I took off my blinders today.

I saw around myself
The life I neglected
In my tunnel vision,
The inauthenticity
Of my behavior.
I saw the box I so happily
Dwelled in and
Make-believed that I was
Doing something
Important.

I saw my hypocrisy in
Looking at others
And make-believing
I was made of
Something different.

Maybe I can be, now.

I think often. It's a habit I can't seem to break like a gambler with his gambling and a priest with boys' knees or what brands red A's on our chest. I think we're a bit too trusting and I know we're a tad naive. I think it's best we love each other from the safety of three feet. This finite planet and our infinite greed pair up wondrously said the axeman to the tree.

The world that has made us has gone from a fine fitting coat to an ugly old shoe. We say we've outgrown, but what of the sea? Let's poison it. What of the the ice caps? Let 'em melt like a bowl of forgotten ice cream on my coffee table. I have more important things to devour. Gotta run, culture's waiting.

So I follow the rabbit down the hole wait I stop! Curiosity killed the cat I bought with a two dollar bill my grandmother gave me as payment the first time I cleaned that labyrinth of a cellar beneath her house: musty, dark, repressive I thought I was inside of my ten year old self then through the dark I can hear a rustling, "God?" I plead, my hands clutching the windex. No answer, there never is so I head into the shadows when I see the rabbit and this time I bolt for the hole but my head hits a wall. I concluded that life was a cruel joke as cynicism ensued.

I couldn't sleep, couldn't eat, couldn't dance, couldn't sing because boys like girls, and girls like boys and boys don't cry, but I cry. As does the gambler and the priest and the woman on the horizon. I could have bet it was an angel and the gambler, he did. She steps into the reef and we hear her song and I know that she's me and I'm him and he’s all of us and the reef is that cruel joke I learned in the basement chasing rabbits but it's awful pretty from here is a warning to you when you think God is dead and death is synonymous to halt:

I'll swim inside this reef 'til the day I die. Water slipping through my fists and I'm yelling no I'm whispering no one's got a verb for trying to help. Water's to my neck but I'm not stopping. The coral ends here where I can finally sink sink sink my body in the trenches, spread a dustier me across the oceans, fill Earths' blood, a mass of veins and rocks and steel blemishes with my own maze of veins and thoughts and inauthenticity…


♐ ♐ ♐


Bury me naked cause where they say we're all headed headed it's gonna be hot hot hot like a medics sweat dripping down his nose as he beat beat beats on her chest but she's too big to get through. Too big, too fat Lady Liberty's choking on fries we're the world's laughing stock, the UN's singing jest for me, jest for me, jest at Mother Nature's giving way to political pressure same as Gods giving way to backwater pleasure and curses, a moment of weakness but 14 billion years? He’s old.

It's 2011 and more people hate hate hate from pin ****** in the ocean spewing bile in the deep, now whose fault is that, really? We're all shallow like my lagoon, my tropical retreat where there's no oil. No God. No smiles or tears. Can't sing, can't dance...can only be me. Who's gonna say that they're one in the same? Heaven's not a cloud and Hell's nicer than you think and I do. I think often.

i'm slowly figuring out how it works...
"content creators" always boast about their number
of members... but? rarely...
their viewership counts ever match
to their number of members...
rarely... they might have a membership
count of 200K but their videos probably
mean at about 70K... it's a game of give and take...

me? hmm... well... me...
    one website? 142 "members"...
         another website 181 "members"...
i'm always happy when i exceed my "membership":
when writing i always aim at that: exceeding...
with 181 "members" i managed to accumulate
a viewership of... nearing to 50,000...
not bad... that's how Pythagoras and Jesus achieved
their fame... start little: grow big...
out of? well... the natural worth of your worth...

i was just re-watching Jurassic Park today...
hold hold... in between cleaning the house...
hold hold...
how the **** is man certain of his own
psychology and socio-political dynamism
while at the same time so ******* certain
about the ontology of dinosaurs?!
fossils read: the T-Rex is movement sensitive?!
so... he... can't smell you?
let alone see you when you don't move?!
for ****'s sake! the Shakespeare of cinema!
Spielberg! *******!
              
i recently watched an advert: it's true:
you taste food by sniffing it...
i can quickly drink a diluted bottle of black cherry
squash... i taste nothing:
because i'm glug glug glug
drinking it... i refrain from drinking i start sniffing:
it's like my nose dives into the oesophagus
and retracts what i was just drinking:

you sure it wasn't some strong salt (alkaline)
or some... sugar? are acids sugars?!
well if there's a corrosive salt...
shouldn't the antonym be: a strong sugar?
aren't acids really strong sugars?
citric... yeah... they are...
strong acids are sugars as strong....
****... strong sugars are acids
and strong salts are alkaline...
                        BOZO WATER BOY...
d'uh!
        get out y'er spazz-mr.fantastic-face-douzoh...

how?! reading ******* fossils?!
FAKE NEWS... wait for the rumble... wait...
rrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.... FAKE HISTORY...
from what? reading fossils?! we knew how
dinosaurs behaved?
                             wow! oh! ah ha ha ha ha!
wow! the selling gimmick in full shwing!
boys! girls! we don't need the swings!
just listen to these ******* try to sell you toilet paper!
seriously...
and for a while i was like:
oh yes yes... that's how dinosaurs behaved...
from a flimsy ******* film with by the current
year: ever more ****** CGI...

