before i bury myself
in the fallen leaves,
i paint
a golden picture. idolize
unreality. force open a dream
of spring
and what it should mean.
and whenever i see two ready eyes like the
gestation of a new cosmos,
my anxious fingers tinker about;
there are fruit and flower
worth the time it takes to focus upon
like a man who is
worth the time it takes to love--
but romance is not natural
for such an animal
as i have been,
unread, not belonging within, clattering, preparing false wings
to abandon
a family. i grow old and young inside depths
that i cave
in.
attuned to noise, some crazy flute,
i go cacophonous toward the sound of sickness,
calling the name of no one into random abysses;
an abstract heart is precious, the selfish self-hatred however
, a practically biological second nature.
bred. arterial, laced
in a genome.
it has nothing to do with womanhood
god
or area. now by the side of whatever is wrong,
future dies
prematurely.
observe the scolding history
rearticulating itself. how i pressed barely visible
to wrought iron and plexiglass
kneeling to whitecoats, a sinkhole stomach pillfilled,
for extended temporarity a frenzy lent to me,
i drew unintending daggers. there was no defense,
but there was no bravery either.
escape and escape and escape and
claim loyalty and value to
somethings, but i did not follow
to that other end
where light lived.
where they were talking
and talking and talking about me
and shaking my shoulders,
jumping in after me,
i wandered persistently so far
so deep and so dark until
they dared not enter. fascinating strangeness,
still they are afraid of what they do not know
and i continue to be afraid of what i do
know.
miserable as unwanted rain,
lamenting the instability and
inventorying uncontrolled damages.
i have no reliable property, i have no money, i squander potential,
restlessly i change shape at night like a fabled figure,
like my father, like a jeckyll, like a hyde, like an
addict or
adolescent rat.
reclawed, hand out free kisses, rest in forbidden laps,
ashamed at the summit,
with a deceptive shadow, i don
a foiled crown gleaming
and scream into the fabricated storm.
the trees all crack their necks.
by morning i slap myself and untangle my hair and
play with my suitcase.
flipping through pages of what i wish i was,
what many people wish they were.
staring at the washing machine long-motionless,
i have a favorite stained outfit, a few clean shirts.
i will probably learn to anticlimactically dump into the sink the crumbs
that collect at the bottom
of the toaster. i will stop running
and take a time out in a place with no season
or color soon
but before i step further into the same street
godwilling i say something
important.

dwelt,
dwelling,
spend years dwelling in what pools
afterward.
there is my face in blood,
there is my face in ketchup,
there is my face in the grocery store floor,
there is my face in front of a padlocked gate,
there is my face in liquor ambivalent, in *****,
there is my face in ravines unflashlit,
there is my face in a wadded poem,
there is my face
in my hands.

Expectation....
As you draw in the warmth from the blistering ember
you will travel a road that I know you'll remember.
Make sure you're comfy in your night-time attire
as you open the book beside this open fire.

You sit here alone reading by candle's glow
your design on this journey that these pages will show.
You flick through the prologue so ready to start
Unknown roads stand before me, so now I depart.

I relish, these words that are so well designed.
Passing such crafted visions into embracing mind
and so were away, as I follow the text,
full of anticipation at what to expect.

Onward....
What is it I cannot see, it hovers vaguely up ahead, shadow stalk, lingering round, vanishing with words un-said.
Uncertain, I do forge ahead, my passage-way remains un-blocked
a beating heart is all I hear and fear is certainly unlocked.

Expeditions must proceed as I try hard not to sway.
With words un-aired but swiftly told with handful gesture as I pray.
I want so much not to be afraid, such horrors keeps my mind engrossed
Reluctantly I turn the page, clinging to this paper host.

Continuing through this written course, what must I cater for ahead,
from words that I cannot divorce. Is Shelley's monster still un-dead.
Standing just outside the grasp of shadows moving through the night
with Frankenstein will I relapse? Shall Dracula cause early flight.

Has Jeckyll change into his Hyde? The only way to surely know,
Is carry on till journeys end, continue forth and watch the show.
Should I force this cover shut or should I just continue on.
My fear maybe sounds absurd as I escape from Chapter one?

How can I be afraid to read?
They're merely words from someone's mind.
Fictitious lines from crafters pen,
why then am I in this bind?

This fear I have is very real
as images do start to brew.
So curious I have no choice,
my course is clear- Chapter two

Painful Endurance....
It seems so long ago to me since first I opened this
Cover up and looked inside to see things I don't want to miss.
I've travelled through such horrors in the Chapters I have delved.
If foresight was ahead of me this novel would be shelved.
This truly was not on my mind when this work I did desire
but I worry that I shan't get back home to sit beside my fire.

an example of a sober poem, which always tends to predicate a celebratory drink, it's just annoying that it's not yet 4 p.m.

here, an extract from Horace, the ****** was depressed
at this moment in time - he blamed the excess of wine,
and he blamed the excess of sleep,
he even instructed himself to write sober,
as best he could; imagine such days!
imagine how squalid we've become, with theology dead,
we have the voice of dietary requirements hovering over us
(tell that to the double chin of *Jan Sobieski),
i agree that perhaps theology breeds some unfortunate events,
but this constant drumming of health concerns makes
us no better than hamsters on treadmills,
with a constrained realm of thinking and conversation -
like Gary Busey talking about the dual nature of man
using Jeckyll & Hyde at a swish party filled
with drinking games, a conversation starter,
and those on the receiving end not understanding
he wants a longer conversation,
   english tongue dismissing english tongue as japanese -
horrid state... but i mean, imagine the times as of Horace:
too much wine, too much sleep? we should be so lucky,
in this squalor of modernity - there's currently a kid,
a next door neighbour, sitting in the garden...
he's been sitting in the garden for about an hour,
motionless, he's in his early teens, child of divorce...
i might be just watching premature depression,
and another ******* suicide...
you know that he used to ride a bicycle in circles...
yeah, through the service road to our line or gardens
and round and round in the cul de sac...
                 THE EPITOME OF A SETTING SUN...
he didn't ride it elsewhere, traffic phobia? again,
the western problem of premature depression -
like the 19th century and europe's problem of
premature dementia that was a misunderstood diagnosis
for people who people found uncomfortable for
all the reasons that didn't really require medical attention;
oh right, the Horace extract -

sic raro scribis, ut toto non quater anno
membranam poscas, scriptorum quaeque
retexens, iratus tibi, quod vini somnique benignus
nil dignum sermone canas. quid fiet?
at ipsis Saturnalibus huc fugisti sobrius.
ergo dic aliquid dignum promissis. incipe. nil est.

- translation: you write little, to the year of
parchment you demand hardly a quadrupling,
you write little, you strike-out more, you correct,
angry with yourself, that from excess of wine
and sleep the satyr in you became anaemic (weak,
contrary to belief that albino too would be
a befitting one word metaphor, no, albino wouldn't
be befitting). tell me, why? in Saturnalia you ran away,
you can't even write under the correct date,
then at least write sober, as best you can.
nothing thereof.
                                 i.e. he won't stop drinking, and he won't
                                 give up precious sleep -
                                 that's what nil est implies.

p.s. the anaemic v. albino metaphor debate is why
poets make terrible translators, they someone always
shove something original in, and that's why translators
will make terrible poets, for the Libra reason of
equal counterweight.

Sometimes I think my childhood went to fast
But frak-lookin’ back that castle was glass
Lasts longer than the beams to break the ceiling’s fall
With my puns I’m probably driving Carter Rhodes up a wall
I diggin’ in the dirt for those three words, words, words
My angry arrow’s at the birds, birds, birds
But like, Thelma and Louise could’ve given me their keys
‘Cuz they always hashtag swerve, swerve, swerve

This is me being personal
I don’t like to do it, but it’s
Best that I do it ‘cuz it
Saves the fuss of a
Sloppy, sole seat in
A sterile room
Where she gives me tissues for a twenty

Call me Mx. ‘cuz I missed the Mr.
Kyrie crown me the king of the sisters
You knock one down I’ll get up, defend her
And mix you up in my gender blender
Just like I'm out on a *******
To numb the pain from this Jen or Ben curse
And I’ve played chicken with the blurry ground
And I’ve breathed heavy as I looked around
My feet kissed the air and my arms were spread wide
Hoping against Hope that Jeckyll would beat Hide
It’s been a while since the last time and all
So if I jump-either way the other shoe’s gonna fall.

