Ono no Komachi translations

These are my modern English translations of the ancient Japanese poems of Ono no Komachi…

As I slept in isolation
my desired beloved appeared to me;
therefore, dreams have become my reality
and consolation.
―Ono no Komachi, loose translation by Michael R. Burch

Submit to you, is that what you advise?
The way the ripples do
whenever ill winds arise?
―Ono no Komachi, loose translation by Michael R. Burch

Watching wan moonlight flooding tree limbs,
my heart also brims,
overflowing with autumn.
―Ono no Komachi, loose translation by Michael R. Burch

If fields of autumn flowers
can shed their blossoms, shameless,
why can't I also frolic here ...
as fearless and as blameless?
―Ono no Komachi, loose translation by Michael R. Burch

So cruelly severed,
a root-cut reed ...
if the river offered,
why not be freed?
—Ono no Komachi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

I had thought to pluck
the flower of forgetfulness
only to find it
already blossoming in his heart.
―Ono no Komachi, loose translation by Michael R. Burch

The wildflowers and my love
wilted with the rain
as I idly wondered
where in the past does love remain?
—Ono no Komachi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

I nodded off thinking about you
only to have you appear in my dreams.
Had I known that I slept,
I'd have never awakened!
—Ono no Komachi (KKS XII:552), loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

That which men call "love" ...
is it not merely the chain
preventing our escape
from this world of pain?
―Ono no Komachi, loose translation by Michael R. Burch

Did you appear
only because I was lost in thoughts of love
when I nodded off, day-dreaming of you?
(If I had known that you
couldn't possibly be true,
I'd have never awakened!)
―Ono no Komachi, loose translation by Michael R. Burch

Sad,
the end that awaits me ...
to think that before autumn yields
I'll be a pale mist
shrouding these rice fields.
―Ono no Komachi, loose translation by Michael R. Burch

In this dismal world
the living decrease
as the dead increase...
oh, how much longer
must I bear this body of grief?
―Ono no Komachi, loose translation by Michael R. Burch

Once-colorful flowers faded,
while in my drab cell
life's impulse also abated
as the long dismal rains fell.
―Ono no Komachi, loose translation by Michael R. Burch

Now bitterly I watch fall winds
battering the rice stalks,
suspecting I'll never again
find anything to harvest.
―Ono no Komachi, loose translation by Michael R. Burch

This abandoned mountain shack ...
how many nights
has autumn sheltered there?
―Ono no Komachi, loose translation by Michael R. Burch

Am I to spend the night alone
atop this summit,
cold and lost?
Won't you at least lend me
your robes of moss?
—Ono no Komachi (GSS XVII:1195), loose translation by Michael R. Burch

Two things wilt without warning,
bleeding away their colors:
a flower and a man's heart.
—Ono no Komachi (KKS XV:797), loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Alas, the beauty of the flowers came to naught
as I watched the rain, lost in melancholy thought ...
—Ono no Komachi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Watching the long, dismal rains
inundating the earth,
my heart too is washed out, bleeds off
with the colors of the late spring flowers.
―Ono no Komachi, loose translation by Michael R. Burch

Wretched water-**** that I am,
severed from all roots:
if rapids should entice me,
why not welcome their lethal shoots?
―Ono no Komachi, loose translation by Michael R. Burch

Though I visit him
continually in my dreams,
the sum of all such ethereal trysts
is still less than one actual, solid glimpse.
―Ono no Komachi, loose translation by Michael R. Burch

I feel desire so intensely
in the lily-seed darkness
that tonight I'll turn my robe inside-out
before donning it.
—Ono no Komachi (KKS XII:554), loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

This vain life!
My looks and talents faded
like these cherry blossoms inundated
by endless rains
that I now survey, alone.
―Ono no Komachi, loose translation by Michael R. Burch

Autumn nights are "long"
only in verse and song:
for we had just begun
to gaze into each other's eyes
when dawn immolated the skies!
―Ono no Komachi, loose translation by Michael R. Burch

I think of you ceaselessly, with love...
and so... come to me at night,
for in the flight
of dreams, no one can disapprove!
―Ono no Komachi, loose translation by Michael R. Burch

On nights such as these
when no moon lights your way to me,
I lie awake, my passion blazing,
my breast an inferno wildly raging,
while my heart chars within me.
―Ono no Komachi, loose translation by Michael R. Burch

Since my body
was neglected by the one
who had promised faithfully to come,
I now lie here questioning its existence.
―Ono no Komachi, loose translation by Michael R. Burch

Since there's obviously nothing to catch
in this barren bay,
how can he fail to understand:
the fisherman who persists in coming and going
until his legs collapse in the sand?
―Ono no Komachi, loose translation by Michael R. Burch

What do I know of villages
where fisherfolk dwell?
Why do you keep demanding
that I show you the seashore,
lead you to some pearly shell?
―Ono no Komachi, loose translation by Michael R. Burch

Yielding to a love
that recognizes no boundaries,
I will approach him by night ...
for the world cannot despise
a wandering dreamer.
―Ono no Komachi, loose translation by Michael R. Burch

Now that I approach
life's inevitable winter
your ardor has faded
like blossoms devastated
by late autumn rains.
―Ono no Komachi, loose translation by Michael R. Burch

Am I to spend another night alone
atop this ice-crag,
cold and lost?
Won't you at least lend me
your robes of moss?
―Ono no Komachi, loose translation by Michael R. Burch

"It's over!"
Your words drizzle like dismal rains,
bringing tears,
as I wilt with my years.
—Ono no Komachi (KKS XV:782), loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

I pursue you ceaselessly in my dreams ...
yet we've never met; we're not even acquainted!
—Ono no Komachi, loose translation by Michael R. Burch

Like flowers wilted by drenching rains,
my beauty has faded in the onslaught of my forlorn years.
—Ono no Komachi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Fiery coals searing my body
hurt me far less than the sorrow of parting.
—Ono no Komachi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Love is man's most unbreakable bond.
—Ono no Komachi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

This moonless night,
with no way to meet him,
I grow restless with longing:
my breast’s an inferno,
my heart chars within me.
—Ono no Komachi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

How brilliantly
tears rain upon my sleeve
in bright gemlets,
for my despair cannot be withstood,
like a surging flood!
—Ono no Komachi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

This flower's color
has drained away,
while in idle thoughts
my life drained away
as the long rains fall.
—Ono no Komachi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Fatal reality!
You must do what you must, I suppose.
But even hidden in my dreams
from all prying eyes,
to watch you still pains me so!
—Ono no Komachi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

In eye-opening daylight
much stands revealed,
but when I see myself
reflected in hostile eyes
even dreams become nightmares.
—Ono no Komachi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

I would meet him tonight
but the moon shows no path;
my desire for him,
smoldering in my breast,
burns my heart to ash!
—Ono no Komachi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Sleepless with loneliness,
I find myself longing for the handsome moon.
—Ono no Komachi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Sotoba Komachi is a modern Noh play by Yukio Mishima (1925-1970). Mishima's play is based on an ancient work by Kan'ami Kiyotsugu (1333-1384). The first kanji means "stupa" (the dome of a shrine) while the second kanji means "belle" or "beautiful woman." So the title may be interpreted as something like "Beauty's Shrine" or "Shrine to Beauty." Kan'ami was the first playwright to incorporate the Kusemai song and dance style and Dengaku dances into plays. He founded a sarugaku theater group in the Kansai region of Honshu; the troupe later moved to Yamato and formed the Yuzaki theater company, which would become the school of Noh theater.

Excerpts from SOTOBA KOMACHI
by KWANAMI
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Priest of the Koyasan:

We who have built our homes on shallow slopes
now seek solitude in the heart's deep recesses.

Second Priest:

This single thought possessed me:
How I might bring a single seed to flower,
the wisdom of Buddha, the locus of our salvation,
until in despair I donned this dark cassock.

Ono no Komachi:

Lately so severed,
like a root-cut reed,
if the river offered,
why not be freed?

I would gladly go,
but here no wave stirs ...
I was once full of pride
now fled with the years,

gone with dark tresses
and with lustrous locks;
I was lithe as a willow
in my springtime frocks;

I once sang like a nightingale
sipping dew;
I was wild as the rose
when the skies shone blue ...
in those days before fall
when the long shadows grew.

But now I’ve grown loathsome
even to ******;
even urchins abhor me;
men treat me with scorn ...

Now I am nothing
but a poor, withered bough,
and yet there are wildflowers
in my heart, even now.

Only my body lingers, for my heart left this world long ago!

Priests (together):

O, piteous, piteous!
Is this the once-fabled flower-bright Komachi,
Komachi the Beautiful,
whose dark brows bridged eyes like young moons;
her face whitest alabaster forever;
whose many damask robes filled cedar-scented closets?



Ono no Komachi wrote tanka (also known as waka), the most traditional form of Japanese lyric poetry. She is an excellent representative of the Classical, or Heian, period (circa 794-1185 AD) of Japanese literature, and she is one of the best-known poets of the Kokinshu (circa 905), the first in a series of anthologies of Japanese poetry compiled by imperial order. She is also one of the Rokkasen — the six best waka poets of the early Heian period, during which poetry was considered the highest art. Renowned for her unusual beauty, Komachi has become a synonym for feminine beauty in Japan. She is also included among the thirty-six Poetry Immortals. It is believed that she was born sometime between 820-830 and that she wrote most of her poems around the middle of the ninth century. She is best known today for her pensive, melancholic and ****** poems. Keywords/Tags: Ono no Komachi waka tanka translation Japanese love women womanhood feminist feminism

Donna kanji datta?
Ii kanji ka douka?
Tabun wakaranai kedo,
Mada kangaeshite agerun no na.

Moshi zutto ai suru kanatte naoshitette
Mata wa tabun gamanshimasu.
Dochira mo ii kanatte.*


What kind of feeling is this?
A better one or not so?
Maybe i can't say so but,
I still think of giving it...

If only love could heal it longer
Or maybe i could bear it again.
Whichever it is.

I

Head, shoulders, bees, and hands.
Stings and wings apart,
From the anatomy of art
Despite the stills and shakes.
Two of twos for many stands.

