We start in Greek Street.
Not any night,
But the end,
A grand finale;
Last orders,
At the Coach & Horses,
Before the corporate boyz move in to whitewash,
Where inky Boho Jeffrey Bernard drank,
And Gary Dunnington, the actor, and his mates are on the ****.

Meanwhile, a mom runs her hands,
Though my strands.
'Tell me everything,' she enthuses,'about your hair.'
But there’s nothing to say:
I barely wash it,
Never brush it,
And only finger combe it.
But she carries on in my locks,
Then off to dinner with her bloke.

We head off to Trisha's at 57,
A lively basement heaven:
In energy, in noise, in smoke.
I chat with Mark.
Got his heart broke:
It’s hard
To sever those traumatic bonds,
Thick as pillar posts,
When love ***** up,
Goodbye, the cocktail of toxicity,
That had you on a high,
The ***, the texts, the tenderness,
And, oh, the bliss.

Kass, a boxer musician, comes
And shakes our hands.
He’s in Armani,
And says,
His eyes dark little raisins,
'I prefers a poet over a bruiser.'
And, 'I don’t fight no more,
If I did - so I don't bother -
I’d **** ‘em.

In the corner,
Two girls with dreamy eyes:
So I read ‘em love poems.

Then Jessica Appleby's head pops round the door.
We hug and then swap tales:
'I’m all messed up,' I tell her.
'What not her, the one you wrote that poem for.'
'My man,' she confides changing the subject,
'All crazy passion and wild *** for two months -
Then nothing.
Just fizzled out like it was never meant to be.'

She exits.

'You alright Gary?'
'Yeah, you?'
'Fine.'
But I don’t buy him a beer,
A bottle of Peroni is £5.
'No, it’s £3,' he says, 'if you pay cash.'
I head for the bar.
Three times I explain to the barman, it’s £3 cash.
'Who told you that?' he says slamming the bottle down.
'Gary,' I say defensively.
'Well, tell Gary, if he doesn’t shut the **** up,
He’ll be paying a fiver, too.'

A young American artist, Kirsty, starts talking to me.
She’s trying to get ahead in art,
And says, that when she was a kid,
On a blazing Tuscany night filled with stars,
She walked out onto a stone balustrade balcony,
And knew in that moment,
She was no longer her mom and dad,
But herself, Kirsty.

The boxer musician shoves a tall fellow hard against the wall,
The altercation,
Is over before it starts.

Kass gives me a wolfish smile.
Mark buys me a drink.
Kirsty goes to the toilet.
The corner girls have left.
Mark slips his stool.

Everyone is cleared from the yard,
Just Gary and I linger
With a feisty young bar lady,
Serving the Bohos of Soho.

Drinking in their pathos,
Exhaling in the shadows,
Mingling in their juices.
My ****** up heart beats
With the Bohos of Soho.
Ahhh, the Bohos of Soho keep many an hour.
The Bohos of Soho,
The Bohos of Soho,
The Bohos of Soho,
Have many lives,
The Bohos of Soho are a good seed.
You and I,
In Soho,
For last orders.

Slurp, slurp, slurp, slurp
Yellow straws pierced paper cups
My best friend Darcie sat opposite me but I’m drifting into my own day dream
Sorry buddy, I was busy thinking about boys
                                   ……….
I love it when they are 24 with their hoods up riding on their skateboards
Cigarettes exhales, face in a smoky haze
Sips from their pints, long phone calls at night
Out in the town with their boys, gentle stubble cute glasses, cheeky winks whilst passing
I love a guy who is both cocky and sweet with the latest Vans on his feet
His sense of humour pours with hilarious sarcasm, he lives for “the bantz”
I love it when a guy makes us both a cup of tea when he didn’t even ask me
I love it when they are cheeky, moody, funny, cocky and silly
Lying in bed every Sunday holding me
Messy tousled hair everywhere, fingers through mine, a hoodie I live in, a chest I feel protected with
Then, suddenly, Darcie snaps her fingers, I’m bought back to reality, sorry, I was busy thinking about boys……..

