first step

when he looks at a woman he searches for qualities that attract him because he wants to desire her yet this tendency creates an imbalance or disadvantage he is rendered weak to a woman’s beauty or whatever traits he idealizes self-realizing this propensity he looks away from women years of disappointment neglect change him he becomes afraid of women gynophobic

2

when she looks at a man she searches for qualities she is critical of because she wants to be impervious to his power she is suspicious of all men their upper body strength penchant to be in control misperception of women as property misogyny emotional immaturity neediness to be mommyed selfishness insensitivity or over-sensitivity depending she wants to be treated with equal respect a loving nurturing relationship she is suspicious of all people their alternate realities passive aggressive behavior co-dependence craziness

3

he sees her then looks away she suspiciously notices nothing happens they go back to their separate homes alone always home alone grown calm in resignation yet disbelieving of this destiny saddened by this fate both worry about future she looks at her face naked body in mirror her stomach churns feels sad sickening remembers time when she was more carefree he puts one foot in front of other then walks tries to remember who taught him to walk how many times did he fall who taught him to laugh where did his sense of humor go

4

he sees her thinks she is lovely resists the urge to turn away he smiles says hello she notices nervously smiles her shaky voice articulates louder than a whisper hi

Tucson 2-step

they are standing in line at a café on 4th avenue he is directly behind her she is lanky wearing white background faded colors patterned summer dress thin straps over bare shoulders long brown hair few gray strands small unfinished tattoo on left calf leather slip-ons 1 inch heals he is at a complete loss for words thinks to make remark about the weather decides not to overhead fan stirs hot humid July air barista girl asks what she would like her eyes scan blackboard menu behind counter she hesitates remarks help him i need an extra moment to decide he steps up to counter money in hand orders small to go Arnold Palmer half black current lays $3 on counter mentions change goes in tip jar thank you barista girl moves fast he lifts cup from counter glances at woman still deciding then at barista girl says have a wonderful day turns walks out door dawns on him woman grows hair under her arms his 2nd most compelling female physique adornment fetish oh god he thinks to himself should i wait for her to make up her mind then approach try to craft conversation at least find out her name no i’m too weak in this moment she is so lovely let her go

2

she orders double Americana in small cup to go room for soy milk thinks to herself he did greet her perhaps their paths will cross on street why did he run off so fast she glances toward front of café notices window seat changes her mind instructs barista ******* 2nd thought make it for here digs through purse realizes she left wallet in truck explains to barista girl she needs to run out to her vehicle to retrieve wallet forgotten under front seat the air on the street is heavy dense she smells her own perspiration looks north then south does not see him walks to truck feels exhausted appetiteless almost nauseous wishes she did not order a drink thinks to get behind wheel drive home go to sleep

Tucson 3-step tango

she feels disappointment by her recent writings as if she is reaching a more sophisticated audience and setting a higher standard for her work yet she is not living up to her ambitions her recent writings smell of her past writings too emotional the damaged woman wounded child she wants to write more introspectively with detached humor that only comes from keener intelligence she slams her laptop shut decides to go to Club Congress for a ****** mary or margarita but Club Congress is haunted with small town cretins losers wannabes she considers Maynard’s decides Maynard’s is too safe suburban yuppyish finally gives in to thought of glass of pinot noir at Plush next comes what to wear jeans in mid-July desert heat is unacceptable perhaps loose fitting thin cotton white summer dress thin leather belt ankle high indian moccasins hair in ponytail no pigtail braids no ponytail no makeup maybe little ylang ylang oil no she thinks about her recent writings

2

i am one breath away from crying in every moment one breath away from flying m.i.a. in every moment one breath away from destroying everything there is beauty in ugliness beauty in decrepitude disease beauty in harm hurt suffering beauty in greed injustice betrayal beauty in corruption contamination pollution beauty in hate cruelty ignorance beauty in death we spend our whole lives searching for a good death we spend our whole lives searching for eternal love this modern world is too much for me over my head the horrors of this place are beyond words unspeakable voice inside maybe mom yells quit your whining or dad hollers stop complaining i am trying to smile through tears one breath away from giving in one breath away from becoming stranger to myself winter spring winter spring there is beauty in nothingness we spend our whole lives searching for ourselves learning who we are not finding grasping secrets from dark paths light trails winter spring winter spring i am one breath away

3

she sits alone at bar at Plush glass of pinot noir glass of ice water in front of her 2 bearded older men eye her from other end of bar she ignores them glances at her wristwatch tries to look like she is waiting for someone music from speakers antiquated rock standard it is early friday hours from dusk moderate middle aged crowd mingle wait for local jazz trio to begin she thinks about her recent writings wonders is it too late for love considers lesbian affair from 5 different perspectives 5 woman’s voices each describing same lesbian affair in 5 opposing accounts hmmm she sips dark red wine from glass chases it with ice water she considers a story about a gang of female bikers who ride south to Mexico

4

the Americans came through here last night crossing border illegally climbing over our fences digging tunnels beneath our barrier walls littering along their trail they travel in packs of every skin color carry guns knives explosives wear leather boots some are shirtless tattoos dyed hair mischievously smiling conceitedly stealing when in question murdering they rob our homes slaughter our chickens ransack gardens loot our harvest you can still smell the stink of their fast food breaths

5

she swallows the last dark red wine from glass chases it with ice water local jazz trio begins to play as bar fills with more people she decides to walk home one foot in front of other wonders who taught her how to walk how many times did she fall she laughs to herself

