it’s not everyday you get to end a 7 year psychosis
when redecorating your room to it’s “original” crimson,
having had such a simple symptom as
brain cell membranes breaking and oozing blood out,
to be misdiagnosed as mentally insane,
and when in need of help from the haemorrhage
not driven to the hospital due to the lack of *******
of having proceeded with the deed but forgetting the onslaught of law
in favour of the hurt party... well...what can you do?
move on, as i’m trying, had it been naturally based
on genetic chronology / genealogy i would have suffered in vain...
but i’m brimming with a hate for islam, and there’s nothing
to do but calm the quasi-communist protestors
in the western lands... ******* calm down... you’ll get
your freedom of speech... once you stop trying to censor vocabulary...
there’s no point learning a language if it becomes
politicised and you tell me to block vowels or consonants
in a non-kabbalistic way (which i’ll come to):
so yeah, a 7 year psychosis over a needle in a haystack...
gives me the shivers...
the many times i thought about killing someone
and feeding the emotions with not doing the act...
so many times i was almost skeletally biased to churn the
marrow haemoglobin into tendon stressor action of taking
the knife and doing halal or kosher with someone...
many a times...as many a times i saw crucifixions in edinburgh
not knowing it was going to happen in syria,
and that night when a muslim tried to mug me
in brick lane breaking down in the street of revellers
kneeling in tears screaming a prayer with tears in my eyes
of only one word: allah.
so i started redecorating my room, crimson is back from
hospital white... my bookshelf is rearranged...
on the left on the top shelf fictional books i either read
or didn’t bother to read because of the movies...
to the right on the shelf psychiatric and philosophical books...
the next shelf is a poetry “corner,” well it elongates beyond the corner...
and it’s split by a dictionary with the right bit of the shelf filled
with english poetry and some literature that’s poetic, and french,
the dictionary is planted to segregate the poetry books,
to the left of the dictionary is a book of greek myths
(did you know all greek theology is derived from the new testament
and not from the testament of orpheus or hercules or Perseus?),
then a book on meditative kabblah... then polish books of poetry.
so i rearranged the room, but i also lodged
an essayist’s book on melancholia, a book on depression
a book on an intro. to jung and a book on
schizophrenia lodged between these massive collections:
to the left all the art books... to the right all the books concerning chemistry...
so the books in between can’t really be seen.
as of today i woke with a p.s. from dreams, or a p.s. in dreams,
i woke and imagined myself talking to my mother
about the identity of al-dajjal... the false messiah,
within the conscious realm i just said the words out of the window:
fool you fool me, when mecca / medina become west of paris / london,
i’ll accept riyadh to be east of tehran / new delhi...
then we'll marginalise plateau east with copernican east
via the stars, and wander aimlessly trying to copper-fill
the sun at sunset...
he (muhammad) said the man would be of his nation,
and he said so with a warning...
but ibn saud got away weighing in at 160kg, diabetic and a brawler
with the stomach, the decadent of all that choose either sugary decadence
or some other form of mental instability in the chosen trade of stolen organs.
me? i keep my sanity with the tetragrammaton, cipher this:
this numerology *******, and it is ******* will not do...
enter platonic forms:
y is so so much more than just 25...
what will you see through y with the number 25?
what? nothing, dry brute that i am...
Y represent 3 dimensional space...
the first h is not important given the second h... which is deja vu,
which is less than what malachi insisted with the fractioned god of
the fractioned “elijah” reincarnated...
deja vu can be explained with science as one of the brain’s tricks
to sense this familiarity of seeing an elephant and acknowledging
the five blind men touching it up for comparative jokes,
the W... well... at least it’s not M... given that the trigonometric cosine continuum
begins at 1.... god is one... ring a bell? well better that than
beginning with the trigonometric sine continuum, which begins with 0...
forget numerology... numbers and letters aren’t related...
forget the dogmatism of rabbis - it makes no sense to say a = 1, b = 2 etc.
and then take a word like ape, and say: ‘ah, a = 1, p = 16 and e = 5; by god!
that’s a kabbalistic synonymity of the word... pea!’
where’s the jolly green giant when you need him, eh?
just look at what a phonetic symbol represents...
like secondary darwinism of a primate hissing to alert the presence
of a snake... past darwinism... past drawing antelopes
in french caves... in the realm of abstract phoneticism that
gave us the cognitive genesis... and made as... dare i say... a bit myopic
in a solipsistic sense.
p.s. ah... what are the newspapers saying?
slapstick humour is one of the prime causes of dementia? huh?!
yes, prime minister... is satire comedy?
how the hell can yes, prime minister be categorised as satire
if it uses canned laughter?
see that bloke over there... doing the omnivore pelican dance?
he joked so readily and active that he created authentic laughter...
don’t know where your satire is going... but it certainly left me gagging
for a springroll.
now now... absurdist comedy is too oxbridge for me...
kings and gentlemen get educated in either st. andrew’s or edinburgh...
we laugh at ourselves.
alt. to canned laughter, given that "canned laughter"
is reserved for the authentic laughter of the crowd
at a live show? what's the antonym of canned laughter
in televised satire? picky laughter... i.e. only one person
in an schoolroom of 30 gets the joke, apart from the comedian...
that lonely everest ha ha... ooh chills, frozen prawns in gravy.

I want to write it all; all of it. Every last word, sentence, phrase, poem, story, tale, feeling, joke, song, garbled hunk of nonsense streaming from my mouth hole like from a tap until the whole world drowns in just what I want to say; to let them know that expression is here, in my mind, in theirs, whispering in the trees outside, singing from every atom that can bump and grind and make things feel or see or sigh.

I want to sit within friends late in the night heads bobbing nod nod nodding as we agree or disagree or pedigree our intellect as we refine the phrases that make us sound like we know. Cos when you sound like you know, that's when you get heard, and if anyone's gonna get heard, ain't no one better nor worse than us. Cos nobody really knows; no Oxbridge don could ever write the wind, measure my kiss on my darlin’s skin, capture what the rosy points of her cheeks do to my brain, my body, my soul, my Attachment to this world.

So Hear me, O merry gentlemen! For I am alive and feeling and that is all the PhD I need.- If only you could see what’s dancing around in my skull... but you don’t have to! Use your own ivory mug! Really stop and think and you’ll see more than in a million poems roar within an eyeblink. Know it and feel it and see it all; the whole stupid shining racing roaring- untameable- restlessness of it all! Put down your pen and paper and rush out in the air and rejoice truly in the warm company of lovers and friends, in the sweet hum of guitar strings and in the savage itch of the insect's bite. In loneliness and mourning. In boredom and steady working with clever hands. And love, never stop loving, or hating, or appreciating, or caring, or crying, as long as you are feeling. For sometimes it seems we should always be in pain from one thing or another, yet mostly from the bubbling exasperation of positive go-get-em ***** for life.

For we read this clunky tongue of ours and say it’s what should be but there is more! For life through all its prisms can impress upon your vision a beauty neverending, yet to sense it quivering within a page is a spectacular sight indeed. So let’s leave the rigid, the impersonal, the stymied words behind and let's form a new expression, devoid of convention, one that cries joyous face-first directly into our souls!

So, Cry, onwards! And let's weave this tender tongue of ours, golden! Let's stack this world full of less-than-sane streams of speech tangled images driving shards of true experience into each other’s minds, until we drop dead deep in our bones from exuberant exhaustion. Let’s follow Kerouac to the grave; cheering, and keeling and full of tender feeling and find a meaning in words that can transcend into being. Let’s **** and watch and listen and do and learn and laugh and notice laughter and mark it for the concentrated joy that it is. Let’s sit quietly and attend to those things around us and ruminate without ever forgetting our surrounding- which include, of course, the ever flipping ever spinning and unwinding tapestry of our mind and others'.

Let’s find joy, or the maker, or whatever, same-meaning trap clap-trap of a name he (or she) has in your sticks, in what we can touch and feel and see, and inside those we know and those we don’t. Let’s make language a human thing that radiates warmth for all, and bridges us to those around us so that none may feel alone or scared unless they long to for glorious masochism, or curiousness, or any things they so do please. Let us travel, and dance, and loose hope, and find it, and live it.

And write tenderness into this world.

coxswain or "***": a poet upon my shoulder, mind you embarrassing the comparison, twice the defeatist with a devil or an angel: twice the defeatist, still my prime mate! poet the ***! please don't elaborate on the said compliment! eight to an sixteen of oar upon the thames! you *****-nim-whitts! oar! oar! shmoore ore! by ten to 12 that coats about ten *******! you oxbridge falcons need the talk ***** to get a hardon?! trophy ***** awaits! limp ***** of McPhallon; what have they been feeding you: p & n + j all your ******* lives? no wonder you're a waste of time, i'd have more fun trainspotting that pretending to goo it out in gay over your "bulging" muscular-man crescendos... i've seen more anemics with more heartthrob effectuation than this *****-riddle-of-an-effort! at least the anemics get from (a) to (b) without having to pass your ****'s worth of (c)! i swear to god, most of these ***** sportsmen would have learned more in the army, than they ever did, or actually never did, "learn" at college... if not discipline then at least some respect, and if not respect, then at least some discipline... stop thinking about the fate of the ugly girls! row forest! row!*

sometimes, whenever a man couldn't have not have said it better, an orangutan out-mastered the masters of the swing, and gave him a permanent stitched-up kippah as reminder...

the world detests the men of necessary
stature, requirement, posture
and that welcome of adversary -

you wanted equality!
you didn't take it!
            who wants a woman equal a man
in the labour of war,
and who wants a woman equals in elsewhere,
what is there to come back to?
what candy floss dinners? what wish-you
good riddance?
    
  you are my necessary men...
       that sack-load of the last remaining rite -
but a skim off a skimmer...
the long-lost tattoo...
   i have here by daughter,
i have here my glue -
                   and may death pardon me,
for not living a life into her ageing
into me becoming a grandpa...
               who died: saving oh so worthy few...
and may my country be wed
unto tears, and let my country be
sufficed by the oh so many given,
but the oh so many pacified "grieved" -
and let that bell of the 4th of july
count 24, by noon with it,
and by midnight with all of those
we grieved a charcoaled choke worth of
goodbye...
                      let us all serve the infantry
of the years 1980 and 1990...
      when once we mattered,
we were subsequently left with
a fakery of goodbye...
in the days when we held more love
for our enemy, than our fellow countrymen,
for in those days:
at least the enemy held us in no
contempt: and looked us in the eye,
as sons of the same mother,
with a different pa...
                    and we learned
about the insidiousness of a woman's
desire to upkeep a "household"...
          and we said unto each other,
friend or foe:
         that this be the home of
joke and laughter: and the loss of
a bewildered, begrudging abode of a woman's
sorrow...
          that finally: set aside what's free,
we'd set aside the only freedom of
continuing our bludgeon against each other:
that our native tongue
became our native in translate -
          that we gained more from
fighting our enemy,
than having re-countered our, supposedly free;
we gained from love from our
enemy, than we were ever to gain from
our "citizens free".

