(Earnestly)* This is the first time I address the House
From these back benches in twenty-odd years.
I must confess that I had forgotten
How much better the view is from up here.

It was frequently my necessity
As Leader of the House to talk my way
Out of accusations that a statement
Had been pre-empted by an interview.
On this occasion I can gladly say
That no such interview has taken place.

First I have chosen to address the House
On why I can't vote for a war without
Support at home or agreement abroad.
The present Prime Minister is the most
Successful Labour Party Leader of our times.
I hope that he will continue to be
Our Party Leader, and I hope that he
Will long continue as successfully.
I have no sympathy nor comfort for
Those who use this crisis to remove him.
I applaud the efforts that he, heroically, has made
Until today to secure a second resolution,
And nobody could outperform the Foreign Secretary
In trying to win the backing of the Security Council.
But the intensity of those attempts
Just shows us it was vital they succeed:
Now those attempts have failed we can not
Pretend they were of no import to us.
It is not France alone who wants more time.
Germany wants more time, and Russia too.
Indeed at no time have we ever had
The minimum support we would require
And it is mere delusion to imply
That this degree of fierce hostility
Can all be due to France's President.
The truth is that Britain is being asked
To go to war without any support
From any body to which we belong:
Not from NATO, not from the EU and
Now, not from the Security Council.
A year ago a coalition formed
Its cause: to wage and win a war on terror.
To end in diplomatic failure
Signifies a most obvious error.

History will be amazed surely at the
Miscalculations that led so quickly
To the fall of such a coalition.
The US can afford to go alone;
But Britain is no superpower now.

Our interests are not best protected by
Unilateral action, but by the wide
Agreement of a World governed by rules.

Tonight the partnerships we value most,
The EU and the Security Council,
Are those that sadly are the most weakened.
These indeed are heavy casualties when
A single bomb has yet to be released,
But since the US have already warned
Their strategy will be to "Shock and Awe"
It seems, of casualties, there will be more.

It's been a favourite theme of our critics
To say this House no longer occupies
A central role in British politics.
Nothing could better show that they are wrong
Than for this House to stop this Government
Committing troops to a war that's without
Support at home or agreement abroad.

I intend to join with those tomorrow
Who vote against this war now at this time.
It is for that reason, and that alone,
And with a heavy heart... that I resign.

There is no better way
to do heavy lifting
than with a machine

or perform countless repetitive tasks
or manufacture microscopic objects
or handle toxic substances
or fly across an ocean

or accomplish a variety of
actions that humans
can't or won't do

And we rely on machines
to do what we tell them
when and where
and how and why
we decide
without fail
and without error

Machines outperform
humans for such purposes
and are more reliable,
consistent and
cost-effective as well

They do require maintenance
and spare parts
but nothing like health care
and benefits that humans demand

And they can be upgraded
or replaced without fear
of lawsuits or labor unions
or semiautomatic rifles and
sacks full of magazines

They are almost perfect
and better than humans
in many ways

But they can't laugh
or cry or sing
the way we do

they can't get angry
or sad or happy
or feel emotion
the way we do

they can't love
or break your heart
the way we do

and they can't
make you feel
the way you do
when you come home
from work and your
daughter comes
running to the door
shouting, "Daddy's home!!!!!!"

Not in a million years

So humans are actually
far better than machines
in the ways that matter
and the imperfections,
shortcomings, idiosyncrasies,
flaws in our character, mistakes
we make and an endless list
all prove that we are human
and capable of all these
things that machines
can't or won't do

And I am thankful
that I am not some
perfect, error free
switch-on-switch-off
low maintenance
obedient, emotionless
and highly repetitive
tool that strives
to be a machine
because I would rather
take pride in mistakes
I make and be human