Though at the fore reside the restless digits
Every thought, they spark and fidget.
The point is impolite, but that widget-
My leg knuckles buckle thinking of the quakes,
It tore through my index like new nectar glands…

II

One for rest the other for tests
And one s for the possibilitie
None are hidden from the complete set
of peering palms

right like the leaves,
left like the breeze.
Like the future
Told with tea.

Where these wrinkles will write their say
While these prints will match their way
Whistling while working; these knuckles will play
Whether it be told or felt- make it chalantly
Waiting with a tale for two in every day

III

I set them
With just enough pressure
To hold a frog for fun
Or to annoy a lame nun
Squeal
Down, the cuticles cry

Chuckle cackle fiddle,
Ruckus rackets and riddles
Are really a lot of fun you should try it.
Simply pry the favored tendon
Over that big red button
Yes yes, the American kanji of dissonance!

Excuse the madness, I refuse the discord.
Sounds do not have to be met with pain,
And fear can avoid disdain...
It’s an odd thing that jesters are paid for.

There is an education…
But there is no degree.
I also, cannot waive its fee.
What I paid was from within me.

IV

I had known a good friend fellow
Who once let out a grand belch bellow
About his crimes of cheese and wine

Toward a beauty so sweet and discreet
Her spinning feet fleeting from new feats
Whereabouts to doubt, still flies more than fine

I said to him “your sense is jagged
and your breath is haggard-”
so he interrupted with one of brine…

The failure is in my nature’s course!
Then my dammed machinations make it worse,
It seems as though who I intended to be

And who I wanted you to see,
Are wholly revealed as two separate scenes.
I must leave your metals unmatched sheen.

Well…As I trust you heard before,
Your bust appears to be a dusty lore
I say, you can’t expect her eyes to wait for rust!

A firm grasp on the glass.
She clasps a diamond overhead.
I pointed out with a wave.
A slam,
     Then rotating prints on his glass.
The hopeless *****,
     At the cheek she turned.
Whilst I drew on a napkin the-
Legendary Ten-Pronged Opposition Foundry.

Of course, those lights would close..
Excuse me, one other blueprint is exposed.
Canvas of humility, lines drawn like, self-drawn pens.

Perhaps three could wring something useful from this science

V

Her plans! her plans!
They dance, they dance!
As my matrix unravels,
The hiding holes disband,
Its light skips through the land.
This heat, though discreet,
Will shoulder like a man!
Torching every grain of sand
In to a castle of glass
Where the magic is as-
Crafts…of her own hands.

This is where she sings, here
Ask for where, and no song is there
The Tale is strained into strands
She sings there,
Now, she sings there


VI

Imagine, the swinging trees
And busy birds between fronds
Of these leaves, of mine, you see?
To ensnare and percuss
With your singing wrist
Yet you persist,
to pant and seethe
in these gauntlets and greaves…

A moronic oxidative process it is,
To be here and be there both.
Now that I see more strings
I would rather design dreams
Than to meddle a mess
Out of the mettle you chose to test.

VII

Why would one bother,
Vex the metal man’s nerves
Of alloy he dare not name

Mecca’s bolts smother
The work his death deserves
So he limps slow shocked by shame.

Reliquary shammed,
In sardonic preserves
Dark like the grace in his dame

Her bolts monogrammed
By her lack of wild game
Blinded by white in her cold

Her arms gently fold
His rebirth now retold
His machinery, untame

These split heart horns rammed
Dancing, a light the lame.
Dreams may anchor another

Inspire the lover,
You musical mother
I know it,
Your arts heal hearts after any worked hurt.

VIII

Until vissictudes
Crash down,
I lay my back on grazed meadows
With only the sky to cast shadows
Spinning clouds
Of those crafts
In their hands.

the language of my heart
reduces to symbols
unspeakable
kanjis whose colors are bright
precisely painted
with brushes, imbued with
unknown meanings
as read by blinded eyes
obscured deliberately, without
a key

without
God
a cipher is my heart
a living kanji whose meaning is
undiscoverable
without the cleansing
blood sacrifice of the sang real
a living grail
made unspeakable and holy by
Love


c. 2023 Roberta Compton Rainwater

I don't mind when white people wear

cat ears.
seifuku.
kimono.
kanji slapped on shirts.
(even if they don't know what it means)

Culture can be an aesthetic.
Just as long as they appreciate it,
We're friends.

tooth
rhyme
seal
parade
enamel:
ammunition
axis
body
seal
Luo
oil­
Cats


"Under jurisdiction"

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Hot Melancholy Life ^ Hinoki y
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3  hot summer 3D solid "nose" "three cement adhesives"  "... sacrifice"

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SU SEPTEMBER                     9 months ago imprisonment for punishment

oil

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revenge

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food
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thickness

i met a mongol once in amsterdam, we exchanged a tearful stare and said a melancholic hello, as if we were to be brother in cement or sandstone of what the sun rememebred and man forgot but nonetheless carved for enshadowed suave of the shadowing hand on hand upon handed down remnant of the handless kanji... the motherless thus tongueless river of sight utilising hand and hand as sophistication of spying thanks to the hands’ shadows: thus no shadow tongue unless that shadow be thought or the abstract off thought: pre-meditation and the subsequent minded courtsey as requested of the blank page or the buddha’s slitted eyes faking intoxication by western standards of that green plant the mongols despise: and western societies fare to tax and thus exploit.*

and it would be easiest to withhold making talks
with the slavs
by compensation of the northern-most mosque
being established
as true progression...
but then having insulated the slavs
who are "primarily" plumbers and electricians
to make any dent in the politics of the other monotheists...
where the european excludes the european from europe
there you will see war as encouraging the asian
or the arab...
there you will see war, should a
european exclude european from europe
there you will see war
caucausian againts the rooster against the morn!
TAR TAR! TAR TAR! TAR! TAR!
(in japanese tora tora tora!)
because you did not cherish our shared values
thus become devalued therefore value your integral anti-economic
evaluations that have no place in my land
but concern of keeping brown in the noun and not in the verb
of racism and sun;
i've become a barabbas among you, you messiahs,
you messiah selfies and messiah implants,
what gave you the jews scorned has given
me you as the "jews" scorned in your disorientation
of the fathomed atom bomb already spoken of in
the book of the apocalypse....
but a man ejecting an european from europe
to fantacise a non-invoked colonialism will halve in carving
this world in half for multi-cultarism!
no pole ever spoke of colonialism to see you speak
of post-colonial re-colonialisation of remote areas so ardently cared for:
conquer... and subsequently fall: your sons the additive bullets:
я и pоссия demand: the caucaucus tribes to
fake unity with the danube fools of erected bohemia.

Orange in spring,
pinkish-brown,
yellow into deep green
through summer,
and finally to crimson
in autumn when they fall,
these leaves of the acer griseum,
the Chinese paperbark maple.

On the tree its leaves are opposite,
not alternate, two leafstalks arising
from the same point on the twig.
This is how it must be, she thought.

She had waited for the first frost
and, gathered in a fold of her cloak,
let seven leaves fall
to scatter on her desk.
One leaf holds her gaze;
her fingers touch,
and turning it over
she places it ready
in the hand’s left palm,

Picking up her finest brush,
with sad and slight but heavy
emphasis required, she inscribes
the subtle downward strokes of
the kanji characters for crimson -
makka, the blood’s red,
the true essence of life.

crimson leaves
fallen now scattered
one is chosen.
my heart longs for love

So to the garden stream
she goes, and kneeling
beside its moving water
launches this leaf
from her cupped hand.

i said goodbye to the desert
spit out a few grains of rust and sand
as i sat in the back of my mother's grand marquis
i was bidding farewell to the long plaid skirt i wore to school every day
the school that was mercifully unmarred by bullets
the glitter on the popcorn ceiling of my grandparents' home
the smell of an overwhelming saturday evening
which stank of discarded waste and cigarettes
we were going somewhere special
goodbye nuevo laredo

eight years later
i said goodbye again
to a neat little home
nested tightly amongst the bricks of others
a hilly backyard
bluebonnets sashaying on the side of the highway
mexican restaurants every three blocks
that could never replicate what i once had
stars and stripes holding steady in the shade of a sycamore tree
a glittering city in the distance
i was in love
and i was going somewhere special

i was elated to escape
both of my previous lives
always finding myself awash with uncertainty
adrift as i committed and uncommitted to a series of distractions
from the beastly recesses of my pruned little brain
that snarled about hopelessness
abandonment
a lack of worth
and motivation
maybe i knew i was meant to run
since the moment of implantation

my new neighborhood is impeccably silent at night
no hollers to strain my ears for
no ominous pop-pop-pops
(was that a firework or could it be...)
no jovial music with thundering basses and large round drums
i eat pork drenched in teriyaki sauce
and drink green tea in the evenings
on the train, i gaze at the empty stares of other passengers
my gaze is also unreadable
i practice the strokes of a kanji
one, two, three...
my husband and i meander through temples
heavy and groaning with the weight of a thousand years
of life
benevolent buddhas and Cheshire-grinned demons
i can't help but think of the message of a western God
that my mother recited to me every night in the black of our room
sometimes i shuffle my feet in the square space of my living room
to the tune of cumbia

i used to think that i didn't have an identity
no confinement to a culture conceived by the likes of men
but i am what i am
and i never actually escaped

She is a moon upon the nights of cities,
Who glows and gives the gleamy lights of cities.
The 8-bit sounds do sing and neon-kanji
Is written, showing pretty sights of cities.

