i simply can't believe the irony, well, it's irony in a historiological sense, and yes, if there's an affix of -ology ascribed to history, i.e.: how history tends to repeat itself, then the ironical history, the poetic history is also in place, history is by far, imbued by a chronological rigidity... oops. what does this concern, the lampooning hysteria of: the fall of the west, the fall of the west, the english are coming! sure, the germans are ***** sadomasochists in their own right, collectively, unlike the french singular development... but that's beside the point. you know what i've conjured? a prediction... western civilisation will only be revived, by the fall of the western / wailing wall in jerusalem... odd, this ha-kotel ha-ma'arav, this haa'it al-búraaq: you know what the slavic word for beetroot is? burak (ckq): western civilisation will have to be beaten to a beetroot pulp of ****** scars, and the western wall will, first have to fall, before a 4th temple is built; but this wall will have to fall, before the western world wakes up... it's going to be a painful process, but for the western world to reestablish itself: the jews will have to bid goodbye to their most sacred sanctity, their mecca, only when this happens, with an equilibrated sense of purpose arrive for the current sphere of affairs... not until she(h)-lo(h) beit (שלו בית) is erected, will the west seize its dodo project; i.e. his house; curious, isn't it, how the jews are teasing with this waiting game, then again: it is much much easier to desecrate mecca by the muslims, building profanities around the al-masjid al-haraam (wait, isn't haraam the word used by "allah" to state: forbidden? funny, funny that, ah who cares if it's one extra A); because what stands in the rebuilding of the שלו בית? oh, nothing, just the kippat ha-sela... muslims would sooner part with the mosque in mecca, than the dome of the rock in jerusalem; but first? the western wall must fall.

it's just a cliche to state, but this whole
notion of latin, being dead?
  this nietzschean
   *lateinisch ist tot -
  looks like god is alive after all...
why? take for example that every
single english t.v. show ends with
the credits of when the show was made,
the year? always given in roman
numerals... every, single, one...
that's for starters... oh, by the way,
what alphabet are we using?
   isn't it latin? my, what a coincidence,
and look! it rained from heaven
to enforce it, since the "barbarian"
north men, der nordenmänner
invoked diacritical enforcement -
   diacritical enforcement -
ya,    nordenmaanner (i can count
you know, it's just two dots above
the a, come on, don't be english
with your: i don't know how to pronounce
a word)...
and in the current year, anno domini
that's 2017 (MMXVII) -
we still see latin revived, up-kept,
nay, i'll go as far as to call it: cherished!
it would seem there's a pattern -
well, what with the egyptian enslavement
of the jews,
     and subsequently the destruction
of jerusalem, and the babylonian
enslavement (by the way,
chant of the hebrew slaves from verdi's
opera nabucco? my my) -
but you notice something?
  the romans didn't enslave the jews,
hence they fermented the most potent
zeitgeist for the hebrews,
    a strong priestly caste -
the hebrews bloomed under the romans,
because? the romans thought
very little of them in their physical
capacity, that role was allocated to
the nubians, and, moreover,
they thought about their intellectual
output even less -
      how could the jews compete with
the grecian intellect in the ancient world?
it couldn't! so they let them be.
sure as **** we can say that
nubians were the slaves in rome -
thus in a precursor to the final culmination,
try conceptualising newton's laws,
or einstein's relativity,
   using roman numerals, alternatively
known by the greeks to be the seven
headed beast from the book of revelation:
I V X L C D M -
  but at the same time, try to grasp
the aesthetic beauty of ancient rome,
the coliseum using modern digits
0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 - both systems are:
incompatible, or should i say: chiral.
just imagine HOW CONFUSING IT MUST
HAVE BEEN, AT TIMES,
  TO ASK FOR XLIV APPLES
at a market...
         staggering, man's ingenuity -
and this is why i keep all evolution bound
to script, the aristotelian measure of time,
rather than the platonic measure of time
conscripting forms,
   given the similarity of man to ape;
but that is still beside the point -
i wonder about the divine judgement with
respect to the romans and their
relationship with the hebrews, even though
they did destroy the temple
in jerusalem...
           well, i just look at it like this:
perhaps the remains of spoken latin is
"dead" in that it is muddled, but it is muddled
because the script has such a wide
geographic region of it being used -
              it's as if a universal medium was
achieved, for the greatest accomplishment
of the romans, is their script;
but the hell happened to the egyptian hieroglyphs,
or the babylonian cuneiform,
well, what? they became extinct!
           what does this suggest,
that the romans could not be blamed for
any foul play with respect to the hebrews,
the latin script was spared the fate of
the both hieroglyphs or cuneiform -
so much so that it didn't even succumb to
to the nordic runes, as it could have -
could have...
                  and it certainly didn't become
quasi-greek, as cyrillic script emerged.
         ergo?
gott ist nicht tot, seit lateinisch ist leben.

