Bequeath this Honour from the Eighties' Tribe
To he who Modelled their Choice of Youth then
Synchronise! The Word our Age imbibe
Of Cool Moves, Puppies and Groovy-Pop Scent
This Innocence, Sir, which you Emulate
Through Mischief that Last Good Deed you remind
How we, though Clowned, this Party appreciate
Left printed for Cats to oogle behind
Then that Watch you wore alarmed you to Grow
And signalled your Hour to stand and be brave
Hail, Parker Soldier! Valiant Flag bestow,
Took arms with Locals and fought for our Stay.
And when you Return, those Preppie-Girls cheer
The Nerd and the Suave, Cross-Wrists with you here.

You're honestly the most phenomenal human I've ever met and I wish we could be best friends because you're like the guy version of me and it'd be so much fun to have super awesome sleepovers and get ice cream and shove it in each other's faces and play guitar in candlelight in the living room


2 problems.


You're scared of me because I oogle at you because you think I'm perving on you
If only you knew that all those little glances you caught were me just admiring you being your wonderful self....


And I don't have esteem issues but if I'm going to be honest, you're really incredible in that way that I don't know how to describe you and that's sort of intimidating

I always wanted
To be a sage,
Have ears attentive
When I speak,
Have listeners sit-up
In their seats.
Sadly, this only
Comes with age.

I always wanted
To be a looker,
Have heads turn
When I walk by,
Hear my name
In whispered sighs.
Sadly, this only
Comes from hookers.

I always wanted
To be a lover,
Have women oogle
Like no others;
Call out my name
When they scream.
Sadly, it happens
In my dreams.

I always wanted
To be rich,
Have everything at
My fingertips.
This is one
I got done,
My wealth I found
In my children.

Do seedling leaflets oogle
at the leaves to be
or do the sigh since
its growing closer to death
Can they join the distasteful
wind to implant elsewhere
removing their root too
soon to grow into the aching
cohorts unrecognizable from each other
quaking and turning yellow
for it is autumn and the
Mother soon will die
the sick witted flies cackle at the thought
they are destined to one short day
relieved at the lack of decision
they whisper to the leaflets
"**** the life from this world
as quick as you can
your time's being wasted
the more that you plan"

Globs of scraggy oogle blorck
Cracked in ebbs of nibble naps

Scrapped in cork and oggled mek

Gorged of mega noogle neck.

i contemplated ingesting hallucinogenic drugs for some time, ever since reading up on Don Juan by carlos castaneda... well... i used to read a lot of "useless junk" when i was growing up... the Tibetan book of the dead was also one; but i stuck true to my "self" and returned to Taoism after a period with the European philosopher... that's beside the point... i did buy a sugar cube soaked with LSD once, i was in Amsterdam a few times: i could have simply bought some mushrooms... but this one time i was sharing a hostel room with a very sensible Egyptian architecture student who liked to drink ***** alone and smoke marijuana and we watched in horror, as these two German chefs... ingested mushrooms and sat in a dark room... watching American Dad on t.v.; we both gave ourselves this quizzical look that strangers give when watching other strangers... we were saying to each by simply looking: so you're telling me, these guys have just made the biggest sacrilege of nature? they're not in the woods, in the sunshine or the moonlight, wandering about the forest, they're not ******* women on hallucinatory drugs and... the best they can do with them is... what the Riddler (from Batman) would have done to them? plug them to a t.v.: brain-drain them... make them watch a cartoon?! clearly these guys have already done hallucinogenic drugs before, they clearly have passed a threshold! let me guess... they had so much *** already that they must be dropping those magic blue pills just in order to not strangle a girl to death while she giggles that his Whittle 'Ichard is sleeping limp...

there are only two possibilities for me ingesting
hallucinogenic drugs...
option 1... my grandfather suffered from a mild
dementia... a dementia that made him lazy...
not the sort of dementia that erodes memory...
not the sort of dementia that would make him
forget who i was...
the sort of dementia that would strap him
to the flat and he would sit all the summer days
on the balcony before the graveyard
contemplating mortality and his life...
he was fully locked in his memory bank...
he would repeat stories from his life on repeat...
i too have a favourite stash of memories of mine...
if i'm not thinking about something mundane
like filling out an application form or what not:
i bask in memories... the ones i had no choice in keeping:
memory: that fickle creature will never allow
you to keep certain memories... a flickering flame
of (a) fading...
i fear old age more than i fear death...
death is a minor impasse...
made all the more easier without having ingested
hallucinogenic drugs... i close my eyes:
i open the parallel universe eye of the mind
long gone...
of course i want to become famous...
but i want this fame to reach me when i'm long
gone and cold... a mortician's beauty-corpse...
with the whole affair of my grandfather's passing...
i saw him in the morgue:
stitched up... "smiling": as any ancient does
with missing teeth...
pampered with the sort of chameleon make-up
artistry living women put on:
but men revel in once, dead...
i didn't cry... i was sooner to bleed from my head
when i bumped my head on the radiator before
i shed a tear... those dearest and closest to me
cried their tears: without summoning
bountiful rains for a harvest...
i must have waited months before i could
release the grief that allowed me to explode
my heart: but as grandfather said: keep your heart small...
i bled first before crying... my heart grew large
but suddenly it constricted into a pebble-sized curiosity
of my own worth's of: what's there to be curious about?!

and god himself... hmm!

