.how did the political "debate" ever become surmount to include musicians? from what i've seen? of the KEXP radio session...  Ashish Vyas had the most fun from the session... i always admired the bass players more than those ****-offs running out of rhythm guitar sessions... bass, a tier above the drums... masturbator-grand-master-soloist... i guess this is one of those nights where i drink more than i write... elephant's ******* choking me to come... oh well... not even a Decalogue will save me... the political art is no art to begin with, curtains... all i'm seeing if curtains... and households filled with retired personel... and curtains... curtains but not blinds... it's abhorrent to have to listen to music with hushed bass guitar... notably metallica... apart from devil's dance and... where's the bass guitar? the rhythm guitar section overpowers the music... fine fine, have your solo *******, but don't silence the bass guitar with the rhythm guitar, i need to hear the drums translated via the bass guitar into the rhythm guitar... solo guitar and vocals all you want... it's like... the lessons to be learned from jazz, when all the fire prime instruments are allowed to solo... went, "missing"... i need the bass, man... frantic bass & drum genre type of music will not do lollipops for me... what was the alternative? dub-step? well... vex'd & distance... burial... who were the others? i don't remember... don't make me cite skrillex: white privelege man! yeah... at least with rabbit teeth missing, doing that well known party trick! i don't like bands that have a knack at an over-emphasis of the rhythm guitar, who neglect the bass guitar... it's so counter the jazz-inheritance... tool: grand bass, red hot chilli peppers, silverchair... i need that smoothing out layer of sound that manifests itself in a bass... a layer of sound just below the rhythm guitar and a tier above the base (not bass) of the african drum borrow... bāß... base (not bass)... yes, it's not supposed to look pretty: a phonetic antithesis... as most "things" in english...

             mind you... did i mention how heidegger
has a foot in the door?
       oh... i didn't? did i?
     the reflexive and the reflective quadratic...
the reflex of conscience "vs."
the reflectiveness of consciousness...
       heidegger:
                  language - only if speech has acquired
the highest univocity of the word does it become
strong for the hidden play of its essential
   multivocity (as withdrawn from all "logic"),
of which poets and thinkers alone are capable,
in their own respective modes and their own
directions of sovereignty.

  of the few lyrics i've entertained these passing
"days"?
             the black keys: lonely boy -
              i got a love that keeps me waiting...
borrowing from Kafka i guess:
      in that case, i’ll miss the thing by waiting for it.
   no?
   guess there's no "oops" where these words
come from...
              
    with the "passive" circumstance of the faculty
of memory...
                two tiers of memory:
the reflexive memory type,
the scholastic rubric type...
  1 x 4 = 4, a + b + a +c + u + s = instrument =
counting... etc.,
            that's the reflexive memory type...
a scholastic rubric...
      dyktando...
but memory also occupies
the reflective parameters...
          which involve personality...
a sort of memory dissociated from schooling,
and more, associated with:
disinhibiting any chances of succumbing
to dementia's grinding machine
of the mortal circus...

  the reflexive memory storage bank is
the buffer...
the "placebo": nay... the safety mechanism...
but... too much education,
too much pointless education,
and the erosion of the reflective memory
storage bank: this is not a buffer,
this is not a something equipped with
a "safety mechanism"...
        given that a self is perpetuated
within the confines of
a constant conflict with the "self"...
   a and italics / the and "ambiguity commas"...

well, there's always a place to start...
i find of like philosophy as being
a rigour associated with a satisfactory
form of vocab.,
       namely?
i can use the associated words bound
to a sentence with confidance...
unlike a ****** fiction writer,
sometimes dabbling into loan words
from a thesaurus, to, invoke:
an intelligence superiority...
  don't worry...
  when people lend themselves
to use a thesaurus, having exhausted
their adjective knowledge... it shows...

come on... a background in chemistry nouns?
3,5-methylhexane... you think?
that's the remains of a saxon past in english...
in chemistry...
germans spell like dr. faustus to begin with,
they, compound...
        the remains of a germanic past in
the current state of english shrapnel still
lives... in chemistry...
        hydrocarbons...
                  usually met with a hypen:
hydro-carbons...
       siebentausendzweihundertvierundfünfzig
(7,254)...
well, very german: what a waste of not employing
punctuation marks (', -) when it came
to the caterpillar 189, 819:
methionylthreonylthreonylglutaminylarginyl...isoleucine,

Me­thionylthreonylthreonylglutaminylarginyltyrosylglutamylserylleucy­lphenylalanylalanylglutaminylleucyllysylglutamylarginyllysylgluta­mylglycylalanylphenylalanylvalylprolylphenylalanylvalylthreonylle­ucylglycylaspartylprolylglycylisoleucylglutamylglutaminylserylleu­cyllysylisoleucylaspartylthreonylleucylisoleucylglutamylalanylgly­cylalanylaspartylalanylleucylglutamylleucylglycylisoleucylprolylp­henylalanylserylaspartylprolylleucylalanylaspartylglycylprolylthr­eonylisoleucylglutaminylasparaginylalanylthreonylleucyl arginylalanylphenylalanylalanylalanylglycylvalylthreonylprolylala­nylglutaminylcysteinylphenylalanylglutamylmethionylleucylalanylle­ucylisoleucylarginylglutaminyllysylhistidylprolylthreonylisoleucy­lprolylisoleucylglycylleucylleucylmethionyltyrosylalanylasparagin­ylleucylvalylphenylalanylasparaginyllysylglycylisoleucylaspartylg­lutamylphenylalanyltyrosylalanylglutaminylcysteinylglutamyllysylv­alylglycylvalylaspartylserylvalylleucylvalylalanylaspartylvalylpr­olylvalylglutaminylglutamylserylalanylprolylphenylalanylarg inylglutaminylalanylalanylleucylarginylhistidylasparaginylvalylal­anylprolylisoleucylphenylalanylisoleuc…

or just read the end of james joyce's ulysses
or jean-paul sarte's iron in the soul...
you do have to insert shrapenl punctuation
into this word...

but these are the last remains of the english language
being associated with a germanic origin:
compounding words...
             esp. in chemistry...
                

as any drunk would state,
to suffice...

    what was it that the luftwaffe
prescribed for the night raids
on London?

   and what did isis fighters
be prescribed?

    amphetamines?
n'oh!
   (minus the extended omega:
oooooo enough time
for a katy perry song,
an afternoon shower,
a slap in the face,
and then a few punches,
hey, jerking off became
boring)...

   so the british,
and a few polacks doing their
r.a.f. bit beat the germans
because?
   oh... **** no...
they were ingesting
an impediment factor,
durg, ****,
drunk, numb-skulled...

    we're talking counter
measure to the "enchanced"
mensch...
    high on amphetamines...
insomniac, but still going...
i guess the loci of
the amphetamine adventure
had to relocate to the anti-ego
focus of the phallus
in the variation of viagara...

****...
i care more for my giggles
and a friar tuck physiognomy...
seriously...
   it's more important than mere
gymnastics of
a freudian "metaphor"...
  ha ha...
   i guess conversation is
also allowed...
   try keeping that up...
given that most men are
******* into a solipsism...

     date nights... m'ah ah ha ha ha...
i figured that i don't
need french intellectuals to
redefine absurdity,
or german philosophers
to "redefine" existentialism,
i just needed to leech
off an nativistic english
"public"...

                      what the ruling
class spews:
   i reinterpret...
                  simple, 1 + 1 = 2...
crux, numbers,
   bounce back...
echo...
     compliment to the language...
as i stood in the shower thinking...
well isn't modern gaming
slightly "ingenious"...
money piggy...

or... reversed...
    provided the unlimited time
of experience...
no constraints,
just a game within a game,
like sims 3: making a sim
play a video game...
wormhole paradox
      and a brain shattering moment,
a jolt,

         these modern "free" games?
well... at least if you
do not invest in them,
are... games mostly associated with
time...
time is the game...

   whoever gets ****** into
the money laundering schemes
of these games,
forgot to read the cheat walkthroughs
akin to final fantasy VII,
because of homework,
and... Saturday mornings.