This is me being personal
I don’t like to do it, but it’s
Best that I do it ‘cuz it
Saves the fuss of a
Sloppy, sole seat in
A sterile room
Where she gives me tissues for a twenty

i've said this once before, and i'll say it again: i don't buy into dreams, i find them a bit ******, b-movie versions of reality, but sometimes, just sometimes, just before i tap the snooze honey and talk myself into: wake up early, wake up early, wake up early, tomorrow it's going to be california sunny (which it now is), i get a dream, and not some *******-riddling dream, a dream where i am lying next to a staircase and reciting poetry - there was a yesterday? - and i can clearly remember one line from the poem:

  the best verse i ever composed,
  was the verse i spoke -
     and never bothered to write down -
the poetry that belongs solely to ανέμοί -
the deity of the winds,
and of souls -
     of those who reside a tier above
hades, in his ***** - anemoi -
   and yes, diacritical entry points
for the english reside with i and j -
as is worth noting:
   there's a buddhist maxim of concern
with respect to the modern greeks
(let me keep you up to date) -
that famed mirror of *beryl -
   stop polishing the ****** mirror,
you will not see much clearer,
stop polishing that ****** mirror,
wash your face instead, slap it even,
punch it till you bruise your knuckles -
by polishing that mirror too much,
you'll end up as the madman
xerxes of persia, demanding the sea
an allegiance and sub. obedience by
whipping it! we're not talking culinary
inventions of whipping cream,
or heating milk for a cappuccino froth!
if the english are going to be this *******
lazy with their abstinence of applying
diacritical indicators to ease the pain
of dyslexics with pseudo-chinese
  clarifying syllables - why should you?
you? the greeks, why spoil the beauty
of the already ready alpha-beta -
    you're perfecting something that's already
perfect -
        look at the trojan eve - look toward
the roman adam -
stark ****** naked; the greeks seem
to be donning five pairs of socks,
two pairs of trousers, six shirts, seven
pairs of underwear, gloves, and a burqa
to top it all off!
**** it, let's do what the english have
done: return to nature, embracing naturalism,
nudism, whatever the hell you want
to call this nightmare.

as any book review inquires -
  a book there is, how language began,
by a fella who learned some amazonian
language, a daniel everett -
who claims counter-claims vs. chomsky
and pinker -
  who says - citation, please!
he maintains that mental disorders do
not support the notion of a language *****,
for (he argues) there are no language-specific
disorders...
  
          yup... apart from dyslexia,
i guess that means: you can't count from 0
to 100, or give me a 3 x 4 answer,
nothing language specific about that.

ah blimmin' heck, i can't believe that i turn
into this jeckyll ******* when i had two
sharpshooters -
    well... **** happens.

then comes a video including douglas murray,
sometimes you need a pompous english
*** to speak a little -
   jaw-dropping moments of perfected
sophistry -
         which the english are only capable
of, which they invoked by inventing
the american / australian accents -
covert mechanisms -
   don't invite diacritical distinctions
(which, by the way, pivot on the chinese
having not letters, but syllables -
hence the mongols in crimea,
   hence the mongols tickling cracow,
as the myth of the trumpeter goes
in the hejnał mariacki - heynow -
   st. mary's trumpet call) -
shim shiminy shiminy shim shoom
         ask for favours of off a broom...
   tipsy turvy -
        and what do you call a sikh on a construction
site? sinjit you 'av a brick on yir turban;
never feels right, him with a turban,
me with a hardhat, i'm guessing he's
praying that if a brick falls,
     it will bounce right off the cushion.

there was something else...
ah! the other type of intellectual, the quirky one,
i.e. david graeter talking about
money, and how adam smith was wrong
in speculation, and how you don't
find the most primitive societies engaging
in 1 x cow = 40 x chicken...
    i still don't understand why there is
haggling in marrakech bazaars -
    or how 1 x cow ≠ 40 x chicken
  but 40 x chicken + a wife for my son...
intellectual pomp vs. intellectual quirk -
can't decide -
         and money is a fascinating concept,
nietzsche was nearing the prospect,
but the much anticipated "transvaluation
of all values": well... to be honest?
   that's just a one word book: money...
but here comes the biblical fiasco -
          oculus namque oculus -
  auge für ein auge -
        simply, eye for an eye -
which bewilders me, given usury -
     interest rates, the supposed "pricelessness"
of certain artworks...
        it's way past jurisprudence -
    that meaning has morphed into
a banality, nay, an abomination of economic
ethics...
          the phrase no longer applies so much
to a jurisprudence regard of affairs -
   the term has become more and more
economical.

Haunted house situated on Apple hill
Evil lived there as time stood still
Spirits would play ghouls would ****
In that haunted house on Apple hill
Was I brave or foolish,I had to go
So I went to visit this horror show
I rang the doorbell of this haunted house
It screamed like a lion roared on by a mouse
Hinges creaked the door opened wide
Taking a deep breathe I strode inside
Ghostly appirations flew all over the room
Showing no fear.knowing my appending doom
Noise was deafening,the screams did thrill
In that haunted house on Apple hill.
Sitting down in an old dusty chair
Near a fire of bones,I just didn't care
A demon appeared and sat down beside
Said he was the spirit of Doctor jeckyll and Hyde
Please I said you will not frighten me
Be a good fellow a make me some tea
The demon roared with laughter and howled if in pain
Then asked me if I was brave or ****** insane
I replied I need some thrills I need some fun
Then he blew my brains out with his gun
I liked this house on Apple hill
Where time stood stood still now my turn to ****
Could you be the next visitor to visit this place
So I can be chilling so thrilling by eating your face.

Southampton vs Leeds
today at Wembley

yesterday the whole of
Manchester came
to London (also Wembley):

there's something infuriating
about the spirit of the north
especially in England
some old tale of Vikings

because the north like
the north Norway and Finland
is: well
the Polacks had a long ago
allegiance with the Norsemen

but the spirit of the north
in England
that land between London
and Scotland
because i don't think
i can relate to the spirit of the dragon
of the west of Bristol

no: much different
but in the same vein:
i think i should travel for a weekend
trip to Manchester
or Newcastle
or even perhaps Leeds

but i'd need to own a car for that
and not use trains
get out
experience a driving holiday
across England
and write...
i think i need a writer's holiday
unlike what could never
have been promised on Kauai
in terms of writing
and growing:

i think i need to grow intellectually
and for that i need alone time
perhaps i will not philosophy
maxims or aphorisms because
i find that when writing
wisdom is cheap because not actually lived
counter to the wisdom invoked
none of it is ascribed to a life

only from word of mouth
sorry therefore
but from word of mouth i find the accounts
of Socrates more involving, inviting,
sensibly middle Buddhist path...

but i don't even have a driving license...
that's plan B
so plan A is to travel to Poland
and get a driving license
and from there look in on Martin
in the care home now
walking
but obviously the mind regardless: fried
scrambled or i best
like to think an omelette...

there's this favorite Indian place of mine
just in the shadow of Wembley
with great great Samosa
vegetarian
something i see too much meat
i want to try some ape-thinking
or rather

     koala in an eucalyptus tree
like some birch standing upside down
but no
the forest shifts to bamboos
and a panda
this forest this river this sea of people:
the people: regardless of the social
construct of sobering democracy
rather than the drunken ripple into time
en masse
like circling around the Kaaba
in Mecca
or circling around the Pitch (Pi)
or Wembley in London...

