of wind that's Dune that's
Jupiter:
beyond halos of Saturn Neptune and Uranus
Catholic mantra: become small
Chinese mantra: become small
cope
let the world enlarge:
let the world be the world
and the universe of being
let the world become a place of non-being:

back to the world of the living
one bottle of white Italian wine
to get started:
then the measured approach
half a joint
deodorant spray into the garden
to mask the stench of half a joint
that's 0.05g Sherbert Mariquana
from America
and at least 1.5g of tobacco
from the Spirit of America the Polynesians
brought us cups of salt
the Indians the tobacco
and the whites just some technology:
i still have one last whiskey gulp: gloog:
Kosher Diet:
proper Goat killing...

      vegetarian Myo Muyu:
then i hear applause
from the garden
and i decide to put some music on: i'm putting some
music on some music on some...

(the mood wil eventually change:
bright colors, sparkly dust etc)

i was that guy: but then love's and life's disruptive
forces began gnawing at my brain
and hmm ha ha: provider trope
education the smallest economic sector
on Kauai
otherwise perfect shifty:
two pence three pence: three:
got my other fingers on a leash
extensions of your ****
and i don't know so desperately seeking
in ***** when you are
the other side
this *** swallow sum sore: oh O...

five Taylor Swift concerts:
i don't know:
i'm thinking about 16th and 20th
to add:
no i still haven't sent the t-shirts
i'm thinking i got the sizes wrong
all Wok and ***** and WONG Rrrrr:
grit with trill

the one letter in any alphabet
that has an ONOMATOPOEIA
for a NOUN: a name Trill is R:
what you do with the letter
whenever you see it:

cf. Rattlesnake...

             cf. Rattlesnake...

what: a: slow: day!
impossible day: mission:
get through to 1am
abandon a poem halfway through the day:
return: like going back to Edie
start a poem in the dimension
of the Yin & Yang...

              this is me experimenting with time:
i can stretch it:
the color to the canvas
when poetry is invoked:
time is my cognitive: constant stance:
half a joint and some whiskey
wrapping my Martin's Ring over
my Quarus' ear:
because i am magic man
because magic abounds:
nothing on earth
but in the universe
planets are people
and we choose to live on Mars
the Dune and Jupiter:
not yet... not yet...

                   waking up so late so late
half a day in the first two hours
of waking:
but i spent them talking in bed
and both of you said:
i was LOAF of LOATHING
red flag language

                                           then language itself:
can i please, please please please
be EX_USED:
excused:
                from this mundane: I.T. *******:
so IT looks less scary as acronym
I.T.:
            gotcha Braille .:              ! dye no die?

i told her my dream:
i was eating out two tubs of ice cream
and i wonder if Reyla thinks of me:
i'm not hearing Reyla making an references
to me:
i'd like to hear Reyla talk about me:
such an uncomfortable truth: for seeker...

                            there is work in the ethereal
and whether it's essential or not:
discarded, easily: existentially:
per: instance ex: every insistence:
an insomniac moth
a laborer fly
sleeping:

                too late to wake up and eat
breakfast with my father?
not nice...
  i wouldn't miss it for that world:
that's why i took measured steps:
now i get it:
i've only seen Reyla for 6 weeks in her
environment
and 3 weeks in my environment:
excuse you jealous man
and Ilona's prophecy so far removed:
that a man would forgo
and say unto mother and father:
my wife: your peer:
but i have a daughter:

           biological equivalence of dated:
"product"...
after all James Joyce took his schizophrenic
daughter down Finnegan's Wake:
and at least:
  libra: delta: score...

                                     Christ's Ronaldo
saying goodbye to the architecture:
it was almost comical
but a grand bowing out:
like Murray's Andy: bowing out:
this the season to be pensive:
for some melancholic jolly later
come the first days of July
and Cancer approaches
of Births
and the days IMMEDIATELY SHORTEN
to early 9pm
lights...

           the fates decided:
that is right: some people exist without gods
and abstracts
some people are pure IN VIVO
not pure IN VITRO:
in glass i see sand and in sand i see glass
but some people live elevated lives
of body thirst
and mind lust:
of body first
and mind last:
of body thirst
and mind lust...

                   that: sounds.... about right...

                      but the big topic was still
immigration:
the wages will not go up
and the food prices:
jeez:
politics no aside:

   an immigrant talking about immigration:
not the summoning of expatriate English
wording: from Charity Shield to Community Shield
from Aboriginal to Native
Pre-Colonial wording: i.e. no wording
no paper just boomerangs...

