Dalmatia and Other Localities before the War
When we ate grilled fish on the floating restaurant
lording it on the Dalmatian coast

...mistaken for Party children- daddy must be an
official for them to have a motor bike like that...

how cool

when we stood on the quayside at Budva then later
stranded on that hotel island watching the causeway
slowly disappear beneath an unhurried sea

when detouring to Kotor to see the earthquake damage
imagining the earth move a dust shrouded town
staring through chained gates as if at a movie set

when I drove the Honda too fast skidding around
potholes and you giggled later drinking rocket fuel
local liqueurs in a bar with currency for wall paper

then when we strolled the leaning streets of
Mostar where soon there would be tanks
Then what of our own smouldering conflict

our own trajectory of spite filled ordnance
could you sense that it was coming?
a nurtured, carefully concealed attack

time worn sophistry
what of that when gun smoke
smarts your eyes.

WAGON WHEEL GAP is a place I never saw
And Red Horse Gulch and the chutes of ******* Creek.

Red-shirted miners picking in the sluices,
Gamblers with red neckties in the night streets,
The fly-by-night towns of Bull Frog and Skiddoo,
The night-cool limestone white of Death Valley,
The straight drop of eight hundred feet
From a shelf road in the Hasiampa Valley:
Men and places they are I never saw.

I have seen three White Horse taverns,
One in Illinois, one in Pennsylvania,
One in a timber-hid road of Wisconsin.

I bought cheese and crackers
Between sun showers in a place called White Pigeon
Nestling with a blacksmith shop, a post-office,
And a berry-crate factory, where four roads cross.

On the Pecatonica River near Freeport
I have seen boys run barefoot in the leaves
Throwing clubs at the walnut trees
In the yellow-and-gold of autumn,
And there was a brown mash dry on the inside of their hands.
On the Cedar Fork Creek of Knox County
I know how the fingers of late October
Loosen the hazel nuts.
I know the brown eyes of half-open hulls.
I know boys named Lindquist, Swanson, Hildebrand.
I remember their cries when the nuts were ripe.
And some are in machine shops; some are in the navy;
And some are not on payrolls anywhere.
Their mothers are through waiting for them to come home.

it’s not that i hate film literary film adaptations, but only one adaptation made me want to read the book: stendhal’s the scarlet and the black (starring ewan mcgregor and rachel weisz).*

i don’t in a respective romanic auditorium
with toga donning senators
walking to egyptian flutes from the cleopatra’s entourage
gleaming old fames as to prove the pyramids
and sphinxes were above in the hierarchy of awe
to the iodine and hod on papyrus,
to give these localities the respectable aura of re-,
i take to hammock’s kenotic and burial’s untrue:
the former feeds the northern feel of autumnal london
suburbia and the latter the southern quarter,
but never mind that, it’s already minded and eerie.
i watched the screenplay adaptation of empire of the sun today,
i have to say, i was jerking up the thought
of salty rain rather than acid rain on the environmental
perfusion surprise - so i ****** a jamaican fake on the hopscotch bonnet
mascaraed on the eyes, or the romantic tears of cutting an opinion,
but honesty... honesty! three scenes made me push my
manhood away from the stench of molten iron of the army:
the was the protagonist sang the song of the kamikaze
just after they downed a shot of koji and started singing
just after doing the flap-your-hands-in-the-air-like-you-just-don’t-care
salutations of encouraged nihilism.
it’s the editing part of the film, how the boy’s voice overpowers
everything else and becomes “monotone” against all other sounds,
the dignity of the boy’s enviousness and admiration
for the kamikaze... even in captivity! by god, what a scene!
the other scene that haunted me to near tear
was when the prisoners entered the cemetery of hoarded
valuables by the japanese upon invasion of shanghai
and taking from notables the jewellery chandeliers and cars
(pianos too): after seeing the prisoners familial in captivity
exchanging cabbage heads for cigarettes
proving what the world would be like without the existence of money...
i thought of the familial “humbling” of the people in captivity,
and the sheer haunt of the same prisoners returning
to a world they so dearly lost - in that each to his own
piano and mercedes benz, that neo-tribalism of earn earn spend
frivolity and self-interest that democracy prescribes
allocating us each a tomb of fancies (and sometimes the odd *****).
but the most striking thing became apparent - in these
japanese prisoner of war camps... the prisoners didn’t wear uniforms...
i can understand if those in power adorn uniforms,
but the oddity of the prisoners not having uniforms is quite
positively giggly sinister... given the fact that the other sinisterness
is when there’s a prison camp and those in power
wear uniforms and those imprisoned are also tailored for.
i see a major libra of power in all this,
for if the prisoners are not tailored for denoting their collectivisation
as in status of prisoners... then there’s a certain freedom in all of it,
like on the grander scale, in society, where the politicians,
the overseers only wear suits and the communities differentiate
themselves with hawaiian floral tattoos on t-shirts and tourist slogan ones too:
it’s almost as if the ultimate leniency of power was being exercised
not having to wear prisoner uniforms in the japanese pow camps,
unlike the pinstripe ones of auschwitz - as some collectivisation
of guilt within ideological framework rather than the opposite:
wrong place at the wrong time.
the last tear i got? well the music on the credits reel pulverised
by the images of a son re-recognising his mother by touchy touchy.
conclusively? better on your mother’s *** and able to cook too
than on the cooking *** of a wife and with two left hands preferring
the hot topic of takeaway or restaurants - hunter gatherer died -
me belly full of berry - how is it that **** sapiens is also called
**** perderus awhile the tortoises saturated achilles with peace and thought
and no chance of martian glory telling him of zeno’s paradox?

