i tried to assimilate, oh wait, i did, and i speak better native sprechen than the actual natives, and for that? you get the boot, because some camel jockey egyptian mongrel mixed with iranian blood gets the better of you... i guess the "natives" were fans of the eastern european *******, but not the eastern european males, **** it, i'm coming for the ride; can just see the ****** shouting: ooh ooh! their male counterparts are a'coming! and next thing you know, i'll be asking you to play the ******* banjo, with a toothpick!*

and it was always going to be torrential rain,
suspended in a prelude crescendo
of soulfly's song prophecy...
oh all the hoes come from eastern europe,
just like all didlo moulds come from africa,
gotta perfect that "pleasing of the white
******* honey cougar in plastic too, yo, bro..."
black people don't speak the current
lexicon, they are hyper-evolutionary
with their slang impromptus,
gets annoying after a while,
when you stop keeping track of their
ghettosprechen...
      ******* could have said custard,
meant margarine, but i'd still think of
jungle...
                     ghetto *****, get-a-go!
next time you mention all women of
eastern europe as ******, i'll mention
you in my charcoal wish-yo-were-edible
roasts... **** me... i'd prefer eating a leg
of lamb than a ******; shank.
oh, the word offends you,
but doesn't offend you in a rap limerick?
i.e. ***** ***** bab bab *****?
black people invent too much slang,
too much degenerate use of language,
      i try to keep it straight and universal,
off the orangutans go, talking orange is
the new black...
           i still find it hard to fathom
darwinism, who would be mad to begin
in africa, and end up in the arctic circle,
and no china?! common origins *******...
  tried looking for an eskimo in china,
all i found was, a ******* icecube!
      post-existentialism does exists,
it exists in the form of anglo-existentialism,
i.e. a darwinistic blackmailing...
    21st century existentialism is blackmail,
plain dumb & simple...
   and yes, i have a girlfriend, i call her...
sophia...
       and nietzsche was right:
the ugliest of the ugliest? atheists,
intellectually speaking.
       and why would you ever consider
the pristine sophia / ****** mary if not considering
aspasia, phryne, rahab, theodora,
   to counter philosophy,
   why not craft a:
    philospasy, a philophryny,
       a philorahabu, a philothedorum?
guess what, of the most famous prostitutes,
the contestants are philorahabu,
                     and philothedorum,
and all are famous prostitutes;
then the pristine sophia, my "girlfriend";
philosophy has a deity, that although
deemed pristine, has been touched by
many hands, and many strangleholds of ego,
time to turn this princess into a *****;
and the ones that visited a *******,
will look at those that haven't with curious
eyes.
let's not forget the siamese twin prostitutes
safa & marwa, and the matriarch
and true founder of islam ha-gar -
      the concubine of abraham,
  that ******* mother of islam.... hagar...
you really think men invented the islamic
attire for women?
              who's at the chanel catwalk,
straight men, or gays and women?
       you blame anyone, you blame: hagar...
running between the mounts safa & marwa...
islam, that totalitarian reinvention of
"repentant" / "revised" mode of prostitution...
and as i once overheard an englishman speak,
the niqab? satan's postbox.
- the craft began with treating the world as
solely inanimate, to make it as inanimate as
possible, and interact in it,
   as the sole animate agent, obviously with
the obvious hurdles of animate expressions,
nonetheless, these expressions being
outside the vicinity of integrated animate
actors, working around in inanimate surroundings,
conclusively,
  the "supposed" animate expression regain
their inanimate stratum by a repeatedly
predictable observation of
a prior re similis ad infinitum
  (prior to, again, similar toward infinity).
the point was always to make the world
as inanimate as possible,
    collecting books is a starter,
  collecting cooking utensils another,
the point being, to surround yourself with as
much inanimate reality, as to prove yourself
the animate, the "actor"...
             or more expressively: the puppeteer...
it still bothers me, grinding two prefixes...
the penta-      vs.        the tetra-...
   why? well, we are embodied with five sense,
but there are only four elements...

    vision
audition
gustation                       yes, but there's only
  olfaction
     somatosensation

                    air, fire, earth, water...
      this is almost gagging a schematic,
  we can see fire, earth and water,
  we can hear fire, air, water and earth,
      we can taste...
      we can smell fire, air, water, earth,
we can touch fire, water, earth...

this, by the way is crude...
   and is limited by not adding particular
observations...
   but the ratio 5:4 is in place, akin to
the mad hatter's 10/6 = 0.666...
         and that missing one is: ad infinitum,
might as well call it the lazy eight with 4:5...
since the elements came prior to the senses.

i'm guessing the "fifth element" to compliment
the five senses is a far greater posit than
a sixth sense, in that, this "fifth element"
is a plagiarism of kierkegaard,
  i.e. the "changelessness of god",
namely the eternally immovable object,
an object of constantly perpetuated friction,
so stationary that it moves all things,
which also precipitates into an eternally
recurrent subject matter,
immovable, ergo, inexhaustible.