   **** air guitar:
here's to air drumming to posit
a point...

          the allies drunk their pint
of whiskey, slightly debilitated,
without the circumstance of feeding
a feeling of superiority,
the germans over-inflated
their superiority complex with
amphetamines...

         ergo?
    i'm either proper drunk, or just plain dumb,
or... it's related to listen, repeat,
listen, repeat: katy perry
  (sucker for POP!)....

      never mind...

games used to be fun,
games used to lead to a completion,
tenchu, that was fun,
final fantasy VII...
but this current,
money-sucker of an experience?
well... sure...
now games have reached
an anti checkmate conundrum
which it is...
because, the games are "free"...

           apparently time,
is perceived as a non-commodity...
tell that to someone stuck
in traffic...
      time: the "elder" flimsy
              construct of relativism...

try not giggling
while exchanging whislting to
either the british grenadier march song,
and the french la marseillaise...

   it's like eating pork liver with onions
fry funny...
    or at least a stew of chicken
hearts... tight tender little *******...

but modern gaming is just that...
ingenious counter measure
to the old school variation
of gaming,
    games... without fiction,
games, without script...
    continued perpetuation
of engagement "syndrome"...

     thank god,
i'm pretty sure that if i went beyond
owning a PS1,
i wouldn't have spotted this,
and have a narrative subsequently,
for the worth any sort
of compromise...

ergo? i drink...
   eh... i need to dumb down...
it wouldn't be fair otherwise...
it's not so easy,
to acquire a culture,
a psychology,
a mentality,
   and then...
     to ****... (grimmace, burp,
         snigger) it all away...

**** me, the flute always
gets me...
          i mean...
every time i hear that flute...
my feet at rambling,
itching to tap along...

   well of course it wasn't
the ******* jazzy clarinet,
was it?!
  tell that to the broad
who perfect a *******...
see if she comes back
as smart,
as smart to comply with
the intricacies
of playing, the ******* clarinet.

p.s.
aud lang syne: the only song,
of all time...
shakespeare seems
pale by comparison,
"side-note"...

          broad vs. brode,
******* giggles in the afternoon.

Above cushioned wall seats,
Where locals sit with dogs
At their feet,
Hang photos
Of footballers
Smiling still after near-forgotten games;
A farmer stands beside his blue ribbon boar;
Horses tethered to carts,
Near soldiers smiling with
The Republic's grimmace of war.

Outside cobbled streets
Lead to stone bridges
Walls and houses,
Near the shade of umbrella trees.
Turrets stop whispers
Wrapping their heights.

Black, white and fading.

Nine o'clock arrives
And pictures shake
From laughter
And music,
The click of dominoes,
And clink of pints,
In the pub life.

winch sinched grimmace
hung at half mast
in an attempt to hold rebelious bicusbids in their place
     but they still wiggle like a bobble-head jesus glued to the dash
     every time that you laugh
so i guess that's why you're giving it up

your arms look like a road map
     riddled with pin-***** ***-holes
and with routes to hell and back marked
by distressed vasculatory flares
     so you ask to borrow my sweater
     and another fourty bucks
with no explanation why

for once
     you didn't lie to me

i drink like a peasant, maybe i am of peasant stock,
which is nice, which makes value
the simplicities of life, oh, and i write this
while someone somewhere makes democracy real,
by evaluating the need for bureucratic complexities,
and it's oh so lovely to watch,
like i'm a seagull chic being fed regurgitated, things...
for lack of a better word,
i finally met a philosopher who engages with
the utility of grammatical words, who finally sees
categories... but, not so much a case to argue an imperative...
heidegger... once more, and thrice over!
maybe i am only slightly like him,
   although speaking a self-acquired posh-tosh accent,
coming from a catholic school, that isn't all that bad...
and to think i'm actually amused thinking
this through, given that there's no reason to state
that i need to fulfill an ought subsequently...
or... aphorisms 205 - 207...
     or what i call my work canvas-antithesis:
my vocabulary did this to me, the complete work
of jack spicer, alternatively called:
an ode to gabriel lorca -
   imagine, watching *****, where a dead poet
gets ****** by a living poet, now, also dead...
  some people go to the zoo...
just saying.
                    i have to watch my female cat take
a **** and later pick it up with a plastic bag...
she peers into me with a grimmace and a touch
of quizzical... i look back and am doubly
solipstic... and if you're uncaring: just call cats
autistic; that said, cats are perfect companions
to autistics... you sorta forget them,
sometimes you pet them, most of the time you
let them sleep...
   meows are annoying and a dog barking is
soothing... don't know how that works...
thankfully the greeks out-did the whole theology
bog argument of being trapped in a 1 + 1 = 2
logic of using words, or encoding sounds...
my my... the ancient greeks, weren't they the one
that said: you trampoline off of me...
  so thankfully we have the θιτανς
(well, that's how i imagine a greek might say it...
thigh-tans)...
yes, τιτανς...
     all that linguistic ******* of keeping a lisp,
but in this case: a clear transmorphing F sound...
sort of a signature by my way of thinking it through...
did i say the english language has no clear
syllable system? no diacritical marks,
   i never heard of dyslexia when i lived for a century
(of 8 years) in poland...
  ah crap... there was this one word i was thinking
of when i woke up today that proves
that english is a "two-faced" language...
i.e. you hear it, but then you see it differently...
what was the word?
   sight, site, cite, sigh, sire, citation, eh?
      always, always make writing conversational,
rather than anything remotely needing controversy...
fast and nimble, enso principle,
  what diacrtical marks, what diacritical marks
to use?
          ah, let's forget about it...
     **** it, let's keep it as pristine as a ****
marble statue of David somewhere in Italy...
Naples? Pisa?
but i did find that word i was thinking of with that
optical anchor leaving me bed-bound
and doubly-gravity prone to "waste" it with some
classical music...
        while figuring out why tapping my collar bone
vs. tapping my forehead gave a variation of sound,
how i tap?
          ******* tapped against the ring
finger against the protruding bone...
  doing a joke about buddha's stiff hand gesture,
that could never be translated into Braille...
  the fact that he bends his ring finger and creatres
an enclosure with hi thumb...
  that's a statement of continuity...
then you have papa middle and mama index...
the child is always the pinky... or the Chinese
one-child state policy...
this day was never going to make sense sober,
    in england you don't do sober,
unless you're really, really serious about buying
vegetables in a supermarket while
sniffing them.... a bit like angelique kerber
sniffing tennis ***** before a serve...
           some proper fetishists playing tennis
these days... i can't say i'm any better...
what with performing oral *** on a *******...
yes, to the talking donkey of her ****
and to the ropudy chimpanzee of her ****...
  yes, some people really do play a trombone
to get the music, others blow into *****
and get a vivaldi of something according to
an onomatopoeia... like looking for vowels
in hebrew...
   stretching... aching... agonising...
                                                    ­       pleased.
so, **** adam (english), walking about
the garden of eden... without a bay leaf to cover
his genitals (diacritical marks)...
it would make sense to call the existence of
the roman empire as: yesterday...
  was i wrong about the docile jews in the holocaust
and the story in the monday newspaper,
about how 850 migrants scaled a 6 metre barbwire
fence to get into europe via spain?
    the poles say two things about the jews
the germans wouldn't have said:
a. they shot with bent rifles...
b. and this one is true, wasze ulice, nasze kamienice...
which translates as: your streets, our tenements...
that's a true quote, as remembered by my grandfather,
which i'm transcribing into my work...
   that's what the pre-second world war said in
poland... your streets (i.e. you can be homeless),
but our tenements (our buildings, dogs)...
   and to think that my mother cared for two
elderly jewish ladies, to the point when they
bent over to do the eternal kip (sleep / death)...
well, as a foul mouth goes...
you read de sade and perform oral *** on a *******...
you're hardly going to speak like
you ate caviar and drank champagne at the Ritz...
are you?
well, i have ate caviar once... in St. Petersburg...
it was orange and let's just say:
you might as well drink a bit of fish sauce to get
the picture... but not the texture...
of what caviar tastes like.
orange caviar is the cheap **** russians put in
pancakes...
  and it really was revolutionary, when i ate
a pancake consisting of ham and cheese in Paris...
i never knew pancakes could be served as savory...
until... the world opened my eyes and i ate
that pancake... when Paris was what it was,
back in in the first decade of the 21st century.

typing really ******* the shapes of my most valued personal devices
suddenly everything becomes too large to handle
i feel as if i am being chased a big evil dinosaur
i am running away from God and into the dark
the life i never fully lived now becomes an alternate reality
many feared my tragic existencee
or so i made it seem with the masquerade good ridence
[my grimmace]
a short burst of energy and i differitiate the 2
i live in 2 worlds an i acknowledge the 2

i tak Polska nie wydobędzie Sienkiewicza na rój tych wart smarkań audencii co: by smarkań mość da! jeez Louise: is there a lack of bridges to make them into ghettos worth the man you just dumped?!*

- SH / SZ / CH / CZ never became Æ... clingy ****.