especially when
I come home

the people look like flowers at last, and i guess
what matters most is how well you walk through the fire*
worth the palette, and the eyes - it's the beef tongue honesty
as cited in the poem of the same name -
never mind the 1930s poem -
i too wish i could have written the 1980s
(Poland) - but the communist years
are marred and budding in China while
people bemoan the two years under Martial
Law - and queues, endless queues for
provisions, and stamps for rationed food,
and shops filled with empty shelves or
white vinegar (a childhood friend's mother
was rumoured to have committed suicide
by drinking white vinegar) -
in all honesty i guess before the borders opened
and products started pouring in we could
have claimed a happy childhood,
but for us back then it was the call of the wild -
and the fact that we were together as kids,
even though the steel plant was being undermined
for profit and people were either forced to
leave to somewhere else in the country or
abroad - a thriving beehive of a town reduced to
what became know as the pensioner town -
supermarkets sprouted like churches, the city
centre once a trading hot spot was now the bank
square - nothing but banks; growing up i used to
travel for summer holidays - a fit child i became
hooked on the coca cola dream - between 16 and 17
i lost 30 kilograms on my bike back home, doing
50 kilometres a day - once the fat kid at the back
of the class, now the pomegranate munching hippy -
but that didn't matter: aged 21... god... jealousy
is so horrible, it transcends the healthy competitive
streak of sports and capitalism - now, each waking
hour i wait for the evening so i can numb the pain
riddling my brain - it's like being perpetually nibbled
on my an electric chair - and i can't do anything about
the sizzling of blood on this organic sponge -
headphones sometimes provide an equilibrium
and i jack-in and the pain is reduced - but try talking
to someone when you can't hear them - god, jealousy
is so horrible - i remember times when i'd go with
the guy to Reagent's Park mosque and sit there on
the minimalist floor and just absorb this grand
poly-chromatic social experiment - born into a monochromatic
culture i was fond of the diversity - but times have
changed for the worse, and i'm proof of it -
as i already mentioned the other great schism (not
in religion but) in medicine - what insanity overcomes
them treating physical damage with metaphysical
promises of a chemical imbalance? they treat the brain
as some ******* chicken soup - thankfully i was well
aware of everything - but that's beside the point,
why i survived i attribute to what happened to Sisyphus -
i'm not going to be as bombastic as the original version
depicts Sisyphus, son of Atlas (both of them the boulder
men) - well, i don't see Sisyphus as an absurd hero
like Camus - i very much see him akin to Loki (the trickster),
but it's not about that - for me Sisyphus had a near-death
experience, and was condemned by the gods to
that boulder of his and the ***** and the rolling back
and forth as punishment for that Sisyphus had no insight
from his near-death experience - he didn't become a poet,
and he certainly didn't become a philosopher -
nor a ***, rebellious in the sense that what Sisyphus
did do is return to business as usual - he had no insight
into death, he didn't befriend it, he didn't akin to
Marcel Proust or Tristan Tzara gain "a new way of seeing";
not many people have near-death experiences in all
honesty - and from the myth as stated, few can return
with insight - most come back with cliches, the unimaginative
white light at the end of the tunnel -
Sisyphus was condemned to the boulder for his lack
of inspiration - then again, any madman talking about
the next world with promises is doing a handstand while
attempting to outperform someone running the hundred
metres - circus Olympics - what's keeping me motivated
is what others would call the Cartesian extension -
my brain can't craft a fluid cognitive narrative with ease
as it once was able to do - these are snippets of what reminds
me of the ease that the brain once hosted -
which contradictory if Descartes was about -
a thinking thing is un-extended - if that were true
he wouldn't have out-poured his thinking onto a blank
page - matter extends but does not think - unless of course
you get into a debate about god (i don't see the point
ascribing atheism all the perks - i'm also referring to an
impersonal entity, not a personal entity that might require
praying five times a day for personal gains and repressed
grievances - you know, god of the airy fairy and the casual
phrasing of the word that is usually censored by
Jews - g- -d - which i find as absurd as western censorship
of oath words). so coming back to this Descartes point,
it's true that physical corruption (damage) would qualify
me as a non-thinking entity, pure matter, and therefore
purely extending onto this digital pixel white -
but the counter argument is... there's a distinction between
thought and narrative - and given the casual standard
of philosophy is more akin to narration than abstraction
of either 2 + 2       in mathematics, or μ + ω
in phonetic encoding or whether ω could be encoded
to a more aesthetically pleasing macron-omicron (ō) -
because if we're going to follow Descartes prescription
(they are like doctors, those philosophers, or that's
how i treat them, every key idea they regurgitate out
from their predecessors - a priori - and is new
and challenging i treat it like i'd treat a prescription from
a doctor - Heidegger, for example, prescribed me
the equivalent of sleeping pills for my insomnia) we
don't have to necessarily accept it as the gold standard,
holy, a sword in a stone - but i'm not going to fall
for the rigidity of their vocabulary, the part where using
imagery would refer to a monkey pushing cubes
through a canvas of squares to the other side of something -
or that great table tennis match of philosophical
narration - how did something, nothing, everything,
anything are categorised as pronouns akin to
i, you, me, he etc. - i don't like their concentration on
either nothing or the basic self - that always bothered me -
but i guess it adds to the fluidity of language -
now i'm lost in my own labyrinth - and there's
the Minotaur on my heels breathing pungent hot-snot
from his snout - which can only mean one thing -
a trap to get into fixations and the stability of words
as one-dimensional, non-deviating from a unitary meaning,
rigidity of the non-existence of synonyms -
basically burning the Thesaurus Rex - which also means
no oil for cooking or butter for bread, or anti-ageing
creams - if ever anyone wanted one-dimensional
words, rigid language, a stability of some sort,
safe ~chemistry experiments read from a primer and
never new, black is black, white is white -
well... but i guess there's a preference for such an
approach to language, rather than the antonym of
such use of it, with negations in politics, in jurisprudence,
lies and corruptions, nuances, games and injured
hearts;
            Sisyphus ibin Atlas was punished because after
a near-death experience he didn't come back with
any insight - he just returned to his day job, and didn't
gamble on something beautiful - however
scrambled eggs it looked like.

