im going into overdraft
i dont care anymore
i hate being safe
i just want to get **** done
and over with
im so sick of following the rules
and listening to your lectures
i know
i know
i know
i just dont care
dont you get it
im losing myself
a lecture wont save me
but listening might
but you never listen
which is why i lost all faith
im going to do what i want now
because im so sick of trying to please you
you can never be pleased
i can never make you proud
you never wanted me anyways
im just gum on your shoe
and youre just everything to me
so im going into overdraft
because im sick of trying
nothing ever works out anyways
and i know i wont be here for much longer anyways
so **** it
im done
im doing what i want
and thats final

The radio alarm is a bit too strong
for his afternoon hangover taste.
He goes downstairs, sets the coffee to brewing,
rubs his hands through the hair on his face.
As he sits and he smokes, he can't quite think of the joke
she once told him about wooden eyes.

The coffee is ready, his hands are unsteady
as he pours his first cup of cure.
He tries to be happy he woke up today,
but whether being awake's good, he's not sure.
Outside it's raining, but he's gallantly straining
to keep his head and his spirits held high.

As soft as the flower bending out in its shower,
fiercer than hornets defending their hives,
the memories of sharing her secrets and sheets
run him through like sharp rusty knives.
He decides that his cup isn't quite strong enough,
takes the ***** from the shelf, gives a sigh.

He goes to the porch to put words to the torch
he still carries and knows whiskey just fuels.
Thunder puts a voice to his hammering heart.
Through ink, his knotted mind unspools,
writing of butterflies and of how his love lies
cocooned under unreachable skies.

From teardrops to streams to winter moonbeams
to a peach, firm and sweet, in the spring,
he writes of pilgrims and language and soft dew-damp grass
and how he sees her in everything.
He rambles and grieves, and he just can't believe
how much he has bottled inside.

He writes how the leaves, when they whisper in the breeze,
bring to mind her warm breath in his mouth,
how when walking through woods he loves the birdsong
when they fly back in the summer from the south
because she would sing too and he always knew
he wanted that sound in his ears when he died.

He writes even the streetlights, fluorescent and bright,
make him miss the diamond chips in her eyes,
how the fountain in the park plays watersongs in the dark
when he goes to make wishes on pennies
and while he's there he gets hoping
there will be some spare wishes
but so far there haven't been any.

He writes that the cold makes him think of the old
hotel where they spent most of a week,
lazing and gazing quite lovingly,
and how he brushed an eyelash off her cheek.
The crickets and frogs and all of the dogs
sound as mournful as he feels each night.

He writes about chocolate and fun in arcades,
he writes about stairwells and butchers' blades,
and closed-casket funerals, and Christmas parades,
then sad flightless birds and tiny brigades
of ants taking crumbs from the toast he had made,
and political goons with their soulless tirades,
old-timey duels and terrible grades,
strangers on  buses, harp music, maids,
the weird afterimages when all the light fades,
the pleasure of dinnertime serenades,
sidewalk chalk, wine, and hand grenades.

He writes of how much fun it would be to fly,
and saltwater taffy and ferryboat rides,

sitting on couches, scratched CD's,
pets gone too soon and overdraft fees,

the beach, the lake, the mountains, the fog,
David Bowie's funny, ill-smelling bog,

jewelry, perfume, sushi, and swans,
the smell of the pavement when the rain's come and gone,

and shots and opera, and Oprah and ***,
and tiny bikinis with yellow dots,

stained glass lamps, and gum and stamps,
her dancing shoes on wheelchair ramps,
that overstrange feeling of déjà vu,
filet mignon and cordon bleu,

bad haircuts at county fairs,
honey and clover, stockmarket shares,
the comfort of nestling in overstuffed chairs,
and her poking fun at the clothes that he wears,
and giraffes and hippos and polar bears,
cumbersome car consoles, monsters' lairs,
singing in public and ignoring the stares,
botching it badly while making éclairs,
misspelled tattoos, socks not in pairs,
people who take something that isn't theirs,
the future of man, and man's future cares,

why people so frequently lie
and bury themselves so deep in the mire
of monetary profits when money won't buy
a single next second because time's not for hire,
and that he sees her in everything.

Then unexpectedly, unbidden from where it was hidden
comes the punchline to the joke she had told him.
He laughs -- it's too much and his heart finally tears
as a blackness rolls in to enfold him.
The last thing he hears is birdsong in his ears --
the sound brings hope and is sweet as he dies.

A look at the floorboard of my car
Gives a glimpse into my life
All the trash that's scattered about
Necessities to survive?

An old McDonald's bag spilling it's contents
I wonder if those fries are still any good
With nary a doubt I pop them into my mouth
Hey...don't judge me, you know some of you would

There's candy, bubblegum, fortune cookie wrappers
It's all a pretty even mix
What's this? Half a granola bar?
That day I must have been on a health kick

A fist full of bank statements...withdraw, withdraw, withdraw
Without a single deposit...what am I daft?!
Oh wait a minute, here we go
Overdraft, overdraft, overdraft

I swear I hear something moving
From underneath the passenger seat
Maybe tonight I'll leave the door open
Hoping against hope it'll set itself free

The floorboard  of a car speaks much of a man
And this man is pretty much a slob
Guess you could say it's a part of my life
And you ladies know that me being a man...it's also part of my job

i don't why some English people have
this... "nuanced" practice -
of printing out a mini-statement from
their bank account,
   look at it, and then drop it on
the floor beside the bank withdraw point...
just lying about,
   like some tabloid newspaper:
i mean - anyone could pick it up and lure
himself into financial voyeurism...
as i do... and did...
            my god! and i thought i was bad
with money -
   how i managed to get out of
    -2000 sterling at one point -
i will never know -
       sober October? November?
and December or something akin?
     with my income i'm surprised that
i managed to charm the phone center
operative (a woman):
  to gradually decrease my overdraft
limit...
   student overdraft limit...
   which i had for to long to begin with...
once i walked into the bank,
asked to speak to the manager,
asked him to increase my then,
overdraft limit of -£1500 (no interest,
mind you) - giving the excuse of
some aunt that didn't exist funeral...
took out around £300 quid...
   if not more...
   and pretended to be ready to commit
suicide...
  by ******* for 3 hours with three
different prostitutes in a brothel...
       fun night...
               like that night i was so depressed
over a tube announcement that
i "somehow" missed Handel's Messiah opera
at the Royal Albert Hall...
so? i guess sometimes *******
imaging the said music in the back of
my mind saves a man from going completely
sulk poker...
       but i managed to pay it off...
and now, reigning above 700 quid:
i checked...
         seems i'm that i'm, actually not that bad
with money...
            but with that call center flirting,
it wasn't exactly flirting...
   more like:
do you own a mobile phone? no.
do you own a car? no.
   etc. etc.,
      all true...
             as they say:
  all it takes is 30 minutes of brisk walking
for the ol' ticker...
  and i can do roughly a mile and back
in half an hour...
   plus the night air is always refreshing:
esp. in September, in England...
                but what i picked up today?
poor soul...
it really reads like the saddest poem about
love lost or not experienced:

24 Sep      ATM                  £40.00-
25 Sep      BAC                   £20.00+
25 Sep      POS                   £2.83-
25 Sep      POS                   £9.05-
25 Sep      D/D                   £12.49-
26 Sep      BAC                   £40.00+

Account         Balance       You Can Withdraw
8XX8              £58.13           £10

26/09/2018         19:13:35

that's a sad poem...
     and that's not the first or the last
i've come across,
most people in England do this,
order a mini-statement
and then drop it at the ATM -
it's as if, they can't believe their eyes
with what's shown on the ATM screen...

sure, perhaps they have, yeah "have"
a savings account,
  but a current account,
that only has, just over £50?
   that's a really depressing sight to behold...

and to be honest:
among the majority of English people...
that's the norm...
    if you're looking at someone with
over 500 quid in their current account?
  wow...
   i mean: that's like watching
a falling star or something equivalent...

the ******* the phone?
the one who i asked to decrease my overdraft
limit slowly, by £250 a month or
whatever the hell it was,
so i could get out of a -2000 quid
temporary debt of an overdraft?
**** me... she actually complimented
me on my money savvy-
  (can't spell the adjective) -
            which was a surprise of sorts,
like finding licorice hidden in
a desert...

             but this poor soul...
   what can you do:
   if you think you can spend more than
what you receive -
and never, for once:
  hold back, suffer,
      have one of those cold turkey
nights, riddled in bed, insomniac,
riddled by hot and cold sweats -
because Jackie Boy wasn't down the throat
of one his no. 1 fans...
  
or you go cold turkey for a week
without smoking...
trying to think of nothing but carrots,
or occupying yourself by eating
nuts...

   happens...
    **** me... 56 quid as a bank account
balance...
                guess no one is saving for
anything these days...
    why save... when you can fall into
debt, and be assured the security of debt
with the minimal, incremental
security repayment of the debt -
   no lending agency will bother you:
if you pay a regular minimum back;

an idea of sorts.

I cancelled my bank overdraft
Cut my cards up in a small pile
Actually, it was quite large you know
And this act made me smile

Just deal with cash from here on out
Never buy more than I need
It released a weight off of my shoulders
And deep down I felt freed

fiscally conservative
financially responsible
My nation cannot do it
Without me as an example
No more fees for paying late
If I need it I pay cash
Budgets I will follow
And spending...that I'll slash

Can you imagine if a nation
Took this simple thought to mind
Just pay with what we make from tax
And leave what we can't afford behind

No missiles, and no foreign debt
We're just beholding to ourselves
It's politically reprehensible
But, we owe it to ourselves

fiscally conservative
financially responsible
My nation cannot do it
Without me as an example
No more fees for paying late
If I need it I pay cash
Budgets I will follow
And spending...that I'll slash

No government agendas
To trade for that we can't afford
It would ***** the nations bankers
And make the economists quite bored

To be responsible for our actions
We are taught right from the start
don't spend the money you don't have
Well, to me...that's really smart

fiscally conservative
financially responsible
My nation cannot do it
Without me as an example
No more fees for paying late
Spending I will slash
My budget I will follow
And from now on pay just cash

i guess we get it from the hebrews,
as the stereotype goes -

i don't know how it happened -
i had a student bank account,
long after i graduated -
what is a student bank account?

