Jinx! You owe me a haggis!
Sheep! Sheep! Sheep boing!
I tried to connect the two.
I am glad that someone loves my discursive stuff.
I feel thrilled that someone validates me.

Tell me why again? Why why why not?
Did you mention socks? Why?
You’re a sock! Your face is a sock!
A pair of socks! I laugh!
You didn’t anticipate that one, did you?

I will nevar stop. Nevar.
Yes. An alternate spelling.
Hehehehehehe.
Be bold.  Be bold like Leeroy Jenkins.
Yas. Chicken music. Yas.

He was brave, he led the charge.
On monkeys and elders, what was our conclusion?
Monkeys are silly, elders are catnip.
I am silly.  This poem is silly.
Hehe. You know what I’m about to say next.

We must keep it a secret.
Sheep! Sheep boing!
Figure out what that pakis-ectomy is.
Yeah? Yeah? Well, you’re a pakis.
I guess that Wyatt Cenac
said it best:
I have to fool you.  I am fooling you.

Aeneas, Cooper, Pedro, and Boo.
They are all amicable with each other.

where was i? right, anywhere but here,
listening to some medieval music,
i sometimes sit in one place,
fade, and then find myself sitting
in the same place with a question
on the tip of my tongue: where am i?!

hard not to notice:
heaven reigns supreme with
a "st." michael coming down
with the sword...
depiction, please!
where's satan?
  coming from below armed only
with a tongue...
fair fight, by anyone's standard:
i'm dripping sweat from both
ridicule and sarcasm...

st. michael comes down with a sword...
satan rises up with a flaming tongue,
does satan lick michael's sword
to draw the blood required for
running the heart factory?

               medieval people and their
"nuanced" explanation...
so many images contra words
contra literacy of the people outside
the realm of monks...

   satan rises from the depths of
     hell saying: i wish a socratic dialectic
with god...
god replies: michael i will send armed
with swords...
who ever said: the quill is mightier than
than the sword,
implied: when the tongue has
to be necessarily silenced? then!

      das schwart,
          das feder,
    das zunge...

       how many definite articles are
there in deutsche? das, der, die?
too many or too few?

         always with "st." michael armed
with a sword...
and satan... armed with only his tongue!
i guess, the tongue becomes a tank,
while the sword becomes a feather's
tickling effect...

    angehoben das teufel von der
    tiefe: und gab sie namen...

  (raised the devils from the depths:
  and gave them names)...

why is satan only armed with a flaming tongue,
while "st." michael is armed with a sword?
is god, the god-dialectic / theology
so afraid that it has to remain topped
with unchallenged imagery
                         of sword contra tongue?

ich werden anfangen:
   ich werden treffen du hälfteweg...
            im schreiben...

                  satan rose to a depiction
with "st." michael: disarmed...
  tongue in mouth: which should have been
his hand, "st." michael descended with
a sword... come to think of it,
with satan's tongue cut off...
it still spoke to "st." michael within his
hand...
  the sword overcame the medium...
and so writing was born...
once upon a time when satan's tongue
in his hand began licking the sword
of michael...
            and? if the contemporaries
should hope to know:
writing is the res extensa medium
of res cogitans:
            writing is an extension of thinking:
it's not an invitation to speak...

writing cannot be speaking,
however much commentaries you leave
behind...
writing is an extension of thinking:
it's not an invitation to speak...

it's no disguise...
    in terms of the depiction...
enough of Milton and Dante and...
satan came to the summit
  without his armour without his weapons...
the summit of the plateau...
tongue in gob and joke in cheek...
while "st." michael descended
wit a sword and a missing tongue...
it would appear that god cut out
"st." michael's tongue before his descent
while arming him with a sword to
cut the conversation even shorter
than it was supposed to be, to take place...

the aspired to monotheistic monogamy
of king Solomon,
to imitate swans...
    Muhammad's lost enterprise of
the: greatest harem the world has ever
seen... sorry... Muo-Mo-Hammie:
the macedonian alexander beat you to
the count of 365 concubines...
as did genghis khan...
           so many pakistanis with khan
as a surname...
             your failed harem ambition?
compared to the otherwise world "greats"?
with the ******* promise of 72 virgins
post-mortem? that ship is sinking in my head...
muhammad failed in the ambition
of averaging a 100+ concunbine **** fest...
so he promised 72 for those that believed in
him...
   and if he was ever competing with
king solomon? look at solomon...
         he chose monogamy in the end...
i guess it's a noble enterprise to come back
among the lizards...
to spawn from an egg: from an womb
made external by an egg in the form of a bird...
birds: half mammal half lizard...
            muhammad failed at having
an envious harem...
                which makes me a little bit envious
of him... compared to the others...
he's quiet honest...
        but if he was illiterate...
    who the **** wrote the Quran?
    what's that book, in praise of older women?
andrás vajda...
   who would have written the first
verses (if not the last) of the Quran if not
khadijah **** khuwaylid?

