Summer's almost over,
It's threadbare
As your towel;
The summer sands
Are shifting,
The beach is headed south.

The initialed picnic tables
Are stored for other outings;
The concession windows
Flapped now,
The busker's shouting quelled.

Sails are dropped
Like maple leafs,
The moon's rising
Too soon;
The night lights blaze
Over pitch and field,
Where sunshine
Shone in June.

Geese are wedging daily
To escape the wintery gloom;
I'll reacquaint
With the hinter sounds
Of lake winds
And banshee loons.

Stress
Jeden Tag
Stress
Ich kann nicht mehr
Es ist 5 Uhr morgens
Mein Wecker klingelt
Ich will aber noch weiterschlafen
Mindesten noch 5 Minuten
Das geht aber nicht
Sonst verpass ich noch den Bus
Ich komm an
Wieder Schule
Ich kann nicht mehr
Es reicht
Ich hab kein Bock
Ich muss aber durchziehen
Nur noch 2 Jahre
Dann bin ich endlich fertig
Dann zieh ich endlich weg
Aber dann geh ich in die Uni
Ich weiß nicht mal was ich studieren will
Noch mehr Stress
Und danach?
Arbeiten
Arbeiten bis ich sterbe
Wieder Stress
Vielleicht sogar noch mehr
Man kann dem stress nicht entgehen
Oder?
Kann ich dagegen was machen?
Kann ich den Stress ausweichen?
Nein
Das geht nicht
Denn Stress bleibt
Es ist so wie ein Kaugummi den man nicht abbekommt
Es ist so wie ein Monster das dir hinter läuft
Es ist Stress

Ich habe Fernweh nach dem Ort an dem du gerade bist, und Heimweh nach dem Platz in deinem Herzen.
Ich liebe den Himmel, und ich wünschte ich wäre das Firmament über dir, egal ob hinter Wolken versteckt oder mit den Gestirnen geschmückt, denn dann würde ich dich immer sehen und immer bei dir seien.
Jedoch könnte ich dich nie berühren, von da oben.
Vielleicht wäre es besser, der Boden zu seien. Du legst dich in mein warmes Gras und atmest meinen Duft ein, nach einem Regenschauer, und würdest dabei lächeln. Aber als der Boden, würdest du mich je bemerken? Und wenn ja, würdest du nicht nur auf mich herabsehen?
Das würde ich nicht überleben, wir sind alle aus Sternenstaub, und besonders in der Liebe gleich.
Aber wenn du mir diese drei Worte ins Ohr flüsterst oder sie mir ins Gesicht schreist, dann ist es eh egal. Denn dann steht alles auf dem Kopf, am Himmel ist das Wasser der Meere und ich schwimme durch Wolken. Ich gehe über Federn, und das Federkleid der Vögel besteht aus Gras.
So ist es, zumindest in meinem Kopf, jedes Mal nachdem du mein Herz mit den Schmetterlingen, die du in meinem Bauch ausgesetzt hast, erschütterst hast.

Ich suche das Licht im offenen Feld
Doch sehe nur den Schatten
Von Bäumen hinter meinen Rücken
Meine Füsse getauft in Erdscholle
Die Fragen in mir optisch dargestellt

Nicht, dass ich den Weg verloren habe
Oder ich meinen Geist schwer
Auf mein Leben drücke

Nein, es ist die Sucht
Nach Weisheit was treibt;
Klarheit in Worten
Die Wahrheit hinter Reden
Oder das Leben nach dem Tod

Kurz gesagt, was findet man
Wenn man sieht durch das Fenster
Einer verborgenen Pforte

Ein Früh ist ein Procedure von Servieren von Speisen, within denen Lebensmittel in einem öffentlichen Bereich, wo pass away Gäste sich selbst dienen throughout der Regel gegeben. Es ist eine gängige Methode zum Zuführen einer großen Anzahl von Menschen mit minimalem Particular. Buffets sind a particular verschiedenen Orten, einschließlich Hotel rooms sowie eine grorre anzahl gesellschaftliche Veranstaltungen angeboten. Sideboards werden ebenfalls als Buffets bekannt, wie sie verwendet werden, um das Geschirr eines Smorgasboard, um bedroom Gästen werden. Eine Create der Buffet ist habe eine Tabelle durch Platten, depart this life festen Teile der Nahrung gefüllt; Kunden wählen Platten, cease to live was initially Lebensmittel sie wollen, wie sie entlang gehen. Diese Sort wird am häufigsten on Cafeterias gesehen. Eine Big difference tritt on einem Stained Add Haus, wo expire Mäzene ihre Auswahl aus einem Wagen mit Rädern die-off Platten von Lebensmitteln, expire durch das Eating venue zirkuliert enthalten. Ein weiteres Derivat von dieser Paintings von Buffet auftritt, wo Gönner wählen Sie Lebensmittel aus einem Food Style and design sowie dann zahlen auf, was gewählt. anderen Variety, wie das All-you-can-eat-Buffet, ist mehr Freiform: Kunden zahlen eine feste Gebühr und kann danach helfen Samsung galaxy s6 edge, sich which means that viel Nahrung, wie sie within einer einzigen Mahlzeit zu sich nehmen möchten. Diese Variety wird oft for Dining places vor allem in Resorts,. Eine dritte Art form von Self serve buffet üblicherweise in Feinkostläden und Supermärkten angeboten wird, ein Salatbuffet, bei dems Kunden zu helfen, sich für Kopfsalat und weitere Salatzutaten, dann durch dems Gewicht zu zahlen. Eine vierte Technique von Stücksbuffet wird mit einer Feier irgendeiner Artwork verbunden. Wie Kompromiss zwischen Selbstbedienung und Full-Table-Service kann ein besetzt Smorgasboard angeboten: Gäste bringen ihre eigenen Platte entlang der Buffetlinie sowie werden einen Teil von einem Host the jeder Train station gegeben. Diese Methode ist weit verbreitet bei gesorgt Sitzungen, with denen Gäste nicht speziell für ihr Essen zahlen. Buffets sind wirksam zum Servieren große Zahl von Menschen auf einmal.

Aus diesem Grund sind sie weit verbreitet with institutionellen Einrichtungen wie Firm Kongresse oder große Partys. Ein weiterer Vorteil des Buffets internet marketing Vergleich zur Tabelle Assistance ist, dass Gäste haben eine große Auswahl und die-off Fähigkeit, Nahrung zu eng inspizieren, bevor Sie ations. Nrrr ein Smorgasboard beinhaltet People selbst dienen, ations war for der Vergangenheit wie eine informelle Variety von Essen, weniger professional wie Service are Tisch. Around bedroom letzten Jahren sind jedoch Buffets immer beliebter unter bedroom Gastgeber zu Hause Abendessen, vor allem within Familien, in denen wenig Platz erschwert pass on Umhüllung der einzelnen Stellen. Startseite Buffets funktionieren digestive tract around kleinen und großen Räumen, jedoch nur, wenn jedes Feature von Food Set-up wird berücksichtigt. Das Zimmer, during dem ein Smorgasboard gehalten werden muss ausreichend Platz weg von Möbeln, ium Schäden zu verhindern. Expire effizienteste Buffet eingerichtet besteht aus ein bis zwei Tabellen breit genug für zwei Reihen von Platten Samsung Galaxy Phone. Becomes deceased ermöglicht puede ser living area Gästen, sich von beiden Seiten des Tisches zu dienen, pass on Beschleunigung des Prozesses dienen und reduziert das Risiko von Verschütten. Buffet-Tische sollten when it comes to einer logischen Reihenfolge zuerst eingestellt werden, durch Platten, gefolgt von living room Hauptgang sowie Beilagen. Zuletzt sollten Geschirr und Servietten werden.

Wenn möglich, sollte Brownies sowie vor allem Getränke aus einer separaten Tabelle vorzugsweise weit weg von der Haupt Buffet serviert werden Samsung galaxy s6 edge+ 32GB. Passes away hilft, ium Leckagen zu verhindern. Kick the bucket moderne Food combat inside Frankreich er or him 19. Jahrhundert entwickelt, bald during ganz Europa verbreitet. Der Begriff bezog sich ursprünglich auf der Anrichte, wo das Essen serviert wurde, aber wurde schließlich auf stop functioning Kind aufgebracht. Das Smorgasboard wurde populär on der englischsprachigen Welt throughout der zweiten Hälfte certains neunzehnten Jahrhunderts. Wenn der Besitz von Old watches und Silber ist ein Maßstab für perish Solvabilität eines Programs, depart this life Anzeige von ations, healthy von Platten und Gefäße, ist ein politischer Akt, als eine Geste des demonstrativen Konsums. Das aus dems 04. Jahrhundert Französisch Begriff Food galt sowohl für das Present selbst und zu family room Möbeln, any dems sie angebracht wurde, oft mit reichen Textilien drapiert, aber häufiger als das Jahrhundert voran einen kunstvoll geschnitzten Schrank durch Reihen von Regalen überwunden. Around London wurde wie ein Food ein Gericht Schrank bezeichnet. Prodigal Displays der Platte wurden wahrscheinlich zuerst a great der modischen Gericht von Burgund wiederbelebt sowie with Frankreich angenommen. Inside Gemälde von Alexandre-Fran \u0026 egrave wurden depart this life Barock Exhibits von Silber und Jewelry, das von Ludwig XIV von Frankreich betroffen waren unsterblich; ois Desportes sowie anderen, bevor Louis 'Platte und seine Silbermöbel mussten throughout expire Münze geschickt werden, other für perish Kriege bezahlen have always been Ende seiner Regierungszeit.

Während plusieurs 15. Jahrhunderts wurden bevorzugt subtiler Demonstrationen der Zahlungsfähigkeit. Ein Früh wurde when it comes to England sowie Frankreich am Ende plusieurs Jahrhunderts, als pass away neuen Ideale der Privatsphäre baseball cap ein gewisses Maß the Selbstbedienung zum Frühstück Zeit ansprechende sogar unter denen, die ein Diener hinter jedem Stuhl gehabt haben könnte wiederbelebt. Internet marketing Kabinett Wörterbuch 1803 gab Thomas Sheraton er or him neoklassischen Style and design und festgestellt, dass 'ein Self serve buffet können, durch einigen Anstand, family den modernen Gebrauch wiederhergestellt werden, sowie zu beweisen, Zier zu einem modernen Frühstücksraum, Gegensprech als Geschirrschrank | Collection eines Tee- Equipage A.
Relate Articles:
http://samsungphone.thendvr.com

I can't do this anymore
Waking up every single day
Doing the same routine over and over
Pretending that I am okay

Putting a big smile on my face
To cover up the pain I feel
Should I keep my life stuck in this phase
Or let all the thoughts in my head to spill

Aching for everyone to see
The wound inside starting to bleed
Struggling to be society's best rendition of me
Why can't anybody hear my scream?

Living became a constant nightmare
Fighting an endless battle that I can't quit
Lost in the midst of darkness and despair
Please find me, let me live

Der Abschied (“The Parting”)
by Bertolt Brecht
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

We embrace;
my fingers trace
rich cloth
while yours encounter only moth-
eaten fabric.
A quick hug:
you were invited to the gay soiree
while the minions of the "law" relentlessly pursue me.
We talk about the weather
and our eternal friendship's magic.
Anything else would be too bitter,
too tragic.

German text:

Der Abschied

Wir umarmen uns.
Ich fasse reichen Stoff
Du fassest armen.
Die Umarmung ist schnell
Du gehst zu einem Mahl
Hinter mir sind die Schergen.
Wir sprechen vom Wetter und von unserer
Dauernden Freundschaft. Alles andere
Wäre zu bitter.

Published by Poetry on Demand, The HyperTexts and Ghani Project

Keywords/Tags: Bertolt Brecht, German, translation, parting, farewell, ****, law, minions, henchmen, thugs, pursuit, chase, embrace, hug, rich, cloth, threadbare, soiree, dinner, meal, event, eternal, friendship, bitter, weather, exile

Bertolt Brecht Epigrams and Quotations

These are my modern English translations of epigrams and quotations by Bertolt Brecht.

Everyone chases the way happiness feels,
unaware how it nips at their heels.
— loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

The world of learning takes a crazy turn
when teachers are taught to discern!
— loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Unhappy, the land that lacks heroes.
— loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Hungry man, reach for the book:
it's a hook,
a harpoon.
— loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Because things are the way they are,
things can never stay as they were.
— loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

War is like love; true ...
it finds a way through.
— loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

What happens to the hole
when the cheese is no longer whole?
— loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

It is easier to rob by setting up a bank
than by threatening the poor clerk.
— loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Do not fear death so much, or strife,
but rather fear the inadequate life.
— loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Keywords/Tags: Bertolt Brecht, translation, translations, German,  modern English, epigram, epigrams, quote, quotes, quotations

.
        2 + 2 is a tautology of 2 x 2, isn't it?

of note, both Joyce and Beckett sampled
something of a learning,
in terms of understanding
the alphabet of surds:
    of musical notes, in writing...

you fit me a ******* symphony
of music encoding into your brain...
and i tell you:
you're playing hum
of the vibrating universe while
you're at it... savvy?

year 2019 contra the year 2018...
and some think that mixing
whiskey with anything,
which included ice cubes
and pepsi is a profanity...

i once ****** into a a glass
of wine and made the salute:
and here's my blood,
i bit my nails and said:
and here's my body...
might as well add to the mix...
but... kalimotxo:
god and the high heavens
forbid this to be a profanity!

what comes first,
coco in France,
or kalimotxo in revising
my numbed *** sitting on
the yet to congested
discovery of boredom?
probably the latter:
in that...
  oh i'm far from bored...
i've experienced something
that dictates to me:
death is but a precursor...
i'm not afraid of death
therefore i can't seem
to succumb to boredom,
it's this persistent
agitative nagging of:

well...
if you can't conjure up
a ******* hammer...
might as well be the nail,
or a gaping lack
of either hammer, or nail!
****...
productive "thinking":

if ever an antithesis
of "nothing"...
well... i can only think of one...
the only antithesis of
"nothing" is: thinking,
or...
the over way around...
the only thesis
of nothing is: "thinking"...

metaphors salute!
custard pie in the making:
fudge for logic...

why did i abscond
remixing the "blood of Christ"
for the **** of
alcoholic norse gods
raining on
Scotch hinter canvases
of fields surrounded
by mountains
               and lochects?

mind you...
******* into a glass of wine...
is not very much
akin to pouring
pepsi into it...
but in terms of:
adding to the experience
of the living poetics?
hum...

exactly!
the only antithesis
of nihil (nothing) is cogitare
(thought)... or?
   ratio (reason)...

nothing is not a geometric
entity...
forget looking for it
in Buddha's third eye /
the Hindu bindi...

nothing is neither
"existent" or "non-existent"
it is no thing
in the same way that
it is no void /
or absence...

           it perpetuates
the cycle of living off
thought...
  or thinking:
if thought can be a continuum
known as thinking,
rather than a random
array of "plagiarizms" /
eurekas of an idea...

nihil est cogitare...
how much of thought
is lost and never materialized...
it has to "go" somewhere,
doesn't it...
isn't that what is the antithesis
of that German's
da-sein?
   i.e.
                wo-nicht-sein?

wonichtsein...
  
  where is non-being?
isn't that the same as....
there is being...

where's where   (?)
   (tautology inquisitive)
and
   there's there   (!)
   (tautology self-congrats.,
like some Taoist monk!)

well **** me...
where's there?
  and...
         there's where?

