why did i ever go out on a friday night?
drinks with "friends" and hitting the essex
club "scene" -
well - no much of a scene -
there was never the music you'd want to listen
to: come friday or saturday -
even mid-week when all the rock kids
were "hanging out" -
what would be chances of being your own d.j. -
catching something really new...
POIZON - church is poizon -
cool mom - something between a crossbreed
of cage the elephants and nirvana on blew -
3rd view - moi -
but i used to: and i remember that gehenna of
a sobering walk - alone after a night out -
like some furious son of sam -
when youth still had the adrenaline with it
and a sense of anger ******* around with
disillusionment -

those were the friday nights: bon jovi highlights
and long hair and milking a somewhat androgynous
look - sometimes the mascara would come out...
those were the days of having milk skin
and a proper shave -
the long hair and the waistcoast and cravat: semi-,

the lonesome story before i met my beard:
fwyday mordaithceirch -
i actually have a name for it...
i forgot what's already the designated
whittle pecker mr. pritchard of the down down:
below...

oh, oh so what...
rough friday nights in my youth -
on the clubbing "scene" -
and always that moral hangover when it came
to drinking with others -
ever since i started drinking by myself:
i forgot the mirror and that bucket
of warm water beside my bed to put my hand
in before going to sleep...
once or twice the company was worth the drink -
but most of the time you only kept
such company: because you were drinking -
drinking was never an afterthought -

now... i like drinking alone -
at least i can keep fact-checking the company
and the odd vocab peacock taking to the catwalk
of a ruminating free-fall tongue waggle
and rummage - the needle in the haystack
adventure - or... the ******* bucket
of deshelled oysters...

there have been some awful friday nights -
but: seeing how i started to give my beard
a welsh name borrowed from a willem dafoe
novel - and how it simply became pointless
to wake the dead with the angry tantrums
of youth: and how i seem to have
forgotten where my 20s "went" -
somehow rooted in: da-sein and how
i "wasted" 2 years on one book by kant -
2 years on one book by heidegger -
and: how i didn't have the time to "catch-up"
on the greek classics -

oh these island dwelling people -
i try to imagine them not being a seafaring:
and their messiah / superiority complex -
with their breakfast that could hardly
be digested come the hour of noon -
or no messiah / superiority complex -
the traffic: indeed - works like clockword...
from left to right...
sidenote: what of fahrenheit and
the feet and inches - stones and pounds?
ounces?
the metric of: baseline 0 here,
baseline 00 over there...

no... Michele Campanella piano solo take
on wagner's das rheingelt: entry of the gods into
valhalla - it's hardly anemic -
it's... the last leaf of autumn falling -
because the crescendo has already happened...
a befitting closure...

the superior island folk and their...
hyphens and germanic loan words -
how almost all names in chemistry are still
in their germanic: intact form of: no hyphen:
broken leg or broken arm...

woodwinds... perhaps... the violins providing
the humming of birds:
chirp chirp: no chirping -
and of course the horn - but the horns never
as prominent as those drank from...

something has happened today -
but i am... left without having any english
sensibility / egalitarianism -
somehow i always equate egalitarianism with
the english - the islanders -
a firework went off in the background -
mr. sloth awoke mrs. slouch after 3 years
for a firecracker celebration...

because who would want to be ruled
over by unelected: chocolatiers...
esp. after their trial run in the Congo -
but i have certainly had worse friday nights...

it can't exactly get much worse than...
say... listening to the siegfried idyll...
multitasking: drinking a cider, smoking a cigarette,
balancing act of folded leg sat on
perched on a windowsill solving a no. 11,289
sudoku from the 27th jan. 2020...
otherwise prior to:
imagine my disbelief at the pleasure -

with numbers to somehow escape thinking in words:
no grand arithmetic linear gymnastics -
of the end result -
certainly no logical statements -
just a whirlwind of numbers complimenting
these few words...
and what a fine friday night it has become:

the pizza was made - god save me from the perfume
of yeast... or checking on the rising dough
from time to time -
the leftover yeast gave me the opportunity
to bake an imitation sourdough crust pretty-as-a-picture
loaf that: would make any mushroom blush
and shy away from unfolding into an umbrella pose...
or a Y... curling outward-inward into an upsilon Υ...

because how could i forget the pleasure of
sifting through numbers?
by the time i attempted puzzle no. 11,290
i had to write a "map"

           a             b             c
      x   x   x   x   x   x   x   x   x  
1)   x   x   x   x   x   x   x   x   x
      x   x   x   x   x   x   x   x   x
      x   x   x   x   x   x   x   x   x
2)   x   x   x   x   x   x   x   x   x
      x   x   x   x   x   x   x   x   x
      x   x   x   x   x   x   x   x   x
3)   x   x   x   x   x   x   x   x   x
      x   x   x   x   x   x   x   x   x

come to think of it... where's a subscript?
if i'm going to use 1, 2, 3...
to tier the allocation of squares...
tennis and sudoku...
tennis: a game of 7 rectangles -
and how many judges and ball boys / girls?
sudoku - a puzzle of 10 squares - perhaps...
if i'll use tiers 1, 2, 3: a1, b2, c3...
what if... sudoku invoked letters rather than
numbers?

much later... oh believe me...
this is the antithesis of knausgård
writing about using googlemaps...
        
           a             b             c
      x   x   x   x   x   x   x   x   x  
1)   x   x   x   3   x   x   6   x   4
      x   x   x   2   x   4   x   8   9
      x   1   9   x   4   x   x   6   2
2)   x   x   x   7   x   x   x   5   x
      x   x   2   x   x   8   x   4   x
      x   2   x   x   x   x   x   x   x
3)   x   x   6   1   9   5   x   x   3
      x   3   8   4   x   x   x   7   x

it's still a schematic - the narrative is yet
to begin... otherwise...
there's nothing smart about this...
i have tired eyes sometimes:
i succumb and have to allow myself
to no acid-bath these eyes in words...

esp. since i speak so rarely -
imagine... in england and i spear
the bare minimum of english -
i can: i have to: i will - when being prompted -
but i can't remember the last time
i had an honest: informal exchange
of letters... lapped up by the glutton
tongue... i looked and looked
and with my silence i can attest:
there's a speech-impediment -
a stutter that's not born from nervousness...
but... an allusion to a "stoic" through
my lack of conversation...

at least on paper i can exfoliate -
enough cider and enoug whiskey and i'm all
sparrow McDermott!
ugh... the devolved scots and the likewise
welsh... devolved nations...
only this aspect of Brexit is... well...
imagine the "evolved" status of post-Yugoslavia...
Kosovo...
this is the only aspect of an otherwise:
fair enough that's... well...
if you lived for 3 years among the scots...
you'd get to appreciate them...
this is the only aspect of this whole affair
i will ever appreciate...
i would pour blood and **** into
the Welsh continuing their...
preservation of the iaith...
forever and the more - i would love to see
scotland start to dig trenches and
forget trainspotting gaelic -
parading like ponces and humpty dumpteys
with "harkccents"... glasgewian bull-runnings...
cousins aye and wee -

a thing of beauty: a thing of union...
but this... they were bullied in brussels...
they came back and started to bully the scots...
if you have lived -
the betas of cardiff - but they tongue: remains!
look far back and wales would encompass
cornwall -
ignorant i of a 26 year "servitude" on these isles...
quiz me on outside of London:
no point...
perhaps i too would wish for the lost
theta in Dublin - towing: to t'ink...
as any sanskrit H-surd does matter...

           a             b             c
      x   x   x   x   x   x   x   x   x  
1)   x   x   x   3   x   x   6   x   4
      x   x   x   2   x   4   x   8   9
      x   1   9   x   4   x   x   6   2
2)   x   x   x   7   x   x   x   5   x
      x   x   2   x   x   8   x   4   x
      x   2   x   x   x   x   x   x   x
3)   x   x   6   1   9   5   x   x   3
      x   3   8   4   x   x   x   7   x

but if i will replace... the side tiers of numbers...
the numbers in the puzzle will have to become
letters - greek... probably iota, epsilon and upper-case
gamma...

the bullied have returned from the palance
of the chocalatiers and: back to their old ways
of bullying the rest of these island folk...
because: it's infantile for me imagine
a resurrection of the crown (poland)
and the grand duchy of lithuania -
the commonwealth -
but somehow the united kingdom is not
fated to become the next yugoslavia -

i can confirm - up in edinburgh i was
confirmed by having the hat of Knox having
scalped me -
never is always metaphor: vaguely -
as in literally - in these quasi-paragraphs...
so it's not... infantile to even "think" that
the british empire can be revived?
zee window-licker spezials of
cross-breed h'americana postcards sent?
i nibble to attempt a joke...

oh i can bulldozer this whole narrative...
turn into a berserker -
i've saved enough money to deal
with the label loser...
all it will take is me having drunk enough -
sightseeing the slums of london's east end
and then hitting the brothel:
like an iron-head... to the pillow
and the ***** of a *******...

because i have had worse friday nights...
terrible company...
if i were not a michel de montaigne or a knausgård:
me me me, me me, me me me me,
write enough of that and:
to meme to grafitti... or to...
why are there no diacritical markers in
the english language worthy of recognition?
why would i...
rhoi fy **** y Cymraeg enw?
give my beard a welsh name?
and why is that not a cedilla C but a ******* K?
why not... Çumraeg?

on foreign shores i have made it adamant that...
this sense of foreigness does not
peppermint my presence with hopes to:
add to - an integration -
just borrow what the local have made: left-overs...
and work with that...

(insert snigger) - the neu-vikings of
northumberland...

           a             b             c
      x   x   x   x   x   x   x   x   x  
1)   x   x   x   3   x   x   6   x   4
      x   x   x   2   x   4   x   8   9
      x   1   9   x   4   x   x   6   2
2)   x   x   x   7   x   x   x   5   x
      x   x   2   x   x   8   x   4   x
      x   2   x   x   x   x   x   x   x
3)   x   x   6   1   9   5   x   x   3
      x   3   8   4   x   x   x   7   x

this really does have a linear narrative...
here goes...
3(c1), 9(c3), 1(c1), 2(c3), 2(c1), 2(a1), 9(a3), 8(c3),
4(c3), 8(c2), 8(a2), 5(b2), 7(c2), 3(b2), 3(b3), 8(b3),
7(c1), 5(c1), 7(b3), 5(c3), 1(c3), 6(c3), 1(c2), 3(c2),
9(c2), 9(b2), 6(b1), 6(b2), 6(b3), 2(b3), 2(b2), 1(b2),
1(b1), 9(b1), 9(a1), 8(b1), 8(a1), 5(b1), 7(b1), 7(a1)...

and then a "gamble" in the narrative...
the (7a2 and the 5a2 - interchange)....
it's a pleasure - not a chore -
5  9  4
2  8  7
3  6  1
8  1  9
6  4  3
7  5  2 - this line... what if it was 5  7  2?
1  2  5
4  7  6
9  3  8
if i want to solve this puzzle - i will solve it
and not read a tabloid article /
whatever the hell has become of youtube...
my diamond jukebox...

otherwise the "narrative" continued from
7a2 and the 5a2 interchange:
7(3a), 4(a3), 4(a2), 6(a1), 4(a1), 5(a1), 5(a3),
1(a3), 1(a1), 3(a1), 3(a2), 6(a2)... end result?

           a             b             c
      5   9   4   6   8   1   2   3   7  
1)   2   8   7   3   5   9   6   1   4
      3   6   1   2   7   4   5   8   9
      8   1   9   5   4   3   7   6   2
2)   6   4   3   7   1   2   9   5   8
      7   5   2   9   6   8   3   4   1
      1   2   5   8   3   7   4   9   6
3)   4   7   6   1   9   5   8   2   3
      9   3   8   4   2   6   1   7   5

because i can imagine this not being:
the most difficult Finnish sudoku...
i can almost imagine this puzzle
to be in greek...
where: 1ι, 2ζ, 3ε, 4χ, 5Σ, 6δ, 7Γ, 8β, 9ρ...

in the background all i hear is:
corvus corax' la i mbealtaine...
the greek version of the japanese puzzle...

           a             b             c
      Σ   9   χ   6   8   ι   ζ   ε   7  
1)   ζ   8   7   ε   Σ   9   6   ι   χ
      ε   6   ι   ζ   7   χ   Σ   8   9
      8   ι   9   Σ   χ   ε   7   6   ζ
2)   6   χ   ε   7   ι   ζ   9   Σ   8
      7   Σ   ζ   9   6   8   ε   χ   ι
      ι   ζ   Σ   8   ε   7   χ   9   6
3)   χ   7   6   ι   9   Σ   8   ζ   ε
      9   ε   8   χ   ζ   6   ι   7   Σ

half-way... i just wanted to "selfie" what
will become of this... i no longer write: i paint...

            a             b             c
      Σ   9   χ   δ   8   ι   ζ   ε   Γ  
1)   ζ   8   Γ   ε   Σ   9   δ   ι   χ
      ε   δ   ι   ζ   Γ   χ   Σ   8   9
      8   ι   9   Σ   χ   ε   Γ   δ   ζ
2)   δ   χ   ε   Γ   ι   ζ   9   Σ   8
      Γ   Σ   ζ   9   δ   8   ε   χ   ι
      ι   ζ   Σ   8   ε   Γ   χ   9   δ
3)   χ   Γ   δ   ι   9   Σ   8   ζ   ε
      9   ε   8   χ   ζ   δ   ι   Γ   Σ

going... going... gone...

            a             b             c
      Σ   ρ   χ   δ   β   ι   ζ   ε   Γ  
1)   ζ   β   Γ   ε   Σ   ρ   δ   ι   χ
      ε   δ   ι   ζ   Γ   χ   Σ   β   ρ
      β   ι   ρ   Σ   χ   ε   Γ   δ   ζ
2)   δ   χ   ε   Γ   ι   ζ   ρ   Σ   β
      Γ   Σ   ζ   ρ   δ   β   ε   χ   ι
      ι   ζ   Σ   β   ε   Γ   χ   ρ   δ
3)   χ   Γ   δ   ι   ρ   Σ   β   ζ   ε
      ρ   ε   β   χ   ζ   δ   ι   Γ   Σ

i don't mind a people being right...
but the overt-gloating...
without having to work around the sort
of paranoia associated with:
how the russians are not allowed to glutton
themselves on gloating -
because they are always made
to feel suspcious - the russians can't gloat
like most of the anglo- speaking world...
always suspect: russophobia evil genuises...
tip-toeing goliaths - less the blundering
fudge-packers of "global ****"...
and i kissed a boy and i liked it...
my genitals started shrinking
and my *** started to exfoliate with:
welcome all! welcome all hard and on!
and that tongue in my mouth always helps...
but imagine my surprise when
i started to navigate my hands
but the reply came:
timbuktu and mt. kilimanjaro will not be found
attached to this sort of torso...
wrong dog, wrong tree...

some things really do require numbers...
i once had a mathematics teacher in high school
bemoan the origin of modern numbers
and how we once: upon a time used these letters...
but did our arithmetic with visual aids
akin to the abacus... because...
you'd have to "read braille" when counting...
to differentiate the already: lettered numbers
and the letters being letters -
and all arithmetic functions
were "spoken of" but never depicted...
i.e. there was no VII + III = X...
there was no XV - XI = IV...
eh?! arithmetic was cat-intuitive...
not spoken of - done by either the visual
aid of fingers when haggling
in a market place -
or by the abacus aid in a bureucratic office!

i said this was the most perfect friday night...
what did i have to offer?
no clickbait title - some gems of wording
in between?
the patient reader - as ever - most rewarded -

but... oh my god... the sensation of
changing the bed sheets...
it's friday night and you're... changing your bed sheets...
and they are more crisp and clean
than any political event that the journalist leeches
are milking -
and you do it with a saving private ryan precision -
you will sleep in this bed: well into
11am of a today to come...
believe me: that you will...