- you don't even comprehend how much
i hate you! sheer! is the word
  best descriptive? -

nie warta walka: bez łez.
  a tym lepi sie: śmiech:
a tym o wart(ym) człek:
          pomysleć w dłonie
   czekanie: myśl;
daj mi boże sfobode nad
życia: b mi grabić mą smerc!
ja mam naród i dziecko -
i matka: jestem, sumieniem!
o tul, o tul, kołysze...
                 Y the emptied
I...
                        czar na bill...
ja chamu zda na gawaridź!
              i am being european
frictive... sorry...
a game requiring a parsley-root:
je chemu sko!
                    gavi morde na mo!
  haczyk skubany wro!
                 skem! sput!
       szto? liter nie budjed czytaj?
patsy - ni budjed: cytatny!
      skavaree!
                a hejm i huja wart skor!
ska! Kazak i Ural i Mągol!
    co slysze? ałła -
                                 i o H w morde!
czerń, gnat i skir o grzbiet: psa!
kto: warczy: i ma tchu by:
                      wilczym brakiem:
                 dać szczak!
ha-o wtopić w moją dupe..
                   extensive....
giętkie: pravda?
                          nah nah nah nah...

                  ser gna w no
o tym co: kichać ma dać dar!
zbieg mieniem:
rady braku: brat...
                o chec...
     i no jemu Baltyk...
        sedno: raj...
                       o chec:
                 i skore zdzir!
                bym mu sprostac -
bytem o: gniew -
                   takim minia polozi -
nad Litwe: krew mi daj Ukiem!
daj mi bozy gnod -
  i warkoc hod! daj ze mi Kraine!
    i to czerpie: chod!
     tym postawie swe miem:
   o co warte skarg: Cerkwiew!
         Gzyms! bell-toll!
              rachunek zem jusz
dal... a reszta: albo politika zna
sie na czlowieku,
               albo czlowiek zna
sie na... kobiecie.
   NIE JA TEM HARANSZA!
               JA: GNIDZ!
   SZARAŃCZA!
jak jom każ ten Frikan...
   lublu liter wart slovo -
             słowik -
niech no, to żyd to przynęta:
i niech nie powi:
   nasze kamienice wasze
ulice... slovo co, co nie tak by?
nuda bracie: cierpiec
   i tez czerpać z historii -
dług: jot -
                 lullaby the
******* seal to sleep
you doughnut gangster by
                                 clapping:
last time i checked:
  the valet did sing
escorting a ***** napkin
  to be touristy "concerned"
  with a: meet-the-parents take on loo....
  doesn't blank urban slang look
just like so: well? because
i actually don't know whether
i'm speaking or speaking the current
year of London...
              which doesn't even
imply a grimmace: rather -
  a bewildered epitome of
                       stupendous: via no vs.
i want to imitate the nonsense of
making rap, music...
          scold me, fine...
              but no one will speak this language
for a need to be doctrined by:
coherently skidding on juicing
a "fascination" with blunt...
      apparently all language is
the most accessed...
         form of discourse...
                   painting is either
painted or sold...
              poetry?
                    better untouched
unread rather than commented on.

.a man dies and whoever remains: become to intolerable - no one is willing to achieve a former status quo but life demands a status quo of sorts... that now there's a dragging sensation: a drawing toward the grave - how death beams illuminating while it eats memory and strikes at the bells of: what was, now impossible... otherwise: caricature since now and caricature culminating with now... a man dies and whoever remains so intolerable: how would it sound sacrificing my body to the memory of the sea - how strategic, little man... man of consequence and of no little to begin with... my words less than tabloid smearing: my words less than the purpose and worth of butter on a piece of bread: yes... i smear ink into phonetically encoded shapes - letters - are a reminder: for the canvas of toast and too boot: some butter to spread... collateral: always this collateral - free thinking basic structures and the great trampling - a levelling that is the antithesis of former explorer guises - to have to uproot and to deface to have to "revise": to actually keep going "somewhere"... not "i": either a kleptomaniac or a hoarder of history... unless we start stacking all things measured to heave high, high... with our past to overshadow mountains... such "things" we have allowed ourselves to keep... to have cherish so: yet to have it scrutinised too and sold off so cheap... before the bravado of authentic objectivity: or some other wording... a suddenly died... i was wishing this for him... not this supposed brainless ol' ****, ol' alcoholic the same ******* excuses with that woman! burdensome leech... the same ******* excuses with this zombie-esque woman: this... "grandma"... i'm not here to make "friends" with this language: i know of people who have managed far more worse with it! thank you, very much! i'm not above settling seances with grief: if he only died authentically with a barely tolerable voice from the other side... but all these 3 months of secrecy... and all these scraps of money to concern oneself with: grandma... *****... now it's all about coordinating a re-orientating reproach on the matter... life so cheaply... "finished"? and she "thought" it necessary to bring god into the whole equation: that god might allow such awkward gesticulation for the body to endure... princess unicorn no less... spoke such honey coating bundles of lies... she still thinks the lie was spoken as if staged... as if she forgot her lines... the rot and the fermentation process needs to sink in... after all... the grandiosity of the event already happened... a supermarket cashier inquired as to why i was so dressed... a funeral attendee... 'was it a nice send off'... oh sure sure... a nicely packaged prize come to think of it: the corpse left some stamps... so... no problem... but how cruel the immediacy of a family member... i thank the ******* of an egyptian deity that i didn't invest in the purpose of family... i am certain of a painful death... a lonely death: or rather - a death with the world... not this... inheritance vultures... he didn't leave anything to be contested!  well... he might have... but i already have what no one else thought of as important... his stamp collection... what would have been better? a collection of pornographic magazines? ***** please... i wasn't expecting this from my grandmother: i was already towing baggage from a friendship... but this is just... the ultimate purpose of pessimism... to hell with stoicism... and all those words used for peacocking arguments... i'm chopping raw hind of a bull... i'm plucking out eyes from fish... i'm... doing my last, probably only interlude of thought before the agony of fire strips me back to the basics of passions and an ****** of pure, pain of conversation: detailing the withholding of truths by a bad liar... by a ******* phlegm of a pleb sort of culmination... more n.p.c.: but somehow still my own trajectory, here, "nuanced": now... shellshocked - blitzkrieg antics... after the funeral her envy for adolf ****** was so ******* pronounced: yeah... imagine my face... a stone somewhere was smiling with glee... because this has to absolutely make no... ******* sense! she calls a day prior to the death... she doesn't call a week prior: she calls when it is in the hands of the hospice folk to bring the agonia to a close... she decides to call a day prior to the death and on the day of the death... 3 months just escaped her... this is a woman who supposedly has a grandson... em... yeah... how do those lyrics sound like now: ***** tricks done dirt cheap... this is only banal evil... bored evil... i just remember all the verbal insults against him... at least i can celebrate him not hearing them ever again... oh yeah... and the h'american election happened... please... can this political enthusiasts bother someone else with their insomnia... 3/4 of the world is sleeping... it's not that important that, or anything new... come spring after winter, summer and back toward autumn... it was nothing new that democracy is what it is... a casino of telling the most ****** lie... he pushed the epitaph concerning the necropolis mingling with democracy... in manus tuas... he said the only democracy was the democracy the dead would revel in... i need to call her up and tell her... that she needs to include an epitaph on his grave... fiat lux let light be made)! or floruit (one flourished)... genius loci (spirit of the place)... habeas corpus (you may have the body)... i like this last one... most! a fitting epitaph to write on a grave... n'est ce-pas?! habeas corpus ad subjiciendum.

