i'm going with Loki on this one... as taught: φ... is the iota needed? never mind... φιλoφαρσα - let's just play musical hiding places: φλoκεφ - and subsequently losing an omicron with ρ, or iotas from φ, χand ψ - it's a Jewish game... a Vegan milkshake sort of gangrene bruise on how aesthetics are different across our ethnic spectrum.

and it usually begins with a white coffee in the morning
with a few cigarettes, so the nicotine tuberculosis
subsides and i phlegm out a schnitzel -
but it works, i ate two meals a day,
i starve still dinner, then eat for closure after
the binge... i rarely attempt a breakfast for champions,
given i usually finish a bottle of whiskey or bourbon
the night before... i call it the mandible diet,
ensuring that beauty is mandible, bendable,
who would **** a skeleton pose, i'm not quiet sure,
the **** industry treats their women like
the lust for flesh in the Renaissance - plump...
or simply mandible.
a fond memory: drinking absinthe on the streets
of Athens before the revolution started,
cackling a mad laugh, just so the Greeks might
remember... so many junkies on the streets back
then, before the bust... junkies with baby buggies
walking down the streets injecting Afghan sunsets
into their veins, never made it to the mount of
Parthenon, like i never went for a tourist trip of
Edinburgh castle... instead... hooked up with a few
Algerians and went to the strip-club...
mm (smile)... fun there...
ah ****, never mind, or today, a bottle of bourbon
and a pint-bottle of Heineken...
then menthol filters and papers for rolling tobacco...
then a quick walk about the neighbourhood...
madman's luck in the end... the karma brigade came
along... the infinite factors involved, more thrill
than from playing the lottery, gambler neutral...
just walk, sulk a bit, laugh a while,
have a drink, have a smoke... walk past the social
centre and it's cheap disco "get together" on
the Saturday, two girls discussing how the night-out
will plan out in the cheap outer-London bars
(not as bad as that bar in Seven Kings...
imagine walking into a house with the kitchen
having carpets... all the evaporating oil,
all the scents... this bar near my school was like that...
it didn't have hard flooring, it was all dressed in
carpets... sickly **** sweat blood... the sort of place
you'd bring your drug dealer to... and unsurprisingly
my drug dealer was a Jamaican, into his Illuminati
conspiracies, who i listened to with human respect
while he showed me aliens, hyenas talking Hindu,
and starving Buddhas breaking the 40 days and nights
in the desert limit... kinda self-deprecating
given he was Jamaican and i was a white boy rummaging
outer-East London grime... but you have to fit in somewhere,
right?)
so the two girls at the bus stop... me hardly the gambling man...
and there is was... smiling at me on the ground...
'would you believe it?' i said to my father
watching the Olympic gold medal match between Brasil
and Germany... 'a 20 quid note!'
and it was, a little bit wet, a little bit gritty...
madman's luck... in my pocket a 20 quid banknote...
that's lucky, that's more lucky than gambling
with 3 lottery numbers for the same amount...
well, actually the winnings are £10 with 3 numbers...
i have found £10 twice and a fiver... but twenty quid?
no chance! well... until now...
and that's lucky... just like that Nietzsche quote
about looking down (and being praised)
and looking up (and being ******) -
well fair enough about cheapskates - but when the probability
game comes up, and you do find some money
on the street (not merely a lost copper penny) you sort
of start thinking: i'd have more odds finding
a laughing gas ******-shell of the bullet of injection...
and there are plenty of those littering the streets around
here... don't know, but i can depict outer
London suburbs like the streets of Sudan... junkies
everywhere... so that's how you play gambler neutral:
you don't expect to find anything while walking
smoking and drinking a few beers...
but it's the sort of exercise routine that pays... ha ha,
literally... which ain't that bad as when you
realise what's happening in the world... in today's
Saturday edition of *the times a real harrowing...
a sketch of the article:
    beware #thinstagram: does social media need a
  heath warning?
           vegan blogger, clean-eating regime,
            masking her severe eating disorder,
            death threats ensued - wellness trend
            tipping into an unhealthy obsession?
            carrots and sweet potato a.o.k.
            result? an Essex suntan... oorangé -
            psychological distress, the doughnut
            schizophrenic - i.e. the doughnuts are
           speaking to me people -
           (i'm not even going for mug smartness
            with a scythe moon extension of
            the jawline, Stephen King is an amateur
            in this respect - look up writing the
            horrors designating your ears to
            every contort of the world... the real horrors
            are the ones you can't escape,
            some of them yours, but mostly other people)
     orthorexia nervosa: crucial, the benzene ring
positioning, all the coin-phrasing-tossers
will probably come up with the other two:
metarexia and pararexia... whatever that might mean...
orthorexia? internet fuelled obsession with clean-eating
Calais / kale shakes (cos it's said Kalé in French, ******)
avocados on toast... who the **** does that routine?
£30 five-day juice cleaners... but still, the only
cure for a hangover is to keep on drinking...
gluten-free sales up 63% from 2012 to 2014...
almond milk sales 80% sales increase year by year
(given only 1 - 2% of people in Britain have a health allergy)...
NutriBullet smoothie-maker (black Friday 2014):
one sold every 30 seconds...
£9 million spent on avocados a year...
increase in kale being sold: 400%...
drinking a smoothie consisting of 12 bananas... /
            and this is happening, these people aren't living their
lives... they're selling them... me?
you think i get paid or do you think i drop a line about
Nietzsche or Heidegger like Diogenes mouthing off
Alexander the Great about blocking out the sun
****** mooove! and by the way, just so you don't think
that i think highly of Nietzsche... that fable about the madman
going into a market sq. with a lamp at noon looking for
god? ironic, because Diogenes did exactly the same thing...
but he wasn't looking for god... oddly enough he was looking
for an honest man.