Genesis 2:22
then the LORD God made a woman from the rib he had taken out of the man, and he brought her to the man.

let's play Harry Potter for a while...
i hate this legacy with a passion that i abhor
Sharon Fruit... it's a ******* itch for me to eat...
serve me a bowl of pomegranates or passion fruits this day,
everyday, everyday, for the rest of my life...
mind you... i hate sweet stuff...
i hate bananas... bananas and Sharon fruit are
my enemies...
with one exception... hangover...
watermelon cutlets kept in the fridge overnight?
i'm like: what water? do i need water?
can't i just gobble down an entire watermelon by myself?!
yes, yes: i can... and i do...
every time it happens: when i GORGE on fruit
i think of women... *******... thighs... ****...

i know for sure that the ****** is a disguise...
the actual entry point is closer to the ****
than the actual floral pattern...
most men aim for the floral pattern... prior...
no... it's like that urban myth about undoing a woman's
bra-strap... the entry point is closer to the **** than
it's actually to the floral pattern itself... enlarge a ******
and you start enlarging the insects...
and hell: behold! mann ist lebensmittel
man is food...
   oh but i like a good bit of food in reverse...
i like warm oyster ****...
i like slurping on something that's going to look
me in the eyes and O O... O...
i want to eat the double of my demands
for renting a body... i buy nothing! i... rent half an hour's worth
of a woman...

that's how i figured it all out...
i'm not thirsty...
i have a cat to own up to me deeds...
one rejection, two rejections: three...
***** please, now i'm going to prime...
i do hope i have enough ***** to perform euthanasia on
myself... i don't fear death: it's enough to see what
old age does that makes me quit mortality quicker
than the need for sprinkling salt on food that's being
cooked!

i figured the brothel out... i'm no longer a colt...
a young, man...
i'm a man in my prime... if 36 is not your prime
i don't know what could possibly be...
i have simple pleasures... women, su doku... music...
reimagining brick-layering...
women...
         women women women: more women...
i can't be a selfish *****-*** while all this hurricane
of hormones dies out...
i'm a fruzbrise! a ****-breeze! something...
solipsistic and also uplifting...
everyone knows that the smell of their own ****
is a membrane of exclusion: dictate...

it doesn't require me an hour to get what i want...
HALF AN HOUR is plenty!
not that i finish quickly...
but i'm not here for therapy...
i'm here for *******... love? long gone...
it died a long time ago... i'm here for ***...
i don't need an hour... an hour is too long...
half an hour is plenty...
most women don't like ******* for too long
to begin with: why? they are usually not amused
by long ***** and no ******...
it's a bit like taking a dog for a walk
expecting a beautiful sunset but... oh ****...
a cloudy day... i love ******* for too long...
recently i discovered that most women don't...
they want to **** like insects, or pigeons...
quick and easy... i never understood that...
i'd love to **** for 5 hours like i ****** Ilona
all night long...
      that's how it has always been...
those images of the death-crawl... maggots eating themselves
to fly-hood through the eyes... it takes time
to tender the floral-oyster of ****...
there's a need for a repeated slapping of pelvis
against pelvis until one of your has a plum tattoo
of a bruise in the ***** region...

*** is thirst, *** is hunger...
the more i'm woken to it the more... adamant i am
about it's position in the hierarchy of needs...
i could possibly be a Muslim if i stated that
i did a year long "Ramadan" of sexless-ness...
**** food: i'll scribble: EAT ME on my big toe and
start nibbling on it...
but give me a woman when i'm released from
my leash of hunger: and i'll either carve you a Rodin
statue or paint you a Picasso!
all those contortions of cubism that a woman
can easily hide while a man exposes
her crude: "put-together": "bits"...

it's good to forget about the youth that was the youth
of the youth that would: fall in love with the idea
of love... now? by the accountability of Shylock:
pound of flesh for a pound of flesh...
oculus per oculus (an eye for an eye)...
i like it that way...
       ruthless: i have to admit... but at least this sort
of ruthlessness leads toward a levelling of what:
once rough: now becomes smoothed...

no ******* DWARF on the most popular t.v. show
is going to somehow steal my banners of lust!
no! nein! nie! niet!
you will know sooner rather than later...
right about, now:

Genesis 2:22¼
then the spiteful envious Son of the Lord God looked with all his alchemical toys and from the woman he plucked her breast and brought the breast as an apple to the tree of forbidden knowledge.

did i word, "biblically" enough? i do wonder... yawn...
my mother suffers from a rare condition,
i'd guess the Chernobyl effect catches to a whole
bunch of us... less affected by the exposure...
my mother explained her condition to me...
her immune system is killing her...
she rarely coughed... she sneezes and she snores
in her sleep: like a locomotive about to be derailed...
i'm also a mutation...

i walk into a brothel with one song in my head...
Garbage's #1 crush...
i too have my "addition"....

it's an addiction for a freshly washed flesh: the scent of
soap...
never mind that...
i will **** this brothel to the ground...
even if it takes me two ***** at a time...
i sat across from three of them...
i wanted at least one to be honest and pick me...
they always say that it's up to me...
her name started with A...
Adriana? Ariana? Andromeda?
she talked too much...
she talked too much...
i has rock hard within the confines of precursors...

