Empty voices in the backdrop circle around my personal space.
In my head a song plays on repeat, reminding me forever of this moment.

How could you do that to me?

Remembering when we set up a tent in your garage, turned off the lights
and listened to the rain on the roof.
Leaving me in an empty parking lot, water soaking my old cotton sweater.

"We're friends, right?"
How could you do that to me?

Wanting to leave the resin coated walls of your bedroom,
Yet having no one else to sleep with.

How could you do that to me?

You smell so clean.

The windfarmer was thirty
When Sputnik was launched.
He woke the kids who followed
His finger across the night sky
Of a nativity scene.

He returned to the tractor,
Ploughed years of soil,
Planted rows of questions,
Tilled crops and cared
For animals.

He's a windfarmer now.
Stands beneath the behemoth blades
Turning over the air we breathe,
Felling the clouds,
And harvesting the wind.
The mills are run by a distant orbiter.
His farm,
He calls it Spooknyk.

What is the secret
of this obelisk
we are to uncover..?
That:
The French historian
The hieroglyphs
The Rosetta Stone
The ancient civilization
The Philae lander
The Rosetta orbiter
The shadow
The Solar System
and
the comets
All of these
are simply made
of the SUN..?!

The Point of no Return



From a thousand applications, they selected just us few.
The launch window fast approaching, this seemed like a dream come true.
First they launched an orbiter, our link to Earth, our mother,
Then Robots built the base camp, I’ll be sharing with three others.
We face a lengthy trip through Space; I hope someone brings cards,
confined within a shielded space, fighting boredom and the odds.
Solar panels give us light, hydroponics food to eat
Where the drinking water is coming from I prefer not to think.
This is a one way mission, there’s no plan to bring us back.
Just new colonists now and then to bring us all we lack.
I’d hoped to have three girls along that I could judge like Paris.
Instead I’m with two lesbians and a hairy guy named Boris!

I've already been in this place
I'm sure I have seen this before
The past don't seem so far away
It is a day from now no more

This day so far up the skies
So far you can't see anything
You didn't really see the clouds
Couldn't tell the seas from the soils

Too many bright holes in the night
Holding the future in their hands
They know they will see you around
They know some day you hit the ground

Now here's the sun, rising again
He seems to only know one way
Leaves the moutains to kiss the trees
Then, vanishes beyond the world

I say goodbye without a word
As he's starting to fall behind
I've already been in this place
I'm sure I have seen this before

a farewell to quills / qwerty: alternative title to -new year's resolution and breaking thresholds of my mental stamina

rereading some works of Frank O'Hara thinking:
i wish a naive 20 year old once more,
just for as little as an hour - curse this aging and
getting predictable in one's assurance
    and disappointments -

i'm crushed today, absolutely crushed...
last night i managed to "****" the madam of the brothel...
that's the thing... i was coming back from
work, i drank one bottle of cider and a little
bit of whiskey, but i must have walked
around the brothel roughly 3 miles
in endless bouts of despair and excitement...

vomiting what little i ate that day...
thinking i'm constipated with an unfinished
little nugget of **** lodged up my *******...
queasy, excited, lost.... child-like...

like i said: "****"... she's a big woman...
i'm guessing in her 50s... definitely late 40s...
it's rather intimidating... and i'm like 5 months
shy from being 37 myself!
plump... but given her age that looks great on a woman
and... my god... the greatest pair of *******
i have ever seen... absolutely...
    a *****-**** where your actual **** disappears
completely?
                    it was just too intimidating...

whenever she let into the brothel for a £10
sat me down and inquired whether i'd like something
refreshing to drink... or she would let be choose
what music i'd like to listen to if all the girls were
busy...

******* no. 1 - lasted me for about 5 minutes...
flop... i finally broke my mental threshold when it comes
to casual ***... casually authentically transactional ***...
no games... not dating games...
no "relationships" / hook-ups...
me, going to the butchers - laying down £10 on
the table the butcher giving me a lump of beef...
that's it... no not me being older and dating 20 year
old women and beating them at the game
just by being older...

                                     the complete ******* opposite...
i don't know what her prostitutes told her
and why she suddenly made herself available!
(oh ****... i'm going to be sick... right this minute...)

.....................................................­.....................
...........................................­.................................
...............................­...........................................
.....................­......................................................
..........­................................................. (10 minutes
spent in the toilet puking, later).......................

unlike with Isabella - from Grenoble -
who i lost my virginity to -
i was a fresh 18 year old who already had
some experience with kissing and hand-jobs
while she was 21 and already with experience...
she just implored me to put on a ******
while speaking half-drunk half-passionately
(strange combination, i know)...
                  
older women... the gap gets even worse when
you get to the age of 36 and the woman is
in her late 40s or in her early 50s...
                                the allure is staggering...
a Grand Canyon of experiences -
                                      i am not ashamed that
i tried to get a ******* twice and twice failed...
as we were talking she didn't cut any corners:
it's not strong enough...
   oh **** me... for the 5 minutes it was hard
the way she just slapped in on her tongue...
but as the limo kicked in i just brushed it aside...
like dirt under a rug... not really taking myself
seriously - the situation was serious enough...
                          of course i didn't blame her...
                           and of course she knew that i couldn't
for the first time in my life i mentioned ******...
my head was aching with this notion...
but not too much: back in high school i already knew
guys in their tender age of 17 and 18 who had
early success with girls who were already
popping ******...
                                             but i know my bouts
of impotence... there's a word in Polish that perfectly
describes it: TREMA...
             which doesn't mean trauma...
                                the jitters... stage-fright...

oddly enough with her prostitutes hardly any problems...
but most of them are younger...
    with her prostitutes it's usually the opposite...
there's the hard-on but a mental constraint of being
unable to finish, to ******...
this was a completely opposite problem...

i dreamt of **** that size ever since i learned to *******
aged 8... and now having finally arrived at
my Mecca of fantasies and "expectations"...
******... the jitters...
                          which i could understand if i was
20 and she was 28... but not with my experiences...
not nearing 37... well...
                                   but she's nearing 50... ergo?
the canyon of expectations grows exponentially...
why? because... technically... i bought into
some Oedipal... she could technically be my mother...
not quiet... and on top of that:
                            she's the madam of the brothel!
she's the one who employs prostitutes and gives
them protection by employing a bouncer
who says a friendly: hello mate, how are you?
upon opening the brothel's fourth door...
oh yeah... you have to walk through 4 doors before
entering...
i have seen guys get rejected on the 1st door...
and the 2nd...

all these factors played a part...
ergo? my new year's resolutions are here...
my drinking has finally caught up with me...
i'm actually getting bored of drinking...
i know i said that once...
and never stuck to my guns of giving up
the habit... i'm also getting bored of smoking
cigarettes...
                     i can't smoke on the job
because i get nervous when sometimes having
to attend to large crowds... large crowds of
drunk football fans... i can't smoke in the morning
either... i get this morning tobacco sickness...
plus being a serious cycling enthusiast:
what's the point?
plus being pestered with a genetic predisposition
for high blood pressure...
the drinking is not helping... the smoking is not
helping... maybe that's another factor when it comes
to this one bout of erectile dysfunction...
high blood pressure...

