On my team when we rap we finesse
Finessing wins an nothing less
Only wins i.expect
Losing i dont accept
You can detest
But youll always.be.SECOND BEST
Don't ever second guess
Me cause i address rappers in.this contest these.competitors context
Is out of text
Wwf suplex
A rapper on.his neck
My quest
Is destruction
No reconstruction
Reconstructing
These subjects
My.suffixes killin em call that presuffix
My.phonix is puncturing
These objects in my conference
Geometrical flow spitting at the top of my pinnacle
Higher conscious in my temple
Lookin through my third eye visual
Balancing my.energies
Frequently these negative entities
Pervade my frequency
Made in God imagery
An i write spiritual symphonies
Praises for the epiphanies
He had on this being
U not seeing what im seeing
Traveled back to egypt cause of Phoenix
False idols an teachings
Deceiving
Worshipping idol gods an beings
See I'm a light an im beaming
Astral
Travel
To different dimensions
See i might look human but im far more different

. i come from a very stubborn lot of people, and by coming from a very stubborn (rathert plain ignorant) lot of people, i can tell you that what's currently happening to the fabled anglo-saxons... it's not akin to an austrian subversion of the germans, or the georgian subversion of the russians... there's a difference between being subverted, and being coerced.

i never understood it from the get-go...
now...
   of all the ingenius peoples...
there's a... blocked toilet...
or... as i see it:
                      a media boost...
   obviously the media would receive
boosted ratings
from the ramblings-on
   from that brothel of a house
                     of representatives...
no, no, they'll tell you...
the vote was never ******...
   even with these parliamentary votes
in the recent days...
  
  let's just look
at... "democracy"...

division no. 355
ayes: 315
noes: 235
                        Σ = 550 (13/03/19)

division no. 356
ayes: 314
noes: 276
                         Σ = 590 (13/03/19)

Σ = the no. of voters!

endless no. of examples...
of how... "democracy" works...
shadow veto "circumstances"...
this is... "democracy"...

the agora is... suspect...
the voting agora is always
suspect...
     no wonder...
         i forget the mainstream
scrutiny of the most pointless
votes...
  like that one,
with a majority of, 4.

see... i never understood
"brexit"...
   only because...
the English never lost their
currency...
what sort of otherwise
better proof,
do you need,
for a national sovereignty,
autonomy...
   if... you never gave up
your national currency?
  sorry... you'll have to
reiterate that argument...

you want to prove to be able
to regain...
   what... you already have?
this was a seriously charlie
chaplin moment on
behalf of the Brits...
all the other members...
who joined the union,
but retained their national
currency,
already knew,
or at least subconsciously
predicated the original,
intent & ambition
of the sly helmuts...

               the little mussolinis
are attempting to jump
the sinking ship...
of the vierte *****...
             as we speak...
see... what's confusing about
the british quest for
autonomy...
   you already had it...
by keeping the pound...
anyone spends a euro
in england without a currency
exchange?
             yes, no?

the paranoid peoples have all
kept their currency...
what once were imaginary
shackles, have become:
very literal shackles...

division no. 359
ayes: 321 (tellers: nick smith,
    bambos charalambous
   - of the latter... is that a sort of
dr. faustroll character?)
noes: 278 (tellers: jeremy quin,
         mr alister jack -
of the latter, why does he get a mr
prior to his name?)

question accordingly agreed to.

                   Σ = 599 (13/03/19)

resolved, that this house rejects
the United Kingdom leaving
the European Union without
a withdrawal agreement and
a framework for the future relationship.

i'm guessing: another "special"
one, akin to keeping an ostrich focus
in the sand,
or the h'american constipated ***
of its own.

division no. 354
ayes: 242 (tellers: andrew stephenson, iain stewart)
noes: 391 (tellers: thangam debbonaire, nic dakin)
                        Σ = 633 (12/03/19)

so... this... "democracy"
        is, a "democracy" within...
   maintining a focus on...
ensuring that there is no fixed no.
of voters...
   thereby ensuring that
whatever majority needs to be
achieved, is achieved...
      by the "lost voters",
                    by shadow vetos...
if only we knew the true sigma...
of the parliamentary elect...
  
e.g. division no. 354 contra
    division no. 355...
Σ = 633 (12/03/19)
     Σ = 550 (13/03/19)...
we're talking about
83 parliamentary elect
"disappeared",
turned into ******* mushrooms
over a single night!
while around 17+million
decided over the brexit referendum...

vote: with a gun pressed
against your head...
i could understand that...

   some call it
the: there's no other alternative...
i call it a jackson *******...
or some vague spaghetti dish...
but sure...
it makes sense...
it always did...
the political class
promised the media moguls
a slot of 2 years of persistent
coverage...
   a safety-net of "hot topic"...

      there was never really
a brexit to begin with...
             the italians are poseurs...
do they have the lira?
no, i guess they don't...
           so... why are they posturing
for what the germans forgot...
oh... right...
not as eloquent as the austrians...
ma-ma-machievelli...
     i'm pitying the brits...
   for one reason alone...
    they were never seemingly
subverted...
              they had their currency,
they already know what
political language is like:
overtly-nuanced...
   and that's beside even
employing something as elaborate
as a metaphor...
   politics is its own animal
that decides to be either
caged, or roaming freely...
             what sort of exit
was to be expected,
   when...
               no one exchanged
the currency of the proper
european union, on these isles...
                 to begin with?!
well yeah! limbo m'ah fwend!

           it was always a: "union"...
on paper, or... word-of-mouth...
   there is no ******* collapse
of this vierte *****...
      if england was planning
to exit the european union,
yeah, there would be a collapse
of the union...
   but what sort of collapse
is the world expecting...
given that england has its own
currency,
   and the european union
                    has its own currency?
these youtube internet pundits
are just as bad as the mainstream
media pundits they rally against.

A wizards passion is to write magic
An magic wand flashes
Whatever he imagines
It sparks an attraction
In his heart the passion
Burning inside is happiness
If he can dream it
Then he can see it
All it takes for him to be ingenius
So he thinks like a genius
An believe in
Himself
Even when nobody else
Sees his magic
So behind the curtains he practices
His main attractions
While its wicked magicians casting
Spells on him that's disastrous  
But I'm praying to my Genie to not let em have it
But the difference is i bless them while they cursing
I see the blesses through the curses

drinking warm whiskey... isn't so bad...
it could be much worse:
it could be warm *****:
     not cold enough to reach a gomme syrop
consistency...
life's so tragic... sometimes...
       a warm ***** is like a warm beer...

what am i supposed to say?
i'm just tired of wanting to be in love...
i'm tired of hating...
   i'm tired of being angry...
i'm tired of being preditable and also:
slithering in pickling juices...
i am tired of love because...
               when it was "love"...
it wasn't dog eyes and a leash...
         or: never mind the solipsism of cats
when they still desire to mark your
forehead when sniffing it...
or come up and greet you:
with a "bodzio"... a head-****...

    so much of my cognitive capacity
became a wasteland from having
both woman and love on a peddlestool
of the ideal...
                   it's terrible waking up...
but that "terrible" sometimes becomes
as... exhilarating as taking a cold shower...
or watching a flock of sparrows chirp...

and the ***: cocoon ***... under bed-sheets...
all my one-night stands happened this way...
under the bed-sheets...
i'm happy to give a comparative literature of:
well... at least in the brothel we did it
under dimmed lights...
****-naked on the sheets...
having showered first
and downed a slacker of ms. amber:
oh you know it's bad...
that i have to call whiskey a very personal
investment narrative...
it's not whiskey... it's... ms. amber...

