games played solely without mouse or joystick... X-hands on the keyboard: left right; right left; kita? ponies in the field; ponces in the marketplace.

but if it didn't happen in video games,
and you said the word: girlfriend...
who are you? ****... i'll test you,
i test your genitals to ensure
it belongs in your head for an ego...
you never been?
                hard to think anything of you
other than a child of divorce...
                   because you probably are...
next time you verbal a *****
i'll verbal the status of your mother...
and next time: you'll be in the practice
of boxing while i'll be worrying about
eating too much lactose...
                               ******, wanna fight?
i'll take a few punches... and
then take to you like a butcher...
   darwinism breeds masculine boast games,
get with it!
             you either boast about the fact:
or you shut, the **** up!
                           just give me a kalashnikov
and i'll show you *bonaparte!
            harasho?
  good, we're good, we're compatriots...
             i used to play wholly keyboard games
and i had to sit in the chair, with X on my head...
the mouse was gone...
  so was the ||...                  of hands and what not...
  w
a s d
              moving...
                                 why should i take on
the sins of your father to enjoy a beer with you?
why do you blame me?
      two ***** spoke to you? that's what
i'm guessing is the proper guess... ******* with
your two *****!
                   i'd really be jealous if you kept them,
and inacted a dualgamy...
           what you just described is yesterday...
yesterday... yesterday... like your papa you can't
keep even one for a period of a swan's lifetime
     for 70... years...
                 you parade that **** in east london!
****! me! friendeships from school are
  so parasitic... but at least good for writing...
       come ******! come! i'm part of the death cult!
i'm begging! i'm not begging for pennies
or for pounds thrown into a hat... mr. socialist...
ha ha!
         ha ha!                          ha ha!
            no, really, i'm still waiting!
                                 what are you waiting for?
the next train out of liverpool st. to shenfield?
                     sure... i'll wait with you...
          just about the same time you turn my
knuckles into a cornish pasty to eat...
                                  don't **** with me you aenemic
******... it's called regular physical laws:
              i'm over 100 kilograms... i punch you
in the face it won't be the newtonian paradox
that states: gravity universal, a fat boy falls at the same
time and at the same speed at a thin boy...
  i punch you in the face you'll probably be in the
queue for plastic surgery...
          mein sen? my dream?
                  my male cat ******* into the toilet,
my female cat trying to usurp the power of the bladder
and thus jumping straight on the toilet
                   with the male cat ******* into it...
then me picking up the male cat
    and him ******* about the bathroom
                  without a bladder "censor" to stop him
doing so in the act... mmm... condoms...
                     these days due to prostate cancer
  i had to envision buddha to relax my bladder...
                           oh i'm not playing 'ard...
                                  i'd love to get a smacker
before i managed to use my body mass...
                                that scenario with paul kohler
(silent h)         and those who spoke with
a central european accent...
                                                       ­     i once had
"western" european "friends", just after i thought
they became arrogant ****** that i'd love
     to do skull-to-skull with and wipe their whittle
smiles off their faces: according to their surprise
as to why they bred terrorist at home; which they
did, and forgot to admit as toward the methodology
they gave out and then negated as being
the source of responsibility: i.e. the practice of denial.
by now,
     i have the least concern, and the most
contraceptive additives to care about western european
lives; guess what happened! the irish thought
they could treat the poles like the english treated
them! oi! paddy! my people fought in the battle
for britain in the r.a.f.: you were as neutral as swedes!
paddy! oi!                      oh i'll give you war
you ******* fairy... but you won't take it...
   you'll be all flimsy spaghetti armed in the distance!
maybe i should move to liverpool?

/                        innocent until prōven guilty,
contra guilty until
                             prōven innocent...

  ah!

         so the minority report?
guilty, while innocent,
    based upon a premonition?
hindsight with a zodiac
type of interpretation...

   innocent until prōven guilty
has no superiority
in practice over the continental
guilty until prōven innocent...

no... because the principle invokes
presuppositions,
                  of suppositions...
treating the two as propositions -
or rather... "verbs" inacted...

innocent until prōven guilty -
then no understanding of freedom,
at least guilty until prōven innocent
allows understanding
restraint, however unfair,
   with 18 years lost...
   and then the tears of relief!

