"You had to be there, I guess".
What will they think of us in a century’s time?
The sheer knuckle-draggedness of it all
Neo-fascism as neo-fashion.
Guns, guns, guns.
The celebration of vacuousness as virtue.
It’s hard not to think of us all staring into the void right now.
But if we stay silent, we die.
Fight hate with hope.
Celebrate diversity with inclusivity.
Otherwise history will judge us, harshly.
It’s not that difficult, people.

.i'm sorry, but i've looked at english grammar for far too long, to buy into the current *******... i just came from behind the iron curtain, i'm not about to go into "hiding" under a silicon curtain... valley my ***, silicon curtain, the end. gender, "neutral" pronouns? pronouns can't be "neutral", neutered... neuter via plural? they being a non-descriptive associated of both a he and a she? ****... most languages can't escape gender-inclusivity of their nouns... for example, names of cities... now you can have gender neutral nouns, i'll concede that... London: gender neutral... Paris: gender neutral... and then of course the more universal nouns in English, predicated by either a definite or an indefinite article: making gender-ascription to nouns even harder... because that's how the english language operates: something is either definite, or it's indefinite... all the continent languages, however, ascribe genders to their nouns... either masculine or feminine, or whatever... is this some sort of quasi-anglophone envy of continent languages? say, in my nativspreschen... słońce (the sun) is feminine... księżyc (the moon) is masculine... Warszawa (Warsaw) is feminine... Niemcy (Germany) is actually gender neutral, in that it refers to a people... Rosja (Russian) is feminine... Anglia (England) is feminine... there is noun-ambiguity regarding "gender" in continental languages... which the English language lacks: due to the definite / indefinite articulation via (a- -the      "ism")... pronoun gender "neutrality" never existed... because... gender-appropriation of nouns was never on the cards in this language... and never will be... come on... you really don't need some foreigner to tell you the basics of your own tongue... i hate to even associate myself with such pieces as are provided in the form of the "useful idiots"... i hate it... it's like asking to fiddle about with a down syndrome competitor at a su doku olympics... it's not fair!

i only really had two loves in my life... Paris, circa 2005 and Edinburgh circa in the range of 2004 through to 2007... those really were my only true loves... London? London just grew on me, esp. the east end... i became infected with its heterogeneity, so much so, that whenever i visit my grandparents, in the most feral of lands, Poland... and peer into its homogeneity, i am fed a staggering amount of nausea... sure, once in a while you'll spot a Roma in these parts, handling cheap chinese goods at the market, but otherwise? and... given, that i'm a first generation expatriate (eh, eh? i know what the natives call their own, "elsewhere", akin to h'america or australia)...

                 the girlfriends? eh... two, three, more prostitutes...
whoever these middle-aged men are, talking m.g.t.o.w., after two failed marriages... i was already on my way, aged 21... sure, it was fun for the first few years... i remember the tingling sensation of holding my first girlfriend's hand while watching romeo + juliet in her father's presence... that **** was cool... it's still so vivid to me... again: slandering women is not cool... i remember these girlfriends with a fondness... i don't want the anchor of bitterness to put me in one place... fondness is all the wind in the sails you will ever need to sail along... and... em... stealing one or two kisses from prostitutes... that's all...

                      the last one i left? 21... she married...
she remarried...
            and she ****** quiet a bit in between...
last time i visisted her out of a weird sense of obligation...
hand... slashed down their veins...
             i stayed for about four days...
   over a period of two nights i slept with the window
open, with my clothes on...
third night i took my clothes off...
                i inquired...
           she was waking up each morning with
a jug of coffee and turned into:
   less a masters in anthropology...
and more the russian gamer chick...
                     one night she called up her
sycophants...
               we smoked...
                     her husband wasn't home...
"then", her, "still"(?) huspand?
                   but her boyfriend was there...
i was sitting akimbo and talking to this guy...
and he told me how he ******:
my would be fiancé...
                           well... i just broke down
into the most amazing laughter...
   a laughter that put me to sleep,
a laughter that made all the people leave,
and i was left with her, alone,
in a room...
              she was still playing a video game...
while i got up and rolled another joint...
but the whole joke comes at the fact that:
i, i was the person who was always dumped...
ilona, promis, isabella...
                           they all dumped me...
but... what, a, *******, relief!
               maybe that's why i came to terms
with myself, maybe that's why
drinking in ms. amber's company
is such a joyous treat...
                 unlike most drunks...
esp. women: i do not wallow in grief,
or for that matter... hold any grievances...
all that has happened,
   has, happened, in order that i might find:
release, and in finding my release...
relief!

                            i had to mention these
scenarios... i remember the last words ilona
said to me: blah blah... by doing x
as you've continued to displease me...
blah blah... you'll never become a man!
                    true...
                                ­ who the **** want's
to be an ahston court trained poodle?!
   what, enough ***** to keep the economy
going?
        everyone knows that women
are the crown of capitalism...
                     no woman, no crown, no capitalism...
it's not even socialism at this point,
or anarchy... it's... eh... m'eh?
                                 why do only fools and horses
marry?
          ****, if there was a swan ontology
built into man? maybe... after all...
                    there is such a phenomenon
(more like a noumenon) of the widow swan,
or a widower swan...
      it's as if the animal has lost its
physical union, and transitioned into
a metaphysical union, beside the body...
   a realm of perpetuated memory,
   awaiting transcendence...
         now... i believe there's a godhead for
all things in this world...
there's the godhead of swans,
   as there is the godhead of all the other creatures...
which: gushes out ontological cueues...
pointers...
                    after all, i already said what
my two true loves were...

        Paris and Edinburgh...
                   i remember the first time i arrived
in Paris...
when i reached 3 Ducks hostel in Paris,
the guy in charge, was surprised,
that i managed to walk,
   all the way from where the drop-off was
for people arriving from the airport
by coach, some 40+ miles from Paris itself...
i walked... i breathed... i was amazed
at the Eiffel Tower...
   most people just took the underground...
plus i had a really ****** map...
didn't speak the language...
                    but that year... circa 2005... Paris...
      that was...
                          something else...
or Edinburgh, circa 2004...
                    thank god i didn't apply
to Warwick university...
      campus university *******...
         Bristol? eh... the city didn't appeal
to me...
                   Edinburgh... that's something
else...
                    even Venice is more or less:
passable...
                      
              mind you... what's this current
transgender debate about men thinking they're
women, competing in women's sports?
today i saw the perfect example
of a decent woman's sport...
  tennis... haleb vs. linette...
       **** on me, what a match...
no. 3 seed versus no. 87 in world ranking...
                          i prefer women's tennis...
with male tennis its all about
the service game: "****" advantage...
but at least in woman's tennis,
   you get longer rallies...
   and the antithesis of what an ****** sounds
like... and all that show of legs...
it's beautiful...
       beside... this "new" transgender "thing",
that **** is old...
     i always confuse the two...
     DDR...                        FDR...
Deutsche Demokratische Republik...
          Federal Republic of Germany...
   so, yeah... the former... DDR...
                 and i've heard this many times...
the same happened back then,
at the olympic games...
                          it's a joke now...
  but women from the DDR were given hormones...
to make them more masculine...
           only that... it was real chemistry
working on real biology...
   women, were given male hormones...
and competed with other females...
          now?
                      em... what if these "women",
want to compete with women...
       and can do so... if given female hormones,
added with a cocktail of male hormone
blockers?!
         the whole olympic circus is already
rigged with chemistry...
**** it: ***** all of them!
                   may the best chemist win!
**** it, jack 'em up! give each and everyone
of them the best juice!
swear to god,
   all the female atheletes back in the days
of DDR were given some hormonal++ juice...
maybe a mix of amphetamines and
        steroids...
       so... if these "women" want to
compete with women?
                     shouldn't they be given...
say... the realistic dosage of hormones...
         a body of a natural woman creates?!

****, in a time when a bilingual is deemed
a schizophrenic... because he's not a polyglot...
of course the trans movement was always going
to undermine women...
     that's why i decided, aged 21...
no... you know what?
                        i don't like stress...
              loved you, but thank god i left you...
Paris and Edinburgh became my two true loves...
and... given they're cities...
they are as intricate as any person might be...
so... not to be demeaning...
                  but a cat and mouse game...
and then being dumped...
                               i settled for the next best
thing... once a year... ****... once every five years...
if there's any Jack the Ripper urge "lurking"
in me...
                         just visit a brothel
to check your body temp. against another
body, and see if you can share the same pulse.

but as you might have already guessed,
this was the original draft:

tattooing an impermant
mark on the left arm:

    h-
              (e)
         -a-
     (lef)
                -y
                       (od)

what yah /          
יאח‎          demands...

ה‎ (he) + א‎ (alef),
   and   ח‎ (het) + ע (ayin) -

i.e. the tetragrammaton
squared -
  laughter of the interchange.         ע

p.s. i still don't
see how Adam conceived of
Abel, or Cain...
   how a-lef or a-yin is a consonant,
transcendent...
given the hebrew ah is:
guised in the name kametz...

i see a story of two Adams...
and i called them,
Aleph                  and Ayin.

As culled from an arts magazine, 13 March 2019

Socialist Realism - The official doctrine in Soviet art and literature after 1932 that evolved from the traditional commitment to social and civic concerns into an all-pervasive general ideological mandate.

            -Yevgeny Yevtushenko, 20th Century Russian Poetry


collective exhibition space vibe community
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defined commodified Indigenous
identity tone-deaf decolonial
narratives populist intertwined
exhibition curatorial vision
culture local artists arts district small galleries
DIY spaces speaking out against
gentrification displacing shelter
studio space elsewhere late stage capitalism
collective mantra underdog art savior
corporate entity partnering insensitive
ignorant collective brown people art
contemporary work that may not fit
into establishment art galleries
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local statement of expression excitement
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looks like ongoing local artists going
to be engaged in planning commissioned
project community buy-in consulted members of the creative community Indigenous artists curators museum
directors professors burgeoning landscape
cultural framework critique talk individuals
entities inclusivity open
dialogue opportunities project
conversations collaboration discuss
your projects share our work with you
common ground work together healthy sustainable
accountable decolonization

Last summer, you were sporting short shorts, a tank top, flip flops, and a smile so big it took up half your face. You used to frolic about the beach with your best friends, pushing each other around and teasing each other about the boys with tousled hair and dreamy eyes. You were happy then. Your hair wasn't an issue, nobody made remarks about the blackness of your skin, and you got along with everybody.

You heard so much about high school, and were more than excited to push past the doors to your supposed freedom. The first few days weren't too bad, until you realized that you had nobody to giggle and whisper with. All around you were beautiful girls with tan skin and blonde hair--so different from your brown skin and braids. And when you stood beside the girls with dazzling eyes and bright smiles, you couldn't help but feel inferior. When you became aware of their narrow waists and thin legs, you began pinching at your stomach and ******* in--trying to be just like them.

Just last year, you were the most outspoken girl in your whole class. Suddenly, your voice has gotten lost somewhere in your throat. Your anxieties fluctuate, and your stress increases. But you find
comfort in the contents of your fridge and sub-consciously begin eating and eating and eating until you feel satisfied. Here you are, undressed, standing before the mirror, staring at the number that has appeared on the scale in disgust. Nobody will ever love me, you think to yourself, as you point out all your flaws.

Your mother throws dresses your way, but you refuse to wear them. Some girls offer invitations to parties, but you decline. Why? Because you feel too unattractive for anyone. You feel undeserving of any love or inclusivity whatsoever. The old you is gone. Your confidence has evaporated and your self-esteem has disappeared.

It's strange how much someone can change over the course of one year.

My mind is a totalitarian regime.

I build up walls, paranoia, panopticon. (And to me, Denmark is a prison.)

Keep the voices, the evils of the world out.

An ideology, power, purpose,

Convinces me of the diseases, the deviants,

That risks an illusion to be shattered.

I am my own dictator, hail.

I control words—words are power—

I write my own narratives, make my own excuses,

Create heroines and gods to populate the prison walls. (He was a son of God—a phrase which, if it means anything, means just that—and he must be about his Father’s business, the service of a vast, ******, and meretricious beauty.)

I rewrite constellations, make them smaller,

Build babels, buying more time.  

I tell that amnesiac blackness: that it cannot hurt me; it can’t touch me.

Those labyrinthian libraries of sky charts and lovely flower dictionaries, rooms of polychromatic paintings, which I gathered with gayety as a child—I’m still a child—I haul into the fire,

Ignorant wretch.

We live a part of a global economy, where inclusivity and transparency criticize, perfect.

I can’t stand the critics, I cry, ******!,

Condemn them to death by a thousand cuts,

Slicing and dicing, I can hear their silent pleas,

They speak to me, You are loved, Let your family in, Please stop

Please please please stop please stop stop stop speak to please stop speak to me

Horrible hungry faces, they don’t cry as I peal skin from bone,

With shards I crush those voices, with glass, broken mirrors,

Me to speak stop please to speak stop stop stop please stop please please please  

Break down the walls,

why should you die before your time?
An open market is prone to crisis,

These newcomers, it only takes one to break your heart.

Things with merit are gems; scarcity creates value.

Enjoy the labour of love and life, it is a gift of God,

Dance under pixel skies, they **** pride, ****,

Open the floodgates, the dictatorship crumbles and crumples under the weight of these tired eyes

That see light rushing out from the cell window as visions and vicissitudes

A cry from the streets outside

The end is nigh, Night is coming!

One cannot sleep with starry skies in the eyes.

Stay awake, because the guards are coming,

Remember—you are to be tried for warcrimes, hail.

You and me, we can shuffle off this mortal coil, our self slaughter a mere trifle

In this ocean of failed realties, as man to cosmos.  (All I want is blackness. Blackness and silence.)

Cause this flesh to melt I beg,

Keep cutting, smaller pieces,

No, the sunrises, it’s ****** and orange,

Citrus, it burns in these wounds,

I feel pain, I feel, warm with this ambiance,

A jacket to prevent morning chill, breathing wisps,

I don’t want to leave, I don’t want to die,

I don’t I don’t now don’t don’t don’t no I don’t want to leave no leave me

Wait!—


(Feb 7 2016)

A love so deep, it rips apart your unhealed skull.
A mystery of illusions, inclusivity is dared to be dispelled.
May I hold you?
Or am I too far away.
Can I feel you?
Just a touch to make me beg of your despair.
Unwritten poetry, a querulent secrecy of written misery and longing.
I want to love, may I love?
Whom can be loved more than the love of thyself?
I fall to my aching pits.
I feel you...
But you are not here.

I engage in transness
but with no emphasis on transition
I am not one to the other
I am on a continuum that can't be defined
to male or female
if I opened up on what parts define me
you'd be in for a while
my transness is not fixed
my transness is evergrowing and bountiful
it doesn't stop at male or female
I've passed what it means to be trans
I've ran the marathon
and won at the finish line
transness has it's own path
not what cisgender people decide
I live in a revelation of social control
by what's under inclusivity
the performance of transitioning is over
I engage in transness
and I exist with no finish line

The bird's company
is getting
lonelier
as the flock grows
All I hear around me
ever
a cacophony of
chirps
whistles
squawks
an endless song
of open inclusivity
I open my lion's maw
and release a sad bellow
the birds stop
and scream a unified friend
then it's back to the beginning
verse and verse again
and I'm all on my own
with a lonely view

title: scandal tilt
body: porous: per & marie 2019:
simultaneously: preserved...

wow!