(Scene I)

Heeding golden days pays


Making a circle around a big oak tree in paradise Ethiopian patriots are seen sat. The valorous Yohannes IV, Alula Abanega, Tewodros II, Menilik II, Balcha Aba Nefso, Jagama Kelo and the like are seen on the front. They were discussing the current political situation of Ethiopia.

(--> Enters Mai Kadra holocaust victims/martyrs)

Hacked to death
By those who
Lost their mental health
Obsessed by ethno politics
In the wrong-headed
‘We and they’
Political matrix
And also who
Sold their soul
To devil
Inured to acts
Dubbed horrifyingly evil
The fledgling, feeble
Children, pregnant women
Their feet and hands tied
What is more chopped
Were committed to
A mass grave
When the atavists
Lost battle
In the hands of
Nation’s cherished
Sons & daughters brave.

(Stands up Yohaness IV and putting his hands on his head says.)

How barbaric?
To me such an act
Is Greek.

(Enters Ethiopian soldiers who were attacked by the Junta, while maintaining peace.)

Deployed to guard
The border
From any enemy
That conspires
To put Ethiopia
And its people asunder,
By traitor Juntas
We were stabbed
In the back
When it got pitch dark,
Yet, heroically,
We mounted
Counter attack
Till support
From hinterland
Arrived from
Our side.

Traitor Junta’s
Plan had to fail
Together we chased
Them away
Between their legs
Placed their tail.

(Balcha Abanefso stands up and waving his pointed finger says)

It was standing one
Many battle engagements
We won,
Unity, love, peace & cordiality
Must mark our identity!

I am angry
Ethiopians’ super chemistry
Is fast turning
Behind us left history.

This send
It must be known
It is high time
Ethiopians reverse
This trend!

How come, selfless,
The land
We kept once
Barring it
From colonizers’ advance
Fast gone?
This calls for a new dawn!

(Stands up Jagama Kelo and walking to and fro says)

How come the self-centered
And selfish
Than their mother Ethiopia
Their ethnic base relish.
It is with chemistry
Great things like
Adwa or Karamara victory
People accomplish.

In the face of adversity—
Colonial aggression
What is more
Expansion—
Helped us most
Unity& fraternity
To preserve
Our religious, language,
Cultural identity.

Forgetting what
We are displaying today
Let us live
In forefathers way.

Come rain or shine
Considerateness, unity
Peace are fine.

                      A poetic Drama – Scene II

Rewarded Satan’s way

A weekly devil council about evil prowess is being held in hell. Devils were standing on tongues of fire waving their tails and howling in a frightening manner that sends a chill down one’s spinal cord. They were gritting their saw-like teeth and holding double-forked arrows. All were soot greased horn to toe, twisted and long. They were submerging the sinful like Judah deep into the fire.

(Enters lost- in-action TPLF Junta’ informal army members referred Sameri.)

Aghast, at last
Vanquished, to retreat fast
Inflicting vengeful attack,
Tying and strangulating
Mai Kadra people
Brutally, we had made them
Breathe their last.

(A Satan on the front puts his hands together and says ‘How impish!’ ‘What news to relish!’ Then he says,)

Spilling the blood
Of fellow human beings
Is something
We appreciate
The level of
Your cruelty
Is  not
Heard to date.

By inflicting on
The innocent damage
With us
You have come to
The same page
As goes
“Out Heroding
Herod!” adage.

(Enter Junta group members. They were the ones who were killed by counter attack, while stabbing the northern wing of ENDF in the back. Rearing his grotesque face out from the fire ‘bravo!’ says Judah the culprit. A devil pushes his head back into the fire)

Averse to
“Love your friend
Like yourself ”
We ambushed
Fellow soldiers
Off their guard
Though our action
To the sane
Is hard to understand.

