VII. TO DIONYSUS (59 lines)

(ll. 1-16) I will tell of Dionysus, the son of glorious Semele,
how he appeared on a jutting headland by the shore of the
fruitless sea, seeming like a stripling in the first flush of
manhood: his rich, dark hair was waving about him, and on his
strong shoulders he wore a purple robe.  Presently there came
swiftly over the sparkling sea Tyrsenian (30) pirates on a well-
decked ship -- a miserable doom led them on.  When they saw him
they made signs to one another and sprang out quickly, and
seizing him straightway, put him on board their ship exultingly;
for they thought him the son of heaven-nurtured kings.  They
sought to bind him with rude bonds, but the bonds would not hold
him, and the withes fell far away from his hands and feet: and he
sat with a smile in his dark eyes.  Then the helmsman understood
all and cried out at once to his fellows and said:

(ll. 17-24) 'Madmen!  What god is this whom you have taken and
bind, strong that he is?  Not even the well-built ship can carry
him.  Surely this is either Zeus or Apollo who has the silver
bow, or Poseidon, for he looks not like mortal men but like the
gods who dwell on Olympus.  Come, then, let us set him free upon
the dark shore at once: do not lay hands on him, lest he grow
angry and stir up dangerous winds and heavy squalls.'

(ll. 25-31) So said he: but the master chid him with taunting
words: 'Madman, mark the wind and help hoist sail on the ship:
catch all the sheets.  As for this fellow we men will see to him:
I reckon he is bound for Egypt or for Cyprus or to the
Hyperboreans or further still.  But in the end he will speak out
and tell us his friends and all his wealth and his brothers, now
that providence has thrown him in our way.'

(ll. 32-54) When he had said this, he had mast and sail hoisted
on the ship, and the wind filled the sail and the crew hauled
taut the sheets on either side.  But soon strange things were
seen among them.  First of all sweet, fragrant wine ran streaming
throughout all the black ship and a heavenly smell arose, so that
all the ****** were seized with amazement when they saw it.  And
all at once a vine spread out both ways along the top of the sail
with many clusters hanging down from it, and a dark ivy-plant
twined about the mast, blossoming with flowers, and with rich
berries growing on it; and all the thole-pins were covered with
garlands.  When the pirates saw all this, then at last they bade
the helmsman to put the ship to land.  But the god changed into a
dreadful lion there on the ship, in the bows, and roared loudly:
amidships also he showed his wonders and created a shaggy bear
which stood up ravening, while on the forepeak was the lion
glaring fiercely with scowling brows.  And so the sailors fled
into the stern and crowded bemused about the right-minded
helmsman, until suddenly the lion sprang upon the master and
seized him; and when the sailors saw it they leapt out overboard
one and all into the bright sea, escaping from a miserable fate,
and were changed into dolphins.  But on the helmsman Dionysus had
mercy and held him back and made him altogether happy, saying to
him:

(ll. 55-57) 'Take courage, good...; you have found favour with my
heart.  I am loud-crying Dionysus whom Cadmus' daughter Semele
bare of union with Zeus.'

(ll. 58-59) Hail, child of fair-faced Semele!  He who forgets you
can in no wise order sweet song.

What is it with Apollo,
that draws my heart like light doth to a sunflower?
Is it the solitude
that drew Apollo to the land of the Hyperboreans?
Is it the love
that he had for Daphne which made her a laurel tree?

What is it with Apollo,
that draws my heart like a bee to a honey-laden-flower?
Was it the over-achiever streak in him
which made him Zeus' favorite?
Was it the dark streak in his soul
that added to his romanticist persona?

Now I know that it is...
the depths to which Apollo went,
the jaws of Fate that Apollo bent,
the torrential dark thoughts that Apollo sent,
the hearts of mortals that Apollo rent.

And when HE said,
You're the only one...!
With my dead mind,
I'm a golden mine.

It's my benediction; it's my affliction!

What am I? Apollonian.

chopper: chop-off-chew; a 502 bad gateway bypass cheat code...