The Earth has run another race round her star
The Two Thousand and Seventeenth year (give or take)
Since the Creator drew breath in history
And now the manuscript is bound, it is sealed
Soon to be sent to the Printer

The Editor-in-Chief does not delegate this task
He leafs through the pages Himself
Though newly-bound, they are not white and fine
There is no fresh crispness, the binding is broken
They are musty already with age, and not only age

It is as if they had been soaked in a tea of human filth
A quarter of it printed in red, blood is cheaper than ink
A quarter of it stained with jaundice, sweat is cheaper than ink
A quarter of it wrinkled illegible, tears are cheaper than ink
A quarter of it, alas! - dreams are cheaper than ink

The Editor reads on, impassive, unfazed
He has long been familiar with Adam’s work
This sequel follows well upon its parent
Consistent in a thousand fires and slaughters
Consistent in a thousand lies and eruptions

Every chapter is headed with a dedication:
“For Death, the only mother I’ve ever loved”
In the foreword the author declared himself immortal
In the afterword he declared mortality an illusion
But the body was an essay on how much he dreaded his demise

Adam sat, nervous, across from the Editor’s desk
He had worked so ******* this
And yet it seemed to write itself
This was his life’s work
Though he never seemed to call the shots

The year Opinion Popular declared secession from the union
And Reality Objective became a Prisoner of War
And we resold our birthright for whatever was on the menu
The old had questions that nobody questioned
And the young had answers that nobody answered

And the Editor looked at Adam with tears in His eyes
And Adam asked if his draft would be published
And the Editor said that there was no alternative
And Adam asked, “What next, then?”
And the Editor told Him, with a sad smile

He told Adam to start work without delay
To begin immediately the next sequel
Because he only had a year before the deadline
And no extensions whatsoever would be granted
And Adam got up to leave, to write -

“But before you go -

“Look here, look close, you may have to squint
But look what you’ve scribbled here, in the margins
Read the footnotes very carefully
And every word in parentheses
And all these that you’ve bracketed”

There is hope scribbled in the margins
And they loved in the footnotes
They were embracing inbetween parentheses
Some of those sobs were even tears of joy
And in the brackets, O, what he had bracketed!

He had bracketed all those who labored to rebuild
The bridge-builders, the peace-makers
The dream-builders, the light-seekers
The school-builders, the truth-teachers
The home-builders, the wound-healers

He had bracketed numberless beautiful births
He had bracketed charity of mother and father
He had bracketed heroic sacrifice, all selfless
Men and women who loved family and country and God
Far more than they loved themselves

“Let’s make this the focus of the next edition.”

