i remember the first time i lost my virginity to a pair of police handcuffs, the ones in england are rigid, so you don't actually get to put your hands behind your back, rather, they're in plain sight, right in front of you... i had the occasional scruff with the law, well, that one time when i was alcohol poisoned by warm ***** and managed to turn a police van into a taxi home... loved the cage though, felt like a bit of a che guevara (gorilla, guerilla, yeah?)... oh, the handcuff loss of virginity... the offence? ******* in a dark alley, next to a dustbin... the **** of a colt of a police officer had too much testosterone in him, kept shouting and shouting at me like batman vs. the joker... i kept from laughing, drunk as i was: i was an inch away from the tsunami of giggles, and he shouted: get up! and i said, i can't be bothered... get up! he shouted, eventually i got up... you know, there's a better insult in poland concerning the police than mere pig... it goes along the nursery "rhyme" of: there's a boppy who only knows how to read, and there's a boppy, who only knows how to write... frau heimlich will explain, in sign language, and that's not braille - so, ****! thank you frau heimlich, for making a, devastating case of ****! (esp. with the missing Я) - i'm copernicus all over it... and make that two shakes of a fox's tale, some ice, a squeeze of lemon, and i'm bound to call your grandma: sunshine!
oh, right, the colt quiff of the blues brothers
suddenly took the cuffs off,
and i was free, ready for my manicure -
because, apparently, ******* in a dark alley
was not so bad, but a drunken brawl was...
i just love the fact that his screaming was
so ineffective on me,
it almost felt like i became a virus that
built up an immunity to antibiotics -
i might as well have asked for a second
loss of virginity to the handcuffs
by jerking off in public, luckily i had
enough sense in me to snigger while walking
blah blah nah nah... beside the point...
upon reading heidegger's aphorism 42 (vi) -
it just strikes me...
i hear this ******* about identity not being
the sort of **** that brings about bill C16
and the albino pronoun brigade,
who suddenly go: whoopie and strip it
even further, and we're left with language
like those *Gunther von Hagens sculptures -
sign me up!
you know, like totally bleaching people,
stripping them into a post-edenic state -
love the work though, francis baconesque -
can't be a genius: if you can't be mad -
the mad, the bad, and the not-so-bright;
but in this aphorism i conjured up a "spell":
you know that funny feeling you get when
you can reconnect with the antopia?
it's not a utopia as such, more a:
and all these parts go together,
like an ikea table;
it takes but a simple thing,
a book by a fellow countrymen,
or a song, like track 12, from the film
ogniem i mieczem - husaria ginie
(death of the winged hussars) -
based on the book by h. sienkiewicz -
thus the aphorism which includes
die völkisch (the folkish) worldview,
or better still die völkisch dasein,
the term has actually evolved -
it's not longer a simply abstract da-sein,
it's concrete in the people, the land,
the artefacts, the basics of the most primitive
kind of artefact: an imprint
on the base of all if not merely some
things organic, inorganic, or at least
the aura of the physical: the melancholy
of, say, the english consistency to be
morose in its weather: overcast;
as you first notice - the first thing you
notice concerning england is:
either a double-decker bus, or the persistence
of overcast clouds... a bit like in the matrix movie;
no wonder then, the sense of humour.
yet that is heidegger's case -
english society has long forgotten its folkish
roots, sure they sometimes play
vaughan williams' fantasia on greensleeves
(and if my informant is correct,
she mentioned it was originally composed
by the tyrant... henry viii?)
and those funny looking druids
and the stonehenge -
but, with kind respect - this country is all
but represented by metropolitanism,
or that cocktail, cosmopolitanism -
there is nothing folkish about this place,
a place has been replaced by a world,
been replaced by all things global,
subsequently replaced by an orb,
a scarab beetle tucking into its dung,
egyptology, a **** similis twice removed
from an orangutan who we started calling
then onto the moon,
and **** all elsewhere...
it's hard to think of a people in the anglophone
world, given that the actual language is
hardly a language for the people,
so imbedded as to give a literary worth
to the people, a depth...
english is the lingua franca of today,
or, should i say: lingua commercia -
and by definition: it's a bit like latin -
a language: of dead ideas;
its insulative "protect the women" mentality is
like a cancerous addition to the already
abnormal growth: that, like chernobyl
didn't ****, ought to have killed many more.
i still can't believe the intellectual toddlers
******* their thumbs clinging to darwinism
like koala bears...
so yeah... do you think there was a branch
of humanity that evolved from bears?
it's become this boring, this sticking to our
darwinism, that is the source of the most
detestable jokes... as true as it might be:
the pompousness, oddly enough,
doesn't rub off on continental europeans...
as heidegger points out:
a people is the ground on which all creativity
proceeds; a people is with regard to the process
of creativity even the root out of which creativity
arises and stand...
and isn't that the case?
we've already stripped the people
to the basic grammatical units,
bleached them, stripped them of an ethno-"bias",
and by that i mean: basic recognition -
nay! a historical unit of the already governing
no wonder there's a trans movement
and the abstracting recoil of the absurd -
i'm the least surprised given that -
perhaps this was not written in my native
i leave this page, i'll still ****** well
point being... america is a nation of immigrants?
personally? i like to think of them,
as a nation of mongrels...
i was fed this jealous crap a long time
ago, in high school, where the history teacher
said that i would be the only child in the classroom
to not head into a concentration camp...
oh right: ******* special i was back then...
just like any rottweiler pure breed looking
at your common mutt...
and the atypical question in england
is? so, where you from?
asked by a mix of sikh and irish?
coupled with: so what ethnicity are you?
and the scary answer, that makes a sikh / irish
mongrel run away?
oh you know, they sometimes refer to me
as a pure breed.
mama didn't shnuckle up with some
yeah, it sometimes gets that bad -
but a question like: where are you from,
over a pint of beer -
deserves that sort of response;
so when are we gonna talk about
black privilege, the blues, the jazz,
and the 100m sprint, or the ethiopian /
kenyan long distance runners?