.ludo savis... play nice... ludo savis... play nice:

i knew the relationship was over when i encountered her ex-boyfriend sitting in her st. petersburg flat drinking ***** with me, no, wait, it was when she started questionning me using cosmopolitan magazine quiz about perfect girlfriends on our way from st. petersburg to moscow to see metallica, while all i wanted was to listen to bob dylan and appreciate whatever rural russia had to offer... beside that? it took me quiet a time to fiddle through and find the glagolitic alphabet, the slavic alphabet before the learned greek came across "my" people, given the romans never venture that far... good luck finding an african phonetic encoding system, beside the hieroglyphs... i won't bother looking right now... not to insult, though: so much for a large phallus megalomania contra envy... Ⰶ: życie (life) is not the half of the caron ž in the form of: the acute... (ź): ździra (don't ask, seriously, the word implies worse than ***** / szmata)... źródło (source)... eh... the one-armed caron (ž)... ź... i can't explain it any further: you need to speak the lingo to keep the "nuance" alive... southern slavs treat the caron akin to ž = ż... how beautiful... given the english language has no diacritical marker application: can't exactly claim diacritical markers using only the automated hovering decapitated heads above ι & ȷ... i'm not english i'm tired of looking up h'america's *******! i don't need not fancy pants to debrief the people i'm concerned with to mind, not giving a **** about them... thanks for your jeans: subtitle made in canada... beside the whole mao shitshow of: made in china.... back in the 1990s! *******... even in terms of music h'america isn't really relevant.. it just is... and "whatever" this "is" is to be, will remain... but only as an r.e.m. ref. pointer, that requires the physical translation of the lyrics: the one i love... a simple prop: to occupy my mind.... fire! the silesian vampire... because... said so... learning about monsters is what i could only fathom, which included me... but, sorry... the glagolithic script... ⰄⰀⰏ: dam... i.e. i will give... fun fact: r.e.m. didn't sell their: it's the end of the world as we know it (and i feel fine) to microsoft for a commercial break.. glagolitic script... where are the africans? oh, right, nowhere when phonetic encoding is turning heads... **** me... even the blind are onto the affair...  i went as far back as the glagolithic script: pre cyrillic, about the same time that the latins incorporated the northern "savages" with applying the chisel to the ᚱ / R... ᚠ / F... copernican "up-side down": why do all tree (beside the pines) resemble a Y shape, a gamma? why did god compensate his existence with opiates?! refresh my memory, though, why am i drawing blanks at african phonetic encoding? **** me, the blind drew something, the deaf too... if you played the guitar, forget about reading braille... you need tender, french, fingertips.... you can't play the guitasr and read braille... mind you... encoding morse overshadows braille... but even the european blindman overcomes the fully ****-naked butter-cup sprinting *** of a black man every day of the week: i'm not here to compensate for a leprechaun's sized *****: mind you... in the hands of a porcelain ***- beauty? everything looks like a hiroshima... i just started to entertain an asian fetish... 4th knuckle mizzing... missing... the most ****** aspect of a female aesthetic? her hand... when *** & the city cited trimming ***** hair (no circumsion, really?), so no asian porcelain hands, no 4th knuckle missing?! i hate what the anglo-speaking world has become, it's this, this, this quasi-Islam.... at least i respect the Quran... but 1984, by the secular prophet of the western world? why do people still calling it: silicon vallyey... it's a ******* curtain, smart-you not seeing the replacement mechanisms of the silicon curtain: now wow... ******, where you're getting-to-go get from? any ideas?! a tehran baza?! ******. 1960s homosexuals fiddling their way past the tunis police, happy? loitering sucker-****** pansie? again... entertain me... where is the african phonetic encoding system... this is my "i.q." avenue masterpiece... i don't care about i.q. but a ******* blind man beat the african at phonetic encoding... personally?

one just simply falls, tired of the right-wing momentum regarding beauty, it's such a bothersome crtique of its generic foundation if beauty..... i hate it, this objective classicism: back to the future take no, 4; *******...

             again, where were the africans sorting
out their invetement in the slave trade...
ONLY WHITE PEOPLE
WERE BAD, CONCERNING BLACK PEOPLE...
Idi Amin... Idi Amin Idi Amin Idi Amin Idi Amin
Idi Amin... Idi Amin Idi Amin Idi Amin Idi Amin ....
******! please!
ever see an african-h'american in africa?
   ******! please!
ever see an african-h'american in africa?
i said: ******! please!
ever see an african-h'american in africa?
i'd love to see an african-h'american
in africa... mouthin-off their stature...

                   african phonetic encoding....

debussy                                       chopin




satie                                              schumannn...

­and?
              there's too much of loon'don....
                   had enough of it, ****'s....
too much ***-kissing,
too much of the h'american swindle...
carelesss buggers; these brits...
******* ****** jolly-tribe
               ****-ups....
  
i drink and relax solving a sudoku -
i'm not doing it to compete -
   just having a conversation with
my neighbor about the difference
between Alzheimer's
and dementia brought back memories
of what i negated for some time...

it's only when someone else tells
you of their elder relative's dementia
you muster the courage to
spot the same symptoms in
your relative...

         my grandfather has dementia...
my early teenage years,
every summer visiting him,
traveling to Krakow,
     going fishing,
riding our bicycles in the afternoon...
he feeding my what books
i should read...
      i still visit,
  spend about a month,
say, keep him company,
   fix up the kitchen...

  but it's such an exhausting disease...
not so much for the sufferer -
this mild form of Alzheimer -
no killer proteins eating away at
the brain cells -
   dementia?
the ontological nadir of old age...
then again, perhaps the zenith...

a closure...
   the long term memory opens,
while the short term memory
closes -
   he still can solve a crossword
puzzle like a mad genius...
but he lapses into what is
the cinema of mortality...
                 he remembers things
like the two SS-men
   posted in my home town,
running up to them
and saying -
herr bitte bon-bon!...
  the raven black of the uniform
and the glaring *******...

    i blocked the fact that it was
dementia, when my grandmother
thought it was wise to scare all
of us, uncle, mother and father
into thinking it could degenerate
into Alzheimer's...
        he still recognizes me!
Alzheimer's sufferers can't
even muster that!

   at best... dementia couples itself up
with melancholia,
  the natural melancholia
akin to the sadness expressed by
Nietzsche: only when the house
has been completed,
but never during the construction...

dementia is just an endless memory
loop...
   when man is allowed to finally
put down the hammer, the sickle...
and retire?
  he's standing on the precipices of mortality...
on a dam about to crack open,
and release a surge of the sea
of memory...
   why wouldn't he take the time
to remember?
  to remember himself?
        
the tedium comes when the same
persons implores others to listen to them...
when memories become less
of the old man's cinema and more
affairs of an oral culture -
our culture has lost the point
of oral transmission -
  hence dementia sufferers have
to evolve -
                  into not talking so much...
not as a mean spirited conviction -
why? i do the same -
   i have about 10 focal memories
that constant revive me -
               and i'm only 32...
          but i don't talk about them...
hell, i won't write them...
   it's my own, private cinema -
but my grandfather comes from
a time before the optical explosion
of television...

         i don't need to hear what he saw -
all i need is to tattoo his mannerisms
and face onto my psyche...

   but dementia, thank god,
is a listening tedium...
                     point being...
a life opens up,
   but any immediacy of life disappears...
hence his persistent ability
to solve crossword puzzles,
enjoy reading the newspaper -
but the significance of remembering
yesterday is missing...
    
he's an old man...
   he has no obligations in terms of
duty in a professional arena of
the metalwork factory...
why wouldn't he attempt to push death
aside and not linger on
the memory of his, magnum opus -
his life sigma oeuvre?

     me?
  some would call this music neo-**** skinhead
****...
   wumpscut, two songs...
   thorns & wreath of barbs,
     bunkertor sieben (reprise)...
but it relaxes me when sitting on a sudoku,
drinking Bacardi cola and lime...
      enjoying the cool August air
after just enough rain
that manages to exfoliates the flowers
with refreshed sensuality...

  sudoku no. 10101...
    after enough numbers pop up,
the tactic is to hone in on one number
in each of the 9 squares and 9 vertical
and 9 linear line...
for sudoku no. 10101 in the Friday's
edition of the times?

   it went something akin to this

[8, 5] - [3] - [1] - [9] - [7] - [2, 6] - [4]

that's the closest schematic
i'll have for you,
   with regards to how the grid is filled.

i drink and relax solving a sudoku -
i'm not doing it to compete -
   just having a conversation with
my neighbor about the difference
between Alzheimer's
and dementia brought back memories
of what i negated for some time...

it's only when someone else tells
you of their elder relative's dementia
you muster the courage to
spot the same symptoms in
your relative...

         my grandfather has dementia...
my early teenage years,
every summer visiting him,
traveling to Krakow,
     going fishing,
riding our bicycles in the afternoon...
he feeding my what books
i should read...
      i still visit,
  spend about a month,
say, keep him company,
   fix up the kitchen...

  but it's such an exhausting disease...
not so much for the sufferer -
this mild form of Alzheimer -
no killer proteins eating away at
the brain cells -
   dementia?
the ontological nadir of old age...
then again, perhaps the zenith...

a closure...
   the long term memory opens,
while the short term memory
closes -
   he still can solve a crossword
puzzle like a mad genius...
but he lapses into what is
the cinema of mortality...
                 he remembers things
like the two SS-men
   posted in my home town,
running up to them
and saying -
herr bitte bon-bon!...
  the raven black of the uniform
and the glaring *******...

    i blocked the fact that it was
dementia, when my grandmother
thought it was wise to scare all
of us, uncle, mother and father
into thinking it could degenerate
into Alzheimer's...
        he still recognizes me!
Alzheimer's sufferers can't
even muster that!

   at best... dementia couples itself up
with melancholia,
  the natural melancholia
akin to the sadness expressed by
Nietzsche: only when the house
has been completed,
but never during the construction...

dementia is just an endless memory
loop...
   when man is allowed to finally
put down the hammer, the sickle...
and retire?
  he's standing on the precipices of mortality...
on a dam about to crack open,
and release a surge of the sea
of memory...
   why wouldn't he take the time
to remember?
  to remember himself?
        
