a. sketch

gęba
                                                              py­sk
            buzia (buziaki)     usta

           głowa                          łeb (łbem)
                  
          gleba (judo submission)      na glebe
                  ziemia,     pustota pola:
  ziemia                                             ziemniak
    ßuka | matka
                                                       pani | kurwa.

ß: juicy s... no macron to be found... but it's there.

b. narrative

it's the current vogue in western cultures,
notably that in anglophone contingents of the copula
already stated: western.

i once heard the argument that it doesn't matter
whether you understand the lyric in a song,
i agree: poems need and only represent a one-dimensional
desire to write words: a bulls-eye, or a white shark's
blind spot| in those omnious eyes without
sclera or iris... |hard to find.

for some reason i have this need to state that this is
a cultural enrichment project, like all *cold war tactics...
since we are living in the times of cold war ii,
there's an inherent need to suggest an alternative to what's
spread on the air-waves...
               dylan thomas could have influenced bob dylan
(who took the name for a surname);
                               but of course i wouldn't
  sell you anything else, but to be given the impression
of a second-rate citizen of england only gives me a militant
status... and since most of us can only grasp a stone
to start a war... better use your mother-culture...
at least i can feel a cultural collectivism of ethnicity
that has a mongrel thought and tongue...

well... that link in the title? it's not a trojan horse link,
the times of trojan viruses are over, they were around a while
back, but the trojan horse has become extinct...
lao che's jestem psem (i'm a dog)...
                     cuchne kiedy zmokne (aura of stench when
i get wet)...
                    
            well... what was the original intent?
oh oh, right:
                              i wouldn't call linguistic teachers with
any use: if they are not bilingual at least...
bilingualism entrenches you in languages and cultures...
and i wouldn't study philosophy, or dare-say "practice" it
if you haven't begun with studying either chemistry
or physics... or biology? the latter i'm not too sure about.

yet all this politico talk in the west... about trans-
        and gender...
                                    funny you should say that...
it has become a reality in the west with these transitions
in accordance with st. thomas' gospel, among other things,
but it's more about how: words do not have genders
in english...
                                     english hasn't evolved to incorporate
gender "roles" in its words, it doesn't have it...
   which translates into the fiasco we see everywhere
in the internet prone world...

              i can't distinguish the masculine or the feminine
in speaking english...
          księżyc (masculine): moon        słońce (feminine): sun.
lampa (feminine): lamp
                                             świeca / świeczka (feminine): candle...
and once again a better example: english words
   can't contain or express diminutive form, e.g. as the above
for candle... it requires the crutch of an adjective,
   and even that word is an approx. to describe a language
that allows words to accept the diminutive...
                mały (cm) that leads into malutki (mm)
that leads into maluteńki (μm) - that leads into
   maciupki (nm) / it's more endearing given the μm scaling...
                                 try to apply the diminutive aesthetic
to the original word beyond
                 the already stated ... and you're writing nonsense.
                
so why is the english language so ****** naked?
naked up to the point that it has to be so "active" in the real
world? i know that oxford dons would like to
     start spewing their grammar rules... but i can't find
the diminutive, for one... for second sexes of words...
and thirdly... trans-humanism when talking about animals...

c. examples from the sketch

gęba / buzia: the mouth, the former being utilised in
such examples as: niewyparzona gęba / a foul mouth...
    buzia? what about it? well: buziaki (kisses) - all angelic.
the distinction comes with pysk... that's derived
                              from the snout... and my my... how
my logic has failed me on this point...
but wait!
             oh looky looky! there's another better
example!                     głowa                          łeb (łbem)
                             head                                 this!
zaczynam sie łbem (i begin with the "head") -
                            kończe sie ogonem (and end with the tail):
so out pops out the distinction between a human head
and an animal's head... the word: łeb.
                    something akin to: crude, protruding
                                                      ­                    or large.
d. in conclusio

is this the guide to what the western world is experiencing?
or at least motivating... well: this is just part
of the bigger picture, it's answer as any answer might be:
befitting to a select interested in taking to this view...
during my "career" of education, i never heard
of the masculine / feminine concepts applicable to words
in the english language... but who cares these days:
it's interesting to watch lunatics taking to st. thomas'
gospel seriously, literally, not appreciating poetry,
                                     overcrowding in prisons as the lunatic
asylums folded and disappeared: with society
being just a massive azyl... a scary word like
                           it's known in my birthplace - morawica;
it's a word that strikes fear into the hearts of men
and women -         it sounded so notorious that they later
changed it... had to: the town of kielce was given
a bad reputation because of it.

ah ******* ęnglishman! ty jedynie Liverpool!

kielce i scyzoryk...
                                                     no i tyle...
korona i gleba -
                                  kacap i świnia -
nagle napoleon
                                                     na capie
                            i tuwim i ja:
kiedy to zadupie zwane
Moskwa wrota
otwiera: jak pizda kurwy
na tle stonogi - fu fu...
co za perfum! czasem wu
casem ef -         ale nie nagle kastrat!
hujnia hu, hujnia ** -
blat blata w komin indora brzuch
wpycha, na siłe, ale jej brak!
no to blah blah blah blah... blah;
apropo(s), tzn. nie
tyczy tyczki czyli upper-long-jump,
      neun meter bach oben;
za grass za grass - uberschiellsewonderbra:
like peeling the skin of a ******* bag:
magician's rabbit in it too!

a ona nadal nie kuma...
holender plu w jej twarz
a ona myśli że mowa
raptem po ceausescu czešku!
škoda / szkoda -
tak samo zwane:
   pier*dolenie of chopenie (szo! szu! mucha
                               w uchu! taki oto
                      kwaskowy miód!)

