It's pouring rain and my backpack is full of strawberry kefir.
I think when we decided to take a break,
you took half my brain with you.

Kefir is a delightful crossbreed of Yop and Perrier. Creamy sublingual fireworks. A single tablespoon is sufficient to send a conga line of 5 billion probiotic bacteria boogying through your innards. But like most things I enjoy, I cannot successfully covet in small, measured portions. Which is why I went for the litre in the first place.

I imagine your face as I rinse my strawberry saturated belongings and imagine the microscopic bacterium hoopla happening between my fingers (you would laugh at my conga line comparison, because you are one of the world's only people who knows how much I truly despise conga lines).

Oh God, the water is just diluting the yogurt. It has become the great Sea of Kefir.

You would have the solution to this. When it comes to logic, you manage to beat me every time without ever making me feel intellectually inferior.

But I need to figure these things out for myself.

Luckily my other groceries were sealed in plastic:
-chia seeds
-goji berries
-cacao nibs
-wheatgrass

These were spared.

As you can see, since we have decided to embark on our own paths for a while, I have tried to be "HEALTHY!". The bathroom is a small library of moth-bitten self-help books (Thanks, Mom) and my bedtime is close enough to twilight to high-five the sun on its way down.
I've started to work out again with a little more addiction than conviction or even common sense.
And because you aren't here to regulate me, I've busted my knees (aaaa-gaaaain.)

And all notwithstanding, as I wandered down 13th avenue with my organic Hippie super-loot, feeling very smug and self-possessed in my birkenstocks, I passed by my favourite breakfast joint, and my kale-fertilized stomach was very persuasive: No, I insist.

Proceeded to savour three enormous pancakes that I could have stitched together to form a roomy buckwheat overcoat. Drowned them with a 3pm coffee. I thought nothing of it, but after all we've been through when it comes to food, you would have been so proud of me, babe. When I admit that I've got a broken heart (-darling, I know I broke my own) people are far too kind to me. 110 minutes and three sacks of flour later I float in a sweet gluten haze from my free (and freeing) lunch back to my apartment.

Which is when I discover the Sea of Kefir.

I think I'm trying too hard.

I think, really, the Art of Becoming One Whole Person isn't so much about us becoming the Perfect People we've always wanted to be. That's not why we strapped a hundred helium balloons to our otherwise incredible relationship and tearfully waved as it disappeared over the horizon. I think it's really about just learning how to regulate ourselves.

Here's one Truth: We will never, ever be perfect. And we will never find our perfection in each other. We have to let that go. We have to stop fighting against the invisible standards we create in each other.

But we can get over ourselves enough to be Pretty Great.
Just make peace with the Pretty Great folks we are. Have the 3 pancake- sore knee- kefir backpack afternoons, and still feel Pretty Great.

And when we do, I think our relationship will feel Pretty Great, too.

Because I'd rather be able to remind myself that I'm Pretty Great,
than rely on you to convince me I'm Perfect.

Yikes, there it is.

So that's my homework. It's full of errors, and there are countless agitated holes worn through by pink erasers, self-doubt, and heartache.

But I know, darling- that by the end of this, you'll give me a sticker-

(and by then I wont need it)

I'll put it right next to the one I've given myself.

i love winter for the sole fact
i can invent living
in alaska or honningsvåg,
and never see the sun for four
months - it helps that in england
the skies are blissfully gray
at sunrise in this ideal season;
i'm adding to the cult of the moon,
a subplot of islam you might
call what i'm doing - no cult
of the sun, copper skin and
the cliché holiday in the bahamas,
no dream of all-you-can-eat buffets
at a holiday resort - tatar steak
for me and a chance conversation
over hákarl (kefir meat) watching
a volcano errupt in the night.

p.p.s. (pedantic post-scriptum):
the diacritic a in hákarl
is a sign of elevating the k, or at
least prolonging / exfoliating it,
stressing the two syllables -
well at least in my optic theory
of interpretation; or interpreted
to ensure the first syllable acts
like a definite article (the) in hebrew,
e.g. ha shem (the name) - not that
it does act like a definite article,
i'm sure in icelandic the definite article
is not spelled like the hebrew articulation,
but it's about the distinction in
the presented syllable compound
with the diacritic mark over a - also
inverted using a different notation
akin to compounded words,
id est ha-karl.

Wednesday April 15, 2020

  the Chaos King is his Element


the Chaos King
is in his element
as he presides
over the chaos verse

the Chaos King
thinks he is supreme
has the ultimate authority
as he is the King

the Chaos King
surveys the land
and likes what he sees
loves the absolute chaos

the chaos king
is prepared
to lead the nation
in the midst of this chaos

and the Chaos king
will not stop
until the chaos stops
that is what he does

our dear leader
our great leader
our Chaos boy king
President for life
dictator wanna be

Writer digest Chaos poem prompt

best Cocktail Ever

I love  6 pm
cocktail hour
usually a glass of wine
often a cocktail
with my lovely wife
the love of my life
my favorite cocktail
is a dark and stormy
*** and ginger beer
but a gin vermouth martini
is nice as well
and ****** marry
can’t forget a ****** marry
and good old fashioned single malt whiskey

Poetry superhighway prompt to write a cocktail poem/ break a sonnet for Dew Drop In writing.com


Dream of my Life

the greatest mystery of my life
has been how I met my wife
I dreamt of meeting her
for eight long years

starting in 1979
when she appeared to me
in my dream
in a boring high school class

she was the most beautiful woman
in the world
and she was talking to me

I knew that someday
I would meet the girl
in my dream

I went to the peace corps
in Korea
to find her
as I knew by then
she was in Korea

I looked for her
but never saw her
I was about to give up
on this mad quest of mine
when I had the last dream

she said
don’t worry
we will meet soon

That night
she got off a bus
and walked into my Life
two months later
became my wife

to this day
I never forgot
the dream
that changed my life
when she became my wife

Atlantic magazine poetry prompt to write a poem about a dream



  
why I am an Unbeliever

growing up in Berkeley
I was the son of an atheist
and a lapsed Baptist fundamentalist
they did not agree at all

about whether God existed
but they taught us
to always do the right thing
whatever that meant to us

I started off at a militant
in your face atheist
and in some sense
still am

although I now recognize
that there may be gods
and that the universe
may be alive

but as far as I know
The Christian God is a fairy tale
there is no imaginary man
in the sky

looking over us
and those who claim
to talk to god
are clearly delusional madmen

I just never bought
the whole Christian ethos
god impreganting a ******
never happened

Jesus may have been a man
may have been a myth
but was not the son of God
who does not exist

and God
if he exists
does not speak
to preachers

and he did not anoint
Donald Trump
to be our new King
not in a million years

god if he exists
does not work that way
in the end of the day
god does not exist

all poetry why am I an atheist poetry contest

recharging my batteries

Every day
I need to recharge my batteries
usually with a short nap
sometimes with yoga

sometimes with a walk
in the park
enjoying nature
and the spring time

and sometimes
just looking at the love
of my life
my wife

is all I need
to recharge
my internal batteries
until my day is done

all poetry contest

Thor the god of thunder on the rampage

Thor the god of thunder
is on the rampage
he is angry
at the world

betrayed by Locke
he picks up his hammer
and transforms himself
into a woman

he enters the world
determined to ****
his many enemies

he lands in NYC
and begins his campaign
of terror

killing hundreds of people
all whom he meets
sending them to hell
screaming ****** ******

until at last
his rage is spent
and he returns home
back in his normal body

until the next time
bad craziness
takes over his soul

all poetry dark poetry contest


coffee nonet poem

must have morning coffee this day
my morning coffee drives me mad
fills me with bad craziness
makes me to howl at moon
I must have more coffee
hot coffee
coffee
hell

fan story nonet poetry contest



coffee Musset poem

coffee
morning delight
coffee

my wine
nightly delight
always so fine

with wife
drinking my wine
love life

poetry soup contest





April 16, 2020

Some parts of me craves a hard won miracle

some parts of me
craves a hard won miracle
in these dark dire times
I even start to pray

to a god
who may not exist
or answer my prayers

yes we need a miracle
a deus ex machina
to sweep down
and send the virus
back to hell

a miracle to calm
the dark storms
swirling around us

a miracle
to end this virus
madness

and restore normal life
nothing short
but a miracle will do

Poetry superhighway prompt - Some parts of me craves a hard won miracle


the greatest mystery of my life

the greatest mystery of my life
remains how I met my wife
I first dreamt of her
back in the day

every week
she came to me
speaking to me
in a weird language

then one day
eight years later
she walked off a bus
and into my life

and to this day
I have no rational explanation
as to How I dreamt
about her for eight years