the tedium comes when the same
persons implores others to listen to them...
when memories become less
of the old man's cinema and more
affairs of an oral culture -
our culture has lost the point
of oral transmission -
  hence dementia sufferers have
to evolve -
                  into not talking so much...
not as a mean spirited conviction -
why? i do the same -
   i have about 10 focal memories
that constant revive me -
               and i'm only 32...
          but i don't talk about them...
hell, i won't write them...
   it's my own, private cinema -
but my grandfather comes from
a time before the optical explosion
of television...

         i don't need to hear what he saw -
all i need is to tattoo his mannerisms
and face onto my psyche...

   but dementia, thank god,
is a listening tedium...
                     point being...
a life opens up,
   but any immediacy of life disappears...
hence his persistent ability
to solve crossword puzzles,
enjoy reading the newspaper -
but the significance of remembering
yesterday is missing...
    
he's an old man...
   he has no obligations in terms of
duty in a professional arena of
the metalwork factory...
why wouldn't he attempt to push death
aside and not linger on
the memory of his, magnum opus -
his life sigma oeuvre?

     me?
  some would call this music neo-**** skinhead
****...
   wumpscut, two songs...
   thorns & wreath of barbs,
     bunkertor sieben (reprise)...
but it relaxes me when sitting on a sudoku,
drinking Bacardi cola and lime...
      enjoying the cool August air
after just enough rain
that manages to exfoliates the flowers
with refreshed sensuality...

  sudoku no. 10101...
    after enough numbers pop up,
the tactic is to hone in on one number
in each of the 9 squares and 9 vertical
and 9 linear line...
for sudoku no. 10101 in the Friday's
edition of the times?

   it went something akin to this

[8, 5] - [3] - [1] - [9] - [7] - [2, 6] - [4]

that's the closest schematic
i'll have for you,
   with regards to how the grid is filled.

oh sure sure, the uncircumcised man,
crucified when all the orthodox were
drunk,
                   פור day,
       drunk cruxion?!
                 lovey purin "misgivings";
what's next?

   oh sure sure, the jews would hav e crucified
me on the hill of: tel megiddo
****-heads throwing up their kippahs
into the air in some skewed form
of celebration...
       like bacchus entering
Valhalla asking: where's the mead?
    i've had too much wine...
where'y the whiskey?

   i'll keep repeating...
              talk about jews among the polonaiase?
hush hush: ****, dont want to bring
bad luck... jews in poland are very much akin
to roma gypsies: lucky charms...
but... do you see any ******* leprechauns
around? look at me: i see none...
  let's tell the joke in verse,
not the stadard: a priest a rabbi and an imam
walk into a bar...
****... is that even a joke?! muslims don't drink!
what's the imam having; cranberry juice?!

and englishman a scot and an irish walk
into a bar... the three of them walk
out on stag-duty with inflanted sheep and
speaking cymcru... terrible joke...
as all my jokes were to begin with...

         i am currently navigating,
my uncle's ex girlfriend is sleeping downstairs
on the couch,
blah blah Tuscany... blah blah prosecco...
i'm becoming suspect: she's a gemini,
isn't she? all the geminis i ever met where
extroverted self-absorbed louis XIV types...
they need to, they need to self-absorb themselves
in order to extract the sort of energy
associate with rhetoric,
   and how they constantly digress,
there's always a sub-plot to the plot... nay,
there are always sub-plots...
          great company, i mean...
when a person speaks all the time there are
no awkward moments of silence,
until the said person tells the "eager" listener...
play some music...
she's a warsaw girl, so she's a pretty learned
in the ways of the world,
i'm just an ostrowiec commoner...

    oy vey! oy vey: she'***** 40 and lamenting...
i too complain about my uncle...
she had an abortion with him...
i once talked with my uncle about music
while he surfaced at mrs. roshandler's back garabe...
we ate sri lankan fried chicken wings and
chips and listened to californication
for the very first time...

   abundance of hope in Tuscany...
"apparently"... but if you have ever watched
a woman, borderline on asylum incarceration?
i was looking at one just example...
  it's not a pretty sight...
even when she asked: how's *** and business?
i'm a monk...
          or at least i tend to...
even if she came from a stock of
failed relationships: fine fine...
            now?

i served up decent food,
a malvani and a tikka masala curry...
          naan bread,
     turmeric infused rice,
vanilla cheese cake with strawberries...
she enjoyed it,
i like to please people...
    mind you: ever see a slim chef?
i wouldn't trust a slim chef,
i never have, i never will,
you need some chubby chub chub rounding-offs...
mind you: i much prefer cooking
food than eating it,
but i would never trust a chef associated
with a c.o.d. associated with counting calories...
never have, never will...
two noteworthy proverbs:
1. too many cooks in one kitchen =
no decent meal is being made...
  one cook, one couldron, that's your best bet...
2. never trust a slim, athletic cook...
those ******* can shove their kale
       smoothies....
they can slurp up those smoothies
turning their ***** in straw ******* vortexes!
i'll cook on lard trimmings,

em....
  [9] - [2] - [6] - [3] - [8] - [1] - [4] - [5, 7]?
that's when the sudoku puzzle was filled...
all the nines... all the twos... etc. became filled
in the 9 grids...

well...
     "apart" from: my uncle's girlfriend:
i've been living in englamd
for nearly 30 yeasrs...
i've dated a french girl,
an australian, a russian....
but u've never dated an english
girl: i guess they much prefer
aged pakistani grooming gang
members....
            i guess:
**** gasoline on them,
they're all readied and geared up!

braille contra morse?
if you want to play the guitar?
forget the braille....
you need tender fingertips
to read braille...
morse? nit so much...
here's a comparison...
i see!

    a.:   ⠓⠑   ⠺⠓⠕
                       ⠎⠑⠑⠎
    ⠊⠎       ⠁⠃⠇⠑
                   ⠞⠕
                                     ­   ⠗⠑⠁⠙

b. play the guitar and learn to....
read finger tip braille, ******....

· · · ·  ·         
· − −  · · · ·  − − − 
· · ·  ·  ·  · · · :
                  · ·  · · · 
▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄ ▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄ · − · ·  ·  (a / b)
      −  − − − 
                   · − ·  · ▄▄▄▄▄▄▄ − · ·  (a)

(he who sees: is able to read)...

           i can attest...
             i would find myself readily reading
morse in braille,
than braille by itself...
                far more easier.

finger-tips... i'd sooner read your morse
as braille, than braille as morse..

I'm an idiot, idi-fool,
Idiot, idiot, idi-tool,
  Idiot, idi-lump,
  Idiot, idi-chump,
Idiot, idiot, most uncool.

I'm an idiot, idi-goon,
Idiot, idiot, idi-loon,
  Idiot, idi-berk,
  Idiot, idi-****,
Idiot, idiot; a buffoon.

I'm an idiot, idi-plum,
Idiot, idiot, and so dumb,
  Idiot, idi-pratt,
  Idiot, getting fat,
Idiot, idiot, feeling glum.

'ere i r: "thieving" around with some base ęgliş -

it must be admired: this citizen
politicized majority:

that a people can fathom fudge packaging
tier upon tier:

and serve both a democracy of voices
and the necessary vote: illiterate X
"acronym" piece o' pie for a signature's
worth...

wow and doubly: wow... on a continent when
there's this status quo class strictures:

moths, cobwebs(,) and spare change...
this grand asymptomatic clue...
i hope to pretend
to steal a language from
a people... that have no diaspora poignancy -
because: there's this squatting "elsewhere"...

litany of secrecy that has to become:
blunt dumb and grating
cheddar: stoic-esque...
the blunting of the knife and
the sharpening of the tongue...

i will still find the sort of reggae i want...
culture's harder than the rest
(full album)...

picky moi: burning spear's
marcus garvey -
the black voice
that demanded of his
choccy people a repatriation
process:
how alien it must seem
to be african-american
going to a majority black
country...
how unwelcome
one must be...
to be black and thrown back
into kenya...
speaking no word of the native
breath...
what statues of agony
an IDI AMIN could...
and did... dying a slow death
in the ***** of arab racialism...
oh sure joys of sculpture...
unforgiving in how
legs dismembered would
be reattached to sockets where
arms ought to imitate bird flight
with flapping: and vice versus...
i suffer to have not this sort
of imagination!

but that is a song...
   i'm here attempting to steal
english from the english:
it's not "about to" happen
either...
i'm getting drunk on
the cocktail: before, of course...
i come across some
bureaucratic "sensibility":
some angry ***** mad
enough with the least
authority given...

         that people given
the least authority tend to abuse it
the most...

i had to look at europe "elsewhere"...
milan kundera pointed
out this quote
'quarrel in a far away country,
between people of whom we know nothing'
by neville chamberlain
when appeasing ******
concerning the merger of
extended bohemia
into the third *****...
                
  it would seem: it would always
be easier to treat the middle east
with enforced straight lines...
e.g. iraq / jordan never look
like naturally invoked
land masses -

no mountain range no river...
it's not that i have to blame
the english pauper for
a past history of colonialism...
but... to have little knowledge
of your neighbour's lot...
was there any similar ignorance
when: outstanding brits
matched napoleon's ambitions?

i test my own patience with this...
at what point will i finally state:
well... given the air of politics
weaving its way trickle down
into the publically paid bureaucracy...
em...
is it racism or is it...
an african fetish?
     like me... i'm all for porcelain girls
of the orient: no one wants
to **** exhausted gammon... do they:
in this mismatched kama sutra... do they don't they?

i'm sensing a fetish for... it's gone beside
a racism: i'm looking to the east
of what's still europe -
a zilant semblance written
in "old orthography" of the tatars...
   qazan - someone's knowing on my door...
the germanic peoples pushed...
then the slavic peoples pushed...
then the mongols and the turkmen pushed
this great funnel and sieve
of a: pseudo-continent that's probably
only an extended experiment
of great mother asia and uncle siberia...

after all: isn't australia an island?
who ever has to hear the same
soft-narrative: out-of africa...
except those pesky eskimos -
      frisky... but we left africa
with no thinking equipment -
no phonetic encoding...
    if we left with some arabic...
but we didn't...
if we left with some sanskrit...
but we didn't... some chinese ideograms...
but we didn't...
no wonder we left...
i don't endear myself to pursue
hieroglyphics as sensible enough:
to counter the modern emojis...