The fairies of chaitra
lie on the un–wrinkled bed
with their backside up  

in the hearsay of the air
once the woods of tamarisks
once the hill of paraffin

it appears there is no interruption
to this circus

the toy-telephones
hang from the cloud to cloud

from that carnival
take birth many kanthali-champa

the surgeon comes calmly
to the secret of darning

all localities are totally maddened
by the flow tide of the  exudation

observing all those happenings
the half-broken wave
does awake on the sofa-set

I've heard it goes, "all is fair in love and war"
I'm not sure I agree
When localities become marginalized
Despite the lack of knowledge
That guerrilla warfare comes in waves
Like crashing tides against foreign beaches
The ones I've never seen
I'm not sure if he'll lose his life
Upon his first deployment
But there isn't much to lose when you've already sold your soul
Can you enlist half a person?
If that were the case, I'd sign up too
And **** the only part of me
That's still in love with you

.shouldn't we revise, "some" things? united states of america, the soviet union... well... currenty? the russian federation... back in "the day" when h'america had their cultural export kingpin upper-hand... what's apparently, "now"? we (in europe) see such a disgruntled and a divided "union": we never managed to spot the differences between states, we only managed to see a unified states union, music, cartoons, movies, etc., that was once, but now? these "unified" states, under a heavy federal critique? i'm seeing less of a 50 / 1 and more 1 / 50 scenario... "united states of h'america"... russia reiterated the soviet union, doesn't h'america need to revise its "state of the union": u.s.a. my ***... the h'american federation... once upon a time h'american cultural export would never avow to reside in showing off their weakness... now? i can see all the weaknesses... weird, isn't it? how did the cultural export from h'america simply, end? when i started seeing h'america as maine, california, kentucky, iowa, florida... united my ***... given the current criticism of federal powers... united states of h'america my ***... the russian federation... the h'american federation... A.F., A.F., there's so much in a name... hell... sport fans all you want... U.S.A.! U.S.A.! just as weird as the olympic federation of britain... G.B. at the olympics, but... the english football team, the scottish football team, the welsh, the northern irish football team... united we stand at the olympics, divided we stand as football associations... over here in Europe we used to understand a united h'america... these days? there's no united h'america... there's only a federal h'america... at least if there were more localities akin to quebec (french), or california (spanish), of speaking different languages... wisconsin being german-speaking ("vierte ***** / zweite kolonie")... chicago being the global ******-capital of the world... not back in the 1990s early 00s... did the h'american cultural export look so bad... can't exactly hide behind a ******* Costco, can you?