We meet by the lockers
at break
I'm still amazed
that this school
has Cheerleaders
that basketball
not rounders & netball
is the sport played
that we study
the Cold War
' Of Mice & Men'
& the War in Vietnam
that we have 'Hitzenfrei' days
that our German teacher
always forgives our mistakes
that boys & girls
hang out together
that we put on musicals
I've never heard of
That we celebrate the fall of the Wall
that we take school trips
to Concentration Camps
that there's no uniform
that the teachers
rarely explain anything
that the word ' rubber'
doesn't mean ' eraser'
here but something else
that there are stereotypes
like 'nerd' & ' prom queen'
that we welcome grafitti
that we believe in Love
above any kind of Study
that we have the freedom
to pick & choose our failiures
without being sent
to the Principal's office
that we read Kerouac
Carl Sandburg & Ginsberg
that nearly everyone
has lived in at least
two or three
different countries
that we rarely fight
that my crush
plays trumpet
in a ska band
that we go
to the nearby Lakes
on weekends
& the English language cinema
on Tuesdays
that we celebrate Halloween
bit by bit I nearly forget
my All Girls school days
in soggy Britain
where I had no friends
where we sang hymns
every single morning
where we didn't practice
the Love we preached
where our future
was crumbling old Oxbridge
where we had a coat of arms
where we had houses
named after the merchant ships
of our Founder  from the 1600ds
where we didn't dream
of becoming Presidents
or Astronauts but Academics
forever lost in musty books
the flower of our youth, wasted


Hitzenfrei days were days in summer when we were let off school because it was too hot.
Wall - Berlin Wall

I once asked a classmate at college
after a Sociological lecture on Deviances
why most women get traumatised and upset
about those perverts heavy-breather deviants
because where I come from, you'd laugh at their sickness
call them stupid and waste their money by not hanging up

And if you're crazy enough to be those perverts exhibitionists
who frighten women and young girls by exposing their privates
rather then scream and run, the woman would actually go to the
fool and yank his ****** trousers down and aim a hefty blow
to the offending sight, God help crazy silliness behaviours
where I was raised..

These perverts get their jollies from terrorising and the shock
reactions from their victims, that's their money shot
same with trolls and bullies, they relish knowing they cause upset
or fear or some emotional responses from their victims
Hell, I come from a place where cowardice is recognised for what it is
The rationale is so simple, you've got beef with me, say it to my face
that's what confident real worthy people do, stand by your words
anything else shows you lack courage and you are immediately called out and exposed as a weakling and a coward.
They will tell you, have the ***** and talk to my face'
A cowardly man is the lowest of the low, as simple as that.

But a worthless idiot who hides and then start hissing and cursing
immediately shows cowardice and becomes a joke and a useless example of a man,
So how can the ******* spewed by a pained faceless nonentities impact me, how can a hidden coward without the nerve to face another man, be considered an equal or respected, much less cause me emotional pain or make me doubt myself.
These fools that are given the run around by clever Asians and Africans. Tell me more jokes please!
I actually enjoy toying with fools and when bored take the ****
out of them and bait them to laugh at their ridiculous comebacks.

Do me a favour, how can a semi-illiterate yobs, who turn ghost white and physically trembles at the
the slightest pressure wants to get into my head and disrupt it

These shameless buffoons, who are being academically humiliated
by indian classmates, whose parents come from dirt poor villages and can barely speak english.
Such proven fools and cowards, then decides they can come and terrorize me, like we say where I was raise
" for where"   that means ',   how is that possible

Even an oxford educated person who can't face me earns my fine
contempt, you call yourself Oxbridge, what's respectable with being a coward who can't talk man to man but sneaks around playing a childish game, utter contempt!
Even with their artificially created chaos and difficulties i still
fare better then them
and these pathetic sickos think they are relevant in some way

But I know, they get off the contacts with me, its like I bless them
with recognition
after all there are perverts who pay women to kick them in the *****

I feed the trolls, as my mentioned above, our woman would yank down the pants of a ***** pervert exhibitionist rather than scream and run away, you don't go crying, saying I am emotionally damaged by a mentally ******* fool and pervert dropping his pants, you know immediately this is an idiot not worth two bits, you treat simpletons as simpletons,
what's to be terrorized about by some scallywag dimwitted
cowards with problems and inferiority complexes.
Pray do tell me.....................

If I Was anything the compound fools are alleging would I be here laughing at them or perhaps I am stupid like them, and can't recognize demonstrable spineless cowards and what they do.
He's broken, we've planted seeds, he's anxious, he's crying, some mentalist even says, the coolest stylish man is goofy.

These are the brain dead bullies who pick on the prettiest girls and start calling the ugly, the classic bullies trade make, flip everything because you are all brain dead, smelly ignorant, dumb nobodies
Trash like this want to alter my personalities, want to do my head in

Ohh.....puuluuzee!!

man, a shattering of woe against the shoreline of synonymous
due applause - or kindred with the devil,
burrowing to circumstance the saharan shadow,
tipped shortest via noon,
                    how experience
    humanity without a language,
that god brokered, and not sanctify
Pontius Pilate as the saving grace?
  lava mea mani mundi -
wash my (mandi(ble)) hands clean (purus) -
aristocrats of Pompeii... ugly *******;
       differed - as was the price
of entering Oxbridge.
                 which is why the content
of dreams was questioned, rather the context...
because who was the narrator, after all?
                  why didn't Freudian theory
question the narrator, but instead superimposed
itself as the gravitas narrator: combining both
content and context of dreams?
                   i find it scary that Freud
managed to toy around until the point where
he found a dysfunctional dummy staging horror
that lacked all necessities of a ventriloquist
       framed toward a subplot: embedded in needing one.
  is Freud the only person to provide narration
for the phenomenon of dreaming?
                i still find dreams caged in Kantian noumena...
i.e., why do they happen in the first place?
        i think it's strange that dreams occur in the first place,
that's the context question,
  Freud already answered the content question:
****** Pythagorean truce: it's called all geometric shaping
fits the answer: *******.
      yes, that's me done & dusted...
                           i'm just wondering about what need
we have within Darwinism to dream... what are
the evolutionary downsizing benefits?
isn't dreaming a delusional cauldron that disturbs
our will... or is Hollywood dead and our fancies
are no longer fanciful... what would a history
of dreams reveal, merely Joseph as the sole
dream architect?
                     Freud was but a man,
he said something about the content of dreams,
he didn't say anything about the context of dreams,
i can't find anyone to explain to me
                a need for a context and a need to dream...
i guess the people who dream are as easily
impregnated with a summary of Voltaire's Candide...
that this is: the best of all possible worlds...
          sure, but inscribe upon this world
a concentrated censorship of dreams...
       let me dream the last thing i might see
and give it all the mechanics of what others dream of
to the tilt of fully-embraced enhancement fakery...
             i will still not understand how you managed
to lodge a photon inside my cranium, or why there's
a need for me to dream, that's Freud point + on the content,
but that's also Freud point minus given the context...
    not if i have to hammer a thousand nails into
planks of wood will a dream matter to me....
             by god, make your money from analysis
dream content, but you'll end up a pauper analysis
dream context... are our lives so dandy and simple
that we retreat from political hierarchies
                            and what needs to be addressed
and with tails dragged between our hinds
                  we create foci for translating dreams into
a realism that can never be realised, because being
a realism, it's only a superficial version of
the pain that reality is?
                  yep, so much "wording",
and how many breaths did you inhale and exhale
while i said that? me too, on words: too many.
             Freud can have his content-invoking
affirmation of life and the subsequent prejudices...
but Freud cannot have a context-angling depravity
     to forward life, and consequent pejoratives
being suitor:
             for those who dare not think
                    are easily converted to dreaming...
and those who care to not dream,
   are ushered into the most obscure thinking
   that has not parallel with celebrated thought
akin to Einstein or Newton... but then again,
the celebration of dreams have only one representative,
and he's biblical... oh sorry: mythical.
yet that's where it all begins,
and it is a great sacrifice... to abandon the comforts
of dreams, in order to think uncustomary
   or even murky, uncelebrated thoughts...
                         to think the mundane and non-applicable
insistences... and then dream nothing,
and then see humanity's impecible practibility
  in the do rather then the lost assertive of be,
for humanity does the most, and is the least...
  for every hundred of do instances,
there's but a hundreth of a be instance worthy a mention;
meaning? do the plumbing...
       chop the timber, fix the electric...
                    no one tells people to reach a frantic embodiment,
or calls for an impersonal god that might leave them
   personal & authentic... everyone always asks for a personal
god that leaves them impersonal... robo-tectonic akin
  to Islam... thus ascribing: quantifiably nihilistic...
                   is my life too unbearable to continue or
unbearable to convene such a life, and quote:
  "simply nodded" on my Christmas greeting card...
******* cha cha cha...
                             i ain't a trebuchet,
but i'll swing a plum with a pair of knuckles
should you need more lip-balm for a smooch;
i'm just jittery about the date you'll test me.;
because the other-half-of-me was particular
about that dietary schematic of anorexia;
some said it was cool amphibian akin to ambiance
and hence the strobe light and break-dancing epileptic:
                       coffers full of chuff!
o lookie lookie, who the ****** unit of the
daffy bunch: quack squint-mc-dire...
no wonder she says her name's Chelsea postscriptum.