which they are...
pits and falls in the latin alpha-beta-coy...
then..
to "work" by loiter -
no wonder: grievances
when work is drudgery -
when one cannot perfect
a deed - but has to churn out
appeasement after appeasement:
slurp an oyster from
an ****...

i still must be thieving english
from... the english...
leftovers of the forever debased
schizoid - or the new lineage
bound to bilingualism:
a return to thematic crude-,

no... i can't digest this:
there's some sort of drama:
but there's no staging for it...
an open round-up of applause...
devoid of choice is a higher
tier condescending-
           for lacking will -

to write this very little...
but then to harness the prospect
of a sunrise: an 8am welcome!
welcome to no night
of finitudes... of conclusions...
my foot will never stand
in thailand: because
of the thai surprise...
easily a ****-along story
for a vanguard torry:

        i will have two Plantegenant
old housewives
when there's: the food
i need to curate for my palette:
a sad sad show-story...
when i... walk out from the house
and tug a dead-weight
of consumerism from my
mother's girdle...

          i call it... playing banjo
with toothpick... 'n' esse...
      the pristine curation of sharpening
teeth: to bite into a tide...
into a swelling heave of a wave...

i want to be able to be normal
sleeping with a foreign body
in my bed...
i was once able to sleep with a dog...
i am as finicky as the cat
that attempts
to sleep with me in the same
bed....
shadows clamour and therefore
clash...

  the british isles are too grand...
i want something smaller...
i want a life among the faroe islanders...
escape escape forever
this unforgiving narrative...

can you look at a people you're acquiring
to "ally"...
never marking your own horrors...
with your own black hitlers...
i can attest to the bleach...
but you can't somehow blank slate:
state a genesis without a dichotomy...

let's go! black history month!
now is the time! now i want to remember
IDI AMIN!
  black history month!
i want to remember IDI AMIN!
no... not marcus garvey:
proponent of repatriation...
i want to remember: IDI AMIN!
after all... the mongols have
their "abraham" their genghis khan...
and they have their pocket
of leftover in crimea with
that mongol-europeans: the tatars...

i have no love for history come
the tide of relating the Iberian peninsula...
south h'america... "mine"?
the north coast of africa...
fizzling out of in-breeding...
when the goth came across
the instigators of conquest of the "muzzies"...
cocktails on us! boyos!

i want to... ******* boil with teasing!
i want to fathom a spectacle of trolling!
i want to smear faces into ****!
i want the wholesome crescendo!
i want to itch with
******* out buckwheat digestion!
i want chocolate!
i want a swiss fountain of chocolate!
i want to see IDI AMIN
a proud addition to:
no blacks ever do or did:
any b'aah... b'aah ad ad...
            
i wish "my" people came to "origin"
with a post-colonial narrative...
poor shmucks the scots are...
but they were: "missing"...
you can't retrace a colonial past
to the present citizen of spain:
how well the post-"racialists" peoples
of the southern continent managed to:
you can hear talk
of an argentinian... but he's not spanish...
a brazilian: but he's not... portuguese!

this anglo-saxon "pond" livestock
of memory... do away with us...
i know it's terrible to have a genesis
story so short-lived that europe
is a *******-riddling reminder:
when there's an already political class
harvesting the least worth of fathom...
don't pretend to be historical tourists:
my dutch ancestry...
my german ancestry... my "ancestry":

you deserve the quiff and joking slander:
superior the world's a-hole all over...
who are your little people looking
for in our little funnel of
a constipated asia looking for?
currently?!
the greek aren't admired...
they aren't admired because
they gave a birth to the antagonist
in cyrillic...
and that's that!

or... the greeks aren't admired
because: the metaphor: byzantine -
a complexity of bureaucracy -
but the singing... deaf tone reading of plato...
forget aeschylus -
they were prone to heave
a turkman invasion of
the balkans... given...
the venetians sacking:
the supposed holy place of...
aan eucharist convo. with a pagan "pope"...

like... the 4th crusade was not
a hard-on... for anyone to not fathom...
the inheritance of a history
i must truly deserve...
otherwise: the history overtly given...
to subsequently filter...
how the capetian king philip
augustus is known to me
is: it's not a beyond noticeable
comparisons...
it's just stalemate...

i am furroging in asp and waspishness:
i need a language of antagonism...
i find my most pristine "saint"...
i could cling to a fetish for
interracial *** exploits...
but then i'm a bland white man
and i might require a dodgo lemon
squeeze of eyes...
when a ***** is not in use
and it's hardly a reserved reading
for: expansion... broadening one's mind
with: *******... that "sort" of phallus
size just wouldn't do...
it's no joke but then i prefer
jerking off to... something akin
to... bronzino's venus, cupid,
folly and time...

even then! then!
a woman directly descended from
the titans... aphrodite was...
beside the lineage... from hyperion...
astounded... passed into
the ***** of the olympians...
cherry picking my vavous ego-foetus
of mind into a progress and
future investment...
how the **** spoke...
and became apparently a parody
of parrot chokes...
given the farts would have
to commence at some, point, or "other"...

to demand "pushing boundaries"...
i have them here: ever present always
apparent...
i would sacrifice my whole for these...
as to never have to:
speak a language of appeasement...
as to never speak a language of
a gradual inclination...
or / of never rocking the boat...
i want to drown drunk!
i want to drown a drunkard!
i want to savour a relfish for...
autumn perfumes towing
accents of a variation of timbers...

now i want to stand naked!
i want to be awash with moonshine...
i want more of the night
i want more of the creases in
attaching bone to the formidable
tendon pressures...
i want the technicality of nouns
being lost... i want misnomers...
i want all this supposed word / techno-salad
to be all! furore!
i want to eat the native
with an imagination worth
of a tartar -
  
           i want my tongue to sliver into
the cheddar spronge of their borrowed
brains every time they test themselves
on eating a tartare: notably raw beffrey (b'ee'f)...

yes... this is my former european
status: having to cleave... from it...
because the liberal authorities of
vest-inwested western georgian:
gregorian: kiev is my own project
of last interests...
how isn't it...
ukraine might somehow
rely on article usage: notably:
the ukraine...
there's that "a" associated
with the polish-lithuanian commonwealth?

from sea to sea:
from the baltic sea
to the black sea...
oh look! i too can inherit something...
like a hebrew might inherit
the aesop the king solomon...
like aesop might inherit Tironian
notations...

i am drinking but my cat isn't agitated
by it: troll troll lullaby!
let's celebrate!
dancing monkeys dancing
truants!
it wouldn't: it couldn't possibly
be a black history month
without mentioning
IDI AMIN... dying peacefully
in the arms of sleep
among the saudi camel-jockey "racists"...

how they have been fleeing
the ****** status of harems...
how they were escaping polygamy...
how i wasn't racist how i was
merely ill-conceived over
a work-around of fetish...
i was already a walking abortion...
manic street preachers' debate:
i wasn't enough gay or
feng shui enough...
or brilliant neon purple enough...

hello brilliance! hello party! hello
gay...
ancient europe:
ai viast lo lop....
               creases in my forlorn...
i want: besst attired summation:
this  ****** bulgarian...
this european that's only aa figment
of imagination:

indignations of scythe:
that nothing is borrowed:
that all is: at limbo gested...
                      to heave a scythe
and stone...
i pretend to swallow a breath...
i am aching at the knee
and ankle...
             i am formidably
   nuanced amsterdam...

                  i have to tell
that yawn and "story" for some
variation of catholicism to trickle down...
this forever impossible
and: my-overtly-inflated
char of wording...

                harvest the pea and
dollop of hypersensitivity toward
hue best ascribed to "foliage";
or a burgundy that's neither
purple or red
or wine... or the papacy
of Avignon.

.i don't know any other music genre, where the bass is left alone, left exfoliating married to the drums, and the guitar? there's no such a thing as a rhythm guitar section in blues... the guitar is consrtantly married to solo... to a sense of orthography... best represented by ´ (the acute accent) without an o: to cream out a "hidden" u, i.e.: ó... or a cedilla (¸) bound to a c: ç to form the greek sigma (ς) - e.g. garçon... waiter, waiter: i'll just wait... that's how i see the blues guitar... the rhythm guitar isn't there, the bass is married to the drums... but the blues guitar keeps the rhythm in a "funny" way... pair up john lee ****** with lightnin' hopkins (on the piano)... and you... keep rhythm, by working solo accents into the rhythm set by the bass and drums... you rhythm by a continous sparring with the solo - you solo by ensuring your remain in the confines of chord, or something much -esque to a chord... milk, cream & alcohol... again and again: the blues... oh my dear the blues... where the rhythm of the guitar is kept with constant soloing... sometimes engaging with the bass and the drums for a reference check of rhythm... but mostly: solo the whole **** through... but it's not the sort of soloing associated with hair metal of the 1980s jerking-off for performance art piquance... sometimes the solos come in the form of chords... it's like i said already... layers:

         waiter -   garçon
                                 and garcon
                                               (¸)

blues guitar? the latter...
                                             solo accents...
rhythm of syllables: gar-çon
                              but mostly gar-con
                                                         ­  (¸)
since the bass and drums rhythm section
is so perfected in the blues,
the guitar is allowed to do what the hands
want owned by the devil...
        a thorough solo to keep the rhythm...
the one genre of music
where the solo works like a rhythm...
     instead of that in between section
of showing off
between verse chorus verse chorus solo chorus
standard of rock...

     another freedom given to the blues guitar?
the rhythm set by the vocals,
of repeating lyrics...
hell... if someone is going to sing
and play at the same time...
                  why explore lyrics as some sort
of narrative... ping-pong along
with the freedom of the itchy fingers...
by having no real verse,
and no real chorus...
                just a steadied momentum...
        and you really need to drink to appreciate
the blues...
                   just like all the hippies
will tell you that dropping acid enchances your
chances of enjoying the 13th floor elevators
or jefferson airplane...
              i don't know which is better these days:
jazz or blues?
sure as **** not rap...
                       and they say the slave trade
was all bad... sorry...
      without these west africans budding
in h'america... i'd still have a clarinet shoved
up my ***... or folk songs...
                  or mozart's woodwind imitating...
or vivaldi's *******' worth of spring...
yes, and we all know that Idi Amin was white...
wasn't he? who died peacefully while
under asylum in saudi arabia...
           Idi Amin was white! oh come on!
he was the last king of sctoland!
              on a side:
   they were picking cotton...
             well... at least they weren't working
the ******* coalmines... where they now?