Spring and Summer have come together,
waited at the door too long, though,
quarreled who get in first,
and snow was dancing in the air,
when they were shoving their way to…

Who could push through stronger?
who could be faster this year?
and the snow was waiting and falling all days!

Spring had her right to come !
was just her time to show up !
but her delicate wings were withering slowly,
when Summer pushed her aside,
heating up days,
but nights

Days are already warm,
the Sun is shinning...
Mr. Snow ran to his white palace to rest
till December…ran, ran, ran

Spring is already sitting, all day, here,
but Summer has never given up, ha!
and is dancing with her hot
feathers of fire,
kissing your cheeks with hot puffs
puff,  puff,  puff….**

14.04.2013. Kielce

upper tier of crosswords,
mental rubric,

      s                        a

         t             h            e
    
      r            t     

                      d             e
      
  
       shattered: quasi germanica

lexicon...

                  atom...

warm ***** and the chilled chaser...
or no chaser, hence
***** chilled to the consistency
of gome syrop...
liquidated clear liquorice...

Pazura (actor)
     und Warszawa (a capital
of a European nation...

      dziw... bo bez sfobody,
między... to eN...

ha ha ha ha...

e e Cummings conjuring
up the cOncEPt of orthography
in the native readers...
without exploring diacritical
mark application,
which, orthography rests upon...

    co ma gzyms do
       krawędzi
kiedy pietruszka
        o, zajob...
i ta świcąca trójci Pitta...
nie brody warta,
tylko tego, bolka jolka...
greckiego, fagasa...
    
a piernik do wiatraka?
ujebany, Sergio Pansa...

...to guwno, tzn. prl'u:
co czyni papa new guinea
pierdolonym 'omikiem?

suka morda brud...

    te kurwa... z... kreską!

bilingualist contra the polyglot,
UN of the latter,  
trenches and no man's land
of the former...

       6 Napoleons made
a dozen private Ryans...
      at Jena...
  'alf  frisky Burgundian...
'alf celibate Schwabian...

crosswords and the thesaurus
avenue...
   poetry...
    and the robert frost analogy...
Dante and Virgil...
Homer's solo
with a blind man' stick,
or rather...
Homer and Milton...
sitting in a tree...

      either a tongue bound
to the breath of Horace...
or the leash
      and warden skit...
     of the Minotaur...

somehow...
etymology always was,
and always will be,
the pedantic, bookish
version of history...

      so much so,
that etymology bypasses
the ridiculousness of
Darwinsm, of form, of Plato...

aeons pass before ape
differentiates
the vowel from the consonant
or the onomatopoeia
from the mimic from
the noun...

            then comes the continuum
crushing all genesis
theists, as well as all genesis
atheists...
      love, love... and you typical
Sunday afternoon...
        
slang as an anti-etymology...
           likewise the ape...
ape being slang, for man...
   slang as noun as colloquial,
rather than as proverbial..
staccato...
                  and all sort of
mannerismsms of the,
"less informed"...
  
                            only England scorns
bilingualism it would seem...
unless it has no post-colonial
uncle toms to boast of...

P.T.S.D. of the 1946 Kielce Pogrom...
ever so shocking,  
unlike the biblical credo:
go forth and multiply...
      in any other instances,
less memorable, collateral...
guess not enough cousin fucky-fucky...
1 Chew worth 1000 Chings...
      if not more...
Chew has a name, Ching has a number...
like the good ol' days...
bribing the ß-mann (eszettmann)
for Milka bishop choc bars.