i should have been drinking long ago...
come shoulder to shoulder with
both my paternal and maternal grandfathers...
cocoon ***...
and if you don't think a man can be "*****"...
at the brothel?
  there's the concept of: creaming-up...
if the oyster isn't salivating enough...
yes... "****"... cocoon *** with a sawdust ****...
sanding paper **** more like...
oh the agony: but to my liking...
yeah bud: stick your lesser want of limbs
into a meat-grinder:
is that penetrating enough?
      who would forever suppose...
it's a kangaroo pouch of safety...
the nadir of lucifer's birth:
     free-falling: head first... but not through
a ****... not some floral pattern...

     cesarean... cesarean... are we going to give
births to kaisers or dull-eyed: deer...
i very much like to imagine a band
of mad-laughter hyenas...

               coal-burning black eyes...
      i am tired of giving up my thinking to any
and all ideals of love...
i could have invested my (th)ought i
into... conjuring up an electric bulb...
        a frankestein...
                i became so tired of love...
i had to come across a brothel:
to steal kisses from prostitutes
     and attempt a theft of the halo of st. augustine...
mummify letters in books...

which i have done...
        but love is such a never-dog...
                    one relationship that involved as cooking
together: beside the already necessary
prerequisite of *******-for-free...
her period, the ******, and cooing her
to do it in the bathtub with the water running...

or this: moment when enough ms. amber
is in me... and i turn to...
         the chants of the templars:
            crucem sanctem...
                   dum pater familias...
          da pacem domine...

that clarity of a transaction...
              the growling dog overwhise
teased with food already presented to him
in a bowl...
          count of fingers...
                    
     i'm tired of love... of all of my body...
this nail blunt head from being hammered
too often...
           it escapes me:
why should my libido be compensated
when it requires: exhaustion...
to find the most fanciful thought:
only when the libido is exhausted:
   and if i have to do it myself: so be it...

but of so many people worried:
i am indeed... "worried"... when will it...
subside... die off...
this quills': marquis de sade:
leverage of: to read books using only
one hand...
                        if the acne is so prolonged
to make me...
belzeebub's favourite ***** of:
what precedes ****** / anti-wrinkle creams...
one maggot 'ere... another...

it is simply exhausting to love:
as one is expected to love via fiction...
and it is too costly to love:
poetically... anything but language...
esp. acquired language:
a language learned... most certainly
not passed from a grandmother to a mother
to a son...
some could claim to call these words:
in vitro...
         and on that matter...
which part of me is experimentally "dead":
the mind... or the body?
i am not... a native of these parts...
a native...           a native...

this is the part of the year when
winter is crucified... and reborn as spring! no?
all ******* rose buds and sparrows chirping!
who can love... so... ideally...
idle though: to make the burdens
of the most... boorish matters needing:
stressed concerns for "detail"...

  am i one of the last ones that still
bought a *****-mag when
the free **** was available online...
                     twitch... i'm an old ****:
in a 34 year old body... because:
keeping up... became synonymous with
being distracted...
                  cam-girl... etc. etc.
            "soz": but there just isn't any bragging
to be minded...
or a:        h'american striptease... d'uh: tease...
the carnival of the wriggling maggot
came to invoke
kissing the eyelids... gently teasing
the tip of the nose with a bite...
                             this body... or that body...
an a sculptor...
   in the brothel i was only robbed... once:
well... "robbed"...
this coke-head distrated me with:
do you want to use this *****...
          the proprietors' henchman...
a little turk by the time: i presume to be:
Osman came up with a bundle of stolen cards
and asked me: which one is yours?

that's a pretty good effort...
        i must have been up to no good...
once we stopped ******* because: she started
seeing downton abbey in an epileptic flicker...
yes: and me ******* her wasn't,
exactly... a ******* chocolate fondant...
          
it seems so... pristine when...
two bodies are allowed to touch...
without all that extra baggage...
that is desired to... "beside" the otherwise...
readily available carnality of the act...

e-girl vidoes: teases...
                                    what can be the best
compliment... one could possibly give to...
byzantine culture / the "modern" greek?
   ah... Αγνή Παρθένε... the singing...
                          
   mulier... no... not a woman or wife...
             hardly a property right...
something to boast and concern oneself for
the rattling of feathers of peacocks...
     mulier... the french playright...
ugh... molière - yes, him!
            molière donning a mullet! yes...
and not one of those charles II wigs...
from one wig alone...
               you could have made...
oh... roughly... an orchestra's demand
for violin and cello bows...

              pissy-pant french of 14 year old
past: one direction fandom...
                            for every male fan of tool...
a declared ownership of a *****...
better still... a screwdriver...
    that would be something...

                                or when stand-up comedy
was communist enough to entertain:
a cabaret form... an **** oddity (bottom)...
can't enough not tire of
stand-up solipsism...
the stand-up solo project of...
back-and-forth with an audience of canned
laughter?
cabaret... doesn't have to be switz
ja herr doktor voltaire...
         but some sort of ping-pong...
a game of squash...
i do not know... of a single concept of
sport... where there's only one...
concept-riddle of engagement...
can comedy... or rather... should comedy
have "evolved" beyond the cabaret...
famously: in theatre-land...
stones in his pockets...
two bodies on stage...
  with a plethora of...
how the sequence went...
   BRONSON...
bronson "vs." or rather:
"nursie" vs. "mr. petersson"...

          two names: Conleth Hill and
             Sean Campion... oh look... capital! letters!
yes: of note... circa 2001...
and that's when...
   this... stand-up... hard-on "comedy"
of stand-ups...
no... no cabaret format...
internal-monologues extending into...
an octopus attempting cliff-skimming:
climbing... failing miserably...
   if it's such a "comedy"...
    where's heidegger's hammer?
last time i heard: even by ol' martin's standards:
you'd require two people to talk
about philosophy as a "side-project"
when hammering in nails...
how can one person tell a joke?
oh but they can...
on special occassion(s)...
         the joke is better translate via a dialogue...
rather than a monologue...
last time i heard...
  
comedy doesn't require these stand-up
geniuses...
imagine... ******* is actually...
a *** act...
taking a **** is actually a...
        get together meal for three...
and that's the loaf... equally spread...
for the devil's dozen...
   ******* will satisfy any champagne socialist
get-together...
      
   i have to become bored of love...
the sort of love that would never come with:
the impetus of darwinism's ideologues...
for: now that i have become a father...
           i'm less and less: a ***** satyr!
               wish me 70+ age and being freed
by dementia to curse like a cobbler
and a seafaring man...

              that overbearing: no room for impromptu:
when solo...
otherwise... no otherwise...
just that strict: regime of... an expectation
for and with: canned laughter...
all that's missing are two tin cans
and a placenta of stiched-up tongues...

... for all the movie buffs...
it's not enough to blunt your eyes on movies...
actors: and their subsequent roles
in 3D... why did up stand-up...
the grand mass-orchestrator of giggles be
allowed to cue the audience...
like any minor dictator might: from
argentina or romania?

                 back toward the ***...
yes... stealing kisses from prostitutes...
this was never going to be one about Wordsworth's
"celibacy"... which you would be expected
to partake in... just having bit into
the forbidden fruit of ****** with your sister...
or so... they might say...

daffodils and that "doris" of the...
will the word ****... somehow prevent
you from seeing ****** ****...
or ******* ****?
then at least there's the hope...
to make minors of ettiquete standards
of the: proper social contract approach:
with civility... or therefore: none...

i am finding a rare occassion for:
an as to why, i would ever do anything to begin
with... grow a beard (1)
grow a beard to stop myself shaving (2)
grow a beard to hide my double-chin (3)...
grow a beard because
growing my hair long became boring (4)...
grow a beard because i wanted
to scratch my ***** on my face rather than
scratch them on my "eden region" (5)...
the other reasons congregate under
the status of... rubric and tally...