sporting events replaced the failed
christianity in Europe
the failed christianity in Europe:
which is not to say that
Christianity isn't thriving in Africa
Asia
South America is the New Europe
of Christianity
and pockets of insanity in the North
of the Americas...

but Europe isn't dead: it simply turned
covert...
there is a narrative i need to be part of
and this cannot invite an Edie
and a Reyla when i am of the "class" of people
that need to hear people
speak
and i need to listen and watch and record
but unlike journalism
poetry is a question to the butcher:
would you butcher a meat twice
by overcooking it?
beef is safe
but dare to under-cook chicken? no...
would rather eat raw fish
than under-cooked chicken...
TEXTURE...
a problem with texture regardless of those
allergic to peanuts
and all the microcosms of what if Darwinian
laws were in place
not nature's as ontological specific to man
but rather as Darwinian laws
of appropriating the stasis ontologies
of animals
to the singleton humanoid-hood of mankind

Darwinism is an Ontological Disney-Magic-Place
then some recoil back
to basics of: morality as prejudice...
not as something crippling
but as a prejudice of character...

one shift we were singing Champagne Supernova
then i got high
when i was alone at home
and listening to headphones
i'll still drink in public
but alone
at Marleboune...

a new lease on life...
took a different route than my usual
using the stop ahead
of the crowd
going back to Preston Road
on the Metropolitan Line
then ahead to Liverpool St
and perhaps chance the express Greater Anglia
two stops to Romford
otherwise speeding to Shenfield
and then onto Southend

Diamond Boy Diamond Boy said this one
Leeds fan...
another promised me to jug jug down a pint
of beer
before me and then kissed my clenched
fist with a wet kiss of charcoal ego of the sun

now  i feel the love of humanity
like it's a welcome burden
it truly can be i can allow myself to differentiate
the good from the bad
only today i passed a man
lying with head exposed on the pavement
outside Romford station
to later come home
and find him sitting in decent clothing
and temporarily homeless
because clearly he broke someone's heart
and not all rough sleeping
is a horror but the same sun and same
moon in the sky
and by so transient and glass like
to the everyday mirror be behold
those homeless men peering at themselves
in glass
to those homed and baron with silver spoon born
looking at themselves
in mirror
and even in the future now of the photograph
and movie and what used to be the arena
of the artist's self-portrait...

                   more in the idea of riding
my first worm of steel
if any myth the metal worms of the geology
of a planet equivalent to a desert sea...
yet in the ultra cold
less the fiction of Dune and more the Reality-Mars...

but the original plan is to travel
to Poland to get a driving license...
then probably buying a cheap car
and travelling alone across Europe...
that's more realistic
than anything concerning Edie as far as i am concerned
that is finished...

i saw Warren send heartheartheartheart
emojis...
out *** has returned to quick(s) and quirps
and talking points
we still have talking points of wonder
and bewilderment
but i know: those several days have been long
and thorough on the observant i

Mary Le Bon! that's it!
i found her...
                 she was hiding in my favorite places
of London
less a trainspotter but but but
more an aesthetic appreciator
notably when it comes to the London Underground
but more so
i wondered there are poems plastered across
the worms
and people get bored and sometimes even read
or rather start to write not having
read enough to bury gems among rocks...
better still
the aesthetic of the Bakerloo Line
a living museum in transit...
please do not update the Bakerloo Line
petition.... 1st signature: X
please do not update the Barkerloo Line
the Jeckyll and Hyde Station that is Baker Street
while sorry:
Sherlock Holmes will have to move
in with Shakespeare's Shylock somewhere
on Bond Street...
to give us James, King and Country...

                         but Mary Le Bon station is just
another weird ******* beautiful
ginger cat story
especially after having your hands kissed

but a holiday like that
to live a life my uncle should have lived
but instead didn't
probably he didn't love just yet
a woman who could perform both
******* and absolute freedom all at once
by every ounce of one more once
and how this memory and her as memory
will mold me i don't know
but if i'm not seeing women differently
then i don't understand why women are
looking at me differently...

i do wonder: the CCTV rat network
and couple in the cult of the soap opera...
well: mismatched with a football sulk hug-out
of a ghoul: pelican -
if i can't solve be-done crossword
puzzle i think i just wrote
a question:

football sulk hug-out
of a ghoul: pelican -

          i.e. a hooligan:

   ave maria ave maria
now i want to understand christianity but only via christ
or perhaps
socrates' life through his ****** sons?
and the younger argumentative seller of **** potions
of a wife?
well:
perhaps islam can be understood through Maria...
just saying:
lost - no annals of children of christ
although i'll admit: i'd like to see a book made up
of little words and little nouns
with no names of people and no history...

              for the aesthetic...

but a holiday for myself...
getting a license and exploring further further
that only oar and boat could
but couldn't solve on Kauai
and no Polynesian dream then
but such good ****... it wasn't about the ****
although that was a learning curve
away from the brothel...
a ******* was nothing like having ***
with this woman,
this fruit of carnage from apple juice
to cider of 55 springs moisturized...
into a glowing Aladdin's rub rub rub rub rub
*** up blind
hurt
definitely hurt

definitely a life ahead of me
still talking to parents
about relationships
and opera
and they seemingly know i'm planning
a solo trip and
this trip alone
no i'm not going back to Ilona
come on
some new treaty of not from Versailles
but adventures with cats
the two gingers will gang up
on that brutal thung
who is ****** himself into a spirit
of the culled pets
who have not been given the snip
yes
pets
pets can be given special treatment
as pets
as petted-animals
only if there is the imposed cruelty
of castration
leaving the best genes in a harem pool
which doesn't translate into humanity
employing this already human maniability
of: cats and dogs replaced
angels and demons
because they could become more real

i have a life here too
i don't mean
a girl wants to live in London type of life
whereby i meet my dad for
a football match and we patch up
on our commute but ****'s going
wrong and the conversation drops off
as: we can't relate
by the glass wall of people gorging
on burgers at the Five Guy's of Baker Street:
genius marketing think-tank of solo-tank
periodical that ought to be
written about:
because saved up so much on adverts....
just glass and people eating
best "anti-AI" advert
because it's also a real place... ha ha...

                   yes....
on Kauai i'd experience true schizophrenia:
premature dementia...
what i experienced as god
in my 20s early beginning at 21
was probably me readying myself to the future
that would encompass me aged
38
her being 56
me fulfilling all my wanking
******* watching fancies and fetishes
oh god this was anti-Oedipal
seriously she looks nothing like my mother
oh my god
she was like
a breach of justice for me being attracted
to black and asian girls...
Sudanese though... now you have me curious...

concerning Ilona but there was
not real breakdown because of her
no... even when i remember it now
she was a ghost
i was 21 and my peers were seriously afraid:
this has nothing to do with Edie
we live several lives apart
i mean she throws away Depeche Mode vinyls
while i collect them
and now
i think i'm so calm and the breakup was
so amicable in my mind
that i know that i want something more
and this argument is not based on who used who
or who gained what
we gained and lost some time...
that's it...
we gained and lost some time...
could i would i should i...
first two yes
but on count of three?         no... *****: me just a man-child:
no sorry mate...

       ha ha: sorry mate...
middle aged women still desperate
are only allowed Harry Styles...
last time i heard the butch-*****-slap was single:
a name a persona
i know his tenderness does not speak
FREAK PR HERNANDEZ gaPPa...

i experienced something with Promis...
of the three names:
Promis, Ilona, Edie..
these are my free...
what? how many i ****** like the ****
actually meant a hug?
do i want, to?
don't think so...
but if i'm 3D and i'm currently 38
and i have no ring on my finger
and i'm still to have a driving license
because i preferred
horses and bicycles
to traffic jams and M25 songs by Chris Rea
and Grandma
and the sexuality of pedophiles as
as i die he will **** you
and **** Reylah
then yeah
you have, dear Edie... dementia on your side
and brain-freeze on my side:
oh so Martin my mother's brother
is ******* "JARGON" TO YOU?!
EDIE! *******!
******* EDIE!
FOR TREATING MY MOTHER'S BROTHER
AS SIMPLY MY UNCLE!
******* EDIE!
*******!

f.y.f.r:n.t.y.

for your future reference: no thank you.
you ******* north americans
and your shenanigans of acronyms...
******* too! you Ginsbergs and Olsons...
you shoved Ezra into a mental
asylum...
he's the only sane America left...
and the joke being:
he's the DEAD, SANE, AMERICAN...

