The Raiders show raiders v st george at GIO Stadium

    with johnny brown and Sue Longways




johnny’   welcome dudes to GIO stadium to this match between the dragons and the raiders and this is going to be a

great match, the raiders are 11th and the dragons are at 14, and whoever wins, I can guarantee it will be a spectacle

and i have Pete from Hawker with us now with a poem for us, hoping to get the Raiders into top swing

Pete”    ok dudes let’s swing it

you see the bad and mean green machine, big and strong and fast and mean

you see you shouldn’t try and stop these men in green, cause we are 3 positions higher than the opposition

Johnny’  well, short but sweet, and have you been worried about form in some matches

Pete’   well, yes, but that makes no difference, the raiders are going to win dudes, i will sing it again

you see we are the bad and mean green machine, big and strong and fast and mean

you see you shouldn’t try and stop these men in green, cause we are 3 positions higher than the opposition

Johnny’   well thanks Pete and now here is Sue Longways with another fine poem from the crowd

Sue’   thanks Johnny and what a great atmosphere here at GIO Stadium today, a great twilight match, and everyone

is in fine voice to cheer the raiders to beat the dragons tonight, and here is John Barten from Queanbeyan and he hates

how the Raiders went to Canberra all those years ago, so he sings a dragons tune

John’   go the dragons go the dragons

go the mighty dragons team

you see it’s only early in the season

go the mighty dragons cause the raiders moved here

I know we shouldn’t hold a grudge, mate, but i am and there is nothing you can do oh no

go the mighty dragons and i will go for them till the Raiders go back to Seiffert Oval, dudes

Sue”   thanks John and now here is Harold from Lyneham

Harold’   i am the bad and mean raiders fan

we supply the best coming out of the can

you see i go to the footy with mates george and dan

you see we’ll hit ya hit ya hit ya the mighty green machine

Sue’  thanks Harold and now here is the Raiders team, bring on the team

Jordan Rapana and Sisa Waqa and Jarrod Croker and Jarrad kennedy and edrick lee and blake austin and Mitchell Cornish


and Shannon Boyd and Josh Hodgson and Dane Tilse and Josh Papali and Sia Solicia and Shaun Fensom

and the 4 interchange players  Josh McRone and Frank-Paul Nuuausala and Paul Vaughan and Luke Bateman

and now here is Ken from Symonston with his poem

Ken”   i have been coming out to the GIO stadium every time we play

you see it’s fun when we win, but when we lose, we certainly do ****** pay

and the main thing about it is, we beat the easy teams and beat the hard teams but never at the best time

come on Raiders, it’s surely the time to win, oh ****** yeah


sue”   thanks Ken and now here is Rob with his jingle

Rob”     Run Raiders run

as we charge onto the GIO stadium yeah

run raiders run you see we have the team, we’ll win oh yeah

yeah we will come a running, and score a hundred tries

yeah that will be so cool,

run raiders run, oh yeah the Raiders are the team to beat i hope

run raiders run

they are the team that will thrash the opposition yeah

you see we won one and lost one

run raiders run

yeah the mighty raiders, will be our son of a gun

Sue”    thanks Rob for that and now here is the dragons team


first is Peter Mata’utia and Etonia Nabuli and Dan Nielson and Dylan Farrell and Jason Nightingale

and gareth Widdop and Benji Marshall and Leeson Ah Mau and Mitch Rein and George Rose

and Tyson Frizell and Joel Thompson and Jack de Belin

and the interchange men are trent Merrin and Heath L”Estrange and Rory O’Brien and Mike Cooper and Jake Marketo

and here is Mike from Jerrabomberra with his jingle

oh yeah those dragons yeah, they win more than the raiders yeah

they supply all the tries, in fact more tries than the locals, why don’t they win the grand

well i think i know, it’s because we lose our playing ability after thrashing the raiders here and anywhere

so go the dragons, go the mighty dragons, the right team to win the match

sue’   ok thanks Mike and now here is Keith from Latham with his song

carn the carn the carn the mighty raiders team, please dudes don’t make us say **** mate

make our raiders team win, carn the raiders carn the raiders, watch our team win well

on our home ground see, go the mighty raiders for a great victory

ya see i live in Latham and in my lounge room i have raiders cushions and raiders tables and heaps

of videos too including the great grand final victories in ’89 and “91 and the great ‘94

they haven’t won a grand final since in the first grade oh no

but if they win a few games where they don’t drop the ball too much

they will play so ****** hard, GO THE RAIDERS, DUDES

Sue’   ok that is it for me, and now back to Johnny

Johnny”  thanks Sue for telling us the teams and letting us hear some great home truths, let’s hope the

Raiders can win tonight, and now here is ?Bob from Cook with a jingle

Bob’   go the raiders go the raiders, do ya reckon we have the stamminer to win today

go the raiders go the raiders, should we win, should we win

twinkle twinkle raiders pack, how i wonder whether you’ll win

up above the GIO park tonight, make sure we clean this game free of fights

twinkle twinkle raiders pack, go the raiders through and through

Johnny’ thanks Bob and now here is Ernie from Higgins with his rhyme

hey ****** ****** the dragons are ready, are they going to win

all have the raiders put all their dropping the ball crap in the flaming bin

Shaun Fensom laughed at this little rhyme, as hopefully the raiders grab the 2 points

Johnny’  thanks Ernie and first my tip, well to the ladder, i say Raiders, on current form, well raiders be 6, could be more

and who do you support Sue

Sue’    well to the ladder, the Raiders, but on current form, dragons by 2, but i could change

