You came and went again today even quicker than last time... front door carelessly swinging on its rusty hinges behind you & porch creaking under your feet as you ran down its tired steps; the baby blue paint chips falling to their deaths from the railings to your sleeping front yard. No one around here can vividly recall the last time they looked into your eyes. No one around here can vividly recall the way your voice sounds in the middle of the night. You are the start of an engine. You are the gravel that rolls beneath your tires & perhaps sometimes even a passing smile. I don't question your desire to go and go and go. *I just hope that where ever you travel you're offered more than old graffitied stop signs and broken windows & maybe one day you can show me which exit to take out of this lazy place.

I miss the honey that dripped from the words you spoke
so few they were
all different tastes of raspberry and lavender
Each kiss was like an array of samples from a farmer's market
Although you were as graceful as a goose on rollerskates
you were a place that I could let my feelings loose
Homebase in a giant game of tag
You were wi-fi that never once lagged
I'd lay down and call you boring
shape my nails using the skin from your back
Waste time in a digital daze
while you'd spark up that pipe and get blazed

Referees mismanage oversight
incorrect calls lower credibility
faith in justice dissolves into the ice
agency is taken into padded hands
vigilantes slash and spear.

Hip check leads to cross check leads to fist check
malignant hostility boils over
leather armor is removed
interphalangeal joints meet mandible
type O negative paints a jersey
haymakers take bizarre trajectories
to avoid helmets and visors
the face is homebase to ingrain pain.

Violence subverts gamesmanship
players must be taken off ice
to be put on ice
otherwise brawls become overabundant
and destroy the integrity of the sport
yet each transfer of agony is euphorically satisfying
—considering the context—
so fist fairs continue for the foreseeable future
we organize an impenetrable perimeter
once we've acclimated to penalty kills.

B-side

things have changed since the days of progressive rock,
the whole idea of the concept album...
i once owned this copy of a music magazine: MOJO...
when magazines were still in print...
that's the thing with me -

three passions in my life, three great loves in my life...
cycling, music and philosophy:
if i said that i loved poetry i'd be lying...
since i imagine myself as writing it -
with this little beast there's a love-hate relationship -
it's hardly a love: it's a medium where my three loves come together...

but a lot has changed since the progressive rock days of the concept album...
what album topped the MOJO top 50 albums from
the progressive rock genre?
Pink Floyd's dark side of the moon...
who was second? ah...
YES' close to the edge:
personally i preferred the yes album...
Jethro Tull's Aqualung was way down the list...
Radiohead's OK computer wasn't unsurprisingly high...

but i would have topped the list with
King Crimson's in the court of the crimson king...
never mind...
i'd love to start a petition for all
the Red Hot Chilli Pepper albums to be released...
only upon hearing some of the B-sides from By the Way...

then moving to the B-sides of Blood, Sugar, ***, Magik...
i'm not sieving through the B-sides of Californication...
i'd want to start a petition for
all the Red Hot Chilli Pepper albums to be released
like Stadium Arcadium was released...
as a double-album... ****'s sake...
the artistry of this band is inexhaustible!

ALL RED HOT CHILLI PEPPERS' ALBUMS SHOULD BE RELEASED AS DOUBLE-ALBUMS...
that would be ****** innovative:
a natural progression from progressive rock...
all other mentions of progression the spheres of politics and

sociology blah blah ought to begin with... this...
i'm just surprised "they" only figured it out with Stadium Arcadium...

i mean: this B-side of the band is like:
i remember the days when bands would have
INSTRUMENTAL tracks, most notably Iron Maiden and
Metallica... take for example the Teatro Jam...

vocals brought to a bare minimum or nothing at all...
yes... i feel privileged to get a sneak peek into
the potential for the "concept" of the double album...
oh... sly technicalities...

i'm seriously not the type of a Matthew Arnold type...
crying myself to sleep after seeing Liszt play and swoon
the ladies...

i stopped caring about the "lady department" of my life...
that's how the story goes...
Matthew Arnold went to a Liszt concert
and he went back home and cried about how Liszt:
the virtuoso managed to swoon the ladies...
it helped that i was working those two gigs
and i wasn't just a fan...
because watching the women watching
these guys on stage helped with
the required attire of the security services...

perhaps i wasn't jumping up and down...
but i was "secretly" tapping my feet...
i chose the wrong instrument:
like any boy does when he has no band mates...
tried my chances on the guitar...
i should have been a drummer...
envy of the world could not topple what i'm interested
in / with anyway...

my solitary existence is enough
for whatever is not enough for others...
beside the double-album fixation,
i have a more potent "fixation": it's an analogy...
the Matthew Arnold vs.
                 Matthew Conrad (that's me) analogy...

poor M. Arnold went home weeping
at his inadequacies, poets are never favoured by women...
poor sod... how could he cushion himself against
the onslaught of Liszt? he couldn't...
back in the day you went to see a composer play...
you just bought a ticket... even today...
you go to an opera... what can you scavenge?
merely the ******* programme... but moi?
i was working... sure...
but i was probably the only person working
that double shift who ended his shift buying
a T-shirt of the band... that's a nice cushion to have...