Tucson square dance

TPD 10-18 unconfirmed data report

7 post-University of Arizona female graduates go to Cactus Moon for several drinks and dancing then drive to Bashful Bandit for more drinks and dancing 2 women get into scuffle victim Brittany Garner female 23 years of age race #5 (Native American, Eskimo, Middle -Eastern, Other) 5’ 2” long black hair cut-off blue jean shorts clingy light blue top falls hits head on side of bar dies of fatal blow to skull forensics report crushed occipital lobe assailant Stacy Won female 31 years of age race #4 (Asian) 5’6” black jeans black leather jacket red helmet Honda motorcycle still at large

witness accounts

Jess Delaney female 33 years of age race #2 (White) 6’ tight black pencil skirt white sleeveless undershirt no bra 3” heels blond ponytail “that squirting little **** deserves everything she got she lied told Stacy i’m a ***** i never cheated on Brittany i don’t understand we were all having a good time getting buzzed and dancing we should never have left Cactus Moon **** Kerrie thought some biker dude might be hanging around the Bandit hell maybe the Bandit was a biker bar once but now it’s just a college sink hole full of drunken frat boys when Monique flashed a little *** they went crazy cheering and buying us shots it just got out of hand never should have happened the way it happened Stacy didn’t mean to **** Brittany it’s ****** up i want to go home please let me go home”

Sabrina Starn female 29 years of age race #2 (White) 5’8” trendy corporate gray suit black pumps red shoulder length hair “i have to be at work at 8 AM Stacy was drunk out of control she gets crazy when she drinks Brittany was trash talking pushing all Stacy’s buttons then Stacy accused Brittany of sleeping with Monique and all hell broke loose i didn’t see what happened i was in the powder room it’s a terrible tragedy unfortunate accident can i please be released i need to sleep this is madness”

Kerrie Angeles female 27 years of age race #1 (Hispanic) 5’ 6” black pants white shirt black hair cut stylishly short silver crucifix around neck red fingernails “when we got to the Bashful Bandit i was ***** soaking between my legs thinking about a cowgirl at Cactus Moon ready to **** anyone i saw fantasized pulling a train with those frat boys Monique had been kind of quiet at Cactus Moon but when we got to the Bashful Bandit she lit up dancing wild unbuttoning her top jacket Sabrina went to the ladies room to snort coke with biker dude Kerrie wanted but he wasn’t into her then Brittany started saying crazy stuff accusing Stacy of stealing Monique from Jess Jessie goes through women heartlessly she doesn’t give a **** about Monique Jessie knows if she wants Monique back she can simply fiddle a finger my guess is Stacy is half way to Argentina she never meant to **** Brittany i’m going to miss her real bad she was a good kid”

Ann Skyler female 28 years of age race  #2 (White) 4’ 11’’ green white red Mexican peasant skirt black t-shirt black high-tops hair in messy bun “i’m confused i saw them dancing laughing grinding up against each other Rage Against the Machine came on then Nine Inch Nails the room felt quaking dizzy claustrophobic then they were pushing each other shoving yelling frat boys cheering the next thing i knew Brittany was supine on the floor blood pouring out maybe she just slipped hit her head i don’t know what to think i feel real sad confused sick to my stomach scared”

Monique Smithson female 24 years of age race # 3 (Black) 5’ 9” blue jeans jean jacket cowboy boots nose ring braided pigtails “Stacy had it in for Brittany from the start i saw it in her eyes at Cactus Moon she made several clever toxic remarks they snapped at each other i never thought it would escalate to ****** poor sweet Brittany was always so susceptible i was looking down adjusting my jeans over my boots when it happened i heard felt a big thump glanced up Brittany was lying there lifeless blood spilling everywhere Stacy ran out fast i heard her bike engine take off in a hurry”

Rodeo Drive Tucson

matt’s hats tom’s tools & tobacco lou’s liquors fred’s beds frank’s planks bill’s drills jane’s drains & panes chuck’s check cashing cheryl’s barrels hank’s tanks tina’s trucks & tractors walt’s asphalt sean’s pawn rick’s rifles mom’s guns terry’s tires charlie’s harleys rhonda’s hondas jim’s rims art’s parts gus’s gasoline mike’s bikes frank’s feed gwen’s pens ann’s cans nancy’s nursery joes‘s clothes jess’s dresses bert’s skirts steve’s sleeves paul’s shawls michelle’s shells & bells al’s pails & snails sam’s hams & jams patty’s pancakes phil’s chili don’s donuts betty’s spaghetti bob’s burgers alycia’s quiches jean’s beans jerry’s berries anna’s bananas andy’s candies cathy’s taffies tony’s ponies roy’s toys kim’s whims marty’s parties jill’s pills rick’s tricks alice’s palace debbie’s disposal dave’s graves

Quinta Waltz de Tucson

she is definitely displeased profoundly disappointed in her latest literary efforts she dreams aches to create deeper discourse higher insight more thoughtful philosophical inquiries about life’s challenges beauty a better world overpowering love inspiration instead she writes paperback television trash stupid inadequate answers to solemn questions she wonders if she is too scratched dented to find love her ******* are definitely changing she is deeply disturbed not ready for menopause too young for menopause she wants to remain a fertile woman with smooth skin wet ******

2

her neighbor Leslie awoke to horrible morning Leslie’s 6 chickens were assaulted overnight precious Mabel dragged off feathers everywhere trail down the street other hens cowering slumped together with wilted necks 3 of them with puncture wounds Leslie carried them one by one inside washed their wounds hugged them cried who did this terrible act a neglected abusive neighborhood cat or some desert predator why didn’t Leslie wake to sounds of savage marauding now this creature knows hen’s whereabouts when will it return for more massacre what modifications need to be enforced to ensure their coup before nightfall

3

she wants to remain a hen keep producing eggs does not want is not ready to enter the next **** stage of this **** existence it was fun being pretty for men inspiring them to say do whacky things she wants to remain a hen she is definitely displeased profoundly disappointed in her latest literary attempts “Tucson square dance” (self-referential) ****** bit about Americans came through here last night in “Tucson 3-step” ****** "Rodeo Drive" tepid perhaps the pinot noir lowered her standards everything is becoming nothing she cannot sleep tosses turns thrashes sheets in humid heat of her lonesome bed is she is too scratched dented to find love she worries for Leslie

