if you can find c. g. jung writing an answer to the biblical Hiob, i can be found writing this... or as the Lad Bible states: be your superficial you... so when she's not her superficial self... you can just play the awkward monotone speaking caveman that you weren't before she played you that superficial card of hers to tone down your interests.

you know why i'm fascinated with schizophrenics?
primarily because they are concerned with
an inorganic medical condition,
there are, absolutely, no reasons to suggests they
are organically prone to premature degeneracy,
they are what the Alzheimer old man calls an angel,
and what the "angel" experiences from time to time...
to cite a non-typical schizoid experience -
a splinter in the mind?
when i wrote my previous poem, i was listening
to the song *the parting glass throughout,
on and on and on... the rhythm took over...
and when the "poem" was finished i retracted myself
into my room and first played auld lang syne
(with lyrics and English translation)...
                           and then... the pure instrumental
of knee-deep-bagpie... bagpipes, sure, horrid,
screeching drowning-lungs of magpie
cackling cut short into a carbonated highland water...
     oh don't worry, what this comes down to
is personal experience, such negations of ease
are not like the black plague, or a.i.d.s.,
they don't come into contact with purely-riddle
human incompetence... it takes more than that...
certain conditions are not viral...
you can't interpreted them as political malevolence
akin to a political movement... primarily because
the numbers don't add up...
                    the complexity of thought is
the complexity of regarding the mind as an abstract
of the brain, given the brain has no accuracies
concerning abstraction when stated against being automated
to a pair of kidneys... i too wish for a La La Land sometimes...
but that's not the reason people allow ***** donations...
     but you know, it really gripped me,
i wrote that poem, listening to the parting glass,
and felt nothing, nothing... because i was so
formulated to write what i wrote...
  i wrote the last bit, walked into my room,
and played the second version of auld lang syne...
the royal scots dragoon guards pure instrumental...
   and you get to weep these cold tears
after an insomniac cold shivers getting warmer with whiskey...
              and whimper and bite your bottom lips...
because you're hardly a woman fainting
and the drama isn't in you...
               and it's actual tears...
people laugh and cry saharan tears, meaning: it never
rains over it...   i see Sahara as the ancient version
of the Himalayan mountain range, suddenly reduced
because god is fickle and well, aren't we all?
           if any of us are alive to read or speak such
encodings... there will be a desert made from
the Himalayas that will be called the Himalaya -
but that's really being optimistic.
       there used to be mountains, mountains in
north Africa, Gandalf! but they crumbled in deserts!
where once a mountain range, subsequently a desert...
where now a desert, once a mountain range.
can i please get a taxi to leave this current
history and Darwinistic revisionism of it as telling
us ape Adam had more psychology about him than
Charles XIV? i want to hear the geological version
of Darwinism! but am i hearing any of it? n'ah ah.
       so yes, upon hearing the scotch dragoon guards
pipe a full whiskey sodden breath into the
         bagpi - i heard the word counter to my scrambled
narrative... king... king?!
                   which is what's bewildering about
a medical term deemed premature dementia...
   it's an organic impossibility...
but given society is an inorganic organism
and all our socio-political mechanisms aren't exactly
organic, there might be some sense in this piquant
dabble in an auditory hallucinogenic experience -
which, evidently, people find frightening,
since they occupy defining their thinking with
hearing so much, and when seeing a homeless man
think so little...
                     logic? a particular arrangement of words
that does not provide kind rubrics for the testimony of
the many...
                    i can hallucinate this auditory "addition"
and competently go on my daily business,
or my nightly business finishing a bottle of scottish amber...
some people cannot...
                 what i see it western society predicating
their poor knowledge of Alzheimer's as if searching
for some genius to explain what happens to the abstract
functions of what the brain represents
                 in terms of how the brain and abstraction
can't be cleanly separated, i.e. to treat the degeneracy
of the brain as succumbed to, but not succumbing to
the elaborated foundations of the "brain"
within the trans-physical functions of the "brain"
within a framework of memory, vocabulary, memory.
people first attribute the brain with too much
           concern for abstraction when in fast the driving
force for abstraction is the now-vogue zeitgeist
"psyche does not exist" -
                            and when the brain degenerates like
a heart or a kidney can... people start to freak
out propping out a Frankenstein revival that brain
cannot in-act upon...
                                 they told us the brain is fat...
          then they tell us only 0%, or fat-free yoghurts are
good... isn't the case for the epidemic of dementia
due to the fact that we're censoring fat?
what feeds the brain? fat! what are we censoring from
our diets? fat! fat free ******* yoghurt!
                             where does the modern epidemic
stem from? censoring fat! you anorexic ******* morons!
  you know why i put extra fat in the way i cook
meals, you know what orthodox cooks tend to
like a sizzle of a lump of lard? brain food...
     and yes, some call it eating a lot of nuts...
well then... fry me a ribs-eye steak on a handful of
cashew nuts you crazy *******!
            this is what drives me crazy concerning
auditory hallucinogenic experiences...
there are no drugs that you could ever sell that people
would buy to experience an auditory hallucination...
primarily because people made thought
   an auditory experience...
                  that's the norm, i'm not talking Walt Disney
here... and people enjoy music because it feeds the heart
in a way averse to images that feed the libido
or dreaming...
    the point being, my "hallucinatory" experience lasted
for less than a second... some ***** on l.s.d. trips
for half a day because he finds modern movies boring
and finally gets to appreciate cubist contortion
mechanisations... i can do more damage with a second's
worth of "auditory" hallucination than that little
hippy can do away with 12 hours, and only end up
writing a haiku thinking he can suddenly conjure up
spirits of Shinto like some Gilgamesh *** Bruce Springsteen;
then he shaves his hair and travels to Mongolia
to learn the index against the lips motorboating
harmonica... and i end up saying: thank you;
cos it wouldn't be twangy without that kind of a tranquiliser
to stabilise excitement beyond encoding sounds.
          i can tell you how ******-up my internal
narrative has become, so i'm defeatist,
here's how it looks like when i get agitated...
               writing on a white flag...
      oh look: wavy! wavy! i'm waving it...
going boats full of nuts and bananas!
             you ever hear the story of a psychiatrist
jumping on a table and barking when a conscription
  cadet tried to fake being mad?
      she did what i just wrote and asked H. Clinton
to reiterate on the campaign trail.
                    inauguration 2017:
   i solemnly swear, that H. Clinton barked like a ruffian
poodle on the campaign trail.
  beside the point though, schizophrenia is an inorganic
manifestation of an actual organic degeneracy -
it's a negation-of-ease for dangerous people...
     people who probably have a music taste outside
the top 40 best selling albums (let alone singles)...
                   and they're quick to pick up on this grey area
concerning premature depression...
                it's trendy these days... people who are melancholic
are people who are like Homer, wrote the Odyssey
went blind from making too much heroism from
      the cannibalism at the gates of Troy and couldn't
handle telling a single lie after having written such an epic...
   or as Virgil convened: Paris didn't escape,
Aeneid did... no one knows what happened to Paris,
       probably choked on a raisin or something:
it's ancient history, if you're not going to talk about it
in a callous manner, then be prepared for careless mannerisms:
pout, **** *** cheek, shelfie!
               what i am seeing is this quote:
a butterfly on the Galapagos Islands... a Tornado in
Colorado... the poetics of quantum physics,
or misplaced potentials of counter-quantifiable
simultaneous counter-interpretations...
    the butterfly effect? under the umbrella corporate
otherwise known, from ancient times: a metaphor.
hey, we started reading into hydrocarbons,
there's no way to talk easy for us...
                           for all my love for one inspiration,
i lost my love for him when he said that not tying your
shoelaces (i.e. spelling) was because he thought it was
indoctrination... you know who i mean: Mr. Chow Chewski...
   spelling? that's like tying your shoelaces!
         question is... who would ingest a hallucinogenic
drug that didn't utilise the multi-coloured world to
an excessive amount to be prescribed, say, an U.V.
phosphorescent spectrum of seeing... when, given all
that... sound occupies this realm of b & w?
               who could create an auditory hallucinogenic?
can you imagine it?
                             most people with a weakened cognitive
membrane would go nuts... as the case has been proven
many a times...
        but given the fact that no such hallucinogenic exists,
or that "auditory" / cognitive hallucinations are
disregarded even though Descartes stressed this
   notion of a substance / thought, and an extension /
       sensual disparities with regards to cohesive uniformity,
i.e. regarding over-stressing a particular sense
      and never reaching a former cohesion...
           can only mean a circumstance later described
by Kant within the framework of the noumenon -
    i.e. perhaps you've seen too much, but heard too little...
perhaps you've tasted too much, but had barely a sniff of
                  more...
        the original thought when exposed to a cohesion
of uniformed senses, experiencing a discohesion of
             a presupposed sensual "uniformity",
returns back into a form of thought, i.e. an extension...
                only because the thing in question is a
presupposition, not a supposition that can be countered
with a proposition, i.e. since we all made mistakes
presupposing, we have become prone to propositions to
suppose otherwise... in terse terms: invent politics.
so what i termed "auditory" and "hallucination"
and conflated them in a prefix of cognitive-, in consolidation
i meant to say that: once all presuppositions (thoughts)
disappear by the miraculous ape that man either is
or wishes himself to still be... and we deem to say:
   reality...                 we only have suppositions (extensions)
               that appear...
                         by the miraculous ape that man never
was and wishes himself to nonetheless be:
  in that consolidatory ref. to the last trinity of Cartesian
thought: substance - in the former the formation
of will... in the latter the complete lack of it -
                              to the simpler scenarios,
we already have knowledge of prisons and asylums...
            because internalising such possible scenarios
never leaves the many to be grafting such possibilities
with enough calm as to persevere for the sole purpose
of understanding, as what point can a noumenon-unit
enter the argument if not from a reflex
                       as this continued narration explains...
none of this was reflected upon...
reflection in such circumstances usually means weaving
a machete at your neighbour...
                                  the noumenon-unit
the ping-pong factor in all of this is a reflex action...
         not a reflective action...
               i am no king no more than i am a pauper...
   now imagine if i tripped for 12 hours on l.s.d.,
having extracted so much, from an "auditory" "hallucination",
that, in the realm of the mind, is neither a minute,
nor a second, nor a nanosecond...
               it's unitary equivalent is simply that of: a word.

Fibre optic cables,
clipped conversations,

partial strangers,
networked communications,

keyboard ambiance,
anxious remonstrations,

system failures,
nicotine meditations

smudging frames,
hierarchical mediation,

computerised bleeps,
opaque mechanisations,

brightening windows,
verbose inflections,

silks ties,
limited reverberations,

exaggerated flirtation,
bowel eliminations,

pointless days,
power imitations,

numeric values.
insurmountable situations,

digital bleeds
eventual discontinuation

there is absolutely no hippocratic jurisdiction in psychiatry, i sometimes walked into the psychiatric offices, poked fun at psychiatrists for being callous sadistic *******, as one suggested: thinking out-loud in reverse: oh, he must have been abused as a child... psychiatry has strayed away from making a hippocratic oath... it actually doesn't have an oath to make: it has persisted with more harm than good, clinging to the notion that there is no summa totalis of the body, and medical psychiatry is to blame for this persistent infiltration of psychiatric lingo... you can't even begin to imagine how much it pissess of people who live in a secular society, to be strapped under an umbrella of "mental illness", while the jihadis are celebrated as completely "sane", psychiatry is the one branch of medicine that's persistently being undermined by the general public, for me, psychiatric materials are too readily available, is psychiatrists are the new priests of the secular age, i demand! i demand that psychiatry does what the church did once before, return to it being solely written in latin! too many ******* retards are abusing this branch of medicine, suddenly everyone is a ******* psychologists amateur, the jack-of-all-trades know how! ******* know ****! i'm this close | | to boiling point with respect to the degradation of psychiatry... reverse everything! start writing psychiatric works, solely in latin! give psychiatry some hippocratic credibility, sure, it's a hit & miss with the pharma side of things, but come on, give these people some ******* empathy, do what the churches undid, and write all psychiatric material in latin! the public doesn't have to know the complexities of this branch of medicine, because, clearly... it doesn't!