I've seen...
Many an egg dropped by the proverbial hen
then egg becomes number through paper and pen
then greed facilitates the perpetrators of this
with ample incentive to young girls a kiss.

Then kiss unexpectedly leads to *******
and the greedy ******* end with a non-legit son
many of the girlies will attempt abortion
but a few will not do as the ******* tell them.

So the son soon and swiftly becomes an anomaly
while it's elder brother says to daddy "are you proud of me"
the oxbridge acceptance letter filled him up with glee
but the dad knows secretly it's all to do with money.

So the half witted son takes up the mantle of the father
as senility and guilt have finally gripped the latter
the son through drugs and experimentation is madder
his social status dictates,
he'll always climb the ladder.

A few years pass, we're in different situation
the son of senility has got grip o' the nation
shaking wretched and archaic crumbling foundations,
he's shaking the **** all over his poorer realtion.

But the overgrown man-child doesn't know,
that since he took power his brother sits in the cold,
that with all the food he eats, he chews it real slow,
so he can have food for longer, fill that hole.

But does it make it all right at once,
cuz he claims ignorance
or should the people at the top
be people from the bottom,
the ones who looked up,
but got nothing but trod on.

It's impossible to relate,
when you all dissipate,
when your middle class darling,
has a working class date.

So the ******* child doesn't vote,
through bedroom tax lost his home,
Senile son?  Victory of note
fake promises in the matriarchal dome.

Apathy strikes again,
this ****'s impossible to defend,
how can we justify not getting off our *****?
not doing something about all this in the masses?
oh yeah, that's right
although barely know the people at the top,
We've all seen their soles as they've trod on our lots

symbols, some just say zodiac, with Gemini at my lowest ebb - ebb, funny word, unravelling nouns from the cauldron of onomatopoeias, say knock on wood precipitated into a privacy of owning a door - whereas the Irish and the Poles encoded dialogue (like in Ulysses) with hyphen for snappy convo; in a pub, Charlie and Harry spoke:
- pint's on me.
- aye, on you the one and no more.
- why not more on me?
- i won the lottery, i'm goonah buy half of Cork.
- so who's this Yorrick fella'h?
- apparently a resurrected maxim.
- travesty...
- indee- doodley oh.
which beckons the question why the un-imaginative encoding of sounds gave English narrators too much power... the supposed ditto / invert comma wasn't expression of approx., nuanced, why wasn't the interpretation that of nuance? we can all use the unit Sartre chose to nuance, instead of "ego" the ref. point of conduct ~ego, i.e. approximately me, living with my mother but nonetheless womanising... unimaginative narrator, speeding, never gave his characters a chance, "i went to the market today", he said; that's the narrator masquerading - call this a dubbing mechanism? i would... like i'd hope for the centimetres and miles and nanometres of pause differentiating a comma from a hyphen, a hyphen from a colon, a colon from a semi-colon... and a semi-colon from a fullstop (exampled a germanic word with missing hyphen not authorised by the Oxbridge dictionary of couture, disassembling a navy sweater and toad-green jeans)... i mean, **** me, give me the precision tactics to read without invoking an αsθmαtιc imitation of a sailor's last breath; are those dots above i and j really necessary? it just rained down y y y y y y y y y y on top of them, enzyme activity? yep, ιoτα; otherwise just inert *******; and no, it's not a language these days, English has been reduced to pixel graffiti.

well... mandrakes and sparrows
aren't exactly androgynous...
maybe a mascara advert went missing
along the way... maybe.
here the piano... here the broken
fingers of Liszt... you poker me,
it's worth the gamble...
well ontologically *sprechen what
the hell is a natural appropriation
of waiting for water to boil,
or an egg to be poached in shell
for a runny yoke? me neither,
i'm as dumb as a doughnut concerning
such affairs... i said there's no androgynous
behavioural patterns in sparrow and mandrakes,
you choose you adaptability whenever you
choose to stress a chequered flag...
parasitically i'll march with telescope
ants and flies of what alienation did
to the food-chain - yeah, aliens with an
enlargement syndrome -
bathtub of hydrochloric acid -
i just imagine the newly beloved painting
unseen, a squid cleaving fat and muscles
off a skeleton in the same light
as seeing a ******* - artist or pervert?
i guess both go hand-in-hand;
the hyphen, equal parallel usage with the inverted
coma / well... it used to be known as a ditto
                                                           ­            "
                                                               ­        "
                                                               ­        "
but mind you, before Oxford accepts a german
sounding word compound it requires a hyphen
in english - pistachio shells and shrapnel -
yep, as the above - unravelling of fictive tactics
of the bothersome nature for the narrator not only
loßing the plot but also the characters;
hey, english is perfect, i can apply whatever stresses
of φoνo i want... it's stark naked Adam & Eve...
i can put a ballerina's leotard on this encoding,
and no one will truly mind.

At least they roll the credits slowly--
I mean, at the end of DOWNTON ABBEY,
the hundreds who worked their butts off
so you and I could see the stars on screen.
We human beings have been delusional
for millennia. Pharaohs, emperors, kings,
presidents, not to mention tycoons, millionaires--
now billionaires--and "prominent" people
from all walks of life, those who attended
Eton and Andover, the Ivies and Oxbridge
thinking as though they are inherently
better--superior, as it were--to all others
when, in truth, all human beings--indeed,
all creations--share the same divinity.
What a grand illusion it has been, Civilization,
from Sumer to the present! Willl we ever see
truth? Will we ever know that we are all one?
Or will we all perish from catastrophic
climate change or nuclear holocaust before
we achieve enlightenment?

TOD HOWARD HAWKS

it usually begins with conversational'ism (
yes that mark is hierarchically bitter about
being 2nd best, it's actually has an oxbridge
approval as being above the hyphen,
meaning it's closely related to its
dictionary cousin the aardvark),
but i really did want to translate west-coast
into east-coast, i wanted bukowski
as frank o'hara so bad, so so bad...
i almost took to grips with ted berrigan,
don't worry, the former eastern bloc
is far far away, no monsters there,
no monsters in need of translation...
we're all secondary colonies out here,
we can be rhwandian out here if you like,
we an play the drums and sing jungle lullaby
for the threat of tarzan's onslaught:
indeed the possessive article makes
not distinction between definite (this)
and that (indefinite) articulation with the added
pluralism... but as the revolution of 1917
in russia proved... rasputin was too clever
to be a jesus... and the ruling elite known
as the intelligentsia were never to be the barons...
or so i heard a serf riddle owning land
and paying taxes than paying with workable hands...
democracy... ah blah you see!
it's like *******.. as long as the X is
given from every citizen we can claim better order
and perfection in disguise at the venetian ballroom dance!
when want dumb pawns, but the dumb pawns
have been educated, they're illiterate in the sense
that they don't read the prescribed books
to join the club of conversation...
it does indeed take much out of you to simply
look pretty / appealing...
they're illiterate in the sense of aesthetic dialectics:
is a. prettier than b. given that c. mentions d.
as prettier than a. or b.? i guess it does...
watch the rich girl tremble... give confessions...
she's orthodox but she decided to create a makeshift
catholic confessions' booth out of nothing
and ordain some random man the dog collar...
the red let knows that the only aristocracy is
the intelligentsia, when the arithmetic is enough
to count enough of them.
the right fears intelligence, in the same vein
as the left fears luxury, in the same way that
the middle fear usury.
better a cat who understands via meow (written onomatopoeia)
than man who understands concern via
usurping any meaning, and reducing meaning
to monkeying, otherwise known as autistic stare
of cats wondering where your shadow disappeared to,
reducing meaning of a distinct sound to an
onomatopoeia that sounds harsh, harsh enough
to craft an argument for a non-existent god /
mode of communication / the median being
a dialogue / and mean being the communicative peak
of two parties in agreement of the other being
communicated without a sense of a necessary
solipsistic abstracting - otherwise known
as the peak of normal distribution of two strangers
allocated roles in a market place, without
a shakespearean sense of dramatics at the height
of the kept, memorable.