on my way back from a shift at Craven Cottage... walked through the park with great haste, sweat like a pig prior to slaughter when sitting down on the District Line from Putney Bridge to Victoria... still wearing my jacket... upon disembarking the train, took the jacket off... breathed... allowed my sweaty back to breathe, took off my clip-on tie, undid about three button from the collar down... well... i've been told before that i'm as hairy as a monkey... hairy face, hairy chest, hairy stomach... a Turkish ******* would never mind... we only travelled two stops from Victoria through to Oxford Circus... i have to write the following word in katakana... what... a *******... スカ - SUKA... *****... a female-dog... what's the ideogram of that katakana? no... it's not that simple... SUKA... thank god i was wearing my sunglasses... the Thames bore these two holes for my eyes with the glimmer of the sun being reflected come sunset... i asked my co-worker: Putney Bridge is not the last bridge of... the first bridge of London? he mentioned: isn't there one at Hammersmith? isn't there one at Richmond: i replied? favourite bridge? oh... you that film: from the 1990s... Sliding Doors... the Battersea Bridge? no no... not the Battersea Bridge... that white one, with all those Christmas Lights... it's the Albert Bridge... sure... we know the last Bridge of London is the Tower Bridge... but what bridges are there after Putney?! oh... we're not going into Oxfordshire or... Kingston-upon-Thames... **** that... London, proper... **** me... the map on google reads like some Arabic text: right to left... weird... what comes after Putney... see... when i was living in Edinburgh... at least i knew my bearings... there it was... the shining emblem of the compass... the Firth of Forth... down in London? it's a ******* Bermuda triangle! the ****** just spins and spins... people come from all other i'm like: yeah... "that"... that's not supposed to be there but... "there"...  clueless... sure as ****... after Putney Bridge you get the Hammersmith Bridge... then the Chiswick Bridge... then the Kew Bridge... then the Twickenham Bridge... that's the last proper bridge on the map... London will forever be too disorientating... at least Edinburgh is facing north... London isn't facing any direction on the compass... it just... spins out of control... so i got on the Victoria line at Victoria... two *******... one looking somewhat tame... the other... ooh... what a treat... we were only going as far as Oxford Circus... red hair... some of her's some fake... tattoos on her hands and fingers... she looked like she had piercing in her cheeks in the past... just my type: crazy... unhinged... daddy issues: whatever... and i''m standing there, tired... dead-beat... i just want to get home and drink some whiskey and scribble... about my triumph while helping a few boys sell cookies and brownies for charity by changing around their stall arrangement... because i wasn't put into the stadium to shove a lot of lard around... i'm peering through my sunglasses... oh... wait... she's digging me... oh right... she's one of those girls into the Scandinavian look? oh god, one of these ones... only hours prior i was talking to this Finnish grandfather about sports in general... i'm giving off these whiffs of Viking "beauty"... **** me: and i know what i'm goign to say next: that sort of physiognomy always attracts the happy-tattooed-hands and fingers red hair types of *******... right? where they **** is my ******* Mohawk then?! where the **** are my tattoos... i mean... i've seen dogs with eyes like these... eagerly brown and blooming with joy... any other scenario... we got off at Oxford Circus... i waited a little... she just about ****** off down the North Bakerloo route... i spotted her... obviously... she tried to give a shy glance back: would i follow her... ask her for her number... she had the most amazing: inquisitive eyes... i know... she wanted me to approach her... one of those... magical movie scenes... two strangers on the tube... blah blah... if work didn't **** me off... if i didn't have to make up for it on my own crowds from something within like: self-initiative... just my-******-up-type... no... i went down the Central Line route... travelled to Stratford... got the train to Goodmayes... bought a bottle of 200cl of brandy... some pepsi... some cigarettes... and walked past Chadwell Heath... thinking... about absolutely nothing... well... the "one that god away"... sure... it's not even whether i have the patience... i obviously have the charm... but i know how the conversation would have started and ended... so... you still don't live alone? you don't have a place for me to crash... bring all my belongings to? guess... what... what she said with her eyes... perfect! what she would later say with her tongue? no, i don't want to hear it... beccause i'd be her stereotypical loser... so... why... ******* bother? with those eyes of hers i also received: twice-more with the eyes of the boys i helped to collect more money from selling charity cookies in the park... oh **** me: more! because it was selfless! there was no ******-friction involved!  sure, i could try to rekindle my self (in the reflective, not the reflexive: myself... sense... no... that's long gone... i've aged, i've learned some pretty good lessons of reserve) with a teenage boy i used to be, who would fall asleep listening to Roxette... fading like a flower, watercolours in the rain, blah blah... but this... what's that film? Happiness of a Spotless Mind? Jim Carrey... crazy free spirited girl with red or purple or blue hair... sure... and if, myself, didn't go mad aged 21... entering a church... hearing a choir and then hear a great wind disperse the singing... sure... right now... aged 35... i'd be a proper career-boy... not caring about the lesser people in me... status-orientated... i would easily pick-up these wacko girls left right and centre... and give them a month's worth of... living out the Pretty Woman fantasy... no.. instead i have a personal library in my ivory tower of a bedroom in my parent's house filled with Heidegger's black notebooks... oh man... but this one... she had prettier eyes than an Alsatian's... she gave off whiffs of surprise... could she love me, like i am? torn? perhaps... i forgot to make a reality-check-cheque in my head... better this fleeting interaction... she... infatuated: me indifferent... at least in the moment... obviously now i think about it... sure... some, "alternative" universe... where... we might live an affordable living in... the ******* Shetland Islands caretaking a lighthouse! but my life hasn't been all that predictable to find more unpredictability all of a sudden... some exercise in a vitality for / of life... i just need little pockets of being acknowledged by the other as being recipient of existence... that usually comes along with children and handicapped people... or animals... these three categories always spot me... if i were ******* rising in the hierarchy of the truly insane-sane folk... i'd have to be as mad as a poodle-or-a-toddler's-worth-of-Mozart! ****'s sake... no no no... i'm not buying that trip! **** that... i'm going my own way... to a place where the moon is a skull in the coldness of the night, and come April... there is a whiff of a Magnolia scent in the air! i call it trans-temporal pairing to some cue to a clue to this puzzle... but this one... my god... eyes like a properly bred Alsatian... so endearingly brown... she looked like a teenage girl for a second's worth of flash of time... she just looked so ****** up... like a puzzle box... and with all that make-up she slapped up... Madam Tussauds' replicas saw less... what's the retrospect? i? i'm scared of reality? last time i heard: i've been the one most detached from it... why would i be afraid of reattaching myself to it? the only reality i find comforting is... when i'm surrounded by children, retards or animals... i consider plants as inanimate objects, so no... other thoughts... mother's arthritis... a father coming to the conclusion of this career... nearing retirement... their mortality... my mortality... cinema movie love stories are sort of gone... reality doubles-down... no one was truly with me when i needed help... ergo? i helped myself the best i could... and... i don't need loved-up pretend hitch-hickers... how authentic it might seem... at least when i visit a brothel... no ******* is going to say: oh... another loser... how are losers treated in those Japanese love-hotels because of over-crowding, no-house-building "claustrophobia"?

on my way back from a shift at Craven Cottage...
tired... left the house at quarter to 9am...
came back.. at 8:30pm...
and did what? only a 6 hour shift... got paid...
hmm... good idea... i don't even know...
capitalism... whoever defends it ought to know
that there are rogue companies out there...
the current company i'm working for...
i'm supposedly an employee...
   but... they have... since November of last year...
yet to issue me with a statement to clarify
how many hours i've worked and what i'm to be paid...
they just... transfer money into my bank account:
without any: black on white clarification...
i've already heard stories about the owner and co-owner...
how they profited from the pandemic...
little pawn me... a year... i just need a year...
to get those references... even today i started talking
to this guy about joining another company...
at least that company has an online rubric in place:
where you can book in electronically
rather than rely on some bogus whatsapp messaging...
******* cowboys... meat-heads... the whole lot
of them... no logistical sensibility...
but i've done it since November... i'll wait...
i'm patience... i'll play nice... but today...
oh today was coming... they're behaving like it's
a ******* schoolyard... i'm being punished for having
mentioned already having a university education:
oh god! and a degree in chemistry!
some are studying pretend-law... or whatever *******...
or they have known each other for a bit longer...
or that i'm not talkative: professional... while they
stab each other in the back... or...
i fancy this one girl who started work...
rumours spread that a supervisor is ******* her...
but i approach her with flowers on Valentine's day...
she gets fired... i get sidelined...
          oh i know my place... it's a place that's
called the waiting game...
         but today i was *******... less capable people
were put into positions within the stadium...
me? again: to the ******* park with you...
some might say: oh... he's ben given the easy shift...
yeah... the ****** shift...
   i made due counters... i had to...
by the end of the game a ginger colt that was
ejected during the game... drunk... had nothing better
to do than to sleep in the park... i tended to him...
woke him up... waited with him for his friends to rejoin
him... so half-asleep... i comforted him with:
you team (Coventry) beat Fulham 3 - 1... happy?
he replied... why do all the best games happen when
i'm asleep? well... this must have been the first
in a park in London... you're lucky it was a gorgeous day...
but my pinnacle came when i helped these boys
who were selling homemade bakes for charity...
NSPCC... £1 a pop... but they weren't selling them...
because they position their stall right behind a tree...
so i walked up to them... listen...
you're not going to sell them... you're hiding behind
a tree... here... let's move this stall of yours...
away from the tree... and closer to the route of leaving
fans... and let's also twist the table a little so...
your BAKED-GOODS for CHARITY is facing
the people walking out of the stadium...
    i finished my shift... would you know it...
             from about 30 unsold pieces of dough...
the boys had only 2 left...
           and how they thanked me...
   fine... FINE... if this steward contra SIA hierarchy
is in place... ******* wanks...
i'll do a better job elsewhere... pacifying people...
after all... all those with those SIA badges... licenses...
oh... they know **** all of judo...
they just rush overpower: art of ****...
   first comes the art of reason...
much much later comes any physical interference...
but i'm working with half-wits...
  just because some are bulging... have a voiced-prowess...
gorilla-mating-call-warfare i call it...
they think they have a license to: attend to doors
they build up this superiority-complex...
which is great... i might therefore ask:
not that i have a PhD... but... if you're going to belittle me...
do you have a degree in chemistry?
just today... i picked up a high-viz. orange...
later it was changed to black... i picked up one with
the word: supervisor on it... because it fitted me:
2XL... oh no no... one of the other pawns inquired...
you can't wear that... but it's black...
i was told to change from orange to black...
but this one has the word: SUPERVISOR written on
it... my god... how people have learned to overvalue
themselves... or rather: how have become become
undervalued that they have to have these little battles...
the war is already lost...
whatever ******* Einstein figured this one out...
so at the end of the shift we're about to stand down...
me and my "mate" are park 3... we're looking for park 2...
right... and we're all wearing black vests... black trousers...
black coats... the crowd that's leaving?
well... you know how the English dress...
hardly in the United Colours of Benetton...
or the old way that GAP used to attire people: colourfully...
so... i'm looking for a black moth
among a cloud of dark grey moths... great!
******* genius! like i said:
i'm working with ******* meat-heads...
i'd like to say retards but they are too bulky and too angry
and too ready to stance themselves as BIG
rather than arm themselves with cunning...
o.k. o.k. work... but i got the upper hand...
i helped those boys sell those cookies... cakes... whatever...
out of their stash... we just moved the table away
from the tree... shifted it so the sign was more apparent
and... hey presto! NSPCC got its fair share...
and... my reward? the sweetest thank you any man
can receive... the outstanding look on a young boys face
that a stranger is capable of helping (him)...
that's ******* priceless... i'm writing about all those
petty squabble prior... but... that thank you:
that look of longing for hope in the future...
that's mine... i own that... or that tenderness of
the drunk boy who was sleeping in the park
waiting for the game to finish... while i gentle touched
his leg to wake him up... that too...
i don't need physical confrontation when i can:
appease... comfort... all those adrenaline junkies...
those... amphetamine-anabolic-steroid: former prison
guard types... whatever...
i know one decent move that could floor anyone...
you make a cross with your thumbs... while pretending
to pray... with these hands... you grip someone
by the knuckles... pressing the thumbs into the hand...
and twist... i forgot martial art i learned that from...
i left the classes after i was kicked in the *****...
and curled into a foetal position: after i refused to:
shout HA-YA! when pretending to punch and throwing
kicks while marching forward...
****** lessons in martial arts... getting kicked in the *****...
but... i write this... like...
like i will never go to the gym and pump weights...
just give me 2 hours on a bicycle...
doing some press-ups...
and once the shift it gone... having being paired
with this "mate" of mine:
he'll reply: it was nice working with you...
and you sort of know it's almost...
when he tries to sell you an alternative
job to the current you're working at...
because... it's "CAPITALISM":
   i too heard... didn't you hear?
if you have the right sort of a microphone...
and you put it up to a dog's *******
when the dog's running...
you can... hear... ******* the tune of:
jingle-bells!
didn't you know?!
   esp. that version from Lethal Weapon...
      one ****, count one two...
two's a ****'s worth... three and four and by five:
grr... what's not to love about
life and all the arguments for the status quo
of all those people that always go ahead
and gear up the tide of: away away we go:
leaving the rest of the idiots behind...
           tear-jerking psychologists with an audience
of soft-cookie:
those types that ought to be hard-on
digestives... instead... they get dunked into tea...
i burp... what... a cushion my crap and crab
on the inside out...
rather than harden it with the exoskeleton
of the outside in...
            little ******* London adventure of... perhaps
Romance... but... most probably:
probably not.

i mean: you know how the joke goes?
when you diagnose someone as having lost touch
with reality?
and then... too many people have lost touch with reality?
the supposed loss of reality of the individual...
transpires like a phantom: clout...
why were people supposing that, "i" became detached
from reality?! huh?! why are these people
wearing pseudo-niqab nappies on their faces
when almost pretending to be: trainspotting?!
huh?!
           i'm schizophrenic... what about all these...
covert... hidden... undiagnosed hyperchondriacs?
i thought i was just a bilingual...
oh... right... the mono-lingual normies of England...
sure... "we" can follow-up with that...
"you" try to destroy "me"...
"we'll" come after "you":
gender neutral? one's a ROYAL:
one and we...
                anything to: bypass the ******* rap!
investment from years... years ago...
always invest in children...
you never know when they'll come around to
protect you against the elders
or... more importantly...
your contemporaries...
                always invest in children...
         their presence is a future forward:
kinder:
      immer invertieren im kinder...
   ihr(e) gegenwart ist ein zukunft: ein fließen!
i'm guessing...
unlike in Deutsche...
a(n) apple... savvy?

           i truly wish... i truly... want to believe
beyond the told ties of the heart to:
all the discomforts of reality checks...
that i could possibly come to the splendours of
illusion on a whim:
and keep such whims within the confines
of illusion... without having to have to reality
check them back with...
items of "reciprocated" gratitude...
for the "good life"... oh what a sweet little whisper...
and... if i were a painter...
what a Francis Bacon horror i would possibly
conjure with the aid of cubism...
such trivial times are beyond us...
dog have eyes and the levelled certainty as such...
women just have the spontaneity...
there's no Bonaparte behind them...
no suicide quest for Moscow... no... chains and harship...
believe whatever psychologists you want...
pop, piquant... whatever... piquant: i.e. niche...
whatever... no one helped me through my 20s...
now in my mid 30s...
i've finally reached a pinnacle of being attractive...
during transit... but i know it's all a veneer...
behind my visage there ought to be some
******* miraculous story where...
i'd probably invite her back to my flat...
where i live alone... blah blah...
                i own too many books...
   i prefer the safety net of prostitutes...
at least they love me for the way i **** them...
with the intensity of the moment...
i posit: carpe diem... and make an hour last
a certainty... i don't need this *******'s worth
of timid courtship... no thank you...
i waited long enough... i waited too long...
no more...
              i'm done... i'm going to brush my "Greek" nose
up a little more... with arrogance and say...
when i needed you? you weren't there...
now... that you might, perhaps want me?
no... i don't need you...
           you know what i really need?
strangers! i need to interact with as many people
as possible! i can't be bothered with living a life
for some... exclusive relationship!
i need... the most inclusive: selfless relationship!
a... motto akin to:
liebe für das volk!
               if not in Deutsche... then in Latin?

AMOR ENIM POPULUS!

who else? who else can one love?
if one has been denied the excusive rights to love a woman
in one's youth?
as one ages... being denied such a right?
one can only grow to abound in loving:
the people! how else is one to survive?
   what? the same old: "missing"... "mythological":
"exclusive": female?
learn from Adolf ******! LIEBE DAS VOLK!
                  you haven't been given exclusive rights
to counterpart individual...
and... to be honest... inclusivity is stressed by both
status of wife / bus-driver in terms of how
universality is to be expressed on the ground:
all are to be treated equally...
alles ar zu sein behandelt gleichermaßen,
id est: gott! mit! uns!

             i have no one to love... i truly do, not,
so why... keep myself deluded in some...
waiting game of exclusivity?!
   why not freely pass into a medium of selfless
inclusivity?! why... not love: as freely...
and as painfully... as a sparrow might...
the dawn of spring... and the midnight or some:
forgotten hour(s): to come...
    i'm too old to find exclusive love...
to pair-bond... i'm too old... i know the frosty bite
of reality... but at least i can love inclusively...
like a Jesus Christ... like an Adolf ******...
what?! they're... that ******* far apart?! i don't...
*******... ****-ing... think so...
       i'm more comfortable with inclusive love-affairs
where i can be forever pillar... cold...
less-spoken that could be expected...
    my 20s... i never had them...
                    my 30s just about returned...
and now i'm interacting with people in their 40s
and 50s... and all i have in my mind is...
a cat... in musketeer type of boots...
kicking a rat into a sewer... why?
because... that's seems... just about... GERECHT!

the virus is raging: or so we're told -
i don't really mind whether we're told anything
anymore - i can finally come to grips
with the male version of the niqab:
just fine...