I can only conclude
that we knew each other
in a prior life
and our love crossed
the barriers of time and space

and we were doomed to meet
for on that date
so many years ago
I met my fate

writing.com Daily Dew Drop Inn


my greatest comfort food is coffee


My greatest comfort food
is a hot cup of coffee
early in the morning

I pound down my coffee
and unleash my inner muse
inspired by the caffeine
I get to work

slowly drinking my cup
of heaven and hell
my morning cup of Joe

tweeters speak daily prompt
blueberry smoothie

my daily breakfast
includes blue berries
in my smoothie

blueberry, strawberry, oranges
banana, pineapple,
home made kefir
kale
spinach
wheat grass
macca root
apple cider vinegar
coconut oil
stevia
honey
cinnamon

all blended to perfection
that is my daily breakfast
fit for a champion

tweeter speak prompt

mango madness

the best mangos
I ever had
were in India

in the early spring
mango madness
spreads across India

as mangos are in season
and mangos are everywhere
on every menu

so sweet
so fragrant
so magical

mango madness
takes over
my soul

as I eat my mango
dreaming mango dreams

tweeter speak

Bulgar is not one of my things

Bulgar is not one of my things
Unless there is nothing left to eat
Like nothing at all
Get that bulgar off my plate
All i want is anything else
Raw bulgar just does not do it for me
Plans

every morning I wake up
filled with great plans
and I sit
drink my coffee

make my plans
lost in my thoughts
focused on the plan

then life happens
and my plans
go awry
thrown out the window

and in the end of the day
a man without a plan
is lost in inner space



Year of the Goat meets year of the Pig

I was born in the year of the goat
my wife
was born in the year of the pig
a perfect match
according to Buddhist fortune tellers


a man born in the year of the goat
loves luxury and loves spending money
while a woman born in the year of the pig
is a genius at making money

the man enjoys the wealth
his pig wife creates
for his enjoyment
and that is the perfect match

and so it has been for us
as I enter my 65th birth year
I find myself richer
than I ever thought I would be

richer
than the legendary Cronus
richer
than Midas himself

way more money
than  I could ever use
all because I married
a golden pig

all poetry horoscope contest


waiting for death

hopelessly
we all stand looking about
waiting for our death

all poetry fragment haiku contest




hot coffee in the morning

hot
coffee in morning
gets my blood moving
takes me to heaven then crashes to hell

fan story contest

after witty humour, which spawned slapstick... slapstick can only spawn the last of the known humours... the offensive type, the 'get me out of this straithjacket of everything's fine apathy,' the ugly humour... rude humour... i take oaths humour... i rather write a swear word to oil up than degrade myself with thesaurus usage humour.*

why is poetry such a ***** of coding
daily activity...
who needs poetry if the everyday is intact?
atheism didn’t **** god...
it merely killed the logic of myth....
atheism is far worse than mythology...
it just regurgitates facts
to make you submit to them
without the necessary philosophical awe of
finding them interesting...
poetry isn’t dead... it’s a *****...
which is worse than death where i come from...
there’s ezra with his fountain comparison:
‘i ****** in it... and put pigmenting chlorine in it -
you **** in it... streaks of blue... i think
that’s called cubism in france.’
did i say alcoholism was engineered by the nazis
for the bomb sarcasm?
cheap humour you say... ah well slapstick was invented
after sarcasam...
i heard the new best anti-ageing cream was butter rather than l’oreal -
there are too many stages in the differences of women,
i quite like the summer spring autumn winter thing going...
it’s like this thing that’s happening right now...
christian nations censor words... like ****... cultish **** of the brothel...
and islamic nations invoke words... like kefir (sour milk,
not quite youghurt), dawah... adhan salat abraham...
one party censors words for excess *****...
saying: ‘we don’t like swear words in accomplished spelling,
we like dyslexia and **** teen **** graphic...’
sounds about right...
the other party says: ‘we hate censoring ***** words,
that’s doubly censoring,
censor ***** words get more dirt out of it...
we invoke the power of arabic to teach koran latin for
the knobs!’
problem sorted... we’re all power brokers of spelling /
punctuation / arithmetic -
that’s what i don’t get,
the ratio of the two languages...
all you have in the digits A to Z is spelling and punctuation...
but what you have in the digits ZERO to NINE
is so much more...
is grammar a castle that’s keeping certain functions out?
in mathematics you have +, x, obelisk, -, square root, etc.
but in linguistics you have this permament reminder:
SPELL RIGHT FROM WRONG AND RITE FROM THONG.
well... ****** me timbers...
i think i just spotted a lumberjack chequers tweed jacket.

The First World War destroyed anything beautiful that existed within the human spirit
You cannot simply walk away from industrial mass slaughter unaltered
You cannot hide it behind decades later mass slaughters of equal importance
You cannot hide behind getting excited for next mass slaughter
WW1 may have been the force that killed anyone’s feelings of honor or bravery in war
And that’s almost as great a tragedy as all the bloodlines severed
War and violence and conflict will always be with us
It is deep within all animal DNA and no matter how many daisies are put into the barrels of rifles you will never escape it
There is a great tragedy to violence but at times there is a beauty and there is a necessity
When the Soviet forces finally breached the walls of the Führerbunker
Don’t you think they were smiling?
Reality is never black and white
It is shades of tragedy, shame, beauty, and glory

It may be seen as “Eurocentric” of me, among other things, to carry WW1 with this weight
It was not a purely European conflict of course, but the main theater was
Besides, I am descended from Europeans, and some nights when all is silent I wonder if I can hear my ancestors weeping
Or are they screaming?
We as a species have allowed our greatest inheritance to be squandered
Pure wild nature
We have sold it for same Starbucks coffee shop in every college town, Kroger, and corner of New York City
We sold the forests for New York City
Are some sins unforgivable?
In the place of the old growths we build buildings of subjective beauty
Subjective beauty always bows to objective beauty
Yes, there is objective beauty
Buildings that are built in the Brutalist style are subjectively beautiful
Forests, undeveloped fields of flowers, the rushing flow of a river
THESE ARE THINGS OF OBJECTIVE BEAUTY
To argue otherwise makes you a liar or a coward

Unironic nihilists have none of my respect
They simply do not deserve it
If you want to be taken seriously find something greater than yourself
Something outside yourself
Something that came before you, exists above you, and will be there long after you are not
That’s why I chose God and Nature
Some see these as interchangeable
I do not but I’m not here to split hairs
The problem with modern society is we have become ironic nihilists, which is almost as bad
Everything becomes chalked up to subjectivity
We crack jokes about how it’s all meaningless and eventually down the line we believe it
This is a pathetic cope
The meaning of our lives, like the objectively beauty of nature, has been bought or stolen
You were not born to consume product
You were not born to work and make things of cheap plastic
You were not born to enjoy next superhero movie, twice a year, every year, until you die
To our ancestors our lives now must seem like decades long suicide pacts
I want out of this state of unliving
We were born to be physically strong
We were born to create things of beauty
We were born to meet hardships, embrace conflict, overcome them, conquer them become something superior to what you once were
YOU WERE BORN TO BE ALIVE
CREATE THE MEANING IN YOUR LIFE IF YOU HAVE TO
Just please
Don’t be a nihilist

I try to take my multivitamin and multi mineral vitamin every single morning
Maybe a fish oil pill or two throughout the day
I have become consumed with the idea of getting more sun on my skin
I have been consumed with the idea of improving my gut bacteria
I want to talk about these things without sounding like Patrick Bateman
To improve your inner flora it is recommended you replace processed and fried foods with sauerkraut, kimchi, yogurt, kefir, or something along those lines
I know sunshine and sauerkraut aren’t going to fix your depression or rid you of your years of trauma
But there’s no shame in trying
On Friday I bought a full 16oz jar of kimchi and proceeded to eat the entire thing in less than 24 hours
I will never apologize
I will never feel shame

I scream all of these things into a bathroom mirror when I am alone
I wrote this poem for myself
I wrote it for all of you
I want out of this soul crushing alienating techno industrial hellscape
I want the nightmare to end but I’m in too deep
If I melt down my cell phone, crash my car into an empty Wendy’s, and make it my moral and ethical duty to take down the power grid, I may get expelled from grad school
I might get arrested
I might just be forgotten
So for sake of legality I cannot endorse looking up how a cheap bandsaw can cut down a cell tower
I do no endorse bringing the technological nightmare to its knees for the good of all living things
I do not endorse arson, even when no one gets hurt
It’s a mean world out there
I only endorse breaking free
Any way you can

I. Yesterday's scraps: many more happy beginnings

i didn't travel to the brothel for revenge:
tonight, of all nights...
no... i travelled to the brothel for a lesson...
a lesson in creating a jealous woman...
a miniature Frankenstein... monster...
after all: what is a male monster?
one denied love...
and what is a female monster?
one denied feeling jealous!
a man might long for love...
but a woman? she longs for jealousy!

i'm still learning...
i was promised an entire night with Khadra?
Khedra? Khadija last night...
if she works a 0-hour contract:
she can choose! she chose otherwise...
obviously i was going to pamper myself:
extra-special tonight:
who has the reins?! me, or you?

and? i was going to choose her "competition"
to boot! because there's one way of making
promises: keeping them...
and there's another... being a whining demand
of self-sabotage...

no! i didn't go to the brothel to enact revenge!
of course i wasn't going to sleep with her:
she promised me that she would give herself
up for the night!
she didn't! ergo? i'm going to sleep with
her competition, her "competition"...

she actually can't have anyone competing with
her... since all the others are "Irish"
i.e. double-sure... pills and  ******...
but i have to admit...
it was the first time that i've been with a girl
who wanted the lights turned down: low...
low... low... almost ******* in the dark...
she asked me for permission
to snort a line of *******: she asked me...
would i want some? no... sorry...

she brought a glass of ***** with her
and a nervous laugh...
a cigarette too... and the most precious
peaches' worth of *******...
and an *** the worth and size
of a watermelon...

i didn't go to the brothel to ******...
climaxing is sometimes pointless:
esp. when you're trying to send a nagging message
of biting someone else's neck:
negging...

i knew i was going to fail the test
of both hard-on and *******...
i drank too much cider...
too much weak cider...
my **** started yawning:
i had to return to the public toilet:
****-break from American Pie:
i did have to lay a membrane of toilet
paper around the rim of the toilet seat...
before sitting down...

i squeezed out a decent loaf befitting an
Anne the Anorexic...
just after stopping by some Pakistani stoners...
asking them for a drag of their doofie...

i need to ****.....

