It may necessarily be so,
It may necessarily be so,
The things that you're liable
To read in the Bible,
May necessarily be so.
Moses was found in a stream,
True for the times, it seems,
They foundered kids in fields and streams,
For the crocodiles to take them,
Yes, Moses was found in a stream..
It may necessarily be so,
It may necessarily be so,
The things that your preacher,
Is liable to teach you,
Read it all in context, you know,
It may necessarily be so,
Jonah could have lived in a whale,
Yes, Jonah could have lived in a whale,
Not in the abdomen,
The gastric juices would have taken over,
But it could have been the mouth of the whale,
People were much smaller,
The whales were much larger,
May  necessarily be  so,
May  necessarily be so.
Then there's the parting of the Red Sea,
Chronologically sound, you see,
Thera erupted,
The Red Sea parted,
The Tsunami swept away the Egyptians and the Pharaoh,
May necessarily be so, don't you know,
We may be small plebs,
But oh my,.
We have a powerful God, don't you know,
The things that your preacher
is liable to teach you,
May necessarily be so....
May necessarily be so....
Yes, the things that you're liable
To read in the Bible,
May necessarily be so......

angry men, get more done, but angry men die very young



you see my dad was always getting angry, nobody knows why he did

you see he was waiting for the perfect time to stop treating me like a kid

you see dad was angry at me because i didn’t clean my computer table

and he also was angry at me for converting to the cindrella cleaning system

you see angry men get things done, but they also die very young, dad was young, at age 75

i miss his helpful side, by helping me understand the computer

like art colony, writers cafe, and hello poetry and FACEBOOK, man

you see i hated dads frown, you see angry people die very young

i am not one of those angry people, that is why i am frustrated

because people are trying to push my nice side up to space

and my evil side i want to get rid of, cause, i am not shy to look *******

but i am a complete normie, only nerds are angry, very angry nerds

they will die very young, very very young

i hated my dads angriness, cause he hyped me up

i knew dad would die first, because he show his happy side like me

i am not living in the past for anyone

dad was angry, he helped me with the computer, i say thanks to the paranormal dad

but i still thought that dad was a cranky man

hail to the yobbos the yobbos the yobbos

hail to the yobbos and the old cranky dad

i know dad isn’t teasing, but he is an old cranky dad

i am the happiest dude in canberra, happier than anyone

i help the poor, i help the poor

an old cranky dad sits there up on cloud 9 wanting

pat has powers to take old hags out of people

old hags who are trying to be cool kids

ANGRY MEN GET THINGS DONE, BUT THEY DIE YOUNG LIKE DAD

ANGRY MEN GET THINGS DONE, BUT THEY DIE YOUNG LIKE DAD

ANGRY MEN GET THINGS DONE, BUT THEY DIE YOUNG LIKE DAD

i am a cool young dude, i have a lot of fun

.remember this youtube channel: harakiri diat...

i think this genre of music has a name: brutalism...
last night i watched 50 book recommendations
by the cosmicsceptic...
beside his oxford specific titles relating
to his philosophy and theology degree...
came the fictional books...
i presumed that i didn't read anything going
into this video...

i can be forgiven for not reading a christopher
hitchens when i've read some knausgård...
perhaps i presume to have not read anything...
because... i do quiet enjoy the act of reading...
so much so that... only scraps remain for me that
are: useful...

i can't imagine finding any use from a book
if it's not already in it...
apparently i'm not so under-read as i led myself
to believe...
but this is not about literature...
i was looking for a genre to encompass...
say... vomito *****...
the klinik...
the soft moon...
but i couldn't come to anything of worth...
not until i foraged for the more obscure...
the raw pulp...
primitive knot - ******* of brutalism...
again... the channel harakiri diat
has the music covered...
zeit und geist... i am the fire...
let's keep it clean...
i would go as far as to include
bohren & der club of gore: midnight radio
into this whole mix...

as much as i'd love to push for die krupps...
no can do... their stuff is polished goods...
vomito ***** is polished goods...
but there's still something raw about them...
once upon a time there was this "thing"
about doom metal... electric wizard... etc.,
but i can say... this new brutalism is...
by far... better than a gavin mcinnes diet
of punk... i never liked punk...
i never liked punk as i never liked rap...
hip hop yes and all that jazzmatazz fussion...
some solid grit...

after all... Romford, Essex...
probably the last bastion of the music shop...
a his-master's-voice with a vinyl section...
my idea of a tennis-court,
a cafe, a swimming-pool, a park,
a church even... because you can never really
own too many records...

and between me and you:
what's the difference between me and my neighbor?
he plays his music, mostly rap...
on the speakers... and sings along to the songs...
he finishes the day with some r'n'b and stops
singing... i take over...

headphones in, 6ft2 posture hunched in a chair
scribbling with chicken-pecking precision
some long lost "hierogylphic"...
and of course: in between some, literature...
but it was only about the music...
youtubers ruined youtube as much as
the "legacy media"... or the next will smith...
"vlogger"...

once upon a time youtube was a haven for people
like me: who only used it to find new music...
somehow the glitches started and the music video
recommendations died: youtube thesaurus algorithm
became corrupt or something...

would i ever sing-along to a song?
not if it's as raw as a stake-tartar and the dish
needs to be served with merely thinking to compliment it...
i'll repeat what i've already said:
gentlemen! the jukebox is ******!
- and i was the type to listen and then buy
a physical copy... even though i didn't have to...
i could go back and listen to the same stuff again...
out of principle...

no car = no car insurance no road tax...
no mobile phone = no... bill...
in terms of primitive knot, though?
would you rather go blind or deaf?
that's a tough one...

listening to primitive knot or watching
a latex lucy b.d.s.m. short *****-flick...
i know: it's the obvious synonym overlap...
but at the same time it isn't...
gimp suits or all those other unicorns of the bedroom...
but no... the most forbidden act i ever managed
to fathom in a brothel was a kiss...
one time i pulled out a ***** from a drawer
when she went with the money to the madame
of the parlour and coming back asked me:

do you want to use it?
*** to me is like rye bread...
it's not a ******* croissant...
toasting alone will do the trick...
language is already complicated by necessity...
of crosswords and the boredom
that most mono-lingual people feed not having
learned a crossword of bilingualism...
why would i inhibit this fact of voyeurism?
apparently there's something immoral watching
someone get pleasured...
perhaps i should find some rare footage of
a peter anthony allen hanging...
or Leroy Hall, Jr. at the Riverbend (Nashville, Tennessee)?
perhaps i should start jerking off on
a whim, from time to time...
over execution footage?

perhaps it's that sort of conundrum...
you see someone eating ice-cream and enjoying it...
you therefore? buy yourself a cone?
god almighty... but the added responsibility
of also owning the fridge and freezer
when that spontaneous whim passes...
after all... there's always that diet of...
the girls jerking off into the camera...
which is probably the least guilt-riddled form
of ******* on the planet...

hey! if she's doing it... and you sat down
on the throne of thrones to do the no. 1 and the no. 2...
let's call it no. 3 and taking a baptism later (no. 4)...
esp. if you haven't been circumcised...
at this point: i feel sorry for the circumcised men...
that do not live within the rigours of a hasidic orthodoxy:
the circumcised man: the subservient woman...
the circumcised man: the woman in a niqab...
i guess that's how it works, no?
imagine the problems...
if the man were circumcised... but the woman...
was not supposed to pay any sort
of "penalty"...

then again: one would expect to find the best
***** under the crucifix...
stigmata pin-head and all those dittos...
and heads... but i am a connoisseur... 1970s...
1980s... but it must be Italian...
no... not German... and certainly not English...
chances are: yes, French... but more or less
Italian... and it's always on a whim...
connoisseur... well there are videos where
you can find a pregnant woman parading her bump...
and squeezing her *******...
and that's about it...

i want to imagine what those 9 months
of pregnancy must feel like...
for better or for worse... the oral demands...
perhaps i haven't written about this sort of stuff
for a long enough period...

now an interlude where i smoke a cigarette
is bound to be... exquisite...

it sure as hell is the safest way to arrive
at some sort of *** that's purely plesurable:
a gradation of *** without consequences...
but is this a celebration?
a woman ******* on camera with
her toys is a celebration...
me my ******* and the phantom hand...
there's no theatre in it...
the utility of taking a ****, taking a ****...
doing "it"... then having a shower...
and then "repressing" it...
not having "repressed" it to begin with...

i did a month once...
i came to the conclusion... that i'm more impulse
prone, i was planning my next brothel
visit... after a month i was still planning it...
then i relieved myself and...
would you believe it? the impetus dissolved!
i don't know what these right-wing
europa-identitarians are coming up with...
so much attention on:
i enjoy reading as much as i enjoy taking
a ****... notably the constipated kind
but esp. more of the diarrhoea nature...
hello mr. **** hello mrs. geiser!

perhaps that's why i wouldn't ever be a fan
of ******... i enjoy taking a **** too much...
or perhaps i'm just too old fashioned...
but this began as something orientating oneself
around a music genre...
how did it come down to pornogrpahy?

jean genet: the thief's journal...
i was really hoping for something marquis de sade
-esque... there was still too much:

solo girl does her bit...
so well in fact... that... buying a *** doll
must only remain a h'american thing...
*** is already shamed when marriage comes
along in anglo-saxon societies...
notably the inflateable sheep or doll
on those normie stag parties...
*** and children and the joke is:
you can only have good ***...
if you're ******* for procreative reasons...
bypassing the ****** for the sake
of the children...

otherwise... well no ******* doesn't help...
if... there's no wife in a niqab in public...
or some kosher wifey either...

i still have mine and i will keep that...
as... almost... a security policy...
a prenup...

pauk-mumije (1982 bosnian post punk)...
perhaps brutalism is just post-punk?

i remember it quiet clearly...
i still can't fall asleep without listening to music...
as i couldn't back then...

otchim - james dean...
the bass and no guitar riffs until the chorus
comes... and... ha ha... it's in fwench!
just like i could **** her without listening
to really... atmospheric music...
by 2007 standards that was equal to:
the dandy warhols...
but that was 2007...

these days... hardly candles and
black sun dreamer - post-traumatic stress disorder...
back then it was candles
and type o negative...
the candles and... catching a mouse...
no trap... a labyrinth of obstacles
and she sitting on the bed giggling while
i played being a maine ****...
and i did catch the mouse...
held it by the tail... let it lose on the stairwell...
and then watch its traumatised body try to
find a hole... scuttle and then fall...
to a depth of a greater serenity of
a... vermin's suicide: with no monkey sing-along
of... this mouse has done the cheese...

and it was sad when i was naive and
i accidently killed my hamster in a similar
fashion... but some ***** Abel...
but at least the mouse allowed me to
circumstance a Pontius Pilate relief...
and she asked me: what did you do with the mouse?

oh... it committed suicide.

chicago research compilation... tape CRO15...
perhaps listening to the cure
or depeche mode was once a "thing"...
no... burtalism is not post-punk...
pisse - kohlrubenwinter...
red zebra - i can't live in a livingroom...

my one personal joke...
in england i started calling the livingroom...
the civilroom...
pokój cywilny - if it must stress the St. Cyril...
so it must: комната гражданский..
brutalism is not post-punk...

stiff little fingers... are punk's creamy pie...
oto - bats...
bodychoke - cruelty
       "            - red dog
       "            - the red sea
legendary divorce - age with us...

somehow more of my ****** valnetine...
and less sonic youth...

i do remember pretending to date...
at high school...
the first question was always a nervous
build-up to the question:
'what music are you into?'

weird party - acne puncture...

well would you believe it...
some of us are still after something that
finds no sort of aleviation
in the alternative that's an aydin paladin
video...

POPEiUM - papacidal coronation...
Münn - II. in defeat...
a john peel: a no john peel...
the sort of piano that makes
a debussy or a satie blush...
AMORT - die hexes...

the current standard of... the stoogers...
or stooges... and... air no concern...
the limbo artifact of ***...
formerly known as the... limbo pickling...
of the undead...
and all those that come with an eczema and
the scabs of leprosy...
and vampires: those syphilitic zombies...

susumu yokota, and all those stupid,
solipsictically assured cats, grinning...
menace of the grin!
full cheese impromptu with a display
of teeth!
a night promenade into the forest
listening to: demdike stare's tryptych...

i haven't tried... but from 1pm through to 5pm...
i could phone classic.fm and ask
for... a song to be played in my name...
perhaps i'll phone in...
if i catch the right "once upon a time"...
and find it... as i found...
christopher young's: something to think
about...

**** and music... many interludes...
perhaps some little borat-britain references...
and then: none...
per 1K there's a cult...
per 10K there's a counter-culture...
come the 918 apostles... of jonestown...
there's no leftover for no...
alternative...

the restless mind starts its exercise
in petty squabbling....
why weren't i the respected,
vatican proof for a plumber!
why wasn't i to become,
the undertaker!

i too feel: the claustrophobia
of the ensue of the paragraph...
what is primitive knot contra U2...
mainstream? sod it: knot it a blood
and a sundail!
blood dries... the mercurial mythology
dries a solidity of
something becoming more an echo...
and less a sodden-print of the foot...
which the tide will,
nonetheless relate itself as...
worthy of being erased...

the violin concerto...
the piano nocturnes...
and the symphonies...
and the operas...
later the ballet...
beside... a chopin would write a nocturne...
a debussy would write one also...
but...
debussy writes a nocturne...
satie writes a nocture...
but a schumann?! a schubert?!
they write a concerto!
none of their work could have been written
in solide with a solipsistic monologue
escapade...

perhaps i can only appreciate chopin via
his nocturnes...
otherwise i am not convinced...
the greats wrote.... symphonies...
operas... never accompany pieces
to make their instrument an oak...
a tree... and not something resdual
to later make a mahoganny piano / table
of...

pianists! you only hear of their prowess!
Liszt! Chopin! Debussy! Satie...
exclaim as if to: suprise the "audience"
with either knowledge or...
adoration?
can a violinist make the same sort
of statements?
a pianist will play... with an accompaniment...
he will never become the maestro
predisposition
of the polyphony...

a chopin only heard the piano...
a debussy only heard a piano: solo...
a beethoven or a mozart...
what violin solo? what of a violin concerto?!
is that a trick question?
old father bach...
no instrument: well...
shubert loved allowing a piano ****
a bunch of harem violins in a harem crescendo
of a concerto...

but a nocturne? the polyphony of...
the "polyphony" of...
two pianos playing side-by-side...

- the joint"laura's"1967 kk proto prog freak phych -
no, that's not it...
- and no... it's not omega - gyöngyhajú lány...
- well **** on me...
locomotiv moscow is not a band...
but an f.c.... beg your pardon...

as i do hope that i am wrong about
a minor "technicality"...
somehow classical, essential...
and nothing worth or being able to: hum...
or sing-along-to...
always serious and finding outlets
of a necessity in being: thought of...
perhaps there's this grand:

technicality of not finding oneself sighing
or crying for that matter...
vaughan williams is more required...
for the expanse of a cowboy movie
horizon...
or that technical term...
the: deconstruction of the dutch angle
in the perspective shot...

but we don't talk about *** as much
as we don't engage in it...
and we certainly don't talk about music...
the absolute brutal needs to be found...
a butterfly a lotus a kiss in a brothel...
all else is... the slaughterhouse....

this has been a...
no Friday night in Soho can match-up...
i've spent better nights in
Amsterdam...
and no... the red light district was
never going to be a cannabis cafe for me...
or some Vermont-esque quest for a better
pint of ale...
*** was on sale...
there was not real point of making
any money from it in the medium of fiction...
it was always going to be
ugly, frictive... below par of expectation...
but it was always going to
be fathomable... fathomable in a sense
of it being respected...
as a hierarchical undermining...

oh what since was, truly was concrete...
but the verbiage came along
and fiddled with the fog and the end-result
deems itself abstract...
there's the concrete of drought...
and the abstract of locust.
there's the concrete of a mountain...
and the abstract of a pyramid;
there's the concrete of death...
and the abstract of a mosileum;
after all... a grave is a coping mechanism
of someone who...
never began the inquiry... of mortality...
joking as a child might...
pretending to handshake his own shadow.

as i have found the antithesis of narcissus...
the man who fell in love with his shadow.

.well... d'uh... why would i give up this current freedom of expression, in a medium, that has been so perversely suppressed over the centuries, in the form of, literacy access? what, so now i'll get to bow down to the bog-weeds of computer literate html coders as my new priest-class masters?! so... in the space of a decade... people being allowed the freedom to gain access to literacy, also implieed changing hands with the "masters" of "access" via computer literacy? so... when was it a bad time to state: strenuously... oh but i'm a grammar "****"... all those aeons ago, when the priests held a monopoly on literacy (last century ago), and now, some ******* pleb is going to tell me... that i have to apply myself to literacy, in a lazy: meme / emoji way? one kick to the *** and three smackers to the jaw... and off they went... like a cricket ball, in the direction of a wicket.