ever watch that video
of milo
  yiannopolous:
       congresswoman
ilhan omar
           (d-mn)
       addresses
david horowitz's west
coast retreat?

where is the old milo
gone to?
anyone pick
up on the heavy breathing?

there's the stag ***
of only 2 years prior?
he's not here...

         i was never into making
videos,
only because i just liked
those japanese godzilla
movies from the late 80s...

and i'm still a sucker
for modern pop,
currently?
           mabel - don't call me up...
huge, huge sucker
for the expected reaction
to pop music...
synch. vocals and
a very limited circumstance
of lyrical poverty...

sucker... might as well
don a dunce hat...
elsewhere,
on the ibernian peninsula
it's also called
a *capirote...
and **** gets freaky...

i agree...
the northern crusades,
the polacks became christened
in 962...
   the teutonic knights
were ready
to explore lithuania...
we were about to allign
ourselves with them,
ergo: defend them...

            the concept
of reconquista came after
the crusades...
         i'm pretty sure it came
after...
           jihad is reconquista...
worded differently...
   is it? the crusades were one
thing...
     jihad = reconquista...
         the current form of jihad?
it's like crusading...
     to claim a jihad is to claim
reclaiming lost lands,
there must be some muslim genius
who could come up with
a counter term to jihad:
the jihad on the offensive...
rather than on the defensive...
we need some muslim genius
to come up with a conquering
ideology of islam...
   umayyad script...

i'm reading into the video
and i'm like:
is he angry...
       or is he simply scared?
all that heavy breathing...
maybe it's both?
   do i "think" about
throwing him from
a roof... are you sane?
as they say:
in a mad mad world,
the only sane people
                    are the madmen...

talk about memes finally
coming across "genetic"
mutation...
                why are all the "liberals"
and "progressives"
so surprised by mutation
creeping into memes?
doesn't that usually happen
with genes?
so... what's with all the outrage...
if memes exist outside
of the biological reality
of genes,
then... surely,
any counter-thought
from the est. order is equivalent
to a mutation, isn't it?

               so... what's the outrage
about?
    well if genes are going
to by hijacked by a mutation,
why would memes be immune
to a mutation,
akin to the o.k. hand sign?
you want a script?
i learned this at primary school,
but you need two hands
in tow:

   (right hand RH,
left hand LH,
   thumb TH
         index I
      ******* MF
        ring finger RF
pinky P)...

and now the motion

   RH (I + MF hand down) slap on the
the LH palm of the open hand...
   RH (I + MF hand up) slap
on the LH palm of the open hand...
RH (I + MF
               V shaped insertion
of the V shape into the LH's
side)
      clenched fist of RH slammed
on the open palm of the LH...
clenched RH with an extended TH
poiting toward caesar's favour
in the coliseum (thumb's up)
moving away from the LH open
palm...

   translation?
   why, don't, you, ****, off...
primary school,
some of the kid's parents
must have taught them this sequence
when their children told them
that some foreigner ******
was attending primary school
with them...

                   poor milo though...
notably in that video...
           he's either really angry...
or he's ******* himself...

i'm still left with this sign language...
i don't even know if it's correct...
a kevin spacey "conundrum"...
i'm not exactly going to, *******,
am i?
                knitting and picking
points of criticism...
   made easy:
   no niqab, no turban,
   no copper skin,
             no black skin...
no wonder my fellow countrymen
are leaving
with a massive F          and a U
from this island...
                    good for them...
if i was sane enough,
i'd also leave...
      but given that i'm also a dual-citizen...
well...
         milk the ***** for
her last worth...
    this language...
                    the people are another story,
but my lover affair with
this language is exactly
this.

This used to be normal
My mother swagged in it
For my Sistos, weight magic
Then things fell apart
When they "kayamatized" it

Some only planned to wipe
Clean the play head and "jakpa"
They only wanted installation
After the romp on waist bead
They subscribed to full installation

"Ana no ofu ebe ekiri mmaun"
That was your slogan when you browsed
You forget she is a daughter of eve
Wiser than all the men in your clan
Congratulations, welcome to fatherhood it ended

Some scientists use this special science
Never will the land be fertile
As long as the gate is waistly beaded
It is a covenant made with the gods
For it is just but "Akamu" from an income man

In my lifetime, I have seen beautiful
They glow in the dark and beckons on you
Crystal beads fit only for nobles
If one thing must **** a man
Then my cause is chosen

In my sojourn as a globetrotter
I have crossed many seas
Swam oceans untold in foreign lands
But none is as sweet as you
My precious "Ileke Idi..."

Babatunde Raimi
+23478827380 & +2348035063895

P.S: "Ileke Idi" means waist bead in local Yoruba   parlance.

the grovelling pig...
and the snivelling dog...

the snorkelig tabloid &
taboo of...
anything beside
the born blue: whale...

an arsenal of ****-joy words...
a much bigger
"assumption" of...
raj-stan spices...
to compete with
the 20th century arsenal
of the manhattan
project of h'america...

     and whatever the soviet
sly of empire-building
came to pass: and pass it did...

no one is celebrating...
how... pacified...
the disintegration of the soviet
"empire" took a postcard
turn in the events of history...

when the roman empire
disintegrated...
             no one is going
to go forward and bless:
how the russians played poker:
and... folded?

              to leverage in the oligarchs...
the... eternal flames of parody blues...
of avarice and that story of
yachts: tripping on...

greed is beside the l.c.d. "tripping"
chess pieces avarice...
the "insomnia" tactics of:
happy boys... shooting rich-boy
bullets at... all the more happy:
rich boy targets...

a french riviera target nuance: dulce...
deux...
       excesses of letters...
comes the grafitti with a tow
of toe-tied batman:
only val kilmer will do...

       yes... i grew up on "serious"
cinema... "serious":
i.e. "curious"... i.e. bored...
existential feats of bergman?
the magician?

    a film that would never allow
me a want to subscribe to...
reading into...
what's beside... pop culture propaganda...
not under the umbrella of the soviets...
or the historical nazis:
or...

          this time compass of:
a withstanding inconvenience of
hiatus... and hubris...
        scandinavian origins story...
                
      the red sq.... promenade... delight...
in... to fashion a hugo: who boss:
boss of who? via: hugo's who's hugo: who?
this advent of claiming...
riddles from the 20th century...
all clear: calibre...

   prior to 1945... exciting years...
and of that...
as if... waking up... from a family affair...
king edward VII:
       Bertie 12/20
                             give 'im a "sigh"
of relief... let's make that... a reasoned
fraction...
              mr. cig ar ah-rette'tsar...
                 herr 12/24...
                              herr halbzeit...
                world war I borrows...
19th century and... the insightful delight...
of the ruling elite and "******" affairs...
after 1945...

  so many years... of having to...
have... one's humor... dislodged from...
a coronation:
the republicans...
contra: the libertarians...
blah blah...

               because...
by no means... the russians were...
ploy:
Bertie the... and Tsar Nicholas...
didn't resemble clones...
               herr halbzeit... who the **** was he?
it's not so much a conspiracy theory...
it's... everyman's fiction...

  who's going to bother time well
spent: in the advent of requiring said
events to have happened...

             ****** was an ugly surname...
and how he... confiscated...
how he... rode to events like a Khan...
and usurped... nay!
hijacked! the aritocratic houses!
and they... fell... head: oh look!
no heels!
                   look!

   kopf-uber-ferse!

they're english! the fwench wish
they weren't cousins...
but the house of ßaß!
it was all a family affair!
                
                       the affair was so minded:
that poor h'america was involved...
and... how... the freed people from
the trigonometry of tyranny under
king george III... escaped...
then had to... choke cousins...
and fake cousins...
and bride themselves to...
the fire-bombing of Drezden...
etc.                         and more...              etc.

people with tattoos...
yes... those who don't mind history...
history and their amnesia project...
i have... skin clean from...
auschwitz imposed...
or that glorified ink-itch of modern times...
i have history:
my mind is tattooed...
loser loser: and a winner of what?
a tax on a car?
a road tax? a car i also own an
m.o.t.
                  i've learned to ride horses!
give me a horse!
**** your traffic car sterility:
i'm in love with the double-decker bus!
from london through to honk-*******-kong!

the 20th century can't just
become some... amnesia deposit...
history is a fake: i was supposedly...
only... "dreaming"...
          through to the Weimar Republic...
but i'm not invested in...
culminations...
in... old scores and schools of thinking:
taxing the dead... etc.

                i drink when i truly enjoy writing...
and... imagine... that i do:
imagine writing for a newspaper...
writing as a chore...
that has to be necessarily...
an artifact of sobriety and...
journalistic integrity... mmmpphhhghh...
sorry...
   journalistic integrity?
apart from a war or... ***** dealings
when all the culprits have had
their feet washed by a:
jesus christ look-alike...
    a... idi amin... retired in saudi arabia?

one could say... since i was born
at the end of "it": that i was... have been...
hijacked by the 20th century...
to write... a parody... epitaph...
someone has exacted me...
to write... an exit... wording...

perhaps because... there's still that
20th century immediacy...
all the other centuries... could...
not celebrate...
they could march on... into...
a dream-esque satirical state of progress...
perhaps they did dream...
while we're struck by the insomnia
invented by the 20th century...
well... the 19th...

when Prometheus...
            Frankenstein: fire! bad! ugh!
when Prometheus...
               when Promotheus...
St. Peter would love to entertain
the thriced acknowledged...
thus: no denial...
      Michael Faraday...
   or that lightbulb men-struosity...
     Edison...

   to clone a sheep...
        the perfected beijing-valkyrie
of the genetically perfect:
zero acne... blah blah...
               but a clone: clone?
   trouble that...
if not soul: then autonomy...
clone to pet?
ah... clone to pet... ah... ha ha! ah ha ha!
a clone to pet!
answers: the clone's self-determining
autonomy: alias: S.D.A.
        eh... it's missing a letter...
let's just keep it as "soul" for the minors...

ah ha ha: giggles oh my! the furore from
pandemonium!
the idea so lodged in the inferno...
the last time anyone heard just
laughter... was when...
****** was first... "investigated"...
in-ves-ti-ga-ted... gay-ted...
see: missing letters... somewhat...