i know what i'll spend my money earned on, in what priority, i'll spend them on a brothel, i'll spend them on a *******: after all... she will spend that earned money on trivial matters, she will buy a pair of shoes: i'll buy a pair of shoes when the ones i'm wearing will become worn... i hope i can write this without an inkling toward spite... i'm happy to be childless, i'm happy to not be married... how best to decipher my feeling, at present... FAUN... WAINAMOINEN... i will not trust the leftist cosmopolitan brigade to break up this... resurgence of a folkish spirit among the Hyperboreans... making a resurgence in song, in wording... covert... under the radar... seemingly sleeping... even Heidegger mentions this... of the people is very much distinct to: of the folk... people inhabit cities and the make-shift constructs of nations... the folk? they inhabit the land! why should an African feel welcome among the winters and the crows... when i... giggle like a child... foreign among the lost seasons at the equator with the macaque monkeys?! these people are not here to belong... they know it themselves... however many safety-nets are placed for our liberal liking & their comfort... they are unnaturally "here"... our own worst enemies... white "liberal elites"... one cocktail after a second... after... no more water to churn out alcohol... these people have come for a reason... i don't know what the reason is... better living is hardly requesting more complications from technology... when life can be simplified from the closest of the most close connections... hier: hoch norden?! alle er tabt! tysk er æsten dansk...
deutsch ist fast dänisch! we might have fought wars among each other... but at least we belonged, together, even i... liberal as i were, for so long... it's not like i can't be... leaving a route for allowance for other cultures, other races... but... i'm... becoming more... detached from reality... detached from purpose... from the geography... from the forest... language is my last defence... these people shouldn't be here because they shouldn't be here: they shouldn't be here because... there's no need for me to be among their culture! their people! if i don't need to be somewhere, why should someone "think" it necessary to be among "my", people? mongrel ******* mongrel gives us this... ****** culture! hardly any tourism... i can be a tourist in Africa... would i want to live in Africa? no! so... why the ****... thank you Russia... WE, HAVE, NO, SHARED, STORIES... JUST... THESE... SOCIAL-JUSTICE ARGUMENTATIVE POINTS... EVERYTHING IS POLITICAL: HARDLY NARRATIVE... SUFFERING FROM MEMORY EROSION... IN THE IMMEDIACY OF JOURNALISTIC *******... i bemoan this sudden quest of man: because... i believe in its failure... a failure most gross... my heart prays for this ****** experiment to fail! fail it must! scheitern es muss! svigte det skal! lethargy kicks in... being too pleasing... too pleasant... my mind retorts: almost automatically... i'm QUITS! why? looking at children... i don't want them to suffer this mental diarrhoea in future years... i want them to look at faces most familiar... i'm SLEPT... i'm QUITS... ******* SAVVY?!

i've been a hermit for so long,
shunning human contact with only minor
outbursts of contact with strangers,
old men on park benches
talking about their grandchildren
and sons-in-law,
Rayleigh bicycles, seasonal diets
(not buying watery strawberries from
Spain in the winter months,
eating more vegetables - in general -
binging on local, seasonal fruit
from local farms),
prostitutes in the brothel, talking...
*******...
but always in concentrated outbursts
of interaction...
someone in London around Whitechapel
stopping me while he implored me
to fix his breaks...
hands up... listen: if i had some tools...
i'd try...
this spurned me on to now ride around
with some tools... i only need about three...
obviously i'm not going to take a *******
pump with me too... there's a reasonable
point of what i am willing to do for strangers...
so i gave him some advice...
it's the back break, that's faulty?
remember... take longer to break...
since the front break is only working you
might go forward by breaking too heavily...
and if you're going to break heavily...
stand up on your breaks...
and leverage yourself on the handlebars...
put extra pressure on them: top down...
homeless men...
once i ******* this woman for sitting
down on the pavement with this homeless man
i knew who migrated from Romford
to Seven Kings...
gave him a cigarette and laughed a while...
with some fwends... some autistic guy from
school who... got into drinking...
blah blah...
     so she starts attacking me with...
YOU! YOU! i just waved my hand and told her:
i'm not going to argue with you...
i suppose she was implying i was supposed
to be talking up women...
i was there for a Guinness...
later that same night i went to the brothel
for some love... or as i like to call it:
cuddle & giggles...
- that one time this crazy Rastafarian started
talking to me about the Hebrew deity
deformity (in his Rastafarian way)
we started talking from Romford
he dragged me to... Hackney... of all places
to distribute pamphlets to black Baptist churches
i had a "date" with a few fwends to watch
some boxing on t.v.,
- i won't even mention that one black guy
who took me on a carousel of his crack *******
addiction... that was a long time ago...
the two of us were strapped to the insides of
a phone-box while he took up a crack-*******
glass doo-di (what would you call it?
a glass smoking pipe?)
******* madman... that's also at the same time
i was having my first psychotic breakdown
from... smoking marijuana and fasting...
and walking around London...
so many more isolated instances of "dealing"...
interacting with... people...
now this... from my period of isolation...
social hibernation... where i threw myself at writing
so heavily hearted...
graveyards, forests... at night...
there was this one funny instance...
a car parked in Bower Wood...
took a while to take a **** on the grass...
owl... check... fox... check... rabbits... check...
deer... check... something cracked some
branches while i sat on a log bare-chested...
i actually opened my mouth and uttered
the words: that's not a human... is it, are you?!
walking almost blind screaming at the top
of my voice, growling... snarling...
through havering county park... climbing past
a barbwire fence to get up close to
the horses grazing in the field...
in the dark putting my hand against a horse's mouth...
i can forgive the horse...
it thought i might have something in my hand...
like a sugar cube or an apple to nibble on...
it started nibbling on my fingers...
bucktooth ****** turned around and his hoof
almost skimmed my forehead...
i still wonder what it might feel like
to be kicked in the head by a horse's hind legs...
i tried it once... punched myself several times
in the face until i gave myself a black eye...
i still have marks on my knuckles from the time
i took pleasure from putting out
cigarettes on them...
i guess i don't dream much...
i need to be closest to reality through...
the only best available a medium that most
resonates: pain...
- or perhaps a quote from Pablo Coelho...
the alchemist...
as a teenager i was planning on travelling to India...
India came to London,
****'s sake... the whole world came to London!
why would i leave (Greater) London?
if i were to travel across the Thames...
i'd be in a completely different country...
i once cycled from Romford to Greenwich...
already the difference were visible...
the north is like... what's the right comparison?
BUDA...
the south of London? PESHT...
less underground, more trains...
trams of Croydon, for ****'s sake: i thought that
trams were a Berlin / Warsaw "thing"...
if i wanted to: i'd ******* to Edinburgh and...
find the old place i was staying at
in my third year... Montague St.
just off Nicholson St.,
i'd go back to the mosque near Appleton Tower
for a curry... i'd perhaps do some bouldering
on the Crags... if i were to find my mountain
climbing shoes...
i am still, yet, to eat a deep-fried Mars bar...
or a deep-fried pizza...
like **** i am ever going to...
just today i ate a revelation...
usually... smoked salmon... well... obviously
on a bagel... with some fresh cucumber and dill
with a decent dollop of mayo...
today?
soft white cheese... the smoked salmon
& some lemon juice...
wow...
- finding work outside the family business...
i.e. not working with my father has become...
refreshing...
he... he could "abuse" me verbally as best he could...
you're doing this wrong, you're doing
that wrong... strangers? no chance...
but this own son: he treated the harshest...
i said to myself: **** it... i'm not putting up with
this sort of UBERSCHEISSE!
i haven't worked in... has it been a decade?
"worked" worked... i wrote... investing in
people not yet born!
the people, my contemporaries: sure, i care...
but... i'm not writing a Dan Brown novel:
am i? i'm looking for... longevity...
i'm looking for immortality...
to hell with not being paid...
to hell with spending money in ways that makes
you regret it: you will never find yourself
earning money: but you will regret... spending it
in ways that deviate from a "pattern" of
well-kept endeavours...
i don't mind spending anything on my bicycle...
why? cycling is my last outlet
of... aloneness "tourism"... to hell with going
on a cruise... i take up cycling to...
Thurrock... or deeper into Essex...
hell... i'll cycle into central London...
ah... sigh of relief... i'm alone...
i like dodging traffic... i like the added thrill of large
objects that might **** me...
but at the same time i adore the abundant emptiness
of the countryside...
well... it's not: "empty"... but writing makes it out
as it is... no ******* Wordsworth's worth
of ode to nature here...
perhaps some... die grenzwacht hielt im osten...
folk songs in, esp. in die deutschezunge...
- i think i know why, why i find this language
so endearing... it's all about the infiltration process...
i could... wholeheartedly... abandon it...
with even having to wear shoes...
i feel so much for it: yet at the same time...
if i were recalled to the mutterzungen needs...
i think i might... how i can hold twin-allegiances
i will never know...