you are
the best thing
to ever happen
to me

you make me feel
so loved
so important
so worthy

you treat me
so well
and i know
i will never
love anyone
as much as i
love you

the day i met you
really was
the first day of my life

but of course
nothing that perfect
could ever last

i ****** it up
i made a mess
of our beautiful
love story

i'm impulsive
i'm irrational
i'm selfish

and you deserve
so much more
than what i
can give you

i know
i need to stop
hurting you
and so

i love you now
and i will love you
always

you were
the best thing
to ever happen
to me

so merlin... sorry... gandalf comes along
and says: leave your books! the real world awaits!
out there! beyond the door!
     ******* wizards, all they want to do is
send me on holiday...
  what the **** would i do in tunisia if
not think about islamic carthage?
       nope, i rather spend my time as a tapeworm
bound to an organism known as a personal
library; sorry, that's what farmers always said
when harvesting crops: i see what william
blake saw in a grain of sand...
       potential for glass... i know there isn't
any adventure in the world, there's only tourism...
and tourists really do only see the ****** parts of
capital cities... venice as generic as amsterdam...
tourists: just a load of bothersome flies.
    
i say take an adventure into someone else's psyche,
you're bound to some weird and wonderful
things in there...
  
roman numerals, right? so ugly... or rather: so difficult,
when life was... and when people needed
to state something beautiful...
like this mathematic teacher i once had who
simply said:
                     try calculus with roman numerals...
sure, try (e)x squared...
                      as in: why did we even keep them?
numerals i mean, they're not numbers as such,
they're numerals because we keep them to entrench
spelling, or that's how i see it,
   0 - 9 exist for fun, for sudokus, giving us absolutely
no clues...
but as ezra pound pointed: the beautiful is hard,
and he borrowed it from someone else,
    what we have reached is too simple,
we're stuck in this limit of microscopes and sub-atomic
particles and then the stars!
     it could just be a way to unlearn these holes
that we fall through, but of course: precipitating into
greater numbers, and even greater obscurity and
a need for herr anonymous...
             but you can't exactly build a Colosseum
using 0 - 9... back then... we had curves!
       real passionate curves! on pillars!
                               we didn't even have 0...
we had oh... omicron and omega...
                      the d'uh part, as part of project
nostalgia...
                             we didn't have 0 - 9 to fry
our brains and live live in the fast lane equipped with
amphetamines... we have I - X...
               and the XI...
                          imagine mathematics so complex
that the selection process to process it along with
language broke but certainly made a few mean
*******... now everyone can do it...
   it's what the greeks didn't comprehend...
                i'd love to see the original script from
pythagoras, oddly enough we don't possess the original
concept of numbers... we hear the arabs had this
and the indus had that, but what the greeks had?
no mention... nothing, just words...
   but imagine why the romans were as strong as
they were...     rex... what's that? revise ten,
ten ten over and over and again?
         to have to deal with I, II, III, IV, V, VI, VII, VIII, IX, X -
that's hard, but almost too amazing that they
managed to provide a Colosseum to be the blueprint
and plagiarism for modern stadiums...
   they even have this cliche of calling latin a dead
language... sure, and i'm still using their ******
φoνoς encoding... god i'm so tempted to make that
sigma acute... but the internet doesn't have something:
for once!
                     nos (nose)           noś (indicative verb:
to carry by command, of a self-serving argument) -
     it really turned out to be a real
greek prefix and roman suffix game (nasal)...
      but still the reason why we inherited
the roman rule of thumb, or said number that's one,
we have no firm belief in the greek concept of numbers,
well, apart from the only relevant number
that's 666 in the new testament... but i haven't
come across the greek concept of number...
   for all i know 0 through to 9 is either arabic or
indu -
               or why, for a better reason than none
I, II, III, IV etc. has been kept,
   and becomes imposing on your television
screen when a show ends...
    dated e.g. MMXVII (2017)...
now go back and use those numerals and give
me a theory of gravity... impossible!
    you couldn't have even the vaguest sense
to even begin to want to imagine such an
endeavour...
                    what i will say is that the latin
grapheme æ and that other one œ
are a source for many spelling mistakes,
as well as many uncouplings of the siamese
into diacritical distinctions... should i have
spelling the word endeavour wrong...
  