******* America...
i think i retain my Europe...
well 2000 years of yids...
tickled by Mongols and Turks
who aren't Arabs...
so it's not we didn't like in Serbia
side by side
i don't understand this awe-shocker
who's who and who done what?

it's a... LIFE PROJECT
or a life projection
me?
i've been readying myself for this
break-up
since i was 21
i didn't experience god
i experienced this break-up
in advance:
and no i was not out on a look-out
for a replacement model
this was my epitome
my va va voom
my all **** and all thigh
girl
this was my girl we're talking
about
i mean my EX
like something out of her
sprouted in me...

like i was never a guy for dating apps
but poetry website ruined that
avenue for me
never a poetry website
relationship
not come to think of it
i can replace the bicycle and the horse
for the car

standing on my feet for 12h
it feels comforting
to kneel and "break the shins"
because sitting down
is a fake comfort
to be honest,
kneeling best
after 12h of standing...
this dodge-god giddy style
like i envy the possessors
of both wings and tails,
regardless of halos and horns...
regardless...

wish you were here
with a question, an exclamation mark,
colon, full-stop:
pinkish piglets in a yellow ring of fire
so so
calm
i managed to speak human with the crowd
from Leeds
i think i need to head outside of London
maybe even move to these lands
and accept: goosebumps 2nd or 3rd spring
chicken...
or see an opera or a musical
with me and
at the same time take off all that make-up,
or are you too afraid?
i can understand fear:
but there's a you in between
that conjures the fear of you
and the horror that's you...
how far part
in geo-psychology
is woring: OF from THAT'S...

i ask out of sincerity but no sicerity
here if there's talk of sardines
and the itchy train
and Dover my point of entry
and not Southampton...
because Devon, Heavenport,
some made-up thingy-madzit...
Sir Majid
like aging guitarists
a Layla on the ukulele...
   **** tested sweaty *******...
salt to sprinkle salt to sprinkle...
like goosebumps with an itch:
hard to thrill the... breeze...

                 all these hazards of trees
in the stretching cats before snooze
squeeze: extending by parameter
and parameter and no excuses
for a bad hair day...
all the fringe and paws
like i some vague hello and a vogue of
goodbyes
in the grey and silence...

what bothered me was her reaction
to my mother's brother
and that's what ended it for me,
like my mother could never possibly
have a brother...
like it would forever be
her and her daughter and her mother....
and some future nuisance of
inheritance tax of a sister
from the same mother but a different father.

i tell you is it worth to buy a book of
£50 and i tell you
about the weight of horses
and of teeth

is it not refreshing to read a book
by an Arab
and escape thus
outside the first contact of the Quran

like saying:
Christian find the apocryphal
library a devil a humanist

what happens in the Church of Los Vegas
San Vegas stays in San Vegas
and Vigro
how you mingle pagan attributes
to your life with wearing the clothes
of christian blood
but why i ask
can i not venture to these texts outside
of church and discuss them
with you
all that brings forth conversation
about god but not these strict
conversions and anti-conversions
and no more swaying no more wind
nor rain nor this happiness when
the birds sing...

from Jahiz the Abbasids -
of the ****** Fa'iq
such a different story line and history
to have arrived at the same place
with the taborns
the taborns... what are taborns?
camel slither on the desert sands
when walking in line
with the history the great serpent of time
and man
the time-man concept within the space-time
stresses of authentic atheistic
reality
some people purport to keed (P) rigid
for us little religious types
like under constant scrutiny
for not paying prayer unto deity...

in my youth the story of the *** form Nazareth
and through Islam's prism
at least some reality outside of the church
the Stellar Couchsurfer arrived in the capital
of the ancient world Jerusalem
with a newly sprung Empire of the Romans
and later Byzantines like
this was a Greek revival in the stage
of the ancient peoples

                                 Couch-surfer majestic
came to Jerusalem from Nazareth (the Arab capital
of Israel)
               Tel Aviv being the Jewish capital
of Israel -
                    as of yet there is no clear partition
of Jerusalem not as clearly
as the division of Berlin -

                            a fate of a people in a place
a fate of a people in a time
how different the too that now what can
be the Vatican of modernity
and only the rising sand vacuum...

some distant away end of the spectrum of
experience:
outside the bedroom and multitude
of throng -

Throng - this is the name of our Planet -
it is no longer Earth
but Throng Pirazyjvi

                               well... if i've started to read
books with names
like real people in fiction
by time disparity
for example:

                      abu al-qasim ja'far ibn muhammad
ibn hamdan al-mawsili

13th worrier cut off point for
the prince of Baghdad:

Abu... IBN...            abu yb'n

at least for my own sanity how long has it been
since i was last involved in literature
and now this break-up is going to cost me
much more than just
a heartache - this will spiral into a controlled
vizier -
            a dervish love for spinning gravity
instead of gravity of the fallen...
the gravity of the fallen angels implies a fall
a gravity by vector -

if iblis will not bow to man
then iblis will be falling in a one dimensional
space of the point A to point B
while man will revel in gravity with the earth
and thereby spinning on
point A
                  thus:                          Å
                                                   ° °

this letter:                                    Å
                                                   ° °

the king's letter: all unto Allah - or how to simpler
say: utter backwards the name
Yahoo - or Yahweh -
                    vocal because apparently "we" do not
know how to utter the word:
yet so apparently:
i remember in my lament
on Brick Lane
falling down and crying
allah allah like a child of why do i have
to see these two rivers from the coals of my eyes
blackened by past and future riddles...

what revelation comes from a wholesome diet
of books to find oneself preoccupied
with a child who didn't see the forest
for the books
or the books for the toothpicks or otherwise
sand as glass because
surely i can at least "inte-

          ʾAlf Laylah wa-Laylah -
or rather my alternative script...
Dune by Frank Herbert +
             the Quran +
       the Meadows of Gold by
    al-Masudi +
Rumi + Omar Khayyam

because i did spend a good portion of my
life shielding myself using
Knausgaard's Mein Kampf
and it was a dark period of my life
that culminated in a division of labour
3 volumes through when the original
buyer made his last impression on
a grandson
by 4th volume grandfather was dead
then uncle moved back
successful uncle
in his father's eyes
thus for 2 years not even cleaning his dead
father's room
it only took me to come and clean the stink
out stink of dementia
and this is from a love a hidden place
that cannot be on the same pages
as that of the fate of slave lovers
because there were slave lovers
and how slavery looked back in Arab times
and how slavery looked back in Roman times
and we can see a massive distinction
and oh jeez perhaps the Arabs were the best
slave masters
    and that's why they openly practiced it up to
well let's suppose 1978
for some reason that number sticks...
and perhaps that's why there's this argument
that the only reason why the English
abolished slavery is because they were
the worst slave masters the world has ever seen!
maybe there's an argument there
perhaps slavery per se is
misunderstood just like the word
apocryphal is misunderstood among christians
in terms of what writings can be turned
into money slot machines of sophistry
and the mega church and what ought
to be spoken in private:
but still that third man in the picture
like the diamond face of muhammad
at least if illiterate then had some knowledge
of other forms of communication
like algebra and Pythagoras and ******
expressions
but regardless this Christian focus on the face
and what mellow eyes

imagining myself sitting in a cafe in Amsterdam
going about my day micro-dosing
the shy effects of marijuana
because Amsterdam is a liberal city
and some people are sensible not operating
heavy machinery or driving buses
on a ******
but at least this scribbler is an envious scumb
comb
    working the security industry for the kicks
of: when will the time come
when i'll get to punch and shove and push
and manage crowds like a butch?

yeah yeah: i was going to add: like a butch lesbian?
point of concern:
the book was advertised as a FIRST EDITION
the Arab in me is thinking:
for the knowledge within this book
there are still about 30 unread message from
Edie after i mentioned what
if Reyla comes and stays with me for the summer?
i think that's how i ended last night
but if this book is sold as a first edition
how much of a first edition is it, actually?

flick to the first LEFT page
first published in 1989 by
Kegan Paul International

this edition first published in 2010 by
Routledge

first issued in paperback in 2015...
hmm...
The Night Gate (as film) sort of appeal to writing
per se...
is there an ISBN tracker?
                                         is there an app or something
on the internet... maybe chatGPT can help
if the internet spews out *******...