II. The Proper Verse

i adore nights such as this one about to unfold,
i have taken only a few sips of my whiskey and i already
know what i'm going to write:
usually it's the opposite, i have to drink enough
for a cognitive blitzkrieg in the vein of how Nietzsche
described it: that a thought or an idea
comes somewhere from "elsewhere" from outside
is conjured out of thin air: a spontaneous combustion...
it implodes then explodes into writing
whereby even listening to music is not necessary...
although: i'm sort of nostalgic-happy when it comes
to my choice in younger years...
i.e. either collect the oeuvre of Led Zeppelin or
Black Sabbath... obviously i chose the former
and regretted it when i listened to Vol. 4 and heard
Solitude for the first time and only regretted it
because it was so cool to play that song on guitar
in my ex-girlfriend's parents' house when it was only
me and her younger sister...
yep... my secret crush: love at first sight...
when it was all wrong: i was 17 and she was 14...
when it was all wrong... but not as wrong if i were
to say: i was 36 and she was 14...
     i get the whole ****** element but then again
i don't: i mean... i inherited a large stamp collection
from my late grandfather... so that would make me
a philatelist rather than a lepidopterist...
ergo... it's a teenage thing, there aren't as many
restrictions of taboo when you're that young...
    and i don't think there's anything remotely allied
to an "evil thought": there's just thought...
but anyway i was playing Solitude on her father's guitar
and... believe... that song... on the guitar alone...
in a large house that's usually mental (ex-girlfriend,
mom, dad, two brothers and Priya and some guests round)
this song on guitar where there's only you
and your former secret crush... it's haunting...
   she thought i was playing some blues...
i should have corrected her by playing some blues...
but i didn't... the kitchen was in a mess from the previous
night so i told her i'd help her out:
i cleaned the dishes while she dried them...
     after that i left... keeping my secret love a persisted
secrecy... so much so... that after several years
and several ****** women later... it vanished...
as did my idiotic youth...
                   but what the hell am i saying?!
i didn't sit down to write about that, then again:
digression is a very cool instrument of narration...
i learned it from my English teacher: Syr Tomas BOONCE!

last night... i ate too much during the day...
i rarely do... but recently i've had this unstoppable urge
for dairy foodstuffs... cheese... kefir...
yoghurt... milk.... cheese... kefir...
backwards and forwards... i know i'm actually craving water
(well, "me", i.e. my body)
but instead i want dairy foodstuffs...
mind you: all dairy products have more protein
in them than actual meat... i could never be a vegetarian...
proteins from beans is not the same...
another mind you: i don't know why
In the Evening didn't make to Led Zeppelin's greatest
hits album (well, at least the one i had
back in the day) but D'yer Mak'er did...
i owned the album the song's on...
but it only came to my attention after watching
Sharp Objects starring Amy Adams...
that show was a BELTER...

so i traded in my "emergency" €90 for...
ah ****... the Indian on Villiers St would have
given me £72... but i wanted to double check...
went to the currency exchange in Romford's Liberty
Shopping Mall... **** it... i'm not going back
to Charing Cross so i can get the 72 quid...
i settled for being 8 quid short...

and as i was sitting there in the garden after dinner
with a bottle of cider in my hand...
should i go today? should i?
only yesterday Khedra dismissed her wild plan of
inviting me to her house for a night of Trojan
fun of me pretending to be the 300 and "gang ******"
her solo... well... hence the "...":
     because it would be ******* her brains out for
the whole night, as it once happened with Ilona
in St. Petersburg all those years ago...
     i miss that night... i remember asking her...
so... how many contractions of O-spasms have you
been through? 7? each for every of my heads...
a nice rounded number: doesn't mean that an even number
would be any better than the 7ΓL
(eh! who the hell said that our modern numbers
came from either India and are morphed Arabic numerals)...
**** me... the Romans used letters as numbers
IX + XI = **... we already had letters in the form
of our letters... whether Greek or Roman...
Bb = 86... P = 9 I = 1 S = 5, 2 = Z...
sure thing: with "hindsight"... well whatever history
dictates: i'm not going to bother regurgitating...
with fake news and propaganda: there must be...
NEW TRUTHS... self-made truths to bring some sanity
to the individual not swayed by any external *******...

i knew it was going to be a bad idea...
but i went anyway...
i knew i would come across (i need the German in
naming this noun compound, i.e. state of being)
nebeldenken: fog thinking... nebligdenken:
foggy thinking...
and oddly enough... or rather: hardly oddly... i did...
foggy thinking is what some "experts" would enter
the scene and prescribe a man some chemical solutions
concerning a man's phallus not working...
well... rising... and only lasting for a few minutes...
i don't call it an erectile dysfunction...
it's more complicated than that...
******* oversimplified ***... oversimplified and
made it crude and rude...
i sometimes watch some vintage Italian movies
that would have been broadcast in erotica cinemas...
my god... back then people used to be so classy when
it came to ***... and gentler... none of this modern
trash... yeah... modern ******* is trash...
it feels infiltrated by homosexual acceptance...
         too much **** and not enough sensual *******...
on both sides of the *** "debate"...
i'm so happy that no one has asked me to penetrate
them anally... either man or woman...
because, honestly? if i think about the joys of having
a fire-******* from sitting on the toilet oozing out
durchfall... thoughts of waterfalls... everything coming
out: but certainly nothing going in...
(and the German spelling is easier...
that H-surd is awfully off-putting in the English spelling)

****: that Black Sabbath song Solitude wasn't on
Vol 4 but on Master of Reality... d'uh!

i should have waited for some other day...
i get paid on the 1st of each month and thanks to ol' Lizzie
dying... i'm looking at a "spontaneous" extra
£500 to boot... thank you Lizzie...
i know there was the whole black armband affair
and what not... but this time round i was thinking
about the money: although i love crowd-control,
esp. if i'm a supervisor and i have at least 4 licensed
security guards under my control and 5 unlicensed
stewards and a TfL worker from the tube station
and some police officers to manage the crowd...
i have to admit: Wednesday 14th was a ****-show
on Villiers St... people were so ******* annoying
that Charing Cross St. put in place what they use
during New Year's Eve... not straight down Villiers St.
but up to Adam St and full circle:
half the crowd heading to the Embankment St.
half to Charing Cross... thankfully i only had one
guy jump the barriers... a complete ****-show:
the wrong B plan... thankfully... come the actually
event of the state funeral...
       19th of September went: think of a warm slice
of toast and some butter... think of silk...
the two teams of my fellow supervisors in that one-way
traffic system only had one burst of people...
about 40 of them... they did **** all throughout the whole
day... i managed all the traffic... it was splendid...
basically: 40+ people were not needed...
i supervised the whole affair of people getting home
safely with... about 10 people: that's me included...
and a few barriers...

oh to hell with being felt loved by a woman!
there's no greater curse on a man than a woman's love...
puppy love... yuck...
a man needs to feel useful! used!
useful! a man needs to feed off and feed responsibility:
authority... man thrives on competence...
not complacence...
a woman's love is no more for me that me
adoring the first bloom of Magnolia come the earliest
telltale signs of Spring...
a woman's love is sickly-sweet... it wears a Thespian's
mask and with that comes the whole entourage of
disappoints and hell's furies...
i would swap a woman's love for a cat's love
every single time...
just like the story of Esau and Jacob...
a bowl of porridge chosen by Esau instead of a birthright...
then again: them two being twins...
is a woman's love for a man a bowl of lentils
or is it a birthright? from what i've heard and seen:
men are not given a birthright to be loved by a woman...
a woman is very much Esau's choice:
i'll take the broth... have my tummy full...
instead of striving for the role of patriarch...
i don't believe in the love of women:
i do believe in a love for women...
like i believe there isn't a vegetarian diet and the like...
there is only the seasonal diet...
fruits during summer... vegetables in the wintry months...
like the elders used to eat...
but love from a woman is a curse, not a blessing...
it's a jealous irrational love... it's Pandora's quest for:
suppose woman were to be endowed with a Faustian
thirst for knowledge... Pandora is the antithesis of Faust...
a Faustian curiosity is not akin to Pandora's curiosity...

i knew it was going to be a bad idea to go the brothel...
everything was wrong (but believe me....
that evened out sooner rather than later)...
usually i need to be a complete donkey of exhaustion
having finished a 12 hour shift before i can stomach
more physical strain of pleasing a woman...
i know my body better than i know my self...
i do know my reflexive: myself...
but the reflective: my self is still an ongoing project...
it all depends on how my thinking mingles
with that fickle creature of memory...
let's face it: who chooses what you can and cannot
remember? i don't mean that erosive substance
we are all subjected to via pedagogy, i.e. schooling:
whether it be 2 + 2 = 4 or a, b, c, d, e, f, g...
or the Battle of Hastings, the year 1066...

what man in his right mind would be appeased by
monogamy, that sacred egalitarian model conjured
up by man for fellow man,
so that all might have their fill, where is it now?!
there are no traces of it... the same men than conjured
up this model have passed away and gave
any if not all authority to the whims of women!
now? women are toying with the affairs of what
was once a noble admiration for the spectacular
consistency of swans...
so we've been told: don't admire the swans...
don't look up at swans: look down on monkey!
for me there are only two basic maxims that can
be extracted from Darwinism:

a. nature abhors a vacuum...
b. everything is useful / used...

nature doesn't provide either excess or a less...
well... it does: those 7 lean years
and those 7 years of excess... but nature is no mother...
it's not feminine: nature is asexual in that
it's an equilibrium... (7/7? Joseph's interpretation
of the Pharaoh's dream)...

i know my body: i will never know my self
in so far as i also know myself...

mein gott! it's only half past ten and i'll be finished
by around 12am... i'll have at least half an hour
of enjoying drinking and listening to music
and i'll switch off my workaholic-alcoholic
modus operandi and just drink and smoke and think
about having ***...