Looting heavy arms
Heavy damage
We were to score
No doubt
Had it been successful
Which sadists and Lucifer
Would adore.

(A Satan at the back stands up to accord him a high five)

Stabbing in the back
Fellow soldiers
In the military ditch
Is something
Not heard to date
That is animosity
We compliment,
As it is top
Among sins
God said
“Felony I hate.”

(A veteran TPLF official on top of his voice says)

Unless ethnic groups
Get at loggerheads
We didn’t feel comfort
Because we are heinous,
Who understand
“Cut your cloth
According to your coat!”

We adored
“Divide and rule”
to exercise,
Cognizant to outsmart devil
That is an approach wise.

In a two-year-and-half time,
One crime after a crime,
We had committed messes
To 113 which add up
In the nation’s
Massacres map.
As a result
Reigned supreme turmoil
On Ethiopia’s soil.

We didn’t want
The prime minister
Ethiopia, tranquil,
To administer.

Without us,
The diabolic,
In the top brass
Also trampling on
The broad mass
Allows we not
Ethiopia to continue
Reformed or anew.

Fabricating lies
Was our characteristic feature
As we got it by nurture
And practice it as if
It was our nature.


(At last when a pin drop silence falls Satnael got up and said)

Outsmarted by TPLF junta
For three decades
That lavished
The flow of blood
Like a flood
And which milked
The destitute
But pious Ethiopians
Till they cry
Until their woes
Reached the sky
“God punish us
With TPLF Junta why?
Alive must we die?
For what evil
Are we being punished
By those
Ever who outperform
The devil?”

Today
I have to reward you
My way
“I will throw you
In to a more
Smoldering fire—
Inferno—
As atavism
Is your desire!”

A lacerating fire
Devoid of light
Will be
Your plight.

Devils are seen outrunning each other to drag the atavists into the inferno.////

ah... ha ha... **** never gets old...
i'll admit...
       liberal comedians
will forever outperform the libertarian
leaning right-wing commentators...
why?
  they have some nuanced knowledge
of boundaries...
fair enough... when the libertarian
commentators do their
   SJW accents...
    with pink-but-not-punk hairdos...
it's self-evident comedy...
it's not the sort of comedy
that involves thinking:
   well... that's reasonable,
if the highest form of reasonableness
is to enshrine free speech...
  sorry... that's just lazy...
if i'm going to make a **** joke,
i won't be making a joke,
but rather reciting, verbatim,
my grandfather's memory,
about the two SS-men dressed in black
manning an anti-aircraft outpost
in my home town...
   asking them...
  herr-bitte-bonbon!
the funny part is in the punctuation...
her never says it with a comma...
i.e. herr, bitte bonbon...
he still got the sweets...
         he added...
i ran back home, and put my glued
together hands under the tap...
yeah... all Nazis were inhuman zombies...
some gave sweets
to the children of the people
they were occupying...
but all bad, nonetheless...
still... i get edgy humor,
but sometimes it's just: enforced humor...
libertarian humor is sometimes
akin to canned laughter...
you're not supposed to laugh:
you're expected to laugh...
that's why liberal comedy is better,
in that it acknowledges
the constraints of comedy...
            it's authoritative humor...
and comedy needs as many
metaphorical comparisons
to psychological archetypes,
   as is required to dissect the constrained
number of ****** expressions...
i give the benefit of the doubt...
sure... sure thing...
say all the jokes you want...
but i sometimes abhor
the complexity of a Monty Python
and succumb to the simplistic genius
of Fawlty Towers...
    when i laugh:
i want an uncontrolled reaction...
giggles...
till the stomach aches...
   thinking about what i'm laughing
about, with an explanation to boot...
that's just bad...
      punchlines bad...
    i'm already more curious about
the madman who's, "apparently"
laughing at nothing in particular...
there's that...
        and there is the liberal humor...
with its constraints...
the orthodoxy of humor...
the orthodoxy of humor with its
canon of hubris...
  the proud look of: i know this is funny...
rather than this libertarian...
****, what's going look
of bewilderment...
          were we supposed to play
tennis with a squash ball,
and hit the squash ball with
a lacrosse stick?!
   and hit it so that it falls through
a basketball hoop?!
bill maher...
who the hell cares if he "thinks
he's smart... he's also *doubting that
he is, in the classical Cartesian sense...
sometimes... i just find...
that i find it hard to compensate
the intelligence involvement
    in producing a joke...
                i like constraints,
archetypal comic constraints...
          not everything is funny... oddly enough...
and enforcing omnipresent laughter
is worse than canned laughter.