harsh, isn't it, given the numbers, and your selfie...
i.e.: you're not that much interesting,
here comes Generic Joe and Clone Clive...
so much for the pout and the smug
beach-suntan crazy shot...
like that famous socialists...
who defined socialism as if it was worth
sitting on the floor on a train...
yeah mate! that'll work!
you the right honourable social elitist of them all!
cos the west is begging for socialism,
sorry, 1 billion Chinese got it right,
you wanted a **** Pope to smile
and kiss the tarmac...
i told you, you got it:
efficiency is first, the looks come later...
but no, no, nah nah ah ha...
****** pay for it, now that you're "down with the kids",
your kids are collective rapists, i.e. pirates...
hence breeding karaoke culture...
because the Japanese attacked a military base....
you attacked a civilian area, you suddenly became
saints... 9/11... oh right, the hamburger rule
known as diplomatic immunity,
they filmed them half skinny... but as the media says it..
1 American is equal to 3 Chinese,
and that's not even in a factory, i mean
1 American is equal to 3 Chinese on a commercial flight...
well it was a joke... it was funny for a bit...
but then i thought about the kids i'd never have...
and i thought about people needing to revise their little
"invasions of privacy",
i started thinking up a scare tactic...
that's better than thinking up alternatives of
reusable pronto, i mean fear is better than gravity in
making people grounded, peasant 2.0 (tough point owe,
Kentucky chuckled chicken brigade, and as far as
Florida, to get a grasp of the Caribbean for
a Cuban falafel delight) -
better scare them than ennoble them...
keep them grounded, flies honing a spiderweb type of
attitude...
that's 1 fat grotesque American seated
and 3 or 4 Chinese skeletons not asking for a
stewardess, but for a diet gymnast for the 4th of July
celebration gobbling bulges to a fat tsunami overflow...
but then again, it's probably just propaganda,
Cold War Two... that Russians are alcoholics
(oddly enough, being thirsty isn't a sin)...
and that Americans have fat where tendons ought to be.

Driving through a remote highway in a thunderstorm,
winds howl
deafening the ears craving for a consolatory and palliative sound
the welkin lit by the fire flashing across the clouds.
The rain
****** the cars.
The thunder
seemed like a dying drummer of a battlefield.
The fiery sky
ushered callousness into the deserted streets.
A mixed feeling of fear and loneliness, anxietic trepidation and forlorn..  
Suddenly,
appeared a bridge.

Lighted feebly by a bygone light post
flickering,
like the breath of the dying.
As soon as I allowed the bridge
to place its hand over my head,
the noise dampened.
the uneasiness decreased.
the war ended.
and the drummer took a moment to rest his head upon his drum..
a sigh could be felt.
there was a sense of composure and calmness
Kept hidden in the unfriendly localities outside.
The heart wanted to stay,
to be wrapped in the serenity.
The pacifying feel
like a mother holding her child.  
like a wounded soldier,
who returned from the war zone, being taken care and healed by love.. but soon as I left the warmness of the friendly area..
the thunderclaps welcomed me like they got their prey back..
the winds
growling against my windshield like an unfriendly knock at the midnight.. the blanket of darkness hides away
all the light which once seemed within the reach..
I drove back home..
but with a smile..
Smile, depicting the right prediction of  ending up in the same place from where I had been continuously trying to get out..
with a glow on face..
Glow, created by the fire which had been burning everything in front of me..
The tears, though invisible,
reminded me of the lows I deserve.
doing right, yet losing
was a habit now.
I marked another red on my ledger but without any jolt.
A sigh
was enough
to show that I was back.

That calming, comforting, gentle, peaceful, reassuring, restful, alleviating, consoling, easing, mollifying, pacifying, relaxing, relieving, remedying, softening, warming feeling was you.


That bridge was you.

You always change the subject when I ask about receipts -
that turn up in your pockets now and then -
For stays in odd localities where branches of the firm
you’ve worked for all these years have never been.

And isn’t it peculiar how, when late night calls come in,
depending on who answers…me, or you…
Never will they just hang up…when I don’t beat you to them…
but will - so very often - when I do.

“You don’t wanna know,” has been your typical response
whenever I attempt to learn the truth,
But finding out about your sins was not a major feat,
and done without the need to play the sleuth.