- and i will die believing that anglo-existentialism
is an argument from the perspective
of blackmail, esp. since it's overtly-repetitive
and unoriginal,
  and if the english found continental
existentialism boring, a continental european
like myself, will find some hidden interest
in this "boring" artefact of time,
   but nothing can redeem repetition,
not even a boring artefact of writing,
   since when reading a boring "effort" of
writing, you can actually wake up,
and yawn...
  but when the same "effort" is repetitive,
you never get a chance to yawn,
you're still asleep, "apparently" enthralled.

- and to give a conclusion...
if an irishman thinks you write akin to
the psychiatric slang of "word salad",
ask him if he has read any james joyce,
if the answer is no, and he replies that he prefers
video game narratives, and has ambitions of
writing a book citing the cliche moonlight sonata
of beethoven... it's one of those times
you can't even laugh, internally, or externally.

- eventuality vs. actuality -
whereby actuality is a reactionary stance
that drags past events into present and future
events...
   whereby eventuality is a liberal stance
that drags past events into a wall,
   the present into a status quo,
  and the future into a snooze button phase
of a clockwork orange.

- no, i don't like this darwinistic blackmail of
continental existentialism,
  this monochromatic monolith...

- better start calling philosophy by its proper name,
philorahabu / philothedorum
(were not underlined on the pixel canvas,
thereby bypassing the oxford dictionary panel
for nuo-verbum acceptance) -
      keep that ****** of yours sophia
in a cage, because your thinking,
like your body, will become contaminated;
but one thing is for sure,
that concubine hagar running between
safa & marwa looking for water...
    can't imagine any other grander matriarch...
a reformed *** slave, who gave birth
to the niqab...
            i really can't imagine jannah
that way... i think it looks like:
1 man + 72 prostitutes,
              and 1 woman + 3 holes stuffed.

Jaksat usein muistuttaa ensitapaamisestamme, kerrata tarinaa verkkaisesti äänensävyllä, jonka pehmeys muistuttaa rauhoittavaa silitystä.

Silloin tuntui lähestulkoon kunniakkaalta olla juuri se ihminen, jonka valitsit niiden kaikkien vastaan tulleiden joukosta. Ehkä juuri sen takia en juurikaan vastustellut, kun vetäisit minut rivakalla otteella suoraan altaan syvään päähän. Totuin kylmään veteen ennen kuin ehdin huomatakaan, opin täydentämään lauseesi ja tuntemaan kehosi jokaisen piirteen, trauman ja eleen.
Yhtä huomaamattomasti kuusi kuukautta pauhasi ohi kosken tavoin, ja sorsat saapuivat uiskentelemaan rannan liepeille. Siinä vaiheessa olin jo auttamattomasti puolihukuksissa, kaulaani myöten kietoutuneena sinuun, keveyteesi ja mutkattomuuteesi, kehräten häikäilemättömästi kosketuksia ja kuiskien tuhmia sanoja korvaasi.

Puhuessasi et vilkuile turhaan ympäriinsä, vaan lasket katseesi kiertelemättä ja painavana iholle. Välissä venyttelet laiskasti, kohotat käsivarsiasi, jolloin paidanhelmasi nousee hieman, paljastaen kaistaleen alavatsasi suloista kaarta. Kun niskasi on taivutettuna hennosti taaksepäin etkä välttämättä huomaa, annan silmieni viipyillä sinussa hieman pidempään, kyynärtaipeista sormenpäihin asti.

Ennen sinuun tutustumista puolitutuillani oli pois kääntyessäni tapana kuiskutella paheellisuudesta ja huorista, enkä viitsi kieltää, ettekö muisto noista sanoista tuntuisi edelleen aamuisin kohmeisuutena luissani, mutten siltikään malta olla miettimättä, miltä nuo sormet tuntuisivat sisälläni.

it's rare, very rare that i have dream,
but sometimes it does happen,
a dolphin's nose-dive into the literal,
into the unknown, into the peaceful,
i never try to dream, but sometimes
punching a beehive reflects reality.