i'm sorry to say: the feeling of conversation
soon turns into a feeling of conversion,
me, beer in hand, park, bench,
an old pakistani walks up to me...
flips out a digital Quran,
tries to convert me...
     opens the book on surah al-baqarah...
i point at three words...
what are these, i ask?
he replies: oh... only allah knows...
really?! really?! i ask myself...

    the three words?
   alif. lam. meem.

           allah knows?!
guess i'm allah then...
given alif: أَلِف  (α, א) a-lif
                 lam: لاَم (λ, ל) l-am
   and meem: مِيم (μ, מ) m'eem...

so yeah, "god" knows...
   how was this old pakistani going to convert
me, supposing i was simply some european
"drunk" sitting on a bench, drinking beer,
assuming i was ease target for
isis propaganda?!

    "god knows"... when it comes
to old pakistanis trying to
             recruit young europeans...
god knows ****!

if this old pakistani was seeking an easy target
like some paedo, he was much mistaken,
what does a pumpernickle (has) to do with
a windmill?! zilch!
i'm not going to exactly crawl out
of my walther von der vogelweider:
        palästinalied that much easier...
i won't....
   i just think:
the yids have tight defences
against proselytes... they abhor converts...
islam, welcomes them,
at their own peril...
          and there i was thinking that
urdu was "superior" to sanskrit...
an old pakistani tells me "god knows"
in relation to alif. lam. meem.

             i guess the quran has an inbuilt
proselyte defence mechanism:
in reverse... ask a muslim what alif. lam. meem.
means... if they tell you: only god knows...
ha ha...
              hello stupid...
                            is the islamic world playing
a jewish game of gematria?
are the three letters supposed to represent
some sort of "covert" message?
A.L.M.?
        what, based on the hebrew alphabet
where "a" is not an an A but a consonant(s)
akin to ayin and aleph?!
the gay genesis?
          
                really?
                 we: the europeans were perhaps
the barbarians in the medieval years,
harrowed by the cold...
lucky us: lucky me: we did learn to read...
so ignorant of the pakis to presume
such and such...

             that we are still unable to read
and will fall for the next sort of *******...
look at us! we even began to question
christianity with the unearthing of
the nag hammadi library where
jesus played chinese whispers with
st. thomas!

   next time i'll be listening to a camel jockey
or a magic carpet ride aladdin
i'll ask them: you dehydrated, or something?!
oh forget h'america,
their evangelical ******* is worth
as much as a free microwave or a toaster...

_

hell man...
    i mean my neighbor smokes
16 8ths in a spare of the week...

wha?
    ****...
   i remember i used to smoke
an 8th over the week...

yeah... an 1/8... of an ounce...
he smokes two ounces
in a week,
  
gets the **** on discount...
but still has to cough up
over 100 quid for the stash...

but... but... these organic
cigarettes you're pushing?

ha ha... **** me... holy basil
(tulsi leaves) -
and the peppermint and green
tea leaves?
   in ******, whatever you want
to call it, rolling paper...

i've seen the inner sleeve -
big fan of hunter s. thompson,
i suspect...
   otherwise you wouldn't
have used the second, plastic
filter...
  
   tell you what... don't put
that plastic filter on every cigarette -
halve it...
     or provide two or three...
it's reusable -
        i smoked one of your
placebo marijuana joints...
  and then i'm going to smoke
a red Indian cough-up...

   ah... these blue Indians...
Vishnu centrists -
   beyond blue blooded,
more blue skinned herbalists...

dunno... the effects are subtle...
you can only tell the difference
if you actually smoke tobacco...

but sure as hot **** on a street
in Calcutta -
    it beats the Arabic portable
hookah pipe...
   i.e.?  
         vapping - or vapourißing -

i'd say less a cure for tobacco smokers,
and more a cure for
the dope-heads...
    he (my neighbor) smokes
2 ounces a week,
   and somehow manages to stay
down on a job...

    no ******* way...
    he says it helps him to sleep...
like me...
   a liter of ***** and two
paracetamols,
    or one naproxen (if i'm lucky),
or two paracetamols
  and one amitriptyline (25mg)...

sorry, what? sound of mind?
sound of mind to the point
where i'm mindful of grammar
and spelling?