                              but once the virus impregnated:
whether our actual bodies or...
whether this: that be the detached from the herd
mind - whatever cull word: or choice of....

but... islam stopped: doing its business of
a revival... a revival... mind you...
that only involved the sunnis...
  it's like: the ******* would rather sweep their
whole schism under the magic carpet...
no... they wouldn't: they: sunnis...
wouldn't attack the sh'ites... the persians:
yeah... good luck with that...
the persians would bow before...
a bunch of camel jockeys:
  the library of baghdad...
              and: a library with only one book...
quasi-poetry: that damns poetry...

but i guess a book that takes hold of the heart
is much more than a book
that agitates the mind...
the bible: agitates the mind...
**** knows what it does to the heart...
but i'm sure to know that...
a proper adhan...
   can leave me in tears...
like...

but when i hear: da pacem domine...
or anything! anything resembling teuotnic songs
of the conquest of the baltic states:
too bad for merry ol' german...
having converted the prussians...
the prussians...
well: the revenge of the pagans over
their christian overlords...
or some **** like that: otherwise a different cover...
so much so that...
the polacks stood a chance with the kashubians...
and the silesians...
mongrel tongue they are much at home
than if ruled over by prussians...

jihad: a war of reclaiming land...
never a war of intrusion...
you reclaim all you have lost:
but you do not claim new land...
it's not a holy war beside:
what has to occur naturally: the growth of
an idea: that the enzyme is a sword...
well: no one's perfect...

but given there's a break from
fetish fashisto islamism...
     turban afghan / saudi sunni **** flinging
pajamas... well...
what about the hugo boss uniforms you
promised with all that oil money you ******
away on yachts and ****** that:
those ****** were waiting for you in jannah?!

of course i'm teasing the mamluk and
the janissary...
if you fed me... adhans... poetry...
and then: speeding to modern times...
played me as this egyptian stranger...
in amsterdam: architecture student... genius doodler...
an afternoon with him... beers and some jojo-and-mary...
in amsterdam... or... the previous afternoon
and these two slobs: germans...
and he gave me a song to listen to...
how the world dwarfed...
le trio joubran - masar...

i have nothing in christianity: a headache...
i tried judaism: too complicated...
linguistic avenues: herr zensor ha-shem:
the name of: kether: keter -
crown... you can only be so smart...
before: ehyeh asher ehyeh just because the same
bogus "trip" of pickled intellect you
have with that trinity and: fraction...

da pacem domine...
            muhammad can start wearing a niqab
at this moment... i don't even know whether
a proselyte status is teasing me:
i can't tame a heart: esp. my own...
but seeing the clear reduction of islamic
intrusion into christian affairs of:
yawn... usury? iconoclasm?
                        contra: the former...

you sold me on the romance of mamluk and
jannisary... because i'm fat from being tired
from what christianity has to offer...
honestly... even if there was a nag hammadi
library revival of the gnostic section...
or... 100 years from now...
there was news about the fate of isaiah
and the dead-sea-scrolls...

                 the muslims are not attacking...
by the grace of god...
some authoritarian mouthpiece from their shitpile
of clueless stopped talking...
and the adhan could be listened to: again...
and rumi minimalism could be read:
sufism! could be digested...

my mind can wander calendars... days and decades...
dreams and deja vus...
it can cross boundaries inanimate object
territory and turn to all things fuzzy
in the realm of hallucinations:
denial, doubt, conviction
in one way or another...
fractions of synonyms...

i cherish the one libra... the heart's:
yes....           or...                      no...
then there's the christianity that borrows too much
from its: "cultured" / cultivated paganism...
whether greek or trojan (alias latin)...
i'm tired of these arguments...
they're either claustrophobic (without any
evidence of clarifying workable space)....
trash: recycling matter... per-haps...

                      hoarder peoples of the world
"unite"... no... i'm "bored" and just exhausted
by the secular arguments or how
the trinity fraction ingenuity should work...
when islam is stsarting to turn lazy...
i figured: the romance associated with
the mamluk and the janissary is open, yes?

sufism and the indivisible one?
the vector: the north: point north vector -
the frankenstein moster clue: that's still open?
will i meet the drawfish turks along the way...
and they'll come up with...
canons for ****-open the walls
of constantinople?

      ever convert someone by way of
shrivelling up their testicles or crucifying their
mind on the altar of phobias?
if you don't have the heart...
you might as well be gagging for an achilles' heel...
if that!
christianity and pop cult. secularism...
i'm bored of worshipping
a static demigod...

        how many demigods came...
preceding? but this demigod is the fraction
celebration: the intellectual *******
of people who: cared not for...
the ferris wheel, etc.
                    
         rome is no more!
holy rome is no more: the "*****" achieved its purpose...
citing Casimir III also helped...
the nomads moved: jumped over the pond...
spider patience as released into
the city-scape: well of course... well done!
applause!

the question "question" is never asked...
given... hasn't christianity become a quasi-polytheism?
how many denominations?
too little gods: and the one...
as a fraction... can just keep on giving:
yet another preceding 0 of: the divided fraction
booth...

         the schism within islam was hardly
an intellectual:
all these "byzantine" precursor details...
such a bothersome spectacle for all:
that mind the bureucratic shoo! shoo!
              an intellectual affair:
                       worldly affairs... Ali was promised x...
the caliphs decided on project y...
the integrity of "the prophets" word:
while aging... senile yet still *******
a fresh cherub-and-orange akin to...
                 Khadija **** Khuwaylid still on my mind...
in praise of older women...

according to malcolm X and: cassius clay...
islam knows no race...
since... christian fwench... catholic...
spaniard catholic: later christian...
german retro: swiss...
anglican fudge-packers...
             yes... islam is not a nationality:
nor is it a race...
then again: what is croat... former yuogoslav...
or greek...
when... ahem... all that matters is...
h'american patriotism?!
if only the h'americans can be patriotic...
only the 50 shingles and twin barons
of stripes is on the ready...
the h'americans are: patriotic!
the rest of us are being nationalistic:
cousin-******-******!
can't islam come via Sarajevo and...
become... an escape plan?

   Ezra Pound might have cited:
the former proud stance of christianity against
usury... and now...
loan-sharks...
   i could be a slave to islam because
i could finally escape the "lost" e in
a ethnic grouping that has me locked in with...
the st. petersburg crowd...
the slavs...         and the germans: are... germs...
east a vowel - prefix at the wrong moment...
thank god that islam is not a people
but an idea...
and i'm burning with it...
without need to make or meet
proper formalities of conversion...
by heart's analogy of the mind's banquet
of the thesaurus...
when will the simple yes...
or the simple no arrive?
i don't know...
                i don't want to know...

after all: will you frequently hear...
of a *** / 'ebrew convert?
no! of course not! it's a... v.i.p. club...
you being a jew is more than an "idea"...
yep... it's exactly "also" a race...
you don't get to bypass all the cousin *******
cousin inbreeding on a whim...
you don't get to be given a "choice"...
while islam readily converts...
new blood...
islam readily converts because...
you were never a chosen within the confines
of the distinct few:
which is nice...
islam readily converts: while christianity willingly
abandons...
why am i looking into a mamluk /
janissary romance novel genre?
will i write one?
do i look like someone to turn a silver
spoon into a ***** and fake
a sigh?

dare i: dare not i: "not i"...
back into the basic structure of words:
back into syllables...
words like: da-je (it's giving)
                           i forget all the other mamas' and
papas'... "lyrics"...
i'm just bored of the exclusivity and
inclusivity of peoples...
mind you: i mind more...
what's that: fidgeting me... irritating me...
such the atom: like the letter abounding
around them...
it's nothing special... it's just: fudge...
and a simple metaphor of concrete and
indigestion to have to... endure...
gorge... digest...

                i'm bored of christianity
because of the ruling "christianity" of h'america...
back to basics: son of sam...
thank god for the atlantic ocean...
some distance... some perspective...
evangelical: denominations of old world
protestantism...
no... all the basics of:
looking at women with "fun" prospects...
joy... what about the joy of a bicycle...
it's like ******* retards claiming:
casper the friendly ghosts and
spiderman were touch-up buddies to sooth...

thank you h'america... send me back
to afghanistan... and pashtun womens' poetry...
too many minutes spent on this insomnia footprint
of the web: i still believe a t.v. and a computer
and internet access should be akin
to resembling a fireplace... fixed locations...
no?
i don't actually mind:
eating a burger and getting a blockjob
like driving a car...
on a smooth motorway...
try the same... and giggling... on horseback...

if i could gonvern myself to establish a matrix
of prayer - rummagings of a lacklustre
of schiphrenia - perhaps...
for all the freedoms "imposed":
and not imposed - shimmy shimmy -
and all that isn't received as: to pass...
restrictions galore...
the smooth shake-me-up...
secular: testicular clean shaven *******
tip of luck when licked: etc.

           yeah... yeah: sign me up for that...
pedestrian safehaven!
the promises of science...
                  the christian day to day...
and the... straitjacket of islam...
or... or... prop-er... PWOPH-EER "judeo-christian":
and some salty Cicero...
and some pepper stiff 'istotle!
                  
   love is... love is: pseudo-echo: his eyes...
and all the little idiosyncracies still alive in me:
that makes me focus on me:
and not on... the expendable you...
     all i want is to focus on these details
without having to infringe on: detailing you...
to what...
                impaled... which has to be
more insufferable than a crucifixion...
but... let's not mind that...

              the detail comes around with:
the civic world is a world that the ancient
romans laid a claim on...
the rest? that the romans didn't lay...
a claim on? fifth partition of poland...
a ****** job over the "question" of iraq...
i'm not this "white" ****-boy's boor...
but that i am: since i'm not his baron.

- all that bob woodward & carl bernstein
achieved... deep-throat alias
of that ninja in m.g.s. PSI...
but what i included... but what jonathan landay
and warren strobel couldn't...
it breaks, the "heart"...
or at least the mind... capable of...

- honestly... i never much appreciated
rembrandt...
but... what wouldn't... otherwise...
a sobering-up sessions of sitting on the edge
of the bed do... otherwise:
better good... than the thus presented...
than... hang-over... looking at prints
of the aging rembrandt...
no... not the zenith... the impeding
nadir...

          would it still be necessary for me
to ingest from l.s.d.?
the lazy strokes of grace-
any other adjective of pompous
sycophancy is open: though... to be added...
no... not because his a well known name...
but because: i never found the sort of
raw beef: or the sort of stomach...

the question of the "question"...
within the realms of the diaspora...
that's a hard "question"...
given the diaspora is... a status quo that...
look at the orthodox yids / hebs
of brooklyn...
they're not leaving and brooklyn isn't...
either... the question of a people
without a diaspora...
is still only a "question"...
like that: MADE IN CHINA... "question"...
i still haved things in my possession that have...
MADE IN HOLLAND...
MADE IN INDIA... MADE IN IRELAND...
hell... even MADE IN BANGLADESH
makes you believe in a higher quality than...
all that CHeap CHequers ***** from
the land of BING JING... and the squirming
dwagon...

ask any thai or any... the chinese are not
the best parts of h'america...
and the worst parts of russia...
and... all the rest: reincarnated horde motto:
mongol...
joke... stinking camel jockeys will
not touch a squat of pork for fear
of the silk road mafia:
yow-eatz the stinking sheepz...
me eatz pork & leather
    me eatz pork & leather...
                                     shoe?! shoe?!

shrimp **** gets a hard-on and there's no
mushroom saxon esq. 1960s mantra...
of toll culture!
               well: shrimp **** is hardly:
a korean sand-bag or a piece of japanese
porcelain skin... whiter than porky-pink
gets handled by haggling over Libya...
and the Spanish... sun... tan!
- it's a good nuance though...
given that... all of the baltic sushi is
ascribed the status of: herring herring herring;
raw... yes... in a gherkin infused
cream... creamy dreams of a less robotic...
less stockholm syndrome... Stockholm...
the museum of the tomb of the Vasa ship...
and all those yachts...
seeing Stockholm... no need to see Oslo...
Helsinki... Copenhagen... seeing St. Petersburg...
i really... really need to see Istambul;
smoled salmon... rye bread...
mayonnaise... cucumber... dill...
rainbow trout caviar...
it would be a luxury... caviar...
if everyone was willing to eat it...
but... given the price... only a few could...
caviar would be a yacht symbol of richness...
no... you want a better summary?
caviar is... marmite...
you either love it... or hate it...
everyone almost everyone:
the greater majority... can stomach...
poultry abortions...
caviar is not a luxury... it's an idiosyncracy;
there's no "acquired" taste...
it's something akin to: the web architecture
a priori in the confines of
'ed... of the spider...
or how... the woodland pigeon builds
a nest... "from thin air"...

             learning to walk...
is so class-A drug... bourgeoisie...
                perhaps there was a russian revolution...
perhaps there was the industrial revolution...
all in all: there was only the french revolution.

i never thought that you could cook a curry without using either powdered cumin or coriander... it could be universally accepted that a curry base involves the use of cumin, coriander... onion, ginger... garlic... but not this Bengali Rezala... of course there's turmeric... chilli... five green cardamom pods... two black cardamom grenades... acacia tree bark which can replace cinnamon... a little grating of nutmeg... black peppercorns... 3 to 4 cloves... cashews & poppy seeds soaked in water: mushed... no tomatoes... i cannot stress the superiority of the Indian subcontinent cuisine... i don't remember the last time i craved for something European... what? a toad-in-a-hole? a shepherds' pie? a *******... schnitzel?! Europeans can do breakfast... but a dinner is so sad... simple: but grotesque food... all lineage has been cut... literally... "we" are "us" and... "they" are "them"... self... other... cultural exclusivity... contra cultural inclusivity... i find that... it's only adding and substituting the ancient Greek conundrum of consolidating the particular with the universal... subjectivity is paradoxical event: i want to be inclusive but at the same time i want to be exclusive... for the solo project... i sometimes want to feel what others feel: at sporting events... but then... those prized nuggets of: only me, me alone... i stopped liking philosophising a long time ago... what would the quadratic of objectivity look like? objective inclusivity is so rare... it's a... whisper... a whimper! it's pedestrian: strain... which is why objectivity is the exclusivity of things being: "not-being" things... a stone can't argue against being a stone... but... rarely... i can argue for the acacia bark to be synonymous with barks of cinnamon... turmeric can negate my claim that it's a cheaper: yet richer... variation of saffron... blah... i used to elevate language like this... but i've forgotten to do so with some searching purpose... of late... of seemingly never before: or after...

in third person: watch the schematics of man under
the scrutiny of being cut-up...
yet this body still intact...
what a petty little creature... perhaps not so petty:
perhaps just feral...
ego in the zoo of thought:
is it a peacock... a lion... a monkey?
i sometimes wonder...
when i sit down and write i can hush it...
i can escape it... when i sit down to write
and see: letters, letters that become words
and words that become sentences...
i can escape the idle musings of this
little feral creature... my totem: a fox...
         yet how to understand the old trinity
with the new trinity...
how is man to understand so many cogs and
how much of the ÷
              (obelus... return to the altar of ouroboros)
it can be enough to merely fear
so crippling that: once mere thinking was
potential... an adventure...
now i'm shattering...
   a breath of the cognitive faculty is like
a scratch at a mountain: a mountain i will never lift:
let alone climb...
yet all around me... mirages of people
who have been deployed with the certainty
of shadows bound to trees...
if the sea could cast a shadow...
          - last night i sat drinking and peered
into an eucalyptus tree in my garden...
of its three most protruding stems
there glistened a pantheon of ancient germanic
faces...
in an eucalyptus...
how ancient: bearded they appeared:
glistening in the rain covered leaves...
constantly changing their expressions...
i must have seen... a legion of them...
they morphed in an out: yet somehow returned
to their original composition...
by day... the magic was gone...
but i was only drinking:
i imagine what could have happened if
i taken some hallucinogenics...
maybe when on the cusp of dementia i'll find
some to revive a tired mind...
- it seems to me... that i don't have to believe
in "something" these days...
i merely need to be apprehensive of
being left suspect... subjected to:
being the object of a voyeurism that goes
beyond... mere ****** fetishes:
as if to say... the gods have erred...
the ancient ones have erred and are...
now... somehow...
looking back toward the cauldron of
inspiration from the mortal leftovers of men...
- i will not write a measured
geometric representation with poo'em...
i'm not cooking my ancestors would be
accustomed: what was once salt, pepper...
all-spice... the bay leaf...
horseradish... pepper powder...
              i can truly appreciate a good curry...
but to stage it as: primum exemplum...
          it's great... but it's not the only source
of sustenance...
    what about that one: the Imam fainted?
while eating a stuffed aubergines...
                              imam bayıldı...
fi...  Saturn bites off the head of
his son...
                       fi...
                                like a fiddle...
i have not left anything for my father to
be envious of...
i missed the whole unsatisfactory dating
process of my 20s and 30s...
for i... supposedly went mad...
in my 21st year... so... i left the planet
that's so preoccupied with sunrise...
sunset and gravity...

- but i couldn't serve up someone a full bodied stew
for breakfast...
let me tame them with some milder...
like well buttered bread...
some eggs... to begin the day...
i couldn't overpower the lack of ingenuity
of the subcontinent of India need: Ned:
a sauce out...
there must be some culmination pointers...
to begin with...
  akin to: it's better to drink when the sun sets...

ha ha! some bad take of off: on a hurried sexuality...
while as many women have explored theirs
i've been in the trenches picking / pecking
at the scrap-heap of... amateurs...
the glorified ****** revolution only
happened to one ***...
from the 1960s... it has only made
the women advantageous to their....
explorative... plight...

  cult of the statue born from salt...
bone & stone...
i'm starting to think it might have
been my mother...
then again... her mother implored her
mother to be dead... and the mother
had no recognition of the selfie...

            ex nihil: ut nihil...
dum tela orbis...
                            accidit...
                  mea ist...

                     do i look like some youthful Christian
pastor of old?
am i being... somehow... conscripted
into a... Mormons' effort?
it's a beer... it's one beer, two beers: think...
will someone buy me
airline tickets to fly into Iowa
to speak about: the antithesis of Jim?
   i'm scared: i'm scarred... the world is big...
i really don't need it to become any
bigger... i have a laughing maggot in
my *** that stages the ****-show:
you best be placed... right here...

Take me back to the days
Where the feel of texture and distinguishing colors among Africans didn't matter
Where the only word was black, and not pale or darker
Where the only weapon was loyalty upto royalty actually smarter
Where mother tongue superiority excelled the rest was after.
Where rituals and ceremonies were significant in culture
Where oral traditions activities was a preservation of history.
Where inclusivity wasn't done based on tribe, status or age
Where inspiration and education was passed from generation to generation through storytelling.
Where people performed rather than spoke
Where the media was the speaker's tone, volume, and cadence

Take me back to the days
Where people did not blame nationality, ethnicity,
culture, economics and education
Where there was no colonial *******
Where there was no concept of slavery, racism or discrimination.
Where Africa was rich in culture and not the fallacy of primitive and a backward jungle
Where Africa was peaceful and not a race with guns and violent.
Where shouting am black and proud wasn't important because color didn't matter.
Where respect for elders remained an unbroken cornerstone in african culture
Where birth, marriage and burial rites was honored.