(6) to grow a beard is better than growing
the hair long...
no chance of becoming bald...
long hair attracts too much female attention...
last time i heard a woman who grew a beard
became a circus-act...
a beard is the safest territory to mind...
when there's a woman that...
somehow needs to compensate!

         all of a sudden: i have forgotten *****
envy... when i came across
beard envy...
   i am... very much so...
envious of mel gibsons beard...
in general: but esp. so in the role...
of prof. murray... with him donning
a cravate and a top-hat to boot:
the epitome of what all men of the world
could have wished for:
the victorian gentlemen...
fiercer still: an autodidact...
a dog without a leash... eh?

     i pity the tattoo of ethnicity:
given that: i would be english...
an ukranian would be scottish...
or a lithuanian... the tattoo of ethnicty or a past...
that i would be the ******...
and there was this tide of cossacks...
i would be... the ******...
           and there would be some
ingenius pict equivalent...
            in my abode...
                      
    i am tired of love...
the most attired love of idealism...
as i am tired of hate:
and anger...
i am tired of both of these latter:
when there's no boxing match interlude
to match-up with...
i'm tired of love as i am tired
of retribution and of justice...
i am tired of gambling...
what right is there fore me:
to steal from the blind?
           i am tired from: expectations...
i am tired of ideals...
i am tired of hate because:
if i wasn't i'd still find it...
egregious to spot the minor offences
of citing the prefixing n-...
                                        as... nothing short
of an "oops" of b-               and -igger!

i'm tired of being: a civil monkey...
if i'm tired of love...
if i'm tired of hate...
i can never tire of language...
but if i become:
zoologically kept: inept...
                      ha ha! ha ha! ha! ha!
i: dodo: tire: and Tod:
of: ******: improm:     p'tooh!
         savvy or the sinking ship?!

                       RATZ!

better a concern for prostitutes:
seeing that... there's no...
jackie ol' myth to be cooked from my "affairs"...
i thought about:
how about... now was the best time...
to not **** prostitutes...
i stole kisses...
an exercise in making videos...
bring back blockbusters!
             bring back blockbusters!
**** the content creators of youtube!
give, me, back, my, *******, jukebox!
give, me, back, my... thesaurus algorithm!
give, me, back, my, *******, jukebox!
give, me, back, my... thesaurus algorithm!

           once upon a time: dubbed:
paupers... the homeless...
prostitutes... now... eh... one sly loss of calling
these... the... leeches of: welcome tomorrow!
so the price of... being...
astounded... that's it?!
                the magnified statement
of karma-phobia...
there has to be a concept akin to:
karma-phobia when islamophobia is already
too bogus to touch...
there has to be: karma-phobia...

a ******* a canvas:
i went down this alley because...
i just... wanted to show-off...
for myself...
the most better part of myself i could never
show with... a girlfriend...
and showing my best:
armed with merely a dog and a leash:
just wasn't enough:
or a fabergé egg: missing a matryoshka doll
"detail"...

like kicking a dog in the *****...
like... attempting to catch a mosquitos
by the ******* donning boxing gloves...
the lowest of the low:
of picking the "fruit"...
jackie ol' burrow: ripe-kipper...
and that merry-o-round of...

                give me enough upper-body volume
to rummage and ruminate...
to clearly identify the psychopaths
leisuring themselves over a thursday's
afternoon worth of sun-soaking
a metaphor of bath...
         and all those minor grizzly detials
of swathing a mosquito or two...
because we are inclined
to spare the flies...
because: we just, are... thus inclined...
i hear an argument: i will: without a doubt...
also hear a guillotine do us all a favor
of detailing the: "chopper"...

my my: that ripe keeper of a pulsating
neck's worth of a rhubarb...
salmon teriyaki...
                                       n'est ce-pas?!

in between: calling it learning to tie one's
shoelaces...
having no better synonym detail
of comparison other than...
             with depeche...
                                no song to be worth
any particular: sort of... originality...
and or in... detail...
                   there's only a hope for
giving a particular sort of wind:
associated with a month...
and with a month: a sorting-out of a year
within and beyond a decade...
a century...
                    
this had to be forever: and one...
enough for the worth of tonight...
and with it... no other, better, compensation
other than my own input;

ha ha!                          grace?!

.within these words is the simple question... i'm a misogynist? i'm a misogynist? i'm such curious as to how i could get away with all of this if i, truly were a woman, but as being a man, i am prescribed the sentient double-knocker of: a ******* mea culpa!