******* ******* bagged-up
*******
    ruining "my" *******
jukebox...
   i can't find this one song
i want to listen to,
and it's ******* my head up
like some down syndrome
mental breakdown tantrum
worth of ****!
       ugh...
bottle for the *****...
i mean: shove those *****
down, through,
a turtleneck
and expect a samuel beckett's
existential qualm / angst
via the work akin to watt...
****'s sake!
         pwetty language!
all butterflies and disney
fairies... ******* *******...
   i once stuck a thumb
up my *** after doing
the no. 1, 2 and 3...
wiping my ***,
then taking a shower...
then sitting down on
the throne of thrones...
shoved a thumb up my ***...
how's that?!
  huh?!
       oh yeah...
felt good... really hit the spot...
if you think i'm lying...
i'll repeat it tomorrow
to give you a recap...
                      just once song...
no, nope...
we're done with you finding
new "****" to listen to...
grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrreat!
thumbs up, or rather,
thumbs up your own arses...
******* pederasty pushers...
   i really, really,
really didn't give a **** about
all these youtube socio-political
commentators...
i just want the algorithm to
bring back a taste for
exploring music...
clearly: that ain't happening,
so what's new?
            ***** liquor,
pandering for a bunch of
******* elves waiting for
         sigmund freud santa
to call them the naughty
munchkins
      while spanking them...
******'oh plus 12,
minus rudolf...
who... santa does a little
bestiliaty you ******* commoner.
get up to speed with
the project, savvy?!
well... looking at the blocked toilet
of what appears to be hinduism's
"time out" in terms of
reicarnation...
   i.e. so, you're telling me,
there were only ever,
only a limited amount
of people, trans-, moving,
from one zombie body to the next?
i can "almost"
         understand the platonic
trans- "confusion"...
benzene rings only acquire
the para-, meta- and ortho- posits
of attachment groups...
        it's a ******* nightmare,
this, current, reincarnation's
worth of a blocked toilet
   "world of events"
       wortvongeschehen...
blocked toilet of reincarnation,
as if, people are... "waking up"
from their mortal slumber...
trans- to one side,
          right mind, wrong body...
and incels to the other....
      wrong mind, right body...
               or whatever you call someone:
"too old" for their own age...
   it's almost like incels were
given "cheat codes" to the "game"
of life...
   the mind is too old for the body...
an inversion of premature dementia...
the mind has aged,
beyond the host capacity
    of the body...
unlike the Hegelian dialectic...
this is a host / parasite dichotomy...
most sane people have
a parasitic mind, and a host body...
but some...
have a host mind,
   and a "parasitic" body...
               the body itself is
a "parasite" rather than a parasite...
on the grounds that:
at least food is ingested,
   etc.,
                     but there's an
inherent existential bewilderment
as to why...
a mind can be trapped
in a body of a male...
   or a female...
or... as in the case of incels...
a mind of an old man,
is trapped in a body...
that hasn't even achieved its peak
of 40s plateau of
                            exertion;
i think i'm old,
             not that i "think" i'm old...
but i've come to experience
myself of the sort of reaction
associated to an old man,
without an old man's body...
it's no more a normie
standard for "delusion" as if
the normie standard of
fear of taboo associated with
   trans-"gender" current politico...
so...
as i once said:
in a mad world,
who are the sane propagators?
the mad.
the sane are off their rockers
filing suits
to conjure up the cartesian
inversion of sum ergo cogito...
i am liberal,
therefore i think like a liberal (etc.)...

           nietzsche did that part,
but only made a footnote out of it
in human, more than human...
so...
    go figure.

       i actually don't know what
a "liberal" is these days...
hearing: i'm a liberal, i'm a liberal
yadda yadda...
but then hearing the thinking
behind: i'm a liberal, i'm a liberal...
when propositions
were made precursors to
prepositions...
   that'll be the day...

          right now...
i'm in rampage mode...
                i drink, i turn into a juggernaut
when typing...
   neurotic about spelling mistakes...
and, to be honest?
that's what i need:
no room for lying,
and certainly even less for
spelling errors.

.there's redemption at the end of this diatribe, or so i think there is, well... whatever hector dejean could have ever done... of all the places in europe... i kinda wish i visited berlin... e.g. paris, mid 00s? the best place in the world... stockholm mid 00s? ******* closed it off, cold as a butcher's knife cutting into meat to the bone... and i know the saying: he only saw a bit of the world, only because of her... who, who's her? solo... how i pulled it off, i still don't know, how i became introverted because of the writing? that i know, i decided upon a career (insert snigger, and no " ") in drinking.

discovering a channel like
contrapoints and
shaun (salad fingers)
                        in a single day?

               sorry... no...

   the day a ****** starts to maul
its way into my head...
one ****** i can take:
two trannies?
              no... sorry...
i'm arachnophobic already...
what's another phobia
                      to do with it?

shaun: much appreciated
pedantry...
           to too came with
my own set of toys

  what's isn't chemistry
   is also not čeating...
all the major nuances
     of the english language...

but this overt-obsession
of the other with regards
to being either gratified,
or not...

      you should ask me...
'why is it that you don't
experience erectile dysfunction
when going to a brothel?'

   why a sudden concern,
interest,
              as to what men
              do, or don't do?

pet a cat,
put on a washing machine,
hang the washing
and shy away from the day
with three ciders...
   stare at a blank screen
with a blank face
and a morbid itch of anticipating
some sort of spew
from, yours truly?

   suddenly everyone is
"worried" about the leftovers?
albeit this "abortion"
   can talk back...
     or... "think" back...
because every time
i'd ******* i'd count it
          as an act of genocide...

        "loneliness":
   because i found an outlet that
bypasses...
          the editorial process
                 and is... unihibited?    
   ****, there are two of me
when there are three ciders
                                            in me...

      you know...
   i've never come across potent
left ideology,
                        until now...
****... maybe i'm also a leftist,
or: what does all of this even
                                 mean?

personally...
                        it's not saying i'm
not unconvinced,
       or i'm hallucinating
or anything...
         maybe these so-called
incels would not get
such bad press,
    if... there wasn't a problem
with ******* priests?
  and... the name
   suburban cenobite was
introduced?

  when one mental "disorder"
is... Norman...
          and all others
are...
                       Tabloid Taboo...

seriously, Matt, get your *******
head around this...
    'i'm trying, i'm trying...
but this **** is not lily *******
savage...
         translate
                   counterpoints
from behind
                 a camera lens...
to stage...
                       who's laughing?

the queer that was,
when it first started to tease
the public's taboo
                    orientation...
the current public's taboo
orientation of certain
                  negations of ease?

different ball-game...
            maybe that's why i sometimes
frequented brothels...
   best shrinks in the whole
******* world...
         but of course,
"*** slaves"...
                        oh that one time,
when i forgot to trim
my ***** hair and thought:
that would be impolite...
              so we just smooched
for an hour...
   do you even know that
they charge an excess on
the hour if you want to perform
oral on them?

       i just think of eating
raw oysters...
          
     but ***...
                do i really have to think
about it so much,
on such political terms?
     this is it... no ******* bucket
and ***** for me...
     the continual cycle of:
not-keeping-your-own-affairs-intact...

are days always like this?
by this i mean...
penetrating - my ego just turned
into a ******
  and became ****** by
        a ******-tongue / voxdo...

or maybe i'm personifying
   an atypical reaction from the actual
echelon of addressee...

               but this isn't a blaire white
hmm...
             buffalo bill -esque...
who said anything about...
   ****** bones?
    hands don't, lie...
              em, yeah...
    ***** envy...
             with a hand that can
hold a basketball?
            do all you want...
but once the hands come into play...

and then... the video of
counter point nears its end...
and i'm...
   like...
                      o.k. this could
work... consolidation...
a truce...
                  you be she
                      whatever you like,
   i'll be a suburban cenobite...
unofficial...
        but at least i will not
be some paedohpile priest...

       i needed this...
   there's still one cider left,
i hang the washing...
which included my mother's
underwear
   and i feel... insanely normie...
having just realised:

    i usually normal with this
sort of content...
       why now?
   oh... right...
   reading the sunday times'
magazines...
       and imploding from
all the disconnect from
                mainstream media...

   yet i will persist...
      what is an irrational fear
when the thing itself, in question,
is also irrational?
my arachnophobia
     is irrational...
            is the spider even
given a status of either
rationality, or irrationality?
         i'm definitely being
irrational...
   but the spider is neither
rational, or irrational...
     it's a spider...
  it doesn't have the luxury
to be irrational,
   other than it is a rational
                extension of per se...
sure, god, evolution,
                             whatever...

for so long i craved to write
something so alienating
that it makes me feel
uncomfortable...

        ah... the subject matter...
that was it...
       the death spiral,
the dodo project...
           first time... Isabella...
psychology exchange student
two years my scenior...
Grenoble...
   no...
   she really was a dream...
then there was that time
with my ex-girlfriend
from high school...
    a whole afternoon
and her *******...
later something else,
and then later something else...
months apart...
then the ukrainian *******...
then the russian bombshell...
the puerto rican
          plum in amsterdam...
a black girl
with an ***
     just about right
for my lack of ***** envy
or whatever it's called
when a black girl's ***
requires the desired tool
(i hear they're releasing
a new album, can't wait)...
then a few bulgarian prostitutes...
then a thai bisexual
(yeah, to my shock...
she was wearing a sports bra
and there was no thai
surprise in the end,
but the suspense was
killing me
   just before we did it
                       in the garden)...

details, details:
   i'm not going to suddenly
write out a hard-on...
   ****... i was starting to feed
into the paranoia of identifying
myself as an incel...

cool cool, "are traps gay"...
we're back in lily savage territory...
ha ha, always the subject matter...
     i hate that...
freaking out about something
you're not...

          it just had to come
at the right time,
   downing this third cider...
and yeah: it's sunny...
   i can't wait for the night
and the foxes...
it's mating season,
so they'll be at it
             more prominently...

          ah... the trans-movement...
the benzene ring...
and Plato's concept
   of punishment
     of men being reincarnated
as women...
or.... in this instance...
  women being incarnate
in male bodies...
            it's like: hell decided
to blah-blah its way into life...
          fun times...
            sure, and a bunch slurrs
and slurps of milkshake
from the great *** of kamadhenu...

i'm no better,
   look at me,
               drinking,
                 brothels...
                   among
the mad, the ******
                       and...
                  safe to say:
            liberated from
the pogrom of establishing
              myself as a father figure.

before i begin, a pre-scriptum...
         in my hand, this minute?
                   what a rare delight...
the Beauties of Sterne:
                                with some account of his life...
printed for J. Walker,
published by J. Walker, Paternoster Row &
   J. Harris, St. Paul's Church Yard...
London... 1811!
    and being a big "fan boy" of the fiction
that a bibliophile might have an adventure:
Roman Polanski's the Ninth Gate...
   now, for a book that's... 208 years old?!
it's not in bad shape... sure...
the hardcover is missing by a half...
but all the text is intact...
              obviously colouring of the pages...
but hey... i'm not a museum...
             the book is still fiddled with...
ha ha, the opening page with a picture
reads as follows:
   there are worse occupations in this world,
than feeling a woman's pulse...
perhaps a quote about... insensibility?
   it reads as follows:
       it is the fate of mankind, too often,
to insensible of what they may enjoy at
the easiest rate (sermon XLII)...
   besides, lucky for me youtube continues
to glitch from time to time...
    now looking more in line with channels
than individual artists...
   notably? Harakiri Diat (channel)...
eh... :wumpscut, the soft machine,
demdike stare, vomito *****, feindflug
weren't enough...
          turns out... there's more...
beyond penta, matutero and GloOMy
PhAntOM... well, please, allow me:
   filmmaker - the love market,
              la ***** bianca - demian...
hell... if you want to venture into the past?
i know one band that freaked out
my ex-girlfriend... gong - flying teapot...
or that song by greenskeepers, lotion...
               i thought i'd never see someone
become freaked out about music...
curios and also highly curious, yes...
but freaked out?
                 primitive knot - puritan...
demolition group - you better...
          1986 Yugoslav minimal electro...
Bruce Roach - Gut...
              and as it turns out...
    i look from this corner of the internet and find
absolutely no need to delve into
the dark web... install Tor...
           if you really want to...
  you'll find all you need... but you need
to sift through a bibliography of a book prior
to... it's all here... this sort of material
has an inbuilt filter... it filters out
             mainstream consumers of content...
i should know...
    3 websites that banned me,
1 suspended me...
                   i crossed the threshold...
    normie poetic: outcast *****...
           yet i still sometimes happened to chance
upon a will...
           lao che - soundtrack (the whole album
is decent) -
              


.i once heard it was based upon the following maxims: bogatemu wszystko wolno (the rich are allowed anything), siła razy gwałt (force multiplied by ****)... well... over the years, that much was true... but then i conjured a reply: nie wszystko wolno bogatemu (not everything is given an allowance to be expressed by the rich) and wola odiąć gwałt (will, having substracted ****): otherwise it's still wola razy gwałt (will, multiplied by ****).

****, i only just "woke" up from
this game,
you know that game...
oh i'm pretty sure you know it...
it's called
   pass the jew along...
   rudolf höss
      cited, among the list:
ibrahim ibn yaqub,
         radhanites (there's a surd
H in there, rad-'anites)
    casimir III...
esp. the latter...
           so.. give the current h'americans,
we're still playing the globalist
nomad game of: juggling the jews,
yes, no, maybe?
so my mother tended to
two old jewish women,
because, just "because"
their sons were active in
the "economics" of passing law
and techno-literacy?
oh... right... i "see"...
                            i... "see"...
in defence, of the "neglected" ones...
makes perfect sense,
de facto 51,
                  area 51 was always
a propaganda convert term
for Israel, rather than some area
bound to Nevada, wansn't it?
wasn't it?
                      ask me again
one year from now,
did we live peacefully among the jews?
they'll tell you the joke...
didn't the jews shoot,
with riffles,
   with bent barrels / sights
aiming at themselves rather
than the nazis?
       no, no soap jokes when
it comes to yews...
the yids...
      everyone in poland just
wondered: why so pacified?
        so blatant in walking into
an inferno?
                      you know...
it took Poland longer to surrender,
while being attacked by both
the Germans and the Russians,
than it took for the Fwench
to be attacked by the sole effort
of the Germans?
    funny... that...
                               i truly admire
some nazis, for their ingenuity...
notably? erwin rommel...
   lothar von arnauld de la periè(re)...
(subtle, i give you that one,
per-y'eh...
                 'old 'ack 'old 'ck
   h-b-h-b,
                                    rein in...
otherwise perié... ergo without
                                           the -re)...
michael wittmann...
and i'm a ******...
      **** me...
they didn't bomb paris,
might as well state:
they also didn't bomb
  marienburg or most of danzig...
Warsaw? taken down,
levelled, brick by brick,
        until no brick stood on brick...
              what?!
i thought the western capitalist-ico
communist insurgents
wanted target practice?
          i thought these people
wanted nazis, no?
          i'll admit... tiki torches?
you must have never looked
at european football hooligans...
tiki torches?!
you having a bbq?
            never heard of flares?        
- mind you...
you know what's worse beside
beind ridiculed?
having your intelligence
insulted...
i.e. do i look like someone
who managed to ****
your mother with a *******
harmonica,
or, am i, bound to the responsibility,
of your parents playing
the irresponsibility card,
attempting to convey a child
into existence aged circa 50
circa 45,
and what comes out is
an autistic cucumber?!
    **** me...
try giving ****** lessons
to circa 50 year olds;
and now the paradox...
   "i'm" the "schizophrenic"...
cool cool, coolio...
     i'll just hide in that "harem's"
worth of a brothel with
the prostitutes who tell
me they get s.t.d. checks on
a regular basis, o.k.?
_____

what am i to add to this?
not much, is there...
was the great gatsby by f. scott fitzgerald
ever great?!
  how satisfying it is to be unable
to please the crowd....
words, after all, are not bread...
how one wishes
for an anathema rather than
a martyr's embrace...
            one begins to imagine...
then one loses interest...
then...
                    peering through
the eye of a needle
watching a camel walk through...
one spots something outside
the realm of the metaphorical miracle...
do i have to?
      what if i remain to this side
of the eye of the needle?
what riches do i have that i cling to...
books & music...
does that make me rich?
what are the sort of riches where either
people plunder readily (music),
or do not engage with to begin
with?
who are ready to read...
i can claim to be a book thief...
i stole two books from my high school
library... the quran and the scarlet &
the black by stendhal...
            "stole"... i extended their
licance of being borrowed...
how am i rich: if my riches are the riches
no one would want to steal?!
i am rich... though...
               but i am rich in a both
materialistic / non-materialistic paradox
frame...
                what i own no one wants to
steal! why steal a first cheap edition
of a dickens' novel if you're not going
to read it!
              