tomorrow i'm going to a Garage festival...
Essex... Basildon, of all places...
plenty of easy ******* to oogle at...
but not like the ginger-pretty-****
that was Garbage's lead singer: Ms. Manson...
i don't get it... there's the mythological blonde
but the realistic ginger...

i read books like they might be women
and i read women like they might be books...
i never get it right.. until a ****** type arrives...
but that's not enough... there needs to some strategy
akin to Marquis de Sade's ******...
his novella: his best book...
there needs to be a mother... a single mother...
with a child... a female child...
i couldn't possibly date a single mum with
a boy child... i'd be like a lion by then...
i'd "**** it"... single mothers with daughters
are a much more easier access than single mothers
with sons...
you wanted Darwinism? hey presto!

my god that last flow of events...
*****-*******... miscommunication...
i told her: oil me up... she "forgot"...
she wanted extra money...
after enough of the blow-job-jaw-dropping...
rodeo girl style... me arching over her:
she implored me to finish...
i had a stern mask on m face while i ******
her silly... arching over her...

i'm done with jokes... i'm in my prime and i'm going
to learn all the valuable lessons i can...
i'm done playing the cuddly-teddy-bear
of some thirsty male "companion":
the best company i kept with myself...
both reflexively and reflectively...
the only worthwhile interactions i could remember:
on a conversational basis were with men...
obviously the best interactions where words
were not used: where eyes spoke the language
of eyes and lips spoke the language of lips
were with women...
but? women are not my intellectual equals...
sorry...  it's an unlikely pairing:
a girl with toad eyes i would love to talk to for
an eternity is not... what i want to ****!

this one was lost in transit of about three tongues...
she told me she had recently had a BOTOX job
done on her lips... i couldn't kiss her but she would
gladly perform oral *** on me...
hmm... funny how that "mystery" works!
it was so obvious that the wisdom of the Kama Sutra
came into play...
sure... i wasn't "well endowed": no...
i just wasn't endowed enough to please her...

she implored me to pull out... she couldn't satisfy me...
she posited her legs in the *******
in ways most obstructing me from ******* her...
i felt a sly pinch of a cramp as she obstructed me
thrusting...
fair enough girl... i have a rabbit's ****:
and you have an elephant's ******...
clearly we're mismatched!
so? she finally lubricated me...
and ****** me off... while stressing the pointer
of *******: into her *****...
which i did... as she rubbed my head against her *******...

women... can't really love them:
but can't exactly hate them...
but you can most certainly do both...
and do both: most certainly simultaneously...
you best do the hating and the loving
simultaneously!

but why all the talking? that's what put me off!
she talked top much...
she wanted me to talk:
i think... no... i know that talking during
******* is the highest form of heresy...
it's a limp **** sort of heresy!
i had a *******... during the missionary spectacle
she asked me to stop: i stopped: LIMP BISCUIT...
what?! you told me to stop! no i didn't!
i pointed the index at her: yes you did!
no i didn't!

your **** is wide enough to fit two of us in!
no it isn't! yes it is!
why did you tell me to stop?!
you were taking too long!
well with a **** of that girth it takes much longer
to please you!
you not into running a marathon?!
what?
you only experienced quick ***, you never had
*** in St. Petesrburg for 5 hours...
while the girl you were ******* was also
******* an ex-boyfriend on the side
behind your back?!
no? well then... welcome to the "club"...

i'm going to **** all the girls in this brothel before
i **** them a second time and then try to find
a second brothel...
i'll obliterate the pain of idealising love and romance
with all that's readily available reality
of what's true and truest...
i'll **** every single one of them...
in half an hour gourmet sessions of a session
with some :

more harry Potter nonsense?
   oh... right.... there's only one genu=is "out there":
you ******* flip-cake.... pan-cake... you-VERCRUlitter-grass
the VERCRUX....

ever since i've quit smoking: beside those two
self-congratulatory puffs at the end of
each day...
                    more and more people are smoking...
in movies...
        they look so... content with
the stampede of the locomotive breath...
                interludes into 5 minute incissions
of absolutely dis-satisfaction...

                    4th of july... some variation
of independence day...
                      i'm planning to visit Loon'don...
for a sport of: zoology...
                i'll take a hubris and hiatus magic
pouch of liqour with me...
expecting: riots...
                  
        peacocks and pistachios...
            porcupines and pomegranates...
molotov cocktails and bagpies...
               i just want to see... oxford circus
yawn... i want to take the scenic route
of a promenade upon stepping off
the tube...
        perform the dull task...
of... window-shopping for mannequin
in restaurants...

    oh god... i'll have to trim my beard...
dissolve some sugar in water
and put it in my hair so: stick-ing anti-wind
gravitas...
             i'll walk this mistanthrope
on a leash of good riddles...
            i'll play the part of someone from
norwich...
    not someone from romford...
              Loon'don the tease from
Mashiter's Hill...
              plain as day: the sky-line in
my hungry eyes...
  almost towing a cow:
                  
         and of course i want to be seen...
how otherwise not so settle the matters
of sensibility...
of this ******-fest of: the obeying conundrum...
4 dada suicides: published by atlas press
in an edition of 1000 copies...
2005...
         what a fraction i do own....

        arthur cravan among the four...
the nephew or... some variant of...
related to... oscar wilde...
                 yes... the physiognomy
are a steal... in terms of what's resembled...