uns ander'n brach die kraft...
und heute noch und immer
    den weg nach osten zeigt...

so far away from people... yet so close...
to put into writing...
i would have loved joining the army...
chemical engineer? ZYKLON B...
rings a bell...
now... reengaging with people...
on a minor scale of what an army cohort
looks like...
i still feel ****** getting a chemistry
degree: not leaving school at 15 and joining the army...
then again... i really don't know what
i'd do with too much money:
you can always have too much money:
even if you earn... £15,000 a year...
i remember my student years back
in 2004 circa 2007 (circa, ergo, no hyphen +/-1
a year in the "bracket")
beside the student fee...
£3000 could easily cover the rent,
the food... the odd spontaneous going to
the cinema... the gym fee...
well, fair enough... as students... we weren't paying
council tax... but £3000 could cover a lot of things...
if we're talking earning... £15000...
and you take a Paulo Coelho approach
akin to: there's nothing to ******* find when
you get to the Giza pyramids... when you *******
to Brazil... you seen the world doesn't actually mean:
a local crack-head took you on
one of his ******* shimmy run...

i don't belong no more in Kenya than
a Kenyan belongs among the Hyperboreans...
sure... if he feels suicidal...
and abhors his people so much...
but look where Brexit left us...
all the Polacks suddenly didn't feel welcome...
not part of the multicultural project
of the implosive Empire as they might have
felt...
what English soldier ever fought
on the lands of Poland during the second world
war... yet... how many ****** pilots
fought for Britain?!
huh?! huh?!
history implies: people keep on forgetting...
the labour of love for us that love
to remember... like...
the world offers us rubrics borrowed from
school...
i don't mind an African trying to live
in Europe... but **** me:
you won't find me living in Africa
any time soon!
sure... the macaques are cute...
to hell with the heat!
no time soon!
i, need, seasons!
i need, eating, bland!
what, rosemary & rhyme not good enough,
for you, ******?!

smoked salmon managed to bench press
my liking for raw herring...
miss the raw cucumber, the dill, the mayo...
add some soft white cheese...
some lemon juice... keep the bagel...
now we have ourselves a sport!

the Polacks have left the shores...
hello tourists... your anti-racist rhetoric has
paid off!
i'm hardly native...
weren't your own natives...
your own fathers supposed
to bemoan the fate of your own daughters?!
you don't...
and... i'm... somehow... supposed to?
i'm much more invested in the men...
i need... rigidity... structure...
women always tend to **** it up: anyways...
some... amnesia principle...

FAUN:  WAINAMOINEN...
unplugged... "v"...
  NIRVANA's unplugged sessions...
choke... shotgun shot to the head..
Christine Chubbuck vs. the Court of Courting Blind...
rich Russian girls taking  picture of the pitch...
i'm standing in the middle...
i guess there's also me involved...

