Today I got a new sketchbook with an embossed leaf on the cover-
saying-"Nature's Best."
And the inside was so white and clean
I was scared to draw in it
to mar the beautiful pages with the unforgiving
mark of a pencil.
Thinking that I wasn't worthy enough,
I didn't deserve
"Nature's Best."

The most beautiful song I've ever heard was sung by a German Choir,
and I remember thinking-
that maybe, German is a beautiful language after all
hidden only under the angry tones
of fighting and ugly
hurtful words.
Vogel im Kaff, it was called.
I'm not sure, but when I used Google translate-
it said-
"Word not found."
Maybe it wasn't in German after all.

And the people who tell me-
"Ugly."
"Fat."
"Why do you even live, anyway?
It's not like you deserve it."
I know. I know that I'm not worth anything
But sometimes, I actually catch myself in the mirror and think-
I look nice
I'm sorry. I'm sorry for thinking that. I'm sorry for hoping,
for believing.
I'm sorry.

And you know that feeling?
When you're in public
frantically searching for the right chord
on a piano song.
Sitting a spotlight undeserved
Playing for people who don't need to hear this
"music"
Like cracking open a egg and accidently mixing the yolk with the white
when you're trying to make a crème cake.
A desperate feeling that's sort of scary
because your brain knows that there's no way out.
I wish all minds had a delete button.

Throwing myself into learning different languages-
I thought that if I could speak
German, French, Italian-
then I would be exalted.
That somehow,
all of that would change my personality,
Who I was.
Guess we all have a "no refund" tag when we're born.

The type of people who-
"Belong everywhere, but don't fit in"
and the type who
"Don't belong anywhere-but fit in anyway-"
Which type am I?
A leafed page of the book,
folded over to conceal ***** words.

You know, if you look at a picture long enough,
what you once thought was beautiful will begin to peel and fade
exposing its unperfected innards.
If it's that scary to look at something already "satisfying"
what would it be like to look at something not even close to perfection?

it's not exactly cymande's dove -
    it's mytho's dreamlab (1975) -
  a dedication to wernher von braun -
on the odd occasion
the youtube algorithm feeds
me a nostalgia of suggestions
like it used to: and i forage for
new music...
nucleus' alleycat from the same year...
well:
i'm no bukowski and this is not
one of those moments to
test my strengths of patience
for mahler's: how i will die
with this deafness -
    i know what's lacking in my life
is having listened to the oeuvre...
or have read melville's moby ****...
somehow horizons of
new complete: upon a arrival with
a nudge from charon -
i will come against myself:
rather than upon myself...
by chance...
  that this is not high-brow literature
by any stretch of the imagination:
but i believe myself to be
endowed within the confines
of the democratic process -
a quiver a trembling...
i had to do several impossible
things today...
i laughed from conjuring
a memory while
painting some "chess board"
darkened oak of a makeshift
for the climbing rose to aspire to
with a cling...
i scratched my teeth -
i pretended to play
a violin by fiddling
with my beard:
no exactly de profundis:
but god... how i miss my chin...
i patted myself on the head
while pretending to vortex
imitation over my tummy -
this new man needs to
imagine the process of
caricature of insemination -
i am not the same willing
***** that gave me: you...
   pronoun baggage -
it's so tender in this english:
all english that can be
completely missing in: mutterzunge...
miles davis' ******* brew...
a composition
to imitate the crashing of
piano...
        as i drink i keep a tally...
once i fed an rainbow trout's eye
to a cat...
once i fed a female mosquito to
a cat...
once i had a dog and...
i couldn't possibly rob myself
of a memory of childhood by owning
a dog now...
i am quasi-jealous of people
who have dogs...
it's enough that i tow along
a shadow when i "expatriate"
beyond my day-to-day
trajectory - when
i want to experience an automatic
thinking - pointless memory
weathering -
i sometimes want this completeness
of the incomplete...
no higher sentiments...
new music: not something that
could cradle youth and
the stadium anthem -
something -
even now: one can become
tired of drinking and the occasional
smoke...
           i wouldn't want
to find myself returning to
a paragraph or a novel -
when reading: yes...
    but i couldn't stand the agony
of... not without this impromptu...
sedated into a comfort
looking upon the oeuvre of
jack spicer...
   my grandfather owns
the whole lot of alexander dumas...
i'm petrified of this
microcosm of a forest stashed
on a shelf...
         grand baron apostrophe in
english is so amazing...
i mean: the pedant's treat:
a pedantic treat -
            you can be allowed so many
deviations from orthodoxy -
you can almost wriggle your
way into an imitation jonah -
anglophile i am:
but i see no london burning -
teasing from the outskirts -
flute come to the party...
accent of impressionism -
   diacritical markers -
         i know that i am not writing
for money for excavating purposes:
i can make these little purposes
of fail all the time...
i want to own this language
as if i were born within its confines:
such that i am: "late" arrival:
thrown into the deep end come
me ate: eight - better - eating...