well d'uh: no brainer...
i got to say goodbye to a corpse...
and that's always better
than saying goodbye
to an urn of ash...
and boy... if ol' granny decided
to fulfill the wishes of
her deawest deawest son
and had him turned into
a bowl of ask the ash:
and i didn't get to see him...
all suited and booted up
for the ceremony...
my god... the day you see
a corpse in an open coffin...
days old...
and you have anything
remotely fear: insinuated...
about... taking a casual
walk in a graveyard at night:
or in a forest...
i'm still dreaming cyclops:
i am not some
appeased dream architect:
i'm dreaming void...
a grandiose wound:
a yawning abyss...
a corpse in an open coffin...
in one of those prosectorium
waiting rooms...
where the tiles are not
that kind of: medicine proof green
of a post-mortem dissection...
they're woven from
white through to a darkening:
grey thoroughly...
oh hell... it's fun...
seeing a dead body like that:
it elevates the "beauty"
of what's casually a mere:
script at the end of a film...
sun, truck, lampost...
fox's worth of road-****...
the unlucky woodland pigeon
that miraculously died
mid-flight and wasn't seen
roosting for miles
on a pavement...
it's beyond sobering...
since you know all the requirements
to have paid the attention to detail to:
when there was a soul:
and now... given the absence
of the sigma of animation /
the sum of animation...
the heart can rot on its own,
the liver the kidneys...
it's not like there's anything
pulling all of his materialistic wizardy
by the *****...
seeing that...
and then come night, the solace
of solitude...
a forest or a graveyard...
i've come across scarier places...
living rooms of strangers...
in all honesty:
these chicken shacks of
bad actors in general...
a walking on stilts when telling
a blatancy of a lie...
now my comforts are
"criminal" / certainly counter-
to whatever bias could
come prior...
hardly one of those tim burton
hard-ons for the gothic and
quirky!
that i wish my grandmother
a speedy ****-off because
she had 3 months to tell me and "us"
what's what
but who the **** calls and speaks
of a death a day prior
then a day later... the death...
3 months of a descent!
well... lucky me that i got to say
goodbye to a ******* corpse:
not the still living ******* my pampers
momentary lapse of
lucid recollection...
and this world has to:
terribly, somehow, also, happen...
and its like this coincidental
metaphor for: the centre cannot hold...
yes, come the big world:
some mythological granny **** of
the blonde...
but hey... it's ava lauren in a suit:
and to boot: booted...
karmalaiah 'arris...
and you're like:
whittle 'ichard primo...
i'm already on the dumpster with me:
blood first arguments sinking
a blind eye and grizzle tooth load...
before i even allowed myself
to take a bite...
******* geocentric carousels of
north/east/south/west:
the one acronym: prior to
the methodology of the h'american:
scotus etc. luvvie-dubby
for the acronym chant: u/s/a!
yeah, case closed... let's pretend
how tomorrow unfolds...
by 1am i'll be a sleep-walking
slinky... toss the cards...
the grand-picture...
the world is not some forthcoming
as to allow... both engagements
and sympathy:
the immediately available response
is all reflexive: **** reaction
scream! oooh! ah!
           sooner i'll be allowed
to contemplate an indigestion "problem"
than a death of a would be patriarch...
then again:
you always marry into the woman' family...
thee sorry old story
of leaving your parents in
the gutter... your new father:
in-law: god bless his soul...
you ******* cleaving *****-worth-of
an-itching-monkey!
you! turnip quasi
aladdin's paladin and magic
carpet ride...
she allowed me to see
the corpse... 3 months: not a word...
and here are these...
puppets... bemoaning how unidealic
love forever is...
solvd me the question of
what love is:
this bogus cwy-baby pseudo:
irksome welsh "sympathy":
******* cwy-cwy: trill your
******* R!
tarantula bit you you can't start
a rolling escapade
with a tongue?
you some O'Haera or too drunk
too soiled to notice Irish?
let's just, hope... i...
haven't... the capacity to express
an authenticity of sorrow:
tilting on: "properly" with the:
authorities of who's to, read, what!
out of their own pockets:
it's... ******* free last time i heard!
question of bias...
this slap of meat:
will become either a plum poke tenderness...
or a brussel pate....
like they do in the prisons...
notably the russians...
they inject vaseline between
their knuckles... so they build
up a... pouch-of-a-fist...
no... oh no adrenaline shots... none
of the fairy liquid:
dandelions speak we dust it over
with unicorn horn dust...
n'ah... none of that...
it's my grandmother: i probably
should have not expected as little
as this... but then i like the idea
of her keeping up with
ghost theory...
she can haunt the castle
of her **** for: however more
concern for life is in her...
granny can *******, and how...
i might have... favoured her...
when she did... cwy... there's that welsh
spelling again...
but not come the advent of
a, death... take me up on seeing scenery with
you... any day: or the 3 months prior...
but... this...
of course: the limitations
of the conscience of liars:
you start to blame yourself:
oh why didn't... call...
you have to blame yourself:
she's not going to blame anything or anyone:
there are no exceptions to the rule:
thumbs galore!
seeing his corpse:
he did die...
having... kept...
an immaculate proof of fingernails...
an immaculate proof of fingernails
being kept: as swiss passport for an agreeable
handshake...
again: once more...
ask me tomorrow
and i'll reply likewise:
granny can die... if i ever see my
shadow fleeing:
that! i'll sooner mourn!
you would expect:
grannies are tender loving creatures...
unless my grandfather wasn't
a somewhat tamed lover of
keeping books... a philatelist... too...
i got it!
he just wasn't a don juan *******
philander of an unlimited access to:
***** liquor!
whatever the story:
there's just enough desired
discretion to pay homage and defend
the passing party...

both a philander and a philatelist?
what's next?
a zoologist and a d.j.?
i've ascribed myself an audience
with prostitutes:
the 3 Ps... priests... psychiatrists...
prostitutes...
in the current climate...
who's body's who?
i am mild mannered enough to know
that i'll be paying for a ****
rather than a free meal or a professional:
waggling of the tongue:
let alone the placebo of the corpus christi
*******... n'est ce pas?

yeah... just prescribe
me the ******* of the bull of Titian...
etc.
i'm sure to make enough
skin out of it for a Muhammed's rug
ed gein esque piece of:
fidgety: ain't it? unshaked ******* sack?
**** it... almost grainy...
stubble prone... begs the knees to question:
wha' and w-i-i?

unshackled extension of patterns
of predictable behaviour:
moi! contra ol' granny?!
shouldn't i have... none?
  n'ah: let us play the allowed game
of psychopathy...
who's watching, anyway?
it's not like we're going to sing a song...
a tiny little song in the centre
of the earth... wiener blut...
and what happened within the confines
of the fritzl case:
circus of horrors readied as freely
available bread! corpus... christi!

        by the looks of it...
there was ever only one individual
sentenced to undergo the torture
of being crucified..
only 'im alone... psychopath uno!
and i am... to mea culpa this sort
of *******?!
i would cling to islam as a janissary sooner
than i might clip a sheep's worth
of wool...
i don't like this sadomasochism...
no... i like the shape of my own shadow:
but how the hebrews and the greeks
will pursue: even being the toursits
come auschwitz! this shadow
of the cross..

i am a sheep attired in wolf-skins...
i sheepeople blah blah from time
to time...
who are you? who am i?!
ha!
i sometimes think of myself
as balaam... sometimes nero...
as ever... konrad von wallenrod!
in the hindu circus of reincarnation!
am i... ahem... not... allowed?!
i take to grimmace:
by the body entomped:
one soul "sold"...