INDIGENOUS: not native...
higher tier Darwinism of wording just the right
politically correct artifact...

but a little b it by b i t complicated, no?

                                        the secrecy of the Left emerges:
now less so scolding at not having the reins
of the Reign:
perhaps now given the added responsibilities
they can stop bemoaning themselves
moaning at not being tried at being
competent instead seen as these narcissists
perhaps now in
this living Democracy of the United Kingdom:
did i figure out
that i do not get a vote for the Prime Minister:
blocker: King...
therefore i have to vote for my local MP
i sleepwalked through the G.E. of 2017 and 2019
i almost forgot Corbyn and the Late Parade...

then again my mouth was ash and journalism
and my eyes were looking to everywhere
and elsewhere:
more insipid work
and since the container will include
the sofa and the bed:
scared of the fiction: now?
no a sugar mommy:
but i just thought
this was another reality checker:
how rich people hide their wealth
because it can become to mean: personal:
like certain books coins: kopeks:
Dinaree...

                    uncombed horses:
falsify violin bows...              kiss kiss:
money money money:
    money money money:
           riches upon riches:
lands in distant land of island:
property
love becoming economic
slowing down
conversation i already know
the trinity of Peter
Jeff and Jason
and on repeat
and i know but how much does
it: i: deserve for it to hurt
if: a subtle whisper:
of what is
to what if

            language so cruel: yet so crucial:
but of those mentioned how
many exfoliated with words
and treated them with respect:

after all isn't there a war happening
between words and images
and words becoming images
like PEPSI
and PRADA
while images becoming words:

but that's ancient:
and certified:
accounted for by correctly
focused on: ideograms
and traffic color beyond symbol
strategy:

not RED AMBER BLUE
                          but GREEN:
or GRUE and BLEEN...
my first encounter with philosophy
came in Edinburgh:
2nd year: maybe 3rd:
philosophy of science: david hume:

i was taught about david hume
in edinburgh:
that's a bit like
being taught Kant
in the University of Königsberg...
David Hume the genius
i too went mad in the streets
of Edinburgh i walked
bare footed
and with a stick:
and that was my crescendo:

i spent a good 30min thinking about
Fiona and Tristan:
and how life so strange remains:
life and strangeness
and doubly that: estrangement....

         but at least i returned to the world
of the living for a bout of
admiring the forgiving
mythos: Ronaldo bowing out of the Colliseum
pity that i might be rememebered
and he will be forgotten:
because: i catered for the few
and the few slithered: like Hell is an Elephant
and in Memory: but also slithers
winding rivers and longer paths
because of the blood type PATHOS...

              Serenity Red not just simply: so red:
squirrel: carrot... onion bell bottom: blues...
Serenity Red not just so simply: red so red...
     holding back
            cradle fiddler how ***** how natural
how oh so ol' 'n' gunning for
furor!

the UMRAH: not the HAJJ... squeeze some melons for the Muslims of Pakistan: wonder upon wonder: so anti-climatic when people move up in hierarchies, while i'm still stuck talking about the disparity of quest: between the UMRAH and the HAJJ. i'd love to see Rome, having seen Venice...

and a girl who loves stones
  and such big ***
but beside the big *** and watermelon ****
i guess that if i stop ******* her
i'll get to talk to her and that's like BARCELONA
      HIM HI HI HIM HIM anti-dementia...

i don't man: i'm getting bummed out
completely bummed out
by the focus on me this great yawning
void on the train
just managed to play the commuter
chess right
and sat down after standing up for
12h
and this guy
this ginger blonde 70 year old
drunk or pretending started talking politics
and religion
and he said
i had better chances of being
a priest than a politician
and then he uttered those words: pointing
at others on the carriage:
then to me:
you're a "good man"...