- in that i am still walking among the germanic people -
if the germans will sing a: bretonisher marsch...
then the two peoples are alligned by
their sentiment for the crow as their godhead:
alles menschen totem...
what could possibly make me feel welcome?
french grammar is polish grammar...
matin de printemps - poranek wiosny -
spring morning in reverse in germanic...
how many more examples would i ever wish
to give?

there was a moment in my life where...
i realised my faults... i should have read
the Pickwick Papers... anything by C. Dickens to be sure...
instead came Stendhal, Voltaire, Balzac...
because if you said to me...
BBC radio 4... the archers...
and... thomas hardy: madding crowd?
you'd accuse me of being ignorant of:
London is a bustling cosmopolitan in-waiting
from the busy-body industrial proto-Beijing
it was of 100 years ago?    
the French had cosmopolitan intellectualism
100 years prior to the english...
100 years later and it's still not much...
is anyone about to cite me william hazlitt?!

the trouble with the english is that they hold dear
to that one old 19th century idea -
this waiting for: awaiting a revival of darwinism...
the "blatantly" obvious needs a resurgence!
because a michael faraday must most surely
be forgotten!
how many times will this already painful reality
need to be emphasised once more:
intellectually - via a darwinism?
no one stresses the copernican "upside-down"...
or what is copernican "west" up in space?
how does acknowledging the sphere
of the earth - ease you reading a flat map -
moving from point A to point B?

earlier this week - for once in my life i was
ashamed of what i wrote -
so i wrote for scribli per se: scribbles for
scribbles themselves -
the darwinian germanic folk who say:
alles von afrika...
how the hebrews debased themselves
in both aushwitz and breaking their bones
on the emoji hieroglyphs -
alles von afrika: ja... so sicher... so wahr!

ask any slavic person among the germanic
peoples...
where from? wir (ar) sind lesen und schreiben
"afrika": i.e. Indu...
if the african challenged the hebrews
with... "the best they had": egyptian emojis...
why would i not stress my birth
with pseudo cedilla Ş / इ... ☦ -
this indo-european is not... at home with
these african-germanoids...
pseudos and quasi -
these chocolate frenzied busy-buddies!

from the caucasian and further still from
that whittle sub-corinthian quote: continent...
somehow, "somehow" this part of this story
is read: south to north... always a grand
marker missing when the people went
east, squinted... learned skeleton existence,
atoms... and the frenzy of letters:
owls and ******* **** flinging beetles
back in the north eastern tip of
africa: in that egyptian haemorrhage of "idea"...

i assure myself... perhaps the form came from
africa... but sure as **** the tongue only arrived
in the lap of the Dalai Lama...
as did the "thinking" and the music
across prior to the Mongol's curiosity
over the tundra of Siberia...
something had to be placed on a loan...
and coming back to the cradle and the crux
had to happen like so...
not this current: ergo: so...
quickened and: what news from Damascus?!

first impressions count...
i made my bed... it's newly washed...
as crisp as falling onto a bed a prawn crackers...
without the crumbs' itch...
like listening to some german:
juggernaut... this will do... i can fall asleep
with this: grab hören zu der winderhall...
mehr flöte - weniger violinekratzen!
schlechtdeutsche? alle deutsche ist gut deutsche...
erwarten etwas isländisch zu sein
gesprochen insel von insel: auf diese inseln?!

to make a crisp bed of freshly washed sheets...
to sleep in them alone...
given the grammar is not that far removed...
are the french even remotely translated
as a germanic "sort of" people?
"they" or "we" share the same grammar...
and there are celtic freedoms that would
never be allowed to exfoliate under
strict anglo-ßaß obligations...

oh sure! great people! steam engine: choo-choo!
newton et al...
shakespeare: when they taught us shakespeare
they should have taught us bernard shaw...
when they forced jane eyre down our throats
we should have been reading
the pickwick papers...
the music will remain german -
because as much as vaughan williams...
holst and händel were "were" english...
esp. latter with his umlaut that spread over
toward i-and-j...

why wouldn't you **** at the pillar of the empire:
a past most assured - dust, books and moths...
like hell will i come to correct my ways
to state the: pish-poor Elgar... this poo'em too...
himmel... sky...
leerenhimmel - empty sky -
nein sonne während der tag:
das englischnebel: bedeckthimmel...
nein mond während der nacht...
nur so...

i of the lesser men of this world duly bow
my presence before the altar of the higher men
of these isles...
and hope and pray that their wisdom
will not bestow upon them any major calamity...
with not irony or ridicule i wish upon
these peoples... the right sort of oars
to turn this rooted island
into the people's imagined langboot...

there are only one british people a people
who will pursue to gloat having been
conquered by the romans...
being raided by the vikings...
integrating the anglo-ßaß...
a second viking coming via the Normans...
the push-over remains of the celts...
that somehow translated itself into
the: empire...
ideal: to compensate...
the islamic fervor for the... resurrected
caliphate...
jokes about the dritte ***** and the vierte *****...
that's pretty much the precursor jokes
surrounding: ein zweite ***** -
auf welche die sonne nimmer setzt -
ever wonder how that translates with the increased
cases of insomnia?!

again: bad german is better than
no german.

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Schau hin

Wenn ich sehe, wie es vielen Menschen geht
so hätte ich gern ein Neubeginn!
Es wird Zeit das ihr euch eingesteht
dass die Kids hier so verloren sind!
Schau Aussichtslos und Hoffnungslos,
denn wir stellen uns alle blind, doch wir stellen uns alle blind

Wenn andere nichts mehr sehen dann schau hin
Denn wir sehen soviel dass nicht richtig ist,/ We see so much that isn’t right
also versperr dich nicht und hör hin
Sie sagen soviel, so vieles ohne Sinn! /They say so much, so much without sense!

Was ich will
Sind Taten und kein Wortgefecht
irgendwie hat jeder Recht
haltet doch was ihr versprecht
Weil viele Menschen so verloren sind
Ausgebrannt und Mittellos!
Denn wir stellen uns alle blind
Alle doch wir stellen uns alle blind

Warum sind wir so blind
Hin Schau hin
Vielleicht wachen sie auf und
schaun hin..
Zwischen das Glück zwischen Ruhm
zwischen all' diesen Dingen
merkst du nicht was wichtig ist?
Auf der Suche nach dem Sinn
ich mach meine Augen jetzt auf und schau hin!

Look

When I see, how may people are
I would like to have a new beginning
It´s that you admit
that the kids get lost here
Desperately and without hope
because we all act as if we are blind
we act as if we are blind

When all the others can´t see anything
look there
because we see many things that are not alright
do not avoid and listen carefully
they say so many things without meaning

What I want
is action and no battle of words
somehow everybody is right
keep your promises
because many people are lost
Desperately and without hope
because we all act as if we are blind
we act as if we are blind

When all the others can´t see anything
look there
because we see many things that are not alright
do not avoid and listen carefully
they say so many things without meaning

Why are we so blind
look there
Maybe they wake up and
have a look...
In between luck and glory
in between all those things
don´t you recognize, what´s really important
While looking for the sense - for the sense
I open my eyes now and look there (watch out)

When all the others can´t see anything
look there
because we see many things that are not alright
do not avoid and listen carefully
they say so many things without meaning

i can't imagine a better maxim for a marriage:

   when both of you are young...
and... instead of being
these "star-crossed lovers" -

with a rubric
                  of the thwart(ing)...

to marry: when both are still in love with life...

                    from a nation-state into
the ***** of a diaspora...

what a fine word...
   the mass-influx of hyping around
the otherwise, fake:

       migrant workers...
like the current argument for
british sovereignty:
we will not have any of the bureaucracy
from Brussels...
but, we, will! have...
those romanian fruit & veg pickers!

it's hardly a joke:
more like a choke...
                    what's the difference between...
leaving one part of the country
for another: part of the same country...
and then... being daring enough...
to leave the country: thoroughly...
and have to learn a new language?

dual-citizenship...
go back? stay here?
hmm... i'm not really fond of speaking
or writing in ******...
the germans dissolved...
the russians too: dissolved...
i'm pretty sure that language can
remain intact... as it is...
under the law & justice party...
once they focus on the breeders
with tax-free incentives...

Chicago! what a fine diaspora hub
for the ****** "expatriates"...
good thing i never made it to
h'america: in stripes...

the friends of my youth...
most of then? crimminals...
        the nicknames we had for each
other:
i remember being taunted as being
an... "angol"... because my father wasn't
their father and wasn't part
of laying down the foundations
of "bones" for the dockland light railway...

i left a nation: still in its infancy...
and to its infancy i will drink!
but as a language: not a people...
not a geographic location...
a metaphysical manifestation:
if the word be a faustian signature...
yes, my lord... i see the pinching
itch of the natives squandering it...
like it should not have been...
a frederick hohenstaufen II experiment
in a nunnery on Sicily...
mute children... raised by nuns who didn't
speak: pretending...
to see... what language was genesis primo!

my allegiance is to the tongue...
it might allude to the fife and drums...
but dealing with the rascal
who deems...
that god save the queen be treated
with irreverence...
i'm not as daft and yobbish to glare
with a hydra giving birth to an extension
of its neck-load girth...

give me! the british grenadiers' fife & drum...
and i'll show you le marseillaise!
i have long ago pledge my allegience
to the tongue...
              
because? well... to be honest...
under all the supression from the...
(a) herr meisterstuck:
         the day:
        
        the prussians... "forgot"...
they were jumbled up with the lithuanians
as the last pagans of europe...
and then they decided: whatever it
was that they decided upon...

i hear some russian... i hear a down syndrome
person talk...
it's all lovely and sing-along...
but it's hardly by strict obligation
to the latin script... is it?
i have to nibble at pitty-worth jokes
to aid my...

diaspora: involuntary mass dispersion
of a population from its indigenous territories...
last time i checked...
i was born into a city famously known
for its practice in metallurgy...
i was the never-to-be grandson
of Die Krupp ambitions!
    i would leave my hometown and...
well... there was Warsaw...
or the... brain-drain train "elsewhere"...
from a nation into the grand...
vacuum of the diaspora...

except in england...
       the no. 303... most of which settled
in either Scotland or... Stratford-upon-Avon...
elsewhere... some other... "elsewhere"...

well...
   given that i have had had a choice...
ha ha! comma? sir?! that that?
      given that i have had - had a choice...
well... imagine... perhaps there's something
about Fwench... but i'm chosing sides...
it's not in Norwegian...
so... b'leh b'leh b'leh... b'leh...
                      
               i just have to borrow some german...
speaking this... hybrid saxon having
buggered enough afghanistan-esque brit druids...
the zeppelins were always dropping...
soap-bubbles...
          i tease oh god...
i tease... but this music is so... so...
oh so delight-ful!

                   die könig im gelb!

ah... to marry: when both are in love with life!
terrible affair: should... "life" somehow
matter: to disappear...
this love a suffocation for the best ****
they had in... ever...
and there's nothing of what life is concerned
with...
either children or... being infertile...
but to be in love with life...

the russians can't proclaim a diaspora...
then again: the "mafia"...
i've heard of an italian mob-esque...
      disposition... subsequent undercurrents
to boot...
an... irish mafia?
bothersome details...
         i still pledge my alliance to a Dickens
over a a Shakespeare...
because...
by chance... i might find some poetry
in the prosaic? by Shakespeare alone:
i'm... "expected".... aren't i?

bad news from York-and-the-shire...
Rotherham... and the... prefix ****-
   and the suffix -stani "debate"...
                   do you even know
how... let's not go there...
to term a bogus inconvenience of...

'what the hell is concerning you...
to fathom from cloud-9 a ****** notion of...
being out-bred?!'

an economic war... is a slow war...
it takes time...
it would take the amount of time...
to turn a once proud town focused on
metallurgy into rubble...
some stayed... some moved to warsaw...
some... played: a joker hand de facto...

i am: this... subtle... p.s. curiosity...
had i only come to breed...
rather than to otherwise...
nuance... allegiance...
zu die zunge?! alles!
             die menschen?
                     jeder seine haben!
             die schwach wind und der flagge?!
ist: die schwach wind: und der flagge: nein?

perhaps there's a stressor
of impetus in german that's not allowed
in english...

     ich bin hier für die sprache...
              
it must be translated... such it being:
oh such a wonderful... phrase...

   to marry... when both... are in love... with life...

zu heiraten... wenn beide...
                           sind im liebe... mit leben!

art-*******-and-funky-funky...
parsley-sage-rosemary-thym­e...
        what? thyme? there's a phi or a theta
to posit... instead...
you took the Dubliners' route of: paddy...
tad... and toink!
                'ucking scoundrels!

i will call... the greek-chinese ideogram...
I(ota) the key... and... "thereabouts"...
a keyhole of O(micron)...
it's an id: representation...

                 squashed: yes: 0... for better...
"graphics"...
    
to be young... and to share a half of both:
of being in love with life...

