Short and sweet
like the life of the diabetic

We're all hypochondriacs
To the human conditioning

We've been taught
to be themselves
not ourselves.

No child left behind while evolution is staggering
Tripping our own feet divided by class systems 
Get off my lawn

They're still asking,
"where do you see yourselves in 5 years?"
and I still don't know,
this short-term impulse control needs to learn longevity

It happened early one morning.
It happened like it always does,
times 3.

Strapped, armed, holding hands
what every loving mother
shouldn't do.

Word of it traveled
like the winter flu,
by noon everybody had heard

of maniacal faithers
who took home her children
lighting up fireworks.

The sun blazed dazedly
evaporating 3 crosses,
not quite melting the ice.

Until it reached my porch step,
it were but distant voices.
now it's here

and real. like it always is of course

but now it's closer than ever
bursting at my door.

Sliced up like a juicy tomato
his screams are muffled by
a screen screening bright information

into the heads of mouths
who offer surreal commentary
disguised as jokes.

We're terrified.
We're hypochondriacs fearing
contamination of a rampant

plague.
A plague we've never seen before.
Our ****** eyes.

So many have already
been ***** by fate.
Faith in fatherly beards

granting wishes to
obedient children
who go tarnishing other fathers' gardens.

What an absurd world
where IS is ice that
cannot melt.

What an absurd world
where children weep
at mothers' debt.

What an absurd world
where faithful supremity
reigns unchecked.

Living a hypochondriacs dream,
Because my pain is one that is real.

Everyone says I'm fine,
But I know my own body because my body is mine,
Life developing as a double exposure,
In two places at once and contained in a tight enclosure,
Here I am with no sense of closure,

I will dream of running away,
Throwing my possessions away,
Put my worry to rest,
Before I am the one put to rest.

And I feel this sludge
running down the long halls of my legs
a flood of viscous petrol jelly
slick sewage sick
patrolling artery walls

this metallic slide
so much molten lava
running down the mountains
of my thighs.

I'm a concrete machine
getting my mortar fix
tin woman hollow heart
methyl folate ******

Give me another hit
buffer my pain.  
Already I have diesel fuel juice
leeching out my tissues
lightning striking the brain.

It's hard to get your attention
with this leavening
pooling the blood in my feet
It's hard to say hello with
acid cuddled words.
I want to raise my arms
and touch you
but I'm too toxic I'll burn you.

This nausea has become me
this metabolic crash is
my stop-gap.
Short circuit pain
this neuropathy has hardened me
in the space between these synapses
I dream of nothing.

Doped up by the yellow stuff
Daddy sprays from the plane
I was a farmer's daughter but
the doctor says
You've got the mutant gene,
for heavy metal toxicity.

Another serotonin addict
with brains of saccharine and plastic
I might get a pink ribbon for surviving
if they call it disease,
but silently, inside

I feel this sludge
sick sewage slick
battening down the reflexes
backing up the pipes.

my body is the future body
I say.
because this deadly brigade
is eating up the human chain.

There were Chernobyl defects,
and the media loves lepers with lesions
but a blistered stillborn baby
is no face for nuclear policy

but we --we're the unsung mutant breed--
there are billions of us
mentally sick lazy *****,  
hypochondriacs
of pre-existing conditions
can't find work
not even at Walmart
for disability aid--

But when you check out,
please donate.

Drop another baby
in the cancer cup.

.well, if this boyscout contra girl-scout debate it going to rage on... whatever the problem, and whatever the conclusion... shouldn't just the boyscout brigade start baking cookies in the shape of a phallus and *******? with white sprinkles on the tip, and brown sprinkles on the base?

what has become of that famous
three worded statement? you know it...
gott ist tot...
      well...
               isn't it glaring, right in your
face?
          you really can't have gender
neutrality in certain languages...
   because most of the nouns impose
gender discrimination...
for example, in ******...
    the sun (słońce) is feminine...
while the moon (księżyc) is masculine...
you can't achieve gender
neutrality... because the words
already discriminate for themselves...
the English language is gender
neutral...
         unlike any other European
languages...
   no wonder then...
it's befitting that the death of metaphysics
would culminate in English
with what was to replace it...
   trans-physics...
            it's like the English language
has created this trans-physical
"realism" of (a) reality that...
                      so... you closed the asylums,
let the melancholics and the schizophrenics
out...
          and in come the new crazies...

this will balance out at some point,
benzene ring orientation of
groups... CH3 and what not...

first came the meta-physics...
that died with gott ist tot..
   and from the ashes arose
           the mind-****** of trans-physics...
the Peter Pan physics...
the asylum was abandoned,
the crazies took to the streets,
there were trans-rights,
there were trans-activists,
a whole plethora of trans-this
and trans-that...
            and... well... the discrimination
and ridicule-inducing rhetoric
concerning the classically mad...
the melancholic, the hypochondriacs,
the psychotics and the schizophrenics...
eggshells tip-toe:
bend over backwards for the new crazies...

hell... appease the new crazies
and shove the classical mad into the gutter...
because you know the new crazies
do not have violent tendencies,
or for that matter, masochism incumbent...
me? i such think they're *******
pathetic... their delusions are...
precisely:
         without metaphysical groundwork,
they are imposing
   a fake, more than obvious skew of
reality...
                if i see an Adam's apple
or no geisha hands on a trans-"woman"?
i can't double-think,
contradict what my senses
immediately recognize...
so... all the metal heads with their
long hair... i'm supposed to think
they were men?
                  
metaphysics apparently died at the end
of the 19th century...
but what replaced?
        it's not pretty... trans-physics is
the boogie on the side of bogus...
anti-gravity...
          anti- i can see this is suspicious...

well... at least with metaphysics
   meta- (the after)
    there was no exact certainty,
the kind of daydreaming of heaven or
hell...
              after the physics...
there is no after-the-physics...
  the orbits prevail...
        and when a sun dies,
   a black hole remains...
                         there is no after...
and... esp. with the discover of antimatter...
death is but a massive yawn...

but trans-physics?
this period, this transition period?
                 this is not beyond physics...
this is not Wonderland, this is not Peter Pan...
this is not going to, ******* ride on a whim...
a delusion...
                        last time i heard physics
is about rigidity, and less about
                        what chemistry deals with...
the mandible aspect of physics,
the reaction of at least two things interacting...
physics can, in part, deduce the
noumenon interaction,
for example the electron is in no way
affected by the proton or the neutron
            with regards to its ontological schematic...
                            1 0 -1
- nonetheless, this is a transition period,
after this trans-physics period of...
i'd say 100 years before the omni- consensus
of society balances out...
               there will be a time
where ortho-physics will take over...
straight physic, upright physics...

                   and then?
if you think that this trans-physical period
was weird...
                            the natural antonym
of metaphysics will enter...
   where nothing will be normal, normal
about para-physics...
            life and death will sit side by side...
life past, life beyond, life by death...
death past, death beyond, death by life;
we have a long way to go.

Conjure belief where assurance
is easily tempted from doubt.

The physical world acts on
a point to point basis
of action, reaction.

Where the genesis of relativity
as the golden rule
mediates the knowledge
that is perpetuated by irony
through circumstance
and the accidental
incidental coincidences
that bend time.

Symmetry is a natural motion of
consistency, extending from an apex
or midlines, transverses, logarithmic expressions
all from some single origin.

The palms of our hands
are textual markings
of our need for symbolic understanding
in the variances
we create for scientific observation.

Juxtaposed to the stars we created
circular pieces to a wheel in the sky
we hypochondriacs believe
to superimpose as vaccines,
to our inconsistencies we host
as symbiotes
for inverse proportionality.

From the signal, beat, tone,
and definitive sounds
is the pulse of our momentum,
a return to equilibrium.