Johnny”   ok, we’ll be back at half time, ok, here on the Raiders show

GO THE CANBERRA RAIDERS

You see I am a silent Tao more words count less especially in this letter,
And when you're finished reading it you can laugh at me if it makes you feel any better.  
Which is okay with me but what's not is that you all just get to keep on living,
Without me with you during all of your tomorrows so this note is my forgiving;
To my family and friends who have hurt me and treated me wrong...
But maybe no fault of yours but still it hurt and didn't even make me strong.
To all except my daughter who needs no forgiveness from me she's done to me nothing wrong,
Unlike I did to her her whole life but it's like I said...because I'm not very strong.
A coward really!  But I'm not gay, a ****** or flamboyant,
It doesn't really matter though anyway I still am a dissapointment.
So I deserve your ridicule I'm no good to others and in my life it has shown,
I don't expect you to except me to forgive me or to even to condone...
This "Pipeline Boy" who in my youth which is how I was raised and I thought it was right,
From behind closed doors was I taught to be feminine and ladylike.
I tried to live my life straight marrying three lovely ladies..."myself" I tried to convert,
I helped to make a little girl (it was my crowning achievement in life) my marriages didn't work.
Attempting to ask for forgiveness I was rushed and sorta fell,
Falling fifty-five feet breaking twenty-one bones and on my way to hell.
Trying to forgive myself in front of God on my way down...
"I'm Still Falling!" were my very last thoughts just before my body hit the ground.
You see I've been treated like a ***** all my life by most these men,
I don't know if it's theirs or mine to own...this unforgivable sin.
So now I partake in the world's oldest profession,
Woman don't do what's done to me being a women's the only way for me to get to Heaven!
So now I am Robin Ashley and hope for as long as I am you'll be my friend,
Because It no longer feels right for me to go around living life just to pretend.
My last name stays the same so she won't feel I abandoned her again,
For she's the only one in this world that I do not want to offend.
So I'll live my life in cognito causing you all no consequence nor strife,
When you're apalled by this letter remember it's not yours-but it's "My" life!
I apologize for posting such an obscene  'b l of distaste,
I'm just so **** tired of living my life with a mask on my face.
I don't know how my family found me here on facebook I guess it really doesn't matter,
My name is now Robin Ashley Latham and its because it makes me less sadder!

     Robin Ashley

cheese and... holes... one massive swiss on
the matter of: 23.5°N and (φ, θ, ψ)...
            the devil will find work for idle hands...
and if it's "work" via a
                                      q w e r t y u i o p
                                       a s d f g h j k l
                                            z x c v b n m...

again: who needs the alphabet: the a b c d e...
when i'm looking down on:
an armchair of comfort for the purpose of typing...
so that i don't have to look down
at the keyboard: except for when my
hands are in the wrong position...

why would i need to cite: having to remember
an alphabet:
if i know all the letters in it:
does it matter that i should know it?
if i'm sieving through an index of a never-to-be
completed thought...

i have this other "alphabet" at my fingertips:
hell... my head is on fire...
my brain is poaching in sauerkraut juices
being boiled...
            i need to look up the person
who came up with

                                   q w e r t y u i o p
                                       a s d f g h j k l
                                            z x c v b n m
and the ctrl+c / ctrl+p (i will actually look down
to spot the +/= click click)...

right hand pinky is for the enter button
backspace for the right hand ring finger
the space bar is reserved for the right hand
*******: and sometimes the thumbs...

i don't i am much in need of some
of my fingers... e.t. call home hands would
do just fine...

        here comes the alphabet of pedagogy:
a b c d e f g h i j k l m n o p q r s t u v w q y z
how many is that?
did i miss one?        wow... that's really 26
letters...          i usually "forgot" the sequence
when it came to      u v w q y z...
i won't check: i am pretty much sure it's
wrong...

Christopher Latham Sholes!
that's the man!
            why isn't he... celebrated?
             i guess making videos took off...
i'm stuck here: minding "unnecessary" details
of things...
like Descartes finding the ultimate doubt...
or Pascal the wager...
   and there's always this french "thing" of
having to bring it back to a chair a table... etc.

i'll repeat this name over and over again...
can anyone question the genius of
the design?
      i heard someone once cite the genius
of the...

but i'm ******* around with pseudo-Braille!
i'm looking at a screen and not looking
at the keyboard:
i'm not some boomer doctor... boomer...
doctor... pecking... crow pecking...
with two index fingers... at the ******* QWERTY!
i'm writing in pseudo-Braille!
i heard someone mention the genius
of Harry Beck's London underground tube map...

ground breaking... not in my books...
Christopher Latham Sholes' QWERTY...
for me that's... next... next level jinn magic ****...
aladdin and the lamp rub rub... rub rub...

the design is so pristine that...
i can't tell you... with precision...
what finger goes where and punctures out what
letter...
but i am not looking at the keyboard...
i'm looking at a birth of the next word...
the next line... but i am pretty much sure
that... some fingers are only props...
for when i'll use them to exercise motion
of: beyond the hand... the arm and...
hammer in some nails...

relax, perhaps like Picasso... relax...
by doing some indoor decorating...
refreshing the cupboards in the kitchen
with: yet another layer of paint...

        would a painter relax by...
becoming entombed in a rectangular space...
paint the walls... the ceiling...
i was under the impression that...
Francis Bacon had a part-time job as an indoor
decorator...
        
oh god... the 1st and through to the 6th whiskey
is still horrid...
it's like... insomnia ******* paranoia
and giving birth to cold sweat...

        ha ha! i just have to laugh on paper:
because i can only enjoy a snigger within my own
affair of the body...
      why would anyone need to...
learn or rather know... the "alphabet":
the sequence... after all... it's not like...
the vowels are cited first: a e i o u...
there you go... the pentagram...
           and that the consonants come later...
or perhaps the consonants should come
first... and the vowels would be...
encouraged to settle for the status of:
auxiliary?

              ha ha! god "designed" the human skeleton...
the giraffe's neck...
            the hyena's laughter: and mine too...
are we so ******* stupid to believe that:
the god's didn't gamble... make bets...
and... oh ****: wh'oopsie! man popped out?!
i find that... well... under monotheism...
a god: or the gods... do not laugh...
they're... reduced to a geometrical blob...
   they do not steal our comforts derived from fire...
******... hell: the litany of raj spices...
      