it sort of distanced me from envy...
from utter despair... i didn't want to be on the stage...
i didn't want to be those guys...
i was just happy buying the band's T-shirt...
i switched off in that moment...
moments prior i was worried about crowd
safety intrusions into my psyche...
the next... after all was said and sang...
i emerged like i just went and saw my
"new" favorite band for "free": well...
i got paid to see them... that's also crucial...
i was paid to see them overseeing the crowd seeing them...

maybe that's why... my focus was split...
splintered in half...
i was of a conscious akin
to a lightning bolt splitting a tree in half...
i forgot despair... i thought about seeing
them live back in circa 2004 when
the London Arena in the Docklands was still viable...
with Chad Smith pre-warming before the gig...
walking in the crowd seemingly unnoticed
in a cowboy hat... hell...
i was almost an optometrist
when Frank Bruno brushed shoulders
with me coming back from ring-side
at that Tyson fury match-up... patient little me...

i've landed the perfect job...
i remember the days when my former school-friends
would joke about me not having a job...
being misdiagnosed as a "schizophrenic"...
what the **** did they do? oh... right...
one worked in a pub... another worked in Homebase...
this general DIY wholesaler...
i was cycling past where he worked...
it's getting torn down...
i only laugh at things that other people
don't find funny: most notably my own thoughts:
or thereby a lack of them... and to think...

all it took: to be in the position
i'm in now was being "nice" to my next-door neighbour...
the same "******" story: it's not what you know...
it's who you know... no...
i couldn't possibly be the next Matthew Arnold
bemoaning whatever successes Liszt had with women...
i got a Red Hot Chilli Pepper T-shirt...

there is healthy consumerism and
there's unhealthy consumerism...
the healthy type of consumerism is akin to:
             buying a memento...
some sort of memorabilia...
i love that sort of consumerism...
since i was working i couldn't take pictures of the events...
but it has become apparent...
the T-shirt saved me from the agony
akin to Matthew Arnold's agony...
i rather think i know what i'm doing...
it's not exactly ontologically based with a bias...
it's what i've acquired...
of course i'm seeking fame...
but it's not fame associated with being alive...
it's more a fame centered with: when i am gone...

when i satiate all that's mortal about me...
that's why i reject the motives for employing
the tactics of: fake it until you make it i.e. CREDIT...
i work on a debit allowance...
i spend what i earn rather than borrow in order to spend...
sure... i'll miss out on... wait... wait...
what am i going to be missing out on?
i love the company of my coworkers...
sure... i'm not a brain surgeon...
my mother is currently watching this ****** show:

the good doctor... no! that's why doctors are not walking encyclopedias...

that's why they specialize...
no chance in hell is there a "god" in the medical profession... PLATE OF BROWN... sweet instrumental...
progressive instrumental...
bourbon is the sweeter version of whiskey...
probably the greatest "thing" to come out of H'america...
prior to the blues and jazz...
and i get told: white man bad... slavery bad...
sure...

until the original slavery emerged as introducing
the black man to musical instruments that gave
the poor white boy prune an escape from classical music...
i don't see what the "*******" problem is...
talentless people drowning gripping to razor blades...
sure... i'm sort of jealous... but i'm not envious...
i allocated myself a company of Ovid and Horace...
Milton is not going to be replicated...
i want to write something:
i will write something that's properly
resembling the sort of life worth living
at the turn of the 21st century... oh ****...
i forgot to mention my 4th love...

drinking... i mean...
whether it's bourbon or whether it's whiskey...
you can't really love something unless you bring it
to the altar of excesses... and i do just that...
perhaps i have room for a fifth... but?
seeing how my father behaves around my mother?
i hardly "think" that's a viable choice for me... ergo...
i can spare myself the unnecessary details
and go straight after the prostitutes:
i don't mind sharing... after all...
i'm not sharing alimony guilt / no guilt...
i figured out a way to avoid making "profile-contact":
eye-contact i can stomach...
but all this a priori modulations of man...
no wonder dates are so boring: dating...

i don't want to know anything about
another person: PRIOR...
i want to find out... gain knowledge...
but if i'm about to be served something on a:
precursor basis? that's... ******* boring...
no wonder i'm not interested... and never will be...
it like... you either get given a fish...
or you're given a fishing rod... and some maggots...
people have their fiddly bits...
but if people expose their fiddly bits...
the stereotype is that man is the "hunter"...
what the **** am i hunting?

i don't like hunting: i like scouting...
that's the entire problem
with Darwinism mingling with "humanism":
too much is borrowed from the natural world....
and when that happens?
imposing the natural world
on the technical world of man rarely helps anyone...

          by proxy or default... or perhaps by simply
the spiral in control of ad hoc...
i write... after all writing is an extension of thinking...
it's not an invitation to speak...
people complain about their internet access...
leverages of the comment section...
maybe i just figured a way to bypass unwarranted
"attention".... writing that's not to be sung...
lyricism: as much as i love it
i abhor it...
           because i'm not even close to singing it...
i'm also not even close to speaking
it... best left in the vaults of thought...
after all: i'm measuring my steps for a posthumous
fame...