They have tried to turn the language of your body
into ***** words, calling
your strength, grace of motion–
your poetry,
“Black Magic”.
But, Dark Art is that whitewashing illusion.
Misdirection.
Magic
is whatever color you see when you look in the mirror.
So, they slip their mirrors into your pockets,
commandeer the covers of magazines,
and big screens.
They costume in your clothing, your words, your art and artifact.
Keep you chasing shadows and slurs.
I want to say to you,
you need no one’s permission
to shatter glass,
take up space,
to outperform the top-hatted man blowing smoke from his stage.
Tell him to
Move. Over.
Unmask his ball-gowned, silent accomplices.
If publicness is not being shared,
it is being stolen.
Carry on.
Perform your magic in every spotlight.
I will stand aside,
and shout down your imposters.

i have no idea why i won't touch the stuff...
what stuff?
i just can't read English philosophers...
i can't read them...
              they're too... iffy for me...
too much Peter Pan...
                  i know that's a bad analogy,
but they're just so, ****, practical,
                  it makes other thinkers look
like... Dumbo...
                great in the abstract,
but when applied? total crap.

                        i have to continue my muse
of how, poetry is the equivalent of
journalism of the mythological test of time,
and how journalism killed off history,
all are historiological  attempts of confining
space, to the mortality unit of time
expressed, encouraged, consumed...

psst... the English say they are
natural poets... but given their scientific
advancements... they hate verbiage...
or at least, the verbose expression...
basically language outside the confines
of a strait-jacket...

history has a place, and a time,
it's far from the space-time continuum...
yes... a place, and a time...
  it's far from the space-time continuum...

would a slice of lime work
better with a bourbon Blackbeard
or a whiskey Blackbeard?

    David Bowie still lives...
ok ok... rebel rebel...
but replicas' album tubeway army?
with the song down in the park?
what's all this talk of
   eugene roddenberry
and robert heinlein?

    i was always more of a fan of
philip k. ****'s stuff..
gary newman made a replica of
the do androids dream of electric
sheep... that 80s aura of:
curiosity...

i really can't read English philosophers...
i tried to read the Leviathan
by Hobbes...
            i tried... i failed miserably...
this persistent susceptibility of
a quasi-state of arrogance...
liberal democracy this,
liberal democracy that...
    like... antiques being sold in
an Ikea warehouse...

totally pointless...
              or more to the point:
underscored in value...

                i've come across great
English poets... but in terms of thought?
these ******* were already more concerned
with mob gains of talking
than thinking...

           the English fake thinking,
as they out-perform other nations in acting...
in the East the English are known as:
the dwu-twarz: two-faced...

             oh hell... they can sing too...
after all, every nation has its genius
that outperforms over nations...
the Polacks are great at volleyball...
but that doesn't make them
great thinkers...

          Hobbes evidently is supposed
to outperform Marx in the Utopia game...
i like neither...
and i'll read neither...
well... i tried reading the former...

i just see the English language as
an intricate patchwork,
crossword puzzle of what was
formerly Germanic in spirit and
endeavor...
                 nothing more...
little Herman the 5th Pumpernickel
Earl of Shropshire...
              
  i can't read into the English thought
by their historical elites...
i find myself akin to Handel...
i'm here... i'll do this...
but the locals don't come near me...
i can't be English...
at least i will not fake that
fact, and subvert the culture
as a Pakistani up north
within the confines of a grooming gang...

as uncomfortable as that might sound...
here's a coin flip...
hands on tails... well... waggling...
hands on heads... nodding...
win win scenario...

       English thought is ugly...
perhaps appealing in the field of
biology: Darwin,
physics: Newton,
chemistry: Faraday

        but in terms of abstractions?
a bunch of Dorian Grays
who ****** Joseph Merrick...
no... not pretty...
the English are the ugliest variant
of a people exercising the right to
think in abstract parameters...

look... they decided on this long
ago... they are the ones who
chose to talk freely,
they championed the freedom
of speech...
i'm pretty sure they weren't the ones
who chose to think (freely)...
the didn't champion the freedom
of thought...

so... why would i find their
philosophy appealing?!
  i managed quiet fine with their
proof of solipsism...
**** on a crowded tube...
and expect to find someone
who finds the odor appealing...
not going to happen...

i can't stomach an English
"philosophy": because it's always too
practical, too ergonomic...
sure... give an Englishman
something physically mandible,
Darwin in the realm of biology,
Newton in the realm of of physics,
or Faraday in the realm of chemistry...
fine...

   but to ask an Englishman to
champion the humanism of science
in the realm of philosophy?
no... please... don't bother...
leave the merry ol' *******
to write you a sonnet,
or sing you a new year's
hymn akin to auld lang syne...
believe... it'll work out best
for all of us.

id est contra sic (502 bad gateway bypass)

dare to write something
beautiful only once...
the rest of the time you can
spend it (i.e. time)
finding the world rather
ugly...