and... writing... well... if i won't be drinking alcohol
my truth serum will be gone...
              and if i won't be smoking... what sort of writer
would i be if i didn't smoke?
the one eating carrots as a way of distraction and bad
habit?
                     i might as well admit that...
i think that i've written all that i have wanted / not wanted
to write -
     there's just no more incentive to continue this
dream - give up like Scott Fitzgerald... but instead
of turning to more alcohol... actually giving it up...
   all the vices... get in even better shape and...
                      go back to the madam and **** her like
300 Spartans...
                  
but on top of that she gave me more depressing news...
Mona and Kdarda ****** off... it would seem for good...
Mona became pregnant... what?!
oh yeah... she's in her 2nd or 3rd month...
she's back in Romania...
                                               who did she become
pregnant with?                                   ...
    ...                                          silence... not that i actually
asked the question...
                                    i sometimes wonder what
happens to those used condoms...
                                        it's almost like in the urban
myth i once overheard in Poland about...
either a man or a woman who sold condoms
having pierced them with a needle...

              well i have an urban myth of my own...
even though it's not a myth but a sad reality of being
with a woman, in a relationship,
who tells you she doesn't like you wearing a ******
because if there's going to be any latex involved it
won't  go inside of her but will be outside of her
so she tells you she will get on the pill...
                       only years later you realise....
it was impossible that she was on a contraceptive pill
because... you just performed oral *** on
a ******* who let you have unprotected *** with
her because she actually was on the pill
i.e. you can't perform oral *** on a woman who
is on the pill because there are no sweet juices flowing
there's only a ******* pharmacy down there...
it's bitter... so ergo... if that girlfriend of yours calls you
up a few weeks after she broke up with you
and tells you that she's pregnant...
                       on top of you suspecting her ex boyfriend
beta orbiter hanging around her flat in St. Petersburg
when you went over to visit one glorious summer...

why have only prostitutes  been the most
                                                 sane women in my life?
oh this night i'm going to drink my last
and write something rather epic...
                     because after tonight...
                                 a hiatus... complete darkness...
sure... any internet communication already established:
kept... but i'm not sticking my head out anymore...
i've done it for 8 years and i'm finally feeling the strain
that writing creates in the psyche...

i also realised yesterday that the ego can be sometimes
right... my ego planned that i wouldn't go to the brothel
until the next year, a day prior to ******* off to Poland
to celebrate my grandmother's 80th birthday
(and obviously stocking up on duty free Camel cigarettes) -
as i was circling the vicinity of the brothel
trying to find the darkest parts - alleys, the park,
my ego was already telling: but you said so yourself
that not until next year, look at yourself: you're a nervous
wreck! you're not in the mood for ***... not tonight...
you just finished a shift and you're tired... just go home...
but i didn't listen to my ego: it's a painfully useful realisation
that this otherwise usually fickle entity inside of
my head with its pseudo-schizoid advantages / disadvantages
of rummaging in two tongues is somehow still
trying to help me, persuade me, comfort me and tell
me the whole truth rather than some delusional spin-off
some variation of a Satanic-whisper...
yesterday i was illuminated... but of course i didn't listen:
since it wasn't my conscience talking...
     i've already done the supposedly "evil" / "taboo"...

it's for the best... for the past 8... hell! more!
how many years has it been where there wasn't a single
day where i wouldn't spew some sort-poetic but mostly
rambling every, single, ******, night!
non-stop! sometimes, in my peak, that would involve
me sitting from 10pm through to 8am in
the morning - going to bed with the sunrise and
getting up with the sunset...
                             becoming this nocturnal monster -
living a life associated with the comings and goings
of an ivory tower, ******* Merlin the whacky etymological
historian of sorts...

well... today was eventful: just by waking up i was transported
into a warping of thought...
i needed to have a conversation with myself...
woke around 2pm... exhausted... lay in bed for
3 hours, hungry, hung-over...
       not moving, like a reptilian predator...
what did i have to eat today?
   my father used to call my drinking antics by using
the metaphor: rat...
   i always thought myself more of a fox...
although ask the Chinese...
                rats are not something to be cringed at...
they spread the wrath of the gods...
                       i couldn't **** a fly i couldn't **** a rat...
i remember this one instance in Edinburgh...
i was with Ilona and a mouse managed to enter my
wardrobe... i could see it: eyes glistening...
what did i do?
    i built a maze in my bedroom...
     with a trap at the end... "ushering" the mouse out
it ran through my elaborate maze and into my trap...
i caught it... pincer index thumb held up upside down,
she took a picture, giggle... purr me...
what did i do with it?
       i went outside of the flat (Montague St. can't
remember the flat number, tenements)
and left it on the communal staircase... thinking...
well... it might just scuttle away...
what did the mouse do? a ******* KAMIKAZE jump
two storeys down...
              which sent... shockwaves of trauma back
into my at-then-present-consciousness...
   when i was younger this bully of a kid...
thick glasses... curly brown hair... encouraged me...
to drop my hamster from a height telling me...
he'll survive... so... i dropped the hamster...
watching it fall... watching it hit the ground...
watching its tiny snout paint a ******* of crimson,
hue pink, hue... all the Hugh Grants and Heffners
in red...
    as i ran back to my mother and grandmother
crying... talk of parachutes... opening...
some magical force this bully persuaded me of...
the parachute didn't open! the parachute didn't open!
it was a joke for a while...
                           but i was the killer of my own pet...
and this kid... i still don't remember how
he came into my life... he wasn't the kid of any of the neighbours...
he just appeared in my life for this particular instance...
and there i was thinking i was morally superior
when i took a walk alone down a little stream
watching two boys **** a frog by smearing it with
lipstick and setting it alight...

things changed when hamsters became dogs...
Axl... i loved that dobberman... ferocious beast...
me and the upstairs kid: BIOŁY... Mark? Martin?
he was so blonde he could pass off as albino...
we were playing my Nintendo console...
because... i was the "rich" kid in the neighbourhood...
well... rich... living in those old communist satellite
state sort of tenements...
i was the kid with all the presents but no father
in my life and a drunk grandfather who was still great:
better than nothing given i only had one grandfather
and you're sort of supposed to have two...
so we were playing... got into an argument...
i don't know what happened in-between
i just know that Axl bit the boy's nose and the same
glorious gush of red-energy emerged...
                            
"i"...well... my grandmother had to get rid of Axl
after he almost tried to take my eye out
after... perfectly reasonable come to think of it...
he started biting my Alsatian ***** Bella
                 and i stood over him and in cold-blood
treated with "paint-brushings" of a PEJCZ...
             whip... honestly? some things sound so much
better in different language...
blitzkrieg sounds so much better than lightning-strike...

i still can't believe i managed to "****" the madam
of the brothel... she even tied her hair in pigtails
to give an impression of being younger...
my god... given her age... what an attractive specimen...
oh... and a plump girl can pull it off...
seriously...
                       but only when she gets older...
younger, plump girls... eh... nope... but when she gets older...
i just regret disappointing her...
but... a learning curve is a learning curve...
i'll have enough time to improve...
it's not like into video games... i never passed beyond
a PS1 games console... ergo...
there's plenty of night and nothing and brick-walls
to meditate / be ****** into... the odd sudoku...
a Chinese ideogram or my favourite:
a return to the syllables of Katakana...

all throughout i'm listening to just one song...
Salmonella Dub's Problems...
a New Zealand band...
                              back when i was a ***-smoker
i invested enough time to branch out
into a ***-smoker's type of music genres...
New Zealand...
   i worked two shifts at Twickenham...
first shift? England vs. New Zealand...
second shift? England vs. South Africa...
my god... the difference in spectators...
the South Africans felt... so proud... sort of ageless...
imagine a tribe of African living in Finland...
this is what it felt like... the New Zealanders seemed
like farmer-boys, sheep-shaggers, the Welsh...
they mingled and bred with the local population
of the Maori... the South Africans didn't...
South Africa once colonised by the English
fell into the hands of the Dutch...
    but these Dutch of South Africa weren't at all progressive...
of the modern day Netherlands...
they resembled escapee Nazis living Argentina...

we received the best compliments from the managing
team... our gate worked smoothly...
i don't know why i was given the megaphone
reciting robotic messages i.e.
a. 'ladies and gentlemen, please use all the available
turnstiles'...
b. 'ladies and gentlemen, pleasure ensure to use
the minimal traffic of all entry points via gate DELTA...'