the content?
a cliche dream, very much a circumstance
of teenage despair,
hapless teens surrounded by the horror,
not out of vanity i will claim
the words: i am the horror.
a group of them, to my count
they number spelling out the word
S-A-N-I-T-Y (six then)
with the letters etched onto their foreheads,
i find one of the teens banging his
head on a metal door chanting some
obscure variation of a Buddhist mantra,
i am but a thick smog
   and a certainty of dasein -
a dasein of lost care and a gravity of
feeling entertained pulverising the vision...
it's a question of photon energy
in total darkness... a foxtrot sense of
spontaneity: out of nothing, out of sleep:
dreams... and given the adventure into
harnessed natural energy,
how they captured the wind with don Quixote
among cyclopean giants and wind-farms:
surely a day will come when
lightning will be harnessed, some future
Prometheus will bring down once more,
for too long lightning was ignored as engaging
our elemental techno, shrouded by a god -
what titan if not an Ōrāmetheus (oora'h me-theology /
imploring a hostile universe to think like a god:
the definition of being titan,
caged in the reality of Titus Andronicus) -
then how to harness lightning:
    the greatest favour for mankind,
   upon the altar of what's offered by either
world-by-chance or a gambling-deity;
petulence? that too; after all the world was created
out of petulence... given so many exact figurines
in mathematics, akin to the perpetual spiral of π,
all constants in science came from a petulant
argument for anything at all... a slight deviation
of the pristine Brahman's nonchalance
                 in what rhetoric could be overheard
prior to the rhetoric actual.
   then onto the reality check... can you really
read a newspaper these days seriously and not after
a whiskey-sharpshooter?
  can you live on these isles and not pretend to be
Philip Augustus playing off Scotland, Wales, England
and Ireland against each other like Henry II
John and Richard I?
                you probably can't...
                             you're either going to
gain some sense via Longshanks or the Confessor
into the dynamism... and if only Elizabeth was young
i'd say what Ali G said: bright-knockout-pokers
and edible ******* to boot...
                     but granny ****? n'ah mate, ****
that ****... i'm waiting on Charlie Chappers
              like a weasel, I R.
    but you can't read newspapers sober these days,
or what's called the 'the old get richer and the young get
poorer', the housing market... twentysomethings are
growing angry... a retired banker's daughter
is in puffy-fit frenzy of: ooh! grr!
   send in Mary 'blazin' Poppins!
                                     but it's always good to borrow
from genius... an exquisite part from *girls aloud
song the show -
            should'a known, should'a cared
should'a hung around the kitchen in my underwear
                                                                  acting like a lady
you should'a made me, oh
should'a jumped a little higher
should'a fluttered my mascara like a butterfly
instead of being lazy, that would have saved me,
and that's hardly a blue oyster gay bar sorta tune...
gay bars are weird, you end up walking in there
   and snogging some Brazilian, high on the atmosphere
    and *****; and yes,
  pop has that infectious tendency for creating
universal appeal... pop is ******* when all
other genres are *** (no one admits to it, or finds himself
boasting about it)... and find me a poncy geek
greedy with salivating overly toward tendencies of listening
to prog rock within a mile-radius from when you hear
the prelude and the postlude... because that isn't
exactly as chorus.
      in china three generations live under one roof...
in western society - should'a thrown less
                                                 teenage tantrums...
     well, isn't it humbling to actually have parents?
        cool kid, dar she blows! plonk...
timber!  if the Jews said in Poland prior to 1939
    your streets, our tenements...
   a lot of Arabs are saying of London: your streets,
our tenements... but then it could also be the nuo-rich
Russians too...                and boy... look how
the far right arose in the 20th century... here we go again.

Pouta oli lientynyt harmaaksi liejuksi ojanpohjille ja taivas ryöpytti vettä kaksi harmaata viikkoa putkeen
Ripustin matot kuivumaan parvekkeelle tuolien selkänojille mutta mun pesukone taisi olla jotenkin rikki kun ne kastelivat lattian likomäräksi yön aikana
Vähän niin kuin skidinä kun halusin täyttää koko pesuhuoneen vedellä ja ihmettelin kun vanhemmat ei antaneet
Eikä nuo olleet mitään takaumia siitä kun mut pistettiin soittamaan hätänumeroon kun ne halusivat työnnellä toisiaan portaista alas
Musta olisi vaan ollut tosi kätevää jos meillä olisi aina ollut uimahalli käytettävissä

Žodis - Sijonas

Jis.
Flirtuoja kas su antra
Vaikosi sijonų
It be jų jam kiltų migrena

Tai įprotis likęs nuo mažens
Kai mama jo vengė namuos
Per daug jis priminė palikusį tėvą
Todėl neleido kibtis už skverno medžiagos

Vaikas nepažinęs meilės užaugo
Jo nepastovumą pateisina vaikystė
Tačiau ratas tęsiasi
Nes vienoje iš jo turėtų merginų
Prasidėjo nauja gyvybė...

out of balance? out of balance? my fist in your face is out of balance, but it isn't there, and it should be there, and the "out of balance" part - if your maxim is in my head, that equates itself to the out of balance of a missing fist in your face of a crafting of a jackson ******* squish, or a plum tomato, well then... maybe i was right to avoid punching you and making modern art, as i was: completely discrediting your words, esp. as an old man as: complete *******. it would seem, better write in youth, than to write in old age; or write at all.