                oh man... the velociraptor was a wolf
of its species... sure... now all the dinosaurs are birds...
morphed into birds... birds are small...
dinosaurs were big...
hmm... what's smaller than birds?
insects... ergo?
there must have been a kind of animal
akin to insects that lived prior to dinosaurs that
were also large... ******* gigantic
morphs of mosquitos...
if the dinosaurs adapted to become birds...
although: spies! spies i tell you!
spies! snakes and crocodiles!
rationality makes no sense given enough time...
best aim for ice-cream and brain-freeze...
seriously... **** it...
it's not like anyone is going to remember this
century like any other century given
the time expanse we've allowed ourselves to give!

what i am curious about though is...
DRAGONS...
right... it was inbuilt into our psyche to conjure
dragons: long before we unearthed
fossils of dinosaurs...
dragons... fire breathing creatures...
what killed the dinosaurs?
the day the moon went to sleep or was like:
**** it... have to keep the tides...
might as well get rid of these gigantic Goliath-Nimrods...
eh... i'm sure something stupider and more
entertaining will take their place...
BAM! fire! a meteor hit the earth: lizards breathing
fire... DRAGONS... how do we know this?
is this dream-talk? do people dream-up this
*******? me? i don't dream-up ****... i just sleep...
i admire the people who can fall asleep
in transit: on a bus or on a plane...
me? i'm bothered by the imaginary fidget-bugs
of keeping composure and pretending
to allocate time to my mind as i measure
mental minutes to actual mechanised minutes
of a clock... i always get it WONG... revelations
of lost vibrations... esp. in flight...

where do these anti-history i.e. pre-history stories
come from? fossils? ******* dinosaur fossils?!
we know how a certain type of dinosaur
behaved based on their ******* fossils?
wow! we should dig up Elizabeth Bathory
and Cleopatra and tell apart which bathed in milk
and which in ****** blood... i'd... FFFFFFucking love
to know how fossils tell which apart!

it's just ******* silly... i'm semi-drunk semi-sober
i'm bordering on arrogance: clearly mad...
because... this... gradual increment of a collective narrative
that was supposed to be soothing?
isn't soothing anymore...
                  i'm turning my mind toward solipsism...
not unlike an actual medical claim of autism:
but as a theoretical: only i exist...
whoever i encounter?
inauthenticity... actors...
                 people of shallow depth...
after all... what's the most popular artistic expression
in our society? isn't it, acting?! it's not painting...
it's not poetry... ergo?
     fake... fake...           oh: more fake.... fake...
actors have become brutal in the dealings of
every man in how he or she might interact with
fellow ever man or woman...
absolutely brutal: tyrannical!

that's how i saw it: the devil ascending: monarchy...
a god descending: tyranny...
there is a clarifying distinction that can be
summarised by the continued existence of England...
a country my heart is enthralled by...
and forever will be...

yeah... sure sure... looking up the gorilla's *******
to figure out our ontology... great!
it's not like we didn't have sages in the past...
it's beyond "god is dead": "jesus is dead":
it's already a common name in Spain...
hey-zeus... Darwinism won like the Copernican revolution
never envisioned it: after all...
Galileo robbed Copernicus of his discovery
because he had the telescope and became the martyr...

with one swift move: a god died and the gods
were reborn...
but jesus is dead too...
why? who's imitating him?
Darwinism teaches the universality of imitation-monkey!
imitation-lobster imitation-ant!
no? isn't that what the secular psychologists are
preaching?! "evolutionary psychologists"?!
evolutionary: partially... there's still no concensus
on "soul": i.e. sigma: the totality of what's being...
not ontology: i.e. being qua...
rather what's "motivating" being: what's WILL...
the ****** of existence per se...

no no... i can't think of existence as merely summarised
as simply: "experience"...
we don't know how dinosaurs behaved...
it's POP CULTURE ****...
we don't know! we will never know!
i hate living in this fantasy world...
really? a meteor killed them off?
a freak accident... but i thought the moon was
the shield against all other meteors...
and most meteors burn out when reaching our
atmosphere...

listen... the Biblical strand of the story is: POETIC...
it's simplified...
it's like... journalism on an everyday basis:
the difference being: it's repeated day in day out...
it's journalism of a Groundhog Day...
i admit: pretty **** ******...
but the secular aversion to this?
             mein gott... when it's right... akin to chemistry,
biology, physics, medicine and engineering...
fair enough... grounded in reality...
but when these disciplines becomes... "humanised"...
all hell breaks loose!
did i forget geology? oops...
            these are disciplines of the demigods!
they are not to be trivialised!
made into narratives! they are strict rubric sentiments
of complimenting chaos with man's ingenuity
of crafting a sense of order!

yeah: wow me... 181 "members" that morphs
into an audience of reaching 50,000...
unlike those video guys with 50,000 members
and an average of half of those members switching
off... with some roundabout clued-in *******
****-jobs...
the revised ingenuity of internet anonymity:
oh sure sure... i'll just buy a book and leave
a comment in the comment section
of the book's back pages that no one:
esp. the author is going to read...
                          title: make your own mind up!
i'm alone: you're alone, we're all alone
in this ****-wit buggery of all sorts!