- from my hermit phase... being engaged with so many
people... esp. the children... oh god... i love the children...
for someone who enjoyed their absence from
society...
to be so, greedily... reengaged.... like a snap....
almost weird...
but... almost like: I: WANT: IT!
sure... i'm but a pawn in this role...
but... here's my excuse... i'm also anders-wo...
here's my antithesis of da-sein...
anders-wo...          am-ich?!

tid: til begynde! ja: nu! kvik!
tabt en time
tabt løs "næsten" alt...

         fanden du:                     ord så blød

KURWA MAĆ!

i've cooked plenty of curries in my life
(in the back of my mind there's this mainstream
narrative that comes to the fore
with buzz-words like: "cultural appropriation"...
so i can't cook a curry for myself
i need someone native of the "concept" of curry
to cook it for me? the use of cumin, coriander seeds...
star anise... cardamom pods is off-limits
for me? like donning a sombrero?
i hate acronyms but, in this instance i'll just
keep it short and shrimp-y i.e. w.t.f.?!)
but what i recently conjured up has become
a... revelation...
i know that the taste profile of some Asiatic
people: the Chinese love their dichotomy of
sweet & sour... as well as sweet & salty...
come to think of it: i like those profiles too:
salted caramel is the next big taboo topic?!
the first proper revelation came to me via...
refika's lavash & hammered beef recipe...
she's on youtube: it's so **** when a woman
as voluptuous as her knows how to cook...
plus the ol' raven hair: beyond that...
it's not that she knows how to cook:
i can trust her to cook...
    not that i was willing to make lavash from
raw goods... i can buy that...
the genius is instilled in the marinate...
what was it...
oh hell... my beard is itchy... i guess at the mere
thought of eating this dish...
sea salt, pepper, lots of peppercorns...
fresh garlic, fresh rosemary (thankfully i have
a garden and i have rosemary in it)
dried chillies (whole or flakes)
olive oil, white wine vinegar...
into the pestle & mortar...
the beef thinly sliced then marinating for
15 minutes at best: the vinegar tenderising
the meat quicker...
fried for 2 minutes or whatever time it takes
until you see the meat pouring out the most
hidden blot clots...
but beef & rosemary?! huh! who would have
thought... i certainly wouldn't have...
sure... LAMB & rosemary...
but beef?
oddly enough the meat works just as well
when topped with English cheddar...
you don't need a Turkish cheese...
but that's not even the end of the story...
of the lavash wrap...
it's the side dish...
the onions! slice the onions into crescent moons...
squeeze them to get the party going...
they must be red onions... some salt...
some more white wine vinegar & let them pickle
for a while... after the "while" add some
sumac (i also add some gochugaru chilli flakes...
for colour and tingling buzz)
SUMAC... topped off with some fresh parsley...
i could be writing about my escapades
in the brothel... but this is so much better...
what's ***? meat you can't eat...
at the end... it's meat you can't eat...
tease it, nibble it: but you're not going to eat it...
i very much like the ethereal nature
of cooking: it reminds me of the time i studied
chemistry in Edinburgh and conjured up
Esters from scratch...
Esters? oh, those scented compounds used
in the perfume industry...
yet today i came across an even bigger revelation...
Indian cuisine? done... Chinese... no problem...
the number of curries i made in my life...
eh... ha...
            hell: even the Hungarian goulash
for a massive potato "pancake"... garnished
with something sour... cabbage most likely...
or at least a coleslaw to off-set the smoky-paprika
taste...
green peppers a must...
of course you need some sprinkle of paprika
on the lavash wrap-up...
for colour: to "combat" the "insanity"
of cheese... & some extra pepper....
& rosemary...

well you can't exactly call a stew a curry
a sauce or jue... it's not  juice if it's a juce...
some "chew"...
esp. not in the Persian cuisine...
pity me at me at my self-wallowing in being
cosmopolitan on the outskirts...
i'll take one step into the night
and i'll be met with the resounding
presence of foxes...
i stopped being bothered about BWV 988
being just a cliché...
which it of course is...
so many pieces of classical music were once
beautiful...
now... in the gulag of the muzak...
they have become: morphed...
hardly stand-alone pieces of music...
moonlight sonata being the "other" over-emphasis
of needing to match-up to the demands
of / for mass consumption...

i hope this doesn't read like some foodie
blog... every time i want to replicate a recipe
i have to scroll down through so many
self-congratulatory deviances
from the narrative... none of these food blogs
seem stressed about giving out
what's needed:
the list of ingredients... eh... the methodology
doesn't really bother me...
i always miss the click-of-the-button
where i can simply get to the knitty-gritty...
there's always "some story"... some care to grasp
at some "authenticity":
it's almost like rereading Wittgenstein and
his focus on tautology!

come to think of it...
i watch out for tautologies...
like i watch out for metaphors and misnomers
and the... ahem "air quotes":
you can't stretch it as far as a metaphor?
then we'll be stretching it into a misnomer
status...