it would seem, that we need to see much more
mathematical terms - the new form of replacing
1 = a, and 2 = b....
    i "think" we need to introduce the square-off...
that the √ be the nuo ego... letters falling fast,
new units, end even newer nuance -
    like autumnal flakes of oak -
the last revealing promise:
lost, to the things salvaged
                                    as, "old".

atomisation correlates directly
with a big "bang" theory -
a "bang" in a vacuous space?
you ******* kidding me?
bangs happen in a vacuum?
what i am, a ******* deaf numb mole
who has a hard picture of
comparing a mozart to a tchaikovsky?!
what's that, rattled siberia,
while finally residing of the riviera?
***** twice doubled -
     and i thought i had readied all
the ******* fur milkin'...
seems poetry was always a *******
guise for all artists...
i don't mind,
  writing a ******* is as amusing
as looking at seals in a zoo...
you just end up clapping
alongside them! ha! it's infectious!
miraculous in the onomatopoeia sense of
ough, ough, seals & seagulls
combined: + an oink,
and micagrammatons...
     moink, moink...
  how does a man write
    a proper woof / meow,
and not make it sound as mundane
   as a knocking on a door?
- but you should seen me when they
handcuffed my father,
who? the home-office... they said:
what a nice computer...
and they took him away...
i remember the day they spat onto
my father's head in chessington's world
of adventures... i remembered that...
but you know what i best
remember... the evil sly look i gave,
akin to ex machina soundtrack -
    hacking_cutting - by that moment,
the ball, just, sank...
                you like being called
"illegal"? you try explaining your
"legal" sudanese immigrant brats,
hoarded by political correctness?!
    
you want to talk to a kid,
punching a wall, imagining it was a face
till the plums came home?
****, the kid could,
he'd make a ******* apple pie
from that face, and leave you some
apple pulp's worth of a face for a jam...
you really, really don't know how
this will brew?

i god forbid anyone in defence of these
germanic tribes-people...
  they deserve their turn on ****,
i never had a thing for a gloria steinem,
or a claudia schiffer...
but i do remember punching a wall,
imagining it to be a bulldog's worth
of an english man's face,
licking his tongue into a somali ****
pretending it was a lamb sandwich...

and then i cried wolf:
                           and a wolf - i became:

ah-woooooooooooooo!!!

best exacted - the dirtiest look imaginable,
what the arabs call the *evil eye,
i? i call it the death stare -
            the song already mentioned -

the english are the least apparent into
their moral monopoly -
        they're either the retards,
or the rejects... i can't and never will decide
which...
        but from what i have read,
they really do deserve an a.i. paranoia -
to have created something that
overshadows them, bewilders them,
they really do need a guardian and protector,
that is half-based human: origins of,
but is also half-based artificiality:
   the frozen congo - remnant of
the baked alaska -
              that monkey in an igloo,
             playing with a pair of chopsticks!

i can't even believe how people can become
so naive, as to be naive enough:
to spread naiveness beyond themselves,
and craft the architecture of
  jung's collective unconscious reverse -
people always speak of en masse hysterias -
en masse psychologies -
  group think,
                   naive-ness is what what constructs
the antithesis of jung's collective
unconsciousness...  it's always the certain
sleepy tomorrow...
   being naive is the conscious agglomerate,
there was always a conclusive collectivism -
it sprouted in the failings of
             capitalism: being defended.

-Ar nori pasivaikščioti kartu su manimi miške?
-Gerai.

Smaragdo žiežirbom pasipuošusi žolė kutena kojas
O medžiai virš galvos patyliukais apšnekinėja mus
O vis dėl to graži ta srauni upė
Nors ją matau ne pirmus metus

-Ar nori kartu nueiti į kiną?
-Gerai.

Takelis eina tiesiai link miesto pakraščio
O naktį veidus apšviečia premjeros reklama
Filmai nauji, jų išleidžiama be galo daug
O pokalbių temos nesikeičia

-Galim į restoraną nueiti kartu?
-Gerai.

O sakyk, ar ryžiai nuo mėsos skiriasi?
Tiesa, skonis kitoks ir aroma kita
Tačiau aš sėdžiu su tavimi ir mėgaujuosi kompanija
Kažkaip nepabosta man ši rutina

-Eime?
-Eime.
-Dviese?
-Dviese.
-Ačiū.
-Nėra už ką, nes su tavimi esu ir būsiu visada.

when i feel, when i really feel like writing,
i turn from being a snowman, and become
an avalanche.

god, i love the tease!
  it's like tickling a bear -
ever wonder why large dogs
rarely bark, and you always
see these puny chihuahuas barking?
it's a phenomenon i've considered
a great deal of times -
puny dogs bark all the time,
even if there's no impedeing sense
of danger, while large dogs
      bark: as their last resort:
or a hello! look at me!
i'm lord of the manor, come near
me and you're chow mein,
or a tartar steak!
    god, i love big dogs,
   gifts me with the idea of
a **** the size of an elephant's trunk:
to boost my ambitions.
ha ha.
    