i knew it was a bad idea... i started drinking too early:
i was rested...
the bladder was going to be a massive obstacle...
a full bladder and an ******* are always in conflict...
i should know: ******* with my still intact
******* is a bit like a woman *******
using a shower head to trickle-up-a-tease of water
into her ******* regions... i still don't understand
why non-Jews are circumcised in North America:
it's barbarism... MGM...
male genital mutilation: a sword has a sheath...
that sheath is used for *******...
you take the sword out of its sheath... i.e. you pull
the ******* back... hey presto!
you're circumcised: no need for a kippah...
or a monk's tonsure... or for that matter...
a promise from a woman with her ******* NIQAB...
that should be white in colour... at least!
and be made from linen! breathable material...
"breathable": material that might allow air through...

i don't care if they keep wearing those
NINJA-PARACHUTES (better than Boris calling
them postbox attire)... right now girls in Iran
as shaving their heads and growing moustaches...
something is clearly up in the world of Islam...
like i mentioned already... i need a second schism in Islam...
i need it to happen in the Turkish "quarter"...
how else to fight all the prior years of terrorism?
attack Islam with ideas of reform...
that's the only attack... oh two-*****-shaken
while dropped into a ******* Mojito...
sure... a **** that gives off whiffs of mint-scentedness
is fair enough by me... but you're not going
to deter ZEE MUZLIMS by going after the Hydra
of chopping one head and waiting for another to sprout!
you go to the source!
you try to improve on: "PBUM" Muhammad's first try...
revision: not revolution... Islam can be revised...
but not with the Saudis and the ******* Pakistanis...
you aim for the fringes... the cosmopolitan Islam
with a richer past than the one dictated by
the conquests of the Arabs...
Turks are a fine example... the Persians another...
****'ite Islam allows for more... ah crap...
too many vowels... i always have a problem spelling this word:
just like the Anglo-Sphere speaks of ****** words
having too many consonants the same is true for
this word: too many vowels... i'm not even going
to try... i'll "cheat", use a search engine...
man-u-vre-ah-bi-lity...
                        maneuve­rability! ah... that's the one!

on a side note...
    it's true what "they" say...
bragging rights... and consistency...
some people amass a great following...
a great following breeds many comments...
i'm pretty sure that's an indicator of low quality content...
why is it low quality content?
it amasses many comments...
me? i don't have a fervent crowd... neither did
Pythagoras or Hey-Zeus... what could 13 men do
in order for a sight like that of St. Paul's Cathedral
take? competence? fervor? determination?
certainly not mediocracy...
                i still don't understand the Pythagorean
fetish for beans... high fibre high protein...
i mean... can you imagine to sit through one of his
TRIANGLE LECTURES having to stay silent,
but unable: filled with the dread of irritable bowel movements
(due to the fibre) trying to keep in a **** / farts?!
i like my audience, they must like me...
since... they hardly ever bother me...
and as long as i spew regular material...
i might as well leave a disclaimer:
hey bro! her sis! buy a book! try getting to the author
directly! you think that writing a comment
on a copy of a book you just bought
will help?
   not since the advent of the printing press has
there been a chance for the atomised man to bypass
certain restrictions... back then it was the Churches
and the solo-book project for the illiterate man...
now? editors of printing houses have: **** all on me...
i'm bypassing them... i'm not looking at the sales:
i'm looking for hungry minds... curious / sceptical
minds... why would i think, ****: dare me "think" about
this prospect of waiting for some acceptance of an editor
of low or no TASTE?! ha ha... ah ha ha!

i love nights like this... you get caught up in many surprises:
on the one hand by your own mind,
but at times by nature itself: it has "suddenly"
started trickling the most gentle rain...
if there could be a rain song: a most soothing song
of praise for the night... rain always makes more sense
during the night than during the day...
just as the horror movie genre:
the horror movie genre abused the night...
a proper horror movie?
oh... it happens during the daytime...
   Carnage Park (2016): please don't disturb the night
with all of night's allure... people are sleeping,
foxes are roaming: shh!
sha shtil, makh nit keyn gerider
der rebe geyt shoyn tantsn vider...

**** me: so much already written and i'm yet to make
my most truthful testimony!
release me! make me make it! i'll give you all
the oaths and still not utter your name!
lodge me between the combat between
King David and King Solomon...
i would gladly pay to see that combat of cognitive
ability!
each and every man will sing a psalm...
but live up to the wise expectations of what a king
observes?! and make them categorical imperatives
like a shopping list for turnips and carrots?
hardly any...
thank god i'm not a lyricist...
i prefer words to be dealt with in the medium
of the digestive process of thought:
than a life-experience enacting:
let's face it... most: if not some... of these supposed
"wisdoms" are false by the nature of the person
uttering them...
a king's choosiest appetites
are not on a pauper's menu...
back in Victorian times oysters used to be the food
of / for the poor... look how oysters have
been elevated...
but oysters are not my Aphrodisiac... nor is chocolate...
physical exertion is... as is tiredness...
as is cider... as is tobacco... as is a little glug glug
of whiskey...

i think long gone are the days of keeping aa woman's
integrity in place for curbing a man's desires
and unfiltered "having"...

i think i'm reaching some variation of a crescendo...
i must be... if i switched "moods" with my song of choice...

i didn't go to the brothel to punish Khedra...
she promised me a one night SPECTACULAR...
i didn't get it...
i was simply lashing out against her to
disappointing me...
i was like: weren't you supposed to spend
this night with me?
her "best" excuse was: the brothel was missing
women....
right... fair enough...
E-NUFF... don't ask me how English language:
that globalist witch of a tongue works:
of all the Empires in the world...
only two imploded: the English Imperium
and the Soviet... the latter... less gradually
than the formerly...
you do know that there were plenty of peoples
living in between the Germans and the Russians
on the "event horizon" of the geographic "debate"...
i was forever CYNICAL about
a story akin to the "****** birth":
let's just pretend fostering a ******* was
much less an adventurous route for a woman to
keep...
ugh! you peoples keep too many vowel en-routes!
too many vowels!
no wonder your people are still scribbling
graffiti on brick walls:
you are half-literate!

      insult me: expect an insult back!
what's that "*******" in Shakesperean?
you bite your thumb at me, sir?
what does it look like?
if you have a rabbit's worth of front teeth on the ready...
you lodge them between the fingernail
of the thumb and the thumb itself...
then you pretend you bite down...
while flicking your thumb forward...
until you hear a "click"...
yes... i am biting my "thumb down" on you sir....
the mediocracy of lost expectations...

oh, but the event? i knew i shouldn't have...
i was drinking too much before it even started...
12 hour shift... one bottle of cider... a walkabout...
a glug or two of either whiskey or brandy...
i'm dehydrated enough to have my ****
lubricated by the glorious spat-spit-on of a woman's
mouth...
i was going to be deflated balloon of a man
tonight... i'd get a ****-blocker...
given my adventures with Khedra if i didn't
chose her...

prior to i was wandering trying to empty my vowels...
sorry... my bowels...
it's always that affair with the little *****...
ugh... i'm nervous... i know she's nervous...
cider... moon.... cigarettes...
the echo of footsteps...
but i drank too much...
i was out of place to perform....
i stumbled across two Pakistanis smoking marijuana...
walked past them... walked back...
i implored them: who's your seller?
they wouldn't disclose... can i try some?
more than willing: it's good to make "friends" in the night...
i took one ****... i told them: don't worry...
i'm not some undercover copper...
i did hope they might think i'm some MAFIA
quality-tester...
that my role was aligned to the MAFIA:
walking around testing the stuff being sold...
like i told them... 10 years ago...
these Vietnamese punks were selling the herb
lined with fibreglass!

i told them: make sure you get your "herb" from an Afghan...
i took one poke at the joint to see if it was
alright... they offered to give me the whole "thing"
up... i was like... n'ah mate...
i just want to **** on the quality:
nothing has changed since my marijuana-psychosis
over 10 years ago... it was still the same concentrated
potency... it made me caffeine high for a while
from an alcohol stupor... but nothing
per usual transcendental magnimonity...
basically ****: basically trying to sniff wet toilet paper
crap of "green"...
regurgitating snot...
mind you... they were playing pirates...
with a green light that might blind airline pilots....
as you do... smoking the herb and not thinking much...

but i wasn't an undercover police officer testing them...
i was a quality surveyor of what's being sold...
high minds think high "things"...

oh, but once in the brothel? i knew i was walking with
a limp ****! i knew that once i showered her
gifts of lingerie i'd ha ve a ****-blocker in place!
hey presto! a ****-blocker!

imagine sitting opposite three women.....
funny "thing"... being:
YOU ****** ALL THREE OF THEM...
now... CHOOOSE A "FAVOURITE"...
pardon the Judgement if Paris!
me in a brothel:
of all the women...
among the ****** it is the hardest to chose from!

i didn't terribly punish her...
not by whip or a scalding tongue...
i love her...
chocolate.... i hate chocolate....
by this brazen tinge of brown...

choke on TATE- CHICKEN
Britain my LAST ***...
with the Lilies dies my bride...
             aren't we equal to serve the crown
she was such a beautiful *** to ****,,,
lest we don't remember...
she was a granny "second to last"...
first... first comes the state...
somehow the latter affairs of  familial ties.