perhaps this radio station doesn't play
the up-coming indie sensation,
die neusache...
    100.9FM... Kielce...
       and even i thought that a radio
station that only played classical music
in Poland was hard to find,
but of course i found PR2 (Dwójka)
at ~60FM...
              but back to 100.9FM...
   past 11 o'clock, through to 6 in the morning,
unadulterated musical continuum,
no adverts, just song after song...
perfected twinned to:
falling asleep wearing headphones...
somehow...
   no ticking clock, no barking dog,
no vacuum of wonder can settle a calm,
than this... perpetuated pulverisation
of sound...
   am i a millenial?
   hard to grasp the idea, listening
to the critique of those
starzy młodzi aged nearing 40...
the young who are the old...
even pensioners do not have such
a scolding beer jerky as the generation  
just prior to me hitting 18 in the year
2004...
          the young who are the old,
2 months time spent with pensioners
and suddenly the world is much
smaller, less bothersome,
    less: or rather more,
       akin to my appeal 20th regards
to the grand scheme of things,
summarised as vaguely as contested
in the word: r e a l i t y...
      vague ******* concept if you ask
me... FAMA radio... a constant stream
of music,  no adverts from
11 o'clock till 6 in the morning...
    even pensioners have enough
intelligence to not get into
generational warring...
   mind you, Chopin and Liszt are
all technique, an very little style...
diabolical indeed, technically worthy
of all those plagiarisms of reading score
and giving life, to a deaf man's gamble
off a page, trained monkeys, basically...
like the carpenter and
like the plumber... albeit with
more nuance of a useful trade...
   playing the piano is hardly a practicality
matter... unless, lounging,
bored, finding avenues to escape
popping balloons or eating Antoinette
cakes...
               all technique,
          but take for example style...
no one can tell me that there isn't
a whiff of Satie's Gymnopédie
                      in Thomas Newman's
amrican beauty soundtrack...
     i hear it as rarely pairing the two
as i cherish the scent of cherry blossom
in a spring night...
            or rather wine-cherry,
not the sweet kin'dt, but the sour genus...
which, via scent, is much sweeter
than the fruit...
           roses are without scent,
a gas explosion in an apartment...
   while violets are not worth the cliché couplet...
    for some reason,
the piano fell into the hands of
the French...
                   again, notably Debussy...
style, over technique...
                       i dwarf,  
                           a poem in hand
beneath an arch of concrete and zooming
traffic, i with a hyenna grin
and a coyote eye...
                                 come before the strawberry
picker, before the truck driver,
a punching bag of sorts...
              a "life" lived,
with only an investment in
    a life post scriptum
or rather posthumously...
          humour has it...
     the dead body speaks an alien
tongue of autopsy...
       dead yet alive...
                       alive yet dead...
          nature abhors vacuum,
so much so that god, as vacuum,
became naturue's plea
for man's possession of thought...
    deus est res vanum
  ergo **** est res cogitans...
so much thought by deity consumed
that man to retract
    his anathema for prayer
with the Enlightenment...
    lo, behold, a natural void...
of a dead, star, dead, yet not dead,
as a black hole...
                 i see fear in man
awaiting no luck in gamble on
death the first and last escape...
   take away the hour, the minute,
month year and leave but 1,
smooth transition, most notably
in the tupsy turvy spring and autumn,
away from mundane summer
and winter...
                love is a ***** of a word,
god as something too vague
and misnomer-prone...
             third thesaurus category...
synonym, antonym, misnomer (of)...
       politiksprechen,
jurisprudence outside of theory...
         it's still style over technique...
neither Chopin nor Liszt will ever
be adapted or translated into image...
breadth of fire, swirl of tornado,
diabolically elemental...
                      but the slow tortoise
foreplay of the French,
guillotine suspence...
             and then unlike some
mad woodpeckers smashing key
upon key...
              gently gliding to a ballerina
pose minus twirl,
akin to a falling oak leaf...
                         fear of the unknown
clung to death,
   or the fear of the known,
clinging to the abyss of history
                     and: no coliseum
or a pyramid of Giza to one's name?
            with no a priori
of this world at birth,
there cannot be an a posteriori
          of this world at death...
                  death will forever be, to me,
the unlearning of, falling asleep.

what became of real-time language:
an over-baggaged monstrosity
of nuance -

                    and of course:
all those beautiful handwriting
examples -
   lost to the digit of
an A whereby, once upon a time...
there would be some idiosyncracy
attached...

graphology, was it?

              - but yes, over-burdened
by nuance:
how - you almost have
to explain the joke,
to see a low-hanging fruit
of a punchline...

the camel broke on the nuance,
it buckled before it
even arrived at the eye
of the needle...
                   and...
the rich man squeezed past
a penny...

only today, after remaining
for over 24 hours,
i started thinking
of the schizophrenic quadratic
equation,
genesis: subject-object
dichotomy...
rather than the mind-body
duality of Descartes...

        and i tried to invite
myself to be entertained:
you know...
   the more i found myself
being, ahem, "offended"...
the more i found my heart
to increase the threshold
capacity for the variety
of feeling...

     a-pathy...
             less...
             without a pathology
and more...
         pathology-in-itself...
yes, i know the letter
with the hyphen a-
   implies "without"...
   but there never really is
an a-pathy...
            so? pathology-per-se...
i can't even begin to
understand why feelings
are so alienating
to some people of cold
logical concerns...
           sure:
   if someone has to succumb
to... mouthing-off...
            when feelings
cannot feed of the succor
of the grand silence...

my heart my anchor -
even if my mind, my ship -
        is sinking into
the yawning gnash of the waves
of existence before me...

only today, a film about
r. d. laing from 2017...
me?
         less about l.s.d.
and more:
    a tongue riddled (rather than
plagued) by metaphors...
   or...
          trans-***?
  hey, hello...
     how about you meet
the meta-mind?

         but such a complete disregard
for feelings?
what other feelings?
the grand oratory feelings
of being: "one of the tribe"?
the logistics of the +
    in 1 and 1 equals 2?