                                          ……………….
Saturday night, glitter flies, house party chaos inside cigarettes smoking, everyone drinking, rain pouring-
I stand in the corner, me and the queens there’s some tens they’ve just seen
I drink my drink, words are getting slurred
No time to think
Some lads walk over to us but they aren’t the lads I like
My mind wonders…….
                                            …………
I like guys with tousled hair and a soulful stare
I love sculpted features they are such handsome creatures and unique smiles so secret, I couldn’t tell anyone else
I love a tall lad who can make me laugh and I don’t mean giggle a little I mean **** my pants hilarious
I like a guy who is controversial, someone who is not afraid to say what he wants, a sassy man who can match me
I adore talent, someone who is brave from all the demons he has faced
“Earth to Hannah! Babe, you want to drink?”
Kirsty is in front of me
Oh **** yeah mate sorry, I was busy thinking about boys
                                            …………
Sunday hungover, watching Buffy the vampire slayer, obviously eating pizza
Then, in walks Ella
“Hannah, honey, I need some advice from ya!”
Ok.
Her lips are moving but her words are lost in translation
I don’t notice her frustration
Because, of course, I was busy thinking about boys
                                          ………..
I would love a sarcastic, cocky, cheeky lad to read me books on love
Then stare into my soul and say he’s found his, I am enough
To claim his search is over and even love me when he is sober
Sunday is made for napping in his arms in our fort of no harm
Drinking tea together in our lazy state not only is he a lover but also a soul mate
I would feel so pretty every time he looks at me, he would never cheat
I would chop his ***** off if he did, he knows this
Nah seriously though,
I really ******* would
But he would say “I don’t need to look anywhere else”, he’s being honest, I can tell
“Hannah! **** sake, are you listening?”
Sorry mate, I was busy thinking about boys
                             …………..
Long day, a thousand coffees consumed, I’m finally home
I race to my room I want time on my own
Candle light dancing on these walls the flame burns to white
Incense lit, vinyl’s play, I close my eyes and disappear into the night
Not even answering phone calls because I’m so busy thinking about boys
                              ………
My dream tall happy, funny, cocky king of street style he rides on his skateboard for miles, out with his boys drinking pints
Giving out cheeky winks but when he lays his eyes on me it’s his heart I win
**** stubble brushing against my soft delicate skin constantly wearing his clothes I live in
Fingers intertwine all the time, his body entangled in mine
And, on the days he’s not fine I do what I can to bring him back to life
He will be the bravest man I know because those demons never got your soul
Messing each other’s hair, breathing in cold air, running through the streets like we don’t care. His soulful stare
I love him so much
Sunday church is only present in our bed where we worship each other, he is my best friend and my soulmate like no other
We read to each other drinking tea together in our den of safety where he feels like home to me
His sarcasm gets me through every awkward family gathering
I laugh so hard I need to ***, he is the one for me
I haven’t met him but I’m in love already
He’s a good man, he doesn’t lie or cheat and he’s seen me in all my defeats but he’s helped me stand up once again where he chased away the pain
He’s a talented soul but he doesn’t believe it so yet I tell him everyday
We saved each others lives in a way.
So, yes to answer the question I was thinking about boys but there’s one particular,
His name unknown, no one you know
Nether do I
But I'm sure he is the one who will stay and be forever mine locked away in a locket close to my beating heart
I will not apologize for thinking about him, the one true love I will find
                                   …………

Why are we so quiet?
I will tattoo that question onto the tip of my tongue in the hope that it will smudge onto yours.
Why  -  are we  -  so quiet    ?

"Shhh,"
he tells me in a 3am bus stop
"Loud ain't sittin' right in my ribs."

He's got this idea in his head that god can't save his soul
that god is just a concept
that god can only be found in the crease of a bible spine but

OH,  MY GOD
I LOVE THAT BOY.

It's like when you lean on a piece of wet newspaper and the text imprints on your skin except,
there are no words -
just memories
and they are inked on the inside of my veins like

remember the other week when you were sleeping in my bed and the sun peeked through my curtains and made your eyes flutter?

That's the front page headline.
That's why I believe in absolute perfection
that's how I know beauty isn't just a concept
because I found god in the crease of your spine that morning.

I want every Sunday to feel that holy.

You are a cathedral pointing your spire to the sky saying
"KIRSTY, WHAT CONSTELLATION IS THAT?"
and my eyes search for
ursamajorursaminororionsiriussagittariuspisces-
I CAN'T FIND ANY OF THEM.
How can I align the stars when I have drawn more beautiful alignments
between the freckles on your skin
?

I kept telling you to be quiet until I pulled up your shirt and read the first page of your ribs:

IN THE BEGINNING,
GOD CREATED NOISE.

You bundled into our lives from a land far away
But it didn’t make it any less special
You’re ours to celebrate

You’re a perfect little tot popped out a most beautiful being
So how could we love you any less?
That’s just not

And just because you’re far out there
So some things we’ll suffer not to share
It doesn’t mean that we any less care
No way

So long as now and then
We meet on Skype time again
I hope you’ll know I’m me
Your Auntie Kirsty
She or Orange and a little crazy
But no less part of your loving family

The part that’s all the way over here
Too far, not at all near
Yet still loving you more each year
As we watch you grow from far away
Waiting for the day when with you we’ll get to play
With anything

For I’ll play with whatever you enjoy
And whether that’s a toy
Or imagination
I promise we’ll have loads of fun
Be that in our cold or in your sun

You see you get the best of both
Given by your Mum and Dad
The world is yours to be had
On both its’ sides you’ve heaps of love