- imagine... sitting across a room with three women
you already ******...
choose! huh?!
choose! you have but one favorite....
and two "left-behinds"....

leave a woman sweating all over her body...
sweating...
pass on a *******...
three women: all of whom you ******...
choose...
sweat all over her body:
her pretending to ride
you on the corner of the bed... OTT...

but there's also something equally satisfying...
it's only shared between men...
working with Emmie at the Ice Rink...
i'd say we're on par... looks wise, dimension wise...
she must be a stunning 5ft11
me being a 6ft2 220pounder
and she too is a... HEALTHY specimen...
she's not obese or anything... she just reminds me
of Alison Taylor... she's a big girl for a big... boy...
i have to admit... i couldn't stop eyeing her up...
and i'm guessing these two guys i know: knew: know...
whatever... started chatting with me...
but kept on looking at Emmie as if we weren't
simply working together: but we were dating...
there was no jealousy in their eyes
there was more... a natural state of affairs...
they gave off vibes akin to: wow! nature has balanced
itself out! this guy has found someone compatible
with him!...

**** me... she's already updated her profile picture
on WhatsApp like 3 times already...
fickle creature that's memory: snd finicker creature
that's woman to boot!

she's a gorgeous Dagenham exemplification of
what an English girl ought to be...

then again: Marie... sure limp **** and all...
but i only had a limp biscuit of a hard-on after i refused
Khedra a bedding... well: i thought i was punishing
her for refusing my Spartan night of frolicking...
instead... i switched off when she brought in
a random punter into the room next to us...
in the way she started "moaning" i knew she wasn't
getting her usual pleasures...
that's when i switched off, shut down...
Marie had already dimmed the lights so **** low
she even called it a phantom illumination...
that's the first time i rekindled the time i slept
with that Spanish wild-one Tamara...
all that cocoon *** steaming under the bedsheets
afraid of beauty and nakedness:
her living arrangements didn't help either...
i was turned off by her living with three homosexuals...

there are only two ways a woman can get
bad dating advice:
1. from other women...
2. from homosexuals...
mind you, i have nothing against buggery...
i've kissed several men in my passing this mortal
wound of flesh... tonguing etc.
but...

we weren't actually engaged in much backwards
and forwards piston action's worth of
lubrication... i was sitting on the edge of the bed
and i just tucked her in into my arm's girth...

i just chose the right sort of music...
OTT... Jack's Cheese and Bread Snack...
bingo! i was caressing her thoroughly... inner thighs...
outer thigs... tickling behind the ears...
kissing the back of her neck... biting her shoulders...
massaging her *******... esp. around the *******...
poking and pinching her *******...
waiting for them to become *****... plagiarising
her hands... horribly since they were three-quarters
of my size... detailing the curvatures of both
knees and elbows...
      i knew she was nervous... she was like a tiny little
mouse unable to contract pleasure vocally...
with onomatopoeias...
a nervous giggle... here and there...
plus she had to sniff a line of ******* and down
a shot of ***** to get over her inhibitions....
the dimmed lights... which: to be honest...
exfoliated her nakedness into a lily's tease of attempted
suicide...
oh **** me... my father bought some lilies for
my mother the other day...
to the agony of her discomfort...
that's when i decided: they die... which they will...
and seeing them as they are...
they'll stage me a Philip contra Elizabeth timeline...
if one goes... the other will soon follow...

how will i dictate my fate against fate itself?
well... i won't to a Curt Kobain shotgun stunt...
i'll but loads and loads of lilies...
i'll shut the windows and the doors...
insulate myself in a limited amount of oxygen...
place the lilies near me...
loads and loads of lilies...
i'll smoke some marijuana... i'll drink plenty
of whiskey... and then... i'll... i'll fall asleep...
and never wake up! hey presto! problem solved!
mortality best cared for!

i still can't forget how she sweat all over...
she even asked me: am i hot or is it hot in here?
i replied: no... it's only you...
even with a limp ******* **** i could make a woman
sweat from all her pores...
that's almost better than giving a woman
an ******... that's me and that itchy-numbing
on my fingertips whenever i shared my property
with neighbours letting them play my Nintendo...
itchy-numbing of the fingertips... itchy-*******-numbing!

come to think of it... if i'm serious about becoming
a teacher... this was by far the best way to start:
crowd-control, public security...
if i can deal with a bunch of drunk RETARDS
then i could harness the same sense of authority
over children... better still: i have an inquisitive mind...
i'd just be doubly inquisitive about them
being either not inquisitive or stale...

maybe that'a why i enjoy PAREIDOLIA so much...
esp. come the night and the moon
and the clouds... i revel in this "****"...
perhaps that's why i abhor crossword puzzles
and that's the reason why i write with wry intent
on morphing nouns into misnomers...
i'll deliberately call a table a chair and a chair a table...
for gimmicks' sake to craft an antithesis
of Descartes sitting at his desk
pretending not to do some telepathy...

Herr ******* Cogito... Zbigniew Herbert to boot!
i drink because i'm enough of sound mind
and have tasted insanity to know:
when the great wrath of the godly wind comes:
you just **** back...
****: that's a cunning word in my mother tongue:
it's not burping via your ****...
it actually means: LUCK... you have ****...
you have luck...

Jack's Cheese and Bread Snack...
and how she insinuated ***... sweating... sweating
through all her pores...
i'm ******* losing my mind all over again:
but at least this time round it's not to something
abstract: a priori... this is all a posteriori
fervour...
i've been here before...
   i'm sure of it...
the mammal that came from an amphibian form
to this gesticulating skeleton...
i admired forg: ha ha... frog tadpoles...
their wriggling ways gave me insight into
how my handwriting would turn out...

like my grandfather said: chicken-scratching...
i'd tatoo his words onto my body if i had
the audacity to give sacrilege of body
as a gift to the gods...

how she sweated... my god... i've seen plenty
of *******... but none of the flicks compared
to that, THAT experience...
******* is ****... *** is too personal to be
exploited in such a way as to turn man
into thinking he's a ******* Duracell Bunny...
switch on... switch off...
you need to be in a "mood" to get a hard-on...
and just as quickly you can turn-off...

i know why i turned off...
but i also turned on a second gear...
i turned off because i declined Khedra...
and i turned off because i heard Khedra in the next
room not being pleasured in the way i would
have pleasured her...
and this... and that... and the "other"...
plus she's a petite creature and i wanted
to feel someone compatible to: my, SIZE...
i wanted a big girl with big floral patterns of *******
that i could massage...
i gave away my hands for her sweating
all over her body doing the bare minimum
of listening to the song of my choosing...
as we shared a cigarette...
as i kneeled before her...
because... let's face it...
i'll **** on the cross before i kneel before it...
it's the antithesis of the inborn ontology of man...
the first anti-Christian lesson i taught myself?
the cheek "thing"... reek!
someone slaps you? you slap them back!

ROSJA SIĘ MOBILIZUJE: JAM ZA!
and so they should be...
this infernal cognitive-parasite "creature" of western
conjuring is not ******* welcome in either Russia
or the Orient... it's not a serpent...
it's a ******* tapeworm!

me? i'll be ******* Eastern Women till the sun
never ******* comes... Romanian,
Bulgarian, Turkish...
sure... i'll make it a personal fetish of mine
to think of any fuckable English girls...
once they're done playing victim and succumbing
to the "egalitarian anti-racism" while
getting soaked in gasoline by Pakistani ****-gangs...
maybe then...
until then... no, thank, you!

well... brutal times require brutal measures...
and a kind, heart...
a heart the size of a pebble... and just as tough...
what?! just because the VESTERN VOLD
had a hard-on while failing in both Irq... I-RAQ...
Afgantisan... lobbied the indefinite migration
via the collapse of Libya... that... Russia... RUSSIA!
would ******* bow down to these *******
loony tunes?!

Dear Uncle (Ras)Putin... blah blah...
France's testing of their nukes in the Polynesia...
GOD-ZILLA!
   GOD... ZILLA!
                    i don't care whether or not i'm on
the right side of history: sure as **** i'm on the right
side of *******... and i like to ****:
which is why i'm not a train-spotter or a stamp-collector...
or someone who dabbles in LEGO and putting
together a replica of Optimus Prime...
just give me **** and i'll be happy-camper like
it might be a bowel of oysters...
oysters... mmm hmmm... oysters & ****...
i love oysters... i love ****...
i love naked sweating bodies...

i love the smell of hair... esp. unwashed hair...
it's so solipsistic... like farting in a crowded space...
the taste of keratin borrowed from biting nails...

you that feeling when you smell: weakness?!
i'm guessing the Islamists have had enough scent of it...
they figured out: what's the point?!
they're already implosive... they'll destroy themselves...
there's absolutely no need to attack them...
Muhammad asked Ahmed:
want to throw this tennis ball against a brick wall?
i throw, you catch... you throw... i catch...
how's that? Ahmed replied to Muhammad...
sounds... dandy... let's play.

because, that's, what, it, *******, is...
all that's "western" is RIPE for the taking...
i won't even blink when i see it desecrated...
i'll be the Poet of the Coliseum...
watching it all unfold...
i mean: i was scolded for not being confident in my
youth... now that i've aged:
oh... lucky me... guess who's also lacking
in confidence... all of the women...
will i go out of my way to try and...
no no... i don't have a car... i don't have a fixed hour
paid work contract... i don't have a house...
no no no, no no no, no... exactly!
so if i don't have x, y & z... why bother?

to the promised land of the brothel!
and even there, there are some without the slightest dignity
of being pleasured: of having confidence...
but... i've already paid: so i can work with that...
i'll gladly unravel those timid beauties into
******* floral killers of a Lily!

oh well... c'est la vie... comme ci comme ça...
some people learn to live with
a ******* hernia... or athritis...
i can live with this... i know why i'm single...
most women could not handle me...
actually: i don't think even my mother believes
she can handle me... i know why i'm single...
i'm the selfless ****-wit that wants
too many women... and occasionally... on a sly...
a man... i can live with that...
sure... from time to time i reopen an old wound
from my teenage days or romanticism and idealism...
oh! wouldn't it be great! to have a sole woman for one's
"solipsism" to destroy?! yeah...
that would be grand!                          in theory.