       Φ = the key enters the keyhole (I, O)...
    Θ = the key is turned... (Io)...
         Ψ = the door is opened...

        enough... Beijing "abstract" concerns...
for anyone?
       what's the abstract of rotation?
                                   oh... i guess: 'micron!

so much for abstracts as: only from boing-boing-xin...
some letter can qualify to be
apprehended in ideograms...
B - bossom or a fudge-yeast-byproduct
of a full ***...
              etc. or... Φ, Θ, Ψ...
       now by adding the brackets...
and time has a geography...
from the height of mythology...
to the depths of journalism...
that's... a vector:  (Φ, Θ, Ψ)...

     it's a key... a door... a keyhole...
                            an opening... n'est ce pas?!
hey! let's complicate it further
with: mr. squint... chop-sticks...
dragons... live vermin sushi...
    and counting dry grains of rice...

i'm not: Česlav Miloš...
to begin with... Czesław Miłosz was...
a Lithuanian...
because Copernicus wasn't ******...
"because and because"...
                     sides... all this talk of:
"allegiance"...
**** it... it's a cosmopolitan allegiance
to... the commonality of tongue...
shared to the point...
when... old fictions wrestle with me
and i'm confined to my own cubic...

for english is a language i can
entertain...
allow... yes... this parasite can erode
its host's cranium und...
                                  grauangelegenheit...
it was never... so imposing...
as a german tongue or a russian tongue...
therefore and thereby?
      an easily qualified tongue-donor
with the expanse of thought:
a complete and utter brain-drain on...

now...
there's a difference...
the english will not know it...

there's the nation... and there's the diaspora...
can the english... claim h'america...
or canada... or... australia...
as a nation-extension toward the confines
of a diaspora?
no... i don't think so...

that: quintessential inconvenience of
being merely: english...
   more prone to a local geography...
a devonshire... a derbyshire...
               someone of york...
  lost in new york...
                    a people with...
an imploded seance of diaspora...
    from the humble little island...
to: whatever fraction that was supposed
to make one impose on...

had i just been Irish... and "somehow"
forgotten my Gaelic...
or been that Welshman and no longer
with any Cymru...
well then...
but i come willing because...
      beside the mother and father...
the maternal grandmother and -father...
who will i speak my "native" and "mother"
tunge / zunge to?
          
i rather imagine marriage:
as when both of them are in love with life...
and in love that being said:
a little tale o' whittle england:
make it big in h'america...
        
         this... the most complete...
antithesis of a diaspora...
                    or rather: what lingua franca
was... and what l'inglese is...
and how: even if arabic tried...
and even if: mandarin would hope for...
well... hardly...
jackie chan kung fu and muhammad:
english is more popular than islam...
**** it up: camel jockey!
oh sure... they're "muslim"...
conflicting opinions... once:
speaking in english "arrives"...

                   i'm here: to turn up the volume...
because... i might as well have been
born in estonia... and speaking... estonian...
and never having left estonia...
been very much happy for the euro
and the... thumbling russians... somehow...
"retreating"...
well... if the russians are retreating...
they're: trying to revise being
an indo-european mongrel with...
accents of scandinavia concerning
the founding fathers of Kiev...
and them being russians:
what the hell do we do with the ukranians...
and the mongols that settled and became
tartars?!

yeah... the russians are on the retreat...
    this little island that... hopes for a diaspora...
instead... shuckles...
it has to settle for a h'american empire...
an australia... a new zealand...
ogh! mein! gott! no expatriate diaspora!
no tea with mussolini typo excursions!
mein gott! v'er vill youz goez?!

         zee f'ikkin moonz?! on a sputnik flarez?!
light up baboon *** numero uno:
then whisper among the fwench...

yes... very much brilliant...
         to be alive... and to marry so young...
and be helped: so young...
and not be thwarted...
   'coz crazy bunnies had the best ***...
great: to be alive, so young,
and married: and married to each other
and at the same time: having life marry you
to love it: to be together and married
to a love for life:
and... just... somehow...
having a co-dependent... of reciprocated
self-interests...

                            even in poland...
a soviety satellite...
with concrete chicken-shacks... ah yes:
that... "once upon a time"...
better the ******* state as my landlord
than some grubby liquorice ****** 3rd party:
libertarian "full dislocusre of mammon's
expression of par-tay"... sort of *******!
give me the state, the grey-suit and the gimps!

or? shackle me up for a stipend
working the sloughterhouse...
to boot... a house filled with 20 dobermans...
and 5 rottweilers...
i'll slaughter your cows... for the steak chops...
as long as i have the dogs to cuddle
and imagine myself doing the greater:
cosmic-karma-good...
the dogs... the harem of dogs...
no... women need excuses...
the dogs!

                 hell... a woman would require...
anniverseries... flowers... pinnace for a tsunami...
crumbs... what's a loaf of bread?
details... something to be minded as:
once being a plughole...
blah blah... hands for cushions...
        
              plus... women can't drink...
let her everything else: apart from the whiskey...
if she really wants to drink...
tell her to sober up on some Stendhal or
some Balzac... but don't let a woman
try to outcompete a man drinking...
she can drink...
but not... in that most... ugly: crab-feast
of... "detail"...

the english man... england...
h'america, australia... new zealand...
oh... wait... you were hoping for a diaspora...
weren't you?
yeah... clearly i didn't find an affair of
the imitation of greece...
took charge of the latin script...
inverted the mediterranean sea...

i speak your language: doesn't imply
i've shed the "ethno-nationalist" tattoos of "d.n.a."...
for a people to have made it bitter...
with the teutonic order over access to the baltic sea...
what's the baltic sea?
it's like the black sea...
the baltic sea is about as useful as...
well... the danes and the norwegians
held the toll and price of passing...
just like the turks or the byzantines held
the key of the bosphorus...
the baltic... is a "sea"...
just like the black sea is a "sea"...

did you know... there's a caspian sea?
yeah... it's a "sea"... more like... a lake would
be so much better...

the english could be akin to the arabs
from 200 years ago...
instead: sitting on a tonne of salt...
and waves...
and open horizons...
while the arabs sat on camel ****...
sand... and dinosaur juice...
and materialistic leprosy and limp-****
viagara palm tree impromptu...

sure... the lottery ticket of the past,
oh the most glorious past times...
        nothing lasts forever...
       so it seems...
            here's me celebrating Dickens
to the last... breath... because...
keeping up with speaking my native
language: when there are no
prussians, no russians...
           no austro-hungarians...
and there are only...
ukranians and lithuanians readying
to guilt-trip me over the failures
of the polish-lithuanian commonwealth?!

in this language i can...
ale... nie... w... tym!

wieso es nicht gelang
wieso es gelang

als sie mich suchten zum liebemachen
als sie mich fanden zum liebemachen

wer von ihnen sang
wer von ihnen sang

sie kamen in scharen
mit freunden verwandten
all jene damen
all jene herren

ich weiß nicht wann
ich weiß nicht wo

doch ich weiß wie
ich weiß es wie

mir ist bewusst:
dichter und autoren werden
keine liebe füreinander hegen

(poet's note: my opinion on
the last three verses above has
fundamentally changed since i been
publishing here.)

liebe mich freund
liebe mich freundin

gib mir
schenk mir
suche mich
finde mich

ich habe mich auf der suche nämlich
versucht

kennst du, bruder, den weg?
den zugfahrplan?
die bedeutung der stahlstreben?

ich brauche eine antwort von
den damen
den herren

finde mich
suche mich
verschenke mich
vergib mir denn

ich schrieb über zivilisationen
von witterung und gier

witterung und gier
freunde sind zwischen dem glitzern
auf dem fluss versteckt wie perlen

sie aufzuspüren zwischen dem wittern
zwischen dem wittern
während des witterns

ich weiß nicht ob du weißt wovon
ich rede
ich rede

aber das ist in ordnung freund
aber das ist ok freundin

wir müssen bloß bruder
wir müssen bloß schwester
fragen

sie sitzen am gleis bei den zügen
sie sind immer da
wie der

“ICH-BIN-DA” aus der kinderbibel
meines sohnes

verstehst du das?
begreifst du das?
fühlst du mich?

viele afro-amerikaner fragen
“you feel me?” wenn sie
etwas ausdrücken und teilen wollen

ich liebe
diesen ausdruck
er zeugt von
etwas gutem, das manchen
menschen fehlt

auf der brust trage ich das tattoo
welches du abschriebst
in einer stunde aus

schatten
witterung
gier
ich wollte das
ich wollte dass

du zu mir kamst
zwischen den schatten
unter der gier
über der witterung

in einem augenblick des
“you feel me”

wie unsere häute glänzten
wie unsere augen glitzerten
wie unsere hände zitterten

wie wir…

ach komm!
was sage ich dir, freund
was sage ich dir, freundin

du weißt es doch dir
ist es bewusst denn du schriebst
mein tattoo ab in

ein buch mit perlweißen seiten
ein buch mit onyxschwarzen seiten

du bist perlweiß freund
du bist onyxschwarz freundin

du bist perlweiß freundin
du bist onyxschwarz freund

ich liebe habeshas
ich liebe äthiopien
ich liebe meine frau
ich liebe meinen sohn
ich liebe meine tochter

you feel me?

sehnsucht nach einer person*, würden menschen es in
worte fassen, dessen gebrauch sie gar nicht kennen.
oh nein, ich habe keine sehnsucht nach einer person –
ich habe heimweh. ich habe mich bei ihm – und
zwar egal wo: im bus, oder auch in einen dunkeln
raum, der gähnend leer ist, außer zwei personen
und eine handvoll worte, denen ich mich nicht
entziehen kann – mehr geborgen gefühlt, als
in meinen eigenen heim.

denn zu hause ist kein ort, sondern ein gefühl.

i don't really know why the dub-step genre died so early
on, i mean: there were some truly authentic,
atmospheric artists residing in London,
Burial from south London for starters,
Benga - but **** on me, nothing ever came close to
DISTANCE, songs like: night vision, my demons...
the double album Repercussions -
     but the genre died a premature death... i guess all
that ******* regarding "the drop" before all hell broke
loose...

i must say, you tell me to move a tonne of brick:
i'll gladly do it, hell, it means that i don't have to do
100 push ups...
of course i'd rather ******* and do some cycling,
it's a passion, i never cycle for vanity,
i cycle for the thrill of traffic, i love to loiter behind
large vehicles moving to the right of them
so i don't find myself lost in the blind-spot...
right in the middle of the road...
large vehicles, esp. at roundabouts...
   momentum buffers...
always: the nearer i am to death the more of life
i draw... and perhaps it has always been like this:
while men feed off adrenaline,
women feed off anxiety...
how many times did i grunt beneath my breath
when approaching a roundabout and there'd be
a nervy driven afraid to join the traffic:
move *******! move! go!

- you will sooner find my dead than at a gym...
i'm still thinking about going swimming...
then again... the Thames at Cold-Harbour looks
very enticing... the Thames... a river that doesn't flow...
just sits there, like some weird *** elongated lake...
perhaps even a Loch... must be the tide in tide out...
yet... i always wondered...
what the hell happens when the river enters
the sea... is that some sort of inter-aqua osmosis
buffering dynamic or something?

gym bruh vanity projects my ***...
yeah, had this one "friend" who decided to loose some weight...
went to the gym... lifting weights?
when you want to lose weight?
bad idea... a very bad idea...
why? excess skin leftovers... you want to lose
weight: ******* for a swim or get on yer *******
bicycle... do the cardiovascular...
it's all relative: you're engaging your entire body
rather than parts of your body...
gym ******* comes after... for toning...
it's like art... first you paint the canvas:
the cardiovascular stuff... then if you're going
to have a couple having a picnic on the canvas:
that's when you go to the gym... or like me...
you do push ups... move bricks around or...
whatever...

if you're fat and hit the gym? expect to later have
problem with excess skin, like some ****** tattoo
of an ex-girlfriend's name on your buttocks...
and... time, patience... time, patience...
cycling or swimming... nothing else beats it...
- ha, the current climate of cycling while standing still...
Mr. Big's death on his peloton: peddle! peddle!
but don't go anywhere! ha ha...
i'd rather watch paint dry or buy myself a hamster
and a hamster-wheel in all fairness...

alpha-male ****-boys...
                                    hey, i'm not going to brag:
get it while it's cheap, but to hell with dating...
i dated once, but i was already ******* her...
went for oysters... and scallops... she was so desperate in
her hypergamy to stand above her fellow peers /
student flat cohabitants that she ***** herself into
my flat... bypass all the *******... there's only one thing
i feel like eating most of the time...
a fat juicy ****...

- but there really an art concerning the ironing of shirts...
i don't know why i didn't realise this prior...
it almost feels counter intuitive but i managed to get more
done than expected...
rubric:
1. collar
2. the yoke of the shirt
3. the sleeves
4. the cuffs
5. the lower front
6. the upper front
7. the entire body back

   i hate ironing shirts... but finding out this hierarchy
of what's to be done first... it has become
almost as pleasurable as shining my shoes...
arbeit macht frei: *******...
weird, isn't it, how that motto has changed in recent
times under my supervision...

- i only noticed... wait, what was i writing about?
well it's easy to get 100K+ views on a video,
people can ingest a video passively...
   i'm looking at 42K+ for one poem, given that i am
an alcoholic but also a workaholic:
maybe that's why i don't dream...
i just sleep... i fall asleep and "dream" of
a great amass of nothing, i wake up:
oh, look... a bunch of sparrows...
a pair of robins... perhaps it's different on the content
but if you've lived long enough in England...
it's eerie... watching crows fly past in pairs...
Huginn & Muninn... plus... it's not like you
get to see crows courting each other like pigeons
might... watch some ******* is a bit like
watching some pigeons try to get it on...
99% of the time the male fails...
do crows mate in the night, away from prying eyes?
they must do, they're very priestly in their daily affairs...
they not exactly prostituting themselves for
the eyes of man to peer at...
but i can understand videos getting so much views...
i watch videos passively,
i'm usually drinking or smoking
perched on a windowsill with my cat i've started
to nickname Rousseau... he has more nicknames than
is necessary... oh, sure... if i'm about to leave the house
and he's in the garden: QUORUS! the 10kg maine ****
starts dribbling his shadow home...
he sniffs my head... we head-****...
eh... i suppose having a child might have been
a fulfilling escape route: a completion...
but then again i had no siblings:
i was raised alongside an Alsatian and a Dobbermann...
i sometimes talk to my shadow:
what's happening in the underworld?
mein kleine: kleine betreffen...

           speaking English wasn't going to be enough:
it still isn't... i use it casually... i use it proficiently...
but i'm not satisfied with using it...
i need some etymological rooting... i need to go elsewhere...
English culminated itself into existence
from a range of sources... German, French... the Norse
Brigade... i'll go down the Germanic rabbit hole...
why wouldn't i have a fetish for some Deutsche?
oh ******* with the Russian... Cyrillic was always the ugly
sort of Greek... the alphabet looks cheap...
if the Russians are going to use the Latin A...
but invent some ****** version of D... to counter delta...
no... of course i can read it: but i don't want to...
yet...
         even at work, some coworkers tell me of the time they
spent in the USA... why isn't it called the FSA?
the federal states of america?
it's not like California has the same laws as Texas...
united, by... what? flag alone? support for the Olympic team?
i'm going to start calling it the FSA...
even though: it would clearly make the Bruce Springsteen
song sound less pop... born... in the eF! eS! A!