articles like this really **** me off...
my father is a subscriber to The Times...
personally? i think that Monday ought to be treated
at a media / journalistic sabbath...
nothing ever happens on a Sunday:
what's there to write about on a Monday:
for a Monday... all the newspaper editions
are always the slimmest on a Monday...
it's like... take a hike, won't you?
the best day to read a newspaper, most definitely
a Sunday... it comes with all the cultural reviews
some recipes... a culmination of a week
or even a month... the news review and
the editorial comment sections are best on
a Sunday... why not print anything on a Monday?!
- and it's always on a Sunday that
i find all the juicy bits... the one day in the week
but the current month... bad timing...
either i watch the FA cup / the six nations
or i read a newspaper / the newspaper magazine
while drinking two bottles of 8.2% cider....
well, sure... with beer when you raise the game
to Carlsberg's Special ******* Brew that
comes in at 9%: it's an ugly affair... you start
squirming asking yourself: are you *******
a lemon?! but "alas"... it's cider... so it's almost like
drinking ****-poor diluted wine...
but it makes some agonising articles:
mostly written by women... a tad bit... more...
bearable...
         mainstream media is out of touch...
someone has already said it, someone is already
saying it: someone else will say it later on...
oh i'm big on the female-centric pieces of
the newspaper: forget all that objective journalism,
cold, hard, male: give me the facts and... *******...
no no... as a reader i'm also a weaver...
i like to spin a counter narrative in my head...
The Sunday Times STYLE magazine...
   Dolly Alderton speaks to a rising star in
pop music... a Self Esteem - formerly known
as Rebecca Lucy Taylor... oh, right...
so like Prince... or Michael Jackson:
the guy formerly known to be black? cool cool...
you can check her out...
music sort of akin to spoken word poetry:
whatever the hell that means... no, not Kate Tempest
style... again: spoken word poetry?
oh, right, i'm more into composition than
performance so this is: written word poetry...
fair enough...
   i'll sooner be found dead than performing my word
in the current climate... 'said a poopy word!
cancel him!' no thank you,
i still have a head ******* on this neck
on these shoulders... i'll wait for the jazz to calm
the **** down... i'll probably be an irrelevant
relic by then, hopefully mummified like
Lenin... you never know...
hmm... Rotherham-born... 35...
and what are the chances that...
you know... Rotherham... Pakistani grooming-gangs...
only yesterday my company employed
20+ Pakistani zombies that probably sprouted
out of cousin-on-cousin *******...
dull... zoned-out... glassy eyed *****...
what are the chances?
they looked... well... less sinister more murky...
slimy...no... not slim i.e. slimmy... slime-e...
slimey... i know, it should be written slimey
and not slimy... which sort of implies slimmy: slimming...
no no... so of how you'd write: smiley...
slimey... makes sense...
i'll just verbatim the headline...
(she really looks like a Marilyn Monroe doppelganger,
voluptuous, vivacious, all the required va va voom
of a woman)
   MEN ARE REALLY SCARED OF ME...
last time i checked... there's this ****** proverb
that states... fear has large eyes...
guess what... only yesterday i saw those large eyes
of fear when the four of us were outnumbered
by about 30+ screaming chanting taunting drunk
teenagers / football hooligans at a match...
i must have been squinting or something...
in this profession (of stewarding) i hear a lot of macho
bravado about smacking some...
very much aligned to the narrative borrowed
from the film: Rise of the Foot Soldier...
Essex gangland... blah blah br'uh...
                                       o.k. we get it: you have an erecticle
dysfunction, need to compensate by going
to the gym to increase your muscle mass...
modern films... hell...
they used to be great... up to the point where
they made it adamant that they were also
advertisement flicks... zooming in on products...
worn by characters in a no-plot scenario...
usually watches, electronic products...
food brands, restaurants...
it's like capitalism selling itself to capitalism...
what a hyper-inflated word...
which word? capitalism... i mean... i was born
in a former Soviet satellite state...
n'ah... it wasn't so bad... "my" people sort
of went along with the Russian influence:
when the art of metallurgy was still in "fashion"
in Eastern Europe, but it's not like we took
the Bolsheviks that much seriously than "we" did
the Nazis... after all: funny fact:
it took **** Germany AND Soviet Russian
to conquer Poland than it took **** Germany
to conquer France... Napoleon must have been
turning in his grave...
    i don't think men are scared of women...
personally i like to think of them as timid little
creatures that... OVER-ESTIMATE
their worth, confidence,
                              looks, worth...
                availability... as a man that knows how
to cook, as a man that does all the house chores...
and all the man *******...
oh, right, today... one of my cats did a ****-poor
job at taking a ****...
she managed to plough out two blobs from the "cuvette"
and leave them sitting pretty on
the matt beside the "cuvette"...  
   yes yes, i know, it's a misnomer... read some Wittgenstein...
i'm thinking in ****** while writing in
English... the word is originally French...
blah blah... i lied to little Freddy / Reinhart about
the origins of the word haemorrhage -
one of the words for his school spelling exams...
i said: oh... that's Latin... i'm kicking myself
over the etymological falsity i passed down on to him...
yes: it's Greek...
from HAIMA - blood (noun) &
                         RHEGNUNAI - burst (verb)...
so then i lifted her up and sniffer her...
oh jeez! Louise! **** this ****... i'm not having some
stinking cat walking about my house...
meow meow... ******* horror movie meow...
well you should have taken a **** better!
scratching, a proper bite at the hand!
into the shower with you! washed her from all the
stink... petulant little **** of a cat that she
was she managed to come across as penitent
when i shampooed her and the water was running
down her spine... ha ha...
so much for a maine ****... more like a rat now...
wrapped her up in a blanket put her
on my lap and watched about 20 minutes
of Liverpool's struggle with Birmingham City in
the FA cup...
                  then ****** off on my bicycle for some
whiskey and turkey stakes for the cats to eat...
wait... didn't i once feed Quorus a fish eye,
while filleting a trout? oh yeah... i did...
that was fun to watch... i sometimes catch mosquitos
by the legs and feed them too...
- do men can possibly fear women?
plainly, on the outright? i very much doubt it,
like Bane said in that opening scene from
Christopher Nolan's Batman movie:
this is no time for fear, doctor... that comes later...
how women have churned out a complete
lack of perception misguiding initial attraction
for fear... it's like they have no clue about how
men behave... when they're attracted
to women... "unconscious" curiosity is not
a fear... a woman is still somewhat abstract...
hell: to me she's forever an abstract...
i don't have the practicality of a man that might
gamble, take the plunge...
impregnate one...             last time i heard
it was considered a bad idea for a man to be
present at child-birth... women should take care
of women's "issues"...
ooh... i'm scared of a woman
but not a ******* tiger? logic paradox...
i'm scared of a puddle but not the raging sea!
how did women conjure up this
invulnerability? too many boy bands in the 90s...
too many male feminists?!
- and then the Sarah Everard ******...
men are scared of women... BOMBAST egoism...
no, not scared... just a case of men
scrutinising: is this going to be worthy?
tying the knot... getting up at 5am, coming back
home at 8am and getting nothing
5 pieces of sushi to eat... the house in a turmoil,
the kids growing up feral...
is it... worth merely the looks?!
the looks, right now? i mean... she's going to
be a ******* granny in about 20 years
if she's already a single mum aged 39...
is it going to be worth it?
or... if she's in her 20s... what's her boredom
spectrum, does she need to be on a ferris-wheel
all the ******* time or can she take an hour
of reading beside a fireplace and the deafening silence...
can she handle Mistress Death?
has she been to a funeral? has one of her grandparents
died?!
right...                    yeah.... scared of a woman
because of her good looks...
                scared akin to: what are the chances
she's going to go on a cosmopolitan safari
of **** given the current influx of black walking
****** of migrants on dingy boats...
what are the chances of her becoming a liability
rather than a partner?!

- - - - - - interlude - - - - - - -

****, where was i? oh man, i really love listening
to garbage... no, not literally...
the band... stupid girl, i'm only happy when it rains,
#1 crush, dog new tricks...
i never thought i'd find a recipe for
pasta and smoked salmon... lucky me...
so ******* simple... onion, sour cream,
some tomato(s), two tablespoons of capers,
lemon juice... pepper... chilly flakes...
preferably the Korean ones that also act like
turmeric - i.e. they colour the food...
smoked salmon added at the last minute...
some slices reserved for garnish to make
the dish look more appealing... and obviously
dill... to be honest: a lot of dill...
what did i watch? Beijing Winter Olympics...
why are they so racist?! joke... seriously
that's a joke... why are, why oh, oh my god why
are the winter olympics so racist?!
no winters in Africa?! maybe?!
no ******* snow... what are they going to
do... surfing on the dunes of Sahara?!
ha ha... it's untouchable! i love it!
but what i don't love... why didn't all the countries
simply, outright, boycott Ch-ch-ch-I-n'ah?!
why indulge them as if nothing *******
happened for the past 2 years...
i mean... the Soviets were boycotted back
in the day when people had... ***** for brains
and brains for *****... but these days?
even the **** are ******* labradors lapping up
any attention going their way... ******* silly *****...

plus, the Olympics per se...
there was always equality when it came to sports...
not popular sports like rugby,
football or boxing, i give you that...
sports for rich men and silly little ***** to drool
over status...
but real sports... unattractive sports,
unpopular sports...
we're not going to have a pay gap debate
when it comes to professional tennis...
women only have to play a maximum of 3 sets...
men? 5 sets... how long did that Australia Open
final take, to get finished? close to 6 hours?
right...
     what wage gap?
well, at least in the Olympics a man has
to run a marathon... a woman runs what? half of it?
no no... ***** is running the ******* marathon...
hundred metres? she's running the hundred metres...
obviously she's going to be slower...
that's not my problem... but even saying that...
i enjoy female tennis more than the men's...
i don't know... they moan more?!
or perhaps my generation, the millennials
produced 2 of the 3 greatest players in: whenever...
so... maybe it just a got a bit ******* boring...

oh, but i'll be boycotting the current Olympic
games in Beijing... it's not progressive enough,
there are not enough... what's that ******* acronym...
B.C.I.W. - black, coloured, indigenous, women...
i don't know what the state of the current
alphabet soup of acronyms from H'america is at...
****! **** ****! pump snow to Africa!
get some ice! let's get a bobsleigh team going!
******* Wankees and their currency
of current rotten ideas!

ha ha: it's already served to me on a silver platter...
all i have to do is drink a little and stew and spew...

sure, it's only going to be a soft boycott,
i just watch those games,
pointless... thanks for the pandemic,
no thank you, otherwise...
i sort of feel sorry for the athletes being so compliant
with the narrative...

oi! Ummah! where's you suicide squad from
Saudi Arabia's elite breaking into
the concentration camps where
the Uyghurs are being sentenced to unspeakable
horrors? oh sure... attack the West while
seeking proselytes, but don't care about
your existing Muslim community...
i see a third breaking apart of Islam...
i don't know why i see it... but this will not be
along the lines of the Sunni and Shiah...
this might actually involve the Turks...
i see the Turks as a third, separate,
branch of Islam: even if they're not already that,
where are your little ****-pants blow-themselves-up
rather than fight, fighting for your Ummah
in Ch-ch-ch-I-n'ah?!
                                   oh right, nowhere to be found...
too busy kiddy-fiddling English girls
in Rotherham!
      ******* degenerates!
i'm fuming at the teeth: and they have the *******
audacity to lecture me about, principle?
racists too... they think very little of the Chinese...
as Muslims... the "master religion"
the "master race"... ******* camel-jockeys...
the whole entire rest of them!