            **** man...
  the content is transcendent
    of whatever the receiving end deems
it to be...

i might actually buy into
this... placebo marijuana -
given that i am a tobacco smoker...
  ha ha! holy basil:
  like Basil Fawlty...

   as you see...
there are people, and there are "people",
there are neighbors,
    and there are "neighbors",
i don't see how the natives
can dictate universal laws of
     private property ownership...
esp. over such... trivial...
meaningless...
          sitting down on a cactus
****-naked "problems"...

i hate being mean,
   i hate telling someone to *******...
i really do...
    i compromised -
i stopped smoking cigarettes
out of my window...
  but yesterday's confrontation?
over a ******* barbeque...
    oops... the compromise
has just been revoked...
  
   music blasting into my ears
through my earphones...
the next thing my cuntish neighbor
will "hear" is sign language...
  
oh yeah... that primary school
lesson:

(a) WHY     (b) DON'T  
        (c) YOU    (d) ****    (e) OFF

(a) index + middle fingers
    slapped on the left palm knuckles up

(b) index + middle fingers
    slapped on the left palm knuckles down

(c) scissor index + *******
   into the side of the left hand

(d) fist, vertical slam onto the left
  palm

(e) thumb's up moving away from
  the palm of the left hand...

because?
      i just can't be bothered trying
to reason with some people...
     they might as well be put in zoological
confinement, and put under observation...
but i'd feel sorry for the chimps
and other animals, have to share a close
proximity.

you know what's more intimidating beside speaking of a personal detail in the life of a person you know? speaking of a universal truth; there's nothing more intimidating that giving reference to a common fact of referencing life, one limb of the triad crumbles into a suckling squid... revealing the sparring partners you get to: well, you juggle with three *****, you puppeteer two.