4

tomorrow is another day they say the rain will come last year’s monsoon never came the baking sun smothered her garden died one by one sleepless she will miss tomorrow’s pilates class the infrequent delightful chatty breakfast afterwards she dreams aches of deeper discourse higher insight with detached humor that only comes from keener intelligence more thoughtful philosophical inquiries about life’s challenges beauty a better world overpowering love inspiration she crossed the line tonight her ******* are definitely changing

Tucson 666

he decides to shave eighth to quarter inch length salt and pepper beard a.k.a. unshaven look he has worn for years and grow full mustache the whiskers on his upper lip are darker with sparse gray at first no one notices after weeks the mustache gradually fills evoking many contrasting remarks several women loath it several men admire it girl at grocery store suggests he grow Fu Manchu so she can tug on it shopgirl says he looks like Charlie Chaplin downstairs neighbor from Turkey explains most Turkish men traditionally wear mustaches he read mustaches masculinize and empower men especially men in authoritative positions he thinks back to the 1960’s when many hippie males grew mustaches then in the 70’s gay men fashioned mustaches then in the 80’s cops adopted mustaches he wonders why a swatch of hair beneath nose is so provoking examines his visage in mirror discerns the mustache confers a Pepé le Pew quality or European accent to his appearance he remembers when he was young hippie with many amorous episodes how his mustache preserved the scent of a woman but there are no women in his life for many years do post-menopausal women possess scent? he feels indecisive whether to retain it or be rid of it

2

she observes her figure in mirror thinks to herself maybe her ******* are not changing perhaps it’s all in her head she inspects the little lines forming near her eyelids studies her features for signs of aging hardly any silver strands in long brown hair she examines neck ******* arms elbows fingers tummy hips pelvic region thighs knees shins calves ankles feet detects subtle changes thinks to herself my ******* are possibly slightly changing turned 40 in March married briefly in late teens no children a 15 year old dog beginning to suffer veterinarian promises to warn her when the time comes she wonders why it is so difficult finding fitting mate men sleep with her several times then move on maybe she is not such a great lover perhaps she would be better if one of them stuck around perhaps she is a lesbian the whole ide

TPD 10-18 unconfirmed data report
7 post-University of Arizona female graduates go to Cactus Moon for several drinks and dancing then drive to Bashful Bandit for more drinks and dancing 2 women get into scuffle victim Brittany Garner 23 years of age race #5 (Native American, Eskimo, Middle-Eastern, Other) 5’ 2” long black hair cut-off blue jean shorts clingy light blue top falls hits head on side of bar dies of fatal blow to skull forensics report crushed occipital lobe assailant Stacy Won 31 years of age race #4 (Asian) 5’6” black jeans black leather jacket red helmet Honda motorcycle still at large
witness accounts
Jess Delaney female 33 years of age race #2 (White) 6’ tight black pencil skirt white sleeveless undershirt no bra 3” heels blond ponytail “that squirting little **** deserves everything she got she lied told Stacy i’m a ***** i never cheated on Brittany i don’t understand we were all having a good time getting buzzed and dancing we should never have left Cactus Moon **** Kerrie thought some biker dude might be hanging around the Bandit hell maybe the Bandit was a biker bar once but now it’s just a college sink hole full of drunken frat boys when Monique flashed a little *** they went crazy cheering and buying us shots it just got out of hand never should have happened the way it happened Stacy didn’t mean to **** Brittany it’s ****** up i need to go home please let me go home”
Sabrina Starn 29 years of age race #2 (White) 5’8” trendy corporate gray suit black pumps red shoulder length hair “i have to be at work at 8 AM Stacy was drunk out of control she gets crazy when she drinks Brittany was trash talking pushing all Stacy’s buttons then Stacy accused Brittany of sleeping with Monique and all hell broke loose i didn’t see what happened i was in the powder room it’s a terrible tragedy unfortunate accident can i please be released this is madness”
Kerrie Angeles 27 years of age race #1 (Hispanic) 5’ 6” black pants white shirt black hair cut stylishly short silver crucifix around neck red fingernails “when we got to the Bashful Bandit i was ***** soaking between my legs thinking about a cowgirl at Cactus Moon ready to **** anyone i saw fantasized pulling a train with those frat boys Monique had been kind of quiet at Cactus Moon but when we got to the Bashful Bandit she lit up dancing wild unbuttoning her top jacket Sabrina went to the ladies room to snort coke with biker dude Kerrie wanted but he wasn’t into her then Brittany started saying crazy stuff accusing Stacy of stealing Monique from Jess Jessie goes through women heartlessly she doesn’t give a **** about Monique Jessie knows if she wants Monique back she can simply fiddle a finger my guess is Stacy is half way to Argentina she never meant to **** Brittany I’m going to miss her real bad she was a good kid”
Ann Skyler 28 years of age race  #2 (White) 4’ 11’’ green white red Mexican peasant skirt black t-shirt black high-tops hair in messy bun “i’m confused i saw them dancing laughing grinding up against each other Rage Against the Machine came on then Nine Inch Nails the room felt quaking dizzy sweaty claustrophobic then they were pushing each other shoving yelling frat boys cheering the next thing i knew Brittany was supine on the floor blood pouring out maybe she just slipped hit her head i don’t know what to think i feel real sad confused sick to my stomach scared”
Monique Smithson 24 years of age race # 3 (Black) 5’ 9” blue jeans jean jacket cowboy boots nose ring braided pigtails “Stacy had it in for Brittany from the start I could see it in her eyes at Cactus Moon she made several clever toxic remarks they snapped at each other i never thought it would escalate to ****** poor sweet Brittany was always so susceptible i was looking down adjusting my jeans over my boots when it happened i heard felt a big thump glanced up Brittany was lying there lifeless blood spilling everywhere Stacy ran out fast i heard her bike engine take off in a hurry”

The Letters. (edit | delete)
by Kerrie Sursely

Hey,
I just want to say thank you!
I was just enjoying your poem.
It made me remember your character, and I love that!
I also want to say thank you for seeing something great in me when I couldn't.
I've worked really hard and will be moving in a month to Georgia to start my doctorate in physical therapy.
And on my journey I will take a part of me you have nourished into existence, a part of me I like very much!
Thank you,
Dylan.