Welcome to today's Africa
Where exporting and importing of cultures have become the trend
Where cultures travel through deserts, cross trade routes and through immigration borders
Where exchange disregards our notions of geography and race.
Where virtues such as hospitality, empathy, courtesy and respect is long gone
Where the only thing left are byproducts of culture.
Where multiculturalism has faded and everone hails on becoming one
The richness is not in Africa looking like Europe
What makes the world beautiful is in the diverse contributions

Welcome to today's Africa
Where culture is paraded on an image of drum beating
Where media's notion is dancing naked or eating bush meat
Where in the midst of it all culture lost its definition
Where there is no importance in defending a territory with no boundaries.
Where technology dominated our land and mind
The struggle lies in reclaiming what is rightfully ours
I refuse to fall and cramble because I'm for the idea of sameness.
In the mind is where it all starts
I put no blame on culture, not my affliction.

the older i become the more it hinders my output:
volume, quality, whatever you want to call...
perhaps it's censorship (in a way) -
a ****** lenovo keyboard: not wide enough
to properly place my hands to not look down
but ahead at the genius of QWERTY...
since... believe me: the classical order of the alphabet
conjured up by the French (perhaps i'm
remembering incorrectly) is not really important:
what matters is the entire body of the scripted
language... words don't unravel from a prerequisite
of abcdefghijklmnopq...rs...t...u...v...w...x...y...z
is that all the letters?
i actually don't know fingers dart backwards &
forwards... or, not really... when playing this
"piano" anyway: as long as all the required
letters are invoked in the required words:
hey presto! meaning!
                      there ought to be 26... funny...
there are 32 letters in the ****** (western Slavic)
alphabet... the same number as the teeth
in my gob...
but sometimes i "lose" a poem... whether it's censorship
when i make a post: ****! gone...
or whether i'm callous with the ctrl + c / + p / + a
scenario when i drank a little bit too much...
i don't know... perhaps i'm writing for
some elite that doesn't want the public to read
my work... i like to think of it that way...
but losing a poo'em can become so disheartening
that i i sometimes want to forget that i speak:
let alone write... now longer periods when
i can rekindle a makeshift monologue:
but then i have to find something technical in language
to reorient my purpose...
it's becoming less & less easy...
esp. since i'm not writing fiction...
  just... grass is green... butternut squash soup is
more than hearty: but it will never match up
to my better take on the Heinz canned classic... period...
not enough chilly in the Heinz... canned classic...
& never eaten with a slice of bread...
it requires vermicelli... like most soups do...
like a decent ****** chicken broth...
which also requires... well: poaching the carcass
but  base set of vegetable...
a leek... a celeriac root slice...
parsley root... a carrot... garlic... celery stalks...
parsley - the green leaves...
salt, pepper... & vermicelli...
oh... & plenty of time...
i'm disheartened when i lose a piece of script:
it's not Shakespeare (obviously) but so much emotion
can flow into the cascade that:
tabloid newspapers are given bragging rights...
are, ahem... "important"... so... my writing...
whether by censorship or not...
or my clumsy fingers when putting across
a body of text from one canvas to another... goes wrong...
hours become days when i find a new:
desire to write... since... writing is much easier
to thinking...
writing is much easier to thinking...
as thinking is much easier to speaking...
- but all of a sudden my life has changed a little...
writing is so much easier when you're
not "doing" anything...
mein gott... poems flow & flow... snippets
of narrative arrive at your forehead & fingertips like
postcards from your ex-girlfriends missing
you dearly from exotic locations: as if being married
& having children is still not enough because:
they didn't have your children & aren't married to you...
the poo'em i lost was about... two days ago...
travelling to Wembley Park for... an induction...
the role? being a steward...
i figured: enough of youth can be wasted on dreams...
literary dreams...
let's inject some... proper... grass-root ambition
with... RE-AH-LI-TY (****... phonetically that's
REE-AH-LEE-TEA/EE/AE)...
this writing "business" isn't going at the pace
i want... sure... i can brag about...
wow... almost 40 thousand views of one poem...
there are over 6K poems of mine, just here...
Wembley Stadium can host 90,000 spectators...
one poem of mine can muster up... almost half
of the capacity?
not bad... but... not good enough...
lucky for me i can relate for this sort of thirst when
drinking... sometimes i'm content with
a bottle of wine... at other times i need a liter of whiskey...
go figure... but not when so many idiotic pundits...
when there's this media masquerade happening...
i'm in the shadows: i'm listening to what people
are listening to... i never leave traces in the comment
sections: a waste of time...
makes thinking about certain things easier:
when you don't air your opinions...
after all: that's pseudo-rhetorical...
the true art of debate is... withdrawing from:
debating... the dialectical position is:
first mind diacritical marks (sorry... none in English,
& yes... it's still more ugly
when phonetically charged with graffiti "mishaps"...
misnomer: "shortcuts")...
- where was i? oh right... perhaps i "missed" something
in my original lost sample of a narrative:
although (last time i checked)
this website provides automated save as drafts
when you stop typing - after a prolonged period
of typing: my bad...
writing is so much easier when life is uneventful...
i could tease that word: uneventful into
a katakana syllabary: i almost want i almost have
to i therefore (not almost, but) must:
un-eh-vent-ful...
oh look at that: sitting pretty like a toddler
with a drumstick of a chicken (leg)...
**** it: my writing is going nowhere...
i have more ambition to simply let it... sizzle in its own
juices: or whatever better expression is handy...
none come to mind...
i need to look at people: i need to study people...
the internet is an echo-chamber to begin with:
it used to...
a jukebox narrative... such freedoms were
once available... mein gott... what music
i discovered when foraging on youtube...
in two years... gone... the algorithm got ******...
period: bad grammar is an exemplification
of this load of: hot-steaming... mix of **** & *******...
i need a real job... wasting my youth on writing
is not enough: perhaps my writing will catch up:
or my readership will... either way:
i'm not aiming for anything under
the title-weight of a Bukowski:
lucky ******... but i'm also not aiming for
the almost near obscurity of... the Black Mountain poets...
who was their leader... Larry?
Lee-rrr...       eh... it's not like a tarantula didn't
crawl into an English mouth & "somehow"
numbed the tongue for the end result of:
nein zu tremolo! ****'s sake... if i only asked:
why the French Fwench... but they hark so:
never mind...   yes, yes... Larry Eignar...
**** me... that took a while...
but there's another... a "renegade" on the...
ha ha... steppes of "Cambodia"...

          Russell is a likely connotation...
but incorrect... let's see....
     wait... Charles Olson... ol' Ollie...
he? he was a black mountain poet?
you ******* kidding me...
no chance in hell that will pass by me
given.... concerning his Maximus poems...
like: **** no...
i'm a critic i'm a nobody i'm a porveurour...
now i remember the ******'s name:
Robert ******* Kreely...
him! Kreely: Creely... Creeley...
**** it... fling in the vowels...
lets see what sort of a trebuchet **** master
you... ought... might... make.
oh.... wait.... important "news"...
an... apostrophe "missing": plain Jane typo....
where?LET(')S i.e. implying the shortening of:
the inclusivity of the collective... "US"..
      wunderbar!
                 schön!
that's the umlaut O... ergo... shoo... shoon...
great!
                           kaninchen und...
                        rosa ball-ons!  
i know a ******* balloon from a *******
ball-on... it's like telling me...
what's the difference between an omicron
and an omega...
i.e. do you really need to tell me
the difference?
sure... if it was an upsilon: you *******
clueless Greek!
what audacity:
you ******* clueless... Greek...
what... better some Iranian...
arriving from... Belarus?!
oh sure... i really want to live in Kenya...
among the ivory beauties with skins
that hide their bodies...
******* milk on toast... some chocolate:
sprinkled... i see teeth & sclera...
& some mahogany...
  ****? i'd **** anything that moves...
even south Korean girls geared up for a game of....
ping-pong....
my bad... what?
or is that: WAT like... WATT...
the energy unit or the Samuel Beckett novel
that over-competes James Joyce's Ulysses?!

your is the roulette... yours... hmm... your's...
for a while... the latter was underlined...

life used to be so much simpler when...
language could speak for... "itself"...
no one could use it: somehow, "somehow"...

i applied for the role of a Wembley Stadium
steward on a whim...
i thought: **** it... writing is not going toward
a projected: Ginsberg stastus...
i'm not going to compete with the leftoid jargon
of the 1960s... lucky me...

i'm just a terrible "millenial"...
i use an apostrophe like i migh5t secure understand
of the Pythagorean hypotenuse...
some C "squared"...
Wembley Stadium steward...
this... cacophony of hierarchy "suddenly" hits me...

i can understand authority...
tier one, tier two... vampire... zombie...
sure, sorted...

of the supposed 12 rules for life...
one of them reeds... i suppose that's reed: read:
reeds... sorry.. n'est ce pas...
pet a cast on the sreet?
you know, how hard it is... to pet a cat..
on the street?!
if you lived in England...
wolves... what wolves?!
foxes... oh yeah... plenty of those...
but... petting cats?
a bit like explaining...
a jpeg. take up less volume... ha ha: "volume"
than a pdf. file...

why i was mo4e than ready: i'll never known...
perhaps i'm a closeted fan of Ed Sheeran,
perhaps i like children in the role of:
a fathering figure...
perhaps children like to
poke my beard & lips...
perhaps this... perhaps that...
perhaps i'm ******* Santa Claus...
or what's Satan's Claus(e)....
all these freebies... cough up!

or... i just like making people "feel" included:
"feel" is one "thing", REALISED... another...
it might sound like newsspeak...
but... i don't want to ingest another...
Manchester Bomb Arena spectacle...

SAA... a week in Brixton... 7 days...
but they require a cohort of at least 12 applicants...
it elevastes your status as steward to:
someone who can: "juggle"...
be legally obliged to utilised force:
if necessary...
i like... i like... i like...

first ZOOM call in my life... ******* Ludite...
luddite... ugh... that double D kills me...
surd: you don't hear(d) to: begin with...
so... what... spelling "mistake"?

oh sure... the ****** transit & traffic...
train from Romford through to Liverpoool St...
then the Metropolitan Line to Wembley Park...
great... the arch...
a black coffee from McDonald's & two croissants from
Lidl... morning... done...
no more... morning sickness....
come late afternoon Somali girls eyeing me up in a black
tie... o.k. sure... fair game: "gamble"...
hunting what?
i like this understudy of what's man...

i arrived an hour early...
waited the tad bit... of a little... we exchanged formalities... but then i watched as...
two groups formed...
the ****-shock-show of the multi-cultural urban... ahem... "class"... with one rep. & the other... mostly... asian men... with their... asian rep...

12 rules for life... seriously?! do you know how hard it is... to pet a cat? sorry... can i make you reiterate... petting a cat... lucky me... for petting two cats today... "strays"... but... do you know how nearly impossible it is... to pet cats, is?! you don't pet a cat because you can... you pet a cat out of the whims of: the cat willing you to pet it!  just like i like... sitting on my windowsill listening to foxes bemoan their lack of ****** adventures... it's England... foxes... ergo no wolves! d'uh! cull the foxes... you cull the erotica of the nights!

between... sigourney weaver... &...
mmm... winona ryder...
raven 'air...
two winners... how harems work...

Tuba Büyüküstün...

apologies for the phrasing...
if all the supposed gems not donning niqabs
that are western women
are so... *******: NIGGERCOCK mad...
Tuba Büyüküstün... oh... look at me...
you think i want some anemic blonde:
stereotype?!
raven... hair!
sure... the black male specimens are
handsome, attractive: if i were a woman:
i would... ha... "problem"...
why don't i want to...
the ****** antonym... because a white girl
really wants to... do a black guy...
do i... "have" to have the same
compulsions with regards to a black girl?!
Turkic! **** yes!
Mongolian... probably!
Tuba Büyüküstün...
or... swans probably don't have necks...
no... swans probably don't have necks
when you see this:

(although sophie skelton looks
better in the initial photograph...
papa best preached)...
swans don't have necks...
not with her...
around... to... curate... a balett of
nodding  approvals...

Caitríona Mary Balfe... i'm so loved up...
in that i once remarked in private:
bemoaned: that the Scots have forgotten
their native tongue...
swans have no necks...
swans don't need necks...

the neck of Caitríona Mary Balfe
eyes... too...
or the short-styled hair... & eyes
of Tuba Büyüküstün...
don't get me started on the hands...
those petite Antoinetes of joy...
the most ****** aspect of a woman is bound
to her hands... i'm missing a knuckle! or at least
*******!

woo-man!                         woe-is-me!
woe-is-man!             woo-man!
i'll bark i'll gargle... not for the sold-cold "soul & eternity"
of the d.n.a.:
but rather for that Muhammad never achieved when
competing with King Solomon!
then again... King David had the better tale...
the love of music, the writing of the psalms
&... defeating Goliath...
king Solomon was... compensating with
the excessing in the exploitation of women...
eh... Solomon &... proverbs can be tested...
true... or untrue...
but psalms... unconditionally...
sung... or... lost...
no antonym-synonym dynamic...
you either remember or you forget...
you don't merely remember & pseudo-remember
via changing the narrative a little: or a lot...

what a neck... on this Irish beauty...

two frotiers formed.... one side...
the cosmopolitan, readied to talk to women
in possible women in authority, etc.
whatever are the preferenfes....
i really adore the ROYAL: third person:
ONE might...
or the plural WE....
"genger plural pronouns":
not since the existence of the "crown":
i am subject to ol' Lizzies stipends!

i am her mouthpiece wherever she's:
not m'ah ******* grandma!
on zoom calll i was sked....   (scared, for sked)
what were British values....
i was asked....
i replied... universal?!
i passed some mythological...
Kennsington Test...
ooh p'ah! ******* hurah
join the Union Jack brigade!
who's kidding who?

              the red coats are coming!
last time i 'eard?
not enough of 'em are "coming"...
come to "think" of it: beside staring at goats...
"going": where?
do "we" need to "go" to Afghanistan
when... Afghanistan is coming to us?!

sorry... what?

two groups of people at Wembley...
mostly Asian men... an Asian rep...
& a group led by a Jewish girl...
talk of tortoises...
Sikh... Tamil... Sanskrit... men...
& women... ******...
Stalowa Wola: Iron Will... which is
an actual town...
Harry... the guy with tattoed hands...
Ewelina: Evaline...
**** me... another single mother...
how many more single mothers will i have to pass?!
i don't mind it:
ancient Rome replies with:
the surrogate father...
chances are...
i could be a bad genetic partner...
i wouldn't mind... raising children that weren't my own...
i swear to the only god available on such
matters...
he'd just nod approving me as
surrogate father...
to hell with it...
CORALINE - DREAMING...
ancient Rome sends you a postcard...
you'll reply?
        no? fair enough...
i could i wish i could...
a little: BAMBINO of my own...
bit then again...
investing in so much of my own...
what if... they are killed...
hell! ****** is one "thing"...
but what if by some stupid circumstance of
a traffic incident?!
ergo?
i very much like the idea of raising children that
biologically "belong"... ahem...
"elsewhere"...
not their souls, their minds.. though...
n'est ce pas?! VOU... that's not how
ALTHOUGH is assembled?
AUL: ALL.... VOU? it's not VOW...
ate the G... no, kiddy?

i love children... esp. those that are not my own...
i could love them & love them like
an Abraham... nein... i could love them like...
a god... i could love children in a way that...
mirrors.. the moment they arrive at...
exploring the game of:
hide & seek...
there was never any playground invoked
to summon: the game of bulldog...

i'm glad i have no children of my own...
more of my seeing and less of the eyes of my "choosing"...
petty tender heart-felts: demands...
i'd rather father the children of "unavaliable" fathers
than father my own...
ancient Rome is messaging you...
dearest...
   look how much easier it all becomes!
you raise someone else's child... but...
should said child die... become murdered...
erm... what of it?
a statistic... i feel no inclination to give a ****...
i invested in the mind... the soul...
the body can ***** itself to death...
as it does... but it's not my own...
i can be as much detached from its fate as is most purposively
ridden: to riddle me...
i'm glad to not raise my own!
it dies... it's murdered... do i care?
no... life replaces life... here we go: the grand
carousel... it's not like i have name like:
McKenzie or... McDougal...
so... no... no lineage... i'm a baron of the most
atomised of times... the individualistic
sanctity: real or supposed...

ancient Rome replies:
the negativity of single mother households....
compensated with... the freedoms of...
paternal surrogacy... give me a break!
ha! it's Eden! i come with not leverage of....
ownership! i owe nothing due to
the Darwinistic impetus!
i'd be freed from whatever is expected of me...
there are no investments...
in pronouns... might we:
the royal one?

ha!

it's no much easier to have children
that turn out to be girl...
ha!

i'd rather be a surrogate father to a "daughter"...
come to think of it...
i'd only want...
to be a father... to a son... biologically....
a daughter can...
Mayflower herself... or ***** herself all she wants...
from a father: unto a son...
like that "******": Matthew & Son (cat stevens)
or... "dreaming": Coraline...

the inquisitive cat... the teenage girl...
the "felix"... the Urdu... somewhat...
the inquisitive cat... kommen die nacht....
alles ist nacht...