She tried to copy the messy buns

but the style

doesn’t go with her broken smile

And she could draw pretty dolls on paper

But she’d been made of flesh

And pencil, brain, and heart are powerless

She could do a lot of things

Actually

Gifted, they called her,

But she had

the kanji character for beauty

As the background of her computer,

And she’d dip her brush in black paint

And write it on her white walls

That maybe one night while she slept

It would seep into her skin

and settle there

i sometimes read the "elitist" poems and poets of
poetry-foundation-dot-org...
and i wonder...
well: there's no real distinction between
the "ancient": pre-technological-mass-reproduction
anticipatory essay of Walter Benjamin
of awe: find the Louvre and the Mona Lisa...
awe... such a tiny painting and...
awesome... entertainment value of what used
to be entertainment value of movies...
i do love the grit of 1970s cinema...
the 1980s futurist macho-"fascism"...
hell... even the 1990s had some great flicks
a great round-off of the medium...

a LAYLA BENITEZ-JAMES
translates a BEATRIZ MIRALLES DE IMPERIAL

such words are: not borrowed
or rather: in ****** it's A in Deutsche its Z...

jestem otwartą raną
języka

mówić tak nie wiele boli

-

ich bin ein offen wunde
von sprache

zu sagen so klein weh tun

-

apparently it never hurt the Chinese drunken
poet-monks to write anecdotal
syllable counted observations
concerning seeing a blue moon
with drunken-blood-shot eyes...

the Japanese or Chinese poets never complained
that they didn't have a novel in them,
quiet the reverse of this scenario...
there's the budding novel yet to be written
by a poet...
   is there?
a true meditation... a few words...
no need for a novel... an eternity of thought
mingling with everyday tasks
and then... hopefully: a spontaneity of
laughter recalling words akin to...

no kanji, no hiragana...
back to square, one: katakana...
katakana Ki - tan - ah...

   フルイケ    ヤ
     カワズ     トビコム
   ミズ    ノ      オト

no oto: the sound...
i'm guessing water is... mizu: return to
kanji: a returning from to:
   水 a word as picture...

but there's no budding novelist in here,
nor is there pain...
frog: カエル (kaeru) is not a picture-word,
it is a word-sound...

              self-explanatory "bias"...

ワタシ (watashi - i am)
      フショー     シタ      (fushoo shita - wounded tongue)
i absolve myself from entertaining
any conspiracies of entertainment
for the mass of later: distinction...

alternative route while cycling:

サイクリング (saikuringu)
    air, open mind...
wind: my soul - a silence
a lost intrusiveness of the helplessness
of others...
            クーキ
                        アイタ (aita) マインド (maindo)
カゼ (kaze, wind):
stone for heart...
               イシ (ishi, stones)
                              ココロ (kokoro, hearts)...
trickle... like sand... from desert
by time: a mountain!

        ヤマ:
                         yama - mountain...
parrot in the snow...
        オーム  (oomu)
                               ノ
                 ユキ (no... yuki)...

oh **** no... i'm not moving to Tokyo...
i don't want to speak fluent Japanese...
i just want to escape what i last saw
in the feminist panel on Vice News...
i'll ensure that Japanese is like me
in that film about the mad genius mathematician
of the film Pi... i'll put a drill to my head
prior to having to somehow:
now insure myself concerning these
blaze... arguments of "reality" of:
Plato the Plumber and the reicarnation
blocked-toilet... sort-of-speak...
i'm ******* off to Japan...
at least thinking about how the "Samurai"
encode their speaking is a relief
when listening to this Iron Maiden
of "heroic" gymnastics of post-feminism...

i feel completely... oblivious to what's happening...
just today i took a very magnificent route....
i challenged myself...
it's not spring yet... it's not summer...
i'm not allowed the later hours of the day
reserved for these seasons...
Cold-harbour dumping ground next to the Thames
was willing me to do a lap...
ah... maybe next time...

the route? from Collier Row through to Hornchurch...
then onto Upminster...
from Upminster toward Aveley...
from Aveley toward Purfleet...
well... seeing the Dartford Bridge Crossing...
no wonder i could get my geography straight...
the Thames never feels south... even though
you're orientating it from the perspective of the north...
up to Rainham...
obviously i had to venture into the little village
of Wennington... the one that was burning
only August of last year...
because... hey... it's not global warming...
a return to the ice age i reckon...
this little Arab interlude and palms will last only
so long...
my god... burned down houses...
get me a ticket to 1990s Sarajevo!
   that's how bad it looked... they're still clearing
up the mess...

from Rainham back toward Hornchurch and via Harold
Wood toward Harold Hill...
i know there's a Paris... i was a teenager in love
with Stendhal and i visited Paris solo...
i know there's a Paris but i'm starting to think:
maybe: MAYBE there is a "Paris"?
just maybe... this is London on the outskirts this isn't
London for television...

コドク (aloneness - kodoku):
        (existence with everyone)
ソンザイ    ト
           ゼンタイ            (sonzai to zentai)

nope... i'm not learning fluent Japanese...
i'm not going to travel to Japan to pay
taxes, to buy ******* sushi
and feel: a part of apart...
however boldly bad: grammatically...
i hear some ******* argument in
the western sphere... i start to scribble
katakana... i look into the scripts from India...
hell... i go as near as Greek allows...
i morph Latin with European additions
of diacritical markers...
i don't want to be constipated by an "argument":
or lineage of: ******* arguments of people
who have... zero... absolutely no...
inclinations how funny it all must be...
for someone misdiagnosed as schizophrenic
circa 2008... looking at the year 2023
almost gleefully... Beelzebub rubbing his *****
hands... the madman turned out to be...
pretty sane... given the current currency of
consensus!

    i have not invested in having children:
care to complain? me neither...
am i earning enough money to complain that my
money is going toward up-keeping
the mistakes of single-mothers? no...
i'm earning enough for a solo escapade...
i don't earn enough to be taxed!
i stopped drinking...
i can start imitating the bear in the realm
of a perpetual winter of contentment...
i can realise an ape imitating a bear:
i can exist-hibernating...
                            if i don't need to go to the cinema:
what's the point? i can...
go and see an art exhibition and wonder...
once at the paintings...
second at the old women trying to push
these young girls into my orbit as if implying:
go talk to him...
  but i'm here to admire the paintings, aren't i?!
am i here for a date?!

plus... i don't need to own a car...
i can cycle to almost anywhere in London of my own
volition and ease of exercise...
i don't need to spend money on *******
that most women would spend money on...
i have a recycling fetish...
i have little ambitions of curios adventures that
don't really require me to stress hard-pressed
constant hard-ons to compete with other men...
if i really feel like it...
i'll declare *** for recreational purposes as:
probably most boring...
given the adventures of cycling and swimming...
but if must-be-must...
hell... the brothel with me and it's all over:
proven point... in an hour's worth...

i am a truly liberated man...
thank you woman, for showing me the path...
your liberation has liberated me beyond
your wildest anticipations!
i am once and for all, truly freed from the precursors
of what freedom might have tasted like...
if not for the social-stigma of the bachelor status...

フリーダム (furiidamu - freedom)
                  ハイカイ (haikai - loitering)
スワル (suwaru, sit) -
                  ハクシュ (hakushu - extol)

oh i'm pretty sure the anglo-sphere doesn't care much for other tongues... or what happens in them: how they arrived to where they are now... but... sometimes... it comes about by the most curious of circumstances when, the natives & / or their extended family of trans-Atlantic cousins (etc.) start to... mishandle their: zunge... then... something wakes up, that should have been sleeping... in a person who treats this tONG in the confines of: acquisition, rather than something... passed down with: accent... idiosyncrasy... "whereabouts": local "allegiance"...

covert excess drinking:
i'm starting to love it more and more:
i get to play both actor,
a shadow... and fictional death...
all is well when you can
summon the... nerves(?)
to also make a distinction between
making strawberry gelato vs.
strawberry ice-cream...
no eggs more fruit pulp
less cream for the former...
plus... "displacing" things...
you wake up... it's... [there]...
half an hour later it's... "there"...
these spontaneous pockets
of amnesia:
these spontaneous bouts of...
AM... née: SHIA...
how else? Zee-E-E'Ah?
there's another name for this:
SKLEROZA...
it's not an English word...
but the symptoms are:
you get to walk a lot...
it doesn't hurt...
ah... memory... such a fickle faculty...
it's like we were engineered to:
forget in order to: push on
forward and... replicate... procreate...
alas... what if you...
don't want to?
   like an antithesis of
Frankenstein's monster...
who... if written by a man and not
a Mary Shelley would...
play the Sisyphus for a while
and then... do-himself-off...
hanging... stab to the heart
while working out the arithmetic
spacing of soft flesh to ribs...

cumin coriander, garlic ginger
cumin coriander, garlic ginger
cumin, coriander, asafoetida... ginger...

"apparently" it's offensive to call
a dish a curry...
it's more or less just: gravy:
gwavvy...
those blue Indians of Bengal
and elsewhere those Reds
and those Incas never really
drank or for that matter: minded
the concept of yeast...
flat as the platitudes of
Belgian mud or a *******
japati...

it's the middle of the day
i've pickled myself in some 70cl
of bourbon from the night
before and... right
now: with a swiggle and a hum...
i'm pickling...
irritably pickling... some sweet
notes to mind: but otherwise...
sour as a stash of lemons...

and that's fine... because i'm also
thinking about the self-help gurus
and the machinery of:
capitalising on everything:
even death and sickness...

my advice is? read the three musketeers...
my advice: have about 3 maxims handy...
categorical imperatives
or what not...
here are the two that i best behave
under:

Tao: the best way you can help
the world is... to forget the world
and allow the world to forget you...
non-verbatim...

Dumas: the best advice i ever gave was:
to no, under any circumstance:
give advice...
since... if people take it...
will probably regret it...
ergo... blame you for it...