  i trip down: don't tempt me... memory
lane...
   world was I: and the war...
   the dada movement in Zurich....
   cabaret voltaire...
                        Geneva? well...
fast paced betting...
          live and try to not get rich...
something to get by... working for...
a loitering wage...
if you gave me... 2 tonnes of soil...
a tonne of gravel... and said...
3 hours...
                 fair-*******-afro-frenzy
    and enough...
         but "work" as a loitering...
                     what "lockdown"?
the neighbour finally put up a fence
after 15 years of her being implored...
the old roots and stumps had to be dug
up... all the way from
late february...
     a new shed... 13sqm of wimbledon
turf to admire and water...
                       i have to forbid myself
joy... though... in telling my maternal
grandfather: i've quit smoking...
    before he dies: and i pretend to wish
to grow old: i hope this happens...
this... carrier pigeon message is passed...

only today the bewildering... sacrilege...
i was watching: corpus christi...
2019... point being...
it was in my native tongue...
with english subtitles...
         i can't pretend...
   i was more eager to read the subtitles
than to listen to the "mother"
and the "father"...
      sure as hell and that they will die...
this language will die in the vicinity...
then within me...
who am i going to speak it to...
i can imagine... "30 years of and tomorrow"...
and i'll speak it:
zapomniejać mówienie po polsku...

russian interlude i'd call them...
i'll most certainly not me...
a lithuanian ****** miłoš....
              i have to arrive at the prospect...
i am not really arriving at
a country left... or a country arrived at...
"nation": ah ha!
                     siamese twin horror:
bilingual freaks...
             i was always told to shy
away from the concept of a diaspora...
unlike... the jew the italian...
the russian oligarchy...
                      and english...
what... i... made... of... it...

neu-concept...
              i... a pronoun category word...
some obnoxious... reflexive-reflective
quadratic of anti-narcissus...
i: a pronoun... perhaps...
but i as... king george minded...
i: verb!

                          i will take: will i?
i like the idea of the 4th of july...
the tokyo olympics...
that one event in the sport calendar...
when... i don't feel infringed...
with a body capacity to...
perform... a palé - i do have a body...
for greek wrestling...
antithesis judo...
but sure as **** a plethora of body shapes...
ping-pong table assured...
click-bait... without a tennis racket...
and that's why...
squash would have been a good
choice to join the olympic racket...
olympiaco(s) raquettes...

   lofty body builders... ant-worshipping...
not relevant though...
sprint a 100m...
climb 100m...
    clearly toned equilibrium bodies...
bouldering and baseball...
no squash...
     tennis is hardly an olympic
sport...
           it's a money sport...
it's a riviera elton john slim jr.
sort of sport...
football? it's a money sport...
rugby? it's a ******* sort of sport...
football is about as much
an olympic sport as...
a curse of a sneeze...
the only reason why brazil
staged the sporting affair was...
because they lost the world cup...
blah blah...

       squash should be an olympic
sport... why it isn't...
and forest ******* gump
can have his... ping(o)-pong(o)
   berlusconi parties: minus... tony blaire...
is all the reason to note...

hmm... blaire... white... that tehran
trans whizz kid...
   i see... no... no... absolutely...
not similarities... within the confines...
of... "a borrowed shadow" of...
   eva longoria...

i had the same plans for halloween...
the same plans for prague...
prague i can forgive myself...
mother has a hip-replacement...
and i'm all up-and-arms: ******...
like the good boy scout
buffalo billy-oh / geiny boy!

                to suffer from a lack of ****...
is not... to find jokes in language:
when one still has... itchy finger-tips...
"suffer"... and "lack of ****"...
best resolve... no clingy p.s.
             no... cuckoldry...
    the fabled ex-girlfriend of mine...
ex-....
   ****... how old am i? 34...
an ex- from... ah... ha ha... when i was 21...
prostitutes... a thai surprise...
and a black girl done at random
when i hosted my own birthday party...
with an art of an *** so tight...
i received a plum tattoo above...
where her coccyx decided to toy with
the... "art of mechnical reproduction"...

walter... "waterboy"... benjamin?
herowitz? i too had a really ****** surname...
like... ******... like stalin...
catholic ploy... take the best of the three given...
we also reserve an option of a fourth
when you... decide to... become...
confirmed... lucky for some atheists:
who have been... unlucky for me...

of the people that stayed...
    of the people that left...
             unlucky for me...
   those that left: didn't "leave"...
the australians...
            left and "left" and it's not like...
they came back speaking
total ******* cockney...

       it's not that i'm even confused...
"overwhelmed" with emotions...
that reveal themselves...
to have to be... perpetually... displaced...
post-modernist...
quack for doctor...
quasi for marxist astute!

                my ideal ex... rich girl...
one spare apartment in st. petersburg...
riches in novosibirsk...
      educated in england...
   look at me... i ****** a rich ****...
a prop'ah... rich ****...
a russian rich ****...
   not old english sloth dough...
not a reperations **** of worship
that choc-a-bloc-of-sowwy...
  a real... oyster binding with teeth
sort of libido... well! ha! lucky me!
for a ******! she's not a mongrel 2nd
class citizen of the turnip and tulip
and...
   beg R'ah-R'ah-Rhapso-silly-Pullin'-Tin!

you know... i can remember
the love at first sights in my life...
she... Ilona... i experienced in reverse...
two girls were trying to fry some
pancakes...
she hook and sinkered my iPod...
while i refined the idea of pancakes...
she looked like...
something the ugly duckling
would bully at... duck school...
filled her gob... smart...

        yeah yeah...
but i do remember all the times
i experienced love at  first sight...
and their names...
the best horror movie i would ever land
in being a critique for...