but... ha ha... QWERTY... 10th bourbon in me:
now i see the bigger picture...
not to mention...
   ever since the mortal kombat soundtrack
came out... juke joint jezebel - kmfdm...
and of course... type o negative:
blood and fire (out of the ashes mix)...
well... i didn't see it coming...
                 stay out of my dreams...

  peter: schtill!
     sha! shtil! makht nisht keyn gerider
   der rebe geyt shoyn tantsn vider...
            
i am... quiet positively glowing... with:
joy...       what an ultimate transformation...
it's like that joke a thing concerns itself
with... lying in full view:
of someone looking for it...
             a dementia-amnesia cocktail...

i will not tire of having to reiterate this...
does anyone really need
the "correct" sequence of the alphabet?
really?
      as long as you remember all the 26 letters:
in whatever you want?
wouldn't that be better...
but given the keyboard...
can you at least appreciate it?
the composition of the mind-gherkin prickly...
design of: the spacial orientation
of the best way to place one's hands...
and execute... a litany... a cascade of letters?

what good is the alphabet...
when it's forever changing...
       with each word... and with each word
in each subsequent sentence?
it's not a numbers gimmick...
        all the way from plato through to kant...
the tyrant of syracuse would have been
a moral man: if only he knew the cemented
reality of 5 + 6 = 11: or...    V + VI = XI...

no one... i too have a hot-bed of person
******* to sieve through...
but... i will be unable to love another man
with the sort of ideals...
the ideals that only pets have privy details
on... how i do adore...
the silence and the otherwise opera of onomatopoeias
of... staying in the womb of a syllable:
that the cat is certain: to me it's certain
he has knowledge of a distinction of a consonant
and a vowel:
   otherwise: what the **** is a meow?
         meu! mao!
what the **** is a woof?!      who! how!
a load of dreamies and dog biscuits...
i'm still under the impression that neither cats:
nor dogs... are capable of seeing 3D objects
on a 2D canvas... notably the t.v. -
their blatant disregard for our neon-fireplace...

so much of the "concern" for the computer's
ergonomics is beside: that joke...
'how was cobber wire invented?
   two scots arguing: which later translates
into a pulling apart of a penny...'
not my joke: my english teacher's:
as glaswegian by the designated: given-names:

si-rrrrr t(h)omas! bunce!
and a bunser burner he was...
     almost... dead poets society sort of giver...
and whoever has beef about going
to school...
should rethink the concept of
the sandpit at a play-area when equipped
with a bucket and spades...
and inconveniences such as: pumpkin pie:
or victoria sponge...
            
again: to reiterate...
               the genius (geniuses...
alliances of human spawn...
integrated into the third party clauses
to compete with angels and demons...
not god-spawn of recycled gambling affairs)...

                                    q w e r t y u i o p
                                       a s d f g h j k l
                                            z x c v b n m

and i somehow have to remember the pedagogy
sequence of:
                a b c d e f g h i j k l m n o p q r s t u v w x y z?
i seriously don't think that helps...
when... the mandarins have to remember...
syllables made into ideograms...
and if they have a baggage of 5,000 or so...
they can settled for: a liberating IQ...

what good is the orthodoxy of a strict alphabetic
sequence...
when: oh look...           the words do not exactly
expect me to state: a-b-c-s-u
            perhaps: but who's going to take notice
of an abacus?
            again... what good is the alphabet ordeal?
you have to... always...
refrain from the already apparent:
memory erosion it implies...
unless... it's how you strain a sharpening
of acumen when words need to become
raindrops... and exact a worthiness of a sentence:
hardly unlikely...
     how does: hardly look?
         alphabetically it looks like...
                               a d h l r y          
a b c d e f g h i j k l m n o p q r s t u v w x y z

even if i write our QWERTY in a linear fashion...
but of course i won't...

q w e r t y u i o p a s d f g h j k l z x c v b n m
                               (better?)

- how does it, "look" like?
i don't know... i'm looking at the screen
and my fingers are itching for the next
letter in pseudo-Braille...
which: Christopher Latham Sholes
                        invented...
       oh just a minor thing...
   it's not... a lightbulb... it's not penicilin...
lucky for some of us... and Plato:
no one knows about the man who came up
with beer... or the man who came up with...
               flour and how: eggs... water...
and bread...
lucky for us...
       well: no one invented salt...
but those "other" men cannot be world renowned...
or occupy the myths of envy...
solomon and the harem... and some wisdom...
oh sure: the wisest of them all...
are the ones who had it all...
and then deciding: best to scale down...
started to: *****... and spew...
but then there's that insatiable hunger:
for never having it to begin with...
how the hell does it matter...
       scaling down... giving it all up...
                as wise as a nail's head...
when a hammer starts to inverse-pluck it into
a rubber skin of soaked wood...

there are 26... you make up your own
sequence of "events"...
in that: words are events in themselves...
better having a jist for them
than... a sequence of letters...
that don't even come close...
to be asssured of... a memory capacity /
erosion for... keeping...
           ahem...
  pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis...

would you like toothpicks and hyphens
with that?
either you, or me: but most certainly me:
pneumono-ultra-microscopic-silico-volcano-coniosis...
looks better:
funny thing about "english"...
where is saxon-"anglicanism" retained
to fully exhort... it comparison with modern...
german... word custard of spelling
and: hardly any hyphen application?

        chemistry...
                   only when it comes to coordinates
in compounds...
otherwise... hydro... no... wait... Tintin is about...
a word that's almost
an alphabet:
methionylthreonylthreonylglutaminylarginyl
      no hyphnes... i'm not that bothered...
bbout 525 results (0.39 seconds) on google...
when was the last time i was about to googlewhack?