Only difference is
At this end it calls a need for gloves

.hey, so much for jack kerourac's on the road... but i have found this most pristine tour-guide... as that h'american hobo... "7 years later" duping the tourists down in Amsterdam... h'american... what else? well it's hardly the Nepal you were looking for... or those grand sand of Arabia with a Lawrence: better suited for a... what do "we" call them? androids... david... citing: the trick is: not minding that it hurts... stoicism or some otherwise weathered down, other... point of (a) queue? and yes... red hot chilli pepper's song: warm tape... off the album... i forget... is underrated... in between the salvos of... those lyrics based around a "narrative"... but when the chorus comes in? melted butter in a thick spludge of crème fraîche.... yes... i want to love like a john frusciante... but i know i never will... i see too much economics to: "bed the pardon"... ****... "beg" the the pardon... the girls i once loved have probably forgotten me... moved on... the prostitues "in-between" were always "her" tailor of best arranged hair via - gay riddles of "the cut" via never having to mind a barber... and all those manicures! mein gott! there was a time and a place to squeeze in politics of the "fathomable" populace... and a "perhaps a chance" to raise children? dire consequences... to no avail of... the otherwise prior mentioned: straits... there were times in my life when i felt in love... that i could give give give and never ask for anything in return... lucky for me i started to age and not perform the portrait gray act of stay-young-forever-young-vampire... i clinged to love, once... it was such a beautiful spring... a spring that could last within its season a spell of over 5 years... then... reality and autumn and a need to dispell delusions... she probably still "loves me"... with someone else... cameo cinema of memory? where, am, i? love, oh love, what a burden, a hurdle, a responsibility... it's never this quickened escape ease of breath lodged into fiction... somehow always constricting, somehow always burdensome... somehow and somewhat always... never the homeless cherry picking of mutt that made it to an elevation of being under the christmas tree! why would i have children "these days"... well... there's no history i'd be allowed to teach them... and modern day-old journalism? i thought the people were only willing to fudge bulimia down the throats of their "listeners"? i still want to love like a john frusciante... perhaps that's the mosti can offer... best sentenced to a riddle escaped with at a bechance of keeping distance.