i always wanted to speak like
sean connery, or shaun o'connery,
or shea mac'connery,
can't remember which one was
catholic, and which one was protestant,
or which one was supposed
to be my uncle...
          evidently? none of them!

point being... i'm not a ****** predator,
i'm ***-prone: as any man finish
a 100m sprint **** first, head later,
but i am a predator of some sorts,
i hunt for observations,
you know, the type that looks
for telescopes without the astronomer -
the microscope without the biologist,
the kaleidoscope without a john lennon...

god, i love this word: *kauczuk -
imagine a monkey without
   a rubber ball -
what you gonna give poor gorilla heirmondo
next, a drum kit?!

funny you should ask...
i'm actually gagging for the day i'm called
a ****...
          i sent a letter to santa claus for
confirmation date that it could or would or
will happen...

    don't you *** it?!

come one, everyone knows the holocaust
happened,
   but people are still complimenting
the **** army uniform, how chic it was...
for all the wrong, the nazis always have
that one stable and historically bulletproof
observation repetition...

mind you, being a predator of observation
lists two individuals, the maxim perfectionists,
nietzsche & la rochefoucauld -
  no, no bongo-bongo parties around here,
predatory subtleness -
      a teasing voyeurism -
  a tickling sensation - nothing more,
enough for the eyes to feast,
and the rest remaining: grave ridden (as if
it were);

that's why i'm waiting to be teased as a ****,
everyone says: they were the best dressed army,
seems to me that ****** did become an
artist after all... albeit an artist in the fashion
industry...
    and never, was such a worse-attired army
of men defeat the best dressed of the lot...
i admit, the winged hussars of
the polish-lithuanian commonwealth were
a charity shop of pick & mix...
    
     call it: the ***** of "dolce & lagerfeld* -
carlie, dear, come on other,
suit up these ss boyscouts...
  
      as sylvia plath said: all women love a fascist,
except women that... don't know what
the answer to that is...
  nonetheless, fascists seem rather pseudo-****,
given they put so much effort into
their uniforms...
      ****** & mussolini,
i can see that brand selling,
given the backlog of nostalgia behind the brand,
you can see why so many wartime movies
have been made,
  and why americans and others are so
eager to don the **** uniforms...

       they called the catwalk:
khaki on black... it's the nuo white & black...

    and so whittle dolphie became the artist
in a double-edged sword moment,
an artist in auschwitz, and an artist in
fashion!
           this is exactly what british humour
looks like, i remember this one time
in edinburgh, this poncey english guy came
on stage in a comedy club,
  his opening line?

'you might recognise the accent...
  it's educated.'

beat that! mind you, beat the persistent fascination
with the **** army uniform,
   the totenkopf insignia...
look at them, poor buggers, slobbering as ever...
always tempted by the fashion,
it's always the fashion!
     nazis did one thing better than their
genocidal psychopathic mania:
  army fashion...
  the crispness of their attire is still
the most formidable apple of eden to be bitten,
and how easily people don the attire,
almost with a sense of pride & a chance of
bagging a bride too...

amazing... it's called something else in asia...
something about
   hsinchu city of taiwan with a bunch
of black geese marching...
      chan something...
haven't figured it out...
  but it seems there's a translation back
from asia among white men:
     kamikaze: hey, i'm all up for cultural
exchanges...

there we have it the new dolce & gabbana -
   ****** & mussolini -
      the best dressed pair of ****-wits
the world has ever seen...
     staggering as it is:
people will remember the nazis more
for their uniforms and a perfected sense
of fashion of military personnel,
   than their crimes;
****** really was an artist, although
i'm sure he never expected to become
a fashionista on the side;
it'd be nice to see a history in a universe,
where he really did, settle for
a career in still-life painting;
  i'm already speculating that:

his inspiration came from
                                   paul cézanne,
  and somehow precipitated into examples
of l. s. lowry.

Aš verksiu
Nes krutinė karšta
Aš verksiu
Nes nerimsta liepsna

Ji nori veržtis ir pro gerklę bėgti
Kitus liežuvio botagu vanoti
Sudeginti orą esantį aplinkui
Ir tiltus, kuriems nutrūkt reikia tiek mažai

Tačiau aplinkiniai nekalti
Kodėl jie privalo kentėti?
Gyvena laisvai
Neturi būti atsakingi


Todėl aš verksiu
Nes taip nuo liepsnos gesindama apsaugosiu
Aš verksiu
Nes jų ašaros sūresnės nei šių akių

the pre anglo-saxon england:
this arthurian myths of:
   some celtic bride and some leftover
legionnaire regaining status:
or gaining status -

pre anglo-saxon england:
oh god... that cocktail of celts and
the welsh...
well: it's anglo-saxon england
that entertained the vikings...
and later the vikings that settled
in northern france...