                     Tomasz Komenda...
         an "espionage" case of staging
empathy...
               en masse...
   an innocent man walks away
from falsely imposed justice measures...
a redemption...
       a count de monte cristo
allowance...
                 but in reverse?
the evil man walks free...
     succumbing to old age,
    and dementia, a pontius pilate pardon...

there is no redemption aspect
of the saxon course of applying jurisprudence...
the... innocent, until prōven guilty,
contra: guilty until prōven innocent
   schizophrenia?
                the latter overshadows
the former...
                         because we're not babies...
at least with the latter:
there's a redemption exegesis -
     but with the former?
                bitter-sweet tears within
the confines, of an example akin
                             to jimmy savile...

guilty until prōven innocent
   has much more authentic emotional
content, with a redemption narrative...
innocent until prōven guilty
   has?    not much,
                                  just a grave,
and the stunted emotional expression,
what ought to be flowers
within the heart,
   instead: fungus, growing in the dark...
and thus... translating
to other hearts:
    
   let's allow this chemo-phobia
chemo-philia experiment
     be left intact in its the momentum...

honestly... the study of law -
   is probably the ******* game
in the allowance of games of
adulthood... one tier above gambling.

p.s.
   because you know there's proof:
and that the past-participle
thrown into a future, does require
   an omega rather than an omicron...
not an oh, but an ooh...
        hence? reign from above,
on the omicron, with a macron (ō).

When you choke me...
My sight begins to shift
Dark red spirals and firefly esque spectacles
Asphxiation.
A carnal pleasure in books read in jest
But when inacted, thrills my body to be numb to all but one sense...
You look almost supernal, they say what we enjoy was sent from perdition.
Above me jostling, By the way we moan i can tell...
Some primitive sriek and an attempt at communication
Gets lost in between the sheets of our bodies jubilation
A partnership made between lkies and temptation.
My hands keep on slipping I grab and start preparing
your hair a frenzied mangled sport
my tongue is pressing ever forward
Our arms are wrapped, a lovers embrace
A complete release into a solitary state where actions become sounds
and shivering is garunteed.
the only time a scream is allowed during laughter
My
Sight
Begins
to
shift
A pale white angel porcelain like figurines, perfection only percieved she kisses and
scratches in acceptance and gratitude.
Dark red curls and deep green pasture like  iris's.
Gleaming with tears and startled by my endless
Captivation!

When you choke me...
My sight begins to shift
Dark red spirals and firefly esque spectacles
Asphxiation.
A carnal pleasure in books read in jest
But when inacted, thrills my body to be numb to all but one sense...
You look almost supernal, they say what we enjoy was sent from perdition.
Above me jostling, By the way we moan i can tell...
Some primitive shriek and an attempt at communication
Gets lost in between the sheets of our bodies jubilation
A partnership made between lies and temptation.
My hands keep on slipping I grab and start preparing
your hair a frenzied mangled sport
my tongue is pressing ever forward
Our arms are wrapped, a lovers embrace
A complete release into a solitary state where actions become sounds
and shivering is garunteed.
the only time a scream is allowed during laughter
My
Sight
Begins
to
shift
A pale white angel porcelain like figurines, perfection only percieved she kisses and
scratches in acceptance and gratitude.
Dark red curls and deep green pasture like  iris's.
Gleaming with tears and startled by my endless
Captivation!

not everyday, does a man grow up
to say what he has to say,
a bit like now,
born with a chernobyll "tattoo" on
his right shoulder blade,
having had it removed,
but always remembering the story
his mother told him:
this nurse in the hospital tried
to **** you by suffocating you,
which enlarged your heart...
   now...
   why would it be odd,
               that i am a misogynist?
never mind the fact that i treat
prostitutes like they'd be my lovers
for the past 10 years;
sloppy seconds... mmm....
                                          ha ha;
i'm just getting bored of dying
but never actually dying...
      do i really has to ask the swiss
to do a proper job? i'm just bored
with a decalogue of attempts
inacted on me...
             it's just become, slightly
annoying that none of these attempts
succeeded...
               i'm tired...
               does anyone have a guillotine
handy?