           i couldn't rob an entertainer from his
today: our daily bread...
and there's always one member in the band
that's going to be grounded in:
a focus of creativiy:
grounded in not allowing all the caveats of fame
that come with it (fame):
the crab bucket principle...
me? i was lucky to watch both of their shows
in London...
                  while actually watching the crowd...
Matthew Arnold would have felt so much
better if he managed to get a Liszt T-shirt...
a consumer statement akin to:
i was there...
       i saw them live... look how happy i am
to be alive... i got the mother-******* T-shirt...
who gives a rat's *** about their private lives...
i too have a private life... i write scribbles that do not rhyme
and i'm juggling the idea of counter to
Nietzsche and poet-philosopher... philosophy is in
the background... but it's more a case of poet-journalist...
and i like the forest in the winter at night...
and i adore aloneness... which is a quality of being
that's un-reflective / restrictive of the expressions:
being alone or being lonely...
it's dissociative... not associative...

and i adore writing as a way to create constrains...
constraints...
                           because if i were to jump the fame
bandwagon of: "fame ruined my mortality"...
i'd be making videos... exposing myself to the world
of bad people with even more bad ideas...
**** me: filter in place...
all are welcome who seek to be served...
the rest can snuggle in a crab-bucket elsewhere...
by just consolation:
"being there" will pass me by...
i will have no concern for the world...
instead: the world will have concern for me
having past through it... that's how Heidegger's
idea is inverted:
   i have no concern for the world... for "being there":
i'm already "here"...
           for me the world is: there's being...
i can't pnpoint a "there" and couple it to "being"
to create Heidegger's bad grammar...
there's being: der welt... the world...
but there's also the self-being: selbst-sein...
                as much as there's the selbst-sein-im-der-welt...
there's also the selbst-sein-im-die-sein...
contrast: selbst-sein-im-die-selbst...

ha ha... me and a "girlfriend"? captain complications
"autistic"? no wonder i spend most of my time
around animals... this one time in the supermarket
a boy in a buggy started pointing at me...
see! that's the problem! the creatures that least understand
the complications of language: man can arrive at...
understand me best... we communicate on the focus
of onomatopoeias... syllables... vowels-alone...
finger-pointing: ooh! ooh! beard! tall man! beard!      

mein gott!
the idea of me being married is a bit like thinking
either Nietzsche or Kierkegaard being married...
or for that matter Kant...
i just kept focusing on the voyeurism presented
by pigeons... how many times they get rejected:
Darwinism is a fake:
it's not about the survival of the fittest...
it's about the survival of those who are subdue
about making the most mistakes...
i opted out... i like my comforts...
i'm not a social animal... i'm not a political animal...
ego: non animal-sociale...
   non animal-politica...
       ego-ergo: creatura-ex-solatium!
i'm a creature of comfort...
          
         i don't need complications
of womens' exfoliations...
"expectastions"...
                       bye bye... wave goodbye
the would be sinking Titanic...
       ice is a new hello!
         "women and children first"...
sink the ship... count the *****...
no... because this "****" doesn't end... unless it ends
with the DRILL FABRIC OF A MARCH...

not since it was so easy for the Islamic
Conquistadors to be made so easy
and for us "remainers" to have it made to "hard"...
then again... eh?! keep what?!
leap over what burp of a frog?!
            i'm pretty sure the Slavic world
imploded when they heard about the antics
of the "west"... i'm pretty sure the Russians were
like: before... we reach that summit of insanity...
i... a Russian... will sooner ****-fiddle an Ukrainian
with war... before the cancer spreads...
and so it happened...
                         west: my ungovernable wet ***!
"west"...
                       i might speak the language:
but churning through the outliers i'm ANTI...

  any deficiency in the orthodoxy use of language is:
HERESY...
           i have LIMITS...
**** it... i'm siding with the Russians...
i don't care...
              **** Ukraine: for Chernobyl!
we might as well find our nearest sacrifice...

BUT I KNOW THAT I'M ALREADY DEAD!
i'm just waiting for the "PAUSE" buttonz...

yeah... like that joke...
an Olaf... a Lothar and a Conrad walk into
a bar...
    only Conrad walks out...
why? because he didn't make any Hebrew jokes...
and he drank more whiskey than both
Olaf and Lothar...
i know i'm not funny...
i'm not supposed to be: ******* funny!
i'm supposed to be imitation-cannibal!