granny can ******* nonetheless...
i belong elsewhere to start the argument:
ex nihil!
to praise looking for a raving
lunatic with too many words
in his mouth...
i think that's where "i think" coincides itself
for an ulterior purpose:
i suppose i breathe...
i propose that i also eat!
scraps of meat...
salted pork... works miracles
with the miracle men of the crescent moon!
as does the "excess" skin
of ******...
not that i would sacrifice my ******* *******
so easily...
i need to pretend to shake hands with
ghosts: forever...

oh you can have my tonsure my kippah:
prior to my *******...
any excess skin concerning the ****?!
ha ha!
i just want to make sure!
you... never... grit...
actually... can... ever... know...
who's playing who's game...
being so blatantly pass... arrogant...
with one's lies?!

i believe the horde... i believe the herd...
i'm yet: i am utmost...
questioning... the little... incy-wincy... spider...
details of... consceince unravelled...

yes: the universal percentage detail:
translates back toward all subjectivities!
a fraction of objectivity: 0.01%
will later govern all the subjectivities of
the 99.99: thus proclaimed:
sterile grieves!

how well connected are we: aren't we?!
we hope to suppose:
and a neighbour allows...
not that we: we just... bungie-jump
into a ***** of the social contract!
no one is readied for this side-project
of society...
oh... wait... the police are policing
hate crimes of "hate speech"...
**** it... ****... pillage...
the balkan states are ripe for an
ottoman takeover...
was i about to blink to imitate...
nodding?!

yet as much as i might sway with
a phatom lady:
upon pretending to toy with a tango:
my toes are replica shrapel toys
with the toils of grip:
my little details... at best
my least bitten-into toenails...
             how about i grow a beard
of a goat's concern...
or grace a camel with a metaphor
of a needle...

this one hebrew is by no means
a noah: i... have to... pretend a martin luther...
they have their ****** tel aviv and israel!
what's not to "like":
h'america?
isn't that project of inquiry
burning it solid last in a ******* toaster
of mc and o'
                     celtic broods concerning
who's to divide up Boston?

the jews have their: recovered land:
i'm sure they can take back
their prized tool of converting
the northern folk with them:
it's not like the polish concenctation camps
ever gave them the *****...
because... no! oh no!
the germans didn't know about them!
yiddish wasn't born into german...
it was also and always this:
pan-slavic gensture of:
will you please integrate:

well hello sheepeople!
  you almost were deserving this
congregative... charm...
            no offence... time the conquest
of france... and the... french resitance...
yeah... once the germans and the russians
came simultaneously...
to carve up...

like charles bukowski said:
the trannies, the gays and the jews
have all relevants "things" to say...
they're the power brokers...
we're just the imbecile:
ant esque drones...
trained monkeys...
    'becile crispness of the tongs...
leisuring wet brass...

we allow people such ghostly firaments
of purpose beyond their expected
concern for a grave:
we allow their little besooth lying...
how cheap and zombie-esque they have
to become: grandma in tow...
even these closest to us...

it's like we are forever tugging
a warring: total...
never helped by a prospect of calm...
forever from those closest to us...
b'ah!
take it from us from the most 3rd party
sincere...
there's hope:
you will never have to heave
to be expected to...

can i tell christ to *******?
no... he's not welcome!
if i have to use muslims for the task:
i'll happily be "coincident" -
test the role
myself via the roles of
janissaary or mamluk...

honestly? what can christianity offer me?
an aching pagan ritual hope
of an ailing translation of heaving?
who? the congregation
hybrid?
      no... scrificial lamb
on the satire of shadow with a cross...
come the mongol teasing
the mountain of skulls of baghdad:
and... england is still a place where
a shakespeare or a dickness is to be born...

me? i very much like the romance
of staging a janissaary or a mamluk
prospect...
who's dead and who:
looks like...
whittle ol' grandma
can *******: be on her way...
sooner my shadow runs off with
the sunrise than i might giver a shitload
of care: she could have prescribed me...
when alt-vater was breathing his last...
yes...
because hemarrhoids and periods
were... forever alien to us!

.there's a reason why i don't care... i don't care because... classfic.fm played me... all it felt fathomable of prokofiev... but it never... ever... played me...

concerning the mythology of the candle:
in the age of electric insomnia -
prometheus edison -
                          a journalistic sabbath:
never to come -
                  i sometimes do and would...
prefer a return to a more archaic form
of illumination -
for the simple reason...
                 some per se i have yet to conquer
with the mind and unravel into
a narrative...

              the current war: i don't remember
the last time i watched a movie from
beginning to end...
no synopsis, though:

        the depiction of thomas edison...
by cabbagepatch...
        hardly a need to make empathy
out of... the exploits...
throughout the film i was...
rooting for george westinghouse:
not being of tesla...
michael shannon alone does the persuading...

the innovative genius of
19th century h'america...
          well... all the criticism of communism...
the soviet genius of the 20th century...
and in all honesty: most of the soviet
rust and golems would work just fine...

the motto: if it ain't broke: don't fix it...
i try... i fail:
       nothing brings me closer to anything
worth minding...
but there are some besides...

why do intelligent people appreciate
classical music:
      me? so so... i'm only as intelligent
as... facing a criminal...
or a psychopath... there's no point claiming
intelligent in an in vitro scenario...
with an i.q. score...
if you can't be fooled by a psychopath...
you're smart: by my standard of inquiry...

if i were allowed to explore:
what edison was able to explore...
       tame the lobotomy of what-ifs...
it really doesn't matter...
when all that was recognised was...
working on "something else":
the movie picture...
                       so much alien and
discouraging scenes from a competition...
to have improved the lot of man...
while at the same time...
to have had to... do the beggar's lot...
the kneeling the arm-wrestling
the vanity projects exploding with
custard-pie foam...

           the terrible affairs of men of will:
i'm so hardly bothered by these words
that i do not even wish to utter them...
intelligent people and classical music...
sorry... i did my part...
it ends with the 19th century...
i had to return to a more basic vision...
medieval music: folk music...
something for a wedding a solistice a...
pan phantasmagorical advent
of fruit flies and ferries...
nothing to liken me to a civilised man:
an opera or a tux...
   to listen to classical music is sometimes...
a bit like... how Magritte painted...
standing... wearing a suit...

in between edison and the electric-chair...
but... the actors swayed me...
the gambler came on top...
    all it was: was distance...
so much for edison and the DC for
j. p. morgan and manhattan...
            when... Iowa needed to be lit...
how many years passed
since the man who held the flint...
and the bundle of dried wood...
and cried: fire! fire i made!
made: rather than discovered...

         on the topic of...
it takes a lot less electricity to cool things...
than it takes to heat them...
electricity used to cool things
is much more efficient than when it is used
to heat them...
lucky for anyone i have a smart
meter...
   i sometimes glance at it...
i have an electric stove...
     i turn it on... the meter shoots up
into the exponential! when compared
to having a fridge-freezer and a freezer
working overtime throughout the day...

electricity is... when used to heat things?
terribly inefficient...
when... compared to how elecricity
is used to cool: and sustain freezing things...
i guess you can't cheat:
fire as the ire eye of the soul -
               to freeze something...
is not akin to burning something...

      never mind: i'm not looking for details...
god forbid i find something that
someone else would want to champion
and merit for themselves...
than: as cheap as pebbles: words...
when given the property of: disguise...

mind you: seeing jordan peterson
playing with a remote car: toy-thingy-m'ah-jig...
not fun... watching robert deniro
escape catatonia was more fun...
because i'm not a fan of the 12th rule:
it's not like it was ever a given...
to somehow always manage to stroke
a freelance cat on the street...
sometimes you do... sometimes you don't...
imagine the rule: the cat decides
whether you'll moses the full dozen
with authority...

otherwise... finding a reinvention
of a chicken korma...
        i had 5 ripe mangos sitting on a table...
2 ripe bananas and a ripe pineapple...
i ate one of the ripe mangos...
           those 2 ripe bananas: with polka
dots of being over-ripe will turn out
to be a breakfast tomorrow...
i will marinade some chicken in piri-piri...
and gloat... when grilling the pineapple...
2 mangos will go toward
tomorrow "chutney"... well... a salsa...
red onions, mint... a pepper and a chilli...