being a video-tourist with roosh v:
the sort of h'america i always wanted to see...
like... gaining another 50ml shot
of whiskey under the belt and notches...
is like... imagining *******
ava lauren in a 1970s italian ***** movie
style... when even *** in a pornographic
movie feels: sensual...
joel osteen... an iron maiden gig
looks... just the same...
when the skin becomes a sterile experience
of leather: when wearing shoes...
and a belt...
when this worn skin becomes
this most adored leather...
when the exhausted "beauty"
of prostitutes becomes: something
equivalent to... working out the mandible
artifact... akin to the chew and jaw...
the old continent seems to sigh...
i once missed Handel's Messiah for a night
at the brothel with the Bulgarian harem...
the grand-orchestra of the acronym:
U! S! A! U! S! A! seems so vague and...
bewildering... i'd love to be an atheist in
h'america... so... ridicule prone and
the high-end sort of bag-full-of-counter-virtues...
but i just can't be...
i like being a god-fearing man...
skin... ****, i need to tend to my german:
wann haut wird leder...
akin to: when **** cheney half-had
a neu-herz...
we do come most humble...
we are, oh the most pristine: wenigkreaturen...
ZAMAR-ZNIĘTY... frozen... (he)...
unless... you see that R-Z outside of deutsche...
in the fwench: je, je SUIS! form...
hard to keep those two 'uckers together
in a rz-eton... (Ż)eton casino...
orthography... who am i to preach to a people
so... so figured out with their metaphysics
that orthography, quiet simply,
doesn't, concern them?!
i'm still thinking about ava lauren and
all that 1970s italian *****-sensuoso *******...
why not to forget? pontius pilate clause
akin to louis XIV paranoia:
the power lies in how "it" is perceived...
lying... i don't mind hearing about hog-mucking...
i just mind when it's don juan
mucking up a nun: that's not a nun...
i don't like hearing about:
the goat in sheep... in the mouth of a wolf...
i can stand metaphor...
i just don't like curtains made from iron...
or burgundy tinged silk...
or some other: BLATANT lie...
the one blatant focus for puritanical "superstitions"
of: third eye blind of the other is...
this... bogus f-ck-wit of an underbelly...
there really was a time when i wanted
to see little-life everyday-sort-of h'america...
how the... whittle people lived...
then i figured... no more and no less whittle
from where i'm sitting...
maybe i should be standing?
but at least i come from a continent where...
(a) a striptease is... like the slipped ****** pill
no one wants...
(b) the ****** don't bring their cameras
and film you while you're at it...
(c) and a (d) and an (e) that i will not even
debase myself with...
perhaps we do speak the same language...
but... that's as much as
relates shoeshine to a shoe
as it relates mewwy ol' england to this...
grand posturing that's the u. s. of... a.
perhaps i need to see the sights of: Moldova...
or... Switzerland...
last time i heard being land-locked is the new
best thing... given aeroplanes...
i did want to mid-west ****-hole h'america...
from england... eh... m'eh... all i need is to go east
of Germany... if i find myself in
the West Warsaw coach station...
i'm practically in Ukraine...
everything reeks of this... sediment of roach bathed
in rust... a perfume of mud,
concrete, and lazy metal...
and of course the doom and gloom of the skies...
like 25th of december in Chernobyl...
you just want to start aiming for sparrows
with a pellet gun and break your teeth
on sifting through dirt and haemorrhoids...
and by these standards?
punk will never bother to re-invent itself...
not with pink... and "pronoun concerns"...
or whatever you these days call a f-cking mullet...
and yes... because even if i could...
the white picket fence...
the 3 brats worth of a brood...
the gene patriarchy drive...
the alcoholic / neurotic spouse...
the dog name Bono...
and... each saturday a: bonfire of concerns
for my children's schooling...
sober: but the alternative is no better...
personally? as an "atheist"?
i'm not really thankful...
i can't be thankful for all of this...
last time i checked...
some people in this world are required
to have an omni-litany ruling over their ***-lives...
they want to feel: *****...
why would i even be an atheist?
to speak out something, snarky?
to be prone to... too much ridicule?
there's only so much comedy you can invest in,
before you realise: oh ****...
i'm not a stand-up!
this monologue has no stage...
no audience... it's going to eat me up
like any other solipsism without any escape
into a soliloquy!
atheism is a "thing" in h'america: no wonder...
who said it...
they're a bunch of puritans in public...
but in private? citizen porky?
you know... pig rubber masks and spandex
and s & m and... yawn...
a striptease is so condescending...
6 weeks of celibacy...
nothing: excuse me... *******?
i'm excused with the personal-relief...
yes, the line is drawn... once given the snip
but not the kippah?
em... **** galore: up in their air...
rotating toward... Mecca...
with the prayer...
like... i have the scalp to scratch my head
and ponder...
imagine if a circumcision was akin to scalping...
personally... do we even need ears?
i could be the first to say:
but not really...
a matrimony begins with...
the snippet... which transcends the symbology
of rings... i might as well see it as...
for a woman: she is to offer her virginity...
for a man? he is to offer his *******...
problem solved! Libra rejoice!
she gives up her virginity - which she will lose...
he gives up his ******* - which he will lose...
i can almost see Aaron making these
Levi demands...
what am i thinking...
i will never get to see ****-hole mustard seed
h'america... i'll sooner see Kazan...
but i still don't see the point of making
the loss of a woman's virginity to be equivalent
to a man losing his *******...
after all... prior to the snippet...
he'll *******... a woman will *******...
but... em... what the arm will not do:
the "oyster" will quench...
an i am a gentile figuring out the proper ways
of the monotheists...
speeded up eventuality of apes watching
the descent of dragons and dinosaurs...
bound to the noble profanity of swans...
and widow and widower swans...
brid-brains! of noble emotions!
huh?! no! not us!
i can see the point of male circumcision...
when it is brought with the virginity of a woman...
being circumcised with one woman
is much more than putting on a ring...
un-lucky for me... two protruding veins
like the caduceus worn into the skin of matrimony...
it's not simply that i won't:
i... can't...
hence my infernal tongue.

__________
one can only begin with: Б and В -
and then the nuance:
whatever "nuance" there was,
to genesis an adam and eve -
apple and: pears to combine
for the image of Иосифа лестница..
                  ц - ß - צ (tsade)
                   like one might begin with
something along the greek:
P and Π - amputee R...
rolls... rolls... past the goal-posts...
            the fwench hark
the english tarantula bitten
tongue-numb do not never will trill!
never mind:
       ščypta - szczypta - a pinch of salt...
wikipedia is so ******* wrong...
   щypta... it's a siamese grapheme!
thus shown... cisza: silence...
                       ciša..
ciШa...
                       you can rewrite ščypta /
szczypta in russian...
                     avoiding the щypta...
you can write: ШЧypta...
                     but given: щ (šč / szcz)?
                                    who's to argue?
here's my "revenge" against
organic chemistry's theoretical
electron migrations of schematics...
how about diacritical migrations?
more like electron ontology:
waves one minute, clouds the next...
czyszczoh...

https://www.google.com/search?safe=active&client=firefox-b-d&channel=trow&ei=vf84XaHyIMWHhbIPhtOPqA4&q=czyszczoch&oq=czyszczoch&gsl=psy-ab.3...750080.759383..760300...1.0..0.247.1771.0j9j2....­2..0....1..gws-wiz.......0i71j0i67j0i131j0j0i131i67j0i30j0i13j0i1­3i30j0i13i10i30.wqdfvbgw6Ck&ved=0ahUKEwjhxKfi787jAhXFQ0EAHYbpA-UQ4dUDCAo&uact=5
(8 goodle results, nearing a -whack)...

Czyszczoń:
                     čyščoń:

                  interlude: Ђ? in cyrillic? isn't that a hindi letter?
via a mirror akin to Я ?            

czyścioch:
                 ШЧ / Щ -ypta - pinch...
      ЧyCЬKIOX...
          someone pedantic about staying clean...