A-side

i'm truly lucky to be alive...
at least in my generation...
i was 13 when Californication came out,
i spent one afternoon
with my now estranged uncle
listening to the record while
he was working on his Porsche
eating take-away Kentucky fried
chicken...
                     talking about music and life
and *** and what not...
mostly girls...
            
my sympathy for Ukraine? none...
maybe Ukraine was part of the Soviet
Union maybe not (obviously)
but: yeah... thanks for Chernobyl...
my mother's premature chronic pain...
i might be the last drinker in the family
lineage who takes drinking
seriously: as a way to progress intellectually
but my mother's on opiates...
i was born with a "mark of Cain"...
whatever the hell it was...

it was a ******* nuclear REACTOR...
it wasn't a nuclear BOMB...
a bomb EXPLODES... a reactor IMPLODES...
who know what the ****** difference
is... but give it enough time
and you'll find out...

well... it must be bad... since how many *******
tests did the Americans the Russians
and the French carry out with bombs?
Godzilla blah blah...
       but it only took ONE bad reactor to make
people look all-crazy-at-each-other...
******* KARMA... oh yeah...
it wasn't enough to do both Hiroshima
and Nagasaki... more tests required!

and all those cases of freakish premature
cancers in eastern Europe... hell... elsewhere too...
last time i heard an imploding nuclear
reactor is like detonating 400 Hiroshima type
bombs...
and the effects were immediately apparent
in the botanical kingdom...
effects which even reached the region
where i was born...
   it was a case of Spring-Autumn...
     oh yeah... you had streaks of trees that
were autumn like: perhaps even past autumn...
sort of dead-ish... and streaks of trees
that were: spring-esque...

by then, no one knew...
                             the crescendo of the collapse
of the Soviet union...
a bit like the crescendo of the end of the second
world war and the all great h'american hard-on:

but let's face it... no other culture was so
good as the late 20th century American culture...
the Beatniks,
Charles Olson - the only post-modernist i have
any respect for... if i can call him that...
then again... i'm jumping hoops and conclusions
that that non-verbatim...

and you have to admit...
    no no... it wasn't because i was working both
the shifts for the Red Hot Chilli Peppers gig at
the London stadium: but let me tell you what...
i would have been completely ****** (OFF)
if i didn't buy tickets for both days...

day 1: opened with CAN'T STOP
day 2: opened with ALL AROUND THE WORLD
day 1: played UNDER THE BRIDGE for the encore
day 2: didn't play UNDER THE BRIDGE for the encore...

proper old-school...
that other shift i did where Weezer, Fall Out Boy
and Green Day played...
even the guys i was working with were like:
they (i.e. Green Day) 'these guys don't know when to
shut up'... i was like... oh... right, this song?
they'll finish on that one:
   it's one of those sentimental closure songs...
one of the girls sang that song
in an assembly when we were leaving school:
(have the) time of your life...

i was sure of it... oops... a ******* Dawid Bovie cover!
sure... people are at a gig... we're too,
but we also want to: ******* go home...
and we can't until all these ******* leave first!
ugh!

- thank god (casually expressed, eat dog doog...
yes - intentional, FELA'S **** is the *******
groove party - food)
i'm not one of those people forming a cliche
opinion about whether i'm a fan of the Beatles
or whether the Rolling Stones...
ask me again... James Brown yes...
and Red Hot Chilli Peppers' A-sides
or Red Hot Chilli Peppers' B-sides...

now... that's a tough one...

mind you: what gave birth to the Communist project?
pan-Slavism...
there were plenty of Hebrews living in Russia
and in Poland... i guess those people were
like... sure... let's try...
if we **** up: we'll **** up SPECTACULARILY...
and "we" did... but... the current reiteration
of "communism" in the VEST?
hmm... all this post-grammatical-mystique...
oh look! adjective, verbs, nouns,
the indefinite article and a definite article
are being neglected by the hyper-focus on pronouns...

it's like a second imaginary Chernobyl imploded
and fried people's intellectual capacity
for formal / casual conversation talking
about the weather and buses being late...

i'm only saying that Red Hot Chilli Peppers is
a band of / for my generation because...
i've already come across younglings
that haven't heard of them...
YES!                             and the band too...
but finally! i've reached the cut-off point
where i'm part of a zeitgeist that is reaching its
zenith-nadir...
                       the equilibrium akin to the Olympic
passing of the torch... although:
there's not much of a fire left...
       just an unlit torch... instead of fire: ambers
of a once fire...

but that's what happens... i understand the paranoid
Russians all too well...
back in 2007 they were such welcoming people:
i still don't understand why the western media
narrative about McDonald's being shut down
in Russia suddenly turned into a new fast food
chain under a different name serving the same food...
when i was in Russia: i swear to god...
i didn't see a single McDonald's... so... twinkle toes...
hum hum hmm...

were "my" people paid reparations
for the **** invasions? i know the Hebrews were...
oh yeah: we had that glorious task of being
invaded and then told to stack 'em bricks
for the crematorium CHIMNEYS...
well... it could have been worse...
we could have been told to ***** the NECROPHILIC
architecture of ancient Egypt in the guise
of the pyramids...

and because being under the Soviet yoke
of influence... and then... oh god! they gave "us" a
******* first non-Italian POPE!
one hand washes the other
but neither hand knows what the other hand
is doing... from ultra-atheism to ultra-catholic
conservatism...
"our" capital shouldn't be called Warsaw...
(no jokes about that, unlike Bangkok)
                                it should be called Seesaw...

backwards and forwards... as Norman Davis pointed
out: god's playground...
which it is... mind you: i'm sort of bad tempered
when it comes to being a Siamese-twin with
my Deutsche neighbours...
lucky that some of those Schwabs or Saxons
migrated... settled on some ****** weather island
and mingled with the Velsh and the Picts and
whatever other Celtic remains were left
in Europe...

