the zenith and crux had to come one day,
perhaps with a: being awake outside
the domain of the healthy concern for
night as associated with sleep,
and day - with at least the bare minimum
of cooking a **** tasty dinner -
namely wanting to improvise on
chapati bread...
since came upon me a pain,
left me sliding off my bed,
and repenting, laying myself on a hard
wooden floor, repenting since outside
the window: June finally woke to ascribe
to itself both the seekers of shade,
as the ones seeking
skin gilded in copper,
inverting the niqab with a pair of sunglasses...
my virtual diet of youtube videos
started to become: claustrophobic,
even the algorithm spoke back to me
based upon my choice of videos:
nothing new was seen since
the beginning of June, the latest:
ending on the 20th...
thus i remembered that
i own john frusciante's:
when shadows collide with people...
can't exactly express what happened
lying on that hard wooden floor...
sweating and toiling by
keeping count of falling dominos...
swelled in john's oeuvre and felt like
i regained my momentary loss of sanity...
notably from being click-baited...
and youtube was never supposed
to be a free-listening station
in a ****** megastore, like the ones
on oxford street?
don't worry... i'll buy it...
i much care about ownership...
but even in a ****** megastore
you could test-listen a compact
before buying it...
as long as there is:
no translation of mobility
from a static thing, to the well hidden,
compact of a pocket, taking a stroll...
i honestly can't remember the last
time i talked through a mobile phone
that was my possession...
upon landing at Stanstead this past
May i authentically asked for
a pay-phone... the employee looked
dazzled and confused...
so i had to resort to borrowing
a stranger's phone for a speed-dial
and an exchange of familiar voices with:
i'm here...
the bread making
exercise?
just a chapati bread...
infused with a pinch of salt,
a double pinch of sugar, black pepper,
a dry chilli crumbled... cumin seeds...
turmeric powder...
and mighty hot flat gypsy
frying pan...
the sort that requires you
to grip the handle with a cloth...
evidently even this famous
canadian dr. can become exhausting...
why?
why i am among an audience...
listening to him:
when i ****** well know that
i'm probably going to be the only person
who has already read some of the books
he's inviting the remaining members of
the audience to read? but who evidently will
not, because they'll just regurgitate
the lecture: in video.
only some time ago i discovered this
rotten youtube commentary people...
last time i checked...
all i ever used it for was to sample
music, before i would buy a hard copy...
what a rotten diet!
i almost lost my pleasure from reading...
not that i might disagree with
the canadian herr doktor herr professor...
yet: to perpetuate being a student...
thank god i was taught some higher
technicality in chemistry...
because, listening to these lectures...
no wonder pubescence is extended
well beyond the biological reality...
plus the company of sophists
and not drunk poets...
ah... you know... you're always looking
for a stiff one, a sharpshooter to numb
the pain of being crammed with intellectual custard...
i too have read some BIG books...
but talking about them is like:
an inability to think with them.
hence the art of necromancy -
it's not "supposed":
when you're sitting in a room,
with a library that might as well be regarded
as a graveyard...
oh this ******'s dead,
so's this one, and this one...
****! i'm the only one around
here doing the graveyard shift!
and let me tell you:
it's a gemini schematic -
one hand feeds the other as
does the other caress the hand that's feeding it...
you can't escape a desire to write,
without keeping an equilibrium
with a desire to read...
you can't wish to write more
than you read...
or feel inclined to do so...
doesn't exactly require grand books,
civilisation pillars and door-stops...
i just had to read one book review,
then run back to reading my current
lecture of Heidegger's ponderings VII - XI...
perhaps that's how it goes...
but i must have been insane for
about a week devouring herr doktor's lectures,
strapped to an outer-looking
america and canada...
the **** does that even matter
from where i'm sitting?
you want a "clever" little fact?
you know why the Polacks played such a ******
world cup, in russian?
shh...
the Russians actually played,
the ENTIRE POLISH ANTHEM! (almost)
no, seriously,
even i was brought to tears!
but being in company of another person,
i did a sly whimpering and didn't want
to show the aqua pearls...
Poland vs. Colombia -
the Russian organisers allowed for the entire
hymn to be sung... not just the first
stanza like at the olympics or in other
countries...
mazurek dąbrowskiego to the Russian,
which is more than it is to
the Zakopane fued and throng:
a second stanza!
przejdziem Wisłę, przejdziem Wartę,
będziem Polakami.
dał nam przykład Bonaparte,
jak zwyciężać mamy.
i'm even suspicious of the fact
that there might have even been
a third stanza!
HENCE THE EMOTIONAL
RESPONSE!
if you're supposed to "keep"
a memory of only one stanza from
the anthem? why bother...
unlike the English: bog-standard...
let's get on with it!
if... i heard, the anthem
in its entire... form?
i'd break down crying
listening to it...
like now...
listening to john frusciante's
unreachable
from the album the empyrean...
thank you very much, Russian,
can you please excuse "my" national team
from not going further than
the group stages of your grand tournament...
we have more pressing matters
back home -
i would like to write
a personal note to Mr. Putin for allowing me
this rare insight...
thank you for the second stanza
(and third, if i'm not mistaken)
of my anthem to be sang
in the presence of other nations;
thank you...
for plucking this
from my heart.
double down on:
yes... they plaid **** because they
were emotionally disorientated...
as any ****** would be...
having to sing an extra bit...
of what's otherwise
a shorter-script of the anthem recognised
by the olympic community...
i know why they failed like
a **** in a bog of mud...
if i almost cried
hearing the extended anthem...
how the hell do you think
a footballer would feel...
kamil grosicki....
crying...
that's not ******* gazza...
getting booked in the semi-finals
in Turin... knowing he would
miss playing in the final!
this is group stages football!
now i can show you a part of
Russian collective psychological "manipulation":
i call it that,
because i've gained more from
it, than if the Polish team,
did even something as ridiculous as
play in the semi-final...
it's football...
after all...
the team consisted of mainly
nearing-retirement players
who were plagued by injury...
namely jakub błaszczykowski...
ah! those Russians...
they know how to turn a man's
heart back on into a natural rhythm...
so... no biggie;
if things settle...
we'll allow Senegal
and Colombia through.