- the temperature in the house dropped to 17 degrees...
ooh, a bit chilly... wrote my father's invoice,
took out the garbage, ****... forgot to take out
the dwindling yellow tulips, will do, next week...
received an email that i passed my NVQ for role
as steward... well great... pressed play on
the thermostat... waited as i did all of that...
oh my my... it's getting hot... ran up to my bedroom
to turn it off... it read... 18 degrees...
wow! wow! imagine what one degrees Celsius makes...
i never thought... well: i never thought that
could be possible...

- - - - - - - - end of interlude - - - - - - - - - - -

i must have finished writing about the previous
article, since, i took time for an interlude of...
what was already stated...
                           this second article... i have to begin
with a rubric, oh yeah, it's sourced:
   ONS, UN, relate.org...

rubric, i.e. a list and it's as follows (leaving the approximation
words aside):
1. 1 in 7 people in the UK living alone by 2039
1. 61% of single women say they are single-happy
  compared with 49% of men
            (men, if they lie, are good at it,
   good enough to become serial killers;
    but women? they are compulsive,
which does't necessarily translate as them being
                       good at it; they're usually not -
they're spastic-fantastic sort of clumsy, at it)
3. 1 in 6 of British people believe in the concept
   of "the one"...
4. 10% of Brits enjoy the **** to the ****
with the chicken; 13% in the wake of the fine fine
MADE IN CHINA whatever-it-was don't
feel ready for intimacy...

               oh sure... the hypochondriacs have
finally been found... i was wondering why they /
where they disappeared to... but now they're in plain
sight... with their secular makeshift niqqabs...
i like this transparency... it's good for an apparent
"schizophrenic" to start to feel more comfortable
in his skin... then again: thank you China...
i can now clearly see the neurotics and the hypochondriacs...
the little people on the spectrum of the asylum...
no... the micro-aggression crowd...
no... not the raving lunatics...
the cult of the moon crowd...
the ones speaking to their shadows... taking
selfies of their shadows... haunting graveyard type
of crowd... thank you... i can see the mice...

5. 25% think they are out of bedroom practice, antics...
well, d'uh... 8% are more open to same-*** relationships...

  yeah, i was thinking that... maybe it would be easier
dating a man... but he'd have to be Greek...
and be learned in... classical thought from ancient
times when pederasts where accepted
like modern Pakistan freely welcomes paedophiles
as long as they do it to English girls... that sort of, "thing"...

i abhor the western concept of dating...
i might have been on a date once...
yeah... i was on a date once...
we went to an art gallery,
to the cinema, to a restaurant...
then we started dating, we were in high school...

after that? i was already ******* her
when she asked me to take her to a sea-food restaurant
for clams, oysters and mussels...

dating... oh, right... that one speed-dating event
that made me look like an ***...
dating... is that like... the Chelsea flower show?
you know... where you go to see flowers
but can't pluck any for a bouquette
to take home? it must be like that...
i wouldn't know... ****** off to the brothel
early... found a stone in the shape of a heart
on the pavement once...
called it my own... never looked back...

   just to make sure... i treat oath words very much
akin to superlatives - i know they're not superlatives,
but in the sense of keeping a modern
narrative... they're pretty much akin to being
treated as such, as, i dare say,
punctuation marks without actually being punctuation
markers... they allow for a flow of ideas,
for a flow of a narrative...

cuntish ******* filth if you ask me:
but i do wash my teeth on a regular basis
and i do eat healthily...

6. 1 in 10 Brits is burned-out by dating...
   & dating apps...
                                       don't know... never used
any... i'm still archaic in that i still have
a Facebook account...

7. 71% of men feel a pressure to be in relationships
compared to 58% of women...

as the list goes on... am i, supposed to feel, surprised?!

8. a 16% increase in those living alone...
9. 1 in 6 between the ages of 45 & 64 live alone
10. 48% of "singletons" (women) feel a pressure
to find a partner based off of their social
relationships... men work, together...
******* socialising... ******* with the banter...
the chit-chat... what are we doing,
where are we doing it, how long will it take?
base... women do all that private revelry *******...

11. women are more likely so say that a relationship
is unsatisfactory...  
              well... yeah... look sharp, Sherlock!
Watson's coming! ******* plonkers for plumbers!

12. there are three other facts, but they are
citing **** without numbers...
so... i'm not going to bother... based on feels...   yawn...
it's much easier to just recite lyrics from
the Garbage song: Stupid Girl...
you pretend you're high,
you're pretend you're bored,
pretend you're everything,
just to be adored...
and what you need, is what you get...
don't believe in fear...
don't believe in faith,
don't believe in anything,
that, you can't break...
stupid girl... stupid girl..
all you've had you've wasted...

oh, my god, is it my job to warn them off?!
HE will ask: and how ws your life...
i've lived with cats enough time to know:
and HE will ask... never mind: it be be a SHE...
and IT will ask... and ask... are you
awake... as if... implying: do you think you're dead?!

the rest of the article...
the pinnacles of female freedom...
i'm not going to cite them they're disgusting....
she goes through *******
cosmic concepts and premonitions that
are less grounded in the sands of Arabia
by a horses' hoof than a camel "toe"...

these wankers want to come up north and
dictate the ******* rules...
dictate this... change my ******* mind!
******* plop of a soppy **** that you..
quasi-***** seem to be...
kiddy-fiddlers... you soppy losers...
cousin-*******... camel-jockeys...
weak... quasi-men...
men... sort of...

          i'm not going to go through her article...
she's a sorry *** loser
by the standards expected of men...
no sorry... kind ***...
men band together....
  all as one... or none: to begin with!
and you women, think,  "think"...
you can somehow infiltrate our ranks...
what? you gonna bake me a bannana loaf
worth of loaf..
with all the pecan / walnut "trimmings"...
girl... you're having a ******* laugh...

i'm not reading through this *******...
you want me to bite someone's neck?
no one has yet seen how feral i can could become...
at the job...  i could just roll my eyes back
declaring nothing but sclera...
again: why are women even involved
in this sort of *******?!
why?! are?! you? *******!! here!! ypu,
******* useless, *****?!

i'm here to pick up a fight...
but here you are, pretending to be
a ******* grandma... and that's your excuse...
*****, i hope you get your head sorted,
get punched.... silly ******* cucnt...
oh right... my excuse among the football
hooligans... i'm i woman!
don't touch me! i'n your sister, your mother...
this **** is going to boil...
you tell me that ****, one, more,
******* time... i'm going to 'ed in yurr
******* grandm'ah...!
i know these *****... women are playing
a tight game...

esp. when you... ***** yourselves......
Rotherham didn't ******* help...
you ******* cheap **** ******...
i keep tight, silent, because...
i've been to brothels... but this ****...
i'm not even English... this... sort of hurts...
it, can't be, allowed, an outlet,
via... football, matches...
no, mate, no!

   your sister has been suckered into *******
this... sickle- cell anemia sort of *****
from Pakistan...
oh don't worry about theit race...
they don't have a skin tone...
their skin tone... if any:
cant's miss 'em... slimey *****...
olive oil slimey...
in-bred looking *****... *****-eyeds...
sorry... some people just look
******* clueless! period!
like they're out of "the game"...
they're gone... they're meat for the machinery!
the end! sorry... stop sopping:
no one's special!
weird like... Frankenstein looking
at the monster he created... seriously?!
i, made... that? oh, **** me...
better **** it... but wait...
oh... a chance he might transcendent me...
no... not with these kiddy-fidddling Pakistanis...
chances are... the ******* 4 seasons on
the continent of Antacrtica!