the first time you broke my heart felt like every molecule in my body had been shaken like a carbonated drink inside a plastic bottle, containing the catastrophe and sheltering the insanity as if it were a home. i could not let anyone know how close i was to exploding, i could not be weak.
i walked around daily, replaying memories we had against the backs of my eyelids like a projector against a cement wall
i played it over and over until my stomach overflowed with churning bile, wanting to eject the inauthenticity of nostalgia
while watching i would try to make meaning of the dialogue, and you, being it’s main featured character
i made you out to be the hero but you were the villain, you destroyed the plot, you slaughtered the character’s lives, yet you were such a deceivingly good actor
have you ever heard something so many times that you started to go insane?
words can hit you so hard they start to feel like they’ve been carved into your brain, able to be sounded like keys on an everlasting piano, one note insisting for another to play along with it
but you’re not a song that i want to listen to anymore

the second time you broke my heart, i had it coming
i told myself this was it
every time i watched you blink i watched the doors to your soul close
have you ever let anyone in?
every kiss enabled another voice in my head telling me goodbye
but the best part about me letting you into my heart for a second time was that it didn’t really break
what i thought was my chest ripping open, withdrawing blood vessels and vitals, was really the nerves in my body connecting again, i can feel again
i can feel again
i am healing and here months later,
stitched up and intact
you can’t hurt me anymore