       **** **** ****.... if they were such
philistines... when blitzing London,
why did st. paul's remain intact?
   "coinicidence"? i don't think so...
and why did they steal all those
art-works? again, "coincidence"?

                    they were people:
i find it uncomfortable to suit them up
in transcendence,
to be: epitome evil...
  to be the übermensch...
                   they loved art as much
as they loved being the antithesis
of the golden horde: gucci, dolce & gabbana
zz top: well dressed men...

     nazis loved art and fashion,
by far the best dressed army in the world
and history...

   ol' herman and otto came back
from the eastern front to a scared wife and mother...
people! they weren't mythical creatures...
the nazis can hardly become
chimeras as they become in the minds
of pseudo-communists of the western lands...

they are hardly the epitome of evil,
i know the 21st century narrative
deems them: "the perfect example"...
come on... they're not evil embodied
with not subsequent examples to be given
to... historical capitalism of evil:
there's always someone waiting,
some group of people to stage
a competition libra... and they will...
overcome the nazis...
it's only a question of ingenuity /
imagination...
           gas chambers was only industrial...
it will become personal in the years to come...
methodologically trained cultured
barbarians woken from a slumber...

the nazis were not: philistines...
   in no defence: didn't they speed up the creation
of the state of israel?
   didn't they? **** uncle:
   lavrentiy pavlovich Beria is going to state
the matters differently?
like hell he is...

        my family also suffered in that war...
sure, not in a concentration camp:
but on the front...
             there's even a joke that my
grandfather remembers:
the jews were shooting with bent nozzles
of riffles...
   as he also remembers two ss-men
who he asked for sweets,
and they would give them to him,
he'd as them: herr! bitte bon-bon!
   sweets so sweet that he would have
to rinse his hands under water
to unglue them from the sickly in-between...
how all the insurgent soviet soldiers
were teenagers and preferred to
sleep in pigstys and among the goats
in the hay...

how did the nazis become mythological
i will never understand,
at uni i had a **** history teacher,
canadian, she really liked my essay
on napoleon... how he was a great
strategist...
akin to?  

   erwin rommel wasn't a ****...
erwin rommel was, erwin rommel...
a great strategist...
        am i supposed to thrive in this
current year of polarized *******?
it's the current topic,
i can't escape it,
  sure, i'd love to have a Wordsworth
moment, lurking in me,
or an anna akhmatova breakthough...
instead?! i'm given this sort of *******
on a platter,
  and all that's missing are the wedges
of lemon and the eager oysters to
be gulped down... lucky me!

no, i don't like how the nazis are misrepresented
as both the übermenschen:
these mythological epitomes of evil
(no greater evil is to come? really?!)
and at the same time
as philistines: they stole art,
they ensured that critically cultural
documents of architecture were left
undisturbed... st. paul's cathedral...

         it's not like some otto or moritz
didn't come back home to a wife
and children... no...
he came back to the shadow cult
of the ******* hanging over him...

you know what the most haunting experience
i have ever experienced was?
Ypres... world war I site...
visiting a german cemetary...
compared to the allies cemetary?
**** me, what a meagre sight!
           the allies were burried with marked
graves, each man to his own cross...
the german burial ground?!
  mass graves....
eh: one marker: 200 bodies in one pit...
                 and here's the 21st century with
games about shooting: zee nat'zees...

   just visit the world war I cemetaries...
the ally cemetaries? square miles...
each man with his white cross...
german cemetaries? as mass graves go...
one marker per 200+ troops...
so... not that much space required...
less: bombast!
               pride & prejudice /
   pomp & circumstance...
   which the english speaking world is...
of the latter convenience to suit the narrative.

to reiterate...
   as a ******... the whole german fetish
isn't my kind of gig...
what with my grandmother being born
on the front... given opiates at an early
age so she would not cry and allow
the soldiers to locate her and my gread-grandparents...
but...
   they were the best dressed army in
the history of warfare...
they were not philistines and they certainly
weren't the mongolian golden horde...
i.e. they stole art, notably jewish artwork...
and if a luftwaffe squadron were to drop
a bomb on st. paul's? they'd probably
be shot...
  after all... Posen wasn't destroyed,
Breslau wasn't destroyed...
        Danzig wasn't destroyed...
Cracow wasn't destroyed...
             o.k., half of Warsaw was,
but we know why that happened
(or at least i do... idealist students who
thought they could fight the enemy
with slingshots and air-pistols)...
why? the Germans were simply thinking:
oh... we'll just be moving back...
i once explained it to myself...
they weren't exactly some mythological
grand evil template...
so i started thinking about them as:
Hans von Seeckt...
  or Otto Hertz...
              or some other german random
soldier...
      well... you should travel to Ypres,
Belgium... and visit a German cemetary
from war world I... then visit
the allies graveyard...
       each soldier, individually buried...
with his pwetty pwetty weißkreuz -
mostly named...
                 now visit a german cemetary...
mass.... graves...
                they just dumped them,
heaped them...
                        to me they were people...
you can't exactly reason with a mythological
evil - an archeological evil,
   an archetypical evil...
          for an archetypical evil?
try the nuclear family...
                         ******... that sort of thing...
child abuse... too many actors
were involved in this story,
too many mistakes, too many naive blunders...
evil on this scale is easily diluted...
which is why it's taught as history,
in schools...
   no one will teach children about...
oh... say... the Wiener Blut scenario...
   Josef Fritzl...
                    i'm pretty sure this will not be
taught in a history class...
                or... the H. H. Holmes Hotel story...
but it might become a jack the ripper
tourist-fetish... might it not? well, it already is.

standing on the hellbender periphery...
something happens in
the anglo-lingual world...
something correlating injustice...
"whiteness" - the babylon circus...
you name it... and somehow...
this doesn't explode to other areas
of the world, but merely implodes...

perhaps it's the same in france and germany...
how scandinavia (notably sweden)
succumbed to this: i will not or rather:
i don't want to know...

i actually miss not having made
myself available to my grandparents
for this past month...
i'm pretty sure i would have read
and read and stayed sober...

4 years outside of the confines of both
england and december teasing january...
a hip-replacement surgery of
a very demanding mother...
turns out... her worries were unjustified...
if the surgeon was happy...
the nurses were happy...
it required almost a month of passing...
her vampirism draining me...
until some physiotherapist explained
it to her...

but that's not enough...
to vacuum each day to better keep her
impulsive-compulsive ticks in check...
as much as i like the joke of owning
two bonsai tigers...
and i haven't minded the cooking,
the ironing, the whole Cindarella shabang...
but when there's all that...
and there's the father loitering
around waiting for a new contract...

all the great things i ended up doing
with a degree in chemistry...
this is my last outlet...
get busy scribbling,
drinking and... over-rating my ambitions...
but all these anglo-lingual problems
just invite themselves in...
i listen to them and...

on the doorsteps of Russia...
can you imagine what sort tangos this
multi-cultural experiment would dance
in Russia?
that's practically an Asian entity...
or in the Balkans with its still preserved
Turkic presence of Islam...
anywhere where...

- i really can't see the problems...
other than this: this is a very terrible piece
of writing... look at it...
flabby, disjointed...
different problems in Russia...
or... ha... written in the vicinity of London...
with a mind-set still bound up
to having Belarus and Ukraine as neighbours...
and Russia too...

on the hellbender periphery of "whiteness"...
this whole: we were colonial powers once
argument... is sort of dead on my ears...
even i can attest: the darker skinned Kenyans
and the lighter skinned Nigerians...

i'm actually tired of the whites
who are pushing their transcendental *******...
never more free if they didn't push their
ideas and instead learned a new language...
apparently england fares the worst
when it comes to bilingualism...
circa 30% of its 15 - 35 year olds speak
a second language...
compared with Denmark: circa 90+%...
germany circa 80%... Poland thereabouts...

for some reason i was never taught
to "love" my fellow-countrymen... being an émigré...
how much of it was an automated: self-exile
and how much of it: we did this for you
to have a better life...
better life - as i now ask...
it's a life... i don't have comparative literature
to call it any better or any worse...
it is what it is...

i'm tired and i'm drinking:
which usually implies that i will be more honest
than usual...

the better parts of me i've left with other people,
what i have accumulated is,
the worst part of them... mostly their: sanctimonious
appeal... or the bigmouth strikes: yet again...

even Russia is a multicultral societ...
but there's no prancing beyond the better part
of the trough of Moscow's snippet piglets...
moss-co... opt in or opt-out...

the lost ability to consecrate one's life
in postcard snippers of photographs:
that once upon a time other people would take...
but now you take yourself...

imagine a man that masturbates once...
every "blue moon"... on / off...
what door is opened most frequently
in the house? the fridge is opened more times
than even the front door...
and then there's the selfie barrage...
because... looking into a mirror is no longer
enough...
if photography can be an art-work...
what the hell is the photograph
when one can focus in on something in a mirror?
are people who take these photographs
are afraid of looking in the mirror?

to have to stand completely stark naked...
mollusk-esque...
and the world's not quiet an oyster...
and all that: one punch sucker and it's
not so much a one punch k.o.,
and a one punch k.o. and a postmortem...
i've seen one of these examples:
"i.r.l.": i even hovered over the body
with a bunch of bystanders and said
out-loud...
'well... this sweet ******* is
not seeing next spring' - i.e. getting up
and having life-support machines
attached to him...

evolutionary: to begin with...
it's norman normie normansky...

oh yeah, i've seen a one punch post-mortem,
i've been to a brothel,
and i've been to a strip-club...
but still in Russia...
and esp. in Poland...
on the periphery of "whiteness"...
and there was no "cipher" to follow-suit....
what's expected is...
not expected...

because the button of cleavage...
which... let's face it...
one can't distinguish it from the peach
of an ***...
i wonder: would i, ever be bound...
to the grand canyon; "exemplification"?
please, stress any "further"...
two croissants doing the rub-rub
in an imitation game for two mollusks *******...
as ever: looking for
a tomahawk and a... scalp...

but in Russia: you would never see
this pseudo!
pseudo is a cuss-word reserved for petting
hunting dogs...
when you want them to aport! in reverse....
not in Russia, not in Poland...
good cuck-luck taming Ukraine...
perhaps all these ******* ever knew...
was how to seem: mouthy...
appropriate... and what better place to start...
than some obscrucity equivalent
to Rotherham!

oh i see it... when the THETA becomes the V...
rover nor rho-f-f rho-f-f...
******* r and am!
or simply quartz... and spam canned ham!

i was never expected to be the thief among
prostitutes...
kissing and the dosage of the reprimand
buther... cut always below the bulk
of a knee... survived the thinning
of the shins...
in psychiatric terms my "codition" is alluded
to as: the crude soup...
never was a more sane man demanded
to feel inadequacy...

but i salvaged for better complaints...
this is not even, remotely assertive of...
when i want and i will not
disparage from sound savegery
and... "that thing in the back of my mind"...
the sane people call it:
the hallucination of morality...
they're all hush hush about it...
they don't want to be prescribed:
shock-treatment of... being dropped into
an ice bath... to hell with their bowties!

jesus mary and joseph...
i could never become a jack the ol' ripper
though... i became a tapeworm of kissing
when it came to the canvas of
prostitutes...
parasitical lips... bite-down tooth envy
of my great-grandfather...
what i could never kiss...
i always wanted to bite to tease with...

now my libido is satisfied...
i can claim not being the hyperbolic outlier....
i don't need a wife,
a mother in law... a child...
a shadow life of a Chikatilo...
to lend myself to Cain...
i can absolve myself with the rites of Abel...
how... oh how this most pristine how...
i only supposed i'd be dead...
and not playing both "victim"...
prosecutor... and inspector columbus to boot!

conventional language scares me...
there's so much hiding behind
immovable objects...
that in turn the moon or the table become
quasi-deities in a world
littered with demigod *****!
of the polytheistic gods...
which one... didn't chance a common semblance
to a *******?
perhaps i've earned this rigid tongue...
rattle and sawdust itching from it...
first bound...

last resort: this is not about to become
a conventionality of language...
this is not going to become...
an aud lang syne...
this is not going to become: tea-party
forget me: forget me or taste the forget-me-not!

revised lent topic: on the hellbender periphery...
how these post-colonial former subjects...
well unless you're in Poland,
Belarus, Ukraine, Russia...
mein gott! i really should start knocking
on Russian's door, more often...
this sort of ******* that's allowed
in England would be... most likely...
quickly suppressed...
for the good of the people:
it's always: for the good of the people...
oops... " "...
yeah yeah... "for the good of the people"...

the colonial ambitions...
and the guilt of being white in eastern europe...
which is why i can never master
the english conundrum...
while kenyans are darker than the nigerians...
but in their dark-choc...
seem to be basked in coconut oil
that oozes from the Indian ocean...
Kenyans who import timber from Ghana?
and the Nigerians...

oh sure sure sweetheart!
we can revive the Balkan enterprise...
you just say when!
we'll have the christian serbs run amok...
over the islam minorities...
sure sure...
it's almost akin to: teasing Russia
to climb out of its Caucasian bed-root...
when it ****** with the Turkic peoples...

and of course... coming across the
Afro-Europeans of the colonial present, past,
and future... there was only one history
of / for the Europeans...
origins in Africa...
sorry... what about the Indo- prefix?

here we have the sanskrit...
here we have the hierogylphs...
but... what of the writing of ancient
Kenyans?
i'm no better... came st. cyrill and his greek
contra the glagolitic...
which is... probably southern slavic...
and... there were the runes
and the ancient romans fighting
the tribes of Danube... but never as far north
as the Baltic did they come...

but in mind: i'm always going to be bound
to the periphery knocking on the doors
of Kiev and Novgorod...
with the Mongol also citing:
he too knocked...
something happened... had his hand cut off
at the wrist with the remnant budding
leftover of the Crimean Tartars...

so... this passover former colonial...
"grief" is now running former colonial society's
mischief?
am i white, or am i asian?
i will never know...
Islam and what? the crusades of the baltic states
by the teutonic knights?
and Europe and Europe and Europe
without the english, the myth of troy revived
in Italy... and the proud yet backward
greeks...
i too thought: if it's not feral enough...
it's feral enougn where english is not spoken!

after all... england is a far far away place...
even if i'm currently "living" in it...
it wasn't invaded and all it had to propose was...
its own ******* to the external world...
pristine england...
pristine p.s. england...

this anglo-phile... ahem... "problem"?
in ukraine or in russia?
it's a problem and a problem of this sort
is treated with a sort of amnesia...
equivalent to:
today's Monday, yes?
oh... today's not a Monday?
will i still you if you mind calling it a Tuesday?!

the body intact bound to a vicinity of London...
the mind... detached... elsewhere...
perhaps it was the over-rationalisation
of the darwinistic approach...
again: even copernicus didn't or wouldn't
have entertained such an over-reach
of his heliocentrism become dogmatic...
copernicus who?
exactly! only someone like wittgenstein
would celebrate copernicus...
the west only celebrates galileo:
because of the trial...

i can attest though... mendeleev is secure!
is it perhaps odd...
that some ****- would not find
differences between a croat
and a moldavian?
a kashubian and a silesian?
a scot an a welshman?

imagine my ah! gasp!
the tribes within a tribe...
the "home" team consisting of liverpudlians!
and the "away" team consisting of scousers!
liverpool f.c. supporters of the former...
everton supporters for the latter...
but we're all white!
i'm "white white" because i've acquired
this tongue and i can...
somehow... forget mein: wurzeln...

mind you... elsewhere?
that word... root? in deutschezunge?

wurzeln: decipher: nurse! scalpel!
wur-zeln...
no no... this will not do...
wü-ř-eln
alternatively...
wü-ž-eln...

and that's not "woo"... it's a V-not-U...
voor-zeln!
alternatively there's the ż (rz)...
which is equivalent to either ř or ž...
ř = r(z) and ž = (r)z...
"when" and "where" you know that's
an orthographic distinction to begin with...
i.e. ř = r(z) and ž = (r)z
when rz = ż...

i really have "real" problems to mind
of my own, on the periphery of:
the "western lands"... st. cyril is biting at my toes...
as ancient roman bites back...
the alphabet intact...
you either learn some greek...
or you don't gloat about being lazy about
not having acquired some passable "knowledge"
of cyrilic...

so? here's to taking another selfie from the perspective
of fearing to look into a mirror...
and here's to some new obscure modern hieroglyphic
take on the "thumbs-up"... and: shmiley :)!

better i stick to the diacritical markers...
niche point of interest...
niche to the point of claustrophobia...
but of all these anglo- problems?
these "racial" problems?
yes, yes, racial problems in "eastern" europe...
of real concern...
the russian empire and the kazakh people...
mongol remains...
ottoman remains...
western europe now being nothing but
shame for the rest of us...