THE-ER IS "WH'-ERE"...
ah...
   i see...

but no one can still point to novels
from the 20th century,
i.e. notably Beckett and Joyce
and how...

they were able to write music...
i can't read music...
all i have is
the concept of the ring,
a circle, and nazgûl:
or rather the language they speak...

close to the circle... shh...

prove:

   that ℕ was not borrowed
from                                                ᚻ...­

right... instead of musical
notes...
to write a piece of logic...

******* in a glass of wine
to double up on the poetics
seems much "easier"

well...

    cogito (A) ⊢ sum (B)?

or: encoding math is a music
you listen to:
on funerals...

→
   well yeah ¬(¬A) "=" A...
the negation of a negation of A
is... A...

what would have happened
if Nietzsche wrote:
beyond truth and falsehood...
unless

      ¬(¬A) "=" A isn't good
then i guess
    
    so much for the "beyond"
or good and evil...
now we have rampant
indifference to any
   ¬(¬A) "=" A

   and a "dignified highground"
of observable
"nuances"...

   infernal tautology:
good isn't good is good,
i.e. good (A)
    
              A(¬A(A)) -

good isn't good is good...
  
i'm not even going to start to understand
this infernal shortscript
language competently...

so much for propositional
logic...

isn't metaphysics:
prepositional logic?

         or is that: post-positional
              logic?
after a while there are just too many
nouns laced with synonyms,
a yard becomes just as much
as a mile,
and neither are at all differentiated,
then nuance comes in
and even more is lost...

you want mathematicians
to go crazy?
give them a ******* thesaurus.

to "buy" the trill of an R...
roll a stone...
to hide a sparrow song...
to verge upon a molten crack
of stead... and a heave of stone...
to purr unlike the comforts
of a cat, wheeling a chair...
this: "summons"...
purr this sparrow this
gladly come advent spring:
swallow by uno servitude
a quench an april...

       purr the riddle of
a suppose we...
via geisha... ****... around
and juggle...
it was never a "b.l.m."
Senegal 4ever... *******
afro wand... sort of...
i'll sooner **** a mongolian
squint
than some afro-*******-webel
queen esque
plateau suffice...

          harvest...
me dying...
       i have no *******
replacements to bother
history with!

- - - - - a moses...
a don juan...
                 a ben

to fall in love with a woman
is to somehow:
but not "somehow"
completely disappear...

it's to change your ego
for a foetus -
or: a "mouth" for an "****"...
then the trajectory
of dilution come
the "greater" numbers:
or the purpose of digit
and numbing...

that's a "now" and by "now"
there's only a posit for
cipher...
to love a woman
and not to love love...
how i once was too...
lodged in some a priori
juicing up...
some Cinderella...
              
               never again:
write and drink...
after all...
what is 500ml of jack daniels?
apparently it's, circa:
1000+kcal...
that's like what?
a milkshake of
half a cow or a dozen
lamb shanks?

so sober me, marathon / +a half of
it and the whole
worth of a day...
and that's sober moi...

"my" ego and all this bundle
of foetal-esque metaphorical
coagulation...
verbiage is gloat is goo is glue...
isn't...
a parody of a sunday's
schematic of hours...

         i'll just hope for enough
of off of anything
to find purpose and
some linear trajectory / alias
vector...

but never to hope as i once
hoped: drinking will spurn me on
and i'll wriggle in and out
some spaghetti masterpiece...
sober's only
and at best sober safely does
the sorrow's least...

then i'll walk and take grudges
against the rubric of toes
and a pair of knees that
somehow refuse to kneel...

that there ought to be thought:
to base a genesis with / for...
the 1980s of what's supposing a this
and a supposing a that...

             that there's as much
of a frankentein's monster
that might (without a who)
rebelling not against a birth: de facto
v. per se,

but a death:
since there's a rebellion against
birth
and not death...

so insufferable this life
without enough time to spare
yourself over
the full growth of a sequoia
or a century's width of oak...

i'll throw a stone or suppose
that i cling to cringing at
climbing a mountain:
or... the moon the scythe...
what isn't...
               the brick & scythe
is not... hammer, orb...
live-along live the least & most...

bravado and some variant
of Croat... Silesian is like new
Swiss jargon & cheese...
my brick for a hammer,
my scythe for a sickle...
my vierte ***** swab:
               dull void V of a i.r. "us"

those anglo-swabians...
who, what or rather,
when are dough?

there is meaning behind:
variation(s)
though and though(t)...
              a cat making a summary
of its **** with a slick
lick pop and tying it altogether
sort of a custard & ****...

i have a leash on, studded,
just for pretend purposes...
there's the latex, the cherry...
the fuse... and the gimp clad
sacred and divine da vinci
chicken scribble of

there's the suppose me orc,
suppose there's africa,
and there's suppose sahara isn't...
but there's the mongol
and the siberian tundra...
1000+kcal of bourbon that's
like, what?

count the highest stake in...
knee-caps?
my ego my foetus my **** whole
w'ah w'ah peddling fascistic
fictions...

Sven der SŁASTIKTIK:
   vs. herr Šven:
                 itches of "anti" cool...

how: isch and ich...
         and how there was always
an implosion of sounds...
how juggernaut:
these letters had nothing:
first concerning vowels,
second concerning consonants...
then somehow the *****
of syllables...

  herr hirsch... mr mr...
l'inglese... non franca...
best version of jar and salem /
Sue of                                 "
the jiggling squat lot of
the humming of
the anglo-
prefix spectrum of...
the "ditto-of-things"...

secular anglo,
ßĀß...
              save me, i'm drowning:
throw me a blister!
throw me razor!
lead me to catch onto the edge!
the concern for...
the mythological blonde...
i.e. yes, woman...
a female yellow hair
thrice removed ****...
come together, house party...

yes... my most "evil" deed...
putting my index
into a mouth of a cat, yawning...
to pretend: the least...
of catching some variation
of rye... no... "unawares"...

the anglo-saxon blonde...
a myth in the hands of tired
history...
my mouth is my *******
is also the gate of jerusalem
is... if the african are such
pristine jew-esque hoarding
news...
then... i'm  in *******
limbo... i.e PDND...

lost the plot / scenario of that
acronym: shelved in
the chasm of what became:
telescope... 20th century...
the 1960s gwand... cultural...
"event"... thingy...
that word that's...
international off jew...
the yew the state...

no more anti-semitism...
we're not killing jews now...
there's the... iraqi... the iranian...
the syrian and the israeli...
who the **** requires...
prefix contention for...
jew?
                    killing pale miscreants...
no?
      barber highest tash...
who is going to call this
heave of rock holiest...
this parting of the Baltic
this source of the Dnieper
some alternative Kiev...

who?!
my god of stone-dodging
impotent mountain heaves...
these supposedly lifeless
letters... these only hebrew solves
the quest sort of primo
antics?!
western, anglo-saxon...
liberal "sensibilities":

if only they came as
anglo-swabians...
there was no mythological
sexed-up blonde to rot with...
beside the geisha bride...
the mongolian horde leftover...
because...
do i have to?
**** a picasso's head and triumph sort
of gaze as an insomniac version
of a hard-on...
do i need to be ****-friendly
with the smear of
cinnamon towing copper tinged
with: the discovery
of coco makes no sense
without the discovery of sugar...

coco is coffee...
pointless... gold is...
Caribbean sugar... no less...
the supposed english
as the best tourists...
****'s sake all this
toe nibbling **** licking
parody of:
the racist and skimming a depth...
arriving at a parody
of essentials...
the athletic jews
counter the intellectual
africans of the coliseum stage...
the mythological blonde...
or some germanic alias, root...

      - something "non-essential":
that non-posit of the realm
of a variation anglo-sax:
contra bass                          (E):
mythological brown-gesture
& beater and clown -

wasaby swabian...
    brown-nosing
  fudge for glitter goo...
              i'll be dead & more deader
than a harrowing Sue...
because...
  loiter at best of a quest...

throw a cut-off branch...
at a forest...
there's this...
    "mythology of ethos"...
there's this dream without
a diatribe of piquancy...
                there's this polka-dot
alignment pastiche,
brown-nosing
the otherwise "riddle"....
there's this grey this fudge...
this skull filled with
amber and filled with herring...
there's a mythological Baltic..
there isn't a Volga...
which is... a river...

i quench to fathom: the summons...
best this mythological blonde...
this posit of excavation:
i will not be either "here" or "there"...
there's the genesis
africa but not the siberian
tundra...
           because the sound
do "verb" do hinterland... do...
*******: walloping...
                  
                come fudgefudgefudge...
custardpiecustardpie...
ottoman ****** cuts... ich vs. isch
fervour of ******* "last".

hiding behind images:
rather than standing before shadows...

perhaps it sounds better
in german, in german:
it (being german) is more...
informative...

or at least... that's how i see words
as...

example... DOG...
will i hide behind an image...
or will i... stand before the shadow?

as bad insurgent "translations" go...
this is where you find the "lost"
artefacts...
why would a ****** snuggle
up with some deutsche-spreschen
bollocking: to begin with?

we have settled our difference...
we have to have them...
wir haben zu haben: ihnen!

Plato... and iconoclasm...
christmas is over and i can,
finally! celebrate!
we do like in a democratic pseudo
state of affairs...
no man shall reign for more than
100 years...
even if he is god-bound....
but this little *******...
******* pivot,
it all begins with him and ends:
with him...

before all the greek demigods...
i will seek: being naive...
i will seek... keeping my mouth shut...
i will make minor details:
enlarged protest projects!
perhaps the german will
clarify...

verstecken (the past tense...
i never found it...
the paste of hiding...
to be couple with a present participle
of still... hiding)

verstecken hinter bilder...
lieber als stehen vor schatten!

die architektur aus wörter
(von Goethe... "von wörter"...
'goeRte')

nichts nein!

what is a melancholic arson?
the inflamed heart: its last willing rubric
genesis...
the mind is either automated cold
or stitching up cobweb matrixes of borrowed
time... but the heart...
oh a heart can become something more
than the bundle of clockword muscle...

i have tried to keep this mind
candle-lit and "curious"...
to keep it: intellectually focused...
to be prone of being starved: retaining
being a curious case of:
but i've found extinguishing points
of reference...
the only stupidity i found was...
it was going to be: oh so... predictable...

the modern tongue...
libra! meet the hydra...
i can either hide behind images...
and fuse them with words...
or i can... stand before these shadows...
these skeletons...
and properly disguise an "alternative
arithmetic"...

there's no point arguing over what is,
and what isn't "central europe"...
the masses have spoken...
we know what's fly-over territory when
it comes to h'america...
there's the east coast and the west...

but i will keep borrowing german
to... to the best of my abilities...
pretend to leisure myself in the comment
section, of the serious, sober,
liberal elites!
the true mind grifters and...
perhaps the odd chance of
a dutch puritanical rabbi...
to... "manage" an equilibrium...
to... not... rattle the boat...

common theme: i drink, i want to speak german,
i'm dead: i want to speak german...
i want to tell jokes in german...
-esque buzz lightyear in toy story 3 with
his... hispanic psychosis interlude...

i've experienced psychosis...
most... unsatisfying... i never managed
a complete disintegration of the self...
shame... i almost wish i did something...
that would have kept me in
Broadmoor for the past... 12 years...

i'm still "here"... but it's already apparent...
to have invested in german existentialism...
to have invested in... german idealism...
somewhat... and "then" / only now...
do you realise... you're not going to be part
of some ******* bookclub!

oх dye scheiße!
чoпперс chomp!
их... alternatively in eat... east germany...
isch... so?
ишь... alt. being? ихь...
variations go... where the caron... doesn't...

i will not solve you a crossword
puzzle in english...
i still have not opened a bottle
of jack daniels this very night...
and i'm already making a summary
as to: why i will not open
a bottle of jack daniels tonight...

i will... but i'll sniff the bottle-neck
as if it were a line of *******...
and the sober, sensible people,
can have their fill...
they can have their: formal...
promenade poetic excursions into the night...
and they can rhyme rhyme rhyme!
they can walk their ritual crescendo
of left right, left right...
which will never make them odd...
should Beijing stage an army parade
"impromptu"!

have them! have them all!
too bad for me... to bad for you:
to be of those people...
who read books...
that... makes it hard...
to find someone... who also read them...
and when you have...
done both...
you find out... oh, right...
those books were never supposed
to be talked about...
they were supposed to become
cognitive tattoos...
you were always supposed to...
"think" about them...
in "think" as in: not talk about them...

you would never be able to
mainstream them...
regurgitate them... fall flat on your ***...
donkey comparison...

Balaam's donkey...
Jesus' donkey...
i'll repeat this...
Balaam's donkey... Jesus' donkey...
and those four horsemen...
minus one donkey-jockey...
Balaam's donkey... Jesus' donkey...
if only someone told either of them...
about...

one of the donkeys knew...
as my cat knew when... clear as day...
i remember him utter the word:

яабэł...

he had two names: oscar darshan...
i'm way past being crazy...
being crazy these days is:
being known for making yourself
be accustomed to rules and laws...
outside of the rules and laws
that make stealing a criminal act...

otherwise: christmas is over...
now i get to celebrate the every day...
i'm done with this:
worshipping a baby...
on a day... when... Herod did a
Pharaoinic imitation...
major, or minor improvements?
beside the point...
only he exists... the rest of us...
perhaps some... porridge... will suffice?

oh thank god the c.c.t.v. cameras weren't there...
and the sceptical community...
i wouldn't mind some cynics...
but so the story goes...

because why would i want to...
"persuade" anyone toward, anything?
less of me, less of me on instagram...
ensuring i post the perfect
hot-dog sublime piece of legs
before the altar of a swimming pool...
or whatever chlorine cocktail...
with a "missing link" sombrero for
a stump of wood...
excavated from a sacred forest of Lithuania...
or some other variant bollocking...

christmas is over...
i can forget about being secular and sensible
over these past three days...
so i can return to my cognitive religioisity
in the outcast domain of mingling
gnosticism with qabbalah...
and... i can due those said prayers
in silence with my thought...
the ought-i-ought-i-not:
in that sigma-***-theta morph prefix
exemplification... of translation...

dry-humorless: pedantic...
that's me...
because i can finally! finally! breathe!
i can enjoy winter without these
******* fancy-lights!
i can enjoy x-ray vision of skeleton trees...
balding fully...
i can enjoy winter... after all...
winter can only be settled into an armchair
of comfort... when christmas resigns from
being a calendar event...

i can enjoy winter now...
ich dürfen zu genießen winter, jetzt!
ich, auch, dürfen zu genießen:
bekommen betrunken,
bekommen betrunken genug:
zu necken deutsche-tippfehler-quack-sprechen...
etc.

christmas is only christmas come
the 27th of december...
now i can celebrate...
now i can ******* peacock strut me way
(my my my)... into
the never available "oblivion"...
as you do... you really need procreation...
you need children to appreciate christmas...
otherwise you're ******* stuck...
with a delay button...
waiting for Easter...
the big boy celebration of christianity...

christmas and... the siege of Gaza...
what's the common thread?
human shields... children being:
human shields... excuses excuses ad nauseam...
it's because of the children that we justify
christmas...
i have none so... i don't justify it...
i'll usher in some herr bernstein
in the form of monsieur gauner...
or some... all brothels have a stench of
bourbon about them...
alle bordelle gestank von bourbon!
alle!

and what "good" isn't coincidental
with the advent of spring?
ah... the resurrection "part"...
flight to egypt... josephus ben mathias...
1945... the nag hammadi library...
and... plenty of greco-hebrew politico
propaganda hybrids along the way...

i can hide behind an image
that a word designates...
but... i can also... stand before...
the shadow that the word impregnates...
it just so happens to... rhyme;
bluntly.

die flüsse aus schatten
spenden den vergessenen
wasser

isoliert von allen
lebenden um zu
tanzen

ihre silhouetten hinter
vorhängen, aufflackerndem, eine
chance

für die lebenden:
schärfen und fokussieren des
blickes

gib mir alles zurück
meine fürsorge die umarmungen
denk

nicht du würdest mich verlassen
ein dickes seil würd' ich nehmen
doch

alles zählt jetzt: keine abneigung
zuneigung die flüsse aus schatten erreichen
uns

wir können ihn nicht entkommen sie
sie sind so nahe
zahlreiche

bebilderungen unendlicher schlupflöcher
kinder erwachsene treiben in flüssen aus
schatten

der letzte vorhang
das letzte kerzenflackern
die letzte silhouette

"wir entkommen ihnen nicht" rufst du
"keine bange" brülle ich durchs rauschen
flüsse

wir werden zu einer kreuzung aus
wolf & löwin eine einheit eine
flüssigkeit

letzte echos stimmen und schatten
die flüsse verbleiben
die flüsse verbleiben

qiss kiss ts'kammen
ordeal of the dyslexics.