but the other 2 mangos?
went into a reinvention of a curry...
who said you were ever to inquire
of tomatoes for the ****...
         of a curry sauce?
     - and it's not even the usual litany
of spices...
        'what's the difference between
the blue indians of bengal...
and the red indians of minnesotta?
was it simply their culinary antics
that "spared" them...
or... well... "too boot"...
their fancy scribbles: to capture sounds...
like photographs...

oh ****... almost "forgot"...
have a gnostic at my fingertips...
and she's like...
god... the embodiment...
of dutch velders from:
    missed the zombie franchise...
missed the vampire franchise...
missed the: soul-load-of-french-kissing:
eats the **** like an oyster...
franchise...
and she's there: gnostic mother...
part-time typo part-time
of revel: in anything you don't
desire... sort of... mr. seance says:
best this avenue be kept...
crypto i.e. cryptic...

   my socks stink... i light a candle...
i labour myself to trace...
paris... circa 2004 - 2007...
and the first time... the only time...
the last time...
and jim morisson's grave...
like he were: best kept entomped
like some leonard lenin at the red sq....
pwetty mummy for all to...
beside the...         "hindu" state
of the original giza shovel nicked:
dismemberment...
and that oops: where the gradening fork...
broke... a knee and rib and ankle...

who would have thought that so
much could happen in the world...
and the only point of reference was:
not that heidegger: da-sein: being-there...
but... doubling on the already
abstract: dasein: with
a... imploded: "hier"...
like here is some new junction...

  i like my days spent in playing
chess with rudimentary concerns / concepts
of chess when... bricks are stacked...
i also like...
looking at the clouds...
forcing myself to see:
a "nothing": without blinking...
looking back at me...
having donned... a men-yoroi...
because: i'm so ****** up like that...
that i think *** is a tier below
a good meal and a beer...
the best excused pleasure...
the best... substituted... of all demands...

if you can counter...
recreating a turkey korma...
with a mango...
and no almods...
spices: turmeric...
        korma paste... ****...
i don't even remember what goes
into a garam masala:
probably a schnitzel worth of bullets...
GINGER... no garlic...
    ground cumin... nigella seeds...
    chuck stock and coco milk...
point though: you make the sauce
from pulp of mangoes...
and that's what saved
the blue indians from the fate
of red indians of h'america...
and the coppernecks of...
in the vicinity of cuneiform...

          how a concept of vowels...
the elements...
a, e, i, o, u:
      coupled with... an inanimate
thing rattled will not wake
an animate creed...
an animate will wake an animate creed...
even if... the inanimate lot
is bypassed...
a creaking stair... the boiling
of water...
                           दएअठ (death rides...
by rattling... the... "riddle")
                    ऋइदलए
                             ­        no... sorry...
no english "orthography" of liTTle
******: or maNNer...
                 nigh-err-ger-mania-via-nigh...
ger-non-mania... grrrrrr...
  savvy?
    you want myopia hydra
not savvy 'vat saucy fat and:
***** joins the bridge march... sort of...
"whoops"?
and the blue indians survived...
since... they had food that...
would always undermine...
the basic principles of european:
nomad-esque: borrowed from the semite:
desire for exploration...
camel-**** flinging and no need
for a niqab donning...
parsley sage... rosemary and thyme...
the saltz the pepperz...
   the... gorge on the gorgon -lic...
horderaddish! ****-oids!
does it become...
   simon, McLean, garfunfel and...
               timothy goodweather?
              or that other... **** up best of ours...
jazz-***** buckley like...
nina simone was the lesser...
ella... cosine: she never had the moonwalk
in 'er... just those... bloat...
and a signature ******* that would
always come... after the kiss...
yeah... i know the curse of my...
skinz and... the curiosity of... dermatology...
belzeebub took a **** on my face...
once upon the pride of glasgow...
not when...
i took to liking my face to be a metaphor
for... what die krupps did or could
havve done... to the pasture lands
surrounding Ypres...

what is all of comedy...
  when there's... canned laughter...
to invite: the solo-project "audience"
in... then again...
what is... and isn't... dry martini...
the office... ricky / rocky gyrating
when there... isn't any... canned laughter...
it's not like everyone
was born with a lee evans level
of genius! then again:
my scrutiny of comic genius
is equal to that of a pleb...
******... self-depreciating humor...
conel jackson...
of no use point of reference / conjunction...
laurel & hardy...
mel bison... mel gibson...
lethal weapon 1...
      slapstick funny was once...
but when comedy had to turn the tide...
and become... ridicule prone antics...
intelligent...
no one likes smart funny...
because... everyone just loves...
any funny!

  of which... i am... none.
oh yes.... when there was once... a once
upon a time of slapstick humour...
and... begotten nod... not...
ushered... the canned android brigade...
slapstick humour was replaced with...
crass... circulating the jerusalem
periodical of jews reclaiming
their homeland... like the polacks might
and... should one hope...
for... inviting the russians:
origins in siberia...

to tell a cheap joke...
glass someone in the face...
to tell a doubly cheap joke...
censor a word...
then uncesor it...
then censor it...
and: cheap: gob shyte and
a litTTle: BMW: black man's wagon...
pops into the mind like...
pope's a pedohpile kingpin...
al paccio is no paccino...
cuppa... cedric?
   ****... almost forgot...
           çedric... one does... forget...
one's favoured quit: of a collected
nuance... and time...
i **** to say an english hello!
wave! tired: **** y'ah'ah'ha'ha *******
rhyming couplets: Ipswich no sooner?
no sooner no sober: i hope... ah ha...
ha...               ha...
where's the canned laughter?
who's treating lee evans like...
madeleine mc'cann...
    and... frau fritzl...
christopher hitchens is... dead: ist: tod...
but... this burden breather is still...
the fairy godmother for... all those...
hopes... of pigs that dream about not
having to oink to clarify bacon...
   of god and... *******-eating remains of
jihadi ******* clover: of the bataclan...
if i... i die...
so much for... lucid dreaming...
beside the already available...
lucidity... of "others" attempting to barrage
their way into your...
simulation of solipsism life: life earned...
life earned ******* worth of:
the grim.. grimmace...
   lobotomy dyslexia hybrid mongol...
such... worship for...
delving into: all the choir singing!
that they get to! mispell: misspelled!
    happy hunters... loaded with loot and rap...
like i'm white... and classical...
is all... me and pagan music...
yoddle jazz... yoddle pop sheer...
                      like i said... no name...

watching horror movies is...
a coping mechanism...
the knives are blunt...
i sharpen them when i...
and i don't want to use them...
what i want to use...
is nostalgia...
a tool of regret...
and regret is the fathomable
tool of memory and of cinema...
michael faraday!

   what's the indefinite... and inconvenient...
truth... between...
sarcasm... and ridicule?
                      who's playing that sort
of toy and who's... the lesser nostalgia
prone loop?

so much has happened in
the life of the algebra prone  "X"...
but Y... and Z... also happened...
the open glads of...
the... prior to Cain and the "chair":
the nomad prone...
mother... agape: superior...
Siberia the "new" Africa...
         you... starve among the ravenous
wolves...
leave us... oysters....
to crave: demands...
                    and... leisuring...
        a cusp for... none of them...
that these words leave you:
made to fathom... clicking mimic clicking...
that better chiming...
is all that is ever... required...
this... reap of the fierce:
and that time entombing:
                      i too grieve:
for whatever... was... not... told.

  ju: ******* tel aviv sprinter!
elohim and ethiopia woodoo.

i have to most deserverdly like
a frederick seidel poem
when i read it -
        but not... when he reads it...

    some ancient grimmace
of h'america:
   those north eastern states...
mostly maine
and new hampshire...

      because: it's a hidden history
because the vikings came
prior to christopher...
   and the saxon soul will elevate
itself in secret to
this fact than...

