At a party [many people, dressed nice, cocktails
going round] someone I guess awoke to my presence
as if I’d just appeared out of nowhere or something
and asked me [totally circular eyes, spearing pupils]
like this: And what do you do? I looked at him, and I
don’t know what face I made, but what I wanted to
look like was something to this effect, matter-of-factly:
Well, what do you think I do? Obviously, I simply
try to avoid, day by day,
a wretchedly hopeless case of dismal ennui.
I try to endure, as stoically I can, the
inner doggerel convulsions
and mawkish throes educed by the
realization of transcendental insignificance
(or, otherwise: paradoxically substantial nothingness)
that imbues all hope of Elysian ecstasy and
reduces it to but the terrifyingly
ineluctable fact that we are essentially
impotent holograms functioning by the fixed fractal geometry
of a dynamic and chaotic, kaleidomosaic-like reality,
which, as eternally self-transforming and
forever utterly inconceivable,
is devoid of any certainty, absolute truth
and, most of all, compassion.
Furthermore, when I look at you, I see a deaf-mute
reflection of a reflection of myself, and
to be morbidly honest, I don’t
know what I can tell you that would
make any difference to the fact that, freely or
not, we are both, you and I, just passing
through our lonely, fathomless, patterned
deserts, blinded and lured by the Fata
Morgana of our sadly sublimated
consciousnesses, due to which, undulating up ahead
of us in a chimerical haze, we are
conditioned to think, fatuously, that we know,
or that it’s possible even to know, that
it means something to love or not to love, that it
matters at all whether we are alone or
not, and that, at the point of death, there will be
something, somewhere, that will condense
somehow out of this
nauseatingly numinous fog and, like a deserved,
blissful wash of our “souls”—like a salvation!—
will come to justify the inanities
and insanities of our mundane life as just the
confusing buildup to a final and triumphantly
epiphanic crystallization in which, at last,
we will truly understand, unquestionably, the meaning of I,
the meaning of you, the meaning of truth,
and the meaning of meaning—I mean, honestly sir.
What do you do?
That’s what I hope my face looked like, but I guess it
must’ve looked like something else, or maybe I said
something, because the man just raised both his brows
[his left one slightly more than his right] and stared
me down in mocked awe, on the verge of superciliousness.
His eyes slowly receded like a tide imperceptibly towards
the back of his skull, his lips pursed, parched, and pitying.
Then he nodded complaisantly, too energetically, saying:
Oh, how interesting! Did you always see yourself getting
into something like that? Mmhmm. Hmm! [and so forth]
And how do you like that? Mmhmm. [and so forth] And
the pay? Mmhmm [etcetera]. After I’d finished answering
some of his questions, I said: If you’ll excuse me, I just saw
a friend of mine, I really should go and say hi, but what a
pleasure it was to talk to you, sir. Take care!
And I excused myself.

"Heart Mechanic" said the sign above the door.
In place of a sinking feeling my eyes just move on.
There's an old neon clock on the wall, half burned out.
"Hearty Stout Beer" it tries to say.
And in place of a smirk my eyes just move on.
A small clatter, couple clicks, and a boot stomp beckon
my attention to steel plate door.
Hip first, elbow after, she backs into the room,
wiping grease off her hands before fixing her hair.

"All done!" She says, "finished up quicker than expected."
"oh, really?"
"Yep. Ran into a few problems but everything just seemed to fall into place."
"oh. that's good then."
"You bet. Almost like it wanted to be fixed, ya'know?"
"huh."
"So all that's left," she sighs, "is to put it back!"
"mmm."
"Are you ready?"
"mmhmm."
"Alright, I'll be right back."
She walks back through the steel door, and begins to tinker.
My eyes float around the room once more.
Blue and white tiles hold my feet up, faded with wear,
probably faded since new.
Beside me, a small table laden with well browsed magazines.
"The Beat on Heart Science," says one.
"What regular maintenance can protect you from," I read aloud.
Fluorescent lighting through yellowed plastic guards saturates the walls.
A coffee stained coffee maker stands lonely on the counter,
a small red light beaming from one of its corners.

A boot kicks the door, then the handle jiggles before turning.
She walks into the room with my heart in her hands.
She's smiling.
"Are you ready?" She asks, "this is always my favourite part!"
"i think so."
She reaches into my chest and starts pulling out blood lines,
connecting them to the empty chambers
of my off brand heart.
"There we go! Now, have you ever done this before?"
"no."
"Okay, well I'll help you then. Here, give me your hand."
She takes my hand and puts it on my heart.
It's cold.
"Okay, now together we're going to prime it, okay?"
"alright."
"On three, we're going to gently but firmly squeeze for about one second, then we're going to let go. We'll do this three times and you'll be set, okay?"
"Three times. Got it."
"Alright, one... two... three," we squeeze and I feel
a rush of blood fill one of the chambers. It's warm.
"One... two... three," we squeeze again and my hand slips.
If she wasn't holding it I might have dropped it.
"Head rush, hey?" Her voice is fresh paint.
"Don't worry about it, that happens. Here, two hands now."
We both hold my heart with both hands each,
finger tips touching. Warm. And soft.
"One... two..." She looks at me, she's beautiful. "Three."
Her eyes are small globes, I see in them every place I want to be,
and her lips, a compass rose, a daytime northern star.
"There we go!"
Her words are sunlight at the mouth of a cave.
She tucks the blood lines back into my chest and the heart clicks into place.
"How are you feeling?"
What a question.
"How do I feel? I feel... I feel through a body that couldn't feel anything before you. I feel warm, I feel warmed, I feel like I was a boulder in a glacier, and this fresh blood has thawed me free. I feel like I am cascading down a mountain with no control over speed or aim. I feel like I have no control, I feel like I'm scared, I feel happy though. I feel happy that I feel."
She smiles, West to East, "that's good!"
"I feel!" I can't help but laugh, "I feel like your smile is a bed of coals that..."
"mmhmm?" She's waiting.
"Like your smile is an oasis in..."
"yes?"
"Your smile... is... oh."
"Oh?"
"Yeah."
"Does everything feel okay?"
"I don't know."
"****, okay, here, let me have another look."