am i, a man?
i feel in this ******* revolution
i'm a mind in a jar
and an ego of a pickle
in *****
i feel unsafe talking my mind
in England
i'd feel less paranoid in China
and Russia
talking about nothing
and God respectively

i am actually scarred, mentally:
i feel unsafe with the BIG ****
BRIGADE
desecrating the Rainbow:
i've seen a rainbow arch above
a soft prison in Kauai
when i was leaving her
to then be reunited with her...

watched some French **** today
and...
well also took a **** and ****
simultaneously
then had a baptism
in the shower
the plumber ****** up the veins
of the hydro channels
a2 aq
aqua

bromance...
Qais
he sneezed and i said bless
you then he replied
with: thank you
i had another Pakistani
in the classroom
who stunted the universe
and the classroom
when upon sneezing
his ISLAM was STRONG
upon sneezing
BLESS YOU
no reply...

  the ISLAM is STRONG with this ONE
a Muhammad Salmaan Khan...
one ****- to another -stani
i don't get it

then my "manager" got my cognitive
wrong
i had a flick-switch
innuendo:

i abhor:
people glad with life
what did the devil say:
T.S. Elliott: juvenile Sylvia
Plath but not the former...
reading poetry depresses me
i get into this melancholic mood
like a member of
my family is drool and doom
O
roll!
rolling O: oooooooooo

i have no time for a typewriter
and being an all female
cast of cinematic casters...
no sugar, baby, no sugar,
i just thought about the trinity
of kissing you while
also ******* you

i felt bummed out about not working
a Pearl Jam shift
and the whole traffic cone
work hierarchy dynamic
became an inflated
Collective-Ego courier Da-Sein postage stamp
: stamped:

the work dynamic i asked
if Lisa was there
but instead Quebec Romeo
and Quebec Yankee:
were there:
but over the radio no Quebec Sue and
Bravo: Gravitas: blue:
zone:
              muddle in my brain:
hence enforcing the cryptic:

   YHWH cf. not vs. LLH

    A E                         A A

and little serpent: a - little - serpent

but i just spent £40 on a Green Day t-shirt
i was not supposed to be
the man listening
to the commuter drunk Dutch:
a male primary school teacher
met his wife
in Glastonbury
festival
have a picture
of the girl's friend taking a photograph
before he walked up and
chatted her up
the Q: uestioner:
math prodigy:
a data analyst
currently unemployed
looking to become an AIRPLANE PILOT
where has my middle leg
of the dream-moth
of middle class in England gone to?

cordon 11:
alley of the Zig Zag
i hate working Wembley
externally:
air of Nepotism
i'd feel safer in China and Russia
right now...
the dogs are barking
and the birds are safe
from all the serpents they once
were: dodo: transition ERASING
TRANSISTOR
UNIT
process: like electricity:

insomnia bound daydreaming
of the purpose of night
to sleep

let me just catch the rhythm
again: no classical no flutes
air benders
just music working around a heart-beat...

taxidermy - oh wow! the correct
spelling: but what was the incorrect spelling?
daxidermi_                    maybe...

habibi UNK'L GANDU
i just want peace
i just want peace
but i know there will be a great upheaval
in that Classical Liberal Leftism
has failed
and it's so miserable to watch
a second
best hide the vowels?

nd t's msrbl wtch... that: took concentration
can speed up the process
in Hebrew among the gods
given that people
speak more two animals
than they do
to their own imaginings:
but were the gods ever so denegrated
desecrated in the Temple of Dyslexia
and girls learning to speak Arabic
but not understanding Arabic

i've only watched 2 matches from the Euros...
maybe i can get the athletes on my side:
project: hip: anti-hippy
i am sad because i bought a Green Day
t-shirt
i was supposed to buy a Pearl Jam
t-shirt for Martin, St. sort of cucumber
and amnesia
like all *** is gone
and there is only conversation:
how we lusted:
wasted:
wanted: waged wars
WARC and WARX
these crucifix incursions:

and look where that left us:
          
   BUT DO YOU N'TAKE
INSTRUCTIONS:
it's a ****** job i told the three black
youths:
i'm not rummaging: yes i am:
a sketch pad...
but i couldn't just:

help me out: dark cloud...

        some powerful with mind
in bed
better than sunshine and surf
and tongue on the glee tempting sea
all rot in sun and skin
performance ******...
  like people junkies esp young girls
i just don't under-
-stand
why get druggie with little peeps
but somehow discourage Reyla
from the bloom...