"the rest of us"... "us"...
"we" could have said... before they had a chance
to gloat... to buffer gloating...
to pride themselves beside pride per se...
to mistake pride for gloating...
before "we" came and learned their language...
and found the leashes of their starved
dobermann hounds...
the mediocre liberal elites of the dutch...
the belgians and their... swiss ambitions...
hell: did they really have to invite
the swedes into this "problem"?!

perhaps this is written in english...
sure as **** it's not written by a native...
i'm no more an englishman than
a parsley root is a ******* carrot!
although i dare say...
that essex hue of being: toasted...
coming from a lazy afternoon at a snippet
of a Brighton beach?
the well-tanned look?
no... even i don't want to fake being
Thai in December...

i thought i'd ease the "tension"...
who can say: i'm piglet pink with a dash of
cranberry... cosmopolitan cocktail whenever i
pretend to "feel like it"...
otherwise porky leather...
and then... the layers and hues of...
copper and chocolate *******...
then there's that amnesia rust...
and there's always that porcelain japanese...
the albino iranian and we can have
a ******* **** contrastic hues...
copper over there, some cinnamon over here...
some chocolate in between
and some porky leather 'ere...
personally i think i'm more sepia than white...
there's still that visible blood in my veins
that allowed me to conjure up:
the blue-bloods...
better in german: der blaugeblüt...

perhaps: when in rome...
well... the vandals and the rest of the evil brood
had to, at some point...
tell the romans... you're not being yourselves...
there's no longer a social cordiality in place...
there's no more: when in rome...
because i'm not native of these lands
and of this tongue...
but i will not be... smothered by some
*******-worth-a-roasting debility mongers
and mongrels of: subversion!

you should visit Russia from time to time...
if you get a chance to **** a siberian
******...
hell: don a ******, she'll tell you she's
on contraceptive pills...
then "all of a sudden" you'll find yourself
wondering: matt! i think i'm pregnant...
months after the relationship ended...
and she's on her next pair of gloves;
but she's calling you... for you to pick up
the pieces...

diese englischprobleme ar nicht mein "sache"!
and if there's a heaven...
i pray to god i speak some obscure dialect
of german... bohemian german...
silesian german...
i'll even settle for gothic german!
not for some love of the people...
i just want to imagine myself as having
died a: lebkuchenbäcker...

a gingerbreadbaker...
since *** didn't cut it...
and ******* became a yawn...
there's only this...
the remains of exploring language
without having those stiff, polite...
practical, teasing an escape from solipsism,
formal... samples of language use...
this is the best i can offer...
to use language for the sort of reasons...
that with the language thus used...
i will not have familiar ground to stand /
walk on... since this language does not
exist in the dignified everyday:
lick-the-envelope... seal it... send.

briano alliano performing on saturn



first of all here is song 1


i was a dreadful hooligan

noone wanted to be my friend

except for a numskull of a bloke

you see all he wanted from me were smokes

i liked my life as a hooligan, i get tired of being a total normie

because they end up really squawnie or puny

i was the devil in my parents house

so i moved out so i can reform to be as quiet as a mouse

i am reformed i am reformed, no more hooligan mate i am reformed

the devil is outside of me, i am reformed can’t ya see

**** i like tim minchin, man, better than spending years in the can

jesus christ superstar, running around in my underwear

being a rotten teenager, never worked for me, i bashed my father

i was a hooligan, i am not ashamed to say it

but i can tell ya one thing though, my mate my chum

you have seen the last of my hooligan

i am reformed, really reformed, i will never put a foot wrong again

my hooligan is in my past, if you want it back, your living in the past

i was a proud successful hooligan till all my mates bullied me

well, i can’t win ‘em all can’t ya see


here is my next song

i thrown away my guns, even my cars and trains, i wanna make some noise

with some real life aeroplanes

i don’t believe in GOD, he is just a thing in your imagination

buddha is the lord of all, of real life wondering

you see i own 100 chickens, and i am called 1 as well

now if you don’t leave me alone, i will get ya to dwell in the past

i am a good dude, i am cool, cooler than my dad the fool

you see i jump on rope, happy landing on a pile of dope

i am a ****** on youtube and medication, because i want to be reformed

then shirley temple comes out after she created a storm

she is a good lady, mighty fine legs

ya see i want her in my life, too bad she’s dead and i am still alive

well it ain’t too bad, it is too good

i am an adult, an adult, i work harder than any adult in the cosmos

you see i fell off the top of a oblong

saying, let me down let me down let me down

and allow me to fall on my old mates miserable frown

frowning might say they hate you now, but hate is a very strong word

and whether ya hate me, i don’t care, i just do what i wanna do

because it makes me a happy dude



here is our next song


if your happy and you know it, tease your friends

if your happy and you know it, tease your friends

if your happy and you know it, and i ****** well know i am happy

if your happy and you know it, tease your friends

he will come smack me on the botty for nothing

because he is jealous of my artistic talents

he is jealous that i am getting a free ride in life

i deserve a free ride, i worked ****** hard from the year 1999 to 2013

i need to be given first class air tickets for the USA

if your happy and you know it head for the states

if your happy and you know it head for the states

if your happy and you know it, i want to world to see how hard i worked

if your happy and you know it, head for the states

the smile that forms on my face
So generous, so real........so fake
But you see I'm a being, who's dead inside
But yet how, Can I smile and say hi
all I feel is the  pain
Felt it so long I guess it just got plain
Emotionally distraught
I fight the world everyday, I mean fought
I'll take this smile to the grave, even though it hurts to fake, but it's the only thing I have
The only link to being........ Normal, but fck being a normie I say, they're all the same, it's just so gay

Definers of terms gain control.
To maintain you enchained is their goal.
Your Normie-morality
(conventionality)
tightens their grip on your soul.

Darkness slays the sun. Descending, he dies.
To hide his glowing countenance and wait;
Until his resurrection flood our skies
With promise of a greater solar state.

Oh mourn and weep, ye gaining shades of night;
An orange sunset lingers in the west.
The trumpet sobs a reveille; the light
Is dwindling on the presidential fest.
And cypresses are sighing in their shame
For Orange Man has forfeited his game.

The technocrats and leftists, as a mass
Opposed his righteous reign with godless spite.
Not once did they relent, but dogged his ***
In jackal-packs still slavering to bite.
And yet he is deplorably adored,
Nor friend nor foe politically bored.

Vile virtue-signalers (with none to show),
Despised all those who dared support his plan;
And prideful with each whining coward blow
Confirmed themselves inferiors to the man.
Pink feminists, at odds with all that's right
Displayed themselves as ******* in the fight.

They could not stand the mention of his name.
The Globalists and other Euro-trash,
With Luciferian bankers, void of shame,
Resume their one-world plotting in a flash;
Preparing for re-set. (We wish they would
Let God reset them for their own **** good.)

So DRUMPF's Fourth ***** must sadly reach its end,
And Jared's **** wife return her shoes.
His Völkisch warriors shall no more defend
Republics that weak RINOs all refuse;
And Milquetoast Mitt, and Bush, his parting hail
Grown tired of winning, longing yet to fail.

My Einsatzgruppen uniform: no more
To wear the holy garment in my pride.
My shimmering hood and robe I now must store;
Well-pressed, I lay them tearfully aside.
My lynching rope I coil with loving care,
My Ku-Klux armband nevermore to wear.

Alas, the fascist father-figure goes;
His bigot minions, all my own, lament.
Misogynists and racists at the close
Have lost their weary way and all is spent.
He wasn't dictatorial enough;
We all grew tired of winning. It was tough.

But wait; a zephyr stirs the orange grove.
The dusk has not yet sighed its final breath:
Once more a scent of citrus wafts above . . .
Twas' premature, their festival of death.
Then TRUMP arises, grinning, from the bier
And all who wished him gone recoil in fear.

Fresh horror now the adversaries sweeps;
The trembling crypts foreshadow his rebirth.
Progressive politics despairs and weeps
While liberal dread supplants their vengeful mirth.
Then Donald rises, leering like a ghost
To fill with panic every heartless host.

Mere hopium, this horror-movie plot.
It looked like he might pull it off— but no.
Now darkness teaches light what it is not
And half the nation jeers at him to go.
Healing urged—but fake. Polarization
Shall characterize our waning nation.

Hopes of resurrection vanish with night. 
The scapegoat's legions waken from the dream
To seek nocturnal solace from the fight:
The tepid normie water's middle stream.
And Q-**** numerologists learn code.
(The rest of us just wonder what we're owed.)

Saint Orange must diminish, half-impeached;
And sunset velvet now becomes his hue.
The ballot urns of Georgia never reached;
Our judges sat to stifle what we knew.
The monoparty's monkeys steal the show;
His puppet masters hiss him. Let him go.

Now Dixie's juiceless orchards sing his dirge.
The willows hang their boughs in leafless grief . . .
Disgust for all the traitors starts to surge;
And clown-world tries but cannot bring relief.
Orange Savior's promise: undelivered;
The funeral expires—and all is withered.

i will never not associate the bicycle
with my grandfather
and those many summers:
many a summers ago
when i'd go back to the "old country"
and spend the summers there...
mostly... fishing... cycling...
reading books...
etc. etc.

acronym... what's u.a.s.c.?
   i know how prepositions shouldn't
be involved in acronym building
so i left one out...
since there's only one: of...

unconscious arithmetic
<of> spatial coordination...
it's the "word salad" approximate of what
i feel when i aggressively cycle
through urban traffic...
as much as country roads are worth
the otherwise mundane perspective flatness
of Roding Valley: from the teasing
of the A406 through to the sq. mile....

up-hill is interesting not because it is:
a generic interest...
it's interesting because
i poker my mind...
and wonder... will i give up somewhere
along the climb?
plus... hills imply: off-loads...
off-load periods where there's no
peddling involved and you swoon down
a hill in some aerodynamic fashion...

it's not like riding a horse...
because... well... with a horse there's this
whole: "symbiosis" spectacle...
but... the horse has gravity covered...
you're attached to the legs and torso
and there's only the head to fiddle with...
but at a gallop?
in this sort of symbiosis?
what's a pumpernickel to a ******* windmill?

cars are too stable...
the gravity is punch is too centred that it's
practically non-existent...
and having been in a car crash before...
that probably the only thrill...
loco-motion: crazy when everything
has to be compared to walking...
dare i say: i abhor running...

if loco-motion isn't etymologically
rooted in the spanish word: loco...
and... i will not deal with the origins of motion
then it is: crazy speed...
no?

but it's not like i'm a bicycle doing math
in my head... unconscious arithmetic is
not a prefix to the compound of the phrase
(in acronym): u.a.s.c.:
unconscious arithmetic of spatial coordination...
but when any sports is involved...
a soccer pass... a hockey flick:
it's "thinking" the unthinkable...
because there clearly isn't any thinking involved...
not by the Cartesian res cogitans standards...

how would automation and
all the sporting "clarifications" fit into
the res extensa: i can only think of writing:
when having res cogitans as genesis...

obviously i had to come up with...
my own... res vanus: the empty thing...

it's just so: i tak to jest:
zapierdala litera po literze...
he's ******* around with one letter at a time...
notice how some of these words
have pronoun inclusion parameters...
i.e. if i were to say he drank...
i'd say:                 pił...
if i were to say she drank...
i'd say:            piła...
although piła is somehow synonymous with
saw: literally: war-saw...
not: i see, i saw...
that would also invite a pronoun
to an otherwise pronoun-free word: (to) see
widzieć...
i.e. he saw:               (on) widział
i.e. she saw:               (ona) widziała...
the brackets are optional...

- you can go through a whole book of Prus
and maybe spot the pronoun JA once... twice...
but in english? it's almost unavoidable:
always with the *******: i i i i, aye, i, i, i...

- perhaps Nietzsche can be cited as "saying"
something along the lines of...
'all the best thoughts come when one is walking...'
i once carried a notepad like...
like that kangaroo pouch of mine...
settling for the night's parade of stars
usually settling with some strong
lager and some citric acid sprinkle in
a churchyard of a graveyard...

- the great aspect of cycling is that no
"real" thought: comes to mind...
all the concerns for moral oughts:
ploughing the concern for traffic
comes primo...

minor incident at the local library...
picking up recycling bags...
the very unforthcoming librarian
consumed by a "conference"...
knock-knock... who's there?
cycle round and speaking through glass...
if i'd like a confrontation over
a surgical mask...
no... the expectation of being english
rubbed off on me in ways
that i utilise my own interpretation
of "it"...
the old lady imploring next to me
was scolded by the librarian...
why they won't leave the bags outside...
because some ethnic pauper story decided
to gobble a stash of 'em oranges for not
good reason while me and her only wanted
two bundles...

how i refrained myself from ushering in:
*******....
                       busy-bodies...
a life that screams:
why wasn't i born rich... instead, happy?
what will the busy-bodies do when all
these restrictions are fall-out boo boo?

that i did cycle past a gavin mcinnes doppelganger
up to collier row mount is no excuse:
but how often can someone mistake a doppelganger
for someone famous?
probably often... i was once stopped
in the street being some supposed Richard...

kinks - living on a thin line...
it has a nice "twang" to it...
like nazareth's hair of a dog has a "nice"
cowbell: broom-broom...

unconscious arithmetic (of) spatial coordination...
Leibniz was also a librarian...
i could be a road-sweeper...
i'd apply myself to the duties of the body...
but then make a quick-exit with my brainzzzzz...

- i could have been a father...
but then i did just perform self-genocide on
a mia khalifa clip and i'm filled with: (a) swell(-ing)...

levellers - carry me...
anything to drag me awaay from norse
mythology and tongue-in-tow...
from anything superior germanic...
i was close to scribbling a doodle
on the window-panes: hyper-glass...

of the isles: the celtic "jingle":
it's not that morose Scandinavian loop of
artefacts "leftover"...
but it's truer than towing-twos...

you can't expect a footballer to make
a cross via "thinking"...
what narrative of moral ought i:
ought i not congests the ******* custard?
unconscious arithmetic of spatial coordination:
is verbiage: i know...
but what else do you call it...
a cyclist feeling comfortable
when a truck passes him by...
a ******* walrus too...

        i like working my way around objects
that might **** me... it leaves me with
a sense of respect... for the time when i might use
them to pass a roundabout...
****'s sake...
looking over one's shoulder
igniting the "normie" manufacture of
indicator concerning a choice of direction...

- i re(a)d too much of Heidegger...
i read too little, esp. the newspapers and
within such confines?
who's fudge packaging the proper sort of goods?
i'm blind-rage-drunk from time to time:
here we are... lingua franca bullshitting...

that there was somehow an empire:
insomniac...
the sun so clearly borne:
that the moon started pulling clown faces...
and now... reducing assets to something prior
to... before the Angevins?

Phillip Augustus... primo... source...
why wouldn't i start to feel
disgust for the mythological blonde...
i'm more in favour of arab spring...
concoctions wtih Aztec...
basically i'd **** anything that wriggles...
savvy?
i'm so tired of feeling:
beside this square: squat... solo...
i can marry bride death:
legally... via the jurisprudence of
a Belgium... i can marry death without
having to execute  (a) terrorist plough...

- by drinking i'm numbing  my senses...
i'm also numbing the excavation projects...
tow-two-tying....
but it's a lot more interesting to grovel
onto a hill with a heaving:
when will my mind... "give up"...

grieving: ***: the stirrup...
it's not like a ******* pizza-esque
"reinvention"...
wankers Tod of Milan:
spaghetti fiddlers...
by some... the best hoard of 'em.

this... this long awaited bottle
of wine; that's for omome,
but not you... if there's going to be
a me and you...
we'd needd a ms. amber...
and some hereafter...
that bouting with the bridge
and bride of hades
and... whatever...
come tomorrowland....
i will not birdge any gaps
or any other interludes...
save those bits that welcome
the last of life and that killing joke...
here, now, the better half of
me... closed circuit worth of a
pundit...

lingo sputnik that one into an equation
for the basis of oasis that
never clamoured to burden the eurotrash
with blur
and pigeon shtiting clarificastions....

manchester chequers...
n'ah n'ah hey jude... ******* worth
of wriggling and teasin'...
  
happy to have made cheese...
says anyone beside...
an alex james...
   gear up to be riddled, moi...
something sharpening in
tone-deaf pain...

no... 4 down-under
3 across a "crew"...
             he's also greaved in
the soloist "moisting up" of suicidal tendencies...
linger me for that spot
leverage: major major of rationed bacon...

you really don't want the kinds
of me crafting a ridicule of
your naked ***... making
tabloid "oops"
of that always appeasing moon
whips and tenures...

two birds with one stone...
except the arithmetic of twenty-two...
and there's a whoop-catch
of the better half of rottten tomorrows
of the intelligent:
hardly an i.q. tester, tester, count...

i come from this affair all..
all ******* dehydrated...
and fixated on a d.n.a. of the wirth
of argumentation for the worths of
tomorrow...

hardly the happy slap...
          we... the governing
lords of salem...
                        that last misendeavour;
culprit, corrupt...
of that what's best salvaged...

mein besitzen!
           az én saját...
                               mano savo!

refresh... the death upon the crucifix
of golgotha...
then again...
that death of being impaled...
to dangle with death in tow...
but then... being impaled...
all that glory-******* the tenets
of homosexuality...
then one is being impaled
via the transcedence of buggery?

it's one thing to dangle on
a crucifix... hands outstreched...
quiet another...
to have ones hands tied
behind one's back...
being impaled...

           na pal z tym skurwysynem!
i will just listen to enough
wading through the glories of
the cossacks mingling with
the crimean tartars before...