I miss you like maps miss fingers,
Like mikes miss singers,
Like hells bells miss ringers,
Like bringers miss takers,
Like ******* miss fakers,
Like cakes miss bakers,
Like lakes miss boats,
Like bad swimmers miss floats,
Like politicians miss votes,
Like doting parents miss school plays,
Like nymphomaniacs miss lays,
Like hypochondriacs miss prescriptions,
Like ****** misses addictions,
Like carpets miss friction,
Like Billy Bunter misses midnight feasts,
Like the grim reaper misses grief,
Like Henry misses the good fellas,
Like sand sculptures miss umbrellas,
Like Rubix cube devotees miss puzzles,
Like rabid dogs miss muzzles,
Like Van Gough missed his brushes,
Like speed freaks miss rushes,
Like pens miss paper,
Like the Mona Lisa missed Pater,
Like the canvas misses the creator,
Like  the thirsty miss water,
Like the hungry miss food,
Like ***** miss the lewd,
Like the mind misses mood,
Like the tides miss the moon,
Like the sane miss the loons,
Like the dark misses the light,
Like the brave miss the fright,
Like the kite misses the wind.
I miss everything.

Is life imitating art or is art imitating life?
Eventually there will be nothing left to hide
Save your sorrys  
It's time for me to cool your mind and tell you it's all alright
We're the pop-up's on your phone screen
Sending you little blurbs
Memes are funny because they're true
At least to you
You're the hypochondriacs
Who convinced yourselves you need to be healed
With a numbness cure by posts that make you feel

There will be a new one, if you like the last
Is life imitating art or is art imitating life?
Eventually there will be no where left to hide
Save your sorrys  
It's time for me to cool your mind and tell you it's all alright
This is a beat generation
But with less respect but way more dope
The question is "why should I?"
Our answer is always "I don't know"
We're yesterdays news and tomorrows punchline
Never even had chance
Self-entitlement won't ease the situation
Of our need for instant gratification

I need a drink in my system to take off the edge
I need a lie to make me feel safe
I have an axe in my skull splitting my brain
Is it me or the world who's insane?
Upload, like, follow
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What's hot is hot now but not tomorrow
Will your words hold up or drop out?
       -Tommy Johnson

502 bad gateway bypass...
title: shattering of stone
body:
in the rubble: a mountain could
be found;
as might be suggested...
given enough time and there's plenty
of it, as there is of space...
the now known deserts of the world...
were once great mountain ranges...
the ancient Egyptians even tried
to replicate this truth by erecting pyramids...
as if implying: look! look!
there were once mountains here!
now! there's nothing but sand!
how the gods, grunted at the idea of mountains
in what is not Sahara... fickle creatures
like the creatures they created are...
who knows... perhaps there will one day
be the desert of Himalaya...

i felt it coming at me like a freight train...
i was going in for work sharp...
woke up at 6am, had a coffee and ate the prepared
bun with pickles and liver pate...
but couldn't finish it... drank a coffee and smoked
a cigarette... had a shower, pampered myself
with about 7 different pampering products...
usually i'm obviously to how i smell like...
but on the bus i could quiz myself:
who here smells like soap and who here smells
like either stale bread or a curry / eggs?
that's the 86 route for you...
it's the immigrant bus... and... funnily enough...
i'm an immigrant myself... although...
it's different when you come to foreign shores
aged 8... and thrown into the education system
rather than bypass all that jazz & enter the work
force... by immigrant status i'm a veteran of sorts...
by 7am the pains and spasms in my abdomen were
becoming excruciating... i could feel
a plug-hole of a **** building up...
      like a bear before retiring to hibernation...
i wouldn't be able to just simply, **** this plug-hole
of a **** out before or on the job...
why? because there would be more to come...
dizzying effects of focus...

i was nervous... she said she would be coming to
do a shift today... who? Jeminah...
she sent me a text telling me how anxious she was...
i figured... the best... blatant: covert question
would be... you worried the trains are not working?
oh... you can get the 86 bus... the tube might be open...
pulling a long long stick...
a lever even... something Archimedes would
use to lift a mountain off the ground...
she felt anxious... oh... because of those two storms?
Eunice - the worst for 30 years...
red weather alerts? you worried about that?
i was seriously stroking a massive bear silly...
she felt anxious for all the reasons i wanted her
to feel anxious about...
n'ah... the way to get to the venue wasn't on her mind...
neither was the weather...
she was found out... she didn't want to be in
the company of the other girls...
and because i put my foot down:
this is getting silly... i'm not going to get blamed
for your son's and her son's friendship fallout...
telling the truth...
    what a recurrent theme with me these days...
well... at least its not a soap opera style of
a multiverse of competing dramas...
there's only one... and i'm fortifying myself with
all the right answers... i need to play this out
like an opera... petty **** that can grow and grow like
that must be explored from many angles...
down the line...

she didn't show up... the other two girls involved
acted slightly funny... she must have passed on
my Pontius Pilate messages: i'm washing my hands clean
of the matter... you girls created this issue...
you sort it... those two boys are not falling out
over something their mums did...

handshakes all round... two clingers...
one ****** with a nervous tick but one guy with
cerebral palsy... well... oddly enough...
having been a recluse for almost a decade...
i have managed to surprise myself by fitting the role
of a people person... i don't know where i was storing
this confidence... self-assurance... stoic silence...
i don't feel the need to talk unless talked to...
sure... i might say an anecdote or two:
how Millwall fans at Fulham told me a joke
about a West Ham player who's fond of kicking
cats... cat lives matter...

the shift itself... West Ham are back to their usual
antics of not respecting lesser opponents...
Newcastle are on a campaign trail to survive
in the Premier League... two of their best players weren't
playing: yet they still managed to draw 1 - 1...

who do you think are going to fall?
i says: Burnley had it coming for the past two years...
yeah... Watford is a boomerang team...
one season on the Premier level...
the next on the Championship level...

seems i can have much fun with people,
whether coworkers or the actual public...
the freaks among the coworkers follow me like
dogs, while the public?

an old lady wanted me to use her camera to take
photographs with the West Ham mascots:
some bear mascot was first, then Harry the Hammer...
i had to tap Harry's shoulder when a father asked me
to call him back while he moved along the stand
so he could go back and have a photograph taken
with his kid: so heavily padded he almost didn't feel
my touch...
but he went back...
then that retired police officer that took my side
when some busy-body ***** of a: not my supervisor
kept on demanding i put on a face mask...
that infernal: secular niqqab...
the retired police officer noted: he's distraught...
**** the club: if they can think they can get away
imposing their own rules: all staff must wear ******
coverings... this busy-body even said:
i don't you not covering your nose...
so, what then? my chin is capable of breathing?!
scale of escalation... the from me to the supervisor
to the busy-body third part...
the ex-police officer used the hypothetical
argument: but i have a deaf person, friend,
sitting next to me: he needs to lip read...
how is he going to read my instructions if he can't
see my mouth...
and then... well... i wasn't bothered...
wearing these nappies always brings back
memories of my grandfather's funeral...
he was a big deal in a small-town where i was
born... a foreman in the metallurgy industry...
he knew a lot of people...
but how many showed up to his funeral?
not even the half that i'd have expected...

we kept chatting... my supervisor later came up
and asker me... so...   ?!
oh... you know, we just talked about life...
his father was a widower... living in Cornwall...
he used to get free grub from the local (pub),
but when the pandemic hit...
he lost all WILL to live...
and me says: you know how people say that
you can die from a broken heart,
i guess you can also die from being denied
WILL... we agreed... we shook hands about x3...
like a post-scriptum he asked me for my name
and i asked for his... Mark...
now living in East Sussex... but originally from
Dartford...

Mark said he had thick skin... and i told him...
your eyes are watering... i don't believe it...
looking at them feels like watching a very bountiful
aquarium... you're not going to fool me mate...
life... plus, it's not against the law to not wear
the *****... as i later said:
now you get to see who the people with OCD
and the hypochondriacs are...
yeah: it feels weird... i'm walking around without
the "*****" while my wife is still paying
servitude to outlaw rules...
but if they want to... why deny them the right...
sure sure...

but i had to use a member of the public
to infiltrate the hierarchy on the job...
he used the proper arguments... i was just thinking:
perhaps people just want to see my face...
recognise it... see ****** expressions...
after all: we've been playing a game of pretending
to be Muslim women for two years...
how about we start playing hide & seek once more?

what happened later... the curiosity of the children...
i looked at them, smiled, they smiled back...
they felt so comforted... they felt like:
well... thank god this cubist-esque freak-show is
running and hiding... little girls, little boys...

like i told Mark: but the young 'ung suffered... too...
you need to see people faces,
i might have slouched with the expression
of "****** recognition"... but expressions matter...
you sometimes have to out the tongue to the face...
you want to see someone laugh,
at ease... nowhere near the culture & the people
of Afghanistan... this might have to be the building
block of the supposed "great" restart...
seeing people's faces...
esp. when it comes to children...
they want to see faces they can trust...

but it's outright blatant...
i'm not going to make a comparison between
The Beatles "vs." The Rolling Stones...
for me it always been
Bruce Springsteen "vs." Chris Rea...
no... can't choose...
who the **** do i couple Bob Dylan with?
i'm currently sipping some whiskey while
in the company of ol' Bruce...
ah... Bob Dylan vs. Tom Waits...
        Tommy 'ol boyo...
                    live circus... going out west (live)...
Tom Petty though...

there was one expulsion... a ginger she-male...
all the fans were laughing: don't give her out...
the SIA guys were playing gorillas while
i was on my break... putting my hand on the shoulder
of the hurt party... calm... calm... you ginger ostrich...
stop pandering to the parade of:
already lost teenage hormones...
it sort of worked... i giggled... and no one
became involved... i chewed on my gum like i
like might have been found chewing on a broomstick
or a horses' mane...
i chewed so hard until my jaw hurt...