- am i somehow emotionally stunted for not having
children?
i've come across the people will children...
the plums of their eye... whatever the metaphor is...
very trust-worthy... when you bring children into
the world you showcasing a level of trust goes up...
it's almost an unacknowledged bias...
then again: this is England...
you have two factors to consider...
the over elevated concern for common knowledge /
common sense...
but there is that undercurrent... of common courtesy...
two-faced *******: but polite regardless...
i like the Thespian overtones in English society...
at least there's that fake middle-ground anyone
can grasp...

cats are not children... but if you can get a cat to
greet you with a head-****...
you're onto something...
           i don't think i could **** up a cat...
but i could most certainly create a Frankenstein's monster
from a child... that would be disappointing...
i sometimes across children: most of the time they
look mesmerised: by my posturing...
sure... the next generation is coming...
but i wouldn't want to put my gene-extension through
the washing-machine whirlpool of leftoid *******:
to begin with... trans-gender issue blah blah...
i'll go as far as to say... born on the Eve of Chernobyl...
my offspring might grow a third arm or something...
i know that i was born is a mark of Cain on my right
shoulder at the back...
some tissue was removed... intelligent body...
now i have excess muscle growth on collar blade arch...

to be a father, would seem like fun: it's all fun...
until you arrive at the point where the child realised
they have full: individual autonomy...
the happy to go to parents... i want to see them
as tired old people in about... oh... i'd say 10 years...
i'm patient....
not that i'm writing this nefariously...
but reality usually bites back...
what's reality going to bite me back with?
i can't go mad twice... you usually go mad once...
lucky for me that it happened in my youth, when i was 21...
now i can just sit back... watch a little:
ignore most of it...
i'm not even going to mind stating a: 'i told you so...':
shh... it's a big surprise... i don't want people missing
the great surprise...

on the market? women with three children
from three different fathers...
right... and me going to a brothel is a b'ah... bad "thing"?
even among my coworkers i tend to stick around
the women... football hooligans and their ideas
that just by being women: they can calm a crowd of rowdy
teenagers down with the words:
i'm your mother, your sister, your grandma all in one...
because i'm a steward... listen... love...
just let someone who's 6ft2 and 100kg in mass come in
and you... ******* somewhere... watch the moon
or something...

i couldn't be a surgeon if i didn't have a steady hand...
but when **** hits the fan... i already brought it up...
we're not here for an easy, wage...
we're ultimately here to prevent another Hillsborough tragrdy,
no?
that message didn't even recoil with a positive affirmation...
i stand around these female coworkers and they
might want me to feel intimidated...
someone, very much elsewhere might be reading me...
i might add... you know i felt less intimidated walking
into a brothel and waiting to choose among
7 different prostitutes who i was going
to bang for an hour? so what's this?
a ******* raspberry doughnut and a hot coffee scenario?!

am i bragging? i don't know... i tend to attract a lot
of ****** males and females just feel "hugged" around me...
i'm still thinking about Gemma...
yeah, i know that i mentioned that she was
on the defensive: she was on the defensive...
but then my parents are going on holiday for two weeks
and i'll have the whole house to myself...
last time that happened i brought back a Thai surprise
that i picked up from a park bench...
i played her some jazz on vinyl and ended up
******* her in the garden...
she gave me some memorandum items... rings... what not...
she disappeared into her size when i
put on one of my jackets on her...
******* Thai surprise became a Thai ******,
hobbit no less... walked her home... blah blah...

i need to bang Gemma... if i don't bang Gemma in
the next few months i'm done for... she's a 39 year old
single mother with an ex that brought her into 8K+ into debt...
she had a kid with him, the kid doesn't want to know his
father... i want to **** her as much as i want to teach the kid
to play the guitar... appreciate Ezra Pound...

of course i'm a loser by all modern, cosmopolitan standards
of dating... i live with my parents...
not exactly an Ed Gein scenario...
but... i do the gardening, i do the housechores,
i do the cooking, i even iron shirts... i hate ironing shirts...
but as i already mentioned...
i found an extra left hand in how to best get it over and done with...

i pay rent, i pay for food... otherwise, who would i live with?
flat share with some fellow milenials?
someone needs to inform the 60+ crowd about being
hip throughout... obviously they're not going
to listen to the music i listen to...
no: MATTA: chaos reigns... but... hey...

i love the idea of not telling my backstory...
i already know so many...
no one has yet managed to cough up the courage
to ask me anything personal at work...
would i tell them?
yeah...                once you've been in the presence
of 7 prostitutes all lined up showing off...
what's 3 female coworkers to you?!
a Victoria sponge cake, by my estimates...
something tame, something that would gladly welcome
being caged...

i like to wander the streets at night, sometimes
i come across a fox, sometimes a harem of deer without
a stag... sometimes i wander into a forest and start hitting
a tree with a branch imploring:
let me in! let me in!

chaos, regiert! die nacht regeln!

once more! einmal mehr!
English is not enough, tourists speak English...
Wankees speak this filth of a zunge!
follow the flow of history,
from the word up! anfangen!
hier! uns! jetzt! schnell!

                    vieh für ein art auf ein menschen...
das beste gehalten im linie...
  schäfer-von-menschen...
         alt.: hirte-auf-männer...
              
English has become... undermined... calmly said:
"plagiarised": that's somewhat elevated...
useless when it comes to its own affairs...
a lingua of / for visitors...
beside the accents... what is there for the origins: folk?
if Heidegger thought he was lucly writing at the time
of the National Socialist Insurgence...
where, the ****, am i?

   perhaps i speak a barbarian tongue from my...
mother's side, and my father to tow...
purity... what's that word in Deutsche?
   REINHEIT!
EINIG! GEHEN! SCHNELL!

******* linguistic  "mongol" mongrels!
ich reflekiert.... for a while..
the ungleichheit: the disparity...i almost joked...
i scribbled something in my notepad... seeing a commercial...
you know how English is spoken
is very much different to how English is written...
French: Fwench is even worse...
well then..
this one adcert stoood out...
it wasn't exactly special...
  
Licorice Pizza... that's what it red: read: reed..
right... so... first hurdle:
not thirst hurdle(s)...
ZZ? stop... you don't have the capacity to speak this...
just say **** over and over again:
Hugo Boss attired them blah blah...

liquid rice...  blacks for vinyl...
lick-or-ish...
     lick-a-Rysh?!
or an EE combat vest?!
you write one way, but speak another...
standard ******* from either the French
or the English... no phonetic clarity...
i'd better be suited learning some:
Hungarian, if i were to be terrible honest...
but now... i'm here.... this is now...
i'm enjoying the whiskey... *******... hello tomorrow.

The world is lonely while they cry for help and
                    they reach their hands up.
In words, in books, in paintings,
                    they portray their loneliness hidden or blatant.
But even that isn't enough to highlight
                    the lowlights of our lives
It's in our blood, it's in our veins, our bones,
                    it's in the cigarettes that we smoke.
Which fills the air and wails out loud,
                    screaming a symphony of isolation.
It's hidden in the corners of the cities,
                     hidden in the tall green grass of the countryside
It's everywhere you look, in famous words,
                     in ancient books.
It fills your mind, it takes you hold, it's in the tiniest key hole,
                     but enough.
It's enough to spark a burning fire, to long for another's touch,
                     to feel desire
From another human being,
                     to share in what is the only thing worth keeping
Human company. We long, we dream, we scream for it,
                     and we hope it favors us too.
It's overwhelming, it makes me, it makes me long
                     like so many others
We are not alone in our loneliness
                     and what a queer thought that is

*“Wir können uns einreden, dass wir mit einem Buch nicht allein sind, wie wir uns einreden können, dass wir mit einem Menschen nicht allein sind.”

Ich ging durch den beschmutzten bevölkerten Korridor mit den Reben, die drinnen und draußen wuchsen, entlang und ich sah in jeder Tür mein Spiegelbild, während ich vorüberging. Ich wohnte genau zum Zimmer – nicht einhundertfünfzig Zentimeter weg; die Entfernung war fast nicht größer, als ich war, und nicht alter. Ich erläuterte meine Angst vor dem Dunkel mit einem Frösteln. Meine Zähne klapperten und klingelnden Münzen, die in meiner Tasche blieben, schrien in meinem Ohr gewohnte Lieder.
Eine Tür öffnete und einen Moment lang hörten wir das Weltall. Wir allesamt waren in dem Korridor. Ein krystallener Stab wie einer, den Leute in der Versuchsansalt oder in der Kneipe benützten, zerbrach. Der Stabinhalt floß in die Hand des Mannes, der sein Zimmer verließ, eine silberne Flüssigkeit. Das Echo des Wortes „Quecksilber“ klang in dem Korridor.
Jedes Zimmer ist gleichbedeutend wie das Letztere, aber es ist auch unterschiedlich. Jedes beinhaltet grenzenlos Fähigkeiten, und unterschiedliche Chemikalien, unterschiedliche Chemie, und unterschiedliche Emotionen.
Ängstlich öffnete ich meine Tür und trat in einen millionsten Anteil von mir selber und ich war ich selber. Symphonien flossen von meinem Kopf weiter, und von den Symphonien kamen fliegende Fische.
Es war nicht wichtig, dass andere Menschen ähnliche Zimmer wie mein Zimmer hatten; es war nur wichtig, dass ihre Zimmer verschieden waren. Ihre Zimmer waren Käfige, genau wie ihre Herzen und auch ihre Hände. Der Mann im Korridor, der hirschartige Augen hatte, blies das flüssige Metall, das seine Hand fasste weg. Die Flüssigkeit wurde Staub und glitt zu mir wie Backpulver oder Schnee im Schneesturm. Ich konnte alles hören und ich musste mich von dem Weiß, das der Staub brachte, trennen. Ich hasste den öden Morgen, den das hervorbrachte.
Ich wollte meine Tür öffnen und wollte den silbernweißen Straub vorzeigen, dass ich auch Sachen in der Luft erschaffen konnte. Ich wollte, aber ich konnte nicht. Ich konnte Sachen in der Luft meines Zimmers erschaffen, aber nicht im Korridor. Man braucht Ressourcen, um etwas zu ändern oder zu formen. Ich besaß Keine.
Die Welt schüchterte die Leute ein, die Verstand hatten.

Ja, er hat dich gekuesst-- aber ich auch
wenn er nicht da waere-- wer sonst?
Ich bin ohne dich geflogen, und wohin?
Keine Frage der Zeit, Schlampe
ich bin's

Ich bin's der bei dir sonst waere-- ich bin's, bist du wirklich so bloed?
Wieso fragst du >>WER?<<
Du bist ne Schlampe, und das erkenn' ich schon
aber das macht mir nichts, ich bin alleine geflogen

Und all die Menschen die ueber mich sassen
haben es gewusst und wollten mich kaum antasten
Sie sind ohnehin weiter-- immer weiter-- gegangen
und, ohne dich, Schlampe, bin ich heruntergefangen

Mit den Hunden und Paeckchen diese Leute staendig nach- duersten und mitbring'
Lag ich
Bin ich auch zu ueberfluessig um oben drinzusitzen?
Schlampe, willst du dass ich wein', so ohne Wasser
im Dunkel, in Einsamkeit, im Gefaengniss der Lust?

Am Kartenkasse drueckte ich 'eins-Plus!'

Vergiss dich, Schlampe-- ich hab' fuer dich kein Benutz
Du bist nicht wer ist, das bin ich
Tschuess.
---------------------------------------
Yes, he has kissed you-- but I too
if he weren't there-- who else?
I have flown without you, and where to?
No question of time, *****
I am the one

I am the one that would be by you otherwise-- I am the one, are you really so stupid?
Why do you ask "WHO?"
You are a *****, and I recognize that already
But that doesn't make a difference to me, I have flown by myself

And all the humans that sat over me
have known it and hardly wanted to touch me
they have regardless further-- always further-- gone
and, without you, *****, am I caught under here

With the dogs and little packages these people constantly thirst after and bring with
I lay
Am I indeed too superfluous to sit inside, above?
*****, do you want for me to cry, this way without water
in the dark, in isolation, in the prison of passion?

At the ticket counter I pressed "one-Plus!"

Forget you, *****-- for you have I no use
You are not he who is, that is I.
Goodbye.

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Wir finden und verlieren uns im Moment,
Im letzten Atemzug den wir uns gemeinsam teilen
Um uns herum fängt es an zu regnen,
Es scheint, als ob die Welt wüsste wie
es in unserem Inneren aussieht.

Der kurze Augenblick zwischen Sonne und Regen,
Der kurze Moment zwischen Freude und Traurigkeit.
Es kommt und geht, das Glück zwischen zwei Menschen

Was für ein trauriger Moment, du sagtest mir wir sollen uns nichtmehr sehen
Dein letztes Bild verblasst im Tageslicht,
Zeit heilt was sie kann, doch nichts ist für immer
Und man sagt , es wird schon wieder,
Doch nichts wird wie es einst war

Die Einsamkeit von gestern nimmt mich wieder in den Arm,
Fühlt sich an wie jeder Tag,
In Gedanken bei dir, irgendwo anders
An einem Ort wo es egal ist, verloren zu sein

Es wird immer vergehen, und nie so bleiben
kommt mir vor wie damals,
Damals auf dem Balkon also du die Sterne gezählt hast

It was a shiny day.
In contrast, I was shattered.
What news.
Directly broke my heart.
Tears could not stop flowing until now.

I may love to shop.
But I am not buying *******.
Dear Paul William Walker IV.
You will be so much missed.
Race in paradise, Paul, Brian.

Ich weiss nicht warum.
Aber die guten Menschen leider oft zu früh gehen.
Ruhe in Frieden.