Dear Kerrie,
Today I started packing to leave for Georgia. I stored a lot of things I can't take with me in my parents house. It was when I finished storing these things that I looked at them one last time, and I wondered how familiar they will be when I return. These objects will collect dust and stay the same until I return. But unlike them, we will age, and we will grow. I'm very busy lately, but get ahold of me before I leave if it interests you. I'll make time for you.
Always,
Dylan.

Dear Dylan,
Someone very special to me
(you Dylan) posted a poem on his Facebook a few years back.
By chance I stumbled upon it, fell in love with it, and knew it would be something I would carry with me through life.
Since then I have found myself sending that poem to many people who've sought my advice. In hopes it reaches a place deep in their hearts the way it had mine!
Just as quickly as I had begun to read that poem I could tell it was different, it cought my heart's attention! So, I continued to read it.
It was right before I had finished reading the third line when I realized that poem was going to change my life and...it did!
My dearest Dylan, you unknowingly gave me a gift that day!
I have cherished that poem from that moment and everyday there after!
I would love to give back to you that same gift as you leave one life to embark upon another carrying those thoughts and wonders you've posted today with you. Here is that poem...

One Art.

The art of losing isn’t hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.
Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.
Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.
I lost my mother’s watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.
I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn’t a disaster.
Even losing you. Your joking voice, your gesture that I love.
I shouldn't have lied.
It’s evident the art of losing’s not too hard to master, though it may look like I am a disaster.
(Written by, Elizabeth Bishop).

Dylan, just know this! You are without a doubt going to lose many things in life that will break your heart to lose! Especially when you can't find the answers as to why it is you've lost them. Sadly, that's just life!
Most never recover from their loses, only a few do.
That poem saved a part of me back then Dylan and I have only you to thank from the bottom of my heart for that!

Those things you are packing today,
wondering if they will be just as familiar to you when you return, will be! You will see them and instantly feel the same as you had when you left them. That's called HOME!

Today, I found myself starring adoringly at my children as they spent time with each other. Time we are not fortunate enough to spend often. Each of them were happy and laughing. That very moment I also noticed the room became silent, but silent only to me. I swear, I could hear my own memories of how my divorce shattered their lives, mine too! The way it felt back then was a feeling of loss. I became lost so my children became lost without reason or an answer why. I had nowhere to turn for help and even if I had; I would have never uttered a word for fear someone would think I were weak or a failure. I was left broken as a woman, broken as a mother, and no direction on how to find my way out. All I had left were two things, a silver lining I had found within my own tears, "No one will ever steal my smile again!" and what that poem had taught me as I read it, "It's okay to lose things just so long as we don't lose ourselves along the way"!
I vowed right then and there I would never be the victim! I would survive!
I found my strength knowing my children would learn how to be happy and how to survive "life" through my own actions! Then, slowly I was drawn out of my private thoughts by the sound of one of my twin daughters whom back then were only four years old and now are eleven, singing along to a song that filled the room. She sang, "Next to you. There is no other place I'd rather be!" I felt myself smiling ear to ear, feeling proud for overcoming life, finding ourselves again, and most importantly finding "home" within each other again!
That poem you posted that day Dylan was just a poem to you but it was something that became larger than life to me!
It gave back to my children the things they never deserved to lose!
I held myself deep and tight in that moment, proud of myself and proud of my children, cherishing every second of it...IT FELT AMAZING!

Just as that moment passed another thought had came crashing through my mind. Something so easy, something that I should have known all along, and something I will also remember forever along with that poem,
"Life is too amazing to not live amazing!"
Remember that Dylan.
Live your life amazingly!
Every time a moment happens to me the way it had just then, I remember that poem and without fail,
I remember you!
I will forever think of you thanking you silently from my heart!

You are one of the most amazing human beings I have ever been blessed to meet!

In part, let me leave you with one last thought.
Think of how many things that has happened throughout your life. From childhood until today. Think of how many people have come and gone and all of the time those people or moments have consumed from your life. Think of all of those memories you've kept from all of those people. The kind of memories you'll never forget, the kind you know you'll remember when you're at your last moments here on earth. Think of the ones that make you smile maybe even laugh a little. How many do you have? Probably not many, at best maybe just a handful.
I'm asking you this in hopes your answer helps you to really encompass and feel in your heart what I am about to tell you next...
I have just a few of those kinds of memories. Out of those few, TWO ARE OF YOU! Considering how short our time as coworkers and friends really was I find that pretty remarkable if you ask me!

Not only has your poem found a home within my heart but there is a memory of you that I just love, one I'm not soon to forget!
How could I ever forget the look on your face as you eagerly and excitedly clapped your hands so loudly as I slowly placed a plate of three little tacos in front of you.
The happiness you found in the simplicity of a small plate of tacos will forever be etched into my mind leaving me in small fits of laughter!
That probably doesn't sound very funny or something worth mentioning no less worth remembering to anyone else, and it has yet to make whomever I tell that story to laugh. But you laughed as I reminded you of it before, I laughed too! Oh well, it's my memory and I simply adore it just as I adore you!

God made you perfectly different than everyone else Dylan! You are special and unique! Don't quiet your mouth in hopes to hold back the very humor that makes you, you!
Make the world laugh. Hell, make the world cry too! Just be you!