September 29th 2022 Philosophy

The spavined strumpets of aleatory nimonics stranded in the dimpled pelargic mythos of the nebelwerfers of scansorial elitism burroling the stokehold of pragmatic lurch useful for the progeny of powellisation interned by potichomania for balefires against the throbbing thremmatology of the strickle of jabirus vexed by stunsail argumentation of sumpter sidelong in oblique ginglymus to such a grave extent the thalwegs of contemplation daver in marauded orbit around ceraceous and cespitous thaumaturgy manacled by subservience in sequacious filagersion honing upon stereopsis for nomenclators of high squarson brigadoon fidelity to finessed wheals brackling away at tattermedalion squalor in squirmish facade of brockfaced brockens of wasserman to infiltrate against banjolins the pedigree of berceuse mendaciloquence that the branchiform sedigitation of all sesquiplicated sondage in the barnstorm of whelky during the subterfuge of wallfish cofferdams entrenched in boskets of the deepest regard of bathmism that we might fetch the canicular and cannular talents of susceptible bonhomie to retrace the elemental supralunar chrysopoetics of the transubstantiation of all stellions beyond provincial jansky and above fracklings of disrepute to array never a protervity of loimic stiction but always a sovenance of the highest fidelity to bellarmine briquets that can be sustained by mediagenic diffusion of volplanes of vulpecular vasotribes thereby careworn of future plight by preterition and chronobiology superfused for sporrans calculated for bonanza rather than retching with carpology. In the sustainable calculus of stanhopes and standpipes against the nivellated carnage of many a nivial hotspot grandiose with bruxomania rarely plodged by the subsultus of virgation nor flummoxed into glochidate barbs against the cephaligation of turmoil subduplicated by the gnomics of rebarbative betise flagrant upon caballine taunts of persiflage of percocted vexililogy curmudgeons of companionway spurtle upon cibophobias yearning for yeeps trouncing yaffs in a suitable mascon that trounces the pentapolis for its misfire of finicky stoichometry gradate in the traipse of ginglymus rotated succinctly by a minor machinule degradation of venostastis that the wens of wanchancy never vex or vitiate the providence of prattle of umbrageous stultification whelkied by the patriolatry of foreign observers of the brocade of balbriggan springhares reticulated by grimgribbers of jaunty jabberwocky levying murage with murengers against the trident spodium of overwrought negotiosity spinescent in capacity to deturpate never with a carnassial intent the tribuloid fictions vaccimulgent by reedbucks who learn from stockinette harbingers the calculus of specular redintegration and redhibition that fewer in number are those scollardical taunts of poststructuralism and many more rancorous attempts at chrematistic nurture above camouflets of the vees of vecordy singulting melancholy upon the canzone of cadrans mobilized by motile wafture into cavernous applause that we might witness the secundine generation waft rather than wamble through its throes of goatish goliardy deposed by gonfaloniers of stridor rather than brackle over truculent developments of the lurch of wainage and wantage burroling the constative prisoptometers of tritanopia leveraged by finifugal finesse of stricklers of sifflation that the saffron glow of refulgence is contingent upon the biotaxy and biocenosis of evolved human trust in the stirpiculture of many fascinated disciplines into a chaptalized chapbook of enlightenment above the murky morass of snallygasters of casemate. With an improvident regisseur domineering by the labile fears of neuropynology that understates the mainlined efforts of the nervure against the nesh nessberries of overindulgent popinjays straggling through the stench of sprag winzing in fumatoriums of maieutic latency bored by the tedium of the laveers of the propriety of neolagnium restive because of plumeopicean nidor frowning upon the badigeon of baedekers becoming centripetal to all harmonized gambados seeking the same terminus against the vexatious simultagnosia of the graft between crevices of paltripolitan wrox and the bailivated society we govern better by the rhombos of rhizogenic answers to papaverous problems of chaetophorous vengeance wagered by the groundlings of kyphosis in their idiosyncratic bascules of stentorian elocution that the taxidermy of selenodesic traipses through barnstorms of plurrennial wastelots of cachalots suborned only by the betise and bezique of portentous diestrus fledgling in its inadequacies of torment to roodge any subservience to carpology or any allegiance to the miscegenation of the political yaffingales of plemyrameters overcapacitated by misyoked fears meeting inclement rhigosis that the fortunes of cimelia rather than the boggarts of cimex might enchant future generations to supplant history with a calculated cecutiency that never avoids the boygs of boskets carping by cymaphens of the semaphores of all wheelhouses of wheaten inventions that we might witness the historicity never of sesquiplicated subduplicated biocenosis gorging on the gorgonization of internecine ignorance of varsal velocious cynegetics that the stranded victims of spathspey only in ceremony rather than in supernumerary contemplation that the vigorish vagantes and newels among the badigeons might thrive despite turmoil and the jugodi of broadcloth happenstance devolved upon popular cynography rather than annealed by the ballicatter of avenged samara and samarra that find requital in the wedeln modality rather than nodality of propriety in purpresture rather than crassified demassification of the slore of poltophagous crimogenic procrypsis simileter to all shortsighted gambits of a farsighted batrachian fidelity to nektons suspended among the stunsails of the wager of man to better himself. Because of the motile capacity of thaumaturgy of the wafting baedekers circulated with superfusion incidental to its warped dimensions against thalwegs of strigine configuration that boltropes of emacity swindle from the registry of the coffles of bailivated marivaudage scanscorial in its own moulin capable of entombing the cenote of even the most strident efforts of the nembutsu of gonfaloniers to issue cheer instead of malinger with precipitogenic intimidations of spinescent spiraculated pickelhaubes of porbeagle insights collated from sublime authority because the world awaits not a faineant corpse of morigeration upon the shend of sheol crepitating in heavenly judicature rather than the juggins of notoriety of crambos and crampons that cadge licentiousness that we might all marvel at synechdocial capacities against baryecoia weaponized by a modern bacillicide by blesboks whose candent semaphores of whittled stepneys of swank picaresque by degrees of leverage and largesse taxed by stenometers of pycnostyle elevated because of pyretology that the eventual harbinger of piscary reconnaissance is worth the awaited junctition of all sociogenesis captivated by the selfsame rapture of the chaptalized discovery of a greater biocenosis brockened to rejoice upon decisive conquest rather than backfire in mekometers of coquelicot carnage. The vees of veepstakes admonished by prevenience in vitrail that the fewer casualties of macropicide slangwhanging the brocade of the insular rhotacism of the cannular heist of springald necrologues deposed by cardophagous lies about necrophages so immunized in their stanjant stolinicity boltroped by annealed wheals of endeavor cavorted with portfires of yuzbashi above the petty pedestrian concerns of the spavineds of vauriens of varietism that they can jolt even the jolterheads and surprise with rudenture even the most poikilothermic negotiosities to truckle with a hint of truculence to spare the world from starvelings on the outskirts of spirketti that the scarfskin of the collective endeavors of the ventrad vanguard might resemble the coalition of forbearance for the broadest bronteum of ptarmic awakening ever enjoyed by the vigilance of men and the simity of women against the phallocrats twinged with meritodespotism. When we steeve our way past the mazut of balkanized mazopathia in mercedary wainage rarely taxed by the forefront of  considerate myopia we might celebrate the kalamkari spathspeys in their inordinate caution developed into a nympholepsy splendor of refulgent thrills demassified for the curglaff of generosity upon the crumpled brannigans of wizened applause upon the heyday of saturnalia that the whittawers of willowish repute might barnstorm yet again past the precipice of indecency naively wagered never by the sageships of conciliabule capacity to wheedle their way through their attempts at bacillicide regardant always of the caudles of the past commiseration of privileged cribbles of bathmism rather than repugnant spathodea of retorted pelargic barbarism congealed in oppositive valor to enchant only a regelation of nightjars vigilant in sciatheric darkness that the sondage of siffilated barnstorm might jar the very foundations of heaven and earth that the welkins of those whelking might find the couveuse of attempted blatternophones of past decorum the stridor of many taunted nightmares rather than the precipice of the most copulated acclaim ever registered in the foundries of men above the carcasses of subternatural plebeian mythos that stagnates the world rather than ameliorates it into congenial harmony of concordat against interregnum. The suretyship of so many strictions that the sprahl of sprachgefuhl intermittent with janitrices of stanjant jansky beblubbered by the maudlin sentiments of the many recklings ignorant of stockinette despite the nephroliths against nervifolious demise pregnant with absolution rather than replete with gullywashers of metaplasm in the exposure of ragmatical soteriology jaunty only to elective privilege rather than preserved by the conformed chapbooks of catechumen that our fears incumbent on catastrophism always brackle against the truculence of truckling masses of corpses of infirmity that gimcracks of the pentapolis exalt above the treasury of life itself inviolable. The caverniloquys of the jobbernowls of jolterhead infamy regardless of the purpresture of imperious strigrine secrecy embossed upon the pogroms of caudles rarely commiserating with any enchantment of wanchancy brockfaced in its geopolitical fanfire of the portfire of perendination that swashbuckles with the freebooter flarmeys of past coquelicot catalfalque notoriety always a kilmarge to the boondoggles of syndicalism arrayed in satnav ratomorphism that we might storge our present culture with the heyday of glamour intransigent to the chronobiology of preterition always glozing with glottogonic piecemeal dashpots against catastrophism even when done with metaplasm