so you can understand the voice of eva cassidy, and hear the beauty of plagiarism as above original composition; sometimes it fares to count a minute than live an hour, when all an hour can bring is asphyxiating sails that have but a viking dreaming of greenland, and deeper north to no sunrise awaited turning viking into eskimo; but it's still a bit **** that they remember jeff buckley than eva; i preferred his father, timothy; n'ah, not really, hence the whimper, hence the weep, hence leeroy cohen giving us the bricks and the pavement to wrestle drunk trails of the otherwise respected walk of pride, or shame, into the grave.*

wet your hand before touching ice,
and i promise you,
you will turn into a spider,
a wetted hand touching ice
will cling like traversing
odd geometries,
you really don't need
an oxbridge education
to speak a tongue
so easily exported to australia,
india and new hampshire,
but like i said:
i will not go to that sikh *****'s
wedding a daughter out
of principle, as i breathed out
a soul most recognisably seen in winter
(a bottle of wine for me is
a glass of beer for you):
we shall meet again Darshan,
with soul and ease of thought,
for ease of thought means soul,
and that, my dear feline imam,
who i chiselled a gravestone off
a grave to bury your ash...
is as far as the buddhist sun will be allowed
to rise from horizon frequented by
stars in depths and squid reminding of
the oceanic fluorescent graffiti,
search one's own depth before searching
a depth to others...
you provide a shallowness
others will acknowledge as sound relief
readied for critique...
just because you read don quixote doesn't
make you a genius, more a plagiarist...
but it helps to have something bulky...
my metabolism states:
a verse at a time, two hours for one
in the cantos, then a newspaper article
(i never managed to understand why
people read trash upon wake & transit,
to some odd affair with address and signature,
why read the world's rotary gullibility
with tongue in cheek tongue tied predictability?
why not begin the day straining the eyes
at tolstoty's ******* no one dare read
for fear of being ransomed by boredom?
you russian or something?
there's no prize concerning national pride,
so why bother?
philosophers say the dumbest **** about philosophy,
they talk perception perception reality via "the perceived",
and then they say it takes ageing, or quiet simply
old age, loss of libido to define the subject matter;
i say... it's defined by spontaneity, because
it's a subject once it's fleeting, a butterfly conundrum,
anything beyond that is a tapeworm:
it feeds by feeding of a host, and that's that.
Darshan, my quicksilver in water,
we'll meet once more, again,
when we'll say: thinking with ease,
to the ultimatum of arguing whether a god exists
exploited to exchange pronouns with nouns
and vice versa... to be less identifiable
as a hope for fame... to think with ease,
disregard points of closure... with soul...
to be with soul and the ease to think,
such is the travesty of unquestionable morality...
the ultimate defiance of the gods in terms of mortality:
man's rebellion was to ask of morals,
the gods simply gave us mortality.

when i applied for edinburgh
i was thinking:
i have to get away from these people!
i could have applied
for Oxbridge without thinking,
i applied for Bristol - fair enough,
if some dean asked me to recite
Wordsworth i'd have recited
a recipe saying 'rustic ambiance, you
see, better a recipe off the top
of my head than a date in a chinese restaurant
citing woo 'rds' worth',
like today with leftover Moussaka -
is aubergine the national veg of greece?
anyway, the salad:
spring assortment of cow dung in reverse,
cucumbers, cherry tomatoes, basil,
spring onions, a drizzle of ****** olive oil
infused with chillies,
balsamic vinegar, and half a teaspoon of honey,
salt and paper to taste... wordsworth can ****
his magpie and lark's worth of recitation,
i rather recite a recipe, in line with his
rustic residence -
like me tonight, in no man's land between
shy-urban (suburbia) and the wild parts of
the land, three beers perched on a fence
looking into the dark void of a scaled down
forest - you don't get any crows in urban areas...
indeed Edinburgh was the prime gothic
resurrection, Frankenstein's monster could
have been my neighbour -
whereas some in the grizzly north
attack the sky with colours like the houses
in St. Petersburg (pink, azure,
chickpea), other's embrace the grey
with very mundane coloured architecture,
thus when a chance sunshine comes through
people tend to look up and watch with glee -
Edinburgh brown - stonemasons' slip
of the tongue.
a murky yellow moon, a sclerosis of the moon,
the shining part in reverse
where the night the x-rayed sclera
and the moon the pupil fully illuminated with
gossiping sun in want of a listen;
a murky sclerosis yellow moon - fine agreement
with the thinning clouds that
could never be used for Mickiewicz's castles
in perfect blue and perfect cotton cauliflower contrast
of the zenith by the perpetuated day in mirror-standstill.

Dear straight people,
whilst you are happy holding hands with your partner,
there are people hiding their feelings for the person they love
because of the steel gaze of passers-by,
and because of words ripping through their skin like bullets as people jeer and jest.

you are the reason we are trapped in the closet.
On the daily teens are faced with protests, murders and fiery screams of condemnation for holding hands with their partner,
then see stories of a man who married himself and a woman who married the Eiffel tower. They had no shrieks of hell, no sour protests.
Leaving us wondering---
“Is it just me?”,
“Am I a freak?”,
“Is it really just a phase?
We retreat to our cast iron chamber that is the closet,
waiting for “This phase” you keep talking about to pass.

whilst you are busy planning proms, going out on dates and hanging out with friends,
there are teenagers sat crying,
because they are too afraid to leave their room,
they are made to feel unwelcome in their own home.

whilst you are busy reporting on Donald trump’s rise,
Kim Kardashians latest dress
and even Burnley’s championship win.
There are stories that will never be told.
Stories like the fact that 40% of LGBT have attempted suicide with 34,000 having had succeeded this year alone,
that’s almost enough to fill Stanford bridge. But of course, we only care if they attend “Oxbridge”
Dear straight people,
we care,
we matter,
we live,
we love.

no, that sort of imagery doesn't
put me off,
   the lake of blood, or fire,
i just think about
   the oxbridge competition
turning to canoes
  rather than sticking to the tradition
of having a rowing competiton...
besides that...
         i'm probably more scared
of an empty *** bottle...
     anyway, so this film adaptation
of a book i'll never read,
only because i prefer books
that allow to pause,
   and allow me to get my money's
worth of spanning 2 years...
   makes thinking a "competitive sport"
dealing with liking your own
company and being lazy in terms
of blah-blah...
    anyway...
  so, even if the arheological findings
in egypt in 1945 are wrong,
and the ancient historian josephus
under the reign of nero is also wrong
and the book of revelation is also
wrong about the 666...
**** me, so many wrongs...
     cut the long story short...
  if he did it for love,
   it must have been out of some sort
of masochism...
     i remember kneeling in church,
  the first imagery...
taking the rorschach test?
for me it would be a trinity of:
pelvis, butterfly, moth, butterfly, pelvis...
moth...
    how complicated does it
have to be?
             so he did it out of love...
sure... the sort of masochistic love
you end up with killing
other people...
   you know one fire-image in my head?
i'm going to plunge:
    i'm envisioning him
getting a hard-on hanging
on that cross...
                   yep... dangling like
a christmas decoration with a hard-on...
   well you know,
we live in times of hyper-gender "issues"...
and thanks to the diaper
  surrounding his "holy" regions,
it makes it even easier to imagine
him hanging on that cross
                 with an ***** phallus -
anyone going to tickle his *****
while he's at his zenith?
   no? no one? i'll pretend to be,
standing against the sun,
extending my hand, and imitating
tickling his ***** with the shadow
of my hand;
the mona lisa enigma is amateur,
take the diaper off that statue...
let's learn less darwinism,
   and more human anatomy;
how do i know that menstraution blood
is clotty?
   apparently *** on a period
eases the cramps,
   ******* in the bath, pulling it out,
evidently my ****** was riddled
with fudge-clot-blood (sour milk
   in a cup of coffee)...
   never mind, at least i wasn't
all wrapped in latex getting *****
with a ***** shoved up my ***.

right... phew... not this time... i'm getting this off my chest... i have to... i couldn't possibly tell this to a friend, i'm not even good with stating this anonymously... but it would explain a lot of things... i actually see this in print, out of my own volition... it has to be done... i just remember that poem Philip Larkin...
                    they ******* up, your mum and dad.
                    they may not mean to, but they do.

i don't like science, or rather: i do like science per se,
****'s sake, i did chemistry to a university degree
level - first person in my family to even go to university,
had it not been the Blaire era in politics
with that tragic motto of: education, education, education
i would have gladly went to a trade school -
even though: i sort of did by working a summer job
as a roofer in the construction industry -
oh not tiles and roofs all slanting...
i'm talking industrial scale roofs sometimes the size
of half a football pitch... tar work, felt work, fleece,
insulation, gravel by the tonne-load...
  
                but i just don't like... scientific language...
the way people talk science -
this supposedly "higher" i dare even say "moral" superiority,
well... it is sort of moral to know something
is red: if it actually is red...
rather than saying it's blue... knowledge, i find,
can be constrained by a morality of: truth...
ah... philosophy on the other hand...
that's like when science ****** art...
   the freedoms within Ms. Sophia are seemingly limitless...

what am i getting at?
     i don't have *** that frequently... all the better...
or worse... because for the next two days...
when the night comes...
                 mind you... i'm asleep...
                         i get torn up by something that
hides in the night and beyond: in dreams
and the vast yawning vacuum of nothingness...

i can see it upon waking... walking into a dark room
where my mother and father are *******...
p.t.s.d.? we were on holiday
    they were young, i was young... only one room
available... one bed...
      i fell asleep, they went out...
i woke up to the noise of them *******...
   i was lying in the same bed mind you...
   and that i had the audacity to say something
to my mother as they finished and she cuddled me...

i'm not even going to go as far as calling it child
abuse... after all... i was a bit of a devil myself...
i started ******* when i was either 7 or 8 years
old, i do remember that...
we were playing hide and seek in a construction
site of a church and i stumbled across a pornographic
magazine...
    and...
              and... by about 9... or maybe 8...
so as a first generation immigrant...
   back in the day... a ****** lady married this
Jewish guy who had a massive house on Perth Road
Gants Hill...
    he had a market stall, selling cheap-***** t-shirts
which he used to travel to Manchester for...
he also owned a string of Rolls-Royces and he drove
them, rented them for weddings etc.,
   but... he also "rented" the entire house to immigrant
men... sometimes? 20 under one roof... sometimes maybe
more... and he lived in this house...
with these migrant men... with his two daughters
and his son... and his wife...
                       right... get the picture?
we used to live like that at the beginning...
    obviously there was also me and my parents...
crammed? eh... just a bit...
    was i abused? not that i can recall...
              well... one time me and this guy's son
were having a bath... together... yeah...
children... mother was standing in view of us
as she ironed some clothes...
    and? would you believe it?
                  i taught him how to *******...
i told him: there's this funny sensation once you've
done it enough times...