it's apparent: the "fun" is over...
  back to the plateau of... non-events and...
yeah: hardly a word beside that
in the prosaic...
                what of rhyme?
           what of that... everything has to
be pristined: boxed and allocated an index?

looking for the word
but will settle for a phrase
that adequately captures
the queasy but a little bit right and funny balancing act feeling
when you find yourself
agreeing with Mark Latham

@journeyofdays

The bar squats at the bend in the road where Mill becomes Burden,
Walls somewhat recently painted,
Roof re-shingled ostensibly within memory
A derelict stockade on a front line where cowboy and Indian alike
Have each thought better of standing their ground,
Now defended by a few solitary souls,
Veterans of the days when the place hummed with those
Who’d finished shifts at Troy-Bilt or the Freihofer bakery
(Places either long gone or in the hospice stage,
The bar itself not profitable in any sense of the word,
Opening each afternoon for no palpable reason
Save some madness of inertia)
And who had not moved in with children in Latham or Malta,
Or gone to some frowzy, weedy southern trailer park
Sweating and sweltering through ninety-degree dawns
In Sarasota or St. Pete.
One corner of the building still bears a neon sign
Which sternly announces Ladies Entrance
Though, as the resident wits are fond of noting
Ain’t been no lady on the premises ‘n a month of Sundays,
But, on this particular evening, there is one of that gender
Haphazardly arranging herself on a stool
In search of a compromise between physical comfort
And simply remaining somewhat upright.
She is there in the company of a squat, *****-handed man
Who sits beside her, leering and yakking away
As he signals the bored and ancient bartender
For a couple more Buddy long-necks
(She cannot remember his name—Clyde, Clete,
In any case she’ll assign him an identity later.)
Their acquaintance is of a recent nature,
His end of the deal a burger at the diner on First Street
And a drink or two or three here
(There is a return on his investment, implicit and fully understood,
Though she has not—in her mind, anyway—reached such a point
As it needs to spelled out in plain English.)
She clutches, tightly though surreptitiously as possible,
For she occupies a social stratum
Where placing a death grip on something
Marks it as valuable, putting a bulls-eye
On object and owner as well,
A purse, a three-hundred dollar Coach bag
Bestowed on her by some gum-chomping Russell Sage undergrad
In a random, futile, wholly absurd gesture
(This was some time ago, and the bag, once a fiery crimson
Has faded and the fine leather has creased and mottled
Until it now appears to be a miniature strawberry heifer on a strap)
Though she would note that she was a family of some substance,
Having once attended a fine all-girls school
Where she became engaged
To a professor in the Fine Arts department
(It is unclear whether it was Smith or Bryn Mawr
Or, perhaps, Sarah Lawrence, if anywhere at all,
Her suitors and specters
All but indistinguishable from one another.)
All that, however, is clearly a matter of was;
Her will be is a less fanciful thing,
A measured yet inevitable and precipitous slide
into transactions less palatable
Exchanged for comforts colder than such as she settles for now
(But perhaps not—there is a persistent, palpable pain in her side
Accompanied by a noticeable swelling; Probably benign,
The nurse practitioner had noted at the free clinic,
But she occupied that societal niche
Where further, if unheroic, measures
Were unlikely to be forthcoming.)
In any case, she and her paramour pro tempore
Will call it a night, she pinning her bag to her side
As she instinctively swivels her head to and fro
To ensure no one is seeking to relieve her of her prize possession
(Though its contents are meager—a few dollars in change,
A sweater, a change of underwear,
The whole blessedly insubstantial,
As it is likely she could shoulder any additional load.)

i woke up with a fever... obviously i was drinking heavily last night... i was thinking about Caroline Aherne... from the Royle Family... that sit-com that's unlike any soap-opera and the instigator for the current channel 4 google... goggle-box... trash... i'm ******* feverish... i need to sweat some of this alcohol out... i have glue-eyes... things look fuzzy... or, rather... glued together too much... but i woke up and just remembered those Somali beauties on my last shift... how nervous they looked... licking their lips... i was just thinking: ****, ****... ****... like most Muslim didn't think  having a blast in Cologne... in Rotherham... i'm pretty open to foreign cuisine... i'll eat anything that doesn't move... like i'll **** anything that does... ****... did i message Khedra last night? i must have... like my current fetish for ginger haired women... freckles no freckles... whatever... i'm still "coy" when it comes to ol' raven Caucasian hair... well... Turk or Mongol? they're one and the same... but i woke up with a dream... a 2nd Islamic implosion... a second schism... spearheaded by the Turks... like the first one was spearheaded by the proud Persians because they were like: no ******* camel-jockey... no sand-****** is going to dictate to us... i swear i borrowed those slang terms from a Sri Lankan... honest to god... or allah: in Maltese... but i woke up... remembered that a ******* was inquiring about me... babe... i'm just not longing... i've had a ginger spell put over me... give me a few days... i'll exercise like mad... drink more white wine... let me just get ***** a little... i don't want to come to you with a limp: whimp of a whittle 'ichard... right... now i know what this fever was about... western culture... a load of *******... the Islamic attire for women... the niqab... the suppossed oppression of women... OR... excatly... OR... the salvaging of the male libido... seriously... why would i want to desire what's left plainly in the open... readily avaliable... why would i want to put up with so much *******: tease?! cucks-galore... i switch off... put on a pair of sunglasses: the night's too bright... i see the logic now... just now... oh no no... i'm not akin to the western narrative... at best i'm a subverter... i just can't follow the narrative that: men's fault... for not getting a hard-on... pop some pills because... that's what women did back in the day of being liberated by dropping those anti-contraceptive pills... no... no ******* MEA CULPA... no! i'm always just ******* dandy with prostitutes... and... randomly... a Thai girl... a black girl... after enough suspense and alcohol for both of us... white girls have become Victorian-times Irish nuns for some of us... i literally don't think they're Madonnas... ****** up girls: sure... but holy? you have to be kidding me... i'm actually kidding myself... but the niqb actually makes sense... personally? in my Islam... those niqabs would be white... if there is to be a second schism in Islam... they would be white... or linen prone... a material that would allow some breathing room... but it truly is a salvaging of the male libido... i mean: except for perverts and all the other outliers... men can quickly switch off... from any ****** activity once they reach a certain age... concentrate on something abstract... wed themselves to Sophia... while watching idiots go through their motions of hard-ons and juiced up oysters worth of ****.