so i spent the afternoon making
two curries...
   by now... cultural appropriatio:
whatever the hell that means
having an arsenal of indian
spices that would scare both
the russians and the h'americans
with their nukes...
but like i said:
i concede:
                 the blue indian cuisine,
i.e. from the Bengal
or the Punjab?
superior to my bland salt &
paper...
although...
when it came to the chicken chettinad?
i'm not here competing
for the white-boy-eat-a-lot-of-chillies
olympics...
one standard red chilli,
four kashimiri dry chillies,
and yes... some standard chilly
powder...
       if i want to burn my tongue:
i'll drink near-to-boiling
water... thanks...
don't know... i sometimes make
so much curry in one afternoon
i'm happy to forget doing
the stereotypical male thing of...
watching the 6 nations rugby,
or the skii jumping competition
from Letho (Finland)...
   it's like... i'm transported back
to Edinburgh,
  doing 12 hours of lab. training
once more...
              hell... no lab. work for me:
but i guess... blue indian cuisine
is the closest thing to a chemistry
experiment, notably an organic
chemistry experiment...
mind you:
   have you ever wondered why
you tend to eat a little bit more
of the sauce...
   if you don't dice the chicken,
move away from dicing chicken
*******, and instead fry (which will
come later)
       whole chicken thighs?
or... marinate them prior to...
          curating them via
                   the method of poaching
them in the sauce?
diced chicken: so bland...
         esp. from the breast....
but the meat... cooked whole...
esp. as a thigh (the best bit of
the chicken, and with the bone
intact? oh god!)...
my few favorite curry though?
the one i made later...
    a... sali murgi...
   (yes, the H is always a surd...
   moor-ghee...
    butter of the moors)...
      with those beautiful sali
crispets...
          on top...
   also... who would have thought:
dried, apricots... in a curry?
oh i don't mind this...
   "cultural appropriation"...
me cooking curry is...
so much more than someone
donning dreads...
and... by the looks of it...
          i might even, slyly,
cook better than some natives...
well i already know that
i can speak a more orthodox english
than some of the natives,
i knew that back in high-school...
  started in class 2B...
moved a year later to class 1B...
(class... tier, same thing)...
a year later i was in class 1A...
and it went like so:
    1A, 1B, 2A, 2B,
              1C... 3A, 3B,
                      1D, 2C...
and no... there was no 4A or 4B...
(it skipped every two numbers
and every two letters)...
so... me worried that i might
not cook better than some
Indian's grandmother?
   not in the least...
              a, woman, cooking?
please... give me a break...
             what's that story:
if she overuses salt...
she's thinking about something...
if she underuses salt
she's fostering ill-will...
she over-cooks the pasta
she wants a divorce...
she under-cooks it...
she wants you to start recreationally
running because you have
a "beer-belly-flab"...
yeah... i'll say it...
WOMEN DO NOT BELONG
IN THE KITCHEN...
        mind you...
i was helped by a standard-bearer
to the antithesis of saying so...
mother dear...
   mother ed gein mother dear
(this better freak some people out)...
ah...
but you know what?
frying the potato sali...
last time i used a *** and a standard
cheese grater for the potato...
ingenius...
however many chemistry
experiments i ever did...
no cliche american high-school
"faux pas"...
          but then...
like men are supposedly unable
to tell the difference
between
burgundy and cordovan...
         the **** is a...
               julienne peeler?
yes... mother dear...
or... grandma dear...
                 any other woman in
"my life"...
   no really... but i always like
to keep the ed gein joker card
in play...
   for breathing space...
             all the other women in my
life were...
    for two worthy exceptions...
the nurse in the hospital
where i was born...
                     birth-mark scared...
thought it was better to
shove suckle of a feeding bottle
into my mouth so hard
that i would suffocate,
and almost die from
a premature heart-attack...
ended up with an.. "enlarged" heart...
last girlfriend...
  now... i don't even want to begin
with that story...
in full agatha christey
alias poirot paranoid-mode...
****** her for 7 hours one night
prior to leaving St. Petersburg...
****** her in the batch while she was
on her period and it was
the first time she told me to put
on a ******,
after she first told me to take it off...
so yeah... the curry was great...
we lated sat together
like jesus mary & st. joseph
watching the t.v.
   ah... China's one child-policy...
back in Europe
i'm a dormant serial killer
and my mother is actually my sister...
and my father is a *******
Anglican priest...
or myth, or ghost,
  counter... "god"...
of me turning to the public stage...
BUMPER STICKER
RETRACTION FROM H'AMERICA...
if he died for "our", "sins"...
why is the mantra still:
  the mea culpa of...
"allowing" him to die on the cross?
so we watched a movie...
book club...
staring...
   jane fonda...
  that guy from miami vice...
that woman from ms. congeniality,
that woman from back to the future
vol. 3,
          that woman from
        father of the bride...
                       and DREYFUS!
fifty shade of grey...
   cameo by e. l. james, walking
the dog?
                         yep...
        anyway... watched that...
prior to, dressed up real fine...
was asked where i was going...
to buy some beer...
   walked to the local for some cider...
had to endure a interlude
with a drunk west ham supporter
talking to the colt cashier about
working in outer east london
but being an arsenal supporter...
the movie though...
book clup...
          so it ends on a:
and they lived happily ever after,
didn't it?
            yeah... it did...
but as i was walking about...
the demographic...
   my "neighbour"...
a single mother who still has her
son living with her -
who should look like he's ageing
but... to me he's still
a stunted cabbage-patch
                       of a 13 year old...
a daughter who sometimes
crashes...
      walking home with
a... "catch"...
                           a man...
                 who i would seriously
make ******* antagonisms of...
elsewhere? in the... vicinity?
similar stories...
                      around here
i'm the jesus, the messiah's
mother and my father,
                 the ghost of st. joseph...
last time i wanted to play roulette...
my mother was visiting
     her parents,
both of them slept at my uncle's
house,
i hosted a birthday party...
                and...
  ended up ******* a black girl
in my room on a chocolate couch...
how's that?
      don't even ask me how
i managed to persuade a thai
    bisexual with cheap polish beer
and jazz...
        done brutally / i.e. realistically
in the garden...
with a my own persistent zenith
of surprise...
the thai surprise...
           of reaching into her *****...
really... sport's bra...
and you just picked her up
   from a park bench lamenting
into the phone drinking beer
at the same time, + the short hair?
really? no... moment of "suspence"
           of... the thai surprise?
there were always the odds:
3:1 - she's a woman...
        or 4:2 - she's... he's she's
                               she's he's a man...
oi! shem?! what's up?
which is it?
(3? mouth, the floral pattern,
and the ***...
                1? choice...
  well... if you've already started
courting?
              there isn't one...
4? how many points of entry
between two men? 4...
   but how many choices?
the... teasing *******
literature and wanting to experiment
or...
   the "homophobe"...
which only applies to...
   ****** taqiyya...
                        or the thai surprise...
oh i'm pretty sure i've met
a few homosexuals in my life,
but all of them had
the courtesy to... dismiss homophobia...
what was "homophobia"
and became "trans-phobia"
was forever some borrowed
from Islam... ****** taqiyya)...                
    
                 oh but reality is brutal
on this level...
                         no... not rosey ****
friends, best buddy psychotic
                  lingering ex-girlfriends...

so i drank one cider,
watched match of the day
for all the premiership highlights...
drank two more ciders...
in between taking
a king's salute of one's
most worthy subject:
    a 10cm length of fudge-like
****...
forgot to *******...
and found myself thinking...
'what if the opening
for david bowie's song
from the man who sold the world,
the width of a circle...
could ever become something
-esque shape of things to come
by audioslave...
that subtle rhythm section...
what if all rhythm sections
of songs could have more
a more subtle air about them,
so that the rhythm section
doesn't have to compete with
the vocals...
   harmony...
                very much unlike
the rhythm guitar of Metallica...
what then?

i'll speak my mea culpa...
but i'll also imagine myself
nailing him to the cross...
and then dry *******
the erected crucifix
                         with him on it...
yes...
    and he might have died,
but i somehow managed to live,
in order to understand,
rather than forget the omni-****
banality for...
    the spec-attache-of-the-wrongly-
reattached-to-the-omni-****
as-stand­ard-the...
                            particular man.

inclined to be on a, "jonestown massacre"
style... motiff?
         please...
                  i'd need to dumb
my language down to a level of
understanding that
could no longer be riddled
with idiosyncracies,
          and, subsequently
become: peppered with rhetoric...

who doesn't,
made of flesh,
borrow a segment from
     idolatory,
of these, of all of all
of the possible days...
                oh.... subtle translation
of the german reality
at the peak of the 19th century...
what was the twilight,
or rather... who were the idols
of that frame of history?
wherever i look now...
i cannot see what twilight
there's is to speak of,
other than via my own
post-mortem...
    and by then...
             i only seem to want to convey:
but i am only making
a snippet of what an status
would perform
otherwise:
full swing wholly engrossed
in idolatry do...

        nibbling...
to better explain metaphysics...
id est:
       as simply as possible...
with a...
                 underlying principle
of metaphor...
   and subsequently:
   a literalism that only dabbles
with ridicule of,
what centers around...
self-worth,
    and self-worth-attainment,
best mitigated by
   a self-deprecating comedy...
         that... is provoked
as a modus operandi...
                by an undermining,
tragico-comic...
         of a... noumenon,
self-excluded:
              deprecating comedy per se.

thus:
   the self, returns to the "self",
returns to "the box"...
               which ends up being...
something almost bearable
to have to endure,
esp. when stacking shelves
in a supermarket.