we live in an age where dialecticas is
not engaged with,
not even to the point where you can self-realize:
oh, right, i know absolutely nothing!
you can't do that these days,
you can't have that self-realisation -
that "demand" for a "consciousness" -
100 years ago people spoke of a *soul -
that summa totalis of ****** mechanisations,
that eating some food and then
falling to sleep, and yet the organs working
their magic digesting the food...
yet people have replaced the soul
with a reinvented concept of
"consciousness"... the **** does that
even mean? a second awakening within
the first wake?
the brain is the only ***** that can't
truly experience itself unconsciously...
even when it is "unconscious" it still
poses the threat of dream theatre...
   i find that the summa totalis is
bordering on an a "soul" within this
membrane, in that:
  at least one aspect of our body can't
exactly become part of the summa totalis,
and become enclaved akin to
the heart during sleep...
or the stomach prior to falling asleep
while still managing to digest,
the brain can't be deemed completely
unconscious, otherwise how else would
you mind to state why light is trapped
and then projected, and we dream?
           dreaming, that "consciousness"
of the unconscious brain, and somehow
pulverised by the truth-bidding inflection
of the pentagram...
       god, i hate these sorts of poems,
i read a bit of heidegger and suddenly spiral
into this jargon...
  i abhor it...
           literally, it's about as enlightening
as turning on a lightbulb, minus the stereotypical
imagery surrounding an einstein moment...
more like that loony tunes moment when
the head turns into a donkey's head,
   or we see the dunce's hat appear...
elsewhere the capirotes march...
                     but then i think of mental illness
and the stories of the young,
and i'm genuinely worried -
   i was one of the first kids to own a nintendo
NES...
  yes, from the ages of 4 to 8,
my father was just a voice on the phone,
and the odd package of gifts from her majesty's
fair green land, notably the nintendo NES...
but being one of the kids, we still preferred
warm summer nights, hide & seek,
playing with marbles, walks into the woods,
picking strawberries coloured pale yellow
before being ripe, throwing potatoes into
fires, eating gooseberries, eating whole plates
of sunflower seeds,
                  i remember days when we had
neighbours, neighbourly women playing cards,
sitting till 11 talking outside the communist
concrete blocks...
that transition period, i.e. my childhood
has a knack of almost always reappearing...
   so i must be "mentally ill" for reading heidegger,
not many people do,
maybe i suggest something?
  learn biology / chemistry or physics to a degree
level before reading books like that...
it softens the blow of reading puritanical
humanism of, say, a novel...
        or poetry...
             and some people take holidays
to the caribbean, or take a cruise around
the norwegian fjords...
   or walk the great wall of ching ching...
   or ride a horse on the mongolian steppes into
the sunset, or ride the trans-siberian railway...
me? i take a "slingshot" back "home"...
get immersed in the native tongue,
  and finally! oh finally! manage to read a book
in the native tongue...
  i found that i'm a slow reader if i have
a book in polish, but can still hear english
on the television...
   back "home"? what a surprise it was for
my grandfather: he just threw bolesław prus'
book lalka into my lap one summer and said:
lap it up.
      and i lapped it up...
  point being, all these sights and sounds,
scents and exciting stories people have from abroad...
well... when i was in kenya,
i lounged, drank enough to fall asleep in
a hammock overnight and was not stolen by
the somali pirates, but someone did steal
my glass of cognac when i woke up the next morning,
then drank some more, and stayed in the shade,
played some ping-pong with a german,
chatted up these gorgeous ivory beauties of
the night, and chilled with macaque monkeys
on the balcony giving them nuts and sachets of
sugar, again, in the shade...
   i took one dip in the indian ocean and became
bored from the beach vendors pushing
****, drank some more, wrote a short story
for my grandfather about an elephant
           dunking its trunk into a bottle of whiskey...
drank some more, lazed in the shade,
read c. g. jung's western man in search
of a soul - dedicated it, and gave it to one
of the german beauties, drank some more,
         laughed at a baboon with hemorrhoids
trying to sit on a roof once it raided the kitchen...
point being: what sightseeing i have when
i go back "home" is the language -
sometimes i read it, sometimes i might write,
but i definitely speak it,
  but reading it is like the tower of pisa
for me...
           this complete re-immersion of the 8 year
old kid that left kicks in...
        ooh, ant that -18ºC temp. of winters in poland...
to be honest, i never know why people
decide to go to tropical places on earth,
sunniest and what, in the middle of the winter
months, why?
      coming back must be a double ******...
why not go to somewhere where the winter
months are worse than from where you came from?

if by revision, there be a cartesian "archetype"
we'll require a blank slate, a canvas,
res cogitans isn't exactly a blank slate,
a canvas -
     then again it can be -
   but at the same time this thinking thing
primer is already brimming full with
an ingredient -
         namely? thinking.
                    so how can it be a starting point,
a blank slate, a canvas?
       for some reason i can't imagine thinking
at being directly correlated in translation
into being (esse) - it's more easier
imagining gods, than this sort of translation:
i.e. - how many mindless tasks have we
performed, how many accidents &
subsequently how many automations?
my guess is? too many, or enough to conjure
up the notion of common sense:
that communistic attention seeking ideal
of darwinism: yes, selfish as we are:
the cosmos is a claustrophobic space,
if being a poet, you stand next to a plumber
and how we're in all of this together;
i hardly think you can argue with that
sort of perspectivism.
           that's why i invoked an "antidote"
to the already apparent jackson *******
of res cogitans -
       it's so randomised - so already fresh,
in your fresh, already a cursor's sight away
the next pawn move on the chessboard
of life...
              res cogitans in classical terms
was already a presupposition conundrum -
it wasn't a case of supposing we thought,
or think,
     and by that statement the conundrum
is all the more apparent: we don't...
morality is a construct of acting upon
a thought that really doesn't need translating
into an act, rather: a possibility;
nonetheless it's translated, and thinking
disappears into a sane facade surrounded
by institutional mechanisations
that coordinate it into a: cradle unto the grave
scenario of the abled person:
strapped into a wheelchair of ambitions
primarily the one to: be able to walk again;
which is the don quixote aspect of the "quest".
there is no sense in working from
a cartesian standpoint -
   the res cogitans model was so outdated
that it was almost invisible,
   it was easier to see a beginning -
a god, a "bang", a monkey,
than it was to see a thinking thing...
     a thinking thing translates, precipitating
into a being - with that being said:
what is not objectionable about thought's
loss of an ought to still continue in making
being?
        never mind the crucifixion as a "sacrifice",
the fact that man question himself and
never manages an adequate plateau answer
is already a sacrifice worth enough
of other "worthy" sacrifices:
           and so too, as the universe "exploded"
so too man imploded;
the universe modelled upon an "explosion"
toward the infinite, is also a universe
modelled upon an implosion of man
toward the eternal...
         man has no archetypal cartesian
"currency", there is no cartesian wager -
hence the starting point of thinking is lost
to the sisyphus tract of ego-tripping, "winning",
and all other minor debasements -
    intrigue by insult -
               man was not born to think -
he remained in his unconscious developmental
state for much much later than expected...
i might as well say: i considered myself blind
until i first engaged in memory lego...
     i can't expect to have seen much else
other than the recount of my first
stage of internalised sight - i.e. memory.
again, i cannot consider res cogitans of
classical cartesianism as directly responsible for
esse -
i right thought to be an erasing project,
memory we can escape,
by forgetting, thinking and the imagining of
far better: that's harder to escape from,
memory was never a form of escapism
unlike imagining and thinking have been...
    which is why i asked to begin
with res vanus: for the mind of man
to become a womb, with the ego a foetus -
because it's hard to begin with
a jackson ******* of a res cogitans to
prescribe or even ascribe a "sort" of being...
            what needs to become is what already
is: a blank slate, a canvas,
           imaginative being in the form of punk -
or the thinking being in the form of einstein -
   but both begin with res vanus
rather than res cogitans -
       thinking has its own chronology and
narrative - like any claim to a hierarchy -
    but it cannot begin by stating that
thought was and is the first fact...
    cogitans non est facto primo -
   thinking is not the prime fact -
            it's like a numbers game -
there are the prime numbers, and there are
the composites -
     thinking is composed of imagination,
memory, ethics etc. -
        yet, as is all the more apparent -
    we all sometimes do stupid things sometimes...
and we do them: because we're not thinking;
which means that the prime fact that
we're thinkings things,
                                 is false,
we have to vacate ourselves for a thought
to enter our domain of emptiness -
               ***** the thought, ego the *****;
**** me, i always end up writing the most
bogus crap, after listening to a psychologist,
who has had the advantage of having raised
children, and become less severe a guardian
with some grandchildren, for it's a common fact
that grandparents make better parents
to their offsprings' children
    than a direct relation of mother to child...
even if they were alcoholic communists
            who still managed to buy you a collection
of philosophy books.

Just like that,
I felt a sprinkle of pain,
You know the kind that gnaws and grows,
And nibbles your insides.

What started it, I wonder,
A buried thought,
a deserted experience,
Befallen, buried, squashed,
Run asunder, but still alive.

It pushes through the barriers to say,
Hey you! Yes you!
I exist,
Don’t think your looking away,
Will stop me coming back, some day.

Huh! I beat it hollow,
and there it’s slimy self crept back,
I had learnt not to feed it as it would grow,
I keep it on such a strict spartan diet,
My oh My! Look how bulbous it looks!

Hmmmm! Pain, were you feeding inside of me merrily while I was asleep,
Chewing my tissues, chomp chomp, burp,
Deep so very deep,
I feel I am missing a bone or two,
you gluttonous pain,
I am sure you’ve gobbled up many cells too.

Dark, gray, silent, doom,
Am I on for lifelong gloom,
Aah! Hrmph! Boo hooo!
What do I do,
So many around me,
Who do I reach out to?

Oh I do reach out,
And they say,
You? Couldn’t be,
You’re so strong,
It doesn’t fit you well, this pain you see!

I laugh, Is this pain
A size smaller for me,
Am I self indulgent,
In saying it hurts.

I start looking around,
And see many like me,
Laughter hiding the pain,
Cloaked well, their touch warm,
The tremble reaching out in vain.

It’s tough, this despair,
Sometimes with valid cause,
Many times so much accumulated,
Unaddressed, unmet, covered with gauze.
It rears it’s ugly head
For many
Eating their insides,
It’s canine jaws,
Sharp and unrelenting.

I still don’t have an answer,
Who does really,
Expectations, recriminations, justifications, validations, manipulations, mechanisations,
Eat us up a bit more.
We sleep off some days
hoping to sleep away to nothingness.

And then we arise to the morn,
The sun filtering through, casting its warmth,
A bird in the distance chirping away,
Pain still there but so are my fingers glowing like starlight along the Milky Way,
My limbs stretch and I purr away,
The clocks tick tock,
Reminds me of a chance,
A new beginning,
A fresh start,
A fresh me,
A wounded but mighty heart!  

Facing my pain instead of sublimating it,
Nursing it tenderly instead of ill treating it,
I know you’ll ease out, heal out,
And I will be better each day,
Because this life, this beautiful life,
Is worth living each moment, every day.

When I face you, I shall share you,
Tell your story to those I want to,
And suddenly, you will feel acknowledged and dance way into the oblivion because you’ve been sung to, heard, cuddled and celebrated.