dearest mistress of memory: leave me be!
stop youe hanging around: let me get on with my life!
just you and only you... one faceless woman
after another...
i have plenty! i have about at least 10 on the go...
i'm deciding which one is warmer than
the others... and which is more jelous than the other...
i'll talk to one... i'll tease another...
i'll **** the third proper silly...
i'll settle for the one with the child
to not think of womanhood to begin with:
rather than behind...

i still can't escape the feeling of gratification
making her sweat all over her body by simply
having learned the geography of a woman's body...
made of ice: apparently...
mein gott... what a wonder to behold...
in my hands oranges... in her hands watermelons...
a spider of a hand crawling atop another spider
of a hand that was hers...
such tender aspects of the FLESH...
like stripped culminations of the pig rediscovered
on a woman's body...
i forgot who i was...
a butcher?! a sadist?! a wizard?!
i must have exemplified myself as "someone"
if she still felt nervous
after snorting a line of ******* and downing
a decent glug of *****... pretending to laugh: nervously...

i should have been told much earlier on
that most women have a very limited sense of self and space...
for that natter time too:
most women have zero to no self-esteem...
if you asked a 20 year old me what the "problem" was...
i'd tell you: oh! all these girls! hive minded high-brow
they're pompous *******... finicky...
walking a a pair of ******* on a leash without either ****
or dog!
but now?! mein gott!
strange... how things change...
they are so... limited...
they have become so timid... so... fresh...
they're the fresh flesh on a leash...
and still: they don't think they are...
i don't like suspect packages....
these women aren't...

i don't want to end writing this poem...
today is the 23rd... i get paid on the 1st...
i'm already practicing my plumbing with take-two!
take-three! sessions of a hard-on...
lucky a man with very little hobbies...
all i think about it *******...
even ******* turns me off: finally!
it's unrealistic! far from ever it being so...

the mind sometimes overpowers
the body in the same way that the body sometimes
overpowers the mind...
i switched off... this time round...
but it's hard... you sit down in the ante-chamber
with three women...
problem being: YOU ****** ALL THREE OF THEM...
and there's one favourite among them...
she promised you a Spartan Cohort Night with her...
so you try to punish her:
by NOT picking her...
well... that will never go down well...
since she already allowed no ****** usage...

maybe i should think about... building a play-toy-thing
train-set or... **** knows what...
i just love women too much...
i love seeing how many mistakes they make...
i'm not saying i'm perfect...
but it's  gleeful pleasure seeing a woman
make a mistake... it's a bit like... seeing yourself
being born...

upon the great ***** of time...
   a figment of your own imagining... neither conjured
up by the mere spontaneity of thought...
hardly an affair of imagining(s)...
never mind the byproduct of memorising
one iota's worth of: iota, omicron, tau, alpha...
by the dim blue glare of the iris...
no... my iris are greeeen...

each and every day the everyday happens
and i feel obliged to borrow
all the necessary talents from the Thespians...
i am "i"...
                there is still massive heed of the grand
moving parts... some stall... some arrive with
no conscience with gravity's whim...
who, are, you? peering into my disclosures?!
my soliloquy supposing
the dead have no ears?!

  have no stomach the food to digest?!
a truly be-spotten sort of: awaiting feed...
time for the freezing of the tides...
liberate the Arab from his self-induced
indulgence!
fancies of fanaticism....
              of worded "things" worth "digestion"...
a tongue of youth
as precursor for the unfathomable futures
to come! old men have: not dictate
in my life! they reek of stinking socks
not since the times when old men claimed a superior
notion among the the youth...
i have nothing! nothing! to learn from the people
i should be learning from!

old men die... that's what they were
supposed to do in the first place...
old... men... die...
i too will die... but not before them!
but at least they could have ushered in a few
decent maxims... instead?!
instead?! i have no maxim conjurers!

these pandered to old FOOLS!
i sometimes wish i were a cannibal!
then again: the prospect of eating these
"leather chairs" is pristinely:
disgusting!

                        i am: ******* livid: i am abhor!
ABHOR!
                 i will shout that word...
**** it.... no mountain near me...
i will, climb, up... a ******* hill..
and extend my tongue and mouth into a shout
and i will clarify: I ABHOR!
best we burry you *******...
you think... us... youth...
will sit back while, you had all your, fun?

it's only one coin-flip away...
i want my fun too!
you're going to tell me, no?!
are you going to tell me, no?!
you... frail... old... man?!
you're going to tell me, no?!
what did you tell your elders?!
the same **** i'm telling you?!

ooh... what a telling!
i'm 36 years old... i'm going to have all
the prostitutes in the world and more!
i've, had, enough!
no! i haven't! had! enough!
i need... more!
i need more!
        i'm going to create the reality
that Darwinism subscribed to!
                         i want, more!

i'm hungry... i'm vengeful...
i'm... oopsy-turvy... i'm...
baron of Emeralds... green Irises...
                
just like the prostitutes suggested: why are you
looking at me with so much ferocity,
with so much intent?!
why?! i'm eating your soul...
******* it out from your eyes...
you, are, mine!
the eyes disappear when the eyes roll back
into a canvas of sclera...
but not until then...

why am i so intent on peering into your self?
if it bothers you so much:
why, why... why don't you close them?!
are you afraid of being unable to see what's
worth being seen?!
tender doe... why... why... oh why so...
scared? life didn't get back to you with
its revisions of adequacy?!
too bad... maybe next time.

finish this, Matthew, finish this!
yes: we know already...
you had trouble keeping up a hard-on because
you thought you would be punishing
a ******* who's wild idea
of inviting you back to her home for free
*** backfired: as you know it would...
****-locked after you chose another
and then broke down limp
       hearing her walk into the next room with
another man and not hearing the sort
of moans you heard when she was with you...

i can't forget the dimmed lights...
contorts... archaic precusor-Cubism...
   the body sweating all other without much exertion
being applied...
if only the moon could drool moonlight
like a dog in Pavlov's experiment might drool
for the reply to a ringing of a bell...
my hands turned into spiders...
my hands turned into eyes...
but i wasn't angry or ashamed at my predicment
of under-performing...
if she was sweating all over her body
and i wasn't impaling her bur rather caressing her...
*** is... complicated...
it's not even close to the pornographic depictions...
i switched from a performance artists
to looking for something deeper...
a bit like...
well... what's within wheat?
   the category of carhohydrates... fibre...
it's the same with ***...
                                simply squeezing juice from a lemon
is not even about the point of squeezing
or the lemon...
    sometimes lethargy kicks in when you're trying
to switch ****** partners...
esp. difficult if you already have three sitting opposite
you whom you all have bedded...

Monday... i'm going to have to revise my liquid intake...
i already know that it requires me to juice up
with one strong cider... and drink some whiskey
on the side...
while kneeling before her naked body...
or sharing her cigarette...
then again: maybe her nervousness made me nervous...
after all: she had to snort a line of *******...
she had to drink half a cup of *****...
and still that nervous laugh as if Khedra was going
to **** her...
i have recently found that women are...
terribly nervous...
it's so unforgiving to find oneself in the company of a nervous
woman...
then again: maybe this should be a thrill for me?
oh, Marie is going to take me a while
to unravel... she's too petrified for any penetrative
***... she's pretty content with performing
only oral ***...
    i wonder... why...
  she's the first girl who wants to do it completely in the dark...
she feels insecure or rather: wounded...

whatever the reasons are...
    this tiny: heaviest of hearts i frown at and with.

p.s. 4/4

e|-------------------------------------------------12---
B|---­------------3--------------------------------12---
G|---------3--­---------5----- 2h3h2-----------12---
D|----5------------------------------------­3-----------
A|--------------------------------------------------­-----
E|-------------------------------------------------------

­and then my usual blues...

sand falling through
tightly laced
corset

can only know
neoprene kisses
purple from asphyxiation

my kefir spurts
sour oats
to the dry wind

never finding
spreaded parchment
smiling

never inking
sailor's story come
homely

CAN WE TRULY LOVE?
Brother, why does it you bother
The way my Compassionate Creator
Felt it fit to mould me
Brother, can you truly not love?
Without colour, Creed or Class!
Influencing your brain’s background

Can’t there be One People-Different Colours
Can’t there be One People-Different Creeds
Can’t there be One People-Different Classes

Do you ever look behind your skin?
And see same pink flecks of fleshes
That is bound by tissues and tendons
Same platelets plasma pigments  
That ruby red squirts with a squeeze
Same numbers of haemoglobins
The Crimson colour after an incision

Why do you see a race in my make?
Colour in my freely given complexion
Religion in my divine devotion

Why do you call me Black?
And I call you White!
Why do you call me a Jew?
And I call you a Christian!
Why do you call me Kefir?
And I call you a Heretic!

Can’t we all be children of one God?
People of one righteous race-human
Creation of one class-compassion

Why do you speak hate of my make?
Can’t there be love beyond my bake  
Why do you see a slave in my coverage?
In my struggles and me fierce savage
Why do you feel phobia of my turban?
And seclude me in your modern urban
Why do you hate my Exodus Race?
And say we are all over the space

Can’t you see Jehovah in all of our conviction faces?
And in harmony dwell in all of these His sacred places
Can’t there be true love, for all to equally have?