                             crucifixion is
hardly the worthy bargain of torture to be...
exemplified...
there are so many, more...
na pal...

   to be impregnated by a quest
of making **** *** normie-proud...
at the crux of where the pelvis ends and the coccyx
begins...
at the point where the birth of the iron maiden
welcomes the weeping willow...
as a response of being
the sulking bride of commerce...

i do pity the emblem of the crucifix...
there's being subject to the pike...
one can be made to suffice in this
instrumentation of torture...
with a leonardo da vinci exegesis...
the limbs extending...
but never quiet so on a pyke...

                          butterflies of all
held hostage high heavens...
as ever... the inglorious stump...
sharpened... a death proclaimed...
two weeks short but then
the interlude... of the agon. of "waiting"...

it's called the highest crucifixion...
the lesser **** forthcoming...
the hands are tied
and the body is made to pivot
on the pelvis come coccyx...

              no angel will come here:
in spite... or repose...

                    i have lost my amibitions
to imagine... thus, this,
this torrent of whimsical expenditures;
bone-breaking
copper nibbling skimming
of loitering examinations of:
the awaited loss of value.

The Global Predator Class
has declared War on Humanity
has launched an attack
using the Economic Bioweapon
Covid911
You Know what I’m saying is True
They want to Genocide You

I wish I was wrong
I wish I was crazy
I wish I was a normie like Y’all

You can look away
but you can no longer say
You didn’t Know

Seeds will Grow.

Call me a “radical”
call me an “insurrectionist”
call me a “conspiracy theorist”
call me a (LOL) “anarchist”

You don’t even know what those words mean.
Brainwashing Programming has been installed in Your Mind.
trigger - Trump
response - shutdown
You don’t even Real Eyes that it’s happening.

All to keep you distracted from the Truth:
The Nazis never lost.
MK Ultra never ended.
The WMDs are Fake.

[redacted]

The Whole World is Fake.
The Walls have Shattered.
Light pours in.
I walked into the Light
And hear is what I Saw...

a stream, children’s laughter, birds’ chatter
Nature and Humans in Harmony
a Culture cultivated
with Love and Dedication
and a Path
to Lead Me There…

We all live in the same house
So don't lag my internet connection
With all your ****** and you *******
Better stay away from the basement

That **** is mine you hear
The entire west side of the house
Smells like **** and someone
Needs to mow the ******* lawn

Its so hard trying to be a normie
Its like the kobayashi test in star trek
It was never easier to pull
The Mandela effect as nowadays

We could have the entire human history faked
And only very few people would notice
We have entered an alternate timeline
Likely due to the LHC

everyone can agree on the fact that scholasticism
existed in medieval Europe...
i'm not even going to tackle the dichotomy
of scholasticism "vs." humanism...
but... what is apparent... from what i've heard
and seen...
scholasticism wasn't replaced by humanism...
but... pop-psychology...
i.e. the schematic-ism of man...
        Oxford dictionary has yet to approve the term:
schematicism...
   from the "holy trinity" of Freud -
the father the ego
   the son the superego
the holy spirit the id... blah blah, blah, blah...
the fragmented man in search for...
for me... less of a "soul" and more of
   the sigma... the totality of what is man...
   such the fragmentation of man...
it's almost impossible to find the right sort
of geography one can orientate oneself
around...
i find man too fragmented... too splintered...
i am sure of this...
scholasticism has been replaced with
post-humanism of schematicism....
we have the supposed schematic of man...
but... this ******* genie is not going
back into his lamp...
unless he is put back together is some
jumble, some, dissection freak-show...
    why didn't i pursue a career in chemistry:
even though i studied the art (science)
until i was 21... i didn't want to be the rat
in a laboratory...
           the hamster on the wheel...
apart from the experiment that took almost
a week... synthesising esters...
the best experiment i ever conducted was
in high school... synthesising polyesters...
the event horizon of pinching plastic akin to
how you can't mix oil with water...
how oil is a layer a "tier" above the water...
this is where i am...
   schematicism... i find man trapped...
choked by pop-psychology...
putting himself back together like some...
Frankenstein's monster...
              it's painful to watch, to hear...
it lies so heavy on my heart that...
it almost makes sense to: xiao xin...
   small heart... careful heart...
                literal ******* complimentary...
overt complications / nuances of Chinese
ideograms like i have a ******* spare
day to nuance emoticons, for, ****'s, sake!
yes, because Latin script was not destroyed
by the Hebrew deity like cuneiform
or the hieroglyphs... only that in Chinese
the X could be / ought to be written as...
                                                                      Ź...
******* lemon ******* paper dragons...
squint at my ******* sour: ooh... ooh...
gist gist: ******* juicy plum Hoisin duck
sauce! mmm... ******* yummy!
get my ******* cotton spindle threads from
Sri Lanka or Bangladesh...
Europe is the existential ferment of
existential values... as useless as a fork when
you're presented with a bowl of soup!
slurp up, and hope for the soup to be clear
and have some vermicelli to boot!
but... how else to look at public conversation?
if once upon a time in medieval Europe
there was a trend for scholasticism...
that was replaced with humanism,
romanticism, existentialism...
no wonder... post-humanism...
a return to scholasticism: schematic-ism...
i should reword it as:
a day in the life of an evolutionary
psychologist...
    but, but i thought the soul does not
exist? what logic, what soul?
since, ergo, there's no god?
           somehow the Copernican revolution
could back-peddle... return to the background...
i'm with Nietzsche in my argument
against Darwinism...
   Darwinism has mishandled ontology
beyond comparison...
it hasn't even elevated our attention to detail
/ increased our fascination with the natural world...
with... mantises... with spiders...
i'd love to rid myself of my stupid
arachnophobia... in all honesty? i love spiders...
******* super freaks...
but i think i'm more fascinated with
frogs and earthworms...
   i'd love to take a selfie with a freshly shat out
tapeworm... no... i'm not scared of spiders...
just... there's never a spider
the size of a 10kg Maine **** cat when
you need one to scuttle alongside you
on a leash... ****** reality...
i just don't get it...
               if i was once diagnosed as schizoid...
for being: bilingual...
sorry... this world doesn't want me to make
sense of it... i tried... supposedly "sane" people
are not making sense any-more...
sure... i was diagnosed as X...
but... this X is sort of... it sort of has become
a backstage: ooh: oh! ****'s about to become
acquainted with the fan... time for proper ****** blitz...
i mean: i could understand Soviet style
leftism... empire solid: cheap metal...
loads of nukes... but... western style leftism
is a ******* joke-prop...
   flimsy hair-dye brigade...
and i do come from a former satellite state
of the soviet union... the Czechs still hate the Polacks
thinking that it was Polacks that moved
in the tanks into Prague in 1968... maybe...
it was a Warsaw Pact brigade...
  whatever...
                      i still have a fetish for:
die Deutsche-Zunge...
             but see... the Copernican perspective...
you can sort of ignore... great...
   we're on a pebble in an ocean of nothingness...
nothing changes...
but... Darwinism? has been hijacked...
it's... insufferable... it's so in your ******* face...
like... feminism... Darwinism = feminism...
next you'll hear: stoic darwinism... like you might hear:
cynic feminism...
horseradish load of rubbed-off *******
*******!
          i get it! i get it! stop, rubbing, it, in!
that's it... the ******* universal explanation...
like Jesus on the ******* Cross
Herr Darwin with his space in **** similis...
odd... the ancient people had knowledge
of the existence of the apes...
but... hmm... how much of a comparison is necessary?
when you start to look beyond it...
say: well... that's ugly... that's animal...
let's do something better... let's conjure the beautiful!
these days? good luck with that!
but like Nietzsche i abhor Darwinism...
when it comes to Darwinism i'm a *******
Mary Shelley advocate... Darwin throws me a monkey...
Mary throws me Frankenstein...
i'm siding with the Frankenstein...
what the hell has changed since the geocentric model
became the heliocentric model?
from the very public interactions:
we've managed to reach the "dark side of the moon"
perspective... no... this world is...
lunacentric... everyone's ******* cuckoo...
and i will, ******* die on this little hill...
with firm affirmations and said convictions...
because... why not?
but that's good... i can scribble these little "protests"
while pretending to be the... cool... collected
normie at work... and i am just that...
but inside... i'm ******* boiling...
i'm screaming... i'm Atlas wrestling with Prometheus...
but that's also good...
   because: i'm jealous...
of whom? Charles Olson... the Maximus poems...
call me stupid but... i'm jealous of those poems...
no... i could never be jealous of
ol' Ezra... hmm... King David... oh yeah: him...
to have been the man to have written the psalms...
de profundis...
     let's face it... i couldn't be jealous of king Solomon...
brothel owner...
             but with a man like Day-vid...
   to be so absorbed in music...
               my kind of man...
                  such a beautiful man...
          as sang about via Leonard Cohen in Hallelujah...
and yes... Jeff Buckley did it better...
such the glorious spectacle of the most
absorbing sort of pain... you actually want
to feel his pain... trans-empathetic....
to hell with your trans-sexuality confusions...
    oh to feel this similar... to sigh like Jeff sighed...
this hidden-rot-of-anger in me at the political
language that's current in England...
   this... ****-fist-fake-leftoid pseudo-Soviet imitations
with no grounds in reality!
blah! blah!
                    ******* more: blah! blah!
pink-hair-dye frigid pseudo-sociopathic virgins...
or is that sociopathic pseudo-virgins?!
still ******* frigid... not good luck either left
or right when trying to shoot a load...
          i'm 35 and already tired of life...
libido insomnia... war-esque perpetuated: also
insomnia... but... clearly, apparently:
no ******* war... not the sort of wars one might
conjure when having to conscript civilians...
back-of-the-head sort of "wars"...
              shape-shifting chess... the horses ate too many
rotting apples... became drunk... stumbled...
then had a Picasso diarrhoea session of...
E-HA! let's paint! oh no... this world doesn't bother me...
it's just a massive ******* joke to me...
it's counter intuitive...
if... i were placed... in a more primitive society...
there wouldn't be a talk of a Bernie Ecclestone...
     there wouldn't be a Rod Steward...
            believe me... if Darwinism was to be done...
proper... men like me...
we wouldn't be restricted from utilising our...
naturally gifted capacities... of... wrath-thirst...
how we must have... nuanced it... hid it...
                oh... but those feminists and their:
patriarchal construct arguments...
       sure... it's only safe... when you have a boxing match...
but... i know it: there's a terrible beast sleeping
in me... i know it... when i... sometimes relax...
drinking my white wine aphrodisiac...
when having two sessions of exercise...
and then... ******* the brains out of a Turkish
******* in a brothel...
but... no no no... if Darwinism was true...
               i could follow a Longshanks... an Edward...
we're doing counter intuitive things...
Napoleon? and then, what? ******?!
the latter i can understand as a sophist / rhetorician...
whatever...
           if i were to exercise my natural rights...
if i were to exercise my natural rights...
i wouldn't have to deal with these *******'s worth
of social constructs of appeasing the time-wasting weaklings!
if i were returned to my natural state...
rather than these... polite... politeness-titillating:
Christian *******'s worth of timidity...
i hate it...
                                         everything about this world
is unnatural, counter-intuitive, overtly-feminine,
weak, pardonable, fake...
horror-stricken, worth demanding more of,
too ******* "artistic"...
       smelling of a mingling of acid and rotten eggs...
in a world where society delves into
the appreciation of staged violence...
but abhors actual violence...
    this phobia stricken conglomerate of weaklings...
if Darwinism was done: right and proper...
no... you wouldn't have these sordid discrepancies...
if nature had its sway...
          if only nature: had its sway...
and not the mind of man...
              the feminist angle: of the social construct
of patriarchy: would be the least of your worries...
i'm lethargic... borne from this...
hideous weakness of salvation born from
a suffering... never to be celebrated from
the advent of vitality that was once glorified in
the years B.C.
           Darwinism never promised anything,
it just hijacked the strength and overturned it
with psychologism - bogus explanations of
CUCKS! it ****** the vitality i was originally equipped
with! and what did it do?
the Star of David inversion...
what was once on top, singular...
now became a flattened plateau of a "democracy"...
i can't believe this anglophone *******...
Ezra rallied against usury...
   me? i'll rally against Darwinism...
a man of my stature should not have to bow
before someone biologically inferior
to him... naturally! naturally this shouldn't happen!
but it is... pray: send you earthquakes,
tornados, all the elemental proofs!
   but i bow, regardless...
                  with as much... hatred as can be
easily disguised... with more animosity than
hatred... and that's still: the sort that can be best
hidden... because... society expects me to do so...
but... should i ask nature...
oh... oh... nature would have a really troubling counter
narrative: that it would allow me
to exercise! ******* dim-wits, Dickensian *******
dim-wits... happily married to exercising the play
of cricket... ****-wits... English-****-wits;
such....eagerness...
the weak shall inherit the earth...
     and make it... a shored stone outside the realm
of the fertile grounding...
                if the vitality in our midst is not
protected... then... SUFFER!
you ******* schmucks! your ******* wonderbra
elect gimmicks!
*******: die! be: born of death!
             you've had your say / your sway:
my turn!
                ***** with anvil!
               you ******* pederasts!
                    **** glory! i just want to love
a woman... but... seeing clearly...
you people are making finding a woman...
a lot more difficult! ****-jobs of the dodo-project!
i'm retiring from outright verbiose
momentum... that's it...
                      i stroke my beard...
i cushion a feels for ****** of a woman...
the end... that's the *******: the end...
                          time's a tired type.

I wouldn't say discontentment/
More like discomfort/
I'm anxious; might be slightly anguished/
Fine... dysfunctional/
Humanity's an infernal machine/
Forever malfunctioning/
And everyone's too impatient/
To read the instruction manual/
Insatiable; thoughts eat themselves/
Then regurgitate/
Tired vampire at the beach/
Bursting into flames/
Burning through the bank/
Wormhole in pocket universe/
Blowing up our lives/
Fill up your thirdeye socket with dirt/
No funeral; they don't even mourn/
I grieve different/
Seem difficult... anticonformist/
Sorry I ruined the party/
I am a walking trigger warning/
Donnie Darko at the golf course/
Stop trying to treat me like a normie/
Most people ignore me/
And it used to make me question/
But being seen is worse/
When they ask too many questions/
It is what it is/
I wouldn't say discontentment/
More like discomfort/
No bad blood, accept the Qadr of Allaah/
I don't know their intentions/
But I feel the tension./

several paragraphs into the grip on populism
article, while watching a youtube video of
a girl... worrying about the status: single...
something begins to smell fishy...
(a) are we starting to talk about
the legality of abortion,
and moving into the territory
of the "legality" of divorce?
                oh... i'm pretty sure we are...
abortion is gone,
in terms of jurisprudence interests...
the new question, the question concern
divorce... can divorce be legal?
    it's not a question!

i had something prepared prior,
but i seem to have forgotten it,
maybe if i write some more,
i'll remember it...
  
  remember it.........................................
remember it...............................

maybe this one:
branding -
jobless loser..
this that and the other...
       you think that is easy
journalistic
click-bait?
   i think that's Ted Bundy bait...
sorry...
       not naming serial killers
or mass killers by the mass media
is one thing...
but?
   but?! shaming them?
what do you think agitates and
subsequently prompts
a mass / serial killer?
the opinions of the people
around him,
or the media class stereotyping
the sort of person he might be?
i think the latter...

      how can people freedom
from the violence perpetrated by killers...
when they're...
        so argued...
abused... called names...
sure! don't name them!
but then don't
succumb to stereotyping them!
loser! jobless!
idiot!
                 loser! loser!
loser!
            let me enlighten you
on the masculine physique...

   but no... i won't...
the word loser...
it has specific phonetic content...
   it's an... well.. best described at...
it's an... "itchy" word...
               it's a word equivalent
of actually performing
a castration in the western world...

do, you, understand?!
i'll have to write like i might be
a boarder guard talking to
Mexican migrants, talking
to middle class Americans...

do, you, understand?!
you don't pass certain thresholds!
you, understand?!
understand?!
        non si comprende?!
non si?

you normies are pushing the wrong
trigger-happy *******...
i'm telling, no... i'm ASKING you...
non si comprende?!
  hey! stupid! hey! stupid!
(smack the head of a normie)
i said! hey! stupid!
          you wanna be a target
in the shooting range?!
yo! STUPID?!
IDIOTA QUERER A CONOCER LOCO?!
yes? no?

**** me,
i've become so feverish in my approach
that i'm experiencing
temporary amnesia...
i know i was supposed to write
something beside this,
but the beside this,
infringed on what was originally
intended...

because i know what words
agitate people...
certain people...

    let's take a word with a due
need for accessing a linguistically forensic
scalpel, cutting it open...

disease: some people relish that word...
with a certain fading disgust...

but?

        dis-         -ease...

a different story!

dis-? it's a prefix of denial, negation...
now couple it...
what do you get?

           a negation of ease...
a denial of ease...