Cursed caught under her spell,
Shes a witch,subjected my self to anguish
Subject, indiscretion
some loving in her coven
Trick...
Whip out my wand and stick it in your oven


Concentration eyes fixed on inspiration
Two **** perfectly adjacent
licking my lips i'm ready for some tasting
Like juicy fruit my tongue is gonna mooove ye
lip to lips, making love between your hips
My fantasy, the magic we conjure between these sheets


Been sniffing, My heart rates lifting
Like christmas its your turn for giving
My head is twisted, your lips are gifted
re-birth...
My concept of heaven on earth
an angel on her knees at mercy to a vigilante


Now stop, drop, and roll
My woods on fire
I need water, and your ***** is wet
Throw on my gloves and begin this set
Power on the camera, to replay your reaction
Teeth in your neck, moving in a synchronized fashion
She's calling me sunshine because my hands keep tanning her assets
Call you the bunny, got all my eggs in your basket
Repeat
Squeezing me tightly, cursing at the ceiling
Mutual has become our feelings


That time again the sun came up
Yeah good morning, time to stop the recording
Rewind is an option, if looking for an evaluation
Replay's our decision lets start back in the coven

You are a rocket straight to destruction in the midst of the opportunists you rise and fall to see the newspapers even if you think them the most horrifying aspect of pieces of meat you start to revolt, the **** will end up flying like a circus without turns and faults, magical like the curtains of my bed turning the atmosphere into a dragon mystery lake for children to play the forest and the knick knacks of their desires, but lo! Here comes the banker and the financier all galloping on tamed mechanical horses advancing with Colgate smiles disappearing your face and stealing your persona and your trousers made from cotton, synthetic cotton absurd cotton love cotton fear cotton waiting for you at the train station taken away to Europe where models eat a turnip and a peanut in your face to ***** lace and pepper dine in the shape of a paper centaur coming to avenge with his wooden sword the mess of intelligence and progress, he has waged war many times over, he lost, he disappeared in the shape of a blender for misunderstood poets and hoes of freedom talking about moving to the right direction assuming you will never rise up like a fountain in Rome and jalapa, but here, you and me never talking anymore in front of garbage smelling to the top of the Latin American craps with an antenna submitting your insides to the cops and the lawyers, credit to the banks for terror and the hand that wipes his forehead, you and only me can replace V with a string of fire and music to tremble a few notes into the ears of this country never to again see mommy or daddy, neverness is your dream but as I said you and I are not talking anymore, give me a line, a cane, a flame, a candle for company, cause if you are there and I here then poetry can move as a lightning rod on an airplane crushing giants with the swift ****** of business class, yes you and I will do a match in the toilette, you read and I spit on the floor to make it more comfortable will invite a few *******, two dry and a few (three) filled with milk and cottage cheese for the magazine model to strangle the last temptation on earth. Mooove on
Darling, death comes our way in the middle of the mass as the greasy mullet under the gutters, yes be content with all that money saved up for a better time, to spend on gas bills and rental hair, hands and hearts. It is coming silently.
The new music-

Don't wait till the time is right
or you might be waiting
Every problem however slight
will keep you procrastinating

Don't wait till the cows come home
the future contemplating
In your enclosed paddock roam
all day masticating

Don't wait till the 11th hour
or till you see a sign
Don't wait until the milk turns sour
because it's now 10.59