          lend itself to follow
from the south with the conquistadors...
robert lowell et al.

         pristine h'america
as if bewildering never a displaced
european...

     i wish there could be something
impossible about a frederick seigel
poem...
  but i don't mind the "privileged" part
when i "know" of his father's
hard grinding knuckles
of owning a coalmine (etc.)

unlike novels and dogma...
a milan kundera essay about either
franz kafka or flaubert...
again proust, who i hope to read
someday...

          here in poetry: the next voice
without a dogmatic clarity
a novel like a tide
    a novel like a sunrise or sunset...
a poem like:
a disemboweled view
of a seaweed comparison...  

          to have children is to find
a new way to be startled...
        to have children is to...
   settle eternal affairs for future and
this... gall bleeding dry into
a frictive **** with pride...
  
  perhaps the pyramids can compete
with a kilimanjaro...
         speke or meru...
           of those long bones fathomed
with crosses and chalices
made from riddled jaws and teeth
like gems...
        
           at some point words cannot
be trusted...
   how many times have i teased
a misnomer - robert pinsky:
big... beeeeeeeeg on misnomers...
   a voice so tender it could
compete with gregory corso's lisp...
but of the latter: with youth! with paris!
anything goes!

unlike a novel: nothing is being
accomplished...
a breath if a lemon could breathe...
it's not the money that bothers me:
with or without it...
the words serve their own delights
and... procrastinations...
and...
        once upon a time: words
at the dentist...

  a woman will visit a tattoo artist
sooner than visit a hair-stylists...
she's sooner buy a wig...
since most women are dis-satisfied with
styling of the hair...
2+ years of "reprieve" from seeing
a barber...

             and then...
     turn around puritan, i.e.:
i never visited a brothel...
         i decided to claim... *** and cleaning
the bathroom...
  an exercise in dead-weight...
but what a comparison...
to emerge: liberty signalling -
   who's who and the abuse did not
extend into KINK...
          so... the barber replaced
the brothel as:                  neuhöhen...

oh if there was some pride
beside the otherwise lazy...
strict... nunnery of rejection and binging
on gym membership and bulimia...
the roman etiquette slim...

what sad times...
    this having to find everything beside
***: liberated from procreation...
the epitome surreal godhead-****-it-all
tentacle extension / plagiarism...
    bring me the brute and the asinine wonder
of the tongue...
i'll hope to turn my ego
into a chisel and retain:
an oyster shell from
a hoarded weathering of:
beginning with "random"...
                         this rock that will
become a replica of shell...
or muscle... or thereby an ingenuity...
of bone;
               a crown from treating
rock into this... hollow bell -
                      the soul an uvula...
the soul a fading / a dying out strobe
epilepsy: PARTY BIG'OH jiggles!

     parking lot delight... who had a son...
and oh the obviousness of
this tired: not -
      
          satan weaver...
                      blue blooded cuts of beef...
for there is no sentiment
concerning pork...
   why oysters are a speciality for the upper-classes
i will never know
given that the pickwick papers made
it sensibly plain: oysters were once...
what you'd make of tender-bits
these days...
   the nuggets of flesh...
god... a pork liver with onions...
a decent semi-broth of poultry hearts
with barley groats... and gherkins...
or poultry stomachs likewise...
                           esp. with barley groats...

i can't imagine why...
muscle is the go to piece of the animal...
the heavily protein skim reading
of the best of: excuses to not be a vegetarian...
the liver... the hearts... the stomachs...
mein gott! pork lungs!

even the feel of the raw product...
for the sauce... a hand filled with
about a dozen chicken hearts...
there is a compensating image...
when you could still feed pigeons
in trafalgar sq.

                 some might say: who...
once upon a time... did...
  good to know... a part of me is still loitering
around a culminating prospect
of... living without extreme!

i'm drinking my discounted liter of jack daniels: down from £35 to £20... oh... knowing me... i'll get through the liter... while listening to some modern german folk: faun... tanz mit mir (dance with me)...

i've had such high hopes for the man,
Karl Ove Knausgaard...
what? you expect me to write Kierkeg-
with an angstrom?! sure... a "lost" ah..
Kierkegård...

ha ha... volume 4... of his mein kampf...
oh i'll finish this volume
and finish the two remaining volumes...
he really grew into a man when
we started writing about the "seasons":

i too was young once... stupid...
drunk from time to time:
now i'm almost always drunk...
nothing helps writing sketches like
regular drinking:
which you can offset with sobering up
doing some cardiovascular exercise:
no point wasting time sitting in a sauna...
on y'er ******* bicycle, y'ah silly ****!
vowel-catchers... who?!
surd letters in the Ing-Leash zunge!
giggle ha ha but when it comes to
gnosis... it's 'nosis...
so ******* write it like you intend people
to spreschen it... sprechen...
oi... herr zeppelin! you too!
SHEN or HEN?
the Spaniards too! xa xa or ja ja?
or both?
      
i truly had high hopes for the man...
but then in volume 4 he recites...
a vagabond... he & his friends encountered
via their A-level ****... fest...
who once served in world war II...
under a Leif Andreas Larsen (1906 - 1990)...
Larsen of the Shetlands...

who smuggled refugees from Norway
hunted by the Germans
to the Shetlands...
spies & ammunition back to Norway...
a homeless man...
he started calling him a Shetland ****...
phallus... whatever... he was in "dire straits" needing
to ****... so he walked around him and ****** on him...

it was rummaging in my mind...
all throughout this glorious day...
a scenario... should i find myself homeless...
lying in Soho... minding my own business...
and some colt would approach me...
and start ******* on me...
i had this whole cinema in my mind...
i was later arguing in court...
the defence was...
he ****** on me...
i bit into his aorta at the neck
and started to slurp up his blood...
no joke...
all before reading this extract...
  i'll obviously finish the rest of the volumes...
i invested in four... i can stand two more...

this is all before reading what i'm trying to get through:
volume 4...
i too was young... stupid... drunk...
one Hogmanay we ran around clipping
rearview mirrors from cars...
we sported playing golf in the middle of the road...
hell... i threw stones at railway signs
at Seven King's station... i brought fireworks to school...
in primary school i brought in pictures
of the mythological blonde that was Pamela Anderson
(at the time): of course i was ratted out...
given the high compass morality argument:
what if it were my mother?!

what else did i do?
oh right... one time we went clubbing with some
history crew... i was studying chemistry
i stumbled upon Napoleon & them...
a ****-fest throughout...
we ended up walking home...
but i edited the walk home by climbing some
scaffold on Princes St... reaching the roof...
ended up screaming... ha... FREEDOM and throwing
bricks down onto the pavement...

if i'm writing this... freely... so one was hurt...
but ******* on a homeless man?
seriously...
i was walking with my grandfather once...
engrossed in conversation...
he spotted a raggedly dressed man
eating fruit on a bench
in full splendour of a grimmace
when a family walked past...
he must have been gobbling...
physalis... i would be eating physalis...
and my grandfather asked:
who is he?
i replied...
                to jest: fi-lo-zof...
he's a philosopher...
see... i grew up from the ages 4 through to 8
being raised by a father figure that was
my grandfather... my father was away
"conquering" the west...
my grandfather taught me the intrinsic values
of: if you're going to pet an animal...
just make sure you're kind to it...
don't be obnoxious...
and... all homeless men have
the potential of being...
pseudo-Diogenes'...
              
it invokes to little to be kind...
it doesn't require... ******* on someone...
in youth i was a full-on arsonist!
it's painful to read...
esp. when it's written with hindsight...
from the cinema of memory
and not something that's ongoing...
cause me to process "libel":
i've seen psychiatrists... priests? no no...
prostitutes...
i paid for ***... i didn't pay for lies...
niceties...