oh but yesterday... that old man made me lose my
cool... i was already sweating it out for over
an hour and he exclaims in the street like
those manic street Apocalypse preachers:
where are you lights!
if i stopped i would have properly explained
than merely pointing at my rear-light glowing
red and telling to *******...
BUT YOU WOULDN'T SAY JUST AS MUCH
IF IT WAS ONE OF THOSE INDIAN
DELIVEROO ELECTRIC BICYCLE GUYS?!
would you, old man?
mind you: old man... you give a rat's *******
about one cyclist... then tell me...
who does your council employ... shouldn't
the street lights already be switched on?!
    hmm.. already be...
shouldn't the street lights be already switched on?
that sounds... eerie...

shouldn't the street lights already be switched on
shouldn't the street lights be already switched on...
i honestly can't decide upon the correct
grammar... let's be trans-grammatical about that one...
after all... it's all trans-biology anyway...
a bit like Plato telling Sisyphus that the gods
forgot about him and that he can stop his pointless
toiling... or what Plato mentioned about
being punished and being reincarnated
as a woman if one begins as a man...
well: to hell with reincarnation: time's up for
theology now that science speeds things up...

scary world... even scarier people...
THIS DOOR NEEDS HINGES!
bring in the unhinged experts in not-doors!
yesss... we need a house with enough of
BREEZE!
me? i'm just complementing their insanity with
my own special strain that prostitutes call:
GOOD-CRAZY.

it was a year of peter bjorn and john with what later became an advert - what meant Olympic integrity, when R.E.M. didn't sell it's the end of the world (as we know it) to Microsoft... because it would just mean another mansion of 22 toilets and 16 bedrooms, rather than the standard bog where the ****-dolphins laughed along with Dr. Susie...

i remember the night well...
we met some producer looking for the school playground
of gimmicks in a bar in the plush part of
moving the Afro-Carribeans out of Hackney into
Havering, so that the Olympics "legacy" could be
established with a mirror pristine look for
that locals never ever would resemble: the Japanese
pensioners and the tourists: harr she! squat *******!
squat! squat in the workplace, squat at home!
we ended up at a party where i was
wearing a t-shirt with the iron cross,
gott min uns, she was Finnish, we started snogging,
out came the prowler t.v. presenter looking for
more ***... miquita oliver was there,
and so was simon amstell (the prowl hi
i already mentioned), as we were leaving bloc party
arrived when one of our accomplices was all giddy
like a tour-fan-****... we went to the producer's
pad... ******* for the Hitchcock blonde using it to
start a conversation... you upstairs in the attic
shivering on a massive bean bag...
cuddles... shivers... cuddles...
now your children are ready to go to school...
can't blame me for nostalgia... i can't blame myself
for not keeping a wife and tax revenue or life insurance...
spending the night there, breaking up
when the sun rose... so much for high school sweet hearts...
it's true... the hipsters thought i was a hipster **** that
one time... i'm laughing about it now...
but thankfully the song i mentioned had no
ethical superiority surrounding it...
thankfully this memory will not be worth much,
it's like a bunch of Romanians selling shoes at
a Polish open-air market... peter bjorn and john's
young folks crept up at the heels of uninspired people...
well, even the monetary fund or the tribal fund of
sticking together, breach of justice, to eradicate tribalism
give it alcoholism without expression...
keep the monetary tact in line with piranha...
well... it's part of a homebase advert from now on...
so it means there's no emotional commitment to be leveraged
for any other purpose than a purpose per se, which ends
on the last dot.

this has to probably the best weekend of my life... yes, as a weekend i hardly think anything will top it... although i'm working in three different locations: yes, if i heard about SML sooner before promising to do a shift at Wembley for the Taylor Hawkins tribute concert, i would have spent the 3 of the most glorious days in Basildon... alas... but i guess today filled me up: there's always the next year... and then Sunday? a shift at the Romford ice rink...

it was a perfect day... i'm sitting back with a smile
on my face... relaxing with a whiskey...
i have until about 3am before getting up at 9am and
heading out to Wembley for the Taylor Hawkins gig...
i managed to butter up one of the managers
in such a way that means i'm starting at 12pm
and not 9am and i'm part of the internal staff rather
than outside... sinking into depression for 15 hours...
i buttered the managers by never blowing-up...
and being extremely punctual...
and getting good feedback from the crowd...
arbeit macht frei! truly! it's not a **** joke...
    i'm not doing pointless work...

but today... hell even getting to Basildon was a doddle...
all i had to do was walk for 10 minutes to the petrol
station on the A12 for 2pm... give a co-worker 10 quid
and get dropped off at location, then get driven back
to a bus stop opposite the petrol station i was picked up from...
they only forgot to mention that i needed
a black t-**** rather than a white shirt...
but that was soon dealt with...