Facts betraying when and where are gleaned from your receipts
and features on your phone inform me - who,
So all that’s left for me to figure out…and understand…
is why - you choose to cheat the way you do.

Trying hard to disregard what, somewhere down the road,
always ruins a life and breaks a heart,
I have been pretending that it’s me you love the most,
and tried…for all these months…to do my part.

But now it’s very clear to me that you have truly changed,
and aren’t the man with whom I fell in love,
And how you tear my heart to shreds - by nudging me aside -
has fin’ly made its way from - push - to shove!

So, now, my love…with great regret
(as once again you whisper
the name of who you cheat with in your sleep),
I’ve decided you should take your leave of this - our bed…
and - to your grave - the secrets that you keep!

And as I **** the hammer on this pistol that I’m holding…
and point it at your unsuspecting head…                     
Through my tears I clearly see the only certain way
you’ll never cheat again is…if you’re dead!

a google earth stalker hovered &
zoomed in on localities that predicted
his frequency like an equated John.
fanatically checking for refreshed images--
that he may feature as an action shot of
undiscovered talent.
the quirky habituation of her long distance
fix, a savant's out-of-body experience.
a rendezvous' autopilot, more accurate than a
dreamt address--a gooey **** driving fingernails
into tight fists.
despoiling the lifelines of palms, eyelids cracked
open like blinds voyeuring on the closed door
policy of the indecent.
now she jams her zipper, while hopping in &
out of bed with self-mythology.
alone with her body, or alone with another body.
she's back on google earth again, fastidiously
searching for an appropriate potter's field.

an apple a day, keeps the doctor away... that's how Fiona from Fraserburgh started the conversation this one time... with riddles... this was one of her replies... an apple a day, keeps the doctor away... the other riddle was: what walks on four legs in the morning, two legs in the afternoon and three legs come the evening? man! he crawls as a toddler, walks upright in his prime and then uses a walking stick to prop his walk... i didn't get either of the riddles... being bilingual i don't understand the pastime of crosswords, plus i write so that's doubly damning to understand... nothing's entertaining about them... but... give me any numbers game... su doku: for example? there's nothing intelligent about it... it's an optical disguise of: what would otherwise make me sense of how katakana was first written... that's why i admire Hanguel (Korean) equally: it's the closest writing system to the European writing system...

girls and their ******* riddles...
    was i being autistic or something? it took my
high school sweetheart to tell me:
she fancies you... Fiona... Fiona: with that lisp and curly
hair...
                 yeah: she came up from London
and stayed with me in the student flat for a while...
i do remember...
   how she kept her virginity intact for almost a year...
or maybe longer...
  i wasn't going to push...
i remember how she lost her virginity:
i pretended that my phallus was a scalpel...
my first time was terrible: first times are terrible...
first times are like: a killing / what i imagine
a kosher celebration of killing a goat is...
just get it over and done with...
in the dark... in the cocoon of bed-sheets...
for man: at least... awkward, wonky...
a bit like watching a daddy-long-legs spider
walk... compared with other more agile spiders...
one urban myth i heard from a former
friend of mine (Ian): the daddy-long-legs spider
has the most venom of all spiders...
but... it has short teeth so it cannot penetrate
its prey... so... we're talking disabled spiders now?
like that urban myth about the 2 weeks
a cockroach has to live once it has been decapitated?!
that one?
- and once upon a time i was thinking of
going travelling... India was calling...
i had this plan... fly to India... and then walk back
to England... seriously...
i was young, i was stupid...
    i was also reading some Paulo Coelho...
who... like the only maxims i ever used - i.e. Tao told me...
to sit the **** down...
        so i sat down...
wait a minute: India is already here!
not exactly here: but the people are here...
**** me... the whole world is here...
how many people have gathered in London...
i'm guessing over 200+ languages...
who's coming?! who's coming?! or... who's here?!
who's here?!

never mind... i started my usual drinking session
with nothing in my head...
i just remembered... i woke up... "INSPIRED"
i was like: wow! i don't have to tighten the bow
of thought and launch the arrow of ego
into: hey presto! pulled this one out of my ***
like a "miracle"...
             ergo? crap... what to write about?
what to write about? at first i thirsted for writing
about writing...
which is no minor call-to-arms...
but it's better than writing about reading...