if there's no democracy in poetry:
then there's no democracy at all!
maxim: non-la-rochefoucauld

i was never a fan of acronyms... it must be an w.a.s.p. "thing"
to have fallen in love with acronyms:
white... anglo-saxon... protestant...
i just imagine...
what it the Swabians or the Pomeranians...
were the chosen tourists...
nomads without a lament score...
oh god someone is oppressing the Saxons...
get to it: sort it out!
of all the Germanic peoples that came to these isles
after the fall of Rome...
my my... how the Saxons hijacked
the Welsh and the Scots for a prize of sending postcards
from the Raj... some remote Pacific Islands...
i live among these people...
morphed by some added French...
i don't like acronyms: i don't like acronym speech...
it's like... the alphabet twice-over...
organised to suit some secret society...
yawn...
so when i was living out my: soul-osmosis:
psychosis of my 20s...
mid-way through my 30s i stopped taking
the pills i was prescribed:
what waited was a hunger so cycling...
and ingesting electrolytes...
and vitamin B12 supplements...
which translated into 2 cycling sessions a day...
i was going to ask my mother and my father
concerning being irritated
about some...minor bureaucratic doodle
of a vaccine passport...
i could have been riddled with radioactive
juice from 1986... oh yes... the effects of Chernobyl
came around... some of the trees turned
autumnal in the middle of spring:
with streaks of radioactive death...
19 days... pass enough time just emerging as a foetus:
those just might be aeons...
scribble some radioactive juice...
well... a pretty picture...
i'm giggling though... inside and out...
i hate acronym language...
long before the "movement"...
"lifestyle choice"...
i only heard about it then youtube stopped
suggesting me new music to listen to...
apart from the channel harakiri diiat...
i came across videos of political commentary...
later... the... ahem...
    MIG-TOW... MIG-TAO...
Mikoyan... towing...
       or the Mikoyan Tao...
it's a pseudo-take of the fighter jet...
a Russo-Chinese hybrid project...
it's not a fighter-jet...
unless... fighter-jets have a Taoist sensibility
built in them... ha...
it's this "movement" via the acronym MGTOW...
i don't like acronyms...
point being... you don't really need
classical socialism... or their current
pseudo-arguments of inclusivity... blah blah...
best represented blah blah...
you have these... men... in a society...
where... harem quotas are no met...

daseine: da (there) + seine (being) = concern...
dast seine: da- (there) + i-st (is) + seine (being) = potential...
all on conjured up via a blitzkrieg
on a bicycle... mediating heavy traffic...
happens... all the ******* time...
i curse the nerve-wrecks that drive cars...
a woman in mini-cooper: sized so: ||
will require... this much space: |          |
to overtake you...

but a man in a HGV... or a bus... sized so: |          |
will require... this much space: ||
to overtake you...
as an aggressive cyclist...
i can't exactly indicate cycling up a *******
hill...
it's sometimes too late coming to a roundabout...
but then again: some indicators of direction
are already painted onto the tarmac...
traffic is not a game for solipsists...
when the former happens
i curse: it would have taken you...
20 more bypassing rounds around
me... doubling down:
when i see a Nissan Micra / a mini cooper
overtake me... while it was taking its time:

WHERE'S... THE... *******... PANZER!

- i'll just draw the sketch in writing...
fiddle with some phonetic cul de sacs..
you draw the bigger picture: the Kandinsky moment...
i don't need socialism to argue my point...
as much as abhor the acronym...
what could possibly undermine capitalism:
not that i want it undermined...
men not coupling with women...
men are not the spenders...

i can attest... one visit in a brothel once every half
a decade will not solve the demand for...
her... make-up chemo-therapy....
i mean... i can swap a good enough amount
of *** for... she's charging me £2 per minute...
perhaps dentists own as much...
perhaps... i spend my money on
essentials...
bicycle oil... whiskey... ******* flour...
to thicken a curry sauce...

                  capitalism works when...
men are willing to give up their money
for other men to make money from
the women who will spend it...
what if i'm not willing to couple up
with a woman who will spend it on...
*******-tides-&-screws...
the argument is a softened teddy: bear
of a pork **** hammered flat into a schnitzel...
why is my grandmother becoming more
estranged from...
she kept my grandfather's deterioration
a secret... come death: the end...
hardly any argument willing: to be satiated with
any pleasure for the juice of: life...

who needs socialism... to undermine capitalism?
when you can simply have men
detached... divorced... from the spending spree prowess
of women?!
maybe capitalism is just choking everyone into:
abundantly: more! more!
but what if there's no more to spend?
i don't need socialism...
socialism is for Syria... like it was for Poland
when World War II ended...
it's funny... did "my"... "my" people: ever
relish the concern for democracy...
will Poland become the new Vietnam?
sure... send in the black-*****-black-out
with eager future: single-moms...

do i look like someone willing to earn less
than i might spend more on?
the Teutonic Knights had a brothel
in their citadel of Marienburg...
i visit the brothel... once every half a decade...
i imagine she'll be ready to buy
buttons: a bear cub nibbled off my cardigan
at a Danzig zoo...

oh i can see how capitalism can be
undermined... it's already undermined...
the two tiers of spending...
i am prone to advertisement as a joke...
since i don't trust journalism..
but then i'm immune to advertisement
because...
i don't want to spend money...
i'd need a woman for that...
while a woman would eagerly spend:
spend... even if she doesn't have the money...

this one... softness for Islamic economics
hits true: all the time...
to abhor... the become tantamount in abhorring:
usury... this is the only redeeming
quality of Islam..
to hell with their theology...

if i were to... be loaned a pile of rubble...
why should i have to repay you...
a ******* mountain (of rubble)?

not being attached to a spending prowess of
a woman...
stale society: a walking abortion case...
must be designated a psychiatric diagnosis
to function: debilitated...
so much for those freed up lovers
of questionable purpose...
an hour with a ***** will "save" your economy...

the **** of the Sabine women...
too far fetched... for the quake of kings
resurrected for the hindsight of world war I...
the solo project: as each man be his...
tomb...

dasein(e) morphed -
a bit like with the clinger of Bastille...
marquis de sadé... no... women love to ****...
da (there) ist (is): sein (being)....
lightning stroked me...
sensible...

i like to "think" of pedestrians when cycling...
as.. pockets iof potential:
this "****" philosophical project
of "concern" is beside me....

dasein units of "potential concern":
versus... dastsein: units of "concerning potential"...
sharoened:
dasein: concern...
   dastsein: potential...
there is... being...
not that: there...not beng...
some germanic oops!

da-st'-sein...
DAST-SEIN...
  
it will not take socialism to undermine
the current schema of capitalism...
it will require the men themselves...
men uncoupled from the spending habits of
of... women....

bad cocktail... bad bad cocktail...
b'ah... the forest needs to breahe...
lend it some fire...
by way of:
i'll suffocate the whole economy with
replicas of moi...
she needs to spend:
but if i'm not coupled to a she:
who'll willing to sped...

who's spending who's tax-for-*******...
free?!

if i thought that prostitutes coming in at £2 per minute was bad... that's £120 per hour... the "engineers" at my local bicycle wholesaler come in at... £10 for 5 minutes work... changing the tube of a deflated tire... to hell with that... i'm going to invest in some tools... do it myself... walking past the shops in the mall while it rained... work... loitering... work... loitering... why is retail so... undermining the body? oh... i imagine escape with the mind is no good either... work as loitering... flick of the switch... it's hardly construction site antics of roofing... i'd sooner hang myself... but it's not like i can **** myself off... it's great that both she and me can boast about keeping personal hygiene to a zenith... complete shock when she performed ******* with rubber... pleasant shock... about five storms brewed in the sky over London while i hit a flat tyre near Rainham... well... what to do? walk the **** back... 4 miles...  but a thought arose...

i've heard this complaint... several times...
it's worded in many variations...
but the gist of it has the following words
arranged, thus:
i don't want to "merely" exist... i want to live!
Frankenstein had the same bother...
perhaps Frankenstein's angst makes sense
since it was conjured up by a woman...
while Frankenstein is burdened with existence:
per se...
he still pursues "life"...
ex-instance: out of, every - every(!) instance...
i was taking out the garbage:
massive freak for recycling...
i usually put out a ratio of 4 to 1...
orange recycling bags to one... slim... black...
bin-bag of recyclables...
i'm currently someone else's *****...
Pimm's... i'm pretty sure some ancient
Greek philosopher had a saying about
drinking someone else's alcohol...
oh... it's ease now...
but i know what i'm looking for...
it's only that much easier:
Diogenes the Cynic...
oddly enough it makes sense...
i feel like an English girl teasing her virginity:
long... long ago lost...
teasing with white lies...
talking nonsense during ***...
i **** like an animal: mute...
well.. if she let's me ******* inside of her...
oh... it happens once every half a decade...
do "they" have to speak during
*******: last words most poignant
where: in her bedroom...
'what would my father think
while i'm ******* you off...'
do i look like Oedipus... dearest Electra?
talk is beyond cheap during *******...
how about you show me your tongue...
as almost forever:
my eyes turn into two mouths...
my mouth turns into a socket
whereby my tongue becomes an eye...
while my head is sliced open
and a grand ear is lodged into the space
once occupied by fast-phlegm-of-brain:
freeze: i can remotely remember a 10 year old
moi leveraging the following statement:
i can't hear silence...
those words: exact...
i can't hear silence...
god i love to drink... what lot of life...
i love drinking more than:
perhaps if i loved ******* more i'd have
all the grazed knees and greased elbows
to go forth: into the world... with a pledge
of Darwinian beauty to: stare down
the stereotypical male archetype of:
spreading my d.n.a.
that one Thai surprise i picked up on a park
bench... enough strong beer
and enough jazz and she was... sloppy ***...
she even gave me a totem to remember
her while i dressed her in my shirt she
disappeared into while walking her home...
i ******* into my hand: rather than into her...
last time i checked Darwinism has no
place in the Freudo-Jungian schematic of
the atomised man...
consciousness is a flimsy affair...
given any focus for thought: ought-i? ought-i-not?
but still the angst of Frankenstein...
such burdens from mere existence...
such burdens that have to be translated
into... the pursuit of life...
me? i'm at the opposite end of the spectrum...
whatever happened when
Jason v. Michael took place...
well... what happened when
Frankenstein's (monster) took up a challenge
with Sisyphus...

it's the same old complaint:
by people who... come to think of it...
will not squeeze that much out of life
should they arrive at: "living" and not merely
"existing"...
however...
like today... with a flat tyre...
watching the sky for the direction
of the opera in the sky:
there was the thunder...
like a grunting... grumbling...
an empty... fasting stomach in the sky...
no lightning... i walked wishing to be struck dead
by a stroke of hey-zeus...

i remember that i exist:
more than i project the fact...
i remember that i exist...
more than i project that i do...

it has to be a mantra akin to: memento mori(a)...
by then it's impossible to love
or assert a posit for life
within the grounds of: well... it's not like
this will ever end...
watching the gymnastics: women... mostly...
no sorry ****** would attempt to undertake
the beam...
oh look... no need for only-fans:
but if all you're selling is...
selling bodygood-me-body-good-you...
that's fine...
what these girl gymnasts do...
what female tennis players get up to...
do girls really need to box?
**** it... let's see...
i'm asking for a compost of...
plum cherry and a prune...
i'm not going to paint those archaic
faces... dissolved under a niqab... just on a whim...
if they want a cat fight without nails all
manly: fists clenched:
let them... have... it!

i still don't understand the "underbelly" of
an argument that says:
existence is less than "life":
life's ****...
a flat tire and walking 4 miles while i
could have cycled 10 miles more
reduced me to a silence of the mind that re(a)d:
don't even bother thinking...
don't even try turning this inot
a cognitive narrative...
where's your pen? where's your paper?

all the greatest poignancies of essence
of life are encapsulated within the posit "bloopers"
of existence: per se...
life is ****... life is trivial...
i exist without pardon:
i recoil at seeing a maggot or a snail
or a spider...
my beginnings are hardly...
******* anaemic tadpole...

      to merely grasp the fact of existence...
will Frankenstein's monster argue:
subsequently: a life is necessary...
the life... well we all know what
the upper echelons of society prescribe:

let's be mean: "us": the poet gets... **** all...
the restaurant critic gets...
an umbrella for the rain...
paid load: newspapers...
toilet-paper should cost more than...
what weekend newspapers have to offer:
lazily bypassing dialectics...

i exist... a fact i remember from time to time...
i exist: it's not something i project forward...
life's... life is... pretty much **** in between...
but how people complain:
the mere fact of... midnight air...
while cycling to the brothel...
no... breathing itself: taking a ****...
that's not enough...
even eating... not enough...
the joys from the spices...
the cinnamon... not enough:
people, just... want... "life"...
by life... that implies invoking other people
to share your: "presence":
by that time... the people of want...
are... wanton... i don't want to be surrounded
by people who...

reminding oneself of being the recipient
of existence...
is... well... life fulfilling: in-itself...
i might not fly a F16 fighter jet...
or... make a cosmic trip to the moon...
but... i can provide a rhythm to
the pulse of a roundabout when i engage
with it on a ******* bicycle!
i like using much larger objects to my advantage...
a bus will sloth out from the starting
grid much slower...
what do i do?
i linger behind... i can match up its momentum...
fun fun fun...

within the categorization of "life" counter
"existence": by life i probably have to imply:
"essence"... and all that debacle:
does essence come before existence
or does existence come before essence?

i don't care much for "life": life is complicated:
life is drama... life is soap opera engagement...
life is disappointment...
existence... on the other hand...
reminiscence... spontaneity...
the full acquisition of the faculty of memory:
it's not that i must remember that i'm:
worm-food... i must know it...
knowledge of death must be burning at
my ******* groin...
it's not good merely focusing on memorising
that fabric of future events:
to remember death implies:
reincarnation... i'm not a big fan of reincarnation...
reincarnation implies:
zombies and only a fixed number
of worthy people jumping from body to body...
it implies:
the soul as being parasitical...
all of animation being parasitical...
this animation will never transcend
beside mere body toward a collective pursuit...

sure... call it something else...
if not soul then sigma or anima...
if you've ever seen a dead body in the morgue...
you'd know: this façade...

eh... i love to drink... i love to drink because:
even though i've love to **** a little bit more...
drinking never leaves me disappointed...
perhaps somehow... melancholic...
at the introspections i find...
to **** like the prowess of a game stallion...
that would require... doing the bidding of
other people... including myself:
i like to drink in order to undermine myself...
so drinking comes first...
******* comes second...
ambition is... long gone by the time i sieve
through all the music i want to listen to...
the books i want to read... sometimes i do:
read the books i want to... read...

hmm.. ****... humpf..
she has like a Lamborghini... a stomach like
a Genie...
what could existence possibly afford me?
the scent of cinnamon...
the taste of pint of Guinness...
a well constructed curry sauce...
life... on the other hand... "life":
a persistence of disappointment...
that i might have to share all these pleasures...
halve them...

why did it arrive in the mind of the most
atomised man that: essence comes prior
to existence?
there's nothing essential about existence...
there's only the existential existence...
scrap heap of: go toward the fabric of:
the in-between...
lately i stopped minding inter-racial
breeding antics...
given 2nd or 3rd "half-caste" inter-breeding:
depends on a woman's disgruntled taste...
wash up on the shores
of the sandpaper cliffs...
still not pickling ******* symbols in the juices
of ****...

you come across sandpaper skin...
these mulattos will fizzle out...
but i get it... if i were strapped to a whitey
beached whale... i'd want to be black...
otherwise all this... little bit of me...
cycling losing weight makes...
absolutely no... sense...
how did the black guys phrase it back
in high-school: more cushion for the pushing...
no wonder... if i were acquisitive of a 12"
phallus... i'd want... enough ***
to penetrate for her thrill: met...

hence my ***** envy disappears...
i'm left with beard envy...
oh god... chest and the whole worth of torso
a pirate's envy of kidding with pepper...

'i want to live! i don't want to merely exist!'
can one, merely...exist?
oh sure... one can live:
without ever once reaching for
clarifying what's essential to be alive...
to exist? i'm pretty sure that's missing on most people...
i like to rub my fingers on bricks...
tarmac... before i enter a brothel
and touch a *******'s body...
i like to impress myself with the sensation
of imitation: blind... when i read her body...

such that it makes sense...
the verve: lucky man...
a sing-along sort of a song...

let it flow: allow the walking abortions: oh wait...
too late: already conceived...
but thank god for the Olympics...
the male swimmers have the sexiest bodies...
not the sprinters... the swimmers...
much ado about the torso...
but it's so gladdening watching the Olympics...
all body: shapes and sizes
are... sized up...

the body build-up to swim
is not the same sort of a body
associated with lifting weights...
or performing judo...
or sprinting... or undertaking the high-jump...
if one British athlete decides to "take the ******* knee":
Olympics is ruled by a spirit of: all-inclusivity...
you testify racism at the Olympics...
you testify that... Jesse Owens didn't make
****** uncomfortable at the 1933 Olympics...

you bring your politics to the Olympics:
you best cancel Olympics...
sure... take the knee...
take two... i'll gladly kneecap you while
you're at it... just to make sure you forget
both running at a sprint... or walking...
black racists  will not undermine
a healthy atmosphere of:
some of us are born lesser...
some of us are born superior...
all of us aim at managing what we're best at...

me, drinking... no... i hardly think anyone
can match up to me...
i persist to drink yet retain a pedantic attitude
in relation to spelling, punctuation...
i say: ******* from posit A...
rekindle... eastern Africans... Kenyans...
are much darker than western Africans...
Nigerians... no wonder that among
the macaques i was admiring...
ivory beauties...
i forgot their skin colour:
coconut oil in the moonlight...
i was reminded of their teeth and the sclera
of their eyes...

itchy... ******* itchy... i'm so itchy...
itch after itch... i'm itching... itchy...
     itchy... i'm galvanized by some ulterior motif
of a reflex i won't be able to control..
i'll plead: not-guilty....
not because i am...
                  but to conjure enough
dissonant-custard of...
readily accessed pie-bypass that: i will not:
readily give... itchy... itchy... always with this
*******: itch!