SML... short of: Show Me Love... a Garage festival...
i never liked Garage music... i'm currently sitting listening
to the Verve's Lucky Man... then i'll listen to Pearl Jam's
nothing-man...
mind you: i didn't like Garage music when it was popular
in school... all the ******* ("popular" boys)
followed the music... MC ******* Mallets...
   they'd play some pop song and rap over it...
a pointless genre of music if you asked me...
Garage compared to Rap is a poor man's choice:
at least Rap music samples certain things...
Garage music is basically rapping over entire tracks...

but... at first we were allocated our spots...
i thought i was getting punished by Dan: once more...
but now i'm starting to think he really likes me...
i was placed on the entrance...
i was the first person the crowd would see...
i had to keep the flow of the crowd in the parameters
of the L cordon to the entrance and...
ensure the artists where allocated their parking space...
oh sure... i saw all these "artists" up and close and personal...
i swear to god... i have never seen so many
beautiful Essex SLAGS in one place at one time...
i love slags... they dress ridiculously...
they look ridiculously ridiculous...
some can pull off the look... others: unfortunately can't...
i don't see even close to this much of *** as
i see: and i see plenty of *** and legs in a brothel...
but here?! **** me... that's different!
i wasted my youth going to rock concerts...
i should have been going to Garage concerts...

one group of lads walked past with one exclaiming...
good ratio, eh boys? i hollered after him:
mate! believe me... the ratio is (*******) beautiful...
oh yeah... it's like 5 to 1...
i know why Dan put me in this position...
he knew i could filter the whole movement of people
and i was the poster-face for first contact....
i took photographs of girls before the SHOW ME LOVE
banner... blah blah... and...
ah ha!

i mentioned this woman before... the doe-eyed woman
from the London Stadium...
the one i really fancies... the ****...
turns out her name is CHILL-Y... i'll have to ask her again...
she used to be a nursery teacher,
before becoming a recruitment consultant...
she had a company she shared with someone
who disappointed her... she broke off from said X
and "took" the people she recruited with her...
even she reiterated that she didn't take them:
they left of their own accord...
i mean: i have the absolute hots for this woman...
who was i paired up outside? yeah... her...
she looked like a scared doe at the London stadium
when i first saw her... too many people...
i wasn't going to talk to her casually in front of so many
people... perfect opportunity to make my move...

she asked me a little bit about myself...
it's not like i'm going to boast about having a degree in chemistry...
i told her... i'm only doing this to get good reference...
ideally i'd love to teach primary school children:
as they say... it's not what you teach:
it's who you teach it to... but if i couldn't...
sure... high school chemistry?
where have i lived? Ilford... Romford...
oh... and prior to being 8... Poland...
my accent? oh... i couldn't put on an Essex accent...
i think you have to be born in Essex to have an Essex accent...
plus, i speak two languages so that buffers the chances
of me having a proper Essex accent...
like a Cockney accent...
she lives in Kent... in Dartford... Kent boys are
apparently different...
i knew this moment would come...
she has two children... looks like... the father of her
children didn't stick around...
she has these beautifully scared eyes...
like her beauty is slipping from her fingers...
she's probably only 10 or so years older than me...
she's stunning... i like older women...
and she's the sort of an older woman i'd imagine
being a widower to...
i really could imagine being with an older woman
and seeing her die first...
taking care of her... and spending the remaining
years of my life memorising every detail of
her in the years i spent with her...

so... i rationalised my first position as: well...
i'm the first face the crowd would greet...
i'm good with greeting people... blah blah this
blah blah that... before the hounds of the search teams
would get their hands on them...
i was hoping for something more... once the crowd
was almost entirely in... mind you: i managed to sieve
through all the beauties coming in...
it was like a roller-coaster for my libido...
Dan comes along and says: you're getting swapped...
**** is going to take over... tell him what you're doing
and just come to the concert arena and...
**** it... just float... walk around... be everywhere
and "nowhere"... **** turns up... he has no high-viz.
jacket... i radio in the predicament... i'm told to give him
my high-viz. jacket... grand...
now i look like someone of a higher rank...
i still have my radio but no high-viz. jacket...

and? i slither between the crowd of mostly women...
ah! so that's why i stopped going to night-clubs, yeah?
i slither around loads... loads of women...
i watch them dance, get drunk, dance some more...
i prowl... slowly... in between... i go behind the stage...
in front of the stage... bring water to my fellow colleagues...
blah blah... the looks i get...
i find that women have really low self-esteem...
there's one doe... there's another: all deer in the headlights
sort of aloofness...
sure... they can dress revealingly... but inside:
in their minds... they're all wearing NIQABS...
it's just one big mighty... farce!

one pokes me, i turn around, she waves at me...
i wave back... about three purposively pretend to play
snooker with me... bumping into me...
i'm wearing this tight fitting large black t-shirt...
copper-neck serpent has his sun-tan back...
his torso is bulging and so are his hands when folded...
another girl grabs my hands and starts dancing with
me... implores me to spin her around like a ballerina...
then spins me like a ballerina...
ah... these beautiful women... no wonder i never had
any success in the night clubs...
now that i look like i have some authority:
i'm all over the place...
another stops me in my tracks and implores me to
smile... i smile... and we dance this little dance
of moving left to right with our necks and heads...
she's only satisfied until i smile back...