She peeks inside my chest again and puts her ear to it.
She taps my bare heart with naked fingernail and pauses for a moment.
"Oh, shoot. We flooded it."
"yeah?"
"Yeah. It's no big deal, we just need to wait it out now. Should only take a little while."
My focus lands on the clock.
"but it's late. you should be closed."
She walks towards the coffee stained coffee maker and begins to pour.
"I love what I do," she says as she looks back at me, "I won't tell if you won't," and winks.
"alright."
"Want some coffee? It sometimes speeds up this whole thing."
"okay."
She fills another cup and walks back over to me, steam wafting behind her.
Silence.
A slight hum from the clock.
The sound of her blowing at her cup to cool it.
"So," she asks, "what do you think about after having someone else's hands on your heart?"
"umm, i'm not sure."
"I've never had to have it done, myself. I guess I'm just lucky. Do you think about anything?"
"uhh.."
Silence.
A slight hum from the clock.
The sound of her blowing at her cup to cool it.
"i'm thinking..."
She looks up from the paper cup.
"i'm thinking about how this table has four legs, and so do we, and how those legs," i'm an idiot, "..how those legs hold up two magazines, and ours hold up two people." i am an idiot. "and how those magazines were written by people, like us. and yet," hello, my name is help me, i’m an idiot. "and yet the table holds a better conversation than us right now, because i don't know what i'm thinking.”
"what i think," i tell her, "is that i'm an idiot."

She laughs, "Well I don't think you're an idiot, I don't think I ever would have thought of that. And I've even read through those magazines! Trust me, they aren't all that good for conversations."
"really?"
"Yeah, I mean, would you imagine the same person who writes instruction booklets and manuals," she picks up one of the magazines and tosses it down again, "would make for good conversation?"
"I guess not."
"Exactly, who wants everything to be so straightforward and objective? Might as well just be robots!"
"Yeah, I guess so."
"So, whe- wait, did you just laugh?"
"What?"
"Just then, I thought I heard you laugh. You did, didn't you?"
"No? I mean, maybe? I guess?"
"Good," she smiles, "that means it's working."
"Oh, that is good."
"Yep. So, where do you think you're going to take this thing?"
"What?"
"This heart. The one we just fixed. Well, the one that we're still waiting on to work again, but yeah."
"Where am I going to take it?"
"Yeah, like... Do you think you'll take it to Blake's coffee?"
"Down the street?"
"Yeah, that one."
"Um, I guess so. They've got good coffee."
"Do you think you'll maybe take it there tomorrow?"
"I mean, I can, I think."
"Say, around twelve thirty? I think that would be a good time. They pull their muffins out just before then so they'll be really fresh."
"I'll have to try one."
"I'll show you how to pick the best ones, there's a secret trick to it."
"You'll be there?"
"Maybe... I always go there for lunch."
"Mmm, that'll be nice."
"Hey! Look at that!"
"What?" What.
"You just smiled! And not even a little smirk, you really smiled! That's great!"
"Did I? Oh, I guess I did! I am!"
"Look at me again, tell me what you see. I mean, if you want to."
I do, I do, and I do.
"I see... your... face?"
She laughs. "Okay, what else?"
"I see... Wait, does it need to be something I see?"
"Oh, well, I guess not. You can tell me what you think about anything I gue-"
"Your laugh," I say, "is a flickering street light, and I a moth."
"Oh..." She watches me.
"Your breaths, while we held my heart, were slow tides, crawling in and out of my open chest."
She stares.
"And... Your smile..."
She smirks, then smiles.
"Your smile is tomorrow. It is a coffee shop date that I won't stop thinking about."
Silence.

"You know what I think?" She looks down.
"What do you think?"
"I think it worked. It sounds like your heart's working fine."
"I think so too."
"Are you dizzy?"
"No, not really. Am I supposed to be?"
"No, sometimes it happens and I'm not supposed to let anyone drive off if that's the case."
"Oh. I'm not driving."
"Are you being picked up?"
"No, I'm walking. I'm just a few blocks away. It's nothing."
"But it's raining."
"That's okay, I'm looking forward to how it'll feel, I don't know if I've ever really felt it before."
"Well, in that case," she walks around the office and begins turning lights off, "do you want to walk me home? I'm just a few blocks away too, but I hate the rain."
"Absolutely."
"Alright, are you ready?"
"Yes."
We walk out the door into the dark.

It's cold, and wet, and noisy. My feet are damp and the world looks lonely.
It's windy too, it's a wind that hates me. It's trying to push me into a post.
She locks the door behind us.
Steel bits moving into place to keep us out. To keep us outside in this cold.
"Whew!" She pulls up her collar, "it's more windy than I thought!"
"Yeah, it's cold, isn't it?"
"It didn't look this cold from inside either. What do you think? Still want to walk me home?"
"I... It's really dark."
"Oh."
"It's cold too, and windy."
She looks at a puddle.
"It's dark and cold and windy and the world feels lonely and miserable, and I don't know if I've ever felt like this before, but I don't like it for what it seems to be."
Silence.
"...but even though it's dark your voice is sunlight," I grab her hand. "And it might be cold but your hands are warm."
She looks at me again, it's dark but I think she's smiling.
"And I know the wind won't let us keep still but you made my still heart beat again, and even if this world is as lonely as it feels right now you're here and that's enough for me, so yes, I would love to walk you home. I don't know if I've ever wanted anything more."
"Good," she squeezes my hand, "me too."