Greek... hmm!
     fork in the road... so that's diFFer to... say...
hello sunshine:

      P            H
           Φ Θ    
      H            T             just add Poseidon's trident

of Psi into the mix... Ψ: alternatively see diFFer...
just so... the **** of iota of the omicron...
with psi emerging from the O that's an Omega
turned upside-down Ʊ + I = Ψ

    mind you... with these seeing, living eyes...
an F and an "F" mind sound the same...
but... the disparaging associations of meaning
create a... literacy barrier...
still persistent in the advent of graffiti...

the last time i beat an animal without eating it
was my second arrival of Maine **** cats
into the household...
i didn't know who the culprit was... so i smacked him
and i smacked her...
she was the honest one...
but the second time the incident happened...
well... by then i knew who was ******* in my bed...

i know that by quitting drinking i'll be the inverted
version of a bear... i know that i have sleeping
issues, which will become more exemplified
by a reached: hope for sustaining my sanity...
but this high-blood pressure ******* has left too much
turmoil in my head...

oh right, my father's rat to "non-existent" analogy
of my buying alcohol antics, smuggling bottles
of whiskey... alone, drinking... and then during
the day playing the party partisan of society...
like a fox... or rat... whichever...
what did i do today... i had a bed sobering up
session... and a in the cold sobering session...
i lay on the jacuzzi cover in the jacuzzi shed...
fidgeting... trying to conserve energy: i was fasting...
i folded my hands into an akimbo
putting one hand into the sleeve of another arm...
folding my trousers into my socks...
lying flat... then lifting my legs up
touching the beams of the shed...
      
             like, a wild, *******, animal...
i imagined: but i did... steal a slice of bread
from the kitchen... smearing it with butter...
again "stealing" a tub of a ****** speciality,
i.e. a vegetable salad consisting of raw celeriac,
raw Bramley apples... petit pois (canned),
cooked parsley roots, cooked carrots, cooked
potatoes. hard-boiled eggs... raw leaks...
all smeared with a dollop of mayonnaise...
pepper? yes please...
                           and a can of spicy tomato tinned
mackerels... eating it while standing up
in the 2nd shed... the 3rd shed has my father's work
tools and my Tour de France 2nd bicycle...
the Kolarzówka... which is a spring / summer bicycle...
it's not the autumn / winter mountain bicycle...

i hate cars... i adore buses...
if i hear some alpha bru'h trying to sell me a sports
car... i start to think of Dalmatians and...
can, you, ride, a, horse?!
owning a car makes absolutely no sense when living
in London or its vicinity...

oh **** me, even the thought of tomorrow shift is giving
me the Gremlins...
supervisor, again, why?! can't i be the break-guy?
i'm not even qualified... yet... i'm being given this
******* leeway like i earned it... oh, right,
i have earned it...
            i just don't want to experience
the fudge-packing headache of a delay in
constipation... which is not exactly a headache...
just a pulverising anti-music... a vibrating headache
that doesn't ache...
a vigilant reminder of: would i come out of
the Manchester Arena suicide bombing with PTSD?

i smile, i pause... i smile again... i clock faces...
it originates in my childhood...
this... sensation of numbing at the fingertips...
when... people... who don't own what
you own... are given a frightful... free... access...
and... you're sort of o.k with it...
you're not o.k. with it...
but you give up a stating ownership of objects for
the people using said objects for their own
pleasure... you feel pleasured by peoplg
being pleasured... but you just don't understand
why ownership of things is somehow important
a tier above the presence of the people
bypassing you owning and them: not owning
said, used, things, for that shared...
interaction... numbing of the fingertips...

i'm sad. Khadra is gone... Mona is gone too...
i'm left strapping myself to excitement and paranoia
and erectile dysfunction ******* the madam of
the brothel... watermelons, watermelons... watermelons...
ich spreschen Deutsche...
a bit like my surname... ******... Stalin...
made easier for English-speakers...
because... what the **** could they do with the addition
via E(sch)lert?!
                          oh sure as **** they couldn't find
the Slavic acute S in the Germanic SCH... could they?!

the only reason i have so much casual *** is...
i have yet to court a match of intellect in
the bedroom!
like i told the madam, excusing my limp-*******-****
situation... i shook her hand...
and this is what we do, formally...
but seeing you naked... touching your thighs...
your *******... my hands could talk for a seemingly
forever... and it would not tire me...
it would: embolden me!
things change... when... simply ******* prostitutes...
you get a stab... at... ******* the madam
of the establishment... you become nervous,
you become small... you become castrated...
you... hit rock bottom...
and then... Lucifer... Icarus.. what's up is down...
what's down is up!

you light a scented candle in your bedroom...
light your last cigarette...
does it matter that Muscovites are issuing concerns
over the Kiev-monstrum? no, not since the Orange
"Re-vo-lu-tion"...

i had... two... in all earnest... i had two... ****** revelations...
without all the chit-chat... two... both... prostitutes...
Mona and Khadra... a Romanian and a Turkish beau
respectively... there was only one woman in my life
that spoke... "respectably" similar level English to mine...
the rest... w either gave way to imagining Braille or...
whatever... but... insert crocodile...
why cry... when it, apparent ******* rains?!

i will miss them... tenderly, fully heartedly...
even as the Madam stroked my beard while i excused my
dysfunctional "third-party"...
                 why would a limp **** somehow diminish
my manhood... i.e. if a man is sized... surely...
a woman is sized too! a man's length and girth is also
reciprocated by a woman's depth and girth...
no?                              ergo?

plus all the mood swings that both the sexes share...
and have to... "en-ter-tain"...
but **** me... a madam of a brothel... me her and the pigtails...
well obviously i didn't deliver...
but... i'm thinking... if i quit drinking...
if i quit smoking...
that fat *** slurping lip brigade of an altogether
complete ****-buddy is waiting for me...
and i'm waiting for it... and the night and the foxes
and the crows are in my company...

well then! all the tales of vampires and werewolves...
can... become... true!
i can become a monster that understands
why... he feeds off being...
"casually" neglected...
why... it's not him who broke up with
a woman but the woman breaking up with him!
perfect!
which is why Mona and Khadra ****** up to
either Romania or Turkey, pregnant...
and i was left trying to **** the brothel's Madam..

melons melons! i'm telling you: **** like melons!
heartbreak and the heartless...
mind you... what's the other "thing" women notice
when courting...
apparently... ha ha... apparently... TEETH!
women like with no concern for dental insurance...
women like teeth... and hair...
i like... ****... what is it that i like?