                           :
  if you ever became riddle by pure
chemistry theory, and never walked into a lab:
that also employed you,
wasted years: performing electron bogus
schematics of "electron migrations"
in organic chemistry compounds...
in experiments...
          university as that extended waste
of time period: beside heavily politico
mickey mouse concerns of the dept. of
the humanities...
  sociology et al., well then?
you're right where you belong!
    
how about: the migration of diacritical markers,
orthography before naked english...
how's that?
     english the adam and ever...
all other languages attired
in the niqab worth a god...
__________

as i sit perched on my folded foot on the windowsill,
having a ms. amber cocktail with ginger ale,
smoking a cigarette, i gravitate to the empty
standing rack of shelves...
  what remains on it, as the paint dries?
a tub of wall paint: fine rosemary,
       tissues, sunglasses,
                  a game sheath: chess and backgammon
in one... a c.d. walkman,
      20 copies of my curricul vitae,
a 1:26000 ratio map of Warsaw...
                                  heidegger's ponderings VII - XI,
a thin book of poetry:
    Πoετιc Oπτoμεtρy - by some vague unknown
semi-anon. Mateusz Conrad...
          i'm hoarding about 200 copies of this work,
perhaps this lazy sod will finally get to
send this printed copy, some raw manuscript
pieces and a covering letter to
          Austin Macauley Publishers:
sounds like a good deal...
  they accept any manuscripts, with or without
an agent, published or not published,
expect a 3 week wait...
a letter dated 16 April 2019 for an appointment
at the Community Outpatient Cardilogy Clinic
  (Dagenham RM8 2EQ)
               with Anamaria Lunca...
24h ambulatory blood pressure monitoring
   (aged 33? not bad... <insert a snigger>)...
Plato's Theaetetus,
               Man-Bat: part 1 of 3, 1st. part,
DC comics, chuck dixon, flint henry,
    eduardo barreto - Feb. 96 - two $2.25...
Doctor StrangeFate, Amalgam Comics,
      #1, Ron Marz, Jose Luis Garcia-Lopez,
Kevin Nowlan, April '96,
                                         $1.95...
Littlewoods F.A. Charity Shield:
Manchester United v Newcastle United
Sunday August 11 1996 Kick-off 3:00pm
Official Machday Proramme £5.00 -
venue? the old Wembley...
inside? another matchday programme...
West Ham v Manchester United
Barclays League Division One
Wednesday 22nd April 1992 kick-off 7:45pm
£1.50 for the programme...
- the mask returns: john arcudi (story),
doug mahnke (art),
      titan books, first edition October 1994...
Czeslaw Milosz - Zniewolony Umysł
     "Culture" Paris - 1953...
- Bartman: the best of the best 1st edition
January 1997...
- a few figurines...
   a porcelain tortoise: WADE - made in england,
a Kenyan shamanic totem -
a figure with a bloated belly and only one eye,
a polish clay cockerel,
           London's China town red figurine:
standing proud on coins of wealth roaring...
1986, my year, moderate wealth -
well... given this list... i had to move all
the books i own that are supposed to be on
these shelves into the hallway, some onto
the windowsill and some into the box room...
the paint has to dry...
          a boomerang...
                     a Wawel dragon figurine...
(hell, in the west the dragon is associated
with wealth... Smaug... in China the tiger
is associated with wealth... didn't know that)...
some amitriptyline 25mg tablets...
    tom waits: glitter and doom (live) -
seriously - there are only about ten albums
in this world where the live performance
outstrips the studio version,
notably? going out west...
                   a pencil and a piece of paper...
where i scribble my braille tally
to teach me how to drink sensibly
my two ciders and the banquet of whiskey:
currently standing at 4... ****...
oi! tender hands that never worked or
played the guitar, giv' us'us the braille
count to show you have no more fingers
than that tender index of yours!
                           ⠁⠃⠇⠧ ⠷ ⠿
                 it's working... 'nuf' said...
- virgil's the aeneid,
- h. p. lovercraft: against the world,
    against life - by michel houellebecq,
- NewScientist - 50th anniversary special
   (1956 - 2006)
- Bolshoi Ballet, Royal Opera House programme,
i won't be dropping names...
****, i will:
           karim abdullin - soloist,
        maria alexandrova - principal,
artemy belyakov - leading soloist,
yulia stepanova - soloist,
                igor tsvirko - leading soloist,
- three letters from a Magdalena
Wielgołaska -
handwritten letters and all,
a pen-pall i managed to pick up a conversation
with in Edinburgh when she was
working a b & b for the summer...
         very self-conscious about her
height... well... she did play volleyball...
- old notes from university:
history essays... all a solid 2:1 grades:
    matriculation no.: s0458467
   tutor: kirsty chatwood (canadian ****
who became pregnant, great sense of humour),
e.g. why were there so many rebellions
in Europe in the mid-seventeenth century
(word count: 1,991),
   how and why did Napoleon succeed in
establishing French power over so much
Europe? (word count: 1,956)... 2% shy of a 1st...
so... no, not even i can answer this question...
since i also own copies of...
a traffic management copy of
my organic lab schedule:
   synthesis and acetylation of ferrocene,
preparation of 7-trichloromethyl-8-bromo-Δ-p-pinene
by free radical addition of
   bromotrichloromethane to β-pinene,
the photochemical interconversion of trans-
and cis- azobenzenes,
witting synthesis and photochemical
   cyclodehydrogenation of 1-styrylnaphthalene...
silyl enol ethers: a directed aldol reaction...
i used to do this sort of "stuff"...
but the pièce de résistance while i moved
my private library from these shelves?
ahem...