           i too once had
the faculty of treating my thinking
as a labyrinth basis for
a fraction of, reality's narrative...
but i lost that, capacity...
now all my thinking is
a spiral,
    devoid of an ethic that
would require something more
than:
               and what would
a hypothetical autism of
solipsism (man) think of all this?

bouts of the hermit stuppor...
conversations with one's
own shadow...
  and... trying to topple what
has survived from:
ensuring the word: philosophy
is excused the peddlestool
of pretentious cloaking
and staging for a theatre of...
'not another decade of
unanswered questions!'

    in handwriting,
on a napkin...
    'if i were sane enough,
i'd be entertained by the
speculative reality of, physics...
because what is physics,
once the determinate act of
the bhagavad gita
has been cited...
      of no god but of man
the argument: regarding
"who" is to play the dice...

it's almost "wrong" to claim
the sanity of people
who are entertained by
a speculative reality of physics...
unless you've read enough
or became engrossed in
enough science fiction...
that... that isn't speculative
reality... is it?

       so i'm mad...
               and more attune to
something called...
   engrossed reality (of philosophy)...
but again...
    that is such a pretentious word...
a charlatan's word,
a sophist's word...
                but i am haunted
by questions... no one can answer me...
for every step physics takes
forward,
       ethics takes two steps back,
and metaphysics takes
three steps back...

- and yes, a rigid vocabulary
helps...
   to make the "words in between"
fluid...
               gaseous ego,
gaseous god,
                       suckling parasite
at the end of the umbilical cord
the grand nihil...

primarily:
    you can spend 7 hours in bed,
listening to a radio station
from Kielce, radio FAMA...
    toiling in sweat and in
a spiral where once was a labyrinth...
with an empty heart...
and... get up to find
a dwadzieścia groszy
             coin in your bed...
      if i only found a radio station
as good as this...
i wouldn't have bothered
collecting all these *******
hoarded bricks of either
compact disk or vinyl...
       alas...
             irony...
      you only find a decent
radio station...
                    once you started
to not bother buying your own
d.j. coffin...

     what was that quadratic
about, though?  
   to internalize 'weeling and not
externalize "thinking"...
         i don't know...
              numb heart shield
of 1 + 1 = 2...
             reality instructor of:
swam, and didn't drown...

come the inner-circle joke...
       yet what is more... "interesting"...
the feelings of the individual,
when they do not morph
into the feelings of... mimic...
        surely...
             it is good to be in possession
of an agitated heart,
  prone to... throbbing of feeling
which are not coinciding with
feeling...
   whereby said feelings...
need to be... internalized...
eaten raw on the count
  of the throbbing count...
muddling the mind...
but not to the point where
the muddled mind is allowed
to translate itself into
a tongue that... primarily wants...
a telepathic-congregation
of: the zoo of zombies let loose
on the suspect...

        i say:
forget eating the bread and
drinking the blood...
i say:
   eat your own heart first...
         and... enjoy the silence.

what have i done: to deserve... this?
i must come across as the most honest i can summon:
i haven't sat down an read a book
in a while: not because i somehow "think":
synonymous with doubt...
although thinking is more antonymous
with negation... the "feels" the grand "waking"
hour... day... week.. year...
point being... i haven't sat down with a book
for a while... reading newspapers doesn't count:
reading newspapers is a bit like
reading advertisement slogans... prompts...
oi oi! peacock! vector...
if only newspapers were written on
good quality... silk-imitation toilet paper...
i'd wipe my *** with them...
prostitutes have a higher status in my mind
than... journalists...
anchors... ditto-heads...
hell... prostitutes outstrip the worth of
bureaucratic custard-fudge any day...
they know their worth... there's so much
transparency concerning prostitutes that...
i haven't been on a date... not ever...
not since that one memorable date
with an Australian girl... we used to go to
highschool together... i took her to an Edward Hopper
exhibition... and a screening of Troy
in the cinema... some sushi...
she ended up being the most popular girl in
the school...
all on a single date...
that was fun... but by current standards?
a date is a meal?
pretending there was no prior
profiling... i imagine a date to imply:
i'm going to take up the whole of your day...
we'll do just fine: if we need a day...
dating... kind of boring... not boring...
claustrophobic... congested...
the whole culture of "dating" always felt to me
like a screening event at the airport...
getting an x-ray of a broken leg...
i'd require a day...
an art gallery... 3 ******* hours in the cinema...
a bite of sushi...
i don't need a "date"... i need a DAY... ugh...
or... i bypass all that foreplay before
foreplay and charge right into a naked
corpse of a Turkish ******* who's
geared up for... the mythology of hair
in Islam...
seriously... if you had a hair in your soup...
it would be equivalent to finding a fly?
i will forever attest...
the most ****** part of a female body is
her hands... probably  because they're smaller...
geisha riddles the jest of:
proper ****...

no one was going to date her...
i was the tallest in the cauldron...
and she was... properly bred in the outback...
coming up to 6ft...
the loveliest pair of pits on anything:
woman, cow... horse(?)...
in Edinburgh before she didn't...
decide to lose her virginity with me...
i did that work prior...
on some 3rd year psychology major
from Grenoble who moaned about
me having Napoleon on my wall..
the Duchy of Warsaw?
and Marquis de Sade...