                         that's what disease is...
it's not a horrid circumstance that requires
quarantine parameters...
esp. when someone doesn't break
the word down...
  into its prefix and affix parameters...

i know that sometimes a word transcends
a simple ratio conclusion -
i.e. my door is broken = screws + a screwdriver...
or whatever...

what did i have in mind,
"originally"?
whatever it was, it morphed...
now... i can't remember...
well, let's face it...
sometimes you're supposed to forget
something
that you wanted to remember
and write down,
even if the time-span only lasts
a few minutes...

conclusion?
the faculty of memory should have
it's own ontological study,
equivalent to being...
given that...
the faculty of imagination...
has its "study" in its unconscious
expression of dreams...
last time i heard...
memory only goes as far as
the subconscious...
that said, thus to reiterate...
memory could be deemed worthy
of an ontological study...

thus said:

being is equivalent of consciousness,
memory is the equivalent of
the subconscious,
imagination - as proof of the existence
of dreams, being equivalent of
the unconscious....

but only esse (qua cogitans), and memory,
are suspect of an ontological study...
imagination, and the unconscious...
dreams... the pristine fields of study
for a psyche - and whatever logical
rubric might be attributed to its study...

primo: morior animea mea ex deus
beta: morior mea cogitatio ex deus
tertio: morior animea mea
quarto: morior mea cogitatio
quinto: deus morior.

first dies my animation out of god
second dies my thought out of god,
   thirdly dies my animation
fourthly dies my thought
(only) fifthly god dies...

only then...
            Nietzsche is correct
with his...
       presupposition maxim...
  a presupposition that became a proposition...
no wonder why he went mad...
learned minds are pedantic...
and pedantic logical structures do not
entertain
                inconsistencies,
like they do not entertain: entrytame
duslexic / dyslexic spelling mistakes...

gott ist tot....
               ja... gott ist tot...
   aber wenn ich bin tot mit ihm!

ever, squint your eye, in the middle of the night...
while squinting, peering at a light-source...
a street-lamp source...
to my disbelief... once you squint your eyes...
look past the camel-lashes...
oh, the light doesn't enter your
eye... it enters your:
circa: forehead... or the light
bypasses your actual eye...
light never enters your eye...
it churns out a projection
toward your forehead!

back in the "day": the beatniks vs. the squares...
angry gen X'ers via Limp Bizkit...
now what's the squares became
the normie... so, what are we?!
there's, a ******* "we"?
i think we're a we..

thereby... psychology is a field whereby
all people are somehow to be accounted for...
no chance in hell...
i squint my eyes, i look at a lamp light...
the light splinters... & it never, ever...
enters my eye... because i only squint
one of my eyes, rather than the both of them...
i move my head: left... the light source
moves to the left...
i move my head: right... the light source
moves to the right...

******* light-******: me...
or... compound pronouns in English...
your-self... my-self...
but it's never exactly: i-self...
the two pronoun hybrid of the Roman ego...
& the Germanic selbst... self...
we're talking about working around
using two pronouns at a pinnacle!
ego is a concept, it can be theorized...
but the self? that **** has to be: automated...
self-employed... blah blah...

what's that? i-self?!
egg, go! iota! i say i to someone?¬
ego can be abstracted...
the self- can be prefixed...
              forge my greatest: ****-off!
time is most apparent when people
deserve to die...
as much as they are deserving to be
born: they deserve to die, likewise...
sorry state of affairs... sorry...
for a people to espouse Darwinism...
in any other culture...
Copernicus is simply
an anecdote for the ****** people...
is Darwin the same?
last time... he's a tired old DODO...
objective truths outside the objectivity
of... water boils at 100°C
water freezes at 0°C...

mention one name, no, mention two names...
JAN HUSS...JACOB PARKOSZOWICA...
the diacritical barons..

thieves... the night sells plenty
of whaat's to be arrived at man...
me not getting paid...
this, the freely arrived at "society"...
then, some disgruntled oops happens...
will i want, *******, care?!
no... nein! niet! nie! no!

not much needs to be written these days,
i hardly ask to peer at the face
of god:
what, with all these full bodied
chinese ideograms or ancient egyptian
hieroglyphs - strenuous like
impromptu hindenburg explosions...
at least with these latin letters:
well: the hebrew revision -
skeletons... endless row of skeletons...
shackles of bone...
i never promised myself this...
but... upon seeing an open coffin
in the morgue: the detail beside walking
around town putting up necrolog posters...
the bureaucratic detail in
what culminates in the whole:
well attired in princey navy jacket...
cuffs and: remembering how to tie:
a tie...
the generic mass at a funeral:
family secrets... oh the bogus lot of:
an unhappy marriage...
only somehow saved by the prefix grand-
some ever summer for several years
from the womb of the daughter...
this unhappy marriage...
only 3 months ago:
i could see the eyes of resignation...
perhaps cancer finally matched up to:
his willingness to let go...
i'm writing this to justify his unwillingness
to live: after all... rosy whenever i
visited him: otherwise purgatory:
skinning of pigs for shoes...
a grandmother's tongue like a sting of a wasp...
it was not for anyone to live:
no wonder he recounted: he decided to
escape into memory...
and it wasn't like upon death:
all of life flashes before your eyes:
once you age and service up half a dozen
years, months, weeks and countless days:
an eternity of hours...
memory become cinema...
i've seen it myself...
to play the cameo...
            but i can't imagine
being married to someone who might
wish me dead or:
that i might die like a dog dies:
in my native tongue: zdechnąć...
which refers to animals...
people: people have the capacity (rather than
the potential) to... umrzeć..
to die like an animal is to
heave the last breath without
the ease of possessing a differential
sigma of all part concerned that
tells any naked eye the difference
between
an animate and an inanimate object...
well... further along...
that's a bad joke...
since most of the time...
something animate doesn't
necessarily have to become subjected
to our observation: filtering the amassing
grey fudge of pedestrians:
which is less... even though animate...
than the inanimate mountain...
then again... the earth is static by
illusion... suddenly broken
by the wind... hurried disillusionment
by a hurricane... hey presto!
i'm standing on a "levitating" orb...
- i promised something...  
ah... identifying a corpse in an open coffin
in a morgue before the funeral...
biting-the-quill-procedures of death:
death... i have to let you know...
is very well organised...
it's very bureaucratic...
hell for all it's insomniac democracy:
"veto"...
it's... impossible to suffer childish fears
when walking through a graveyard...
hours shy post the burial
i sat by the grave like a dutiful
dog and teased my eye with a candle
while burning the ridges of plastic
into a cascade of all things hot, molten...
- my new found source of "debate"?
not finishing a cigarette...
smoking... half of it...
extinguishing it... half an hour later...
with the filter already soaking wet
with wet nicotine from all my drags...
new found pleasure...
it's a ******* mirage:
the idea that there are inanimate
objects at hand for the eye to admire
and meditate on...
a mountain in all its grandiosity...
yes yes... esp. when slap-sticked to
a... magician'******that:
the tetragrammaton has a daughter:
who he calls the annum...
HH: for summer and winter: chiral entities...
Y for spring... W for autumn...
why that is so...
Nero could have told you...
my lyre! my liar! rome is afloat!
the waves are ablaze!
this english tongue would not be
recognised by either greeks or the romans!
yet i'm using the lettering
of qua quixote: qua ape borgia...
pope!         pope!
are all the protestant sovereigns rich?
guess it comes to quest with a question:
the catholic rich ****** of france or
spain... who are the pauper catholics?
by all means: i know all the orthodox
castratos are: grecian and challenging:
take turns concerning either Malta
or Cyprus...
- here's to! here's to not getting my "mojo"
back concerning writing:
it's not like there's a horizon of
a stephen king worth for me to play
jester with... it's not like i'm some clive barker
who explored narratives
and character studies in h'amsterdam's
underground play-toy-play-t'ing...
rubber ole! studding with nails
and a fetish for leather...
while having sioux...
kneecap fold at the elbow:
wave goo'-bye!
             none of that... no...
             meat 'n' tow veg unfathomable...
like testing the vernacular of
testicles of... five men, all blind...
and a whale to make jokes concerning
an elephant...
- now i am extending my "privy"...
i am making myself welcome by ****
and wilt alone...
i am playing solitaire and i am rearranging
chess and dominos of letters:
but all these fattenings that come back
to bite phonetic enclosures
of chinese ideograms and egyptian
hieroglyphics... bloat in my face like
sprouts of mushroom growth
and bulging pockets of **** of gangrene
and sickly sweet acne...
- you know... i expected any other
play on a hiatus... i see old people walk
around and i'm like: coming on 81...
bragging about pushing 120...
when i came back from the funeral
i felt a sense of relief...
there's the concept of the mother-tongue...
as the very central european concept
of the fatherland...
it's not german...
hardly... concerning that he died
a philosopher: i.e. married to an abomination
of a woman...
i'll sooner gamble on horses!
or... how i will have to stand alone...
or walk into the north sea one
day and drown... or head to the civilisation
crown of humanity's deity: the switz land
or the benelux and spend my last
halving of paper with
tsar nicholas II imprinted on it...
for a dosage of euthanasia...

let the africans and the arabs come...
i am tired of having to jest
not suffering from bouts of
lethargy... let them i don't mind...
i'm of the mind concerning the belief
in shadows and in volcanoes...
the larva of the lava needs new:
sprouts!
copper-skinned "i" and R: further! US!
but not from this boring set of
stale ideas!

- a grandfather died: sorry... was i supposed
to be more... more estranged from
the concept of family?!
grandfather is pushing it?
but that Poland has reached
a mythological status entry for past...
hell... England is on par...
concerning Ilford... Gants Hill...
Barkingside... and sooner or later...
Romford...
white-flight... well no **** sherlock!
we're not going to fit onto
the Faroe Islands like a bunch
of hiding oysters!

- again... was this at all offensive
or am i just too grief stricken to mind
the already apolitical "political correctness"
sort of ******* that's reserved
for the retards that: will hardly
envision actual bridges and actual rivers...
no... "society"... is their... ******* disneyland
of concerns!

money is a social construct...
pay 'em in either pebbles or peanuts!
how else?!
- and what of still stalling of bulging
"anger" from a "erectile dysfunction":
glad you asked...
i... simply don't know...
why it works a charm with prostitutes...
but... fails... whenever i have to
date someone from
a mythos of the 1950s: bidding for a
housewife... thank you...
i can... or rather: i much prefer
to cook for myself...
i need no **** or **** in that department...

- because it's that nagging sensation
surround: only recently the parisian police
burned another migrant camp...
not in calais...
in some underpass...
i was in Paris circa 2004 - 2007 and
it was that city of Hemingway et al.,
now... it's the city where
there's a mausoleum of a bonaparte...
if that...
in a sunday newspaper magazine
a book review concerning Idi Amin...
attempted to portray him
in good faith... turns out!
****** gassed... Idi Amin performed
miraculous surgery...

- believe it or now: i'm on my way out...
thank **** and god to boot for
having inherited such fuckery of
grandmothers... and paternal... blah blah...
synchronised fuckery of a Tolstoy's
Anna Karenina opening - with the world
as a whole...
and i... poor ****-wit...
a cameo narrative-ist...

- in this tongue alone: "borrowed":
lent, acquired... why should "i"...
the dumb polacks were graced with a pope?
as instrument... let my fellow countrymen
gloat in a darkness of: that's already
easily manipulated...
saint my *** on a peddle-stool!
- what do i owe... "europe":
exactly what it owes me...
privy to the image of... salvaging...
tank-tops and ******...
even when it was grizzly ritzy and **** on
you:
the same foundation:
how plagued could we have become...
gorging on the same load of
masochism yet feeling no inclination
for: the colonial adventures that
landed "us" on the moon...

how there is a past for some...
but not for others: "my" people ought to
regress to the grievances bestowed
to them by the teutonic knights: failed 4th crusade...
the mongols, the swedes concerning
the deluge...
the ottomans... the ukranian nationalists...
oh.. "multicultural" society... "worked"...
in the polish-lithuanian commonwealth:
so well that what was required
was a foreign king...

i too... own... my body my land...
mythological as it might still be:
leaving school i do know how to dictate
the last of the anglo--saxon king's "whereabouts"
in history... the angevin empire...
the normie 'orms... and europe
can go **** itself...

           why? grief bespoke... i'm on
an "angry" hiatus...
  i write skeletons of letters and i'm peering
at the house of god...
all that's missing is what's hidden in 'ebrew...
i.e. the niqab vowels...
which would make words arrive
back at a reading:
LK S...
        S Y MGHT S
   like so
so you might see...
               - charles dickens called it
orthography... i just call it bad spelling...
i would call it orthography if...
english entertained the concept and use of
diacritical markers...
i.e. ó vs. u...
               does... english (as a language)
even bother to... no... it doesn't...
matter desiring to dictate: ******* stark naked...
a CH from a SH otherwise
hiding the foot of the tetragrammaton
in a caron, i.e. Č or Š...
oh... right... still pandering to the cannibals
of the pacific isles...
- what the **** are we... philandering
as: fiddlin with: as... escapee ******* / tattoo?!
it's not "orthography": mr. dickness...
it's either bad spelling or outright dyslexia...

orthography implores the application of
diacritical markers...
the russians: employ them...
however subtle...
so subtle... but english doesn't permit
an entire letter to be fathomable...
for a compound...
Ч (Č) - CH - you hide the heb' god...
no? no... you expose 'im... no?

    Ш (Š) - SH... oi 'rew! 'rew! i find the wind...
caressing... the Faroe isles most inviting:
i was so very close to the concept
of how...
                  ш + ц ≠ щ
   given ч... i might have wished...

- here;s too giving myself to too much greek
or the hebrew counter: these letters...
the new testament...
here's to europe: yur-op!
my pondering a  burning of a scarf:
the summoning of a wind...
the necropolis hybrid... a skinning
of a... believe them greeks,
believe them hebrews:
sooner or later they become ottomans...
whether asked or being in want...

- such that the closet of your kin leave you
being hindered...
and that all: that remains...
is a **** flinging fest of lobotomy creasure...
you take your pick: whether i've
disused or under achieved
usage of a certain: verbiage - attache...
told the point... the laughing dolphin...
when "arrayed" with a display of
a butterfly's quest...
as one: ibn: might be left demanding:
no camel jockey who afre you...
no yacht... a dolphin giggling...
flapping at makeshift:
feathers...

           i cleave to... a hybrid...
what has to become the genius
of BARR... **** it... capital lettering...
the IRN BRU sod...
the 18--... fuckety-fuckety...
    history impromptu!

hello comparisons BARR "conctra"
KRUPPS...

such that i might drink: h'american
ice-cream / cream soda...
all of that jingle...
bubble-gum what's-not-to-like?!
all the synthetic soda-creamed-up
pie...
all that curated...
bukakke and gloryhole...
and **** on me **** on you,..

- so who's left... *******, pretend one is...
smiling?!
nairobi ping-pong quest old german
boring toothache too?!

i sorta think i've served a purpose...
if it wasn't enough:
well? then i can become most hurried and
harried in giving all the necessary
exaltations...
w.d.y.f.o.
  in acronyms and in a slapping
of hands by the deaf i learned from my youth
in a country i was last felt welcome in.

but please! go on! do... your... ****-most with!
keeping your most similar least involved!
to hell with you!
to hell with you!
i can't sacrifice imploring...
your already disguised hyper-tensioned
phrase for keeping up with
demands for tourism:
your nay bother... you ******* deaf-counter-quip
of a ******* fidget of a forgotten use
of a whip!

strap them to an island,
arm them with a gimp's shame...
yet still they persist in their...
monolingual plebiscite!
the afghan peoples of the ancient world...
no wonder! "afghans"...
that they are.. stubborn
integral follow up to how the french
also didn't.

i want to see life:
breathed back,
into having
ownership
of my own
              eyes!
i want to be
expecting
death
   with the same
fear,
of having to
close my eyes
having to
listen to
classical
               music...

but zombie: normie -
whatever...
you go,
i go.....