AI is the new internet
that's if you knew how to use an internet...
privately
i don't mean the public use of the internet
for commerce
this is not a critique of the internet
for all the infrastructure convenience
like speed dating off the island of Kauai
otherwise it would take a Capt Cook
to sail sail away
and bring back a fruit for Gaugin to get
a ******* and for Dr Jeckyll and Hyde
to find graves there
and rest and smile with diamonds instead
of teeth...

9781138980617

   let's find you: in my Little Aushwitz
where things are numbered, cataloged:
well can't exactly say the Germans
understood the concept of slavery...

      could have won the war with all that forced
labor... Schindler understood this
but where's an economic genius when
you have all that Bavarian drunk singing
then sober acting like there is no
alternative to alcohol so up with you
to the Luftwaffe and on Pervitin with you!
transliterated as: perverted vitamin.

ISBN-13: 9781138980617
ISBN-10: 1138980617
Author: Masudi
Edition: 1
Binding: Paperback
Publisher: Routledge
Published: 2015-11-26

well then... maybe i should be mad enough
to send this copy back
and instead get the hardback edition
for £200?
                
but wait, there's a sticker over the ISBN...
LPN WE 21884 8812

never mind: when Abbas became Caliph...
a century gone to kings
and no such benevolent slave owners
that might be sung their fairness as
if a litter of little Solomons running about
from dune to dune to a salt rich sea
where nothing lives
this desert in a desert this puddle of salt
in Israel this desert in a desert
a reminder that the desert is not the harshest
place on the planet but
that the Dead Sea is...

                        al-Baḥr al-Mayyit
Yām HamMāvet                                     some little
citation here and there...

the reign of Mutawakkil...
some humbling rule not to mention the only
notable on our side of history
is matched by only Richard the half viking
half saxon in the domain of body
and mind as Saladin - the Syrian -
Assyrian -
                              makes ***** of 'ryans?
some land of Ur and Yr to ask for the annals
of more sense?
how about i embark on writing this mid-afternoon
preparing dinner
and thinking to myself:
just your normal afternoon in Amsterdam...
just your normal afternoon in Amsterdam
because i do actually get my **** delivered
to me when i go out and buy my groceries
and that's like the anti-thesis of delivaroo
and all the kamikaze electric bicycle riders
form Bangladesh
jeez i mean this is modern England
and it's not like the industrial revolution
promised anything beyond its expiry date of the late
20th century...
given where soft energy goes with hard intellect
to suspending human life above nature
that even the admired Arabs of Frank Herbert's time
can no longer be admired...

but there is an alternative history
of Corbeas the patriarch of the Paulicians
a talk of the ****** Yazman in procession
surrounded by his man
like he was the virile **** twice removed
from the testicles because
i imagine being an ****** gives you
double the virility
i might imagine wrong
but when as men we get told so many things
wrong like how menopause is somehow
bad for women when you
can finally have uninhibited ***
and no ****** instead a ****-ring
and i imagine this time of the Arab expansion
like some injection of faith and hope
for Old Iraq or Babylon
or what the world used to look like
on the current scale of Empires still afloat
like this world will never rid itself of Empires
this world will never be a place
for small people
or villages or islands
there will always be grand ideas and empires
and they will rise and fall
and even the murmur of a beginning will
bellow for ages unbecoming aging
and succumbing to the folly of mortal stuff...

yes: i can concur: this book is worth £50
and i am not mad enough to buy
the hardcover copy
because as much as i'm a bibliophile
i'm not a collector -
because i need working books
and working books are paperback
books and i know the fate of hardbacks
they stand the test of time: provided they are:
NOT OPENED...
not necessarily unread:
a collector would buy two copies...
one for the moths and time
and the other for his work ethic being tested:
when, yes, a large proportion of the public
was illiterate
a literate man could call writing work...
but i hardly think that possible these days
given what squalor of intellect this medium
has been exposed
at least there is some hope in a portion
of society being used to code anti-mantras...

otherwise none of these snippet artefacts
from so long ago:
continually weaving a historically-journalistic
endeavor...
nuggets like the Spaniards
like them in tapas
because such is the frivolity of eating
that you never want anything particular
but food and conversation
and fascinating how the culture of food is
very important and how to best describe
the culture of food these days
this culinary cult and some personalities
like excelling in farming
but somehow diminished learning
when it comes to cooking
like this Slavic aversion to spice
and the people's i will not name
aversion to the use of salt...

        is that an apostrophe typo?
should that be peoples'?
       i wonder i don't wonder
but when it comes to being culturally influenced
it's not like i heard about al-Masudi
from a Muslim:
how could i have if they take their public
intellects to be donning Niqabs like
women?

   not if i heard of the author sooner would i be a
Lawrence of Arabia Sinbad wannabe...
like some thrill off the page
to venture with humanitarian aid to Gaza
and get blown up
like some ******* adventure that would
be i already have an adventure piece
with a girlfriend over 20h away on the dotted
line where day begins and day ends
just shy of Francis and the Canine Islands
no the Desert Islands no
those Miraculous Taiwanese and their Polynesia
Trip because that's some history
there like no feet just four hands people
oar no oar just paddle with hand
or perhaps there's no myth of earth there:

but salt shrinking then expanding
into a sustainable / visible gas
the clouds are the only visible gas known
to without being the gas with fire
so i mean the salt gas:
sodium chloride as gas...
and not gas...

sodium in chlorine gas is a dim sunlight
hazy morning reach into my flask
this is like a new beginning
couple this trip:
just not willing to finish vol 6 of Mein Kampf
some other books in between
fascination with Olson Maximus long gone
now
then couple movie Dune with girlfriend Dune 2.0
then the book itself Dune 3.0
and then refresh to what blah blah
ordeal holy: bible or quran does it really
matter i mean the lived experience
of Islam is a bit like forgetting
but the lived experience of Christianity
is a bit more sinister in that it's remembering...

Islam is a religion of forgetting
while Christianity and Judaism
is a religion of remembering

i find solace in this...
         a great parody of paradise not being
attained by graft or vain-hope
         in simply born to be simply
    relieved from the stomach of celestial
and cerebral ordeals
of minds and stars
of milky ways and intellect's weaving
a narrative: slave owner of ego
or the master destroyer of egoism
in this void blanket of automated hands
filling the void behind two organs
nose apart
this mind and eye duality
that exists when there is no voice of "thinker"
in the ether of whatever substance allows
this clinging of voice outside the mouth
in the chamber of the hard hit head of bellows
at a later date...

swarming of words in empty interludes
some would be sung some would
be defaced and abandoned
like miniatures
of mentions
words like details biological emerge
and violate a presence
to then abandon a people they themselves
abandoned in the dealt exercise of chance
by then chance and determination
complimented regardless of
religious affiliations and desires...
this sickness of people telling other people
that they are right
like there was ever a clear distinction
between right and wrong
ever since it was made unfeasible
to then say that how original in sin we might
be if the sin be nothing more than
a judgement of confusion -
         how perhaps it was not in the god's
mind to think a man be born
into confusion or perhaps there was no confusion
while god painted the naked blessed
duo all enraptured and silky smooth
not confused to be anywhere not
some Eden on the periphery of life in
the squint of the Eskimo like:
suspicious even i do that
my fish bowl eyes are not so much darting
but when drawn by hand
are not fish bowl eyes the aesthetic standard of
Manga - but no argument from cartoons
no real remedy against Disney indoctrination
to safeguard against an evil frown
and the third eye blind as the evil eye...