1. Milena...
                          2. Kot...
      i can't remember her name...
that's her surnane... she had...
                   two younger sisters... twins...
3. samantha... st. augustine's primary school...
4. janina (canon palmer... an ugly affair...
    i hoped i made reperations to...
joining art class and giving her a rose)
    5. gemma la porte...
  6. emma... a big... ******* sensation...
  7. let's just call her Sancha...
  irish girl... two years older than me...
still in highschool...
8. Isabella... the french psychology student...
and god begot: a loss of virginity...
   9. priya...
     who's the 6 / 7...
             the sister of my first girlfriend...
which would make... a 18 year old...
a pedohpile with a... 15? year old...
                      10. predates 4...
cameron diaz in the mask...
    11. is a cameflouge of Ilona...
my love at first sight in reverse...
if i stayed long enough...
i would have ***** myself to oogle
my eyes out and **** her like
some aria giovanni clone...
                big siberian nose...
her myopia and being plasyfully teasing
"short"...
yes yes... beside that... massive plum
bullseye...
        we must call that:
                wetted ****: seconds...
  
see... i have this cinema in my mind...
of first loves... loves at first sights...
more thirsts rather than thrills...
and... then i want to see Loon'don...
in zoological modus operandi...
i want to see...
    window-shopping for mannequins
of... sylvia plath borderline psychotic
shoelaces of soul...

         i want to shop for...
the agony confined to... raised eyebrows
and the confines of... all things made
easily extreme bound to ****** expression...
having to... self-lacerate...
before the pro-social cordial...
i want to see the future martians...
misantrophes... like-oid mois...

i can honestly be trusted with "love"...
call it the muse....
first sighting...
her moles her first trickled...
lob of the forgotten kiss...
the whirlwind thorough lintany...
her lapse in a guarantee of
ear lobes...
    like my... "shy"...
                  occipital lobe....
investigated by janina...
                                
                           that little light in a tunnel...
a summer in masovia... or mongolia...
or.. whatever is called...
crisp... and doughnut...
idaho... jeffrey: jeff'ohs "napoleon dynamite"...
    dahmer...
                                 mon'ghouls:
the goos of the freely rejected...
cousin Sib is no mal. and frying up
with word-blob Sah...
          -eria              contra...
bloat-zilla...                -ara...
                               death-stow genius no-no...
trans-nanny has an eastender melt-meow-down...
the opera goes: fly-be-fwee:
lucky luke and the fervour
of the force for a complete...
****-lawd comeback town: towwie...
gripping basics...
                       king jefffers...
and jaffa... and khalidha...
     and lay-tea-cia... milkin' dozens...
**** ****...
      ******* whapping 'inge...
                 cwy: rhapsody... remembers
to trill that Sysiphus... and -esque...
              
        ***** and blahs the world over
for...  solidarity of...
compensated vitriol...
       jeff is an ugly u(n)(c)kle...
jeff is a ****** loon:
serenity... theme park expactation
project: alpha 50.9...
     he's an an FM in frequence...
and best listened to:
when "reading was a thing":
typo... of digest...
a **** queen and ***** quag...

             calofornian subtitles...
ever since...
   ever since... a petty Hague and Hue...
european conquest of time...
and something akin to
h'america... and its louisiana purchase:
ratio no. 2!
fly-over **** Iowa...

  it's not like... croatia was...
the Balkans was such a small: and ditto:
afffair of... inbreeding folks...
lord: lowd and...
spandex 1980s Berlin to...
give revenue in all things
that catered in retaining...
a loathing of... pertained to...
CWISP...
                    trill the R who?
the french hark it...
the english... larp...
woebot... for every robot...
they... tarantulla tongue numb
that...

                 whyming...
RHYME-B'OH...
            ******* kings and queens...
it's the "united states":
having to annex the forntiers...
the annex
on conquistador...
velcommen mingling xo xo xo...

the "encrypted" sexuality
of a the concept of female hands...
misguided by the proportions...
best hid in a niqab...
but when exposed: pork meets...
buffalo-slingers...
no... arab / camel jockey hands...
are not beijing...
or ***... porcelein hands...
you could... **** a ******* camel neck...
and i am: the beck unfucked cockrel
you best wish: yawn-yacht...
you never never...
ever... called a forking...

   arab women have these fat
hands that black women...
would require... 12" of envy
a white anorexic would require of them...
to muster...
a blasphemy and... a kenyan litany...
some of that sort...
all i know...
jesus be all big with...
                   post-apocalyptic
protestantism in post-colonial...
"oops" of the 21st century...
          forgive i.e. tow what?

               how about...
i allow my grandfather a death
by demetia...
               and then i wait...
i wait for nothing...
or i wait for: "history"...
no... sooner i wait for...
the brothel... than this bollocking waste
of time of... frank zappa is...
burning up like...
            a heretic...
                    within...
a 1m sq. of a proximity to mecca!

how fortunate: the man with... none...
              how fortunate...
             the grievance of a man with so much...
to have to... find...
poker-dole... facing...
a man with the queen's penny...
i am a man worth of a queen's penny...
does that even become know...
respected...
for all the money grieved into
making up...
the honoruable citizens' tax invested:
"quest"...
i am... its last...
           radical... and...
                                     royalist...
i have to come...
with a parade of worded -ings
and thinning paroles!