so i mean: if i was sexually abused as a child...
it was by either me or.... the myth of an incubus...
some magical ***** fairy godmother
that gave me a heads up... on what was to come...

sure... shell-shocked... after that incident of waking
in the same bed your mother and father are *******...
i had the opportunity to return the favour once...
some black woman picked me up in a pub
and since i had nothing better to do
  i thought: **** it... let's go...
trouble is... she took me back to the room she was
renting somewhere in Stratford...
i walk in... ****... a young girl and a boy sleeping
on the bed...
          what does she do? she literally drags them
off the bed onto the floor
     gets on the bed and... ha ha...
         she doesn't even allow me to penetrate her
******... she folds her legs so that it's an imitation
******... like... a bit like... what Buffalo Bill does
in the Silence of the Lambs when he hides his genitals...

she did that... i tried maybe one ******...
   and immediately the memory flooded in...
who's fault was it? who was more ***** that night
that they couldn't help themselves?
my father? or my mother?
              well then... i was standing before the truth...
or... about to do some pelvic push ins...
i stopped myself... i said: i can't do it with children
in the same room...
so we just lay there... fell asleep...
i woke up and this little bundle of sweet afro
was standing beside me... ******* on his smoczek
******-soother... or just soother...
so i picked him... obviously completely naked
and placed him on my torso...
and he... fell asleep... there...
                                            
maybe that's why i need the extremes of sexuality
by going to the brothel...
maybe i can only **** prostitutes...
i need to know: for certain... i don't want to **** on a whim...
i don't want some dating game...

perhaps this might be called an ode to Johnny Depp,
a sort of cherry on top...
i don't want to be hiding these details of my life
inside of me... i have enough cognitive labyrinth to
think through as it stands...
i like transparency, i'm a disciple of truth:
well... "disciple": an adherent of it...
   better me digging up old skeletons from my closet
than having someone else defame me or smear me,
straight from the horses mouth as they say:
or as i say: liars don't walk on stilts...
   lies have short legs...

why? it's about ******* time...
    it takes some courage to be honest... just enough...
but science can't explain the last two nights...
where i was apparently making strange noises
in my sleep... where i got out of bed
and toppled down a case of my c.d. collection...
i woke up and i was like:
   wait a minute... i remember playing back
that *****-flick from two days ago in my head:
meditating on everything...
   me, Khedira...the two mirrors...
   the *******, the brandy...
                the apparent non-existent ******...
weird things that go bump in the night...
   a horror-lust realm of entanglements and things
non-scientific...
       i had to explain to both of them:
i wasn't drunk... not really... i was high from the ***...

i don't understand how *** can become tedius
to some people... well... i can... they have it too often...
no wonder they have to find "other" avenues
to express themselves with latex and role-playing...
if you **** like a Teutonic monk...
you **** like a Teutonic monk...
           you transcend something that otherwise
bores people after having moved outside of
the saturation point...

two days ago i knew i had to make my move...
return the favour... she counted how many times
we were together... when i asked... this was our 4th
encounter... with this other *******
i was asked to pay an extra £20 to perform oral *** on her...
i knew it would be different with Khedira...
she was comfortable in the *******...
she didn't even have to **** me off prior
to *******... in between the change of rhythm
i dived in and slurped on a bucket load
of oysters...
    stuck me nose in it...
             carousel of tongues... seems i have more than
one...
   then back to *******...
then diving back down but this time ******* her...

it was coming... i knew that expression on a woman's
face... it happened to me before... with Ilona...
when i was 21... but then i couldn't believe it...
i thought she was faking it...
    it's not like an ****** in pornographic movies...
exaggerated almost extraterrestrial...
the spasms... the ******* spasms... recoils...
like i said previously:
   i'm of the school of act that says:
it's sometimes more pleasurable to give pleasure...
than to receive it...
evidently i love eating ****...
       probably more so than getting oral *** in return...
which would place me in the Gomorrah camp...
no... i'm not into whatever ***** was up to...

       to hell with it: we're over-sexed as it is...
we're living in a time of libido-insomnia...
                         fight fire with fire...
                                better still... bring some cooking oil
and a deodorant spray can...
                     i'm on the side of: counter to what's currently
the state of social-engineering...
no problem... i'll be your "****" your "pervert" your:
"stranger" your outlier...
if Walt Whitman could celebrate himself...
and be his unabashed gay-self...
   gay-pride? right... sure... no problem...
                    let's try this for starters...
   i'll parade my affection on paper...
             and since so few people read... i'll just slip past
the nets of censors...
   i'll dig a trench and employ covert methods
to get my stance to stand in full view: of those who are
willing to ingest it...

it wouldn't be the same if i had long her like i once
had... back then she could have the fantasy
of being eaten out by a woman... and a man...
morphing: androgynous circus...
but with short hair... ah... so much better...
the way a woman can sort of grip your short hair
and with such adamant want
try to invert the process of giving birth
by showing you into her... and since we're all
born like the fall of Lucifer: head first...
eh... merely sticking your "poker" in her while
retaining: keeping... eating her eyes with your eyes...

obviously i read the Kama Sutra...
slapping... pinching... biting...
       that's all part of the ritual...
                           it's nice to hear the following:
i love you...
   i don't think i can forget you...
              not after you bit my upper lip...
she was clearly insinuating that i perform oral ***
on her... all that tongue waggling...
feverish tongue of lust....
   an array of onomatopoeias...
                 the crows might have been croaking...
the woodland pigeons could be cooing...
ancient reptilian morphs...

    seriously... it's unlike any "conquest"...
the antithesis of Don Juan seducing a nun...
   because... what the hell made more special than
all the other men she slept with?
to be able to... what day is it today? Saturday...
long weekend... diamond jubilee and all...
   Sunday, tomorrow... she's going to text me tomorrow
and tell me when she wants to meet up...
yeah... i actually managed to convince a *******
to a date... i was looking up hotel rooms in Barking
only yesterday... that's roughly £70 for an entire
night...
           obviously i'll take her out for dinner...
buy a bottle of decent alcohol...
  strawberries... brandy or prosceco?
probably both...
                   lemons? maybe...

because i don't do it by the hour...
                 i'm like a diesel engine...
    i need that reminder of the 7 hours during the night
when she had about 4 *******:
my last night in St. Petersburg... ah: those white nights
of St. Petersburg...
how?! how did i manage to pull this stunt off?
i moved from paying her for ***
to paying for her to spend a night with me in a hotel
room... well... that was quick...
only after 4 encounters: i guess the oral *** i performed
on her was the deal-breaker for her...

it's also good to know that:
i'm the good sort of mad...
          yeah... we talked... i lay on the floor with my head
resting on a make-shift pillow of my shoes...
smoking a cigarette... laughing...
   then we washed each other in the bath...
            i was drunk on not being drunk...
***-starved and then: outlet... boom!
              everything starts making sense...
to hell with relationships... i wouldn't go as far
as to want to bore myself with
sharing a life together:
              well... maybe... but then the *** wouldn't
be ***...
   i wouldn't go as far as the Muslims in terms
of covering the women in sadistic attire...
****'s sake: at least they could make the niqab
out of white linen... or cream linen...
       but men and women shouldn't sleep in the same
bed... obviously **** in the same bed...
but sleep? i tried that once...
every single night... half of me was numb for having
fallen asleep hugging her...
  i need my own bed to sleep in...

hell... if society and culture is selling me the fantasy
of Pretty Woman... starring: you know who...
Richard Gere and Julian Roberts...
well... i'm not a business man, i'm not a lawyer...
i'm a humble "poet", i spew words...
i regurgitate them... i'm a "pooet"...
    why not ask society... so... this is good? yes?
then you hear dating horror stories...
and you're like: i'll be Pontius Pilate...
    i'll wash my hands clean off these affairs...

it's that simple... people want to play ball... sure...
i'll play ball... but this time round:
i'll be making the rules...
the last time i tried to tango with a girl
she was misplacing her feet...
   i kept on standing on them... mea culpa mea culpa
oh where is my mea culpa?!
enough... is... enough...
   reiteration: but it has to be a reiteration
in Deutsche: genug ist genug!

i've seen enough, i've smelled enough, i touched enough...
funny story...
me and this Irish lad were talking before my encounter
with Khedira... he had a balloon and a flask of
laughing gas on him...
we talked... he thought i was an undercover
journalist... Oxbridge educated...
i think i was laughing more than he was:
even though he was inhaling laughing gas...
he had this funny Celtic name...
almost feminine... a name a bit like: Nikita...
i told him... i knew this girl once...
she said she was: not naive... she was Kneev...
but her name was written as Niamh...
go figure... i told him: i'm not English...
i persuaded him: your people are inspired...
to preserve themselves... a bit like the Welsh...
who still retain their mother-tongue...

he was willing to share some of the laughing gas
but out of politeness he refused to share
the balloon with me... obviously i agreed with him...
he talked about a thumping sensation
to his head... like the brain was trying to
get out of the skeleton by routes outside
the realm of mummification...
     we talked about *******... i was like...
the first time i tried it was when i was 35...
reluctantly...
   because, like i told him: it really doesn't do anything
for me what too much coffee and nicotine
already does...

his friend came out after having ****** Khedira...
well... she's sure as **** not a ******...
lucky me... the "omega-male"...
i'm not here for conquests... i'm here for postcards...
wish you were: i too, wish this was Venice...
jealous? n'ah... let's play the game right...
i'm not here looking out for timid virgins
or for that matter mouthy under-aged girls...

i just hope that by writing this i can have the "audacity"
to have a calm night's sleep...
i seriously can't be sleep-walking
throwing down things, groaning, moaning
in my sleep...

        two days ought to be enough to let his lustful
demon incarnation wrestling with me, pass...
maybe if i ****** on a regular basis i wouldn't
be drinking as much...
   maybe i'm finally sobering up to the idea
of *******... maybe i've saturated what has
become very real for me...