the monstrous export of
the anglo-saxon republican export
from the h'american colonies...
a strict work ethic...
work hard...
em... how hard can you work
in an environment of
window-dressing...
of being a cat-walk exemplar...
work hard...
stacking supermarket shelves?
can you turn bulging machine
having:
the capacity for unforgiveable
spontaneity:
i figured: a poem a day
keeps the psychiatrist away:

the apples are rotting...
the bears are getting drunk on them...
staggering around senseless seem-like
in a cider tango...

a work ethic... where... mostly...
the ethic of work is: dasein -
a mere being there...
a presence of something that
doesn't discount the rubric of:
the long-stretch of time...
mannequins at work...
staging a cul de sac coup d'etat -
work ethic...
after a while competing
with machinery:
in a thespian despotism
and a d.j. roulette is not enough
for: me to spew rhyme after rhyme...

i would hardly want to disgrace
anyone at work...
lucky for me a dream i had
only yesterday:
i was chased by a faceless throng
of people who wanted
me to stand on a stage...
and persuade the "less initiated"
with new testament jargon:
i was invited to become
the last conventional:
the confidence man: an orator...

not a politician... as such -
not a rhetorician... not lying for
a purpose: more... lying for lying per se...
i rarely dream where i can bring
back images of the dream...

i honestly don't know what
the "whiteness" argument is with these
critical-race theorists...
these neo-marxists...
i latched / i eavesdropped on a conversation
and i'm: precisely here:
nowhere...

      work efficiency: baking too much
bread... what is... "work"...
it's certainly not something as
crystal clear as...
sitting through a le mans' episode
of 24h within the confines
of the marathons of a football match...

snooker nears the concern for
the spectator -
          
  but i'm just eavesdropping -
   i can't buy the new left from the west...
      there's just too much idiosynchronicity
that pulling it apart:
i want the ride on the roulette -
rotondo - ferris-wheel -
i just can't buy western socialism:
it's pretend hive for a season
mentality...
      a whim a vogue:
                 a fly rattling the purpose
of space abstracted to its erracting
flight confined to a cube...

i'm hardly: well... how doesn't it feel
being mistook for a german or a swede
in england...
then again only copper-skins
on edgware road selling quran pamphlets
asked me whether i was german...

i must say: i didn't mind that...
if they suppose i was russian...
i might have minded that...
               i am always this little boring
mr. incognito a retail
of non grata -
          my poverty of history:
i'll ***** myself around the world
never making it to grand h'america...
in england i'll...
honest to god:
gladly scoff the battered cod
and the chips come a friday...

          i don't need to see the sea:
ha: on the continent people had
to plan for summer and for trains
and transit... to... "get 'em away from
the mountains": no camping freaks
among them... lazing on the beaches
until the sun might turn into
crab-mouths nibbling on them...

come on though...
oysters?! that semi-solid sponge of
goo and glue managed to earn...
itself a rolling-pin's worth
of a shell...
well... the human brain is no better:
considering that it was hijacked
by a mushroom... come
the post-aquatic process
of redefining standing-up straight...

perhaps i own my bedroom:
this little guise for the world to understand:
but then one cat if attempting
to sleep in my bed
and the other in the armchair:
while i'm sitting reading
the pickwick papers
sitting against a cold radiator -

she doesn't like me teasing her hind
near: what is her tail:
my imaginary coccyx and her
cranium 69 psalm...
she harks at me...
she butchers me with boxing gloves:
i am expecting
******* sized up to mosquito replicas...
she draws blood from the index...
i smear the drawing of
blood onto her furry nose...

i was too young to have fallen
for such a love of ***
that would never translate
itself into a "love" that could
have us: find each other...
pairing and piling up with
a glad tiding of responsibilities...
i still remember
this "other" one as she took
me to a party just before
bloc party arrived
and a girl might inquire me
as to why i wore
a eisen-kreuz t-shirt...

               it must be self-explanatory:
i have yet to live the unforget-
-able life...
this colt this Abel this leisure of activity:
when pitiable Cain has to wade
through the tsunami of...
the roman gentleman:
forever out of context:
      there's some "inevitable" and there's
some "traditionalism"
       and there's PREJUDICE
against occupations requiring manual
labour: these befitting slaves...
mind you: retail trades have
come through the aeon as...
devoid of criticism or allowing
a self-awareness...
      
concerning now i am no high-brow
thinker:
i am ashamed to "think" to put
this fudge-packing to paper...
wow! no paper!
pixel digits of beelzebub's voyeurism...
i find my agony in
that: physical labour needs
to find its detail:
i can't find escape in the per
se of poetry from long ago...