        and to think this "poem" was prompted by
having finished heidegger's ponderings no. II...
and having to only initiate this
  by having a problem figuring the no. 234 aphorism
in roman numerals (which are called mathematical letters)...
so yes, i imagine beauty as that which wasn't
exactly greek... more roman, as in counting
using a "monotheism" of language being
used for both talk and calculation -
                  to achieve what was achieved, and later
squandered, as of now, which it has been...

that i did laugh at aphorism no. 236 (CCXXXVI)
   already it feels like spelling, i wonder if there was
an orthography concerning numbers back then,
i mean, something without a prior to 236 encoding,
      i'm pretty **** sure the jewish "mystics"
started talking a lot of ******* when they invented
    gematria...
                               it's absolutely horrid
having, say aleph = 1...
                                but then that's just a spontaneous
critique that will eventually fizzle out of my head
and die a sudden death and i won't bother it ever again...

yet you can't say that with roman numerals you
couldn't extract more beauty,
   to state something in a single, and now the more
literal attempt at a concept of monotheism: tongue...
     how the hell did they extract the architecture
and the will to craft an empire like that,
      where encoding sound also included the same language
to encode abstracts, primarily with the basis of
measurement, and scale the skies!
     (it's not even my *** i'm talking about).

but in summary, aphorism 236 made me laugh,
   and that "thing" i invented that's res vanus
to counter Hegel's cogito - me cogitare
                                   is bound to aphorism 234...

in yesterday's newspaper there's a supplement
article about how exercising increases your chance
of a decreased libido...

     also, to unravel the stated "thing", you can simply
look to Kant for a list of faculties of the psyche,
         and how they interpolate / interact...
as anyone with half a can of worms might state:
  me go fishing, me catch shark...
                because to me, modern psychology is
a quasi-science... and philosophy is something you learn
outside of "respectable" institutions like universities,
at your own peril, kinda like rousseau...
   so yeah, kant's great with describing the interaction
of the faculties and how you can expose the "thing";
   i gave up on the res cogitans concept,
                i wanted to word nietzsche's bewilderment
about where thought comes from, and that abyss quote...
    it naturally had to come from that vein,
what would make a buddha laugh: res vanus.

5 years ago today
I let myself go
Unraveled her
To cling onto you
Heart beats like butterfly wings
Fluttering through the night
Simply from a confession
That quenched my internal starvation
I couldn’t believe I could finally feast
Couldn’t believe my eyes

Branded that validation
Hot wired my heart strings to your rhythm
To that one word
That forever remains
Even though you changed

Now I’ve changed
And you’ve stayed the same
Nothing but indecisiveness running in your brain
Nothing but words that stained a clear frame
Tainted and tarnished but art all the same
Of an almost was because you messed it all up

I knew i wasn’t enough for years
But you never diminished those fears
You reinforced them time and time again
I could fall at your knees
And you’d look past me
Simply because she was there
You just didn’t care

I watch you now fall apart
Because she’s wrapped in diamonds
All you have is string
How does that sting?
You lost the one you’d risk it all for
I watched you walk out the door
Begging to give you even more

Reminiscent on a night that’s a tattooed date
Although our fate didn’t align
I regret that wasted time
On an almost was
Not even a what used to be

A different headspace of validation
That ended in confusion and frustration
Because you couldn’t commit
I’ve closed up my walls with superglue
Im scared to encounter another you
So I quarantine

I wish her well
Down the well she falls
Hits the emptiness of stone
She’s all alone

She’ll find a way out
Screams and shouts aren’t loud
Her silence speaks volumes
Self conversation that leads her to a ladder
To save herself from her demons of worthlessness

I’ve seen her,
That’s me.