                             i like snow... i like forests...
there's a difference between those more associated with oak
than those more associated with pine...
pines... entertain the existence of the scouts...
who are the scouts?! BIRCH... oak forests are the elders...
usually creating isolating environment
of island-dwellers...
               oaks don't appreciate birches...
and in terms of pines... well... in terms of pines and pins...
who's the one searching for the camel....
already in possession of the needle?!

my goblet of fine **** and saucy riches...
           i.e. my mouth...
                     i'll get ready...
as stated... once you **** your way up to having
the madam of the establishment that's
a brothel interested in you...
first time: disappointing her...
second time? you're going to quit drinking...
you're going to quit smoking...
you're going to sober up... simply because...
those ****... the fact that she's older than you by at least
one decade... and i like listening to horror movie
soundtracks... which makes perfect sense...
ugh... pristine nugget of fat and ageing...
it's like...
                  oh... ******* and jerking off...
that's off the table too...
        
             she's an ***-prized sort of a beached whale...
she's a Renaissance spectacle of the desirable woman...
plump... peachy...
now that i've had a taste... once the holidays
are over... when she asks for an entrance fee...
i'll need to seek out my hard-on in some other brothel...
paying her: sure... but only with you...
pigtails my ***...
                           freckle on her face...

then i'll start serving the concept of money...
Oslo? Brussels? Berlin... Berlin?!
ah... Bucharest...
                 no no... not south enough... Athens
i've already done... Istanbul...
        oh... wait... stop drinking... stop smoking...
regain friction with a hard-on...
**** the madam of the brothel...
   while her under-workers subscribe to texting each
other madly trying to figure out:
sq. not trg.!

now i'm becoming the baron of my own belly!

I

having read (past participle: re[a]d? well: to re[ae]d: but that's a reed, so no) four volumes of Knausgaard's "mein kampf" i came to the conclusion that: you can write almost anything: about anything... a terrible focus comes when one starts to write about reading: not so much about writing per se, but you can pull-off any shimmy-shimmy or banality on a whim, on the sly... just follow the clues left by journalists, esp. in the editorial sections of a weekend edition... it's just easy reading, a fitting accompaniment is a philosophy book, i still don't know how or why i didn't take up Rousseau sooner, my "sin"... never anything too seriously...

II

i guess you need to be the proud owner of old vinyl, circa the 1980s... from beneath the iron curtain... old vinyl has imprints of THE CRACKLE... it's so rare to find this hardened liquorice orbit... best example, so far? maanam: nocy patrol (album): krakowski spleen (song)... oh the crackle is so important... given the vinyl has been left not-played (definitely, not, somehow not un- prefixed) for at least 20, hell... give it 10 more years... the crackle is bound to appear & make as much sense as the music...

III

my grandfather (p.b.u.h.) once remarked: don't you have any regrets? regrets about that Siberian lass, that Russian girl who took you to St. Petersburg & to see Metallica in Moscow? fade to black, we were kissing, all the Russians had their lighters out... regrets? oh, sure... all the time... it only took me 13+ years to find a good enough **** to compete with her... the month in Russia was spent with her ex-b/f beta orbiter, who probably ****** her before i came, we drank *****, we had a mighty carousel of pseudo-wind in our heads when the drinking finished... the bed swallowed me, i think i swallowed a mirror or... my shadow stuck in a mirror: perhaps i was having a conversation with a future moi... regrets?! with all the freedoms allowed women in the west, it's not like barbarian Poland with outdated abortion laws... a woman has to wait for her foetus to die, on its own, most probably killing the woman... 30 years old, with husband & daughter in tow... they'll be having a march or two to pay her tributes... a ****** will only get 12 years for ****, forget about abortion due to impregnation through the act... a deformed foetus: a parasite... headless... can't be removed... the mother & the doctor can get up to 25 years or... a life sentence for the "unlawful" removal of the foetus... because... Poland... you see... is more backwards than Ireland... i never thought it could be possible... the separation of the church from state hasn't happened: although it was apparently segregated under the Soviet umbrella... Polish Communism worked... now... a massive diaspora of these people almost everywhere... regrets?! i think this Russian gal had a "thing" for ruining Polacks... she was engaged to me, she broke it off... she married another ******... a neurosurgeon... married him... she had some muffins on the side... she divorced... married again... some Scottish schmuck... *******... she started to collect tarantulas & serpents... i abhor spiders... regrets... hmm... she's 2 years younger than me... she's done her practice engagement & is on her second marriage... volatile *****... regrets?! i own a ******* bicycle, i don't need a car i don't need traffic... it's Loon'don!

IV

as ugly as a moonless night, one thanks i can give, is that there are visible constellations.

V

all saints' feast day in Poland is a huge affair, people shuffle in the necropolis, i joke: what democracy in Poland? when he died, my friend, my grandfather, he stole all the time i was willing to give to this little "oasis" of delusions & historical leftovers... now there's only a spatial orientation: absolutely no association with the impetus of time... candles... wreaths... two days after the feast day i had to go alone into the graveyard at night & have myself a goodbye a year that passed since all the formalities of a funeral... with a bottle of ***** & some music in my ears... poured a little of ***** onto the grave, poured some into me... like a CYGAN (gypsy, Roma)... took some photographs of trees, of shadows, or necro-statues... democracy in Poland... haha... necrocracy... i am completely divorced from this nation of my birth... plus... plenty of unsafe drivers... most of them remind me of the ninjas & Pakistanis in London... forget about curating oneself aggressively in the medium of traffic... we're talking about people being so careful about their prized objects that they end up being careless about how they curate themselves: flow! flow! you skip... you hop... you're mediating getting from A to B... it's a simple jest... unconscious arithmetic of space... get with the project...

VI

idle fingers, for two weeks i met the night with... lukewarm *****... ugly *****... *****... esp. when mixed... best drank directly... i know i know... never drink lukewarm *****... ensure it's teasing its freezing point... so it turns to something reminiscent of gomme syrope...

but...

          words thrown to the wind, almost proverb-like:

a) co ma piernik do wiatraka?
(what does a windmill have to do with a
gingerbread [softie]}?

b) pretensje do garbatego ze ma proste
dzieci...
   (grievances to a hunchback that he has
upright children)

sly little *****... who?! *****!
it's not like the marriage of ms. amber & herr whiskers...
whiskey...
sly little *****... terrible when mixed...
best drank straight... nearing her freezing point...
i don't understand how the English
manage to drink the ***** that's
***** mixed with orange juice:
it's *****!

VII

two weeks in Poland... away from my dearest England...
how dry the air is on the continent,
esp. during winter...
so little worth of mention of birch trees...
so little of pines...
crown of the botanical kingdom:
the oak...
but so little of pines so little of birches...
perhaps an accent of a birch here & there...
but entire forests of birch trees?
impossible...
it's an island, after all!
the air is wet... the weather is whimsical...
at least on the continent you can expect
to cherish a week's worth of cloudless skies...
i kind of think i adore this land
more than the natives who inhabit it...
although: these people deserve...
my uninhibited adoration...
their language esp.
why i rather write their zunge:
too many orthographic distinctions in my nativ(e)...
but i have to tease at the Deutsche...
i have to...

VIII

Roger Moore was the ultimate Bond, i tend to forget the Scotch accenting of the whole "affair"... mishter... blah blah... shecond floor... all that Duran Duran & the fatal blonde of: view to a ****...