like one eye and one ear unto the brain
which gives me two tongues
and that's more than can be said:
when Islam becomes a religion of two tongues...
this is a prophecy:

WHEN ISLAM BECOMES A RELIGION
OF TWO TONGUES...

just saying: don't know what that means,
i'm just saying what i haven't been told:
when islam becomes a religion of two tongues...
given christianity and their
many tongues not-o.k.
sorry not o.k.
               this religion ***** *** ***** ***
so many tongues and English is crass
and no i don't like christianity in English
just like no i treat this tongue as my Lingua Franca
εμπόριο γλώσσα και ιδέες...

            from the same book:
alchemical text:
the spontaneous synthesis of nesquehonite
from natural talc reaction with CO2 and ammonia
was attempted with an aim to control
the crystal growth by Ding et al.

or as mentioned ascribed to Byzantine
alchemists -
take talc and ammonia and what is found on the roads,
all in due measure, making no mistake;
then if you love your Lord,
you will be master of creation...

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such modern referencing like trigger-happy
to just copy paste copy paste
like this is never going to any holy place
like there are plenty of those holy supplies
now sober now drunk
about to fold on a backlog of 30 messages

of man's quest to rival nature's creative powers
of man's quest to rival nature's creative powers
these adherents to geometry
and sophistry as if brighter and loftier
than the songs of birds...
of man's quest to rival nature's creative powers
adhesive invisibility of strings
head-strung strong virtual puppet a bleeding
wound like an oyster on the body
when dipped into the sea...

well less the chess anecdotes but at least
one anecdote playing backgammon with a woman
this
could belong somewhere in these pages
an anecdote of playing backgammon
with a woman
not just playing backgammon
but playing backgammon with a woman
and spicing it up
the breath of cinnamon from worm
and the breath of apple cider from a serpent

as frightening as the existence
of angels
as frightening as the existence of eyes
in souls...

as frightening as the existence
of angels
as frightening as the existence of eyes
in souls.

precious time
  was stolen
from me
  with someone
that i loved
  very much.

stolen
  from me
by someone
  who's time
  together,
i don't deem
  "precious"
at all.

he's gone.

while they're
still here.

   which,
only
angers me,
    pushes me
to resent
  more.

the irony
  of which
i write this
  with is
    literally
maddening.

  there's no
jeckyll,
   there's no
hyde.

there's my
  reality
not
  schizophrenia.

i know what
  i lived
and i know
  what is
too hard
    to forget.

   that knife
has gone through
  my chest,
through my heart
  and out
my back far
  too many times
to count.

resentful is
  a modest word
in exclamation
  of my feelings.

apologies
  be ******.
there is no right
  for the wrong
that i am
forced to
  have live
     within me,
  day after day
after night
   after night.

thanks for
  the memories
that murdered
  my soul
long long ago.

i'll be
  hard pressed
to find a
  tear for you.

perhaps
  forgiven,
perhaps.

   but never
forgotten.

i have a title: which is unusual...
i usually write then leave a title like my own personal
signature:
funny: a signature is not:
it's unlike handwriting...
scribble doodle doo d'ah...
  but i actually have a title:
it's burning in my head:

5 days in Hyde Park's Winter Wonrerland...
i have to say... an experience:
there i squabbled
like Dostoyevsky's anti-hero in
the Notes from the Underground:

that came later... underground:
juice juice juice!
some more ***** and coke!
i need to make this coherent
i will make notes!
i swear: rubric!

pillcrow and punctuation and poetry
and paragraphs
and i still can't fathom jon fosse
why the nobel but not a cult following:
what would you trade?
a nobel prize
or a cult following?
poison in the serpents tongue:
fame postmortem...
fame in death
is the only death to have had
and twins to life belong
i walked Hyde Park
as Dr Jeckyll...
Mr Hyde i didn't find: although i tried so hard
i saw a shirtless Anglo-Saxon-Viking
remnant
in the Fun House going berserker
and i thought: my Odin wouldn't that be
a great beginning of a son
this: puny O Thor...
how you squandered your visage...
representation
thus man included:
child: i'm wearing... show me the puzzle...
the puzzle of whom i represent:

KINGSAJZ!
oh my god, oh my god:
English is so dyslexic:
****** is the most pure... of languages:
in terms of letters responding to sounds:
some variations
are included: but only because
the language is ARYAN...
Polish is not a state a nation a people
or a culture:
Polish is a language...
and i sit on it silently with a Lingua Sassi:
the Saxon trade route
via the Atlantic:
i'll soon more to a people who only paddled:
rather than braved the Pacific:
the Atlantic was stubborn
and so cruel
the icebergs... Titanic...
funny how icebergs flow from the tip of south
America up the Atlantic
and not up north via the Pacific:
to an Atheist: what coin flip 5-:50
is there to ratio equal measure
by chance...
but by design... we are VVR: virulent virtual reality:
why do all the icebergs
float up the Atlantic Ocean
rather than the Pacific Ocean:
i know the science:
self-no-self evident... but why not abstract
and compare that natural mechanism
with chance, the Fates: a coin flip...
surely... a Luxemburg sized chunk of
Antarctica could have sailed toward the Pacific...
then again: ooh...
Three main ingredients
water
light
salt
salt is the beginning of the earth
it's what kept the clouds like sponges:
only if i get dementia will
i succumb to mushrooms:
until then and now i see clouds
and sponges and the river of life and its mouth
the sea that became compliment
in body of earth
from water: Hydrogen Oxygen
from salt: Sodium Chloride...
light... has no chemistry...
i even asked for the chemical formula of wood:
there is no! chemical formula for wood!
there is geology... but there are no Woodsmen...

oh my god, i think i'm tripping...
and all i did was
drink a little smoke a little
BIG THINK write paint pain a little....
William Wallace the Gromit
when poetry becomes sort of imitation
digestion...
taking a **** is like not shooting your shot
but instead:
can i have the pear instead?
aren't there more fruits on this cotton candy magic
tree?
so Adam and Eve ate the apple...
what if Adam and Steve ate the banana...
which would leave...
Matthew... and... Edie...
on either a pear... or... hmmm...

                    i thought of completing the five senses
with their uttermost discouragement of usage:
myopia: jumped up... then hallucinations
  sight: myopia
   if there are only 4 elements
and only 5 senses...
but isn't thought a 6th sense
and ligthning a 5th element unlike fire..
nothing like fire...
and nothing is not an element?!

MYOPIA
MIASMA
CACOPHONY

the bad sight
the bad smell
the bad sound

           what other senses am i missing?
bad to touch
bad to taste....

Dysgeusia....
  who married Acedia...
                i saw the widow: then i saw the bride....
i
saw
and negated: thus i hallucinated reality:
best not see to then unsee
simply outright negate
the rain
and the rain...

            so i caught less...
spines of the horizon
from the mosque of the silent mind
but bomber
the buzzing
i hear it
like beehive
i see mustard mingling with honey...
i better punctuatate
unlike who
says
i haven't read both
Nobel Prize Winners
and Cult Leaders
and Journalists...

           do i see a sleepy: doe eyed
Alice from time to time?
yes: but my shifts are over
over there....