You had the greatest

Absolutely awesome

Most incredibly ingenius

Idea in the entire world,






And it fell through every time?

well, probably the longest relationship i ever had,
so we're doing it with a ******,
on the bed, on the floor, in the bath...
and then she suggests an ingenius plan:
i'll take the contraceptive pill, and you take
that gimp-for-your-****-rubber off,
and then you ******* into me, because i feel
like i need to have that experience.
sure thing babe.
                    oh, by the way? it took me
about three dates to get an ******* in suggestion
of trust...
             what's with this: men can get an *******
prompto! on the first sight of **** and a ******?
i'm not a robot, i can't objectify you straight
away... the ******* my case...
        prostitutes use cream to oil up,
          i need to oil up on a meaningful conversation...
talk milan kundera with you, or share
a similar taste in music... listen to your fetish for
certain pop songs...
                       anways... few months in and
we're ******* in her st. pestersburg apartment...
        so she not exactly a soppy story of
                            the matchstick girl with no shoes...
and she proposes to me at the same time...
   i didn't even get a chance to bend my knee,
buy a ring in secret and surprise her...
                            nope...
         that classical **** didn't happen...
               how often does that happen to men,
i.e. when a woman "proposes"?
                     i'd say one-in-a-millionth's chance
of it happening...
                                so the unearthing of the nag hammadi
library, and the st. thomas gospel and
how you'll enter the kingdom of heaven by
turning male into female, and female into male...
          **** me... that caught me by surprise...
i didn't even see it coming...
                 and then... boom!
     we're not married, she breaks up with me,
gives me back our engagement ring, she chose...
                and then calls me up: i'm pregnant...
        and it's july...
                              isn't it too early for christmas?
i thought we had an agreement?
                    i have *******... a ****** isn't
much of a bother...
            no, but i don't want to explore latex suit
fetishes...      fair enough...
             i'd love to, but **** me...
           thanks for suggesting i read some bulgakov
while you continued to play your video games...
god, i have a fetish for juxtaposing memories,
   like looking into a prism, or a diamond,
or sketching rodin's statue the kiss from several
angles at tate modern, before some idiotic lady
imagined an interpretation, and wrapped ropes
around the statue... so only the most "important"
part of the statue were exposed... but not the actual -

if i profane with my unworthiest hand
this holy shrine, the gentle sin is this:
my lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand
to smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.

Your hand is like a holy place that my hand
is unworthy to visit. If you’re offended
by the touch of my hand, my two lips are
standing here like blushing pilgrims, ready
to make things better with a kiss.

good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much,
which mannerly devotion shows in this,
for saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch,
and palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss.

        ok, shaken pear... we get the picture... amen;
which will never be a frenchy with a *******.

but **** me! i just graduated and i need to get my
footing!
                          i was 21...
                        thank **** i gained british citizenship
and she had a russian passport;
  +, what with her turning all schizophrenic on
me...        what do i know about "hearing" voices?
i was sweating on a roof, roofing, as you do,
                 and it's like:
         what i love about this self-indulgence?
          **** never gets boring, however many times
i recollect it...
                                    i can turn into a proust,
or a tolstoy, simple on this sole act in the theatre
of my life...             obviously i might bore some people,
but, ****, i'm not even yawning, or in want of a yawn...
just recently i became acquainted with the acronym
                         mg...tow?
             mig... tau?        soviet MiG-29? mikoyan?
        gurevich? RSK MiG?  towing what?  
                      that's english for you,
it's not like the french deconstructionism akin to derrida,
much simpler in english... craft acronyms!

In this house we do not know flexibility,
Neither do we experience any real tranquility...

We turn down willing love that is given in freeness,
We get by pretending this is purely ingenius...

In this house we do not bow to any,
A disdained nod is more than plenty...

Solitary is the place we live,
Because it’s an inch we just won’t give...

Now arrived the hour of the crash before the fall,
Who now will be standing tall?

The realization of this preoccupation is all in the dysfunctional imagination,
Until too late do we not get the true interpretation...

If the abode of haughty pride is where you spend your  every day,
Remember please at the end the bill is hefty that you’ll have to pay...


J.I.F.

Proverbs 16:18,19
Pride is before a crash, And a haughty spirit before stumbling.  19 Better to be humble among the meek Than to share the spoil of the haughty.

Colossal violence revels in the midst of hostility
Ingenius methods of hipocrisy roams our land
Dressed in superior clothings of mighty brands.

Nihilistic approaches for humanity's growth
Thats how things are done
As the blood red luminant shadows of the crescent moon strucked the heart of masochistic reapers of youthful innocence.

The bitterness of peace and joy did not satiate the evil's hoggish needs
So with their monstrous jaws and claws they haunted everything that screams life and hope
Until all of the land was left with little to no resemblance of what it was before
For now, the little town for which kids seek toys to play
And where adults find palpable joy in the simplicity of their humble abodes
Is now nothing but a mere reminder of how that ghost town was

Where the ugly stench of death and prejudicial entities of mankind lodges.

rarely a lightnight storm above London,
yet on the odd occassion...
       Tottenham Court Rd. station
having been refurbished
   became disorientating
              to say the least...
    it was almost impossible to find
the intrepid fox...
    all the more impossible since:
   word-of-mouth news sometimes
travels like a Zeno pardox,
even though endowed with Achilles'
            feet...
        the pub? the earth yawned
and ate the odd haven, regurgitating
it into a few new bricks
   of the next
            anaemic architectural pattern...
what, a, grandiose void,
     patent generic,
                glass monoliths and
almost Prussian sober catacombs of
power...
            a persistent labyrinth
that might make a mountain more inviting,
   certainly more character
incubated in a dying oak
                  on the outskirts of
a village, than in these Byzantine
                                    butchers' aisles...
                  almost anything
"not quite" is better suited to life than
these... cohorts of cubicles and
paper fiddling "occupations"...
     consider:
            you could mistake the world
as being without work,
   if you took away the crafts that still
use hammers and nails...
         hell... even a tier of market sellers
with an ingenius energy
   storming the stale air with:
               bunch of bananas, two for one!
   to bare in mind,
   how many worthwhile occupations
are there, end-result of,
apparently the eureka of turning on
a lightbulb?
           what a fickle sense of
"entitlement" illuminating an otherwise
blank canvas...
                drinking and
admiring moths...
             sometimes writing...
                         unlike the fly-larvae
wriggling in plain sight...
     i sometimes dream of seeing
moth-larvae...
                 although i can't attest
that they are moth-larvae...
            but i've never seen one...
of course the butterfly and the caterpillar...
last time i heard:
  moths deposit their larvae in
fabrics, notably wool,
               which constitutes its diet...
perhaps i'm merely wishing
to dream about moth-larvae...
                 but
a non-fiction book review about
writing and drinking can, really,
get under your nails
   with an itch that deserves more
a slap, than a scratch...
       and i've heard that marijuana
is also a bountiful accomplice...
                 but sober writing that
isn't the mundane:
    take a book to bed and fall asleep
with it dynamic?
             it's
a joke, when the wild thought
of installing mirrors in bars
    took off...
            given than most drunks are
like vampires,
    they, can't, see,
  their own reflections in mirrors...
        point being:
   in the past 24 hours i've lived a little...
to mind another body,
   walking out of a brothel,
   finding a romanian leech
of a companion for half an hour...
          giving him 250ml of whiskey...
listening to him dance a little,
sing a little;
                yet that persistent
sacrament of braille...
                ceretainly not worth the mention
on the toilet-paper dream
of a saturday book review
    in newspaper supplement...
and...
        not something to be found
on an english curriculum...
                        in a high-school.

no point... seeking a freedom
of voice - prior to:
seeking a freedom of thought...
ought i...
but now... a voice is also
a precursor for a video...
better age without a video...
a photograph...
better age without a video...
better a photograph...
and some scribbling to tow along...
and then again: none...
bathrobe blues...
all 'em bathrobe blues...
aiming at the titanic...
rather than the iceberg: FOR ONCE!
two titanics...
beside: the one, and, only... stone...
can you be allowed...
punctuation marks...
surrounding words...
designated into the category of...
conjunctions?

professional express ride into
a swing lift of a worth of a ******...
the professional laydown
licker - the lego architect -
the windowlicker -
the professional lollipop "oops"...
licker...
           the windowcleaner...
the architecture of metallurgy...
the romanian iceberg diggers...
the fruit-pickers....
the sorry state of the... busy bodies...
chant: ****!
chant: communist!
and yet! not invaded... dear england...
by... either!
chant! ****! chant! communist!
but still that... dionysus of syracuse...
                of the... status quo...
plato threw an egg at his head...
"lo! and behold!"
not chicken ever made it out...
from that theatre: question...
worth a strutting!