and yes... there is... the closest approximate
of... flying lizards...
of... turtles out-living...
   beside what could be...
contrived... exoskeleton mush of muscles
and brains...
magpies...
of all the birds... magpies...
the closest akin... lizard folk...
to descend from "angels"...

   magpies are like... the cinema
depicted... velociraptors...
   magpies are the modern velociraptors...
the crows can croak their odin *******
off all they want...
the woodland pigeons do their...
whatever striptease echo coo... coo...

magpies... for me... magpies are...
the heirs of the velociraptor...
proof?! ah ha ha! proof?!
what proof is there that...
an asteroid... hit the earth...
and wiped out the dinosaurs?!
i haven't seen any "proof"...
  i've just heard... an undeniable fiction....
supported by science...
so here's mine!
the magpie descended from the velociraptor!
have you even... heard the magpie...
the variation of its communications
vocab?
it's prehistoric! compared to other birds!
even in the words of humans:
they are... conflated with:
gypsy-mythology:
that they... seek silver...
anything shiny...

           intelligence is a curse...
what proof is there that a meteor wiped
out the dinosaurs?!
what's history like in the hands
of man...
with active negation:
i.e. "the holocaust didn't happen"...
let's write our own:
play dough history...

the magpie is a direct descendent of
the velociraptor...
somehow the d.n.a. survived the meteor crash...
the turtle is still here...
the birds: still are...
the jelly-brain pickle of the great t-rex:
the serpent is still wriggling away...
but i ask: what proof:
what greast... undiscovered crater?!
the Mariana trench?
there's? big squid **** and all range
of car-boot sale *******?!
there?

                 a statue of shiva too:
snorkeling... to boot?!
    i've been alone and "lonely" enough...
of all the common birds...
the magpies... the magpies...
the "teutons" of the skies...
the velociraptors...
                  you've heard the seagulls...
you've heard the crows...
you've entertained the sparrows...
the woodland pigeons...
the robins remained mute...
the kestrels remained mute...
the magpies were the most vocal...
and when vocal... at most: in variation...

velociraptors...

yes... this is "history"... it's "history"...
with journalism and... "journalism"....
              last time i heard...
a louis XIV made it into the t.v. with...
a sidekick show of Versailles...
eh... Phillip II Augustus...
    "perhaps"... just "perhaps"...
           the lion in winter... who the ****
ever happens to remember a historical
excavation fetish from 1968?!
it was only a ******* cameo!

not for the actor... the capetian!

mila sedi na wc solji. prebira dlacice po brezuljku. nekako odvratno ali radoznalo trazi one pod zemljom
gusto groblje-guste misli:

dve prodavacice prodaju sok od sargarepe, na smenu- jedan dan jednoj plati jednu cenu drugi dan drugoj drugu. cuti. zakopa to u zeludac. guta vazduh namazan budalom. cuti. plati.  popije samar i sok.
na ulici razmazano oker govno, kao kanapei na srebrnom tanjiru.  
preskace, obilazi ga ona. preskace, obilazi ga i pas. kisa pada, oker krem gubi gustinu, pas nece pod kisobran juri senke i zapisava skupocene alo tepsije onih kojih se i pauk plasi.
zanoktica o vrh narandzastog jezika- rekapitulacija popisanosti i pogresno usmerene finoce. krv stedljivo iz nokta curi natapajuci nepce a mrmlja da sledeci put ce...
ali verovatno nece. jer ne razume tu gadnu nepravicnost. jer to je samo princip. mozda i hoce. jer princip je i sve.
dopire krik playback narodnjaka- komsija stigao sa posla, investitor umesto izloacije sigurno je kupio dzipa.
masina se centrifugom lansira u orbitu svake sekunde- privezala bi se za nju toaltet papirom....

aman, idi uci.
bolje ces se osecati.
kraj prozora cuje se ono dete sto svira trubu.
makar jos ne moras da trazis posao. eto imas vremena da smislis sta zelis da budes.
na kraju krajeva nemas urasle dlake. i da, auto ti je parkiran divlje pokupice ga pauk sigurno. i nemas dozvolu. kese za govna su u gepeku.
trebas psa izvesti.
sutra kupices sok od sargarepe, po ne zna se kojoj ceni.

rekla bi imas princip a i lenja si.

We are here to remember a woman. For indeed. She was one of those. A woman so vile. So repulsive. We remember her today because we are glad she is dead; for certainly, she may have become the next Idi Amin; for she wore a similar countenance, a hideous sneer permanently grimacing upon her wicked face. Also her love of torture. I recall the other day, when her black steps still cursed our earth, her slapping a cup of change from a homeless man’s hands while a nerve grating cackle escaped from her lips. She screamed into his face, him very frightened, her quite drunk, “Get a job you worthless Jew!”

On top of being a wicked ice queen who was a fan of Aaron Carter, this rotten corpse;  who will more than likely sour the soil here and create a pet cemetery effect on the other corpses, was an insatiable ****. She was the female Wilt Chamberlain. She will add one more to her long list after this service, when the gravedigger defiles her body for the last time, but really, he is the one who will be defiled and I feel sorry for the poor corpse ****** autistic mute who shall soon insert his semi-flaccid member into our not-so dearly departed. His **** will probably fall off.

How unlovable this creature. Quickly now. Help me grab her legs and heave-** her into the woods to be torn apart by the beasts she resembled, body and soul. If indeed she possessed a soul. Who can say? If she did, console yourselves in the fact she is gargling on gallons demon ***** at this very moment.  Her suffering will be legendary, as was assured to me by the Hell raiser himself in a dream I had.

Her death was a brutal one. And ******. Good riddance. Thank you to mortuary affairs for providing a closed casket. The smell was overwhelming. Especially when she was alive.

She leaves behind not just a cheering crowd of happy people, but a child, who now an orphan, will be put to the workshops immediately. Sewing Nike swooshes onto LeBron James limited edition pumps in the triangle shirtwaist factory. Which our society has deemed appropriate for soot covered orphans and their small hands.

Of course. None of these terrible things are true. The deep love I feel for this woman is only matched by the loss I feel at her passing. She was beautiful in life, generous and giving, she expected nothing in return for her many kindnesses. She loved to experience life, and I loved experiencing it with her. I enjoyed every minute I was lucky enough to spend with her.
Certainly, she was a magical girl. Colors will dim, Sounds will be muted, and the world itself is lessened. Goodbye my love for the last time. Rest easy draped in your silken clothing, forever underneath the shades of mountain wildflowers.

Robert E. Howard — 'All fled—all done, so lift me on the pyre—The Feast is over, and the lamps expire.'

William Butler Yeats’ epitaph:
Cast a cold eye
On life, On death
Horseman, pass by!

I dreamt  I went to heaven;
(Or someplace, perhaps not there) ,
It surely was surreal.
I was somewhere in this vision,
For I certainly wasn't here.

In revelry I searched the crowd,
Saw countless faces shining.
Booth and Chapman smiled sublimely;
Oswald and Ruby discussed their crimes;
And Adolph and Idi were enjoying time..
Charlie and Earl began singing,
And Brutus danced out with  his brothers.
And the legions were carousing,
I wept while browsing,
I didn't see her here.

Did I take the wrong path,
As  dreamers often do;
And miss the gates of Paradise,
To go to Hell for you.

In the centre of this commotion,
Judas called me over
With his martyr's  smile.
We joined with the others,
(Ones he knows as brothers) ,
And lead me to the One I sought.
I'm in heaven when I'm with her.

I  roused myself,
Shook hard and long.
All the teachings we ingrained
On bent knees with hands inclined,
In prayer and subtle song,
Truly wronged us all along.
In death, I know, we leave behind
Our Hell-on-earth, and find,
Everlasting Peace-of-Mind.

.

The story of the weak.
They run and hide.
When trouble comes their way.
In many ways.
They consider a gang.

They hide behind swatiskas.
Or hooded mask.
After all.
They live to create havoc to us all.
Some even wear suits.

And many times.
They are bright minded men.
Using the uneducated types to follow them om a whim.

So when faced with the justice of the law.
That's when they claims to not belonged to a gang at all.
There's no particular race on earth.
These fools don't affect.

Many tries to state they very religious.
As, if they comprehended the real truth.
We see ministers turn the word around to suit them too.

What God gives?
He can take it away.
He's the one we'll face on that judgment day.

What division exist in our society?
Exist because we act afraid of them.
When we should be standing firm against them.

******.
Stalin.
Idi Amin and Saddam , all had to pay.
But to some idiots these men are saints.
Where their wickedness isn't judged against them?

Oh, the fools within our society.

It takes one idiot to create a following.
******, Mussoulini, Idi Amin and others.
While it took one man to create more blessings.

From those that followed him, they left a foundation to built on.
And if you trace their roots the movement is still going strong.

It's takes one fool to be seen as stupid.
While it took one more to stand strong against the forces of wrong.
Even within his people.
Who didn't accept him so easily.

But from this one man came truth.
And we believers in Christ are the living proof.
Of the things one person can do.
When they standing on solid ground.

The word.
The Scriptures, are what our life is based upon?
They can't be re-written to suit a certain person perspectives.
Without taking away from the true message that was being delievered.

This one man was appointed and anointed with a heavy load.
And not once did he fail.

In life, it only takes one to do good for others to see.

I wonder about those guys
sometimes,
Ted & Jeff,
Adolf & Genghis,
Vlad & Idi,
such monsters it seems,
where they suckled too much
or maybe not enough?

And what about that guy down the street,
pushing his wife & kids around
like human fodder,
suffering from the same syndrome
I guess?