© Kìùra Kabiri. All rights reserved.

there's something magical about days like today,
esp. if it's sunny: gloriously sunny and it's
gloriously sunny in England, or - rather -
just outside the realm of London and Westminster:
somewhere in Essex - in a gloriously sunny
England -

                    waking up at 8am sharp: saying good
morning to someone who probably understands
you - who gets annoyed when you drink too much
from time to time: but nonetheless someone who
cooks dinners, the house chores, makes lunches
for her husband and if necessary: the decorating
and heavy duty work in the garden: ground work:
digging up stubborn roots planting new trees
tending to trees in general: ensuring there are no
strange parasites stalling the trees from producing
fruit... the pneumatic drill: concrete: leftover shrapnel
for the basis of drainage:
    then two tonnes of earth and some new lawn... etc.

waking up at 8am: going downstairs -
drinking a bottle of cherry kefir -
                   going back up: laying in bed for
half an hour: then another half an hour laying
on a cold wooden floor...
   listening to music and reading...
first Spinoza's chapter 3: on the vocation of the Hebrews
and whether the prophetic gift was peculiar to them
from the theological-political treatise:

never failing to resonate with the clarity of
the writing: even though it might have been written
in 1670...

then getting up, shuffling around the house wondering:
well, there isn't much to do -
not for now... two people need to be involved
in further curating the eucalyptus tree
since one person needs to be doing the curating
while the other has to be standing at the base
of the ladder to ensure a firmer base...

(now insert a break of character,
  now insert the nitty-gritty details of absolute
concentration on the words read)

what to do... ooh... the kefir starts working its magic
on the digestive system: taking Plato's
Theaetetus to the throne room... sitting on the throne
of thrones and taking a most glorious dump
doughnut conker... a first edition mind you:
as translated by Robin Waterfield (1987) -

how Plato is not so much a bore like Nietzsche thought
but just simply funny: for there to be any dialogue
for there is never really a dialogue to begin with
but more like Socrates talking to his demon
      (whether it was a hallucinated creature
or otherwise that "6th sense" of the daimonion)
or perhaps his demon talking back -
whichever... that there's hardly any disagreement -
an imploded dialectic -
       that Plato: stylistically is less boring but more funny
that if you take out Socrates...
  you reach the conclusions of Alfred Jarry in
   that book exploits & opinions of dr. faustroll
pataphysician

from the section in question: knowledge and belief...
puzzles about false belief
knowing and not knowing
    being and not being...

without Socrates - as Theaetetus alone the replies
are as follows:
- certainly
- absolutely
- no
- of course not, Socrates
- clearly
- no, that would be entirely wrong
- perceiving. what else could i call it?
- i have to
- that's right
- no
- evidently not Socrates. it is perfectly clear now
that knowledge is different from perception
- that's called thinking Socrates, i suppose

and it goes like that and it goes like that on repeat:
but there are breaks...
some sweet-bits where dialogue might even be
established:

- well, i can't say that it's thinking as a whole,
since the beliefs that are formed can be false; but perhaps
true belief is knowledge: i'll try this answer.
if, as the argument progresses, it turns out to be wrong
and we find ourselves in the same position that we
did just now, then we'll try another idea...

i've taken off a mask i put on at the beginning...
now: if i were writing in my native tongue:
there would be no pronoun issue... since: when a ******
speaks: he rarely utters his own pronoun...
because he is aware of being the person speaking
or the person thinking...
pronouns are a non-starter argument:
whether grammatically or ideologically...

and Plato isn't a bore like Nietzsche thought...
he's not a bore but you do need to have an essay...
within a book... you always require an essay
by an academic when reading Plato:
   the schematic of reading Plato works like this:
you first read the essay... then you read the "dialogue"...
and then you jump backwards and forwards...
that's how you read Plato: you don't read Plato per se...
you read the accompanying essay related to a specific
text of Plato's...
no one reads Plato for Plato... one reads Plato
for the interpretation of Plato...
unlike Aristotle: one reads Aristotle for Aristotle...
there's no point making your own mind up
   about Plato... since he's too inquisitive and doesn't
really riddle you with anything firm:
everything is still questionable in the mind of western
man... everything is question worthy...

if you break a dialogue down to talk of letters?!
seriously? S & O... and no further S...
together they are the first syllables of my name...
does anyone who knows the syllables know
the two letters independent of each other?
clarification: independent of the syllable itself?

you can't read Plato for Plato...
   he's a philosophical mutant... he's forever changing...
that's what happens when you keep
a text in such high esteem and for so long...
now... you turn around from Plato and read
some journalism... wow! like: ooh... that's *******
tragic: red is red... blue is blue...
so much narrative-certainty...
                
that days such as this are very much counter
   to Lou Reed's perfect day...
     whereby two other songs compete for the sunshine
the shins: new slang vs. sjöblom: brand new life...
or at least prince's raspberry beret...
because it's sunny you feel like falling in love
with a girl...

because how would a song like: spent it with you:
who?! me myself and i?

- and as you look into the distance at a very limited
horizon of the tops of trees of Bower Wood
you look at the sky: i should have become a painter...
simply because: well if Edward Hopper wanted
to paint light and shadows in rooms of lonely people
you start getting an itch saying:
all i ever wanted was to paint clouds on clouds

a cumulus on a canvas of altostratus
   and some cirrostratus
    or perhaps those behemoths that are
the cumulonimbus...
  hell... i think i would spend a second life (if i had one)
just painting clouds...
or cauliflowers...
     men and painting: because life could be simpler
like that... last time i heard: hands are very difficult
to draw... i can't suppose clouds are any different...

- because i'm most certainly going to do what
i planned... or didn't... whichever...
on a whim... that Walter Sickert exhibition at the Tate
Britain) which is just a few peddle peddle motions
past the house of Parliament is calling me...
from Romford, by bicycle? 2 hours...
it would take me just as long if i used public transport...
because then i'd have to walk from Westminster
toward the gallery...
    
  but then i'd miss all that build up from Essex
(the green belt separating the extension of London
toward Chadwell Heath from Romford)...
and with weather like this...
hell... what was the last exhibition i was at?
oh... right... from Russia... also at Tate Britain...
that's when i was wandering the streets of London
smoking marijuana and figuring out:
kind of pointless getting a second degree in history...
at UCL... the prices went up from circa £1000
to circa £3000... and for what?
6 hours of lessons in the week?
    so i dropped out after a year and progressed toward:
madness and then creativity...

i don't understand how people with interesting
lives... boxers... rock climbers... explorers...
politicians... finally muster enough idleness to sit
down and write an autobiography:
a retrospective autobiography...
it's like the second erosion of memory:
the first erosion of memory being instigated by
pedagogy... 1 + 1 = 2...
selective history dates...
knowing where Mongolia is on the map:
but never visiting Mongolia...

like the argument against big government:
local knowledge... like i know that the best Turkish
lavash bread you can get is en route to Mile End:
after leaving Ilford: between Ilford and Manor Park...
on Romford Road... on the 86 bus route...
the best lavash bread...
for that recipe that's better than any kebab
or fish and chips... refika's kitchen:

i would have never guessed that rosemary works
so well with beef...
what does she call it? bashed beef?
hammered beef...
   so few ingredients: as the saying goes: less is more...
off the top of my head...
rosemary... garlic... black (whole) peppercorns...
sea salt... chillies...white wine vinegar (to cure the meat,
which is only marinated for 15 minutes)
olive oil... cheese... cheddar is more poignant
than any mozzarella types (amore! amore!)

or rather... you could hide that exclamation mark...
how? ha ha...
    amoré (but it's itchy: simultaneously...
because you want to drop the upside-down "iota")
you want to scream like Lucifer falling head first...
you're going to regret my ejection from
your autocracy of heaven!
wait for our demonic democracy down below,
just you wait!

- and no... i was never a big Blake fan...
i'm not a fan of rhymes either...
lyricism: stuff you can sing?
Aud Lang Syne is a tier above anything by Shakespeare...
but rhyming: that's constipated poetry...
ask Horace... ancients Romans didn't rhyme...
they also didn't treat language as
squares:

-ed                      -ed-

the dead
    who ate
what was said
with a missing head

-ed                        Eddie...

the Iron Maiden mascot... ha ha! i'm in love
already: and i think i'm thinking about
Khedra... i must be...
i'm going to cycle to see an exhibition of a man
accused or insinuated as being
Jack the Ripper by some female novelist:
fetishist...
    on the throne of thrones i needed to relax
the "remnants": so?
photographs of Kendra Lust... because i'm all the way
into that older woman types...
but it was just a prompt...
a tight dress... some revelation of the flesh
concerning the: problem...
with mermaids... invert the mermaids...
i'm stressing... replace the lower part of a woman
with fish-details... or replace the top part of
a woman: likewise: with fish-details...
hmm... that's tough... those legs... that ***...

but i found myself looking at the tiles in the bathroom:
conjuring from memory a picture she sent me...
full-blossom lips...
wearing glasses...
and the *** we had... ******* nymphomaniac...
i wouldn't slap myself with a banana across
my face... i'd sooner punch myself...
then again: the idea of straightening bananas sounds
a bit like: remoulding apples into pears...

ah man... when money is left on the table:
straight up...
   i couldn't: i possibly couldn't go through
the ordeal of date-bluffing... i'm not a donkey
and a ****** is not a carrot...
i love making myself laugh... that's the best
laughter... because it originates in thought...
and not in the imagination of the other...
   it's spontaneous combustion: metaphorically...
and almost literally...

and now: to enjoy this day:
prior to it taking form, as i've written about it.