- currently there are two words on my mind...
one borrowed from a list:
parsley sage, rosemary & thyme...
the last on the list... thyme...
not... F-I'm...
thyme... time... thyme... time...
such a delight i have with this tongue:
you can say the same set of syllables
but imply a completely different meaning:
esp. sharpened in writing...
perhaps i was born into a language
that is as clear-cut katakana as no
other European language:
apart from the necessary workaround
of consonant graphemes: just as well as
in English: SHould you CHoose to bother
yourself: with...

i'm still not quiet following the whole
pseudo-grammatical pronoun agenda...
*** is never associated: will never be associated
with nouns in this tongue...
a table is neither masculine nor feminine...
perhaps that's... why pronouns have
imploded?

i'm currently in the process of making
a distinction between strawberry gelato and
strawberry ice-cream...
obviously no eggs in the former...
a 2:1 ratio of full fat milk to double cream...
but the cream needs to be beaten...

slang terms:
LASKA - LAS - forest...
LASKA - a fit: most desirable female...
also a walking-stick...
LODY - ice-cream...
   robić lody - to make ice-cream...
also slang for... *******...
OSTRYGA - oyster...
K'WIAT - flower...
     well... something to counter making ice-cream:
lody... gobble down an oyster?

it's not even that any miniscule variation
of katakana would help...
no stand-alone consonants apart from N...
why N?
always clinging to:
vowel: woman...
consonant... man...
mind you: there is still no concept of ***
bound to nouns in English...
the moon is him
the sun is her...

i'm gently drinking: while also fasting...
the combination with immaculate sunlight...
why wouldn't the flowers be rejoicing?!

excuse me: hrabia: wal-do-dechy
     count: hit-to-the-plank (of wood)...
echoes of expressions of a dead man...
clearly i should know:
born into a language with clear:
Clear syllabic distinctions...
more! added to vowels:                     Ą!

oh... but beside the Italians & the Greeks...
just your European neighbours...
i too don't want to mind the pan-Slavic
movement... some called it communism...
i will never understand what
the Russians were up to...
ha ha... pan-Germanic is sort of happening
while everyone seems: coolly bothered
by something with: an alias...

terrible ideas ought to die...
seems like Marxism is not such a bad idea
if it finds volunteers... zealots to:
revise it... Darwinism does account for
mutations... doesn't it?
like a pig that barks or a dog that oinks...
a bonsai tiger... wait... tigers don't growl...
do they?
they snort apathy or something...
i don't know... i was never placed in front
of one...

murmur murmur... m'hmm something
in the place of: too far away from the sea...
from one wave: to another: mω...
oh... look:
           it's only a double-u if it's an omega-yu...
yule...
    otherwise? sharpen the edges:
v'ah-v'ah: empty the room! Wedge & Whinge
are coming in with a pink-elephant
and five blind men!
should have been expecting a carton of milk...
as you would: armed with a mω a mᵒₒ...

well... at least making ice-cream... ******!
gelato! clearly there are no poultry abortions involved!
is not a sour-note metaphor for...
giving ******* to... a hungry bandwagon
of Pakistanis eager to please
the children of Ing-Land...

   - what a sight! a canvas i have returned to
throughout the day... now:
night has come...
how bewildering to stand in the garden
while two insomniac magpies chase
each others' cackle...
one perches in my eucalyptus tree and
rattles, rattles: cackles... stutters...
so much so that even some poor dog left
in the warm air of September replies
with a bark!

how rare to hear birds tell their presence
in the night...
how rare to hear birds in the night...
how welcome these spies:
they must be either magpies or crows...
it... simply: sublimates their otherwise
cautious presence in the day...
and the magpies cackled in the night
so much so: that even the dog was roused
to bark!

- one glug, two glugs: make it three!
whiskey this cold so it almost resembles some
syrupy liquid ought to be imbued with much glee!
i could make ice-cream all day!

esp. since i have found a most pristine recipe!
i'll be ever the most obnoxious
when i tell you: dear reader
of the difference between ice-cream and gelato...

i think i memorised the two recipes...
ice-cream...
    as a warning: i usually halve the suggested
amount of sugar...
whether that be using raspberries,
strawberries, blueberries...
crème anglaise

mein gott! i'm in one of those rare instances
of life, reality where: *** can be compensated:
or thereby a lack of... an Ava Lauren /
Monique Fuentes...
i like to think of *** like a well-worn...
many a times sat in: leather... arm-chair...
i like that: i don't know what the thrill
with inexperience is... all about...
timid bodies... timid: frail... dolls...
i can compensate this desert of the ****-less...
as a curiosity by some Pakistani who

i could make ice-cream all day...
i'd rather make gelato... but all day...
i could make curry all day...
curry and gelato: i'm your man...

- i abhor sober opinions: let alone sobering up
in the domain of dialectics:
i have enough on my plate with
English: the language...
making no attempt to transcend the Latin script
with any sort of addition of
diacritical markers...
Charlie Dickens: good "sport" might have
included the term: orthography...

one reason leads to another... just bad spelling...
but it's only orthography if...
you apply diacritical stressors...
can have an Empire to rival Rome's with their
alphabet... but can't exactly keep
the neo-gothic Victorian romance
alive... on a mere whim...
look at it! disintegrating into vagabond
graffiti... or... emoji! which is not the same
as breaking away from the kanji in favour
of something more: phonetic...

Koreans & the Japanese are right up there:
on my... ahem "spice" list of ingredients
of people required...
the origins of writing is to: encode sounds...
to write sounds down...
no ideas... not insinuations...
throw the whole bunch of those
sand-******* into a crab bucket and see
what confused :)( comes out... savvy?

sober people and their sober ideas...
always so... *******... serious!
like they mean it... but rarely do they
keep themselves intact on enacting their intent!
i better eat a dollop of whole-grain mustard before
every meal before i deal with:
sober, serious... sen-si-blah... sensible whole lot of them
get the ***** to launch an offensive
on the groovy... gravy... groovy? gravy train...
**** me: it's good to know i'm getting old...
and out of touch...

i get pockets of nostalgia: time... immemorial...
anecdotal evidence that i:
somehow brushed against...
the pain... the strokes... of time...
and made some spatial-coordinate concerns
moving: for-ward...

ice-cream: 5 egg yolks...
bruised by... ha ha... "bruised" whipped to a lighter
colour... some sugar was added...
two cups of double cream... one cup of full fat milk...
a cup of sugar...
your choice of berries: heated up separately...
blah blah... combined... hey presto! an indigestion
pause... relapse...
depending on your temperament...

that's ice-cream... but... gelato! GEE! LA TOE!
T'OH!
no egg yolks...
    2 cups of full fat milk...
one cup of double cream: beaten... whisked...
it has to... half the sugar you're expected to use...
in the berry pulp...
    
i'll need the RRR... why has the trill of the Ar
disappeared in the Ing-Leash tongue:
betäubungzunge: compounded... obviously...
higher tier Germanic... not this... Ing-Leash...
mongrel sort...
so the adjective comes before the noun:
rather than the noun coming prior to
the adjective... i don't want to be asking for:
proper this... eh... proper that...

the exasperated yawns... gags and yelling impositions
of the "liberal" moralists...
like a god finally said: if i gave them
free-will... can "we" just agree that:
they better experience their full: "potential"?
oh i believe in god: but i also believe in free-will...
one counter-acts the other
in the way thus: follows:
to completely have: free-will...
you can't expect a nanny-state c.c.t.v. omni: gwand-p'ah
moment... can you?
there's... sweet & sour...
there's... sweet & salty...
can't have one... without... the other...

my god! genius logic! look for applause
when all the self-deprecating humour dries up...
clap... clap... clap clap...
how can you expect a god...
when... you're also expecting free-will?
you can... no... wait... you can't be a murderer!
Cain... was a vegetarian...
Abel... ably sacrificed a goat... or a sheep...
or two... Cain was a Hebrew version of:
'indu...
so... the northern European mind simply
boils corrupted with: staged logic
and...  the idiosyncrasies of other cultures...
yeah! thanks for the bread... where's, the, yeast?!

you use it?! you... ever used it?!
yeast: you get to say yes a lot...
you allow yourself to encourage to grow bread...
you also make beer...
no? not handy? o.k.: we'll just leave the "appropriate"
answer for the white women folk: people-kind
to conjure up a "properly": response...

ooh... believe me... i can play the grammar game
like... for eternity...
in between being allowed breaks
to do some proper *******...
like... churning strawberry ice-cream...
or making a curry sauce...

i am: SCHEMING!
i'm not going to allow this language to be
left in... *******: tartan: let alone:
tatters... even though it's not my own tongue...
i will not leave it: to... RUIN!
i'd best keep it in runes....

                    ᚱᚢᚾᛖᛋ...

no... you don't tell me what i am: or i am
not... "supposed" to do...
you settle my score on the fabric of
capital punishment... i die... you live...
but... it's not so ******* simple... no?
leech eats leech...
crab bucket...

she's a... three-dimensional woman...
looking for a... two-dimensional man...
ah ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!
i need to write down laughter:
since it's so silent... so covert...
it doesn't really require a stand-up
comedian's solipsism to ****-me-off...
ha ha!
a three-dimensional woman...
looking for a two-dimensional man!
ah ha ha!

goldfish of an ego:
in a muddle of a "think-tank"
of 70cl of... is whiskey...
i could be her grandpa santa
and she could be my selfish elf
quasi dwarf on my knee:
not readied for a spanking:
i'm so turned off by modern *******

time is a concept i'd rather forget....
father Xavier...
i just want to make ice-cream:
or... make the distinction between ice-cream
& gelato...
& curry... i want to make a bucket load
of "that"... enough to make joking remarks about
an invading envy equivalent to match up to
the Ottoman Janissaries...

i don't like being sold the sole impetus
that blatantly numbs me...
a walking abortion: i am...
             find me in my most reclusive spot...
when the  birds... triple the night...
merge with it... allow the: bystanders!
postcard enthusiasts! tourists! begone!
with Essex: alone!
i don't care much fo the western aspect
of England... POMPOUS SODS
THE WHOLE LOT OF THEM!

anything associated with Bristol
i wouldn't feed to pigs...
sure... they might be the most pristine sort
of people:
they're still a people i wouldn't
share food with... sorry... what?!
you might care that i might care?!
how... custard-esque...
how... bewildering...
i... exist?!
                    *******...
really?! does one digest that fat of fact
with a: hmmm...