                        got bummed for buying
the Green Day t-shirt...
i don't even like then
but it had the dates of touring
and i was working
that terrible Green blacker
than the greenest courget
and i was talking to this West African
and about slavery
and island vs city life
and the unavailability of reference
cursors:
with people left behind:
scared of the world:
and STASIS and TIME

           and like i came over when i was 8
year old and
didn't know a tooth from tongue
in terms of speech:
ridiculed for P'UH M'AH
instead of PYOO M'AH...
and that still rubs when someone's
a no one telling you their yours of
the usage of tongue:

that: sends me: SKYROCKETING
that **** makes me summon DEMONS!
then i want as much
carnage in the world
to counteract the Buddhist perfection:
of concerning oneself
with the Oceans
Mountains
Deserts....

            forests and plateaus...
the wheat that is...
         are not my concern: a concern for the people:

Lyndon: you got the timing wrong!
i was about to take down
those rucksacks
when you weren't supposed to:
do a walk around...

    i just wanted to amass at least three
so that people would get "the idea":

prophets of June:
Qais reminded me
something i forgot:

Judaism is a religion of cosmopolitans
probably high achieving couples,
Christianity a religion of females
Islam a religion of males
Atheism and Buddhism
a religion of Eunuchs

i don't like what i write
i don't like what sometimes passes
through me: but like digestion
until improved the improvised
lactose intolerant
then...                        mmm'heh'heh...

       ­      to the echo of demons
gearing up for war...
              only war will salvage me
in the hyper-conscious realization
that life:
is:

                                       SPECIAL:
spatial: spazz:            

                                          **
­
leverage the time-spatial
and the space-temporal...

              as a coin flicker on the kicked
by thumb to flick and late fate:
decide: no rigid dualism:

just rigid, random: chance: fate
an unwilling: luck.

would have never thought that the gods became: also, so bored: with the intelligence of human life, that they would resort to being the Lesser Privy: and settle for gambling: so bored thus current upsurge of Psy Hack Understudy like the deviation from breeding Lawyers: this the breeding ground for Poetic Anti Journalistic Efforts...
           could it please be reminded:
not to look at me so weirdly:
when i'm at work
because i do my work elsewhere
and no manner or matter or hierarchy will
ever, disrupt: my origins of CONCERN:
which, unlike Heidegger: i mumble
because: covertly:

        NOT, CONTEMPT:
CONCERN:
        that's the whereabouts:
whoever thought Heidegger was X...
here's my: ******* nein nein nein
ADOLF ****** HEIDEGGER
SEIG HEIL!
i wil not live, under, the pressures,
of a, pseudo-democratic: GAY: FEAR!
PRIDE: up your ***...
and your *** alone...

               I WILL LIVE IN PEACE
AND QUIET
UNDER GOD AND NOTHING

i will live in peace in China
and in Russia
but i: will not!
live with peace in my heart!
in the western world-culture: ETC!
i have had...

                         ...enough.

i

what was that?
o some questions need
answering-only real terms
need apply-

at glastonbury?
o dryads and that..questions?
why do i like poetry
why is there so much trouble

in the world-effed if i know..
we think we are in a dream..
in the doors of perception
huxley

relates his experience of
seeing
for the first time
a coffee table..

(or some furniture
i don´t remember..)
quite remarkable
what is real..

ii

but some think it dull
some automatic repetition
you should see the great
red devils-?!

if you sit in your room
and consider your navel,,
some questions-
who do i admire?

too many to mention-
***** and the maytals
aldous huxley
mondrian..


my uncle ron
inspiration
allowed only to play
his guitar in the bathroom

he left the door open
frankie and johnnie
gently drifted
while i dressed for school..

your first poem?
o the owl and the pussycat!
the last poem?
this one..

iii

it is raining and marley
sings of love for god
it is hard to be unhappy

so i am not..
the cats listen patiently
sweet smell of earth..

iv

worst habit?
i don´t know..
i loathe to repeat
expectation..