Till then, I trudge along...

it seems so much noble to be called a jihadi, than to be called a "mentally ill" westerner; call these men by their cultish extremity names, call them crusaders, the barons of the cross, but don't mix secularism into the mix! psychiatric designation will only get you so far along the tribal wave of reaction, you can't keep it contained in a parliament of witches and poncy warlocks who can't summon a black to their bidding, then getting two english girls safely home, after one approaches you emerging from the deathly hollows of a darkened public park, rolling her a cigarette, looking at her cleavage, and then searching for her friend, lying face down on the pavement, offering her your hoodie.

and i do read **** literature,
heidegger,
you know, i once had an irish friend,
but then he despised that i was
of pedigree breed,
although not of cognitive pedigree...
and he hated it,
being quarter indian, half irish,
and i don't know what the other quarter
came from...
   he just said: you best be among
your people - to which i replied:
but i am!
    22+ years in england,
the **** have i in common with
the pollocks?
         a ******* attempt at painting?
didn't work, kept his marker,
what ****** me off was that his
shamrock stupendous chose
   a cypriot for a friend...
and while an old boxing fan joined
us for drinks once time,
while i nipped off to the gents
i came back, and the ol' ****** was
gesticulating:
you wanna say what you said
about him outloud?
  sticking his index into his nose
imitating a boxed case of a punch...
the supposed "fwend"?
  sat there, knee jerking, playing
air drums...
               and then he comes up with:
better stick with your kind?
kind of what? mongrel?!
  you're a ******* mongrel,
how about you kiss a melting candle,
******* *******.
       we sparred once, i guess he was
gearing up to a big fight with me,
lest he forget i too practice boxing:
on my own face...
    if i get to punch myself out:
i'm a winner...
i waited for a day, 2 day came and i
could finally, finally! feel the punches
on my jaw...
  20+ years in england and i'm supposed
to make fwends with the 2004 tide
of immigrants? you have to be kidding me,
i don't have any friends back "home"...
what am i, scurvy shamrock?
         if this is what integration of
whites among whites ends up being:
    thank you, i'll take the curry recipe
and *******, leave you two gents deciding
who's to blame...
     times of conquest and the prize-woven
artefact of women has just sailed
on the titanic...
     i just read heidegger...
like any philosophy book, esp. ones prone
to aphorisms, you read the same book
x3, in one sitting...
           aphorism 64 ponderings VI...

history has become the annihilation of time
(24h news reels) -
   and by aphorism LXV -
it has become a concern to annihilate space -
which is a paradoxical statement
with cf. *dasein...
  if we are to break away from the relativism
of a space-time compound, and break from
this suggested continuum,
we must break away from relativism altogether,
and enter the realm of absolutism,
whereby time & space are once more
parallel, or so divergent, that the next
convergence (X) of the two can happen a long
time into the future...
  it would seem that relativism has outlasted
its best-before date of "fascination",
once more, the return to absolutism,
   given the anti-philosophical convergence
of medicinal dichotomy into a dualism:
the unison mind = body = mind...

     and as in LXIV, VI,
we do live in an age without questioning -
we seem to be living in an age of only acquiring
answers, facts, there is an absolutely lack
of acquiring questions!
     questions are a medium of expressing inquiry
lost to what could be best riddle in a novel,
whereby pronoun "neutrality" is best given
the following extract:

? walked into the bathroom, and peered into
the mirror.
    whether in shock, or in awe, ? replied
as a mime might: ?!
                         to which the reflection replied
of its own mechanisations: !

and you might inquire: the **** is this?
a quote from casablanca, with bogart doing his:
here's looking at you kid?

the out-shouted anxiety in the face of
the question-worthiness of being (heidegger)...

who the hell wants to live in a world that's
only governed by the safeguarding
of a cascade of mere answers?
  this is a **** party member, in the 1930s...
writing this sort of prophetic usherance
of the times we live in, now!
    i, for one, know that i don't live in
a world of worthy questions,
   or questions at all...
  i live in a world where knowledge is trivia!
i live in a world where there is no
gain from knowing something,
but merely guessing at it, or making fun
of it: i.e. gambling!
      
this world is not worth the speedy congratulatory
*******-up to sycophancy by comparing
it to the previous days,
let us forget taking to history in relative terms,
let us take to absolute terms,
          no time according to this one was
any worse, or any better,
that's as much relativism as we're going to
ingest...
   but i can't expect to find myself in questioning
times, i find myself in pompous
constantly answering times,
            there's about as much awe in these
times, as there's surprise in a soft boiled egg
with a runny yoke...
     no!
          it has become harder and harder to
find the right question to craft a momentum,
than what already is the right answer,
that simply stalls all wishes for momentum;
time to look for the question,
rather than regurgitate all the "necessary" answers.

well, it was going to be a beautiful day, and it is a beautiful day, scorched grass patches, humidity to match that of Thailand... welcome to the Hot Age... well there was the Ice Age, no? there was Moses poetically summarising pre-history with: Noah was very real... more real than Britney Spears... history more real than insomniac journalism, fake history omni-present god replacing medium of writing ******* after ******* after more: swinging *******... but there's a plus side to this heat: angry-thinking... Freud can *******... what dream-interpretation? i have no dreams: and if i have dreams they're so already abstract that i don't need some coke-head to figure them out for me... i sometimes dream in sounds... maybe i should have been the next ******* Mozart! no! i don't have repressed-memories... i don't have repressive-memories: i have OPPRESSIVE-memories... i remember nuggets of gold from the time i was 4 years old... i guess i better leave some notes as i write and come back to them:

- sceptics vs. cynics Ezra Pound Taoist me vs. sceptics  (passion),
source of inspiration for this type of writing? Gombrowicz's Kronos...

i take out an imaginary leash and put it around my tongue:
hey presto! i'm walking a dog...
usually i walk a bottle of cider in the labyrinth
of outer-London suburbia...
i'm glad to be be 30 minutes away from Liverpool St.
by bus and train and 30 minutes' worth of walking
uphill to the biggest collection of...
well... "collection": an avenue of Wellingtonias...
Giant Redwoods (prehistoric pillars) -
        'which is one of only two plantations in the country'...
looks like i'm becoming a local boy...
i think i'm coupled with a gravity that's linear...
i'm less a falling body attached to some molten
iron core of the earth...
when again: what's up? what's down?
what's east and what's north outside the realm
of the winds, in the great divide between nature
and physics in the pupil of yawn-and-death-eating space?
no need to romance the man... someone's toilet paper
is already in pretend-mode of flapping...
so many myths of the moon died with:
one small step... another leap for... man and kangaroo...
i adore the laziness of sloths, turtles,
pandas... and koalas...
but then again: i don't think a lion is the king
of the natural world... i think the bear is...
that bulge of an omnivore... i like Russian thinking
when it comes to choosing emblems...
i like bears... i have this memory of being in the Danzig
zoo... walking into a bear enclosure...
mommy bear was watching... my mother was watching...
i walked up to a bear...
a baby bear, i was a baby too...
he started to nibble on my cardigan...
he must have bitten off about two buttons...
i ran back crying to my mum: he ate two of my buttons!
now i know: why i don't dream...
my memory faculty stretches far beyond what
most people have...
i think that's a welcome curiosity to have...
by the dictates of psychology:
you either remember... or? you dream...
i don't dream... i remember...
i can take you back to the first flashes
of brilliance aged 4... i can take you back to:
aged 5 or 6... when me and the two Kowalski brothers
first tasted coffee: granulated: instant...
obviously: we just became bored of sugary drinks...
that was a ******* gateway drug... back then...
why don't i dream? or why do i dream in
ciphers?
               ah... the memory bank...
i didn't allow pedagogy completely ruin me...
no wonder i treat the current job as a... hobby...
it truly is... crowd safety management is a hobby...
i like organising people:
one woman under my supervision already said:
you're the sort of person one would walk into
a fire for...
        i'm *******: gagging on these compliments...
i don't even think i'm deserving them:
if i am? so be it... if i'm not:
i can sniff a liar pretty quickly...
liars / lies don't walk on stilts...
       they re ******* midgets...
                         i sometimes like seeing myself in full element:
it will be: the most trivial thing that will
set me off...
   my nickname(s) in high-school?
Goldilocks (because i had long hair done into
a French braid from time to time)
Hulk: when i showed my truer face and...
   "that guy with the weird fruit"...
i did eat a lot of passion fruits, pomegranates,
Sharon(s)... etc. etc.
hmm... i'm pretty sure i wasn't supposed to work
the 20th at Fulham...
guess i'm just forever freely available these days...
people can just put me up for any shift without
me complaining:
no wife, no kids... ms. amber and Sophia...
fair enough... mind you: i like the commute...
and seeing the Thames is rather refreshing...
the weirdest river known to man...
mind you: it is an island river...
what ******* river as concept of river of flow
has TIDE written all over it?!
rivers flow... rivers shouldn't behave like seas!
how does that work?
the membrane "event horizon" of the Thames...
and... the north sea?!
huh?!

i sometimes hate London...
back in Edinburgh i used to wake up with a geographical
clarity...
the Firth of Forth helped a lot...
i knew where east was... i knew where north was...
and west and the south...
in London? even if i cycle toward that old Serpent
and Father Thames: i still don't ******* know:
i look across the river: oh right... that's north...
no! that's south you dim-whit!
ugh... i once saw London from an aerial perspective:
flying from Barcelona to Edinburgh...
so we were passing this massive lit-BLOB...
what the **** is this? i thought...
then i noticed Canary Wharf blinking... oh... right...
London!

oh mate... iT IS M'AH... MASSIVE!
it must have taken us abut five minutes to fly over that
giant sponge of civilisation... well:
paying due compliments... but it was HUGE!
it's worth seeing once: during the night...
but only once...
the rest of the time?

i must have mentioned it prior:
bicycle tyre problems...
Chadwell Heath the point of call...
the Halford's corporation couldn't **** me
a pigeon out of a penguin's *******
because: their mechanic was away until the end of
August: Bicycle King instead: done by Friday...
in the meantime i went for a pint of Guinness...

weird... you smile at a guy talking about women
on some other table... you're not weird...
you're just making an approach...
casual conversation *******...
hey presto... you acknowledge each other's presence...
and the chat takes off...
work, music, the weather... you name it...
whatever comes to mind...
it was so refreshing... it almost felt like being
soldiers on the western front: in the trenches...
breaking ***** and marking banter
on our crippled souls...
we probably had loving mothers...
but our experiences with women were:
let's just say cats and dogs loved us more...
we could actually joke with these creatures...

i said i brought a leash for my tongue...
i didn't say i brought the muzzle...
my tongue my dog
mea lingua mea canis!
              paro dictata:
i set the rules!
                                 n'est ce pas?!

there's nothing necessary to inquire for feeble men:
beside... what is necessary for what it
feeble per se...

now: for a sample of Gombrowicz's Kronos
note-taking, extravaganza!

chadwell heath pub promenade
bbq amazing...
missing: doing a refill, smoking a cigarette.
ginger brat: shivers:
      Ovid, book III, opening...
three unusual muses...
reading: music... ****** lyricism...

- and if i dream? strange... i only seem to dream of:
dentes: teeth!
there was this myth concerning my maternal
great-grandfather... how he had pristine
teeth... he used to eat sugar cubes like
a horse might eat apples...
he was the one who dumped a whole load of coffee
beans into the river: Kamienna...
the Stone River...
NN...an oddity in the ****** tongue...
you utter the double N with  stutter...
n'ah n'ah...
                   there ought to be a letter for this
example... oddity...
it can't just be a double N...

                       that's not for me to discover
or apply... but he basically dumped sacks of coffee
beans into the river... long before anyone
in the Slavic lands... on the periphery of civilisation
knew what coffee was used for...
Francis was his name...
he's my earliest memory...
maybe that's why i have dream inhibitions...
my long surviving memory is of him:
as shadow...
playing the piano...
putting me next to a toy piano
and the pair of us playing...

i have grown into a horrid man...
i'm currently listening to:
the Davy Jones' theme from pirates of
the Caribbean... and...
it's not that i'm afraid of death
or falling asleep: i just think the two
are a proper waste of time...
if i can remember living from the age of four:
why would i require a need to dream?
my memory has bypassed all that erosion
from pedagogic investments into creating
a workforce...
i don't need escapism via dreams...
i have my memory for that!

one crescendo two crescendo three!
four crescendo five crescendo six!

America spews forward *******...
i'm not ally to this current agenda... you know what
i think? i think the Russians are doing
a ****** marvelous "thing" in Ukraine...
much better than Americans in either Iraq
or Afghanistan.... much better:
less a proxy war: more a practical war:
a chess-war... a war of: consequences!

ha ha... the meme that somehow the Africans are
Orcs... the warring types...
the Mongols weren't?
oh sure sure... the English etymological roots
of Slav = Slav(e)... sure... sure...
this is my pet peeve!
my iris and sclera disappear whenever i see someone
make that statement...
i go: ha ha! BONKERS!
what African people ever conquered whatever
part of the world except their own people
which they sold into slavery?!
see! BONKERS!
i go... absolutely ******* gloriously MAD!

i've ben given absolutely:
diagnosed: mad... let me abuse the terminology / diagnosis
a little! because?! ha ha! i'm exempt from
standard prosecution! i can always succumb
to the insanity plea!
i have back-up memorandum queues...
these normal people are just: these normal people...
boorish and above all boring as ****-goes-on-holiday...

i know why i don't dream...
photographs are useless...
me taking a a photograph when i was at most lowest,
fattest? when i took the photograph:
i looked rather thin...
but? when someone else took a photograph
of me sitting in front of a Christmas dinner:
a ******* porky pie...
i don't know how cameras work:
obscurity of the eye of the beholder...
fused with the technicality of the added
technological specimen... hmm...
curiously more curious...

           i know why i don't dream: i have a very poignant
memory in my brain:
the memory of my great-grandfather as a shadow...
here: i place my focus for entering Tartarus...
beyond the already familiar depths of Hades...
i need more! i need to go deeper...
i don't dream because i have a memory of my
great-grandfather as a shadow!
darkness abounds!

                abundo tenebris!
umbra *** umbra venio hic...
(shadow with shadow come here):
i see no need for Sabbaths or for witches...
i need shadows and shadows of shadows...
and thoughts as splinters and trees as fire and ash...
i need! HORROR!
   i need the current people to live their lives
as passively as must be met:
while i quietly pass... pass as the angel of death passed
as the final plague that befell Egypt!
listen! listen! ever so... quietly!
i need them lullabied... oblivious to the SUFLER:
speaking cues to the actors on stage!
LET, ME, PASS!

                some ******* idiot will get in my way?
i will... sacrifice a lamb: and salvage a wasp!