   i figured... newspapers get published each and every
day... there's "something" that's always "happening":
some next misery, some mingling of contexts,
some misunderstandings...
i'm never going to be content with the already
haemorrhaging oeuvre...
if i had a mouth when thinking, "thinking":
i couldn't shut up...
    
like i already said: an apple a day keeps the doctor
away... right... which doctor?
for me it's more:

a poem a day keeps the psychiatrists away...
i don't even know i want to peer into Latin
to translate: i don't think psychology / psychiatry:
pharmaceutical pebbles were a thing back then...
ergo... no amputation...
no liver transplant...
it has to remain in English:

a poem a day keeps the psychiatrists at bay
                 ditto                                        away...

newspapers are published daily...
i have to find old reasons for new reasons
to keep writing: i can't allow myself to write about
ideas: i'd become constipated creatively...
i can't write maxims either...
i need to write a self-journalism:
i need to write an imitation of water...

IMITATIO AQUA...
                  imitation of water...
what's water in Mandarin... let's stick to the trigram
for now...
something soothing...
i'm becoming a self-journalist...
right, right... water...

ooze: freeze...           水 (shoo'e)

--  --
-----
--  --

                   it truly: almost feels like...
a face that resembles water...
                 see... one of my greatest pastimes
is spotting faces in clouds...
i have this itch for pareidolia... mostly clouds...
i sometimes imagine eternity being trapped
in a bubble watching...
   Jupiter and his son Polyphemus
               of the planet...

                 exactly! what was i going to write about?
threesomes ****... i felt disconnected...
******* told the donkey to dangle the carrot:
apparently it taught the donkey
a carnivore diet... it's... ******* disorientating...
i'm guessing this is just an impasse...
i should be simply drinking and enjoying the music
i'm listening to...

but i'm a workaholic-alcoholic...
            i'm not going to stop drinking... ergo?
i'm not going to stop writing,
i know that the more i write i will not be writing
anything of consequence...
of something to base stop marks on...
but at least what i learned from the Ancient Roman
poets: conversational overtones are the key...
to the clue: and "somewhere" there's a door...
i will write about living:
i will write about living like it might be a river
continually preserved by some
"magical" mechanism of upkeep...

and isn't journalism sort of like that?
poetry can become journalism...
i think i'll make poetry a journalism:
a poetry-journalism complex...
i did the poet-philosopher thinking a long time
ago... i'm tired of it...
poet-philosopher deals with the element of earth:
unshakeable things... easily trodden on...
i'm asking for the status of
poet-journalist...
  for ascribing the venture into water...

among a few drunkards in some pub...
from which i was excused from...
on false allegations: for throwing a pint of beer
across the room...
whatever... we started talking...
this guy was from Birmingham...  blah blah
blah x3 later... are there any rivers
in Birmingham?
no? just canals... well... this is London...
there's old father Thames...

NO RIVER: NO FLOW...

seriously: i'm pulling these poems out of my ***
being contemplative about constipation...
i'm writing less about writing
and more about not thinking...
i was so good at thinking: thinking per se:
i.e. narrating my own life...

ah! res cogitans, res extensa... here's a curiosity!
res mutatio: things, change...
i've changed...
i've explored avenues and cul de sacs
other people also do... but in the world of reality
that's constrained by geo-political localities...

i'm stroking my beard...
i need a haircut... i need my beard trimmed:
no one beside a Turk is allowed
to touch my beard! no one beside a Turk!
i only trust Turks with the bristle of a beard...
keep the length: just tidy it up...
ugh... older women... bear comparisons...
you're such a bear...
call it: yawn of a bear: on the word LONE-LY...
am i? next time try a word best associated
with a GROWL...

lion? ha ha... lion... the king of mammals?
ha ha... ah ha ha...
   test a lion against a gorilla...
in a match-up...
then test a bear against a gorilla in a match-up...
that's the sport i'd love to see!