FESENJAN...
it's not like the Persians were not knocking
at "our" doors since... perhaps time immemorial...
what about that off-shoot tribe of Aryans:
the Sarmatians settling in the basin
of the Vistula?
funny... the concept of the Aryans...
that the Germans espoused it...
while... historically... never mind...

it's not a curry! it's a Persian stew...
i couldn't fathom it at first...
you make a walnut paste...
you toast 'em...
salt, pepper, sugar...
some of the usual suspects appear:
like cumin...
cinnamon...
    but then you get:
pomegranate molasses...
and fresh pomegranate seeds to garnish... with...
you also use fresh parsley instead of coriander...
only one tablespoon of tomato puree...
some ground almonds...
a pepper: which, along with a can of
chickpeas somehow, "somehow" managed
to disappear in the sauce...
garlic... sure... ginger? no...
onion... yes...

         i knew that Persian cuisine tickled
the sour fancies... but i never knew to what
extent! zest of a lemon: juice of a lemon...
no aubergine... this time...
turmeric: the peasant's version of saffron...
no difference... you can sprinkle some of that
anti-bleach magical dust and it works
just as well as a pinch of saffron...
but we're talking about the sauce...
cinnamon i already mentioned:
even though you can use acacia bark as
a substitute... pepper: already mentioned...
honey...
imagine my shock: no mention of a canned
lot of plum tomatoes...
******* roasted walnuts...
pomegranate molasses...
tomato puree...
ciućpajza...

this wasn't a curry... walnuts, though... when roasted?
ahem... "cultural appropriation"
of the Indians using cashews... & almonds
in their Korma... but walnuts?!
hey presto... some Turkish ingenuity combining
beef with rosemary!

is my native tongue a dodo lingo?
i'm just... wondering...
perhaps with the omnipresence of English
we'll all be savvy cosmopolitan nomads
by the end of this century...
i still manage to squeeze in a word:
or two... into my currency of the current:
lingo... but... the point
of: no one's speaking it beside me...
it's not a rhetorical question...
it's not even a question to begin with /
per se... it's a... vague obligation to:
some mustard seed metaphor sort of "power"...

youtube used to be such a fun website...
until the wallets started rummaging
hyping up...self-tutorial videos of make-up:
cover-up...
it used to be (this)... now it's... )this(...
sure... don't blame women...
it's not like Helen wasn't fabled for gearing up
a thousand ships...
Eva Braun wasn't Jewish... no no!
she wasn't... wi- do you really need the suffix
-nk?!

a grammar school playground filled with only
boys... hey... presto!
a girl comes in...
        what's going to happen?
the worst things... imaginable...
i'm giving birth to a shadow...
she's curious about giving birth to the gambit
of: more time... please...
i can be done with all of this spectacle in
a moment... she needs this misery to continue...
come to think of it...
i don't think the supposed
"forbidden" fruit of Eden did anything to Adam...
i think the fruit was a placebo...
he just towed his ******* ******* along
to experience the wind & the dangle...
whatever the metaphor of Moses implies...
ignorant of dinosaurs?!
seriously...
there's a talking spine of a t-rex...
there are the crocodiles of the Nile...
there's the imagining of a large fire-breathing lizard:
a dragon...
oh sure... the idea of dinosaurs wasn't somehow:
unconsciously implanted into us...
dragons precursor the discovery of dinosaur bones...
don't they?! don't they?!
imagining dragons precursor our discovery of
dinosaur bones!
no?! no?!
hell-oh... Pandora... how's tomorrow?
oh, right... can't say... just like today then?!

since the usual quest of bypassing the atypical
gatekeepers has been... quenched...
i'm no Tolstoy...
western democracy is worried about democracy
per se:
ooh... something terrible is bound to happen!
some terrible has been happening since
time immemorial...
it's only inflated:
in a society bound by glorifying sociopaths &
psychopaths...
the fakery escalates... so much of this culture
is bound to celebrate: hardly the opera singer...
hardly the poet... forever & until more
the Thespian... you know what happens to a culture
where only one art-form is given:
too much attention it deserves?
there was that period of time when
poetry was celebrated... when the western
letf-oids seemed rather... refreshing...
what now?

           let's go back to civilisation based on
the motto: we need carrots!
we need cabbage! we ******* need root vegetables...
oh forget the fruits...
that's not important for us...
winter is coming: a warm winter...
to borrow a phrase:
how can there be any hyperboreans:
what eternal sunshine?
i think of an eternal night...

               when i think of the wind:
there's not one... there are 8...
the wind from the north... south...
the wind from the north-east...
the wind from the south-west...
i count 8 winds... if there aren't 8
then we have a lemniscale...
a lazy: reclining 8... or a beta metaphor: B...
no?
the origins of numbers are all Hindu?!
sure... the letters too?
i can... rewrite the origins story
of numbers using only Greek or Roman letters...
with hindsight it doesn't punch-up
but... proud retardations of borrowed
cuisine aside...
L: 7
4: G
      mirrors! mirrors!
9: P
8: B
1: I(ota)
3: E
2: Z
5: S
6: b...

we didn't march across the *******
Siberian tundra
arriving at the Caucasian
peninsula for no ******* reason?!
we also managed to drag along the tribes
of Mongols... Turks... that settled in this grand...
continental funnel...

i learned "numbers" from Sanskrit...
i suppose the letters too?
like... ooh... i love how Hangul was
conjured...
   Sejong the ******* Solomon...
Abraham... St. Cyril...
   i always thought that Cyrillic script
was a cheap-*** variation of Greek...
sorry... it looks: looked:
will forever look: sort of shabby...

this time round: the devil didn't come round
with either fire or sulphur...
smoke & mirrors...
smoke & mirrors: Kowalski!

