there's that, or the nimble skeleton of a feline
bonsai... and what they do to
add to the already apparent roughage
they intake by grooming themselves...
luckily... i could never claim to have had such
a nimble spine, or a tail...
but then all of darwinism is a bit like:
news flash! it happened yesterday...
and that's really a party pooper...
i have to chase a universe like a crap
does perpendicular tango...
it's correct, sure thing, but having this
"awe" response summoned for your to appreciate
either human history, or theories about
the universe...
it just gets annoying after a while:
all the terrorists do it... skip to god as a constant
and it all begins to feel realistic...
because what the vogue is in the west
and it's "we're gods", but then run mile-marathons
for cancer charities, doesn't really work out
to keep up our iron armour...
people really do shut up when they hit
the gag of weakness... it'stops being a case of
alice and fairies and some wonderland...
very quickly they turn their once idealistic blah
into mute buttons...
there is an example coming: but like *michel de montaigne
noted... was it him, was it someone else?
call it the all-encompassing negativity
(alias list does include depression): well...
it has all the jokes... meaning there's
two type of humour...
depression (a) lethargic depression...
no energy... major trait includes sarcasm...
and that's mainly english...
and depression (b) manic depression...
meaning you have all the energy,
and all the cheap chokes, akin to Wobin Williams...
oh please, there's enough zoology within
psychiatry to last you for a year given
the array of nouns... i'm not a professional
so i tend to use psychiatric terms as
a matryoshka doll... well: a metaphor-in-itself...
there's always something hiding in
psychiatric terms...
very little in philosophical terms, most
add up, or claim to know the way to infinity,
or ad deus... or something like that...
why be positive? and what's merely vacant?
negativity is the source of humour...
luckily it's a shop of curiosities that has only metal
and rope in it... no porcelain...
but it's only because i've been watching this
sweet shop analogy of my own construct...
as you do, but can't really do with a television
watching several football matches at once...
so what would make the perfect backdrop?
obviously tourniquet by m. m. (solve the acronym,
it's a bit obvious)...
and that's in between watching
dottiejames videos
and hannah witton...
as you do... well... first thing's first...
can anyone spot a doppelgänger in there somewhere?
well, apart from the obvious:
he said nice things, agitated the educated jewish
class of scribes... and the greek were bewildered
by a suspension of physical laws, and had to
paint a pretty picture, so that their philosophers could
investigate and explain the reason
melchior, caspar and balthazar came too, curious...
how did the greek summon the need for a pretty picture?
well... that's one sure way to rob a people of a religion
and translate the old stuff as: NEW! NEW!
but that isn't the doppelgänger i'm wondering
about... what the hell is keira knightley doing in Brighton?
well, d'uh... if dottiejames ins't
keira knightley then i don't know who keira is...
and such a quirk... it's great seeing
long periods of acting, without a theatrical stage
or a Spilberg with a camera lens...
no no, i like it, but let's go back to points d. (a) and d. (b) -
the ancients called it black bile...
i get drunk and experience the goods in it -
lethargic type = sarcasm... let's say: blackadder goes forth...
i ain't the manic clown type having a host
of impressions bound up like a yarn ball played
with the cat-like-ego... teasing and at the same
time exhausting...
hannah witton gets through to the point though...
it's about ******* ***...
nothing new to me... happened back in 2007
in a St. Petersburg bathroom... a ***** Pollack
had a russian girlfriend who was going through
a ******* cycle... and he was pleading her to
allow ***... and begging... this is way before the internet
took off... what with the hannah witton video...
now i feel like ****, because, apparently: everyone does it!
but they're just not talking about it.
so forget being the Columbus these days...
there's no first, unless you have a Nobel prize...
and there ain't no last, unless you are lying
beneath an epitaph...
there's just a... plateau (that word should sound
hollow... and it really does...
pla-toe)
but it happened to me
back in 2007... three days and nights ***-starved
she finally gave... but only in the bathroom...
sure... and only with a ******... no problem...
no watch the science... apparently it eases the cramps...
me get foolish about blood and corn-flakes?
well... i remember lying on a post-operating
table getting stitches done to my right shoulder-blade...
how old was i when i went under the scalpel
to get that Chernobyl tattoo removed?
wait... let me count... 1997 or 1998?
1986... either 11 or 12... a hosptial in Cieszyn am Olza...
2 weeks spent in that place... great fun
with some of the peeps (ha ha, peeps) my age...
the smell of hospitals is worse than the scent in
graveyards... even in autumn... it's green...
it's so hostile to the nostrils....
hospitals just have that smell about them...
the sooner to go to one for surgery, say, like me,
aged 11 or 12... it's worse than frying a human leg
on the bbq... not that i have: but the hospital
imprint is just so...
so i was lying on getting my stitches done,
and out pops a bit of flesh into the corner of my eye...
deep red or purple but certainly not anything
in the extreme of lilac... and while the stiches get done
it's just lying there: a menacing little ****...
the body of christ... well: i wouldn't eat that:
i don't care what metaphor you could use to eat either
with delight other than the delight birds eat bread:
to stuff themselves for much longer than their
usual diet allows...
so a phallus coming out of a less than appetising ****?
well: it isn't exactly oral ***...
and she says: most men wouldn't do this...
well: it's not like i knew that was i did would actually
be helpfull... it's a bit like my "naiveness"
given that i don't know how i could ever contract
h.i.v., no one told me... and thankfully: i don't need
to know that.
the fact is: upon hearing that: so many people do
it but don't talk about it: that's not exactly a solidarity
statement... i didn't need to hear that...
numbers and all quotes relating to the "objective"
reality **** me off... it's a bit like drinking diluted whiskey
after first drinking the real stuff...
well that's great! but don't bring the whole opera
with you! or maybe that's because i'm writing about
these things and she's feeding an easy pick of the experience
that ****** me off?
i gave you enough details...
these videos aren't that hard to find... given it's you-tube...
so that me... with no access to the deep / dark web
******* around with the canvas... trying to
salvage something that might have once looked like Soho...
well... for a "Soho" experience... god bless
the Dutch... you can walk into a history of
something resembling 18th and 19th century...
just for a while... a Puerto Rican *****
and a black kid that does errands for her, brining
her customers beer...
what's that vogue phrase: hello?! hello! red pill! red pill!