         gladly... because i arrived to it...
it wasn't dictated from "above"
like german or russian might have...
even though: ich muss necken
           alt vater:
              deutschespreschen...
for posterity... ahem... glum looking
joke...
not because i want to champion
the affair of: ****** the private individual...
beside the stage and oration:
yes... clearly he wasn't cut for painting...
i need to fail on writing
this nibbling from the exterior
with an ulterior purpose of tao -

zen my ****'s last worth...
conundrum: a really decent bicycle or...
two hours in a brothel...
hell... perhaps three...
but the bicycle and the return to
the days of drooling over
traffic and nibbling at essex...
i know that i don't know this
over-sexing is me being caged...

well... if you're going to be over-sexed:
pulverised toward status: neuter -
i sometimes mind: not minding...
the genetic argument doesn't really work
on me... given...
i could pass on... hardly the usain bolt
genes...
i could really pass on the most
severe indignation:
i like to call this...
the self-realisation that those
gene-power-proof german doctors
of the ***** had some sense:
in staging such grotesque arguments...

    for the purpose of a pleasure that
i can exhaust...
i don't even need to summon
frankenstein's monster argument:
it's not pivotal -
  when the hormones raged -
fair enough...
                   i can exhaust the argument
with all the readily available *******
and: i will not have to look out
for...                 the trojan dye-d'oh...
or...        ms. dill, ms. dough...

                       from the mother tongue
i couldn't possibly write such
nuances of sounds...
i would be left ******* with crisp cut...
orthographical measures -
   i'd be arguing over: pedantic subject
matters... none of this "poetry" /
graffiti...

                     scratching something vinyl:
elongating some liquorice...
detailing the zenith of england
prior to the dissolution
of the empire...
                  
   in all god given honesty i feel inclined
to be... living here...
it's supposedly not much
but i sense a becoming warmth
as to how...
   it would sometimes take
great care for me to not put on
my "sociopathic" chameleon disguise
of burdening accents:
from the original take:
we're all gammon and himalayan
salt indistinguishable sometimes...

but the affairs of the copperskins...
the camel jockeys, the choccies...
well... at least i'm not colour blind...
i forget to see white...
i forget to nudge some black...
black? you mean: cardamom
with that smokiness -
or nigella seeds?
                 that's black... coal is black...
frank zappa's ****** hair is
black... ***** likewise...
i forgot to be colour blind...

     give me hues!
          give be bold bulging gargoyle-esque
****** features to scare the demons
away...
no?
it has to be a variation
on a new sort of: "racism"...
if we're going to survive the basic lesson...
leave me in the grey humpty-dumpty
area of omelette...
            this be here: the dozen
of eggs that became...
a feast for serpents that didn't become
leather boots... or purses...

leave me to this little cul de sac
of imitation jazz...
  
        synchronised: coincidentally -
but more: a sigma purpose:
  an in totalis - a variation of polyphony -
new jargon - elevated new jargon...
an australian concept of
a savoury-esque dessert -
a beetroot ice-cream...

   pause: syllable cutter:
    not co-in-cidentally -
               a... variation of: ex similis:
but not simultaneously -
too many ******* vowels!
hear it one way: write another...
english is as bad as fwench...
grr...

           well yeah: i'm doing something
more than my supposed democratic
obligation:
i am not voting because i will
write for: the purpose of writing...
english democracy is looked upon
by russian strategists as something
that extends to allow transvestites
and other magpie exotica...

         this current life: this private
adventure...
      would i gladly summon these letters
in such a manner that i...
oh don't bother:
gladly "expatriate": gladly exile...
come to think of it...
if i were to argue about orthography
for so much time as i were
to be alive in...
        english adjusts and makes
pardonable the nuances of grammar...

little can be said: of the already
little given...
                      i want to jump high...
the caged ******* sonnet...
i planned sleep prior to writing this...
that's about it...
once... no... now:
i want to rekindle a fetish for
toying with going full commando
in denim...
  and... to twist the plot...
a ******* will always be nibbled
by the zipper...