vultu mutabilis albus et ater...
        of changeful countenance, both white and black...

that quote alone...
        from the book: answer to Job... by C. G. Jung...
i can make peace with Herr Jung...
       i'm very familiar with his... good nature in writing...

i'm feeling good... best day ever...
made my father some meatball spaghetti for lunch
for work tomorrow: i'm ******* working
and all... stewarding... loitering...
it's not working... not when you're herding people...
it would be work if i had 20 cows under
my supervision...
            the "work" is a joke...
**** easy... just put on a facade like you're about
to count how many teeth they have
with your knuckles... inside or outside
their mouth? erm?!            both...
just pretend... it's a "job" of pretending...

but at the same time: play the game of FWENDS...
that's important...
   also... tend to your fellow coworkers...
   make sure they get the breaks...
   be firm with others...

West Ham vs. Frankfurt... love it!
         going to brush up on some of my Deutsche!
grr... obviously spoken with an English grammar
logic...
          ar du haben ein güt zeit?
              alles (ist) güt?
    
in China, himmel ist runden und die erde quadrat...

yeah... that should work...
English grammar is pretty much German grammar...
we'll: sehen... we'll spiegel...
bounce back and forwards...
             after all... post-apocalyptic Sächsisch
that broke their own rules when invading these isles
and mingled with the Celtic and Welsh tribes...
well... maybe not so much the Welsh...
               finally! some other German breeds...
i'm starting to think... Saxons... Pomeranians...
Swabs... oh... Frankfurt... that's Hessen territory...
oi oi! we're going to get a bunch of Hess!
        i look at the Germans and immediately think:
dog-breeders!
            rot! Russ! rot! Russ! viler! viler! raf! rough!
r'ah!

        its truly amazing watching these two old rivalries
take centre stage...
it's never ever pretty when it comes to Polacks vs.
the Russians... let alone Ukrainians...
but it's like: when it come to the Ing-leash
those proud post-Saxony Saxons: i'm pretty *******
sure some Saxons were like: we're going to stay...
oh... wait... why didn't that migrating horde
of fighter come back?

ah ah... i see... i've seen it already...
when i was young... a blonde was the archetype of
beauty for me...
as i've aged... red heads... Celtic red heads...
i'm going absolutely ballistic over them...
freckles... no freckles... whatever...
skin... complexion that could compete with milk...
i'm driven nuts by these red heads...
******* cuckoo... ****** Tunes: wolf whistling
in my head...
i don't care... the lighter tinge... the darker crossing
into auburn territory ginger...
*****... **** me: she could even grow a beard
and i'd still doggy-****-her...

             that's why those invading Saxons didn't
come back... because of the ginger ***** and *** galore...
same... i would have stayed...
no questions...

   so a few sentences in Deutsche... sorted...
   i'll practice tomorrow whenever i come across those
few that come up to me and ask in that
goot... achtung achtung accenting:
  mein goot Bwi-dish ascent... ya?
    oh... ya ya... das ist goot...

                                   h'eh h'eh...

but it's so different... i have absolutely no animosity
for the Germans...
they became mesmerized by an Austrian...
and... come to think of it... an Austrian is not
a German and a German is not Swiss...
i think it's that simple...
           it's fun... over 'ere in Europe...
it's so unlike H'america... we're juggling ethnicity
rather than race... race is so boring:
so H'american...

                        but i close my eyes... i've had enough
to drink... like clockwork...
my body just jumps into a drum-beat...
the best i could find... it's insatiable...
i can't resist grooving to it...
using both of my hands to tap out the Morse Code
of the rhythm...

   the Brian Jonestown Massacre's: Panic in Babylon

i seriously had a terrible day in the kitchen...
i was working with premade beef tartar meat...
what's this?! i ask my mother...
it's mush! it's mince!
             i couldn't eat a steak tartar with this!
i like my steak tartar finely diced...
yeah yeah: capers, gherkins the whole shebang...
raw egg yolk blah blah... i don't do raw mince...
that's baby food... i need a bite...
so she replies... make some meat *****...
fair enough...
             but i make the mistake of adding some bacon
into the mixture... and a pinch of salt...
oh **** me... that's salty... i thought it said:
unsmoked bacon...

****... not even the breadcrumbs and the yolk helped...
what to do... what to do...
or the paprika... what to do, what to do...
i need to salvage the meat...

right... make enough tomato sauce...
but don't season it with salt...
pepper... Italian herbs... Kashmiri chilly...
    o.k., o.k., no salt... that should balance out just right...

and there's me grooving to Panic in Babylon...
tapping away with the beat...
while at the same time... closing my eyes and thinking
i'm stirring a *** of freshly brought sinners
in hell... don't ask me why...
if i were to rewrite Dante's inferno...
a completely different affair...
i wouldn't take Virgil with me...
and we wouldn't even descend into hell...
i'd take him around London... but i wouldn't be taking
Virgil... i'd be taking Horace...

              klar als tag!

where's that quote i was looking for... it has to be in here
somewhere...
i knew i had it somewhere...
no... not under Lucifer... under Aquarius...
ah... there it is!