- join the juice!
join the juice!
join the quasi and the pseudo
and now the trans...
prefixes of a chem. generation...

        cis and trans and:
isnomers....
         hand-shakes and left-over
gloves off mickey...
and mimic and those shadows...
though tetris and onto
the ingenius quote of:
lego cnut denmark...

  ******* up... ******* down...
copernican east:
on the moon...
because of greenwich...
where's the east of / off "where"?
and... where's "here"?

                i.e. is (i) told that's it's 3D...
yet... "somehow" behaves like
there are remains of topology...
2D - "flat's the earth"...
   the warewolves...
the hyenas...
the crows the foxes...
   only then...
are the rats and cockroaches...
somehow... "eventually"...
and... welcome.

    not prior to...
this is: the prior to...
sorry... no... it's simply
exhuasting... watching people
too busy... not being either nostalgic...
existentially lopsided:
up-sides-down...
          fat fingers don't type:
they... typo...
         no new "voice"...
before the video... catacomb...
   and that: which was known,
as writing: yes... that...
that non-invasive medium...
of translating "democracy"...

hellow, good-day, night and so on
and so forth.

i'm still trying to trace back a sudoku mistake...
how could i have made it...
it's not exactly the samurai / killer sudoku stratum...
i might not know,
exactly the order of the alphabet...
but at the same time i want to breathe...
so i'll write a little "impromptu"...
which this isn't... it has been festering like a wound
engaged in: giving a banquet to the whole
entourage of gangrene! of course: the ghost limb /
shank! don't be silly... gangrene associated
with the head is either a guillotined bottle-neck...
or... the lesser cousing: amiss...
of what would otherwise resemble:
the jaw that chatters, the hacksaw that bites...
but i made a mistake...
because i had "too much on my mind":
which is pretty much nothing...
i'm starting to question whether: primo...
i am to be qualified as a thinking thing...
and whether or not i'm not, quiet simply...
something empty: a vacuum with a: hello!
my name: if robert - call me bob sticker...
it's not so much a joke as... nothing more, either...
peacocking intelligence is...
the hiearchy structure is still "game"...
the poker is still: R-category...
but i guess i folded...
which is why i wondered as to why a sense
of *****... became a frivolous goosebump
of a sensation where they should be...
instead i found myself with a bulging
monsoon *****...
and this is not even a case of: when transgender
psychology tightens the grip on:
the common good - grammar...
gender neutral pronouns... what about the royal
we and one? we: the entourage...
one as all pronouns present...
i ****** up...
i blame it on the choice of notation...
the narrative should have read
Aa8 Bc9 Cc1 Cc7 Ac5 Aa5 Ca5 Ca7 Ca3 Ca3
on the usual gymnastics of...
but it wasn't working from this...

          A                  B                  C
   x     x     x     8     x     x     x     9     1
a x     x     x     x     x     7     x     x     x
   x     x     1     2     x     x     8     7     3
   6     x     9     x     7     x     x     x     x
b x     x     x     5     3     x     x     x     x
   x     3     x     x     x     x     5     1     2
   x     x     3     x     x     6     x     8     7
c 8     x     7     x     x     1     9     4     x
   1     x     6     x     x     8     3     x     x

why did i go for the Aa1 notation rather than
a A1(1) notation?
after all B8... b6... Bb86... P9 etc.

it's not like i'm bewildering myself
to solve the corona virus... either...
perhaps i'm just, "investigating"...
a small step for man...
one giant leap for mankind... but then that
is not true...

if you still read newspapers...
this is what a pedantic corner of a newpaper looks
like... journalism pumping public
opinion is one thing in the tabloid press...
quiet another, elsewhere...

for better or for worse:
this is the until: we part on... death can have its
mythology and personification with
scythes and a harem of shadows
that would replace the lava lamp for...
one of those atmospheric evenings smoking
marijuana... and telling each other...
how that's supposed to... exemplify *******...
which came prior to one of us trying
out a full-body b.d.s.m. gimp suit...
with a zipper for the genitals to: plucker out...
or some other ingenius monstrosity
of the bedroom...
but none of the prior...
it's not like these were ever... "fetishes" or...
were, even "somehow" driftwood in the unconscious...
seeing how others have explored these
avenues...

i'm not too sure where i went wrong...
call it a distraction call it a weather warning....
call it... just coming out from a stanley kubrick
omnibus - back to back oeuvre binge...
or some whacky said: some other...
friend of a friend...

the other narrative read as follows
Cb7 Ab7 Bc7 Bc3 Cc1 Cc2 Cc6 Cc5 Ab5 Ac5 Bc5 Bc2
Cb9 Cb8 Ca4 Cb4 Cb3 Cb6 Aa7 Ab1 Ab8
Ab2 Ab4 Bb4 Bb8 Bb1 Bb2 Bb6 Bb9 Ba3 Ba5 (Ac6) Ba1
Ca5 Ac2 Aa8 Aa6 Aa3 Aa9 Aa4 Ba4 Bc4 Bc9 Ac9 Ac4

i call this the parallel adventure of the the synonym:
me solving a sudoku puzzle is a bit like...
a bureucrat / civil servant sharpening a pencil...

a frenchman would have, a german would have...
written some existential narrative...
i wrote: why i solved one sudoku puzzle...
but didn't solve another...
because... thinking go in the way...
thinking about nothing -
origins reflexive... and nothing as expansive
as would be allowed via: origins reflective...

habitual preoccupations if not stressors...
one could allow oneself to watch paint dry...
but then one should allow onself to watch ice melt...
otherwise figure out a seat next to Heraclitus next
to a river... or a neat next to Narcissus beside a lake...
or a puddle...
or... a seat next to a stone that isn't a stone
that is a mountain with Sisyphus...
each one will do...

as one is expected to write such *******...
when one's shadow abandons one...
perhaps to even the scores of a diagnosis...
bi-lingual: ******-            evidence!
what force of wanting to keep the would-be
integrated blossom... who... rebelled and said:
i will retain my mother,
my tongue... and my skull...
hence this mongrel: i, i...
or what's the lesser mirror: the water, the glass...
the need for night, for shadow...
for timid time...
and the shared common threshold:
to bounce back from an omni-: in the litany of:
flu-like symptoms -
giving cursor for sponge-like...
lava roasted - poached squid brain burdened
episodes of the hominids... **** similis:
apes clapping and laughing playing backgammon
and confusing it with checkers... and checkers
with chequers...

queries: none applicable: queues? all...
primo cue? qua in quaestio: quo vadis?
a self-proclaimed deconstruction cascade of
the alphabet... none speculated...
trying to be overtly "smart" most anticipated...
a burden in-and-of-itself: stipulated...
a congestion of rhyme...
no couplets yes of everything, else: presented...

de profundis clamere ad te domine;
this is a razor's edge a drowning man would
grip onto... upon the sea...
this lingua mare...
and given this is not some lucky driftwood...
it's enough: to equal both the discomfort
from having written it...
as not having written it.