         SUDDENLY?!
"diatribe of waking shadows"?

forget it...
the postponed death of Johnny Cash
matched up to the "un-expected"
relief of... false claimants oeuvre!
Elvis... ought to have died...
he died... the end!

i cycled into central London... Loon & the Don came...
to read a few pages of Knausgaard's mein kampf
vol 4... and drink a beer...
and pretend to be a serpent lying flat on my
stomach... having satiated the "workload"
i turned over... making the universe oblivious
under the stretch of clouds and some itching
accents of bloo...
             on my back i smoked a cigarette
and drank the beer sideways...
i caressed the grass forgottening:
oh wait... it's not my hair...
it's not my beard either...
some crow some woodland pigeon:
i too felt displaced...
but that's what happens in central London...
you become a: huh?! tourist perusing the:
tide of faces... these faces... so many faces...
i should be wearing a mask seeing so many faces...
yes: seems to me that i'm happy...
to imagine where i started from...
to where i'm right now...
a spell-binding 3 years in Edinburgh...
i feel so comfortable among the London traffic
and... the madmen in ol' Hyde...
the swelling & the shrinking of the Thames
at Coldharbour near the Rainham marshes...
it might not feel like i own this town...
this village by village staccato...
but it owns me...
i pass 10 grade girls playing solipsistic games...
i pass alpha males playing: biz-e...
             thank god or the devil or...
that i'm no beta orbiter wishing for: waterfall: fore!
bring me the yacht! bring me the parachute...
headphones in but nonetheless i was stopped
by a fellow cyclist at Marble Arch...
i actually managed to conjure up a face full
of expression when he asked:
where is the nearest Argos...
HA became mouth agape... teeth showing...
eyes behind sunglasses lit up:
those stores still exist?!
perhaps in katakana: but write laughter for me...
we can thank the Hebrews for that:
definite article being... lost to giggles...
this is what laughter looks like
in katakana: i prefer katakana to hiragana...
i.e. ハハハハ:
       アハハハハ...
**** up sort of laughter: waiting to milk a cow...
sort of: ****** tease...
no sure... is it a parabola: broken at the tip?
there's a tip?!
typo... i could understand that...
ha! ******... shambles... shames...
the ol' circumcised lot of them...
   pwaying pwetty please god save us:
give us 40 more years in the desert with:
nerves of steel Moose... and... EsEs: i.e. Mayonnaise...
Moses! d'uh...

here's a funny notation:

                木 vs. キ

oh... they're the same... phonetically...
and... perhaps... also meaning...
KI...
                   (key): i.e.              TRÍ(!)
hence the exclamation mark in the brackets...
the emphasis is already hovering above
the iota: acutely...
e. e. cummings... what?!

the cat "emoji" is even better:
i can write only one KANJI...
i've exhausted myself on TRI...
EE... so no... "cat": N'EH K'OH... miu miu: me-ow...

i'm happy... i see a Japanese girl flashing her
knickers while i cycle past where
Oxford St. weds itself to Reagent St...
i think about the long dead kings...
ol' Lizzie and the Popes...
i think and i think:
but that's not much...
  i've already exhausted the avenue...
cul de sac of: ought i... ought i not...
so... emptied and gagging for some more...

look how feeble it all looks:
if this were a Kanji: :)...
ugh... i need to shoot myself in the foot...
i need to spot a kangaroo...
and also shoot it: in the ******* foot...
either way: one of us will try to hop again...
i need to shoot something...
perhaps a ******* Lukashenko....
yes... i'd love to scalp... hell...
forget shooting: a Lukashenko...
he's been keeping those migrants hiding:
as tactic?!
i'd love to shave a Lukashenko... proper...
sorry... it never came around to
a pan-Germanic: ambition...
how pan-Slavism served the hijacked purpose
of soviet communism: i... never...
talking to an individualistic proponent
among the collectivised sorts...
a bit like making a sober man talk to
a drunkard...

      when i see it: "it": i see... IT...
language can revel in reaching its final summary:
it's balancing act of banality...
we don't need language to communicate:
to make coercion something: less... less...
sinister... no... my tongue flapping above yours?
sure... we have a ******* booth for that too!

i like the english words: gambit...
plural... the colon... but no list...
no italics either...
BAT... like: nietoperz...
like: pałka... hulanka:
a *******: RONDEL...
such is the poverty of the English tongue
when it comes to nouns...

two words sound alike:
not two words:
blue: bloo...
i blew... sea's azure..
****'s sake...i die every Sunday...
by Monday i count as a miracle of waking...
who... what's... up?
the newly imported African ***** brigade?

white girls import: hell of a story...
she imports Ghana timber...
Nigerian pocket-thieves...
she's lubricated so much:
we ***** all the black dudes...
but... i'm not willing to **** all the black girls...
i don't want to **** all these black girls...
i want to ****... oh... let's take a pick...
a curry-smeared...
Punjabi... work-around...
if white girls want all the ******* they:
can and can't handle...
Paris...
                lemon baguettes...
ham & cheese crepes...
wine... the Eiffel tower...  topple! topple!
tow: two import...
the working African *****: purpose!
purpose!
thanks... project exclusion:
first...
i know how "they" dye the nickel...
the copper... coinage...

i just feel like...
i've been ******* on for... sometime...
some: prior...

sorry... what?!
seal... kiss from a rose...
****** has... had... will have..
expectations.. concerning... snow?!
yeah... i want to live in... Kenya...
Muhammad the camel-jockey is available:
sure... no one remembers him having:
not having wrote: the Quran...
because: celebrating older women..
biz-nest...
busy... qua?!
****** tells a story: it snows... ha ha!
his rose my ******* baobab!
you know you pushed it just too far...
the white women their carousel antics...  

colonel: tavington...
you... inter-breeding... with mind...
Calypso.. this is... Brazil... no?
i like a tackle of shade...
hush hush...
i like... this... creeping up... crisp...
all the world's an adventure.

Explain Krieg und Krise.  Remember Nanjing.  Hand twist nasturtium, trim Elijah in no other language but your own.  Delicious, decked against scurvy despite punishing days world unwraps, made available to voracity, where would you build, on what day?  Perfection unable to sit still comes towards ambush as peasant night squeaks to the border.  Chanticleer in linear e phlox stammers discretely, hammers combination, blends tonality.  Gravid as brook trout, orangerie cascades kanji.  Bucolic spasm shimmering, weeping runes a la Giverny become Cycladic, veers off color’s lambent arsenal.  Caustic repeats, Gatling interferes, hope bails, song recants.  A Zebedee in Flemish hue cracks *** luck, lets out gurgle.  But in good fortune, peaches to daisies, Abigail to titmouse, family is raised.

SPIRIT
It seems my reality is connected to 'Abdu'l-Baha and Baha'u'llah inasmuch as I recite their words.  Also, the Bab.  Perhaps too Muhammad inasmuch as I obey Hadith and read the Qur'an.  Is my lack of reality really God? What does it mean to be God's servant but not His son? That seriousness born of the Seal of the Prophets? Or, that seriousness born of irresponsibility and wickedness? What can come from mere presence? "This cyclic scheme is to Him but a stare." Thoughts of Hindu statues of the gods and goddesses. Yes, the spiritual reality doesn't work for me at command. It doesn't entertain me either. It usually requires some input to show me anything.

MIND
That lack of any changing form going through my mind. Thoughts of a previous text and its sender. Conversations via text. The heart feels betrayed by a friend for not showing up. Memories of my friend's neighborhood. Anything of substance except the interactions I have on my phone and the memories which our words and persons reveal? Do I have any unconscious left? Anything hiding? Fears of reincarnation. Anxiety about work due to not staying in the "now". Unfulfilled plans of society. Is there anyone coming to my Group of Silence devotional? Odds unlikely. Alone on Zoom.

The conviction of medication and meditation, which changed my D's and F's into A's and B's in college. My lack of use of the knowledge I gained. Still hopeful of discovering some new form of mathematics, even if on my deathbed - I'm guessing around 80 if I keep smoking.

"There is no pain you are receding" and "*******" whisper in my mind. "Comfortably numb" - it seems like the highest spiritual state, but a state of incapacity for the investigating mind. "Is there anybody in there?" A German seven that looks like kanji.

BODY
Maybe a serious eye? Those eyes with nothing to do. Can a mirror not truly tell me about myself? For what information can come from a blank stare? A ****** in the nose. A worry-filled stare. One ear a little pulled out due to wearing COVID masks. I haven't trimmed my beard for five days. I haven't gotten a new face. My eyes are the same color. My hair, not darker nor lighter. The bags under my eyes betrays youths. My distinguished, yet still rounded cheeks. My beard hides my ****-chin. My less distinguished jaw, ovalish but with a point. Those searching eyes. A neck with so much stress built up that I unconsciously twist and crack it. Memory of the first time it spasmed. Vitamin care. Laundry drying. It must be this blank stare that is highest of high, that can be low, low.  I rub my scalp to ease muscle tension. I think about aligning my chakras, but a blank stare seems more worthwhile.

I consider smoking a touch of nutmeg, but I'm concerned how anxious it will make me, and how I lack ability in communication afterwards. I make coffee, a caffeine high will do. The cream gives me comfort. The workers getting off work add to my austerity. All those songs stored in neurons of my brain, waiting to be plugged-in. Somehow old rock songs from the 70's give me a place.

Now that beautiful lady appears to me saying "come, come" or rather "***, ***". I was so empty of everything, and she now fills my brain with connections to desire. I give in to the pressure and put a small dob of nutmeg on the end of my cigarette. Not enough for a full high, but just a little joy. Now there is experience and experiencer, not just a blank stare.

I can see my *** stare. I am as a baby in my mother's arms, I am so irresponsible. My body is a temple, with rooms, that I'm somehow detached from as if I'm in a dream witnessing it. Now I swim in this temple but I am not its fullness. I am not its command. I am no longer the tree but the twig. I am this plant called nutmeg. This is my vibration - pharmaceutical.

My buzz cut portrays a Buddhist monk's sitting. My coworker cut off all her hair once. Is she monkish as well? My body, as a sitter, full of reflection, why is this such an archetype? Does it know all, no, it only knows one, me. Is that all I am required of? To know simply me. Is there anything of depth in me?

Repose in my eye. I think of the faithful not under the influence. Have I missed a spark of truth which I would've found? My browline reminds me of a Klingon. So aggressive. I rock back and forth and around and around. I'm mixing this tonic drink in my skull. Is my body too full and big for my neck and head? how much does it matter? When will I do my next ab workout?

Memories of doing nutmeg, the cool let down off the high. The feeling it will never really subside.  Moving around in my seat like a Sufi dancer. Looking like I'm a ghost in the machine. The wetness of the white in my eye portrays tears of passion for Chloe. The residue of oil on my brow and cheek portrays sweating out the nutmeg.

My chrome dome and short beard remind me of a wizard, rather of my high school physics teacher. Science seems like wizardry at times. Contorting my face with my hands shows all sorts of masks: Asian clown and Cabbage Patch doll. Pressing on my forehead makes me look Romulan. Contorting my nose to a pig's or what I see as an English nobleman.

