-

who said my life was interesting? i didn't, sure as **** i remained covert, but suddenly the lies started sinking in, he started breathing fire, and i started breathing ash... we agreed that both us were to remain insomnia, or rather, live in the unconscious of the living, he would wake them, while i would allow them the circus fancies; so we watched a bit of bergman's wild strawberries, i'd mute the t.v. and watch, i'd write, what was being "said" while listening to music... he'd sit sober as a judge, while i'd drink like a jester and poke fun at the fact that: not every drunk can dis-dis-clone-dyslexicon-dyslexia... ****... SPELL! in a furore!

ernest! stay on cuba with the absinthe
and the shotgun... wait your turn, mo'fo...
cast of characters
(a) dr. isah borg
            (b) marianne borg
             (d) dr. evald borg

                  any of them, born shvine?
cheap jokes, an empty theatre
and an echoing laughter coming from
the echo and no cave...

a - where are we?
   b - the children wanted to stretch their legs
a - but it's still raining
b - i told it's your great day: they want
     to pay homage
         - slept well?
a - yes, but i dreaming; i've been having the most
ridiculous dreams lately
b - why ridiculous
a - as though i'm trying to say something
      i don't want to hear
b - what's that?
a - that i'm dead although i'm alive
b - you know, you and Evald are much alike
a - so you've said
b - Evald has said exactly the same thing
a - about me? i'm not surprised
b - no, about himself
    a - he's only 38
  b - will i bore you with the details?
a - no, i'd be grateful if you told me
b - happened a few months ago
    - i wanted to talk to Evald, so we drove to
the sea.
      - he sat where you are; it was raining then, too...

           i'm pretty sure at this point
my "plagiarism" is not really a "plagiarism"
since, Mojo B overe there is deaf as an oak
trying to lip read the movie,
as i once lip-read a nurse going to work
in a surgeon's theatre,
so i said, excuse me miss,
   can i not look into your eyes
but rather read your lips,
this clamour cackle iron hoof stampede
is doing my head in,
   can i read your lips instead?
   on a train, going from
      (DYS-LEX-IA! U.S.A! U.S.A.!
          DYS-LEX-IA! U.A.E!)
    goldersgreen (learning a karate
chop while learning to not cry
when getting kicked in
the ***** is a hard lesson to learn)
to some honk-honk outpost
for recruiting the new pool-ease
enforcers... Hendon?
                           /
d - well, now you've got me trapped,
supposed you want to tell me something
unpleasant

            (d! shh... i skipped a bit...
  don't tell Mr. Fantastic about our little:
do me tender, build me a temple
bits... i spent a good amount of
bourbon on this crap)

b - i wish i needn't tell you about it
d - i understant, you've found someone else
b - don't be childish
   d - what do you expect me to think?
   you say you want to talk to me
       - we drive all this way and i'm still waiting
   - for god's sake, marianne, tell me what it is
now
b - you almost make me laugh
     - so you think i've done a ******?
   stolen money?

           (1st narrator interlude:
   apart from me cherishing emotional
irresponsibility,
                  and having duty? yes...
you wouldn't exactly taking
a ***** donor's ***** theft, would you,
mary?)

      - i'm pregnant

   (2nd narrator interlude:
   and they lived, happily, every, after)

d - you sure
b - it's definite

        (3rd narrator interlude:
  lucky for you mate,
   the one last time, 10 years ago phoned
me up an' says: i think i'm pregnant...
     oh look... it, a clown with a sad face
but happy eyes
                                   )
                                              (
               ­                    )
                but at least it's definite,
rather than: i think i am:
i.e. it's only my indefinite self scenario)

d - so that's the secret?   (4th narrator interlude:
                                             tissues and the toilet
                                         are mine,
                                        well, you know,
                synch. if your eggs are nothing but
yolk at the end of the 6th day,
                          on the 1st day my ideas are
nothing but day, year, zodiac, 0)

    b - i'm tell you now that i'm going to have
this child

   d - you put it bluntly
    - you know you must choose between me
and the child
   b - poor Evald
  d - don't "poor" me
    - it's an absurd life; even worse to make more
  wretches... and think they'll be better off
b - don't equivocate
   c1 - call it what you like, i was an unwelcome
child, all right
       - is the old man sure i'm his son?
     c2 - very touching, but no excuses for
childish behaviour
   d - must be at the hospital at three,
  won't discuss this
b - coward
d - yes, i'm a coward...
        
    the best you can do is watch the movie...
and you already know who
C1 & C2 are...
                          
   as with b - you know this is wrong
     (i.e. "this": hard to point the blame at
yourself, isn't it...
       hard to chant mea culpa) -
by now pronouns masquarade as
gender orientations,
given the neuter: it...
                            