                 E. O. Richter & Co.
                 Präcision
                 Kopernicus IX set...
                 das prazisions-reiszeug

i.e. the most pristine instruments for technical
drawings... the sort of technical drawings used
in metallurgy, engineering, architecture...
people would conflate a hoarder with me...
me? i'm a connoisseur...
             i respect the sort of materialism that
transcends that shallow form of materialism
that equates itself with immediate gratification
not as a per se: but as a tool to attract...
unwanted attention...
  flimsy materialism, gluttonous materialism...
a materialism that occupies space
and short-attention span gnats...
    materialism of a temporal rather than
a spatial nature? now we're talking!

   and here's to toasting this day...
tomorrow i will erase that fateful day that
coincided with me painting my room
crimson - the Bataclan Massacre...
fine rosemary pale hue will replace
these blood soaked walls that have become
my gallows...
                    a shade much less the green
of my own eyes... and perhaps...
my mind will rest with a mild lapse into
a curiosity of a serenaded mind:
         i'm not even looking for serendipity.

it really didn't occur to me with regards
to the state of h'america...
  once upon a time any european would
look toward h'america as this unified
continent of sorts...
  prime cultural export juggernaut...
now? with the cracks showing,
  with individual americans making youtube
videos?
   clearly "we" europeans were lied to,
well: "lied" to...
          i would never have thought that the states
were so divided...
that even moving from one state to another
can be deemed as supicious...
maybe that's heavily reliant on the fact
that we're talking about a federation...
          in Europe they call it nationalism
what in H'america they call patriotism...
and populism is just the glue in between...
like that whole: ex-pat is not an immigrant...
but i love the h'american approach
to us old continent boyos...
styxhexen-... about the europeans:
'like we're enlightened and ****'...
         that really sums it up....
             notably, compiling the above list?
i almost forgot what i was going to write...
-hammer666 did enlighten me...
  i would have never have thought that
h'american "soccer mums" and goody-two-shoe
ruby-slippers christian folk would ban
children from reading 'arry Potter...
     well of course i knew of the satanic panic
music, and the gaming: thing...
but i never heard of 'arry Potter books being
banned...
     enlightened and ****...
      if Nietzsche was going to brag about reading
Stendhal... did him in my teens...
nothing to brag about... after all...
i did see a movie adapation starring
ewan mcgregor as julien sorel... and rachel weisz
was in it too... the first book adaptation on
film that spurred me to read the book...
if only the lord of the rings did likewise...
alas... not to be!
      no thanks to my scottish english teacher...
sure: of the g.c.s.e. curriculum?
i'm the king of the castle was the only
book of depth...
       yes, i'll give him this:
he did introduce me to jazz music...
   ben webster's how deep is the ocean...
   no other sax player as ben webster...
but: 'we're enlightened and ****' as an american
might put it...
   same teacher... on a trip to Glasbury-on-Wye
(Powys, Wales) -
oh god, i was dying to go on that trip for ages...
we were first supposed to go aged 15...
year 11...
  but the outbreak of the madcow disease
prevented us... so a year later it was...
    great place... caving, canoeing, horse riding...
and just in general the great outdoors...
any teen's dream living in the outer
east end of London...
              anyways... so the teacher inquired...
'what are you reading',
  he walked into our dorm while
guys my age were... snorting sugar dust
through their noses...
      fizz wiz space dust... yep... down the noses
it went...
   i was reading a book looking at them
like a gorilla might look at a human...
                       'mr. bunce? what am i reading?'
so i handed him the slim copy
of Marquis de Sade's groundbreaking short-story:
******...
          now, if you ask me...
the Marquis would have been the emblem
of short-story writing, he was the best as short-stories...
all those long repetitive regurgitations are...
well... 120 days of *****...
but Insect is where he shines,
the story is succinct in a citrus fruit sense:
i.e. piquant.
   succinct and piquant: such lovely
words could only have originated from
French and have to be treated as: loan-words.
besides: i find h'american criticism of europe
a wee bit funny...
     sure: an honest critique of the states
and the union, grandiose politics cogs and
all the labyrinths' worth of bureucracy:
like anywhere - same ****, different cover...
but when it comes to social norms and their
taboos... h'america is very truly backwards
when it comes to what culture its citizens
are allowed to ingest...
       me, in europe, reading marquis de sade
aged 16...
the equivalent of me, in h'america,
being prohibited to read: 'arry potter for
****'s sake!
sorry... on the level where my opinion
might or might not matter...
             americans are backwards...
those puritanical roots do not do them much
favors... esp. with their extravagant
punk-esque tropes signifying a rebellion
that never seems to occur;
christianity truly undermines the idea
of america...
                     if not bound by shackles,
then shivering under the burden of the shadow
of the cross: which none of them wish
to carry... the mere looming shadow frightens
them... and... mind you? american neo-atheism?
boring as sunday's midday sun.