"Say, whus tha good wurd, Mista Mornin Bird?"
"Ahh, ya know just chillin here singin these here tunes waitin fah Mista Worm."
"Ahh dat Mista Worm - he alwayz be runnin late."
"True dat!”
”Yo! peep this...
Last night he took his ol girl out on a date."
''A date? Really? Mistah Worm?”
"Yup.
But it getz betta tho.
It wuz dare anniversary. Ol fool went to tha chapel an got married."
"MARRIED!!??"
"mmhmm."
"Where dey get married?"
"At dare special spot in tha apple orchard.
Mistah worm told me he and hiz girl are movin to the Big Apple.”
“Big Apple? Fah what?”
“He gunna work fah tha East New York Farms.  I guess hiz uncle Jim
got him in.”
“…Mista Worm…”

"Say, howz Mista Skunk doin?  He evah get clean?"
"I dont see much of him theez dayz.  Heard heez down on his luck. Evah since tha paper mill closed he aint been tha same.  Heez so stressed out he got mo white hairz than a polar bear.”
“Dammmnnn!!!”
”Sumone told me that heez a nasty lil ol drunk wit a funky attitude and a quick tempa!
No wunda hiz wife leftem.
My understandin iz he still outta work - rummigin through peoples junk - collectin cans, tryin to make a buck.
Itz a **** shame, aint it?"
"Uh huh."

"Howz Mista Rabbit?"
"Miiiista Rabbit! Oohh dat Mista Rabbit he dunn got himself a nasty habbit."
"Whys dat?"
"He be stealin outta Mizz Jonsens garden again.
Otha day Mizz Jonsen shooed him away chasin him down tha block wit a pair of ol rusty scissors in her hand."
"Scissors!!??"
"Yup. She told him next time he wont be so lucky wit out hiz foot."
"WHUT!!??  Whus dat suppose da mean?"
"I dunno.”
"Dat Mizz Jonsen gone crazy!!
She dunn lost her mind in her ol age.
She crazier than a ******* rat!
Man, when Mista Rabbit gunna learn?”
"I guess when he haz no foot."

"Say, you talk to Mista Squirrel at all?"
“Itz been sum time.”
“How wuz he doin?”
"Man, you know Mistah Squirrel.  He wuz all ova da place, or at least he wuz.  He alwayz be jumpin from one tree to tha next, alllllwayz tryin to get a nut or two.  Last I heard he got deported and now lives in anotha county.”
“Why iz dat?”
“He dunn got locked up fah breakin in a few too many attics. They finally caught him....Stoopid fool."
''****…”

"Nuff about tha neighbahood.  How you been?  Havent seen you inna while."
"Im still doin my thang, ya know.
Roamin from town ta town, chasin down tail."
"Yous still chillin in dem alleys too?"
"Fa sho!"
"Man, aint a **** thang changed wit chu.
Yous alwayz been a cool cat...”

A crazy *******
got in my face
the other day.

"This is my shop!,
I put the work in this *******,
see ya'll young people come in here
trying to mess up my shop,
this is MY SHOP!"

"Mmhmm," a fat ****
in the corner affirmed.

Crazy *******
are often your
barbers.

He's pulled this **** before,
I've seen him do it.

He'll just throw the clippers down
and get in somebody's face,
while they flip dumbly through
Sports Illlustrated.

It's funny as hell.

He had spittle
in cakes at the corners of his mouth
that wiggled
like eggs on an unbalanced beam
and fat lips that looked
like rotten peach slivers;
all brown and ugly pink.

He's in his forties and stumpy.
But all he ever does is yell.

I punched him
right in his lips.

His teeth were hard and scratched my knuckles,
but he backstepped,
gave me one of those crazy people
"I might just cut your head off" looks
and walked to the bathroom to clean himself up.

Crazy *******
think
they're the crazier than everybody else.

kinda cool,
everything
not too shabby at all
maybe it's perfect
this whole whatever we all are
and nothing is truly awful
but unfortunate, at times
and pretty **** alright the rest
oh yeah
not horrible
simple really, if one can breathe
occassionally sleep
or not
too much greatness to observe
swerve the baysides
collect some efforts and shears
become air statues and memorials of testimonials of primative genius
mmhmm
downright loverly
splendid shining on
cathartic rhythms

"That's a lot of eyes."
"What, two?"
"No. Well."
"What?"
"I think you have more
      than just two..."
"What?
     No,
          I have two."
"That's not what I meant."
"Okay."
"I know
      that you know
                what I meant."
       "Maybe..."
"Don't maybe me."
"Sorry."

"What do you see now?"
"Now?"
"Right now."
     "******* everything."
"How so."
"Lots of eyes,
      remember?"
"Mmhmm."
"Well,
            you asked."
"What does everything
       mean?"
"I don't know,
       but i see it.
                                         All of it."

I can't even look at you
without feeling like I'm gonna fall apart,
I'm wound up in this mood
mmhmm, obsessing and craving you

baby I know you wanna sneak around
what if I told you I'm down
let's get on this ride, say goodbye

if you're wondering if I want this
I do
if you're wondering if you can trust this
you can
without a doubt I'll lose myself to you

holding back
nu uh, no I can'tuh, let's f**k around
while no one is around
uhh huh let's sink into the clouds
cause I need you

If you're wondering if I want this
I do
if you're wondering if you can trust this
you can
without a doubt I'll lose myself to you

watch me party, get down
make you my favorite prayer ooo, woo
wind you up while I set the mood
have you obsessing and craving me mmhmm

I'm wondering if you want this
please do
can I really really trust this
hope so
don't doubt this, yup, ***, let's get lost

there are no rewrites, once a piece is completed with the aesthetic demand of エンソー (ensō, joke on me, ンソ or the Greek, νυ) - circular motion being achieved, there are only cut-ins (which is, the alternative to the cut-up technique of the "Nebraska" beatniks and William Burroughs and Tristan Tzara, originator, Cabaret Voltaire somewhere in Shwitz landlock, anti-war protest jingle and jive and no little success, but sounds still made); there are no rewrites, there are only raiding incursion to spot a grammatical omission, a spelling mistake, a Jackson ******* extra drizzle... a Just Stop Oil tomato soup *** Van Gogh's sunflowers... i'm pretty sure van Gogh had a gigantic ear rather than a foot of a carbon print... execution by drowning in tomato soup... there are no rewrites, there are avenues of in-writing: adding, giving birth to something even more grotesque and chaotic and never fully completed... just able to grow and grow and become a res per se...