IX

backwards people: it seems that even the German have done enough interracial breeding to somehow forget the Nazis... who are the backwards people? "my" people... those still persuasively orientating themselves around... the first non-Italian pope was a ******... hoo-ha! well done... pat on the shoulder... we'll have the end of the world, "the end" when an African will sit on the throne: some say... i'm waiting for an Irishman... but i'm pretty certain... it's not the people of these isles... it's the isles themselves that i adore so much... don't get me wrong... these... ahem... "tourists" need to be acknowledged... ****'s sake: i did a probe into Romford & hey presto! the whole world "thought" it was necessary to... congregate... someone from Moldova... someone from Pakistan... the entire world is "here"... is this an "oops" moment or is this the natural leftover of an unavoidable implosion of empire?

X

backwards people, "my" folk... i don't own them: time's right to read some Rousseau... perhaps some irritation with the concept of a diaspora... the English diaspora in Spain... seasonal drunken ****** on the Greek Islands? new English: Anglo-Slav... no, i don't think i'm in any way "old English"... then again: English is: there's always something (a)new... i just can't stomach all this proto-h'american racial *******... Saxons outstretched... it's hard to think of what if: if these Saxons were actually Swabians or Pomeranians...

XI

i very much adore the idea of being able to fall in love, i want to rekindle an old flame of the idiotic me that was able to fall in love... who could trust... i wish with such dire consequences to be able to rekindle a chance to love like a puppy.... i want to love, how i miss doubtless trust... the flimsy touch... then again... new love... ms. amber & herr whiskers... how i love to drink... my love for drinking has overshadowed all the potential for courtship offers in its least... i have become so rigid in my courtship of time, i have become so suffocating, so predictable to myself... loving someone else could... would end up becoming a suffering... but i like the idea... i like the idea of falling in love... i, only recently, fell in love with a stewardess... flying from Warsaw to London... such milky tenderness of skin... such Slavic wolfish eyes... but the skin... i couldn't want to envy the ivory of afro sclera.... such a circus... being so spoilt for choice... i know that i'm a walking... late: abortion... it's beyond my concern or care to gravitate toward these arguments...

XII

i walk into a pub, ask for half a pint of Guinness,
the girl serving me, heavily tattooed...
duck lips...
outraged roots, flimsy pink...
do i really have to listen to Lithuanian songs
about the winged hussars?
Ottoman turks?
i guess so... minutes later...
a bad advert from 888.com poker....
she likes me, i like her....
but she's donning a pair of jeans
that might at best have been
chewed by a dozen of hyenas...
bite to grip bite to grip:
haggle! haggle! grrrrrrrrr.....
rapt: the trill on the Ar....

the way i see it, Islam is in an existential crisis, the sooner we get through this 2nd schism of Islam the better: since being exposed to western secular traditions and antiquated Marxist cognitive dissonance the better, this Islam teasing at both Marxism and fascism... this modern Islam ***** without any Sufi integrity... how does Islam even function by ostracising the Shia branch? my guess: like western seculars ostracising Russians... Christ's passion is who's subsequent lament? there's no room for apathy here: not direct antonym - because reincarnation is impossible in monotheism, therefore? oh: what could i be possibly insinuating, hmm? i went through my lamentation: and how glorious it was, yet impossible to be reminiscent concerning (it): having met the antonym of Xanthippe... who has allowed me to become... a play on masculinity is that which does, while women are: beings, men are the doings... yet there is this transitional grey area of: becoming... i am becoming; in Edie's own words - once finding: giving love and being loved... in my own words: since we can give closure to half of the war waged we can focus on the other war: that we have to battle mortality... but how easy was it to so easily write about it with hindsight... my god: was it worth all the trials and tribulations... i will posit that my lamentation was as glorious as that passion on the cross... if people will want to dangle an instrument of torture around their necks: i'd recommend dangling iron maidens. also (of due note, nota bene, appropriately) - does anyone not think that Islam is in a crisis? NOT... heresy heresy blah blah blah... so who wrote the Quran? last time i heard Muhammad (ha ha... funny knowing two tongues... mucha... fly... mad... mad fly Muhammad, frenzied Beelzebub) was illiterate, so who wrote those **** words and why do they spiral out into nuggets, haiku sized verses at the end? my guess is that Muhammad's first wife, Khadijah **** Khuwaylid wrote the **** book, the dutiful wife senior to ol' Mo... drown in the empathy of the orphan? my own father was "technically" an orphan... more or less abandoned by his mother and father, although with a father-orbiter... messy stuff this glue we call family: easier to dangle individualism on a stick of otherwise perpetual conformity to adhesion toward a "something or other" that is civilisation: to ensure that our ontology does not revert to the supposedly pre-history pre-civilisation of that Edenic glorified working appendix: i dare you talk to someone clued in on biology as nutrition and how we "evolved" to not have the biological capacity to digest plant foods for their fat etc. - those adhering to a carnivore diet - no one can be stupid enough to not think that poor Muslims don't see the degeneracy in the United Arab Emirates, Qatar or Saudi Arabia and think... where is talk of the "ummah" and Afghanistan and Palestine? i know of the "arguments" when it came to Poland and the migrant crisis circa 2016... all those ******* glorious instances of multicultural injections of "progress": but who the **** took the majority of the displaced Ukrainians? Poland did... not diverse enough? too, ******* white? if i can ask a question: rhetorically, can i hear an echo of the same question: dialectically? it's like that analogy of the tree falling in the forest: if no one hears it falling: does it actually make a sound? i'll ask a question rhetorically: in good faith... will i hear the same question (or thereabouts), dialectically?

my new favourite word, coming all the way
from a mouth in Malasia... no: Malaysia -
i should (maybe?) have known it,
but no: i didn't... until now...

etymology and the extinction of languages:
soft machines - computers and the inner
dynamic: unlike hard machines
those associated with hammers and cars...

i made the mistake of drinking three coffees
in the morning,
to **** off the buzz and nausea
i had to resort to a downer: a 8.2% strong
cider: which, unlike the alcoholic's
go to with 9% strong Carlsberg
is rather refreshing: since that low alcohol
sickly sweetness is lost
whereby a cider becomes a better alternative
to wine...

Christianity: i have no problem with it
surviving: as long as it is a religion
of women: for women...
Christianity doesn't appeal to my masculinity,
Christianity is not a religion for men...
i'll be frank: the best lovers are Christian
women...
i am not a Christian man...
i can parody Christianity with my ******
catholicism: which, like Irish catholicism
is an ethnocentric gimmick for...

heathenism, mingling with Judaic occultism...
i problem solve with a demand
for pareidolia... now i will have to use Greek
(and i blame the Greeks for this,
"blame"...
i'm more inclined to the heathen philosophy
the ancient children of Greece
that conjured up atoms without microscopes)....