Crystal clear connections,
thoughts within thoughts,
transmitted across miles,
sharing abilities and ideas.

Feelings and emotions,
passion, anger, excitement,
sadness, hate, rage,
all combined in shared minds.

The hive, the cluster,
an uncomfortable inclusivity,
a sacrifice of the self, and privacy,
but better than being alone.

One truly is the lonliest number,
whether in person,
or with silent thoughts,
the voices keep us from being so.

But not everyone can hear,
some choose to ignore,
but evolution is possible,
embrace the others.

My world consists of an endless stream of words.
It's the choice I made
when I agreed to be part of inclusivity.
But  I ask myself constantly;
How come a lone wolf like me
would choose to be part of
human misery?
Is it because I was brought to believe
there's a quest
to shape the world differently?
To hone the me and my own thoughts
regarding togetherness
into a commitment of trust?
So, will my efforts and words,
gain your trust?

oh, well, it takes roughly
                   staying up to 1am
to listen to foxes...
     maul through their desperate cries
of existence...
       the persistent reiteration of
                   linguistics,
        the overt-subject matter of *** -
can the tongue please find the mouth,
then the head,
   then the brain, then the mind,
then the substance of soul,
and move away from
        the genital preoccupation...
i know some gentiles have been
circumcised in the wild wild west...
but... please...
               well: evidently this is a counter...
infringing on the freedoms of
others, is to somehow: feed
the inhibitions,
   of my already inhibited freedoms
that others share?
                rigidity,
that's what i've ever experienced...
      language this,
language that,
              genesis primordial english,
erasure,
                  like some sort of lapse,
amnesia,
                             remains?
a nodding approval...
                            or the leprosy haven...
more concerned with
a testimony of telling a bad joke,
than resentment...
          base fact:
   i want to capture language in
the anti-voyeuristic sense of transit...
it's not a people,
it's not a place,
english, is... very much a lingua franca...
a means of transaction...
      a language of tourists...
that's it...
                   which is why i feel sorry
for the natives...
   caught-up in this whole h'american
"debacle"...
concerning the integration
of immigrants / ex-pats for the "in crowd"...
so you want me to speak
the language, but you want me to speak it,
you want me to speak it,
but you don't want me to keep
my diacritical "bias",
entertain your lack of,
   you know...
    playing with a Ken & Barbie
would be much simpler...
you want me to speak english
without minding accent...
but then miding an accent,
you want me to make diacritical distinctions,
but not make them...
you want me to mind
"orthography", when "you",
     "yourself" don't have any...
apart from dyslexia...
                    
     the ****?!
      you: pronouns
         +r: determiner
            self: noun...
  ego: noun...
        
the english language,
      the mongrel that it is,
it sure as **** dictates
itself rightly as a lingua franca,
the language of tourists...
but is it a universal *******
                         arbiter?

"gender neutral" pronouns...
then they're not pronouns
to begin with! are they?
you think that resurfacing from
   under the eisenvorhang...
at least back then
        back in 1986...
  the soviets had power...
   what is this...
                a revisionism
               of the english language?
              
****... if you're going to play
the "gender neutrality" card,
might as well play
the "plural inclusivity" card,
given how some
schizophrenics might settle
the debate with: WE...
confusing, i know,
but given their hallucinatory
symptoms...
      
             we as i,
               i as we,

i wasn't even born in england,
and i'm supposed to be, inclined,
to have a share,
in this country's, "inheritance"?
so i'm supposed to
**** off h'america?
  because of the shared
   allegiance of the shared tongue?

ha ha...
             rewriting the strict
obligations to grammar,
   as necessary refinement to
approach communicated speech...
so no meow,
no blah blah,
   no growl will do?
    please bring back the soviet
intellectuals,
   the whole world is laughing...
i'm laughing...
     i'm laughing in a hysterical
venture of...
        minding "the" fact that...
there's a madman,
   and he sounds more sane
than some of these counterfeit
sanity respondents...
**** it...
this whole circus of en masse...
as nietzsche pointed out,
            is the                  oll-neu-norm...

bettering the cause...
what the hell is "bettering"
and what the hell is, "the cause"?
by now...
people are not even bothering
to reference the dictionary...
we're talking about only
sourcing the application
of the thesaurus...

                cue misnomer,
cue the interpolation
   of the general standard of meaning...
wrap up a **** in
the flag of conveyance
    and call it: choccy thursdays.

my god, what am i going to do about Monday morning,
that coffee date?
sure as ****, Sherlock... you'll go to the Turk
for a beard trim, either either tomorrow or
over the weekend...
you'll make this weekend epic...
you'll cycle to either central London
or to Epping... either trip...
you'll do more push-ups... you'll lift some extra
weights... beef up... puff up...
you'll do that...
you'll also think about how you'll spend
your first earned money.... in a long long time...
sure... i'll spend it in a brothel...
i don't gamble: lucky... it's not like i have
*** regularly... it's worth spending money
on art galleries, brothels... alcohol...
after coffee, oh she wanted to meet up:
i know why... 10 or so scrambled messages later:
you have a physical copy of your book?
i have a physical copy of my book?!
it's not merely a pdf file?
it's not merely a pdf file?!
oh, right, right... yeah...
no wonder she wanted to meet up for coffee...
it will seriously take a miracle
for me to become loved up like the teenager
i once was available / able to...
who knows...
   my heart is hardened... yet it's not forever lost...
it will take a miracle...
it would probably require dating a woman
with a child... whereby i could turn my affection
onto the child, rather than stress it for a woman...
that would be so much easier...
a bit like petting a cat... i think loving a child
unconditionally would be so much more easier
than loving a woman within the confines of her...
ahem... expectations... conditions...
yet somehow still "unconditionally":
what a load of *******! seriously...
i was feeling slightly existed, slightly stressed...
hell... one stone, four birds...
took a **** while taking a **** while jerking off
while subsequently taking a shower...
on the throne of thrones... later to the sea of Galilee for
my "baptism"...
me... at the brothel...
what do i see? the worst kind of *******...
honest to god, is it really this easy these days?
this simp: cough up dough?
for what?! a picture?!
no touchy-feely... no *******?!
no feel of the *******... no sniffing of the hair?
no conversation face to face?!
are we talking about men... or ******* pseudo-eunuchs?!
at least eunuchs were put in charge
of the Ottoman harems...

i pay for what i can get... i'm not paying for some
****** video of a girl ******* of showing
off her ****, her vaginal region...
i'm paying for the entire body,
i rub my finger-tips prior to entry to the brothel
against concrete, to rough them up...
to subsequently touch something... soft...

and with the current climate, socio-political and
what not...
oh... oooh... some of us diagnoses as having
a psychotic disorder, complex...
diagnoses as schizophrenic...
how we wait for the S.J.W's...
i'm gagging for some blood sports...
the whole victimhood mentality:
i'm waiting...

over 10 ******* years in a de profundis hell-hole...
no help... helped myself...
i feel... resurrected...
no friends... friends ****** off... **** 'em...
better for them that they did...
better for me...
i could become myself...
will i leave traces of being an arrogant ****?
of course i will... did i break any law?
last time i was hand-cuffed was for *******
in an alleyway...
the police-officer cuffed me, shouted at me...
arrogant little *****...
a female officer was noting it all down...
i was un-cuffed and waked home
scot-free...

oh **** me: i'm charged... my heart is raging...
if the coffee is not enough,
where to? no, not a gallery...
i'll tell her: Havering County Park...
SEQUOIAS... over 100 example of these
gentle giants... just off Havering-atte-Bower...
a village that remembers days prior
to the Hastings invasion...
i guess i'd think about ******* her in the woods
all the ****** time...

perhaps she's like me...
she like the smell of horseshit in the morning...
perhaps she likes the scent of... frost...
an entourage of trees... mud...
sickly sweet mush of...
the gravity of winter... the exiled insects...

ooh... in this little dynamic of victimhood...
where do i lie, on the spectrum?
will they come after a schizoid?
these femnist-fashists?
these trans-gender critical-race-theory
inclusivity coaches?
after a schizoid?
oh... little ol' me thinking that we're off-limits...
i have reached a pinnacle,
now i just hallucinate my name...
when i do... it feels like the wind is speaking...
it's actually very pleasant...
i become doubly aware...

it really wasn't a mistake having to take 2 years off of
my 20s to read Heidegger's Sein und Zeit...
working as a steward at public events...
believe me... dasein?! being: there...
i know where i'm supposedly to be...
i have an added focus...
                my role is only minor...
but it's the optics...
i look the part... and... oddly enough... people
respect me for me looking the part...
i'm not a manager...
i'm just a pawn... but... like Louis XIV said...
appearances guide all fathom-ability
of undercurrents... non-verbatim...

that word should not exist as a hyphen compounding...
fathom-ability ought to be one...
are these English ******* going to keep up with
their forefathers, the Swabians, the Pomeranians...
or are we going to get more of this...
*******... shrapnel?!
conjunctions, definite / indefinite articles...
personal, huh?! pronouns?!
you sick or something, or just ******* *******?!

it truly takes a supposed madman to tell all
the supposed sane people to:
get the **** back in line... to return to a collective
sensibility, to stop appealing to
the irritations of minorities...
no... i'm done...
i'm not here to entertain one minority status
above another minority status...
i guess the S.J.W.s "forgot" to fight for the rights
of... people like us... diagnosed as schizophrenics...
sorry... did you forget?!

i'm not even role-playing... i'm prescribed not working
more than 16 hours a week...
although... i could kick-*** for about 15 hours more...

from under the yoke of ******,
from under the yoke of Communism:
and those ******* Russians...
to... ahem... this?
letf-oids?

*******: hälftenmenschen...
no... not half-people: no, not halbmenschen...
halves-people...
i already employed a verb within the confines
of the noun...
love received: is the love given...
if i'm to be deemed schizoid:
above bilingual... love received:
is the love given... simple, no?

godsmack: awake...
i just want to trap this one little... fly of a lefty
in my architecture of a web...
then again... being a spider is no fun...
this one little rabbit... a dark forest:
and i am a fox... ewignacht!
dehnbarschatten!

       erweitert pupille: ich sehen!
blut mischen mit adrenalin!
   ja! freude! energie! zweck und arbeit!
ja!

bring them my way... i want to eat something...
ich wollen zu schmausen!
(itchy teeth) juckendzähne!

my archetype? Diogenes of Sinope,
i love people...
love them to bits...
esp. when... they don't engage in
giving me their.... ******* opinions!
come one minute, gone
the next!

- guess what, though...
they want to ask me about diacritical
marks in Latin,
Haguel (south korean)....
katakana "vs." hiragana?
sure, i'll reply...
but not here, not now....

there are all these street references in modern
American poetics as if
anyone would or should give a ****
where Coventry Road, Ilford
or Beehive Lane, Gants Hill
   or Havering Road, Romford ought to or not
ought to be...

mind you: if there's anything i'm in awe of
i'm in awe of modern... post(?)modern
American poetics...
since no other people cry out: democracy!
and then shelter into under a poem
to salvage some realism of:
outside of the ballot box: the truest frenzy
of expressing freedom and individuation
and... what else?

ah yes, capitalised on discovering how
atoms can't be manipulated otherwise
to be used for boo 'n' 'mb...
so no great philosophers' stone unearthed
when the boo 'n' 'mb touched ground
on the keel of Hi'row'sha'mah shamanism
for clouds get "*****" with plum hues
when gathering water losing salt
when it is about to become a draped drenching
like a wrath of god and genghis khan
making coded eye-twitch-signals
because that pile of chalk is bone
and heaped as it was in Baghdad it wasn't
exactly: Pisa leaning...

    stacking bone-heads (bein-köpfe)
is stacking bricks, somewhat not but if pyramids
are concerned:
    Christian "mongols" did the same
to the library of Alexandria:
books were burned and later gold was revalued
at double its worth... since knowledge:
or simply knowing how to hack a faulty plumbing
device was passed down for two generations
sober until a drunk fetish for revelry...

the Baltic sea stinks of herrings...
hear-says i say i hear: sometimes it's not worth
hearing anything but a lover's snoring
with dictation of: i don't mind...

i won't be writing an equivalent of
"for my people" in the vein of Margaret Walker...
to me English is a language of commerce
and some off-shoot locals
like Cockneys befriending Essex groundwork...

i can't dispense my intellect to do
neo-colonial or post-colonial politico lingo jar
jar jargon...
i can actually excuse myself and it seems i must:
i must excuse myself from the concerns of
the English and what the hell they have done
with their "heritage"...
it's all very reminiscent of the 3 partitions of
Poland... one of the few instances
where at least 3 languages congregated
in a communion of a state...
at least ****** Litha and Ukra...

   not that i'm hot on my heels to return to the land
of hobbits and orcs in the middle of
the funnel continent that's Europe...
but if the common Englishman was
"robbed" of his laziness then
his laziness is a robbery in and of itself...
sure: to make life so expensive that it does
require the import of foreign labour for menial
tasks...

ask Leibniz: the librarian...
i'm a security guard at large events
and it's almost a simile in terms of how deviant
ambition can be(come)...
the concerns of the English are no concern for me...
notably?
  ah... this lovely chestnut...
why is Whitechapel spelled in Bengali
on the station entrance?

       হোয়াইটচ্যাপেল

palagi wordsmith... that's samoan for:
people from heaven donning cloth sheets to capture
the winds...
my concerns are not the concerns of the English...
i think "my" people have kept intact
European concerns...
Russia is sort of off limits as is Romania
Poland Lithuania, Bulgaria,
well: beyond touristy English no one is going
to live out a lingocide...

veit-shapel?!

            but i feel not allegiance to the "threats"
of what the natives speak of...
given the natives are still most intact
as the Welsh and the Gaels and the Scots
even though: beside the notable Welsh linguistic presence
the Scots reduced themselves to
scribbling phonetically
rather than linguistically...
so the theory off of Darwinism emerged just
as much with the advent of:
crazy idea European stranglehold
on the universality of the use of fork and hammer
and toilet... beside the brickwall of chopsticks
stone head and ******* and ******* into
the sea...

        lingo vs. phono

                 splits two brains into one and revels
in two tongues blinding one eye
with one ear honing to the sound of the migration
of bees...

i remember my origins in this land
and i am clearly peeved that what CONSERVATIVE
once meant... also meant:
deportation... also meant my father and mother
being handcuffed while i punched the wall...
so banana boat ahoy
so banana boats ahoy...
i'm still a furious pro-recyclist
in that i like to keep this island clean...
but i defer when there's a complaint:
oh illegal this one, not illegal that, one...
comes with orientating oneself
when there's clearly an ethnic nepotism...

how else was mass illegal immigration
into England made feasible if not by ethnic nepotism?
those already here
ensured they could prosper even more
by importing cheaper labour and pay them
droplets and breadcrumbs
while stashing their legal papers while
abodes of the Sheiks' were erected...
seems that smart people are a bad judge of liars...
because liars get freebies of innocent tickles...

i reimagine myself starting again
on the islands of Hawaii
concerning myself with: i'm not American...
and you ******* came all the way from: Taiwan!
sure... no horses like the Mongols
to transverse the plains of Siberia...
row row, row your boat...
   admirable... truly...
England is saturated so that i can't make excuses
for it making excuses being strapped
to either a straitjacket...
or rather... who invented the first straitjacket
if not Odysseus when encountering
the mermaids' song?

i can't be moved since i too am an arrival...
when applying for a job at Fulham's Craven Cottage:
being all hard-on for diversity and inclusivity
i put down my ethnicity as:
ANGLO-SLAVIC...
well in school i was taught about the Anglo-Saxons...
that's Anglo: Welsh, Irish, Scots... and the Saxons...
anything wrong with my assumption?
out of all the football clubs they pay the best...
am i not an Anglo-Slav?
well... i wouldn't put it down as a British-Blackpolack
because it just doesn't sound right...

all together... since the referendum
a marked disinterest from "my" people to settle or live
among: the Romanians fit just ever so slightly
better with the Asian demographic,
almost indistinguishable...
so after the referendum eastern europeans ******
off back home and
now we have confused locals siding with
political marches pro-Philistines
like it really matters, not...