2000 quid over-draft limit: interest free!
funny, isn't it?
i had that way past the expiry date,
i'd say way over fives years...

and i was titilating the -2000 quid
over a few months...
evidently some genius at the bank
noticed this, and said:
no no, you've have your little
student honemoon, time's up!

so i gets me a letter and says they'll
be reducing my expiry date to
500 quid below par -

    at nearly -2000 quid in my account,
what? what else?! panic...
so i calls them up and say:
look... i can get on the + scale,
i just need more time,
     i can't do it within your stated
authority...
nice lady, great conversation,
so she goes through the routine
questions...
   mobile phone? no.
  car? no.
    mortgage? no.
   how much do you spend on
luxury goods?
     em... i have all the "luxury" goods
i might ever need,
  take a philosophy book...
sometimes you find one that can last
you 2 ****** years to digest...

that's like picking pennies off
the pavement...

and, luckily, she said:
we'll reduce the overdraft limit by
200 pounds per month...
    last time i remember i hovered
above 800+ quid in my bank account...

obviously i have *******-of-a-drinking
habbit...
       but like now...
   i'm drinking, and tomorrow?
  i'll be drinking...
      and only in western europe is this
stigma of living with your parents...
look... mate... come here:
    jean-paul sartre (the nobel living
author for the novel nausea)?
he lived with his mother,
   had a ****-of-a-girlfriend and ******
university students...
plus he was cross-eyed...
    to ever think that i.v.f. and test-tube
babies pander this "non-existent"
disciplinary commune of "dear brothers
& sisters"....
   the current pupeteer in poland,
this pan kaczka? lives with his mummy...
he's not the president, he's not
the prime-minister... but he's playing
the one joker card in politics:
  he's probably 2 inches shorter than napoleon,
ugly as a ******* touristee mug
with the houses of parliament on it,
or a i (heart) london... whatever...
point being: he's playing the last remaming
card, it's not a joker card...
   it's the entry point of the last remaining
card: the schadenfreude card...
sorry... but this card does come into play
after certain limits are breached,
               but that's hopw ontology works.

i still remember that joke told by my glaswegian
english teacher (imagine
learning english from a pict) -
how was copper-wire invented?
               two scots arguing over a penny.

still... how i managed to get from a -2000 quid
dept and into the +, how did i manage
to ease the blow by allowing a gradual deflation
of the overdraft limit by charming
the bank lady...
      i do have to admit, one little
noughty secret... i found myself wake-akin
*****, i walked into my bank and talked
to the manager: i need you to increase my
overdraft limit, my great-grandmother has died
and i need enough money for travel expenses...

what really happened?
         oh... you know... 3 hours in a brothel...
10 quid entry, one-hundred-and-ten quid an hour...
and the perfume of bourbon everywhere...
   what?! sometimes a man has to do something
about his libido trapped in a strait-jacket...
girls don't mind...
                   i just kept minding that they
were bulgarian, and lied about being romanian
as if to imply that romanian girls
better outsource bulgarian girls in the trade...

      so this is me thinking:
you really want to argue "feminism"?
                go to a *******, see what she thinks,
namely? feminists abhor her trade,
they want to liberate them!
        the girls? far **** away from being liberated...
thrill ***... i heard one story of a friend
of her's being killed by a pundit...
      russian roulette they call it, i guess...
then this other ******* telling me:
oh, personally? i think that every woman should
try prostitution for a while...
   what's that beautician's word? poly...
                               poly-amorous?
oh hell... looks pretty...
                         does it feel "pretty" in practice?
not really...
                      there are really two
great dissatisfactions in the realm of prostitution:
1. not giving a man an ****** after
   one 1 of working the piston (sorry,
imagery and *** are always crass and laughable)
and (this will shock you)
2. actually receiving an ****** on the job...
oh boy, no. 2 is horrifying to them....
   it's not the job that debases the *******:
   it's an ****** with a pundit!
an ****** with client is probably as bad
as being ****** with an egg-beater,
          or an elephants trunk, or a horn of a rhino...
sorry... but that's how it's written...

+ lucky me, she just sighed an "ouch" -
   and said: you're only the second -
          and so out went my ***** envy:
    anyway, i was always more envious of beards;
taking notes in a sikh temple.

yeah... -2000 under par, and still i managed
to wriggle out...
      i swear one of my ancestors was
either jewish or scottish...
      smooches for that lady in the bank
that allowed me a gradual decrease in my
interest free overdraft limit.

What a shame
When someone loses fame
For doing nothing
Because of a shortcoming

For days, he was liked
Taken care of and prized
But once he had to be away
Got forgotten and castaway

He was called a liar
To be put on fire
He was blamed
Accused and defamed

For, frankly speaking, no reason
Yet he was charged with treason
Days ago was a family member
Now he's put at stake of timber

Indeed, very odd is man
When he is subject to ban
When jealousy driven
And heart-striken

Lucky is a freeman
Who refuses to live in a can
Lucky is the man
Who is not fried on a pan.

Sam Burton(C)







Today is Friday, Oct. 11, the 284 day of 2014 with 81 to follow.

The moon is waning. Morning stars are Jupiter and Venus. Evening stars are Mars, Mercury, Neptune, Uranus and Saturn.
In 1845, the U.S. Naval Academy was formally opened at Fort Severn, Annapolis, Md., with 50 midshipmen in the first class.

In 1886, Griswold Lorillard of Tuxedo Park, N.Y., fashioned the first tuxedo for men.

A thought for the day:

We all should rise above the clouds of ignorance, narrowness and selfishness. -- Booker T. Washington


Quotes for the day:

A good traveller is one who does not know where he is going to, and a perfect traveller does not know where he came from.

------------------------

All women's dresses are merely variations on the eternal struggle between admitted desire to dress and the unadmitted desire to undress.

Lin Yutang

"What seems to us as bitter trials are often blessings in disguise."

Oscar Wilde

"It takes but one positive thought when given a chance to survive and thrive to overpower an entire army of negative thoughts."

Robert H. Schuller

My boyfriend and I broke up. He wanted to get married and I didn't want him to.

Rita Rudner

It is only by following your deepest instinct that you can lead a rich life, and if you let your fear of consequence prevent you from following your deepest instinct, then your life will be safe, expedient and thin.

Katharine Butler Hathaway


TIVIA


What made Lucky Lindy so special?

Charles Lindbergh was not the first man to fly the Atlantic. He was the sixty-seventh. The first sixty-six made the crossing in dirigibles and twin-engine mail planes. Lindbergh was the first to make the dangerous flight alone.

Can your brain hurt?

Only figuratively -- Pain from any injury or illness is always registered by the brain. Yet, curiously, the brain tissue itself is immune to pain; it contains none of the specialized receptor cells that sense pain in other parts of the body. The pain associated with brain tumors does not arise from brain cells but from the pressure created by a growing tumor or tissues outside the brain.


Where can you see a lot of magnets?

More than 7,000 magnets are on display at the Guinness World of Records Museum and Gift Shop, located on the Las Vegas Strip. The exhibit is a portion of the more than 26,000-magnet collection of Louise J. Greenfarb, dubbed "The Magnet Lady," whose accumulation was designated by the Guinness Book of World Records as the world's "Largest Refrigerator Magnet" collection.



Poetry

Evening Star

Edgar Allan Poe

'Twas noontide of summer,
And mid-time of night;
And stars, in their orbits,
Shone pale, thro' the light
Of the brighter, cold moon,
'Mid planets her slaves,
Herself in the Heavens,
Her beam on the waves.
I gazed awhile
On her cold smile;
Too cold- too cold for me-
There pass'd, as a shroud,
A fleecy cloud,
And I turned away to thee,
Proud Evening Star,
In thy glory afar,
And dearer thy beam shall be;
For joy to my heart
Is the proud part
Thou bearest in Heaven at night,
And more I admire
Thy distant fire,
Than that colder, lowly light.


Vocabulary

Strudel

noun

: a pastry made from a thin sheet of dough rolled up with filling and baked

Example:

Strudels are usually made with high-gluten flour to increase the malleability of the dough.

"The Supremes belted out a song on the radio, their voices as smooth and flawless as the ribbon of cream Kirsten poured from the pitcher onto her father's strudel, and the whole house smelled cheerfully of pork and spiced apples, laced with a note of butter. — From Rebecca Coleman’s 2011 novel The Kingdom of Childhood



Health and Beauty Tip

Mineral Water for greasy hair

If you have oily hair, use a shampoo that contains zinc. It's okay to condition if you feel you need it -- just don't use it on your roots and scalp.


JOKES

Funny News

From the Churchdown Parish Magazine:
"Would the Congregation please note that the bowl at the back of the Church, labelled 'For The Sick,' is for monetary donations only."

-o-

From The Guardian concerning a sign seen in a Police canteen in Christchurch, New Zealand:
'Will the person who took a slice of cake from the Commissioner's Office return it immediately. It is needed as evidence in a poisoning case."

-o-

From The Times:

A young girl, who was blown out to sea on a set of inflatable teeth, was rescued by a man on an inflatable lobster. A coast-guard spokesman commented: 'This sort of thing is all too common these days.'

-o-

From The Gloucester Citizen:

A *** line caller complained to Trading Standards. After dialling an 0891 number from an advertisement entitled 'Hear Me Moan' the caller was played a tape of a woman nagging her husband for failing to do jobs around the house! . Consumer Watchdogs in Dorset refused to look into the complaint, saying, 'He got what he deserved.'