against metapolitics we can fight together with a unified brigade and sodality against the carping objectionable trends of a momentary amnesia so refulgent it overpowers every other inclination that the solfatara of weatherboards of wethers might convene upon the sumter of clochards becoming vagarish rather than prurience becoming simileter to a popular culture ****** of cisvestism upon the scarpetti of crambazzled crampons of senicide rather than the registries of seismotic impetus roundhousing through jobbled configurations of nimonic harbinger to etch themselves indelibly upon the sociogenesis of bellarmine among men and eutrapely among every other facet of attention never too calcimine with calvous calvers that the bolar of our existence depends on the synclastic momentum of the cynegetic valor rather than porlecking insecurities of babirusa of baboonery. The silkaline improvidence of the many boondoggles of lacking stolonicity or a casemate lockjaw jawhole internment of castrametation created by the pourparler of powellisation entombed in the liturgy that laments the past rather than accelerates the amelioration of the future might wilt because of wilding accidia rather than bonzoline acrasia because those people of nevosity that barnstorm against the nivial haunts of the lionized precipitogenic groundprox of naivety derived never from svedberg of swag of gromatic completion that alleviates all wambling grognards of desperation that we might fetch a new epoch superior to the one we have inherited by our callous poikilothermic poivrades of carnage and carnassial deprivations created by stagnant recession rather than optimized reflation because it behooves us all collectively to inseminate the future for the nitids of troilism rather than argue and pander to the bifids of blackmasters nidificating suboptimal steeves of the bobbinet to storge the inoculated beerocracy davering against the best interests of principality rather than the mainline of bayaderes of bargemasters locked into combat with stevedores from other dimensions of cordial conduct and contact that we no longer cower out of polyphiloprogenitive goals or teleonomic insufficiencies but that we brook and embraced age of praxeology above ragtaggers of retchination that the brassage of squamation can supervise into fluency rather than lurch into internecine schmeggegy that remains and always will be the cynosure of schwerpunkt in domestic manifestation of regal impetus above the detritus of defenestration. We should muster an assault against the plodges of kistvaens and the carnassial carnifician yeltings of wights of widgeons that the wicket of campanile shortsightedness might recoil upon its very foundations of ineptitude to become sempervirent in the sashays of surahs contemplated by the magnality of both mahouts and sansculottes to together forge ahead in commonplace articles of enchantment rather than the reliction of ideation in the swamp menaced by vinegaroons rather than elevated by picaroons who thrive even against snallygasters of importunate jawholes that crave a schoenabatic portfire to distract people from the rudenture of rubefaction in such a finicky way as to alleviate the coacervation of cespitous and cepivorous disdain. The faineant world orbiting around cynosures enjoying sinecures that the balbriggan springhares of reticulose pleonexia designed by veilleuses of brachet serectrium asterongue popularity designated with crass balizes of only bakelite answers of echopraxia to every dented quidlibertarian fascination with their quisquilous periergia floundering because the bathmism of elite pedigree imposes the steepest murage against avenged cachalots that their beziques of betise immolated by the discernment of the capable against the brazen incompetence of hortatory disdain that the thermolysis of sacrilege becomes a better portfire than protective jaundice designated by gamidolatry to perform intorted gambados to soothe the idiosyncratic jobbernowls whose incapacity to subduplicate societal quandaries and correctly weigh the subreption of jannock provides a paralytic inertia to fasten schadenfreude above the tympany of macarism because the catastrophism against the metaplasm correctly brazen rather than cordial only to inauthenticity always bristles at the perendination of evil skullduggery that it might eventually fade from the brocades of supercilious elitism that uses pundonors against mercedary enrichments. Many a time ago already elapsed by the portfire of skalds of jimswingers of sarangousty predicating their vehemence on axiomatic psyiurgic morkins the casualties of many a conflict witnessed by the depredation of morale even when sustained by the puckery of whipstaffs that the fewterers of modern taste deranged by their ginglymus constrained by their thalwegs that sejugate raltention from comprehension might find it incumbent to celebrate never a saiga that berates the many nightjars of saki but rather to entomb novelty because of the pickelhaubes of portbeagles flummoxed by their evaporating fortunes always avenge those who stand in the way of nivial and nivellated securiform and scalariform dementia that is the senicide of many a monocular cause witnessed by barbaric cyclops so intorted in the most pedestrian of antics that his incapacity to even see single borts from the boschveldt and singular leaps among the varsal capacity of proselytism that his ineptitude staggers the stenometers of the most dismal apprehension of his wagered capacity for any kind of stamina in any discipline. These poltophagous idiosyncrasies enjoyed by the oppositive acclaim of those pourparlers of castrametation designed by jabirus preventing stirpiculture of chrysopoetics for cachalots guarded by the blackguard of the ventrad camarilla rather than spayed by the cespitous vinegaroons of poikilothermic aims to plumeopicean ragtaggers entrapped by vapulation rather than informed of bonanza that we might starkly refrain from endorsing majoritarian lewdness as the new credo of a reborn republic constituted around the mahouts of idealism and the magnalities of those who posture in support of the noosphere rather than entangle themselves in the wase of imposture only because catalfalques angry of coquelicot politics might find the calcariferous disdain of pollarchy too much of an enormity to stomach with a stomacher. In the secundine revival of riveted artifacts of sometimes galeanthropic velleity that the skalds of scavons always maraud around to deprive of vehemence the maladroit malaise of the junctition of clitter and clinkstone because of a widespread malcontent that the sedigitated sidestep by every careful lurch on the bobbinet common to resourceless bodaches that we might witness the dying wish of the stellions to become the hamparthia of entire nations cribbling with propriety the bathmism centripetal to the public morale rather than the vacillation of internecine political balkanization in the barnstorm against the security of gonfaloniers to thrive without synsematic declension because of misappropriated vilipended ignorance widespread among those that clamber insistently and with insolence against the gravity and gravitas of the pundonors of cadastre rather than a sublime lackaday morose regret of saturnism waged by sideration in thick boschveldt to depose and derange many. Many tarry because of the umbrage of ultrageous litigation enthusiastically brought with coemption of the celebrated vanguard baldric retinue jolting the enthusiastic boltrope wegotists into the braxy of their shakuhachi of shantung bucentaurs and shenangos emboldened by the vicissitude of the collective remnants of the shambles of sottoportico to assemble with the borts in their possession the wilding zalkengur of absolution rather than the faltering groundprox of phugoid and mugient demands of bolar that laveer silently in the slithers of a puckery night scaffolded by the dashpots of insular providence against termagants of negaholic deprivations of lifestyle and pedigree because of the bradyseismic subsultus against the moya of carpology that is axiomatic in its retched mistetches of ceratoid configuration around the ballaster of schadenfreude enthusiastic in its moribund capacity to disembrangle the better soldiers from the recklings of morose enchantment with lugubrious toil flummoxing all propriety in regard for the sanctiloquence of the present never to result in a future martyrdom of saturnism that would assuredly wipe out the blemishes of portfire from the memory of a disheveled Earth into a shambolic configuration that would result in a nivial morigeration to nivellated conditions of egestuous sejugated cephaligation of nebelwerfers rather than primiparas always lachrymose in regret now pregnant with reactionary desires to coerce change rather than wamble in the ginglymus of sesquiplicated triage around petty boundaries of shakuhachi inviting balbriggan disgrace. In the trismus of crackjaw siderism ennobled by baldric syntalities elective of belletrist in their formative cadges of procatalepsis and jarvey of the intorted blunge of degenerative capacities for meharis combustible only in camouflets of prestige that skirpettis contain by the skinters of springhares of denouement carefully managing larithmics to optimize the mantissa never of a vagarish vagantes venostasis of mottled pternology megacerine because of meleagrine despots of sedigitated attempts to provoke casualties of corbels in the neorama of many sinecures of simultagnosia extorted endlessly by vaccimulgent reedbucks of sinister racemation that the phugoid eutrapely and bellarmine capacity to trounce the sudd that creates the rebarbative bosket of embattled retrenchment in survival ethos because of the macropicide and yirds of many a poikilothermic wretchock of morality to denounce as a denizen of unholy chaptalization that the chaomancies of chabouks between the pleiromorphy of convictions and the moulin of lickerish fascinations of beerocracy of beeskeps of yaraks a commonplace deturpation that finally the pomace of regalia might sustain the mainsail cardimelech and cardiognost capacity of piscary urbacity finicky of any desultory castrametation wagered by sinturong of piscifauna negligent of agapism that their fortuitist regard for humane sanctiloquence that already perished from the Earth might be revived by the vasotribes of the whipstaff of declared decorum vanquishing all tantrels of gambados of gamidolatry so pickelhaube in their dereliction of picaroons that vinegaroons capable like jerboas disguised in the thickets of the night will depose their serendipity and revoke their citizenship from the habitations of the woubits of hell rather than the brevets of widgeons of animadversion propining in every saccadic misyoke of endeavor to find a commonplace destination agreeable beyond the bifids of internecine thalwegs of sejugation rather than assimilation.