some vague "African thing": lion the emblem of
what?                                       BOAR and beer and BEAR...
i don't know... when i was a supervisor
and the people i was working with sort of obeyed...
maybe because i told them: free burgers...
otherwise they're going to throw them away...
catch them if you can...
OR?
                     i had the physique of:
don't **** with me... i must have said to one of them:
work with me... i don't care what the prior
supervisor said... i don't care...
she might have sent you home...
she's ego-tripping... you! me! just work with
me... we'll get through this...

well... it was hardly a landing on the moon...
oh sure... that must have been spectacular...
i mean: so many dreams concerning the moon
died when man landed on the moon...
the entire Islamic world collapsed...
but it worked... i was a benevolent person!
happiness filled the universe for a bit...
nothing was invented...
nothing was arrived at...
        but people weren't treated like slaves
gearing up to building the Giza pyramids: too!
i was given a higher authority:
but i didn't abuse it... i actually dug-under it...

i didn't become a ******* heart-surgeon either...
i came to the understanding of
the pristine man.... the man that i was becoming...
a man that others could wish could lead them...
after all... one of the stewards i was supervising
came to me after the shift and uttered the words:
it was a pleasure working with you;
hey presto!

today i ate something decent for the past 3 days of fasting
because of the heat-wave...
enough carbohydrates... enough protein... etc. etc.
and as much i might **** women's football...
i worked through the "indigestion":
i did watch the Lionesses brave it against
the conquistadores...
but... unlike watching women competing
professionally in tennis or any other sport...
i wasn't watching football...
i was watching the women...

i had my fill... i was making raspberry ice-cream...
i got bored...  fell asleep...
i sort of wished: if all these beautiful women
were less tom-boys... less affront...
like that quote from the movie: Gladiator...
when Marcus Aurelius uttered to his dauighter:
if you were born a man:
what a Caesar you would have made...

i was thinking likewise:
if you were born a woman in thinking you were
a woman: what a woman you would have
made!
        now? forget it...
i'd rather be a Darwinistic abnormality....
a vague "vogue"...
not even Copernicus could have hoped
for his perception to be this:
so shell-shocked: hijacked like Darwinism
was become... ha ha!
Darwinism has become subject to...
what eugenics tries to established as: norms
via ******... mutation...
        
                       i'm fine... i'm a mutant myself...
i was mutated from birth...
i was given the mark of Cain after the catastrophe
of Chernobyl spread to Poland...
my... care for Ukraine is therefore? nil...
       thanks: but not thanks...

and my "animosity" for women?
why i reserve the "right" to **** prostitutes and treat
them like mothers?
ingrained... unconscious constructs...
when i was born with a birth mark
on my right shoulder-blade...
a nurse in the hospital tried to choke me
to death... enlarging my heart...
you know what happens to a man...
when... he's been told that...
a woman: who is supposed to protect him:
tries to **** me? it's not a case of abortion...
it's not infanticide...
i was already born... i was already formed:
when i was first attacked: that wasn't the first
time i was attacked...

      my concern for women, ergo?
**** them: leave them...
               dogs are prized assets...
they bark and they slobber and they invented
the circle: chasing their own tails...
no no...

   this is not the time you get to dictate...
not in my personal life...
               dictate all you want in the public sphere...
however many French intellectual you wish
to summon...
            i'm going to spare you my immediacy
of heart-burn...
   i cycled to Rainham today to check out
what damage was done... i heard of none...

i **** prostitutes because i don't have time
for making dating-profile profiles...
for "likes": for glued eyes... for Parliament sensibilities...
i love: yes, prime minister, the sit-com...
the English arrogance is insatiable!
i say: **** the apples!
a poem a day keeps the psychologists away!

also? scrap concept of veganism!
there's no concept of a bullet-proof cabbage!

Socialist areas with high
density levels of trade
unionist histories and
political dissenters and
unemployment such as
Liverpool need to be
seriously subdued early.

Middle class localities
where there are people
already under the yoke
of mortgages and work
uncertainty will be at a
lesser level of restriction.

London, home counties
and green belt will be the
least affected as they are
districts with a better form
of citizen and rioting in the
capital is best avoided even
though there is a portion of
undesirables such as BAME
therefore the governments
hands are tied and must
make a special case for City.