-o-

From The Barnsley Chronicle:

Police arrived quickly, to find Mr Melchett hanging by his fingertips from the back wall. He had run out of the house when the owner, Paul Finch, returned home unexpectedly, and, spotting an intruder in the garden, had visiting Mrs Finch and, hearing the front door open, had climbed out of the rear window. But the back wall was 8 feet high and Mr Melchett had been unable to get his leg over.

-o-

From The Scottish Big Issue:

In Sydney, 120 men named Henry attacked each other during a 'My Name is Henry' convention. Henry ****** of Canberra accused Henry Pap of Sydney of not being a Henry at all, but in fact an Angus. 'It was a lie', explained Mr Pap, 'I'm a Henry and always will be,' whereupon Henry Pap attacked Henry ******, whilst two other Henrys - Jones and Dyer - attempted ! to pull them apart. Several more Henrys - Smith, Calderwood an! d Andrew s - became involved and soon the entire convention descended into a giant fist fight. The brawl was eventually broken up by riot police, led by a man named Shane.

-o-

From The Daily Telegraph:

In a piece headed "Brussels Pays 200,000 Pounds to Save Prostitutes": "[T]he money will not be going directly into the prostitutes' pocket, but will be used to encourage them to lead a better life. We will be training them for new positions in hotels."

-o-

From The Derby Abbey Community News:

We apologise for the error in the last edition, in which we stated that 'Mr Fred Nicolme is a defective in the police force.' This was a typographical error. We meant of course that Mr Nicolme is a detective in the police farce.

-o-
From The Guardian:

After being charged 20 pounds for a 10 pounds overdraft, 30 year old Michael Howard of Leeds changed his name by deed poll to 'Yorkshire Bank Plc are Fascist! *s.' The Bank has now asked him to close his account, and Mr *s has asked them to repay the 69p balance by cheque, made out in his new name.

-o-

From The Manchester Evening News:

Police called to arrest a naked man on the platform at Piccadilly Station released their suspect after he produced a valid rail ticket.

-o-

An Austrian circus dwarf died recently when he bounced sideways from a trampoline and was swallowed by a hippopotamus. Seven thousand people watched as little Franz Dasch popped into the mouth of Hilda the Hippo and the animal's gag reflex forced it to swallow. The crowd applauded wildly before other circus people realized what had happened.

-o-

An elderly woman at a unit for sufferers of senile dementia passed round a box of mothballs thinking that they were mints. Eleven people were taken to hospital for treatment.

Confessional Etiquette


The new priest is nervous about hearing confessions, so he asks an older priest to sit in on his sessions. The new priest hears a couple confessions, then the old priest asks him to step out of the confessional for a few suggestions.
The old priest says, "Cross your arms over your chest and rub your chin with one hand."

The new priest tries this. The old priest suggests, "Try saying things like, 'I see,' 'yes,' 'go on,' 'I understand,' and 'how did you feel about that?'"

The new priest says those things, trying them out. The old priest says, "Now, don't you think that's a little better than saying, 'Whoa... What happened next?'"

So Funny

A guy purchased Willie Nelson's hair for $37,000. ***** removed his braids and the guy bought them for $37,000. This is the kind of decision you make after spending the day on Willie's tour bus.

David Litterman

Did you hear what happened to Willie Nelson's hair? They sold it. There was an auction this week and a pair of Willie Nelson's braids sold for $37,000. It's a good deal because each braid has a street value of $80,000.

Jimmy Kimmel

Quick Blonde Jokes

Q: Why did the blonde keep putting quarters in the soda vending machine?

A: Because she thought she was winning.

Q: Why did the blonde take 16 friends to the movies?

A: Under 17 not admitted!

Q: Why did the blonde bake a chicken for 3 and a half days?

A: It said cook it for half an hour per pound, and she weighed 125.


Have a very nice Saturday!

Tribute to stay at home moms
                  ( from a writing by melvina germain)  10/28/11

To the stay at home moms (sahm) I must say
I honor you in every way.
I made my wife stop working when she got pregnant
Forty six years ago, and real love is what my daughter got to know.

She is there every step of the way and
my heart thanks her every day.
up in the morning at the crack of dawn
To change diapers , bathe the baby, change the clothes
And with the baby is where she belongs.

She is a woman with many hats, and for her
There is no turning back.
A mother, housekeeper , cook, and wife
Accepting all these struggles and strife.
You may not hear her complain
But when things go wrong, she is the first to blame.

We all may have a lot of food on our plates
And forget  what they are going thru , but
Do you honestly think you could do her job too?
we may be the bread winners and struggle at work
But we did not have to go through the pains of giving birth.

Do any of you men think that you could hold
A child in your stomach for nine months
Of morning sickness, weird cravings, sleepless nights
And with your partner you would fight.

They could only sleep on their backs or on their sides
Would you like to give that a try?
They look at you in your sleep and thank GOD
For all that you do, but they need compensation too.
There is another hat that they may wear, when
They have to become the C.P.A. and balance
The check book so you don’t overdraft
And turn around and get on her ***.
So many hats and so little time, and when you ask
Them they say they are doing fine.

So to all the (sahm’s) out there with you this poem I share
You deserve not just a flower, a outside dinner
Or a movie, but the biggest THANK YOU
From our hearts, because in our lives
You are the greatest part.

cheap write *******:

i almost wish i was bitter - but as i'm ageing -
it's not so much bitterness - a woman in her 60s
will say about her son:
well he's sorted his life out,
he's in his early 30s, has a job,
a wife, two children...

this man... has "sorted" his "life"...
more like when darwinism meets
existentialism -
hardly a sorted life -
a sorted life by ape standards -
not keikegaard's standards: if any...

it's not about bitterness -
but i would be more inclined to say:
early 30s, wife, kids... mortgage...
the rollercoaster is just about to start...
the kids: oh sure... cute...
until they start having a mind
of their own...
and... they will betray the senile
old fool that will come,
eventually...
and off to broadmoor with 'im!
life sorted... when the children could
almost be treated as pets...
fine! fine...

it's not out of bitterness -
i'm thinking... more on the lines:
i'm getting my years tally too...
i'm getting used to my own "solipsistic" routines...
it's not out of bitterness:
it's out of having my own routines:
my own idiosyncracies -
that i will take two ciders for a walk
(perhaps a dog would be better) -
and my shadow -
and take two home and drink them
with a tease of brandy -
and want to get to that sweet k.o. point
come 12am so i can,
wake up: frisky and fresh like a sparrow
full of song come 8am...
well... that's me...

i can imagine how symbiosis happens when
you shackle up with someone
in your early 20s...
forget doing it in your 30s...
my ship / my train has sailed... a long time ago...
i still can't find anyone i could
speak to about philosophy -
and to be frank? i hope i never will -
not now - when i wanted to talk about it:
no one -
now it doesn't matter -
because i don't want to talk about it...
i might slide in a sly ref. to something -
but... the aspirations for conversation
on these matters are... i would just tell someone
to buy a self-help book and kindly *******...

if women: hit the wall...
i've reached my impasse -
i have dug the trench long enough - deep enough -
i can proudly say it's a labyrinth -
and i'm happy in my labyrinth -
it's not much: but it's not a cage -
and this is not some bitter me:
woe me - blah blah -
i have routines - i like to sit an extra 10
minutes on the toilet - becauase -
i'm automating a massage of my prostate...
apparently... bid on this poker being true:
the fear of over-doing it and...
haemorrhoids... the same fear associated with
sitting on cold stones for too long
(ref. lethal weapon II - sam and martin riggs
sitting at the beach)...

but this is not what i was intending to write...
i've been trying to cut down on watching youtube...
i figured... what i should have been doing
was watching an english soap-opera -
akin to eastenders - religiously -
instead - i would have, at least: plenty more ref.
points...
but as for jokes... i make the odd "mistake"...

it's always like watching a paul joseph watson video...
i'm not a fan but i'm a fan of entertainment -
i must have a really low i.q. because
i find lee evans to be a rare genius of comedy...
old school funny - the body can become
a language for comedy -
you really don't need to over-talk the jokes -
after a while intelligent stand-up monologues just
bore me: humor of the monolingual crowd -
anagrams and... too many ciphers -
nothing wrong with your base crude of:
a ****** expression, the body itself -
the language can take a break -
but i must be really stupid for liking...
universal comedy... for me lee evans is a universal
comedian...

but this one video is likewise...
blackpill jesus - the inequality of the dating market:
it's over for many men...

and i'm like: those pro-life arguments are
just starting to kick in...
no... seriously... those pro-life arguments are
starting to kick in: right about now...
what arguments?
sometime in the distant future
an untouchable ** will come into contact
with an untouchable XY example -
long may they prosper -

but all of this is like... watching delayed...
abortions... walking abortions -
by: when darwinism met feminism:
and the two -isms lived happily ever after...
some people... really don't want to be told
they'll be walking abortions:
well: quasi-abortions... the living-dead:
by all standards of darwinian selection -
again... not bitter... routine baron -
but not in a culture:
we could talk about stendhal -
but we won't...
we could talk about bukowski: of all people!
but we won't...
we could talk kabbalah and gnosticism
and the nag hammadi library...
but we won't...
we could talk about music!
but we won't...
first sucker through the floral gates
of the ******: **** first in... head last out...
but at lucifer dived head-first from
a star...
by comparative images:
caesars were born via the caesarean section...
the rest of us...
let's just say: there's no more ***** envy
after a human head starts to:
appear from a place it never should have...

my 20s are a fog...
i might remember 4 odd *****...
one picked up from a club who decided to
take a taxi with me towing but
forgot she was riding with me
and did her usual: jump from a moving car
and not paying the fare...
which i later paid...
cocoon *** under the bedsheets and:
coffee in the morning with three homosexuals...