            (caught you mother-******!,
no i can publish my original intent!)

i sit on the windowsill come the night and look out
at the clouds and the moon and everything else
the night might allow me to see,
but at the same time i'm tricking my cat into
"thinking" that i'm sitting on a windowsill drinking
and looking at "something"
for him to subsequently imitate me when
i'm not on the windowsill to do the same...
he decided it was worthwhile to imitate me...
sometimes he sits on my usual spot
(although not perched like a crow,
sitting on a folded leg, crunching the bones
where my leg ends and my foot begins)
or he sits parallel to me on the windowsill
in the bathroom...
i look out, he looks out...
what he doesn't know is that when i'm looking
at the horizon and the moon and trying
to conjure faces from the clouds i'm actually looking
in... these external objects just aid me in introspection,
i have this cauldron of memories stashed in me
that i bring to the fore in a labyrinth of
thought...
it helps to elevate and bring together
a mixture of thought-memory... i can't escape thinking
without memory: it has been drilled into me from
an early age, mind you: everyone has been drilled
this complex: thought-memory within the confines
of pedagogy... very quickly we are told that
thought-memory is prime while thought-imagination
ought to be extinguished...
i.e. you should really imagine a circle if you've already
seen a circle, but you should remember
that... A = πr²...
                                no? within the confines of modern
pedagogy we are absolved of any imagination:
we apparently have none, no imagination to put up
with a mundane job by imagination little critters of
escapism on our own behalf within ourselves...
and memory? well... personal memories can sort
of "**** themselves" when it comes to memorising
rubrics of arithmetic and spelling...
or the ingestion of historical facts that: when coupled
with the ongoing onslaught of journalistic overload
mean very little... in a time of libido and historical
insomnias...
well i do know how to escape from something
mundane presented before me...
i remember better times,
memory is a fickle creature: it takes time to control
it in order to select the most pleasurable memories:
and even then, it doesn't ****** work:
pedagogy did that: we had to remember things we
would rather wish to forget because they have
to relevance in our life, or how we apply our skills
or non-skills... but of the personal memories we
gather: they are automatically filtered by memory-itself,
a "cognitive selection" takes places:
who says it's either natural or unnatural,
is must be both... then again: you can't remember everything,
but i prefer the cinema of memory mingling
with thought (or its narrative aspect absent
of the ******) than if i were lost in imago-cogito...
the imagining-thinking...
my cat "thinks" i'm looking at something interesting...
i'm not... then again i am: i'm looking backwards:
i'm reflection on, for example, today...
Poet of the Coliseum... supervising blah blah...
what crept up today was what has crept up
at the London Stadium for the past several shifts...
the Jeffrey Dahmer (ugh... a surd of H)
show... i swear to god i'm sensing that i'm giving off
vibes of a serial killer to certain people...
in the work environment people try to cue
some personality, some personal references to fellow
coworkers... me? i'm trying to push back with as much
ahem... "professionalism" as possible...
i'm here, i work, i'm done, i'm out...
i drink alone, i don't drink to talk i drink to write...
but over several shifts this topic was raised and i'm like...
can't we talk about Ed Gein?
he was a much bigger cultural influence on America than
the whole lot of them put together...
all the serial killers were white... huh?!
what about that black guy... why isn't Samuel Little
famous, based on the body count?
we talked about America... racism blah blah... south...
i said i didn't have a thirst for seeing America...
Kamchatka, the peninsula? oh yeah... America?
no really... it's a land of the celebration of Cain...
clearly... elsewhere serial killers would be taken into
a prison cell and get shot in the back of the head
and as the urban myth goes... they wouldn't die
immediately... sure... the brain would be ******...
but the heart would still be ticking tick-tock...
a bullet in the head is not some magical immediacy of death...
ask Christine Chubbuck... she was on life support
machines in limbo because she only not only
missed her brain but merely damaged it...
like that urban myth aligned to:
a cockroach loses its head... what does the cockroach
die of? starvation...
Franz Kafka was right (stab the heart)
Kurt Cobain was wrong (shotgun to the head)...
am i seriously giving off vibes of a serial killer or something?!
well... finally! i found one Subway outlet that
accepted discount vouchers...
ate nothing beside a slice of pizza i made the day earlier
when i woke up... i was getting dizzy from low sugar...
i ordered a foot-long chicken something or other...
and a drink... £5.50... decent...
i love Subway... why? the bread is prepped,
the meat... then you get to the salad section and the girl
asks you... what would you like, onions? sweetcorn,
salad, black olives... etc.
     it gets them all the time when you reply: all of it...
i ******* hate fussy eaters... if there's one "class" of
people i hate more than vegans it's: fussy eaters...
i hate fussy eaters...
i'll eat dried fish and drink beer with Russians talking
about fussy eaters and how: no...
peanuts are not the perfect compliment to beer...
Russians gulp down dried fish while drinking beer
like the Thai add dried shrimps to their curry sauces...
idle me... i do believe animals have souls...
i just don't think they think...
how can a dog think when all he can is utter
a bark or a cat think if he can only utter a meow?
what "thinking" is there bound to man's
"deciphering" of the sound the cat utters
with the letters M-E-O-W... blind men see more
with their agility to think than cat's with their
utterance of a meow...
i know: an onomatopoeia...
                              but i guess that also conjures
up a correspondence to character...
petted animals build a character off of the person
petting them... herded animal, farmed animals
are different: if there's a "problem" of numbers
then i assure myself: cows have no personality,
they're no petted beasts... ergo?
they return to the godhead of cows...
and i close the lid and never ask Pandora for her
knitting skills... to unravel my closed box
per se explanation... as happened with Beelzebub
and Hey-Zeus of Golgotha becoming the
Lord of Mosquitos... everything ******* vampire-esque
stems from that "metaphor" of this wine is
blood and this water is also wine...
i do know how he managed to get those people
drunk on water...
he wasn't alone in the desert for those 40 days and
40 nights...
nope... if he managed to get people "drunk" on water...
he must have taken them into the desert with him...
imagine not drinking water or eating for a month...
what would happen after those 40 days and nights?
you'd drink a glass of water
and become revived: "resurrected"!
you'd be glad and happy and seemingly drunk...
why? you haven't been drinking water for 40 days!
the moment you drank a little you'd be *******
seemingly drunk! it's the ascetic veil!
everyone should know what it is!