Ich blicke auf die Dächer der Stadt
In deine strahlenden, funkelnden Augen gleich neben mir
Außer Dir und Mir ist niemand hier
Nur die untergehende Sonne, die aufgeregten kreisenden Vögel,  und zwei fremde Menschen
Wir

Ich verliere mich in deinen Blicken
wie auf einer kunterbunten Farbpalette
Du grinst und alles leuchtet plötzlich in strahlenden, bunten Farben auf
wir lachen gemeinsam
und wenden unsere Blicke in den Himmel hinauf

Stundenlang könntest du mir alles erdenkliche erzählen und anvertrauen
mal über das Reisen
mal über das Leben
oder übers Sandburgen bauen

Ich wünschte meine Teetasse bliebe für immer voll
der Himmel zu jeder Zeit im Farbton rot-orange
-so unglaublich toll-

die Vögel immer aufgewühlt über unseren Köpfen, hoch am Himmelszelt
Wir beide in diesem schönen Moment
In unserer eigenen,
kleinen,
wirklichen Welt

Was soll denn das nun, klagt unsere Welt,
mir wird so warm und immer wärmer,
ich schwitze schon und krieg gleich Fieber.
Ist das ein Virus, der mich befällt?

Das sind die Menschen, ach du Schande.
Sind die denn noch ganz gescheit?
Greifen ihren eigenen Wirt an,
wohl zum Denken nicht recht im Stande.

Die Menschheit ist schon eine Plage,
sie hat sich viel zu schnell vermehrt.
Ihr wird es an den Kragen gehen,
dauert ja nur noch ein paar Tage...

Ich frier mich ein und befreie mich
von dem ganzen Schmutz und Schund
und fange dann von vorne an,
auf Menschen doch verzichte ich.

Pseudogedichte
Mag ich
Immer wieder
Schreib' ich
Nehm mich selbst nicht ernst
Versteck' ich meine Wahrheit
Verstecke meinen Schmerz.

Will Menschen zum Lachen bringen,
Will Freude in sie auswringen,
Die letzte, die ich habe
Nur heute noch,
Einer der letzten Tage.

So *******es.
In mir weint es.
Es schreit -
Die Angst vorm Tod.

Wie fühlten sich die Verurteilten?
Diejenigen, die wussten,
Bald werden sie tot?

Hätten sie noch körperliche Schmerzen zu beklagen?
Hatten sie noch Schwere auf dem Herzen?
Ich frage mich das
Wahrscheinlich umsonst.

i put the index and ******* of my right
hand... the tips... in a V (5) shape...
and i see a third eye...

then i count the number of holes in my body...
two nostrils...
one mouth... 3...
two eyes... 5...
two ears 7...
                    one ***... ha ha... one *******
/ **** duct...       grand total? 9...
what does it in "mean"? P...

i've returned to the land of jokers...
seriously... i never appreciated Greek philosophy...
ancient Greek philosophy:
because? there was no Byzantine philosophy:
well... there was...
the New Testament...
which had it's ******* pride whitewashed
by the Turks sacking Constantinople...

see... i don't believe in any Judeo-Christian
ethnical trap craps...
i don't... it's a load of dog-whistles and
bigger dog *******...

i believe the New Testament was crafted
as a Greco-Judeo "conspiracy theory" against
the Roman Empire...
i'm actually thrilled that my heart
entertains this idea...
why else would the Greeks keep the notion
of empire alive far longer than the Latins?
they would become Byzantines and not Greeks?
they would... morph the Glagolitic script
into Cyrillic?

mein gott! and i'm sort of like an Arab...
the Teutonic / northern crusades against
the last pagans of Europe:
who "we" coupled with with the ******-Lithuanian
Commonwealth... **** me... "we" probably
even employed the use of Tartars to defeat
the iron-numb-skulls on horseback...

i think i'm lucky: i haven't won the lottery:
but: boy... i have...
the historical lottery...
    ZERO post-colonial guilt tripping...
last time i heard: it took **** Germany &
Soviet Russia longer to dismantle Poland
than it took **** Germany to conquer France...

eh?! the memory of Napoleon went missing?!
maybe the French girls just love to ****
foreigners... maybe they're easily approachable...
i'll blow a bubble-gun at them...
surely they'll submit... ha ha...

no no... i just did a U-turn today...
i became drunk on my own "intellect" / memory...
i remember buying this book as a teenager...
Tao... huh? and this one passage stuck with me:
a categorical imperative unlike any
German thinking:

the best way to aid the world:
is to forget the world
   and for the world to forget you...

it might have been a hardcover exemplar of what
Tao was about... but it didn't cite anyone...
only yesterday i was listening to a podcast
by Carefree Wandering... this Barbarossa shackled
by / in Shanghai...

a name dropped...  Zhoung Zhou... ergo?
the Zhoungzi...
     it was a really hot day today... today was a really
hot day... i "forgot" about painting the fence...
instead i did the ironing inside... shirt off...
then i prepped the bbq...
   turns out... my female cat likes music...
she loves the Red Hot Chilli Peppers...
  i love the Red Hot Chilli Peppers...
     **** me: i hate the Beatles and i hate the Rolling Stones...
to me there's only one FAB 4...

i'm like a giddy... chirpy sparrow singing...
albeit with a poker face...
when i worked security watching them live...
but with an element of retrospect...
because... that wasn't me at the gig:
that's me ironing shirts...
and watching my VERONIYA relaxing
with the music being played...

there are two greatest compliments in this world...
another person likes your cooking skills...
yeah: they actually eat the food you cooked
for them...
and?
an animal enjoys the music you're listening to...
the animal is not freaked out by the noise
that's the transcendence of a tap-dripping tap 'ap ap ap...

i don't know which is better... probably
the latter...
            you know: when you listen to music...
have a memory of a gig... you worked security on...
then you're ironing shirts...
and your female Maine **** is not ******* off...
and you're sort of: all "itchy": but it's not an "itch"...
it's a "feeling": a feels...
            i was born with it...
                    when i was younger and my father ******
off to England to better our economic prospects and
i didn't see him from age 4 through to 8...
my mother through the age of 6 through to 8...
grandparents... two dogs...
Bella... Axel...
                            Joseph and Hella...

i'd get gifts sent back to me...
a Nintendo this and that...
        i was generous... i shared...
but when i shared...
i had this numbing-excitement sensation...
whenever i witnessed people using my "stuff"...
i can't explain it... it just felt much better than
an *******...

like the case of scent in the film Perfume...
i can't capture this feeling... this tip-of-the-fingers
sensation...
excited mingling with numbing...

**** me... Veroniya loves AROUND THE WORLD...
it has become my new favourite
Red Hot Chilli Pepper song...
and they are my "peers": i hate the Beatles...
i hate the Rolling Stones...
but? i love Bob Dylan...
   best way to appreciate Bobby?
on a train from St. Petersburg to Moscow...
overnight...

Metallica or Godsmack... once upon a time...
the former... but these days?
the latter...

that's where i parked "my horse":
because i wasn't going to unwind with ego-tripping
***** pageant mechanisms
for allowing competition:
why is it that all the pretty girls
become prostitutes...

please tell me it's untrue: but... it's true...
all the pretty women become prostitutes...
all the "ugly" men are leftovers...
shadows... but hum in on some beached whales
and it's more than likely that she
will replicate... itch... ooze... ugh...
fair enough...
      i need my mind to be crisp...
i need to be getting numb and drunk with
the sages of Chinas... yeah... the plural...
from 600 years before Chrissy..

         i'll blame it on the fact that it was a hot day...
or i'll blame it on... ****...
i got intellectually drunk today...
i knew about Tao a long long time ago...
but i was never told the pinpoint
the anti-Confucian element...
really?! ZHUANGZI?!

                         that helps...
   i never liked ancient Greek thinking to begin
with...
            German thinking? yes...
esp. correlating an antithesis to **** ideology...
i loved that part... Heidegger above Beethoven...

the dead rest: the living live as if resting...
the dead are NOT: at rest...
the dead are resting...
while the living are simply living and resting
at the same time...

i have made a 180 return to to Tao...
today i became drunk from the intellectual
play on what could be a...
play on words: more... a play on word-idea...

who did i support?
in the Wimbledon final?
i am an anti-racist... but when i heard....
she's playing tennis for the Arabs...
for the Blacks... blah blah...
i switched off... please... sport?!
no politics...
   ******* of narrative..
  you just destroyed Afghanistan...
   Iraq... Libya...
        why do you suddenly summon
a care for Ukraine?!

                                  *******!
nahts steht hunger starr in unsern traum!
ja... ich... hassen mein haben menschen!
das letzte サムライ....

              alle letzte! ah! was ist verloren?!
beste zu tanz! beste zu tanz!
beste zu singen!
             mein herz... mein: werden...
mein: etwas...
               mein: letzte hoffung und liebe...

kommen sie mein am wenigsten
      wollen von ein kind...

         mein kind... mein kind...
mein einfrieren luft...
                     mein: hämmern erde...
das tanzen freuer...
        mit wasser: irgendetwas...

shift shaft: shuffle... SH...
wechsel... welle... mischen...

                   das ist gut?!
                       men born for merely a grave...
menschen geboren für
    nur ein graB...
                             nein nein: niet: ein sharpened S...
you saw it! ein B'eh!
graB...
                
                              i think i will die a happy man...
i think i will die a happy man because i
anticipate so many people dying unhappy...
the guilt-tripping-gripping...
i wish i lived a long time ago...
i wish i lived years ahead of stated times...
me?!
i'm trying out Daoism...
   or rather... returning to it...
           this be the zenith:

i must stress it in German:

dies sein die zenit! das ende...
                         the wind fills the pillows...
while my thoughts clamour for hiking
clouds!

because you can't tell me that any foreigner will be able to rekindle the civility of a syrian butcher for a syrian cab driver, or a syrian plumber have a rekindled civility for a syrian school teacher, no, no, no! i said it once and i'll say it again: there are heresies of war, no foreigner can engage in rekindling a civility among an implosive war of opposite parties... this isn't an explosive war... whatever is done unto syria by external intervention is a a cardinal heresy of war; i merely wonder: what is the islamic concept of civil war... after all, it seems that there isn't one... there is no "jihad" in terms of civil war... shame, i'd love to hear some islamic scholar define anti-jihad, i.e. a civil war... after all, this isn't a schismatic war of sunni vs. shia... maybe i'm just exploding with dumbness, but what would the apostle answer with, given that there's a very peculiar hadith about the return of isa, in no place, other than in Damascus... hell, seems we don't hear much about this historical "authenticity" - because isn't it just, the currency of current events? peace bringer my ***.

take any western commentary about the left,
sway sway, my darling, sway proud,
hammer and scythe -
              just today i was watching a movie
about the first american communist -
john reed, my mother started singing
the words of an old communist song...
   word for word...
                        you see, my grandfather was
a communist party member,
a comrade, he even did civic duties,
i.e. in court, on a jury...
                      and this is what i do not understand,
cultural what?
             ****** there was no cultural
whatever there is to talk about back then!
               communism was communism -
an economic model,
which was perfect in a country ravaged by war...
everyone lost something,
   a plateau had to be established...
             we all move from point a,
  sure, some of us will get to point b,
  but others will get to point c,
       but we start off at a baseline -
we build from point a, and if you get to
point d, well, all the better for you.
         the left in terms of western politics
makes absolutely no sense to me...
                       mostly the cultural aspect of
debate...
                      does this old communist say
unreasonable things?
  hardly... although i love the memory he
has kept intact for me to pass with regards
to his experience of the second world war...
  the SS-menschen -
       black clad ******* burning -
  and his words,
herrbittebonbon...
so these SS-men became herr bittebonbon -
and then of course there's the ragged SS-men
running from the soviets,
  teenagers who slept in barns with
              the animals.
****, not a bad inheritance, right?
     there was no cultural appropriation
of Marxism - and behind the iron curtain
there was another curtain, where culture
actually thrived, and wasn't suppressed -
     just because iron maiden came to katowice
while the solidarity movement was
   happening...
and where's **** wonky-vąs?
             in hawaiian shorts, in florida!
among the other heroes who did the one
heroic act they were capable of:
    spreading pamphlets.
                 is there a defence?
      from a country that once was under
communism,
    there was a free culture,
   the band *breakout -
song? kiedy byłem małym chłopcem...
   ****'s all about white-*******
in the hood sitting on a porch outside some
shack next to the vistula.
   and what about that film -
**** misja (*** mission) -
  starring the great jerzy stuhr -
kobieta mie bije!
  a film with more one-liners more
punchlines than any in the history
of cinematography, i swear to god.
  at least from my experience,
Marxism never evolved to be cultivated in
some form of culture...
                   it was plain and simple:
mind you, the only thing that can save or
rather regenerate Syria is a study of
post-war Poland...
     because, frankly,
           the Mongolian model where
communism was first tested on a national
scale, i know too little about.

i used to buy cans of pepsi cola in order to retain the most
fizz... i've cut back on the cans:
instead buying bottles of the "max" stuff...
because: whiskey: how else?
i'm not a puritanical drinker of ms. amber...
mr. whiskers...

                      but the problem with the bottled stuff...
once opened: it goes stale the next day:
because i never mix it "correctly"...
   but what i found?
                          sunlight... leave an already
opened bottle of pepsi cola in the sun...
and... lucky me: England: it's sunny! wow!
leave it (obvious the cap is ******* on,
but it has already been opened ergo ergo)

leave it in the sun... boom! the gas is back...
it's fizzy again: it's actually more fizzy than upon first
opening it...
so... what's the relationship with carbon dioxide
and sunlight?
carbonated water and sunlight?
does sunshine agitate the carbon in the water
making... oh... right... it must imply...
it has a lower boiling point than water itself...
i mean: you couldn't exactly boil a cup of tea
using sunlight...

but you could... make more fizz out of a going
stale carbonated water by exposing it to sunlight!
yep... just checked it...
it is lower... not that much lower...
but we're talking... sunlight and a plastic bottle:
plastic easily overheats...
and in terms of boiling: there's a lid...
so... no wonder... and we're talking:
sitting on a roof... sunrise? circa 5am...
all the way through to about 1pm...
  
    enough time... the tides will eat away the coastlines...