that south african: again cocoon *** under
the bedsheets - second time lucky for her...
but... is it technically "****"...
when she wants to ******* but is somehow
not aroused and she hasn't spoken to
any ******* about using some cream
and you little richard in that sort of purse...
sandpaper friction?

the black girl at my birthday party...
the right sort of cocktails...
the right sort of music: cedric 'im' brooks...
and then... proper coccyx ramming
that left me with a plum hue tattoo
in the eden of my ***** the next morning...
finally! a black girl with an *** that allowed
her to ram her coccyx into me...

i'll miss some... other... details from elsewhere...

but of course that thai surprise...
picked her in the park...
random as any lottery jackpot...
beers on the bench... more beers at the house...
some jazz... cigarettes in the garden...
later ****** in the shed...
walked the thai surprise home...
why thai surprise?
i wasn't sure... sports bra -
transgender "issues" were only starting
to come to the fore... "4 out of 10"...
tom boy haircut...
until the hand reached into the underwear
and i found oyster...
but prior to: thai surprise...

those ***** were free...
the brothel ***** are more vivid and... well...
there was always some kissing involved...
for some reason i can remember kissing prostitutes
more than ******* them...
with the "free women of the west":
it's more about... the sort of *** that is comparible
to... when foxes in essex come and mate at
night... you forget whether you kissed...
but oh sure... ******* sure did...

it's not sad it's... visceral...
work with enough raw meat in the kitchen -
curing it - slicing it -
rubbing it with marinade -
after a while you're no longer objectifying
anything: you're being subjected to it...

but i do wonder with regards to:
some people would like to know they're walking
abortions - the abortions pandering to the pro-life
argument... otherwise the pro-life argument is
a bit like: shackling - a safety-net guarantee -
or whatever: because what's the argument when...
there's the coming dissonance
of pairing?

perhaps i haven't said this more often than
i should...
of the books i've read... mostly french and german
and scandinavian existentialism -
with a tease of russian...
darwinism and existentialism can't sleep together...
that's what i originally thought...
how can existentialism reconcile itself
with darwinism: when it can't...
darwinism is existentialism for women...
the quantity: not the quality argument / line of reasoning...

i can't reconcile myself with darwinism -
a weakness or just:
there's just too much borrowed from a plethora
of animals -
so many studies concerning apes
and **** similis -
and even the mantis -
but... the noble swan and the phenomenon
of the widow and the widower swan...

days when you could just listen to
bloodhound gang's hooray for ******* and...
also find falco... you almost desire
to walk away from the sandpit where
the children listen to nothing but
philip glass and penderecki and speak
in sudoku language...
otherwise there's missing the middle ground
and reaching for the ***** and *****
of punk and... the scent of burning leather
wrapped in a ****** of stiched together
foreskins...

and i can't imagine... but i can...
cutting someone's eyelids...
and watching them... endure the subsequent
insomnia while having to plunge their
head into water ever 10 minutes...
******* is no help...
ear: eh... cartilege -
but the eyelids... we could be rid of those:
couldn't we?

because i know the potential sleeping in me...
i decided to arrive face first and meet "him"...
just so i don't miss the jinx:
i grab my ******* with one forcep of index
and thumb of the hand...
with the other forcep i pinch
the eyelid of my left eye -
funny... the skin feels... synonymous!

no, i can't reconcile darwinism with continental
existentialism:
as i can't reconcile the former idealism
of mine - not even after a ******* -
where's jack?! where's the jack in me?
but gym and squash and rock climbing later:
i was dating a crab and scraps were
the vulture's ambrosia -

what became of aphex twin? he slowed down
and that cul de sac became...
something known as burial - album untrue...
darwinism was always going to be impossible
to reconcile with: the role of humanity
beyond - it's almost easy to transcend the pure
animalistic comparison -
there's neither fire, nor the second fire:
electricirty in the nocturnal, feral heart of
the bottomless pit of anima -
currently: curated by over-stretched facts
and sleepwalking statistics...

bound to england for the past 26 years...
the closest i came was an: encounters of the third
kind with an australian oddity...
why would i date an english girl?
i thought they were into their pakistanis?
that's a question that's not a joke...
seek and you will find: mongolian-esque
rummaging...
the tartar "heretic" of crimea...

on repeat on repeat...
climbing over a fence from a darkened park...
came across a 15 year old running to and fro...
in the days when i still owned a phone...
tried to teach her how to roll a cigarette...
cleavage more visible than her neck...
reunited her with disgruntled friend
lying face down at a bus stop...
a black cat befriended me...
and this lass was running away from me
and toward me...
she texted about 20 people with my phone
before contacting her mum and dad...
and her cabbie dad later picked the two
of them up from a bus-stop at the tesco metro...
but of course prior to she had to take
a selfie of the three of us...

in the back of my head... the silent whisper
and the prosecutor simply whispered...
why not ask her to climb over the park fence
with you... and do the nightmarish deeds justice?

in england for the past 26 years: genesis aged 8...
and, well... "no luck"...
mongol attitude no likey-likey-lucky-or-lackey...
reciprocating "hubris"...
i guess i must be lucky...
come and go ******* like a nomad...
and: should i take myself more seriously...
invoke a talk about diacritical marks:
and those non-existent in the english language...
an octopus audience: the tenticles
do not count as 8 x 1...

20s... a complete blur...
and those vivid conversations in the brothel...
when i faked a death and managed to
get my overdraft limit increased...
and spent 4 hours in that ****-warehouse...
and was asked in the "interlude"...
wouldn't you want two at the same time?
i once heard:
the world is divided into men who have
slept with two women...
and those who haven't...

i gladly declined...
with two i'd need a room of mirrors...
hungry leech eyes need mirrors...
one simply can't have the 1st person shooter
experience anymore...
one would require as many mirrors when
*******... as a woman would require toys
to ******* with...
it might as well be called:
the mirror deity that spawned narcissus -
although - the more contorted
nightmare of narcissus -
the faces riddled with onomatopoeias
rather than words -
and faces that truly deserve to hide behind
a niqab...
or if the eyes become too fungus esque...
would require the samuel beckett's not i...
mouth like an intrusive phallus metaphor
of exposure...

in the past decade: well thank god
*** never became boring, routine...
it didn't require dressing up,
using third party limbs... and pieces...
*** was scarce - therefore *** was feral -
*** was never allowed a relationship -
*** never became familiar,
*** could never become mundane words
that would allow themselves
advice from some journo agony aunt column...
*** was a rarity -
and when it wasn't... kissing became more
important... and itchy fingers that
would read in braille the earth and its contorts
of a woman's body...
there was never a whip or a gulag
of infantile barbie imaginings to rule, either...

sometimes i would indefinitely try to catch
the certain days of winter when
spring blossoms prematured with buds...
if i was lucky... the magnolia bushes would also
blush...
and i would become a dog-***** of these perfumes...
walking for miles and miles per night...

the body takes care of itself:
trouble is... the mind doesn't...
better to allow it this sort of cameo cinema -
memory is the most ideal cameo cinema -
nothing i have mentioned is par excellance -
more... on par: per view...
if memory can't become a cinema...
what's left? nostalgia of 20th century cinema?
that can only live for so long...

as a "transgender" moment...
perhaps i can compete...
willingly ingest a tapeworm embryo...
keep it for 9 months...
then... ingest some praziquantel and ****
the little ****** out...
that's... the closest i'll ever come
to uniting myself with: the female ordeal
of giving birth: imagine...
the ego coupled the delusion the size
of the universe...
i really should start looking for a tapeworm
embryo... keeping it for 9 months...
and then... hey presto!
extra-protein pasta!

otherwise: oh sure... the would-be abortions...
only learn much later...
that they are... not the pro-life argument
they heard as embryos of foetuses...
they are... much to their amusement...
the walking-abortions they were to begin with...
while the pro-life arguments sort of...
die off... when... the fully grown...
self-aware specimen is given charge...
the pro-life argument dies...
the mortgage on a engagement ring...
the shackles...
it's only a pro-life argument...
until the incel mushroom pops up...
then it's no longer a pro-life argument...
ha... delayed abortion: slackers' argumentation...
yeah but no but, oh ****...

frankenstein! it talks! it breathes!
it's immune to all those philosophical cul de sacs
of arguments!
the slow death - the lack of gene motivation
tactic to: pass...
ha... to pass...
in the vicinity of the courageous virus...
shockwave reminders of: genesis vivo...

give me the fully formed xenomorph...
but a genesis vivo: akin to the film LIFE?
wouldn't you believe it?
form... a xenomorph has a concrete form -
a rigid square is...
well... it's not an imploded square -
a hyper-geometric revision...

modern anglo-speaking world and...
milan kundera's existentialism:
i will only kiss when i close my eyes -
but nonetheless -
i will open my eyes when kissing...
because i'm bluffing...
and gambling on... the hope that...
even the sofa "architecture" of a woman's
body reclining to entertain the 300 spartans...
eyes always open...
daggers for eyes...

upon the zenith close -
i imagined myself to be more...
buck-tooth antics -
trivia and encyclopedic knowledge -
pub quizes -
*** on wisteria lane -
no mongol horde ever passed the clefts
of pickets and homebugs...
and this... grand sanity project...
people never seem to go, truly mad,
from... gossip.... glibs...
or soap-opera immoralities: of flacid oopses...
perhaps it is true:
most people never go mad...
what horrible lives they must lead...

perhaps that is very true:
so true it deserves the bells of nortre dame
to echo...
inside a can kicked down a street...
kissing a ******* is not a basic immorality...
having toy soldiers and wars of lies -
and soap opera demagogic dramaturges?
wasting other peoples time with:
there's no crease in a sunrise -
when there are no clouds to stage the subtle
detail of diluted hues of seeing:
a giraffe's belly when it's lying on
the ground?

some people never go mad...
and they do require language to be as strict as:
what's precursor formal -
dear sir / madam...
and every time they try an informal: oops...
it's never on paper...
but always in a mouth that's exploring
the fermentation process of a glass of wine...
me?
gods' **** and gods' blood...
cider / beer with a tease mrs. cognac:
that's the elevated status of whiskey via: née:
ms. amber.

could i be a father and an alcoholic?
no... ever time i tried to exfoliate my own language,
my... idiosyncracy, my solipsism,
barriers and people reaching for...
prime navel and crimson as the standard
colour for lipstick...
one can only stomach so much...
before treating oneself to a hermit's adventure...
on the odd chance... giving coordinates
of the day-to-day...

i would have died a decade prior...
if i didn't find voyeurs to look at a language...
that cannot be spoken by someone alive:
among the living... to the future dead!
i was alive once, too! to the future dead!