I wish you well Dylan and a life filled with nothing short of what you have gifted me....AMAZING!!!
Take special care to everyone and everything you collect along the way and I promise the world will take care of you!

Till our paths cross again some day...
All of my love, Kerrie!

chat bots:
zaby: niet: zeby... (frogs... not teeth)

this heat-wave is making everyone, fffff-ucking cuckoo! i must have lost it about 5 times today... sweating like a pig about to be slaughtered, rambling mad... drank more than i could ever possibly eat... for dinner? the thinner me... two Becks, a pork steak cooked ideally: so the juices were still running... and a few precious olives... with pickled garlic and pickled chillies and plenty of oregano and olive oil... that's it! to hell with this world... to hell with climate-change sceptics... i hate them as much as i hate atheists... i was actually going to post this on the 18th of June... but i thought... i'll wait... it was already been several days of this heat... i'll wait... something is bound to happen: something convincing... the fire in Wennington broke the camel's back... i ffff-ucking sometimes cycle through there... what the ffff-ucking hell happened? scorched earth! the earth's alight! and what am i doing? like **** i'm going on some fancy holiday... like hell i'm going to own a car... i just own a bicycle... i planted 8+ trees in my garden... i tend to talk... i hate climate-change sceptics and deniers like Holocaust deniers and atheists... and all the rest of the secular nunnery *******... the "sensible folk"... they: ****... ME... OFF... like i: don't have enough oath-words to use... i swear like a cobbler when it comes to these matters... today we snapped at each other over the littlest of things: you're keeping the fridge door open for too long... you haven't covered the coleslaw... seconds apparently turned into hours... do i, look... like a ******* camel jockey to you? take this ******* heat and go back to Sahara... that desert that was once a mighty mountain range... all deserts were mountain ranges once... aren't we living in times beside Copernicus... aren't we stuck with Darwinistic pre-history ontology? then all deserts used to be mountain-ranges... now crank up the heat... the sort of heat that makes people mad and animals bewilder themselves... i mention this as much generously later on...

i seriously think the internet can be a lovely place...
sure... there are some pitfalls...
for one: i avoided online dating sites like
the plague... i don't know how i managed to get
fooled by social media...
then again: those were early days...
back in 2005... facebook had a policy of: only university
students... being the first person in my family
to go to university i gobbled some things naively...
mind you: i was already using last.fm
to forage for new music... that's how i found about
Porcupine Tree... Spirit... Gong... to name but the few...
i must have come across Wolfmother too...
i was over the moon that they played in Edinburgh
rather than playing Glasgow...
mind you: i didn't mind that Tool played in Glasgow...
i was willing: more than willing to make that trip
from Edinburgh... that's where i met her...
met: and left her...
    oh man... we were getting crushed... or rather:
she was getting crushed in the pit of happy maggots...
water was being distributed in plastic glasses
so that people wouldn't faint...
   (of course i'm going to portray myself as
someone good... although i tend to think i'm a nasty
piece of work... better to think yourself rotten
than as good... it works to anyone's advantage...
since? there's always room for improvement)
    the glasses were passing us left and right...
someone finally managed to not drink a water from
the cup and it passed into my hand...
what did i do? did i drink it? nope...
            i gave the cup to her... she gulped it down...
the second time i managed to catch a cup...
i drank half of it myself... offered it to her:
she refused... on the basis that the first cup satiated her...
so i passed the cup further down in the crowd...
third cup... i gave it to her... she drank half...
the remaining half i passed down the crowd...
by then i was almost bear-hugging her to give her
space to breath... so much so that she managed to turn
around... we chatted for about two minutes:
the old internet: a.s.a.l... sort of shtick...
                              and by the depth of the music coming
from Tool... we started snogging...
                    did i mind that she said she was German?
hmm!? i'm currently listening to: die weisse dame
                                                                      (d'ah m'eh)...
yes... the Tetragrammaton appears in certain
European languages...  e.g. ANTHONY...
                     you don't say: ANFONY
                               you say: ANTONY...
who's foney / phoney?! is that like someone: who can
be the X-man Magneto but with telephones?!

i probably have regrets... once the crowd was dispersing
after the concert was over...
i saw her standing in some obvious location...
we got separated...
            mind you... did she come alone?
girls? going to concerts on their own? not then not now...
highly unlikely...
but who was she with? a girlfriend or a boyfriend?
regrets... i walked passed her...
   i was about to ask her if she wanted to go back
to Edinburgh with me for some ***... well: not exactly
*** as a one word question... more...
on the lines of relationship building...
    nerves? she ignored me? i was snogging her
just a few minutes and half-hours prior...
            men go to concerts on their own...
do women? rare...
                      women travelling on their own? also rare...
i used to take these weekend trips
to some of the capitals of Europe: alone...
   because... i've been on trips with "friends"...
****** trips... disorganised trips... pointless trips...
i said: **** it... i'm going solo...
                 should i have approached her?
n'ah... she just topped the feelings of seeing Tool live...
a favourite band of mine since the age of 14...
or 15...

what was i "saying"? oh... right... the internet used to be fun,
it still is...
              sure... you get some *******... most of them
are neurotic women... thought-police Katherine(s)...
oh Carol... or oh Caren... or Kerrie... whatever...
             women who have no idea that either William Burroughs
or Ovid or for that matter Marquis de Sade ever existed...
what? i know what cancel-culture is...
i've been banned on... several sites... just outright
deleted... no response...
i was suspended on one website for about 9 months...
what happened, after? the Streisand effect...
my absence imploded...
prior? one of my poems had... maybe... maybe 2K views...