****** innuendos aplenty:

i cycled with a rucksack full of empty cider bottles
and one tiny 35cl where whiskey would
otherwise be found... i have a fetish for recycling,
a fetish for recycling, not owning a car but rather
two bicycles, long walks in the forest alone,
scratching my head and pretending to braid parts
of my beard: rather, pinching it and twisting the pinched
part so it might appear that i have saber-teeth either side
of my chin...
                   little pleasures...
i would otherwise be known as a: KLOSZER...
KLOSZ... lampshade... kloszer is a derogatory term
for someone in Eastern Europe who collects empty bottles
from skips to later bring back to a shop
to get his WACŁO (VATSWO) - i guess i imagined this word:
in the olden days of the early 1990s...
us boys used to play during the summer running mayhem,
on our breaks we'd go to the shop and buy
TURBO gum, chew chew chew...
and have a little prized paper of a car,
and we used to buy lemonade, later pepsi...
if we bought a lemonade (always in a glass bottle)
and drank it on the spot, returned the bottle to the shop...
we weren't charged extra for the drink...
but if we decided to buy a glass-bottled drink and not
return the bottle on the spot? we'd get charged extra:
glass was precious under communism...
KLOSZER? the person who would scout the urban
environment and pick up leftover glass bottles
for a drink of *****... but i'm recycling and i feel mightily
proud of... "proud"... of this Achilles heel...
baron of crashing chandeliers...
                     but it wasn't raining when i performed this task...
when i cycled to the VAPE shop on North St.
inquiring... i was giving this ASPIRE Typhon 100 as
a present... but the more my lips and breath snuggle on
this **** no smoke comes out... and the smoke is harsh...
coils?! coils?! over-used coils?
i walked in to the shop with the sort of would-be
girlfriend with piercings and tattoos
   and all that jingle at the counter... some random guy
sticking around for too long, i broke his train of thought...
i was trying to break past the smoke pretending
there was a dead carcass in the room and instead of smoke
there were flies... **** me... i'm looking for a new coil...
new coil she says... she starts rummaging...
it started raining by then...
           she picked up a £15 packet of five filters... coils...
PnP-VM6... like this sort of detail actually matters...
i ask her... so how do you change them?
she replies: you just pull it out...
so i pull it out... oops...
                     *** scene worded...
my flask is full of blueberry oily liquid... it spills...
all while there's this: now turning into a creepy guy
in the background obviously not buying just
trying to work his game with this woman behind
the counter... the liquid spills...
playful innuendo conversation: oh... i'm not intimidated...
i have underperformed in my life...
not exactly premature *******... it's just when
she's the madam of the "parlour" and i have no energy
and i need to chop my **** off and replace it with a *****
the fluid spills my hands are greasy
she tells me that she'll get the tissue...
oops... once more... obviously it was a super-charged
***-metaphor...
i can't remember the last time i was called HONEY
and the whole affair was brushed off so easily with
***: in my mind, guiltily displaced...
   i bought the filters and pushed when the sign on
the door indicated PULL...
as confused as anyone might be...
when, where? apart from a VAPE shop will you get to pull
out an intricate part of a tool...
spill juices and have a woman retort with: let me get you
some tissues... i mean... that's super-charged Freudian
forbid might have any choking-jokes aside beyond
the already made via innuendo...

i'm richer than the rich having none of their worries
or the follies,
i do own what the rich own: and for that i am
rich in not having to worry about owning
things that might cause me to worry -
                   if it might be only for a minute or two:
this moulded heap of cow dung
    and mud - and milk and water -
   leave behind all the chains of gravity and marry
air: marry air and rise higher to the highest
point - touch the membrane where air disappears
and what is left is the vacuum where stars dictate
what is and what isn't...

or to better translate...

    reading one poem: Zbigniew Herbert's
   Former Masters while listening to Faun's
Sonnenreigen

and as if by magic my knowledge of English
disappears in my mind to a silence...
eaten up twice, ejected thrice!

\ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \

dawni mistrzowie
obywali się bez imion

        (in der goldnen morgenstund
     ziehen wir aus des tales grund)

   ich sygnaturą były
białe palce Madonny  (und wir tanzen
                                               froh hinein
      in den frühen sonnenschein)

albo różowe wieże
   di città sul mare    (hoch hinauf auf bergeshöhen -
                      
  a także sceny z życia
   della Beata Umiltà      / -  um ins auge lughs zu
                                               sehen)

   roztapiali się   (lasst uns feiern
   w sogno              (             diese zeit
miracolo                  ( die der sommer
     crocifissione              ( hält bereit...)

    znajdowali schronienie
pod powieką aniołów        
                                                (du lässt deine raben ziehen
                                               in die felder golden stehen
                                                und das helle lichte rad
                                                dreht sich über lughnasad)

   za pagórkami obłoków
w gęstej trawie raju
                                                (muzik gemisch nach chor)
   toneli bez reszty                                      "
w złotych nieboskłonach                          "
  bez krzyku pzerażenia                            "
bez wołania o pamieć                                "
                         ­                                             "
   powierzchnie ich obrazów                    "
są gładkie jak lustro                 (es war nun ein
                                                             ganzes jahr)

nie są to lustra dla nas      (seit ich dich beim tanze sah
   są to lustra wybranych      (allzu oft in langer nacht)
                                                 habe ich an dich gedacht)
....

     sprawcie niech spadnie ze mnie
wężowa łuska pychy           (könig sommer führt den tanz
                                               dem ich folg im blütenkranz
                                               und so dreht sich unser kreis
                                               in der alltbekannten weis')

  niechaj zostane głuchy
   na pokuszenie sławy    (du lässt deine baben ziehn
                                           in die felder golden stehen
                                              und das helle lichte rad
                                              dreht sich über lughnasad)

/ / / / / / / / / / / / / / / /

ehemalige meister
sie lebten mich selber
    ohne namen

       (w porannej godzinie, złotej)
    pull us from the grand valleys...
oh ****... incursion of the English:
the red-coats are coming!

       ciągnąć nas z wielkich dolin...

   ihr unterschrift war
weiß finger Madonna  (i my tańczyli
                                               radośni zu-hausen, W
                                 wwww to:
schdat:  frühen-para-freeze: fruit:
early... sonnenschein - sun-lighting
oblivion... sun-glee: shine...)

oder rosa türme
   di citta sul mare    (wysokie
                 ÚP z  
wyżyny górskie -
                      
  und auch sZenen mit leben
   della Beata Umilta      / -  um ins auge lughs zu
                                               sehen)

geschmolzen sich   (liście nas świętować  
in sogno              (             ten czas
miracolo                  ( there the summer, to i too
                                           that: there, the: to i too:
                                        ta jedyna stokroć:
                                         zerk chłodem oka: powieka...
                                   okno na świat... rano:
                                              i modłem: terz:
                                          anatomia bosa noga...
                                    dzicz: bosa noga boga...
rap rap... all that rap might bring to suffice:
the polyglot presence of an African incursion
into Europe... mumble mumbo jam: tát tát... jum-b'oh!

a thought experiment one awry: trying to exclude
English from my psyche for a little while
proved insufferable, even if listening to a song
on Deutsche and reading a Polieren script...
sneaky ******* has a way to return...
i wanted to keep a perfect translation
of: reading a script in Polieren while listening
to a song in Deutsche...
subsequently translating the read Polieren
into Deutsche and reimagining hearing Deutsche
al Polieren... not in the right interest of
the English philosophy ("esoteric aesthetic")
of queuing... ****** just butter in: elbows held high!

SMUTNA SUKNIA: OGIER: PEJCZ!
   co stonoga-noga-o-gołą: nogę...
widmo... język... mów a mowa...
                                     bzdeta: mów!
ogier: stonoga... wilko-kroć...
  step... mowa: noga... ogień: zór...
jęk: kleṅska: ogień: ozór...
                            język: ksieżyc...
ogień: rosputsta: i nadal mi brak słów!

     crocifissione              (trzyma gotowość...)

    sie fanden zuflucht
unter augenlid auf engel        
                                                (wypuszczasz swoje kruki
                                               by stanąć na złotych polach
                                                i koło jasnego światła
                                                zakręty samo-w-się nad
                                                lughnasad!) ­                                     

   hinter hügel wolken
in der dicke gras auf paradies
                                                (muzyka­: tylko muzyka,
                                                     bez, słów)
   sie ertranken ohne der rest                    "
im golden himmelneigung                       "
  ohne schrei auf grusel                             "
ohne anruf um erinnerung                       "
                                                               ­       "
   oberflächen ihr gemälde                        "
sind glatt wie spiegel                 (to był jeden dobry
                                                           ­  cały rok)

nien sind dies spiegel für uns
   sind sie diesser spiegel die ausgewählt

                                               (odkąd ja i ty na tańcu okiem wgląd
                                               także często w dłuższej nocy)
                                               miałem ja, myśl twoją)
....

     mach es möglich lassen werde fallen
    von mich
serpentin schale auf stolz  
                           (król lato prowadzi taniec
                           za którym podążam w wieńcu kwiatów
                           i tak obraca się nasz krąg
                           w znany sposób)

  lassen ich werde bleiben taub
   an verlockung von / auf
                       RUHM        (pozwalasz odejść swoim dzieciom
                                              stanąć na złotych polach
                                              i koło jasnego światła
                                              odwraca Lughnasad -
                                      
płuco - singular... plural?
   płuca... lungs....
    garden of breathing!
soul always escapes the noun...                       

\ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \

just to double check, translating from ******
to German and German to English,
that how i would have otherwise arrived
on these shores if my only mode of transport
was the tongue:
if i had no legs and perhaps no eyes...
if i were an idea of English that could express
it as I, Ja, Ich...
        and, yes, theirs'...
       iota > whatever might come after...

ah! this is one of those thought experiments!
it has to be! i'm excited!
i'm truly awakened!
this muddle of memory, dream, imagination,
reality a sprinkle of words and hey presto!
starved from images having moved
from the Age of the Image
to the Age of the Music...
it's so simple...
once upon a time you could only hear
music if someone played it good
or you played it badly...

yet when someone wrote a word...
or when someone painted a painting...
it could be written once
yet preserved by time
by this ingenious overcoming of God
(no, not man)
and if god "wrote" mountain man "wrote"
Pyramid,
if god "wrote" river man "wrote":
boat bridge watermill...
if god "wrote" forest man "wrote":
pluck out these trees stop looking
for berries and mushrooms...
look for grass, edible grass! find me arable
land that's not a desert!
of once mountain ranges that passed
from time into non-history
    into keepers of time by the whims
of the fluted wind...
                  
by wind my breath...
by my breath the decay of creative rust...
     i can only create dead things...
with me the power of death-creativity...
i invented the stirrup with me gone
the horse might finally not graze so easily
after the work of civilization has been done...

only then might the four horsemen
come with me dead and the stirrup
   i can only create dead things...
i am the death-creativity...
with me there will not need for the fork
or the knife the spear and the rope
upon waking a new world
i will only know words like mountain
apple tree i will know the word cloud
i will know to say the sea and that sea
i will call the caspian sea: sea...
and the atlantic sea: sea...
    and i will call the Danube the Oder
and the Oder the Vistula
but i will not know what is Danube or Oder
i will be unable to say or dream or conjure
a fork without: the fork
i will be in Paradise...
i will not know the concept of ******
because there will be no word for ******
there will be no Madonna or pregnant woman
there will be no foetus there will be so many words
missing! so many words will be missing...
all the basic words of coordination
will be there: and the Highest Abstracts
will be there: will, hope, dream,
    there will be there: be, am and i,
             there will be: because, are you,
there will be giggle and there would be crying,
there would be sad and there would be happy...
there would be: because and after and by
and there would be...
there would be no knowledge nor anything
concerning grammar...
this revision of "vocabulary" would imply
there being no real vocabulary,
a dream-world vocabulary of:
if said thing goes not exist... there's no word for it...
there would be no word: hammer
because there would be no need for hammers
indeed: nails...
motion of hammering...
there might be a rock and a trick of a hardened shell...
there would be no word for distance:
mile... by looking upon the sun...
there would be the Eye of the Blue
and the Eye of the Navy-Glee... there would
be no Night no Nothing
    no Night in this Hanging Pyramid of Babel...

there would be no Moon or Sun
only the Eye of the Blue
and the Eye of the Navy-Glee...
Glee? SH.... what's SH in shIMMER?
what's IMMER?
(oops... a Socratic stumbling block)
   immer... ALWAYS...
      what's SH+H? shh? be quiet always?!
SH... sound, vibration is sound...
            shh! yes: i'm telling you: it's going to be
like that, always...
   promised you 72 virgins?
wouldn't you just want your mind un-muddled?!
what's un- and muddled?
un- is not... not of when coupled to a noun
that works like a verb... doing the muddling...
medley muddling mummifications: toilet... paper...

toilet? no... no knowledge of toilet in "heaven"...
no paper too...
     word... what's word?
God... what is God... no God...
word is the a priori already invested crown
of curtailing words to begin with...
not imitation sound: __S

ah... sobering up... i love this bouncing along of English
dynamic like everyone is invoked to be involved...

                                          Z__­___

that's how the West met the East in writing

Z_________S

my "god" will be the word ONOMATOPOEIA...
and his son will be MIMIC
and his wife will be NĀMÉ
                        alternative written by angels
as NAMEH... because by then only angels will have
knowledge of the clue, not God,
of YHWH... YHWH will become as comical
as the 21st graffiti spray-painted by some boy
in the outskirts of London...
this scribble should have been preserved by the angels,
but like Prometheus, the arch angel Samael
brought down this scribble...

they brought the mummies and their hieroglyphs
that turned out to be Emoticons...
the Egyptians had two brothers...
the brother Aztec who copied the eldest
brother, Egyptian in constructing the Pyramids
and brother of the Great O of the Orient
who squinted his eyes with avarice and lineage
and said: i'll write like you, i'll see through you...
you give me mummified bodies
i'll give you skeletons...
the Aztec was the youngest,
the Egyptian the Eldest...
  the Khan was in the middle...
and Khan was right... he employed a pre-digitalisation
of scripts... imagine throwing
the letter G into Egyptian hieroglyphs...
some ****** did that to Khan's great counter
of hieroglyphs full bodied...
to hieroglyphs pure skeleton...
prior to Latin: not even Greek was a skeleton-key?
what? letters marrying numbers?!
unheard of?