Tom Waits - going out west (live)...
now we're talking...
prior to Prince dying: you had not access to
songs like Party-man... Trust... all copyrighted
material... yeah.... but i own the best of CD...
why can't i stream it?!
oh, right... he's dead... free-for-all...
free meat for the crows...

why oh why would someone walk up to me
and ask to take a selfie with me?
yeah... this American accented dude...
i watched him through the second half...
off his nuts...
but at half time he walks up to me and asks...
can i take a selfie with you?
sure... weird...
am i famous?! or am i just ****** approachable...
all the other stewards are like bricks in
a mountain: but mountains don't have bricks...
or they're over-anxious busy bodies...
it's like people never learned their NVQ training...

safety, security, service....
the service part is the building part...
you pass off being attired in safety / security tactics...
but... service comes first...
you talk, you interact... you learn to be human...
one year of this, before i ask for being given references...
that's when i'll work toward looking toward a more
permanent employment as a chemistry
teacher... even though... scribbling this sort of *******:
i'd love to become an English teacher...
ha ha... an English teacher... even though i'm not
English...

i need the references... working with my father in
roofing... no, can, do...
they don't want familial ties in references...
one year... i'd still do these gigs on the weekend...
but one year...
you get a chance to deal with a football crowd...
you got a belt... when it might come to dealing
with a classroom of rowdy children...
like Louis XIV stated... it's the trick of the eye...
look the authoritative type...
there's nothing more to it...

then these three supporters at the front...
when they first started singing the song for the cat-lives-matter
footballer who was more into... kicking
cats than a football... how did the lyrics go?
almost Dr. Seuss...
he kicks with his right foot... he kicks with his
left foot... i pursed my lips... i tried to cover my
face with my hand... all the while trying to as
instructed: not taking sides... not showing emotions...

but their remarks came fast... i must have looked
interesting...
so where are you from?
Russia? guess again... Ukraine? nope...
Czech Republic? nope... ******! yep...
but i've been living here since the age of 8...
and i'm 35...
have a nice life: she said... one of them was
ginger... presuppositions of Irish... the beard was
pulled... oh my god, the girl looked proper, proper,
drunk...
i went on a break... i came back:
oh! he's back! you know you're the only one
without a hood on! all the other stewards...
the guy who's usually here is somewhat asleep
while prying open his phone...
where's your pancho against the rain?
oh... i gave it to a spectator... blah blah...

point being... i was actually waiting for her...
Jeminah... all the time... she didn't show up...
i've just received a text from her...
what is... drotaverini hydrochloridum?
i had to take it today...
a rubric of buzzwords...
it sells alongside suggestions akin to the morning-after
pill...

well, it will be a rubric of buzzwords...
i had to take some pills for the cramps in my stomach...
it just felt like one of those Sprintsteen,
Chris Rea, Bob Dylan, Tom Petty sort of nights:
when you feel nervous about thinking bout
a girl while simultaneously feeling nervous
about taking a ****... so you feel like taking a ****
at 7am but delay it to until 5pm... 6pm...
because the girl's easting away at your mind...
you're getting cramps in your abdomen
like you you're about to do a clown trick
with balloons turning them into theoretical poodles...
because you just love the girl:
you just love the girl...
she might be a single mother, she might think
she's a woman... but she's just a girl to you...
even though you're not her father...

oh right... the buzz... words... as someone who studied
chemistry i should know what drotaverini hydrochloridum
is... it's for the abdomen cramps...
for: i ought to have taken a ****...
but here's me stalling...
will she, will you come?
DROVATERINE....
an antispasmodic drug...
   used to enhance cervical dilation during child-birth...
i'm giving birth: to a feeling...
i think i'm in love... she's all anxious...
Bruce's: Maria's Bed... yeah... i'm on that same page
in this story...
esp. noted use in Asia and Central Europe...
i'll be lazy: i'll cite it verbatim:
it's structurally related to papaverine,
is a selective inhibitor of phosphodiesterase 4
and has no anticholinergic effects...

the way i see it... i'm giving birth to love....
i want her fat **** to sit on my face...
sorry... what?!
i'm being absolutely serious...
just looks up the article on Anticholinergics...
i don't have a womb...
but i have a heart that seems to have
sunken into the levels of the intestines...
while i get all spaghetti tangles
for brains...
i'm in love... i can't help it...
she a cougar red head... a deep red...
a mahogany red...
i can't stop thinking about her...
it's exactly impossible to live:
without having to think about her...
anxious cluck by cluck...
if she's not going to abide by failures in life
then... no... life's not worth living without her:
when she's at her pinnacle of failure...
let me pick her up...
let's pretend there's an old world
worth looking at... that there might be a world war
in the theatre... none of these proxies in
the H'American department of... up-keeping
hard-ons and kaleidoscope coyotes...
now for the text messages... why weren't you around?!

i wrote this yesterday, i went downstairs for sone grub
because i couldn't fall asleep...
my mother came down... saw me in my TOMBSTONE
mode... drunk... what? you want me to punch
myself in the face? lucky for her, lucky for me
i remained silent, because the night was silent...
she ****** off i ****** off... today i made mein vater
und mein mutter some ******
chicken broth with vermicelli...
all the usual suspects were used...
the leek, the parsley root, the carrot,
the garlic (skin on), the celery... chicken... d'uh...
although i didn't use the chicken *******...
that's going to be used for a curry...
  
and what are my other options? living alone?
paying rent to a landlord from hell?!
shame... sure... but the attic is full of clutter
and there is no basement...
plus i have a private library the deservedly might
need a proper: HEAVE! HEAVE!
50 oars...

i'm in love and not for all the right reasons...
if my youth took the route of an atypical man...
starting from 20 working my way up...
yeah... but i went mad at the age of 21...
******* invisible choir, great wind dispersing it...
psychiatry that tried to attempt its regression
tactics of implanting me with false memories...
giving me anti-psychotic drugs that fattened me up
until a nurse said:
you either loose weight... or you'll be put
on high-blood pressure tablets...
so... i bought a bicycle... lost 20kg... cycled off
into the sunset...
now... 35... years old... oh... look...
they're looking... they're actually interested...
the young girls have: "woken up"...
yeah... by now? i'm not interested...
i don't and i didn't pay much attention
to the game of genes... it's a fractional impossibility...
unless you're cloning yourself...
by the time you're a grandfather...
only a quarter of you remains...
  why bother with the argument?
        it's silly...Darwinistic unrealism has always been
a thorn in my side...
eh?                            my genes have my consciousness?
i'm... translatable to future generations?
sure... but they can't be my own...
why would i be interested in young girls...
if things worked out for me like they might have
worked out for other men...
a walking *****... and spare parts of monetary dough...
i never wanted to make money...
i took the principle left around for others to see...
between the aesthetic and the ascetic...
well... St. Francis of Assisi...
other men in my position: who have hungered and
been left out in their 20s... now in their 30s can have
their comeback...
their revenge... me? i'm trying to court
a woman 4 years older than me... with a boy
that's 11 years old...
i said: bully them into teaching your German...
you know, it's the mother tongue of English...
grammatically the two languages are very much
aligned... Fredrick... "bully" them into making
you learn Deutsche... i said BULLY i implied:
persuade... do i need to use sign language...
finally... though... a third head on the Hydra...
if i had a little Frankenstein in my possession...
i could be learning Deutsche proper with him....
a youngling like that... sponge for brains...
maybe i could teach him some of my ****** zunge...
wow... no no... that's the whole point of turning
toward art... by 35 i could have been earning
100+ £... yawn... no, truly...
playing this to-and-fro with younger girls
because i now might have status...
not much fun... to be exacting...
single mum... problems at school...
you should learn German rather than French...
he understood it splendidly...

             just you wait... i'll get him into modern German
folk music... did i buy her off with my homemade wine
and him with my own made banana loaf with hazelnuts?!
here's to me!
salute!