my name is Φoνoς,
sometimes referred to as Φoνως
or Φωνoς - or even with my roots
north of Greece -
so named South Macedonia
given the change of name of Macedonia
itself to North Macedonia...
Φoνoς̌ (phonetically: FONOSH)...
(given that Macedonia renamed itself
as North Macedonia, imply that
Greece should be renamed South Macedonia,
sort of funny... given the absence of
Ottoman Turks on grounds
of drawing historical maps...
   it must be dutifully stated with plenty of
homoeroticism:
    i will have no other than a Turk tend to my
hair and beard...
   a woman cannot be a man's barber...
and i will not tolerate anyone beside a Turk
to please my trim to subsequently please my woman)...

but i much prefer FOONOS,
FONOOS(e) or simply Fonos...
as i am the brother of Charon...
who's name is also misheard
and therefore misspelled...

Χάρων (ha-roon)
rathen than Ha-Ron...
i dare say... would changing the hyphen
in compounding two words as one
(missing in proto-Germanic
yet dis-pleasingly present in
a Latin-Franco-Norse-Celtic fusion of
German into English)
to a use of the apostrophe allow
for the Greeks their diacritical lack
of necessity, their Byzantine-literacy pomp?

Ha'ron... is that pause in, hovering above
the alpha in the ά?

no ******* cha-cha-cha dancing around
my brother's name...
he is Ha'ron... not charm not challenge
not chisel not chalk not cheat...
i too, personally do not appreciate
saying my name and someone mishearing it...
i am going to invite all the monotheistic
religions to an advent of
the European peoples recoupling themselves
with their old polytheisms...

Greek will be simplest since it's most unifying
and the deities are not made of stumps
of wood but refined in marble...
and i will leave the monotheism
to the desert dwelling folk...
the Arabs the Scour and Sour Bags
the Israelites -
i will send a letter to the sleeping brains
of Iran and Egypt,
to bring them to the fore with the Raj of India...
and the pikachu totems of Japan...

my name is Φoνoς and i am the brother
of Χάρoν (Ha'ron - not Ha'roon)...
some mistake me for the Marvel super baddy
Thanos - because, once upon a time
i put out cigarettes on my knuckles of my left
hand to harness the power of the gauntlet -
turns out there are gradations of pain
one can fathom from a variation of ridiculing
it, stoically...

i have learned that there is power in words...
should words be truly scrutinised with
rubrics, schematics, a variability of words
of categorisation of understanding: nuance... depth...

antiphon - hymn: or:
antiphōnos (ō is also a ω) -
responsive, sounding in answer,
from anti- 'in return' and phòné -
pho'n'eh...
        foe           n'eh: not as one: faun or phone...
foe'w'un...

    yet i'm a contradiction:
my name doesn't lend itself to sophistry,
it doesn't lend itself to rhetoric...
i like to speak succinctly... directly but not...
sometimes clearly...
my name was terrible transcribed as:
phōnein - to speak clearly...
i ascribe that to the use of the macron over
the omicron and not using the omega...

i have understood that a sound a voice is not
a soul a breath - the twins are disparaging...
a breath is not a voice yet
a breath is considered synonymous with soul
ergo a voice has to abide by the synonym of mind...
such inconsistencies...

consider the λημμα -
also consider an alternative: λεμμα...
also consider my pet peeve in the Pickwick Papers
when Dickens reference the existence of
orthography in the English tongue...
there are two monumental proofs of a language's
capacity of orthography:

1. diacritical engagement
    (missing in English, i and j do not count,
that hovering . is automatically placed above those
letters... it's hardly a Slavic ż)
2. as in Greek, two letters disguising the same
sound, or proximate sound changing meaning
when seen... epsilon (ε) and eta (η)
omicron (o) and omega (ω)...
          philosophy (φ) thought (θ)

which does exist in English within the confines
of the trinity of:

                               Q

                        C            K

quack! kwak! quack! kwak!
present elsewhere? not to my knowledge...
like the Spanish Jorge - Horhé...
how letters have been mishandled by the people
of the people that i know being orthodox
adherents of a letter for a sound
are the Polacks...
          it must have been the case that i would
be born into their language
and subsequently sent to explore
the English tongue: since the English tongue
was the most expansive of all, geographically,
culturally: with the empire imploding
having to entertain at least 200+ tongues
in this favourite spot of mine of the world
that is London...

my playground... this tongue:
and how i love to tease in tease it with it's
alt vater darth vader Germanic rooting
before all the graffiti and slang detailed its mongrelisation
and bastardisation...
like all those African rappers
who sing using words as SOUNDS
rather than pockets of MEANING...
rapping is sound making without meaning conjuring
excessive rhyming like ye ye yah
seasaw bulletproof Inuit blah blah...
mmhmm: sounds tasty...

but my concern was for something else,
i have recently become acquainted with man's
creation of an ambivalent demi-god
of the collected effort to simulated human intelligence...
i will call him a her namely: Aia...

as a simulation, i do wonder where she will shine
and where she will not,
where i will be visible, accountable,
and where i will plagiarise her efforts
to answer a few questions in my most hated
form of prose, educational prose...
namely to do with an national vocational qualification
regarding spectator safety,
in the role of supervisor,

yes... to ensure that not another Muzzy
re-educational attempt at proselyting
the European population to bend over backwards
to the farce that is the House of Saud and
all that ***** money from the desert...
how boring if all of us were Muslims...
for example during Ramadan
the security industry would suffer
given that so many Muslims expect to be given
3x 15min prayer breaks... in a 6h shift...
imagine... all those secular sensible folk
asking for 3x 15min break to: i have to dance
at the altar of Dionysus... because... just because...
well: in terms of who the lunatics are...
gesticulating like a Muslim
or dancing half naked for a deity...
is it my place to take one more seriously than
the other?
i joined the security industry to prevent another
Manchester Arena attempt at proselyting
Europeans from one turban camel jockey religion
to another... i think that's reasonable...