every day i check the date of a programme,
right at the end of the credits it appears,
and even though i'm not so tough
when it comes to doing modern
mathematics using roman numerals
i spot the oddity, or the blazing truth
of it all...
                   what year are we in nearing
its closure? MMXVII - that's what i thought
two thousand seventeen...
   but i'm sitting in zombie mode watching
a main-stream show, beginning at
5pm and ending with an hour,
and the credits read MMXVI...
2016?! you have to be kidding me!
i'm watching bulimia of culture?
    regurgitated rerun crap?!
              why would you even be demanded
to pay a t.v. license,
when the shows you're watching are
provided by a corporation that's,
frankly... bankrupt?
   maybe it was once the correct
acronym b.b.c. (british broadcasting
corporation)... these days though?
  more like bankrupt broadcasting corporation...
so you get to keep the b.b. after all...
   t.v., a fascinating object these days,
i do enjoy the ketaminesque numbness
of with glued eyes to it...
     and i'll only trust you when you
say you don't watch t.v. if you have one
of two replacements...
a fireplace... or a ******* aquarium!
      i have to turn into a zombie for at least
an hour, or watch a football match to
get my bearings and not turn into
a flamboyant mix between Sid Vicious,
Herb Hancock, David Bowie, Marc Bolan
and a Charlie Chaplin cuckoo!
the b.b.c. is broke...
  it's bankrupt!
              the only money they do have
is bound to fuelling that farcical affair
of trying to revive dancing, not in a nightclub
but at some charity ball,
and not high on ecstasy... good, luck!
    *** died when people stopped dancing
like some imitation of kuru...
              and thanks to freud,
i can safely say... shove that blue pill right
up your **** and tell me if you start
to feel a ****** johnny jr. after a while...
the madonna-***** complex was always
going to be a problem...
i checked, seen about 5+ prostitutes
about it, and each time i see skyscrapers!
            and the strangest bouncing fever ever
ascribed to ****** parts that look
like two octopuses *******...
      so who needs the via, the via...
          gr'ah?
                         please show the gentlemen
to the prozzie and i'll show you
a dysfunctional woman...
               all that sweat talk in the bedroom
comes around like cough medicine...
    there really are female doctors in
this world, obviously unorthodox,
but as ancient as shamans...
        i pay for an hour,
i don't have to deliberate paying for a meal...
well... it is a meal technically...
but you know what i mean.
              is it slavery?
                             really?
i pay, where's the slave aspect of:
             not being paid?
   at one hundred & ten quid an hour?!
you'd get lucky earning more than a tenner
in your usual knuckle-grinding factory!
          besides the point...
the b.b.c. is bankrupt!
            and since when did journalists deviate
from the ethos as depicted by
hoffman & redford in
     all the president's men?
                     sure, there are still the bastion
keepers, but generally speaking,
journalism has become the equivalent
of ******* words...
                   i know i don't trust politicians
because: Simon says - Brutus said it first...
but a distrust of journalism?!
       once the noble, ambitious prospect...
now... ditto-heads and...
there's a big difference between being
offended and being annoyed...
   eastern european brood, "collective" -
politically it's deemed "east" when in fact
it's central -
                       you want east you head
as far back as the Ural Mountains...
then it's east...
                            and pathos of island
dwelling people...
                           they're all alike,
the mentality of: we can do it by ourselves!
and we'll be the ones singing at our own
funeral, too!
                   well... better start singing...
               it's not unique in that it is unique
concerning people living on islands...
                 they are predisposed to isolationism...
which is why the fiasco that is brexit is,
well... to put it mildly... unspectacular.
                 still,
i know i have to distrust a politician,
much harder to have to distrust a journalists,
but, so it seems,
                     i have to distrust journalists
more than politicians these these days...
                because at least i know what i'll
get with the latter... not so much with the former...
with one i'm the mob, with the other:
a dumb witted so-and-so...
    and that's much harder to orientate myself
into... shame, really...
     my distrust must have originated in
the milly dowler case -
                  tabloid still means toilet paper,
doesn't it?
                 and to think, toilet paper costs
more than a tabloid newspaper.