Muhammad the Paraclete
Cosmopolitan messiah
Going nowhere but Golgotha
The messiah of Auschwitz
The talks of Yids in ashes
He came
Anomaly for Christian's
You civilised barbarians
Original ontology:
Hyperboreans had oath culture
Not an honour culture of Asia
And the orient
Godless beginning with Nihil
But an oath culture
****** up by desert nomads
Second wave of them
Jews from whenever to 1945
Invited their Arab cousins
To the continent ******* off
To Smerica while the Germans
****** off to Argentina...
While I was stuck with Jew Conomics
Lied to to the ******* Russians!
The third eye - doesn't exist...
Well it did...
Horizontal Worm of Babel...
Race mixing
Can't impress God with tall buildings
Third eye contra the Little Eye
contra the Little Horn...
BEAST...
Little Eye is situated on the tongue...
The "third eye" is a cognitive-locus representation
Cycled past coworkers at ice rink...
Eating
Tattoos: ring ones
Where?
Jack's?
Just simple, no artwork: no letters on bodies, no numbers... symbols, art... permissible
No letters no numbers
All other tattoos permitted.
Muhammad is the Jungian Paraclete.
He helped to simplify a complication in  theology - he was the last prophet, the last helper... I suppose concerning myself as the Son of Man...
I'm the first learner...
Media frenzy: the Yids had their 2nd Messiah...
But minorities being minorities
They are being secretive of "us" realising it...
So the new sacred calf o  display after the ordeal?
Dune: the Islamic equivalent of the Mehdi... the destruction of Damascus, the siege of Jerushalem....
As a man I really didn't need
Christianity - I asked Nietzsche...
Life, would be - unbearable without music?!
Do you, want to hear, modern music?!
You want to hear the de-elevation
Of words as phoneticisms?
You want me to say I believe
In schizoid-telepathic-meetings insomniac get togethers?
Listen, can't I be an A.I. engineer?
Content feeding...
Subjectivity-Objectivity alliance
I actually used A.I.
To complete my NVQ LEVEL 3
In  spectator safety as supervisor
Ushering out only 2 coursework
Units... when there were 10!
I heard a ******* story from my
Com Rep that I deserved it...
On the job for a year and I... DESERVED IT...
*******...
But i gave him an extended thank
You with a Singleton Whiskey...
I did tell mother and father:
I'm going to put so much effort
Into this qualification that the assessor
Will want to ******* disembowel himself before he reads through my coursework! Love and behold... 70 pages in into only 2 units I get immediately graded as passed.
The messiahs came with the
Pyramids: and the Chimneys...
Where one was first encounters
And slow on intake
Such cognitive feats of the Jews
While compromised by the Quick Advent
Or stock piling...
Abortion is so anti-Democratic...
Don't you think? J thinks
That: western women weaponized
To counter their curry and slush
**** fufu...
  So laws to penalise lost ****** incentives... human in me...
Start big look muddle small
Or have a crush for Evan Peter's
Because Jeffrey...
   Or Josh Hartnett...
Or at least for the latter
My uncle, now estranged...
Used to think he looked like Josh...
Blah blah blah...
My girls are coming on Friday
Put a hard boiled egg
A scone and bottle water by
Side cabinet...
Drank a nightcap of whiskey
Smoked a joint
Thought the usual remedy...
Then these bombarding thoughts!
Can't sleep now!
My girls are coming to Loond'un...
Or... why is the entire world
In London?
Although... I've become allergic
To the sound of Ukrainian or
Russian... allergic as a misnomer...
I'm also allergic to Polish...
Oh I'm from the barbarian side
That didn't want to be indoctrinated...
Christianity is a religion of
My woman, I "talk" to Jesus
Because she talks to him.... if it's real for her, physically, then I harbour 30 silvers of a phone call to our psychic telepathic dead or alive
Phone line...
We talk physically and we sometimes turn our thinking into a full blown "exchange of ideas"...
His ambitions were too great... you can't do it alone mate...

poetry as some vague: pick-me-up...
      "poetry"...

there comes a time in a man's life:
say, he was young and foolish
and by foolish i implore anyone to conjure up

the self-deprecating fantasy of
a james joyce insistence on proclaiming
to the world this... miasma...
no... this myopia of ambition
in the literary realm:

to give unto the world a... "unique" perspective
on life, this... original sin of
prior to me not foot has trodden this path...
well... oh well well...

how void these ambitions of uniqueness
are...
stupor, agony, angst...
lethargy and all the thesauric affluence
of verbiage: like a bouquet of rose
tinted grimaces...

i was not allowed to cry to mourn my grandfather's
passing...
however stingy my grandmother
the mother of my mother was...
he died of impromptu neglect
by someone ripping all the stamps
from envelopes posted...
as if she wanted him to unwillingly known
that no one cared...

it only took a month for the deterioration
to unfold...
i sooner bumped my head on the radiator
in my room, bleeding from my head
sooner i bled from my head
than i uttered a cry, a wolf of agony...

because i was denied mourning...

angels of modern technology...
a seance with my grandfather's son,
my mother's brother...