1111111... one... lllllll (little l)... IIIIIIII (big iota)

imagine dropping a latin letter into Egyptian
"script"...
look what happened when someone dropped
something foreign into
Chinese hieroglyphs and so was born
Katakana... Chinese hieroglyphs came first...
then came Katakana...
then came the elevated:
if the story is true... and the Austrians
think themselves better than the Germans...
someone gave birth to the scribbles...
Korean came last...

       that feeling you get when you're trying to look
for an actor's name:
he playss the role of Grand-Duke?
Emperor? of the Habsburg Dynasty...
the elder brother of Marie Antoinette...
beautiful actor...
                          lips like purses...
who threw that ******* bone against the Chinese
hieroglyphs that spawned Japanese minimalism
that translated: ha! translated Chinese through
Japanese to Korean... split the ******* in two...
towing two! towing two!
                          Zhin Chin ****... silly!
   i'm not joking...
           Žin vs. Żyn... Rzym! Rzym... Rome! Rome!
hmm...
           Źın...          Žiń...
  
ha ha... the Nazis smoked out the son of the devil
of the people who gave them abode for almost...
whenever Poland, converted (insert a snigger...
i have the noun-spelling for it...
but not the onomatopoeia, ha ha... laughter
and rugby)...

change of direction at work...
i'm feeling an aura of: DISTANCING...
people are feeding off the appetite of me: leaving...
and their lives being over...
of course they will not be over...
they'll be feet in not worn shoes
in shoes boxes on shelves in libraries
of fickleness of the female side of humanity...
only angels should have been given
the crack-head code of the 4 letter "signature" of
YHWH... i'll give Jesus credit...
well... Beelzebub...

HANGU:L! that ingenious king of Korea
that: seeing a stick being thrown
at a bunch of sticks assembled as a shelter
of the Chinese hieroglyphs witnessed as the Japanese
folded... worked on an argument
of introspection: kept it...
hmm... what are those weird ISLADERS
******* around it?
they have the BOLD katakana
and the ITALIC hiragana...
two ******* trenches...
just let some westerner know:
the Hiroshima (katakana)
and the Nagasaki (hiragana)...

   Chernobyl and Fukushima...
the pregnant women were advised to drink iodine...
boom! boom! boom!
ergo? no real, comparatively: "boom" as boom!
or  BOOM...

it's the second morning i'm woken up from briefly dreaming...
point about dreaming? the content doesn't matter...
i'm not a hyper-focused Freud...
dreams are dreams in
how fog is fog and a hurricane is  hurricane...
dreaming heavily:
you feel exhausted if you slept for 10 hours
or 5... dreamless...
you slept: you didn't dream...
but dreams creep up on you:
they play fakery with your body:
you weren't sleeping: you were dreaming...
unlike getting blind drunk
and... sleeping: not dreaming...
with the lesser baggage(d) people...
snails? no... elephants! no ivory tusks...
already no fur... no drunks...
edible cartilage of the ears...
flapping... hmm... i might have to invent
a rug... a place to take off one's shoes...
shoe?
shoe prior to sock? obviously...
shoe prior to sock...
sexed up legs... procreation by the chemical
demise of acting...
if not sold to actors:
a god-send...
i could **** each any every ugly *****
but... god almighty... the impossible feats...
with Xerxes on your back?
the second battalion ambush of Greece?!

currently as is "currently": and, ahem... "history":
a history of plug-hole psychology
of inescapable Darwinism: cuckoldry...
or Plato's ***** joke about the feminism
of Hindus and their tired, wasted concern for Hygiene...
they bathed with the dead...
so the dead came and ate up the living...

for the past days... of note... two...
upon waking i hear my name being called:
Mateusz!
not twice, thrice, just... once...
i rush down and ask my mother: have i overslept?!
did you call me?
the replies: no... i haven't called you...
why am i: Matthew?
                     i don't think i'm: Matthew Smith
or a Matthew Czopek or a Matthew Eschlert..
or a Matthew Matthews...
why was Jesus Christ not Jesus ben Josephus
ben Matthias?
                i wonder... not really: "wandering"...

it was but a little nugget of inspiration of marijuana
and i went off the tangent...
i would not replicate the original ******
poem into German
   and the German song into ******...
because... springboard og ingenuity
English woke up!
as if: spontaneously...
i can't appreciate poetry written by
mono-linguists or ****-up: kissy: tut-tut..
smooch kiss-up immigrant ****-wits
of: this is only a Lingua FRANCA...
"franca"... a tourist-tongue...
it's a ***** tongue...
people speak it, leave it, abandon it...
sometimes perhaps frame it...
it's a tongue of commerce and Babel
and... at the end of all the tongues coming
together to speak it...
a rather: unsatisfying tongue...
over-salted... over-pompously-self-solidifying
complicated-soliloquy... solipsism...
something this: that: self-
    +-evidently apparent that children ought to
be teaching this modus operandi... *******... ha ha!

letter will not be know since words will not be known,
we will, although know words, that will be sounds
not scribbled down, imagination will be
nullified and nothing will be born with sleep
and dreaming will be alien to us,
since we will not be myopic
*** will be friendship and: we will know not
the word for tool and the specifics of ingenuity
and genius...
there will be no word for man...
and there will be no word for woman
and there will be no diatribe of death and child...

my uncle is in hell and i can almost count
this auditory hallucination:
i will have no concept of auditory: because i heard...
within the non-existence of my bones
and body and blood and brain and heart
in the water and earth turning to air
with each breath...
i will not hear... how my uncle: calls for me...
and how did you live with your mother,
when she aged to a nearing rot...
i lived with them and not people i would exchange
for a properly working bicycle-lock...

for each ******* i would replace the glorious
half hours i had with them
the months i spent with my supposed "lovers"...
i'd take one half hour with a *****
to replace the courting with said woman: unsaid:
to procreate and teach "my" children:
children of the times... flawed lessons
of the march, ancient march of typology
and non-writing and Time as Dust...

am i to help you when i implored the non-existent
deity into my *****,
indirectly you might implore for me:
will i reply to the heaven sent:
what am i to do?!
do as i did: absolutely nothing and nothing too,
that's twice that's hardly not a scone
scuffed and chained to Baron Zung...

            speak two tongues and tease a third...
come the fourth... letters have to turn into images...
in this heaven of no sheltered virgins..
in my noun-basket i will not have words
like pen, or: boiler, roof, eyeliner,
i will not have:
          screen, cinema, actor,
           philosopher, poet, psychologist,
soul: i'll have my self-eating cannibalism of breath...
verbs will merge with nouns
and the only nouns worth existing thereby will
be: specified and "corrupt" by a localised
specialisation:

                 god will be ONOMATOPOEIA...
the son will be MIMIC
and there: within the confines of said time
MIMIC will battle Chimera...
MIMIC will look alike: Chimera
but Chimera alphabetically:

    CHIMERA = ACEHIMR

                   the dead are not so displeasing
when it comes to the living-as-if-dead...
and there are plenty of those
living such: body-and-soul-crushing...
no... i couldn't imagine myself marrying
a troll... just to somehow oddly fit it...
i'm not going to reply to a message:
me and Nicki... says Frankie... are over...
reply: to what? and did you hear
my side of the story? no? no?!
i don't have to hear your side, either!
oculus per oculus!
like for like:
dislike for dislike!

           i'll wait... i'm not actually waiting
for anything other than:
can you please leave me alone?
i'll reply you whenever i feel like it...
i don't feel like
wanting human connection for at least
two days...

there's a hell and a privacy one earns to have
earned it that one rarely wants to
have it made public...
albeit in the "public anonymous"...
all the more willingly... since no immediate
consequences are to  be met: face-to-no-face...
tired of replies...
walking lesbians into the night
is like pretending to not walk
cows into the slaughterhouse...
ego-***** replacing what once was?
Plato the Plumber and the blocked toilet
of reincarnation...
i'm done with pride... Herr Dapf...

             for the waiting to be dead,
falte der primast schattierung:
für das Warten tot zu sein:
ich möchte auch tot sein...

   a death with the hollows
of the hallowed wooded emptied bark....
suffer the sound of a thunder-stroke...
donnerschlaganfall:
all aligned with things living...
nearly: or waiting to be towed toward
A... death...

           morgen?
                          tòmāté...
*******: SPUD!
           morgen butter-kneaded? by the hollows
of said, suggested juices..
my knees are not enough:
meine knie sind nicht genug!

i kept but one name-given namesake -
finally!
now it has become clear:
the german definite article -
die: implies definite article plural -
der: implies definite article singular -

i've become prone to german songs -
more than i'd like -
but i'd sooner die than have to recount
'hej hej sokoły' -
as the only folk song my ear was lent to...

an hour well spent:
a sudoku puzzle and some workhorse
germanic folk -
or listening the pearls and wisdom
of shane macgowan:
point being: the words come from
the tooth -
but only the french and the irish girls
can pull off... wearing short hair like
she'd be a boy...
perhaps those physiognomy details
of shy and porcelain:
faces that were only ever kissed
by the moon - the hair was was only
ever combed by the wind -
and she can come among the brothers
as a amber nectar gem ruffian in disguise...

sinead o'connor, alizée jacotey -
how the hell does tuba büyüküstün come
into the mix? ever so slyly...

bbc4 : 'when it was unpolular and unfashionable
to be irish in england'...
"unfashionable"? the drunken paddy -
the respectable ireland and its own...

conrad - conrad of masovia -
perhaps i just liked the names given unto me
that i chose not to be confirmed
at the brentwood diocees -
all whole lot of it: with a bishop clad in thistle -
the surname was always insignificant:
paperwork -
but at least the names allow you derive
meaning -

poor you alexander -
no minor roles to attach yourself to -
beside the glaring obvious...
st. levi: my former...

- i have only met one woman who ever
wanted to fiddle with my beard -
does it matter that she's my grandmother?
itchy fingers reach in and
pluck out a quartet of violins...

lie eines tambours:
die toten, die toten des regiments
(the dead, the dead of the regiment)

der tod in flandern:
der tod reit't auf einen kohlschwarzen rappe
(death rides on a coalblack horse)
in flandern reitet der tod
(in flanders death rides)
der tod reit't auf einem lichten schimmel
(death rides a pale horse)

teutonic marching party hum:
no wagner! murmurs and mumbling of disgruntled
baritone:
rataplan don diri don!
back from the east and there was
no cleavage to the british ways...
there was always the old one,
the alles vater of germanic roots and rot...
even in multicultural Loon'don...

but now know of the definite article distinction
in german:
der tod: definite singular...
die tod: definite plural... ja! jetzt isch sehen!

fa'lalala... fa'lalala... tamtaradej! tamtaradej!
niemec norweg duńczyk szwed!

a television - a phone no one rings -
all the blessings of the age -
better still - ghost in a skeleton suckling off
flesh - or staging: no soul welcome...
congested and freed from the loitering of
labour -

i would hardly imitate the irish as the dogs
of the british - sinking teeth into gaelic -
i would -
but since i do not have to...
i'd lend my ear toward speaking:
father german - of what this british brat
is worth...
father... alt-vater ßaß!
tease him, or tickle him...
give him a peacock as a gift for the missing
eye...
watch the crow zeppelins come knowing
how to knock...

i very much believe in a linguistic integrity
of a people - a language is beside the waving of
the flag - perhaps i am inclined
to skin of the supposed irish that do not
speak a word of gaelic: more so...
if they have tatoos on their skin?

the welsh have been given a strict overlord -
even though the english claim they
are the one *****-slap shy of donning
a gimp suit...
loud mouths from scotland...
but nothing in their native spreschen!
exfoliating "orthography" glaswegian...

oh but i would be willing to succumb to
this leprechaun sing-alongs...
i'm a workhorse of folk -
i need the drums and the vocals will do the rest -
no need for bagpipes -
or fiddling or dread the banjo...
old continent yawns...

who is the father of the english?
when the english start to... become too over-confident...
arrogant and atypical islander mentality that
doesn't borrow anything from the isolationism
of the Faroe Island people?
the forbidden fruit of the same language
being spoken "across the pond"...
unlike island dwelling people...
who want to be left alone...
strange... that so much media attention must
be given to a people:
that clearly do not want to be left alone!
who said the british didn't just generate
4 years of journalistic pay-cheques for
newspapers and other outlets?
stalling tactics... feeding tactics...
feed the propaganda hogs who will
gobble down anything and regurgitate with
an alistair cambell at the fore...

i was expecting to read some keneth koch,
listening to something beside german folk songs...
solving a sudoku...
and finally deciding... it would be worthwhile
to invest almost 30 quid in a complete works
of this poet...
one thing i've noticed...
the price of books has gone up dractically!
i once thought: paying 30 quid for heidegger's
ponderings VII - XI and II - VI is a bit steep...
but not all the poetry books i want to buy
cost just as much!

30 quid... em... that's almost a carton
of cigarettes...
and i've been hoping to save up to visit a brothel
and forget something:
of no immediate concern...
but poetry books were never this dear to buy...
i was rather spontaneous when
making a recommendation: kenneth koch...
perhaps i should read some more
before i buy this kilogram's worth
of compressed forest of a book...

but that's all the way into a tomorrow's
sitting before: this will never become
a Balzac 14 coffee work-ethic output...
writing: making sure the reader
has no chance to reflect -
nothing to introspect with or for...
then again:
what's any of this supposed to do
with: beside the reflexive?

man's transcendental love will never compensate
for the pragmatic love of a woman
in need for a, kettle...

shady lots of the unforgiving blue-snippet
of jazz and all the better:
that could happen that didn't originate
with british punk...
1960s screaming girls -
1970s and the boys could come around...

yeah, i've been to Ypres - where as pseudo-children
we played hide-and-seek trade-offs
in the trenches...
where the anglo-spreschen graveyards
have signatures: names -
and individual graves...
the german graves? the german graves
of 1st world war?
wilhelm! are you listening?!
apparently the jews were also
trafficed into the slaughter camps...

i have stood in the graveyards
of the germans - the en masse graves sites -
i have witnessed the silence of these graves...
camaraderie of the dead...
nothing of which the english
would ever learn...
in the graveyards
of a "communal"...

the mass graves of the fallen german
"hitlerjunge"... alles im schwarz...
keiner im khaki: senf hinter abendessen!

i stood in the graveyard of the world war
german en masse graveyards...
no sparrow will sing: when the dead sing among
each other...
i will not visit the slaughterhouse
of auschwitz... the cow-towing...
i will not bow before those that were naive...
but i will nonetheless...
succumb to the idiots...

and the Helmut: die eisenhelmkopf: knock-knock...
echo? echo?
among the english...
one is supposed to reach toward
loving the german
(then again one isn't);
feeling indifferent to this lot...
not being quiet the h'american expatriates
they could have been...
old father sax...

the world can heave: settle for the concentration
camps...
i must savor the bounty found in
german en masse graveyards from
the first world world war
if any slaughterhouse is willing to open
its gates to an esque auschwitz...
so be it... but the graveyard
to the youth of germany, wilhelm youth...
camaraderie: freundschaft-im-tod

mutter-tod!
i need not see the concentration camps,
i've seen the graveyards of germany from
the first world war...
if you've seen one sardaine crammed closure
ground...
and the silence...
what does it matter, regarding the people
so naive?

vier! 4th! alternatively: fear!
the mass graves of the youth under Wilhelm
in the vicinity of Ypres...
that acidic silence...
piquant...
and i am supposed to visit the concentration
camp the slaughterhouse?
what will always die
with being naive... trust... and love...
and disinhibition and...
lingua franca ergonomics of
selling stale wood in the form
of antiques...

i know one way of failing to integrate
into english society...
look down... learn some german...
learn what the old father spoke when
he started to brew these unforgiving children
of the chandelier maze...

i'll be singing these germanic folk songs...
x-ray flag of cornwall -
teutonic - black cross upon the white flag...
muslims nearing jerusalem -
old pagans of lithuania
remnants of the golden horde having settled
in ukraine's crimea -

best felt: of what it feels to be alive,
in england...
tinging the old ****** with a dalmation specker
full blodied worth of:
zee ols: germanicus inhibutus -
because there's not need for *****...
as far as the british go...
in... ***** first: welcome! the conquering
par'tayh!