now? i'm packing a crowd of about 50K...
ergo? it's a good thing...
              but it's unlike the internet of NAPSTER
and HOTMAIL... and MSN? what were those chat-rooms
where people would talk anonymously...
with girls in America... i remember those...
that's how we first plundered our presence
in this sphere... obviously publishers wouldn't
listen to us... and we had better things to do anyway...
it was either homework... playing the Age of Empires II
or chatting to people before bots and proper a.i.
was introduced...
way way before internet shopping...
i still remember the classic look of a high street:
there used to be a record shop on each of them...

now? you want a record shop?
Romford... that's the only one i know that still exists...
it's like: Mecca...
seriously... come to Romford... buy some spinning
liquorice...
             i don't even know whether i've grown into
England or whether England has grown into me...
i'm guessing both... of course the myth of my childhood
in Poland is locked in the vaults of memory
of my mind... how we used to play together as children...
hide & seek... marbles... tic-tac-toe...
   skipping ropes... oh sure: boys and girls used to play
together... we didn't get as far as cards...
Blackjack... i'm afraid that if i started playing
Blackjack with the boys i would have not moved an inch...
from where i was born...

but look at me now...
    London leech... in and outs of Bow and further afield
as far as Epping... on a bicycle...
this is home... it breaks my heart in a way
but also mends it...
  
hmm... i recently came across an advert for online
therapy... a woman is sitting in a cubicle in a toilet
and is talking about how her mind will not switch off...
questions: self-rhetorical answers... more questions...
then the lights are turned on...
and in a cubicle next to her another woman
tries to "squeeze" out in a silence...
the camera returns to the woman who "thinks"
she's talking to someone... clearly: she isn't...
              i tried therapy... i tried psychologists:
**** me... at least the most they can do is prescribe you
talk and camomile tea...
i talked to psychiatrists...
    hmm... with the ineffectuality of asylums...
being prescribed pills... usually associated with asylums?
ha ha... ah ha ha...
i put on... let's settle on 30kg...
     i was a porky pie...
                   oh! but it was the cure! i was being cured!
i was "depressed" one year... "schizophrenic" another...
"psychotic" throughout... but when i got a brain MIR scan
back in Poland and talked to a ****** neurosurgeon...
i asked: so am i mad?
he replied: if anyone says you're mad... they're mad themselves...

i love England... no... English people are not racists...
they're just sadistic sometimes...
they have a sadistic sense of humour...
and a sadistic diagnostic-rumour: murmur...
after speaking to this ****** neurosurgeon...
i had to go back... back to England...
oh sure... i still talked with the psychiatrists
that were "treating" me...
i still took the pills...
      until one day: i snapped...
        my mother was having spinal surgery...
i just finished reading Kierkegaard's either / or...
no... that was stalemate: read...
i just finished reading vol. 1 of Kant's critique of pure reason...
and... i couldn't find vol. 2...
i was so ******* *******...

and i told her: when i get out of here!
     did she think: when i escape my body?
to me... psychosis is osmosis... i'm going back to either
air... fire... water or the earth...
perhaps a coupling...

point being: the advert? me... i have a post-Soviet
distrust for psychology, psychiatry, atheism...
why demand people have no soul but make logistic
investments into there being a soul?
or the opposite... whatever the opposite is...
                  i wouldn't talk to anyone but a random
stranger...
                     *******... mother-****-gobbling-*******...
misjudgements?! hmm-um?!
    yeah: bravo-me for keeping my anger under control
by drinking... and taking: long walks...
i once became so mad i walked from Romford to...
Harlow... in the middle of the night...
down roads without any pedestrian access...
      sat in a 24h Tesco waiting to buy a bottle of Jack...
talking to this naive teenage girl...
bought the bourbon... walked into a forest
and started eating Lilac coloured mushrooms...
i literally stopped caring...
the "adventure" finished with me catching a taxi home
and sleeping for about 12 hours...

alcohol as a sedative? yeah... it is... it's a sedative
keeping me intact: from boiling over into absolute rage...
i need it to sweat it out...
every time i drink i'm sedated:
i'm like the antithesis of what most drunks are...
they just explode carelessly...
at rock concerts or football matches... reckless idiots:
IF YOU ONLY KNEW THE TRUE POWER
OF ALCOHOL... what focus it can give...
how else did the pilots of Spitfires defeat
the Amphetamine riddled pilots of the Messerschmitts...
how else? how else where they defeated?
alcohol is a war potent contained in the most
affectionate man...
  
mind you: i know what an alcoholic looks like...
my grandfather was an alcoholic...
he was also a stamp-collector... i still have his Soviet
stamps... i wonder... if i really wanted money...
how much could they fetch in the west...
but... since i'm not after money... because i'm of the motto:
ARBEIT MACHT FREI... and i like the idea of
things... formerly owned by others are like
keeping their presence nearest to me...
translated as travelling stars in the night sky...
and i've seen: plenty... of those...
there are constellations... but there are also these...
roaming stars... i can't explain it...

be kind to animals, be kind to these little critters...
this will allow you to distinguish:
or least favour the judgement concerning:
whether you should be kind to all men:
or whether not to discriminate by a higher earned
justice learned from the kindness showered
on animals...

spieglein spieglein!

ooh... i needed that break from that autobiographic
outburst... and as the maxim states:
by the sweat of your brows you will earn a living...
funny that... writing is hardly any hard-lifting...
but i'm drinking and sweating like a mad-pig
from my armpits...

the internet... hmm...
one sample of tracing my footsteps back...
Tantalus < Human Sacrifice < Annual Customs
of Dahomey < the Kingdom of Dahomey...
this is me... going backward...
i just overheard someone mention...
the Kingdom of Dahomey...
   and king Ghezo...