i miss him for the reasons that we could
correlate.. my favorite quote of his was...
no woman is "ugly"... there are only
neglected women... abandoned women...
and as i cycle past the populace...
i remember two quotes from England circa 1997...
the beast from the east...
(it wasn't about jet lag)
look busy... Jesus is coming...
along with... the most prominent...
marry an ugly woman...
you'll spare two heads' worth of concerns...
not verbatim: the last "scenario"...
but it's true! all the beauties are reluctant to
marry... settle down...
whatever the hell that implies these days:
paying rent for the enrichment of
some Pakistani rent / slave holder?
settle your arguments with your parents...
i live in a vicinity where... "independence" could
be scrutinised... one Nigerian family shares
a household within a two generational timeframe...
another is Sikh... also...
i'm not paying **** to hope i might get
one night stands with hopeless western women!
i'm dying: self-intact... alone...
i hope the cats nibble at me..
what do you think this culture has spawned?
******* geniuses?!
collateral damage and: shrapnel ammo readied
for a ******* shotgun... hey presto!
i'm beyond mad... angry young man...
i'm not young... i've revolved around being angry
for a while... i better age with melancholy...
who's to keep me company?
michel de montaigne...
i suppose my sense of humour is... "wong"...
rong being... the Chinese ideogram doesn't allow
the trill of the R? don't wowwy... neither does
the current Ing-Leash... they seem to have
gotten a tawantula bite on the twill of the "R": too!
it also died in Fwench...
don't mind me... the Wussians are your best,
"next" enemy... i'm siding with the Wussians...
because i can... i have choice...

but it's almost fun being sad-angry...
you find out that you can cite:
cryptic jokes...
i hope i'm doing just that...
if i'm not... what does it matter:
i've written in the moment of the otherwise
forever moment of fatality...
you can't somehow debate fatalism away
like you might with nihilism...
or nuance it...
life is life... death is death...

there's still that... bewilderment i have...
when comparing the Latin of Cicero & Horace
with the "Latin"... Italian of... Giuseppe Belli...
how did... Latin... become... Italian?!
i guess... the cuneiform wasn't submerged...
asked to become non-existent...
among the Muslims... side with the Sh'ites...
the Persians... please please please...
please please please:
a schism so early... so early showing
the corrupt nature of the prophet...
              p.b.u.h: with the exception of Ali's
confessions... no?

eh... but people will be people and follow their
own ways... i don't want to change them...
to me a raggedly dressed man sitting on a bench
eating some physalis... full of grimace
looking at a happy family walking past
was a philosopher... to some other he was
merely a waste of space... blah blah...

give me the king of kings... naked...
that's better...
than the most indefinite of creatures:
mast cast into a role of man's own hierarchies...
elevated by such ambitions that
make him look both rich & both cheap...
give me the negated man...
but nothing of the sort
associated with bureaucratic self-importance
that tramples even the electrician or plumber
as some substitute role of... purpose...
but the world is filled with this...
over-stepping the capacity of people
to replicate...
  of the people who most espouse Darwinism...
they leave so little to the imagination...
the strong perish... the meek inherit...
it's about time i left this world too;
this world is deserving of its fate... this world has to
become... completely... obliterating-ly...
mediocre... it has to!
i don't want to be part of it!
i will not be part of it!
this world deserves what is expected of it:
being deserving of!

the same people that espouse Darwinism
are the last people to adopt it....
nature is... cruel! it abandons the weak!
yet here you are... espousing... ****'s sake..
celebrating it! coercing it!
it sure as **** didn't happen under
the Copernican upheaval...
oh wait... only Wittgenstein ackowledged
it was Copernicus rather than Galileo
who conjured up the "distinction"...

the West... i'm adamant for the Russians
being these... evil genius hackers...
me & the boys are going to have
a massive ****... when this "****" is over...
when she... the western woman:
is properly ****** over...
of course i'll be siding with the Russians...
what's left in the west?!
****-smears and um?
penguins learning to fly!?!
for, ****'s... sake!

i'm doing a  runner... i'm out of 'ere...
thanks for the bourbon...
not thanks to the "idea"...
i'm out... in mind... is not in body (at least):
i... am... *******... done...
there's nothing here: "here"...

Poland  isn't far enough to....  "escape"...
Poland never was...
  i live in England... at best,. then?
dig deeper into oneself...
make "things": a little  bit more curious...
i'm dreaming of
the Kamchatka Peninsula...
like i'm thinking of Nippon...

              i write this with an honest heart....
a heart composed to be:
the size of a pebble...
         i write this... because...
i await my death with... glee.

2 months in Poland and
i honestly can't tame
the digestion of
the chocolatiers'
      definition of article 7...
i already know of
the media monopoly,
but this persisting
   "need" to be born
yesterday is...
only slightly...
       worth a grimmace...
oddly enough the free
in punk died a slothful
death into making itself
comfortable...
   and then back into
English media...
         postcards from nowhere
and if from anywhere
then only from Gehenna...
the same sort of
******* in eastern europe
as on this island...
blah blah there,
blah blah here...
         an ape
with an elephant sized
parasite pretending to hide it
in its intestines:
like some akward
form of constipation...
   ad continuum dynamic
has been breached...
   long live:
                ad nauseam;
if there's any "living"
to be had.
   the 21st century is still shy...
give it 30 years
and a slothful distinction
between taking children
to sleep,
   and the bludgeon
to the head in a sloughterhouse;
some might even die,
not even fathomed
the concept of having lived;
and if having
"lived"...
           not being able
to tell the difference
between death and dream;
dreams... ugh...
        bothersome flies!

.the lost sigh of the new exasperated... the lost sigh being an anne sexton... and the new exasperated being an olivia gatwood... old pixie new pixie and borrowing from: garden state... like lazy grit... the best searched for scrutiny & with life... my own too tender heart... a mushroom cloud and a moth nursery... my own mea culpa my loiter my digression... my... giggle shot at the knee... before the already disposed kneeling; "process". the process of breaking up feuds... notably? telling the difference between broken mirrors and broken glass... a false memory of a dalmation... i call it Dunkirk but it's (it was) actually Dundee... and... drinking tequilla with an orange and sugar than a lemon and salt... and not getting laid... because... "let's forget" that was the first and last available impromptu... to settle a grief of memory... the last explored eventuality of "re-imagining" a banana: as straights and "justice"... and that grief of a grimmace when: a lemon bit into: was all that was expected! i can't let go, though... it's not like i'm holding to a harry potter impossible... dancing on the old college roof... edinburgh... listening to the shins' new slang... my most "solipsistic" spectacular... the same old attempting to solve puzzles by ******* girls with tattoos... my prized daddy issue? he's not dead in that there's also a "yet"... here's to me swimming across la manche! because... there's a heap of barley to be digested and ******* out like: tomorrow... eh?! coming across new vinyl is like... the realisation that... there's actually no new money... or no new concept of money... like pebbles are not copper effigies made into shrines and what not; it's a near impossible venture to test rich... with later boasting... beside what's necessary as: the enough... there must be a concept of... losing track of the peacock... **** me... i will have to agree that there actually is the "right" number of oysters being "served", gulped... "divorced"... moth in transit... stitching itself shut to my bedroom wall... and that's worth savouring... the inability to savour a furthering with plot of berryman sexton plath and... this robbing scrutiny of the obvious crescendo.

listening to classic.fm
has become largerly
impossible:
even if one has a stomach
a mouth and an ****...
notably from
the argument of
a bbc radio 3 d.j. -
thereby / therefore
i concur...
   it is very impossible...
to stomach classic.fm with...
the money... the adverts...
and since i forgot
to mention the ordeal
of advert when... listening
to bbc radio 3...
but that there's so much
of everything
so predictable...
   i'm yet to age around
the summit with
bbc radio 4 being...
a blatancy...
a blatancy of having
a forgiving insight
wedded to a nostalgia
of a... somehow "missing" year...
best encapsulated
by the frizz of autumn:
a haste via an agitation
that's beside (the) zenith
that's (a) death;
the english scissor cutting...
the A-THE-ISM
of the indefinite and the definite
article...
lost toward the other shrapnel:
the conjunction and pronoun
and the lost remains
of the... other...
sort of load of *******.

The beach inside
soaked
in counterintelligence
arms draw away
now so hot
i cannot
key in the data
answerings to why
unbidden and wrong
swim forward near enough
i grimmace at the light
flight