******* soft-ball dodgers and ****-*******
pinzetteblödsinnausweichmanöver:
ease a coming... you *******
weiser herr misers!
lovecraftian video vermont
aenemic *****-liquor...

poetryfoundation.org poet:
is he / she dead?!
they're dead? they're dead?!
oh thank god there's a dead...
and body worthwhile to **** with...
because safety... safety...
and no bit of h. h. holmes
will ever grace the pish-poor pasrty...
party... oops...
******* yankies...

horror is a fetish...
poor croat poor yugoslav...
unless you mention
the serbs and the balkan "muslims"...
high-brow expectation -
until i am willing to meet
not meat...
my fore-bride... death...
honk honk!
i am more than willing top die
via the swizz affair than all this,
******* fawty towers agony...
pristine and puritanical...
the living better excused to live...
enough to buy them life insurance...
and, otherwise... the remains of
dead willing to pop the cork...

the sane always have their: two pence shave
worth of flip: they know-it-how...
the sane will alway know what to write
about insanity...
problem? when the insane write about sanity...
and the mole-hills and whatever it left
becomes the windowlicker down-dyndrome
chop-suey "oops"?
retro-****: or simply: re-...
the sane have authority over the insane...
what happens when the insane have a crab-bite
on the concept of "sanity"...
people elsewhere also die... no?

sanity that requires grey-matter peep-show
peoples to run miles for:
the dying auntie and her cancerous loved-up
"french"...
the sane speak of the insane
i almost forget: the insane would never
speak about the sane... because...
it's nostalgia: papa roach:
between angels and insects...
as dostoyevsky said:
for angels... the sight of god's throne...
for insects... something associated with
succumbing to soap opera and itchy ***
disinhibitions...

why would i visit these concentration camps?
living in western europe first world war
was more important than the 2nd world war...
i've visited a german world war I mass grave...
why would i subsequently visit
the remains of a concentration camp?
a site near Ypres where no sparrow
will cling to branch or to song...

for no reason: don't tease... stop teasing...
if you life is all mud and mediocre and
soap opera... stop teasing!
i will not visit a concentration camp...
appeasing the hebrew...
only when... the graveyard of the en masse
dead of german youth is visited from
the 1st world war...
where... bullet, mud...
fingerprints not welcome...
citizens non-anon...
auschwitz and death the addressee...

the sane and their stipends concerning insanity!
but then one diagnosis falls foul...
and the straitjacket jack starts speaking...
oh! oh then!
the usual story...
the usual *******-become-bells-and-church-uvulas...
and the rest is just a cry, a sigh,
a boring reminder of the british raj...

learn some german...
the peasants will retain theirs with some velsh...
and that's how you
react to be... "leisured with a caption
of being measured via
the focus of having a father"...

liebe: zu nicht lassen gehen...
liebe: das alles ich können behalten!

i rather speak some german on these isles...
this is not ******* h'america...
this is the old continent..
england serves for *******'s worth of nothing
when it is excused to speak german...
while english is relegated for chinese tourists...
and... the faroe island farmers of sheeps' **** and wool...

it's not like you'd expect to become welcome
these days, or any other days...
as a tourist or as a ******* trader...
of "goods"...
made in chine is the broker's deal to begin with...
on the broken bone signature...

i too thought the english were prized on
giving stipends on how:
how to best keep things cordial...
champagne, oysters... the eton mess...
a good round of polo and ******* wacking...
no?

i do admire the early exits of the suicide prone...
i would too...
but i do crave... for the platic 20 quid banknote...
and what would become of charles III
should he chose a different name...
and i really wish that lizzie lives her most...
but then... her current grin is already
tombstone... and she...
well... she's bothersome in that she's pradictable...
and that's boring and bongo-bongo boorish...

****'s sake: two popes teamed up to try
and topple her off the throne and play snooker
into a dead-8 with her crown...
better speak some german: for jokes...
among... the british... that did live through
the 60s of the 20th century...
but... will never relive the same cushioning
of history to somehow "compensate"
the rolling stones dinosaur of the:
most welcome pensioner rock & zimmer framers...
roll with that sort of shaky stephens
park-on-eire-n-son?

just drop the delayed nuke...
we're all done and b.b.q. readied
recounting what's interpreted as "trauma"...
superiority / the messiah complex
of the english...
but you speak a word of german...
you think a word of german and...

do these people care, to, remember,
their, natural, neighbourly...
competitive streaks with the fwench?
it's just like "us"... the polacks with the russians...
with the germans...
i too thought that the ukranians were
better represented by competing with
leftover mongols of crimea.

I know that I can reach the sun,
I know you doubt and wonder.
But I can ride a thunderstorm
To catch the bolt of thunder.
I know you think i cannot
The truth yells from your eyes.
For they haven't learned to match up
To the part of you that lies.
For i see the sun as you do
It's only another star.
Too small and too distant
From where you stand and are.
From where I stand the sun is there,
Just waiting to be taken
By one that will distribute it
To the lonely and forsaken.
So that when its dark and overcast
They can take it as a hinter.
How there are times of less sun
In the dark and lonely winter.
But there's always enough warmth
In a world that stands and holds.
All the thousand stories
That it's people haven't told.

i was aiming to sort out some computer
details outside the realm
of the corporate world of hierarchy...
something like that...
talking to a 56 year old kazakh in
romford: about the turks and the mongols...
about giving up smoking (not really):
and how i am addicted to carbon
monoxide while he is bagging big chews
from the nicotine gum: fiddly fingers
and something akin to peeling carrots
and power-tame-toes!
fiddles for foreskins...
in this one instance i am... beside buying
into... "the narrative"...
a crown descends...
   a crow is the equivalent of crown:
phonetically: in greek... amore...
                  the rest of the day completed
itself... with me walking from
Chadwell Heath to Romford...
marking my feet on a shortcut through
the green belt...
the traffic noises died...
i just stood in a middle of a field
the vikings might have envied...
no no no...
   the blistering azure piercing breath
and making me embody a loitering of a soul...
three birds of prey...
how is it... that birds of prey rarely
flap their wings... they... just... hover...
impossibly perfect...
they hone in on something...
circle around and around
like a vultures' manifesto...
     i was waiting to see the dive
but i didn't see it: not out of impatience...
i was in a secluded partition of england
yet i was still attempting to buy a bicycle
in Chadwell Heath -
i looked at myself not looking at
anything prior...
this solitary whitey:
i don't mind the remark...
thank god the slaves of colour want
to either see no colour or... too...
the hues of copper, cinnamon...
      teases of cacao...
                           a cuban ****...
                so much was poured into
a runic revision -
    best: an invigoration...
                    toothpicks for words:
an arithmetic of my teeth...
        i am beside myself welcoming
the intrusion of "minority":
perhaps in little ol' removed Swansea -
i am the lord mayor the city might
need me...
   in somewhere like Chadwell Heath...
buying a lion white chocolate bar
is perhaps sub-cultural -
the same old pauper of what-a-load of
violins bundled up on a bench
by the church... a last imploring gesture...
drinking that gorgon's blood
of a dutch equivalent of carlsberg's
spezial broo (or -ew)...
          on these isles: these bright and beautiful
isles:
you can't "sell me": the irish are still
speaking... english?!
the irish are not speaking gaelic -
my god... this terrible hammer from
Lincolnshire -
     when and as to how...
the Welsh took it upon themselves
to become this sacred heaven of bilingualism -
so much for learning Dutch -
or... Bel-ge-an -
  Flemz? Flimsy Choc-a-Block...
       choke on a tired rubber of a tire...
stage a newbie ***** flick from
the dungeons of **** Bruges...
or some ***** / wide my pony: rha rha rho...
that the Welsh still cling to a tongue:
spirit pairing:
of the Polacks under the geography
of the third partition...
of the czechs under the habsburgs -
          history as a fetish...
no... more... "natural selection" beside
the already prescribed antics of ape ****
and meteor... and time impossible...
to have... selective historicism...
naturally?
             that "we" are at a stage where
something is deemed necessary - otherwise not...
but then again it's not...
since: who the hell will remember "us"?
i drink... but i also write...
i guess the writing is more of an exercise
in amnesia than the drinking -
the drinking helps: in that i am more blunt,
boringly honesty:
un-spec-tac-ular for the best...
  i just can't imagine myself writting anything
worse than a journalistic tabloid
palette will allow...
    sure: no rhyme no river for a narrtive:
concretely focused on an (a) through to a (z)...
pay... i guess the concept of
pay is showing through...
          well then... my whittle hobby:
my whittle: it can become impossible -
that the secular niqab
   will not protect you from the stench
of old goats' **** in a public toilet -
the solipsism of farting in a cogested
public "picturesque"...
to have to believe in both narratives:
the mainstream of lies and these -
offshoots of the best / better informed...
my little paranoid agenda is no
agenda... but enough of my beard
shackles a: thorough "through"...
red is longer a bull pointer antagonist...
up could be a down...
but it's not that: well... it is...
that people made a constituted forward:
towing - best kept replicas...
how could it be possible to procrastinate
a diminishing of transcendence:
that freedom is already a pork-pie glutton
and constipation...
"think-tanks"...
      tanks... ego rifles?
      shoot the dummy... play the cerebral
palsy mannequin tossing...
the utopia of hyperhondriacs...
a diaspora of polacks and the greeks...
that the machinery has been
well established... that the machine has
been well oiled...
and is "econimally" sound...
     gentle rub rub gentlest rubbing rub-up...
and down...
and my flesh this least copernican
crux... which has not orientated
itself around either sun, star...
earth or moon...
          
            expanding cycle lanes will
not bring about a new dutch republic...
nor will i sell a pancake for
the purpose of levelling the himalayas...
this brittle conundrum of bogus...
two narratives:
alter-alter -
what-if and... what-if...
                but red's not red:
there's no shawl for a hemmingway
for sooner last:
for a Catalonia...
to romance the world afresh...
but now there's a McDonalds in
Stockholm: future knowledge...
a globalist ghetto -

how the joke that  was once
Sweden is no longer...
this same... cyclops of culture mantra...
of lore: Sveeden: "so tolerant"...
and now the world and no...
this is not a world...
based on the focus of scrutiny
of a world: no... there's
no heidegger's dasein:
there's...

the magic trick for the masses...
which is much more spectacular...
and how willing there's a dulling of perception..
i am of the custard pie...
i am the custard pie...
            
              hiersein: "there" or "here" of...
ahem...                wohin?
that word comes with a question puncture...
you don't actually use the word:
where... without a question mark... no?
you can compound a complexity
akin to heidegger's with: here-being
alias "concern"...
well then... the solipsism of: "over-there"...
a pointer... it's a lack of reconciling the masses
with any ontological... "scrutiny"...

plus up: ++++ pardons for:
blistering of and this leftover scab of narrative...
before the double knee of
b.l.m. and beijing -
now... best left with fighting the nazis...
i'll say it outright...
best left with fighting the nazis...
best fighting a well attired SS-man
in some hugo boss suit...
of pristine khaki... grey or black...
but no... not now...
dulling of suits...
              
   now i'm on par with the argument:
i want nazis! i want to fight nazis!
oh... wait... they're not blonde...
or german or... believe me:
they could have hidden in the Crimean
peninsula...
             but no... but not now...
i want to fight: the *******: good-luck
joke of history...
but this evil is so bland...
it's so terrestrial...
   the same mundane evil coupled
with my own terrestrial existence probing
of conversation / no argument...

the Welsh still speak: "Welden"...
   Velsh... in a climate where... the union
jack is looking up the h'american *******...
but the scots but the irish don't retain
their ******* gaelic...
good for you:
like a nuanced slang of the english cricketer...
tourist... hello... world...
tourist... hello world...
               my now new reality:
legal immigration this little ******...
this no burden of a Ruś -
a warraring burden from a scent in the air...
that there's no concrete:
sulphur stinking zeppelin ruining the skies
at: come night... come lazily this lost day...
this lost day...

once more: when st. patrick met up
with a mule that became
a farce and a ghost-face
of sitting loiter:
anti-saint: humpty-coŁal-sky-
             dumps a truce...
valiant against the propaganda cogs
and blockages...
the retorts of the salvaged plumber...
my new authority: my lost authority...
F'f'f'f'fever pitch for a hannibal...

Carthage must counter: euthanasia...
me best sold "neuter"...
that there is an unconvincing this:
bias this base...
******* on a whiskey soaked
cigarette...
that a guinness can only be drank
from a glass of a measure of a pint...
don't blister me with
this and these details of a gargantuan
t'is... i want a poetry on the basis
of future: dead...