3 weeks he spent in a medically induced coma...
30 minutes shy off of receiving the call...
i couldn't grimace,
i couldn't fake it...
my face contorted as best it could
to fathom some sort of sanity,
politeness, cordiality,
the socially sensual appeasing, appealing...

but then the video call was cut
and i spent a minute's worth of eternity
contemplating
our morality: "our":
whims, necessities,
money earning habits
money spending gambits,
frivolities and follies...

what was once a man, without due grace
to compare to a butterfly...
simply by sensual agitation
and reaction to light, sound, colour,
darkness...
was now... reduced to a recluse of
the mortal shell...
foggy eyed glass of seeing
murky brain... two hydroceles on the brain...

he vaguely spoke of Valhalla,
how we would feast on beetroots...
if my absence of "ambition" concerning
crossword puzzles was never more adamant
than now, then now:
talking to what was once a butterfly:
regardless of ascribing grace,
but at least virility and an imploding
mortal purpose...
now... a larva... a cocoon even
was what become of an identity
once called: Martin...

does Martin know Martin?
because: sure as **** i don't think i've been
speaking to Martin...
hell... two hydroceles are not two
imaginary horns protruding...
nor is this a gangrene of the work
of electronic tectones
of vaguely associating dreams with
sleep and sleep with death...

i peered into those eyes and tried
to make recollections...
coming to the fore the recollections
of vague, social justice poetics of
the cult of the token ethnicities
this semblance of appearing to live
alongside the Hyperboreans
this allure of desensitising the volk
of the northern cranium
like these people will allow
a language to become a gross grammatical
grotesqueness
on the grounds of a historical lineage
whereby my past is so dissociative
(as oppressor) from the victim -
this allure of the toothless animal
having a grip of the jaws so tight
that regardless of bone by mere evolutionary
ingenuity: necessity is the mother
of all innovation...
this grip of the jaws and the acidic potency
of the saliva easily able to leech
onto anything living and morph
it into protein, fat, carbohydrate,
vitamins, mineral, fibre components...
by suckling to a monstrous grone
of pleasuring-agony of the feast...

bad poetry vibes, otherwise a sensual realism
of the impeding: knock knock...
knock knock... someone's... ooh! at the door...

the world is strangely happening
while this personal crescendo unfolds
and i am wrapped and i am warped
into the minor tickle agony of world-speak
of journalistic world-speak...
weltsprechen...
                           talk about the weather,
talk about the premier league
and whether Liverpool f.c. or Arsenal
still have a chance of clinging
to the league title against
the cigar smoking Guardiola...

weltsprechen... weltspreschen...
me? i like the alt-Germanic addition of the S
because the germans tend to slip
into ich: with the Greek X or Spanish J
for ha ha...
with an addition of S to make -sch- equivalent
to Ś...  akin to Rammstein's song:
ich will...         it's actually isch will...

Ś: DAS IST DER WEISCHER SH'AH
                                                                     Š
שש
               by count 6 arms and 6 candles...
by count a protruding E
and almost a W
although wonk to one side...
an F's marriage to W...

       usher in the argh of a hark at SH'AH...
on the second H(ebrew)...

poor Edie... neglected by my turmoil...
her stay in London undermined all my attention
to create a fantasy of carousel rides...
it would be easier on my heart
to burden myself with tales of her
past with unfaithful partners...
two stones one bird
of my existential 0 at Greenwich
when she retracted her posit
on my claim: the meridian line is more
important than the equator...
at least to us... 17h30min apart
from flying to Lihue from London...
11h apart when stationary...

and she had the child-like tenacity to convince
me that God somehow invented
the equator... ha...
as i clocked in with Prometheus (the movie)
the citation: god does not build in straight lines...
besides one:
the straight line of you are born
and then you are dead...
the only conclave resisting the geometric
abnormality of god and the capacity of
straight lines:

one is born and one is dead
one exists then one doesn't...
ha... the ambiguity of the shrapnel words
of conjunction that are: then...
one is... and...
arguments allocated to:
but one is in heaven then one falls
then one is relocated to a heaven once
more? that is not the rite of the gods
to be bound to a heaven
then disgraced, then humbled...
incarnated among us mortals
to then relearn one's presence as the chosen,
the elect, reconveyining in one's
former abode?!

du haben mich... schrecklich denken...
zweitekummer: a second grief...
for worth of salt
and the yet unexplored Dune universe
that has come as a relief to all science fiction
and Star Wars
in that in latched onto the Islamic universe
and incorporated a second Lawrence of Arabia
myth...
for if Spice and Arakkas...
then Salt and Earth...

                  salt the equivalent of spice...
for us aquatic creatures
to truly belong among the rubble and mountains
we would have to be impregnated
by the tides of thirst and
of distinguishing **** from ****...
to retain the less fluid morph
of the agony of bones and nutrient loss...
to distinguish **** from **** unlike
our humble companions the pigeons...

only days ago i attempted to fall asleep
to an audiobook...
what other audiobook besides
Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone
would i care to listen to?
for a book so slim...
so much was invested in the curiosity of
Harry's uncle... Vernon Dursley...
such imaginative work by the people
who brought the book to life...
because? seriously?
              well....

the pure stroke of genius came with
the only visualbook that
was the Shawshank Redemption...
more than an audiobook... more more...