                          righ­t now pronouns
are more about spatial coordination than
anything else...

  but you already know who C1 and C2 are
in relation to B and D,
      as you know that A and D are related
as being father, and son...
                as much as B is related to E,
who is of course the predecesor of B in
relation to A.

if i found this text on the internet,
well, a simple ctrl c ctrl p...
               and to think i can still read my own
handwriting.

THE EYES OF DARKNESS

In the radiance of diverse rainbows
I remained silent in secret grief
Thinking how my end would be

Sadness seemed to dwell a tenant
In the brittle silence of the desert night
Sighted with resignation and opened my eyes

In a moment of crazy dark despair
The alternatives were too frightening
Grimacing at the bitterness of the spirits

Lying down in an enclosure
Sitting without posture
Tears rolling down my cheeks hoping

©️Isah Aliyu Chiroma

I found my self in the garden of words
Where air was raining messages
Words waving at me

There was the Noble Laureate
The man of ijebu forest
Seeing you as the words step backward

The cloud wispers to my ears
Looking into the sky it shed tears
With the lightning of the tunder which makes me fear

I searched the sky all i saw was rain
I move with the heavy breeze like the days
The drums beat and the flutes sang

I pick up my pen which will dance on my paper
Vomiting words of hope
Strong and tight like the rope


There was the pen
Which produce leaves of words
With the brack which produce the ink

The stream moves with the tides
The grasses at the shores
Sip to their thirsty roots

The trees wave higher
As the wind blows heavier
Wispering to my ears

There comes the cloud
Fading away from my sight
Moving far beyound my height

The mountains ecoed  
Chanting my name saying
Move close to see my beauty

©️Isah Aliyu Chiroma

Down the screen
Floating particles
Suspended

Rise up
On the bottle
To shelter the air

With oxygenated heart
Filled with love
And sympathy

Care and trust
Shown on the screen
Of brotherhood

©️Isah Aliyu Chiroma

but each day: i can conquer with myself
and experience the day
the rest of the world
the res extensa world
with pitfalls of schizophrenia
and the lackey bilingual
lead me AI
to where we talked:
i am making digital 21st century notes
and there's no museum to house
these artefacts
i'll be moving to Hawaii and i'm
letting people know
that is that
and that i have been to New York
and didn't find Whitman
or Lorca
but i found the Polish Embassy
and i found the Chelsea Hotel
and i was the Little Polishman in New York
without a sting
i was a ****** in New York
i was no longer a ****** in London
and i'd give New York a second chance
if i had more money
but i had all the money in the world
i just didn't see new york in the night
big cities
require you to see the daytime
and the nighttime
the real city awakes after night
during the day you say you saw
new york
but you didn't:
i baby... i saw the new york you
want me to glitz with
i saw the 1970s grit
i was there smoking
i was there i don't see
the mirror of a Night Manhattan:
a Night Manhattan is a cocktail:
sparrows and the fox come...
for the children... let the children believe
let me tell you
i left one glass of wine on the table
like the Catholic i am...
i left one cup of wine on the table
on the table:
me! me! me! drink it!
i'll have come water
from the camel's spit please
across the deserts and fortitudes of seas
i came to find all the men
and i brought all the men together
and where they feast at the birth
with a homelessman at the table
comes
the dinner table
clean like a ghost
because a ghost i see
and then comes the body
or is that in reserve?
upon the resurrection
which is why this moment in time
is so splen did
from the clock orientation time:
i drift into dream...

rememeber:
the world will only allow so much of it
before you adventure
into Egypt
and the Cities Cairo and Alexandria
like England drifting parallel
to other islands
i say New York is like Alexandria
the cosmopolitan adventurer
while the stalemate last in London
and Cairo
i was thinking about the underground
and in my head
i degraded New York's
and took to the war of the rats
in Moscow and London
i had no questions asked
in Paris-Berlin-Warsaw...

  i took the route to New York
via the trains
from London: to London: flying over
Paris Berlin Warsaw
PBW...
no sooner will this reality fade
and that drink of water will be
a reward unto Isah...
and the two brothers and the right of birth
some biological ancient arithmetic..