              - on these isles for most of my life...
35 - 8 = 27... twenty-seven ******* years!
and no chance at a pluck at the Rose...
up north she was giving it up to grooming gangs
from Pakistan... down south...
shy ******* nunnery: "all of a sudden"!
but now... ah... this... hybrid of Scotch and English
stock... i'm shuddering... i'm still getting these
cramps in my abdomen that says:
you have a womb... what?! i'm transgender?!
what the ****?!

that's why i didn't want to earn money...
well... it's not that i didn't want to...
you see what happens when you go mad aged
21... and how you figure things out...
at least now i'm not a target...
i don't have anything to offer expect for...
knowledge...
it's a blessing...
since... it's hardly what any woman wants...
women tend to want only their own advice...
they conjure this advice like witches conjure up...
perhaps the rosemary herb
goes well with lamb... but like the Turkish
broads suggested... but if you add it to beef...
oh! mein! gott! the Turkish lavash!
with that red onion & parsley roughage of
a side salad... mouth-watering stuff...
i don't really need to see the competitive hard-on
of whatever Sultan to counter the Hagia Sophia...
just that beef lavash...
and yes, you'd be wrong... English cheddar
works just as well...

but... i'm no Frank O'Hara... there's no qualm in
me about not being a painter...
why i'm not a painter translates to me as:
why am i not a painter?
i abhor colours... well... i like some more than
others... the amber and the auburn...
the greens... whiskey... autumn...
but when it comes to movies?
i prefer them to be black & white... less strain
on the eyes...
if images are moving? black & white...
sure... no one is expected to paint in black & white...
like no one is expected to write in
rainbow hieroglyphics... i can stand for an hour
beside a colour painting...
it doesn't move, i don't move...
time, the world: moves...
fair enough...
but colour-riddled movies?
a strain on the eyes...
    why am i not a painter?
                     why am i not a narrator?!
i'm clearly neither... what's the middle ground?
priest? psychiatrist? *******... poet?!
oh you have to be choking me to make me joke...
let alone laugh... but i'm not rhyming...
but there was a time and a place
when people identified this art with
a need for mathematics... measure... ticture...
rhyme... music...
like **** that's happening now: proper...

- perhaps it's not painting, i think it;s painting,
perhaps lacking in colour, perhaps lacking in contorts..
in shapes, in disguises...
what? no traffic light: goes green?
no traffic light remains red?
no middle ground for the amber?
no cyclist prepped to be the shepherd of traffic?
to leech onto a truck where he might be
visible... to orientate the roundabout congestion?
no one, ever, minded, this?!
before moi!
           oh... what shame... what utter shame...
we were supposed to help each other out...
not be these... petty demigods...
silly ******* idiots...

             i might have to reiterate my stance...
she's giving me the love-ups making me feel like a woman...
i'm getting cramps in my abdomen...
sure... i ought to have taken a **** 7 hour prior...
but i keep it in... like a bear about to hibernate:
a plug-hole ****...

- anticholinergic agent are substances that block the action of the neurotransmitter called acetylcholine (ACh) at synapses in the central and peripheral nervous system...

-  anticholinergics are divided into two categories in accordance with their specific targets in the central and peripheral nervous system and at the neuromuscular junction: antimuscarinic agents, and antinicotinic agents (ganglionic blockers, neuromuscular blockers...

she says she's anxious... i'm nervous too!
i'm getting cramps in my stomach...
i'm giving birth to love...
i want access to her son... i want to learn Deutsche
with him... is that too much to ask?
i don't have the sort of money
to access younger, fertile, girls...
i'm left with single mothers... MUFFAS...
oh... she's rounded... like the earth ought to be...

i'm still shy on one reply...

Apologies for the lateness of this message, came home and "had to", i.e. wanted to make some Silesian gnocchi with beef in a dill and a horseradish sauce... cooking for three, it takes time, then I fought up on some footie... was soaked at West Ham, but it was a good shift.... so what happened to you? Weren't you supposed to come? I found out late that the tube was working, managed to use it on the way back... so what happened? What were you anxious about? The bad weather the day before? I took a walk for a newspaper when the storms hit... it was almost fun-windy... at one point I stood rooted in one place for about 3sec being unable to move... the winds almost roared, i even stopped listening to music on my headphones as I listened to the wind whizz by and ruffle the trees... sort of like ASMR but with a loud speaker... I imagined the wind ruffling the trees like someone brushing their hair on an ASMR video... you feeling better though, yes? You doing Fulham this week?

but we're talking about a psychotic girl...
one layer of narrative against another...
she might as well conjure up
a missing 13 year old cousin
to just test you...
thar's how it works...
this reality, this ugly "thing"...
and the deviances of how much
i want to sleep with her...
there... i said it... beautiful view.

In a world where we had it all,
There was absent fathers and hypochondriacs for mothers all around,
Maybe I could be normal one day,
I thought such stupid things all to myself.

Thinking back none of this was my fault,
But the one who points blame gets their finger cut off,
And I've learned to not speak unless spoken to,
After all this time are you even proud of me?
What do I have to prove to get through to you?

All these pretty little pills,
They're the only thing that matters,
They were there when you weren't,
And admittingly I need them to get me through the days,
It was hard to say the least,
Such a lack of control,
But it's all okay,
can you just put your trust into me,
I promise the children are as fine as can be.

How can I rebuild hopelessness,
When we're all so hopelessly hopeful?
Picking at our scabs like their nothing,
And I know in the most dismal of days my heart will sink down into my stomach,
I know this so why do we pretend that everything is just going to be fine.

It's never gonna be okay I see this now,
The forecast is pain and suffering,
I've learned to accept this so why can't you just fake a pretty little smile?
And now I'm even alright when I know I'm not..

The children are crying their ******* eyes out,
Self medicating with these pretty little pills in their mouths,
And before it all goes south and I put this gun in my mouth,
Paint my thoughts all over the walls,
Well I just want to preserve the person I made myself out to be,
The one who makes it through the day,
So no one forgets how strong I can be!

I miss you like maps miss fingers,
Like mikes miss singers,
Like bells miss ringers,
Like cakes miss bakers,
Like lakes miss boats,
Like bad swimmers miss floats,
Like politicians miss votes,
Like doting parents miss school plays,
Like nymphomaniacs miss lays,
Like necrophiliacs  miss graves,
Like hypochondriacs miss prescriptions,
Like ****** misses addictions,
Like carpets miss friction,
Like Billy Bunter misses midnight feasts,
Like the grim reaper misses grief,
Like Henry misses the goodfellas,
Like sand sculptures miss umbrellas,
Like Rubix cube devotees miss puzzles,
Like rabid dogs miss muzzles,
Like Van Gough missed his brushes,
Like speed freaks miss rushes,
Like pens miss paper,
Like the Mona Lisa missed Pater,
Like the canvas misses the creator,
Like how the thirsty miss water,
Like the hungry miss food,
Like ***** miss the lewd,
Like the mind misses mood,
Like the tides miss the moon,
Like the sane miss the loons,
Like the dark misses the light,
Like the brave miss the fright,
Like the kite misses the wind.
Like a phone misses a ring
Like every misses thing.

if etymology is a history - but not a history: in that it is
more a historiology - which, well: history is the study
of time: but time as exclusively begot by man,
a temporal study of man: by man...
history is, after all: not the history of geology:
since stones have no memory:
only friction and pressure and a time-space exclusivity...

what am i talking about?
probably a quote from the pre-Socratics,
the inquisitive genuis: genius of the Greek
spirit - without citations of Homer:
because i won't: will not cite anything Greek
beside the romantic curving of lower-case
a as α

     perhaps it's just a dreary winter mid afternoon
and i'm feeling all "sentimental":
but sentiments are for women
while emotions are a masculine "thing"...
yes... i see the divergence of the sexes -
my words will not become pop fictive in any retrospect:
handed or mishandled...
etymology and history...

i wonder why i still have the capacity to utilise
the word:     ALBIET
albeit....            to substitute it for ALTHOUGH...
albeit = although...
           old Germanic sing-sing-along...
i would rather use albeit rather than although...
or... rather: that's alðough
raðer ðan                   ðorn:
a halo and a crown?

  i ask again:
         a'h geislabaugur og a'h kórónu?

now i will not ask:
why a'h? otherwise the English tongue would not
hollow out the vowel to a simple a-plha
lymph ah... but a as ~aye... a as a yes...
no...
       ah: dental care: say ah with your mouth open
and a dentist's hands shoved in your mouth...
that sort of ah... but a'h... not ah...
as in no: ah! of relief... an a'h of dental inspection
"constipation"...

hmm... i just had one sharpshooter whiskey
drool of a moment and i'm all ***** Wonka and
the Chocolate Factory in my head...
my eternal demise will be not exploring
the imagination of Roald Dahl as a child...
didn't have time to be a child...
learned how old-English conservatism worked
circa the 1990s in terms of illegality of
migration...
i remember punching the walls when my father
was arrested with my mother: handcuffed...
day short of gaining legal status
since arrival circa 1990...

                    my revenge: banana-boat migration...
now the floodgates have opened for
the miracle of the roaming stars...
but England is a ******* besides:
it's the weather that's a drag...
you must have a melancholic-Scandi disposition
to digest the morose and the melancholic...
by now England is so multicultural that
i begin to wonder whether the English even
noted that: waging war against **** Germany
on principle of defending Poland was
ever a good idea...

       given that Polish soldiers joined the RAF
and fought on English soil all the while no English
soldier stood foot-by-foot on Polish soil...
is Ukraine any, ******* different?
master posing ridiculous affairs of double standard
ethics.. ha...            