famous grouse* has a tickling
           accent of chocolate,
compared to the smokey
              tendency of bell's...
when smoked salmond
met a baltic sushi herring
   which later became a smokey
whiskey...
      hey: i'm on mars already!
<waves, but does not plant
a flag>
                   you smile
while sheering sheep into
                              woollen coats?
i must admit: dying them
could help,
          maybe shock purple:
of V pink...
                   whoever walked
in Kentucky and bit off
the articular cartilage
               and the trabecular bone...
ooh: tickles the cannibal
formed from eating a chicken...
cocerning the title?
   the perversity of needing
to disperse...
      a fat slob who?
inacted the plausability of a state...
mind **** with:
could have been a roofer...
            met a lazy Russian lass...
there is honestly a part of me
best represented in a pdf. format...
but until that gets exposed:
we'll just stick to graffiti...
   that ****-show you call
a shadow of a waterfall hit
by Hiroshima's history  while
            taking a ****
on a brick wall?!
                  sign me up...
   the impetus?
i simply call him gruff or
                          γραφ...
just seeing the macro-lego
in translated danish, away from
kindergarten makes sense...
i was comparing two whiskeys
and i was the white trash,
wasn't i?
             oh right...
       thank **** i didn't have any
children to pass on the curse...
it really takes ***** celebrating
failing...
          i mean: i watch about
200 movies in the space of a day
with the number i see:
grinding teeth relieved by
the hot topic of a: king david
       attempting onomatopoeia
while not singing,
  but instead moaning:
  pinching the zenith of expression
came a phallus, a *****,
  and a:                    lingua...
             and each acted out
the rabbi, priest and imam joke...
       of: walked into a pub for
a pint...
            if they didn't walk out
with a jihad, a crusade or
   a holocaust? some eskimo
must have poured them alaskan tonic!
- look at me, i'm dressed
up all mime with the expression
best summarised by: huh?!
         i hate cheap jokes...
        but i make cheap jokes...
suits the sort of ugly *******
that i am...
                in terms of lyrics,
a bit like attempting to wave the Titanic
away, in Southampton,
while listening to enya's sail away...
the fun part comes with:
i actually don't know what's
funny about all of this.

i can't even digest this "abstract" point of a definition of consciousness, or relate it to a subjectivity / objectivity, or whatever affix you wish to ascribe the ponce of a man his due when you see what see:

cogito ergo sum is not even a debate,
even though it's as orthodox as
a religion with its: mantras
and credos...

                         the whole expression is
no inert, so bogus and so: failing
what i wish to be transcendent...

it only takes one snippet of the world
in which there is an other that
it blunts the mind that's only
useful for spreading butter on a warm
toast that: perhaps my honesty
is worth more than what i could have
done:

        because this observation is
heavily reliant on *what i could have
rather than on what i ought to have
                 done...
        the proposition which is dead lost to
making it a rigid maxim
  is best observed as a
               delay mechanism...
         because it has become just that to me
as of today...
           since it does not entertain
    a reflex that's always there in
high-stress situations...
          cogito ergo sum has
a purely reflective dimension...
           equivalent of saying:
Adam was born ****-naked
   and died, ****-naked...
   but we "know" the latter to be
hardly true: as much as we know
saints die with halos and caesars
are born with laurels on their heads...
as much as we known that kings
are decapitated by the weight of
their crowns...

i abhor the cartesian thought on
the simply example i experienced today...

so i walk into a supermarket minding
my own business by thinking about
how my shoes are comfortable...

  and i pass this strange creature in
the fridge department: staring
              into a single fridge...
i boot up with my usual crap
     of ***** beer and ms. fizzy-candy...
but i'm curious and walk past her again...

she has a ring on her finger:
   but it's not an everlasting ring
of pure mental without ornament...
it has a stud of a rock attached to it:
engagement...
       she's still staring into the fridge
wondering about fish fingers as i eye
her eye contact...
       she has a buggy next to her
and a filled basket...
          the buggy has a child in it:
i presume...
                but the apparent child in
it is silent...
            i can't see it: too many blankets:
which seems just right that:
there's something living and human
cushioned in it...
            