          Luciferi vires accendit Aquarius acres:
Aquarius sets aflame Lucifer's harsh forces...

and as i typed this... QWERTY...
Christopher Latham Sholes... in on par in my books
with the Sejong the Great...
the story goes... Marquis de Sade's uncle...
Abbé de Sade of Ebreuil... had a library of books
you would read with only one hand...
ergo? you'd *******...
personally? yeah... the ol' Marquis gave me a hard-on
in the past...
the QWERTY model though...
it's beside a concept of a piano...
after all... there are so many combinations
of lettering that erode your memory:
but you rarely have to look down to look
at what your hands are doing...
depending on the size of the keyboard...
you just peep down and reposition your hands...
but that's why you have two SHIFT buttons...
why wouldn't you?
esp. if you're trying to type out a quote verbatim...
you're holding a book in one hand...
you're crow-pecking at each digit of a letter
with your index... because you're transcribing...
you do need... you do need two shift buttons
for the upper-case... you can't just switch-on
and switch-off CAPS LOCK... pointless...

now i have an urge of biting into some raw garlic...
or... onion... no... not pickled...
i need some adhesive that's also a repellent...
i have too many spiders in my bedroom...
i'm afraid that i'll eat some in my sleep...

i'm still vehemently adamant when saying:
i'd shoot Freud in the back of the head...
like an Andrei Chikatilo.... why?
i just feel like it... terrible ideas...
or, rather... too simple... it's not even the horrors
of cubism of modernism...
do i have to race bait the ******?!
all of the Hebrews that entertained Europe
aas their home for over 2000 years lost
their Mediterranean sun-tan anyways...

oh right... that's how it works?! they get settled back...
the Yids... the Hebs... and what do they flood
Europe with? their enemies...
the invading Islam falafel...
       cool cool... good to know...
       i'm on the receiving end... well... i'm not...
the western "powers" might have capitulated...
try that same **** in Russia...
as much as i want to love the Germans...
at least the Russians are sensible...

     because what?! "on the right side of history"
sort of happened with Iraq, Afghanistan, Libya...
Syria? did it?!

that quote... about Aquarius and Lucifer...
plenty of delusion people where i'm at...
why should i be any worse...
i'm only joking when pretending to be the devil...

ich bin teil aus das macht, welche immer wille
     böse und immer arbeiten güt...

  i am part of that power which eternally wills evil
and eternally works good...

well... we're... "we're" sort of waiting to pounce...
seeing how Western Europe has been left to
the power hungry cucks of society...
           i'm siding with the Russians:
because as a ******,,, Ukrainians?!
undermined the stability of the Polish-Lithuanian
Commonwealth... they ******* sided
with the remnants of the Mongols that didn't
******* back to Mongolia but occupied
Crimea... ******* lemon *******
squint copper-skins... what?!

                i love depitcing our differences...
is... is that... a "problem"?
you know what proverb...

  jeśli wejdziesz między wrony, musisz krakać jak i one:
when you come among the crows...
you must croak like them...
Rome... blah blah...
  there's this animosity building up in
me that's becoming unhealthy...
  i don't have the stomach...
   but in the near future... i see...
someone...
                     someone who will erase
this Islamic curse from the face of Europe...
it's simple Newtonian logic...
  it's simple... i don't have the voice...
i don't have the ambition(s)...
                 i prefer to drink... draw circles...
scribble my little laments...
shout from the heights of the Bastille like.... de Sade...
i drink: i don't dance...
   there's plenty... we're readied...
       i want Saudi Arabia to burn...
             i want a second Islamic schism...
this one? spearheaded by the the Turks...
   i want Jesus t be known as...
the Lord of Mosquitos...
               that's enough... this ****** is going
to fall back into line with hell's democracy:
or else!
           he has had too many years of ownership
of time!
hell's rebelling! ich besagt: hölle ist rebellieren!
genug! das ist es!

he's no son of god... he's one of us...
         he's the Lord of Mosquitos...
                why, though... this waiting game...
keeping it a secret?!
well... no wonder... god is a... ahem...
            marry ****** with Elizabeth Bathory...
you get?! no no... not a bloodbath...
                      because?! nature is benevolent...
oh sure it is... it's so nice to men that will never get
a chance to hear a moan...

what prompted me?
a message from my "girlfriend"... a Turkish beauty...
raven hair... i wish it was ginger...
whatever...

seriously... that's how this world works?
i'm getting a message from my *******: "girlfriend",
hey, how are you... telling her...
i'm good... your lips are like ******* mangos...
mush mush... see you soon...
while the women i work with are single mums
in their 30s... thinking they're hot stuff and i'm
like... i'd be sooner seen ******* a camel... toe...
whatever... how oblivious to you have to be
to the whole situation?!
i'm calling prostitutes my girlfriends because:
well... at least they like to ****...
and these supposed "free" women...
"free" as in... entangled with raising children...
why, would, i, even, *******, bother?!
they're not mine...
            where does it say that i need to "man up"
to raise someone else's *****-sprank?!
if there's an authentic war... not waged
as proxy by H'americans... sign me up...
but... raising some else's chiuldren?! *******...
not via dating... via being a surrogate father...
but even then... nein...
                 niet...                         nie....       no!

nature has a cruel habit of being... raving revealing
in what's considered to be fair...
didn't the anglophone world popularise Darwinism?!
so... what's the ******* problem?!