- it was at work at the Wembley Stadium that i first
spotted a doe (female deer) embodied by a woman,
it's so rare to find that LOOK: deer in headlights...
frightened stiff about to be taken for grass by a lawnmower...
mature woman... i'm guessing in her 40s...
all the sort of details a boy would expect from
a ****... seriously... curves, *******, ***...
although: scared eyes, perhaps even scarred eyes...
i kept glancing under my sunglasses,
she kept glancing: irritated somewhat: irritated-fearful,
as if she met destiny and it wasn't what she
was expecting...
            what a beautifully bountiful specimen of
fetishes i've been fed over the years in the medium
of *******...
sure, it's summer now, and all the young and fertile
women are walking around the streets like
its a nudist beach in the French Riviera...
oh man: such under-developed bodies...
bodies that are yet to experience the crunch of ***...

i try to think about how pedophiles think...
then i get the picture...
scrambled eggs... i like they almost burnt...
i hate well-done overcooked beef in the form of a stake...
i need it rare or medium, **** it... even blue will do...
eggs? i can't have them underdone...
i know people who like runny scrambled eggs...
you can eat undercooked beef and pork:
but undercooked chicken? it's slimy...
it's like eating slugs... plus the salmonella...
plus... it feels like raw sea-food...
that's how i look at women who have not arrived
at any ****** potential...
it's ******* ****-ugly... builder-Bob's hairy *** crack
when his blue jeans droop...

young women are like undercooked chicken...
mature women are like rare beef...
BLOOD... JUICE... NO ORANGES...
     it's filth it's suckling it's the monstrosity of coming
to her **** after she just spent a year or so
feeding some rugrat with her *******...
it's macabre, it's... nature...
it's ******* a woman like that thinking:
ooh oops... when will she turn into a Mantis?!
it's like having a bicycle accident... falling head first
over the handlebars and leaving permanent
"tattoos" on your forehead... getting up and exclaiming...
i just saw Francis Bacon paint a **** while ****!
ffff-ucking spectacular! i don't need to ingest
any lysergic acid... i'm good with the head-traumas...
disorientating at first: but orientating after...

more life, more blood, more grime more filth!
more more! MORE!
mind you, is that 'e" at the end of more really necessary?
you don't really say: aMorÉ... do you?
it's not more vs. moor... ooh... i just thirst for fiddly
bits in language... and English?
it's the devil's playground... if Poland is god's
equivalent...
you know... it took **** Germany AND Soviet
Russia to subdue Poland... longer...
than it took **** Germany to subdue France...

oh to hell with the current exported trend of culture
from H'america: white apologetics...
i don't share your history: i've been woken up
from a trinity-partition... i'm not apologising
for ****!
   i think i'd look great in an SS-mensch uniform...
i like black from time to time...
i have thoughts of Karl Lagerfeld's style...
just pretend you're donning fur...
the cat isn't clothed... you're right: #metoo!
i'll done and adore the colours of the hearth...
i'll burn bright in auburn...
in browns and in greens...
    i'll become a... ******* talking tree!

enough!
         too many idiots are running this ****-show...
grammar lessons from people with an IQ of 60...
i'm checking out!
  bye bye...
  inflated overbearing baron-demons of want...
how easily they allowed me to dehumanise them...
i look at black flies and think: ooh!
just the right sort of tickle!
   people have created people like me...

how i can simply have casual *** with prostitutes
without using a ****** and not worry
about any STGs...
sexually transmitted diseases...
i probably drank enough milk in my youth...
broken bones? nope...
but outgrowths of bone? yep...
that's true... i have one on my shin...
hardly a ballerina in me bewildered by a tutu...
i don't break bones:
i leave outgrowths...

hmm... time for a new meditation...
the serpents can be left alone...
two serpents in a pickling jar? a DNA helix...
or... dragons?! fire...
the great meteor when the moon failed
to protect the earth... fire breathing
giant lizards... dinosaurs...
that, meditation: is over...
time to turn to insects... hmm... flies...
wasps...
i like that... the way wasps are born:
pure Darwinism:
insect and parasite combined...
                the larva is shoved into an unsuspecting
body of a worm...
the larva is born and starts...
eating the worm from the inside: out...
imitation cuckoo bird...
sort of the same principle...

                 has Darwinism been truly applied?
has it?! has it?! i call an obstacle i find in man
either: THING... or the OTHER...
ha ha... pronouns... ha ha... ah ha ha... pronouns...
yeah: these people have one:
IT...
                 i'm just a theological mercenary...
either the descent of god or the ascendance of the devil:
the wind blows in all four geographical vectors...
as a ****** they could have sold me Protestantism,
Catholicism, Communism... ******... blah blah...
this... woke little **** of: thank you: but i rather sleep,
is... supposed to what?! make me quake in my boots!
hold hold... let me just twinkle my toes...
do i have... socks on my feet? wait wait...
mmm... furry-toes... yeah: i have socks on...

being the massive fan of both the Red Hot Chilli Pappers
and William Burroughs:
hell only knows where these idle hands will
travel...
i love my bedroom in the night with no lights
on... insatiable: the drummer-instinct in me...
i can't help grooving to EASILY
and AROUND THE WORLD...
hands joined to the torso...
hands attached to hands... no saucepans...
**** it... thighs knees and the head will simply do...
i need to chase after my heartbeat...
out-chase it...

but in the darkness by the silver milk of the moon's
rays... my naked body impressed against the backdrop
of constellations...
Azog the Pale Orc and his Warg Matriarch...
well... mine is ginger and he's no matriarch...
he's a castrated ginger Maine ****...
yes... let's get carried away...
                because the comparison of Africans as Orcs
is a disrespected for me...
the English knowledge of etymology
of Slav = Slav(e) is also slightly off...

just like Billy Joel sang while sifting through sand
to find bones and rocks:
just like the post-Soviets in Ukraine
and H'americans in Iraq and Afghanistan...
what African people conquered any "polite" plot
of land outside of Africa? who?! the "Orcs"?
who are the slaves?
who's anyone, mind you?

Shaolin monk style questing:
i abhor the sceptics... i have this inherent hatred for
the sceptics like Ezra Pound abhorred the Taoists...
i can't: stand their... adamant... pride...
their neglect of being humbled...
how do you learn the concept of humbling?
by being humbled...
and how do you counter the concept of humbling?
upon being humbled:
you transcend and do not: humble...
whenever i was made a makeshift supervisor...
i didn't humble people...
i was caretaker...
because just don't get the whole idea...
they have partial clues regarding the idea of
the function...
today i caught a green-bell fly with my index and
thumb... i took a photograph of my "adventure":
as you do...
because it wasn't me stretching easily melting cheese...
so i guess that's a plus...

i hate scepticism...
you ******* don't know the basic principles of
1 + 1 = 2... CAUSALITY...
seriously? the fire that erupted in that tiny village
of Wennigton was like...
CAUSE + EFFECT = CAUSALIY...
so... i blow up a balloon up with my breath?
carbon dioxide... the balloon will sink...
i inflate it with helium, what? the balloon rises...

what's the impact i have by cycling to where
i need to go? no impact...
well... some extra traffic...
i might overheat my rubber, no?
but in terms of fuel? yes... carbohydrates
in my body... i need to peddle...
what am i burning? my own momentum...
i'm not burning any dinosaur fuel or gas...
i'm mobile... more mobile that people
who overuse their mobile phones...
there was a point: once upon a time:
for telephones to be left stationary...

  i abhor the sceptics: they're like the worst bad joke bad
jokers...
the canine cynics i can understand:
i can understand their cynicism:
fear the dog that fears its owner...
we're currently the dogs in fear of their own
fate: our owner...

i have oppressive memories...
that's why i don't dream... what interpretation
could Freud give:
and all that pedagogic erosioin fron learning
"skills": what skills? that would envision me
as having traction in the workforce?
zilch! nada! nothing! i just think of those poor
people who have recurrent dreams...
poor *******: how can you become so *******
as to have recurrent dreams?
70cl of whiskey won't help?
waking up at 8am the next day...
anxious out of both brain and freeze won't help?
not sure whether vomiting or taking a ****
will ease your burden, that confusion
won't help?!
**** me...
                   **** it... jump off a cliff...
paying close attention to the sunset...
maybe that might help...
                  i can't help you luvvy dubby... teddy...
please don't try to hug me...
i've seen how that works in the workforce...
one bubbly gal... all purple hai with
a hiding twitch in her hair...
   hugs me...
i just misheard a word she uttered...
she said darling: i thought she said daddy...
every since it has become a *******
schtick!
                 ugh... it's like... my ******* *******
tuching glue...
would i like erecticle dysfunction? yes please...
so i'm greeting this big girl with a hug...
the one i'm more interested in...
she's ginger: i have a ginger-fetish...
i think of her as: MOUSE...
anyway...

      let's get the party people pout and get them
the **** out of the way...
i will not describe to them that i have...
an inkling into right-wing politics...
i'm a fascistic nut...
   blah blah...
                    i get the purple-haired frogs out
of the way... by? hugging them...
i get onto the mouse... ooh... the dynamic changes...
i can't hug her...
the purple haired lesbian-fatso wants hugs:
i give her hugs...
but the mouse is special...
she's ginger...
             i love gingers...

i address her with a hand... extended...
she's not a man... therefore? she doesn't perform a handshake...
she.... hmm...
i'm a daddy... about to give my daughter
an ice-cream cone...
  she grips my fingers in the wrong way
that hands out to meet upon greeting...
she grips my fingers... on the wrong side...
i feel: oddly... left-handed...

i thank god and the democracy of satans
for the simple fact that:
none of these people will ever care to wonder
where i spend some of my nights...
ha ha...
oh please... ***** please...
i spend them with prostitutes...
you think i'm that quick to quiver?!
seriously?
i love a game of cards more than i enjoy a game
of chess: after all: it's one game after another...

games... games...
i used to be a big gamer in my early teenage-hood...
i couldn't be separated from my PS1 console
during the weekend...
i begged for a PS2... didn't get one...
i guess gaming caught up to me...

the gaming experience coupled with the internet...
ah... mind-mining...
teaming up... war robot games...
my thrill has finally come...
war robots... mech arena...
better still... the agenda of credit...
me? it's free, isn't it? well then...
but you manage to spot the people who invest
money in something:
they're usually skill-less: not exactly team-players...
esp. when it come to a game that
focuses on two objectives...
winning or losing is just a byproduct...
(a) gaining authority over control points
(b) destroying all the opposite side's mechs...
time frame? 10 minutes in war robots...
5 minutes in mech arena...
plenty of time to contemplate taking a ****...
mind you: either i dilate my ****
and ease out a **** by jerking off to a pair of ****
or i play an interactive game...
on the throne of thrones...
i could be wearing a crown of: dust...
and it would still matter... whether the plumbing works:
or doesn't...

i seriously had to wait for gaming to catch up with
my desired DIET of gaming...
i had to wait for the internet to evolve...
i required an arena... a lottery of... value...
competent players versus incompetent players...
players willing to hone in on their skills for free...
and players... lazy enough to invest money
that is otherwise unnecessarily invested in a game...

i'm coming back to gaming...
i can du soku... ****... su doku  by myself...
what need for crossword puzzles when you're already
a crossword puzzle of bilingualism?
sure... i have polyglot interests...
the concept of RENDAKU springs to mind...
as expressed in ORIGAMI:
                        g = k.... TOE-MAY-TOES...
T'OH-M'AH-TOES...
  
        hey! the people of the never-setting sun!
you're not much different, n'est ce pas?!
but there's a more obvious RENDAKU...
theta phi V...
alTHough... THought... and...
             PH = TH = F...
    but "F" = V... via TH...
                   the Fe? or the V'eh in THE point?!
i'll bring this tower of Babel to crumble before
my toes and then, and then:
i'll kneel among the rubble!
too much of Hell's ambitions have been sung by men
for Hell to simply: wallow in Heaven's tyranny
of absence!
                    we're here...
whoever we are: it doesn't matter...
                       one variant attired to another...
we're mechanisations to counter the absence of human
spirit...
we're the *****-slapping crew...
i pray to god that i'm not alone in my ambitions...
not that i pray...

this posting will have to wait...
i have a shift at Wembley tomorrow...
Coldplay... it's not like i hate them: i just don't love them...
it will be a dross...
but this posting will have to wait... i might have
to stop over at the brothel to ease my brain from
having ownership of a head...
i'll think about it...
depends on... a number of factors...