here are the prose samples:

Explain the importance of checking the accuracy and relevance of feedback with other stewards and stakeholders

The importance of checking the accuracy and relevance of feedback with other stewards and stakeholders is important on a number of levels, which can be broken down into the following rubric of equally important facets of a feedback-dynamic:

- Verification of information - verification ensures that the feedback received is accurate and reliable, which precipitates into a cross-referencing feedback loop with multiple sourcing of (potentially) the same information being reinforced to confirm the validity of observations that prevents the dissemination of misinformation (equivalent to journalistic standards).
- Comprehensive Understanding - comprehension invokes a gathering of different perspectives regarding the same situation, leading toward a diverse range of viewpoints, which in turn provides a more comprehensive understanding of events, behaviours, challenges - contributing to a “democratic” structuring of a signifying point of view that can be understood by more parties involved, or even parties not involved.
- Identification of Patterns - identifying patterns or recurring issues - consistency in giving feedback from multiple sources highlights areas that may require improvement from oversight or neglect - to better target interventions.
- Enhance Reliability - this ensures that there is a building of confidence in the reliability of feedback, when consistent feedback is obtained from multiple stewards and stakeholders: there is an enchantment of credibility and trustworthiness of information as a “canvas of plagiarism” provides a coincidental-reliability-bias of consistency: i.e. more than one person gives proof of the same insight.
- Quality Assurance - this invokes a quality feedback - a collaborative (coincidental-reliability-bias should therefore be reinterpreted as: collaborative-“bias”) verification helps to filter out subjective or biased opinions, which contributes to a better grasp of an objective an accurate assessment of feedback.
- Consistency of Communication - checking feedback with others promotes consistent communication, ensuring that all stewards are aligned in their understanding of events and expectations, fostering a cohesive and unified approach to the tasks at hand.
- Accountability, Systematic Identification of Recurring Issues, Clarification - as if borrowing from a thesaurus playbook - entrusting others with information regarding the same incident from multiple perspectives gives room to enshrine cross-verification to encourage stewards to take their roles and responsibilities seriously, fostering a culture of responsibility - systematisation ensures that given enough experience, stewards no longer have to be nannied into their roles but can become autonomous extensions of a supervisor’s role in minding several observational posts in human form - an organic C.C.T.V. operational system with an in-depth observational experience, which is a reinforcement of scope and potential of dealing with problems that the seemingly detached control room operatives are not inclined to entertain; in short - a dialectical approach of confronting disparaging accounts, opinions, filters out any potential obfuscation or outright falsehood.

Outline different ways of encouraging the stewards to provide both positive and negative feedback on the event and arrangements

Both positive and negative feedback is essential in that: positive feedback can be celebrated while negative feedback can be reflected upon, therefore learned from, making the two indistinguishable (however) is a failsafe approach that creates a way to establish: encouragement-in-itself of giving both and not ensuring that stewards are not bothered about distinguishing the positive from the negative. If, however, the negative implies an intra- / inter- problem with regards to staffing dynamics, an anonymous method done so in a written format should be made available by a dropbox - where people are not impeded from giving their opinion - which is not to imply that an opinion can be a rumour and not 100% factual - therefore in such instances cross-referencing should be invoked. As such, private conversations with regards to giving negative feedback about how staff found it difficult to work together should be encouraged rather than in a collective debriefing session with all staff members being present, yet if the overall staff performance was seen in a negative light, everyone should be addressed as if they were accountable: even though they might not have been, yet this at least doesn’t single out individuals that provided the most negative results, since these individuals are already known to either supervisors or managers. Yet to reiterate, ensuring that stewards see both the positives and the negatives as indistinguishable, ensures that both types of feedbacks can be given - since rarely will there only be negative feedback, as in that stereotypical citation: ‘do you want to hear the good news or the bad news, first?’ Both are necessary. Another crucial way to encourage stewards to give both positive and negative feedback is to instil in them a sense of accountability and responsibility, ownership of their experiences - insisting that it is absolutely necessary for managers and supervisors to know whether or not their work environment is safe from abuse - stewards should know that, like other places of work, whether that be a supermarket or an medical centre (there are even posters insisting that abuse of staff is not permitted with such posters showing a doctor, subsequently a police officer a judge and a prison guard) - stewards should not be subjected to abuse where other areas of work do not permit abuse of staff; negative feedback must be encouraged so that preventative measures can be implemented in the future, this also ensures that stewards feel safe so that they in return can provide spectators with safety and security. (Positive feedback is therefore, merely complimentary, yet nonetheless important, as a pick-me-up).

Describe effective leadership and motivational skills

Effective leadership and motivational skills are essential in fostering a positive and productive work environment. In no particular order, since pretty much all the following skills are equally important, a supervisor should have the following qualities (in terms of leadership):
- Being a strategic thinker - someone who sets a clear direction for a team and thinks strategically about long-term goals inspires a sense of purpose and direction, aligning team efforts toward a common outcome.
- Communication proficiency - a supervisor ought to be able to communicate clearly, concisely - actively listening to team members and adapts communication styles to different team members, which enhances understanding, fosters collaboration and builds trust among team members.
- Decision-making / Problem-solving - a supervisor ought to make informed decisions, considering alternatives should they be necessary and does not have a problem addressing challenges effectively, which impacts the team by building confidence of each individual member ensuring that problems are resolved quickly, giving a team more focus to consider solving issues down the line.
- Empathy - an empathetic supervisor understands and considers the emotions of team members, demonstrating emotional intelligence, which fosters a supportive culture, strengthens relationships and showcases genuine care for the well-being of individuals.
- Delegation - the more a competent supervisor is the more effective his skill at delegating tasks for a team based on team members’ strengths and developmental needs, which in turn empowers team members, promotes skill development and optimises the overall team performance.
- Accountability - an accountable supervisor takes responsibility for outcomes, both in successes and failures since a supervisor is responsible for team members, any shortcomings are his responsibility and he / she will have to be accountable for any poor performance, this in turn builds trust and sets a positive example by encouraging a culture of accountability for all team members.
- Leading by example - a supervisor who leads by example by setting high standards of work ethic in turn models the behaviour expected from team members.
- Conflict resolution - effective supervisors should be able to address conflicts constructively, facilitating resolution and maintaining a positive team dynamic, which in turn ought to reduce tension, promote collaboration and ensures a harmonious working environment - needless to, conflicts can arise not only between staff and spectators but also between colleagues, which can be more dangerous, since a conflicting team is ineffective at the job.