παρειδoλια

    ah... that word i was referencing:

πετριχoρ -

              petrichor: the smell of rain...
from stone the golden fluid that was mythologically
the "blood" of the gods...
sunshine up my ***...
        i only "love" god out of fear...
i couldn't possibly fear him out of love...
sometimes i get these glimmers of hope
for the destruction of my ego:
i already know it's a nuisance and unreal:
the ego...
just as much as i known that
our consciousness is born out of memory
yet our memory is a faulty faculty since
we don't remember everything
and what we "choose" to remember
is a bit like...

the veneer of civilization, yet this constant
bubbling of Darwinistic principles...
we pretend to be civilised
yet when the ontological buildings blocks
of 1 + 1 = 2 come into play... hmm...

maybe because Reyla is not my child...
that i don't feel my testosterone levels being somehow
diminished...
for the past few days i've been calling up
Edie and checking on her...
poor girl hottie Aztec chickety is down with
the flu and flutes of sneezing and
baritone brass of coughing
but still: in sickness and in health till death
do us part...
i've become OCD "clever" all huffing and
disorientated with: i need to be there...
physical barriers... transcended...

   a seemingly infamous concoction
of a raw egg yolk generously beaten together with
a teaspoon of honey...
milk with a tablespoon of butter heated...
the warmed milk and butter
poured over the yolk and honey: cured...
thus drank...
     some people break into sweats... others don't...
but who, ill enough... is getting enough
calories to battle a virus?
whatever the "magic" of this concoction...
day two of me trying to make her return
to her former self... well...
maybe it's just lining her throat...

mirrors... mirrors on ceilings...
mirrors on floors... mirrors mirrors...
mmm           mirrors in woods mirrors in the sky
mirrors in water...
              a mirror for a mermaid
a mirror for a minotaur...
                a mirror for a mirror for an eye...
by that i'm implying:
how far can i make the private public
or rather: how best can i disguise the private
with the public...
i'll say no more...
so instead maybe i should "talk" about
my bromance with an ex-police officer went
off on such an assured footing...
why he quit the police force?

PTSD... he still visualises the scent of two rotting
corpses he found hanging in a room...
he visualises the scent
of rotting flesh that was dangling for circa 6 months...
now that i discovered the word
petrichor i can fuse search engines
and A.I. steroid and...

        hey presto: σύν- + -αἴσθησις = συνεσθησια...
as i've learned...
the diacritical marks in Greek are variations
of meaning: ask a Greek about Greek
and he'll tell you that there are at least
4 gradations of the language...
i didn't get a classical education:
    philology:            or rather: it's something ongoing...
and to think...
i do have a historical artifact from the 1960s...
England: how rotten pedagogy has become:
the first sign of a culture in decline
is always brought back to pedagogic demands /
standards...
back in the 1960s Latin was still actively taught!
shame...

  quis es: quo vadis?
who are you: where are you going?
   ha ha: clarity: A.I. is equivalent to search engines
on steroids: more like customised,
personalised search engines...

- me: how do you say: who are you? in Latin,
  Google, as a search engine is being terribly
  inconsistent.
- chatGPT: in Latin, "who are you?" can be translated
   as "quis es?"
- me: so not: quis es tu?
- chatGPT: both "quis es?" and "quis es tu?" are
  grammatically correct in Latin and convey the same
  meaning, "who are you?". the inclusion of "tu"
  (meaning "you") adds emphasis but is not necessary
  for clarity. both forms are commonly used in Latin
  literature and conversation.

well well... and it's not like Polish isn't
an imitation of Latin, grammatically speaking:
of note: you can obliterate the use of
pronouns in a conversation: completely...
just like in ancient Latin...
i never understood this Hebrew pride on continuity
citing that Latin is somehow dead:
no... Latin is still alive: it just mutated...
it's alive: grammatically in Poland
and... well... in script pretty much everywhere
else in the world... in computers...
in preserving Greek ideas...     still ticking:
tick tock tick tock...
                                   oh but i understand the Hebrew
pride... i've even succumbed to Kabbalism...
but obviously Judaism being an exclusive
club: i would never actually become a proselyte:
i was handed the ****** hand of
catholicism and that's that...

              i'm not going to be another Barry from
the Four Lions...
that film has aged so so well...
about as well as: As Good As It Gets...
some memorable lines by Barry:

Barry : *******, I'm a liability! I am the Invisible Jihadi!
They seek him here, they seek him there, but here's not there,
he's blowing up your **** sister!
Omar : Invisible? Right. Like the time you got
on the local news for baking a Twin Towers cake
and leaving it at the synagogue on 9/11?
Barry : That is part of the plan! Hide in plain sight, you mug!
   (credit to chris morris, sam bain and jesse armstrong)

such oddity... destroying the ego by talking
silently before going to sleep...
who in their right mind would think that
the ego resides in the brain?
i speak by an extension of me thinking
therefore the ego resides in the mouth...
the audibility of soul: is that what we call
the "audibility" of thought?
my brain is my eyes...
              no: my brain are not my eyes...
i was just wondering for a tick
               my brain are my eyes?  no...
my eyes are my brain...
                        i can do away with all that 20th century
Jungian Freudian schematisation of man
boiling the secular trinity of
ego (consciousness)
   superego (subconscious) and the id (unconscious)...
i'll just **** it... it's a nuisance to begin with:
how much of my ego i need to filter out
is staggering... i swear it's a hindrance on
consciousness... feeding that yap-yap-yap
not-I of Samuel Beckett...
                                     people can talk about
viruses and biology all they want...
but what of the cognitive viruses: bad ideas...
like the preservation of Marxism
                             and its marriage to radical Islam?

it must have been on the same day, i was commuting to a job way out north west, Hendon, doing some roofing on a housing project... in the morning i bumped into a nurse... we started chatting... but since we were chatting on a moving train: i had to excuse myself when looking at her mouth... so i told her: don't mind me... i'm lip reading... well... an encounter like any cosmopolitan encounter... i yawn at the prospect of climbing Mt. Everest... at sailing solo across the world... this is plenty! on the way back from the job i was still into my marquis de sade... opposite me on the tube 4 girls... they were girls... it's a shame they weren't wearing school-uniforms... all in giggles and peacocks of pretending to be shy... years prior to the emergence of fifty shades... Juliette... i can't remember which edition... obviously a semi-pornographic detail on the cover... some ****... the girls giggled... and i was wondering: you know what i'm reading? i'm taming the beast... i've just read something on the lines: & he ****** on her while setting her alight... all that's missing is skinning the poor *****... i most enjoy knowing i have the potential to do the utmost... destruction... all the while... i think i have more pleasure in containing this... ahem... "asset"... i truly do... i like the masquerade of civilization i can pretend... i'm almost three-quarters an actor most of the time... of course i know: if pressured the animal will come to the fore... and the cage will loose all its metaphysical diamonds... i can: i won't... but i can... become a rancid creature... i like knowing i can... but otherwise willing myself to no be...