ever ****** a ****** once...
72 times is... too much...
you begin by pretending your whittle richard
is just enough / teasing at: too small...
i can't explain the sensation:
it's ******* universal...
it's like... the shared sensation bound
to the hands when... tearing apart
a cotton cloth...

i don't know: what it is...
was i gearing her up to something more:
ambitious... like...
impregnation?
it wasn't terribly "fun"...
just about right... with the timing...
it can't be understated...
having the chance to relax with...
already "sacrificed" *****...
of prostitutes...
it's so much easier: for the transparency...
since no dating is ever to be invoked...

dating: i need a day...
i don't require profile screening over food
i'd rather eat in silence...
for ****'s sake...

just my luck... dating the elder of two sisters...
because: almost always...
the younger sister is more attractive than
the older one...
Promis & Priya...
   Laura... oh that Scot & Persian mongrel link
but i can't remember her sister's name...

"something in the way": clearly...
i was just taking to Knausgaard's vol. 4
of "mein kapf"...
the entire room pulsated with a silence
that only outside noises can intrude upon:
notably traffic...
caressing a book...
there's the t.v. blank...
i'm seriously in need of a fire & crackle
of... a fireplace...
reading a book would be best complimented by...
said sound: never mind...
the hushed murmur of the traffic outside
is also: stimulating...

reading a book... i forgot what that feels like...
it's not like reading a newspaper...
hardly... ugh... notably the opinion sections...
of the 5 major "feels" i can quest for...
reading a book in a room
inviting silence...
petting a cat... whenever a cat feels like it
or rather: whenever i also feel like it...
that i have a maine **** sleeping in my
bed...
is beyond me... i always thought it was
hard for a tiger bonsai to like you...
it is... how men champion dog-ownership...
of sure... esp. in England...
where you have to make cleaning up after
your beloved so ******* public...
in the doggy-bag the **** goes...
not prior to the "pandemic" did these dog-walkers
walk around with hand-sanitizers to boot...

dog = leash = muzzle = walking the **** thing...
it's like owning a bicycle and paying road tax!
to hell with paying road tax...
the argument follows:
the dog is loyalty...
it's also always ******* apparent!
a cat can play the Schrödinger's gimmick...
it can *******: on its own will...
i can ignore it... i can... leave it... freely:
available and... consecrated on some binding
glue whenever it feels like it...

between a dog and a cat and a... ******* fern...
well... the cat is a tier above the fern...
but... a tier below an orchid...
since? orchids need less tending to than cats...
but please don't think
that... it was terribly important to have dogs
when i was growing up...
as the only child they were my substitute
brother... sister...
but as you age... dogs... eh... not so relevant...
again: i'd hope to own one... if...
i also didn't have to leash-the-poor-sod...
at least with cats i can ignore them...
come to think of it...
i ignore them up to the point where
i clean their **** and slice them raw turkey...
hell... this one time: at "band camp":
i fed my maine ****
a "live olive":  fish-eye...
i once held a female mosquito by the ballerina
leg and watched as the cat gulped her down...

seems oddly nice to be part of something...
even if it's only a food-chain of events...
at least a tiger wouldn't...
**** me to get a hard-on...
it would **** me: in order to eat me...
now the ******* parade...
people killing people because they are
some hyper-inflated chimpanzee status
worth... for fun or for status...
last time i checked?
the constellations still worked:
they were kept intact... the moon came
with the night... the sun with the day...
the water with the tide...

of the 5 major sensations...
i don't even know whether there are five...
reading a book...
petting a cat... cycling...
pebbles of Dagenham...
estranged grandmother
*** is great: if you have it regularly...

notes...
pebbles of Dagenham?
oh don't ever try to cycle via Dagenham...
someone must have brainstormed
a pretty octopus when...
the pebbles... like glass...
were... left to season the usual grit of
road / pave...
mind you: i had tires that were gagging
for being replaced... 23cm width...
it was bound to happen...
but Dagenham has the worst roads...

reading a book can almost retain all
the necessities of petting a cat whenever
it feels like it...
it's good to read a lot of newspapers
before relaxing with a book...
i can never relax with a newspaper:
i relax taking a ****...
shame i can't bring a newspaper to the event!
i would... if i could...
i doubly-relax taking a **** contemplating
homosexual antics...
just for kicks...

of all the surprises in this world... family...
i knew my uncle: was going to be estranged from
my mother... brother and sister...
opposites... "poor" father beginning with
no family... pseudo-orphaned...
marrying into this ******* cocktail...
but an estranged grandmother?
well... the "story" goes...
i saw my grandfather all well and certain...
joking about another family relation:
he being alive, my grandmother's brother being dead...
limping on the last remains of a foot...

my mother decided that her mother be estranged:
or perhaps... my grandmother decided with her
son: my uncle... that... it's better to keep ourselves
apart...
my grandfather's death was kept in secret...
two months prior i was sipping coffee with
him... he was rereading a book i picked up
from a bookshop in Kielce:

Knausgaard's autumn: that line about
eating apples: whole... at the end of your life...
to the bitter core...
i liked my grandmother: muffin...
the mornings with sober me...
drinking coffee solving crossword puzzles...
but i do remember her crying in the night...
my grandfather was...
an alcoholic... but she was... still is:
a most... disfranchised of women...

but... death is death...
there were 2 months between his final descent...
now i feel like i was the grandson that didn't
care... i was the only ******* grandson!
so much for family...
reading a book... caressing the pages...
the silence...
petting a cat whenever it wants it...
riding a bicycle...
riding a bicycle...
                        perhaps swimming...
***?
i can't say i haven't teased at it:
but it's best when it's frequented with...
enough repetition...
like... push-ups... if it's done on the spare...
it's hardly equivalent to breathing...
i can spare myself entertaining it...
*** is not water... it's not nutrients...
i can... live without it...

i love drinking... probably as the least frequent
spectacle of... ***...
but i also love sobering up:
while cycling...
here's a beard: here's an imitation violin!
watch me fiddle...
there's a roof?! there's a fiddler on top of:
said roof?
mein gott: bulgari?!

das ist genug!
      genug! genug!
kommen sie die fragezeichen...
fragen! fragen! fragen hier!
fragen jetzt!

           KOHLE: KALT!

i drink... i start speaking Deutsche...
no wonder...
the Pakistanis have taken over
the English sphere of "sensibility"...
eh... little... bog... bother-monster...
little freckle... little mind..
something... quasi-Welsh...
pseudo-Scot...

SILVERCHAIR'S FROGSTOMP
VS... DINO SURF...
TIDE....
NIRVANA'S... POLLY,,
ONE EYED BLIND,,,,

some freckle Cqsper
ginger boing: yo.... yo,,,
tooth-bit....
quickest...incubus...

it's a brain haemorrhage:
    it's not a *******
cauliflower!
    - and at the age of 21: prior
to the complete development of
   the prefrontal cortex?
most people i've met don't
believe - and why should
they?
          funny enough -
only Poland allowed me to have
an MRI scan...
  and the neurophysician
i went to looked stunned that
i was still standing straight
and was coherent in speech -
so i asked: am i mentally ill?
so he says: anyone who says
you're mentally ill: is mentally
ill...
           funny, that...
  having "interviewed" 4 english
psychiatrists... it must be so...
revelation 13:3 -
one of the heads of the beast
seemed to have had a fatal wound,
but the fatal wound had been healed.
the whole world was filled with
wonder and followed the beast.
- because i'm way past
deluded - i've just woken up from
a sleeping session that lasted...
oh, let me put that into
an arithmetic perspective:
    went to bed at 4am today,
woke up 9pm today...
  my... isn't the moon a luminous
object... notably:
   sitting in a kitchen radiant
with it, drinking a glass of milk,
looking at a cat...
back in Paul-Land...
         there is a circulating myth of:
a boy who was born without
a brain...
               the news spread as
far as Poznań (Poßen) -
from the "hinterlands" of
                                          Kielce -
but you know... fair enough for
a psychologist trying to find a motivational
narrative in me, or a soul...
what i've experienced has only
motivated me to peer into all of this...
this...
              like a blind-man -
a brain-death crafts an optical
clarification - adjective abundance -
       exfoliation...
       the only part of me that's still
reasonable is: having a pair of eyes...
    or the running joke at
Edinburgh university -
don't slit your wrists...
       glide the blade along the veins
of your entire arm...
               and one poor girl
did...
            my...
                          i visited her -
smoked a joint with her -
  watched her play computer games -
remembered how she was
abducted as a child and became
a *** slave...
       because her mama and papa were
russian oligarchs from Novosibirsk...
   the point where i lose the plot
is stuck between:
    Latex Lucy and me not bothered
about wearing a ****** -
  or her lying about contraceptive pills -
and me being... "gratified"
with regards to impregnating her -
   and me telling her:
   the only prospect is me doing
industrial roofing in London and...
we need to collaborate -
  live with my parents for a while...
   after that?
   bazooka that blurr...
  because?
  it's a brain haemorrhage:
    it's not a *******
cauliflower!
                  am i miserable because
of this?
          no... i have a wasp for
a sense of humour...
   just last year they started to build
a nest in my shed...
    luckily the nest was only
the size of a pear...
              and believe me when i say
that i live in a house: riddled with spiders;
an ancient proverb says that
  it ought to be a happy abode,
a house with spiders that is...
but you know, **** it,
      at least i can lay claim to
that quote from the book of revelation...
all a while: Asia yawns -
   spot the chopstick in a noodle heap.

the darkness of the hour
the minute
and the day
now the second
and the universe has come

i have unplugged my 3rd pair
of eyes
from my constipation
and now as my mind
relaxes
i see her and i

don't see her
and i'm not going to advantage
myself a card of James
Joyce
and Finnegans Wake
and the daughter's premature
dementia
perhaps the ill fates
of those who begin to write
and write with meaning
rather than journalistic
mumbo jumbo
let's ***** a statue
of a writer like
Sienkiewicz at the end
of that long straight street
of Kielce

siala baba mak
nie wiedziala jak
chlop powiedziel
a reszte to bylo tak...

missing like
i was missing at Wembley
yesterday
and through most of today

i'm living an organic life
i overheard
the news i wanted to hear
on the radio today...
at 4pm
just as about the serpents
were uncoiling from
the suntans... freckled ginger
nightmares...

only 56 arrested...
plenty of IC3 Black Hitlers
making fun of Asians
in turbans
notably the Sikhs
it's like you
invited one sort in
and another sort appear
and...

i wouldn't be drinking
but let's face it...
the literary genius of Bukowski
as a... as a... ******* postman
and the genius of me
well... perhaps a Miroslav Holub
the benchmark of writing and
science
but then there's too much Greek
referential in it...