                         this birth of a new:
a nation of fat-whips and bores!
              let me become inclined to leisure...
for the lost revelation of
a tenure of fiction!

what was "once" a female...
has "become" the homosexual...
what was "once"... the mother in law...
has now "become": the bridget...
and nuance shellshock...
               fraserburgh... kid-joy... ****...
an ode to: joe... the...
                       ben nevis and bon jovi
of... the... "nuanced"...
and...                 "pioneers":
all best reserved...
   for the alaskan and the louisina purchase...
and...
the lost told tide of...
the spaniards: arms...
goths... north africa...
reconquista...
conquistadors...
sooth talking some mayans
and aztecs into: "in-breeding"...
        miriad... moors...
gives us a tan... us... whitey loop holes...
  tanning with a mongrel
cocktail a mongol...
typo... tan ****-up tao...
tanning with tao...
tow tufu **** what?!
       beijing fwend a fwied deifying
pig loco?
vibes... first locomotive **** promo...
last fist comes first and thirst...
no... samuel beckett's sore...
so... sore n'oh m'aw...
   savvy... you... *******... gooseberry
savoured prim nancy?!

title: chirp
body: sparrow, bold.    a 502 bad gateway bypass...

in the dimension of "things" pre-,
  i must be premeditating every possible scenario,
although i hate playing chess
i sometimes do... i'm more in favour of backgammon
but that's just me...
like i said to the other girls in the workforce:
wait... just wait... don't tell her i know...
so she was pressured... i put on the charm offensive:
there were already rumours of she *******
the supervisor... eh... i go to prostitutes...
what's the big deal? it's not like you use
a cloth to dry dishes with once: then get a new
one every single time... i always tend to buy
second hand books... they have a certain feel
to them... i'm not the sort of person who likes things
in mint condition...
everything leading up to this point just seems:
well-slotted, premeditated... but at least it
wasn't self-sabotage... i had to fall in love her...
in order to get at something: so she would retreat...
i wasn't even the "friend zone": i was in
the... "priest zone"... the "psychologist zone"...
the stuff i heard... and that's another thing...
there was no common language... some vague *******
barrier... we didn't really talk about music,
we didn't really talk about films or books...
we talked: well, she talked... i listened...
just talk about her son... and more about her son...
what a brilliant mother she was... back-stabbing
her friends... blah blah... oh... and plenty about her
exes... if i could... draw a schematic...
let's just say it wouldn't be a treasure map
with one              X marking the spot...
it would be more like:

  x                  x

  x  x        x          x

  x      x        x

with her good looks, back when she was in her 20s?
oh man... she was having a rave...
esp. since she worked in the financial sector,
so all the financials "jocks" would be all
over her... now she's in her... coming to 40...
well... imagine my dis-belief!
- and yet she's still playing a game of a 20 year
old party-****...    she's out to lunch...
obviously...

- and as much as i love women...
love: but sure-as-**** and a penny-drop i don't
want to understand them...
no-can do... why?
      makes my life easier and: ensures i'm
out of their hair... both parties satisfied...
i hope...
but it's not that i don't have something to do...
there's always something to do...
i'm already getting past the fact that at 35 i'm
living with my parents...
after all... the plan is...
they're not going into a care home...
i'll be there... and once i reach a certain age...
there's always Switzerland or the Benelux
euthanasia clinics... so...
plus i'm already the custodian of the property:
i do the cleaning, i do the cooking...
i do the d.i.y. - i pay them rent...
while the other option would be... what?
get a mortgage or pay rent to some stranger
and what? live alone?
no thanks.

i'm already over the disappoint of hoping for
a romance... yeah, my mother's pedicurist / manicurist
is coming over on Friday and she's bringing...
my new favourite lady...
my TOY... oh she's not even 1 year old...
she takes a **** into a ***** on the spot...
but she's disinhibited... she pokes my nose...
tugs at my beard, sits on my lap...
looks into my eyes like trying to hypnotise me...
she's yet to speak a word but i already
managed to teach her my mimic...
cluck... pluck... whatever the onomatopoeia
is... she reciprocated...

        here's to fulfilling the role of the: alt vater...
the old father...
she's not mine, but she's of my stock,
my ethnicity... obviously i'm going to go
for ethnic bias... everyone else is...
maybe that's what put Jeminah off... i'm a ******
and she's of Scotch English stock...
maybe i'm not black enough...
yeah... i must not be black or Pakistani enough...

she blocked me / deleted me on WhatsApp...
thank god i took that screenshot of her pretty face...
i think i'm going to listen to some The Cure
Pictures of You and attempt at glee...
what could have been...
her dog liked me... from the get go...
couldn't stop licking my ears... then started
to lick the wounds from me having put out
cigarette buts on my knuckles...
licked those scabs clean... i started bleeding:
she noticed... i didn't...
well... pain... it's a hyper-sensation...
you get used to it and afterwards... you sort of
ignore it... or... rather:
everything else is THERE... HERE...
that's a res extensa (extending "thing") when
meditating on Heidegger's dasein... weird, right?
how philosophy morphs... you read something in your
mid 20s... then it only becomes applicable in your
mid 30s... something so, so unpractical needs to
wait a while in your head... before it turns out to
be as useful as a ******* hammer...
who would have known?!