ah... another word... constenation...
i forgot what it means: but i remember the word...
"á propos" / pardon pardon:
consternation... not constellation...
akin to the rubric of the word: not grievance...
hmm... not belegarence...
belligerence...

           funny tongue this English and French:
hide letters, show letters: eat letters... regurgitate letters:
dyslexia must be a phenomenon in
the anti-orthography of the English tongue:
'leash... my leash:
my poly-schizoid Shakespearean:
if an apple fell on Newton's head...
a pear for a quill to break the mind
and let explode-in-exploring the phantoms of
abortions...

me? no, i don't have the luxury of choice...
i could (perhaps) choose a naive 20 year old woman
as (a) "compliment":
but then again i find naive women discouraging
for my taste... i don't appreciate the dynamic of
fathers grooming sons or daughters into becoming
the same: football team supporters...
i'm privy to this subtle hyper-paedophilia...
it is... a hyper-paedophilia since the hyper- prefix
denotes: it is collectively: collusively(?)
no, not collusively... openly done...
football team fan grooming...
it is: hyper-paedophilia... a variation of brainwashing
without adherence to ****** acts:
instead... *** ARMY... per example being
a child with a father who's a Tottenham Hotspur
supported...

having digested Ezra Pound's Cantos...
currently digesting Charles Olson's Maximus poems:
i'm not assured anything by postmodernism,
clearly the 20th century was a bridging-gap
in how evolution was to play out
societally...
                  industrially...
already i'm sitting on the throne of bypassing
the old function of journalism:
i have come to question journalistic integrity
with due diligence and find it:
bankrupt: bankrupt like the priesthood:
that journalism was the priesthood of the secular
world i see me: heretic: obnoxious stamina orc...
i'm yet to die... and till then i will:
conjure a hammer and a scythe for every moment
i endeavour to feel a canary of a heart
in my ribcage...

as i was thinking:
of the difference between men and women:
of women and the cycle: birth and rebirth...
the beginning and the end...
while with men there is no cycle:
there's only a way through, a dead end and...
from nothing -
i have no luxury of the riddle of the chicken and egg
i only have the ego and the O of oscillation
i oscillate and do not idea-morph a re-:
recycling, rejuvenation, reincarnation...
i'm a crow's beak device of honing in...
by eclipses of the suns and the gods
and all that is sheen and mirror-smiles...
i am a fetishist of death...
as much as: well... only when life becomes
intolerable do i become: a death-fetishist...
which raises my libido and poo...

         (cut off... not necessarily implying i *******
while taking a ****, but given that
cats can't **** and **** at the same time,
it feels rather natural to ******* while
on the throne of thrones)....

what came first? the ego or the cogito?
that's simpler... can i think without "i"?
clearly i can abstract, which is like: the wording
of division (÷) with words and not numbers:
then again pronouns are like integers...
but given the current climate of "politically correct"
pronoun fetishes of they zee zoo
we have people who have no concept of
pronoun-integer compactness -
fraction-peoples ***-unit abuse victims:
by any decent scrutiny of a glance...
           somewhat casual-schizoid and not:
the classical schizoid-bilingualism...
more schizoid-bisexuality... brains in the sheets
and in the hemorrhaging genitals...

one could add: there appeared a rainbow at
the spectacle of Golgotha...
sickly sweet genius of the Greco-Hebrew conspiracy
against the ailing military genius of Rome...

i am going to write an apologetic letter to
Fulham F.C. for granting me work...
till the end of the year Fulham shifts are clashing with
Tottenham and West Ham shifts and i just won't
be able to fulfill the demand:
and given that both the Tottenham stadium
and London stadium have a summer prospect
of entertaining artists for concerts...
well: working at Fulham is a sort of regress...
although the rate of pay is circa £20 while the other
stadiums pay less... it's still less pay given
that Fulham is only a football stadium
and cannot be utilised as a concert venue

a much needed letter of apology:
given that until the end of the season Fulham shifts
clash with Tottenham shifts...
and that given recent developments at
Tottenham invoke me in a supervisory role:
outside, hands-on... directing the crowd
like a Moses... obviously the escalated "burden"
of accountability is a promising aspect of
any role: given the mantra of:
the easiest job in the world is not appealing...
alias of: but i'm not heart-surgeon either...
tongue and language this spare plaything of mine
i will notoriously retreat into grammatical-gymnastics...

just to reiterate: chicken or the egg?
that's wording it in old Latin,
avoiding shrapnel wordings...
i.e. what came first, the chicken or the egg(?)
similarly:
(what came first) the ego or the cogito?
primo ego vel primo ego cogito?
clearly the construction of consciousness
"consciousness" begins with "scenting" the optics:
"scenting" the optics?
oh... coordinating the senses...
coordinating = harmonizing...
even though thought leaves so much room for
error and does not actually invoke any
active participation in the senses...
the ego: doesn't either...

no amount of thinking equates to the participation
in identity, thinking doesn't
stubborn ego is all about the id in the capacity
of the ideologue of identity...
a quasi-magnetism of adhering to
fixations... a unit a baron of the integer
never too sure whether or not capable
to disintegrate into a schizoid fractionable pronoun:
semi-noun politics:
wording at play...

    of course i'm drinking: to get through Olson
you need to drink...
to get through Pound you have to...
****'s sake... go and see an opera...
to get through Ginsberg you have to listen to jazz
and for the rest of the *******:
i like to listen to anti-feminist lyrics
of Sheryl Crow while reading Bukowski...
something about a "home" being a place
where men lie...
not lie as in: take a rest...
but rather deceive...
       i don't like deception: i already have a shadow
so the night is deceiving me
dragging behind me...

men and women: unlike an INXS (in excess) song...
men think disparagingly:
women think disproportionately:
women have really **** spatial coordination...
i almost punched a woman in the face
while giving directions at Fulham...
apparently my open hand seemed like
a pucker kiss in her mind:
"learning disabilities"(?)               maybe...
the world O so cruel:
but not                            Ω    (i.e. ooh not oh)
so cruel: like there's some juice to be squeezed
from a frigid lemon: frigid?

who can i complain to...
a girlfriend in her 50s and me nearing my 40s
at least i don't have a reproductive incentive...
woke up to fun fun fun
went to bed with fun fun fun...
calls it creamy-pie when the junk juice of
alligator drools oozes from her ****...
because i really couldn't stomach
a woman in her 30s with a Cpt. Hook syndrome
of wanting children...

tick-tock-o-ah-clock-tick-tock-o-ah-clock
(have a double helix on that, mate?)

i'm too fail-safe for that sort of jargon...
if i didn't replicate my genes by now
i want the "fun" to continue...
surrogate fatherhood sounds most appealing...
in line with my sentiments for ancient Roman
history...

but let's face it (face it i, not you or we):
men's thinking distinguishes them from others (other men)
while they return to a generic man...
prototypes galore...
we all want different things...
either riches or festering in a semi-digested state
of existential prowess with mothers and fathers
and hobbies...
some want to scale the heights and have eleven children
by 6 different mothers... rich enough to do so...
as men we want different things...
regardless: even being homeless is a Bob Dylan
phantasmagorical allure for a freedom
deeply associated with: of Sinope (Diogenes)...

the modern world has taught me to be more of a cat...
i imitate a cat:
i like a roof over my head...
i'll cook i'll clean i'll keep conversation...
Matthew the cat...
i like the cold but i also like the warmth...
woman is a universal creature:
all women want the same thing...
although their allure changes from woman to woman
each woman is different, individually:
as a person...
but in terms of a woman being a thinking creature:
all women are the same...

men? men are the same: thoroughly throughout...
every instance... it wasn't a man that caused
the Trojan war...
Trojan war and the accountability of being inquisitive
from the metaphor of Eden?
men are generic in person...
although different in thought: since we want
a variety we come to represent...
by our ***-outliers...
criminality is: rest assured: a search for freedom...

coming to the conclusion that...
well... there was German idealism there was Platonism
there was scholasticism there was there was...
but... what? first wave second wave third wave...
it's still feminism...
            no original thinking no...
it's still stoic feminism...
it's still going to be cynic feminism...
a **** contraceptive pilling of... cartesian feminism...
prefixing femme fatale to anything
a man thought of first to cope with
living without children...

but i do have a surrogate girl i'm very much fond
of so much fond of that i was willing
to stay up almost all night to bake her a birthday cake
so good so that during the pool party
every single attendee SHUT THE **** UP
and gobbled down the carbohydrate plush-hush...
****'s sake...

stoic "feminism"...
one movement to rule them all... Sauron hypochondriacs
of owning *****... as if the role of mother
was a burden...
and not a negligence of "self-discovery"...
oh sure... those desperate brats are brimming on
a necessary spanking but seeing them being
spoiled and not affected by a cane
is also, sort of, disorientating for them...
the joke being: you give them "too much" freedom
and... guess what!(?) they won't be able
to decipher freedom, denote it,
filter out what they might end up wanting!