we've reached that sort of ripe old age of having
past relationship regrets:
personally? i love them... i keep them a secret...
well... to a "listening" audience i bare all:
swinging on the moon ****-naked
like a pig before the slaughter...
                 i still don't know why women at work
treat me like either a priest or an advocate:
the stories i heard: drinking problems, drug problems,
past-exes problems: dating boys who would
have drinking and drug problems who would
drain them of their money: blackmail them etc. etc.,
i'm sitting there and? no edge...
try telling your life story to a woman telling you hers...
ha ha... as if...
i don't know why the sudden: what would you call
it? availability? transparency?
   i have a rubber ear: it stretches... or as the fellow saying
goes: in one ear out the other...
just today i was bothered...
well it was either catching the 499 bus to Gallows' Corner
Halfords and getting the broken szprycha
spoke: of the front wheel... it snapped before i was
gearing up to a cycle routine... lucky me...
from the heat... so it was either me catching the 499 bus...
oh man... the wait... and no pubs along the way...
**** it... 103 to Romford and then the 86 to Chadwell Heath...
first to Halfords... sure... we can sort this out...
the problem is this that and the other...
but i only replaced pierced tyres... the mechanic will be
back at the end of August...
great for him: not so great for me...
this was bound to happen... auxiliary plan...
Cycle King... an independent bicycle store...
i walk in: see this problem? fixable? yep... give me your details...
it will be done by Friday... how much?
20 squid... brilliant... thank you ever so much...
then onto the Eva Hart pub
for a pint of Guinness... you seriously can only drink
Guinness in a pint sized glass from a keg...
no Guinness bottled no Guinness canned...
so i's sit down at a random table able...
have a random conversation... three guys breaking *****:
literally... joking about this,
talking seriously about that...
               ol' Ernest wrote this brilliant short-story
compilation: men without women...
and it's true! men reciprocate they talk backwards
and forwards...
men "talking" with women? it's a ******* cul de sac
one way street... women talk: men listen...
if it wasn't for the ******* i'd be, most probably,
interested in keeping pigeons or collecting stamps...
well no: i wouldn't go as far as creating toy train sets...
let's not get too excited...
we talked about the weather, work, working outside
in this current heat... the three women at a table next
to us... age restrictions on attractiveness... blah blah...
me looking like someone who ought to be in a band...
me telling him: well... i used to play guitar...
but i could never find a drummer...
(lie - there was Tobey from Switzerland at Edinburgh,
but he was already in a band,
lucky me for having a jam session with a drummer)
i found a bassist once... we recorded a demo tape...
just ******* around...
point being: i tried that scam of a website last night...
i was BLITZED out of my already numb-skull...
3 messages in and i knew i made a mistake...
after the 3 message?
                       PAY UP: THIRSTY BOY...
thank god i set up a fake john pickwick account
on aol.com...
                                  a nice pretty blonde little number...
the scam was quick to pick up...
oh ****... what am i doing here?
                    did someone spike my whiskey sharpshooter
with some acid?
i tell her: i'm going to have to delete this account...
why why why?!
listen... i've been to a few brothels in my time...
i'm not into A.I. anti-psychological ***...
                i'm not that thirsty: mind you, i am...
but i'm thirsty for some watermelon sorbet...
  i'd love a watermelon sorbet...
or some raspberry kefir...
                        oh girl: i'm dying for some raspberry kefir...
mind you this scam website promising a pool
of single mums and unfaithful wives is struggling...
why? the same girls on this website have shifted
to attention-******* on twitter...
i was sort of invested in the narrative for that website...
but? 180 characters? that's all?
sure... if you're writing in hieroglyphics...
or writing Mandarin - well: both are hieroglyphics...
anyway...
i seriously need to find a different brothel...
after that stunt my Khedija:
she promises you a date outside the brothel...
you start making plans... book a hotel...
go to the cinema... get some food... **** all night...
and then? she says... oh no no...
so? you go back to the same brothel and have
a ******* with her competition...
normal...
               she stops texting you on Wattsapp...
she probably blocked you blah blah...
hell: i gave up the best *** in my life for? a slap in the face...
she didn't: but she did: she didn't: but she did...
don't make promises you can't keep...
we'll see... i've already been paid and paid off my debt...
so i have spare squids...
she'll either entertain me or she won't my presence:
how far can you go on ******* around with
a ******* without a ******:
slurping on her and giving her the shivers of an ******?
apparently... this other one prior
said out-loud: ooh... this has only happened to me
once before...
so? must be hard to give a ******* an ******...
boasting?! boasting?!
   does anyone think slobbering on a ****...
knowing full well that just 10 minutes prior some Irish
nag was ******* the same **** is supposed
to give me ego-tripping megalomania?!
seriously?!
          this is the ******* crustaceans kingdom of ***...
believe me: it probably sounds nice...
but... this is crab-bucket type of ***...
it's a harem within a harem...
                     it's a revisit to the 1960s "liberation front"
of that great stink of culture...
someone seriously has to sink to his lowest
to revive any self-awareness for everyone else...
me? i think i'm doing just that...
            i don't have a jealous heart...
silly me: for not having a jealous heart...
women love jealous men...
women abhor selfless men...
women love jealous men...
ergo? that white elephant of the the demiurge
in the minds of Semites...
no wonder women adore the sadism they're implored
to succumb to:
while the sheikhs walk in pure white... breezy...
almost linen material: the women are shackled
to BLACK BLACK NIQABS...
fair enough... as long as you don't interfere with my
life: you do you... i'll do me...

it's funny though, how certain things (denoted by nouns) -
mind you: every thing is denoted by a noun:
you can hardly call a stone: stoneless
some made-up adjective...
although: there's the dark and there's darkness...
there's light and lightness...
****... stoney... something is stoney -
it has the credibility of being associated with stones
but isn't a stone...
two words: szprycha: a vamp of a woman...
laska - girl next door beauty...
        laska? walking-stick... but... in ****** ****...
it can refer to a woman...
szprycha, though? oh: that's another level of vamp...

why i don't approach women?
they're unapproachable...
i rather talk ******* with a few random guys:
we have more in common...
it's casual convo.
                 there are no pressures:
in scenarios that don't allow for pressures to exist:
over a pint...
there's no: my eggs are frozen,
i have household chores... my father has dementia...
i have no one to care for him...
i'm a single mum... i need someone to raise
my kiddy...
                    ******* endless lists of potential
headaches... i don't need that!
why? who am i? Atlas or something?!
it's a one way street with women:
they don't care about me...
why even bother entertaining their company?
i'm not even bitter: as much as i love *******:
eating out a prostitutes ******:
i'm not really interested in her not being
interested in my own toils...
i can entertain hers: but if she can't entertain mine?
i better internalise myself:
compartmentalise myself to suit a better: efficient me...
let people see what they want / are expected
to see... and hide what i alone want to see...

i'm not that thirsty...
              while i was riding the bus with my wonky wheel
i was listening to the agony of...
some degenerate byproduct...
YOU ******* WANT DARWINISM?!
YOU ******* WILL GET DARWINISM, PROPER!
what was i listening to?
some genetic byproduct of:
a ****** irresponsibility...
she was screaming in agony in her wheelchair...
i want food! i want food!
oh... such sweetness to that agony...
because it was so innocently mastered...

you're telling me, that Darwinism is actually true?
*******!
if Darwinism was true: ontologically:
then then Nazis would have won the second world war...
sorry... the spider kills the fly...
there's a hierarchy that only a humane aspect
of hell that was crucified disrupts...
i ought to be in charge of a harem...
with my physical dimensions i ought to:
but no... there's nature, there are the elements and there's
human intellect...
the smart nor the fittest reproduce...
the idiots do...
        the most vulnerable do...
                       such sweet song: born from
****** incompetence... a child of suffering...
                   i listened: and i listened deep...
                                    hmm... pain... very primitive...
agile in the mind of a ******...
         Pontius Pilate walked past hardly a ghost...
we shook hands and agreed...
                  of the noble man there remains only a history:
there's no present happening to contribute
to the eventuality of stating events...
me? i'm to be made responsible for the ****** malpractices of
people? that there's a time limit?
people! EASE OUR BURDENS!
but do they listen? of course not!
          
    i know i have passed my limits...
she chose to pet snakes and tarantulas and wed
herself to the next disposable male every Spring...
me? i chose to try to attract the attention
of foxes and wasps...
and keep myself wedded to her in memory...
we're at that ripe old age of having lost
our imagination and salvaging ourselves
in a unison toward the altar of memory...
i don't want to daydream:
i don't want to imagine what's already required
before my eyes...
i have no need to dream...

the night compared to day is already
a worthwhile "dream" that i can live in an expand
my senses on.

if it comes apart at the seams this fast
it likely wasn’t that great anyway
so let it rip all this cheaply made *******
that is everywhere these days
made by hands who no longer care
and so our hearts no longer dare
to expand for fear of breaking
quicker than they are meant to
yet tearing a muscle may be necessary
at certain moments in our lives
we must stretch ourselves beyond comfort
though this elastic is not a fabric i'd want to overdo
lest it lose its grip and we slip into oblivion
i realize how easy it is to come undone
before you are ready to be baked in the sun
your feet are already out the door on the run
and according to you sun-bathing is now poisonous too
groins are now saving themselves for their own fingers
while it lingers all this saltiness and morning dew
on our lips the whispered promises
that quickly defeat their own existence
we are ultimately just muscles of impermanence
and your burning tendons rustle like falling leaves
and crinkle like paper made from the same trees
that we used to breathe, so try and find comfort in me
i am still seeking to make my own meanings
from the things that i cannot reach
so teach me all about love
while forensic psychologists wear gloves
and shove lightning rods and jumper cables
intermittently into your mittens
the levers that undress your needs and desires
for kefir and and candy
just a minute please, we all really need to grieve
while the next stop this bus makes is for brandy
still you are as blue as the hue of an amphetamine
if its true that in sentences we weave allegory and meaning
less we digress into a new substance
the chest holds a vision of the future
a culture of vultures searching for carrion
upon forgotten islands of furniture
stand back and let them attack
those empty nests are gifts to be undressed
as quickly as you can and they will remain standing
for as long as you try to impress them

kefir is disgusting