i'm guessing she blocked me because her son
had a conversation with her about...
is that my real dad? or... n'ah... that's me gloating...
what happened to that guy who made
that delicious banana loaf?
well... Freddy... mummy has... IS-USE...
            hyphen for an S...
                i could have seen it straight away:
i'd be bored after a week...
  there would be nothing to talk about...
  i don't remember even having said anything about
myself...
oh... but she ticked all the right boxes
when there were more people involved:
on that superficial interpersonal level with
the public... but she wouldn't...
she wouldn't allow for an explicit bond to take form...
it would always have to be implicit:
think about the starving children of Africa
sort of *******... what? the Somali pirates?!
the Nigerian scammers?!
those, "starving" children?
                      the ones with birth rates like
the harem of the sultan of Brunei?!
must be rich... hardly starving... if they're having
all those mouths to feed!

i already mentioned this little curiosity before:
it took **** Germany AND Soviet Russia...
longer... LON-GER to subdue the Polacks
than it took **** Germany to subdue the French...
the French... Napoleon... the French Colonial
Superpower... and these modern leftists "think" i'm
going to be easily swayed?!
pronoun dickly-squat my sore *** from
sitting on the toilet... and the feminists?!
            well... what's on offer, gentlemen?
let's... broaden our minds... Lawrence...
  (Prince's Partyman playing in the background)...

just like that lie i was told in my childhood:
that there are more women in the world
than men... i've been sleeping:
the opposite is true... and now we're supposed
to compete on already banged and bagged women?
that's the option?
maybe there was a rumour going about
my knuckle scars and the time i gave myself
a plum mascara pouch on my left eye
from having wrestled with myself...
turn-off... i get it...

  or... perhaps she's just into coke-addicts...
wouldn't know... i just drink a lot of coffee...
perhaps she's just into all the sort of range of *******...
but, seriously... if i can only be decent,
romantic, tender... with prostitutes...
at least it's in the open... there's a transparency
of a transaction...

the last text i sent her she didn't even read...
i was talking about the conundrum of:
the way into a man's heart is through his stomach...
i thought: well... given the stomach cramps...
that's a misnomer phraseology...
it's a ****** metaphor... because it can't be taken
oh too literally... why? i think the original meaning
has been lost...

the text?
yesah, to reiterate, thanks for these stomach cramps
flirting with butterflies...
although i'm a keen student of etymology, this has nothing
to do with etymology... the phrase:
the way to a man's heart is through his stomach...
the modern interpretation insinuates that a woman
ought to cook a decent meal for a man...
no... sorry... i can do the cooking myself...
i didn't choose to have these stomach cramps,
"transgender"et al. feeling like i'm giving birth
to nothing more than dizziness and watery eyes...
there's something quiet sinister afoot here,
i can't point in any sort of direction: it's almost
a malaise of disorientedneness...
sorry, i have to play this "role" for the forseeable
future if i'm going to get anything done...
you might as well pretend that i'm wearing
two masks to keep my cool... otherwise it's such
a welcoming prospect to write to someone
directly and see them in person than what i'm used to,
when writing... staring at a blank canvas...
or messaging someone who lives in... ******* Hawaii...
of all places...

see... problematic...
i am problematic... i exfoliate with language...
this is that, this isnt that... games...
or my other theory goes along the lines of:
she can't find me on social media...
she can't snoop on me...
i bet that's her grinding her teeth...
well: obviously i'm not going to give her access...
i'm writing about her...
i don't want her to find out what my narrative pursuit
is like her... of course she's the momentum bringer...
i'm not going to give that up: so easily...

she knows my first name...
maybe she typed that in, along with my ******
****** / Stalin sort of type of surname...
it has changed... i always argue:
there's a missing -SCH- in the Elert...
no... i'm not "alert"... let's pause there...
maybe she typed in Matthew with Conrad...
but then again... i tend to hide in my mother zunge...
Mateusz... and hide doubling down
on hiding the Z with a caron S...
i.e. Mateuš... well... she won't figure that crap
out... i'm prone to the pastt-ime of looking up
googlewhacks... while listening to Prince...
esp. Raspberry Beret...
or REM's happy shiny people...

  ha ha... 43, 300+ readers on one poem alone...
imagine: if i were paid a penny for merely that...
i'm groovy, i don't mind doing something
for: not even peanuts...
the art needs to stay alive...
i can't allow the last avenue of freedom
to go "missing"... i'll just pay myself
with FEELZ... self-help my ***... therapy my ***...
but if you're inclined to be the sort of
******... tired of watching *******...
hey... my legs are spread wide-open...
or rather: someone scalped me...
then took a massive chunk of my skull off
and now my brain is wired
to a pickle jar... for pickled: transparent
brains... jelly-fish territory...

              ha... prior to protein... prior to sinew...
          prior to bone...
what did we have? gelatin floating about
in salt water... nice... rubber stamps of:
oogle doodle do no good but leave numbing
sparks of mini-lightning storms of:
lazy gods began thinking...
    my my... as expected: it took them a while...
******* hedonists... ambrosia custard soon
to be wise-ups, but all the way prior?
crazed ***** and complete hard-on morons...
the gods...
funny that... you can't go mad twice...
they took a stab at me once...
                      sorry for being the party pooper...
i sort of can't go mad, twice...
i literally missed nothing on the dating scene having
been a recluse in my 20s... apparently...
self-evidently...