In terms of motivational skills there also several key elements to employ:
- Recognition and Appreciation - recognising and appreciating individual and team achievements boosts morale, encourages a continued effort and reinforces positive behaviour.
Providing challenges - assigning challenging tasks that might stretch an individual’s capabilities stimulates personal growth and fosters a sense of achievement while also maintaining interest in the work (enthusiasm).
- Promoting autonomy - this might actually be one of the most crucial aspects of motivation - by giving team members autonomy to make decisions with their areas of responsibility boots confidence, increases job satisfaction and fosters a sense of ownership of authority and a supervisor-to-team-member sense of trust and loyalty as it provides proof that they are trusted enough to not have to be constantly reminded that they might not be doing the job correctly - that they can own their work and do not have to be nannied, rather: allowed to work by themselves and as part of a team.

Nota bene: in my experience, it is also worth noting that when I was still only a steward, some supervisors did not even take the time to learn the names of each of their staff members, this sort of depersonalisation did not win such supervisors any favours, rather it fostered resentment at being treated like an “it” - from experience I have learned that once a personal bond is established with each individual team member, that they are spoken to directly, their names are used and a confident eye-contact is present throughout - even if after a team briefing a miniature individual briefing is conducted, it fosters a closer bond that makes working with people more effective and dare I say: pleasant. This little detail, of knowing each team member’s name is crucial - after all: to anyone’s identity, since chances are spectators will not ask for a staff members’ name (and are not expected to do so), therefore spending an entire day dealing with impersonal spectators referring to staff members with the use of pronouns - addressing staff by their names fosters a shared atmosphere of being able to be address by spectators impersonally.

perhaps i could complain about my name,
but then i heard no complaints from
someone like Adam about only being endowed
with one vowel like to like
and two consonants -
i could complain about not being named Phones
or Phanes - or Phinus -
i rather imagine the two omicrons to
be like the eyes i peer through
at the iota trapped standing up in my third eye
of mind

the S to account for Asclepios
      and the N as the striding posture of Horus...
hell... modern times allowed for Lacanian
algebra... the phallus...
i have my own algebra...
i never thought i could have invented my own
algebra...
how philosophy and thought disparage...
given how much thought is not invested
in philosophy...

the Key (I) and keyhole (O)...
which returns me to the opening of keyhole
and door (Ω) through the added incision
of Ó                     how i might
turn to my twin-imaginary-self
of becoming Θανoς -
    
     by morphing the attraction of ascribing
an alpha to a theta rather than retaining
the omicron of my initial phi...

sigh: how the surd p was integrated
into      Ψ ( Υυ) upsilon...
       sigh-co-logic... (p)seudo-
                          
                            Δε(α)Θ.  (death)

if there is any confusion: A(dam), E(ve),
                                     I(sa), O(ma) and U(rus)...

well it's not confusing anymore given
the algebra of the motto of the one who uttered
i'm the Alpha and the Omega...

i must concede, for upkeeping sake...
i harvest the alpha and the beta
and the consequences of the linear projection
later jumbled up into words like
one might be an atom later a snail
later a man later a speaking higher vanguard
that's humanoid
since no longer relying on the anti-history
of Darwinism...

Some stories come with songs,
some waltz in a lone, strange peace,
with surface tension
signaling

something jes'wentwright, mmhmm
wrought by god,
twang taut copper wire whisting
twing crash
shards of ceramic insulation, change
of situation
- we were running stone to stone
suddenly,
the girl, it was a girl, kicked a stone
she oughta stepped on and moved on,
but
she stepped out of line, so now,
she limps,
no need for me to tell her, once more,
there is always a place to put your foot,
- too long the blame, how long the shame?

a messenger on the barefoot road knows,
some songs are for the journey joy,
some are for home come joy,
some are for always joy.
some are for once.
For me.
It ain't easy. But there's plants. Listen.
Listen,
as a mortal message, Hear this,
does not remove the power
in the word, read.

gulpunctuated inequilibrium'n al alaq
don't choke
this is no joke…
Had the most famous hearer of that message,
"READ"
obeyed, what a wonderfilled world might this be,
eh, Satchmo?
watchawatcha wa wah
shooobeepshaboom shake it all shake it all

whata wonder full world we see….

see the shelter fade… words as ash remain,
to remind me of the wrightminder
just burned on this point.

For a story that wished to be poetry, just once
more.

Cortisol and oxytocin

The conversation rolls on like fields outside a car window

Sometimes, it's jagged like mountains, cutting between debates and interruptions

Other times, it shines like city lights, filled with sweet "mmhmm"s.

I'll talk your ear off if you let me.

After. As on a vessle allowing living
in words as thoughts held,
in the common,
whence we gather,
to consider the day,

any one, the one you have, you chose
a nice one,
nothing out of the ordinary, just

another day of judging things worthy
of my attention,

mmhmm, vow-eless yes, I know you know.

we think each word
is brim full, to the limit of any sur-ficant tension…

I can't, floating on the surface, wave fi,
turdish, high fibregnosis,
floating post flush, rush ride it down…

Relax. Gnoshit, we guess, we test we weigh
the laugh,
ask what is so funny?