i need to rise up i need to rise
with aa riddle: to riddle the princesses
with my own lost joy, joke & rhyme...
butchers' pressures for
*******...
the detailed art of the inconvenient
**** stressed with:
ghosts macabre:
if the niqab was addressed
by some variation of: Coco Chanel:
the long white 'un...

i'd love to see a niqab paraded
in white...
               i was the con-stipated...
i was the con-findance artist being
chased by a face clot of bass riddling base?
who's o.k. who's not this new:
pristine vogue of perfect?
my shattered little blessed purpose
insignia of g'aah g'aah:
better: blah?
no reiteration within the confines
of nervousness -
i will not seek any variation
of new york...
i will not make conquest
of coastline h'america...
give me my mundane suppose
euorpa and
some ******* mediocre "supposed"
teasing anti-adventure fly-over...
grey-the-grit-grey-first-born...

i the summoned echo of Abel...
while Cain has his pop-tarts
in the h'american
celebration of serial killers...
and: mother siberia welcomes!
oh god... who needs them shackled
up... let's just drop them...
into a geography that might
expand their minds!
wouldn't it be... fair?
no new africa this new Sib?!

it would account for the moon-goal:
ha! mongrel / 'ongol...
very funny: as english always is...
when it can be tested
with phoneticism...
and a dickensian sam weller's: gadanie:
spreschen...
best kept patriotic: nervous angle...
no new blue: all old blanche... ha ha...
nervous ******* twinkle...
borrowed bliss... no north 19th century...
ha ha...

  but it's still a chapter or two where:
the dickensian narrative sort of:
left me: as it left him...
just pass the time...
as every novel does:
line the lineage...
mould - just enough dough
or words for the readers
to: ahem... "mishap"
a tumbleweed moment...

execution of the antithesis of
"buddhist" posturing:
not finding a cushion to not think...
read a book in an iron maiden
fixation:
play the freely available russian...
i will never come across
the intricacies of h'america from
a postcard...
i will never make it to iowa:
iowa per se...
outside of the federal export
narrative of a myth of a
nation-project...

   i want to see the sort of
h'america the rest of the coastline
decided to **** on...
but i've already seen st. petersburg
from the perspective of:
great *** and no one ever wanted
to listen to bob dylan...
there was a necessary stipend
of reading a bulgakov...
         which i did...
          while moscow and metallica was...
let's just forget it:
i find the most pristine ideal
of a day...
come my little solo rummaging
of the woods come the raj spices
of autumn...
come these ancient woods
that will never borrow acorns...

i went back a side-step back
toward the ***** of abraham marx -
and i came back:
trojan projects:
mass graves of Ypres:
deserved by the germans...
have these mass graves...
but a solitary statue of...
at least the achilles heel of "st." michael...
will you not dare to claim
the laughter of Ares?
then succumb to a "saint" and michael...

**** your incongruity -
i tend to make an event of walking out
from this house
with an apple in tow...
and like some philosopher...
leaving enough flesh prior to the core...
before ackowledging
the possibility of the magic
trick being towed...

i can eat the whole apple and
there's no cider coming from the seeds...
write the metaphor of the bible
anew:
apples are not new to the riddled east...

ah! ah! ah ha ha ha ha ha!
the riddled east!
give 'em the nocturnal flesh
of a phlegm compact fig...
  give them the dates...
the oranges... the lemons...
         who was moses to give them
the apple?
last time i heard apples originated
in kazakh territory:
which was picked up
with the mongol migration...
along with the beijing plethora
of dumplings...
  
england is still far far away...
ready to make it's surf exploration first...
thirst for moon in north h'america...
first come first served:
last time i heard:
iceland didn't beat them...
because... ha!              ah ha ha ha!

first i played a recorder...
cheap plastic...
no... there was no mention of a flute...
i was english i was i never never...
but it's not like...
i had the vantage point...
of the english...
since no one really wanted
to live on iceland...
england prior to the anglo-saxons...
yes... these:
leftover peoples: troll...

ich muss "troll"...
      shwemme-affe-contra-hund:
scheissegrubestapelregalneu!
   ich: ja... westen bankrottberliner:
mein ebenfalls: kaiserbrötchen!

one might simply tire of pandering
to the germans...
one simply can...
as one might excuse oneself to teasing
the mongols: via the russians...
so... it's a no man's land...
through and through...

   i.e. where's what middle with
the middle of the east
that's also: "york" and the yacht and
the islamic mystics: rumi from afghanistan from
the 13th century or otherwise...
the senior draft?
no... solipsism adventure: primo!
the bangladeshi are slaves
when cicero had to speak: proper...
necromancy for the believe-ability
of the existence of arabs...
camel jockeys...
            the nobel routine handlers...
shadow rubric oopses -

there is not need for a coupling for
communism with Jainism -
when the doggy-mom does her bit
and the thief from Camden Town
does his: leash to lynch...
empires the metaphors:
the peoples the jack 'o' cracks:
pancakes... and the littering
to street with...
all thoe romanian / bulgarian
****** you didn't ****...
because ****'s son slashed the broker
on the northern duaghter
you...   hindered...
  stroked bloke & towed
fiddled barrels...
   like some "ilford"...
          