look at me... talking curtains and veils and mirrors...
but it is what it is!
i would be drunk from drinking water
after spending 40 days in the desert without a drip drip
droplet's worth of ease...
******* "mysteries" my ***... i must have been there...
in my sleep... so much so that now that i have a body
and a capacity to dream: i don't dream...
i must have seen what truly happened:
i bypassed the Byzantine grandeur of the choir singing
and said: when a Byzantine forgets that he
was a Greek primo, is the day that...
well... it's a day like any other...

i really don't know what "they" are trying...
even with all their ******* wigs i will not find black
women attractive... all the white girls can have
all the black boys: i too find something attractive about them,
but i can't compensate with the reverse...
i'll settle for... Gypsy... Romanian... Indian...
the odd black girl might spice my thinking up
once in a while... but that's like finding an emerald
in a heap of sand...

hmm! ha ha! me living in Africa... i was actually
thinking about ******* off to Kenya to try
and become a model for an advert... advertising soap...
or custard... since Western Europe is collapsing
like a gecko pretending to me a sloth...
but fair enough, circa London: the whole world is here...
as long as i can keep the mystique of people
thinking i'm this evil person, i'm all for it...
i like the idea of being thought as evil:
thinking you're evil: when you're not...
makes life so much more easier...
you don't have to worry about moral grand-standing!
you have no superiority "complex" over anyone...
you just "nod"... yes, yes yes...
i'm evil... well... better a presupposition of evil
(however much deluded)
than a supposition of good (however much well-intended)...

but in the workplace, mein gott... these horror stories...
these women...
i don't know how they managed it...
she makes her 3rd mistake with this guy:
who doesn't pay her child support...
3 kids, works 6 days a week as a nurse in
a hospital... blah blah...
how many mistakes do you have to make
before you start learning?
Pontius Pilate made it spot on:
a sport of washing your hands clean from:
no... not from being responsible for the self...
rather: meditating on not being responsible for others...
for others' mistakes you would otherwise
not make: i can understand being responsible
being responsible for others who would otherwise
make you responsible...
but not... not when the responsibility is aligned
to: people owning up to their mistakes
you would otherwise could not have made...

Christianity: the bogus focus on attempts of
ownership... own up?! no, oh no no...
so don't own up?! oh no, no no...
what then?!