                            shock-troops of the right
are still only yobs and psychiatric clues to the wonk
of anything worth being debated...

but as i dropped my mother off at Stratford
and was coming home...
well... so much for loving this piece of land...
and the language...
i can't get all fired up about heritage...

bo i tak mogę pisać po Polsku...
bo i tak: mogę myśleć po Polsku...
oddly enough, not really...
i don't need to be involved in an "culture war"...
which is? less a war and more:
a cultural exhaustion...
       an exhaustion of and a lack of expression of:
since everything has become a microcosm
of politics... a shifting zeitgeist rots
like a Lovecraftian anti-deity...
even the summations of borrowing Darwinism
for simpler explanations of:
not everyone is getting laid blah blah...
the war bride answer to why oh why...
blah blah...

            i can actually step back and refrain
from any panic... mingling with the Muslims
and the Hindus like this island was for partitioning:
clearly it's not...
but i'm just somewhat suspicious...
the whole world is here...
with the odd two dialects missing...
and? nothing spectacular is happening:
there's no Beatlemania...
there's no Britpop reinvention revolution...
it almost seems that someone has taken
the reins and said: whoa whoa whoa...
shh... slow down... let's find gravity again...

that's the plus side of being an immigrant among
immigrants and faking it being English...
only yesterday i had a revelation of:
but... i was faking being English, all along?
i couldn't learn the Essex accent...
so the London cosmopolitan educated type had to do...
but still...
mind you: before the current wave of immigration
there was that one little pocket
of resistance: no. 302 and no. 303 Polish fighter
divisions in the RAF...
less spectacular when the plumbers came:
i gather...

            but if i had to bend over backwards
and walk like a cryptic anti-toddler
in a circus' act of gymnastics: or some freak accident
in a horror movie... just to be supposedly
"anti-racist"...
  make more fetishes and unrealities of
individuation and self-sovereignty:

up to a point... until i'm a passenger in a bus
and i require a bus driver...
or a baker... or a shoesmith...
for ****'s sake... nice theory:
put into practice: leeches of the monetary dynamic
akin to usury and then thrown back
into the reality of 7 billion people and
we have tasks... individuated tasks:
specific tasks... yet such frank opent bluntness of
these people and their money...
yet somehow lacking the skills to perform
open heart surgery on themselves! hmm!
odd... why not?! divinity atom-ego?!
you get whiffs of their lack of schematic of politeness
on the basis that money touches anything
and ergo it transforms is done
by the magic of materialism of:
but money per se is not materialism per se...

money is like water, it is transactional...
it is not a stone...
         enough accumulation of it is a bit like...
a limp ****... it's the ******'s fetishism...
of ghost *****...
    ******'s 1% club... or rather...
the impotence of riches...
                 a strange kind of hunger is born thus...

i can make two comparisons blindly...
1.
   stroking my beard feeds into the same sort
of relaxation pattern as it would
stroking a woman's thigh or
making finger-tip location: return-to
posits around the more boney aspects
of the body...
the knees... the collar bone...
hands... mein gott...
hands... they're so ****** since they:
i guess... are much smaller...
i can pick up a basketball with one
hand... i peer into this little oasis of
shrapnel bones and think: don't think...

ha... ***** envy... i finally figured out
the trick men play on women
when they send them their whittle richard
"selfies"... obviously they take pictures
of their "endowment" AFTER they masturbated...
not that i've seen any but i imagine:
not imagine... of sure... it sure looks much
bigger with all the excess blood...
it's not like they're sending them
pictures of a pre-******* phallus...
cocky men sending women pictures
of what women send men: all made-up with
make-up...

it's a ******* giggle fest from here on in...
i still get beard envy...
even though i think i've coming across
a sleeping set of genes...
it's a Scandinavian "thing"...
to have brown hair, green eyes...
a brown beard: now that the greys have
arrived at the zenith of what would
be sideburns...
i still retain the colour of my hair from
youth...
schnurrbartblondine...
then again: i don't know how the grammatical
cascade works, sometimes...
not from ancient Latin: i'm pretty sure
French is the opposite...
blondineschnurrbart...
oh... it's a very Scandinavian trait to have
one aspect of your ****** hair... lighter than the rest...
darkened over the years of:
Matrix-England overcast skies...
good luck getting a solar panel in 'ere...
but as i was cycling my not so usual route
through what's yet to become "no-go zones" of
London where Sharia law is primed...
this Asian girl walking with her boyfriend
purposively decided to stand in the cycle lane
and purposively made eye-contact with me...
i think i mentioned her already...
without make-up she still looked as
pretty as a Cinderella... and i'm sure Cinderella
looked pretty before she tarted herself up
for the gala...
in this grand theatre of the urban setting...
everything needs to be nuanced...
everything requires a micro-cosmos...
my Nigerian neighbour is giggling from
behind the wall... sometimes he'll have a drag
out of the window from one before going to sleep...
while i will sit perched for 2 / 3 hours longer
and smoke out a locomotive...
i wake up thinking that i was screaming
in the night... i still dream of nothing but the great
yawn: of either space or time...
the odd dream i get can paralyse me
for about an hour in bed...
how did light enter my brain when the eyes were
closed, and i esp. since i was sleeping?
did i stare at the sun too much?
when i do look at it...
it's just a pulsating ultra-violet orb...
unlike the moon...
sedative in the sky...
i cower to find the night and...
ol' baldy: in western Slavic the moon
is categorically masculine...
in this... curry of etymologies that's English...
the moon is a gender neutral noun...
although: i suspect there are subversive
connotations of it being male...
but then "we" arrive at Luna...
a shortening of Lunar... and we arrive at
a feminine exclusivity..
just like with her antonym... Sun... not son...
sUn... mr. inferno parabola...
or... Helios... most definitely male...
see... i don't get it...
"gender neutral pronouns"...
it's one thing... but nouns... can be
nuanced... they need... sexuality... or is it gender?
to be invoked...
to assert their presence...
i know that gender inclusivity is missing:
currently... in the "post-modernist"
take on this language...
but it exists... you can give a man the name:
Basil... Fawlty: not merely faulty... no?
you can name a man Basil...
you can name a woman Hyacinth...
or Rose...
so? ergo? there are no non-gender neutral
nouns... are there?!
why should pronouns
"suddenly" become... neutered?
is this the BIG CULL...
perhaps it sounds better in german...

   ist dies das groß pflücken?!

you never know: writing to Anglo-Saxons...
they're deaf... they're not deaf...
they have their heads shoved up Anglo-H'american
culture too much...
i might have asked their origins people:
but then they came up with
"too many" definite articles...
das... der... die...        ditto the whole lot of them...
i'm neither, either...
protestant disillusionment... it's rife...
i see it when entering those "no-go" zones
in London: i'm an outsider doubly outsider...
i'm not English...
i stroke my beard: i'm not into novels
beside of Stendhal...
Sienkiewicz...
all the romance... i have a head
riddle with a makeshift of a headache...
i tried to recreate the taste of bourbon fixing myself
with a concoction of Scotch whiskey
with some Southern Comfort:
no can do...
the bourbon ******* used some alias
or something...

Wittgenstein vs. La Rochefoucauld...
of course i'm drinking...
sober people writing tend to...
waffle! i liked Wittgenstein: tautologies...
for the tautology scrutiny:
red... crimson...

"metaphor" / "misnomer": "x"...
just presume that
language took a turn and everyone
arrived at the sane spot:  "smarter"...
no... ugly monkey wants to **** an ungly monkey!
i'm tired of the temporal...
the history through the lense of
Darwinism..
see how it happens...
Darwinism didn't have a hand in Copernican
poker... but... it had a hand in history...
Narcissus the greatest sufferer...

i look into a mirror: do i have to peer
at a monkey?!
hello the orangutan has down's syndrome...
those monkey eyes are so close together...
hell: hello....

no... no former interest in the Finnish: kieli...
hmm... let's compare...
Finnish... Estonian... Latvian... Lithuanian...
Hungarian... what's zunge: tongue in each?
the Suomi say: kieli...
            in ******: the closest approximate is:
klei: it glues together... klel: glue...
well... the tongue does just that...
    hmm... no bewilderment here:
Eesti say: keel
           Latvijas says: mēle
                                   slightly off the chart...
Lithuanians... immediately all the prior
languages drop dead...
because the translation is: nicht zunge wie in
                     glied... körperteil...
               aber zunge ist sprache...
   since...
liežuvis is tongue: tongue proper... the waggling...
ice-cream licking bit...
(lje-ju-vis) the ju is Fwench: from je suis...
             but... oh what a dear word...
   KALBA... that's language to a Lithuanian...
the young Huns use: NYELV for language...
i'm not even going to bother finding the word
for the waggling part of: irritated teeth...
          this almost feels like a 4th Jemminah revelation...
can i possibly scare women?
are they sort of, like... almost... sisters?!
they don't want me finding them in a bad mood?
in their casual framework of relexation
before the television?
        mind you: yeah... that would be boring...
if i became a domesticated animal...
even though... i'm sort of domesticated...
but... when *** is involved...
              oh right... i hold the joker card in
my Texas hold-up game of poker...
    i've spent time with prostitutes... so...
box is box... kasten ist kasten...
                 i must have scared her...
                         i was willing to become a surrogate
father to her child... the penny dropped
when i read the boy his poem back to him aloud...
and said: wow... and it was a literal wow...
or when her dog was licking my ears
and my self-inflicted cigarette burns on
the knuckles... until i started bleeding...
      that i brought her a banana loaf and asked
if her boy had any nut allergies...
           the self-made wine... cloudy... so i bought
a bottle of franziskaner weissbier (also cloudy)
so she wouldn't think she was drinking poison...
    then come Valentine's day i dropped off a bouquet
of flowers on her doorstep in the middle of the night
and dropped a card inside...
   well... she did mention that this guy was trying
to "court" her... but... yeah... this part...
it took him 20 years to gather the courage...
   when i heard that... the time we came back in
the same car... and she feigned tiredness and put her
elbow on my leg... and sort of relaxed...
   right: *****-head on... i'm driving this one home...
i.e. i'm going in for the ****...
   in warfare it would be called Blitzkrieg...
in casual social relations it would be called
the: juwelansturm... charm offensive...
                   esp. after some time you learn that...
at least 3 single mothers are scouting for...
for... i don't even know what at this point...
                  oh man... and she even had a vinyl player
and i was like: can we meet in a few days time...
i have this record i'd like you to listen with me...
   backstabbing reality: she's a tarantula mummy...
she'll eat the male in order to raise her offspring...
                           safety in the brothel...
                                    to be honest... she was actually...
generous... because she let me go... ghosted me...
blocked me from messaging me... even though...
      i've already seen her, twice already... when cycling...
once at night: her face beaming larger than the moon
with... i don't know what it was...
another time... walking with...
the most unremarkably looking man...
   just a little bit taller than her... and i'm guessing she
was... at most... a 5ft3...
              but not when the same love interest
is spreading rumours on her first day at work
about you being drunk on the job...
              well: i do know that i drink to excess...
i do have drinking ******... i tend to drink for about 4 people...
but when i need to be sober:
i'm sober... why do we need to be sober...
i will never know... but...
            eh... therefore? the charm-offensive had
to be put in place...
   as i told one of the other co-conspirators:
there's this ****** proverb...
           lies... or is it liars?
    lies don't walk on stilts...
        lies / liars have short legs...
                 lies are not longshanks...
         time... all it took was time...
                                but at the same time...
it's so frustrating... i'd love to **** a single mum...
i mean: her libido must be... exponential...
   shoom! a ******* comet!
                  esp. if she's raising a boy rather than a girl...
i should know... Khedra... the *******
i have unprotected *** with is a single mum...
but she has a daughter... prettiest **** thing in the world...
and her libido is a rave... a rage... a... a...
don't go there... i mean: i go there...
but... yeah...
                          and Jeminnah was this petite auburn
ginger **** good looking "thing"...
what Rodin sculptures i could have had with
her in the bedroom...
                                   ugh... it's sick... it's truly sick...
framework... just to ensure the boy isn't there...
but she... actually behaved rather admiringly...
she... actually... spared me...
   all the disappointments that would inevitably
come... if i went... no... if she went forward and
made herself more "available"... ***-friendly...
                 i still don't know why i like writing about this...
it sort of sooths me... or i'm having trouble trying
to write about something new...
therefore i regurgitate this little event in my head...
because i'm trying to find explanations
not excuses - certainly not dejections...
   or harbouring a resentment for women...
           i think she behaved... like a doe would...
     and i have actually run with doe and their young once...
at a traffic junction... there was no stag...
they became lost... traffic mayhem...
run them back into the woods...
                seriously: i can't even be bothered
to imagine **** anymore... life's as it comes... and goes...
so she did behave like a doe...
        frightened little thing...
              well... if you come across a guy and your
dog finds him irresistible...
  your little boy wonder becomes sort of scared
of an authority figure... or rather:
doesn't look at your boyfriend as an older brother...
like my neighbour once said:
better jerking off in heaven
than ******* in hell... i guess she should know...
****... better change that term juwelansturm
to... reizkrieg... yes... much better...
              but i still don't get it: how socially backward,
lacking any sort of introspection / self-awareness
must you have... to... do a Mr. Bean move...
knowing how cut-throat women are against
each other... to... have about 4 women gather against
you for slandering someone: you just met
and are working with?
            maybe i have a mind the size of pigeons...
but... at least that sort of brain size allows me
to have a Sat-Nav implant...
   i still can't get over how much drama i just avoided...
i was about to step into a hot pile of ****...
i truly was willing...
           how she allowed her former boyfriend...
well... her son's older brother... by my take on things...
to run her in over £10,000 of debt... implying she lost
her credibility to work in the financial sector...
i have a square head... i'm trying to fit a rectangle into it...
it's not going to work...
   and i'm not even solipsistic / autistic...
(a) why would you tell me your life story so endearingly,
   while also slandering me...
(b) why would you tell me your life story
and not something you enjoy doing... the music you like?
(c) women mature faster than men?!
   you're kidding me, right?
    that's like that Egyptian fwend i once had...
absolute ***... even the Pakistani said...
we're supposed to meet up for the movies...
no... forget fashionably 15 minutes late...
  sometimes... an hour late... **** those sort of people...
waste of air... never mind time...
but i'm the sort of person that is: in love with the idea of love...
in liebe mit die idee von liebe...
   but i was truly treading on egg-shells while walking into
a SHAMBO'H... szambo = septi tank...
           - mind you: self-deprecating humour does help:
a lot...
    while the only use of the diminutive tense in English
i was able to find was, associate with... making nouns
ugly... "nouns" well... like Matthew becomes Matt
Peter become Pete... Anthony becomes Tony...
Joshua becomes Josh... Samuel / Samantha becomes
Sam... it's ******* ugly... it's diminutive "diminutive":
just ******* lazy... like do not becomes don't...
Pakistani becomes ****-,
               at least where i come from: diminutive is
diminutive: i.e., it's endearing...
because something smaller is always cuter...
you want to tend to it more...
KACHKA'H (kaczka) becomes kaczuszka...
drzewo become drzewko (tree, little tree)...
tygrys: tygrysek (tiger, little tiger)
jabłoń: jabłonka
   it's the diminutive but it's also... refreshing:
lying about the thing's temporal quotation...
which also makes it a funny reading into history...
that **** Germany thought of themselves as
Aryans...
    yet... the ******-lack-lands further east entertained
the infusion with the Sarmatians...
an Iranian... Aryan tribe...
        and we are... "we" are... i am... very *******
refreshed to defend my mutterzunge...
sure... i'll keep it subdued: if i had a keyboard that
would allow me easier access to the orthography...
i don't think i'd write in English...
probably not...
         even Charles Dickens can't call it orthography
whether it's weather or little or litle...
   there's no orthography where they are no diacritical
marks... akin to U contra Ó
   or epsilon contra eta...
                 mind you: the Byzantines are hyper-sensitive
to γλώσσα - even now... upsilon, omicron: omega...
why need to stress: give the omega the acute
accent? i know it's gloossa... shouldn't that accent
be put to better use in order to make the English
looking proto-Germanic ᛋᛋ (schutzstaffel)
disappear? too many ******* consonants in ******...
i heard that argument before...
    too many diphthongs in yours... or at least lacking
one: IE... that ought to be a diphthong...
aye... i... die... dye... different... dynamic... dip...
where's an affirmative-iota in... the last three examples?!
surely you don't say: dype... when you write: dip...
do you?
             all of U in you...
                             yes... i do feel linguistically superior...
but it's not a superiority of: "my" people write
language in a... oh ****... now i remember...
the best comparison comes...
like this project of twinning towns...
Havering was twinned with Ludwigshafen...
the ****** language... lodged between Russian and
Deutsche... neither... the best alliance
is with... the clarity and sensibility of: Japanese...
that's the closest i've come to compare my mother-tongue...
Japanese...
   it's the clarity of syllables... of actual letters...
sure... Japanese has restrictions on its consonants...
since they have to be coupled with vowels...
except... why is N no ******* unique?
i could understand H... from the Hebrews...
since... that's a vowel catcher of sighs and eh?! conclusions
and a vowel generator of: ah ha ha... i.e. laughter...
so... what?! the Japanese laugh akin to...
Ini Kamoze's: here comes the hot stepper?
na'h na'h na'h?        oh: wight... no trill of the R...
no rattle-snakes back there...
i guess you could laugh on a Na (sodium)
and No (know very little)...
      next time i'll catch myself laughing i'll ditch
the H and borrow the ン (N)...
but... hmm.. weird... Sejong the Great might agree with me...
something's up...
i'm itching... now... Korean makes more sense...
to hell with the Chinese skeleton... x-ray...
hieroglyphs... ideograms... brick wall:
too much memory gone to waste...
        no phonetic clues... just enough geology...
pressure... time... erosion... to memorise...
   not going to happen...
  that's why you're never going to invade China...
but something is up in Katakana...
if N (ン) has such a unique place among / apart from
other consonants...
that it has the same sort of status as the vowels
(ア) A or (オ) O...
海 - kai... ocean... phonetically dropping the ideogram
("emoticon") you'd get: カイ...
but if N is so uniquely placed as an A...
why... would you require...
       to merge this unique consonant with the unique
vowels?
      why do you need this?
ナ ニ ヌ ネ ノ: na, ni, nu, ne, no?!

isn't N unique like the vowels that it can stand uncoupled
with vowels? so... if it can't be stand-alone akin
to vowels... why keep it: "unique"?!