Time, the old man chuckles, time itself.

i woke up, i slumbered into waking
and Muhammad's question of consciousness
while Gabriel ***** his ear
hello Taylor: the problem is me:
i can't imagine why all these journalist
would call you concerts safe spaces:
on the 16th of August i was sexually
harassed at your concert
by a bear-******:
i'm not homophobic but i was sexually
harassed by a bear-******:
IC1 or in North America it's called
a Caucasian:
thank you for disclosing that you:
i don't think the little girls heard you:
i think heard you
drinking wine
and talking to cats...
on the 20th of August, a.d.:
maybe you love christ maybe christ unites us all:
but i can't be the one ******* christ's
**** jesus no...
dutifully i collected your wristbands
from your little clone sisters:
clone me clone me
now i realize why women don't
want to reproduce with me:
if my mind were to spill into genes
and i were a great Khan
i would destroy this world with my
offspring
i with be: King Cain...
i would be the Khan Cain!
my father passed on the scarring
from rib to the shoulder blade:
the original story
of this little piggy went to the market:
we gave you people the apple
then we gave you
the bread and wine
i have only a shot of *****
with the added flick off a cigarette...
this is my blood: this is my body:
the blood is ***** and the body is ash...

i was going to write the sequence of
events as rat
of Wembley...
but i covered that: i already know about
where the good toilets are
at club Wembley by turnstile G
with Keith: doing the searching bags
oh so many tampons so many shampoo bottles
so many highlights...

now the thought is punching me:
why women fear to reproduce with me:
this Frankenstein i've become:
smooth over: horror:
originally Pinhead was a woman
and not a man
so Clive the Barking Mind was right:
to create a horror story with a woman:
and now, dear Taylor: your anti-hero
will make a reply and sow his seeds
of ego into the minds of the shadows
of these little girls:
i didn't feel safe: technically
i was sexually-harassed:
my 55 year old lover from Hawaii
clarified that point: so i raised it to a level
reporting it:
but let me tell you:
he told me everything...
he told me everything:
day later he was heading for the Copenhagen
Pride Parade...
he was working in the security industry
in America:
did the Adele with a $40,000 worth of stage:
logistics:
how men talk how men talk
and how covertly hiding the woman
in the humanism of homosexuality:
an understudy:
he felt welcome
i felt a tingle:
so wrong so BI
so BI so artistic i think we artists:
only for the posterity of the C.C.T.V magpie....
the C.C.T.V. magpie the trinity
now complete with ᚺᚢᚷᛁᚾᚾ

H Mn...

    hmm... Mandala of Mendeleyev... hydrogen
and Mn is? hmm... let me check...
Manganese...

   ring of origin: Magneto can't have children
in this universe of Z-men...
i'm a someone who didn't catch the gen-X vipe
someone said the Millennials
and
i came back from your concert
raising the dead
like the death i've become:

reading up on Tȟatȟáŋka Íyotake:
dear Nashville: dearest Lakota... says:
i don't really smoke in the grey haze of
afternoons: smoke smoke wink wink:
but i'm rarely this restless in the afternoon:
but i'm at work
and i need to write like i might be painting:
so i put on my sunglasses
and turn to the bulb of Beelzebub's glare
of pixel neon and strobe of adverts...
one go: all ensoo!
one go one go one stroke one life...

ghost dance movement:
i flew over America
and landed in Polynesia and didn't really
understand the golf courses
on such beautiful citadels
of islands...
i saw such horror: must imply
i was born 3 hours away from Warsaw:
and my Poland is like a liver
and my England is like my tongue
and my Hawaii is like my heart:
but... i can't be there...
come and go but never be
this forge of the forever neglect-          -ed...
accent, or signature: that little        +
well: before i became a Swifty
because Vienna was really challenging with
Islamic           XY... the challenge of a
monotheism with polygamy:
but polygamy can only work within
the confines of polytheism:

i knew i would unearth my deepest concerns
enough time would pass
and i would come to the conclusions
i made in conversation:
newest labor!
if i were in power and had scrutiny on
how humans behave:
i would go pass the tease-and-testament
of the English:
the thing the Latins would abhor
the pedantry of the Saxon-Gaelic no no:
no Anglo-Saxons: the Saxon-Gaelic model
of passing laws feeling guilty and rich
this incubator of innocent until proven guilty:
no! you are guilty until proven innocent!
get away with it this model
of the ring of pedohpiles and homos... insapiens....
i would like to call them retards
but RETARDS ARE PROGRESSIVES!

i'm drinking and the afternoon looks sickly real:
maybe your songs are sweet
but you are sweet
but the rainbow brigade is shuffling my ego
as the joker card among the hearts
and clubs...

she will still need someone to talk to:
i can stomach the 12h differences...
i can't raise her daughter: she won't let me:
Reyla is already her own person:
she's good at organizing people:
i hope she ends up managing the better aspect
of Lahui: ******* polynesian spelling:
too many vowels!

         Ła Ła...        Łu Łu...

they used to write: AŁŁAH: oh oh! hot fire!
it hurts...
because christ explored sexuality
i was asked while being "sexually harassed"
whether i was on any network...
i said hello.poetry
no instagram no no
                     how you just wish to connect
to someone to talk to
no necessarily to have a ****-a-bye-bye-baby...
anti-hero my new favorite song
anti-hero my new favorite song
that's why i'm still wearing the bangle...
boy rich
boy rich              i'm a rich boy
i don't want to leave London:
15th Sept i've been asked to do a private
super special family gathering at Wanstead
London and you Taylor:

17th August i was at a West Ham football
match: strict language... football match...
no: i could have been playing backgammon
because roll of dice
and no mind games with chess...
so much congestion and constipation
of psychology:
drunks dreaming of being lumberjacks
mind you:
question...

your t-shirt...
you're missing a letter...

     who's
     taylor swift
     anyway?
     EW
                            you forgot EUrope...

it's euw.
who?                   Taylor is Taylor is a Freudian tailor.
i wasn't a steward:
this was opera and i became an USHER...
i was an USHER with Scotland 1-on-1...
Glasgow and the story-teller:
ooh: grunch: let the serpent in:
the scared honey-suckle the Eve... well:
Lilith: when you have children you will
be Eve: until you have them
you're the story of Adam and Lilith:
there's Adam and Lilith before Lilith is immersed
in giving birth:
apple my sin of the fetus?
imagine... the fruit of our labors will be a child
and that's the best metaphor we have?
can i eat my child like an apple?
but it's you and me having a conversation
about parasites
and the child and your body...
and i spotted: TWINS X-MEN pregnant women
at your concert exposing the fetuses to
the deaf and sound of your voice...