/                                  only america is
                    proud of its problems...
                     but also not really
                       apologetic about them...

staggering,
that nietzsche discounted
even the most remote
chance of its (i.e. american's)
existence in his writing,

falling back on stendhal

it's not even that it's "wrong"
(beyond good and evil) -
it's just....
              a ****** ingenius
curiosity -

   like that HBO american history
series (sorry, youtube clippings)
starring paul giamatti as
                          john adams...

immaculate acting - throughout -
most notably -
   ahem, a question
to the roman catholic schooling
of children in essex:

   why is it always about henry - the
fuckig could have had a harem,
but couldn't bother employing
castrato of permitting ******
while i was spent from ******* one,
but unable to **** the other - the VIII,

and not george III?!
   a far more interesting character...
from that HBO series,
in that one scene alone,
   when john adams walks into
the king's room...
     the king's not sitting on the throne,
he's standing beside it...

              the level of mad genius
on behalf of george III is like:
   one chimp allowed another chimp
take a **** into its gob
and the third's mouth gob dropped
in awe...

    why was it always about henry VIII?
fair enough, edward the confessor...
but why not george III?
                      i guess i have to hone
in on him, while i binge on
  american political commentary:
since the british political "thing" -
           it's not exactly working -

politics is taboo in taverns across
this, ahem, glorious land of: foo! elgar?!
           no political talk:
taboo...
      but ***** ***, **** and
guillotines *****? fine fine...
                if homosexuality is a-o.k.
here, then it's the norm...
     so why is paedophilia suddenly
the next threshold?

   it's like watching the logic of
lars von trier eating his own tongue
while watching nymphomaniac
in reverse...

and, having personally seen
  a "reformed" ******* walk down
the street, pushing leaflets
for some obscure entity of
employment -
      while seeing him getting
kicked in the face by one
"bad ***" vigilante with internet
access...

                by then:
death seems like a relief -
              a one time "veto" -
                      where - nothing could
possibly go wrong.

. well... apparently a slice of lime in a ms. amber
(whiskey) and pepsi is not a profanity,
not an abomination,
                       clearly a touch of zing
does the trick...
                          as is that other "profanity"
of the ms. amber: twins...
   or a double amber...
                                      scotch with ginger ale...
my god, that works like...
    i guess that the gods don't have a chance
                                to drink their own ****!

that's thing about drinking,
   you might say i came across poetry
by chance, or as an attache composite
of my drinking,
   or the other way round...
whichever way it was:
    it's not exactly sodium pentothal
but it works...
  or at least: if you're honest with yourself...
i still don't have the foggiest
about what ***** styron was talking
about...
    oh... he drank and listened to music,
he didn't drink and write...
that figures...
              who the hell drinks for "fun"
these days?
           if there's one thing i know,
is that:     if i truly lied throughout my,
rather, uneventful life,
    this sort of diarrhoea spew would come by...
as... rather... problematic...
lying takes up too much of the mental
faculty that's imagination...
  much simpler just to tell the truth...
alcohol just enchances by ability to do so...
like, take this example...
i was thinking of a rammstein song...
while listening to slaughterhouse music
  (feindflug...
   don't worry... i'll be listening to
some ke$a later...
   i'm a sucker for pop music,
once i, crawl out from the outlier music
types)
  and this, really is, a pedantic fetish...
maybe it's an east german "thing"...
ich will...
                point being...
  where's the harking sound of ICH
in that song?
    no... i'm pretty sure it's not there...
what is in there is...
        isch will...
           or at least that's how the schwabs
speak and write it...
   which doesn't imply
         it's even a case of the caron,
hiding the H in an english word like:
  šatter - no, not a *******,
                                  to, shatter...
no wonder: being neighbours...
   but it still must be an east german
"thing"...
                  given that ich becomes isch
and... that pretty much sounds
acute...
                 namely?
                                 ś -
   yś will...
               ergo? ich / isch = yś ~ iš
because there are two languages within
each of the european languages,
sure, i'd love to compliment
on the ******* phonetic encoding
               of the chinese ideogram method...
phonetic results? chow mein,
pretty ******* meagre if you ask me...
like... do we really need the wall,
             or, isn't our language enough?
i see some latin encoding and i'm like:
should i sing or should i hum?
   two languages, in one,
most notably with french,
  that masterful brainchild of loose
syllables...
               and gulping down suffixes...
english? eh... so so...
         point being:
                well you have accents,
don't you... i've never heard a chinese
person talk about some foreigner's accent...
but we write one way,
  and then speak another...
              so i just sit, and listen...
and with a fluency in two languages,
i come across, pedantic observations,
which for me are: narrative cues.
when sang: it's either an operatic
    bowl of spaghetti...
      where the vowels are exaggerated
and the consonant "somehow" disappear...
or... like a rammstein song...
it's written ich, it's sung isch...
   and then... if i were to bypass
   the convention of literacy...
and write everything: purely phonetically...
ich would become isch would become yś...
obviously writing from hearing
is not appealing to the aesthetic of
writing per se...
     even with the use of orthography...
"short-cuts" akin to borrowing
     from the semitic vowel hide & seek...
oh **** they're smart,
isn't it obvious?
         have you looked at the language?
even now: encoding quill
  idiosyncracy...
      you have two "vowels" acting
as consonants (א & ע - ayin and aleph)
you have hidden vowels...
kametz (a), tzere (e), chirek (i), cholem (o)
and shurek (u) -
vowels... that are more like orthographical
markers in a latin script...
oh, but they're not written into
a standard text, like a street sign...
the arabs didn't figure out
a way to hide these markers...
the hebrews did...
     reading their language is sometimes
like solving a crossword...
   one example:

ירושלים
            that would be a street sign...
not    יְרוּשָׁלַיִם
     yod, resh,
             problem...
                  shin,
                          lamed, yod,
           mem...
    yeah...  wait... (ו) vav...
    there's a vav in Jerusalem?
   what the **** is wikipedia "selling"?

in the meantime: some alpha blondy...
but a street sign would
           read          ירשלים
and that's all consonants...
    see what i mean? now fit in the vowels...
sneaky *******,
   this is simply ingenius...
        in latin that would read as
YRSHLM....
                    unless you know
the word prior... a ******* vowel roulette
or something?

well yeah,
    (א & ע - ayin and aleph)
are the new cain and abel for me...
because of the prefix rule...
  what do you get when you
cut off the prefix  
    of theta? θ - f,
   and what do you get when you
get when you cut off the prefix
of phi? φ - f...
               AFFA...
two Fs in Greek, Ayin and Aleph in Hebrew...
oh no no...
the new testament was never
a greco-hebrew collaboration project
to topple the romans...
   no... oh no... forget about it...
b-eta
            e-ta
              e-psilon
                          z-eta
                                         o(o)-mega.

something almost special,
    happens to england,
                   when it snows...
as might deem,
filling the void
             of watching
             the earth become
                layered by
        the white stuff...
esp. during the night...
       harrowing, grey,
october....
                  pink is the new white
when it comes to spring blossoms...
and the japanese are
more european than they'd
like to nod to....
quirks, oddities
  governing all things asiatic...
but when it snows in england,
my, my,
          what an ingenius idea
to consecrate an existence
           of a people...
  bound to a land
             non-continental.
me? among the english?
i pretend to be german,
to be the big brother...
because,
you can't exactly state
   a genealogy focusing
on anglo-pomeranians...
     but it's fun, wishing the idea
to be as true, as it is to be truant
simultaneously...
        cystic fibrosis celts...
      ugh: and a glug...
               please tell me
to forget why i migrated...
  leaving grandparents
and a burgeoning town
   in scraps, and tatters...
             because:
                     there's also cairo
without a giza to mark a
town...
                     worthy of
anything akin to
habitation, i.e. more or less
a flacid posit
of cheap-***
geography students
   mimed by tourists...
     bugging *******!
can't take them anywhere,
without a leash /
                        tour guide!
shveeden, shveeden...
       puck'ah the lips
  and pursue the prune;
because that selfie of
pursed lips, agitating
a revival of the **** goose step...
became a donald domino,
of an arc quack,
              with duck lisping.