for the time being... mosquitos... caught... donning
donning boxing gloves... by the *******...
or... flies... catching them by the legs...
with naked fingers...
ooh... i love those pristine *******...
the green-bells... fertile *******...
they **** more maggots than they eat...
black flies are priests...
i like the tickling sensation insects leave
on a naked body... esp. when they don't deposit any
embryos... of their own...
**** me: wasps and my eye...
i would: most probably: punch myself to death if that
ever happened...
ergo? there's a god...
ergo? simple people make life pristine all the more
difficult...
no one has problems with competent people...
no one... idiots make this world worse
than the best it already is...
the ******* god of norms...
"calculations"... exhibits A and exhibits B...
i'm getting tired of this Atlas pause...
i'm waiting for Darwinism-proper kicks in...
when the dimension of agony-scrutiny and: RE-ALITY
cometh...

no one is going to dictate my useage of
the English language beside an authentic English-man!
no one!
no one... oh... but i'm siding with the Russians...
no one sided with the Iraqis when Iraq
was invaded... no one sided with the Afghans
when Afghanistan was invaded...
**** the Ukrainians: i'm not siding with them...
Cossacks undermined the Polish-Lithuanian
Commonwealth... sold it to the Ottoman barbers...
**** them...
i'm on the side of the Russians...
which makes listening to western journalistic
narratives a miracle of escapism...
i began, to, stop, reading, pointless, books:
already, pointless, to, begin, reading! ******* bravo!
extend the concept of starvation!

no no... now we're talking more... we need more...
there's only one guilt trip associated with hell...
gluttony: the gluttony of death...
there are never enough dead people!
hmm! ******* weird!
why aren't there enough dead people?!

can't you *******, just, die?!
    sure: i'm equally man...
by no summary i am no exception...
perhaps... i'm some variation of an exception
akin to: i bite an apple: i... "taste" water...
wait a minute: you can't "taste" water...
since... water is tasteless...
how pow! either the apple is imaginary
or my taste of the apple is imaginary:
or my ability to taste is imaginary...
or... well... there was no apple to begin with...

ha ha... by now all of philosophy is not a question
but an answer: i just don't care...
and? i just don't care...
it's a must of: there's too much...
and there's too little...
      it's clearly beyond any prior concern
of GOOD and EVIL...
there's just too much... and there's too little...
there are new-rule absolutes...

only a dutious scarab of a servant might acknowledge
this conundrum...
we have moved beyond the gravity of language
concerning a good and an evil...
there? is either too little...
or there's too much! for the time being: problem solved:
i.e. problem staged: therefore: not solved!
hell yawns! more of these i.q. deficient mongrels!

yes, i abhor the sceptics with a similar passion
that Socrates ascribed the sophists,
with equal passion Ezra Pound ascribed his passionate
hatred for the the Taoits...
i ascribe equal measure to the sceptics...
i can bark dog with the cynics...
i like cynicism... i abhor scepticism:
they're so ridiculous ridiculous...
to them? the casausality bound to the physics is
non-existent...

mind you... i don't know what i'm doing with this
poo'em...
i have already broken several instances
of keeping up to the up-keep of
エンソー...

                  **** me... even the Japanese use diacritical
markers, the English are forever adamant
in not using any... even though there's an example
of レンダク (rendaku) in almost every word that arrives
at the "suspicion) of THETA contra PHI...
TH = D in there's a point...
TH = F in there's thinking invoked...
THE= V: THE point...

it has taken me too many takes to complete this piece
with too many interludes of
either staring at my shadow or blinking at the sun...
i will need to abandon this poem at some point...
not that it's unfinished:
it's only that i require a readership of squaters
to venture in its dynamic...
new "things" happened... i need to write about them...
too much happened today for me to want
to perfect this:
i already wasted about half an hour looking
for my headphones...
father... i know i placed them in some easily
re-find location... what did he do?
he stashed my headphones in a drawer with
his shoes and shoelaces...
   apparently too inconvenient...
a lunatic walking around the house with a searchlight
trying to find them...
                no, this poem is becoming silly...

i sometimes purposively cycle the 20 odd miles
into central London from (circa) Havering-atte-Bower
to simply sit outside a Starbucks by St. Paul's:
drink my black coffee, smoke two cigarettes...
obviously drink the black coffee with an addition
of 50ml of some cheap-*** whiskey and...
experience, what i can best describe as a:
wilderness of people...
i honestly have no other way of phrasing it...
it's a wilderness of people:
comparatively if i were to walk into a forest
or a graveyard: same ****, different cover...
or do as i did today: sit still on a busy
pedestrian clogged street... it's all the same to me...
it just so happened that i was eavesdropping
today: doing some... lauschen:
which is not exactly listening...
i was trying to filter out what this gorgeous...
i'd put her in her 40s... ginger...
American accent was blasting into the telephone...
i actually couldn't make out if she
was talking to someone or merely recording
herself some notes...
while buying coffee i asked for a pen...
took several more napkins than necessary
and started scribbling some half-baked thoughts...
the best ideas came to me while walking:
once... then they came through
sitting on a windowsill and fermenting my brain:
Brian...
now... i need speed... i need traffic...
i need: unconscious spatial coordination...
i need involvement with things that might ****
me...
i need at least 25mph with no exoskeleton...
i need American Head Charge blasting into my ears...
no... i could never be a novelist:
impossible...
i work from the principle of: ensо̄ (macron o?
a bit like omega is to omicron
sort of teasing upsilon: pull: pool etc.)
hell... it is a concept, principle: since there's
no katakana for it...
just the ideogram 円,...
i will have to leave the full ideogram on some
other platform since...
never mind: i'll just leave a p.s.
at the end of this stampede of words...
but ensō goes much further...
it attaches itself to some unfamiliar territory:
i.e. when TAO met MU...
you can write MU in both katakana
and i'm pretty sure there's an ideogram
for it too...
as you can write TAO in katakana:
but i'm pretty sure there's an ideogram
for it too...

backwards & forwards... east meets west...
west meets east...
Alexander went east...
the Persian empire went west...
Genghis Khan went west...
Communism went east...
no wonder that even George Orwell cited
this relationship of Eurasian...
even now... the Russians are in bed
with the Chinese...
not that the outliers of Asia: the Japanese are
somehow clued in...
who's going to get crushed in the dynamic?
who was crushed in the dynamic of Germany
growing an ego-phallus attempting to
**** a Russian-venus-flytrap?
i guess someone from the sort of: moi...
ahem... "persuasion"...
of course the south eastern Asians will feel the brunt
of the tripping... the "collateral" as they like
to call it...
and what's happening now in Europe & elsewhere
if not the GREAT CULL?!
i can play the wolf in sheep clothing for
a while... but even i know that:
the mask is slipping... it's all gooey and not
properly glued to the smiley face...
it's no conspiracy "theory" it's just...
common sense...

oh look (ensо̄ jazz... a googlewhack;
oh that's why... ensō)

i couldn't be a novelist: or for that matter
a painter:
i need to insert something:
but at the same time return to myself,
i.e. get the hell out...
if i had to labour days upon days
that would turn to weeks...
to months... to years...
i think i'd forget what my original
intentions were...
but to write something: antithetical to lyricism:
i will never write
audl lang syne... not that Shakespeare ever
would or could write something
that could be sung! Shakespeare never wrote anything
for people to sing come New Years Eve...
he wrote material for recitation:
sure... there's a genius in that:
writing for... f-f-*******: Thespians...
i imagine an actor growing his own turnips:
not that i'm any better:
i spew words...
but i don't spew recitations...

if it's "b'ah... bad original": well... at least it's
original... i abhor lyricism...
to many rhymes...
i suppose if you want to sing you have
to rhyme... although...
i don't think that auld lang syne is a lyricism
with that much rhyme...
most associated with modern music...
it's: narrative lyricism: which implies...
there's no lyricism to sort of begin with...

ich sehen mein geist:
verdunkelt nach ein nachtgerinnen...

if i start something: i finish something...
i couldn't be an artist from the perspective
of: "coming back to it"...
i couldn't be a novelist either...
for that matter... from what i heard...
i can't be a poo'et either:
first come, first served...
i think of language like i think of food...

well... it was more than "fun" to cycle into central
London and have a coffee overshadowed by
St. Paul's cathedral...
black... plenty of sugar... 50ml of cheap whiskey...
well i know you can't buy whiskey
in a Starbucks...
i bought that along the way...
and i just sat there:
some would say that wearing sunglasses
is a bit like donning the niqab...
although with the niqab:
i purposively stare at those "ninjas"...
some even return a deer-in-the-headlights sort of look
like: well i can't see you poking your tongue out at
me, so... what's the point?

once upon a time in Hackney i was walking
out from my ex's house with her younger brother
& their dog... cookies?! ah!
Nachos! while my "future" in-laws were
having a fight... she was dropping plates
i guess... because i left a newly bought
guitar at their home when i first arrived
on the shores of psychosis: London-Edinburgh:
to-&-fro...
i bought this acoustic splendour...
a Martin & Co. D-X1E...
  i was still paying it off... me & my ex broke up:
well... the story of my life...
all the women in my life broke up with me...
so i'm guessing my supposed "future in-law"
did some "D.I.Y." on her:
that's before i could even give her a name...
&... i'm either a very truthful person...
which is why i only sleep rather than dream...
hence... the great presence of the "YAWN"...
he told me a story & i brushed it off...
he said... guitars tend to break up when
left outdoors... maybe it wasn't him...
maybe she did it...
i was tripping on psychosis...
so... no excuses for me.... plenty of ****** lies
to tell from the opposing party...
i think my heart also ached...
i think: but since i think is therefore i doubt...
probably not...
problem being: i bought the ******* "missing piece"
of a shipwreck on loan...
so... i had to pay off a tampered with
guitar... CUZ... just... BE-CAUSE...
cheap-***... mother-*******... lies!
now i think i'm just gullible...
it has reached a fever-pitch sensation of arrogance
where i think i could get away with ******:
why? all the ****** lies i've been told:
it seems i'm investing in something
grandiose... sinister...
it has to be: a thrill of the antithesis of gravity...
or something...

right there! i saw it! i was walking out with
my ex's younger brother & that HMV mut
when a woman in a niqab
rolling a buggy pulled her niqab off
& what i saw: i saw... a grotesque "feature":
i don't think it was a face...
it was an Arabian nightmare... something:
Cradle of Filth sing about...
maybe i wasn't prepared for such an act...
it was hardly "defiance"...
perhaps she had the honour-acid-in-your-face
squirt... squirt sort of treatment:
easier to hide under a niqab...

there's a currency of delusion that only reigsters
to media outlets...
nothing is really reported:
but everything is curated...
the media is like an art-gallery...
it requires either curators or... editors...
if she unveiled herself like she did
& i saw the face of the cenobite pin-head:
i'd be like... well thank, ****... for that...
now i know what the hammer's for!

well... my supposed future father in-law ended
up with a stint in some psychiatric ward...
so i'm guessing: he ****** around with my:
yet to be paid in full ownership of:
let's call her Layla...
guilt riddled, started calling me Jesus...
any other ******* day of the week i'd be this
Hey-Zeus... but not back then...
i visited him, brought him a bible &:
since he was, is: dyslexic it was hardly the point
of lifting his spirits up with some
Tolstoy...

well you can write the idea of mu phonetically:
it doesn't have to be an idea: #
it can be merely a compound sound: ム...
which is neither vowel or consonant:
it's a consonant-vowel:
it can't be a "vowel-consonant": even though
i know it sounds better...

when translated to my native-toong...
mu... for him...
or: je-mu: again... for him...
jej: her's...
jego: his'             hisses...
  his...
mu: for him...
            i'm bewildered by lack
of a female counterpart equivalent:
plenty of h'americana to be borrowed cunted-up
cluster ***** of "memetics":
come again?
isn't CECI N'EST PAS UNE PIPE
a memetic "typo"?
well... if they told me that Polacks shared the same
grammar as the Fwench:
TO NIE JEST: this is not...
FAJKA... it's Fwench! it's western Slavic...
maybe i'd learn it "better": or at least invested in enough
nouns to better coordinate myself with...
but it's not like i was allowed to learn
English then German...
which would have follow suite...
so now i'm all "bitter" et, und... "sad" still...
boggled down in Loon'don & not Pari(s)...
*******: P'ah-rrrrrrrrrr-E!
or... P'ah-rrrrrrrrr-é... same ****... different cover...

i'm already arriving at: shrapnel avenue...
like the the Mongol sacking of Baghdad...
the skulls "just seem" to be piling onto each other
without end of a horizon of the pyramid in
sight...
it's monstrous... it has all the ingenuity of
a hyped-up Hippocrasic oath:
but... it's seems a terrible prospect to: breed...
unless you're locust prone...