What a jumbled mess....
I confess,
I could **** him!

napierdala was prawda.
_______

marvin gaye - heard it through
the grapevine (remastered)...

         well...
                    i can listen to that ****
all day...

i don't even know what these
western supposed "communists"
are doing,

seems i've changed curtains,
came from under an iron curtain,
for a brief while surfaced,
gasped, and was forced below
the waters under the sicilon
curtain...

           it was fun, i have to admit...
what a little nieche we had
on youtube for over 10 years...
before we were taken seriously...

i won't translate those three words,
something else has crossed my attention,
namely regarding the subjects
of the British Raj...

          now... not many people are proud
of being subjegated to a colonial power,
akin to England...
          where did it all begin?
for the english speaking throng: africa...
mind you, i think life started in India...
but these indians and pakistanis in
current day England?
   i've never imagined to see a group
of people, so so proud in being
a formerly colonialißed people:

   why is there so much ****-****-hurt
ambition to "fit it", while keeping
up with selling a sari?
or a niqab?
                  i just imagine the times
relevant to lawrence of arabia...
  **** me, even the kenyans are like:
huh?!
      slave trade my ***...
blame the dutch *******...
        not the Idi Amin of Uganda...
the former kings of Africa who sold
their people into slavery...
you think a dutchman can outrun
a Usain Bolt on the African savannah?!
a lie was sold, by the African rulers...

   and the terrible deed: of picking cotton?
so... so i guess not confined
to mining coal among the leprechauns?!
picking cotton: hard work...
migrant workers from eastern europe
picking strawberries in sweden...
ooh... hard hard labour!

                    sorry, i'm not buying...
but these asians amaze me...
they are actually proud,
of being former colonial subjects...
  they are in full glee when associating
themselves with the, dead british empire,
when, "addressing" european migrants
to england: they actually think in terms
of post-racial superiority...
oh g-g be play cricket too
we drink tea with milk too!
english people eat our curry!
bud bud!

                picking cotton was such a bad
"deal": be thankful the white-boy-*******
were mining coal for you...
   and whaling...
           people are still employed picking
strawberries...
   and in that famous slavic proverb:
what the **** does a (piernik)
          lebkuchen have anything to do
with a windmill?!
   i.e.: what does a gingerbread
                 have to do with a windmill?!

no african slave trade to h'america:
no blues, now jazz, no pop music,
    me, still with a clarinet lodged up my ***...
oh yeah: all bad, b'ah b'ah b'ah bad...

still, back to the asians...
   i would have never come across a sort
of people who would celebrate their former
colonized status...
    so much so, that they would,
exfoliate... brag... and deem it fit to
bring other europeans to their heel...
oh sure... and it's not like the Raj didn't
coorporate with the British authorities...

   somewhere in between the collateral
damage brigade you'll find the righteous...
love the food...
          the Indian cuisine is superior to all
other cuisines in the world...
      m'eh... French or Itallian...
            sure... the French can bake...
an indian chapati is crude, aztec even...
but not even a French croissant can beat
an English crumpet...
           it's so good, that an ex-Russian girlfriend
wanted me to call her crumpet...
enough said...

              i would be the kakasha (little ****)
to her whittle crumpet...
        go figure...

and what an unspectacular life i had led...
and how i've managed to squeeze
as much juice from it,
having now found myself:
completing myself,
without the sort of stature of existential
fulfilment associated with fatherhood...
i'm calling for Kant to be the saint
of bachelors...
         after all...
            patience and rubric,
   discipline... really does pay off.

not much needs to be written these days,
i hardly ask to peer at the face
of god:
what, with all these full bodied
chinese ideograms or ancient egyptian
hieroglyphs - strenuous like
impromptu hindenburg explosions...
at least with these latin letters:
well: the hebrew revision -
skeletons... endless row of skeletons...
shackles of bone...
i never promised myself this...
but... upon seeing an open coffin
in the morgue: the detail beside walking
around town putting up necrolog posters...
the bureaucratic detail in
what culminates in the whole:
well attired in princey navy jacket...
cuffs and: remembering how to tie:
a tie...
the generic mass at a funeral:
family secrets... oh the bogus lot of:
an unhappy marriage...
only somehow saved by the prefix grand-
some ever summer for several years
from the womb of the daughter...
this unhappy marriage...
only 3 months ago:
i could see the eyes of resignation...
perhaps cancer finally matched up to:
his willingness to let go...
i'm writing this to justify his unwillingness
to live: after all... rosy whenever i
visited him: otherwise purgatory:
skinning of pigs for shoes...
a grandmother's tongue like a sting of a wasp...
it was not for anyone to live:
no wonder he recounted: he decided to
escape into memory...
and it wasn't like upon death:
all of life flashes before your eyes:
once you age and service up half a dozen
years, months, weeks and countless days:
an eternity of hours...
memory become cinema...
i've seen it myself...
to play the cameo...
            but i can't imagine
being married to someone who might
wish me dead or:
that i might die like a dog dies:
in my native tongue: zdechnąć...
which refers to animals...
people: people have the capacity (rather than
the potential) to... umrzeć..
to die like an animal is to
heave the last breath without
the ease of possessing a differential
sigma of all part concerned that
tells any naked eye the difference
between
an animate and an inanimate object...
well... further along...
that's a bad joke...
since most of the time...
something animate doesn't
necessarily have to become subjected
to our observation: filtering the amassing
grey fudge of pedestrians:
which is less... even though animate...
than the inanimate mountain...
then again... the earth is static by
illusion... suddenly broken
by the wind... hurried disillusionment
by a hurricane... hey presto!
i'm standing on a "levitating" orb...
- i promised something...  
ah... identifying a corpse in an open coffin
in a morgue before the funeral...
biting-the-quill-procedures of death:
death... i have to let you know...
is very well organised...
it's very bureaucratic...
hell for all it's insomniac democracy:
"veto"...
it's... impossible to suffer childish fears
when walking through a graveyard...
hours shy post the burial
i sat by the grave like a dutiful
dog and teased my eye with a candle
while burning the ridges of plastic
into a cascade of all things hot, molten...
- my new found source of "debate"?
not finishing a cigarette...
smoking... half of it...
extinguishing it... half an hour later...
with the filter already soaking wet
with wet nicotine from all my drags...
new found pleasure...
it's a ******* mirage:
the idea that there are inanimate
objects at hand for the eye to admire
and meditate on...
a mountain in all its grandiosity...
yes yes... esp. when slap-sticked to
a... magician'******that:
the tetragrammaton has a daughter:
who he calls the annum...
HH: for summer and winter: chiral entities...
Y for spring... W for autumn...
why that is so...
Nero could have told you...
my lyre! my liar! rome is afloat!
the waves are ablaze!
this english tongue would not be
recognised by either greeks or the romans!
yet i'm using the lettering
of qua quixote: qua ape borgia...
pope!         pope!
are all the protestant sovereigns rich?
guess it comes to quest with a question:
the catholic rich ****** of france or
spain... who are the pauper catholics?
by all means: i know all the orthodox
castratos are: grecian and challenging:
take turns concerning either Malta
or Cyprus...
- here's to! here's to not getting my "mojo"
back concerning writing:
it's not like there's a horizon of
a stephen king worth for me to play
jester with... it's not like i'm some clive barker
who explored narratives
and character studies in h'amsterdam's
underground play-toy-play-t'ing...
rubber ole! studding with nails
and a fetish for leather...
while having sioux...
kneecap fold at the elbow:
wave goo'-bye!
             none of that... no...
             meat 'n' tow veg unfathomable...
like testing the vernacular of
testicles of... five men, all blind...
and a whale to make jokes concerning
an elephant...
- now i am extending my "privy"...
i am making myself welcome by ****
and wilt alone...
i am playing solitaire and i am rearranging
chess and dominos of letters:
but all these fattenings that come back
to bite phonetic enclosures
of chinese ideograms and egyptian
hieroglyphics... bloat in my face like
sprouts of mushroom growth
and bulging pockets of **** of gangrene
and sickly sweet acne...
- you know... i expected any other
play on a hiatus... i see old people walk
around and i'm like: coming on 81...
bragging about pushing 120...
when i came back from the funeral
i felt a sense of relief...
there's the concept of the mother-tongue...
as the very central european concept
of the fatherland...
it's not german...
hardly... concerning that he died
a philosopher: i.e. married to an abomination
of a woman...
i'll sooner gamble on horses!
or... how i will have to stand alone...
or walk into the north sea one
day and drown... or head to the civilisation
crown of humanity's deity: the switz land
or the benelux and spend my last
halving of paper with
tsar nicholas II imprinted on it...
for a dosage of euthanasia...

let the africans and the arabs come...
i am tired of having to jest
not suffering from bouts of
lethargy... let them i don't mind...
i'm of the mind concerning the belief
in shadows and in volcanoes...
the larva of the lava needs new:
sprouts!
copper-skinned "i" and R: further! US!
but not from this boring set of
stale ideas!

- a grandfather died: sorry... was i supposed
to be more... more estranged from
the concept of family?!
grandfather is pushing it?
but that Poland has reached
a mythological status entry for past...
hell... England is on par...
concerning Ilford... Gants Hill...
Barkingside... and sooner or later...
Romford...
white-flight... well no **** sherlock!
we're not going to fit onto
the Faroe Islands like a bunch
of hiding oysters!

- again... was this at all offensive
or am i just too grief stricken to mind
the already apolitical "political correctness"
sort of ******* that's reserved
for the retards that: will hardly
envision actual bridges and actual rivers...
no... "society"... is their... ******* disneyland
of concerns!

money is a social construct...
pay 'em in either pebbles or peanuts!
how else?!
- and what of still stalling of bulging
"anger" from a "erectile dysfunction":
glad you asked...
i... simply don't know...
why it works a charm with prostitutes...
but... fails... whenever i have to
date someone from
a mythos of the 1950s: bidding for a
housewife... thank you...
i can... or rather: i much prefer
to cook for myself...
i need no **** or **** in that department...

- because it's that nagging sensation
surround: only recently the parisian police
burned another migrant camp...
not in calais...
in some underpass...
i was in Paris circa 2004 - 2007 and
it was that city of Hemingway et al.,
now... it's the city where
there's a mausoleum of a bonaparte...
if that...
in a sunday newspaper magazine
a book review concerning Idi Amin...
attempted to portray him
in good faith... turns out!
****** gassed... Idi Amin performed
miraculous surgery...

- believe it or now: i'm on my way out...
thank **** and god to boot for
having inherited such fuckery of
grandmothers... and paternal... blah blah...
synchronised fuckery of a Tolstoy's
Anna Karenina opening - with the world
as a whole...
and i... poor ****-wit...
a cameo narrative-ist...