**** it, 9 quid in the bank-account, came back haunted
with my ****** arithmetic and forgetting
how i really didn't prioritise how much i spent:
20 quid in the gas tank... ah one more night...
i always write raw words when drunk
and the kaleidoscope sort of opens,
although the kaleidoscope is in black & white,
so nothing really life changing to be seen
through my side of the lens, but i'm sure
for someone, somewhere, it might be - but that's
beside the point... i have an overdraft
limit of 550 quid - ask why the bank operator said
i had a healthy relationship with money
when i pleaded with her to not take away my
2000 quid overdraft limit in one go, but reduce it
every month by a 100 quid... i was nearly -2000
quid beneath the sea... and i got out... so what's
that and 4 nights of not drinking and writing less,
and writing what i find mundane poetry... eh?
i'll get to watch the complete diet of x files at night
rather than during the way having saved up
three episodes and binging in the afternoon -
but i had to prepare myself for the reduction of
alcohol, cold turkey is kinda hard, but not when
you suddenly decide to do some gardening work
to get excess toxins from your body... gardening...
meaning cutting a 7ft tree to the stump - i was
given orders to do so, it wasn't a mad moment,
the tree was too thorny and prickled - suffocated
by vines... see... boring poetry, too much detail.
so four days with the turkey, avoiding using sleeping
pills therefore staying up all ******* night,
watch a movie, read a book, write a poem...
and then something amazing happened...
don't know why i started watching friday the 13th
part v: a new beginning... i know i know, cheesy,
80s gore and the ****** Doo gang of helpless teenagers,
but that was the aura of pop gore back in that decade,
in the 70s.. the Exorcist and Omen, religious themes,
no! no! this is not going to be a discussion session
on mixing poetry and cinema like James Franco talking
with Frank Bidart... no... what got me from this music...
the absence of 80s diversity in music that's remembered,
because boys said in the 80s: that's cheesy, yet they danced,
they kept the dark, character building bands, angst synth,
whatever, Depeche Mode, the Cure, the Smiths,
that's what was passed down, A-Ha and Duran Duran
on a similar scale, but the latter two by girls...
i can cite Visage, and obviously Europe's final countdown,
Bryan Adams and what not... all the Cheese Disco (it had
to be an oldie word used)... but i mean...
who would have thought that a quirky dance of a girl
in the bedroom (oh yeah, and the Alan  Parsons project,
siouxsie sioux and the banshees, etc. etc.) listening
to Pseudo Echo's song His Eyes got me ticklish
with infatuation as to find the ****** song... enter...
the mighty internet! the best patch of to forage like
rabbit... the track ain't bad... if you're comparing music
within a genre there's a certain feel to it, you don't
go and compare it within trans genre parameters...
now wouldn't we all love to just back the **** up
and talk TRANSGENRE of music rather than what's
happening in the ***** tree oasis in the desert of politics?
compare it with Visage and Kraftwerk, well -

I was young once,
and I wanted more.
I spent my youth.
I went into overdraft,
I borrowed and owed it.
I had shady exchanges in back alleys.
They broke my legs,
for my youth.

It went so quickly,
I had such big plans.
I had a budget,
I swear.
It’s just so hard,
with all that youth,
not to splash it around,
show it off.

And now I’m old,
with nothing to show,
but debt up to my eyes,
and crippled legs.

usually a 19th century poem does the impromptu suggestion for my own verse, the groundbreaking stuff of the 20th century is already done, you could see the frustration over the later poems with the 20th poetry - i guess the 21st has conversationalist overtones, necessary for what came at 20th century's closure - meaning? i could let you imagine that i might have a faulty self-esteem writing, using the internet... but i write like i talk over a pint in a pub, obviously sometimes there's some magic in the conversation, the sort of magic that gets you barred from pubs with the lie of throwing a glass across the room... esp. if the pub caters for the losers in society, i guess a barmaid or -tender can have a moment to shine, feel superior, overhear atypical drunkard talking... god forbid if an oliver reed type of fella walks in with a tongue like a foil or an épée (fencing blades) - while everyone talks as if possessing a kebab-knife.

i.

on note, regarding the *épée and the foil -
as you get older (perhaps as i, exponentially)
you notice little quirks in things -
the Olympics, last night's fencing foil final -
but it's not about that as such,
all the pop culture sports are at the Olympics too,
but when they show you all the other sports
god... these pop sports seem so so bland...
it must be the monetary discrepancy -
football... boring... basketball... boring...
tennis... boring... i'd never thought i'd say this:
i'm in on the fencing, table tennis...
ARCHERY... you never get that much variety
in the four years between, which i count on
the list of travesties - when you get pulverised
by sports without providing a variety
you get the end result: hooliganism, borne
from a narrow mindset, a quasi-religiousness
and that pseudo-patriotism - not enough
variety in society, which also means more
money for the professionals... yeah, like
the Icelandic team at the Euros this year:
quarter finals - managed by a dentist.

ii.

and what do you think the clientele in the afternoon
in a town looks like?
many old people, the majority women,
the odd grandad wheezing on a bench,
the cripples, the weirdos and children from school
on their summer holiday... a complete male
Armageddon - i could always feel awkward
not being the "hard working man", the
"i have two kids and my wife works night shifts",
the "i have to get that mortgage", or the
"i really want that Caribbean cruise" -
all those things... then a funeral entourage
pulls into town with a stiff - the dead's parade
of the town, everyone must know, a reminder,
to fall back in line... it's not quiet the death in
the afternoon of a shot of absinthe in a flute of
champagne like old Ernest used to do it -
it's just a bottle of Heineken for me - i like
these sorts of parades of mourning, my sense
of humour kinda jumps up into the outer
hemisphere - well, i did laugh at my great-grandmother's
funeral, something about the priest talking
mumbo-jumbo - felt all a bit like a penny arcade
of a 99 pence shop - i swear that's where they
really rob you, at funerals, they sort of package
you into a dogmatic consolidation of some heaven -
no room for improvement with that.

iii.

it was bound to come to this...
a complete revelation, happened only once to me,
it usually involves a brothel and my drunk,
giving a ******* an ****** is one thing
(she's actually more ashamed than anything...
because she's enjoying her work for once,
and she did say ow realising it, kiss on the hand
bye girl)
but giving her a kiss on the lips is another...
by my count 2... and this little was got so giddy like
a schoolgirl in the cuddle... (just because i drink
doesn't mean i'm a fiend, told you, SEDATIVE &
UN-INHIBITION tonic, potion, whatever)...
but the revelation is bound to *******...
this one elder ******* didn't do what i usually do,
she didn't pull it back... (my version of circumcision,
***** movies do actually teach you a lot -
given there's only a circumcised variety on show...
what? it's like watching a pig in a slaughterhouse);
so it got me thinking, there she is, a fine specimen
of aged prostitution and she's not pulling the *******
back... so men who have foreskins don't pull it back?
that drool of skin is still keeping the cliche metaphor
sheaved? **** me! i mean, if you pull it back
so it looks like it's circumcised you put pressure
with the skin and, as it happened to me once,
leave after an hour having paid £110 (she wouldn't
have lied an ****** for that much) without
having *******... to another one's dejection -
how many? let me think, from a choice of about nine...
7? i became a familiar face at one point...
and when i was almost £2000 quid overdraft on
a student bank account overdraft limit, you know why -
added to the fact that i was experiencing a
Madonna-***** complex feeling in the general
dating, dating app (never had one) part of society,
that Freudian theory is spot on... and it's
a feminine aspect, nothing masculine about it,
so i'm off the hook... i don't know how women balance
the two... but my **** knows (2 in 1 -
you can't tell me that urinating without *******
is pleasurable, no, you can't)...
                                                       at the brothel, no problem,
in life outside this domain... let's just say...
not enough encouraging actions... too many words...
too much talking... *******, sexting, role-play...
the list is endless... so few words are said where everything
feels like a vanilla liquor and smells like bourbon perfume.

Dear Mr. Preacher
Why are you so greedy for
Everytime I see you
You ask for a dollar to feed the poor
I just want you to
Look me in the eyes
And realise 
I don't own a cent
Let alone two to create a jingle 
Money comes money goes
In my case it just goes
I owe the landlord
Tonight he's throwing me out the door
My accounts in overdraft
Saving 
What's saving
I don't know
Why must you ask and shame me for
Announce it on the speaker
20 dollars from Mrs Sparks 
One hundred from old man Williams
Thank you for being so generous
With your donation
In God's house it's become a bidding war
For thou art the holiest
And kindest 
God loves the charitable
But forgive me if I'm wrong
Did He not also speak of the boastful
Pride is a man's downfall
And if I had a dollar or two to spare
Or maybe more
I would leave it anonymously
Like the way a breeze lifts the cat flap
In the wall
The way you would find a forgotten paper bill
In an old purse

Life is hard if you don't conform
But it's not in my genes to be the norm
We're taught to follow the status quo
What if you're not born to follow the flow

A mortgage, a finance, an overdraft we're sold
This is what from young we're told
A system built to churn out sheep
To conditioned and scared to take a leap

This is what is so hard I find
This is what plagues my mind
What do I do if this is not for me
If I forget what I'm taught, will I then feel free

Maybe someday the answers will appear
As life passes you by living in fear
But if the answers never rise
Maybe I'll learn to see things through different eyes

I cast my line into the water. The bobber bounced a few times and then rested on the surface slightly cocked to the side. I pulled my hat down low, just far enough to block the sun and still see the water. Everything was quiet. Tigger was running around the other end of the pond, looking for raccoons I guess. He went to the water and took a drink, then he took off into the woods. He’ll be back. I love that dog. I must have had him for 10 years now.