AH  BLAH BLAH BLAHBL
BLAH BL
BLAH BLAH
YOYO YO YO YO
BLAH YO YO BLAH YO YO

****!
YOU!

~25cl and a "next"
   day's worth of an afternoon,
while watching the next
concubine of a single mother's
household, play fiddle
to the garden,
    and there are no violins
and no crescendo,
and the day incubates
several winds at once,
           and you're like:
n'ah...
              i shouldn't,
but i should,
but then again i shouldn't,
and: light-hours never do it for me,
how daylight is least
complimentary to drinking
habits...
      is it really all about the rhyme?
rubric "tautology",
   pedagogy skew,
    only the ******* have
a desired inclination?
       well... we know what
'all the little hitlers write at night'
gets you,
a notable mention
in a harold norse autobiography,
mush akin to w. h. auden...
sure, the feeling is mutual,
it's not longer a "circumstance"
of being circumcised,
it's a scenario of playing
the cameo castrato role
in some dim figment of "reimagining"
the status quo of a
pro golfer's harem...
i can do saturdays...
but come sunday?
    everything is just, plain weird...
gearing up toward a monday
and the tide of "subtle"
gradations of a work ethic...

https://magma poetry.com /
     20th-century-  poets/

i know so little, having read this,
that i'm almost unabashed by
the fact, per se...

             so scuttling through
a list of failings,
  crude tongue,
   lack of ethical standards,
a whole plethora of shortcomings,
but it's only about
a worth of an afternoon,
   ~25cl  of leftover whiskey,
and rolling tobacco...

       a microcosm of creeping
existential crises...
    and all that worn down flack
of a democratic tuxedo,
to any event,
but one in particular:
a funeral of some sort....

         to better, or for no worse avail...
and so little,
and so late,
            and all the eager tender
hearts make available...
    some sort of c.c.t.v. counter,
some ghost,
          some clarification,
and then some stupid plause,
some norman and normie
sunday zenith of a football match
spectated before the new altar
of t.v.,
               and, as ever,
a dampened sense of
          disinhibition,
              heightened scrutiny
from the slaughterhouse brigade...
even the bulls don't
give off a whiff of a dumb
animal compensation for their
worth of a blank canvas blank
back stare...

         little world, little promise...
little of much, and also the little
of the little...
                      how many compromises
had to be met in metaphysics?
       as many as away from
the translation of: abstract...

               a life, in death:
                       always the persiting
circumstance of a waiting line...
           or if not outright melancholy,
then a blatant nostalgia...
        
   and now, to find ease,
    an arm-chair,
    a snooze corner,
             even a shadow,
to play with...
                  
     seems i don't exactly have
to be a sailor and fear
myself towed by some slouch
   to the depths,
          that i might drown...
i'm already a voice
in a democracy,
          and i'm drowning,
                        as we "speak":

to "think" of having firm
standing in this cauldron,
  of roots: when one is constantly
up-rooted...
                         is a fool's errand;

and sometimes,
to chance those...
    who are in the theatre of opinion,
with opinions,
that never, never really begin
to chance dialectic...
   a mind of scrutiny,
but are forever,
            base,
playground...
                     and the comforts
of a night with safety
psychadelic experiences
of a dream;
  never the void,
never the insomnia
or the dreamless "repose".

weird... but it's one of these feelings...
a gust of wind... a package from Sahara...
some sand...
right... now i have to climb over the ledge
and clean the roof outside of my window...
scrub scrub... scrub some more...
thank you: dear god for the postcard:
wish you were here too...
then... something marvelous happens...
you get a random suggestion on youtube
like it's... 2016 jukebox style...
the quadroholics' overdue (2022) -
synthwave - USA... no... it's not going to be
as big by anything by Foster the People...
drinking bourbon still reminds
me of the scent of brothels and leaves me
with an aftertaste of bubblegum...
esp. since ol' Jack is on offer...
£20 for a litre of the juice...
                after 200 press-ups:
oh, the hardest are the ones when you clench
your fists... and do them on your knuckles...
too bad if you're doing stomach crunches...
why would you even go to the gym...
buy a bicycle... ******* into the sunset...
or swim... i don't get the idea of the gym br'uh...
bro...
         i'd rather swallow metal pebbles:
i remember that moment... grandfather brought
a bag of these metal pebbles from
the metallurgy factory... i'd roll them up
the balcony... watch them roll back...
then swallow them...
  i pity myself for having sometimes to have to
succumb to these existential outbursts:
35... why am i still single? why am i not coupled?
why don't i have a debt of mortgage...
these outbursts last for about an hour...
from time to time... then i realise...
oh... right... only prostitutes and single mums
in my age range are left: available...
and they are loaded with horror stories...
i really don't feel like dating down...
too much to catch up... educate... culturally...
they's no common language...
   all that would be left would be...
making babies... mindless drones...
               i really don't feel like getting together
with a younger woman...
mind you: i don't have the sort of money
that would allow me the... ahem: luxury...
but finding someone mine own age...
who isn't childless?
same old story: you made your bed...
now sleep in it...
         i'm pretty content with my bed...
no Freud is going to bother me...
trying to interpret: "nothing":
no... not nothing: NOTHING...
  not a google search result of a black square...
that's... something...
nothing id est the ego of god...
             since nothing is a pronoun...
it's not a noun...
                     i'm sort of lucky i found an alternative
outlet... i sometimes watch these "red pill" channels
and think to myself:
the world can *******... i'm not interested...
all those journalistic hacks too...
i implored them for a media sabbath:
a Monday... no print...
     did they listen? of course they didn't...
libido and journalistic insomnia...
sure... i can counter these existential outbursts of
wanton... of want...
         but i sober up, sooner than never...
from these outbursts...
   i'm not going to foster this kid... he's not my own...
i'm not going to pay off the debt your
ex ex-boxer racked up to pay you in revenge...
it's liberating... but sort of enchaining
with the freedom...
   i'd love to take on responsibility:
but not the irresponsibility of others...
             it's enough that i have to clean my roof
from all that gust of Saharan sand landing on my roof...
even at work... two girls decided to call in sick...
well... that's what happens...
when 5 or 6 of them star playing you...
and... the game's over...
even the **** has become overtly-cautious...
do i **** with him? slander him?
what do i do? can i talk to him?
         and i was so willing to become a foster daddy...
oh well... it's like that argument normie people
have concerning homeless people:
it's because they chose to be homeless?
that... same old **** mea culpa *******?
it's their own fault? no external factors involved?
*******! grief got to them... their self archtecture
broke down... collapsed...
              you don't choose certain scenarios in
life... unless, of course... we're all ******* altruistically
autistic... nice? play nice?
we're all solipsists?! the external world doesn't
exist?! hyperventilating individualism... load
of ******* *******... that's not how physics works...
even if it downgraded to human interaction...
there's always an external force...
   you get a push-back... spontaneity ought to be
something pleasant... not when:
you... "spontaneously" end up sleeping in a tent
on the side of the ******* street...
*******...
              sure... aged 35... you'd think...
"something"... even if you write poetry... no luck with
women...
            better luck with prostitutes...
that's a hyper-woman: that is...
             beside... i'm guessing these existential
outbursts will pass... once i breach the age of 40...
by then i'll be like...
Roger Moore... the only Bond that ever was...
fair enough... Darwin was wrong...
beta-provider was right...
                  the physical reality is awry...
the 6ft2 100kg... will not reproduce...
             the cuck-will, will...
                              survival of the fittest my ***...
survival of the most agreeable...
i'm not agreeable... well... i pretend to be...
before i start getting annoyed...
great! back to the brothel for when i'm in
the mood... games, games, more games...
             i want these existential pulses to become
extinct in me... i really don't feel like raising someone
else's child... paying off someone else's debt...
mind you... i loved the kid...
but there's only so much freedom you can
sacrifice...
     i'm not going to sacrifice what's allowing me
the borderline status of: non-existent.

buying three litres of jack daniels...
at... £20 a a litre -
which is £12 short from the original
selling price...
  (so i've saved a total of
£36... which, at the current selling
price is... £4 short
of two bottles for free)...

   that i would love to believe in
dr. strangelove - and a very real fear &
potential of an atom bomb...

the spectacle of awer...
        how the 20th century could be
a casper -
             but not now...
   i could ask for a blissful sentence of
an asylum - but this current: society
of sociopaths...

  i just can't: beside the don't...
        that there is some fledgling will:
otherwise the negation of want...

well yes... bourbon is whiskey with
some maple syrup...
        i get it now...
                   maybe flashing a u-boat
on the drive...
perhaps taking time to cling
to a bucket list and parachute ****-naked...
buy and subsequently heave
20 years for petting a labrador...

there was a trickling uncertainty
when jerking off and there was....
shyla stylez...
                 born 1982... oh...
found unresponsive in her bed by
her mother... aged 35... in 2017...

it's such a pity to have such a...
monstrous high-blood pressure in
the constraints of the phallus...
i forget the puritan...
if i get away with pursuing
the orthodox guillotine
of a missing *******...
     then again:
     it would be impossible to *******
without any *******...
i guess i'm playing the joker hand...
on the toilet...
**** like a tease...
mrs. no. 1 & 2... subsequently no. 3...
it's not spectacular...
no satans are being deployed
into the air... no scented candles...

it's like a spectacle of inverting
the time it would take for wood to rot...
or ****** on mushy peas...

      oh sure... i could write of
the blue pill platonism...
                   but it's so impossible
to lie... let alone believe in lies self-generated...
from the hiding place
of the obscure... when...
people behaved like people...
had their lives and had their...
           soul crushing competitive streaks...
it was paradise to scribble...

now is no time to come to the fore...
could i encompass staging
a transcendence...
or merely this: a scuttling into the shadow...
not out of fear...
but for the sheer desire to spectate...
i mean: this requires an audience
this... this world this... whatever "this"
actually is...

the neighbour put up a new fence...
i've had over half a year of work
in perfecting the garden...
       there was putting up the pergola
with a wisteria
weaving: now blooming with tender
bishop hues...
    i'm still working on digging
an arcane concept of a trench
and flooding it self-made:
3 parts sand 1 part cement...
so the weeds from my neighbour's
garden do not sprout from beneath
the ornamental bark i laid...

if i were some evil genius:
tinged with a psychology of a soviet
past... or a mandarin current -
i wouldn't wish this militarised democracy
upon anyone...
          
           the original fear:
the oppenheimer crucible is beside
the ******* point...
                    when there was an awe inspiring
fear... a citation from the upanishads:
now i have become death...
who is to be cited in the current
climate of events...
are we experiencing a blitzkrieg
of anger from the elements...

           could it be possible that even
the gods are stricken with
a wake of the titans -
and their first riddled tier 0:
elemental forebears...

              coming to the cauldron...
if i were an evil genius:
i would want to work in the confines
of staging coups with atom bombs...
a period of paranoia and a history
that could make... 50 years a breezy
postcard nonchalance...
i'd pride myself on a parody of
a marathon... by turning up...
with 10 years of experience as a...
postman...

                   this whirling and sedating
prospect of tamed angers and
angered hopes... and docile happiness:
in the plural -nesses
       having exacted a limbo score
of stones stashed in socks...
and then flickering... like an imitation
slingshot...

     the classical period of hebrews writing
a history that would later become
incorporated into the labyrinth of the gentiles...
that London once aspired to
be a reinvention of Jerusalem...
in the 19th century's zenith...

                         that Paris transcended this
ambition...
                      what a mystery...
this new club of intellectuals...
when one tunes in to at least
a bare minimum of 2 hours in the morning
of BBC radio 3...
by comparison i tune into classic.fm
and... the same old... the same mundane...
repetition jargon...
carl orff's o fortuna...

there's no joke: it's just a platitude of
bad taste... it's bad because it's
pop repetitive... pop repetitive:
which is saying much... about classical music
being staged to a palette...

people are supposed to possess limbs...
apparently...
but i doubt that...
one can dislike the piquancy of blue cheese...
or beef honeycomb tripe...
esp. if one has...
tiramisu for dessert...
              
      i listen in on the BBC radio 3 broadcast
and i tease myself with words like...
the seclusive parody... no...
the non-inclusive... i.q. like a pH test...
one is either "intellectually" acidic or
alkaline...

old darwin can't exactly rewrite this
fork... in the lineages of history making...
what is out-dated about the english
is clinging to darwin...
by now this should be
a well reserved fact...
and loiter in the subconscious...
it should not have the capacity
to have the propensity of words...
to still have to be expressed as
a reiteration...
                    the automation
of the heart...
                                   i am beyond
the caricature of this amnesty of
"grief"...
               beyond: with a sense temporal...
only...
              
       it's not like the copernican
heliocentric model was...
but it was... something for a wittgeinstein...
it's not like he was some
william burroughs who negated
the copernican interlude...
searching for ghosts and proofs
saying: the ancient egyptians knew
of the heliocentric model all along!

one person is somehow compounded
to lie...
whether it is true... or false...
it's beside the posit and the will for
the focus of narrative...
the will to power is...
an -esque variation of...
the submerging focus for the masses...
a will to power concerns the elite...

but what concerns all of us?
the narrative of subversion...
               it's not so much a hierarchy of
glistening parodies of giggling...
at the exchange...

the will to power can be compensated...
the ordeal of a narrative...
right now! it's not necessarily true
or false...
     you can strobe light as many scientific
facts... uncertainties...
quack doctors will still sprout!

there was once a will to power...
a progress fabric / template for exceptional
men... the en masse is only now:
the last reigning exception...
what was once )will( is now )narration(...
what was once )power(... is now...
                   a "leisure" of a lie...

                  such the current world has
become so: new and in being so new:
so new-demanding...
                the old quest of a predicament
of the individual... some beckett-esque
oasis is but a half-heaved
borrowing of ancient greek monstrosity
of myth: this now new
pathology...

                   history - mythology -
journalism - temporal relativism -
all kept... within... the confines... of...
a spatial "integrity":
but i very much like... the lost butterfly
wings of "         " (odd)...

when: oh god... and if there wasn't
this propaganda machine...
but only now... you can see it speeding
up... and it's like... trailblazing
and you're wishing for some repose
with a tumbleweed
and how there could be
a cancan moment in h'americana...
when the old soviets would be
at it...

         but shyla stylez is still 35...
and dying of "reprieve"...
but i'm still gorging on beef honeycomb
tribe... and eating an italian classic
minutes later...

            because i might eat...
the livers of oinks...
the stomachs of chickens...
and the hearts...
i am barbaric...
                but i like...
the nova scotia compass...
or where it's "heading"...
i have a dutch lisp tantrum that's
beside a kiss of a tarantula...
that these people gravitated
toward a flattening of concerns...
this bicycle had to replace
towing a tonne of beef:
and milking it...

           hindering the limbo for
the worth of caviar, oysters...
and... scrutiny limbo tall...
a caribbean **** muster-pace...
because mustard is a european
masterpiece... along with
the "jelly" of the horse:
subjected to the readied dish of:
                      radical-conservatism...

calls "us" radishes on the
harsh... told to talk tall bone
with grit of bone...
     i hide my rhymes
with a... most secure... are we'iz'e'kid?
hoods to clamour for a:
"safen und testez"?

the bull-whipped testimony
of the tried and tested..
pair of guggenheim's "dropped off"....
my ordeal at the opera!
stiletto baron... a piercing sort
of "shoe"...
         the elephant's trunk is
a bad metaphor for a jazz fuelled trumpet...
concerning the otherwise
3 blind mend teasing the braille
of carpenter's 1 hour posit for:
no instagram, no fan-boyoh...
this variation of choking joke of junk...

the "rhyme" come first..
a prefix junction...
because executing memory with
suffixes... is... like... "no"... and "new"...
once upon a time some alexnder
the great...
count my concerns...
the balkans are the size of texas..
the ottoman turks were and are...
merely the pronounced presence
of barbery... on the demand
of the english... plumbers...

well... everything in english...
is steroid riddled: shakespearean or not...
macbeth or death...
it's not even dickensian...
it's: school the children or: death's
parrot and the *** riddled quack...
it's that the pillar is... heavier than its
shadow...
the... zunge ein walgrundieren...
              neckerei...
                          ein augenbinde hängend...

not that this is some Latvian
excavation project:
who! is to spreschen richtig....
german-philia or a russo-phobia...
bible blessed nuance
of... ol' david & delylah....
samson & goliath...

      my own pretty azure ice cradle topic...

a lobotomy of wooling
the cushion of an aversion
towards the heave! a grand heave!
prototype of nuance normie...
which is like gradation the arab project...
and he-he! softy-pie y first catering
for cancer last: croatian lobotomy *******
cue:

lumbering at a grief of a sedation..
to chop a tree...
to heave a concept of table
or a toothpick from it...
to give birth for a cherry fruit...
to delight a hindering of
             i aim...
                     the teeth and
the prosthetic... looking pristine...
prime gum:  excavating "leisure"...
it's that....

jaw-abiding:
sharon stone contra...
michelle pfeiffer...
        kim cattrall: godzilla ***
casablanca?!
    shyla stylez izzzzzzzzzzz
zoom?!
       jaw-gnashing teeth counting...
my leisure
of experimenting with
grace...
            my own: men-yoroi...
             licking a lisp...

this 3 bottles of jack a toll...
                       of this summa summarum;
these "croatian" shadow-people...
the lesser kind...
of the less celebrated...
after all: from california toward
the axis of elven-evil via texas...
the pristine people:
beside the primo escape plan
aiming at the moon!
what is the ol' muscovite affair...
that now... tinged with a beijing hindering...      

the soviets would bring a bomb...
the billionth man came
with a cinema of a ******* sneeze!

this weather would drive anyone mad...
maybe i'm just weird...
plenty of people: normal people:
normie SIMS
                          adore summer...
you can sometimes watch one guy
walking around the street without
a shirt... or: girl just needs to wear a bikini...
i get it...
    even i'm thinking about cycling
shirtless and donning nothing
but lycra-shorts...