i'm pretty sure that the Ukrainians were happy
when **** Germany invaded Poland...
well then... the Ukrainians are fighting Russians
as we speak... and i'm thinking about a second schism
in Islam... with a Turkish *******...
the best barbers in the world...
and, i suppose, the best prostitutes in the world...
the Russian girls are overshadowed...

ha ha... even she said that men are better cooks
than women...
she told me to slow down on the "invisible" macron
hovering above the A in laa'vash...
oh... it's this Turkish meal...
black peppercorns... sea salt... chillies...
rosemary... white wine vinegar...
i forget the rest... cheddar... actual lavash...
thinly sliced beef...

          that's always nice to find... a man... within a woman...
within a sentiment left by a woman:
men are better cooks than women
because women "think" they know how
to cook food... we agreed...
no... they don't... i told her about my worst
dinner... cooked by my grandmother...

i initiated ******* / chewing on a piece of chalk...
wrong temperature... doubly-butchered...
it's the sort of meat that makes your teeth
click... click... chewy ****...
chat chat... chuckle... meat that makes
your teeth stick together...
and i said to her: you can readily replace CHat...
with a SHeep of a slurp...
   juicy meat... juicy everything...
  meat like juice of a pomegranate...

by the end of the encounter...
i asked her: are you happy?
yes... she replied...
fair enough... so... now don't worry about me:
whether i ******* or not...
obviously i wasn't...
         i knew that i didn't know that i was
barking at the right tree... dragging a Trojan horse's
worth of a libido back into my bedroom...
i was about to erase about a 200 cohort of men
in her gallery of exposing her ****...
lucky me... night-terrors...

               science is: too... demystifying...
i don't like answers... philosophy doesn't like answers...
philosophy does the question-bits...
according to Heidegger something is either
question-worthy of worthless...
i'm in love with German-thinking...
        England has provided the economic side of "things"...
but in terms of "thinking"? let's just say
yes to English comedy... i will not digest Locke...
no ******' chance in hell!

funny that... mann von schreiben...
man of letters...
     English thinking is too pragmatic...
me? like a German...
how do i "solve" a "complication"?
i over-complicate the "complication"...

i have to pity the day...
i beg and i beg, and i beg
for the night to relieve me...
            i pray for the night to come...
i'm most aware of undetailed things
when i find myself surrounded by people that
are asleep...

the great Biblical deluge?
like the great Swedish deluge of the Polish-Lithuanian
Commonwealth?
wasn't there an ice age moment
when the ice melted?!
                 too much journalism... not enough
poetic imagination in the people...
      
i "think" i'm just about done... yes...
Matthew said to Conrad: i think you are.

once a ***** habit...
     now a guilty pleasure...
                         i don't even think it's
about the taste coming back:
i could season just fine when i was
smoking 20 cigarettes a day...
it's not about that...
      when you're cycling and you're
not coughing up any phlegm...
and as you start breathing... it's like
you're breathing lactic acid and menthol
while walking in high altitudes...
i remember that sensation...
    before i met my downfall and she "introduced"
me to cigarettes... since... she used to lace
the marijuana we smoked with probably
too much tobacco...
    i know: Garden of Eden deja-vu...
                 where's your mea culpa?! you might
rightfully ask...
and i'd reply... she was a huge metal
freak back then... probably still is...
          she even got those lip piercings done
like the lead singer from hed(PE) -
scabby lips... dreads trimmed...
she even chose a song for me... i was her
herr mannelig and she was the troll living
under the bridge...
    i had to persuade her to take those rings
out: the scabs were an issue
but not a blatant issue (yeah, right...
every now and then rushing into the bathroom
to scrub my mouth...
would i go as far as dipping my lips
in some bleach? probably)
   i just told her... hard to kiss with three rings
in your lips...
i think she was hitting rock bottom...
so she had to convince herself that even
at her most unappealing... she could still
swing by a man's house and some love
and obviously if she kept her ***-antics intact...
the guy would not mind...
by the time i turned up in St. Petersburg...
nice... girly hair... short... but i liked short
anyway: since i had long hair at the time...
and she would be wearing make-up...
she would be cooking (i did all the cooking
in Edinburgh) - and she would wear this amazing
summer-time dress...
while i was wearing all linen: trousers, shirts...
brown leather sandals...

    regrets?! yeah... i wish i told that *****
to get out of my house in Edinburgh sooner!
before she dangled that carrot of visiting Russia...
if i only threw her back out of my privately rented
apartment on Montague St.
back into her student accommodation...
back into her cess-pit of Cow-Gate drag-queens
and hybrid-goths... i would have been so relieved...

well... this is not the first time i'm "kicking" the "habbit"
of smoking cigarettes...
i've done it already...
   but since my grandfather's... sorry: my best friend's
death... i sort of started the choo-choo train
once again... but i recently figured...
can't just let this June cold onslaught not be used...
my throat was killing me...
i can't smoke... well then...
              but... but... it's not fun if you just let go
of smoking...
i already mentioned:
what was once a ***** habit has now become
a guilty pleasure...

or like me studying the incel phenomenon...
studying: yeah, "studying" - i'm sort of testing the grounds...
dating apps are out of the question...
what prompted me?
last time i was in the brothel
and waiting for Khedira i started to this one
lucky Irish lad with a name that sounded feminine...
jacked-up with a bottle of laughing
gas and a balloon...

   yeah... i'd say so too... hard to place my accent...
the English are father suspicious of my accent...
and that too: depends where...
but ask an Irishman and he'll think he's talking
to an undercover journalist...
that's the aura i give... some Oxbridge ****....
but not exfoliating in your atypical class
hierarchies blah blah...

well... incels... should we mention Christine Chubbuck?
and the urban myth of: you know what
happens to a cockroach that is decapitated?
it dies of starvation two weeks later...
i swear this urban myth comes from the execution
of andrei chikatilo...
i never get bored of this quote from Bane
in the Batman movies...

'well: perhaps he's wondering why someone would: shot a man!
before throwing him outside of a plane???'
that's me... with the execution of the Ukrainian
serial killer... why would you drag someone
into a cell and shoot them in the back of the head?

anyone see the movie about Christine's suicide...
oh... when a woman does it... it's a cautionary tale...
but when a man does it: it's somehow "immediate":
the death: the bullet in the head...
Kafka: for ****'s sake... foretold!
aim at, the, *******, heart, like, you're, a vampire...

because sure... sure... and who isn't brain dead
at the best of times?! zombie ******* lovers...
idiotic trespassers of traffic... ******* ninjas!
making bad parking decisions stretching from Ilford
through to Stratford...

i'm sorry... what were we... talking about?
quitting smoking... me... i like...
this return to my teenage self...
when i wasn't interested in smoking anything...
just drinking... ah... this old taste of alcohol...
it's like sherbert pop-pop-pops!
  hmm mmm...

                yeah... i'm sort of worried...
thank god i don't have any children...
so she tells me she loves me after i returned
oral *** favours on her... listen... my tongue was
probably the 2nd tongue that ventured that far
while i'm not even going to imagine a tally...
deer... female deer? doe(s): does?! doe...
it's not: d'AZ... English... pretentious language...
keen on spelling one way...
speaking another... no wonder dyslexia is
so rampant in your people...
"my" people just have a terrible orthography...
i'm sorry... Charles Dickens  an ******* with
that elevated term for a spelling term...
notably?
morze "vs." może (a sea... vs. maybe) -
you can discount the worth of dots above
i and j immediately... **** it... revise the language...
drop those hovering dots... it's not like you
use any diacritical markers of: proper distinction...

well then... hmm... incels...
i was all for categorising them as terrorists...
why? are actual terrorists treated like... zombified
psychiatric big pharmacological zombie-inverted-thought:
no thought experiments?!
i think i argued the right point...
i've been on a rainbow of medications...
i gained around 50kg from one string...
well... roughly... i was a colt...
i used to weigh circa 72kg...
    came up to 120kg...
                         oh now i'm drinking excessive...
i need the momentum...
and i believe most of them...
you're a terrorist...
                   that's your ******* card...
"your": their...
                       who the hell wasn't to spend the rest
of their... constipated: interrogated by iron
bars of a "life" doubly subdued by
having no access to their mind?
  
   it's my inherent Slavic distrust of the: science...
ah ha ha ha... "science": the art of psychiatry...
the art of? creating monsters...
            the only "science" that... cuts corners with
the employment of pharmacological pinks and violets!
thankfully in England a psychologist can't
prescribe you any drugs...
but... psychiatrists reverse that boundary by
prescribing you all the sweets... but no conversation...
get the idea?

it's not fair that frustrated white boys
are deemed mad while all the terrorists are these *******
grand architectural logisticians of the exploration
of Islam into the decaying mind of the West!
well **** me! bring me more eggs!
let's make this omelette the size of an al fresco sized
paella!

maybe that's what's bothering me...
but i'm not bothered... i've went through it all...
at least that's how you test your sanity against
the backdrop of women...
you go to a *******... 3 / 4 times...
you escalate each time...
one hour... half an hour...
first three encounters you feel selfish and make
her give pleasure to you...
by the 4th time... i'm tired of watching you
give me a blow-job while we look at each
other in the mirrors...
so... from a *******
to slurping on a bucket out oysters of ****...
wow!
        at no extra cost?!
well then... bilingual that i am... let me just ask
my second tongue to come out...

i love you...
    waiting for two days... getting "sick": the clarity of
transaction ... i knew it was coming...
i was gearing up to it...
i was going to have two days and two nights
of cold-turkey...
i was going to subdue my drinking...
and i was going to quit smoking...
          
                     today's tonne of sand was a grand
exercise... i even had to take a break
to sweat off the sweat i was sweating
from carrying the nibbles of the tonne from
the access road into the garden to even up the down
*****... by cycling...