              I lit up a cigarette, a Marb red. God, this is the life, man, just chillin, fishin. I had other things to do. I should be looking for a job I guess. I should probably be cleaning my apartment, or taking care of those overdraft fees, I forgot about those, ****. Oh well, this is my day. The birds had started to sing again. I whistled along, Andy Griffith’s theme song, God’s gift to whistlin fishermen. I could feel the sun on my bare arms. That’ll be good for my tan. I took another drag on my cigarette, the air was calm enough that I could blow smoke rings. So I did, for about an hour.

Then out of the corner of my eye I saw the tip of my pole dip down a little, it did it again, again, and again. Finally the bobber disappeared under the water. I grabbed my pole and started to reel ‘er in. It was a catfish, about five pounds I’d say. This was perfect, I would get Tigger and we could go home and fry this sucker up, and I would drink a few brews, watch the game and go to bed. What a wonderful day. I called for Tigger, but he didn’t come out of the woods. Probably found one of those *****. So I walked around the pond to where I saw him go in. No matter how many times I called for him he didn’t come back. I searched for two whole hours but I couldn’t find my dog. He was gone.

The light seems *****, second hand
Yet scores his eye with a purple brand
With no more ears to fall upon
Unheard is the voice of the hopeless one

Certainty replaced by doubt
His words are vacant, hollowed out
And cynical his lexicon
With a tarnished soul, the hopeless one

Hemoglobin understaffed
The blood bank in its overdraft
Prescription fed automaton
A neutral mask for the hopeless one

Nothing will get you like
Mail.
Bills, spam, bills.
A bank statement, some
Numbers. An overdraft.
That's okay,
You filled the car with your voice
Last night.
Just some of that radio *******,
But I liked it when it came
Out of your mouth.
I guess that is what will
Keep me alive today.

it's almost become a standard... in making the internet
  a bit like the choice of television
channels in the early 90s...
      bbc 1, bbc 2... i.t.v....
  and then there's the alt. that's channel 4...
channel 5 comes later, but
     i don't even watch that crap...
i've reached the point where the social
aspect of the internet doesn't exist...
it's literally one-dimensional...
  and then comes the "real" life bits
that people using the internet concern
themselves over...
         ******... i walk to the bank and
do my banking with a real-life: human
interface...
   i didn't ask for an interest-free
            overdraft... but since my student
days when it stood at two-thousand quid...
mine still stand at: five-hundred quid
         interest free...
                   what am i going to do with that
allowance? buy a scooter and deliver pizzas?!
  i watch these youtube videos
and their twitter stories and i'm like:
huh?!
          i don't get it!
                       did these people pull out these
stories of "apartheid" out from their *****?
  juicy **** stories?
                 i had to invent my own "m.t.v." /
m.c.p. (music computer network... lgbtqrsia...
    you're missing a few letters to join
it to the alphabet... but i guess that's how
acronyms work: music - computer...
and then the network bit is like: hello! i'm here!
hello!)
              it's not even about being socially
uneasy... globalisation created these large distances...
last time i had a pint with someone i knew:
i walked about 5 miles to the destination...
last time i was in the high-street i realised:
i'm actually not going to buy anything from these
shops... maybe a pair of headphones for
under two quid and a bottle of water...
           oh that famous saying: in the "real" world...
what, like internet banking and russian thieves
hacking your accounts isn't the "real" world?
              amazon.com / .co.uk isn't the new
   highstreet shop?!
                      too much ******* matrix analogy!
i can't stand it... i'm taking a **** 3 times a day:
first the chocolate... and then:
                           foo! a ******* geyser of ****...
                   i swear i just drank two cups of milk
and i'm thinking: an intolerance to lactose?
          have i drank a chocolate milkshake in
the past five hours?
            no... but i swear to god my **** feels like
i just rubbed chilli powder into it...
               strange how the internet can become
so constrictive, that you're almost hugging a boa snake...
           and the feeling it mutual...
brick walls become all the more fascinating...
once you read a news review article about
    free speech... it's like: now i really don't think
like talking...
                         i know i'm writing in a public
sphere and i might be considered as: a wocal vorrior
      in publishing it... but where i'm writing...
it's just "raindrop" tapping shrouded in
earphones of music blazing...
          a bit like talking when in bed with someone
and the rain just taps the tin roof...
                         i.e. for those yet to be born;
it might come in handy, some day.
            but the internet has shrunk for me, it's not
even as expansive as it deems itself to be...
          most of the time it just feels like
daytime t.v., how the hell did that happen
is probably the same reason as to why television
is what it is... poland won 2 - 1 against
monte*****... i think my fascination with
the internet declined to a few pages after hearing
about language being so restrictive...
           surely it would have been easier to be
illiterate and having the full capacity of the body
being exercised to a job, rather than having an ill mind
and having to succumb to the gym, and exercise...
now i'm scratching my nose going: nod nod... aha.
i really have allowed myself the "luxury" of
recreating the television... most of the time it's
hellopoetry           facebook (4 friends, used to be over 200...
deleted them myself), i called twitter: twatter...
      had a post here and there, never became engaged
to stage a fright! akin to being deleted...
wikipedia...
                       youtube...
         oh and certainly dictionary.com for etymological
reasons...
                               sometimes amazon.co.uk
if i want to buy a book or a c.d. -
          otherwise?
                                  the point of a fraction 1/10 of
an iceberg being seen... and 9/10 being unseen...
and that's without the deep web...
then it's more like 1/100 and 9/100, and the 90/100
     i'm thinking: covert army plans?
          it's an attempt to recreate the television (i think);
evidently it might, but it probably won't work...
i just hear stories about the 20th century decades
when television first came about,
and 1 person owned a television on the whole
street, and people who didn't have one
used to congregate...
               usually during news and football
matches... then everyone had one...
                      which translated into ageing people
having conversations in the supermarket check-outs...
both men and women (it isn't just the women)...
                        me? i'm talking to a blank canvas...
if writing could be (remotely) compared to painting:
   it wouldn't be treated as either: prompt for
conversation... or equivalent to a comment section...
i guess bypassing any publishing deals does that
to writing, as in: aww... you lonely?
                   ****! i'm drinking and i don't know
whether i have diarrhoea or that i'm constipated!
      it's almost both!
                 i can "talk", the reason being:
    i'm writing from the outskirts of London,
and you (e.g.) live in San Diego...
                                   it's not lazy or anti-social or:
ooh i'm scared to leave the house scenario...
                            what is... is... what isn't... was...
there's no chance going back to the 20th century.

i knew i wasn't going to give the experience enough justice
by writing about it: immediately after having just...
experienced it.. i was already tired from the shift
and i only managed to come home around 2am,
but i wrote something preliminary to keep the "bank
account" of memory intact, below an overdraft
of forgetfulness - i had to write something telegraphically...
i woke up today around 11am after staying up
until 4am... i truly didn't do the event enough justice...

after all... it's not everyday that a man gets to write
about having a *******...
   i passed the Rubicon (as it were)...
                  i needed to quench all my jealousies...
this one was a big one...
   massive...
                    that's how you quench jealousies...
this one friend of mine started: fwend...
bragging that he was in a ******* once...
i believed him... my downfall... i became jealous...
i know him: sickly sprout of a guy...
  did he? didn't he? it didn't matter by then... or now...
that's the thing with the spirit of man:
whether true or not...
i had to find a way to compete with
                        the claim...

so i was coming back from a shift... slightly tired...
but not too tired...
   i was actually going after just one girl...
i took about enough money for an hour...
     circled round the brothel in my usual way...
since i quit smoking i was only drinking brandy
and pepsi... thinking about the Firth of Forth
geographic bearings and how it's impossible
to reach the same distinct: east is east...
west is west... north... south in London...
even if you're standing before the Thames...
don't know... Edinburgh is that much different
to London: probably because of the Firth of Forth
or perhaps that's a southerner talking about
living in the north... that's what i really loved
about living in Edinburgh... i knew where east was...
i knew where the north was...