                        i'm too modest:
i'll probably do the usual and put cotton
shorts on top of the lycra...
    and i probably won't cycle shirtless...
i think my hairy chest
and hairy stomach and my "mark of Cain":
my missing "pound of flesh"
might offended people... or... the opposite...
for the opposite ***...

as much as i can be a responsible person
i also know how to be a *******...
reckless... chaotic...
    i tried an experiment today...

can fury / anger cool you down?

like i always said: people don't **** me off...
things do...
that said: do some people qualify as
being tools? sure...
and i hate faulty tools...

so i was vacuuming today... because i felt
*****... and hot... and sweaty and
"teenage girl" -esque "confused":
whatever the hell that means...
for the past three days i wake up
on the floor without my pajamas...
naked: glued to the wooden floor...

gasping for air...
      ******* July! ******* atmospheric high
pressure... go! go! go! go back to Sahara or
wherever you came from...
SNOW... ICE... DARKNESS!
    
       雪 (ユキ)... コーリ... クラヤミ

(yuki... koori... kurayami)

this vacuum cleaner is ****...
first of all... the person who designed should
have just been an employee for Mr Dyson...
seriously... the cable is too short...
i have to switch from about three different
power-source outlets...
   and those hairs on what's supposed
to collect dust? too short too...
   i've been vacuuming the staircase twice...
once fast... then slow...
  
i ended up testing my idea...
can anger cool you?
can fury cool you?
                   well... first i had to wet my beard
and comb it... then i had to wet my hair
and comb it... then i asked myself:
if i get really *******
about... "a hammer you can't hammer nails
in with"... i.e. a vacuum cleaner
i can't clean with? yeah...

                like an orthodox Jew
head-banging before the Wailing Wall...
which... honestly... if those guys were kneeling...
i'd imagine a massive Ha-Shem *****
just there... imitation blow-job...
or rather: repenting for the ancestors
to mutilate them...

monotheistic lunacy...
   same in Christianity... kneeling... kneeling...
******* procrastinating...
or the **** position of the Islamic rites...
geared up, gents, for some extra-curriculum
action?!
it's one thing to be told that you came
from an ancestry of hunchbacks...
i.e. apes... and another to insult
those origins with these silly antics...

                          oh... but i do believe in a deity...
but it's all in my head...
it doesn't require Churches, statues...
sanctities and heresies or anathemas...
that's the best way: at least for me...
it's all in my head...
     and the world can be as beautiful as it already
is...

people don't **** me off... things do...
sadly some people mingle with the category of thing...
there's this guy at work...
a sad soul... deformed in a way that doesn't
appear deformed... but he has a physiognomy
that would tell you: *******...
******? not really... too weak...
   everyone at work hates him...
     well... wouldn't you if you heard:
i've been a steward for 12 years...
                        he tries to boss people around...
me? i only started last December on a whim
and i've already become a supervisor
blah blah X no. of times...
                    
it's lovely seeing society function on its original
intent of meritocracy...
right... but this guy is despised...
me? i'm... curious...
   he has terrible conversation cues too...
he tries to crack a joke or says something
and non-responsive... i was?! i wasn't?!
i don't even know anymore...
      i didn't say anything... i'm pretty sure...
and he's like: yeah, ha ha... you never say
anything to me...

weird as **** when he starts calling me
by my Finnish equivalent: Matti...
               only my father gets to call me Mateo...
thank god he didn't venture south...

i actually prefer Martin... the guy with cerebral
palsy... the one that looks jittery when standing
still... or drunk... but at least i can look into
his eyes and think:
                         oh... this world is a *****...
but i promise i won't make it harder for you...

back to the other guy... everyone at work hates
me... but... when i was supervising him?
oh man... WHAT A JINN!
perfect! i had to argue with some guys without
wristbands trying to get a pitch-side view
of the concert: clearly they bought paid-seat tickets...

i gave up... arguing / being persuaded...
blah blah this blah blah that...
i turned around and crossed my hands...
but they just kept on nagging...
    then my whittle fwend came along and worked
his magic...
it didn't take much...
just his physiognomy...
             his body language...
                              his actual use of language...
   the seriousness he applied to the profession:
yeah... "profession" in my eyes...
crowd-safety is a joke...
                     i take it seriously in terms of:
looking out for terrorists...
but compared to roofing or anything DIY related
it's a farce...

   soldiers at Buckingham Palace might also
realise that they don't have a job...
they just have a uniform
smoke and mirrors...

everyone at "work" hates him but i found
most useful... when you can't win
an "argument": just allow the most "disgusting"
person to do the work for you...

i mean: for ****'s sake... how can you win
an argument if people find you endearing,
hug you, kiss you, take selfies with you...
it's impossible... throw in a "Quasimodo"
into the mix and watch them turn their attitude...

it's called: effectively utilizing a person's
otherwise considered disadvantages to your
advantage... that's what's called:
nature abhors a vacuum...

                 i'm going to write this... drink some more
and then cycle... hopefully concentrating on
any of my possible recklessness...
hopefully not falling head first
across my bicycle's handlebars while
trying to avoid a ***-hole...

mindful: of a copper-neck...
that's the only good thing about summer...
getting a suntan...
that's it... i like looking like a lychee flesh
dipped in sunflower oil...
or that darker oil: peanut?
            
it's almost like the recurrent joke about
**** Germany... the supposed "Aryans"
waged a war against actual Aryan
inheritors... given the geographic history...
an Iranian tribe known as the Sarmatians
settled in the region otherwise
known as parts of Poland...

                            ah... sigh... i don't want
to laugh: you can't "win" something
by falsifying "said"... "truth"...
                           i guess i'm prone to a "symptom"
of... sleeper-genes...
they're waking up... it doesn't matter
whether i like it or not... it's happening: the end...

my mind has become a cauldron of events
that happened and should be forgotten
and a forgetting that should have happened...
and it has: with the immediacy of me
scratching my head... figuring out some
metaphysical arithmetic:

i don't do language formalities...
i don't do pre-scripts...
i abhor Thespians...
  as much as the ancient world abhorred
poets... clue: in Ovid...
poetry is a waste of time blah...
modern times have yet to appreciate
despising Thespians...
shadow-thieves...
                                        doppelgängers...

death's only until one's unsuspecting
tomorrow...
that said: i have a corrosive animosity
for maxim spewing: maxim regurgitating...

at least proverbs are ciphers...
maxims seem like deciphers...
lost proof on their certainty was always
going to be established by anyone
who read any other genre of literature...

- because as a ******... i abhor being regarded
as the pauper of Europe...
sure... i write in English: because it's more
convenient...
i write in the most economic language
available known to man...
    do i think that America, the FSA:
federal states of America would be more stable
if they employed an indoctrination
into resembling a rigid bilingual nation
not governed by WASPS
        (white, anglo-saxon protestants)?

Switzerland?! massive failure...
isolationist from day 1... whenever day 1 was...
and they're accustomed to...
everyday people speaking...
3 languages?!
    **** me... perhaps we'd be better off
knowing at least two... the minimum...
but then... n'ah... pointless...
the "modern miracle of literacy"
sort of backfired...

                and if not backfired then didn't
give the desired results...
the guilt of manual labour...
          forget GAY PRIDE...
back in the satellite state of the Soviet
Union that was Poland...
there was a LABOUR PRIDE DAY...
yeah: physical labour was celebrated...
appreciated...
              what, the, ****, has, your, ****,
orientation, to, do, with, whether,
you, get, a, taxi, on, time?!
                    
                                  work used to be celebrated!
not sexuality... and that's Dodo-sexuality, no?
unless you elevate prostitution
to surrogacy, no?
            well then... you have your little revolution:
i'm going to have mine...
  i don't mind slurping on the many-used
oysters' worth of ****... mind you:
they taste better...
              nope... i was listening... i listened
long enough...
                i'm tired...
                no wonder the Slavic world imploded
with Ukraine as the sacrificial lamb...
the Czechs were a priori Germanic in their
liberalism... libertarianism...

they can *******: PAKICOCKPAKICOCKPAKICOCK!

****'s sake: THINGS: HAPPEN...
you can't just cower from things happening...
might as well throw in your own
narrative... poetry shouldn't exist in
safety... poetry should exist in jeopardy...
in being branded X Y & Z...
               poetry should tease at
the egoism of Marquis de Sade...
                            it should be all about cycling while
drunk...
         because life's what? you borrowed?
you're in debt?
     or is it the inverted:
you wanted me here...
          i'm here... and this is what i am...
or rather: this is what you taught me
to become!

                          mein gott... this is sort of looking
like a self-help guru manifesto...
i'm ashamed... but then also very much
drunk and dehydrated at the same time
and i truly want this heatwave to ******* from
England...

                   i will never give up my testosternone
for my: abhorrent antic
of cycling while tipsy...
i need a coupling of testosterone + adrenaline...
i need to be crazy-stupid...
                like all the prostitutes said;
you're good-crazy..
i know i am... i'm fully invested.

I want to feel cool
I have a lot of fun
I might have a fat belly
But I still can love life
I don’t want to be like
The other mentally ill
Or intellectually disabled people
I just want to be a normie
I want to just sit there doing my art ya see
And lift myself up so easily
Even if I am big ya see
I want to have some energy
I want to be the kind of person
That doesn’t have problems
I watched the French family
On YouTube and Facebook
They are a singing family
Who loves life through their voices
It reminds me of my family
When I was young
Sonny reminds me of my brother Chris
And the parents remind me of my parents
And the young girl reminds me of myself in a way where she enjoys doing
Quarantine concerts
When I fall asleep on my sofa bed
I want to relax on the bed like a little girl
I remember my friend Patrick
He was a top friend but he just works
And goes to music concerts
I take cholesterol meds and vitamins
So why do I feel heavy
I want to feel young
I know I ain’t young anymore
But at the end of the day
I like the life I have
I don’t want to feel heavy
I get vibes that when I get my skin cancer
Removed I could die and wait till the
Messiah dies and then get reincarnated
As twins where we could do anything and feel fitter
I hate peoole who push negativity into my brain
I don’t want people pushing me down
Like I am a fat shy person
I try and be regular
I do I do I really really do

I get it all the time
Being judged in a world I have never lived but only visited
Therefore you feel my help is very limited and to you my advice is prohibited

After all you do know better than me, that i do agree
But i am not about that judgemental ****
I have never judged you so don't ******* judge me

Remember what it was like living in this NORMIE world as an addict?
People looking at a ****** like a freak but you were just a human who got in too deep

Don't tell me i don't know what it's like to be sick or to abuse the drugs because that's what i was about but apparently you already have me figured out

**** i craved the high too
Laid in bed sick as **** praying to die to a God I didn't believe in, so lost in my own little downward spiral, I knew if I didn't quit it would be an ongoing cycle

The depression got the best of me too
The anger and pain of living in my own head, the devil kept telling me i was better off dead

I tried to end it, i really did but i was a ******* coward. That knife up to my wrist, the thought of not being here
I knew all my pain would quickly disappear

I may not know it all but i don't ******* claim to either, i know God has a purpose for me and it's to be a ******* leader

So you might wanna stop telling yourself that i can do you no good
I'm choosing to be in your world, to help show you your life is well deserved
Stop looking at me like I'm the freak and those demons and that addiction we can work together to beat

****, what else you got to lose, seems your options have run out
I don't see people lining up at your door to help, so let me help you help your **** self

at best: a drink and a homage to sleep -
nothing too complicated:
not allowing dreams to leave
traces of having invested in me -

i blame the cameo cinema of memory
for a lack of dreams -
then again:
i only have a bouquet of four or five
return-to memories
that i **** myself with...

        but it's all oh so un-
           -spectacular...
  everything is these days...
         because i feel: more than i think...
it's hardly an argument:
i feel therefore
            is no therefore to trickle down
toward...
an ontology detached from etymology
and subsequently from history...

everything is such a grand: devoid...
it's like... beside the nouns
there are only onomatopoeias...
there's a "wake-up" call
for those in a noon sizzle and scortch...
there's the milking of a camel
by rubbing the humb
with hands for sandpaper dust...
and there's the arithmetic
of bones:
         a rubric of the spine...
of those / i.e. things made
into a market of pickling...
cucumbers - later gherkins...

oysters... garlic K9s....
                   everything is so impossible
not because of some laziness...
but because... a be-at-a-loss...
            so immediately presented
the pressure comes of its own accord...

i'll sooner come across
a sentence with om / par /
le /              yod / -dle
                      lubi- /
                              decant... decant...

big words... yoyo...
   etymology... ontology etc.
  epistemology... bogus drawn a...
poker and a 2 + 2 = 4 is all the new
fathomed glue: and basics...

a return to... hardly...
somewhere between e. e. cummings
and will alexander...
                
  it's not because:
but there's no great awakening of a narrative
ready for a paragraph...
this alone is shrapnel logistics...
it's splinter-cell wo-wo-wording(s)...

         once upon a time grand adventure...
meat in the grinder...
a metallic-aftertaste...
   a softness of the chin after having
shaved...
and the beard...
  something i admire for my own self's
"purpose"...
like... the fiddle... of the dubious
***** afro extension:
in my hand a fiddle a bunch an
imitation / metaphor of a violin...
the fizzle of the mane stressed
toward the aid of the bow...

or the "new" invention of the
hammer and the nail...
counter: the ***** and the driver...
otherwise... the sickle...
and the wait-parody
of the chaff... autumn too late...
the first begotten
mill churns for flour...

                     the cement of a proper
stash of ****...
   a well deserved agony
of a browning of a loaf...
       a ceremony of sorts... beside...
wainbor and that pirate ship
of... cul de sac d.n.a. confiscations...
well! no more stupid than
no one knows who...

      a contradictory rubric:
science and it's contra: the aesthetic...
the 1960s and its hindu ****
and the western hangover materialism...
an isaiah berlin and
               the **** and the jig...
hence the... saw...
              
              it's still a chemical soup
of the brain in realm of psychiatry...
and those things and tender "bones"
of psychology...
em em: objective...
inclinations scarce...
          this over-worded
scholastic peacock and a gravity
guiding toward
a crux - the golgotha 1 +1 =
    and a revision upon the "thrice"...

               the better the worded
in that there must be a newly worded
vogue... a vogue of synonyms...
to scuttle... the best of the neutral:

chem. soup of the brain...
the basic fruition of the heart's
rhythmic junctions...
              
   the "leisures" of skin to contradict
a half-baked fathom of leather...
thus? to grow BALLz like
watermeHlons...
              and... count teeth like...
those "things" bound to
                be lodged into a scrutiny
for toothpicks in...
those grey-bits and shadows...
and those un-explored
clouts of brainz-it-freese...

                         hoop-l'ah!
less, concerning calling a dog a dog...
and more...
                        just ******* barking!
woof!
wo'ah!          blitzkrieg rotts-veil-ms.-eerie!

new photo-anti-objective
"reality"...
the old l.c.d. and new-hormones...
    otherwise: leash the old gorgon...
and *******... bro...

the best new transcendent...
reality...
come some old communism
of femme...
because the reality of males
and as plumbers
and the churn of rubbing charcoal...

but all those oh cherry-whipping lips!
these standards of...
my best whittle wowld
and standards...
and... octopus oogling the next
big scrutiny...
        
   again... truly objective...
the new hormone junkies
is... nothing new of the U.V.
subjective spectacular amazonian
mind-****: or call it...
p.t.s.d. from new vietnam...
because...
                new drugs... new highs...
the mind less a sponge...
and the body the old platonic
                     "it" wed itself to a grotesque
slow-roasting the gall: and the *******
and the chimney sweep...
and... uvula monobrow...

             dr. and dr.'s an 'atan...
                             thus saying...
no one is being judged...
but everyone is being trampled...
my brain's the juice...
your body is a hromonal ****...
and it just so happens...
the paratroopers of the grand
-oid are...
              lost? looters?
loitering?
sow the new normie...
                  who's to judge,
judge who... zoo-curious old berlin...
yeah...
           that's this new old ****
i have always been looking for...
no...
              no d.n.a. impropmptu forward...
chains and perv brilliant...

            hell...
this me this new becoming...
                chappie b'oh...
                      gets ***** by an ottoman...
gets ***** by a mongol
gets ***** by a chrimp wishard geijingyjingy...
cold basics within the confines
of taipei in W(oo)...

                            loot! the scoop!
no new brave...
no new old...
                ergo?
   the brave old...
              and the old brave;
nasal... nasal... umbrellas...
                     umbrellas... loitering
shadows constipated to make grip
of a shin.

as the nostrils clear
           air and earth
as mouths loop around anthems without countries.
as we bloom inside.(not out)
(not ours) (not sweeping us up in it.)

we catch eachother in definitions only.
it's like trying to be grown .
tropical plants sit in clay pots by the window

+your rugburn smile breaks\      / open and spills out over
everyone.

+your fingernail teeth.wash me away

i felt it also.fainting also. fearing all the things that rat us out to the
u n i n d o c t r i n a t e d

that eat us out with one ear against the wall

that normie   ****.

that sunburn skin.that
tankline brea
k

i take

these pictures in my head instead of
you