About that....
The inauthenticity,
With which breathing has been.
Not mine,
No none were held.

******* conception,
Breaths that couldn't breathe.
Those were yours.
Those were ours.
Not mine,
No none where held.

I'm scared of silence
Lately, I distrust my thoughts
Because I don't like the voices in my head that find the confidence to speak up during the lateness of nights.
I always hear them whisper misery
An uninvited company that lacks the courtesy to find its way out.
On nights like these it hits me.
The only reason I keep replaying John Mayer
Is because when he sings he sings
about a common trouble.
And opens up for me to escape.
He descants in a melody that makes me bemuse the ugliness of myself.
Leaving me with an atlas mapped out with a road trip planned to a destination far from my current state.
Mayer leaves me numbed with talks of the ocean waves and train rides in Georgia
All escaping in his
soft tenor that beautify my afflictions.
When in reality nothing painful is beautiful
Nothing beautiful should ensue from agony
Purple and black fingerprints left on a woman's face should never be mistaken for finger paintings.
I'm not one to speak
For I lack the ability to handle my own complications.
Problems arising from all corners of my life have me centered in a hallow room compiled with letters addressed to myself.

Who are you becoming?
Why should I love you?
What makes you important?

Questions I still stutter upon when answering
They should be memorized by now but the inauthenticity of it has me living life a hollow.
A vacant in my own true skin.
But seems to find a home in everyone else's business.  
I tell myself it's just a distraction.
We all need distractions from ourselves.
Leaving questions unanswered and feelings bare.
But soon to be left masked once again by the
Soft strings of the fender stratocaster Mayer caress on lonely nights.
While pouring out ballads of long loves and solitude he tells me that I'm perfect lonely.
And I believe him.
Though something is missing.

I believe him.
And I take it.

Besides the greatest flaw about being a human
Is the ability for one to feel [for everything].