London is confusing: geographically...
   it's a ******* Behemoth of a city...
           i find that... i have this Bermuda Triangle
compass in my head when i'm in London...
the world seems to implode...
   i'm standing in the 9th circle of Hell and everything's
spinning out of control...
because there's so much momentum concerning
London: the whole world is here...
no wonder i don't know where east is...
      at least in Edinburgh you have pointers...
the Firth of Forth... Glasgow to your "left"
when walking toward Prince's Street...
          so many bridges: but no river...
   i.e. bridges because during the black plague
the ingenious architects built on top of the infested
quarters... so the city rose up... hence the bridges...

of course i became jealous...
   there's no better remedy for jealousy other than to...
imitate... let's see... what the hell this "badge of honour"
is all about...
i.e. to sleep with two women at the same time...
i wasn't planning... walking around the brothel
i was actually thinking: will i be too tired to get
a hard-on? i'm not taking any ******* pills...
i knew a guy from high-school once...
troubled... but lovely... Ryan... he could have been
the next big footballer...
  but he succumbed to ingesting ****** early on...
all that teenage lust from the girls got to him...
last time i saw him: he had that aura of being
hyped up about nothing...
   precursor of being: left-over... disused...
dropping ****** pills... probably doing some other
drugs because... outside of the school environment...
he wasn't pulling his weight along...
the environment became open and there
was no access to freely available pedestrian looking
girls in school uniforms...
i'm not doing that ****: i thought...
            no... *** is an act of reciprocation...
i don't have a ***** for a *****...
   this doesn't work on automatic foundations
of... see a naked body: get aroused...
no! if i had a switch, say: squeeze my testicles hard enough
and i get an *******...
**** me... women talk about moods...
i have moods too... i'm either aroused or i'm not...
depends on the totality of a woman...

if it were as simple as seeing a naked body...
in the flesh... well... it's different when you're doing a solo
project to ease a **** out of your ****
on the throne of thrones...
but in real life interaction... you can't just expect
a naked body... coupled with Picasso's cubism et al.
brigade to give you a runner...
plus... i needed to take a ****...

  some Asians were playing supermarket car park
cricket late into the night...
how happy they must have been...
while i was... prowling... gearing up...

i knew that if i had a ****-issues... i'd be having
******* issue... ****! little Richard:
where on god's almighty earth did you leave
your hard-on batteries?!
why can't you be more: switch-on / switch-off?
why will you not succumb to
the easy-pathway of ingesting some chemicals:
fear of repercussions for "under-performing"?
to hell with that...

it works both ways... i might be in the mood...
the moon is almost full...
i feel a werewolf sitting on my shoulder...
nibbling it... i was expecting a crow biting my ear...
but i need to be in a "mood"...
  i can't do: it's raining therefore i'm thinking
of the many hues of blue mingling with
purple and green...

    i didn't ask for a *******...
     there were two prostitutes sitting gauging
their eyes out... i chose one...
but this other one... this party girl was gearing up...
and she was like: he said to me twice now...
thrice i can't take... i only chose one...
but she was not having any of it...
can i just have this one?
    apparently no... i had to take both of them...
because the one that was pretending to
be this bleached blonde wanted to be in on
the "action"...

            i thought about the jihadis...
yeah... you and those 72 virgins...
how about 72 prostitutes...
               boyo... you have another thing
coming...
                  it's hard... i'm not saying it's easy...
******* two women at once...
it's confusing... getting a blow-job while
at the same time ******* on some *******...
you try your hardest to keep a hard-on...
******* on *******... pretending to be a toddler...
while... all the while... you're getting ****** off...
it makes no sense...
   why? well... when you're getting ****** off
you want to communicate eye-contact...
but... you're disengaged from it by *******
a 2nd girl's *******...
so it's like...   x = z but y ≠ z...
    
       that's why i hate *******...
                what society sells...
my best resolve concerning a *******?
it's not what people who have perfected it
have imagined... reality is a tender little *****...
what's best about a *******?

you snuggle up to one girl, the one you like...
she performs a hand-job on you...
you kiss her face, her neck...
you sometimes interlude her with eye-contact...
she knows you're digging her...
she's pretty... tameable...
        
she's jerking your off... while the other girl?
she's cameo... she was the one instigating this
interaction... she's the party girl...
she's the one tickling your *******...
she's the one you're about to use her cleavage
for imitation of ****..
   she's the one about to take a shower
after you ******* full sprout...
******* duck-lips... botox etc.,

                 she's the one who initiated the *******...
i was only after the one i fancied...
how do i know? after we finished...
the one i ******* onto...
and myself... she took a shower...
i also took a shower... she sprayed me with her
perfumes...
i took a shower... dressed up...
the one i fancied... while i was dressing...
she
stood behind me... like a vampire...
body-size-difference...
she started massaging my back and shoulders...

two girls... self-evident competition...
the one i liked gave me the most ingenious
hand-job... i smoke a cigarette and managed
a hard-on...
             i liked her eyes... her eyes told me everything...
i was the supposed good-mad-man...
party girl wanted a piece...
duck-lips unattractive...

i was put off by their song choices...
i was thinking:
kid loco - rattlesnake rattle (she's my lover)
wax tailor - ungodly fruit
boozoo bajau - keep going...

    if i had a harem of women i'd first have to
educate them in what music is best
ingested when having ***..

   of the two? the part girl that suggested
we have a *******? competing interests...
again: wrong choice of music...
after *** she started rummaging through my rucksack...
like a teenager...
   she found... a few things... most notably
Ovid's ****** Poems...
she asked me... oh, **** me... not this again:
are you German?!

what is it with people having this skewed
physiognomy of entertaining me as
a ******* Deutsche?!
i don't mind... i find it kind of beneficial...
but... if there's this superstition about whites
being unable to tell the difference
between Somalis and Kenyans...
like **** we can't... imbeciles... like **** we can't!

in an interlude between ******* on *******
and getting a a *******... sorry...
threesomes might be a zenith...
but... there are no third person involvement...
i can't accommodate two women at once...
if i'm getting ****** off i'd like
a blinding eye-contact...

   i smoked a cigarette and got an immediate
hard-on on... readied for a hand-job
and a tickling of the *******...
however threesomes go...
i found the best "position"...
no... it's not about what ******* sells...
first time... find yourself best served...
one of the women is more willing than the other...
best scenario?
you cuddle up to the girl giving you a hand-job...
you kiss her *******... you kiss her cheeks...
her neck...
while the other girl looks on... as you hide your
face into the face of the girl doing the deed...
you get to implode voyeurism...
one's doing X...
the other is looking at you:

          O)

                    or )O...

   because you're cuddling up to the one
that's jerking you off... half of your face is "missing"...
but you're looking at her...
while she's tickling your *****...
half of your face lost in the girl you like...
you wanted to be alone... pristine *******...
but she was the one who wanted a party and a *******...

you wait before asking her to provide her *******
for a makeshift ******...
the girl jerking you off is still her most
tender self... eyes of doe...
the ******?
              i wasn't asking for a *******...
good... that i spend my hard earned money
on this... to hell with spending it on material:
immaterial byproducts of hush... oops...

a ******* only makes sense when
one of the girls is jerking you off while the second
girl is watching you being ****** off...
teasing your *****... then come the ****** providing
her ***** as a substitute ******...
eye-contact... i don't believe one can have
a persuasive ******* being
occupied by... a duality of oral ***...
receiving oral *** while giving oral ***...

it's so much better to find a balance of...
voyeurism...
one girl is jerking you off while the other is watching you...
eyes eat eyes...

oculus edo oculus - eye eat eye...
that's how eroticism works... at least...
that's what i've fathomed from finding Ovid...

mind you: ******* oversells certain theatrics...
no... it's not true... reality is a different game
to what's practised in this kind of theatre...
i've already mentioned it...
sometimes i want to please others...
but sometimes i want to please myself...
it's "fluid"...
                  to hell with the precursor needs of
outliers that homosexuals are...
                        if they are to be proud and i'm
to be shamed, no wonder my sometimes stretching
the hard-on "problem"...
but... no little wonder: how a little bit of cognac
and a drag of a cigarette can make due resolves...

threesomes... best scenario?
the one that you liked... the one you wanted to ****
solo... is giving you a hand-job...
while you're snuggling up to her
like some Norman Bates...
****'s freaky anyway... since there are three in a room...
and the one that instigated the *******
is peering into your eyes
like Aetos Kaukasios... the eagle eating Prometheus'
liver... she's the one rummaging through
your rucksack looking for...
sure as **** she wasn't looking for a book
by Ovid... she's the teenage girl that's unable
to find meaningful eye-contact during ***...
she has the fun-girl-sour look in her face...
   she can't be serious during ***... she has done too much
botox implants into her already duck-duck lips...

the one i wanted already knew that the one
who instigated this profanity just wanted...
she was the one so desperate to get ******...
i mean: becoming intimate is one thing...
couldn't we just have fooled around?
rather than stressing a belt and notches?!

i sometimes feel like a woman when i'm *******...
i just want to ease into oozing
with... when a spider ****** an octopus...

if that could happen to you, or me...
nothing was ever left as a reminder to be unlike
any prior man...
all we have are reminder of how it is: to be a man...
are we not to inherit what
it is, that all that is: is to allow ousrelves
to be human?

i tease... i watch these men coupled within
their subordinate selves...
shackled... oh too trying...
  rings on their ringers...
               tiresome, tired-breeds...
men who have never managed to range
into a reach of galloping on a horses' hind!
my god... men who have never had a *******...
it's a bit like relocating a voyeurism...
one jerks you off while another looks on...
and what is she good for?
tickling your *****...
   using her cleavage as a makeshift ******...
she's not welcome...

because the one you want to be with is
already: gauging your eyes out...
Solomon's harem: Autumn...
          the envy of Muhammad...
                                
prior: disorientating getting a blow-job
while ******* on *******...

Jonathan.

Mood:
An overdrawn debit card with overdraft protection.
Giving.
Giving more than I have,
After giving all that I had,
And carrying on,
Not because I have to,
But because I love you.

I began another love story
Except I already knew about this one
I knew it existed
But not that it would make me cry

Plagiarism
Overdraft
Unreliability
Incompetence

Through thick and thin pennies over taking this piggy bank bin, still living in the gutter were the waste man lives.

Overdraft has the bank got you searching for change, for many penny’s” paper chasing for tobacco that I need to roll.

Had wash because I’m in a rush, I really miss soaking up when I’m  washing needing a bath.

Off to do my shopping won’t you wish me good luck, I had to budget with this £5 pounds i just won on a scratch card.

It won’t take me far but it will stop my stomach from feeling like it’s been torn up into many little looking scars.

It will stop my stomach from rumbling just before it thinks it’s going to starve, I don’t really know where to start this situation hurts me so much.

Searching for some hope that’s lost some were in the dark through thick and thin living a life that’s full of sin.