höhepunkt:
                      the pinnacle... a phrase of
revelation...
unlike when a lion "tames" an antler mammal
unlike when a spider stuns
and subsequently cocoons they prey
immobile...
death has no voice: only the tightness
of life...
yet... with a creature who will not be eaten
so willingly...
by fraud and self-
    earthquake and sea and fire...
by cancerous growths
those replica botanical spurs of mistletoe...
the voices of the softly weakened
limitless agonia
the mortal gives up his mental faculties
to Death... death personified...
vaguely speaking a speaking...

          this brood of the Nether Lord...
who makes an egotistical incision
to reassure the living:
of the transition period... from animate
to inanimate to animate once
more as grains of sand in the desert
upon the winding of the winds...
and the time, scaled... to imitate droplets
of water...
countless rain drop by drop
covering the entirety of the earth...
both the fertile plains and the inhospitable
distances either north or south
upon the glaciers...

       ich haben gesprochen mit Frau Tod...
the body is there... "there"...
weakened by 3 weeks in a coma,
once recognisable, a masculine threat
on my own integrity concerning the number
of ****** partners...
a prompt to bust my nuts (as it were)...
mortgage paid, money saved,
retired mid 50s...
           and now what?
obliterated plans of a future
spent living back with an 80 year old mother
drinking beer watching t.v.
listening to ****** music
       friends... friends... now like vultures...
clinging to the money...

SĘPY...          vultures...

                     and poor Edie and all of Reyla's
upheavals coming back to Kauai:
ka-wah-e
                  from London...
i did bring the fox at Greenwich
and the two ladies were introduced to London
in the grand style of a Tudor boat ride
from Greenwich pier to Westminster pier...
grimmacking scar-lock of Reyla's face
at every corner... my best estimate overwhelmed
by the sight of such urban conundrum
that it should not: ever... have a chance to exist
against her usual sight of Kawaikini
in the morning...
so much walking... walking everywhere...
walk walk everywhere: but not a seat to sit on...

who could possibly be a fan of violin music?
i asked that once...
because it was just a precursor to
all that guitar and wig lasoo ***** jerking
stage fright fuckery...
before i discovered:
Tartini's violin sonata in G minor
                            
unlike the death wish upon cremation
of the serial killer...
Camille Saint-Saëns' danse macabre?
too ******* jovial!
where the macabre "macbeth"?
the devil weeping is nowhere to be found!
but in Tartini?! oh! aplenty!

the phantom stormed out of the english national
opera... after the first act of
the die zauberflöte...
switch to a scene from Lethal Weapon 2...
Alfons... but but... you're bleak?!
black? bleak? black beak... pity...
but... das opera ist in ĘGLISCH?!

         zee vuck?!

      the phantom stormed out of the opera
and took the girl to get drunk
in the catacombs of the Embankment
in a sherry and other south European wines...
Gordon's Wine Bar... 47 Villiers St (WC2N)...
Trafalgar... the National Gallery prior...
i was on a date night...
but why was Reyla so adamant on staying
at home?
but i know...
time for Edie, mommy... to spend the time
on the town with her hubby...
crying so adamant to let mummy translate
all the *** in the hot-tub and bed
into peacocking without a bothersome "brat"...
who might have liked Camden Market
more than being taken to the up-street
market at Portobello...
by then the Japanese garden didn't matter
in Holland Park...
so stupid, world and the word so stupid...

'i known best'          without not yet...

                 but if only she could have seen that
phantom of the opera production at the king's
theatre... then watched my storming out
of the opera production
being asked by the security staff
         at the entrance / exit... 'will you be returning?'
thank god no...
   this is a complete disaster!
would the english dare to translate an Italian
opera? could the French ever dare to sing opera?!

the English's audacity to pretend to be more
than... the operatic... the musical...
English ≠ Opera...
          
     how can i salvage the 2nd most intrinsic feast
of life while also having to cram in
death...
        well... now i can truly peacock and disregard
any notion of the 37 old man with a
******* sort of worth of a 21 year girl
to ease my take for take of seriousness
maybe in the 20th century as a serious painter
but as a "poet" in the 21st century?
more like king crimson's song:
21st schizoid man...      bilingual, mind you...

but what is bilingualism in the realm
of the polyglots and polymaths?
a stern entrenchment...

this vague allure to subscribe to a life
of contentment, of happiness....
what are they, these allusions
when contending with the clenched fist
of Frau Tod and her cohort of death-speakers?
these reassuring bodies weakened torn
and half-made half-dead half-willing
half-crux foundations of the compass
markers...
if not North then south and east
to Jerusalem and Mecca?

               what of this life to be lived
with the impeding
                                 nuance... PTSD+ us all?
alle von uns?!
                             alle von uns?!

              i drank a little to sever the nerves...
now a bicycle ride for some buns...
and more whiskers for a cat already playing
with the idea of barber as a serious
profession... so no... not some Russian
gimmick of a demon disguised as a cat
(le chat noir) with a streak of professionalism
as a joueur d'échec ***** sympathiser...

e-shek?                      d'eshek?

i will shreak....       shriek!
                i will let the winds know of my breath!
is that how you utter szachy (chess) these days?
i've been playing backgammon by myself
toying with chance, perchance and i no longer
care for the difference...

enough!