i just texted my Turkish "girlfriend" ******* back...
we're good... i'm getting paid... tomorrow?!
obviously i'm gagging for it...
but i'll need to... exercise... get my mojo back...
harsh cardiovascular... white wine... etc.
i want to perform... i just can't imagine ***
on a regular basis... in a relationship...
regressing into... having to watch t.v. together...
tell you what... my mother made this discovery
today...
the t.v. show: the Royle Ramily... ****... Family...
and... Googlebox...
  it's like a precursor... although...
the former is funnier...
       no... because it's not a soap opera...
        it's not predictably blind to people's expectations...
now that she text me i'm sort of getting a hard-on...
now that i text her back i'm...
oh... right... she wants me...
           it's better when it's that ******* obvious...
i.e. between men and women...
you want her... she wants you...
        she had about a dozen bad *****...
now she's texting you: come back... Lassie! come home!
Caroline Aherne... i always... always...
what a lass... i can't stress it enough:
give me Tuesday... i could become lazy with her
in front of a... an aquarium... i hate the t.v.:
how about somewhere in Scotland...
with a fireplace?!
                        i'm happy with this Turkish *******
messaging me: where are you?! are you o.k.?!
why not... any woman is enough treasure...
i'm not going to tell a ******* from a nurse
apart... i can't: i don't want to...
      even though there are supposedly more
women in the world than men...
  n'ah... that's never going to be an armchair
in my mind... that "armchair" is going to remain...
"being" an armchair outside of my mind...
"somewhere" in a living room: as a ******* armchair...
not... some... abstract... safety-net...
in the... "back of my head" quiz...
      i don't have a ****** fetish... a niqab: skunk
oomph...
            as Khedra said...
just because you don't have unprotected ***...
sorry... sorry... just because you have protected ***...
doesn't mean that you will not catch STDs...
oh man... that's harsh...
***** *******... they probably don't wash their
hands after they've eaten or taken a ****...
  well... that's me done... i can have unprotected ***
with a ******* and no worry about catching...
Syphilis...
                    tested, proven, done... if i get a wring-worm
puking up a mushroom steering wheel for my
monkey brain to facilitate: i'll let you know...
but even at work...
  around women... this one gives me the most dirtiest
looks... why? she hasn't figured me out...
she tries the intimidation tactics... hugs me...
keeps clinging to me mishearing her say DARLING
while i thought she said DADDY...
****** insinuations... blah blah... blah... blah...
i'm not a gangster... i'm not part of some
criminal underworld...
             but brothels aren't exactly hotels...

prostitutes aren't exactly your next door neighbour
sort of
gals... are they?
so if one messages you: with  a longing?
winged Hussar... she has a mouth...
a mouth that could melt....
a  **** of butter...                    tiresome irk.

rearranging a rubber- band on my right
hand for "something" that
comes close to a golf handicap...
this "something" is actually more
tangible, though...
to... make the sensation of
sinew more prominent - like an exoskeleton
variety of a visible: contradictory sinew
that does the opposite of
what's already in place: by restraint...
- i hate golf...
i also hate typing-slow....
when you can't type without having
to look down at the keyboard...
why? it's basically underappreciating
the genius of the man
behind: qwerty... christopher latham sholes...
to me? herr c. l. s.
is leagues above the person who
eroded our brains with...
the alphabet...
why wouldn't you put all the vowels
first... and the consonants later?
maybe the alphabet learning should be
rearranged toward
the sequence:
q w e r t y
or...
   q a z
      w s x
          e d c
the rearranging of the sign of the cross
done by catholics... left to right...
otherwise the orthodoxy of right to left...
but why still bother
with the standard alphabetical...
as long as you remember / use... all the letters...
you stack up 26... what's so terribly
important about x y z...
   e f g... h i j...
         k- l, m, n, o p...
let me sit here... an fester on a wound...
let me keep rancid chicken meat
in my fridge long enough...
can you ever begin to fathom the perfumery of:
how meat can give off whiffs of
rancidity?
it's so specific... it's unlike... what national
treasure... dame Judy Dench said...
in chocolate (show-lo'ca)...
ooh... your cinnamon is rancid...
it's chilly powder...
         rancid meat: esp. chicken...
it has an almost acidic whiff about it...
i can still see the doctor... crow pecking at the keyboard...
armed with only two index fingers...
while here i am... utilizing almost all of mine...
sure... the space button
to catch a reel newspaper style "paragraphing":
columns... rubrics... sudoku being done
my "tired" bones of pinky ownership...
- such that each time i take a bicycle
from havering-atte-bower...
into the grid...
of... Loon'dune...
  who's who when having asked for Lee's...
Da'Un!
           the apostrophe cipher...
an intra-verbum pause...
    otherwise? down...
at best English is written as an approximation...
Fwench is worse...
that much can be said...
they leave their letters at the altars
of Moloch before this grand **** of
infanticide... Guld'An: not Gul'Dan...
if i had eyes worth of ice...
and a heart that throbbed wit
guilt... my eyes would not be the colour
of jade to begin with...
while my heart would not be...
the project of one man...
i desire to steal st. paul's cathedral...
i will not be able
to stick a river into the Thames to turn its...
by way... a river with a tide?
where is the cut-off point
between river water and the sort of water
that makes it... undrinkable?
before the salt settles the last hurrah?
if it weren't chicken scratches that might make
a summary of the solo project of scribble with
the one hand... a handwritten river
as hard to decipher as mandarin hieroglyphs
at times...
spawning an trans-generational
itch for ulterior usage of chop-sticks:
mostly used in the pit of the abacus...
you don't have to be prescribed
the alphabet...
you unfathomable you: you don't...
i see someone, able as i am: to use the arrangement
of two hands before a keyboard...
without looking down...
as a tier above the need to arrange
an alphabet like it might imply:
historical significance?
after a while... that sooner than later
disappears...
the alphabet is lost... when having to arrange
words...
what is the point of keeping the need
for the alphabet... my hands are my eyes...
when i sit down to type...
looking at braille might seem more
important by now...
i don't need the alphabet...
well... i might need it...
but learning it is obsolete...
            unless invested in via: vowels first...
consonants later...
vowels? ** in the realm of d.n.a...
      consonants? XY... ergo?
           vowels are female...
consonants are male...
             no one bothers these days... with these
stalemate concepts of pedagogy...
what philosophy isn't... pedagogy ought to be...
and what is philosophy?
freely available inquiry for those who
want to ingest it...
pedagogy is prescribed learning...
whereas philosophy is without a curriculum...
what is pedagogy? it's primarily: curriculum!