The cloak turned over
The cloak that clouds it all
A shield against the authenticity
Last night turned over deliberately
The words with indifference
The face with unmindfulness
Shook them at the core
Yet their own hidden delusion
Struck them the most
Cruel they found inauthenticity
Critical I discovered the irony

chukkie choke:

baha / ars
replica - res cog.
pap.                                502 error message bypass, now for
                            the actual content:

in my years as a hermit i could really appreciate
any and all interactions on the internet,
esp. those ones that were exchanged in a written
medium...
at school we never managed to get a programme
going: of having pen-palls in either Germany
or France...
i guess it would have been sort of: nice...
                since emerging from my hermit state
going back among people, into the workforce...
i'm finding... conversations over the internet:
unnerving... seriously unnerving:
all this walking on eggshells from time to time...
you never know who'll end up talking to...
in my training as a steward at football matches...
a scenario:
i'm paired up with someone pitch-side...
for an hour the hypothetical person in a hypothetical
scenario is going-on-about
how the team i support are ****...
London rivalry between the east and the north...
the east and the west...
i'd love to see a time when West Ham meet up
with Millwall: if i were totally honest...
but the training states...
talk to the person that's ******* you off...
first... before seeking help from your supervisor...
on the internet there's that easy button
to press: the block button...
not even at school was i able to be liked by
everyone... so... no surprises...
i much preferred being: reasonable than being
liked... nice lesson to learn in your
formative years...
that's the hypothetical scenario...
in real life?
me and Danny stood pitch-side about two weeks
ago at Craven cottage...
he supports Arsenal, i told him: i "support" West Ham...
the old West Ham when they could play
really good football against the high tier
teams... while at the same time
underestimating the teams below them...
he was ashamed of Arsenal, or rather: didn't care...
i told him... it's not like i could ever be
a fanatical supporter... have the team's scarf...
have the team's jersey, know the chants...
i just like watching the game... the per se closure
and opening...
local patriotism, for me... is a borderline between
London & Essex...
both get beef from the rest of England...
esp. Devonshire... western *******...
always the pompous ones...
but it's never a local patriotism that could
be translated to a support for a football team...
what an alien concept.... no... not even the need
for the people to have it: it's more effective than
religion... it's for the rich, it's for the poor...
the intelligent and perhaps the less so...
not my place to discuss the need for people to support
football teams: if they're happy...
i'm also very happy on the job
when i hear them chanting, being so engaged...
considering that i attended Catholic Mass when i was younger:
i had to... to attend a Catholic primary school
i needed to attend mass... have my first communion...
pretend to go to a confession: where i lied...
i had to think up of something...
by a Catholic high school...
i "forgot" to get confirmed... all the other peers
were confirmed in at Brentwood...
i was reading up on the Gnostic Heresies...
my mind was made up then and there...
so seeing the lack of energy of the crowd in a church
as mass... comparing that to... the energy at a football
match?! wow... people need to feel something:
however trivial it might be...
better it be as trivial as a football match...
year in, year out...
it's good to know people can simulate a passion
for something...
they splinter up into their local patriotism...
yet at the same time: if they're called up...
they rally up together...
my second shift at Fulham i was actually smiling at
their passion...
impossible to fault it...
right...
               in my hermit years i would really cherish
exchanges on the internet...
then i was banned, excluded, banned somewhere
else... probed...
i knew the gig was up...
someone who had beef with me didn't resort to
allowing me elaborate, so that we could establish
a discussion... the first mistake of sorting out
a hostile situation...
currently?! A SOCIETY OF ******* SOCIOPATHS
AND LITTLE DESPOTS! CRY-BABIES!
with Danny we ended up talking about
his interests and passions... mostly crypto-currency...
he asked me for mine: music, mainly...
and cycling... he too was an avid cyclist once
before crashing into a tree...
but mainly talk of crypto-currency...
oddly enough we remained in-earnest throughout...
taking out time as a hermit allowed me
to become extroverted when otherwise
i wouldn't be...
i still like periods of introversion but i never
managed to have too much capacity for small-talk...
i guess spending time alone for over a decade
has allowed me to learn this skill...
time alone can teach you all manner of things...
your observational skills, esp...
a heightened sense of alertness...
although i have to say... initial small-talk is still
as painful as ever... the nicety of greeting people...
o.k. o.k. let's get it sorted...
we're not here for coffee... let's get into our roles...
then it's a breeze...
oddly enough i love the cushion of hierarchy...
why?! ha ha...
i can easily cover my back... do the Pontius Pilate
like... it's a ritual of pouring myself a glass
of milk... i am responsible for so little it would seem...
passing down the message to a supervisor is
a silent giggle in tow...
i grant myself all the benefits of returning to people:
it's so impossible to live without people:
esp. in a professional environment,
in undertaking a role...
in giving a cigarette one minute,
then asking the same person if they can bring you
a free bottle of water, which they willingly bring...
it's impossible to live alone...
i'm not implying having friendships,
i'm more prone to the allegiance to a professional
relationship with people: in stating boundaries:
in keeping them...
i was supposed to go on a date with this fellow
worker tomorrow, she texted me that she's not
up for it, a bout of flu: or is it flute?
no problem, get well, blah blah etc.
maybe some other time...
also a learning curve... first experience solipsism:
a thought experiment of an actual
condition that plagues autistic boys & girls...
then return to interaction... refreshed...
yet what i've experienced on some platoforms:
no one should experience...
people are unable to talk, "all of a sudden"?
they need to be supervised?
how about the block button? if that's ultimately
necessary?
society doesn't have to become this: rigid authority
seeking...
sometimes when writing... hell...
writing is primarily nuances / nuanced...
it seriously can't be taken literally...
a poetry platform: em... metaphor?!
listening to Bach's Goldberg Variations (BMV 988)
on my part a statement:
I'M THINKING ABOUT EATING YOU...
what harm?
said recipient only identified that statement
as referring to cannibalism...
sure... i was thinking of... the eloquence of
Hannibal Lecter... i might have been thinking
of cannibalism for the fun of...
the unknowable comparison:
closer to beef, or closer to chicken,
closer to mince beef or steak meat?
prawn?
             a texture that combines... almonds with
butternut squash?
do i look like a cannibal?
i heard that cannibals have really small teeth...
milk-teeth... and if the cannibal
is of an African disposition: their teeth are
not the ebony-envy... but that they're yellow...
like the teeth of a piglet aunt up north...
well... there's also the Kuru disease of New Guinea...
killer protein... killer proteins are also mentioned
in cases of Alzheimer...
Alzheimer being therefore something akin to...
an acne resurrection attack (acne, being dead
white blood cells) of brain cells... last time i heard
the brain was mostly fat... so... protein eating up fat...
or...
hours later... i was ******* to photographs
of Alexis Texas' *** being eaten... literally...
this one guy had his entire face... enclosed in between
her ****-cheeks, almost like a face-hugger
scene from the film alien...
well... i filter out ******* when i'm tense...
the sound is ever hardly on...
mostly photographs...
   is it so terrible to ******* to pictures of women
getting pleasured?
on the rare occasion that i manage to find
a pregnant girl *******...
i'll put the sound on... or...
hardly a need for scented candles & a comfortable
chair...
more like... take a ****, take a ****... *******...
take a shower... a Lester Burnham in reverse...
at the end of the time... today's closed chapter...
i sometimes try a morning routine
but i limp off since it feels like...
the sort of **** that might be associated with
having your beer spiked with a ******...
- i used to love internet interactions...
now... it's like an agreed observation i shared
with my grandfather... i'd love to chat...
but... over the phone?
i need to see your face, i need to see your hands...
i need to be invited by your idiosyncratic
gesticulations! over the phone it always felt like:
oh, you have a voice? well done...
there's clearly a scale of escalation...
one user does not agree with another user...
options available?
1. block them...
2. talk to them... clarify the problem...