i get put on a gate while some problem is getting
sorted... i tell myself: wait until the guy who asked
you to stay there comes back...
good thing i waited... some ******* high as a kite
jumps over the perimeter fence: straight into
the security area... tries to jump over that...
i stop him just as the managers walk up to me...

there's this other girl who approaches me:
are you security? i've just found this phone...
i take the phone and drop it over at control...
half an hour later i'm at control watching Dan give the phone
to a friend of the girl who lost it...
**** sake's i go on my first break and say:
i have some sandwiches in my backpack...
Dan takes out a 20 squid and says:
buy me a burger: no cheese... no sauce...
just the meat and the bun...
oh... and get something for yourself... seriously?!
yeah...
great... free 6 squid burger...
cheese, please, BBQ sauce and mayo...
i'm done with the ketchup and mustard combo...

oh... and i'm standing there fixing my radio to my trousers...
these two girls walk up talking to me about
pregnancy and toilets blah blah...
they say: you're playing with your *****?
what?! i'm just putting the radio onto my trousers...
i hate you one says... then retorts...
i can't hate you... you have beautiful eyes...

see! i could have been approached by countless women...
but most of these women fear rejection
so much that it's impossible to know...
whether you are approachable or not...
i shouldn't be going to brothels to "bury / drink away
my miseries"... but if it really takes a geared-up
drunk girl to break her inhibitions...
it really doesn't work like that...
i'm catering to their safety... once in a while picking
up an empty glass bottle from the floor ensuring
they don't step on it and slip...
i'm sober: they're drunk...
i feel awkward... they feel elated...
                                 it's a bit ******* pointless...

plus i have my sights on Chill-y...
from the very first moment i laid my eyes on her:
her nervy looking eyes...
eyes that read: i'm middle-aged and the men in
my life are really not worth my effort...
i'm going to spend the rest of my life alone...
my children are already starting on their adult path...
well... the Wembley shift is on tomorrow...
i wish i was at Basildon tomorrow...
but i already promised the London shift
and i buttered the managers up to the point of being
allocated inside...
i admit that i liked the first Foo Fighters' album...
i don't care much for their mega-band arena filling songs...

hell... until i meet "her": which is probably... never...
i'll follow up on the methodology of the VERCRUX...
i'll keep splitting my soul between many romantic
and ****** encounters... not when i'm 36 and in my prime...
i just don't want to be "thirsty": i.e. desperate...
that's why i waited for the right opportunity to pounce
on Chill-y... i couldn't just speak to her in front of everyone...
but Dan sort of noticed it...
that's why i was paired up with her at the beginning
of the event and was paired up with her upon egress...
we stood together and pointed people in the right
direction and chatted...

such a beautiful woman... i can imagine myself
being her widower... of **** me! what's wrong with me?!
i'm going to the brothel after i finish the Wembley
shift tomorrow... and yet here i am returning to my
teenage years' romanticism!
well... i guess that's how you balance the whole affair:
you **** a lot of women in order to fall in love
with one... i still don't know whether i'm in love with her...
i like the idea of love...

but i'm not going to give up the years of my prime
on just one woman,
i need more than one: it would be selfish of me...
plus? id abhor levelling off my testosterone levels
by taking care my my DNA-halves (children):
like i told Chill-y... i'd love to be a primary school
teacher... like i was having a conversation with these
two fine ladies: who had to go the primary school
of their children and tell the teachers:
you''d not indoctrinating our children
your sick identity-politics of a non-biological
reality and gender politics...
i agreed with them... you don't go after the children...
you don't teach children this *******' worth
of identity politics!

that's the only reason i'd go into primary school
education, rather than teach chemistry to a bunch
of insolent teenager brats...
a man is a man(full stop)
a woman is a woman(full stop)
                 perhaps David Bowie was allowed
to play with the androgynous nature of himself:
but he was an artist: not everyone is an artist...
and i'm talking: fully-bodied women who said
such things: back in a medieval period they would
be the ones with ******* serving hungry and thirsty
travellers pies and ale...

some of us have become immune to any sort of
cosmopolitan strands of argument coming from America...
esp. in England... we're looking at it thinking:
what, is, this, *******?!
surely children should be taught the distinction
between noun and pronoun... noun and verb...
noun and adjective... what's... gender neutral pronoun-nery?!
**** all... pronouns are either singular
or plural... mind you: nothing is also categorised
as a pronoun... to me? that's the only "gender neutral"
pronoun... nothing is a pronoun:
but it's more than "gender neutral":
nothing is both a singular and a plural neutrality...

in a way that the pronoun I is an absolute
singular centrism... nothing is the absolute neutral
centrism... i can be nothing...
we can be nothing... they can be nothing...
nothing is nothing and also a little bit more...
of nothing... roofing? it wouldn't allow me to write this
much, about, "nothing"...
physical labour where you're expected
to produce a high quality product that insulates
a building's structure against any water invasion
is unlike crowd-control... within the confines of crowd
control: i do one after another...
that's why i'm sitting in an armchair hunched like a crow
over a keyboard... pecking at it with 20 beaks...
worth of fingers... reminiscing...