i never understood the concept of "social drinking"...
come to think of it...
if the conversation was good:
i'd drink less and get drunk off the conversation...
but that... it's somehow necessary
to drink with someone?!
is it necessary to do "things" together...
esp. drinking...
there's even a song i'll mention about:
zusammen: to, together... i guess it's a:
towards togetherness, that word:
zusammen... it's like a bulging mushroom
on my cranium that squirts out psychedelic juices
to make this monkey invent windmills...
and trains!
oh it's a Dutch folk band from the 1970s...
you can pick up the Dutch accent singing
German lyrics...
it's that... abhorrent Dutch lisp...
i was never a fan of the Dutch accent...
  glut... no... wait... glottal<ʔ>
i don't even think it's that noun...
they (the Dutch) sound like they smiling
while ******* the juice of half a lemon
miraculously lodged in their mouth...
i've done that too...
i've been to my ex-girlfriend's... christening
of her first twins...
she later had... oh... a baby factory...
4 more?
i was sitting in the church and asked
by her next door neighbour:
'you're not really here, are you?'
do i look i'm here...
why am i at the christening of my ex-girlfriend's
first born... why am i allowed to cradle them in my
hands?
i really shouldn't be here:
i don't understand why i received
an invite... the idiot in me obviously went...
i'm one solo project away from: death...
let's not me this melodramatic...
pickling scenario...
******* beta orbiter: while i was sampling
some Romanian / Turkish prostitutes...
kissing the most tender parts of the body...
the shutters on the eyes...
counting knuckles on the hand...
with lips...
rubbing my hands one some bricks
to later touch... oysters composing a body
of a woman..
i wanted rough fingertips...
i need a beer...
she kept me in her whereabouts...
i've met her Nigerian fling...
we sat at the table looking rather...
nonchalant...
i met her future hubby and the father of her
children while still high on *******
in a pub... before she reformed me...
i came armed with Heidegger's
sein und zeit... i guess i wasn't going to be
so easily disarmed... i'll get to the song
in "question"... by a Dutch folk band from
the 1970s... eh... classical music bores me...
not enough of Prokofiev is aired...
classical music is music for
technicians and the deaf...
Beethoven proved it...
      i prefer folk...
            i can't stomach a Verdi opera...
i try... i try... try in vain...
to no use!
zusammen... contra? allein!
to-together... zu-sammen...
allein? alone...
  alle: all...              ein: A (indefinite article)...
all the indefinite articles: align!
i never understood drinking with people:
they always wallow... in their demise
in their misery...
i like drinking alone...
you can only drink alone...
i abhor drinking in company...
drinking in company might somehow...
end up... bridging the gaps
of imagination where Savannah Bond takes
centre stage...
rejected by woman yet entertained
by a storm... the high tide...
the waves of the north sea come
midnight...
i want to mind... but i have no room for:
revision... what's said: is said...
i need to change the lyrics up...

zusammen will have to be replaced with allein...
alle: ein...
all the the indefinite articles aligned...
bier! bier! zeppelins! bier und zeppelins!
come to think of it...
only brothers fought brothers...
either war... it's so sad...
those closest kin... are the reason
wars are staged... rarely it might happen
that... a Turk will fights a ******...
the opposite side has something we want...
but... the opposing side that's:

**** similis... the ape represented as: man...
has... i don't want an ontological debate
concerning what flaws man...
what flaws man? paradoxes.

i never understood drinking with a  legion...
a core...
perhaps it was fun drinking in company...
if the same company had a tank...
or a lighthouse we had to cater for...
but drinking: *****-nilly... on the weekend...
in company...
i seriously have more boring things to do
than bore myself double-due with that
pastime...
when the conversation is so good that
you can get drunk from it... doubly...
fair enough...
but... women... and their miseries coming
out when drunk...
i want to sing! when i drink i want to sing!
i want to be part of a brotherhood!
aligned with men
of similar disposition... manners... tastes...

for the lyrics:

was wollen wir trinken
was wollen wir trinken, sieben tage lang?
was wollen wir trinken, so ein durst!

was wollen wir trinken, sieben tage lang?
was wollen wir trinken, so ein durst!

es wird genug fur alle sein!
wir trinken zusammen, roll das fass mal rein!
wir trinken zusammen, nicht allein!

on a very simple crux... as much as i love Dickens
i abhor his tendency to ascribe
the term: orthography to English...
orthography can be applied if the language
utilises diacritical marks...
no diacritical marks: no orthography...
it's just dyslexic spelling... Charlie...

example?

pâté... broken down from Brussels...
            phonetically... look at it...
p'ah-tay... no?
                          the absurd surd of H the vowel
catcher one arm of the tetragrammaton
is already there...
the other is being used as a rugby post...

i'd change the lyrics up a little bit...
whatever stereotypical drunk someone somewhere
thinks i might be: i don't drink before
a mirror and drink...
why was it ever so important to drink in
company?!
fair enough... i'll drink in company!
will we be singing by the end of it?
folk songs?!
no?!                well then! *******!
i'll be drinking allein!

i won't bother translating the lyrics...
i want to sing them!

- it has been raining... wash away my:
too much of a good thing can be bad...
which is why i resort to visiting a brothel
once every half a decade
to... **** &... ahem... charm...
my supposed future in-law
called me a charmer... i guess i am a charmer...
if i'm in the mood...
how i'll kiss the freckles... the knuckles...
the eyelids of women that belong to a trade
where i'm but a fraction...
which is still cheaper than...
putting a leash on one and fathering her
whims... if i have to be bluntly honest...
eye-lids... how i love to kiss them...
elbows and knees...
all that my arms are when they come
across the geography of thighs!
oooooh...
                send me mad!

perhaps you think i should be thinking about
Newton and some "new" gravity...
i'm always thinking about women...
just today after a ******* session on my road bicycle
semi-drunk... riding aggressively through
the traffic... parking by the trollies...
a cascade of sweat on my t-shirt's back
gasping... i know the look a woman gives...
when she sees you seeing her...
deer in the ******* headlights...
a ******* onomatopoeia in katakana...

fat chance of me going to Hawaii...
or Knot Orca...
i was watching some t.v.: three guys on
a road-trip through Italy...
i took a break...
had a cigarette in the garden: looked up...
hell... it's like England was the focus
of the Matrix movie argument for...
machines not being solar-panel fed...
the misery of northern Europe...
from England... Scotland... Germany...
Poland... & Scandinavia...
what a mush of a heart with these
overcast skies!

the sweetness of this sort of misery
is... well... i think it's breath-taking!
i still don't know what i'd do with myself should
i find myself "happy"...
Mediterranean happy...
                        like i might need to protect
my copper-neck of a suntan...
happy never left me satisfied...
better! nourished! happy doesn't have enough
fibre in it!
i want to be miserably aware:
happy is too fleeting anyway: always... always! always!
i want to be happy in my melancholy:
which is not simply: depressed... deflated...
disorganised... ditto more synonyms...

extroversion doesn't suit me: either...
please put that in writing...

**** me! i'll have to pull this term out of my ***
like a tapeworm equivalent to
something Heidegger might have have
conjured up! it has to be in German...
sometimes Ing-Leash fails me...

"pre-scriptum":
i'm happy-sad...
  i like...              ugh...
      i'm happy-being-sad...

let's take a peekaboo!

            froh
(not
glücklich not zufrieden)

          -sein-    (being)

traurig (sad)... ergo? well... it's German...
it's a compounded term, concept...
so there's no need for hyphenation
in accordance with terms deemed:
Oxford proof... proved...

it looks like, hey presto!

frohseintraurig...
  have a second look with the... ******* Oxbridge
hyphen stresses for:
intra-punctuations... froh-sein-traurig...
at least English retains its spirit of Sax(on)
when it comes to chemical nouns...
hydrochloric... acid...
these ******* could be so close to adding
a hyphen to that noun compound!
hydro-chloric... no?

i like being sad... oh... melancholy truly elevates
the fickle nature of memory...
there's no imagination: to begin and end with...
i never lived for imaged caricatures of:
what could be willed...
memory, on the other hand... such a fickle creature!

how the English mangle the most important nouns...
the names of people...
David is somehow Dave...
Peter is Pete...
Matthew is Matt...
Samantha becomes Sam
as Sam later becomes Samuel...
while London is woot? Loon'don?
a table is still a ******* table...
i... don't... like... this...
i don't have to! while the gods exists
and man is churning out his, her...
free-will potential...
who can complain?!
it's almost a paradox... prancing...
if we have free-will... "supposedly"...
but... can't express it...
even in the most negative way...
then... exactly: do we have it?
no! however bad the results are...
collateral damage...
as ever... but we need the illusion of free will...
if there were some divine intervention....
its perfectly lodged in the metaphysics of:
what comes after... if anything comes after...
i like the idea of... "something" comes after...
this... debacle of...
i can' just leave some people:
arrogantly... proud! it bothers me!

i stopped thinking of "it" in terms of: soul...
if there's an ego, a superego...
all the schematics of the supposed modern man...
then there's also the... sigma... Σ...
what makes man: animate...
the sense of... once the body is relieved of its duties...
and returns to the altar of inanimate things...
what happens to... not soul but: Σ...
the totality that gave vehicle prospect to:
what would fatally become...
an urn filled with ash!