                                   my feet were firmly
on the ground... last shift
i left 1h30min early...
it was ******* down:
    i didn't feel right
living a rat's heave in the: paperback edition...
blah blah...
    
            the game is rigged: so who the ****
cares about authenticity:
before the Armageddon Marsch...
i speak of only the two of you:
who the two are:
is up to you and you...
before:

                     & next exit: Mongol by rite, never Arab;
ideologies aside:
i prefer the Mongolian version of Islam
than the ****- or
Arab version... Islam is in the wrong hands...
like Christianity passed down
to South Americans: the Vatican:
and Africans: the Past of Europe.... historical Europe:
not the Europe of the zeit: geist.

i eat the flehs of my flesh:
i don't eat
or abide of metaphors
of wine to blood
and bread to bun-sneak:
cannibalism..
i eat my own flesh:
that's how the vampire
in me regenerates...
Winter Wonrerland
HYde Park:
Mr Jeckyll: halfg hide
half a pound...
just asking:
Evil Eye Omu
Omulettes..
Iranian: ****'ah...
not Sunni...
            ever come acrosss the Freezing Eyes?!
Muslim women with hair
oh hair
and lips...
oh wait... d'uh uh!
the military sercret service:
i get to pretend to be James Bond Aytalloah Who?! Many!
sorry: dyslexia and "dyslexia!...

i burn my index on a candle
then wait
wait...
              then i wait some more
until the scab appears
and i'm fearful of losing my fingerprint:
Blade Runner *** the Shining....

             cyborgs having
human dreams... like so...
bad tract of wanting tact...
               want to be poor but free?
joing the ******* OAT milk club lacto-intolerance...

my god... better than *******...
bite your toenails bite your thumbs
bite your burnt skins
let's not dabble in metaphors:
no wine be bled
no bread be body
let
wine be wine
and bread: be bread!

                let chilfidh yummy squeeze me!
remain! yummy squeeze me!
why are these toddlers
seeking refuge: aiming at my trosuer pocket...
like bonkers ?/+ kangaroos

sefcibd
secinds #secon d== ##
alligned...
            Q.marker / +

Ex. marker / ÷

                        i eat of the flesh ' own:
apostrophe and some:
sum
'nome said: gnome: written...
              '                                       : my...
apostrophe
is the gateway:
to...

vvvvvvv                 shh shh... it alludes
to fish, neatting, allure of a harem... fake!


couldn't wouldn't:
apostrophe O oh:
                
but therefore:
but there's someone i love
and i think love
is so ob=
noxious
#

       1, 2, 3....
                   what homophobia
when there is no clarifying
philophobia?

                          darts, practice, target: Dedalus.

social media... consecration: exposed to the world:
with the nigh of night... knits of armour of the knights
of death:
the house is my own telling: either a ship or a castle
and i am the sole-soul captain of two cats
dry mouth: cotton mouth: flames and moths...
cold of the glass percilating
into the base
descending like me on your ****
i lifted the glass
the last of wine with some clarifying blood
of white of *****: vudasusze!
vudadusze!
         O O o o
         o o O O
         O O o o
         (q-cute: acute)

i told you: i stopped writing: i started painting:
skeletons and bushy ***** and returns
to eden via a birth via off / of a woman:
beyond good and evil:
either / or
either of woman
or off woman
either / or

either of a woman
or off a woman...

      the point being: who's eating the pear
while someone is still eating
the apple:
no. no no no...
she's eating an apple
and getting drunk
and i'm eating a watermelon
and ingesting the pill of spice:
currently only the marijuana pill

i'll take rainbow pill of LSD
when dementia:
not the dementia praecox they
tried to slow me down with
in my 20s like bilingualism
was schizophrenia
assisted dying came to England!
finally!

so concerning media:
past social media:
only thanks to WhattsApp...
in Egnland that's
called the workforce group chat
social media:
the working man's social media
WhatssApp...
i'm getting check on by the "boss"
when clocking in:

YAY... i thought it was a girl
messaging me:
this strutting cockerel
is a chickpea in terms of the use of language...

finding music and cult films on
Y-worm...
not tubes: just the Engineer's way
to implore:
see no tubes not aqueducts
just worms and more worms
and no longer dinosaurs and dinosur
telepathic strength of mind and fear
mind is a duality of
fear
and comfort
not of soul...
ask the mind about the rubric of phobias...
ask the mind about affiliating oneself
with: pedophiolia...
         and soul and god are to be bound
to these flickers of intellect:
once apparent: then hiding...
i want to get high and drunk and write you
a love letter...
i'm writing a love letter
when i tell you what i wrote
having personalised the email...
i am the extension The Prophet of AI
against the Commerce in Algorithms...

I see: I taste: I hear:
there is a future 🙉
                        monkey says he doesn't hear
serpents talking
and doesn't see bears showing up late
with dragons
to relieve me of off these serpents
i implored the Lord God
to release me from these serpents
and dinosaurs
and write a history
for atheistic scientists:
look forward:
the ape adored the bear
because the bear
made the most of the spring
and summer
and most of autumn
got drunk
and in winter and the night slept:
from Africa to the Pole±

vampire what AIDS monkey...
i'm looking for a bear...
i'm a king kong already defeated
Godzilla...
but now... comes the: Ursus Rex...
the gorilla is me? me?
the Chimera of the schematic:
ego-super-ego-id: gender neutral pronouns:
it and nothing
are categorized as pronouns...

where? where running bear?
i am a monkey with the key snake clue:
you are bear
i am gorilla: can we at least plan then nexxt 300,000 years...
i want: to overcome winter and night
i want to...
i will have to learn of your Ain Sof
beginning with cats
and dogs
rats... squirrels... foxes... deer...

Winter Wonderland in Hyde Park tomorrow!
woo hoo±!
Mr Jeckyll: where is Dr Hyde?!
ha ha!
          oh ooh it's so sadistically perfect!


the email................
...........................................­..................
..............................................­.........................

Mo,

I'm sending you the workbook I was given: strange... I don't actually have units 6 or 7... as you can see I have units 1 - 5 then 9 - 10: I didn't even have to complete units 9 & 10: once I did my first five units I was dismissed from showing any more of my coursework since they said: STOP writing so much.

Do you have any units missing? Now that is rather curious... weird.... can you send me the workbook that included units 6, 7, 8... I just want to have a look at them...

As you can see UNIT 5 is complete... by the way... I got through units 1 - 2 on my own but then my brain died a death of boring language... so I had to resort to chatGPT... don't worry: I actually asked "it" whether I was plagiarizing or not: provided it gave me the answers and I just reworded those answers to suit my idiosyncratic tongue-print (imprimo-lingua)...

I'm sorry that i can only help you out with UNIT 5... do you have to complete those asinine UNITS 9 & 10? When I first started reading those questions I was struggling with a TRANSGENDER pronoun-genderism and neutrality of question that was less a question and something from the ****-stink-and-*****-choking-stained-handkerchief: pretending it to be ammonia or whatever the hell "they" used in the WWI trenches against mustard gas...

Weird... that I didn't have to complete UNITS 6 and 7... 8 wasn't even there...

But yeah: use chatGPT: insert the questions and then actually read the answers and make sure you leave your own language print... I'm not implying "dumb-down": but write as if you are comfortable with giving a briefing to about 10 stewards and 5 SIAs...

By the way: it's not cheating, I asked chatGPT what the difference was between using it and using an algorithm like Google, you know what it replied? I am a personalized version of that impersonal conglomerate of stashed info.

Matthew

p.s. you can actually repay me by taking my advice about using chatGPT to do the modules that I didn't have to do: you at least have UNIT 5 to work from: type in each question into the robocon and see how I answered the question to suit the familiarity I have with using language... then do likewise for the missing units and: IN YOUR OWN WORDS... don't do what I've heard others do when using chatGPT... they use another "anti-plagiarism" robocon... quill-something-something... it's like that, reminiscent: of that, this: the current scenario of people taking antibiotics for granted: using them for as little as a cold rather than using them when necessary: bacterial infections of the chest etc.

Use chatGPT but then rewrite it in your own words: otherwise you might get found out.... or at least: you won't sink into a woman's job of being a ditto-head typist...