Searching for left over’s going through my neighbor’s bin.

Jidos Reality 22.7.12

Judge by knowing...
Growing like a tree ...
Such to form a branch to grow another friend..
Another Space to love...
Another space to judge by seeds you are sowing
Eyes can entrance...
Ears can deceive.
Lips Can Lie
Suspicion can cut down the sprouts that the heart's tree
took so much strength and time to grow...
Don't cut it with quickly jumping off the deep end...
Jump into warm waters...
Watering your heart's Tree to Relations....
After time and growing to yearn for the other parts of your seed
yearn for the right part.
which you have found...
Instead of quick needs filled upon desperate vacations.
Questions answer fears...
Time can be well spent or It can Overdraft your heart's Bank.
Shallow Pools can break the stem or branches of the life's heart tree
Which could need healing from becoming damaged
for many years
Take your feelings straight to the one you seek.
Clearly and consistently communicate.
Don't fear how the heart you seek to nurture your tree
and step back with brutal hesitation.
Become open as anything great which you look for in life
takes chances to gain...
Actions don't always speak and enact all the motives in a heart..
Break past your past and it's expectations..
Answer a calling..
The voice that says "Hello"
Glance into those eyes as you first become interested
in peering into their heart's windows...
Walk with them and openly share your life...
Step by step... the seeds are planted..
To grow or add to your heart's tree garden...
For branches that appear from the allowance

of such partner's interests.
Both mutually cutting a hole for planting...
Don't allow the storms to rain due to quick minded intolerance
Due to your instrument to open up life's relationship's sowing grounds
To remain dull......sharpen such with fresh ways interacting..
with a new start and a freshly sharpened knife.


.

Little people of the world,
And particularly those
Who own big spaces
Right at the centre
Of our shared emptiness
It's time to go and have
A long hard think
About what you've done
And what you have become.

This growing debt
This planet's overdraft
Unlocked through lack of planning
Lack of vision - worse -
Through 'knowledge'
And selfish calculation.

Go to your rooms.

Don't come out until you're sorry.

i can't say it isn't a learning curve, i.e.: how does it feel to pay
of a debt in... four installments? once £200... another time £250... another time at £600 and what's left-over is is? £277... and all of this? done by cash? well... it feels... a bit like giving £130 to a *******... wafer-think comparison... but it's almost on par... i'm just following up on the poems conundrum, autobiographical rigour & hotel reds.

i knew it wouldn't happen, it sounded too good to be true...
i knew she had a young daughter...
and like most prostitutes: she must have conspired
with her coworkers about the idea of... meeting a client...
outside of the hour-mark...
they must have said things like: what were you thinking?!
are you mad?
he propose the idea... no... i did...
                 i said maybe we can meet in a hotel room...
to which he replied... sure, we can go for dinner prior..
i'll bring some brandy...
i did the cost-analysis... she was obvious in a castle made
of clouds... because... isn't it obvious?
    why would i want to have any trouble in my life...
esp. if it's trouble with women?
      last one drew in into a student account overdraft
debt worth about £3000...
          tough times...
      the bank sent me a notice that my bank account
status of a student was about to expire...
  and that i couldn't have a interest-free overdraft
limit of £3000... that prior to going into the bank
and asking for the limit to be extended from £2500
because i had an emergency back "home" and i needed
to fly out for a funeral...

- - interlude - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
- - - - i was still close to lightning a cigarette right now...
i only stopped myself because i have some whiskey...
but... when i was painting the garden fence...
i was so ******* i started splashing the paint in rage..
no? mother dearests ask me because her neighbour
asked her to check if Bella the cat has clean water
and the frog's light is off... i hate being interrupted when
i write... i don't mind making concession when
speaking... but when i write and i'm interrupted...
it really is a peace pipe though... tobacco...
it's so much more soothing than outbursts of anger...
i guess marijuana is good for anger that builds
up... but when you need a quick fix... tobacco...
  maybe that's why i have almost have had this terrible
dry cough... my throat is irritated from the lack
of extra phlegm lining my throat... it's not a sore throat...
just sore when i cough... enough whiskey...
i'll be chirpy tomorrow... - - - - end of interlude - - - - - - - -

and i managed to wriggle out of that deficit...
by not exactly working: more suffering from lack of certain
pleasures... alcohol... tobacco...
although i did land that god-send of being paid out
about £3000 in damages for being a car-crash...
call it a fluke? i call it blood good luck...

tobacco: two occasions... to calm the nerves...
and to counter what otherwise caffeine does but caffeine
can't do with alcohol...
tobacco + alcohol...
    it's not caffeine + alcohol or for that matter ******* + alcohol...
sure... marijuana + alcohol used to work...
in my youth... if you were smart about it...
few were... tobacco + alcohol all the way...

i never enjoyed the credit system in capitalism...
i was very much always debit: el classico...
   sure... i have a student debt... "debt": the % on that
is so low and i need to be earning over £15,000 a year
to pay it off... but... here's the catch...
the debt gets written off after 30 years... or is it 25?
not for the quality of education they're selling people
right do i feel obliged to pay off this debt...
i've learned more once i left university
than i ever learned when i was inside it...

it's like that current job i'm doing...
sure... i might get paid peanuts compared to others...
but you know what some people
to have the sort of view i had
    at the Tyson Fury match? guess...
   oh man... the 25th of June and the 26th and i've
already pre-booked shifts for the Red Hot Chilly Peppers
performing at the London stadium...

i must have mentioned it... the people with S.I.A. training:
ex-military or ex-cons.... or ex-prison workers...
bouncers at doors... they did idiocy problem with
hierarchy... they love the rough and tumble...
so? they get paid more for a license...
oh man... so many of them have beautiful teeth...
smile that a Mongolian might only be envious of when
it comes to the English-man... it's that pretty...

me? i'm a crowd safety steward... ha ha...
or just someone who talks to people...
                       right... but these S.I.A. guys only get
£5 more hour... and where are they when an event takes place?!
outside...
stewards get paid... say... £10 an hour...
but that doe that entail? i get a free ticket...
i'm oh so tempted to change shifts from London Stadium
on the 12th to Wembley Stadium shift...
mammoth shift... starting at 7am finishing at 11pm...

eh.... but i haven't seen monster trucks in action...
and i'd like to see monster trucks in action...
it's almost as if: i'm going on dates with myself...
and i'm not paying for them: i'm getting ha ah ha *******
paid for them...

- knew it would have been good to be true...
i was already gearing up to disappoint from the myth
of a ******* ******* you in a hotel...
or rather... you know the story... stalemate...
but i'm no pompous Walt Whitman or for that
matter a tender Schwob...
              it is what it is... i won't bother her... until bother
her again... once i get paid at the end of June...
or maybe i should just move onto another woman...
i don't want to break her heart
as she said the unattainable words of reciprocating:
i love you....
    i *******...
        if she would have said: i need you...
i don't think i'd still say i love you...
                     of the things that man loves...
cycling... swimming... walking alone in the fields
or in the forests or among mountains...
i dread the idea that women are merely reciprocating
the hopes and ambitions of the most unimaginative men...

come Monday i was gearing up... "forgot" to buy supplies...
by Tuesday i was going full turkey
from a lack of alcohol stimulation and nicotine stimulation...
i was purging... i had the shivers in the night...
i was pretending to have dreams when it fact i was
just hallucinating with my eyes closed:
this one dream? my dead cat.... Oscar Darshan...
was walking in a host of sheep into my abode... to perfection...

i did have a cold... snotty nose... numbing aches
and pains all over my body from Teusday
night through to Wednesday morning... after ingesting
some cider... smoking that cigarette:
there was no fault with the paint! the fault was in:
my fence... to my left... the wood is of better quality...
precision marking: blindly even... to right?!
low quality timber! ******* ******* seagulls *******
while also taking a ****!

that being said: i have to toil by the sweat of
my brow tomorrow...
i have 1 tonne of rough sand to transfer from
the access road to my garden... no wheelbarrow...
old-school way... whichever way that is...
in buckets... shovel... good exercise...

but for someone who's been missing for the past two days...
not bad... i say no bad...
i started to binge watch some of: the good wife...
because... at least it's not drama set in a hospital
and you expect everyone to be sociopathic *******...
now...
    i'm going to have a second cigarette of today and
wonder why this isn't worth 3,000 words....
oh...but there are additions pointers to be made...

what is the usual knock-out blow of alcohol,
nicotine, 250mg of naproxen
500mg of paracetamolum
+ diphenhydramini hydrochloridu (25mg)...

exactly? what was my "detox list of suggestions"?
phenegran (25mg), 2-4-dichlorobenzyl alcohol,
amylmetacrescol,
paracetamol, promethazine, dextromethorphan,
pseudoepherdrine, pholcodine...
ethanol, sucrose, glucose, propylene glycol...

yeah... what a welcome change...
old habits die hard... mind you: i needed to reiterate
being rejected by a ******* from:
****...i wasn't rejected...
            i just felt like a tonne of bricks
at the donkey... sure... even i have dreams...
i'd love to spend the last years of my life
in some region of Russia or Norway...
              maybe that too will be soul crushing when
my time comes...
i've already had the heart of youth crushed by
not being able to find anyone outside the realm
of merely *******...
          "only child syndrome":
               or... simply... how i adapted to what was
to come... the rarity of a large family.

i own no one
an apology
for my feelings.

i don't own anyone
an explanation
for why i feel
the way i do,
i just do.

i am not in a place of
overdraft
because i am affected
by the way they make me feel
small...invalidated...
unexperienced...mistaken...
confused­...doubtful.

i am not in debt
to anyone
by not proving to them
that i was happy...
that i was in love...
that i was myself.

i own no one
my energy
in trying to convince
them that what we were
was real...
when they've already decided
we weren't enough to have
ever really been valid...
to have ever truly existed . . .