you sit at layout of a cafe that extends to
an outside.... you smile to yourself
seeing a nuclear family walk past...
you smile: to yourself...
thank god i will not the good-father:
supposed: where, while i'll be "good"...
but i'll also be blamed...
thank god i will not be blamed...
esp. if... i were born into a lineage of carpenters...
& suddenly the trade of carpentry went:
bust...
i write this & rightly so...
i hear.. the crying of the girl who lost
my virginity to...
how i suckled at her ******* she came to visit me
in Edinburgh...
i too know: the pertinent Q.: what if?!
perhaps she didn't have the face
of Ava Lauren: but she had the ******* to
proove otherwise...

so i sat in this cafe beside St. Paul's...
once or twice minding the wind...
as you do... some H'american beau ginger having her
"impersonating a dialogue"... ahem...
"conversation" over the phone...
chez la reve - daniel licht...
   almost as good as christopher young's:
something to think abut...

it's what i lullaby myself to sleep with...
well... that & a liter of whiskey...
be-be-because this simply doesn't have an anchor!
suppose it won't sink:
bit i'll die: a ******* captain!

well... one might imagine the... "almost"? really?
the universal claim for "common sense"...
come again?
i thought common sense, in practice or in theory...
is rather...  unilaterally-biased to take
into consideration the buffer cushioning
of "collateral":
again! those who espouse so much of Darwinism's
superiority...
are, the, people... last: to arrive at its mechanisations...
the English were the people safeguarded
by their island status...
sorry? now what... "now"... ahem "what"?
come to think of it...
i don't want to live among any other people beside the English...
call them Welsh ccall then Scots... Anglo-Saxons
call them: gimps with their socks on...
common sense? savvy?
i had a thought cycling through traffic...
i love all the assured interactions with
strangers... after all: it's true what they say...
you look best with your family...
when you get a chance to cut yourself out
from a shared picture: that was taken...

common sense is one thing...
but... nothing ingenious about this proposal...
look away...
what about... the genius of English culture
that could perhaps culminate in...
COMMON COURTESY?!
last time i heard Italian were irresponsible when
utilising the concept of traffic...
in England?!
the cyclist is a buffer zone-in...
can't people entertain COMMON COURTESY
while having their higher alliance
to the allignment of a both: "higher" & "power"?

https://allpoetry.com/poem/16172654-Z-by-Matthew-Conrad-adult#share

i'm at it again, ******* to pictures of
naked women without climaxing...
i have to... i'm gearing up for an hour's
worth of the "***** deed"...
Michaela is going back to Romania
on the 28th of this month and
i have a Wembley shift on the 16th...

my god... i went to the shop to buy some ice-cubes
a whiskey and some pepsi...
and who was in front of me in the queue?
a ******* Rolls-Royce of a woman: my type...
my mythological type of woman... foreign...
i'm guessing German... blonde hair: but not albino,
ergo mingling with tinges of a brunette,
older than me, by i'm guessing at least 10 years...

definitely German... she was buying
(from what i can remember) cat food and beer...
i looked at her hands... no ring... i abhor jewellery...
my parents thought it would be cute for
a ****** boy to don a signet on the pinky finger
like the English aristocracy... i don't do rings...
even if i were married i couldn't wear a ring on my finger...
no chance! but this was a Rolls Royce of a woman...
suitor to my frame... big... well: not fat...
just: womanly: a womanly woman...
the type that might serve you beer in a tavern...

i lost my mind... certainly not a geisha type...
a bit like Michaela last night... oh...
she was plump alright: i really plucked a plum yesterday...
usually i have problems ******* within an hour...
Khadija sort of bypassed the ****** on her own whim...
Michaela also: but she asked me to pay her extra...
£30 for ******-less oral and £40 for the full deal...

i was only there for half an hour...
all that walking around drinking cider around the brothel
rubbing my groin to get the party started:
plus her frame? she looked like what artists or
men in general found attractive in the Renaissance:
plump women... i knew i was going to ******* pretty
quickly... an unfathomable force came along
an unfathomable object... sparkles...

with past girlfriends i was such a man-*****...
ooh... need to satisfy her blah blah...
Ilona even noted that not many men are like that:
she noticed my back-then ****** library:
i started reading that infamous book The Game by
that some other pick-up artist...
i soon found that pointless... started reading
Tantra... more useful...
but yesterday? i was a man...
            30 minutes: i heard women like quickies, no?
after oral she asked me, what position?
doggy... missionary is so ******* back-breaking...
but i wanted to look at her fat ***...
no... it wasn't premature *******...
it was: i just finished a shift...
i was out of the house for over 12 hours...
i was hot, sweaty... i started drinking...
forget getting something off my chest to a psychologist
or a priest... that third P...

it was blissful... it felt like the heat-wave was
over and it started raining: somewhere...
second time though? it won't be like that...
i'm already practicing keeping the *******
prolonged... it will take two or three days
or just stroking an ******* without actually *******...
but this Rolls Royce a blonde just now...
a full woman... a woman's woman...
feline eyes dabbed with the least amount of
mascara: a woman that was single...
but looked like she was catered to by a harem
of men... well: a harem of eunuchs and some sheikh...
at least: in my eyes...

a woman that could be the antithesis of cubism,
for sure... she could stand next to a Picasso
and i could tell you: that! that's the antonym!

i couldn't possibly behave like the noble swan
in monogamy... i also couldn't do whatever is "classical"
these days about what dating was about
in 1950s America...
no chance of that happening... this is Europe, after all:
we do things differently here...

- well that was a first, i never thought i would be
directing a bus driver about where to go,
his first shift: on the 86 bus route:
i was picking up a bicycle wheel from Bicycle King
of Chadwell Heath: one of my spokes
snapped from the heat... thankfully as i was about
to do a trip... anyways...
he turned around and opened his cabin door
and asked me to direct him... so i did...
this exit on roundabout x... that exit on roundabout y...
i remember the number 5 route back in Poland
ever since i kept to this comforting thought:
i wish to become a bus-driver once...
which routes? 86 is grand... 103 would be even better...

- Michaela? after we finished our "*****" deed
we just chatted... smoked cigarettes and drank
the whiskey i brought with me...
she asked me: do you smoke? yep...
so i asked her: do you drink? yep...
15 girls in total in the brothel...
2 Polish girls, 1 Turkish girl... 2 Russian girls...
the rest? Romanian...
what time do you finish? 5am...
what then, go back home and sleep?
no... i work in a hospital in central London:
i administer medication to patients...
i like showcasing my hygiene...
shower prior... washing my genitals after...
no... of course i wouldn't shower after having *** with
her: i want her body's perfume to stay with me...
she didn't shower after either...
like-minded ***-maddened people...

i love certain women too much to listen to western:
WASPS (western anglo-saxon protestant
feminists type): let's just have fun or let's just die...
i'm not coming near that "thing" without a yard-stick!
i'm serious!
            secretive "******" / nuns...
          i'm going to have a hard time ruling my secrets
under ol' king Charlie... i'm finishing off ol' Lizzie
reign with a crescendo... dearest Lizzie:
it has been a blast... thank you: god save the queen!

- stopped off at the Moon & Stars at Romford...
the smoking was packed so i sat on the public bench
with half-a-Guinness and smoked clinging to my wheel...
finishing my cigarette i implored fellow appreciators
of the brew if i could leave my stump of filter in their
ashstray:
- oi! mate! looks like someone stole your bike!
you're only left with a wheel!
- ha ha ha... pause... but it's a unicycle now!
- ha ha...

i'm starting to surprise myself more and more...
the alles-mensch...
i'm returning to people like i first met them
back in school...
the best way i can: as a chameleon...
i'm Matthew A with some... i'm Matthew B with others...
Matthew C with another group...
and they come to me like i'm some *******
priest, some advocate...
hey! if Walt Whitman could celebrate himself
i'm going to celebrate myself:
i'm done with feeling **** about myself:
i'm going to drink, i'm going to dance: to groove...
once upon a time there were serious leftist policies
and ideologies: that tied into an alternative
economic policy: but under the same yoke
of communism? it's ******* posturing...
i'm not going to take these people seriously: esp. if they're
coming from America...
people should know better...

- two songs...
      lyrically? run to the hills by iron maiden
and midnight oil's the dead heart are the same...
white man this white man that...
Poland was cut up in three by three great empires...
then it was resurrected and then it was conquered
by **** Germany and Soviet Russia...
then it was a Soviet satellite state...
hmm: why did the English invent cricket
and rugby and football?
a bit like that fortune that met Japan when a Mongol
fleet was met with a hurricane...
yawn: the Norman invasion of 1066...
the fortune of when the Spanish armada was
met with the fickle English channel weather:
a people who have not been conquered
for a long time: are not slack... slacking about...
so? whatever is coming out of America doesn't bother me...

mind you... the latest news is ******* promising:
isn't it? i wasn't a big fan of Salman Rushdie...
oh... right the two songs...
lyrically... similar?
musically though? there's that rough-edge:
bass that sounds like a horn...
Fall Out Boy's Uma Thurman has it...
and Midnight Oil's: the Dead Heart has it too...
it's a sound akin to the word: PROWL
if you trill the R... roll it... rattle it...

that's the thing with Midnight Oil...
i remember hearing that one song of theirs they
play on Polish radio... beds are burning...
i spent... over 10 years looking up both the band
and the song name: 10 years i was looking for that song...
and once i found it i figured: it's probably not even
their best song... hey presto...

oh right... Salman Rushdie gets stabbed 15 times in
the neck...
i'm not a massive fan: i tried reading pride...
mind you... i love the comparison he gives...
Satan is falling from the sky head first, calm,
motionless like a sack of potatoes...
while Gabriel? Gabriel is trying to imitate a bird...
flapping his hands and legs about...
i guess the former is a fatalist while the second
is a would-be-opportunist...
but **** me... 15 times in the neck?

i'm starting to think all Muslim men are secretly
women...
why? there's that quote: hell knows no fury like
a woman scorned...
well... that works just as well for Muslim men:
hell knows no fury like a Muslim man insulted:
wait wait... reiteration:
hell knows no fury like a Muslim being told there's
something like free-thinking...
that certain things can be scrutinised: revised...
ergo? Muslim men are feminine:
but no surprises... polygamy and eunuchs...
me? i don't care... like i told one colt outside of
a supermarket...
he gave me 10 squid to buy him a bottle of *****...
he was in a menage trois...
i took the tenner... bought myself a whiskey
and thought: hmm... might as well but him a litre
bottle...
walked out... oh man: i was mouthed off like mad...
why didn't you buy me a 35cl flask?!
why did you buy me a litre?!
i thought you wanted *****?
the argument became so heated that a security
guard emerged from the supermarket:
- i'll get my uncle to beat you up!
- boyo, listen... listen... i have a death-wish...
tell me where you uncle wants to meet up with me...
i'll just tell him you wanted to drink *****
at the age of 15 to impress a girl... your friend...
is already *******... you're just sloppy seconds mate...

oh sure... you can insult Islam by more ways than one...
Socrates? illiterate... Jesus? illiterate...
Muhammad? illiterate...
who accounted for the life of Socrates? Plato...
Jesus? hold up... a literate fisherman by
the name of Peter? so... fishermen were literate
but the carpenters weren't? ****'s sake...
what a gap... i can imagine a tax collector to be literate...
but there's a gap... carpenters were illiterate
but fishermen were... hmm...

Muhammad? despised in Mecca... took a trip to Medina:
what's the whole affair surrounding the Satanic
Verses? CRANES... some **** about how Allah
took an wife: a pagan Arabic deity... some **** like that...
i'm flimsy on the details...
the basic motto being: Allah has no partners...
he's ultimate omni-solipsist

that's how i arrived an the compliments towards
monotheism... sitting in the dark listening
to several variations of the Adhan...
this... monotheistic god: whether Jew-....
no no... he's different... the Hebrew god is equivalent
to Hades in Greek mythology...
in no known mythology: he's a god that's a god-eater...
he ate up Beelzebub... who was a deity:
before becoming Satan's sidekick...

insult Islam? what about that woman that ran around
two mountain ranges... wasn't she Abraham's concubine?!
she wasn't his wife...
monotheism = an autistic god...
a solipsistic god... a solipsistic...
the omni-verse of man's self capacity and capability...
it's a strange model since... polytheism produced
more interesting: more opened minded people...

oh: Islam is beautiful... just like camels and like
an oasis is beautiful: in a desert...
Dubai is also beautiful in a desert:
such a splendid: pointless city...
the Adhan... i love listening to Adhans...
those elongated vibrating vowels...
when Arabs sing it's perfectly alright...
they drop the glut of a drooling tongue of QBAH...

they resonate... they talk? i'm thinking about
sweeping the streets... or haggling over
some cheap **** in a flea market...