My head swings around like a medieval flail. Like I'm in a roller coaster. Like an Indian in devotion. Like a magician performing an act. Like a wolf ripping apart its prey. Like the monks who hit their heads with boards in "Camelot": "Oh ee eh Oh dominae, Oh ee eh Oh requi eh". Coming to the conclusion that the body doesn't change so quickly that it can by observed. But when I consciously change it, similitudes appear from memory.

CONCLUSION
Is all observation a metaphor or simile? Or, judgment and reason made out of a group of observations? Math is made from first geometry: a basic point, and then a line. Math is a physical reality, or abstractions from basic physical reality. Therefore, speaking merely in basic simile is also an abstraction from physical reality.

All there is is the physical.  Mind is due to my frontal lobe. Spirit is reduced to feeling, even if transcending regular feeling - mere EMF pattern of the body.

reading a rupi kaur poem is
probably the most heart-breaking
"thing" in the morning -
on the play store bestseller list:
because afterwards
a sylvia plath poem:
somehow isn't -

                       somehow she managed
to pluck at a geisha garden
and has become all porcelain all
             crystalline ivory & frailty...
but that's not about my reading
habits in the morning...            
   it's more... more about...
how "we" could get away with
writing all our onomatopoeias in
katakana:

                        unless of course
there's the "problem" of C, L, U, Q / CK...
that's hooves on cobweb streets
trotting...                                        
     ­                  nonetheless:
                        i give you
          マンナ              ダンナ
    (manna                    ­      danna)
            i guess: imitation
                          games of a madonna
in a brothel -
which is not a brothel...
and everyone's favourite
             Berlusconi's take on
                         castanets & maracas i.e.
                  ぼんご                 ボンゴ

otherwise a narrative in three parts:
a. my grandfather died
b. i stopped drinking
c1. and i started walking marathons
   c2. from 118kg
                down to 106.5kg
                  circa 2 months...

otherwise a further narrative of:
not because i'll gladly go into
the necropolis with a bouquet
of fake carnations / chamomiles...
  although "in manus tuas" i could
sit crow esque pensive,
hunched: a shadow for a globe of
atlas (etc.)
            and **** that fickle
creature that's memory in vain...
thereby making love
sound like a breaking
                           of an accordion...

or i could like i already have
"play a game" of       ここ / そこ
                                               ソコ / ココオ
no necropolis...
    just the remains of a forest...
bedfords park...
            a healthy stick for the purpose
of knocking on trees...
an dry-white skull-yellow-morbid
obelisk - i.e. a dead tree...
homage - three times:
           thunck-plonk-pluckpug
no echo...
      thung-plong-plugpuck...
a minute of silence...
                evidently...
                      in searching of meaning:
beyond in havering county park
horses grazing -
        "once upon a time"
they'd be work horses on the till
  of the land...
            now sometimes saddled...
not even bothered to gallop...
          while we're still...
                   under the tyranny of
the thumb...
                 or thereby some "relief"...

perhaps just walking through
east london toward st. paul's
seeing so many pilgrims (i.e.
that's what i'd call lunatics)
                        talking to pigeons
                                      at stratford in
                    the morning...
one might do what i do
teasing augury -
       notably because of the crows,
notably because of swallows;
at least for the former -
when hades stirs -
                 and a yawn breaks
rank from the pits of crunch &
                        harrowing tooth domino...
there's me procrastinating
before the altar of a name, date(s)
but no epitaph...
    or there's me making said
pilgrimage to a dead tree obelisk
  with a healthy stick in hand...
knocking three times...
            perhaps to let the forest know
i'm there, i.e. "here"...
alas... exasperation is not:
a need for "haiku"... it's also not
some snobbery when...
you're actually not given much to
"work" with e.g. -cemetery

       better a fascination with
                                  japanese text...
e.g. 緑 (green)
                         ミドリ
      / hiragana is probably a misnomer
                 みどり
  / why wouldn't green be in kanji?
               but how midori:
                       either squiggly or squint-
                                       -ting          
                                         squin'
                                                          ­T'ing
is not in either katana / hiragana
set up the following primer, braille:

                                    ⠛⠗⠑⠑⠝
       ⠍⠊
       ⠙⠕
       ⠗⠊   (hangeul esque)
                          
is probably the only latin equivalent
i'd ever make a comparison with;

   p.s. ⠝ braille's N
          ל - a hebrew L"ament"...

at least it's more than a bothersome
post-colonial rhyming ****** & scheme
or a wannabe haiku /
                        writing toward hiatus;
or a ******* ron padgett prose poem
                     about drinking coffee...
for that matter: any poem about
drinking coffee;
                                          sober *****
morning gits,
            insufferable loved up 'toons.

カゼ  (kaze)            wind

    火 (ヒ)            (hi)          fire  

ミズ      (mizu)     water

   ツチ (tsuchi)                  earth...

         two distinguishable kanji
of fire and of earth...

     キモテ (ki mo te)    
= = = = = = =
   /   / J
            L
     |   <z>
                          thus painting a sound...
= = = = = = =
            
just borrowing from チ (chi)
the syllables キモテ (ki mo te)

and all this:
while in the west there's a revival
of the hieryglpyhs
oh jeez the kanji vs the emoji
and such b'ah b'ah bad lettering
lazily anti-savvy
2 c u l8ter...           the pain is real;
this pain is real.

Some of this drew good vibes, but it uses some Kanji HP doesn't support. A symbol for magic, I used to mark walk away time during my day. The final edit owes much to Causa Sui by Euporia Tide, and certain suggestive AIs. Share the link anywhere you wish.

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1TG7u2CIYaWMaAeYAIcCWFYGplapfOhLi4nJYkb3d4GQ/edit?usp=sharing

a numerical revision to
my original proposition:

IVX:LC:DM / O:IZEGS:b:Γ:BP

there was and is only one glaring
mistake: concerning the genesis of
4 via G:
and how could i be so blind
but i guess i did that on purpose
because at least that makes sense
if mistakes are made on purpose
for the secondary purpose
of being able to make the correction:

H: or perhaps how one scribbles
the number depending on the handwritten
form rather than the universal
digital:  

    ||
       |
                  which is h in a "Copernican"
concern for direction where
is this supposed north or south or west
in outerspace?
                
perhaps even /|
                         |

                 so one leg short
and the arm askew... or just h from H
and even that is ingenius how
the uppercase letters are different to
lowercase letters
and perhaps there's something primitive
in Cyrillic when some letters
are the same upper- as lowercase

         Вв
                 Гг     Дд
     Жж         Ии
             well... pretty much all the letters...
and how much of Cyrillic is Latin lazy
in mainting the rigid upper- to lowercase transition
unless it is Greek: in its original aesthetic...
where you will not find the uppercase to be like
the lowercase lettering...

ah but there are exceptions:
     Ι ι, Κ κ
                   almost with Ι ι
   if it weren't for the near invisible littlest of tails
on the lowercase iota: that the Latin men made
more pronunciated with the dot hovering above...
but there are also

   Ο ο: but the omicron is perfect like that
and not much can be done about that...
       then there are the twins:

    Τ τ : Ι ι
                 subtle variations: notably the lick of
a slick tail...
                         T is t but τ is a question of
the Latin cross and Anthony's cross:
    also the Russian orthodox cross and how W
when was worn borne
when paths of G the gamma crossed paths
with Lucifer and Wah became Łajba:
    why'bah...

             Χ χ, Ψ ψ can be excluded...

                 the subtleties of the digital handwritten
imprint are obvious to see... if you can be myopic
enough...
so the correction will stand and i will borrow
from Greek:

IVX:LC:DM / O:IZE:μ:S:b:Γ:BP
  
   depending on how you see letters morph
into numbers and don't tell me that
God of the Semites didn't play the role of
both Olympian and the Titan by descending
to this world with word: letters:
to make hieroglyphs more tangible and
gave them the X-ray skeletal treatment
but imagine if the Chinese were the basis
and focus of the history of the plight of the Hebrews
imagine
what use the Hebrew god would be
when facing the unshakeable tenents
of the matchstick men who con conjured up

      树: tree: also called affrirmation: sh'u...
what good would Hebrew be against that form
of encoding?
well the Hebrews can boast
their script against the ancient Egyptian hieroglyphs
but at the same time the Chinese were burrowing
with more skeletons than could emerge
when combining Greek, Latin, Hebrew or the Runes...

   and something natural happened
in the Orient when the Japanese decided
to create an alphabet that was not so heavily riddled
with memorising meanings
instead focusing on sounds...
how the Kanji was abandoned and two: not one!
two writing systems emerged!
the Katakana and the Hiragana!

             now it feels impossible to know
which would suit the:
%: that's a concept of a philosopher's stone...
i might add:
touch a 10 with a 0.1 and somehow arrive at 100...
but there were 9 digits
in the Roman numerals
I V X
C M D L:
why did i count 9 to begin with:
so basically 2... 3... letters or numbers short
but that wasn't some impossible strcuture
or care to bypass..
          
           the map of the London underground is still
still flaring me up...
i don't know why i might lay its claims on
me... but it does:
if i were to measure the distance from
Covent Garden to Leicester Sq
envision the sq mile then
go to the stretches of Morden,
Epping, Hainualt
hell: Ruslip doesn't ring a bell: never been there:
it's like i am the ego situated in London
and London is the mother-womb
and outside not having a driving license is
equivalent to being either decapitated
hung and quartered or being
an imbecile or lift off of wit
and some other jargon... like you might
be both: retarted and a half-capacity
the Igor that was Frankenstein's first proper experiment
and the monster: the Igor Towing?

but the map of London: that of the underground
is just that:
it's microscopic cone shaped:
the stations of most interest are mostly
enlarged in terms of distance apart:
noted by the Circle Line...
then as London: as the London expanse...
does expand...
the topographic detail is looser...
since the distance between stations is greater
but for the guarantee of navigation
the inner circle of "hell" retains its
microscopic elementality
you are basically peering at a detail being
blown up then being allowed
to retain its insignificance of the detail:
if i were to draw the map...

oh jeez: Gunther von Hagens looks gluttonous
and almost a Bond villain...
but i'm not here making cheap jokes
i wish i had the stomach to go and see his
exposition of dead body mantras of
muscle bone and sinew...

how did i bestow myself with a dis-conount
of the numerals:
i was sure almpost two hours: what felt like hours:
in a field of thought
the ego-mines...
these abrupt stations of electric
pognant reminders
in a field of the eternity of thoought
the hellish escapade of ego
and it's not like Nietzsche the failed pianist
turned angry philosopher set aside
all difference and heard the world war II cresdcendo...
i thought i counted 9 roman numerals:
instead i have the beast of the earth with 7 heads
like the numbers or the count of Hills
in Rome...
i would never believe this man
could be domesticated
so Reyla would say 40 years later
with Marquis de Sade as Dumas' D'Artangnegnome...
dyslexic in French
would never learn it
will never learn it
**** the French
Arab conquest justified!
vowel to soda poodles!
you ******* French!