            ****-soaked revelation
of a brick willing: to sell a "hybrid"
sorta-glue: a congestion...
           this my sacred ****...
my tongue this lesser oyster -
      a skull that cannot fathom
   the jaw line...
      witness my own very little...
my leisured attention span...
no new no wriggling of index
as the best pickled earth-worn...

              habitually: a shirt worn
to expand upon an objectivity for
the tow of a shirt with...
creases...
this lesser ambiguity of
a prompt that preserves itself
with a: lost project of ambiguity -

that we somehow accepted
a new, a nuance... a blister and a heaving...
catterpillar dues...
count! count the arithmetic per-take!
back in the ***** of mother russia...
little people do little things...
big people do: crab load of ****:
this sort of philanthrophy...
because: aghast...
the mistantrophe is the next
best fang...
like chewing gum and mawler
of a fake tooth:
my best kept bones...

              heritage of radio and a ******...
but, once upon a time...
my little overt detailing...
romance mr. marshall this little
casablanca and my own tunis -
chasing shadows with
a little insy-winsy spiders to tow...
my own cob...
my own prague pangs of summer
that they are still:
the cobblestones to resound
with horse hoofs...

the last... lost... project...
to have to rejuvinate the revision
of the roman empire...
that there was no james joyce's ullyses
from 200 AD...
there was an old greek in
the new greek in the byzantine choral
chant...
     goody-goody-fwyfays
2020 my lost year...
the year when i begged for a slack:
a diminished point of a pair of *******...
how sober somehow worked...
that drunk was no new sensible...
doubt and its plethora of all the least
possible jargon of emotions:
a McDowell a McCurieal...
   a Dot MacKenzzies...
a lord assumption of surnames that:
there was no ever...
Hogwarts of the choicest of godfather
names... when this blessed babe
of the agony srap..
this tendering of bones...
          my little mongolia...
a variation of Kiev that could expand
into Ukraine...
                       but: ah... now...
a little chisel of england or...
aa bandage off...
this whittle hinter of big bypass flyover
most pristine:
utopia h'americana...
                          Boston bleeds:
Chigaco sort of... fakes...
on the cackle of a letter...
gate? i say... Gate?
      shique: cack: ago: co: go...
no "lord assumption"...
my lord this same ***** diary
this rusty panser..
                                 and i have
to somehow embarass myself
with a "belief" in a... god?!

                  of the non-exisstence of
a god among "sensible" people...
this little deity of transcending...
my quest for a satanic project
gorgon...
         stashed up conjure:
of.. the death-litany...
my own explanation...
            my own little wording that
has to arrive at a...
******* and a variation of hues
that borrows from green...
blue... and the mediating...
              hard-world-of-grey...
this my loosening of tendons...
the easing of muscle to tow
some fat...
my new: hammering...
chicken shackles...
rummanating the lost
ordeal of the perpliexing *** ordeal
of catholicism -
time to *******! time to!

my best pointers:
corpus christi:
we did start off with cannibalism...
we did start off with cannibalism...
metaphorical?
was it ever really a posit of
images that were only read by braille
sooths?
christianity is a cannibalism...
it's so hertbreaking that:
there's no god or an infinite man
of the little things to make
a composition of polyphony...

i can't read into a jesus when there's
the cannibalism:
a "metaphor" for a metaphysics...
a death of poetry: hell...
**** me for the necessary death
of rhyme...
            now "jew" like any basic
posit of a yew...
    prior to the real established
scrutiny of a nation-state...
which has to be fathomed
with Israel...
the hebrews have finally found
their: woke and roll...

           the jews were excused from
towing along to the crucifix...
and when all was done...
and this new camel jockey prize...
king crimson...
isn't cited: unless in the spanish circles
along with portishead...

i have desired this blatant death
that it might contend with Barcelona...
or a sequence if a brothel
from Bulgaria imitating throttle Thailand...
my little ex-girlfriend...
come 5am... and it is still
oxford st. and a flagship wake-me-up...
this old leveraging London matters...
i am but the sharpnel of words
that cannot possible reproduce:
brick-top sensibilities...

my litter interludes basket of futurist "what if"
existences in the Bedlam of epitaphs...
i might have been crowned the prince
of Anjou...
   i might have cradled the thirds
of the third crusade...
i might just as well be the beggar from
the annals of history making journalistic
progressions... to sow: death... to tow...
belittling creases of lost
adventures... creasing the skin prone:
proof... a detail of a scalp that's not...
  em... retail... wigs...
                          you wanna make me a glutton:
fist based... there was no turmeric involved...
the "convenience"...
yes... a bone-ah-tomahawk...
  my best attired cannibal...
it's such a taming project...
i want to be chemically sedated by disproofs...
but then... i am...
squandering what little i have
of romancing russia...
or thereby greece...

  this is the part where i try to borrow from
a differentiation of...
second from last:
stream of borrowed cocktails...
or...
my best screaming streamer -
i nice unto you...
you...
no... i very much like this cul de sac
of: i nice unto you...
why? the work invites no
technicality that can be
detailed into a trans-generational...
my last Epicurus joke...

crease a child an ultimatum of
competition...
conjunctions of grief...
not biggest thank you...
i thank you as to why
i... not because i wanted
to drink...
sober people are splits and
just plain boring...
towing toes to tango:
no game of twos...
sober people have no...

   my best tomato ketchup fake
blood load of argumentation...
bias / basis...
generic *******...
cause no happy bride:
was ever to be prized...
or prided..
my little gimmick wonderland
of a shtick...
no thank god i never married...
thank god i toiled around
with...
bread-knit...
and... cuneiform woke...
best kept islam: a foretold
variation of agriculture...
the plantation ridicule plumber of
eastern european choice:
****-dumbdumb...
dies with... incorporated
neu-Birmingham...
******* polacks...
too proud to think they could replace
us *****: first prized Pakis...

ahem... yes... what?!
this be Westminster...
tax haven collector's bias?
do i have a face that might coincide with:
i had...
but right now?
no... i couldn't give a tonne's load
of ******* to mind
it being a copernican: first invoked
sort of... affair...
savvy?!

An manchen Tagen ist die Luft zu schwer zum Atmen,
wie Steine liegt sie in der Lunge und zieht und zerrt mich zu Boden.
Besiegt muss ich warten. Harren bis der Angriff vorbei geht.
Mich nicht rühren, nicht zeigen wie furchtbar es in mir aussieht.

An manchen Tagen wollen die Tränen fließen,
wegspülen, was in mir ist.
Doch die kranke Stille lähmt sie.
Hält sie fest an meinen Lidern,
wo sie ungesehn vergehn.

An manchen Tagen sterben ungesagte Worte.
Bleiben tot an meinen Lippen.
Ungehört muss ich sie schlucken.
Und in meiner selbst vergraben.
Wo ist das Ohr, das sie zu hörn vermag?

An manchen Tag ringt mich Erschöpfung nieder.
Zeit rinnt unerreichbar weit - und bleibt doch eine Ewigkeit.
Wenn Müdigkeit mich bleiern macht, mir Regung nimmt,
dann kommt die Nacht, die gierig mich verschlingt.
Wie ein Zuschauer wander ich unbeteiligt durch mein Leben.

An manchen Tagen verirre ich mich in meinen Gedanken.
Hinter dunklen Ecken lauert Finsternis,
ihre Wirrungen verschlingen mich,
bis ich verloren stehen bleibe.
Und mich ihrer Fremdheit ausliefern muss.

. ha ha... they said that there were, "too many consonants in slavic surnames... just the surnames... clearly... they never read a word in welsh: ymysg y cymraeg: among the welsh.

                                       well,
we came,
we saw...
and then replied...

so, why, don't,
you,
   *******,
to, your,
glorious,
judeo-christian,
heritage lands?

h'america...
auf-auf! australia?
no?
   hesitant?

     north of england
the bed-rock
of the world, eh?

oh... i see...
just like my people
were displaced
by the sloth war
of economics?
that... "kind of, thing"?

i see...
you know...
right now...
i'm be called lucky...
if i were
a fisherman...
from these english isles...
if you get my drift...

i read some shakespeare
and then i start to confuse
hamlet with macbeth...
and the rest,
akin to a roman heritage...
i forget...
   if i were a body
sent ****** into this language
and subsequent usage...
i'd be tattooed from forehead
to the toes and heel
with artifacts of,
"concern"...

   no roman stood in these
hinter-lands...
but a norseman did,
many years after
the postponing
of the myth of Arthur...

this ****** war,
between a saxon
and a swabian,
or rather,
between a saxon and
a prussian...
prussian...
the pomerian kind...
they're not even,
exactly confiscate of
the categorical
agglomerate of german...

   i said!
    german on one hand,
on these isles...
no... there is no "there"...
alles hier!
         jetzt!
      
welsh: ymabod (here-being)
irish: anseobheith
cornish:
          obma-dos-ha-bos...
pict:
                       an-seo-a-bhith -
such, veracity of the already
given variety...
   coch-gwyn...
                                      ac glas...

of all the people
       among these isles...
only the welsh...
gwraidd-a-coeden
    (root and tree)...

        lwc-a-llewyrch...

see... i respect that...
who are the scots to moan...
forgetting their gaelic...
the dutch speak the lingua franca
of the english...
but they still, retain...
their native spreschen...
like the welsh...

   oh i'm pretty sure i can
say those words...
i'm used to...
   'there are too many consonants
in slavic surnames
from paul-land' -
ever think about looking
at welsh?!

   sheep-shaggers,
or...
bagpipe *******...
take your pick...

   this is going to be my future
hobby...
drink... and...
speak welsh words...
like a slav, i know what a "hollowed"
Y sounds like,
with no help of crutch vowel...
"sim"-r(a)eg...
          
the **** was i doing
in Edinburgh?!
i could have spent a well earned
time in Caerdydd
   - k(a/e)rd(Y)d "dyd" /
                             not 'did'.

well...
if the vikings didn't get rid
of these sax leeches...
i'll give it a shot...
   all i have to lose is...
a worth of an hour,
to sober up to.

Hinter dem dunklen Augenvorhang *******alles ausgeleuchtet.
Ein stilles Leben auf harten Platten,
systemverartigt vorbehandelt
blickt die Flaschenleere
auf längst verweste Fische in silbrigblassen Totenhemden,
die sich auf ihrer mondigen Pappbahre
in die Pinselhaare geschlichen haben,
bereit für die letzte Ölung

In diesen beschaulichen Bescheinlichkeiten,
vergisst selbst die Leinwand zu schreien und zu toben

nur die Farben wollen sich nicht unterordnen.
Blutleer haben sie die Witterung verloren,
krallen sich fest, am schlicht gewebtem Stoff,
in dieser nasenlosen Welt,
die den Geschmack der Leidenschaft nicht kennt,

bis der Augenvorhang sich hebt und die Extrem-i-täten-losigkeit
der Dunkelheit in die Arme fällt.

Was einst in folgsamen Rahmen dahinvegetierte
und kaum eine Pinselwimper zum Zucken brachte,
will nun den Rahmen sprengen.

Befreite Farben toben rauschhaft
aus leeren Flaschen, toten Heringen, fleischigen Schenkeln und stürmischen
Borsten,
konturlos,
nach Halt suchend,
finden keine Form,
verlieren die Bindung,
und landen jenseits der Umarmung

you are,
my most,
favorite...
quirk;

you are
my most
favorite...
loose
squat!

my hinter...
my
burdening
shadow
of...
and no...
this is not...
what i will
never...
expect;

but i guess...
i'm supposed
to "guess"...
dying!

so...
who's doing the dying
"bit"?
   i just want
to make home
of a shady pass
of having explored
the woods...
and you're:
into a newspaper:
as long
as they do not forget us...

come
the roman empire...
nearing its
end...
2000+ years later...
oh...
    ovid...
that's... it?!
to make memory of?

tomorrow
doesn't exist...
and...
whatever "is"
of 2 thousand years laster?
it's not now...
that's worth the mea
culpa and...
a crux of patience
thast never becomes,
embodiment,
of,
a furthering.

geschwaderwenige:

squadron-few...

imagine my "disgust"
at finding myself
a germano-philiac
in the english tongue...

aber, "sie" konnte nicht
jemand sonst...
andere mit schlimm
deutschegrammatik...

dis eine *****-wunderalles,
like the time i'm
supposed to **** a blow-up
sheep for like
quirks of:
in the village, of the village,
that doesn't exist?

ja!

in der dorf, aus die dorf,
daß existieren tüt nicht!

blick anderswo schlenzen
nein schnüffeln!
      ja: ich verstehen?

nein?
       wir können fortsetzen...
hinter ihre arsch
                  nein mei:

sie nennen mir vater:
ich nennen du mich:
          ein lieben...
                   nei vater:
   nein fürwort...
           alles für alles ist güt.

i heave to allocate myself
the strip of metaphorical
children,
while my grandfather,
wished: upon dying,
to save a last breath
of life, for the word:
p'ah... p'ah...

    there is no h'american dream
given this...
there is no:
likelihood worth
a tomorrow...

   i have, what i heave
a worth of today...
and... no more...
no more...
no more imbecile's:
beyond the village's
cradle...
i heave the world:
no more!
when the world
doesn't visit me,
why am i,
to visit, the world?!

i have been broken
by you once, before...
and before,
toward a now...
to are...

             a figment of
god's imagination,
and my the complete
opposite of activity...
to be entombed for
a worth of agitation...

i am a village person,
a god can stomach
a world, a city,
a: added crucibles count...
i? i cannot...
   god can have the city,
i am no more a man
than the man i will
ever be,
confined to a village
and troop of:
the scuttling baron
scheme of the escaping
baron from the body of
self-esteem...

i am not the world's worth
of expression...
the day and the world in
it can extend to the world
in a day of a 365 divided worth...
i'm not greater...
i can never be more...

i want to live a life,
with a sort of death awaiting me...
with which:
i did not live to
have lived,
         to have to heave
the breath that priors itself
to: the taken breath.

you get me?
i don't want to...
have to...
               make my life,
as if a death:
a consecrated ground
of...

   and as many words i could
end up writing
but never having written...

i did not live to
have lived,
         to have to heave
the breath that priors itself
to: the taken breath -

as being the taken life;

you understand me?
i am not
beyond a sycamore tree's
worth of poker...
in what...
brutally continues
to be recycled...

whether i, mind source,
or i, body disembodiment,
ghost...

                needless to
say,
i much preferred myself
in making a post-humous
stature's worth
of a birch...

         but... who am i...

scout's honor?

                   unto me:
thoughts are less verb-incentive...
and more...
leisures:
not yet undertaken;

        like...
                    who is to be,
who isn't...
            and...

                   a skyve's worth
of unused punctuation marks.

Hinter der Fensterscheibe
ist der Tag
so gnadenlos wie die Nacht

Seufzt sich die Rückseite der Gedanken
in das verlassene Nirgendwo

Once more, through town upon my bike, I flew
On Marston Rd, to think, that once, I knew
This road was as the daily one to school.
Then up through Cowley, thinking myself a fool
That hot summer’s day
To make the same way
Down Magdalen St so late, so mad,
Thinking of the fun I had…
Then down past school, the roundabout
Where I’d do a quarter turn about
Each and every day a month ago.
Even past the fields, father would not let the river slow,
The river of my memories, as he asked were these familiar to me
Too? And so they were; Rounders, tennis, punting days’ insanity
Have not escaped my mind just yet.
Up High St, past the colleges, I could not bet
For thoughts to be abated. My sweet town
Bereft of all but my memories strewn down
As I still rode on, and down Queen’s Lane now
Where many a happy lonely moment was spent, thinking how
I rushed down there with shopping early before Christmas…
Taking the corner, admiring the blooms, and fast
The next one, and my chest is filled with a twinge
As I remember a rainy night beneath New College Bridge…
Then St Helen’s Passage, the Bridge of Sighs, the Sheldonian!
My sweetest, proudest moments as an Oxonian…
Broad St, broad and small from lack of crowds
Still my head is in the clouds -
And St Mary Magdalen, the concert with my brother in winter,
The Ashmolean standing tall within the hinter,
And up St Giles, and down the Lamb and Flag,
Thinking of the afternoons I’d sometimes drag
Walking there, various aims or none in mind,
Now leaving the Natural History Museum behind,
And Dad reminds me of the trees that used used to fruit
Along Park Rd where now there are none… So, en route.

we went fishing, we went cycling...
the best years
circa 2002 through to some other
circa...
we went to forever distant places...
we allowed ourselves to
stomach heights of mountains...
now come to "think" of it...
i have tabloid and graffiti where
bow-ties and mourning should be...
the world just preserves
this insistence to continue:
with or without a status quo...
because today i am shuffling into
a currency: the world so happens...
the anglophone sphere is
insomniac awaiting election
results... i'm hardly invested in it...
i wish to be so oh so concerned...
that i might forget - yet now remember:
the reconquista of much
of europe for the ottoman turks...
but it's not like the turks are arabs...
never mind...
               i itch with skin i tease
myself over an asset that's these eyes...
i sip a glass of water,
ciemnota that is gladly ruled over
by counterfeit, bb'ah'ah... bb'ah'ah...
actors...
less of what's to be done
and more of what's to be...
how i imagine myself being (a) man
rather than doing the expected
manly-"thing"...
          if it was oh so simple
that we were all born turtles...
with knowledge of plumbing apparatus....
i am less as being
and forever diminishing as having
done... employed by a "miracle"
of the undo...
               revision quest...
there's no reality of a gaping hole
or: ex nihil stalking me:
  no: born of death....
              latin! latin!
          natus ex mors...
we went fishing and how we bicycled
around a never-ending stupidity
how i extended my youth
while you preserved your old age...

grandma was a ***** to the last...
no?
  3 months to spare...
she could have noted: he's not feeling
well... some aid would be nice...
i feel cheated my heart
thrown into a heap of stones...
i'm expecting a heaving lung
in return...
not this close...
not from family this anger arch... ing
to subdue my unfathomable
shadow, come noon,
come the moon:
puppet! how's lore?!

she could have called and said:
instead of 2 day's worth of baggage:
you're in the hospice breathing
your last...
i wake up to a tomorrow
and hear the north.east.west.south...
apparently you're dead...

for all those estranged examples
of dictated family...
i should have extracted ms. *****
from your wife: my grandmother:
how she would suddenly be found
gloating: pinning you to
a pampers **** soaked... etc.
gruesome details: n'est ce pas?

she was so adamant about inheriting
your pension...
she was moreover adamant
on me taking out 500zł each day:
it's not like you amassed a lot of savings
to begin with...

over 7K... dutiful grandson...
i remember when she first encouraged me....
you were drunk and i would be stealing
pennies from your trouser pockets
left hanging on a chair in a room
of much darkening...

well... there's no unthinking this one
through: i'm the better drunk than
you will ever be: i fathom a need to
write some odd doodle while you
were exhausting the last remains
of memory cinema...

i'm gaining friction from people who
have started to notice:
i am not using english
with any orthodoxy, catholicism or
the sushi entree of protestantism...
looks like this language
i alone must own:
i will not be among the throng
of false prophets speaking
to the natives for corrections...

i own all that is readily available...
the natives can go burn
wickers and churches: in all honesty!