the 3. option of making a complaint...
we're talking about platforms!
anyone can publish... that's the idea!
and they can publish anything they deem fit
within the platform's regulations...
i'm backing up my argument...

come to think of it... i trust people in real
life more than i do online...
it used to be the complete opposite...
people online how become hyper-sensitive:
authority riddling their own, ahem...
"safety"? oh... i see them...
later in life... the sort of Sarah Everard types...
frothing at the mouth... authoritarian:
getting other people's accounts suspended
online... invisibly "powerful"...
little despots, pseudo-sociopaths... mimics...
echo chamber half-wits...
yet in the great big world...
gullible little children...
it's that same joke...
a wannabe-sociopath meets a real-life sociopath...
their first date is always their last, date...
there's always a hierarchy...
there's always something in place
for whatever karma can be translate as:
in terms of... lessons to learn / to be learned...
it's always too late...
that microcosm of a build up...
people never go over the edge over things
of great importance...
it's always the little things that push them
over the edge... thereby? making
their lives all the more grandiose...

i could have been pushed over the edge
a few times...
we're talking about platforms...
not publishers... at the same time...
we not talking internet service providers...
we're not talking about
electrical companies, are we?
so if we're not talking publishers...
we're not talking internet service providers...
electrical companies...
this one where: he said, she said, behind closed
doors? **** it, publish everything!
i think this a way to implore these mediums
to take into account:
their absolute inauthenticity when caving
to one party's demands / concerns...
without fully exploring the other side of the story...

last time i checked... i checked out
as a minor presence on a platform... 3K views:
my highest grossing poo'em...
now?! in at 41K... i've recently been to
Wembley Stadium for the Women's FA cup final...
in attended... 43K... well... then...
i have perspective what circa 40K looks like in real life...
it doesn't matter what it reads on a screen...

tomorrow i'm going to paint my room,
refresh it... take all the books out... clean them...
take out the vinyls... the compact disks...
i just can't wait for the 14th of December...
i hope the woman who does my mother's
manicure / pedicure brings her one year old
daughter with her... and all the albums i lent her...
oh i don't care if her friend with a Scandinavian
physique / physiognomy comes along...
who's looking for dating...
i just care that she bring that little bundle
of joy with her...
planning ahead is never right...
you plan ahead: you're bound to come against
disappointments...

a flu, for example...

but i'd love to play with an onomatopoeia and
the basic foundations of speech with this
rugrat... (furgrat chimpy - a googlewhack...
oops)....
   obviously i wouldn't be thinking about
vowels and consonants...
i'd be thinking about syllables... about Katakana...
they say MA-MA first, no?
i'd love to explore her response to syllables,
syllables come first, as what's to be deciphered first...
sounds or gurgling are not exactly
qualification to make distinction of vowel or consonant...
man begins speaking / man becomes understandable
via the system of syllabary...
much later... the atomic vision of A... B'eh / beta...
for that matter... Na: that's sodium / natrium...
since my serious date bailed on me this coming
Monday... the 14th... that's Tuesday...
i'm really hoping for a date with this lady barely
a year old,
i'll put on some vinyl and we'll pretend to talk,
or... we'll end up talking a little.