personally... i just wish some of these guys
could have reached out to some ****-wit
of a mentor... i re-watched Good Will Hunting today:
wow... only men could write such *******
about women... it's like: it almost felt like...
reading Madame Bovary wasn't a waste of time...
it's like... the only book every written by a woman
about women: wasn't written about  woman
after all... but by a disambiguation of Darwin (ism & co.)

so no mystery left... the nunnery project
of man's former investment... fizzy: into the ever
thinning air...
but if the walking ****** are to be imported
from Africa... can i import walking trouser pockets
from Asia?!
i could probably fit two in my suitcase...
unwrap them with some LEGO gravitas...
good as new...

             no... i think this goes deeper...
the freaky girl freaked! maybe! ooh! she found one of
my profiles on the internet...

it's troublesome though: but at least
these either best get shot: dead...
or don't plea the: i'm white therefore i'm insane...
no! you're a terrorist, mate!
you don't need some extra pharmacological cocktails
in your diet... i ingested those...
and i was apparently the one allowed
to safely walk the streets of this society
i watched crumbled circa 2007...
i still think the genesis 2007 and my own personal
memory are the best two movies in town...
ah ha... ha ha...

it's ******* snowballs and snowmen!
and it was only until i was 35 that i first tried
******* and i was left unimpressed...
since?! i managed to balance the intake of caffeine
with nicotine and ethanol...
the higher tier drugs disappoint...
                                 time... longing... hmm...

let me reiterate in another way...
put on the following song...
TERMINAL SERIOUS - GIFT FOR YOU...
and then start looking for
Walter Sickert's: Off to the Pub (1912)...
i do own the glossy art-book: i attended
the exhibition...
now tell me... the archetypical study
of the: hiding the Greek intellectual genius
coupled with older men ******* young boys?
well... terrible... the girls might be involved....

oh right! right! hello Freddy... Mc'fckn'Kruger...
really? that bad?
it's like watching a circus with have lemonade stashed
in plastic bags... your grandfather leaving you
with an umbrella in a circus freak show...
somewhat calm...

i hate commuting through Warsaw... i'm always
on edge... i always feel like needing to bite into someone's
aorta... and leave them to bleed out...
but once in London i sort of calm down...
i love the efficiency of London traffic...
     i'm a spider and London is my spider-web...
although... i'm jokingly arachnophobic....
what could cure me?
a girlfriend who'd want to own a tarantula....

so much for a girl that loves snakes...
a girl that loves lizards...
but she still doesn't love spiders...
what?!
              i want to cure my idiotic phobia
of spiders... somehow... i'm supposed
to find some godly Lilith with a snake
wrapped around her neck?
how about less the apple: how about
you hold a spider in your hand...
and let it crawl onto my shoulder and whisper...
what the crows did wrong...

because... after a while...
it's no longer about either truth or (lies)...
funny: how the English language disintegrates
from its casualness...
like so... good "and" evil... when people recite:
the definite article prefix of good...
pure evil? no?
    by now language disintegrates for me form
all conversational practicality...

the more imaginative lie is...
   the plagiarised scare of a reimagined lie...
that is not the frustrated truth...
which in jurisprudence is unlike an unshakeable
scientific fact...
man could celebrate science...
but it's "habit" of law... it's jurisprudence
is still a subjective-objective "shcizophrenic"
of nostalgia and will to reform...
         at least the study of history leaves one
able to write fictional historical novels...
what does law do? it fakes judgement...
it serves wrong judgement... when...
            ah ha...
   what a backward area of human "evolution"...
jurisprudence = paleontology...

   that's why i think that the supposed "mystery"
of "lawlessness" actually implies?
avoid the courts at all costs...
by then it's not a mystery... law is behind science...
as much as man tried to free himself
from the ******* subjectivity of hierarchies of
other men... exploring science...
nope! he still was dragged into the subjectivity
of jurisprudence... ahem... the "philosophy" of "law"...
the mystery of lawlessness?
  avoid making contact with your peers...
in a show-of-force...
   nostalgia passes... history estsblishes...

the mystery of lawlessness...
   what you live... with the ability to never entertain
a courts' summons for...
hmm... placebo-solipsism...
it's not a thought experiment...
it's an anti-thespian DE-MAND...
           the more cameo experiences you can
muster... oh really... the actor?
no longer need... the stage...
the rotten fruit an veg thrown at them?
well then... let's dig trenches... i'm good at waiting...
i don't need to be a lunatic reciting my
words on the street...
i'm good at waiting...
                    i'll wait... for what?! ah ha! beside death?!
my shadow... detaching itself from my body
and coming back with an extended index
telling me: follow "i"...

             oh, but now i'm ******* bored...
of this "exceptional" journalism, this false-safe mechanism
that spin-doctors used to rely on...
there was only one spin-doctor to my knowledge...
Alastair Campbell... that's before...
1990s England was sort of recognisable
before i was deported back to Slavic lands
and made my comeback in 1998...
what?! ooh... oh don't worry... i have my grievances
with England... but they're...
post-colonial grievances with England...
a bit like... John Inman / Michael Crawford...

well you never truly... know...
you need some dislodged limbs from time to time
to test your anti-racism propaganda...
don't you?
   does it? bulb... doesn't it? bulb...
then my sort of: lack of sympathy for Ukraine
because i don't give a **** learning from the past...
ah you know... tea-two-crumbs-a-penny...
if she's going to be the daughter of Michael... Owen...
******* toes off the readied off the plantation
gimmick...
hmm... looks like i'm peeping into Mongolian tribe
music...
   this... interracial... croack-load of ****...
it was once a cuck-hard-on that... disappeared
after a second ****...

            now i'm thinking: hmm...
9" proud... shame you can only fit 2" into her ****...
and about 1" into her mouth...
ha ha! better start find you a elephant ****'s worth
your type of "*******-egoic"... eh? heroism?!

this spells out  DANGER for me...
but what... do i know....
social engineering is more important
than actual engineering...
social engineering is a bit like...
once you build up a taste for psychiatry...
what?! talk?!
you're just going to prescribe me some
more medication to subdue my libido in
favour or a poor white girls... diabetic ****...
surprises?!

i like writing... what most people can't convert
their thinking into writing...
the whole idea of res vanus contra res cogitans...
the continuum ..
people spew ******* all the time...
no one thinks par insomnia...
beside intellect...
by mere principle of ad continuum...
any and each narrative can be exhausted...

Islam used to interest me...
Rumi... Sufism... Omar Khayyam...
Christianity used to interest me...
the Gnostic heretics...
after a while... find me a lion!
i'll start hunting for a yawn among the hyenas!
let's trade!
eh?! what do you mean what we're trading for?!
you find me a lion's growl...
i'll find you a hyenas' laughter...
we'll swap... by the concern of the crow's croak...
marbles... we'll swap marbles...

yes no yes no yes no: yes?! no?!
ah... the same...

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

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

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

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

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

for the lyrics:

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

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

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

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

example?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

let's take a peekaboo!

            froh
(not
glücklich not zufrieden)

          -sein-    (being)

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

it looks like, hey presto!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

wenn sie ar eintreten krähentotenwache
du besser krächzen!

kiedy wchodisz między wrony:
musisz krakrać tak jak one!

Now think this through, are we
Free
Sat in front of a TV
Free
Mobile need wifi, 4, 5 G
Free
Adverts plastered everywhere in the streets
Free
News feeding us lies and war - no peace
Free
Brands on my back front legs and feet
Free
Brands on my underwear only I can see
Free
Fear from every direction everyone feels weak
Free
Laughed at in school if your clothes were cheap
Free
Work at least 5 of 7 days in a week
Free
Need permission for holidays over 2 of these
Free
Can't stay up too late got to sleep
Free
Have to pay in the station to ***
Free
Have to rationalise why you support your team
Free
Gambling promotion all over the screens
Free
Have to be rich oxbridge to lead
Free
Have to sacrifice something to believe
Free
Now think this through, are we really
Free..

**** me... i used to listen to a lot of reggae back in the day
when i was an adamant marijuana smoker...
****... it was cheaper than drinking...
i used to listen to Collie Buddz... Damian Marley...
Stephen Marley... Israel Vibration, Culture...
           ***** and the Maytals... etc., etc.,
then i started drinking: back to basics...
blues... jazz... classical music... well... "basics"
i.e. birch trees... given that birch trees are the scouts
of the botanical kingdom of trees...

you know that feeling when someone who loves
you looks at you...
when you get up, lazily... at 6pm...
they have this stare: what the **** just happened?
it's tectonic...
did you **** someone?!
   there's that awkward silence...
eyes all darting... what did you do?!
ha ha: funny funny...

i had to check the amount i drank last night:
it wasn't that much...

what did i do that was so terrible? horrendous?
i made someone fall in love with me...
the most heavenly-forbidden deed...
i heard the words: i love you...
and that was that...
    
   personally? i think that i'm still dreaming...

i knew the night wouldn't come to the conclusions
i wrote about in when Cedilla met Caron...
i was walking to a bus-stop when a ****-****
started to irritate me... oops... almost...
****... now i need to find a public toilet...
pub... double ****: i'm carrying a bottle of homemade
wine with me... bouncers... they're going to confiscate it...

so i approach a... Camille? ****... that's a girl's name...
Collin... let's call him Collin...
because i asked and told him: i want this bottle back...
it's a gift...
   so he gladly took it and told me: be sitting for you
in the staff quarters...
ordered half a pint of Guinness...
drank it in under 4 seconds...
     maybe under 3 seconds...
         for some reason i was suddenly thirsty...

right... like "****-break" in American Pie
i went to the toilets and started to arrange toilet paper around
the toilet seat... sat down on the throne of thrones
and eased out a **** that also had some **** shrapnel...
like my Russian girlfriend used to call me...