- yesterday's weigh-in... 101.6kg...
today's weigh in? ha ha...   98.5kg...
3.1kg loss in a single day...
    who even bothers with dieting?
what's the point?
   maybe i just figured it out... just about...
whatever dieting gurus tell you:
if you don't torture yourself physically through
acute exercise... nothing's going to work...
better be the rabbit than the turtle...

for far is it from where i live to Tate Britain,
roughly? 20miles... to get there... and back...
40+miles...
              plus the stress of traffic... which is always
good... stress is a great calorie burner...
plus testosterone... plus adrenaline generation...
it's not like a safe environment in a gym
pumping... pumping! weights...
or running the hamster wheel of the treadmill...
plus the wind obstructing you...
  mind you: maybe drinking that half a litre
of whiskey prior also helps...
perhaps ingesting alcohol: whiskey... before setting
off on a mega exercise routine...
because the calories: as my "dearest" gwand-m'ah used
to say from alcohol are empty calories...
by drinking half a litre of whiskey you're not eating
a fattening burger...

alcohol calories are not... protein calories...
they're not carbohydrate calories... they're not fat
calories... they're alcohol calories...

and on your bicycle... am i just fuelling up?!
i don't mean ingesting alcohol and doing weights...
i'm talking about ingesting alcohol and
punishing myself via the cardiovascular method...

personally i can't imagine myself becoming a father:
decreasing the amount of testosterone running
through my veins:
   i'm the "wrong" sort of gambler...
i measure my gambling ability on how well i can
maneaouvre... ****... too many! vowels!
man-oeuvre... manoeuvre... now i'll remember...
that's what the English speaking folk say about
my native tongue: you're ******* vowelled-up mate!

right: MAN and OEUVRE... like...
the total of someone's productivity: posthumously...
i'm more of a gambler like that:
will i squeeze in? will i get past?
either give me a horse and the Siberian steppes...
or give me a bicycle and London's roads...

oh wow... i'm actually thinking like a free man!
sure sure: i can care for people on "pretend":
little cameos here and there... and it's genuine...
but... to replicate myself: to have to "nurture" genes?
why does Jamie Redknapp (K surd!)
  look like the older brother of Frank Lampard Jr.?

i know the answer...
    because Harry Redknapp married a woman
that was the twin sister of Frank Lampard Sr. bride...

i'm sort of giggling now... but walking to the shop
for some early morning cider...
there's this great Danish film about a group
of guys who are constantly ingesting alcohol...
in acute amounts... no... not binge drinking going
out on the tiles sort of drinking:
irresponsible drinking is out of the question:
know your limits...
if you can't cycle to Tate Britain from 20 miles
away while having drank half a litre of whiskey:
don't do it...

DRUK... another round... funny that...
       druk means print in my native spreschen...
pisany druk: written print...

i look at old men as no wiser than the wisest...
it's a bit like looking at babies:
either men or women...
i want death before i reach this unnatural
old age... this retrospective cinema...
it's almost like seeing menopause:
this slack in testosterone curbing...
it's like looking at able albeit decrepit bodies
lost in a memory of former agility...

heimat! heimat!
all of the German war songs are worth singing!
heil! heil! wenig scheisse...
that's what my Russian girlfriend used to call me:
kakashka... little ****...

do i write from the perspective of regret
or from the perspective of memory:
i don't know...
what would you do... having travelled to Russia...
upon first entry into her abode:
getting a slap in the face...
i tried punching myself harder from time to time...
but that slap was waspish...
she thought i wasn't monogamous with her:
even though she kept her ex in her vicinity...

alle huren! alle huren!
   alle verdienen mein liebe!
ich kann nicht diktieren zensur von
solch(e) pracht!

   ich kann nicht! ich kann nicht!

maybe that's why i'm not bothered by nudes
in the art gallery...
       i abhor Lucian Freud...
                     i find his gaze repulsive...
it's what i'd call: cloggy...
beauty in the eye of the beholder blah blah...
there's that strict format of identifiable form
readily expressed:
which is mostly in the ****...

no wonder i like ******* in front of a mirror:
and that's mine...
und das ist mein!
                  mein allein!

        i suppose, therefore: i don't need to paint...
i can only skim a membrane of what could be
considered a painting... writing the membrane
of an art-work...

               Nietzsche showed the nail...
Heidegger provided the hammer...
   better an early death and eternity than all those
materialistic sensibilities of progress...
better the promises than simply prolonging
a fate worse than death:
ein los schlimmer als tod...

i want to die viral... with all the vitality that life
allows!
i don't want to die as a toothless wolf!
ich do nicht wollen zu sterben als ein zahnloswolf!
this is torture... old age apparent...
no wonder men have lost their libido!
if what's waiting for them:
no man want's to live the sort of life
that grieves him with old age!

it's unnatural!
             it's great for clones, cupids and other
quasi- makeshifts of creature...
it's not so great for men...
old age of men and the lost testosterone...
is a bit like the menopause for women...
but it's not spoken of...
   Western gynocentric antics...
                               i like the Eastern traditions...
man comes to the fore... woman come after...

i'm already in a dodo mindset...
i truly don't mind...
    the middle-ground has already been salvaged...
humanity will not perish...
genius is always born once in a while...
not that i am:
irgendetwas du möchte denken...

heimat! tanz! heimat! tanz!
   die fluss von menschen...
        die fluss von alles dinge...

               das ist alles.

/aus sie volk: sie kann nur verstehen schwab! schweinscheissedeutsche! gut! so es sein... origamikapitalismus... papierspeichelschimmel: nein papier! vor! die mumifizieren pharaosowjetisch! und die akt?! wer mein souffleur?!

lernen aber die wenig von
    deutsche,
            zu gewinnen
ein vater-herz aus ein, volk;
as the dynamic
of perceptions go about...
on, mythological grounding...
schattenarbeit...
      größermühe:
                ­   für die:
             "geringer"...        arbeit:
diese menschen müssen
        "geringer":                      arbeit!
   zustand ist seele von mann!

or maybe...
    i'm just ronin...
   who has become too...
       germanophilic...
                                 perhaps just, that;
come to love the pleasures,
and the tortures,
of this, destined peoples.

don't worry...
   like any capitalist...
       i'm only in this affair
        ("dasein") one sided,
concerned with only
a mind's worth of a kept
                    hard-on to boot
away from writing
an epitaph!

Es ist dunkel
Es ist Nacht
In aller Stille
Es ist vollbracht

Hört es fließt
Hört es tropft
Verzerrter Mund
Wurde gestopft

Tanzende Lichter
Tanzende Menschen
Dolche im Schimmer
Nur so glänzen

Hört es fließt
Hört es tropft
Verzerrter Mund
Wurde gestopft

Sanftes Wiegen
Sanftes Singen
Lassen das Wimmern
Nun überklingen

Hört es fließt
Hört es tropft
Verzerrter Mund
Wurde gestopft

Nasse Gräser
Nasse Hände
Mit warmen Blut
Durchtränktes Gelände

Hört es fließt
Hört es tropft
Verzerrter Mund
Wurde gestopft

Reibende Verse
Reibende Körper
Eine Menge
Alles Mörder

Hört es fließt
Hört es tropft
Verzerrter Mund
Wurde gestopft

Roter Mond
Roter Leib
Liegt am Boden
Das tote Weib

Hört es fließt
Hört es tropft
Verzerrter Mund
Wurde gestopft

Es wird Tag
Es wird hell
Schau Sie flüchten
Nun sehr schnell

Nichts mehr fließt
Nichts mehr tropft
Sowie das Herz
Nicht mehr klopft

In der ganzen Welt,
Von allen Menschen, die existieren,
Es gibt niemanden wie dich, keinen,
Liebe,
Du bist einzigartig.

Von allen Blumen,
Von allen Heiligen,
Von jeder Schönheit hier,
Du bist der reinste.
Du bist der Hellste.
Du bist der Liebste.

wenn menschen
zitieren
die genius
von ******...
   zitieren nicht
die genius
    von Goebbels?

wer der
  hähnchen
            und wer
der ducken?

du sind auch?

i remember this one outing i had with "friends"
from high school, we used to go to the cinema
get some food at Frankie & Bennies...
this one particular time everyone was ordering
a steak and chips and what-not...

everyone was making the order: well-done... please!
oh god... i couldn't stand it!
why would you butcher a fine cut of beef: twice!
why?! why?!
there's a ****** good reason why you don't
butcher beef twice...
might as well asked for minced beef: some *******
spaghetti Bolognaise or a ******* burger!
cut-off ****(e)... dog food! hundessen!
might as well asked for some roast beef:
but that's doubly butchering the meat!

there's a reason you order undercooked beef...
the same reason why you have a steak tartar...
there's a reason...
   frankly?! i'm not surprised the Hindus do not eat
beef... it's not some ******* allegory of:
the cow gives us milk... it's our mother...
well... the goat gives milk too...
no... the Hindus... i find... stopped eating beef
because: for all their alchemical wonders of
their Raj-spice-kingdom:
they couldn't master a way to eat beef: proper...

****... my chin's itching...
i haven't brushed my beard today...
although i brushed my teeth...
need to get rid of this itch....

.....................................
.................­....................
......................................

ah... that's better... just wetted it...
it's easier to have wet ***** on your face
that you're about to comb than it is to have
dry ***** about to get pulled put by each
stroke of the comb...

but they ordered a well-done steak...
you don't eat a steak "well-done": like you don't
eat cooked herrings
or cooked sushi...
                some things are supposed to be eaten
raw or at least semi-, raw...
the meat is more tender when partially cooked...
you can't! can't! can't!
eat an overcooked piece of beef!
there's no such thing as a well-done steak:
there's only trash!
            that's called doing the double-butchers'...

steak bleu... or rare... or medium rare...
depending on the "girth" of the platter...
i'd say... respectively:
well seasoned either side... sea salt... not your
conventional crap... pepper?
in the pestle and mortar... not the pre-ground stuff...
bleu? 20 seconds either side...
rare? 35 seconds either side...
medium rare? fluctuating change of temp.
and about a minute either side...
  
i respect what i eat...
at that gathering... my "friends" looked at me
oddly... he's eating rare beef...
and what the rest of you ******* are having
roast ******* dinner
and a tapeworm phobia?!
like you can't eat cooked herrings:
the biggest tapeworms known to man
are bound to sleep in aquatic creatures...
that's not going to stop me from enjoying
my Baltic sushi... dill... gherkins... creamy sauce...
mmm...

   i've become sort of lactose intolerant...
well... as much as i love milk...
   i need it to be doubly filtered... or whatever the hell
they do with it that makes it drinkable for me:
i'm not a massive fan of yoghurts...

doubly butchering a cow by cooking it
well-done... what barbarians!
esp. a steak: now... i can be very pretentious
when it comes to food...
obviously! i don't want to be eating
******* oat-meal that's reserved for cattle
when i could be cherishing a cherry!
it's that simple!

mind "you": i woke up today and thought...
hmm... so the gods came to a standstill...
i know the Hebrew deity is a deity eater...
former gods of the other Semites soon became
angels: fallen angels...
the fallen gods of the people and their alphabets
(phonetic encoding practices)
became eroded... Cuneiform... dead...
the Egyptian Hieroglyphics: dead...
      let's face it... the latter?
hardly practical... even though...
it took the time to ***** the Eiffel Tower
to overshadow the Giza Pyramids...
       the Roman use of letters as a concept for numbers...
that's pretty ******* genius...
VI + IV = X... come on... the numbers were
already hidden in the letters...
    b + G = X (6 + 4 = 10) -
                
                what's 0? a squashed version of O
-micron...
   can you draw a 3D version of a circle on paper?
a pyramid and a cube is simple...
hmm... Islam has a powerful fascination
with the cube... while Christianity stresses
the triangle...
            you could like you could insinuate:
the eight standing and eight reclining
               8                                  ∞

bb, bb... bbbb... (BBBB)...

            but the gods apparently came to an agreement...
the Latin script would flourish...
the Latin gods? eh... they were already
the plagiarisms of the Greek gods...
but the planets would be given the names
of the Latin gods... not the Greek gods...
scientific constants would be given to the Greeks...
because the Latins "forgot" to give noun status
to their letters... like ah: is not alpha... etc.

but... ha! the Slavic gods would disappear...
completely... no questions asked...
personally?
as long as the Norse gods remained intact...
the Glagolitic script: precursor of the Cyrillic has...
job done... the runes also have remained...
and why? why did the Hebrew deity have such a hard
time... undermining both the phonetic encoding method
of the Greeks and the Latins...
weakness... the jealous one:
even as he tried to march forward with his most
precious son being sacrificed...
Lucy... the hey-zeus... dangling on a crucifix...
couldn't: wouldn't: can't! undermine
something elder: as much original and as much
true as himself...

i sometimes pity him: mr. ******* bombastic...
i'd love to see him... unravel the x-ray scribbles
of the Dao-menschen... of the Mandarins...
with his: futile 'ebrew!
               really? he can?!
personally...
i have three favourites...

i'm usually disguised as a doppelganger...
i'm usually some famous rugby player
or Brad Pitt...
              i have a headache: thanks but...
eh... i also want to think about al dente pasta...
shadow-thief?! visage-thief...
whatever the correct term...
  
   i'm more inclined toward the gods
of technique...
             i don't like the sensibility of nothingness...
the sober: persistent: ping-pong
with nothing whereby you... hit a ball and...
oops! no echo... the ball doesn't come back...
the relationship with nothing is unlike
a relationship with deities...
nothing is a glutton...
                  you can't play squash with nothing...
there's no echo within the confines of believing:
all of this came from nothing...
nothing...
                      nothing...
      i don't buy the 00s atheistic popular crap...
because? no dinosaurs in the book of Genesis?!
literal reading? right...
so... no dragon on the flag of Wales?!
   no great: fire-breathing lizards?!
             crocodiles?! where?!
                     people weren't reading poetry back when
there was a potato famine! were they?!

the, language, is, *******, poetic! by poetry it implies:
metaphor subsequently: mythology...
what?! expect ******* journalism from the year 500 B.C.?!
******* gullible people...
like we all want a libido / a journalistic insomnia
of always wanting to have a ******* / being informed
about... **** all there is to be known!

fair enough: the Hebrew deity once duped
the white northerners to adopt his ****** sacrifice
of a "son" as salvation: as instigator for war
upon war upon war...
      now?! he's currently panicking...
oh ****... these same people have become somewhat
sensible: it no longer matters with the resurrection
of the state of Israel...
time to... turn "one's" attention toward Africa!
yes! ******* brigade moves on!
eh... and some remnants of it still persisting in
H'america... but what's new?!