wednesday cbb review 30.08.18

wednesday started off solid
not just for a loner
ben and dan both thinking squalid
its why both had *****.
a little bit from septic
getting right will rally
for jermaine nothing but hectic
on leaving she got right clever sally.
both nominees saying much
eviction or staying can not come soon
both want to stay in touch
hardeep and chloe are both over the moon.
marriage advice from kirsty
won't make most smile
work in progress is causing thirsty
like poetry nothing creative after a while.
ben was again enhancing
it may well be perceived shabby
patric and baby dancing
translated that's ben and gabby.
onto ***** laundry
this mission was poetic scenes
showing the world and all in sundry
crafty nick spilt beans.
hardeep and rhyan not hard
scenes soon had fading
nick got to write birthday card
with washing machine pleasure in stock trading.
dan doing to ben foxy
but all did dis-spare
not liked by roxy
she deliberately messed hair.
back to trade
nick will again take skinning
natlie was first to fade
like stock market not winning.
jermaine getting worried about follow
maybe needed a cold fanta
can you see the swallow
its not just ban-ta.
nick was observing
HMP no booker
2 lady's must be reserving
kirsty labelling both a ******.
now a bit of stenching
really was vermin
chloe and kidnapping was heart wrenching
disgusting a vile when said ketamine.
again jermaine trying to wriggle
womaniser is no obsession
the no ring may suggest single
but more "i like you in confession".
chloe did disappear
eviction glamorous and not cheap
did you see rhyan with hardeep fear
support he has got is a heap.
ending with a wink
ben and jermain not able to funk
unaware as of the drink
evident is the player even if drunk.

my man is down rod-ken-doll 26.08.18

saturday started like a germ
rodrigo and humour no maybe
hilarious was idea and fake *****
in fits with quote "allot of baby".
at this time on wall no writing
dan was to read a disciplinary
sam smith and white object was inviting
all jumping to conclusion with summary.
my man was to whisper careless
but up-most respect is the can
like a sword fight in chess
no gossip done by roxanne.
kirsty and a woman's intuition
explaining to rodrigo  to shut
a bit like nick and boxing edition
the WBA like stock exchange would cut.
now what is forbidden
rodrigo and natlie were detective clever
off his trolley will remain hidden
the true meaning discovered so luck for ever.
nature was broody
no need to beg
did nick deliberately try to bring out moody
suggesting cake and hardeep and the egg.
now a bit of my brother
originally not georges crown
sally misinterpreted cover
no wainwright or hardeep but natlie going to town.
the eggs had no ends
in kitchen still volatile
while boxing in garden between friends
dan and roxanne showed style.
hardeep went to soak
maybe thinking of comedy literature
natalie to to sally did stoke
highlighting all is like theatre.
three getting ready
all glam and glitter to see
natlie and a line now steady
your not on unless next to me.
gabby and chloe on love bubble
at present dignity in tact
no chance of rodrigo holding up trouble
not on tv a *** act.
natlie had the doom
hardeep offered hand
up and out the room
can not with viewers understand.
hardeep very humble
grateful to explain orwellian
gave me a great word to stumble
in love with machiavellian.
before end some hurt
gabby with love  not to handle
touching was  dan and tshirt
ending with rodrigo going blowing out my candle.

hardeep singh kohli v natlie nunn 22.08.18

going against the tingle
on the whitestuff need a hit
love hardeep but seeing strain in mingle
i understand not sure all get comedy grit.
not being a turn coat
or trying to score points cheap
forget ryan as tired was quote
woke saying save natlie in my sleep.
she is a loose cannon
hardeep is in real deep
never heard of natlie but shes equivalent to a baron
exactly the same as chloe and not page 3 cheap.
a storm is brewing
going to explode like a nuclear station
that's why natlie is to keep chewing
then kirsty will really have to say dangerous situation.
have you decided
ready to ring and inform
to keep the house alive and divided
hardeep must leave this eye of the storm.

final 6  11.09.18

in house was half a dozen
all gold to price
no robin of any cousin
this series skating on no thin ice.
going to call a driver
number 6 needs a cabby
fantastic is this arrive r
nothing bad and just good from gabby.
fifth place is dominant
celebration with cheap ***** from cali
got the right drink so call me clair voyant
wanted gold or silver for sally.
forth place is sick
with you i am sharing
first or second should have been nick
poetry has lost all baring.
third needed a scan
but he is a nice bloke
happy go lucky is dan
love for family made all choke.
second had no walking
all to story's were thirsty
looks who's talking
pleasure was kirsty.
onto the winner
handed on a plate
good from the inner
ryan thomas CBB i congratulate.