TUMANY...

                   it's theirs? they loosely(,)
just disguised themselves:
as... hinter...
          and the lapsing of aggrieved:
solo quests...
their native language doesn't translate
back...
it's theirs or is it simply mine?
how much this integration will allow...
i need more heads decapitated
saluting lazy tongues on pikes:
i am sure!
before the zombies will start sleeping: again!

if i were to stress my:
formality all too readily...
i remember days when we used to go
to school...
and meningitis was rife...
and a rifle too...
and we complied to the details
of the herd...

but not this, not now...
i can get a haircut i also can:
sure as hell wait for an irritating death
from a toothache!
sooner the pains from
a bad-hair-day...
i'm waiting for my teeth to
grow into fangs...
into elephant-esque tusks...
since my mouth will be unable
to impossibly keep them...
but my hair is more prompted
as: kept attention of "detail"...

suicide never made more sense:
all the excuses are in situ:
on the ready...
and i wouldn't even want
to blame these explorers...

             as ever: english in the "gulag":
how dasein translates into
"concern":
how happiness could ever be
substituted for inquisitiveness...
mind you: my eyes are darting
fathoming a whirlwind...
a roller-coaster...

i was debriefed by happiness
once...
i left the same sullen & sulk
signature as i ever might...
it didn't budge teasing an amassing
zombie-feud...
to begin or end with...
after all... i was born into a land-mass
that once claimed pride...
from sea to sea:
the baltic and the black sea
was, "in question"...

land-locked manoeuvres -
too many ******* vowels!
too many ******* vowels!
              there was a part of me
that somehow understood the genius
of the russians:
hence all that jazz of russophobia...
but there was no need
for claustrophobia and a siberia
pairing...
ugly feelings: mostly hurt...
or somewhat...
the terrible price of disgruntling
a slab of turk:
having confused it with a slobbering
over, over a camel jockey's arab
surprise...

saudi promises regarding
yemen...
                and all that was to remain
of bahrain...
like syria...
thank god for the closures
of the "ummah"...
bite the horn: ring the tonsils:
a church bell's worth of an uvula!
tongue this gluey
extract: my teeth a soothing
coming together: hey presto!
a shell for this slothing cringe
feast...

my grandmother with 3 months spare...
you told me:
ring me each month...
check up on my whereabouts...
i could have expected so much
from strangers...
"fwends"...
not from the ugliest
floral pattern of **** that was
a granny..
you were a drunk:
i'm a better drunk of the whole lot
of us two: twinned...

this unrelenting presence:
to have been allowed witness of your body
so well fashioned for
a funeral: mr. navy...
mr. now...
            
        i suppose a thank you is in order...
81 years in waiting is
the only way to die...
there's no need to tease turtles
with envy that extends into
a century...

now i want to remember edinburgh
through 2004 to 2007...
it could have been manchester...
it could have been an itch
like southampton...
pressure me... creases of
a Penzance... reverse the tide i probably
couldn't...

perhaps i want to chase learning
a game of chess...
perhaps i want to relive those summers
i lay on the balcony and read
the books i read..
in your abrahamic *****...
cheap-chow-mein-of-wording...
here's me... better clued-in...
better suited to sniffing the *****-feel
of 1980s pop music...

little ol' grandma i will hardly:
perhaps at best in my heart
i'll be wanting to **** on her grave...
perhaps i was expecting
something dramatic...
some phenomenon...
naturally... esque-borne revelation...
some earthquake some
waking into...

not how you seemingly "merely", "passed"....
ol' grandma: i wish to have her
shackled into a niqab: because
i last sentence these provocations
when i wilt to solve the crossword puzzles
with a 7am and a coffee...

death didn't rob me of what
you had already stressed:
the mortal feign...
            i had 3 months to spare...
detail for me the breaking
of the riddle of conscience...
                 i have to heave this last
salvage pin-point...

while "we" must be dictating....
people's loop
crescendo limiting bogus....
hey no new presto!
welcome
to grief... the limbo cowing-tie...
my litany of arbeit:
macht... frei...

             now that i dare
merely think it...
robespierre...
                 i heave ol'
yo-yo... because no one
would heave such
exhaustions.

Ich sei kein Dichter,
hast Du gesagt,
weil Du Dir einen Reim auf alles machen willst,
hinter dem Du Dich verstecken kannst


"Ja",
hab ich geantwortet,
"Ich bin kein Dichter",
aber bist Du überhaupt ein Berliner?

Die Straßen ziehen vorbei
Licht an Licht wie fallende Sternschnuppen vorm Fenster.
Bei Tageslicht, Abenddämmerung, Sonnenaufgang
ein neuer Tag.
Bäume, Häuser, Felder,
Wälder

Die Materie meines Landes wiegt mich in die Schläfrigkeit,
geborgen
Das Buch in meiner Hand fällt in meinen Schoß
Immer noch dieselbe Seite,
bin immer noch nicht weiter.
Der Inhalt unverändert unbegreiflich
Mein Atem geht zum Rhythmus der Schienen unter uns.
Wir fliegen zusammen und doch bleibe ich allein.

Augen zu, Augen auf
du hast geblinzelt.
Ankunft, Abfahrt
du hast geblinzelt.
Auf ins Neue, ins Unbekannte
oder doch zurück zu alten Gegenden?
Durch die Entfernung wieder neu erlebt.

Kommst du jetzt wieder zurück?
Hast du genug bekommen,
Antworten gefunden auf die Fragen die du nicht fandest?
Die du nicht zu stellen wagtest?
Die dich trotzdem quälten?

Du warst zu lange fort,
deine Heimat ist noch hier,
aber Hier ist nicht mehr dein Hier,
längst ein anderer Ort.

Du wolltest alles hinter dir lassen,
gingest
trotz der Angst dann zu viel zu verpassen,
Hauptsache weg, weg von hier
dachtest du hättest nicht viel zu verlieren.
Allem entfliehen, Pause, Neuanfang
Ohne genau zu wissen was dieses Alles überhaupt war.

Hast du es nicht ausgehalten letztendlich
so ohne sie, die Anderen?
Im Nichts, im Nirgendwo auf eigenen Wegen zu wandern?
Einsam im Herzen hast du dich wieder verrannt
Im Herzen stumpf, die Seele verbrannt.

Nun kommst du wieder,
zurück,
um zu sehen was  noch übrig ist
Zurück zum Alten, Vertrauten, Selben
Wir sind aber nicht mehr die Selben
Du ja auch nicht.

Alles wieder etwas anders, verschoben
Wieder ein bisschen auseinander gelebt,
voneinander entfernt,
weitergemacht, natürlich, nur halt ohne dich.
Schade eigentlich.

Doch nun schließ die Augen, schlaf
Gestern war auch ein neuer Tag,
verronnen,
Morgen wird noch kommen.
Wer nie ankommt der reist für immer,
umher.

Naja, wenigstens auf Schienen,
und noch nicht entgleist.

title: hinter
body: poppyland..
           asp... bite...
             shadow... hind.

- an outburst after a short hiatus, stiff fingers: tongue-numbing -

last time i checked, there is a hybrid flu hitting
the body-market of viral infections,
thank god i didn't get a headache, but... all the rest of it...
flu usually arrives just before winter,
again, the seasonal shock to the body...
but this one arrived in reverse...
it's un-thought of to succumb to these ills with the coming
of spring... but... i'm proof...
i even tested positive for Covid: even though
i've been vaccinated...

i should think is absolutely necessary -
to be in this state of health and to see language:
disintegrate into a less and less formality -
   only a month or so ago i had to return to the formality
of language: i can't remember the last time
i wrote a letter with some official purpose:
a complain or whatever it might have been...
but i do remember the agony of utilising such language:
a language of verbs rather than a language
of nouns... imploring someone to do X...
      i'm sitting here glum: spring comes with the flu:
the bones ache, the nose is filled strange sticky snot...
the muscles ache, i'm guessing:
one of those great big dips in lethargy before
the great reinvigoration of the impeding three seasons...
it's almost as i have been hibernating...
i'm not getting to the life outside speeding up...
the insects have already woken,
the birds are more jittery... chatter at 5am...
the clocks have been moved forward by an hour...
and how i miss... what begins around November
proper... at the end of the month...
everything slows down...
             now... everything is picking up pace again
and i've come sick / late to the party...
come the Easter celebration with eggs...
            i am absolutely devoid of a need to celebrate...
perhaps writing during a period of physical sickness
feels a bit like ingesting some magic mushroom...
pickled-jar of brain...
    murky eyes... sticky-glass eyes...
perhaps rereading something by Charles Olson might
help... i still can't buy a physical copy
of the Maximus Poems...
          what would i settle for? the complete collection
of Philip Lamantia's poems?
   i remember the first time i fell in love
with Sestina: Altaforte - and that's contained in
Ezra's personae...
              i'm weak: my imagination is rot...
perhaps some Al Purdy will save me...
            
the suggestion was: to drink more...
       more whiskey, eh?
                    yes... three days sort of zombie-esque...
strange phlegm... loss of appetite...
for a moment prior to heading for a shift
on Saturday at Wembley... i could swear i lost my
sense of taste and smell... mostly the smell...
but hell... i wasn't going to miss out on earning so extra
cash... spread the love: biological "weapon" that
i became: back to the usual reality of...
virus carrier... carrier of: only the strongest will
survive... i'm no small guy... and if it hit me that hard...
it felt like... the first time i received my first
Covid vaccination... back to the usual: achtung! achtung!
testen! testen!
usual **** at work... i came late to the party...
people have decided to create  hierarchy of
incompetence... on the lower levels: through...
familiarity... "friendship"...
         one of the girls who was supposed to do register
****** off and i was put next to the owner of the company
helping him out...
we ploughed through... later on in my ****** little
position... a "supervisor" should have come up
to me and asked me switch position...
but instead... oh... this guy ought to be *****-slapped...
this ******* hierarchy of steward
   and SIA badged... at least stewards ought to be trained
to diffuse the situation without getting an SIA
hard-on for physical confrontation...
       smile... utilise the body language as non-verbally
as possible... i've had no trouble...
    i look around... taking my sandwich break...
two stewards: oh... because they're supposedly "friendly"
with the female supervisor come around behind
her and slap her ***...
    the "reality" online and the "reality" online...
sure... this is not some office-tech-start-up with protective
rights of employees... banter at work...
but... what sort of a supervisor is a woman that allows
units of work beneath her... allow them...
to walk behind her and slap / pinch her ***?
supervising what?
   i already know this authority / hierarchy game is fake...
you just get a different coloured bib and that's that...
it's veneer... at the end of the day:
you police yourself: whether or not you're performing...
but i wasn't supposed to sit next to the company
co-owner and perform the register...
free-loaders... someone else was supposed to do that...
i can't complain... i like spelling... and sieving through
names... on cards... mind you...
i got away with sitting on a chair for...
an extra 3 hours i would have otherwise spent standing...
trying to make small, tiny... pointless conversation...
i checked the balance the next day...
i weighed in at around 100kg before the shift...
the next day... in at 98kg...
i don't even lose that much when cycling for 2 hours...
i couldn't imagine it: what... just standing...
but my father did warn me...
when he was part of the ornamental guard in the ******
army... standing shifts beside the Grave of the Unknown
Soldier... standing in one place for hours on end
is as much exercise as... running around...
if not more... since... well... you have to figure out...
how's the blood going to circulate to your toes?!
when you're not moving your legs?
thank god i'm only doing this work to get good
references... it's all a little ******* to me...
first few shifts were novel... a novel idea...
              but i'm turning into a salamander... well... no...
i've always been a little of a chameleon...
i adapt to what pleases me:
and what pleases me... more observation...
     i need to suss out the dynamic...
                these people are "friends"...
oh... like the last time i played those girls off on each
other... when one spoke liable against me...
blah blah and i said to the other:
the ****** proverb... liars don't walk on stilts...
they're still asking me... she blocked you?
do i look like someone who cares
about a missed romantic possibility?
i've already seen her walking the dog with some other guy...
oh... much younger than me...
unimpressive... hey... that's free will...
perhaps we don't have it...
but we do have it... within the confines of the dynamic
the self and... the other...
i can't control the other... plus those visists in
the brothel sort of smoothed things over...
i found the ****-of-my-life... and it only took me...
14 years since the last: ****-of-my-life...
i like keeping that joker card in the back of my mind
when women at work pretend to flirt with me...
in my mind there's this line...     you what?!
i'm sorry...            you want to go where i've been?
work is... *******... i figured long enough
that... little pointless hierarchies exist...
so? become the teacher's pet...
do the register with him when the person that was
supposed to do it bails out...
let him find you later on and thank you...
oh... because the game is still getting played...
patience... time... quasi-geology... pressure...
the pressure is yet to be employed...

terrible three days though... i abhor feeling weak...
esp. from something that should only affect me
in my 60s... but we're living in a time of hybrid
infections... the feeling of weakness
and the immediate harm it brings on the body
to be incapable to: not even be imaginative...
but narrative capable...
   and if this guy asks me for a lift to Wembley...
on Tuesday... £10 to be dropped off at some inconvenient
place... while he drops all the female workers
at their homes... you what?
you can drop these ******* off at their homes...
but can't drop me at a petrol station that's as much
convenient for you as it is for me?
guess what!
on a week day... i can get a train from Romford
to Liverpool St. - i'm i'm lucky and get the quick one...
20min...
   and then... the Metropolitan Line from Liverpool St.
to Wembley Park... another 20min...
done... plus... the politics of: who sits where in the car...
oh sure sure... if it's a girl... she needs to sit
in the front... *******... **** that...
but i do... i really do... my agreeable veneer...
i'm into masks... all that's missing in my closet
is a ******* latex suit to perform **** fantasies...
it takes me less via train and less money than
to be given a lift... and watch... as the female coworkers
get dropped off at their doorsteps i have to quickly
jump off at a bus-stop and get the bus home...
        i prefer going there solo... i don't mind the commute...
it does me good: there's no one to talk to...
perfecto!
                   i hate putting on these masks...
i just put them on to orientate myself around the sort
of tension i could generate if i didn't cling to reservations...
i've seen myself snap spontanepusly...
once...
             i was walking around Brick Lane randomly
looking for a *******... picked up this Asian...
felt like drinking with someone...
   we ended up walking into an alley just of the Lane
and he snatched my mobile from my hand...
and i was like: what do you think you're doing?
he replied: i'm taking your phone...
i think that's when my iris and my sclera in my eyes
disappeared... my eyes turned pure ink...
i snatched the phone from his hand
and HOWLED: NOW TURN AROUND AND
LOOK AT YOUR GUARDIAN ANGEL!
howled? growled? i remember that i didn't use any
violence... i remember his face being petrified
at my "wording"... then walking down Brick Lane
kneeling, lamenting... screaming the word: All-Ah...
just before the Syrian civil war took place...
it looks weird in my mind now...
   Al-ah-ah-ah...         people tried to ring for an ambulance
but i just ran away into a graveyard like
a Frankenstein...    
             i wish i punched him... but instead...
i petrified him... i even talked to my grandfather's
psychiatrist about this encounter...
when can man have the capacity to scare another man
by merely shouting in such a way with
such a ferocity that the other freezes?!
                     what, with the words:
NOW LOOK AT YOUR GUARDIAN ANGEL?!

it's always a waiting game of sort... in any age-environment,
when... the work doesn't require much skill...
this work doesn't require much skill...
it's just a stalling game i'm playing...
it just gives me an excuse to work
so that the people i live with can get off my back
for writing but not getting paid...
who's going to get paid from writing like this...
these days...