    the delay mechanism of this schematic
is that: hours later have the sudden
impulse to recount the encounter
of a single mother and having the capacity
to approach her and ask her:
           do you want me to buy this for you?

would that have escalated into me fancying
a relationship?
       do i look like a ******* loser?
i might drink and i might do damage
unto myself: but at least i know that i'm
doing it, and not someone else:
just a mere gesture of:
        you can stop staring at that packet
of fish fingers for a while...

   because what sort of woman brings
a baby in a buggy to a supermarket nearing
10pm?
              a witch, a harlot, or just bad luck?
i would certainly sleep sounder had
i discovered a way to bypass the delay
mechanism of: looking up my own ***...

       the problem is: the thought never occurred:
but did - only a few hours later:
      circa 4 hours to be exact...

         i don't like this delay mechanism,
but i then don't like whether there's a more
important social conventions "question"
    when having a "moral" answer
        impregnates the mind hours after
the initial curiosity of the sorry sight...
      
       this whole: minding my own business is
sickly sweet and probably oozing with
a scentless ***** perfume...
     but that still doesn't justify to me that:
i am both intuitively crafted,
  but also intuitively dulled by a question
of a morality...
          
    would i have given her money to buy
those fingers?
              i've been saving money by not drinking
on some days, so i could squeeze in a random
expense...
               it just bothers me that i didn't actually
have access to this thought when it was
most certainly worth having...

       which is why i read philosophy:
i hate it.
                    at what point was there a staged
connectivity of dot dot dot?
           i was in there stashing up and thinking
up about seeing the qualification
    of ski jumping in Pyeongchang!
    perhaps if i left my in situ with this
single mother who just so happened
to be in the supermarket at the same time
i was there: i would have actually
thought about buying the food she wanted
to feed her baby...
                    
                         a random act of kindness
would then haunt me:
             because why did i give her a fish
and not given her the skills to go fishing, right?
well, it wouldn't exactly be a charity
project run by Oxfam is one person did that
to another on a random occassion of:
it just so happened: that a pink elephant walked
into the room.

     there have to be four martix-like
  ante-chambers to the human experiences -
working from the x-ray of god...

     Y (convergence (λ - divergence)
            W (synchronism (M - dissoance)
                  H / H (either / or)

ask the twins why we need λ & M...

               yet the thought occurred only after
i had to take a second look out of
curiosity rather than any
   intuitive precedence over the matter
needing to be resolved...
        a ****** curiosity like some sort
of "freak" show...
                      
                  maybe it's worthwhile having
a drinking habit after all:
to feel this un-inhibition and spot such
aspects of life, akin to a single mother
being abandoned by a future spouse for whatever
reason that was: clinging to an engagement
ring, nearing 10pm in a supermarket with
her baby, staring into a fridge wondering
whether a baby can eat fish fingers:
or could choke on them: because then
the practice of abortion is really worth
debating...

                     give a man a freedom and then
watch man abuse it: by not executing
     the established norm of consensus...
    or later watch the vicar come in and argue:
but what of a future mozart that could have
been?
             yeah, i ask myself that same question
whispering into a tissue and then trying
to hear a reply of the sea in a sea-shell
as i flush the ******* down the toilet...
       have ******* whale sonar on that answer...
i won't replicate it,
  merely concise it to: it's an onomatopoeia.

thankfuly i have a personal account to match...
but she did pick the engagement ring
herself, and she did fling it back at me...
   and she lied about taking the pill...
when i was like:
         a ****** is but the nadir of my latex
fantasy...
                 so: guru who guru what?

i have my observation:
  shame this thought was somehow obstructed
from me having inacted it
when i could have shown the least
amount of decency to a sorry state of
womanhood, on a whim:
  and not for any moral well-being
   gratified by faking an authority for
some godsend suggestion to further it
by setting up an orphanage...
a whim: not a moral obligation...
      a fancy...
                      a random twist of a plot...

it's still going to be a delay mechanism for
me: this "observed" cogito ergo sum...
i've seen Kant mutilated on this *******
wankery long enough to know that
   Kołakowski didn't leave it much smarter.