Muhammad was illiterate... funny... that flight from
Mecca to Medina... who did he marry?
an older woman... an entrepreneurial woman...
a businness woman...
funny... i ****** a ******* with her name...
Khadija... but this one is Turkish... she's not Arabic...
and unlike Muhammad: i'm writing
the ******* book, akin the lines of Elvis Costello's
lyrics: every, *******, day... me...
i'm writing it... because... who wrote the Quran?
at least the first surah?
Khadija! she wrote them! a woman wrote
the first entries of the Quran...
she was the literate one: he... sure as ****... from what
i heard: wasn't...
a woman wrote the first entries of the Quran...
mind you... why do the sheikhs adorn clothing in white
while the women are subject to attire in black...
seriously?! that predates Nietzsche proposition
of god being dead: who died?!
who died?! who died in order for women to suffer
so in the sun? that's predating the Victorian prim
and pomp...

            i don't want to understand these people...
stabbing a guy who scribbled some words
15 ******* times in the neck?
come on: hell know no fury like a Muslim man
insulted... guess his brain goes where his ****
is about to **** out a ******* Tikka Masala chicken
makeover with a pita bread and some veggie extras...
because: that's where it's going!

i do admire the adhan... like i admire crusader chants
of the templars...
but a call to prayer? i sense it: since i rarely dream...
a bit like... trying to have a handshake with my
shadow: a funny joke... prayer is such a selfish
endeavour... since... you're never really praying
for the betterment of others: just your self
and the solipsistic nature of a monotheistic deity...
love the songs: hate the tributes...

paint me: a prettier ******* picture...

it must be the heat... but i had this wild idea...
burning my brain... evaporating whatever is supposed
to be contained between the two ears..
and behind the two eyes...
woman are the best... but also the worst of humanity...
men? they're either the best or the mediocre...
after all: you can't be a ****** genocidal maniac to
begin or end with...
you're either a great genocidal maniac or you're not...

the point being... the love triangle of Paris...
Helen and Melenaous...
    hmm... i'm thinking...
i'm not a Holocaust denier... **** me: i'm pretty
sure a lot of Polacks were used to build
the concentration camps under forced labour...
no no... i'm thinking Helen...
i'm thinking who Adolf ****** dated...

i was watching this documentary where "they" excavated
genetic background checks from Eva Braun's
personal belongings... a hair-comb with her hair...
turns out... she had Hebrew ancestry...
so... ******... dated a Jewish girl... while: dessimating
the Jews... fishy... fishing for red herrings...
i don't care much for aliens:
i've seen a fluorescent UFO once...
obviously i didn't take a picture...
i was too engrossed in drinking and lamenting
while sitting under a tree in a summer that didn't
starve my mind with a heat-wave...

women are worst than men...
men are more stupid and smarter... paradox after
paradox... i'm thinking of Helen of Troy and i'm thinking
of Eva Braun...
is it a conspiracy theory? what if she...
a Jewish girl... whispered a sweet lie into that maniac's
ear... hey... you start a Jewish prone genocide:
our people: just might get our land back!
we might have our...
there was the genesis... there was the exodus...
what's the Hebrew word for the return?
the SHOAH-לַחֲזוֹר
        KHZUR... the event that's best coupled as:
SHOAH-KHZUR...
the calamity to return to one's homeland...
which... isn't... wasn't it true... come to fruition?!
Helen of Troy... Eva ****** nee Braun?
listen... i'm busy *******... i'm going to spend the next
few days ******* myself without
*******... so i can build up a stamina
for an hour and not finish: although: gladly...
within half...
        plus... i've already ****** a Turkish *******
with a name the same as Muhammad's first wife...
the one who wrote the first Surah of the Quran:
because... he was illiterate: while she wasn't...
my Hebrew might be off...
but... i don't believe in monotheism...
  to begin with...
                            i don't believe in an autistic
robot god... i don't believe in a robotic world...
some things can be changed...
but i sort of like entertaining the idea that Eva Braun
is the modern version of Helen of Troy...
the best an the worst in women...
in men? just the best and the mediocre...
she must have whispered into whittle Adolf's ear:
hey... you start killing my people...
the global community will finally decide to give the
Jews their homeland back...
start killing... genocidally...
i mean: **** me... didn't they commit a joint suicide?!
people conjure up fairy-tales all the time...
well: the ones that can...

after all i'm a huge fan of the Batman universe...
perhaps i didn't see my parents be murdered
as a child: what child does?
on a scale of averages...
i was raised by my grandparents: i had dogs for
siblings... i didn't see me father from the age
of 4 through to 8...
i didn't see my mother from the age of 6 through to 8...
i wasn't outright abandoned like
my father was by his parents and raised
by his grandmother and his foster grandfather...
maybe that's what makes me so "clingy" to them:
or the outright economic structures...
but? intellectually: i can prosper on my own...

i can have these thought: i have already stated...
i can read the newspapers and look down on
the journalists... you... established folk...
it's like these people are the ones with the money
to produce, buy and write eternal nothings
on papyrus... the priestly / journalistic class of folk...
but then the printing press appears
and the gatekeepers are bypassed...
ergo? the internet... i don't want money
for what i ingest, digest and therefore regurgitate...

i saw the potential for a cover-op.
                  i could really do some damage if i just
dedicated myself to a thirst for knowledge...
i could sit back and watch the world change:
like... like play-dough...
  and i have... and i will continue to do so...

with the Europeans having expelled the Hebrews:
who has been welcomed into our midst
to replace those Hebrews?
calamity-to-return... to one's abiding midst...
away from the Europeans and into the Arab lot...
after all:
didn't the Arabs and the Berbers conquer
Spain with the help of the Jews?
i heard that that's what happened...

i need to work on my Hebrew...
mind you... it's an enigmatic language...
how would i write shoah-khzur?

    ש (shin) i.e. the -in disappeares
vowels are diacritical marks in Hebrew...
although: א (aleph) and ע (ayin):
are the twin-gay-lords of Eden...
who somehow managed to give birth
to the children Leph and Yin through their ****...

i was told what i current wrote was a given:
but? makes no sense...
ש no O no A... ה
i would have written as שה...
                            i can now understand how and why
emperor Nero became so easily *******...
it wasn't about: oh these Hebrews and their fire deity...
he turned the early Christians into torches
and fed them to the lions, because...
look how these people write!
there are writing in cipher-mode!

there are no vowels in hebrew worth stating them
as letters! שה shoah: yeah... yeah!
Hebrew has two vowels as consonants: Aleph and Ayin...
the gay Adams...
all the other vowels are diacritical markers...
they're not proper letters...
vowels are female:
consonants as masculine...
don't: you ******* know... how nomadic people
work?!

the internet is DUMB... KHZUR...
לַ: that's lamedh...
      is the H a surd in Hebrew? i doubt it...
כהזר...

כהזר שה                  -->      <--

              how mighty must have the wrath of Nero
been... to turn the early Christians into
torches: where are your vowels!
i can see two vowels behaving like 'em!

i need to regret something...
on the 16th i'm going back to the brothel...
my favorite new album?
the 1987 release b Midnight Oil:
Diesel and Oil...
i need prostitutes...
i need more than king Solomon...
i have n infatuation with the bodies of mandible
potential...

there are words: that are letters:
shin-cholem-kametz-h'eh
kaf-h'eh-zayin-kibbutz/shurek?-resh ..

no wonder emperor Nero slaughtered the whole
lot of yous...
i wouled have too...
white man singing about the disgraces of fellow
white man...
good enugh for me: if the Africans weren't
moved to America and required to forget their African
tongue: they would sing zilch of the blues
and a zilch of jazz... there would be zilch
of Mbapa Ella Fitzgerald... no Nina Simone...
no "RESPECT"...
            *******: self-flagellating whittle white man
of the anglo-saxon demands...
no! if there was no slave-trade...
toward the Americas... there would be no jazz!
no escape from the mind of a Mozart...
Europeans don't have voices to sing!
Africans do! but they require a European tongue
to sing in!

what racial pride? pride in what?
not keeping your language?!
being black racist supe-racialists...
our ethnicity is more important than the language
we speak? seriously?!
you... you're doubly the slave...
you don't speak your mother's tongue...
you are urban *******...
that's what you are... to me...
urban *******...
                            i speak my mother's tongue...
i guess being bilingual can be a little bit complicated...
i guess it's easier otherwise...
urban *******...
                    "natives"...
                                      as a ****** i get the whole:
"native" project all the time... **** it...
i'm siding with the imaginary Tsar...
                                  no! nein! niet!
nie!

                                  i know what brown-skinned
people are like in the work-force... they're worse than
women: they're lazier...
i'd like to think about shooting them in the head:
to get them to move-on...
esp. their younglings...
their young are CULL MATERIAL...
maybe that's why they reproduce so much:
they are CULL MATERIAL...

maybe that's why i'm experiencing a heat-wave...
i'm building up an adherence toward
a super-structure of disease-aversion...
and that implies... racial-tension mechanisations...
because i have to...
i have to... the Chinese are not going to stop *******
silly... the Indians aren't... while the demands on
the Europeans to "save the earth": **** it...
no no.... listen...
this planet is decidedly going to burn...
i just don't care...

                        i don't have any children...
i don't have a future beside the future of an idea...
that's all i have...
i don't care...
                    you burn whatever you want to
burn...
  i just wish i was living in Apocalyptic Times
and i was the Mad Max...
i seriously wish i was the reinvested
patriarch Abraham in the reinvented times
of new beginnings...

i'm sitting in the bathroom at ul. Radwana 13 / 72,
i must say: a rather unusual place to start
my long awaited archaeology of the ego -
but long awaited for whom?
me or a readership...

               i have recently inherited a chrome book
with those old school protruding click click clickers
of QWERTY: protruding in that they are
easily found, almost like tickling newly sprouted
flowers from the ground...

i find myself in the form of: my and self
yet over psycholo-loco-gist...
of wording will not help:

the gents had their fun with the spirits...
they drank and drank and talked of plans for
their lives, they wasted good liquor on dressing up
on having fun:
they never took alcohol seriously...
now one of them: namely my uncle...
is a death within life, which is worse than death
itself...

i am so rigid from not trying
i am rigid from my former escapades with the allowances
of a good keyboard and a decent internet
connection...

what i am currently studying is the punctuation
of Frank Herbert...
it has been well over 4 years since i read any fiction
seriously...
bogged down in existential prose serious literature
i gave so much of my reading-time
to Knausgaard and his Mein Kampf
feigning defeat when life became as serious
that i had to find an alternative...
and yes... the new adaptations of the Dune books
put a negative indentation in my current reading
of the first book...
but lucky for me i'm picking up on certain
cinematic nuances... notably concerning Hawat
the Mentat who would roll his eyes back to
make calculations and who had a rectangular stain
on his lips from drinking the sapho juice...
cranberry stain...

what are the chances to reach the same heights
of excavation i was familiar with,
perhaps if i write long enough i can bypass the initial
struggle: because i will not waste this little gush of
***** reaching my cheeks
having to substitute a chaser of Fanta
with some orange juice (half)
and half of Polish mineral water...
unlike any other mineral water i know...
for there are three gradations of it around here...

gazowana (sparkling)
nie-gazowana (still)
lekko-gazowana (slightly sparkling)...

this fun side of the tongue, the only instance
where there is a double consonant:

LEKI (medicine)
LEKKI (light, masculine)
LEKKA (light, feminine)
   light as in not heavy, not light as in darkness...

i have traveled across eons and sleep and haven't
slept a wink in the process...
now almost strange to have a washing machine as a writing
desk in the dim light...

perhaps spacing, not even the subject matter will suffice
to somehow give me escapism...
what "should" have taken place is the idea
of an uncle retiring in his 50s...
able to somehow come closer to his mother
in her 80s and with enough dough
to party via travel for the next 10 years
and spare for invest in at least 2 or 3 properties...

now i visit him in the house of cripples...
the once known jealous vitality from ***** house
to ***** house...
this juggernaut of virility reduced to a ******* zombie like
shadow...
bit lips, crooked teeth...
vague associations and even vaguer dissociations
on the word-logic spectrum as provided by the doctors...
not so much having drank himself to
a zombie body but no early grave
his inability to invoke the body to similitude with
iron vitamin D3...
a shell of a man... once clean shaven...
now mimic of grandfather...