- i stand before a mirror in the bathroom...
******* into a sink and...
literally... doubt... whether or not i exit...
the ******* mirror is giving me vibes of
insinuation of testing me to focus on...
being a hologram status... for ****'s sake...
it's this bad... so i suppose
reading some Rousseau will not solve
the: currency of the "problem"...
i.e. joke: i was not so much into Chinese
ideograms...
more into Korean Hangul & *** katakana..
so...

        the resurrected Genghis Khan from...
sub-Saharan Africa... no?

- there's this Slavic proverb concerning Slavs...
i;m an Anglo-Slav...
mingling with the Germanic people...

if you're walking among the crows:
you better croak like 'em...

wenn sie ar eintreten krähentotenwache
du besser krächzen!

kiedy wchodisz między wrony:
musisz krakrać tak jak one!

i cycled into central London... Loon & the Don came...
to read a few pages of Knausgaard's mein kampf
vol 4... and drink a beer...
and pretend to be a serpent lying flat on my
stomach... having satiated the "workload"
i turned over... making the universe oblivious
under the stretch of clouds and some itching
accents of bloo...
             on my back i smoked a cigarette
and drank the beer sideways...
i caressed the grass forgottening:
oh wait... it's not my hair...
it's not my beard either...
some crow some woodland pigeon:
i too felt displaced...
but that's what happens in central London...
you become a: huh?! tourist perusing the:
tide of faces... these faces... so many faces...
i should be wearing a mask seeing so many faces...
yes: seems to me that i'm happy...
to imagine where i started from...
to where i'm right now...
a spell-binding 3 years in Edinburgh...
i feel so comfortable among the London traffic
and... the madmen in ol' Hyde...
the swelling & the shrinking of the Thames
at Coldharbour near the Rainham marshes...
it might not feel like i own this town...
this village by village staccato...
but it owns me...
i pass 10 grade girls playing solipsistic games...
i pass alpha males playing: biz-e...
             thank god or the devil or...
that i'm no beta orbiter wishing for: waterfall: fore!
bring me the yacht! bring me the parachute...
headphones in but nonetheless i was stopped
by a fellow cyclist at Marble Arch...
i actually managed to conjure up a face full
of expression when he asked:
where is the nearest Argos...
HA became mouth agape... teeth showing...
eyes behind sunglasses lit up:
those stores still exist?!
perhaps in katakana: but write laughter for me...
we can thank the Hebrews for that:
definite article being... lost to giggles...
this is what laughter looks like
in katakana: i prefer katakana to hiragana...
i.e. ハハハハ:
       アハハハハ...
**** up sort of laughter: waiting to milk a cow...
sort of: ****** tease...
no sure... is it a parabola: broken at the tip?
there's a tip?!
typo... i could understand that...
ha! ******... shambles... shames...
the ol' circumcised lot of them...
   pwaying pwetty please god save us:
give us 40 more years in the desert with:
nerves of steel Moose... and... EsEs: i.e. Mayonnaise...
Moses! d'uh...

here's a funny notation:

                木 vs. キ

oh... they're the same... phonetically...
and... perhaps... also meaning...
KI...
                   (key): i.e.              TRÍ(!)
hence the exclamation mark in the brackets...
the emphasis is already hovering above
the iota: acutely...
e. e. cummings... what?!

the cat "emoji" is even better:
i can write only one KANJI...
i've exhausted myself on TRI...
EE... so no... "cat": N'EH K'OH... miu miu: me-ow...

i'm happy... i see a Japanese girl flashing her
knickers while i cycle past where
Oxford St. weds itself to Reagent St...
i think about the long dead kings...
ol' Lizzie and the Popes...
i think and i think:
but that's not much...
  i've already exhausted the avenue...
cul de sac of: ought i... ought i not...
so... emptied and gagging for some more...

look how feeble it all looks:
if this were a Kanji: :)...
ugh... i need to shoot myself in the foot...
i need to spot a kangaroo...
and also shoot it: in the ******* foot...
either way: one of us will try to hop again...
i need to shoot something...
perhaps a ******* Lukashenko....
yes... i'd love to scalp... hell...
forget shooting: a Lukashenko...
he's been keeping those migrants hiding:
as tactic?!
i'd love to shave a Lukashenko... proper...
sorry... it never came around to
a pan-Germanic: ambition...
how pan-Slavism served the hijacked purpose
of soviet communism: i... never...
talking to an individualistic proponent
among the collectivised sorts...
a bit like making a sober man talk to
a drunkard...

      when i see it: "it": i see... IT...
language can revel in reaching its final summary:
it's balancing act of banality...
we don't need language to communicate:
to make coercion something: less... less...
sinister... no... my tongue flapping above yours?
sure... we have a ******* booth for that too!

i like the english words: gambit...
plural... the colon... but no list...
no italics either...
BAT... like: nietoperz...
like: pałka... hulanka:
a *******: RONDEL...
such is the poverty of the English tongue
when it comes to nouns...

two words sound alike:
not two words:
blue: bloo...
i blew... sea's azure..
****'s sake...i die every Sunday...
by Monday i count as a miracle of waking...
who... what's... up?
the newly imported African ***** brigade?

white girls import: hell of a story...
she imports Ghana timber...
Nigerian pocket-thieves...
she's lubricated so much:
we ***** all the black dudes...
but... i'm not willing to **** all the black girls...
i don't want to **** all these black girls...
i want to ****... oh... let's take a pick...
a curry-smeared...
Punjabi... work-around...
if white girls want all the ******* they:
can and can't handle...
Paris...
                lemon baguettes...
ham & cheese crepes...
wine... the Eiffel tower...  topple! topple!
tow: two import...
the working African *****: purpose!
purpose!
thanks... project exclusion:
first...
i know how "they" dye the nickel...
the copper... coinage...

i just feel like...
i've been ******* on for... sometime...
some: prior...

sorry... what?!
seal... kiss from a rose...
****** has... had... will have..
expectations.. concerning... snow?!
yeah... i want to live in... Kenya...
Muhammad the camel-jockey is available:
sure... no one remembers him having:
not having wrote: the Quran...
because: celebrating older women..
biz-nest...
busy... qua?!
****** tells a story: it snows... ha ha!
his rose my ******* baobab!
you know you pushed it just too far...
the white women their carousel antics...  

colonel: tavington...
you... inter-breeding... with mind...
Calypso.. this is... Brazil... no?
i like a tackle of shade...
hush hush...
i like... this... creeping up... crisp...
all the world's an adventure.

My maiden guilt
interprets your mysterious signs
I become a moon orbiter.

Your body moves
like an eel in my eyes.
Blue lakes sleep.

Let the candle in wind
go.The gift was not understood.
Pink flames rage again.