- must have woken up dreaming about deities...
i must have...
who are my two favourites?!
the architects... the technicians...
in Greek: Hephaestus...
   in Norse? Höðr... or Brokkr...

the unifying concept of monotheism that runs
parallel with the globalist agenda...
any: every idiot can spot this...

but i felt wondering...
am i, ambidextrous?
         i don't think i am...
           i closed one of my eyes...
i'm right-handed...
which eye do you think i closed: to keep balance?
my right eye, or my left eye?!
Odin: dearest provider of puzzles...
hangman Judas and taboo breaker...
since i'm right handed when i write:
although: the genius of QWERTY implies
that i'm somehow ambidextrous
when facing a typewriter...
i... i closed my right eye...
ah... balance!
                if i were to script an imitation...
take my right eye...
i'm left-eyed...
  i see better with my left eye...
i close my right eye...
my right hand... superior:
    ius-manus-superior...
how is that grammatical, correct?!
superior-manus-iua?!
right hand superior...
                  esp. with an eye missing...
i can thereby stroke shadow dogs...
shadow dogs: figments of my imagination...
i can touch the "lips" of death...
              i'm right-handed therefore
my left eye is both a telescope and a microscope
envy... while by supposedly missing right
eye: is my arm...
and with it... i yield: all the clues concerning
mastering "nothing"...

my current "god"?! the diacritical markers
in Cyrillic...
notably... like that represented: Cyclops
eye of Dajjal in the triangle...
i have a letter... well... "letter"...

                         Щ... perhaps smaller might help:
щ...
                i'm pretty sure diacritical markers will
help... because? what i am revealing?!
the tetragrammaton: the H1: laughter generator...
and the H2: the vowel catcher...
ha ha... contrast with ah... ah... eh?!

point being...
   Щ = ŠČ
                        what's that?
two hidden S'es... or Zeds... schcheka: it: (the dog)
barks... not... no no... not: the dog is barking...
the dog: barks!
that's two rugby goalposts of H hidden in diacritical
markers... or... if you were to employ the Cyrillic...
a little accent on the huSH (ш) with the "comma"
being added to exfoliated the CHatter...

this is my anti-Hebrew sentiment with regards
to lettering...
oh... the Greeks and the Hebrews have been
bedfellows for all these years...
trying to complicate their language with
a technicality that only Down Syndrome sufferers are
able to read...
not on my watch...
    
you're not bringing this alphabet down...
however much you wish you could...
even sending this horde of Muslim impotent ****-wits
of frustrations... it's not going to work...
i'm going to be the gate-keeper to this
phonetic encoding...
like... haven't you heard?!
the internet was born from these letters?!
it wasn't... born from Katakana...
Hanguel or Mandarin ideograms...
or spaghetti Mr. Dubai pants of Arabic...
****-wits... what?! meow meow:
dog took a ****... bark bark: a cat took a ****?!

am i "right-eyed!? i never thought it ut...
well... if i'm a proponent of the the right
hand... when writing... although...
give me a keyboard: both hands are used...
i kick a pebble down the road using my right foot...
i must be more inclined to prefer my
left eye...
            
the Hebrews can salvage their ****-hurt belief
in undermining the Gentiles
with having sacrificed "their" son of "god":
retaliating with a planned invasion
from the Muslim tribe...
honestly? these women are worth being
sacrificed... they're not my mothers,
they're not my sisters...

if "Europe" is to be ***** by another
Mongol invasion... look at me?! am i worried?!
i know i'm dealing with mollusk Arabs
with as much stamina and
grit as...
don't ask... they are probably going to get
their fluffy toys of makeshift puppy pretend
it'sa dog... it doesn't ****, it doesn't ****...
there's no worse curse than wearing black...
dealing with pet fur...

i do think about...
"think"...
about... allowing myself...
eyelashes... to be substituted for.... a  concern
for a lack of shoelaces...
i do "think" that i want to walk
in shoes... i want to echo to scream!
echo: foot-notes!

spuckefreuer!
                   blutenwasser!
faltenwurf-die-erde!

der berg: steht...
         der ozean: welle auf welle,,,
stein auf stein...

          etwas besser deutsche-mensch....
imaginär: drachen...
                                     zungenschlag....
und: zephyr.

Wut und Schmerz
In meinem Herz
Ein Pfeil
Bedrängt
Verdrängt
Verengt
Verrenkt
Verschenkt
Die 17 Jahre
Oder mehr?
Und neugeboren
Werde ich
Womöglich.
Vertrauen schöpfen,
Wenn im Inneren das Fegefeuer
Lodert.

Verhindern
Will ICH jede Lösung.
Verlieren
Will ICH nicht.
Vielleicht vergesse ICH
mal wieder
Den Schmerz der Wahrheit
Schlicht.

ICH übertreib' es nicht!
Die sind alle Verräter-Menschen,
Die Welt ist furchtbar, dreckig, schlimm.
ICH will nur raus von hier,
ICH weiß nur nicht wohin.
Die Scham?
Jaja, hab von gehört.
Aber du bist ein Idiot.
Versuchst mich zu verstehen...
ICH WILL doch untergehen.
Genie? Ja, dafür halt' ICH MICH,
Deshalb verfass' ich das Gedicht.
Verschiedenartig, dennoch gleich,
Spiele euch hiermit einen Streich.
Nur um MICH selbst zu überlisten.
ICH führe immer eine Liste,
Über Gewinne und Verluste...
Wer auf Platz eins ist, wo ICH steh',
Muss schaun' dass ICH net untergeh'.

ICH weiß, in mir steckt so viel mehr.
Oder auch nichts? Oder auch nichts.
ICH bin enttäuscht.
Verletzt.
Verlegen.
ICH bin allein, muss überlegen.
ICH muss mal sehen, was ich mach'.
Vielleicht spiele ich lieber Schach?
Nein, Schach ist nur für alte Leute!
Ich such' mir lieber was von heute.
Was heißt, ehrlich sein, nochmal?
Ich weiß, es ist vielleicht ne Qual.
Für DICH.
Ja, da hab ICH wohl Recht. Das wollte ICH.
Das ist doch echt? Ist's echt genug?
Oder braucht's mehr?
Es braucht nur weniger, I guess.

I just need to say YES.
I just need to let go.
I just need to be free.
To let myself be me.

"Fülle Wasser nach“,
fordert die Kaffeemaschine
Und ich frage mich,
wo ich frisches Wasser herbekommen könnte

Wasser, das nicht konstant durch 7,6 Milliarden Menschen hindurchfließt
Wasser, das nicht mit Fantastilliarden Gedanken und Emotionen verwässert ist
Wasser, das ich nachfüllen kann - ohne na(c)hzufühlen

i once used to frequent museums and galleries... but then i came across forests and graveyards... ancient yard of arts... and then i found the hands of a 2nd sculpture: the nearest i've been to god in terms of seeing a visage... i've already heard what i need to hear: a choir descending in church... give this works a second pair of hands: and call them less weathered: but more moulded by a second attempt: more than a mountain might need a tornado, or the deserts be resurrected into mountain ranges by time! i know, necro-sculptures are certainly not Elgin marbles... but at least when adoring these statues i am not bound to listen to ******* lawsuits about ownership: the dead own them... nor am i sick from the stuffy air of incense of a museum imitating church practices... just the common sickly sweet rot of autumn infuses them... and i know: even if they were made from marble: i'd rather watch them being "revised" in the immediate sense, than have to ascribe a human topor to them, being left so mutilated, without those slight diversions they have kept intact.

wątpliwości obdarują człowieka myślą: wert ein zweite eisenvorhang: früher immunität zu die schwarzplage.

  that is my single most important observation:
did these people, my supposed past
really concern themselves with perfecting
sanitation? the map of the black plague looks:
mighty odd!
      there's that "bit in the middle"
where it's akin to me buying take-away food
  one half a year from the local turk
selling the "speciality" of fish & chips:
i feel ill, i fill gloated, bloated...
    no offense to the turk selling me the food:
i like the idea that turns into a practice
of actually like washing my hands like
a surgeon before cooking the food
i am about to eat: prior giving thanks
to a father about putting saliva than
apples on a table before me...
            it really makes more sense being
able to cook your own food
than taking a short-cut...
     i ******* hate take-away food:
i will bloated like i just ate a puffer-fish
alive...
      i woudln't eat from a restaurant...
and thanks to somone like
Paris Hilton: i'm pretty sure i would
be fine having eaten her pooch munch;
hand on my heart + scout's honour:
i'm sorry...
            i rather cook my own food than
take it easy and visit a restaurant...
       i might ******* in the meantime,
  i might pick-my-nose...
    but at least know that i would be most
likely to wash my hands with bleach...
    i know i will wash my hands
my my proper way...
                 maybe it's the deep-fried staple
of all the good food being in need
of an oil bath:
     but i'll scrub down proper and
have to answer for:
    did i see it proper?
   if it wasn't cooked 4 x 4:
     i guess i can only assert but one
vector, eye, in a menu of paid
compliments.

     - the following extract ought
to be filed under: almost 2 months ago
it made: sense perfecto! -

- there are two strands of thinking,
one by immersion and the other by
"digression" (trans-metaphor,
id est snowball effect that can't be stopped,
colloquial: lack of a better word,
post scriptum bloom spontaneity;
verb-verb complex), the former immerses
itself in quantifiable rigor,
god the non quantifiable, s-
-elf-reductionist inertia of one,
**** qua deus est chimera, alt. **** insapiens.

Prefix proxy, all hyphen additions pre/post;
ars poetica shames itself with rubric & rigour;
poetry as the resurrection of chaos
via versus IKEA poets: who think poetry
requires an academic manual, art (per se)
as the "relaxation" tool of semi-autistic doctors,
hindering 7 pillars a near infinite supply of hues;

science makes the incremental judgement
and yet so many nouns are missing.
Revisionist: the "big" Q (?) - bang, ****,
what's the difference: non vox in vanus.

Modern "philosophers", if not mere spinster
hide behind word-pillars, using if not "refining"
words on their primitive 1st derivative,
one dimensional formality, absolute,
whereby words become crutches, rather than pillars.

Hence the bombast and lack of fineze.
Yet ask the etymological question as to
why a word's zenith must be kept unchallenged,
hence the stressors (in italics) and
hence the subsequent abyss.

Every word can unravel and heed toward
its own history of non-cause,
but a champagne-happenstance.
Look into grammatical complex akin
to verb-verb dichotomy within the nouns *****,
subsequently Madonna.

With a cctv crow perched on my shoulder,
glued to the mono-lingual Arab of
the Riyadh greenhouse perks and demise,
black gold gluttony,
would be muhammedan avatars of the forgotten
celibacy abiding by merely adhan sustenance.
The Arab, jinn or dajjal, or he with one eye
or he with one tongue?

The greatest display of art is geological,
in that eternal marrow of once moulded by hand,
thus given into Eloise (god of wind),
twice the sermon of mourning upon
the weathered faces and rigid genuflex limbs,
penitent gargoyles and saints akin;
not sheltered in museum of last upheaval
cherished by gluttonous suitors
and postcard frozen envy;
grave watchmen of mortality's final dynamo:
procrastinating in idle mourning,
sepia exiled as the currency franca,
moulding by day, harvesting moss by night,
yet still perpetually lullabying a teasing
chance of crux signum of unfolding hands
to butterfly flutter risen; eventually the instilled:
not yet.

Yet they do not belong neither in shadow
or bubblegum paralysis to seize a chance at
grimace before the epileptic paparazzi seizure;
weathered stone, time, scythe in hand,
pads from a master anonymous to a Rodin and then,
rather time & the Chinese five winds,
moulded repentant galore slowly itching away,
pinch by pinch by the irritable constancy
toward a crab gravity:

   what do you call a man who earns a living
from young women? Alfons.
   - and what do you call a man who earns
a living  from old women? Rydzyk.

I take it must be a healthy observation,
for are not graveyards the other,
less pomp and yet more grandiose exemplars
of the kept artefacts?

How few are know in the latter as fabled scribes,
procrastinations of life among dry quills?
No these statues belong here, in the museum of air,
wind and rain, with the hands of the elemental
artist's work ad continuum ex ****.

**** in analogue, home ex analogue contra populis
(while watching pigeons squadron - "x" -
against the stiffening of limbs against ale cold);
with only a pair of eyes to travel, man, alone,
perpetually seeking an alternative avenue:
that perpetual en masse cul de sac tsunami
of all mortal venture: reason vested in the motto:
not asked for: enigma in **, enigma non ex ****
(complexes, systems, traffic);
enigma diem est non carpe
(an enigmatic day is not worth seizing,
since what is best unlived,
is best translated into what ought to be written);

note to don Juan:
had I lived such a bountiful life,
I wouldn't have bothered writing a book,
laying a brick stacked in puzzle upon
a wall would have sufficed;
boorish clausure, inevetible glass of mud,
a riddle Hardy upon Liszt divulged
with feminine weakness:
I'll adore a peacock' s feather in a hat,
prior to and forever through.

believe me when i say:
     i will always trust the turk the barber...
   i will actually trust no other ethnicity
of a man to call himself a *barber
if he isn't the latest ottoman fashion from
Istambul...
      because?
    please! show me the forest for me
to aspire to lumber-jacking hacking
     that imaginary forest into a british library!

i did ask for Königratte: and they sold me:
the soul can never be sold unless in the priesthood...
in defence of Thespians:
             or those who sells their shadows...
i don't know what is worse...
eh: why not face it:
    a polish girl will always prefer
Adam Mickiewicz...
   while the ex pat immigrant polish boy
will always rather cite Julian Tuwim...
   or as the ancient saying goes:

siała baba mak, nie wiedziała jak,
       a tu chłop powiedział: i to było tak...

ihr menschen, wirklich würdig sein
  ein zweite eisenvorhang...

     if i din't know: i wouldn't be asking
you to reply in german for
          me using english grammar...