stoic feminism my ***...
my *** greasing up a donkey's hind with a warm ****...
2000 years of men thinking:
reduced to 50 years of women playing
the crab-bucket game of cocktail miasmas...
it's infuriating given the innate persuasiveness
of women to: get the Trojan horse on the move
by men... gaslighting 21st century advent...
mind you i've been with enough
prostitutes to know the difference between
staged: receiving pleasure and
staged: faking pleasure as non-received...
up to a point where she's calling you up constantly
and you keep reminding her:
listen... i've found my little Robinson Crusoe
isle of happiness and i really don't
mind not proving my manhood anymore...
i've tried a ******* and i can vouch that
it's not an ego boost but a hindering experience
of not seeing a lover's face during *******...

because it is like the execution of the prophet
Isaiah: being cut in half at the bowels...
it's disorientating: ******* two women at once...
of sure... it looks great for a ******...
but in practice?            no....       n'ah ah...
unless... you reduce it to one jerking you off
into the mouth of the other... or something like that...
then again all the ****** tension in the workplace...
by the time you arrive at ****** intimacy
with someone... it will probably be...
something akin to: 2 years
                                              and 7,186 miles away...

or at least...
there i was thinking: what also came first,
letters or names?
nouns...
i'm pretty sure we said words long before
we used letters...
we only came back to conjuring letters after already
conjured up vector-meanings
as words...
the ancient Greeks confuse me with their
anticipation of atoms...
but there was surely a construct of meaning
concerning water before w-a-t-e-r
                    and certainly before H₂O...

so yes... words came before letters...
it's only later that we designated the cutting up of meaning(s)
into... more so...
a - a letter but also an indefinite article...
i - a letter but also a pronoun, personal?    sure... "i" too...
in ******
you have w - which translates to 'in'
and z - which translates to 'with'               yes...

there is a distinction between "air"         and 'earth' quotes...

we must have grunted shovelled, breathed in breathed out
and then! the genesis of the first word...
i wonder what the first word was, ever was...
it sure as **** wasn't god...
given that god was probably the last word...
sun and moon and water and
first to speak of giving names to things
to coordinate... much later time and space:
concepts per se...
curiosity by noun
yet confirmation of a shared experience
by the inequality of verbs:
like banking is not plumbing
and the disparaging rewards of:
say, borderline automation fancy of markets when
investing money and not,
    and when not providing enough poems
or: charitable carpenter with...
hoarding musical chairs no one will sit on?
lopsided supply-and-demand nature of money...
compared to actual goods...

plastic-money... there's too much of it in the world...
apparently money doesn't grow on trees
anymore... since these days banknotes are made
of plastic... and there is too much plastic in the world...
paper-money: simple thinking...
let's go back to basics...
point being: i enjoy books and music...
i buy whiskey and once upon a time i used
to transfer my earnings to prostitutes...

money isn't paper anymore...
nor is journalism a secular priesthood...
the true advent of democracy via the internet
and all the while the current politicians are clowns...
beside who the true politicians are:
the soloists akin to the demagogues and dictators...
because that's who you "suddenly" end up trusting:
solo-actors...
          well at least they are immune to conspiracies
of "in-groups" that languish any accountability...
at least i know who is accountable for what...
because Tony Blair and...          are...    will       be?!

by writing this and posting it...
i can bypass all that editorial scrutiny of what will
sell or not sell...
i earn enough to not worry about money...
that's the whole idea...
money per se being something akin to a "philosopher's stone":
i can turn a piece of "paper" into a plumber...
i can turn a piece of "paper" into a train driver...
i can turn a piece of "paper" into...

money is the "philosopher's stone"...
oddly enough... water imitation...
let's keep out of each other's way...
    best that way...
but there is too much wealth in this world...
wealth that is not appreciated: but squandered...
squandered by being floundered...

hell... i'm quite frankly content to cycle through
London, use the public transport than
have to "compensate" with "contritions"
of being mechanically - (&) viable
          for the workforce without a horse but a car...
esp in this oorban gungle... j j jade...

Neurotics talk to their analysts,
Sinners talk to their priests
Hypochondriacs visit their doctors
Writers write.

look at me! oh, wait, you can't...
i'm really "over the moon"  when something
i think was worth something
gets... an increased audience...
notably... circa 2016 (https://hellopoetry.com/poem/1808605/circa-2016/)
i won't copy it here... too much fiddling with italics
and bold distinctions...
there's that link, look it up...
out of nowhere!
unlike those people making youtube videos...
you can almost instanteausly...
  instanteously...
  ****'s sake! how many times will i make
the mistke: too many ******* vowels!
like the English speaking about ******
having too many consonants... some are *******
shorthened: you... your people
have to many ******* vowels, *****...
shortened...
            *****, Velsh ******* Pict pick-ups!
Cornwall was once part of Wales...
vier... einz, *****, dwei, *****, drei, *****,
count em up you ******* doll of a ****...
that's the only way you defeat a ******...
you gang up together...
have some Germans from the West,
some Russians from the East,
some Turks from the South,
some Swedes from the North...

good to know that the last party...
***** whipped "sort of people"...
i don't think they're people... automatons, robots:
yes... people? no... they can shovel ****
& pebbles, ******* Swedes... rot!
rot! rot! rot! in your socially democratic
liberality, better... ******* sink
like that Vasa ship...

mein gott! was haben ich vererbt?!
the riches of the old plundered world...
no wonder why i'm not...
bothered about... the influx of Africans
into Europe... via Libya...
danke schön! thank you!
thank very, isn't that what's expressed?!
i can consolidate myself with
the stressor, southern Slav...
the English & their Darwinism & their failed
etymology...
Slav is missing an E?
we're the bearded *******...
boyo...
the mammoth killing *******?!
the sort of people looking for baboons to slap
them silly... smile...
wave...
             you're from this ****-load of islands?
me?! **** your women?!
perhaps a Pakistani grooming gang just might...
i'd rather remain among the Scots...
personal preferences...
what... among this docile anglo-saxon crew?!
maybe if i **** them off for a while
i might a resting on: yep:
they're reinvigorated... *****... *****...
Saschisch.... ******* spat out blue... ****
suckers...

take, your, ******* head, out of that ****...
no, leave, your tongue:
you won't be needing it...
anger, wrath, raw fission...
i am: rife!
hey, presented: hey: solo...
      i'm keeping time, i'm keeping time...
all these smart liquorice smart ******
rap...
banding together... hey... Salty Beef...
hey... XYX... try, try it solo?!

fascists... Nazis...
but at least Hugo Boss took great care concerning
their uniforms...
my my... weren't the national socialists pedantic?!
well attired...
can't be said about the globalist socialists from
Russia... ***** is on the way...
eh... khaki or just brown... sort of brown...
goat *******... happy to get the **** out of Siberia...
sure... personally...
i much prefer the rigour of national
socialism compared to...
globalist socialism...
i don't even know what capitalist globalism
looks like... like, ahem... this?
influencer culture...
advertiser units of ditto heads?!
hey! way-hey! looks pretty...
from the stand-point of: i'm not buying it, ****.

what happens in the night, is what belong to the night,
perhaps w. h. auden was right for calling
out all those that wrote in the night as
Hitlers of the world...
perhaps... Harold Norse was also right
for calling out this... *****...
a failed would be ******... ******* CREEP...
my ****** deviances are clear cut...
just inquire some...
Romanian... Turkish *******...
i don't **** English women...

i beckon for the reminder..
Cedric & Arthur..
Saxon invasion,
you are the sort of people
we're being, sold?!
well... look at me...
no invasion took place..
a lot of "my" people left this...
ahem...
          PLATITUDE...

    being designated "mad" by your people...
years, years prior...
now? i'm a theatre curator...
let me watch a while...
your people, you people...
designated me "mad"...
now?! i'll just wait... oh, don't worry...
i didn't have to wait long...
there's already enough....
you, people,
are more mad than any psychiatrist
might have already prescribed
me with a "supposed" diagnosis...
you... *******... hypochondriacs!

ha ha... bilingual "schizophrenics":
this world ought to burn...
let me, reiterate in, Deutsche, for the added
emphasis:

diese welt solltest zu brennen!

😭👿

SOLD TO SATAN

(After seeing malpractices in medicine, sitting at a multi clinic, I am writing this, with a plea to all the medical practitioners, to please introspect)

Sold my soul I have to the Satan, once I had, a huge entrance amount given, to a doctor become

Now, for treatment, all the rich, the gullible, those frightened hypochondriacs, I warmly welcome.

For rich I have to become, after recovering my expenses huge, to cover up what I spent; that enormous sum !

With wrong, fancy or even frightful diagnosis, I frighten patients; and unnecessarily even operate upon some.

With my malpractices,  Satan very helpful n cooperative is, n encourages me, to richer by the day become.

Alas, a dedicated professional, one who should be respected next to God, how very commercial has now become !

By misleading the ill n those in dire need of a cure; from a God loving n serving the ill n poor people, I have today, a devil become.

Dear God, will You please forgive me, if I change to a good, kind doctor n a human being become?

Armin Dutia Motashaw