now? i'm going to make some Silesian gnocchi
for today's dinner, i've already cleaned the house...
i'll be making some curry for my parents for tomorrow...
play the chemist with the spices available...
i might make myself some lunch for tomorrow's shift...
hey, life... plenty of it...
  but... oddly enough: not enough people in it...
no matter... i can at least ping-pong backwards
and forwards with my own words to: eh: ech... echo echo O!

sure... it would have been nice to play
the surrogate father... perhaps we could have learned
German together...
i could have cooked for the pair of them:
i never know how to cook for one person to begin with...
but if she's into boxers and coke-heads...
hey... Pontius Pilate...
i have to left hands... and their pointing outward...
if i tried... then i shouldn't have tried... to begin with...
if modern women are going to be their stupid
selves... so be it... there's always the night,
the forest, the moon, there's always the scent
of autumn... there are so many things that can keep
me disorientated in an orientated sort of way
that... all the lies from the 1990s Rom-Coms can
fizzle out...

maybe being love is a luxury that not even
the richest in the world can buy...
thank god i don't earn the sort of money
that might attract gadflies...
  thank god i earn what is necessary...
            who's not going to buy those Valentine
flowers, those anniversary "sputniks"...
those sofas... those iPhones for the kids...
me!
                              i'll be buying food... etc.
better spend money on food than on a doctor...
that's how the saying goes...
to hell with women and all their superficial
*******... and if i'm in dire straits because
the bone-**** of a hand is not enough?
£120 for an hour with a Turkish *******...
problem solved!

i just can't stomach being an ******* in order
for women to stick around...
something so deep as: self-integrity is making
potential suitors turn me off...
esp. given their past histories...
i don't want to be an ******* when it comes
to loving women... and no... i'm not nice...
one thing i've learned from the English is...
******* Thespian crowd... actors...
two-faced juxtaposition makers...
or... or? they sing, they dance...
a nation of alcoholics or workaholics...
  but if i have to be this sort of ******* that women
feel the need to fix?
no... covert: under the radar...
i'm not doing that crap...
                    i'm not going to be a ****** man just
because a woman might find that appealing
to hone in on her lost archetypical requirements...
she's going to **** it up anyways...
  she always does...
                      i'll just be me... do me...
and if i'm predisposed to have to have to give
off steam with some bedroom antics...
i'll go the the women that still crave masculine
sensibility... prostitutes!

the daughter of my godmother
clung to me, hugging,
like undoing the rhythm of
a heartbeat, closer than
my mother attempting
an ecnounter with her ****...
the rest, zitze,
  makaber,
  tod und lüge...
                 scout my hybrid
and:
    had you the perfect life...
the KKK took my Ramones away....
clean sheen boot nazis...
goat ******* commies...
              whatever...
       I die, you die...
the rest is but
a history's, oogle.

to tickle your fancy dear reader rabbit,
perchance European G-man double agent
regarding the following poem
with kick a$$, je ne sais quois
ingenious, humorous bent
even though reasonable rhyme
mebbe worth no mo' than ten cent
doth quickly make descent
from ridiculous to sublime

and/or visa versa poetic event
trademark courtesy one
sexagenarian formerly fervent
nonestablishmentarian
long haired pencil necked
geeky, dorky, and nerdy
January born quirky,
Yankee doodling gent.

Anyway, as usual I blog alone
(today January 25th, 2022)
while this Poe whit carries a wish bone
but, tis just me and my future self as a crone
that amble along the boulevard,
while over head buzzes a sir valence drone
blares out an air/ear splitting command
courtesy shift shaping mega fone
which induces my quietude to groan
and find an escape to hone
salvation espied by mirage

sans a balmy *isotone
echoing refrains from Joan
E Mitchell, a great Danish dame
panhandling for ample *krone
so she not forced
to borrow money from a loan
where her former renown
a distant memory, she doth moan
as if attacked by a shark,
who resembles Jimmy Neutron
alias Matthew Scott Harris, who as soon

as he dubbed pipsqueak
that gave him greenlight
to trumpet as firebrand
nonestablishmentarian prone
to stake out a *quone,
while sheepishly at bay astride to the rite,
a beast of burden wearing
horn rimmed glasses tinted *roan
cuz the blinding light shone
into the outer limits
from azure vault -

a shadowy night rogues gallery
over a sinister tombstone
four after midnight emanating
on an eerie, freaky Friday
the thirteenth accompanied courtesy
frightful monster tone
scaring living daylights
out the skin of yours truly,
who found himself parent trap
accentuating, illuminating, undulating
the outer limits of twilight zone.
a$$ star risked words valid
first to last defined below
based on the merits of google:

1.an old woman thin and ugly
nevertheless all pretty things, she does oogle.
2. any of two or more species of atoms
or nuclei with same number of neutrons
3. basic monetary unit of Denmark and Norway,
equal to 100 øre.
4. watch "The Stakeout" episode
of television series "Seinfeld."
5. denoting an animal,
especially a horse or cow,
their coat of a main color
thickly interspersed with hairs
of another color,
typically bay, chestnut,
or black mixed with white.