- in this tongue alone: "borrowed":
lent, acquired... why should "i"...
the dumb polacks were graced with a pope?
as instrument... let my fellow countrymen
gloat in a darkness of: that's already
easily manipulated...
saint my *** on a peddle-stool!
- what do i owe... "europe":
exactly what it owes me...
privy to the image of... salvaging...
tank-tops and ******...
even when it was grizzly ritzy and **** on
you:
the same foundation:
how plagued could we have become...
gorging on the same load of
masochism yet feeling no inclination
for: the colonial adventures that
landed "us" on the moon...

how there is a past for some...
but not for others: "my" people ought to
regress to the grievances bestowed
to them by the teutonic knights: failed 4th crusade...
the mongols, the swedes concerning
the deluge...
the ottomans... the ukranian nationalists...
oh.. "multicultural" society... "worked"...
in the polish-lithuanian commonwealth:
so well that what was required
was a foreign king...

i too... own... my body my land...
mythological as it might still be:
leaving school i do know how to dictate
the last of the anglo--saxon king's "whereabouts"
in history... the angevin empire...
the normie 'orms... and europe
can go **** itself...

           why? grief bespoke... i'm on
an "angry" hiatus...
  i write skeletons of letters and i'm peering
at the house of god...
all that's missing is what's hidden in 'ebrew...
i.e. the niqab vowels...
which would make words arrive
back at a reading:
LK S...
        S Y MGHT S
   like so
so you might see...
               - charles dickens called it
orthography... i just call it bad spelling...
i would call it orthography if...
english entertained the concept and use of
diacritical markers...
i.e. ó vs. u...
               does... english (as a language)
even bother to... no... it doesn't...
matter desiring to dictate: ******* stark naked...
a CH from a SH otherwise
hiding the foot of the tetragrammaton
in a caron, i.e. Č or Š...
oh... right... still pandering to the cannibals
of the pacific isles...
- what the **** are we... philandering
as: fiddlin with: as... escapee ******* / tattoo?!
it's not "orthography": mr. dickness...
it's either bad spelling or outright dyslexia...

orthography implores the application of
diacritical markers...
the russians: employ them...
however subtle...
so subtle... but english doesn't permit
an entire letter to be fathomable...
for a compound...
Ч (Č) - CH - you hide the heb' god...
no? no... you expose 'im... no?

    Ш (Š) - SH... oi 'rew! 'rew! i find the wind...
caressing... the Faroe isles most inviting:
i was so very close to the concept
of how...
                  ш + ц ≠ щ
   given ч... i might have wished...

- here;s too giving myself to too much greek
or the hebrew counter: these letters...
the new testament...
here's to europe: yur-op!
my pondering a  burning of a scarf:
the summoning of a wind...
the necropolis hybrid... a skinning
of a... believe them greeks,
believe them hebrews:
sooner or later they become ottomans...
whether asked or being in want...

- such that the closet of your kin leave you
being hindered...
and that all: that remains...
is a **** flinging fest of lobotomy creasure...
you take your pick: whether i've
disused or under achieved
usage of a certain: verbiage - attache...
told the point... the laughing dolphin...
when "arrayed" with a display of
a butterfly's quest...
as one: ibn: might be left demanding:
no camel jockey who afre you...
no yacht... a dolphin giggling...
flapping at makeshift:
feathers...

           i cleave to... a hybrid...
what has to become the genius
of BARR... **** it... capital lettering...
the IRN BRU sod...
the 18--... fuckety-fuckety...
    history impromptu!

hello comparisons BARR "conctra"
KRUPPS...

such that i might drink: h'american
ice-cream / cream soda...
all of that jingle...
bubble-gum what's-not-to-like?!
all the synthetic soda-creamed-up
pie...
all that curated...
bukakke and gloryhole...
and **** on me **** on you,..

- so who's left... *******, pretend one is...
smiling?!
nairobi ping-pong quest old german
boring toothache too?!

i sorta think i've served a purpose...
if it wasn't enough:
well? then i can become most hurried and
harried in giving all the necessary
exaltations...
w.d.y.f.o.
  in acronyms and in a slapping
of hands by the deaf i learned from my youth
in a country i was last felt welcome in.

but please! go on! do... your... ****-most with!
keeping your most similar least involved!
to hell with you!
to hell with you!
i can't sacrifice imploring...
your already disguised hyper-tensioned
phrase for keeping up with
demands for tourism:
your nay bother... you ******* deaf-counter-quip
of a ******* fidget of a forgotten use
of a whip!

strap them to an island,
arm them with a gimp's shame...
yet still they persist in their...
monolingual plebiscite!
the afghan peoples of the ancient world...
no wonder! "afghans"...
that they are.. stubborn
integral follow up to how the french
also didn't.

We know them best by their first names,
Names ingrained on our brains;
Mouthed by millions being slain,
By the viral ego of the politically inane.

Adolph, Idi, Kim and Pol,
Francisco, Mao and Nicol.
Other names have come and gone,
None rise so high, as Despot Don.

Tens of thousands die prematurely,
The man's bereft of human morality.
Preoccupied with re-election,
He risks a healthy population:
The aged, sick and compromised,
Won't cast a vote when they die.
The word is out throughout New York:
He ain't famly, de foykin joyk.

two items of interest, that make sense
in an english society these days,
susanna hoff... mm, mm...
             a gal that makes
jerking off a tedium...
                                     what?!
- ****, said it out-loud,
romancing an italian got me
everty, single time,
just the sort of thing that
aged, nearing retirement polish
galls get up to,
spicing up their retirement age.
the exfoliation of the 80s hairstyles
makes a lot of sense with
a niqab thrill for a fake *****....
      she can call it modesty -
i just call it faking latex lucy
with her celluloid -
  pucker that one, *****?
                       yoju know what,
i actually hate living around
these nincompoopss....
                     politics actually made
sense in the victorian era,
not the second Elizabethan era,
ma'am...
          sorry, you cultivated
a generation of window-lickers....
         you'd sooner get more of
these, things,
   if you chopped their limbs off...
they're not even equipped
at flapping,
     imitating wings...
                       let's call it a blockbuster
evening's end by suckling on
the suggestion,
when idi amin cut off
the limbs of his cheating bride
              kay amin -
and, miracle! behold!
             he reattached her feet
to the place where her hands ought to be,
and also reattached her hands
where her feet out to be!
     that, i thought, was a spectacular
caterpillar...
      many memories of fluttering
butterflies came from that image,
   let me assure you!
            duck fat written all over it!
mm... yum!
                 sorry...
i always get the impression that
the english have to write sarcasm to
invite parody.
hmm... maybe it's just me...
perhaps i'm a soloist in guising
the current affairs.
maybe not being black enough
will wake the Zulu in me
to match up to, tailor and suit up
adorning the english youth and
thinking nothing of:
               those limbs aren't 'elping,
are they, if we're really
serious about growing these
gluttonous barons of bloat and carnal
flesh, with an inner narrative
that resides in a scrap-heap dubbed:
Newton... what's the point
of a wasted pint's worth of time?

you know when,
you have no colonial history,
and you encounter natives
with a post-colonial
derganged
syndrome, and you're like:
well... that's sure as ****,
not autism or anything...
but then the joke dies
when you encounter
some autistic "peoples"
of the fwee vorld...
and then you bring
the bomb-shell:
but i'm bi-lingual, "schizoid"
and then the conversation
just drops...
    point being:
i need to get this into
the meat grinder...
       vanilla sky?
a spectacle...
than only occurs in the morning,
esp. in europe,
come march...
  and then you forget...
  there was me,
the ivory beauty...
a span of 30 years
together...
the beach...
     mombasa...
          god...
if you looked at her...
you could lick silver
off her skin
when she stood
naked on a beach,
in moonlight...
  and i would pray
and worship and
do all wacky shamanic
******* before her...
and still...
she would eye me like:
i was the tourist
asking for another drink...
and she was nothing more
than a waitress...
it's only a love-affair
that lasts...
for a worth of a
blink-of-an-eye...
       and it doesn't
have the ontology
of being allowed a knowledge
of death...
until you, yourself, die...
there have currently been
two escape points
in my life that i would
ascribe to beauty...
the sister...
of a girl i was dating,
when i was in my teens...
copper sheen...
  and...
when i visited kenya...
and what...
i can best ascribe to...
being...
    panther...
          she looked at me:
judgemental when i heard
she was smoking ****:
i thought to myself:
we didn't you invite me?
it was like black
was ivory,
it was like black was silver...
it was:
the moon, and her skin...
a taboo love-affair
akin to a "lost harem"
affair with an idi amin
"*****"...

       just a glance...
  never, had, a, women,
looked, most, appealing,
as she did,
where, she did...
namely:
  a ivory beauty...
on the ivory continent...

seriosuly...
i have no colonial
inheritence...
slice me up...
and send me off
to that woman in
Kenya...
     that skin...
enough...
to figure out...
       deploring
amber...
   or caremel...
   it's not chocolate...
and it's not charcoal...
it's...
    aminate colour...
it's taboo...

all it was,
was a blink...
of an eye...
  i was sitting happy
on the balcony
admiring the macaque
monkeys...
but here,
she had to do a replica
casablanca
movie scene...
and she was smoking ****...
and back in england
i was diagnosed
as schizoid for
doing the same...

   you know the problem?
when you have a chance
to distinguish between
african women?
  dark kenyan women?
mmm...
   yeah... that part...
west african women?
  nigerian...
  ye'ah....
               that "part"...

but this one kenyan beautie...
i... i...
i just forgot there was
a riddle!
  there is?
  you can't even begin
to express...
what isn't allowed
in mainstream films...
it's... ivory...
it's...
    sheen...
         it's: butter...
it's...
                gulp and liquor...

ah...
   right...
      now you feast on
my maggot-riddled skin.

To the one who I hope will stay forever,
And from the one who promises to stay forever.
Thank you anna,
Oka guiding star laga u were there,
And I hope you will always be!