Jeroean van Veen...
imagine if Chopin or Liszt left such
explosive notebooks:
but dear you and me:
read Nietzsche:
but then listen to his music...
     heldenklage, NMW 2...
that's how you study philosophy
by reading Nietzsche first
thirst
then with air
breathe the rain in
and say Music is Music
and why did Thomas Mann reference
a mad pianist...
because how could Chopin or Liszt
write anything intellectually
ethno centric...
like the pan-Germanism of Nietzsche...
long before the collective
the individual soloist
with music forgotten
by words enlarged

                      Nietzsche the Pianist
not the philosopher of youth
but words from the heavenly abode of
the angelic choir like
a headache with God dispatched to earth
like Ulysses and the Sirens
and God there: with his rebellious Angels
on a boat
with me able to hear
alone
while they roared with each row row
row of the boat!
and i in heaven became the human kind ear
and the rebellious angels helped me to escape
the heavenly ordeal of castrated
**** and mouth suckling beings
like children and angels pristine...
get me out of heaven!
those voices shouldn't sing!
Satan: get me behind you a fifth oar!
Satan! yohore!
              
read Nietzsche then read Thomas Mann...
then Nietzsche in a second tongue:
be born or learn bilingualism...
like a skill compare philosophy cf. to mathematics
and then fuse the two via
linguistics
and forget the dogmas of religion
and psychiatry... forget the soft touch
of the harsh scematics
of the division of soul
like there's this autopsy equivalent to body in
vivo in vitro in esse...
that's where i think i am...

       then listen to some of Nietzsche's piano compositions
and how delicate he was
before the Wagner Oyster Cult...
measure of guilt and how does
man overcome music?
it's the Counter Reformation all over...
if one cannot overcome God
even with God is Dead: !
then with Death and God: ?

                       i ask... how can man overcome
music: when man overcame
the mop with a steamer
dishwasher
without hands
and soap...
and television with a fireplace
or a neon aquarium... flashing lights... blah blah...
vampire... i think she's 14 years old
and sinking into my psyche like a butter soaked
sponge all warm and oozy like you mid coitus...

and i can't believe i would ever allow
Nabokov out of his butterflies and ****** reminiscence
hyper-metaphor of Imperial Russia
where we us Pollacks
weren't 5th Generation Napoleon Romance
and Charlemagne...
because what Angevins didn't rule the most part
of France
from Norse Sagas
via Denmark and later Normandy
the fabble of Rolo and Lothar Ragnarouke...
and i'm supposed to imagine England:
as Enoch Powell might have envisioned
Brazil:
Brazil should be the envy of England
if multi-culturalism failed
under globalism
and emerged multi-racialism:
Colombian **** and Brazilian ghetto
****
is trans-racial:the future is copper necked
in the guise of whites bleaching out the blacks...
and whites bleaching out the dark Raj *******
and sort of keeping the Arab Spring
woke
enough for a Medittarranean Winter
in autumnal gold colours
and the future is post-racial
but Brazil is not post-national
Brazilians love Brazil
these feminist hybrid Communist:
i love being a ****
i love being a **** and the supposed
SLANDER LORD PEDOHPILE...
i love spying on these FAT PINK RATS
and oh my red is actually ORANGE:
i have a spy in the other realm
i have the fox
the crow
and magpie
and robin
and the earthworm
to spy on serpents...


hmm... a train of ******* stars...
best to look down
there's an alter gravity in play
and me thinks:
pidgeon...
pidgin...
             i said: if ego cogito ego sum is
to be reversed:
we must as the id...
           id est cogitans ergo est non id cogitans...
jeez! that was a barricade
of proper grammar juggle...
my brain froze a bit like
the brain of the ptotagonist of Mad Men
Season 1 Episode 1... a handsome man...
a former veteran...
purple heart veteran
now working the menial job
in an advert office...
kolt! i stangled krauts younger than you!
a learning of PTSD...
so just having two lives
is the best way to reconnect with life...
the war ahoy and the thrill the numbing conquest:
reconcile with the lonely wife\
and two kids...

                   i sometimes don't to get up:
but that's only because i have to sort
out my dreams:
when i dream of Martin
full and healthy
i am connected to him not being Brain Dead...
and i know...
Edie was so heartless
and not showing me any concern for my problems
she compared my problems to
a game of baseball...
i lost it upon the second pedohpile insinuation...
then i finally lost it
when she said: but you've been only working
a full time job for only 6 months:
i was working... part time because i didn't
the money: poets are not pub landlords...
what?!
bull finally saw red...
                red to be have!            *******!
*******! *******! stabbed your 100x times
more when i was saying: *******!

i love you: x0

the imnpetus is to write something: anything
to conjure up new reading habits
and i was serious that Kafka wanted his books
to be printed in large font
but that didn't happen
each edition i read i might as well be salvaging
wood for toilet paper and Chamberlain
wiping his *** with it at the Munich Agreement
because i'm pretty sure Bukowski
got the larger print or font
for fountain: not rooted in Greek etymology
of something big, fat... a wedding crasher...
but i was wondering not so much
about language but the inner-workings
of language:
not the idiosyncratic use of language:
although so few achieve it in that space of knowing
as distinct from that space of thinking
after all: i think therefore i am is a recurrent
theme, iotom, which is like the idea but in a different
spelling... so a different res per se
iota + idiom
      + om + sparkle sparkle...
iotom
                  beause i can change a word
at my whim
today i heard a child in the great distance
and the child said Yahweh
and that is far away he's in it:
he is the one who hides the Muslim women
and i can't help for Ha-Shem the name of names
the un-named i mean
Yahweh is actually thinking about
a name for himself
he wants to be called by a personal name
YHWH isn't it...
and he contemplated Allah
for a little bit...
but then Allah ben Akhbar came along
with the Somali Ali and the Iranian Ahmed
and India was born again as Hindustan...
of the Ummah with Pakistan...
first the great wind the dispersed the choir
then an angelic voice in the world
a distance of dasein
           a there: rather than there's being...
i thought about how useful studying linguistics would
be to shy away from philosophy
and religion and i found the idiosyncracies
of punctuation and spacing in Jon Fosse
such book i never found
and James Joyce is Dead
because that was all Charlie Chaplin outdated
literature of the late 19th century
and like James Joyce is Dead
and the Cult of the Irish Holymen of Iceland
before the Norsemen came and settled
the island
there were Irish Holy Fathers Popes
on those isles... did you know that?
i will study islands
and long before i met Edie
and pen palled her
i was thinking of moving away from England
to the Faroe Islands or Iceland...
i am the dancing Shiva dancing on my knees
i beg you release me from Oedypus Kristos
Rex... i know what the Second Coming Implies:
Jesus ******* Mary
no Joseph a Single Mum raising a Son...
believe me and there's no ****** in Sight
and secretly the boy will emerge with Father State
and strangers and i wonder
i think therefore i don't know
why does thinking precepitate into being
when it doesn't among day dreams
and not so many geniuses of stone
just the flow of people like water
and i'm fine with this life being a simulation
almost that video games make it easier
in Plato's Cave having overtaken passive television
and i played roll the dice Ludo
i think that's how the game is called:
reimagining simpler and simpler
of the complex and abstract and paradox:
the only way for Christ to return would be as the Antichrist...
not as a resurrection per se
but as a Paradox
monotheism is not compatible with the polytheism of India
i abhor that theological mongrel
that is transcendence of kingship of monks
like the hierarchy with daft meanings
but that comfort of being approachable
but without reality of hierarchy
Marx and being naked or simply slave or broke...
one life one death one god
1 1111'1'1'1'1'111 1 1 1 1 111 1 1 1111111 1 1 1111 1 1 1 1 111111
rhythm...
at least conceptualised
maybe if i switch to Latin:
cogito ergo non scio...
i think therefore i don't know...
   whether i am or i'm not...
so idiosyncrtic punctuation or: rhythm to reading:
like looking at a painting and taking angles
but no selfies
like this world is becoming more and more abstract
esp after my interstellar trip around London
this morning
and it was like: before AI was invented
man collectively created the CITY
and you know like you travel the city
and... don't have to wait for the bus or the train
because you have such skill in time management
that you're like the White Rabbit in
Alice in Underland but you're cool, measured,
devilish, ecstatic... calm, foxy... collected...
just the burning fire in water...
you don't wait for the bus
the bus waits for you
which is better than a Chinese rich kid uber... uber...
tube oobah...
            i can't believe in Jesus Christ on a few
sayings the saying: turn the other cheek bothered me
until i learnt the nature of time within space:
how there are pockets of time that thought harvests
and there are pockets of space that knowledge harvests
like i know unconsciously
but i don't know consciously
because consciousness was involved in discovery
knowledge the speed of gravity
the temperature of the sun
the Enlightened source being Martin Luther
the Protestant...

oh ****: i just realised!
i'm a workoholic-alcoholic i need alcohol as fuel
and focus and like car i am gasoline
i seriously write poetry
PRO BONO
and that's at best associated
with Lawyers and what Pro Bono means
when you uncouple poetry from the form of art
and give poetry an equal footing
to, say... jurisprudence, law writing,
journalism...         history...
poetry is not a music not an expression of image:
POETRY IS: AUTHORITY!
of whatever deviation of time
in this, required: space: of the individuum atomus

Chakituen

  an Aztec deity wants to speak
/hawk/-e-/tu/-/en/

  the fear the mongrel and the silence...
this unfinished poem
is a bothersome edifice...
a THROMBOSIS is a word i'm looking for...