the "solution" is...
all tongues but no spanners...
the "solution" is...
all tongues but hammers...
              my best inclined: fugitive
of a body... this fetish toad-ape
a colour figurative
of imitating traffic heed...

my best blotched narcoleptic
blond-Fe....
ironing suitor...
    ape gesticulating
supposed applause...
for the audience to cwy away
an about: a'goo...

               cicero minded: might have...
"slaves" take up the deeds of
aesops in the deeds of the row-men...
or the same-ethno-minded:
belittled brain-custrd-fudgings...
A                           A                       A
my exploited nuo lambda...

i wriggle with a rare
rage most impossible...
i tinge these letters:
the spice list for a karma sutra
of
outdates the necessities
of the new testament as:
any new sort of investment:

didn't you know?
the serenity of a composition...
bach will never ride
a donkey:
among the four horsemen...
there was one with death: implicit...
towing a donkey... riding: slow...
and it's not that i might make
bach pop: or propping up...
i have no romance with
some borrowing of
"amore" of italy:
               pizza pardons?!
i quite like the tenderness
of the "in-between-bits" of
liver... stendhal!
the rubric details:
                         i oppose a suggestion
that something could be claimed
to make monstrosity
of sketching forward this...
ahem... modern...
man...

"we": i found it very much necessary
for the modern man to talk
this borrowing from nuance...
this bowing-down
burrowing:
thorough.. through...
my long lost asp and bulgar...
the sort of exotica that
the british never tasted:
it was Bulgaria that was not...
not ever... Haiti...
and because of... what?
white's what?

       middle of "my" jerusalem?
i can't fathom a... "middle yeast"...
from a region that doesn't
need beer...
ergo and "ergo"...
the riddled east...
troll the overt-simplification...
that let's me toll up stupid
and there's no necessary
i.q. quest -
yes.... the pay-back for
toying with both tourist
and the cricket teams / themes...

my last middle...
it's an yeast! a brain-borrow:
born bread-winner"
riddled "eat"!
oh ****...       tiny tony
and that major SHA-SHA!

Mergaitė išbėgo žaisti laukan
Saulė glostė jos rudus plaukus
Ji pati grožiu nepasižymėjo
O jai tas ir nerūpėjo

Ims ir šoks per ūpelį
Skels antausį beržui bėgdama
O senelė tik linguoja pavėsinėj
Tik supasi palengva

Jos metalinis korsetas dabar guli palėpeje
Pakavotas nuo vaikystės akių nesuterštų
Negadins jis kitos kartos mergaičių
Tik kalės už atimtus jos metus rudyje

for the odd flake...
somewhat...
summary..
"joke"...
  yeah.. one of those...
bon jovi... mixin'
         ryan barnes
and b+coz+matz...
and quitters l'ov-ups...
all the qualifications
for john adam's
basic prints!
sour me ups for
the basque
in blister...
         nq... bq...
              q/b...
lay-around...
hibber-tiq...
tiqqy-whacky-
smart-y-y...

    ­ capsizing doughnut crust!
         ******* winded comment
sections...
bew zealender -esque
         and an 'obbit
of fame...
to 'ort 'f... c'oh;
roxette...
              and...
no... no grieving....
no beef'ed up
besides...
it will never be...
        1994 four weddings
and a funeral...
or sliding doors...
or...

                there's the culprit...
there's the... skim reading
of a belief in perfected
1990s...
and the vulture...
    always the vulture...
the skin of skim-reading...
the...

                          it had
to be such an ouch of
perfection...
because there was never
a stripend of a restart...

good enough
to savour worth of
elephant ivory and...
always that vague and...

y'ah... kiniky 'n' kinz...
born pride i'vy...
      dull phillic'fun'time...
ellis...
this new egyptian...
the best better bred...
sat-nav...
             zis nuo:
zer heir-of-r'ysh...
or z'ed:
the woad...
******* flake..
'n' dubliner...
******' paddy towing...
cackle" evident...
you 'ucking
evident...
your / you
cackle evident
you buckett
you bouquet...
           pierluigi collina...
charles bronson...
you twisting toy soldier
sow g.i.joe...
         you fickle
goodie-tinsel-tied-tow...
and the mr. watt...
smuel beckett...
calls a shoe and a lace...
and the both: trickle
a tickle and towing...
a tie: you 'ucking
baron broad a grim
a brittle khaki...
y'ah 'ucking "off-shoot"!
n'ah...
you best be kept
greaving the 'ucking
sinker...
you ****** load-o-*******!
you 'uckin' dim!