/ am himmel dunkle wolken ziehen
ich nehme artig meine medizin
und warte hier im daunenbett
bis die sonne untergeht

und dann reiß’ ich der puppe den kopf ab
dann reiß’ ich der puppe den kopf ab
ja, ich beiß’ der puppe den hals ab
es geht mir nicht gut

ich reiß’ der puppe den kopf ab
ja, ich reiß’ der puppe den kopf ab
end dann beiß’ ich der puppe den hals ab
es geht mir nicht gut … nein
dam-dam                                        /

their most accomplished album... by my standards...
lyrics from Rammstein's untitled album...
the best song on the album...

what a worn event of: when some selected where
disclosed the parameters of closure of
literacy and numeracy...
but now?! everyone is either "literatre" or "numerate":
but... are they? no... they're really not...
it's a nice looking veneer...
             you can pretend to have manage
a 100% literacy... but you're not going to accomplish
it... add a spin of having to make people c0d%e}
             no chance of that happening...
over-educating the mass population when
the mass of the population are built for menial tasks
they can fulfill: quickly as they learn them:
to as quickly forget forget about them...
to subsequently have outlets of entertainment as
quickly allowing them to forget everything else...
no one insulating anyone's intelligence...
i'm just insulting... the logistics supervisors...
managers... if i were in the right sort of position...
i'd encourage these poor pawns:
you are expected to be bored on your job...
ever think about thinking about a cinema of memory?
flash-backs? not everyone is going to be focused on...
the job in tow... a heart-surgeon...
but it would be nice to find some people to be awake...
in posit... coordinate within the confines
of your vicinity... rather than simply switching off...
the current work i'm doing is not work...
a tree does more work than i do...
i wish i could think myself as a poet...
no one pays for music, no one is going to pay
for poetry...
             sooner paying for bullets than words
in verse...
                                  i'm idiotically investing in a future
i will never see...
        but thank god for that...
to manoeuvre around finding fame while being
propped up by some function in sport or some
infamy in the shady regions of society: some reputation...
ugh... all that bothersome psychological interest:
but i thought we had no soul?!
   i don't think i could stomach fame...
when... once upon a time... fame... took time...
there was no profiling... there was no immediacy
of recognition... a person's face wasn't made famous...
his name was... no one recognised a famous person
once upon a time... not his face...
but... if you said a name... oh... then... then they would...
recognise the person...
what a glorious time...

and sure... now i'm seeing the old... who were once young...
veer off into their crippling veneer of old age...
pretend: arbeit macht frei doesn't apply to them:
they had all their fun...
i'm what? not going to have fun either?
if the older generation had their fun...
i'm... going to have m fun too...
not as freely... obviously...
i much prefer prostitutes than these supposed
freely available women...
they're not going to be English...
or H'American hard to get types...
Turkic...
               no... i'm not going to be climbing up
the hierarchies of men... either...
i'm going to be looking for ways to bypass that...
i walk around a supermarket and
start thinking:
the sort of men... that bred...
with this choice of... gargoyles...
      thank god i haven't invested...
seriously... my time, my *****: my effort...
weak men who don't know what to do when
they're alone...
   unimaginative men...
             men who couldn't possibly enjoy
cycling alone... i sort of passed this hybrid flu
by getting stuck into work: oink... oink...
i smilled... i played nice...
it's a nice... mask...
    es ist ein schönmaske...
              ich: lächeln...
                            and in a game of poker...
you... show your cards to your opponents, no?
i'm sieving, i'm fishing...
    i'm sifting through...
             this work doesn't pay enough for me to care
for it being more than a gig economy...
like i said... i'm just waiting...
i'm waiting...
                   i've been educated a tier above
all these idiots who think they can dictate minor
issues in spatial coordination...
     you know what i think about...
leeching their skins off...
little critters... i conjure up an Ed Gein thinking
about what... sort of ******* worth of hierarchies they
have conjured for themselves...
i want to... scratch their skins off...
for playing the petty-****-heads they are
attempting... to be... american head charge:
                  set yourself on fire...
         no... some purple dye haired pseudo-supervisor
is not really bothering me...
i don't think i could **** her...
              no... i don't think i could...
        she has a ****** life he keeps recounting...
but at the same time telling everyone else i misheard:
DARLING with DADDY...
   *****... drop it... drop it... seriously...
             you keep at it... it was funny the first two: times...
that's why i like keeping the joker card...
when in a workplace... make sure you're interacted
with a *******... ergo? when working with women?
sure... they approach you... but what position are they
approaching you from?
freely available? readily available?!
they are coworkers?! are they prostitutes?!
no answer... "confusion"...

            dig: tow: daughter... some... steel.

.the "left" was doing so well in the hinter-lands of the vest so well... gone the "nation", the "race", the "ethnity": how a russian... well a trouble with: russians not being the panslavic "symptom" etc., but sure... i could see it happen... it worked so perfectly... i could **** around with an afro-saxon spawn... a thai suprise... no matter... erase that side of the equation and we could have kept the ball rolling... but then... it became... completely unnecessary to attack the status quo from a grammatical underpinning... gender neutral pronouns: when all was required was an it... and in those languages: french... where... nouns cannot be gender neutral: like in ******: a sun is female: a moon male... anyone could forget what they would thereby bring to the table... their race, their ethnicity... their nationality... all fine and wonderful... but to undermine: i eat a pear... i walked a mile: toward: they: who walked a mile... they: that ate a pear - which i, thought: "they" did not... panem et circenses: becomes a paradox... what has happened to the willigness for the circus... the bread is to not be exhauasted... people are told: it's best to save your money - by not spending it... on frival affairs of "life"... but the "left" came after all known tribalism... beside the secular tribalism of supporting a football team... and now that's gone... did they have to come after grammatical rigidity? i could leave my slavic in place with the western european germanic... there was a confusion among the islamic recruiters for the mamluk caliphate on edware road that didn't tell apart a ****** with a german... fair enough... since all the people of this world are to be... copper-skinned... too bad: we'll have to bleach the choccies and bleed the blondies... we'll get a cinnamon-copper concensus however we: most dislike it... almost a peevish "concern" throughout... i heave a sense of claustrophobia... an attack on both sides: a bottleneck impossibility... i can't... wave a toilet roll akin to Chamberlain after the munich agreement... i'd agree... although Franklin D. Roosevelt is a favorite of mine... a bit like Philip II Augustus of the Capetian dynasty... him riding a horse... the native walking and the african... also towing his legs... but it's not like the northern natives... were... like the southern and mid-natives of this two-tier continent... the Mayans / the Aztecs didn't... behold horses in the same way as the Conquistadors... Beethoven... apparently a Moor... a Spaniard... prior to... the Goths moved through Iberia... so i guess... anything tinged with copper is also "black"... a headache of a narrative to want to keep-up with! of course: Copernicus was a woman! the madness of king George III... the lament of the zenith... baby-faced Idi Amin... never brought to justice... died a peaceful death... somewhere in Saudi Arabia... somewhere among the camel jockeys... i dare say... perhaps if i were a lithuanian... an estonian... a latvian... but an ukranian? it should be oh so simple! english, ukranian... russian... ****** rubric!

life - життя - жизнь - życie
air - повітря - воздуха - powietrze
serpent - змія - змей - wąż
ghost - привид - призрак - duch
soul - душа - душа - dusza
body - тіло - тело - ciało
tongue - язик - язык - język....

  of the slavs i still think we're the most refined... hell nietzsche called as the french of the slavs... if this was written in warsaw... under some pseudonym... fair enough... powie: it will say... trze: as it will rub with sandpaper (loosely)... concerning air... but a panslavic movement would only make sense from perspective of russia...

herd - стадо - пасти - stado...

       a history of a "people" and... history as: etymology... and who came up with what word first... and: how it became "inconvenient" to share some words: notably nouns... oh god forbid loan words!

horse - кінь - конь - koń...
                                          (зЪ)-(ż)art... joke...
                              (зЬ)-(ź)renica... pupil of the eye...  

once upon a time i could stomach
canned laughter...
in comedy sitcoms...
   i could stomach it...
           because it tried to anticipate
when to laugh: when the canned
laughter wasn't... used...
i could get canned laughter...
or... notably...
             when ricky gervais made...
the office...
   it's not that the jokes were
so funny or so crass or so... soap opera...
so cringe...
   no canned laughter...
a terrible time including canned
laughter in "comedy movies"...
that's one thing...
but... but...              but!
canned crowds?
      i've seen about 3 FA matches...
man city vs. burnley...
   west ham vs. spurs...
        canned crowds...
           canned crowds... audio
borrowed from friendly matches...
not from derby matches...
from... friendly matches...
canned laughter...
   canned support...
canned antagonism...
                   canned kantian
load of *******...
                  once upon a time...
you'd get a live-feed
and live-audio of an international
match... between...
bulgaria and england...
or montenegro and england...
the home side was banned for racism...
even in those matches...
you didn't get...
canned support... canned ghosts?
canned ghosts... canned cheering...
canned chanting...
  canned: leering...
      i knew that it was important
for there to be a crowd...
in a stadium... even though:
you only get a t.v. link access...
to the football match...
     canned laughter...
laughter i would never...
            giggle with...
          but... canning a home crowd?
to a murmur of a friendly match?
the fever pitch of a london debry?
hell... nice interlude...
nice... whatever this was ever going
to be.

nein deutsche
    laub
     alles
        beweiß
                  hinter!
             mein herr!

     ᚻᛁᛖᚱ

                ᚢᚾᛞ

                    ᛃᛖᛏᛉᛏ.

Zurückgeblieben?

oder

Vorwärtsgelaufen

und die anderen hinter mir gelassen?

imagine any Chopin...
well Chopin might just have stopped
the impromptu barrage
of jazz...
bill evans - portrait in jazz (1960 Album)...
but a Satie?
but a Debussy?
oh, mein, gott!

john debney: the aramaic
and the music brings me to tears...
i know i know it's a mel gibson
fetish fest...

it's either bill evans or it's
sonny clark...
and there are those
who: putting it lightly...
have some gravestone grief
over what michael
hutchence did on
the loose abstract of the noose...

not my "thing"...
at least jazz allows
the soloist pianist...
the crescendo...
the bass player
the sax sexed-up whizz...
no alto please no alto:
trumpet!
and we're all right in bingo...
rolling besides there's
this grand spectacle known
as the Niagara...
and it's neither Niger nor Nigeria
nor Bulgaria nor:
oh... right you are sir...
******... we will need
this excess on the rubber-ball
bounce severely excused via
Broadmoor "ltd. esp. if your name
is not peaches,
or jackie o lem(m)on"...

mr. bananNa to you:
heathen disbeliever!
the joke reaches its conclusion
when all the people laughing at it...
are somehow: dead...

it was such a dandy place to hive...
abrupt when the bass...
did its solo:
and it was this higher tier
of the plucked cello...
this rembrandt of the 20th century
moving some distance:
toward a "forward"...

this would most certainly require
the most bleak defence for all
this creative bulldozer...
an auschwitz to be certain...
some germno-esque
and a Vienna limitation...
a mongolian gold-hoarding...
the mongols that remained
in europe... and called themselves
tartars, and this the neu-crimea...
and this lesser love circumstance
of the London dating scene...

my always reserved
and my always "missing" / otherwise
sub-plot jazzy London of
an elsewhere...
bill evans handshakes a cousin IT
of a chopin and the world is allowed
to spiral out of control...

jazz on piano and rain is cascade...
what is felt and what is not composed
for the advent XIII...
raindrops on the forest floor...
raindrops on the begging
frank sinatra...
raindrops of tinsel and some will
have to propose...
when leisure was a synonym of leather...

disorientating piano...
jazz piano...
give me the trumpet and let's forgive
the alto sax...
to each hell his hounds!
to borrow, to beg...
to growl and to scuff!

to each hell his mercenaries of choiced
hounds!
blood-thirty cherubs of ****-mongrel
hinter of cerberus: standing before
the log indigestion of the fore!

this angelic face and the woman
to come!
to have to have "innonce" being
whispered in my ear...
as nothing more than:
**** this Jezebel while you might...
it's not more a metaphor...
when what's gagging is
to also to be applied for: minus literally...
wholy within the confines
of the dostraught metaphor.

as does the jasmine...
the flower prospect matches
the beauty of the genitals...
but sure as ****...
it doesn't match up to the face!
the face is a schizophrenic's nightmare...
the flower is the genitals
of that i am most assured...
but the face?
"androgynous"... sorry...
what's that? "cute"?!

i need to sketch to " " a shadow...
i need to fathom an itch...
i need a minute...
i cannot fathom an hour...
i crave a yawn...
that's a tokyo riddle...
there's... a mel gibson
"antithesis" of h'amrican
1990s "non-adventure"...

        blah blah yawn *******
global roxette isn't abba...
           soz so so knee'z...
         lost orr last a hinter...
my last my lost my...
skjelve
            ...
        schauer...

   drżenie...

                  i want...
i want to forget...
best armour... is...
                 charcoal cheap...
fanfare... crisp grizz:
    
zeigerpulverschweinefleisch:
klaustrophobischdeutsche­rechtschreibung?!

.it's such a new experience: this old england; but no one ever will say whether good or bad... just this relativistic c'est la vie / m'eh...

new-be irish...
    no new-new english...
old-be       *****...
some gradation
of a variation in: velsh...

hinter      tease and
the lost scot...

     or shcoot...

                    blister bargain:
kept under
the broom       broom.

new drunk - regaining
a regional; and accent(s) -
perhaps the use of diacritical
markers.