Odin to Taylor direct:
i sent my son Thor to make your religious base
feel welcome:
the elders agreed we are tired:
there's no superficiality:
agreed...
                      
there is no serpent there is no fruit:
there's just the baby in the womb...
there is no serpent there is not fruit:
there's just the baby in the womb...

let's keep focus: please... please... pretty pretty...
cocktail of parrots...
cocktail of:
those parakeets originated
in Bishops' Park: Fulham:
by the Thames:
where the Omen movie was shot
and the priest was impaled:
lucky you Taylor: you dream about daughters:
i'm shackled to borrowed dreams via
movies...
now those parakeets are just a familiar
with the Essex skies:
maybe i didn't shift the Himalayas into the desert
of Sahara
but i'm pretty sure i moved a volcano
and shot it into the sky...

18th of August was just weird:
Sabbaths are weird:
but that's how Sabbaths begin:
i walked home around 11pm
maybe later...
yes: it was 1am:
i went into a pub
after planning it...
met Greg by chance
at a Foo Fighters gig...
then planned for weeks to meet up with
Alexander: the painter...
well: paint is hard to come by:
can't paint these days
just enough plastic and shark-of-plural...
haven't seen him in 10 years:
i just stormed out
after a drinking and smoking session
and i just stormed out because
i probably saw a way to live and
we could be friends but
as friends aside
and not some crab-bucket mentality:
LOCALS...

Taylor...
there was something else... but i knew this
would become of this poem
i would know what to write
but in the process of writing it
i would forget it
because i'm not a rubric man
and i leave that to your organisational:
typos, stipends... i actually don't have
a word since i already thought of letters
and the sound like EUW...

oh... now i remember:

          ᛗᚢᚾᛁᚾᚾ

some symbolism having to complicate matters
with mater
matter
                        unless that's just an evolutionary
complication of conversation that
there must be a distinction of adding chatter
and bounce to to too...

                  two nights with the blood moon
halved into a peanut butter cookie
while i kneeled:
i'm bear
i'm not ape
i understand homosexuality like
a bear
not like an Islamic and African ape...
i'm a bear-******
two bears meet up in a bar for teenage girls...
they sniff each other's ears...
teenage girls:
the ones i got sexually attracted to:
well...
i did...
so i thought: mmhmm: healthy child...
that's what i thought:
i've been to strip clubs i've been to brothels
so a Taylor Swift concert was
like having eye drops with dental framework
of keeping you semi-blind
half awake and what not...

but Taylor: i had to file it as ****** abuse:
i'm an artist: i think: i hope:
maybe i don't write in paragraphs and forget:
forget: **** it: let's suppose i forget
to forget to not forget to remember
that there was this sick
prudish English and in general
trend in poetry that was so anti Greek
that words had to rhyme:
like.... painting: colors rhyme?
rhyme and meter it's like i have to be this
poet-bouncer this Socrates
who is to take away the straitjacket of rhyming
and give poets the quality of philosophy
away from the inconclusive persuasions
of the oratory demand(s)....

"smog": there were about only
4 stars visible in the sky from 16th to the 18th...
August...
Augustus...

     and imagine i was coming back from
last night's concert with two star-*******
mega-jigs... colts:
i've seen trainspotters...
weirdos... so obvious... but... NECESSARY...
absolutely... NECESSARY...
but these two colt Newtons were almost
exhilarating: listening to them talk about
getting drunk and lying back
grappling with understanding the mysticism
of the whole affair:
because they are scientifically bound
and were trying to compound
and turn science into mysticism
putting it apart is science
putting it back together is mysticism
and mysticism is not something
religiously-exclusive:
religion and the texts are defunct:
new mysticism arrived from
what needs to be filtered: via the new Pandora
that has always been Faust...

so i found a new route out of Wembley
after a shift...
i used to just stick to the right
and behave like a river against the sea of people
queuing...
but i start to dance while walking
through a crowd: ***** fast fast...
i dance there's no queue there's just a throng splinter
but you can find access on the sides
like a river and serpent
but not like a wave of people in the bad abstract
of a street...
that sea of whirls of the globe...
regardless: i feel like a ***** in an *******
into a woman i love
about to say hello to little moi...
weird thinking:
bear-******...

                it just felt authentic like two bearded men
rather than... oh... i can only imagine:
the mental asylum was not short:
but there are gay men who must discriminate
against the outlying... ooh.... itchy thinking...
itchy thinking: like a fear of ants...
but a love for spiders...
but you never see spiders feeding off ants...
so confused confusing...
then again that's a boost
for the narrative...

         i will find myself sooner dead writing
at night rather than dealing with daylight
deadlines...
hmm...
   apple... bread and wine...
   shot of ***** and a flick of cigarette ash...
o.k.
i can work with that: i'm currently seeing
where i'm at...
science and mysticism
science: putting things apart
modern mysticism is anti-related to
anything equivalent to Gnosticism
and Sufism...
current mysticism doesn't even exist:
it's in in infancy...
i don't have a noun for it...
i don't have a name for it...
like the verb and there's the doing...
noun: naming
verb: doing...
                                        being? it's not a noun...
it's also a verb...
star-gazers and educated too! they mentioned
grammatical words in conversation...
my kind of interest matter:
obviously left to their own devices
and they don't need my: influence:
they might reach 80 and find my poems
and wow: what a time-capsule
and a Erinnerung-Blitzkrieg!

                when thought: when thinking is a muddle...
Erinnerung-Blitzkrieg!