MONEY IS LOGIC
i said those words with love in love
and when i tell her
this isn't going to work
life became gravity
and my heart became hardened
she still doesn't believe me
like now
i'm matching her pound for pound
and i'm shrinking to the pride
of a Dwarf living among
Men and Elves
but i'm becoming a cunning fox of a peddle
no stool... a hobbit
a sort of Irishman
of Europe
naive but still persuasively accurate
in my reading of reality:
now becoming abstract
now not so abstract
now becoming abstract
now not so...

      and this life and breadth of losing breath
on speaking come and hount
me
imagine someone: also writing
while doing their "supposed"
wage labor... enslavement
well what is to allow differentiation
between en masse dictatorial of
a tiny minority to another tiny minority
to another one
form Poutin through to Twump
and to no who in Damascus

because looking into those eyes
of CP (close protection)
former Deutsche police officers
those chauffeurs
of the "stars"
where one looked like Roberto Martínez
so i asked: is... is there anyone important
making arguments here
for a discounted entry, i.e. for free?

well i was mapping and mapping
my supposed schizoid hemispheres
onto the schematics
and drawings...
i was allocated the supposedly
deafening of defeat placement
at the Spanish Steps where the infamous
Wembley breach happened back
in 2020...
but that was on a national level
with a national interest in bread
some circus
perhaps football
but who can tell given that most football
fans are not opera fans
and i could indulge drinking heavily
before going to the opera
but going to a football match
i don't understand why or how
a sport is to be enjoyed intoxicated
rather than sober...
drink too much and instead
of 22 wankers with 20 running
and... one shift
i was left mesmerized just watching
the officials
notably the sideline priests

MONEY IS LOGIC
and sometimes i shift from watching a game
to watching the crowd
to watching the grass
to watching the floodlights
to watching the sideline referees
and that's that
and i'm no more happy than discontent
than less happy than discontent
and i ponder Hemmingway's simplification
and then i just allow things
to flow
without haiku interruptions

and i was so gearing up to being on the Dortmund
side for the event
i was so shy in jokingly choking
on spewing out, in a shout

words much ascribed to the fetish of:

ACHTUNG! ACHTUNG!
ARBEIT MACHT FREI!
ARBEIT MACHT FREI!
ABLENKUNG MACHT ZIEGELNAGEL...

ZIEGELNAGEL:
******* doft dorft ooze SCHTOOPI'D!
some "things" need reworking
and revision

i much preferred the Deutsche fan demure
and i'm Catholic
as ******
and the French are Catholic
and the Spanish are Catholic
and so much ethnocentric scribblies
in America from Hin Land
and Cha -
   i mean: what's a ****** to do
if not swerve: entertain...
ride rollerblades round and round
on a roundabout: backwards
listening to Mario and Luigi's cassette
seriously dude, seriously GANDU...
gandu gandu...
no joke

that's me Wallace and Gromit
i call Warren
and Ahmed Ahmed and Uzeer the ****-
-stani
joking about putting wooden knives
in each other's pockets
to have to peer at and through 90K people
congregating to have
run

so there was this Muhammad Muhammad
who felt ill and decided to go home...
i stood there among charging police
horses and barking police dogs
while about 300 people ran across the cement
while i was holding a freebie
worth circa £1000...

steward accreditation and a high viz jackets
and you think i was stopped?
you think i was stopped?
i'm experiencing a hyper reverse engineering
of voyeurism
on my skin
like this skin has become leather...

beside from Hamza and Sikander
i was not exactly given a hot take on staff
and it turns out as
the cordon was put in place and about 30
papa echoes stood in front of
about 40+ stewards and SIAs
i was standing in front of the cordon
ensuring legitimate customers
were ushered in
while the pranksters were being
pranked
because the UEFA tickets were interactive
and required special pen UV or not
just PINK with dotted lines

well to one argument i said:
but i know you're lying
by the face you used to lie...
and the argument counter
said: but this is my face...
to which i replied:
honestly: this is my face too...
a joyful attention to detail
and to think that drinking is a good excuse
but i drink to excuse flourishing
in a heightened environment for
stress hormones to exfoliated
and drip-feed-me
this inexhaustible feeling of furor...