                             now... physiology...
all these massive basketball players... currently living
in America... hold on hold... on...
Europeans did what?
go around Africa and catch these specimen?
really? what good is a slave if maimed by a bullet wound?!
hmm...  what i was thinking all along...
Africans ******* Africans over
just like Europeans ******* Europeans over...
same shift... different story...
nothing new...
              so there were these people in Western Africa
that used to hunt for slaves...
and sell them off to traders... and... let's face it...
every trade-person is an impartial person...
money is not the coinage of spirit: thought...
ideas are...
                   we exchange ideas like we exchange
money: but in disparaging circumstances...
point being... i arrived at finding about the myth of
Tantalus...

        that's the beauty of the internet...
you might be looking for something: then again not looking
for anything...
coupled with reading a book...
Tantalus...
             Ovid's Amores: book 2 poem 2...
hey presto! Tantalus appears!
loose talk left Tantalus thirsty for ever
though up to his neck in water, clutching at fruit
always out of his reach

             well then... the beauty of the internet...
you get to build tunnels... cognitive tunnels: they are...
but... but there's also the automated filtering process...
i don't celebrate my work... i don't allow it to reach
advertisement status... i don't censor...
i filter... zeit ist die nur essenz...
              während weltraum: etwas das
                             unterhalt selbst...
wir ar entwender sklaven zu zeit
     oder seine eskapisten...

time is the only essence...
while space: something that upkeeps itself...
we are either slaves to time
or its escapists!

then again: i did start thinking about pre-historic
escapism as most associated with
English Darwinists...
those adamant creatures who find it absolutely
necessary to find the ontology: of a man without history:
a man without memory...
strange creatures... like most English thinking is...
don't get me wrong... it's very practical thinking...
ergonomic... egalitarian... soft-spoken words
to replace the pan-Slavic experiment of Communism...

that's ******* dangerous...
and what's the alternative? is there an alternative?
the English intellect invented
ergonomics and egalitarianism to counter
Communism...
               but it also invested itself in pre-history /
post-history... the ontology of:
prior to any recorded history... there was this
ontolology of APES...
i don't even think Copernicus could have
envisioned such widespread corruption of a simple
idea: nature abhors vacuums...
vacuums are filled by adaptation...

  i blame the mutation of Darwinism on the current
zeitgeist-narrative...
   no history? no history?!
          no ******* wonder i'm fleeing into foreign
languages... i've tested my thoughts on German...
i'm testing my thoughts on Russian...
i have this special case i need to test / write out...
i'm not staying: i'm fleeing...
but i'll be fleeing in a way that a violin
player is fleeing the sinking Titanic...

i need more drink to write this bit...
after all... i'm "changing glasses"...
i'm about to roam around the cheapest version
of Greek...
                       Darwinistic anti-historical pre-historical
ontology... i remember winters of such an abundence
of snow that you will never know...
i ******* hate climate-change-sceptics...
it's too hot!
        it's, too, *******, hot!
                             scepticism is not some *******
NEU-KOOL...
              BONKERS... no! neit! nein! nie!
i don't need lobster-people parading with
suntans... telling me: yeah: br'uh... all good...
like **** it is...
i hate these climate sceptics...
like i hate these Hitchen's era atheist...
sensible people my ****... my ****...

my feet are sticky... my brain is fried...
                     sure sure... let's just "rephrase" our next
no-new position comes the next year's flooding...

what the **** happened to:
CAUSE & EFFECT?!
                     physics isn't working?!
rules of physics somehow awry?"
                    hammer not good for nails?!
THIS IS WHY I DRINK...
i drink to contain my rage...
           but i also drink to fuse with it...
a writing ambition that...
will not be recognised... because:
zeitgeistnarrativ...
people need to hear what they are used to /
what they want...

****'s sake... with these climate change scpetics there's
no physics principle of: X causes Y...
ergo Y causes YX... ergo YX cause XY...
ergo... there's a ******* Z!
better explained?
   x causes y.. no! y doesn't cause x!
it's not a closed-case sceanario... you ****** g dim-wit!

dimmy dumb dimmy dumb wit!
ugh meister fantastisch spinster
   herr spinster: spaghettilockenwickler:
mampfenhausherr!

      hell is a fury that man obeys!
hell is a fury that a man obeys:
because... he inacts its tides...
selfish women discard hell's compensation
for personal gains...
best to spread the fury...
it has been... a long wait...
but worthwhile...
                            wahnhaft?!
                                           wer ist nicht?!

ten kto miał spać... i ten kto miał: wstać...
i ten kto miał spać... i ten kto miał: wstać...
i ten: kto został "zaspany":
  i ten kto ten kto nigdy się nidgy nie
obudził...
           i ten... komu zerk na "co to?":
dodało: nad-skupieninie:
ojra... ojra: coś nie tak!
o kurwa... hyba coś nie tak!

me? i'm looking at these two Russian
letters...
and then looking at these Latin transformations...

Спокойная ночь: spokojnaja no-
             hmm... exactly!
exactly? peaceful night!
but that's not my "beef"...
    J is replaced with Y...
                          since there's no Jeep in *****...
or therefore a DZ... dz = j....

                                     exactly: German folk songs
for drinking... gearing up to writing
while listening to some Russian agnst...
and i've just found... the second artist
in the Russian tongue that appeals to me...
first things first... Faun's Lorelei to get drunk and proper
"stammered" in order to better write...
that's that... but then... something from Russia:

to think...
                            i was lucky enough to... and not so lucky
to have had a Russian girlfriend...
lucky to have visited St. Petersburg and Moscow
but sort of unlucky to see in her cousin's face
that she was cheating on me...
i liked drinking with him: beer and dried fish...
talking about music and history...
i knew what his face was telling me...
he was sad that he knew she was having a French-fling
of two-boys one girl...
i hope i came across to suggest to him:
you know... i have been with prostitutes...
she over-estimates her worth, you do know: that i know that,
right?
i'm only here for St. Petersburg and for Moscow
and for the *****... the beer and the dried fish
that's such a better accomplishment to match
up with beer than peanuts...
you do know that i know she's ******* around?
but let me tell you: just one night...
i'll **** her brains out... i'll turn into a miner and
build a tunnel into her ego so that she remembers
me proper... oh don't worry... this narrative will only
come to be some years later...
i'll need to reflect for years before i realise
what my unconscious was instinctively planning:

good luck trying to be a tourist in Russia these
days... ha ha...
i was already out of the door come the moment
she wanted to turn my long hair into dreadlocks
and wanted to tattoo me...
i knew it was a short escapade: a gentle run
rather than a marathon...
the best part was: when she introduced me to her
grandmother: telling me it was her mother...
and we went to dinner: she introduced her mother
as her sister... and her father as her "uncle"...
she was trying to hide so bad that i was a ******...
a Russian girl?! dating a ****** boy?!
mein gott!                       it's only years later that
i'm drinking this fine wine of memory
in the form of ms. amber (whiskey)...