ł: remains of the trinitarian formula -
on a basis of a t -
      bottom up or bottom down?
      it's becoming a case for inspector clouseau
looking for handwritting
  in such examples.

i was pretty sure there was no album they (the red hot chilli peppers) released between Californication and By the Way... but i stumbled upon something curious today upon waking... oh... i do know that they released a single in between the two albums... or was it after By the Way? Fortune Faded... well... i just found the Fortune Faded album: 1. starlight 2. save the population 3. fortune faded 4. bicycle song 5. runaway 6. leverage of space 7. rolling sly stone 8. brandy (you're a fine girl) 9. 50fifty 10. mini epic (**** for your country) 11. black cross 12. i feel love 13. flea's trumpet treated by john 14. tuesday night in Berlin...

again: this terrifying heat: best leave watering the garden
till after 10pm...
a b.b.q. dinner: black kiшka with onions...
what's a black kiшka? a cross between black pudding
and Haggis...
                         "cultural appropriation":
i wonder who borrowed from who...
                        well... it's not a ******* sombrero so:
i'm taking bets on the roulette...
             this weather only allows cycling after 8pm...
last time a car pulled up to me and a guy
hollered out of the window: there are your lights?
what lights? exactly... and drove off...
******... prior to that a woman screamed out of
the window and started driving off...
i caught up with her and screamed back:
******* *****... showed her the finger and disappeared...
fair enough... i'm riding in hours nearing
the kingdom of nocturnal creatures...
i fixed a back light today... there, better, *******?!
no... not good enough...

i have this one particular route... it takes me about
one and a half hours...
i call it: el clásico... why? i used to take it almost
every day after school after i turned 16...
there was this one summer... a magical summer...

it was a summer where i would usually visit my
grandparents...
mainly my grandfather: we'd go fishing...
we'd go cycling...
he would introduce me to his friend who also liked
to cycle for long period of time...
all retired people... and we'd cycle
via Bałtów: picking up goat's milk from this old
lady in a proper out of the way ****-hole of
a place to live...
             anyway... that summer back in 2002
i had a plan... i was growing my hair long:
in school there were jokes: Chewbacca... blah blah...
why don't you grow your hair into a mullet?
ha ha...                    ha ha... it wouldn't look good
on someone as fat as i was...
i finished my G.C.S.Es as a a chubby chub...
   after the summer... i came back weighing in
105kg... coming back to 85kg...
  
                     wow... how the dynamic changed...
a new girl from Australia started eyeing me up
as we started our A-levels... i suddenly became
visible...                    but? i still remained myself:
i was playing cards with the guys...
  perhaps the nerdy guys i used to hang around
swapping Pokemon cards with ended...
that time this girl in English class started flashing
her legs in English class: thighs... the thighs of Gemma...
she was intending to flash them at the guy next
to me in the bench... he got off with
running to the toilet for a quick ****...
while i looked and was immediately scorned...
"told off"... pervert...
   it's like a match-make made in heaven of Islam...
the girls don NIQABS and the boys don sunglasses...

how i was told off...
until another Gemma from Thailand told the
other Gemma (Laporte) to cool off...
stop flashing... but... hey WHITEWHITEWHITE...
magical summer...
   i lost the weight... the sun allowed my hair
to grow long enough to grow long enough
to be able to give me a French braid...
like that one donned by Johnny Depp in
Chocolate...

                           realisation period... now i was
changing the dynamic of worth...
       i started bringing weirder and weirder fruit
for lunch... pomegranates... passion fruits...
kiwis... well... kiwis are not that weird...
                             i was still playing cards with the boys...
the sudden spike in the girl's interest
in me i sort of ignored... i was ignored prior...
focused on education and education it was...
but i was already spotting all the examples
of the ancient fable of high school sweethearts...

obviously after university some people thought
they were born in a small town in a small world
in a snail world...
   they had to move: London's not enough...
New York over here... South America over there...
try being born in ostrowiec świętokrzyski:
now i'm the king rat of London...
                   on a bicycle at least...
i don't need to move...

come on... it's not like i came on a banana boat
from "x"... but it's not like i'm a mr. smarty
from Warsaw: from one capital to another capital...

i don't like writing about this...
after all... i wasn't too "bad boy" enough:
oh i get it... i sometimes lend myself to "the narrative":
i'm being sold a narrative of Darwinism that:
apparently doesn't play out in reality...
my deficiencies? i drink... but i self-imposed that...
on myself... survival of the fittest?
i'm 6ft2... 100kg... chances of me "catching" cancer
are slim... i have 20-20 vision...
   i blast music on full volume on headphones
sometimes on hours on end... but i can still
hear an electric car creeping up on me when cycling...
i have basic morals...
    
     it's not that i think that i'm the perfect catch...
god's gift to women...
i just think that the prescribed narrative of Darwinism
for man is a load of *******...
survival of the mediocre... cattle...

i'm using the sort of objective language that's
expected of me...
             this is what Darwinism provided:
there are no rules in place:
when there was once humanism there's now only
some version of animalism...
we lent out attention to make the world
coherent by employing animals to explain
our... disgruntlements...
    our objections... me? i'm trying to find the man in
man: ontology...
rather than finding a man in animal...
i find finding the man in animal: slightly boorish...
perhaps even boring...
but we borrowed from too many animals
in order to clarify how we are to behave...

this is exclusive to the English-speaking world...
in that case? i'm a ******* BEAR...
i'm a "loner": are bears, "LOSERS"
because they are loners?!
                           i'm a bear: you ******* chimp!
how's that? who would win a ruffle-and-tuffle
between a gorilla and a bear?
am i even asking this question?
                    
медведь (niedzwiedz) vs. горилла (goryl):
exactly... what's дь? dź...
                     and дъ?           dż....
                              soft via acute
          hard via the otherwise hiding caron...
swapped from RZ between R and Z
or with the case of coupling D and Z...
well: "who knows"...

                        the Copernican revolution made
sense... but the revolution the morphing
of Darwinism: man looking into a telescope
while at the same time looking up into the "telescope"
of an ape's ****...  is another matter...

never mind... i had this route...
   a surfer's body...
   and hair to prove it...
                 we ****** off elsewhere after high school...
i was the only one that went as far as Scotland...
the "king's route": after all... didn't
William gain an education in St. Andrews?
i was in Edinburgh... dangling like a spider
atop Cow's Gate...
                          this could: just work...

but what is "the" el clásico?
a route i used to take after school almost every day
after having lost all that weight...
this was a different variation...
an extended 'un...

starting from Collier Row...

1. up the B175
2. down B 1459...
3. Collier Row Road
4. onto the B174...
5. onto the A1172...
6. New N Rd toward Hainualt St.
7. A123
8. at the Fairlop roundabout staying
   on the A123...
9. coming to the A12 on the Gants Hill
keeping to the A123
10. gearing up to Winston Way...
11. the A1083 roundabout...
12. straight onto the A118...
13. it's still the A118 Seven Kings... switches names
from High Road to... London Road
(cycling in reverse... London Road would be known
as Romford Road)
14. at the roundabout take the A125...
15. turn into Exchange Street...
16. via Western Road onto Eastern Road
17. stop at the headlights...
       18.  cross the A1251 like a pedestrian
onto Carlton Road...
19. cycle up to Gidea Park station:
     20. Balroges Lane
  21. Station Road..
   22. then unto Upper Brentwood Rd.
23. until "returning" unto the Main Rd.
              the A118...
24. the onto Pettits Lane..
25. crossing the A12... onto Pettits Lane N.
26. at the roundabout onto the B175...
   then into Wallace Way...
then into a service road... then... home...

the "incident" happened at point 9. on the A123...
at high street Ilford...
my god... how much it has changed...
little ******* Bombay...
it used to be a predominantly Jewish...
but now? the whole world settled here: it would
seem... one Turkish restaurant one Indian
restaurant after another... fair enough:
i still don't have my headlight on...
because a road-bike is not made for noctruanal
musing... Nietzsche might have envisioned
walking to be the catalyst for inviting thought:
i tend to keep to cycling to wake up
my sleeping-mind...
i remember this one motorist slowing down
to "excuse me from giving excuses"
for not having tail-lights: yeah... thanks "dad"...
but this old man was trying to do
something unimaginable in terms of English traffic
laws: he was trying to prove a point by:
jail-walking...
he just stood there astounded and exclaimed:
where are your lights? i cycled past him
and pointed at my rear:
what the **** is this? look! that's at least
one half of the lights necessary,
so? *******!

   that's the first time i became insolent to an elder...
why? no one else in makeshift Bombay seemed
to care...
there's a billion of them: a billion more
will come...
         you don't make critique of me while
i cycle: i turn into a Hydra...
one the adrenaline kicks in... i become a notorious
*******...
i pointed it out to him:
perhaps he had good intentions...
perhaps... citizen-policeman my ***...
if i had enough time i would have suggested:
so... is the Redbridge Council...
saving money... on not turning on the street-lights
at the appropriate time?
then again: would you?!
could you make the same **** comments
concerning those Deliveroo electric cycle couriers
who don't bother?!
just because i'm white i'm supposed
to keep / meet high standards?!
*******: old man...
      
you will pass making this sort of comment
because "someone" is Indian... while
i get the brunt of your "civic duty" because
i'm white? to hell with that sort of *******!
you may be old: but you should understand
someone telling you to ******* like someone
telling a baby to *******...
because you can mouth off your fellow
European: like a diseased creature of defeat
when it comes to your fellow...
but: cower: before the altar of ******* HINDUSTAN!

i am a monster! people tend to create those...
isolated instances of insolence...
i can't give two-***** two care
whether English girls get ***** by Pakistani
gangs in Rotherham...
i can't... i told a man to get off my case...

you may: criticise me when walking... kneeling...
sleeping...
but this old man just chose to be iritated
by something already hanging...
too late to correct? me?

there's a fury in my thought as much as there's
a wind to couple it with!
but... you wouldn't dare...
to make this suggestive-correction
for some Hindustani "******* compatriot":
some ******* Sikh baron?!
white man easy access to white man...
THANK **** I'M NOT ENGLISH
AND THAT I DON'T HAVE ANY POST-COLONIAL
GUILT TRIPPING TO WAIT FOR ME...

me? i'm in CAMP ****... **** it...
go all out... this makes absolutely no ******* sense...
but this old man: did he think old age would
save him, from me turning around and telling
him to *******? did he?
he wouldn't have attached so much
concern for "traffic": cross the, ******* road:
at the allocated segments... your ******* prune...

oh but i love the anger: it's invigorating...
it's no longer angry white man...
it's the angry anonymous cyclist...
   but it's forever the ******* desperate black man...
anger *** desperation...
what a cocktail!
        borrow from the Darwinism... ha ha...
not by the focus of what's man's "plan"...
              
WHITE VS. WHITE...
of course he wouldn't have commented on some
deliveroo courier cycling on an electric bicycle without
lights... i had the rear covered...
but no! white on white "guilt" implies:
i'm the one who's to keep standards:
no one else is... why, should, i?
i can be nice to old men... drink a beer...
chat with them on a bench... about their grandchildren
and their pets... not... NOT... when i'm cycling...
you try taming a monster...
you tell me i'm a ****** cyclist...
   the end...

                      my sclera and my iris disappears...
i literally turn blind with rage...
at a time: begging for the borough of Redbridge
to turn on the: ******* street-lamps...
no... 9pm not good...
       this old man should have shut his:
******* mouth...
now i feel sorry that he had to hear:
******* from me...
                 i shouldn't speak to elders like so...
but if one: ******* akin to him
had the ***** to tell one white boy:
to keep his headlights up-kept... while ignoring
all the Hindu-*******-stan "couriers"
the "pass"? for fear of racism...
              *******... old, man...
no no... you should have been crossing
the road at the designated place...

ENOUGH! OF THIS POST-COLONIAL ENGLISH
ANTI-RACIST CLOWNING!
you have your little, *******, inter-racial escapades...
your little inter-*** trans-gender fetishes...
sooner will the Russian invade the Ukrainian
than see this ******* be sieved to the top!
no! niet! nie!

if i were adorning a darker skin tone...
if i wasn't a my usually "self" copper-neck of suntail
imprint... would this elder: pseudo-elter
make such a remark?
          oi! bruh! where'z your simmer framez?!
Cannes the walk but Cannes the: ******* talkz?!

for a minute i thought he cared... a minute later
i realised: citizen-policeman...
citizen-;policemen belong in the crowd of
*****... cultivating ulterior tactics of submission...

i didn't just exchange a ******* too with
my grandfather... my grandfather would have said:
cycle on... this petty ******...
i'm exploring my hands...extending my fingers
in a way that will not allow a handshake...
first: purses... and fists clenched...
"hello"...

why is it an "el clásico"?
the distance takes under two hours...
adding the wind? and after having eaten a dinner?
not bad...
no... though: no...
this "white guilt" *******...
i'm not buying it... the RUSSIANS are not buying it...
i'm with them... i'd sooner a fellow ethnic tribe:
akin to me: suffer... than leave them for the pastures of
the cancerous ideas of the "west":
mind you... i simply can't care about Ukraine:
thank you... Ukraine... for Chernobyl...
an atomic BOMB is a BOMB...
but a nuclear REACTOR? is a ******* nuclear REACTOR?!
why does my mother blame me for her ailments?!
why did the Jews receive world war II reparations
while the Polacks didn't? why didn't we receive
Chernobyl reparations? why does my mother blame me
for my birth? if the ******* trees...
changed colour from spring to autumn during
this advent... she blames me: she doesn't
blame Chernobyl...

*******: weningmenschen!
                        menschen von hafer: und knabbern!
the Russians will sooner wage war against
their own ethnically minded:
than succumb to the mindset of the:
eroding west! and i would too!
     mind you: i think i already have!
i would wage war against my own kind
than make them succumb to the most ******* worth of
scrutiny: unlike the propaganda of Orwell...
this "double-think" is an an "extra-think"...

the English don't believe in ethnicity:
they believe in race....
me? i believe in race...
that's why i deem myself as an compound:
Anglo-Slav...
was it that hard, for Anglo-Saxons to emerge?!
I'M, *******... ASKING...
you might as well give me a ******* reply!
no reply?! good! TOLL!

zweigesichtmurmelnkastrat:
that's how i see the natives of the land i live in...
i don't even need to bring
the Zeppelins, either...

mein blut ist sieden:
zu punkt von auferstehen die toten!

ich bin wildbeäugt!

a smile is half a kiss. /
   a smile is half of a kiss...
little woe of all that awe
in translation on the pivot: of...
that smiling is the other
half of kissing... while tenderly:
a tone of eyes blinking...
that other secret: also insinuating
(a) kiss (kiss)...

per citation (if required):

'atan from the Seventh Grade (Polish: Szatan z siódmej klasy) is a 1960 Polish romance film directed by Maria Kaniewska. Based on the 1937 novel Satan from the Seventh Grade by Kornel Makuszyński, it is considered a classic children's film in Poland.

mein gott:
die sprache des volkes
früher war es
so schön,
als ob:
für die Menschen
             / vom Volk...
macht nichts...
Deutsche ich kann schlachten:
mein Polnisch vorrecht.