people most close to me once, upon,
a time... hoped... that i might succumb to
becoming a teacher...
i have a Leibniz-complex...
i'd sooner be a ******* road-sweeper than
custard my brain into a role
of overt-demands of responsibility...
******* mother-goose tribunal weighing
on my shoulders... no!
but i like the idea of detailing minor...
revisions...

the alphabet "concern"? using an anecdote...
in a car, with a friend... listening to his father
scold him for not remembering the alphabet...
so not remembering the alphabet is worse
than... not remembering the spelling of: remember?
the alphabet is beside the "hands that see"
argument of qwerty...
there is no "logical" argument for it...
to lodge A first... what about...
that curiosity exclamation marked and mark
and worded: huh? with a scratch of the head...

by the way... isn't the H sometimes
"ghosted" / i.e. surded?
in cockney it 'appens all the time...
i know i'll be robbed of something...
maybe this whole: this is the body of Christ...
i'll be cannibalised for the greater good...
maybe i'll end up with a *******
temple cult of "******" methuselah ladies on
the prowl...

and if i throw another tongue into
the equation: a latin scripted zunge...
will there be a need to throw all ambitions at
the ******* Mandarin like we're the second
coming of the mongolian golden horde?

London: loon-dim... or loon-dune...
i can expand the hell i like...
language is a dog... it obeys me:
i don't obey it... it's my ******* servant:
punctuation: girth of collar
and length of my leash!

i'm almost thankful that English... as a language...
is unlike all the other inheritors of ancient Latin...
you wouldn't see cappuccino anywhere in
neque enim tu es anima tantum,
sed anima corpus circumferens: corpus autem
non potest simul pluribus inesse locis...
Erasmus...

oh don't worry... if i bother... otherwise:
you'd think they'd prescribe us learning a feather's worth
of Latin while the "tide" receded...
back to the old ******* of nation,
tongue... giraffes... glaciers and graffiti...

while we're still rearranging alphabets,
while doctors peck blind at the keyboard...
write... sow: slow... index... primo!
because? cloud of a b c d e f, g...
  why put vowels so randomly arranged
within the confines of: primarily consonants...
it's not like a *******
schematic of 1 1 1 1 1 9 1 1 1
    9 9 9 9 9 9 1 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9
   vowels are... numbers are integers...
period...
    math like jurisprudence:
a ******* theausaurus game... word for word:
counter a word: hide a word... hey presto!
a "new" word...
oh, right... a vowel is an odd "number"...
a consonant: an... "even"... ahem... "number"...
since you can
cut up a S and get... E S or S (ee)
but when you cut up an A
you get... i... irrationality: "irrationality"...
diacritical markings... ą... oh that blessed
breath of things having automated odds-on ****...

breaking of bark...
timid squalor of meow...
all in disarray...
the politics of the sexes... of course:
tantamount...
there was a moon landing... haven't you heard?
this miraculous foresights of
post-subjectivity?

i scream on silent while you children
i given their hail mary / iron maiden
silent, treatment....
congested a best **** please....

i'm starting to get my "mojo" back...
perhaps my vocabulary to boot...
isn't enough... it's never enough...
the Leibniz-Complex is detailing
the afterthoughts of succumbing
to the status of: "librarian"...
or that one kind wonder of
a Portobello St. book on the broke...
hoarder of... "illicit" meteorogical oops
hey presto: there's a daisy.....

it's so much less presto when someone is
also a hey presto! who done it...
the cat takes 'ickles for its nap...
i bone, marrow and that's "fat"...

seagulls in essex?!
that the dead are reminder....
you remember me deaarest ol' ****...
i too tow a love for life....
it's no most importantly "you"... though...

This here is a true story about when I went to watch the choir boys at the Charnwood inn, I caught the bus out there and went into the inn to sit at the bar, nobody wanted to talk to me because I looked really weird in my blue jeans and I loved the choirboys music, the first song was struggletown, then run to paradise and then I came up to dancefloor and sang boys will be boys ever so cool, I sat back down and this kidnapper was staring at me and I looked at him and he said to me ‘what are you looking at’ I was going to say what my dad taught me but then I remembered what happened at Jamison oval, that day, so I bit my tongue and mind you I was starting to get this awful ******* thinking this guy wants to **** me and then he got up from his seat and stole my wallet and all the money that came with it, and later that week I had to get a new pension card, but that is another story, what was happening is, he was shaking me up so I would jitter and come out to him, you see before that I was a real rebel, I was punching people at the bar, which made other people yell at me but I went to the dance floor and danced more to the choirboys and the girls wanted me to dance with them but I was worried I will be forced to buy them a drink and a man stole my wallet and I ran away from them, and straight into this man and grabbed me by the legs, I managed to escaped but I forgot about him taking my wallet and I ran back to my place at the bar nothing there and I was scared I was going to be killed and ran outside I saw him near the taxis and it was pitch black and I ran for the exit and I don’t know, if the car was stolen or his but when I reached Charnwood shops the guy pulled over and said wanna ride mate, hop in and he drove my as far as the Latham wet lands and opened my door and took me by the hand and said I know you live and your house is on the other side of the wetlands and because it was 2 in the morning as well as being pitch black I
Fell down into a ***-hole and my foot got caught in a branch and I smelt and looked filthy and I was trying to break free from this branch and that took 1 hour and thirty minutes and at 3-30am I slowly made it back to the road where he dropped me off and started to walk toward ginninderra drive and because I was a bit of a Woosey I went along the road singing boys will be boys really loudly and then I saw a taxi and he stopped for me and i explained I was robbed at the Charnwood inn and I can’t pay him but he drove me home because I looked messy, I said do you want me to get the money off mum and dad and the driver said, no buddy just go inside and have a good sleep, but being the boy who loved to kidnapped himself I tied myself up thinking what a horrible night and I slept in my filthy jeans, because I didn’t feel like a conservo anymore, that was the night Canberra got me