it's: the evening i discovered ian carr's nucleus...
the original title simply read as: it's...
then some grandiosity appeared
with a mountain being towed...
and a fairytale...

this grand composure of
the bass routine... ***-ar...
drums on one side...
and solo projects on the other...
something so pristine without
lyrics - which is something i hoped
to exploit... not necessarily make synch...
i'm not a beat poet and i will
not read my words over a jazz:
as some refrigerator humming:
dulling these already pronounced
accents of sound:

a moth twice the size of my thumb
makes attempts to posit a selfie
with its: my eyes' scrutiny:

the jazz quintet is hardly an orchestral
testament of polyphony -
but... teasing at an earl grey in
inconveniences of "lacking"...

a dull moth the size of two thumbs
pressing against each other:
my little loitering project of future:
in eternity from bypassing:
on the the behalf of over punctuation:
as that clarity in the future of words...
or a lack of it...
with etymology...

******* into the sink...
simultaneously flushing the toilet
while washing your hands:
new age of multitasking...

by way of talking to cats:
herr mimic something akin to: ćć..
which is not the english CH - tugging along
the tetragrammaton...
or the full crown of the czech: caron...
                            č...
it's more slush-puppy piquant...
the sort of "thing" that defies
imitation with ny borrow of
meow or bark...

on my bookshelf:
madame bovary in a single tomme -
and... that opening line
of tolstoy's anna...
that misery is unique: particular -
to borrow the old greek dichotomy -
while happiness is ubiquitous -
generic -
             therefore universal...
indistinguishable from
a buddha to a screwdriver
from a jesus christ or a christening
of the next new plotline of
psychopathy...

           halves the hour: in that such
an album is half an hour's worth...
sooner a route relay
with the royal mile and cow gate
towing for any tourist come
edinburgh...

             beside myself:
i will not ever... torture myself
with a novel or a paragraph...
it either comes... or it doesn't...
it's not exactly courting a used to:
coherency...
and you are the reader...
club of exclusivity -
i have written by never bothered
to read back what it is
that i spewed out...

okokamona from roots (1973)...
cow bell... teasing nazareth's:
hair of a dog...
led zeppelin's dyer maker: "jamaica"...
yes... *****'s heaving
a son...
                     some variation of
abortions galore -
that i eat plenty of them in a poultry
feast come morning -
that i'm later scratching
the least of a possible pride:

white gold rubric:
michael pfeiffer...
sharon stone...
              a grizzly with a snub
at an alias: Tobias...
         next leftover project of expansive
"thinking": this little detail of moi too...
come again?
come again?
   *** ah'dzin: eh? gin...
it's not a giggle: it's not a girdle...
it's mr. dzin / jinn... tow the tonics
yourself..
some variation of fripp
is nothing near a hendrix -
some variation is all we heave
to have to topple...

lazy whitey jazz like some
interlude in rainy towing
scaffolds of seattle -
   settled peaches or... thereby plums
to the pulp of the excavations
made mad by pristine...
this feeble work-around
of flesh... in fruit or via
pork with offal... sequences
of bible bashing and that up-kept year
of langid promise echoes...

oh ******* of the most pristine
bluebottle types of flies
congregating:
there's no pawn broker of
klansman in sight...
to wed bed-sheets to a scrutiny of
ghosts...
that such a word
is still scrutinised with a hyphen
"interlude" and that it
can't be... classically: deutsche...
compounded into
a juggling act of syllables?
m'eh!

it has to be a variation of elitism...
   not because it actually is...
but that there's a necessary niche biped
wanting:
to have this kept sacrificial
lamb and a sacrilege of it's purpose
to make grief (grieve, slightly)
(of) a lack of demands
for the impossible task...
english can't be consolidated:
england can be bent to forward
a cosmopolitan rot of an idea...
england can be anything the rodney plonkers
want it to: Clapham want it to
burrow...

english and the universal rubrics
of grammar...
yes no right yore sire...
my missing sir... my drum solo project...
my mobias **** -
my amore amore amore! dulce primo:
linguo - kaff et normandy: genesis...

for the exertion of a patience...
that could never come bu was nonetheless
expected:
by dog races in the abandoned
stadium: of a looted womfowd tool fow
exhauted torn...
  maybe vels - or velsh...
or really? this is not scripted teasing
dubliner gaelic?!