ha! in the past my high school friends laughed
at my dole...
they worked jobs in supermarkets...
they worked jobs in DIY shops... in pubs...
me? i'm currently riding the tide...
i was a "joke" of a supposed "genius"...
i hope the "pandemic" taught them a valuable lesson...
this one "mate" of mine who worked
in the Homebase between Seven Kings and Goodmayes?
i'm just watching it get demolished...
what ****** me off about him?
once upon a time i once tried to confide in him...
tell him about my problems...
what did he say? his problems were bigger than mine...
he said the words:
'oh, you want me to take out a violin out for you?!'
we parted... i hope he looked back as i raised
my hands up into the air... and then dropped them
with force... **** it: let the "pyramid" topple!

i just wanted to confide: i knew his problems...
his parents were getting divorced...
his father flew out to Thailand and picked up a newer
model... his younger sister had some sinister
disability...
he was still living with his dad.... although:
his dad was was renting the top of the house to him:
sure... he was paying rent...
but he had the sort of space to allow him having
a girlfriend...
problem: his girlfriend's brother was prone to kiss
his mother's lips when saying goodbye...
we could have talked about that...
we used to watch movies together...
i'd ask if i ought to take my shoes whenever in his flat...
whether i could smoke cigarettes...
i used to drink beer he used to smoke marijuana...
watching a 2000 Space Odyssey was a treat...
i never talked so much about a movie...
  then again: ADAPTATION... starring Nicholas Cage...
that was a great movie to watch with him
high and me drunk...
but i just wanted to confide...
i too had my ******* troubles...
and for him to state: with his ******* violin crescendo...
my problems are bigger than yours...
oh... **** it mate... you're no good to me!
i left you in high-school! actually:
i should have left you in high-school!

look at me now... i'm having the time of my life!
i even tried to help him out with his writing ambitions...
i once wrapped a copy of GEEK LOVE
by Katherine Dunn in aluminium for his birthday...
he mentioned that he cited Beethoven's Moonlight
Sonata in a novel he was writing...
well... Katherine also cited it...
it looked like a great book...
what i wrote, to him? that was the first insult...
i knew the term: i think i didn't know what it implied...
the psychiatric term WORD-SALAD...
lucky for me i read the entire William Burrough's oeuvre...
so i knew...
but he said it with such spiteful-envy...

eh... it does hurt... thinking you might have some people
remain in your life from your youth...
but... you just tend to always outgrow them...
like a serpent shedding its skin...
it doesn't hurt now... it hurt back then...
before the pandemic... but the pandemic levelled
out the playing field: tremendously...
i found my footing: i'm guessing they lost theirs...

why am i still not married? i guess i didn't feel like
raising a child into a process of indoctrinating "it"
into the patch-work i sometimes find found among
father's at football matches:
why would i want a clone of me? what legacy
would that be deserving of my current "predicament"
if i only cared about whether my son supports
the same football team i support, like my father supported?
what, a, load, of, *******!
the only "thing" my father ever indoctrinated me
into was liking King Crimson's debut album...

his hands off-approach left me able to manoeuvre
by myself... to feed on my own desires...
he once even expressed that:
philosophy shouldn't be read by young people?!
i replied: so if not in youth? what good is philosophy when
read in old age, when i might be prone to dementia?
philosophy prepares you for life
unlike what pedagogy expects of man as a child!
no... i'm not waiting! my mind is fertile:
like my libido is fertile my mid-30s...
i'm not waiting! **** that!

i'd hate to be a father who takes his son to a football match
just in order to give him bias scrutiny for
localised geographies of adherence to... said...
"patriotism"... which i find paradoxical whenever
the club-scene dissipatates and the national team takes
over the fervour... of football fanaticism...

could i really breed a child with a woman
that might adore the music i like?
i'd hate t force upon them my likes of,
for example: fear of falling - like a lion -
prodigal - you / me (1983)... what comes closest?

bruno coulais' - dreaming... from the Coraline soundtrack...
i wouldn't want children unless they are their
own truer than me: selves of... themselves...
i wouldn't want to **** them up....
it takes so much mad, starving energy to allow
a person to become themselves without you
influencing them to become a replica of you...
best watch other people **** up...
then you have enough reasons to know why
you chose the alternative route of:
ideas can reproduce... ideas are like *****...

i will not shower my would be biological
"legacy" with a sordid mind...
mind you: a mind not sordid is verily available
to be luckily reproduced in a biological legacy...
people like me appear... then disappear...
we're not supposed to maintain a status quo...
we're devoid of such affairs...
we come, we go... we're never those with the legacy
of the in-between...
we think: we don't deal with what's already
established... thinking is originality...
by consequence of this originality one of our
faculties suffers: either our imagination,
our memory, or our capacity to dream...
i suffer from a lack of dreams...
and a lack of imagination...
but i'm brimming full with a capacity to memorise...
faces.. pointless facts... i can remember being 4...

oh well: life for life... and life to live some more.