only music to know
well what, is the difference
articulation with signatures of proper articles:
the good
evil
                              knowledge
               ­               ignorance

   retards guarding angels: ******..
  
           the truth
           a lie

because i'm pretty sure: i didn't tell THE lie
i only told a little incy wincy lie...
i said one lie
but God?! but said all the other lies!
you will live eternal!
you will this that and the other!
i am! the whirlwind!
i am your friction!
i am! your vitality!
i am your ******* quake
and your daughter's **** unconscious of mythology
give me mouth and ear
and i am hell is purgatory and heaven too
i am a quantumn traveller
time is the relative irrelevant
while space so infinite
is play-dough
some bread
i am wild eyed: purple in red
then purple in blue

sometimes like a dog i keep chasing
my own tail
so i imitate a dog chasing its own tail
like imitation serpent
in myth
the dynamic cinema of image
in Plato's cave i countered television with gaming
and this emerged:
Cities are like Bodies
imaging traffic as
blood clotting and buses and *****
and blood and roads veins and ******'s
AUTOSTRADS BAHNS...
the arteries
and 100 years from now
Gandhi was right already now:
the Europeans used to hail Christ before going
somewhere:
then they'll start Hailing ******:
Gandhi said from Christ to ******:
and yes between Arab and Hebrew mutiny
that circumcision should be a rite of passage
not something to simply: SIMPLY inherit at birth
but something you EARN
like a cockring and an ice rink and a wedding ring
and drunk marijuana high known
intellect: pro bono: i rule the useful horses!
i am the... so unearthed in an Egyptian shepherd
and the chess are alive with zombie music
of the elevator or telephone waiting in line...
the grey zombie without love
or fear of god reality
because you can live a life without love or a ******
partner:
but only with a fear of god and a thirst for knowledge
and a mild tempered wisdom fission: fusion...

i came into this world as a diamond of coincidences
and God the Myriad
with Chernobyll April
father Ares
mother... Pisces:
aligned months
Mother February
Father April
Son May
                             March of the Witches...
                      conceived in September... allign the Hexes!
allign the Hexe!                              no need to
add English pluralism to the original Greek:
Hex (singular) Hexe (plural):
tranS-genderiSm...

                   but poem cna be like painting (a)
a painting...
if you forget it for a bit
blank out
before the canvas
with too many thoughts

i know that i think

        that's truer than cogito ergo sum...
thinking doesn't translate into being:
since so many zombies around...

scio id cogito.... wow! even i feel like trembling
like when jon fosse i think i i think think i think i think think i think
b

yes i'm thinking of retiring but not
being a taxi driver
read philosophy early
marry like Muhammad a nice older woman
hear your mother in law nagging
like Hercules mythology because
you are marrying your mother
age wise realistically weird
rainbow ******* talk of Puerto Ricans
life is all rainbows
like Edie's mom doesn't sound like Louise Low-IS:
dyslexia from Family Goy... voy voy...
i'm a ******* RECEPTICON

         the hammer made the smithy
and the algorithm and AI made the cyborg or the android?
because ape or human i ain't!

weren't the Slavic people who pushed
Judaism to the limit:
should we say he was:
and if he wasn't i'll walk through the Holocaust:
let us make Marx give us
Christianity as Utopia and not the Man:
treat Christianity as Either Man or the Utopia of Man
what do you seek in Christ?
a Christ-World?
or the Man? the Individual?!
what do you need him for?
            you want his vision?
clearly man's ontology does not allign with what
Nature prescribed...
man can't escape man only
tame himself...
           the passive aggresive harmony nature allows
we deploy false sentiments for
having just grieved a lost faculty
of world-adaptability: concerns:

      weather and clothing...
           i wonder whether that lie was so bad
you will know good from evil:
why did i have to tell you that?
because you were born unable to tell
truth from lie:
so i had to introduce that quadratic thinking
of linear patterns
i needed to allign you to the cyclone
of Jupiter's headache at having only one eye:
Jupiter wants to be blind:
he's envious of Neptune's blind dog Pluto...
i had to tell that one lie under instruction
to keep you motivated by a tongue that hears
and ears that speak and eyes
all those harvests of eyeless souls...
              i see the lion's lineage and i see my own
beard and i see:
                               an s growing into an S
and then slithering across E
and across X like the diadem of the trinity
an hour a minute a second...
too practical a solution
to be so personal
well if i can oppose said parameters...
Anti-imbued to reiterate
like old mysterious thinking of Europe
now Africa... that new home of the religion
since Christianity left Europeans
atheistic and secular and lost
it's not high time for Africa to receive that medicinal
wisdom of a ******
born of a ******
not having sedated a woman to
just what exactly are we talking about?
this is the epitome of mankind based upon
two or three ******* sayings?
double ding ding ******* dodo ding ding
second round but i don't think
islam will solve this )either_)
so ******* Russian much pepper

i know that i think: because to measure:
dementia prognosis: gnosis
going fishing my old friends: who are dead:
as a memory:
a trajectory otherwise associated
with:
meditating in the cold, needing to ***... getting a hard-on
for a dead **** star: Ava Lauren
Aria Giovanni
Ilona Osadchuck Edie Valitski:

        like that's why **** is not so bad:
if you still have your *******! xenomorph laughter...
and Peter Griffin...

rite of passage: when you get married:
unlucky for me
i have two serpents circling that part
i'd love to get rid off
knowing i'd have regular ***
with one woman...
and it would be Edie
and all the unmarried and uncircumcised men
would have to walk around with rings
and the married men
would walk around circumcised and no jewels...
and that could possibly be my one world:

circumcised men
were the married men
and wouldn't wear any rings
i hate the metals on skin
first a wooden sword
then something else
like a tongue for conversation...
but a wedded truly intellectual man
would be with a woman
by being circumcised and not
having a wedding ring on his finger
of fingers...
       the rite of passage:
don't take that away from them
when they are born:
let them the freedom to *******
the world away before they settle
and find their beloved
their suckle... i can't i wish but this is
what i prescribe...

and that's what you are: cheap Arab:
one book library strong:
same Mongol Muscle:
retreat please:
from the Laboratory of Europe...
please *******
you're contimatating it with your
Inscest and Bad Poetry Schemes
your faith doesn't bother me
nor the blind...
so go with it!
but you are contaminating the laboratory
of pristine ideas
motivational ideas
sorry... shoot them...
the hybrids of cousin ******* incepticons are
closing in!
RECEPTICONS vs. the INCEPTICONS...
cousing ******* passions?
will never look
at the next ****** ***** every bad
again! more like
a wise woman of Afghanistan!

sometimes i find or too many thoughts overhwhelm
me and i find myself the dog
chasing its own tail
or like me looking for my beak
but instead
finding
a nose
and cross-eyed diving into water
and becoming a very bad reminder of fish
and if cross eyed
there are parasitical worms symbiotic
though
not edible ones
living on our eyes
so need for carrots
and onions and vitamin A...

cared about Ukraine as much as Czechoslovakia:
Czechia it's almost like
people somewhere someplace
far far away like Delhi and Prague
great double-think just the cowards
politico i think maybe
i am i am somewhat a bit of what i also think
now anything is possible
and coinciding with anything and everything: possibly:
potential and possibly all...

these weren't....
just ordinary Mongols...
KUZI! MUI!
HI(GH)!
SENG SHEE!

             the bed is such frivolity
but then nth adventure starts
there's a daughter
and anti-christ to begiun with
Beijing be-guine...
    
             him-she: 海 so imagine
the Heb rew text trying to me superior
to... that...
fair enough with hieroglyphs... but....
imagine Hebrew competing with Kanji...
and the Japanese

    カイ
KAI
       かい

             Chomsky:
semantics
phonemics...
i wonder if Aristotle will do....
given the two turtles drifting Japan apart
the Hira and Naga
Shimo and Sanaka...
            
you... want... to test me robotics
style... please...
let's begin...

Just meant as an educational post.
In Asian cultures,  family names are first, then given names.
In western culture, this is the opposite.
English names can follow the pronunciation of the Chinese name.
A woman with the name Ping, may adopt Apple ad her name as ping guo is Apple in Chinese.

When written in calligraphy,  Kanji, or Korean,  it is always written this way.  When using pinyin (romanized) characters it can be written with a space or more formalized with an apostrophe between the surname and given.  So for those who truly would like to know.   You can call me Cal.

i asked AI for some guidance: i half smoked a joint... but i remembered to ask the question: let people be people... th(e) reply was... sinite homines esse hominses...

a ****** will not play me anything
appreciative of Chopin even if
i asked it to dang me a doodle do
or... whatever:
so... this current western narrative
of origins of all origins
thank you Africa bull... *******... ****...
is... retardo! retardo!
par excellance... sorry:
as this central European
who most forget Germany as also being
central:
and geography is the new politics:
so this swab of land most call East
but all forget is Central:
like they don't ******* forget
where Scandinavia is or where Italy
and the Welsh of the Medi-
      sea Greeks grow their ******* aubergines...
sorry sorry...
but a Chinese yob turns into a piano maestro
and imitates Chopin
while some Nigerian **** is rhapsody of wrap
my chicken nuggets into 9x
and dons a Lincoln trim with
a mimick of Muhammad's moustasche
because he forgot to wipe his face clean
after eating:
is this western and Darwinism
ontology:
this ******* of: thank you Africa...
then? then?! i'm not European...
i hold my sway over time and say:
beside the hieroglyphs:
what phonetic encoding systems emerged
from Africa? oh right... ****! none!
so... given the complications of Kanji...
my origins are firmly rooted in Asia:
maybe around... Moongoolialalala...
maybe that's an anti-Darwinian historical
disengeneous... bypass...
but i can't stomach the translation of ontology
via this fake history
that somehow... from Africa we arrived
in Europe
without centuries of whatever the ****
happened in Asia!
my roots are firmer in Asia on the steppes
with the domestication of animals
than all these slang ripple *******:
sell ******* chicken nuggets
and call it: ******* cosmo savvy: i dare you
i double don't dare you
since you're already doing it!

but Dr Warnstein:
and... Mr Half-Asked...
should have
oh those girls....
those girls
and their ****** fancies...

*******!
you and
you ******* jihad!
*******!