Ekkadnundi start cheyyalo ardam katle anna😅
Firstly you inspired me a lot anna, mi laga kavali ani chala sarlu ankunna inka ankuntunna kuda 😁 so nak tips ivvandi how to become a person like ram sai ani 😄 and i really hope we stay in touch for our whole lives 🫂













Chala chala thank u anna! Mek eroje manchiga hug cheskoni thank u so much Anna ani chepdam ankunna 😅 but konchem ibbandi feel aina kani malli chance dorkademo malli meet avthano leno ani bayamesindi... Chala hesitate chesi inga finally miku oka hug icha 😁 Inka walking kuda veldam ankunna mitho mrng 😁 anddd thank u so much for the books Anna malgudi days aithe pakka aipogodtha 10 days lo complete ga next week mids kabatti. Inka eh 3rd year Vani ni ila chakkaga change chesindi meere! Idi mathram pakka. Thank u anna me valle i got to have a dosti gang asalu. Nak intha mandi friends unnaru ipdu ayyaru ante me valle! You made this me! Thank u so much Anna asalu inka okka year matho unte inkentha bagundedi ani,Manam inka munde kalisi unte inka bagundu kada ani, eh corona asal lekapothe bagundu ani okate thoughts. Entha cheppina entha ikkada type chesina thakkuve anna. Nijanga asal ankoledu intha manchi anna dorkutharu ani, munde evari tho matladanu alantidi ram sai anna dorkikaru ante matala!( nijanga anna) munde chepthunna anna eh 10 days lo meku call osthadi nanundi and nen edustha pakka 😅 so be ready😂
Inkokasari 3rd year starting nundi chadvalani undi anna, malli okasari fest ni experience cheyyalani undi same mecharena22 ni, malli traditional day night temple mundu ala nightout cheyali ani undi kani time is soo fast asalu. Time machine unte bagundu anna😅
Ivala morning ala ayyindi ani mer em feel kakandi 😅 meku chala fans untaru so i can understand 🤑 but chala chepdam ankunna cheppalekapoya ani chinna regret😅kani danni calls lo therchukunta le😁 marchipokandi anna nannu🤧 Love you Anna and I miss u already...



And meku 2 bookmarks ichanu ga dantlo wings daggara chinigi unnadantlo oka chinna message rasanu kani pencil tho rasina so cheppalenu fade avvakunda unda leda ani. But promise me anna you will open it only when you miss me so much ok? Ipde open cheyyakandi. Open it when you truly miss me a lot.
And please dont forget me anna eppudaina nak munde evar ler ekva 😅

every friday i get a chance to plug into
a gramaphone, ditch the headphones
blasting into my ears
           at high volume...
  pulverising me to a finite submission
in an infinite space...
crack open a bottle of henry westons'
like some archimedes revisionist
with a cigarette lighter...
    the footie in playing on mute in
the background,
  and i put on a "cliché" vinyl...
     well... it's only "cliché" if you haven't
found something deeper in it,
or maybe: it's actually this **** good
that you need to imagine it
as an onion,
                       you peeled so many
layers off the record already,
         you even encountered scratches
on your 80s disco glitz compact...
   it's still only the "first commandment"
the first pillar of modern music,
miles davis' kind of blue...
             hey, hey!
i wasn't born in the 30s to "figure-out"
this 1959 release...
               what i have figured out, though,
well, jazz just sounds pristine on
vinyl...
   the whole experience,
the physicality, the intimacy with the music...
it's not some hidden c.d.,
      it's not some quickie-bypass
of an mp3 file...
    it's there, rotating,
      much more than a t.v. does in imitating
the promethean fireplace...
well **** me: zeus oopsie dropped
a thunderbolt
        to earth and that became
the new point of congregation: t.v.,
don't get me wrong,
             the current climate of crafting
meaningful dramas
outside the english soap opera marathon...
it's nice...
            but putting on a vinyl,
and allowing music to fill the room,
while you're drinking a 8.2% bottle
of cider, not smoking...
          that's like glancing at Jupiter
really close to it...
              the experience of music
without the headphones: that's truly
something else,
   and by now i can attest:
  jazz on vinyl is what vinyl was meant
to be, sure, it's a simpler technology...
but this carousel "ride"...
  admiring the subtle grooves
and indentations of some obscure
microscopic tendency to follow
the indentations of a canyon...
   round and round and round it goes...
but then comes the appreciation
of jazz...
       i give it "you" were exposed
to classical music as a child,
    i know i was...
              apparently it's called the i.q.
booster "food"...
            well... i sort of had to move away
from the rigid concessions of
classical music...
        the very aspect of a strict
methodological form of its expression,
it dies after a while,
for a very long while...
                 jazz has to naturally replace
it...
             to start off with classical,
let it devolve,
   and then to appreciate all this wonderful
modern bonanza of genres...
   must be a "black privilege", "thing",
well without a few africans being
shipped off to the h'americas...
    no blues, no jazz...
                        a thorn in my backside
listening to the the nexus vox
                    surrounding the rehabilitated
future generations of
the post-colonial present...
          ******: no german or russian
every dished out reperations for
   what my great-grandmother suffered...
why should you?!
                   oh yeah... we received
russian reperations: communism!
          why is jazz superior to classical music?
it, breaks, rules...
           it's akin to some sort
of japanese art of painting...
                     it's intuitive, spontaneous...
like this: a complete improv.,
          hence the naughty "n" word
in this text...
              there are times when i can
stand the *******,
   and there are times when...
                            i just... ha ha... can't...
like last night...
          having succumbed to one
of the two higher impulses...
        what are the two higher impulses?
crying...
                    and laughter...
           i can't remember the time i giggled
so much into the breaking dawn,
over the whole: well the Zulus didn't
take **** from Michael Cain's brigade...
          and if all these slavs (e e e e)
  where shipped off... who remained?
   the people who profitted from the trade,
shady agreement...
                   oh i'm pretty ******* sure
no man would go so easily,
        unless...
                     their tribal leaders,
persuaded them to go,
         sold them the h'american dream...
well... then Idi Amin Dada never happened,
nope, nope, neeeeeever happened...
only that Saudi Arabia gave him
asylum and a comfy "retirement" from
all the work surround skull pyramids...
black people could never be evil
to other black people,
                             like white people...
       if i have some Israeli shmuck
tell me that the polacks collaborated with
the nazis: perhaps... forced with a gun
pointing at their head when building all
the concentration camps:
build them - or die...
            nice, that's a, ha ha, nice ultimatum...
come on,
there was no collusion between
the slave traders and the african leaders
at the time?
          no one talks about that...
like that ****** joke about having a great
distate for rap music...
     'you actually think, it's that easy
to hunt down some of an n.b.a. posture?'
well either i'm dumb,
  the history's dumb...
              or we're living on another planet...
guns... ????
             slave trade...
  so... there was a tradeoff...
           the african chieftan got something
in return -
otherwise why would it be a trade
   and not a slave hunt?
                                     me?
i'm good thanks,
i just have to live a few germanic retards
who derived a false etymology for
a whole ethnic group of people,
namely the Slavs...
    hmm... last time i checked...
the word for slave in latin was
   servus... not slavus platypus origami
         servus...
      o.k. o.k. i'm dealing with
intellectual retards...
           i get over it...
               słowo (swovo) - meaning word,
no, really, in western slavic that's
what it means...
                      i really hope we can
find a commonality...
         one side attacked for their skin,
another for their understanding of
languages...
              i don't even know who to attack,
i've heard the retards etymological
"research" and "know-how"...
              extension - słowianin -
commonly associated with being a wordsmith...
maybe that's the reason for all
those great russian novelists,
   and so few... being...
    ahem... of germ-                     origin.  
                  double edged sword, isn't it?

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

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

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

herd - стадо - пасти - stado...

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

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

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

(insert burp):

   i know this is a little
bit late, to match up
my narration
to the zeitgeist...

      but...
     (insert a whiskey
infused burp):

i forgot about gaming
when i didn't
            move on from
owning a PS1...

  so...
        (insert burp)
        em...
                 i'm not a gamer...
i don't play games...

i do play vinyl though...

in that sado-masochistic
kind of way in
a society where:
everyone looks
wolf at everyone else
and just itches
for some schadenfreude
   cool-collective banter...

phew...
the whole gamergate sandal,
or scandal or whatever you
want to don
on the streets of sandy
Cairo...
  
   the (insert burp):
the EU authorities caved in...
watching channel 4 news,
seeing the treatment
of migrants in Libya...

   (burp)

      you know that...
these are not the hands
of Pilate that were washed
in a elizabeth báthory
fetish... or that of cleopatra...
those Africans
have become tortured
and imprisoned
by north africans,
who "think" they're arabs...
  because of the umah
of Islam...

just saying... i watched
channel 4 news...
    and...
                              well...

i forgot to play video games
in a manner,
akin to a saturday / sunday
morning, sitting on a bed,
plugged in,
watching a t.v. and some
moving pawns of a game
of tenchu or final fantasy VII...

oh, i still play,
like some people read
books,
on the throne of thrones,
otherwise known as:
     the *******...

but, once upon a time,
you'd spend 20 quid
and 'ave a game...
now, games, are "free"...
unless you pay extortion
style attachments...
so... the once free game...
a game which would
have a readied narrative...
worth... 20 quid...
ends up... if you're stupid
enough...
costing you...
   oh... say... 100quid+++++

yeah, big problem,
this gamergate,
or whatever the hell it was...
but extortion from games...
no biggie...
that's not the notorious
rhyming excerpt to add
to the whole fiasco of...
games...

          whoever this is,
this: i am...
no, sorry...
i'm not a gamer,
sometimes of the *******,
but mostly i tend to
play... vinyl...

        it's like...
            you can never become
bored of staring at that
**** thing..
         well...
unless you're
    don johnson...
pretending to be stroking
a cat, when in fact,
gently caressing jane fonda
falling asleep in
              your lap...    
then the whole vinyl
experience is all but prop...
  c.d. spins too fast...
and you never actually see
it spin...
       vinyl...
                 oompf!
the genesis ******* mantra...

  oh, you noticed?
yeah... there's a saying
back in slavic-country...

curses like a shoemaker...
don't ask me, why or how...
         przeklina jak szewc...
        curses like a shoemaker...
what's next...
compliments like a tailor?

              it's not even a pair
of Pilate like hands
bashing a keyboard into a blank...
folded hands,
standing akimbo...
      what? what?!
            if the Libyans
are doing what they're doing...
it's Africans doing
these terrible acts to Africans...

while a little birdie told me...
  idi amin...
    lived the remaining years
of his life,
peacefully...
   undisturbed, in saudi arabia.

white-
              and whatever slurs...
   you just reach a point
of lethargy...
                 and... there's no going
back.