eh... in ****** it's called a KLEX...
when you **** and spontaneously **** yourself...
because you don't know whether you're merely
farting or if there's some shrapnel ****...
in Russian? KAKASHKA... i.e. little ****...
i won't utilise Mother Cyrillic on this word...

came out sort of relieved...
about something beside the cleared ****...
ordered another half a pint of Guinness
and drank is in a 3 second glug-glug-glug...
even two days prior some Argentinian
asked me: how do the English down their pints
of beer so quickly?
i didn't tell him that i'm a neu-Albian...
an Anglo-Slav... does it matter?
     i told him... you pretend to breathe through
your nose: even though you're not...
and you relax your throat like
you're about to **** on a 12" *****...
hey presto! you down a pint!
but you never really down a pint...
you down half-pints...

i get to Goodmayes and buy a 35cl of brandy...
walk down shady streets...
me? there are no "no-go-zones" in London...
i must have mentioned it before...
i feel... nauseated when i visit Warsaw...
i'm like: i'm the of the same ethnic crop...
never mind the racial element...
oops... puke...
           i'm not used to being a minority where
there's currently no majority...
i feel sick... i don't have a fear of heights
but just before an event... when Wembley stadium
is empty: i feel dizzy... what the **** am i looking
at? a massive erected crater of what could have
been a meteor strike...

yeah... night started off so well...
i took out £200... i knew i was paying
    for an hour... £10 entry...
at the pub while i downed my half-pints
in between taking a ****... i spotted some colts spotting
me spotting them back... mirror? ladies?!
no no... i'm not here for the over-confident girls...
i'm... PREDATOR...
i'm looking for a wounded creature...
like all predators: not in some sick mruder-fetish
sort of way... just the obvious way...
minimal effort... maximum result...

just like Don Juan managed to ****** a nun,
i'm the antithesis of a Don Juan:
i managed to ****** a *******
to **** me outside the brothel
and in a hotel room...

so here i go... what's the best hotel in Barking?!
what will i bring?! Prosecco? strawberries?!
lingerie?! maybe i'll bring my ******* mother too...
ha ha...
     but if she's willing to **** me outside
of the brothel: for free...
she told me... call me Sunday... i have Monday
and Tuesday off...
i'll be waiting... i'll even cycle to Barking
to book the room... good... sound-proof...
sure... we'll probably go for dinner...
but i'll still be there to simply **** the ego
out of her cogito... so she becomes the fulfilment
of her own sum...

i was painting the fence today... a colour somewhat...
teasing auburn....
but also teasing the richness of oak...
one slap of the ***.. two slaps of the ***...
the kissing of the mandible parts:
elbows, knees, jaw...
a decent amount of slapping: to check the rigour
of and the tenderness of ****-cheeks
and the thighs... pinching... biting...
are you raw meat?!

*** is so important: **** relationships!
i'm only here for the ***...
i managed to become 2kgh leaner ...
breaking a habit of rhythm...
that's the deal breaker... the previous owner
if a ****** charged me £20 extra
for being allowed to perform oral *** on her...

you want to create a culture of people
being over-sexualised? because that common
excuse is still dangling like Damocles' sword?
a ******* chandelier of hanging violins?!

i took my chance... she didn't start off the *******
with performing oral *** on me...
i was readied and governing...
in between changing rhythm...
i dived down and... well...

i'm of the school of thought that prescribes
the motto: it's more pleasurable to give pleasure
than to receive it...
i have good "arguments"...

i like performing oral *** on a woman's "oyster" /
"sushi" than i might prefer getting a blow-job...
why? thighs! the 3D of highs... surrounded
by all the tenderness...
       women are oh so ****...
                me go loco... me is loco...
even she said: you're the right type of mad...
i love you...
             i love her too... i just teased her with:
a good **** and a like: you...

oral *** with a woman is the ultimate
deal-breaker...
the way she might grab your hair... tug you:
pull you... in a way that...
you "confuse" your tongue with your nose...
i like blow-jobs in reverse...
my god... i love  watching...
women... in ******-spasms...
forcing you to stop...
          
         then i'm kneeling...
before her...

hmm... confusion from yesterday...
some wanton English lass...

right... so i walk out of the brothel with a walking stick,
metaphorical, if course....
i'm all ******* wobbly..

******* English women...
you leave the bus, you shout: AH-HU! into the night
like an Orc... what happens?
she gets frightened... calls the police...
the police car shows up...
you're just walking from...splendour...
you just witnessed in a brothel..

what happened? you were just returning a favour....
i told her: don't worry...
my little Richard is being lazy...
sure... apply as much lubricant as you want....
it's not going to work... timing:
i'm turned off...
there's that element of stress...
but... as hse cleaned herself and as i cleaned
myself: are you happy?

she seemed happy...
i can pay for an extra gram of *******...
but ******* is limbo-land when it comes
to pharmaceuticals...
give me 500mg of Naproxen
and we're talking banana boats...

how many times did she see me? i asked her...
4 times...
i was biting her nose...
how many times did she see me?
once... how many times did i **** her?
4 times...
i thought i'd never return to performing ***
on a woman's.., "Wilfred": floral pattern...
scooping an oyster...

personally?! i loved the eye-contact...
gripping her thighs... her entire pelvis that was
readily "eaten"... her *******...
her arms.... teasing her *******...
slurped seconds?! who cares...
mind you... an Irish boy with a name
like an Irish girl was chatting to me:
thought i was of the Oxbridge stock...
i was somehow a "reporter":
so i asked him: wheere's my hidden canera?

he was ingesting laughing gas like mad....
he even asked me... do you...
have a... B'AH-LOON?!
do i have a balloon?
  i enforced giggling on him since
the chemical wasn't doing him much good....

i was the suspect "journalist": paranoid people...
paranoid paddies...
i ventured to begin with kissing her knees...
her elbows... her feet...

i am: going to have the second schism of Islam:
spearheaded by the Turks...
whether i'm alive: or dead...

she tells you she loves you...
oh **** me...
you only just performed your... nostalgia for licking
****...
my god... i love licking *******...
licking... *******... female genitals...
she tells me... i'll call you Sunday...
you book a hotel room for either Monday
or Tuesday...

she... actually... shivered! i mean: she...
shivered!
**** me... when i'm good: i'm good...
when i'm ****: i know i'm ****...
but when i'm good...
i eat with my eyes
and look with my mouth...
it's always better to eat with two eyes
and look with only one mouth...
esp. when it comes to female *****...
i love ******* on those things...
i regress towards oysters...
the way a woman will insinuate:
waggle your tongue... suckle...
"poach"... i don't even know but if she
insinuates: "poach"! you... ahem...
"poach"...

Sunday should be fun... is she free for
a Monday's worth of night or relaxing ***?
or is that a Tuesday?!
seriously though: her **** tasted of big-pharmaceuticals:
within the lineage of *******...
i'm used to dropping pills... but the extra oyster
factor...
oh man... i love performing oral *** on a woman...
i love *****... i dip my nose into thr "humus"
and all is well... with the world...

RA!
    AH HA! RAWL!
AH HA! RAQ

because you eat ***** so well...
she starts playing with your hair...
nudging your nose
to a close proximity to your tongue...

eyes eye           eyes eyes,,,,

eyes       eyes

eyes                       O0O0O0O0O....

really? a hotel room?
based on,
the suckling i
managed to perform?

well.... if she's happy: i'm happy too!
underlined: a woman that has been properly ******
and a woman that has been properly fed...
third quest of the equation...
now's the time to impregnate her...

and if he's not in the "mood"? **** her
all the more...
        a woman doesn't need to be the suggested
truth of Nietzsche...
she just needs to be a woman...
a woman is a woman is a woman is a woman...
parallel the truth is the truth is the truth...
neither truly actually interact, proper...

i interact with a woman on an intimate basis
i'm sick for about 3 days...
i ingest all these unnecessary biases...

i told her when going limb
as she tried to reward me with a blow-job...
we met 4x times...
     of the 3x...
   she rewarded me...
this time? i wanted to reciprocate our ***...
i wanted to please her: which i did...
30 minutes more...
as she started to perform oral *** on me:
god almighty...
i wanted to wet my beard a second time...
forage for mushrooms... slip my lips into
a **** of the totality of oysters...

i kept thinking about eating flowers...
when a woman: just like that...
mein gott!
she grabs your hair and grips it and tugs
and... she wants to replace
your little Richard with your nose and
your tongue...
i'm good crazy... i'm good crazy...

all that inner tenders between the tenderness
of the thighs...
this... altar of the feet...
i could... really: could: un-imagine
the creation of the mermaids!

Shine the glitter truth of the glitter warrior
and right from the get-go
the gilders and scaffoldings fall down
in reveal lies the emasculated ego
and insipid inspirations of  the pernicious dullard
in the coatings of base subterfuge
a withering anodyne sits pontificating
whilst in real Alpha terms
its cool contextual considering's in realms
that power needs no proof in self assured credence
meaning No, I will not be a part of that
glitter warrior in ways of sub-standard hicks
leads the charge
at once a soldier with vacuous tales
been there, done that
at once the social man about town
been to concerts, smoked the **** and kissed the blonds
yeah! look at me I am the 'man'
while deeds and actions belies the truth
in ale posturing vainglorious displays immaturity screams
in unison with the poltroon browbeater
there's never a substitute for class
the well equipped assured measured alpha male
who knows there's more to me than meets the eye
I am not a chameleon but a well bred and seasoned male
I have nothing to prove to you
That's why in England, Officers comes from Middle class backgrounds, Eton to Oxbridge to Sandhurst
while our glitter soldier in glitter Truth is cannon fodder
and he'll go his whole life fighting petty battles
the asinine bully who knows all about truth
he's been there, he's done it and has the T-shirt
just ask his mom!