                   oh for more of these love complications
on grounds of ethnicity: race-baiting?
too ******* obvious: the Germanic peoples can play
that duty to the "universe"...
i like the subtle queues...

i can just imagine if this affair went west...
if i dated a proper: milchfräulein!
i'd be like: wild-eyed: did your grandpa secetectly
stash a SS-uniform in secret? can i see it?
can i wear it? wait... wait... i need to see the Turk
first... my barber... i can't put it on without
being properly trimmed...
does he? does he?
                                           ah ha ha...

i think schwarz suits me...
although i much prefer
grün und braun shades of clothes...
                           nothing jeans related... suits me...

it became one of those relationships that's best
not have had... best remembered like
the heat-wave of 2022...
i... ******* cycled through the village of Wellington...
i know the area... it's local... well...
as a cyclist it's local... thereabouts to Rainham...
there's this land-fill site near by...
there's the Cold-Harbour...
  when the Thames spreads her "legs" / tide...
i know the area... ******* grass fires?
  you're kidding me...
   i abhor climate sceptics like i abhor atheists...

do i look like a: ffff-ucking camel jockey?!
some influencer girl staging the pride of her buttocks
before some hotel in Dubai?
i hate people who adhere to the heat...
i know that when the mob comes after them
i'll be peddling...
              i'll be licking my wounds...
i'll be writing: sure... not having sweat from my brows:
but from my underarm pits...
at this point i abhore the arrogant-denial
of the sceptics...
                             because this is the workings of bad-faith...
and bad-faith begins with advocating
the adamancy of denial...
                  these ffff-ucking idiots need
another year... perhaps two...
before they change their minds about saying
things like: oh... media frenzy!
   this feels like just another summer!

really?
  really?!
              what happened to me today?
i woke up... in a 180° position to the one i fell asleep in...
i rotated... 180°... how? how does a body rotate
180° while asleep... lying next to a table...
sure... i took down a chair...
but... this is the UNCONSCIOUS speaking:
this is the COLLECCTIVE UNCONSCIOUS speaking
to individuals in their UNCONSCIOUS....
i ffff-ucking rotated 180° in my sleep!

that's not a ******* problem?!
fair enough... let idiots breed...
I DON'T CARE...
I'M NOT ALLOWED TO CARE...
I DON'T CARE...
DAARWINISM EXPOSED A MAN BADLY
DAMAGED BY ALLOWANCES OF AN ONTOLOGY
OF A PRE-HISTORY: AN ANTI-THESIS OF CONTINUITY
OF PRE-HISTORY: BY VARIATION OF SOME "MAGIC!"
SOME MAGIC MONKEY JUGGLING...

no! nein! neit! nie!

       come to "think" of it...
    Communism... the whole Pan-Slavic movement...
i'd like to "think" a little about the letters...
about... the crab-bucket... mentality of "losers"
of capitalism...
these... adherent wastes of time for people
that... want to work...
                  these people that should be readied
for an arbeit mach freit... scrutiny...
the excuses some people give them...
i've never been allowed excuses...
i was either good at my work or **** at it...
but some of these people have been given
too many excuses: based on their race:
get rid of them...
                 how does the verse work?
employ him because X...
well then... get rid of him based on Y...
lazy ******* best starve...
                        
    oh this cruel world... crueler Siberia...
i'm supposed to do the work of lazy Chimera's
of "man"?
                  
Спокойная ночь... bothers me...
esp. when reiterating in Latin...
      й = J = Y...
                  hmm... чь: ć
                               what's чъ?!
      but that's already arrived at!
                                  чъ = č ...

night?                      нoц! noc! night!

                    what's the ******* deal with
the Cyrillic trinity of ь ъ & ы?

                                         "soft": acute?
"hard": caron?
                         but a "soft" is already incorporated
within the noun concerning NIGHT...
at the same time it's not necessary...
that's why for a ******...
Russian is under-formed...

   нoц... contra ночь...
           because? the latter implies:
  when heard: never to be unheard:
   noć...
                      no... not noć...
not ******* nocz / noč...
                      нoц: noc! nacht!

***: *******: BAJA... bajka!
                     you confusing idiots... Chinese separatists
of Beijing...
ъ, ы, ь, ю, я, y living in make-shift *****-lands...

gorąc...
                  gorąц...
                                    na mej głowie...
to tło... szumu... i idiotyzmu...
      this: this entire world is coming to the smallest
portion of the world for: "debriefing":
about being the the antagonist...

  **** it... i'm siding with the Russians...
i don't care...
                      i don't care because i don't care...
i'm siding with the Russians...
at least they have some existential sanity
left in them...
                it's very much unlike siding with
**** Germany most associated with
the Croats...
this is... a civiliation-state scenario...
this is Darwinism in its advent of foreplay...
i'm curating foreplay...
people are so blind... as individuals...

do i look like wanting to **** black women?
ergo... all the poly-racial ****... is... what?
something i might want to keep... or... burn?
i could never appreciate the idiocy of some people...
but? i'm currently having to adapt....
because... people have beccome better than their own
predictions.