i could understand english humour -
sure, the black comedy "tact" -
but then the anglophone world was
overtaken with comedy -
the last tier before the final bow of
downfall - the one prior comes in
the form of a "fascination"
with culinary escapades -
   prior to the last resort of humour
comes the culinary escapade -
i once understood english humour,
more than was worth since it was
reinforced by canned laughter -
but there was something to be had...
these days? maybe english humour
imploded: and it attacked its worst
ally: ***.
   make fun of ***, you're making
fun of life...
     and how isn't english humour
not peppered with too-overtly
sexualised jokes? jokes by children
of divorcees...
  tell you what: life's short,
you're *****, see a ******* before
you see a psychiatrists...
cheaper, and you get the full
workout... after all, vietnam made
the war zone pocket sized...
            i don't understand english
humour... it's beyond political satire...
these people are pushing the absolutely
wrong buttons...
  i remember watching this
video in trafalgar sq., these two white
kids, bouncing a basketball -
      then one bounces the ball
off the head of a black guy,
and the white boy is so "jokingly"
apologetic...
                  what happens next?
the black guy smashes a glass
bottle over the white boys head...
the white boys is hit unconscious:
**** me, that was funny!
            the anglophones have
really ******* the genre of comedy...
i can call them anglophones -
  speaks not good english,
but he overshadows about 100+
anglo boys in his roofing job...
     my father...
    the english are slackers in
the industrial industry: which is why
it's filled with slavs and romanians,
but at least they do their job
and never bother going to the gym...
the english ponces?
do a ****** paper-fiddling job
and then hit the gym...
            horse-hoof lickers.
          i was once acknowledged
as speaking spaghetti english:
yes, but when my father questioned me,
he didn't mind me not having
learned the full alphabet:
what am i, a trained puppy?!
         now he lives with his father,
with his father having divorced his mother
and living with a thai ****** breeding
chickens...
        guess my loss in the "friendship"
case of "affair".
            the english have actually
exhausted the genre of comedy,
they're not funny anymore...
    they're pathetic...
         i'll joke the next time i sucker
one's head off the clock into
the unconscious minutes...
          the english overdid comedy
by a mile, they're as about funny as
a donkey-riding rider alongside the
remaining three-horsemen...
slouching toward jerusalem...
                   the fact that the english
are telling are joke: reiterating that they
are: seems rather troubling.
   i don't want to know its a joke unless
i actually laugh, a comic telling me
"it's" a joke is rather troubling...
             why have the english changed
from a culinary fetish to a joke
fetish over a decade?
         ****** food makes for a good joke...
oh yeah, me, beta-male,
  when all the best restaurant cooks
are male...
                    i still will not get an english
joke: the so-called *nuance" is
only a *nuisance -
     there's a threshold of acceptable
nuance in comedy, after a while it's like
lying: thinking you'll get away with it...
it's called: "being" subtle...
when in fact you're a vermin nibbling
on the edges of peoples' patience...
  after all you stop excusing the self-excusing
comics who want to catch themselves
excusing themselves and retire with
a backlog of canned-laughter lax.
                   no point in comedy:
if someone laughs for me.
          what's the point of comedy if
i am not the one to spot the self-imposed
prompt for a laugh?
   what am i? a ******* windowlicker who
laughs when taking a **** holding
his pecker?!
                      you conniving little
******* wanks...
                              i have to say:
the big laugh comes prior to the creeping
weep...
              no, i forgot you being "intricate"
in "nuance" -
  nuance is gone, baby, nuance is gone,
we're dealing with subversion,
and the last word ascribed is "nuance"...
i always said the english as perfecto
two-faced actors: they lie telling the truth,
as they tell the truth, while lying.
        next time i trust them with a hamster
i'll ask just more than a vet nurse...
and i don't mind pakistanis -
i just mind the english pakis -
the anglo pakis - pakistanis are fine with me,
i event managed to grit to an invite
by one muhammad to admire his
crocodile farm in kenya -
  anglo pakis? hate them like i hate
my acne skin... i'm thirty and at the ends
of puberty, yet still: the explosion of
hormones... might as well be a down syndrome
kid: l'oreal should look into extracting
down syndrome genes to make the face cream...
******* never age:
mother's aged 80, and he's shy of 35.
            n'ah, the english did comedy once,
they did it well, they didn't have to ****
off canned laughter obstructing me from
laughing at what i found funny...
   they took the complacent communist rule of:
****** laugh when all other idiots
ought to laugh...
that black guy in trafalgar sq. smashing
a glass bottle over the white guy that bounced
the basketball off his head was funnier
to watch...
         comedy these days is not
nuanced... there is no nuance:
what you hear is what you get:
   and the english way of a dog curling up
its tail between its legs and running away
is not gonna work...
                     what you said is what you
meant: given that blah blah bi bi blee boo
was intended to translate into:
         can you get me a tonne of glue?
the origins of comedy are not based upon
excuses of nuance: comedy can only
be excused by canned laughter:
not nuance.
               politics is nuanced:
if you drag comedy into this cesspool of
nuance: you're not exactly riding
a horse fully shoed into the sunset of
laughter...
   politics is nuanced:
you can't expect comedy = politics -
    to thus express: oh, we're just misunderstood
akin to politicians: nope, we're just lying
is not going to cut it...
          the best jokes are from a people
who say jokes the least:
after all, the omnipotent psychology says:
the most nervous person at a party
tells the most jokes...
    guess western society has had
its turns...
                    first they make comedy
intelligent, then they make cooking mundane,
then they make comedy excusable,
then they make wacky dishes,
     then they make comedy "nuanced",
then they get a glass bottle smashed
over their heads...
          then they make a case for
the microwave...
           and then the once ha ha become an aah...
     that sigh of relief...
         watching this spectacle:
slayer's behind the crooked cross -
   not the jews, but the greeks invented
sado-masochism of the northerns -
the greeks painted the jews as irrational -
   even though the archeological findings
disprove the greeks' little "messianic" story...
i still find english humour naked, lacking,
you can only push nuance to a certain
sisyphus moment in time,
  before sisyphus decides to give it a rest,
and toils no more, and never allows
the stone to roll up the hill,
   and interludes with pondering...
        after all: thought is never a medium
of futility... it being: the ultra-verb,
it being the omni-limb...
                             these days we know
that the englishman is no longer funny...
because his jokes are overtly plagiarised
by "excusing" himself with giving
a nuanced explanation: rather than a punchline:
comedy has a limit: on how intelligent
is can become... children laugh at calamity
short-scripted:
    do you think adults ask for a long-scripted
"base" for giggles, when the narrative prior joke
ends up being so mundane,
to be only backed up canned laughter?
euro trash, sure, but what an island of trash
to back it up...
      i love intelligent tragedy...
the english invented "intelligent" comedy:
people laugh at this sort of crap
by a mimic format: everyone knows its not
funny: then again: by laughing at it
it's peacocking to impress...
                   there's no intelligent comedy...
people who laugh at "intelligent" comedy
are bystanders, eaten up by canned laughter.