I heard the door open. It was Leeza (Lisa’s 14-year-old sister),
she’d been out on a date. I was the only one in the living room
as she came in and sagged, dejectedly onto the huge, white
sectional couch, right next to me. She looked positively
deflated. Which is unusual because up until now,
she’s been all freckles and smiles

Ok, here’s where we get poetic and rhyme, with innuendo and allusion:

Me: “Did you have a good time?”
Leeza: “No but I was trying.”
Me: “Did he get handsy—the swine?”
Leeza: “Argh! No—but his kisses are a crime.”
I gasped: “You didn’t give him a climb!?”
Leeza “NO!” she said, somewhat horrified.
Me (trying to be neutral): “No judging, it would have been.. fine (I lied).”
Leeza: “That’s never going to happen.”
“Good,” I declared, “he was just a distraction—and, you know Santa.”
“What about Santa?”

Whew, that’s enough of THAT (rhyming business).

She asked, so, yeah, I sang it.. I had to.

“He knows who you’ve been kissing,
what you’re thinking when you’re awake,
he knows if you’ve been bad or good—
he’s kind of like a cop that way.”

After a moment's silence Leeza asked,
“Is there something creepy about that?”
“Only if you think about it.” I admitted,
as she put her head on my shoulder.
.
.
A song for this:
Fairytale of New York (feat. Kirsty MacColl) by The Pogues
.
.
A Christmas Playlist! There’s 6 days til Christmas (and Hanukkah)
http://daweb.us/xmas/Christmas_25.mp3

eventful tuesday 05.09.18

going to start with psychic
this is really moving ground
sally went for high kick
don't ask hardeep he just moves dirt around.
accessories were not feared
hardeep midlife crisis clips
hilarious was on bear ed
nice comment about lips.
kirsty had a little cheese
was like no man that's invisible
bit of nice comedy please
hardeep smiled udderbly irresistible.
a new fragrance in demand
hooking me a lover is no wish
jermaine pass the bottle i command
just pre-ordered 10 bottles of the fish.
flowing was the toilet seat
not going to tarnish or smear
chicken was not sweet
in hard deep was diarrhoea.
taken out on chicken
predictable as sally and the box
hardeep punched it and gave it a good kicking
think this was a CBB therapy detox.
sally having guilt
wanted to be one of them go getters
did kissing comment make you tilt
offer to hardeep for letters.
ryan had a good clue
coming from his brother
not added to me to
so proud must be mother.
not onto cheese and onion
never have this inflicted
out of order was to sally and bunion
breaking news jermaine just evicted.
not in his dreams
won't be getting in his car
ryan and hardeep breaking at seams
very relevant and i quote bizarre.

presidential 23.08.18

it is the end of a era
change is forth coming
in the uk not usa is hysteria
the new poetry president is drumming.
with in tact is dignity
walk of shame not clipped
just like clinton and monica lewinsky
its why ryan stripped.
damage will despair
some may see it as ugly
is it vanity pointing out chair
did a wet *** rub good with natalie.
getting all political
understanding no good is being frustrated
sorry hardeep but this is tactical
on tubby-ware containers you calculated.
dan could be president
showing love was a beautiful side
i would advise not talking to that resident
politically tactical hardeep to dan would divide.
ryan made us grin
all will confess
absolutely adored him with turban
lovely guy showing openness.
from riches to a slum
ending with wallow
from private to council will fill like ****
thank you kirsty for demonstration with pillow.

hard chip on shoulder deep 09.09.18

this is second
already had a burst
chewing on stuff alright i reckoned
now gone is my thirst.
ryan is correct
hitting the nation like a bolder
only one story to select
heavy load on that shoulder.
even when sleeping
hardeep had a sick humour
controlling with one eye peeping
kirsty loss kept in sleeping folder.
end with the headline
cbb can get no bigger publicity
even jason grimshaw would decline
chip on hardeep shoulder has authenticity.

who wins we decide 10.09.18

first off is to thank
sounding as good as the denon
this is how tomoz will rank
all said positively with no venom.
in the last position
either or iver won't be shabby
both nice people with no bad condition
enjoyed both dan and gabby.
in forth place is sweet
been as solid as a iron
been missed on the street
third place is saving private ryan.
bronze is from the states
kirsty can do proud walking
all name drops with no grates
now look who's talking.
silver and gold to choose
each one is sick
which ever its no loose
as long as 1 and 2 are sally and nick.