              Christianity is rife in Africa...
well... a slave religion is befitting to supposed former
slaves... i need to elevate myself beyond this grip
of the emblem of suffering in the form of the crucifix...
let Hebrew be Hebrew and continually overstate
his conundrum with divine intervention
via: it wasn't enough! you didn't give us superpowers!

well... we do have c.c.t.v. in place, not enough?!
**** it... if that's not enough...
no wonder the mass sacrifice...
the breathing of ash into the air...
how much of a divine involvement do you actually
require before you decide to take life
into your own hands?!
how many hands do you have, before you realise
it requires at most, two?!

of course i'm *******!
i'm giggly-*******!
i see specimens weaker than me and i tend to them...
and they like me for that...
a ******* starts snuggling up to me
giving me a hand-job before i realise she was
a shallow **** and i can't get a plum "tattoo" on my pelvic
region from ******* her
and her face contorts in a semi-expression of pain....

but these women with obligations:
i was telling my fellow-co-workers,
before feminism... as my grandfather used to say:
there was something known as
the "bachelors' tax"... they were absolutely
dumb-founded... culturally-appropriate that,
*******...
yeah, single men had to pay extra taxes for
being single!

now?
i have as much "Darwinism" up my *** as i have
in my gob and as much as is allowed in head...
which is as much as my quasi-homosexuality
is ever to be nails harassed with acrylics...

perhaps women outperform the men in...
a load of bolloks...
but at the same time...
sparrow... sparrow: the call for freedom....
i am freed from the expected sanitising obligations
orientating men....

to be men...
                thank you, i most grand thank you...
thank you, thank you, thank you!
you don't even fathom how long
i've been waiting for an age of "irresponsibility"!
thank you!

i listen to these women,
i listen good, and proper...
if i were to pass on this agony...
i'd ask for the girl i was with
to be an iron maiden instrument of torture
before she could attain her status-hood
of being some... ******-Jezebel
of however capsized:
this ship is not going to sink!

                           and all the luck bound
to a barrel that's not floating on the whims
of the sea!

Take a deep breath as you walk through the doors,
It’s the morning of your very first day as you enter your second innings.
We are lost in reminiscences of those days filled with adventures in the moors,
Memories bring back more memories as we now cherish all your winnings.

8+ years old you were when to Sanawar’ you went away,
The place gave you memories that you can narrate all day.
It’s time for you to rest your mind and brush the cobwebs away,
As I take you back in time which may now seem like eons away.

At 17+ you went rolling into NDA,
For you knew it was here that your passion lay.
Friends for life you made who would change your life thereon,
Your animated stories and anecdotes were those to which people were drawn.

An epitome of serenity, whose legacy will live on,
Pleasant, calm, patient and loving all the qualities that you adorn.
We are lucky to have your blood run in our veins,
For it gives us the strength to climb life’s rocky terrains.

You are the Phantom in the good and bad times,
You gave us everything and taught us to control life’s reins.
You believed in all three of us and encouraged us to fly,
You make me want to be better and encourage me to try

You were the shield that kept all storms at bay,
Fights that ensued among the female trio.
You resolved them better than Sherlock and Poirot,
You make us come together every single day.

You wear your scars with pride and courage,
And give us a place to let out our secrets and umbrage.
I’ll always be proud of having you as my father,
For there is no one else as brave, giving and stronger.

You are the bravest man I know,
You’ve overcome hurdles all of which have made you grow.
You are my father I can proudly say,
To anyone and everyone all day.

You were the ray of light during our darkest times,
You taught us to overcome hurdles and face life’s climbs.

I met you many years ago,
You held my hand and helped me stay afloat.
All the trials and tribulations that would throw,
You encouraged me to Never Give In and face them, for they'd help me grow.

You make my life beautiful and purposeful,
You encouraged me to dream once again.
You taught me right from wrong,
And struck the chords to tune my life like the right song.

Forever may not last in a pragmatic sense,
But it’ll last for my love which is so very dense.
I’m glad you are mine to be called,
For this bond shall never be broken or overhauled.

You are our midnight sun,
And you always encouraged me to be someone.
Our father is a hero and who wears a uniform,
He with his medallion is someone you cannot outperform.

The best thoughts I had were the ones in my own
darkness, where I could explore the depths of my
mind and contemplate life's mysteries.

It was in those moments of solitude that my innermost
creativity came to life, birthing new ideas and perspectives.
I felt an unparalleled sense of clarity as the darkness
enveloped me, allowing me to see my thoughts
with unparalleled clarity.

But beyond this introspective cocoon,
there was another desire that flickered within me.
I yearned to weave a tapestry of envy in the eyes of
those who dared to compare themselves to me,
especially when it came to you.

Your presence ignited a fire within me,
an unquenchable ambition to outshine and
outperform anyone who tried to stand alongside us.