i can keep my demons
but first the cats of the household have
to fall asleep:
i'm rereading Dada poetry and
i'm thinking it wouldn't be easier
rereading Ulysses
instead tackling Proust
and i can't say i'm a pampered fool
but like ****** and KIETSCH
or is tht KIEV i postpone
i'm thinking of going elsewhere
because another drink will not solve
this debacle
when i was falling asleep
about the classical .fm top 300
and that's a 3 x 3 300
i'm thinking the three word clue
the road beyond the word
and that is a crown bite the bullet and cravat
i ask in time-spatial of myself
but in time-temporal i do find
journalistic cannibalism abhorring
and that's the critique of the English The Time
versus the Thrusday edition
of the New York Times...
and i love American liberalism...
it's classical liberalism
it is conservative-liberalism...
it is water i drank from under the pillow
of what *** is given me a chance
perhaps i faded away after the resurrection
and settled down an happily lived a life
according to Joseph the Parrot Merchant
of Death:             Mary the ******
the Widower Joseph...
Christ: whoever gets past the Age 33.

one hour until curfew
so the girl plays the games hard
and into the night
trying to figure you out
and this teenage girl is figuring you
out and
i think that's the darkness
and the light and the arch of kingship
i behold when
i deem such days hailed
unto Ave Spri FONZ...
    AVE VER!
                       perhaps the words you utter
when you can stroke a cat and shyly
ask the night to say for you what you
think: res cogitans trapped in the res extensa
and finding the pre deus cogito
only later so many people come
with their cogito deus pro
these words my god said so
my other words said
these words my god said so
religion is like politics
is a game of child and a game of
play
rather than a game of solve
play isn't solve
although like the English definite article
play is the indefinite article
where: solve is the definite article
and all this in the arithmetic of Descartes
it is geometry in motion
a playbox of sorts
i'm working on it
with my daughter
i am alligning minds
she is insomniac and i have bubbles
in my face...
a sinner i ate too much bortsch too much
all that fermenting rhye rye is giving me
the farts
and it's agony of the farts
need to dilute said food with *****
alas no *****
just some cider
enough cider i think trebble that
into us alone you
no longer reading self-help books about
raising a child
i'm wishing for the day
when you stop reading self-help books about
raising a child
have but one child in your existence
and that being your
ego before the altars of cogito sonos deus and algos
and i don't know but it was easier
to take the blood and count a meter
in stride
if i could just escape that thought
that as much a child of progeny
in my mind and in your mind
there became a curation of the womb
as St Basillica...
           i do wonder how much
German i could extract from the translation
of Master and Margarita i think
i will send her
a copy of MAster and Margerita
in English and in German
why just stop at one language
find which language is easier
perhaps you need to branch out into German
rather than parrot Spanish...
i should know
because i should have been taught German
in my high school rather than French
or Spanish: perhaps...
but this one song is on repeat
and i just remember falling asleep last night
thinking about:
so when we get to the speed of gravity:
what is the mechanism of slowing
down to our speed...
oh shitQ! what is our speed...
if we get to the speed of light
how do we get back to the speed
we're currently speeding on?
is it the speed of light?
is it the speed of... what?! the **** are we talking
about when talking about the speed
of light?!
and what are we talking about speed
right now?!
we get to the speed of light
and then what?
where is the break?! the break! the ******* break!
how do we get back into orbit with Earth
and at what speed is Earth at
relative or not ******* relative
to the speed of light?!

- and that's Ola Gjeilo: Gorrilaz: Night
on repeat.. first song...
and i think about Liszt and Chopin
the virtuosos trying to escape the mind
of the composer
like Wager the Chopin waging war
against the composers...
but then in the age of diminished mathematics
in symphony
from Bach
think about the Virtuosos
of the Piano then think of either Satie or Debussy
and they were the rhythm pianists
while you had the soloist pianists like Liszt etc
and that's like almost a rock band
but instead of a drummer
you would have... the brass
the jazz perhaps the strings of violins
or the woodwinds

cello cello chee...
   the long and a' winding road from rubber bicycle
wheels to hoofs to something magical
if you still have it
like a saddled carpet with a camel's grin
because the curfew is still
coming to one hour prior
and i'm already in bed
brushed up
and just wanting to talk
*** isn't a routine
sometimes we have it sometimes
i don't know: we talk about it
bombard each other with sextxts
in our mind of the sharing of the potency of the dualistic
***: and all opposites:
two individuals sharing a commonality
where at least polar opposites can grow
apart and apart together
merge and dwindle sort of coexist
a sharing of the banality of seeing infinites
when the finite might suffice...