i drink to excuse myself
even today while i settled down
to an afternoon with father
and we talked about Martin
and that bewilderment:
but i drink a liter of whiskey
and what... beer killed him?
ten bottles that's 5 liters of beer killed
him, every day for 2 years
well by that account i ought to be
dead
and i know my head is hurting
not because of a dehydrated brain
i say the brain bleeds
and the brain sweats
but i'm constipated hence the nail
in the head

        so i made us a halloumi (grilled)
entree on a salad
of cucumber, pepper, plum cherries (tomatoes)
salad greens,
radishes... and roasted pecans and hazelnuts
with a dressing
of oyster sauce,
yogurt, chili infused olive oil
blah blah
ouzo - citrus infused soya sauce blah blah
we had a beer and we talked
and i was just wondering:
am i just tired...
no i haven't had anything to drink
but at least he understands
and will know: he's tired...

and i was tired
and blah blah blah...
well if i were to have my last days spent
in the presence of my father
cooking him dinner
having had an adventure
at Wembley
and exchange that
for ****** favors for about a year
with Edie...
conversation-wise
can she even hear me?
i wonder...
even Reyla wonders whether she's heard
i too wonder:
i don't think i am heard
i don't think Edie hears me
i talk to her and it's as if she's the one wanting
to talk talk talk talk chalk
talk talk chalk chalk talk chalk...

MONEY IS LOGIC

that's the words i sent her
when i contemplated going to visit
a brothel
last night
it became painfully stupid once
i was on the N128 on Cranbrook Rd
heading toward Romford
that i was in no mood
for ***
or for that matter paid for ***
and with no fear of a libido:
maybe if i had a ****-ring on me
i would have
but that's my and Edie's discover
but i didn't bring the right sort
of rubber with me
i had already withdrawn
         over £700 and i told her

but if i can't sleep on your lanai
like a dog

but if i can't sleep on your lanai
like a dog?!

           dogs... who cannot sweat
but excessively salivate...
well: so much for the purpose of mascara
of the camel lashes
of your young girls walking about
like miasmas of ghosts of beauty
that once was
that i almost had a dream of women
who would slice rotting onions
in half and then smear their bodies
with to imitate getting a suntan
in winter...

             yes: i am yet to undertake
the task of learning from hallucinogenic au naturale...
from fungi
from LSD papercuts on the brain...           (papper?)
it figured... all that potential, wasted,
on those happy-go-****-me hippies from the 1960s
so much potential squandered
there was no gearing up to something
rightwing
coherent,
when exploring these territories for a flavour
of what only was a timidity of an Huxley...
(payper - paper - papper - patting - pet hates
no bounce bounce in titter - tittering -
no giggle in ****** - just a word, a spelling
accuracy - get away with Saka and inking
someone darker
and we have colts with Spanish fans
returning from the match on the Metropolitan
Line-Z_

                    whoops!               )

and i did walk into my room stark naked
with all the constellations
when Reyla was sleeping in it
a 13 year old girl
and i laid by the bed
like a guard, dog
and i was rudely woken up
and told to move
because somehow nakedness outside
of the hyper-context of ***
is not simply birth
and death and all beside
the supposed thrills of taboo...

well it's not like i was starstruck either
i saw Jamie Redknapp (i didn't know
there was a silent K in that surname)
at Fulham once
but yesterday i saw him twice
or rather the first time i didn't see him
but was merely giving him directions
and what disappointed me
was rules being broken
for a familiarity contest
because a somewhat some-what-may
of having previous affiliations of
"guarding" poo-poo-puppy of a son
that Quadrant that "frenchie"
oh jeez...

          well i too performed a Hajj
to the innermost residing place
of the visage and i too
found Jesus to be misguiding
with that affair of long hair and bearded
that look is so...
so...
so ******* outdated...
it should be made... illegal...

not that i am: drunk, or high...
i'll leave that scrutiny of "policing"
to the federalists on sleep patrol...
because i don't know why...
somehow this separation of church-
-from- -state
while this nagging insistence
on no separation of...
LANGUAGE from STATE...
it's as if we're living in a time
a wasted time
a waiting upon time no time no waiting
to begin with
a time of a LANGUAGE-STATE...

echoes of interpretation from the East
i hear rumors...
a CIVILIZATION-STATE
equivalent of Rome
Russia
China...

so what? now we're all literate
yet illiterate in coding?
not able to use chatGPT
i was having a conversation with a girl
of my dreams
face unveiled yet hair covered
like i abhor hair
like i love flies in champagne in flutes
of glass
like this doesn't really matter anyway
like i want a late Monday
while the cats keep coming
uncircumcised because
you can't circumcise a cat's phallus
but instead castrate them
why not then castrate the Semites
and call them the ****** breed of intellect
just shying from the joke
of circumcision?!

         SARDAUKAR...
and what are not the Mongol chants
in Dune?

SARDAUKAR...
and what are not the Mongol chants
in Dune?

plagiarism, cultural appropriation?
you tell me...
the Mongols came to Poland
the Mongols didn't reach England
the Mongols didn't reach England...

SARDAUKAR
i can sing like a Mongol hunger-strike
protest...
HUMUMGUNGUNGOON
SUMBOONKAKOOMAMOON

SARD­AUKAR...

with all the bowels and stomach
and no eyes and no mind
all bowels and heart
and echo
and no breath.

the 56 sardaukarii.