and all this female warfare
this daughter against mother and grandmother against
mother all this
this scaffold and crows and rotting of meat...
but diligent i somehow trying to work my way around
the fatalism...
is it so wrong of me to go out of my way
to buy the old woman a few new books
some chocolate,
to cook her pork, pork meatballs in a tomato sauce
with a special mash potatoes...
infusing the meat with caraway seeds...
yes... because that's almost the distant cousing
of cumin seeds... at least around here...
around here, "here" being: ul Radwana 13 / 72
Ostrowiec Swietokrzyski...

           i used to spend so many joyful days in these
confines, yet now i itch with a feeling of being
the Grim Grey...
reading about melange, spice, cinnamon...
i conjure up a fusion of poetry and prose and think
about Caladan and i think about earth
and i think about the white gold that is salt...
i've choked on tears and i shed some tears
but for all the talk of water in the sands
there is little talk of salt in the dunes...
perhaps those equivalent to Arabs in the Dune universe
have no notion of taste when it comes
to the ingestion of food...

i hardly imagined myself to be a fan of any work...
i tried to be a fan of the Beatniks...
grew a beard, forgot i had toenails
later forgot i had toes...
therefore re-imagined my feet as twinkle axes...
chopping step with stomp and air...
oh this air in Poland...
when was the last time i visited Poland
near the time of birth, come May...
that is spring... when the violets started to bloom...
when the continent gave up her riches
of distinguishing seasons from
that Caladan damp of England...
how many of the past suppose summers have
i spent on that dreaded island of grot grit and grey?

thus this DUMP of lettering and spacing and
whatever other, "other" technicality might
be obstructive, obtrusive, ob- ob-:
signal one signifying beacon of obstruct for
for me to follow up with the right sort of juice:
because i am the one to have squandered
the... "ridicule of the use of words"?

seems like a fear of god is never enough
when justifying the games equivalent to the chess
people play with mortality...

just one fetish freer from the nearer,
some Novalis (von Hardenberg) -
as i very much like to name street names and places
in German,
because i find the Polacks neglecting their tongue
as much as they neglected their earth:
through the tribulations of a lackluster of attachments...

perhaps those Arabs and waiting for the dino-juice
to propel the locomotive bonanza
of the Lamborghini engine...
sand-worm earthworm ego sworn mouth agape
like sitting in a Turkish akimbo poise...

the sun was never going to lose a tooth:
let alone a golden one,
but by topic of grey in water
and white in metal
and green in mahogany...
a tease out of respect for the one handed clapping
like some inevitable "cultural appropriation"
from meditating the death of Christianity
in the European soul and the invitation toward
Buddhism, extrapolation...
because this half a liter of *****
will measure just fine when this washing mashine
is silent...
while the solace of orbits of the grand orbs
like mountains cradling deserts satisfies...
like the windless lights
and what is conversation? locum?

i find little gesticulation of comfort in people
who regurgitate sayings, supposedly wise on the onset,
with sensibility of perpetuating a humanism
of their otherwise deviant comfort
of sheltering in hubbub and commotion
and click-bait not-known-to-fish conundrums...

by now the eagerness of flying into a bed
on a half whim half dream,
like a parody of a blinking universe:
each to his own sorrows and intact:
ensuring these sorrows do not multiply...
but become these self-contained mechanisations
of self-digestion: to diffuse the anger and agony
of the shared experience...
some semblance of a collectivist effort
where the individual is sacrificed and not glorified
that this democratic beacon of vector
adamant force-hood falsehood is dried up
conquered and subsequently squandered on
readily imitable minds of the youth...
so that youthful fancies may pass and by the rigors of time
and matrimony of the geology in the air
become hard pressed to usher in the only known
individuation that's the citizen and with it
a necropolis of first reference: as mortal abiding
non coup...

through some prism of the elected editorial
staff of the newly arrived freedom of the flimsy:
wind without paper...
came a torrent of freely available voiced
concerns for what could be said: could be unsaid...
what a forlorn essential craft of
symbolism to be tortured thus by crucifix
and the faceless man of Islam...
at least the distinction ingrained...

keeping a jug of water in both desert and in sea...
to drink to waste...
perhaps a jug of ***** in the forests and hybrid
tundras of sloth and cold and
what other bouquet of the thus presented
entourage of immobility of parlance of formal
is: what more expected of me?!

no more hunger no more stealth and no more
Japanese encrypted borrowing of tongues...
to ****** a MA into a マ
    subsequently: ******* palindromes...
because Japanese might allow a MA but will not
allow an AM... unless it's: TENET, RADAR...
a palindrome...
thus listed:

                 アマ
                 オト          oto... here, thus...

ama                  well... given the English tong and tie and glue of T
that would invoke Anna...
and faTTer...
                not father, though...

i think it best to understand Japanese scribbles through
palindromes...
whether that's me excavating consonants from
elaborating vowels or what not...
my... at least i have retained a memory of my old
themes and hobbies...
notably these...
because i...

palindromes... yes... that's how to best discover
consonants as free standing
as vowels are in Japanese via palindromes...
given... my stay in Hawaii was peppered with the history
of the Polynesians...
who's origins began with the wild oar brigade second
not celebrated to the vikings
from the little island of Taiwan...
across the seas without sails
across like the Mongols across Siberia
and the Russians toward Alaska...

                     palindromes...

イキ (iki)
イシ         (isi)

          leo mai honua...

                                leo nui: mai hāmau wai...    

of no talk of science fiction and i can see the equivalent
of the Fremen in the Polynesians
and see this world as that of what happens
when the once former mountain range
of Sahara now is desert and
waiting for the desert of Himalaya
because then were the known mountains of Saharans
while the seas boiled and the ice caps melted
and we were dreaming a history
somehow inherited before the insomnia
of journalism and the **** of light brought down
with strobe amnesia and suffocation of the attractive
glittering half of halves...
while the litter of the brood of peoples
squabbled over the 7th October 20224...
without much squabble equivalent to the massacre
at the Bataclan attack in Paris...

do wiosł!
    to oars!
                                 i nā ***!

let us leave these superstitious people to their
magic stones their kippahs
their niqabs and their orientation with the stars
almighty as if... as if...
this orb might be ever displaced by their potent
numb **** and over-sized ego-*****
and clipped ***** of Egypt!

sleep harmonious sleep such great medicine
but sleep sometimes so pointless
when one does not dream much
so sleep can be stretched to a different cycle:
the length of a day on the moon
is like... 567hours... last time i heard:
oh: the first colony must be the moon
i wonder:
because those 1960s photographs
from the moon were pretty ****...
so people asked: is there a night on the moon?
well! yeah! but there's also a day!
the light side of the moon is as sunny
as on earth!
and it doesn't last for a fraction of the 24 hours...
it last for like two weeks...
according to the muslim and hebrew calendar!
i mean: **** me...
but as i tell my partner:
see those clouds in the sky...
those lowest are water clouds:
absorb and defract colour...
but those other clouds: high high up...
those are ice clouds...
they look like god's doodles from where
derived language of the higher esteem
beyond the hieroglyphs...
ice clouds: always white:
pristine... god this god the painter with light
and composer of sounds...
but those highest of clouds
never turn light into colour...
doodle in the sky remnants of god
scribbling...
             well... the Light Side of the Moon
is like a joke about Alaska
and how sunny it is insomnia over there
during summer... spring...
like everyday life in London:
insomniac neon blue and... alabaster...
gubernatioral... love the sound of words
from time to time...

so Mark Nathan finally caught up with my plan!
mate: i want to be more important than
constructionw workers when it comes to shuffling
through the hours of the day...
i want to be a poet: i want to make my
morning commute like i was the first one...
i was the archtiect of language...

if my last check call comes in at 5:45am and
Mark is there because he wasn't slept since 2:30am
and that's because he likes to go to bed early...
so i can get there for 5:45pm...
we started from sheering off half an hour
before the actual clock-off of 7pm...
that became 6:30am/pm, 6:15...
and then a massive flip to: half an hour...
5:45am/pm...

                           sure, minimum wage....
what isn't, these days?
harrowing hours, never see the chance to socialize
on the weekend...
drinking culture...
beer and all the jovial spirits...
but no hard ***** drinking and hard conversations
and hard scribbling and hard thinking?
just jovials spirits of wine and beer and cider...
no real culture of pushing the limits
on such spirits as *****...
i tried whiskey but i am not a rock star
so can't summon the bourbon spirit...
***** is for slavic intellectuals... i'm afraid to say:
that's what ruined my uncle Martin:
he tried to be so so English
he didn't realise that England was changing
and so he fled back to Poland...
but in his genes there was the bedrock
of hard intellectualistion:
like ***** is water
like there's hard water and there's soft water...

i know: i did say...
40cl per session: but you smoke a joint first...
why? because you want to get off
drinking a litre of *****:
sleep-deprivation:
the active ingredient is marijuana with
your intellect:
oddly enough after seeing Dekalog 7, 8....
a while while back...
i decided to go back to my roots...
Polish culture... Polish language...
sorry... nothing personal: i'm not English...
i just have this tongue...
Dekalog 1...                  watch it watch it!

also, before i forget...
also...
ahem! ladies and gentlemen! i bring you!

🍼             and                😬

pacifier 1.0            and pacifier 2.0
pacifier of the ****** = no teeth....

pacifier 2.0 of the nibble
of a **** = plenty of teeth!
                 but once i tasted the ****:
i need a night guard pacifier:
because my tongue is so insatiable
and i could never bite on your lips
ooh yes yes!

better than circumcision!
make sure young males have the ******
pacifier then
find a woman to prescribe him
a night buard... from ****** to *****
pacifier...
/how's my low tone Taylow Swift
never ever getting back together on feminism?!/

what of the scientific method:
wasn't it always true that in order to draw
a straight line: you needed to know two points?
so this one almost fake because it was
despair to conquer a riddled ideology...

your guys landed on the moon at night!
we don't actually know what landing
on the moon during the moon's daylight
hours is like!
we have not yet experienced landing
on the moon during the daytime...

catalogue Dekalog 1 for me...
the genius and his genius child prodigy
that ends up only thinking about skating
on ice
but there were no ice rinks back then
so there was a need to gamble
of scientifically improve on studying
ice density...
but the kid drowned and AI was born...
to no god a tool that is technology
this iconoclasm of complexity:
give me the basic details! son, and show me father!

i got home early then decided to help mother
put out the washing to dry...
if i see this one ******* the northern line
coming from Morden
via Elephant and Castle...
jeans... shy with a baseball cap...
exposing her collar bones...
fury and scent i want! i want! meat-canyon that
youtube cartoon artist...
like i want to see Wimbledon with you
sort of vibe of a girl...

no wonder Alien and Predator arrived
and the fear...
where the trinity of Cluastrophobia
Islamophobia and Arachnophobia merged...
with massive spider of the Quran...
because the Palestainians
in the Arabic world are like... what?
what the Jews were to Europeans...
but also weren't because Jews are Jews
and Palestinians are what in the Great Ummah?
****'a foddler?

           i see a correlation of races...
the Europeans (Russians, mongrels)
and the Orientals combined....
the Eastern Indians and the Aztecs and other Indians...
which leaves Africa... black supremacy?
really? so the Europeans with their ties
to Europe were one product of time
the Africans had no ties with the Arabs?
so now we're all couple... Finns, Eskimos and Penguins...
seriously?!
2 + 2 = 1

  don't understand the logic of passing a numbers
via 2 x 2 = 5...
but then i'm working the dynamic of + and not x
addition: not multiplication...
by addition i imagine a continuity, history....
by multiplication i envision the spontaneity of
phenomenons
like some audacities of biology getting a brain
and thinking something for a while:
then disappearing like an idiocacy: because of
the mechanisations of both evolution
and automation...

i do like going home before all the construction
workers start their shifts...
i'm going home when they're going to work
and i don't even have to meet their scrutiny
as the first arrived morning ***** of adherents
to the day...
mate! we only, supposedly, landed on the moon:
once... and it was during the night!
hence why picture of earth are like pictures
of the moon on earth....
we didn't ******* land on the moon
during the moon's daytime hours!
Bogus ******* compass: hey... "Columbus":
no Copernicus on the ship that Newton ******
a gay sailor on!

the ancients Soviets will have the right to dream
with assurance this observstion...
so you landed on the moon
while we were first into space...
but you have given us so much insignificance terror
for having navigated so: spectacular without
a proper subjective gravity and grammar:
she he she they thou it nothing
you don't even know how to make do
with those pictures...
so much psychadelic poison:
imagine the fluke of a chance
of landing on a day on the moon:
you'd forget going further into Mars...
just revise landing on the Moon during the Moon's
daytime hours
and take pictures... it's science:
you need to compare! compare! stop being Sodomites
start being scientists!