Many years ago
Before i became
Even a twinkle
In my parents eyes
I had a previous existence
As a Gnu called Nug
Whose only desire
Was to grow wings
And become a Dragon
But instead
Decided to live in a canoe
Made from bamboo
Then move to Peru
But knowing these things
I would never, ever do
But i did invent the plug
What a clever, ingenius
And smug Nug
by Jemia

so... ah ha ha ha...
what's the difference
between,
performing

                        oral ***
on a *******'s ******,
eating a heterosexual
"version" of an oyster...
and then...
   catching
Berlin's trans-
            -ex- "usual"...
   eat a watermelon?
you... you're seriously
going to call that
"fiddly bits"...
  originating from...
oh... right...
   bread & wine...
doesn't really begin
to cut it, for the church
attendence...
   sure... soak enough
bread in wine...
   it's still not going
to end up,
as crisp as a watermelon
and...
   all the minus worth
of giggles...
now,
i did think the channel
contra points was
weird,
when discussing incels...
but... this current stuff?
hector dejean...
i like art,
esp. when it's ******
inhabited...
   like... moving beyond
the danish girl
sort of canvas...
       yeah... oral ***
and eating fruit...
  if a phallus is a banana...
what's the best replica
of a ******?
ah... trick question...
if it's not a watermelon...
it can only be an oyster...
get the "paradox"?
sure, rhythm section
on the drums,
the guitar,
   and the hushed bass guitar
of a metallica track...
much more visible,
     when revised...
bass was there,
before the tragic death
of the original bass-player...
i'd love to visit berlin
though...
   trans-
     and... whatever "gender"
is...
          like:
people remember what
punk was all about?
   really?
                   i thought that
green day perfected
the approx. 30 minute LP
     extension, model...

point being...
  you can watch
the vinyl, spin...
   and...
   whatever EP you're
listening to,
a 35 minute side
finishes as much as
a 40 minute side on
the silence ripple
                         end...

                    me?
  i like to imagine
literature...
   in the Islamic world...
around 1955...
and the city of Tangier...
having "invited" itself
from h'america...

         i just can't forge
a reminder of h'american
literature,
   within the confines
              of östlichberlin...
i know the story
of westernberlin:
        an ****** epidemic...

and ****** is not
synonymous to opioid...
                  savvy?

Mongols in Warsaw...
pollack tongue
on the signs
    with Ukranian...
Ukranian smugglers
in the western-bus-station...

remind me though...
  a simple banana will
do for nuance
in gratifying a man...
what sea-farer is
to be made equivalent
to a banana?

    oral...
      testimony... mouth...
to genital interaction...
  last time i heard...
it was either full gob
and slurp and oily face
when bustring on the scene
of orange or other citrus
fruit...
    subtle variation
when it came to
ingesting an oyster...
    or nibbling
             on a watermelon...

well... we're talking
about, "the forbidden fruit"...
given that men were
circumcised in this
nomadic religion...
   and *******
was deemed taboo...
        because, why would you?
if you have been
circumcised,
yeah... ******* would
be kinda pointless...
well then...
  what if the metaphor of
Eden...
of the "forbidden fruit"
is actually associated
with performing oral ***?

what then?
      every time i ate a *****
i was thinking along
the lines of... oyster...
          orange, watermelon...
   given the ingenius
naivety of hebrew poetics...
i'm giggling...
   because i do think
that the, "forbidden fruit"
of Eden,
was...
     how casual eating out
***** is...
      hell...
a woman performs
     *******:
          a skyscraper is erected...

covert metaphor
is the standard base for verb...
esp. if it is
         overtly-nuanced:
                           niqab-stressed.

if you can't see... an echo chamber...
weaving its ***** grub...
and legs... around on this site...

it's not that i mind.... but there's a strait-jacket
of an echo chamber
clearly roving on this website...

succumb to the comment
section of it... if you must...
the usual suspects are, almost, leftover...
in that... they will remain:
retaining their social pressure
cursors...

never... acknowledge
your presence to "them"... they forth and breed
of the "all inclusive we"...

it's almost akin to...
making a fetish
from a david attenborough narrative...
so much for you liking
the sophistry of christopher hitchens...
when you just have to succumb
to the hitchens suffix...
never mind a christ from a peter...

just watch them gloat...
centipede roam with...
appreciative comment sections being
congested...
to the demands of the "deaf and blind"...
reader... the papillon...

   an angry self-emulated choicest
rattle of ******* and the 6 face-off
die... that each and self-help
guru ******* without
a help of a woman could ever
become this... gratifying!

romancing the ******...
otherwise: bachelor loitering
toward the cul de sac of
economy:
               fathom: my inability
to spend money...
i only save up pennies and copper
drifts of concern for the worth
of loitering better use of
iron come the nail and not the coinage!

it's not that i don't have the money
to spend...
but it's that i don't have the money
i'd want to... spend...
all for the eyes... to be plucked out...
to be... made... regurgitated
worm ****!

            of the money i have i almost
"forgot" to want to spend...
why entertain the existence of
resturants... when...
i cook better?
          why spend for the affair
of attending to: being seen...
of the limbo-lease - for what privy...
for what... ease of the tuxedo to be
donned... to be worn...
to be tired of...
  to be lemon and a squint eyed:
sooner a beijing hybrid pon-pon
after-party lot...

             there is an echo chamber and that's:
hardly one of anyone's concerns
for the meteriological prophets of groom...
grooming the umbrella to
the tailored out-and-about... fitting of shoeshine
and crease-cotton "books"...

never a knack at things... except when...
it came to becoming a...
sloppy second known best: mummy...
and... mother goose... jotted down: towing:
a jettison jefferson...
because captain ****** obvious
had the time-ref. cursor to mind:
england, 1960s... and england...
and england... of course!

i truly forgot... how one was supposed
to spend money...
i never had enough of it to simply...
show-it-off...
as money not spent...
as money discarded: come about
by chance...
and... all the better!
a money not honestly earned...
is a money most honestly...
not spent...
    better ways to simply...
******* with it into a tide of
gambling...
        the honesty of the government...
and the honesty of the recipient...
these words...
are my only prized honesty...

to be rich to be rich...
             what joy is there to spend...
when there's just as much joy from
saving... the rainy day... the rainy day...
to have only enough to buy bread
and butter's worth of it...

           the luxury of the opera...
the luxury of: it has become...
with what the football players get paid...
the luxury of a football match...
i don't have enough money
to "know" or enjoy spending...
death-head of economy:
i don't have enough to spend:
all enough to save...
      then again...
i don't want to spend what's...
buying up the corpse of nostalgia
of... classic english prog rock...
without buying into the beatles and...
that... "alternative"...

                i pray to the mammon that
i find to be a coin-flip and god...
for all the money in the world...
i have just enough: the bearable minimum...
and of that which i have...
i known the laced rubric of how...
to spend it...
or keep me... satisfied...
any more? i wouldn't know...
mammon and his zodiac bride: libra...

give me 20 pebbles for 19 peanuts!
and for that... a sri lankan elephant to boot!
money...
     it's so ingenius for people who...
spend it...
counter the people who save up on it...
and... the people...
who find it the forever...
uncomfortable transvaluation of all
values...
        a gold nugget is more than
a gold nugget: should it also be a postcard
with a king's effigy strapped to it...
  emboldened to... somehow...
soften the "plague" of a sunset...
    
          worth! i don't know how
to spend money!
perhaps because i never had enough...
to spend it on... so... a many...
futile matters of pseudo-adventures!

i'll know the difference between...
a sparrow's crown
and a swallow's orb;

there's still an echo-chamber on this site...
claustro-philic, perhaps.