ン   ア   イ   ウ   エ   オ

   fair enough... i'm far from Japanese... but i still don't understand
why you need to disfigure the unique N by a vowel...
and i'm trying to figure out the logic...
how, for example:  ン + ア = ナ...
since... exactly... since...
                         there's no equivalent to the N + A = NA
for any other consonant in Japanese...
there's no R + A = RA... since... there's no R!
no really... let's see... RA: ラ... ア (A)...
              so... what's the R? it's almost like a diacritical mark

laughter in "anime" / ******: ハ ハ
) (                   close enough... but if the H is invoked...
how does A morph in "opposing" chiral, mirror?
   ア? ア + ? = ハ: ha... ha ha... ha... eh?
and the obvious restrictions... consonants take the lead...
when fused with letters...
you can't find AN or an AM or a AT in japanese...
you can only find NA MA and TA...
- if i'm going to become prone to dementia in old age...
sure... then... i'll travel to Amsterdam and
juice up on some chew of a handful of magic
mushrooms... a reiteration of how fungus hitchhiked
the money brain... but not until then:
i'm good... on this linguistic plateau, for now...

- lessons from yesterday... H'american women are
insufferable... apologies...
i can understand tight yoga pants... flick of the hair...
exposing... or rather... exfoliating in one's peach
*** physique... but dressed...
it really makes all the more sense to align oneself
with the Muslim women... i truly: truly abhor this
current... libido insomnia... which implies...
by the time i get some: i don't want it...
which means... the pattern of going to the brothel
to get a hard-on... i need to exercise in short exhausting
bouts like a boxer... i need to ******* without
actually ******* for a few rounds...
and i need to drink an aphrodisiac like white wine...
and then i'm good to go...
    
we've been so overtly sexualised we've become...
sterilized by overexposure...
i'm serious... perhaps the NIQAB is not so much
about female oppression but...
to ensure the male libido is kept intact: focused...
since... men become easily bored if there is no
existential stress... we tend to ******* and pursue
**** like: geometry... linguistics...
yeah: "bored"... no... we find alternative avenues
to cope with life...
       and by a common demonitor:
we're no adherents to the doctrine of Darwinism...
most of us would **** for the Copernican focus
of reality... but... this whole idea of passing on
our genes? sorry...
even i see what sort of men pass on their genes...
passive men... mediocre men...
humanity has made Darwinism unnatural...
**** Germany tried the orthodox method
best associated to Darwinism...
why did it fail?
  like that Matrix quote from Agent Smith...
people... people... just enjoy misery...
it's what makes them thrive...
populus... populus... fruor miseriae...
                                                    in miseriae illi vigeo!
i tried... to accomplish "something" worth the dignity
of calling it: human... personally? i can only attest
to... mengelegeschrei! kinship...
                  it wasn't worth it...
                  trying to love people is one thing...
it's so disturbing doing such a feat...
the whole inclusivity project...
   when you don't have exclusive rights to one person...
maybe only swans figured it out...
but... it's so... ******* chimp-sour...
so psychologically backwards...
             i'm not even irritated, disinterested or... stressed...
calmly, collectively... backtracking...
i'm getting bored of this libido insomnia...
   what if i were to showcase my underwear bulge?!
that would be deemed as ****** harassment... wouldn't it?
i've seen messages on the tube...
LOOKING... ooh... you look at some in a lecherous mood!
handcuffs! handcuffs!
               TOUCHING! can't i... touch you on the shoulder...
so you might... move aside... while i get off the tube?!
handcuffs! handcuffs!
      this society is beyond rotten...
rot is rot... it's... fermenting... into something
that... whatever propaganda the Soviet's would have
envisioned to throw at it... couldn't...
it ******* self-imploded...
   no no... this is a full-on self-implosion...
         you wish there was some post-Soviet involvement...
there was: zilch...
          
what was once the Soviet Empire... is not modern Russia...
oddlt enough...
   i'm so thankful that i spent over a month in Russia
and never once switched on the t.v. mind you:
i was in a "relationship" with a girl who told me
her grandmother was her mother..
and her mother was her sister...
   and she was still bangng her ex... with ties to
the government... blah blah...
faking having a period... but i thought *******
a woman on her period was all bonus?
fleshy crumbs on the ******...
   fair enough... i'm not sick on the sickly sweet bits...
i'm like a crab or a crow...
i pick up leftovers...
             but my eyes truly dim... the iris and the sclera
disappear... all you can see is the pupil...
when... libido insomnia over-exposure kicks-in...
i just stop thinking straight.. usually my mind is built
for vectors... geometry... but....
when i'm getting teased too much...
this is teasing... let's face it... and... i can't get a hard-on...
what would most do? a violent cause...
i don't think we're asking for nuns....
      we're asking for Black Narcissus types...
the tragedy of overtly sexualising men
into a future of impotence...
  while... deeming women: overvalued and...
            doomed to an existential failure of
single motherhood...
              it is a failure! there's no romance to speak of
if... she has a girl or a boy token!
and the socialism... the Soviet propagandists would
have never envisioned such an easy future of
argument....
capitalism will not fail out of ideology... if it is going
to fail: it will fail out of biology...
men will become so isolated from women
that men will... as men do: stop spending...
because they will not spend money on women...
why would i want to spend more than i already
spend on a bottle of whiskey and a bottle of pepsi and
a packet of cigarettes?
why? huh?! eh?!
                 i don't need to look "pretty"...
                   i'm already ugly...
                       reality dissonance... it's vibrating!
it's ******* vibrating! it's like: hum hum hum... humming...
insect wing flutter... coupled with KEISHA's song BLOW...
well... because the last time i cited
listening to
  COMBICHRIST... the girl blocked me...
      sent to destroy... it's such s nice... song...
  well... manner... tastes... one can't oysters all of one's
life... whoops... which is like: whpe + slippery + oops + i slipped...
ah ha: ba n'ah n'ah!

ad mors facio tuus venia!
   toward death: make your pardon!

I am living with myself
My past as a loving father
And my present
As a loving woman, and father
Of my beautiful daughter
Today
On Father's Day
I received two cards from her
Both said Happy Fathers Day
But one had the Transgender flag
Covering the front of it
The gift of Malteser Truffles
Were also very welcome!
And i was kind of grateful
That they were not pink
Some traditions do need to be maintained😅
The significance
Of the transgender card
Is the inclusivity of it
Not just for me, but also my daughter
That she can now easily buy a card
For a trans parent
Without it having to be a major issue
I'm aware how lucky i am
And that there are younger people out there
That would love to get a card of this ilk
from their parents, birthday, xmas....
An open hearted gift of love
Breaks down many a barrier
saw a blue/white/pink pigeon
it landed on my balcony
i made no assumptions as to it's gender
it then took wing
and flew away

by Jemia post op transwoman, and father

The voices of power come from above
Not as an angel
Or a dove
But as a catalyst of the modern day
Playing a proud euphemism of inclusivity
The ringing pours into the coffee
A work place full of brutality
The tax man walks in and orders
It counts up to the minimum wage
Workers that are used to the disarray
As he walks away not with a coffee
But with a note

“No matter what you say, do, intervene or pray… you’re mine”

Do not ask me to write a better future.
I cannot see a light through
the dark tunnels we are
traveling in our fast flesh cars.

I am not depressed as many are,
because I have seen what horrors
have moved us forward thus far.

My nightmares pale in comparison,
to the carnage other people have been
moving, drowning, and living in.

Poverty and hunger, war and terror,
chaos and destruction, over there
where I don’t have to see,
but I watch and read
enough to know it’s real.

I am coasting while others are roasting,
burning in their own personal hells,
convicted and sentenced to a chemical jail,
that they cannot escape because their cell
is the body that they make.

Rage and anxiety pushing our society
to uncertain extremes,
dividing us into the too many teams;

When we would be better served
by acting like Earth’s steward
and learning to listen to
those who have not been heard,
by making kindness the new holiness,
and finding out why they know this
isn’t how it has to be.

Inclusivity doesn’t cost much,
and we gain the universe
by being able to accept and embrace
change.

But my people like to tear down the strange,
prefer the cold dark caves
from which we sprang,
whilst burning and burying
most outliers.

I live in a world of science deniers,
that don’t give a crap about forest fires,
cause our climate has become
numb and dumb to the truth.

So, though, I may smile
while I am talking to you,
I still believe we are totally *******.

sexually starved... they talk about the modesty of the worker... when the human being is allowed access to touch... then starve that human creature... not a being: a being is complete... but a human creature... starve it of human access of reciprocation... then release it onto the access of getting some... outside the realm of prostitution inclusivity... by my exclusive righteousness: i will do unthinable acts on that *****: and you will call it: a return to Eden!

i'm suspicious of Islam...
in how it was conceived
from what ought to have been
the wrong... fuckery...
ended up... this pornographic
plague of tortured-innocence
and bliss
and desire...
i understand it as angels
being prescribed
trans-affirmation *** pareidolia
eye-monstrosities...
eyes like gulag of the squid
feeding mechanism...
and i was so repulsed
and... in the good old days...
hell was so hollow with
what was usually expected
from the hierarchies of man...
then i started to see
figurines and extracts
and abominations...
it was only right that i became
incarnate in their modest
temporal norm...
when did hell become this:
farcical imbomboo?!

In my sickly delirium...
What started as a simple enough cold
Morphed into an onset of the GRYPA...
Or as I like to call it: the gryps...
or grips... should you wish to know:
The Y is a hollowed out Iota: yes for
Short: aye aye, pirate eye...

It's this analogy I have in my burning
brain...
A supposed beggar woman asked me
Once for 20 squid and I gave it to her
Because a storm was coming
And she sounded so convincing
But today she asked without any predatorial
cunning for the same amount
And I just barked: NO! NIET! NEIN!
I've stopped feeling sorry for these opportunists
As I walked into the store to buy
My remedy of a little whiskey for
The cough and aches and later some coffee
She quickly shuffled from the bench
Because I'm just, simply done with
All this fakery this victimhood mentality:
It bothers me...

I've had three attempts on my life...
One when I was a bambino is hospital
A nurse tries to choke me
Another time when a mother
Of my best fried tried to push me into a well...
A third time when I experienced
A brain haemorrhage when
A Muslim buddy of mine thought
It would be exciting to give me bad
Drugs and I stupid enough thought it
Might be soft LSD....
Aged 21 and then over 10 years
Spent in madness trying to figure **** out

See, but i love myself when I'm sick
And striving: i see the relentlessness
Of the self-will as the all encompassing
Self-preservation projection
And I'm under no illusion
Of a free-will... bandage throughout
Whether a slave to the passions or
To the necessity of labour and all
That entails the need for money
And why I'm not a plumber
But I can pay a plumber to do
A plumber's work...

In this weakened state I see
The supposed admiration for predators
In the animal kingdom, the quasi-nobility
Of the tiger etc
But predators are not unique
In that they are beautiful
But merely opportunistic
What's truly admirable
Is the animal that's having to employ
All the vitality in its abstract:
In essence... supra-intuitively
With heightened senses...
Why am I sick because I don't eat
Well enough I drink or maybe
My coworker visited a hospital recently
He's ill etc I'm not shifting blame
I just live being myself disinhibited
When I'm frail that's when I truly
Come to the fore when I can bark
At a beggar woman and feel not
Disney-esque repercussions of being
Chastised and made impotent or turned
Into.a beast and cursed
So be it! Have me as your beast!
And I'll make sure that third party
Of your God is to be turned into a Chimera:
Tell me of the "person" that is the Holy Spirit:
The PERSON... not the allusion
To the Christian Church or the Islamic
Ummah...

As a Slav I'm tired of the ****** and ****
Jokes... tired of them...
It's almost insulting in a way only
Hebrews might joke...
I was next on the list for extermination
And if we weren't forced to build
Auschwitz then we had the prospect
Of thinking our tongue to be extinct:
Genuine concerns...
And now I'm sick of Europe
And Europeans
Unlike that scene from the Last Samurai
Where the colonel asks Tom Cruise:
Why do you hate your own people
So much...
Well... you have given me all the right
Reasons... this diabolical all inclusivity
Mantras of pseudo-communism...
I'd rather live among the barbaric Polynesians
And see the world through the lense
Of Gauguin...
I don't want to live among Europeans
Simply for their sadomasochism
And lack of once existent bravado
And chauvinistic expectations:
I don't want to live among them
And I'm certainly not going to live
Among the Russians or my supposed
Fellow countrymen in Poland
Even though I speak the tongue
I'd rather retain than tongue for personal
Reasons of...
Playing a joke on psychiatry with:
Bilingualism is a another version
Of schizophrenia... didn't you know?

In my weakness of nearing flu fatigue
I'm buckling, stomping: in a frenzy...
Unlike the predator
I'm in desperation mode and there is
Nothing unique or admirable
About a predators... it's the admiration
For the animal about to be eaten
And how it conjures a beyond freedom:
This ******* of freedom
Corruption by both
Happiness and misery
Sickness and health...
But health rarely gives permission
For the mind to overcome body
It's only in sickness they you start
Tripping like you might with some brushstrokes of illumination from
Despondency... bluish silver moon melancholy mischievous melancholy...

Still "reading" Jon Fosse...
It's not so much reading as meditating
And yesterday's interlude had Asle
and Asle poised together
With the DT's: delirium tantrums
The shakes
And i drink, I think:
But it never got that bad that I might
Shake... but it was like the Scandinavia
Adventure of the simpler poison
That the elaboration by American
Beatniks and the heresy
Of writing under the influence of
Plebyscilin or LSD or achuasca
and I don't mind being dyslexic
At the point....
I shouldn't be at work but I am
And I'm feverish and *****...
and probably a little crazy...
But that passage from Fosse about Asle
and Asle mistaking being on a boat
And all that snow
Made me want to drink a bottle
Of strong cider 8.2% in a public place
At a bus stop waiting with other people
Going to work and going to school
While I was like: 7am is 7pm for me:
I don't know why you think i might
Have a drinking problem...

These night shifts will end
I could do them in the winter months
But the day is creeping in
And my biology is rebelling against
The ******* econoc model: economic...
It would be plausible to do this site
On a 3 man rotation: 8 x 3 = 24 hours
But these 12h rotations are insane
And inhumane and I don't give
A flying ****'s fat *** what the argument
For capitalism, western values blah blah
Flux more blah blah
Christianity is better than Islam
Blah blah some more...
It's a 3 man job per shift...
Even the ******* communists knew
This when operating a metallurgical plant
They had 3 shifts... day... 6am start...
Night and graveyard!
**** your Mr Little Society Know It All

And as for the "supposed" lie...
And you will know the difference between
Good and Evil...
But I did dah that lie while throwing
The illusion of you being in a garden,
In paradise... seems like a small price
To pay compared to what God might
Have said: with you on a barren mountain
Side or in the desert
Or in the open sea
With not water to drink
Imagine the reality check
If God spoke to you, dearest man
And you didn't have the illusion of being
Spoken to in the garden of delights
But of course you had to **** up
That garden of being delighted
As the middle class Englishman
With a garden of your own Candide: tend to
No no... you had to **** that up too!
What wasn't reallya lie
Was the veil of the garden
Of paradise
When in fact you already knew
The nuance of knowledge with the conjunction
AND because good and evil
Implores relativism after all didn't
Your Savior say that it rains and shines
On both the good and evil man?
But where were you?
Stranded in a forest awaiting to labour
To uproot all those trees to
Make the land fertile and arable:
Arabs... spare me the desert harshness
Reality I'll ask the 'Skimo about
The reality of the freezing Tundra...
*****...

Even now it's so funny in England
The English might
But i won't be schooled in language
By some ******* Somali
About the term Aboriginal
Cf. Indigenous when
The ******* Somali knows
**** about ethnonyms and exonyms
Like how the English refer
To themselves as expatriates
When moving to America
And everyone else is immigrant...
Proper garden tools in this middle tier
Logic... class:
English society is so transparent
With the proper guise of license
And education and accent...
But Ghandi was right about the Europeans:
They set off glorifying the names
Jesus Christ for 2000 years
With the help of the H'americans
That'll leave us 1000 years worth
Of remembering Adolph ******...

Long before Einstein came
Along and gave man insight
Into revealing actual relativism
Of combining space with time
Man's inherent "flaw" was to settle
His ontological trajectory to fathom
Existence built upon "my"
Ethical Relativism...
Each time a deviation occurred
Something miraculous happened:
An original man was born...
One who could quench my desire
For harmony in the working progress
Paradox... the oomph and propeller...
Man was already sentenced to
Moral Relativism long before
E = MCsq came about...
The moral relativism of a Crusade
Or of Jihad... it's for the good: with some evil
Spices along the way....

Who needs geneological testing...
I know where I'm from:
Based upon what my mind is
Responsive to, unabashed and disinhibited...
I don't need to know what I already know
When I succumb to Scandinavia literature
And abhor Jane Austen's private
**** sensibilities
Since I already know she's playing
The victim cards with Pakistani ****
Gangs and fair enough...
But this is my proper chance to get laid
By flying ******* off to Kauai
And finding myself a Mayan bride...
Because the girls really didn't take
A fancy to me so
World's your oyster, matey...
Just wondering why Jimmy Saville died
before this phenomenal news came about...
Sorry? Who am I feeling sorry
For when Eastern Women ask
The question:and where were these girls'
Parents?!
What am I to seriously believe:
I can understand moral relativism...
What i don't understand is the media
"Moral" inflation / conflation...

And some notes:

The subconscious is not a petty domain