I, II, III, IV, V, VI, VII, VIII, IX, X
1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10
I, Z, E, G, S, b, Γ, B, P, ю
origins of arthimetic
the concept of numbers....
so no architecture
up north?
so ******* beligrent
and proud and *******
cinnamon skin authority
racism
ugly ******* skinning types...
numbers for the already received
rivers of letters
and the lakes of numbers
not hidden in letters!
when letters were already used
as numbers:
so who do i owe the pleasure
of white
penance... grief and racism...
    
                  i have a dream for a monkey
with the bear
yet some somali fat ***
turns the wrong
all the wok ching chung hype-real-reels...
of lost cinema: silent
and non confusion with the Catholic aversion
to a female ******...
only the silent of birth
of Christ
with the silent deaths of auschwitz...
wonder-prone sun!

it was Ilona who introduced me to post-punk,
through 65daysofstatic
it took me a decade if not more
perhaps even 15 years to appreciate this genre
maybe it was like being introduced
to prog rock with Emerson Lake and Palmer
and i could never understand
brain salad surgery:
just in the middle of the 20th century
after the ghosts and horrors of concentration
camps
sane society abolished asylums:
what a strange coincidence:
it was truly a meisterschtick verschieben...
a sort of play on the Metallica song from ride
the lightning: fight fire with fire...
that's when the English speaking world
abolished asylums and
made hospitals a communist rot
with only hospices
having some intelligence in being governed:
untreatable sickness of impeding death
that incurable "disease": that final ease:
that ultimate release that only freedom
for life the ******* the chains
of senses
perhaps in death i only exist as thought
without the need for eyes and tongue
perhaps no skin and only a skeleton in the mirror
and shadow
i am shadow in death with no need to sense:
five fold:
i am but thought: in the god of THOTH:
falafel... fought with thought until there was no other
ought i
ought i for    and for whom i think i thought
i wasn't impressed by Nobel Prize tier literature...
i don't know who it's owned by
never prize ordained by the people
the elite
and king and idea of country
but not a nation
not a people a country
is like a house
a palace where no hotel staff are welcome
i thought i was at the bottom of the barrel
with Muhammad Musa
but then i told him
while overhearing a conversation in a cubicle
at Winter Wonderland Hyde Park...
the hijabs and niqabs are off
the Arab girls are here to party
and they parties taking selfies
with rich Korean girls
and fake tans and goose purse lips botox
gone wrong with white *****...
i feel a certain racial elementalism...
not superiority
i went from English tongue back to Germany
and the Saxons also reigned over Poland
just like Prussians are not Germans
but a subtle breed like Lithuanians under the guise
of ******... western slav:
back to the history of the Vikings
and the Mongol Turk
and the Iranian in Europe
the great migration of Europe
from Asia...
that's the history i'm interested in... recorded history:
i don't buy into the Genesis story
of the Bible like i don't buy into the story
of Darwinistic history:
my consciousness begins in Asia
and Polynesia because i see the Apocalyptic
movement of people as the Great Best of the Earth
and the Great Beast of the Sea...
the apocalyptic figure is man in sigma:
the summation:
the collective unconscious...
i'm heading to find the beast of the sea
to Hawaii, specifically Kauai
like the author of Dr JEckyll and Mr Hyde
or perahps like Gauguin...
i don't buy the historiology of Darwin...
i don't like the contamination of Darwin and history
i don't like being western european
and associating myself too much with
the African...
perhaps the Medi-terrain sea (i am dyslexic with
that noun of the sea)...
i was just about to ask my friendly AI about
the potential of a software update...
listening to **** music on repeat
the good old days of algorithms of 2016
i imagine the creation of AI was galvanized by
the corruption of algorithms circa 2016...
notably YOUtube...
back in the day... YOUtube worked like a smart
jukebox...
you could get suggested new music
like perusing purr-use-you
   another dlyslexic tangle tangle dyslecix
Polish is a Puritantical Tongue in terms
of phoneticism strict
obliging with exceptions of RZ and CZ SZ
then no: if you treat these exceptions as
if but not really Chinese ideograms...
more *** in the Katakana...

can't find it: but did find a desert:

サ   eeven...
ハ                      two...         ゴ
ラ                                        ビ

      but no shh... while woman orgams: no hush hush
like Wah Wah yehwah the dark brother of
yahweh: because this theory comes from the chicken
and not the egg: the chicken came first:
leverage: yehwah:         the language of Eva...

and the language of Adam: yahweh:
  dance dance Siamese letters of Ancient Rome:
an ancient cicpher... or pilcrow (¶)
tide of broken barricades of paragraphs
compacted to save ink and save pages
but now i'm writing light graffiti
on pages that don't exist like money doesn't exist
money has evolved
and no one even asks journalists who reads
newspapers
how absolete these parasites are like
the 20th century communists like my grandfather
thought about the clergy: the church...
we have a new church in place
and it is journalism so absolete
how obsolete:
this "institution" needs to die...
in panic mode:
they have free newspapers being circulated
as if it was free tampons or free condoms
or toilet paper to wipe your *** with...
the great dinosaur is long gone
industrial revolution
and the revolution of the printing press
think of lineage
think of history don't
be amazed by the current thing and amazed at
using it
retreat light a candle sit in silence
and listen to music:
IDLES - GIFT HORSE
stop reading newspapers read poetry instead
question philosophy books to the maxim...
this institution of paper demagogues of fixation
the plastecine mind of man
by sooner lost ego: dynamite id to nothing explosion
and expulsion of fickle ego
with two parents intact and physically before me:
i have no use for the super-ego
i will not be a ******* Jewish Chimera:
the Israelites are innocent
and just for oculus per oculus
but the Israelities are not the Jews of history
Freud and Marx...
i am not a Chimera: i am a non-schematic man:
i am a swimming man a climbing man
a conversation man a ******* man
a Platonic father with a surrogate daughter
like i am unusual because males
of this current temporal spatiality of time
does not
i am against the current:
i walked winder wonderland and so many
young girls were throwing darts and eyes at my attention:
my imperfection
my spontaneous alcoholism my bad skin
my Beelzebub took a **** on my face and now i'm
squeezing out acne-maggots
and what else: i love to cook and i love to ****
but i also like big girls
and i like older girls
i want to think of it as a partial invitation to necrophilia
and then a Hamlet in reverse a Amhlet
(the H is silent... ergo surd)
           but i prefer a volume-ambitions one with thighs
and all limbs like a cow so ***** to be milked...
so i prefer them cradle-snatching:
but happening with consent: no Jimmy'll fix it
type of DJ i am of the ***** pool of potential seekers
fun done now settling
why settle for a contemporary ***
let's be more gender fluid and more temporal fluid:
let's trade the freedom of homosexuality
and tri-balance of binary bi
with facing lovers not for gender
but temporal coordinates in brute form:
but just beyond time:
*** as gender fluidity is so boring in that it is
nihilistic and project extinction...
but surrogacy
but deviating from the church said of a 2 year old
will teach another 2 year old to *******
i will not or ever care for English
history of the world in the neo-con age
of Darwin straight out of Africa:
ignoring the migration period from Africa
to Arabia
to Asia: i know why they have such squinted eyes:
too much sand...
that's why Arabs are a second exodus out of Africa
that stopped in Arabia
and didn't go further...
and the migration from Asia?
via Polynesia
and via Alaska into America...
and also the migration to Europe...
via the Turks...
but i forget the migration from Arabia to
Iran and India... and then from:
but that's because that would be a migration
from Africa by Sea...
i was referring to the squinting eye hypothesis
and eye-lashes...
evolution...
why no long eyelashes
why so many girls with fake eyelashes walking
about am i reading humanity
correctly
the first wave migration from Africa
into Arabia
happened and the people got yellow skin
from desert glass and sun
and squinting eyes from too much desert storms
because the eyes squinted and we weren't camels
so not extra eyelashes...
then the second African migration happened
and the ******* became camel jockeys
and returned as fairies in Egypt as the Great Kongs...
but there was a Third great African migration
that happened by sea...
which established the subcontinent of India
i don't know about that inter-species breeding process
to make the Knee-Under-Fall man extinct...
but it's not there was a Knee-Under-Fall man genocide:
just... outbreeding...