pre-scriptum:
                no polyglot would experience this sort of "paradox", it's not even a paradox of a "paradox" off a 'paradox', bilingualism has its methodology, as Kant could explain, extracting his methodology off the page into a meticulous day-to-day activity... the sage / if not the clock of Königsberg... i can imagine this obsessive-compulsive mini-rituals that would always escape the throng on a Sunday... the Sunday eucharist wasn't enough for the man, there were so many rituals to take care of, having famously not married, while Kierkegaard having: infamlusly not married... i appreciate their strategy... reading them while also reading Nietzsche, these two gentlemen, by comparison, if not in work, certainly in life gravitate above the popularity of Nietzsche... why? Nietzsche appears as an incel... fan boy, are you? *******... but you need some sort of structure if you're not going to marry... Kant found his daily routine an eternal mass... so many routine daily tasks seemingly mundane to some, can enlarge themselves to become out of proportion pillars of preserving sanity in face of standing before god and a post-life scenario... hell is not so much a place of suffering... i can tell you of the most "mild" form of suffering... an extrovert becoming drunk... constant talking, lack of purpose as in: lack of direction culminating in: lack of concentration, pandemonium is the heaven of a flickering light for a moth... again... this always bewilders me... why did Sisyphus have to drag the stone up the hill? was there some overlooking demon with a whip looking over him? couldn't he just... sit, and concentrate on the stone, create pleasure, from thinking? is that really so odd... i suppose so... given the grand h'american export of the freedom of speech... few people will find pleasure in thinking... Kierkegaard, which Nietzsche didn't read... said: why do people concern themselves with the freedom to speak, when they already possess a freedom to think? is this, me speaking, because it's the internet and it's a public space... surely i don't have an eloquent speech, i speak too quickly, i sometimes mumble, this is an extension of thinking, it's not an invitation to speak... rhetoric is an art designated for people who joked about philosophy and took sophistry seriously... i don't like Nietzsche... i still think of the man as the esteemed bachelor... apparently being freed from women allowed him to write his Critique with the sort of clarity that comes, in a cascading form, at the end, in the methodology of transcendence... which reads, like a page-turner tabloid narrative... once the formalities / difficulties are established... i'm no polyglot though, but i do succumb to some eccentricities... as any entrenched bilingual might... notably linguistics... how there are no diacritical markers in english, but there are: in other latin script based languages of continent europe... how i've never heard of dyslexia outside of the realm of spoken english... how orthography does not exist in the english language, which creates all these silly english questions of: what is reality, what is perception... with no orthography: metaphysics runs rampant... and "another" thing... i really can't read a philosophy book in english, i always have to revert back to my mother tongue, to Polish... i can't read a philosophy book in english... i looked at Plato once in english... the aesthetic is lost on me... but the Irish know of the Slavic aesthetic when it comes to dialogue, i.e.:

(a) the english standard for dialogue weaved into a narrative -
"i want this," she said,
   "as i want that," he said...
(b) the slavic standard for dialogue weaved into
a narrative...
- so?
- what?
- will we try to speak without
   the reiteration of who said what?
- we could.
- no, we should.
smoother... James Joyce noted this,
casual - no point adding descrptions of
how the puppet-master lost power
over his puppets with " " ditto markers of
dialouge of a: he, he really did say...
no, not he, the narrator...

   i simply cannot read the genre of philosophy in english, too much easy access points of pop culture with that umbrella overreach... matrix, memes, darwinism, blah blah... too much focus on images and very little focus on words, esp. etymology, that other component of history that focuses on: a universal application of words, beside status king, or status pauper... both the word bread can succumb to the king's tongue, as to the pauper's... but with an origin story? anything beside **** similis, the monkey, will do me just fine... then again... there's no one strand of monkey to begin with... a bit like looking up your own *** for too long, you decide that there's a coherent, "bigger picture" and it begins with chimp- and ends with -rilla... doesn't anyone else just tire of looking up a monkey *** to peddlestool the importance of darwinism for so long? i mean... at least chemistry is a playground among the science... there's no worry for a beginning... there's only play... no... i can't read a philosophy book in english... i have to read it in Polish... which is also a... january, february, march, april, may, june, july, august, september, october, novermber, december... you'd think i'd be able to recite you the months in my mother tongue... styczeń, luty, marzec, kwiecień, maj, czerwiec, listopad, grudzień... english alphabet? a, b, c, d, e, f, g, h, i, j, m, n, l, o, p, q, r, s, t, u, v... **** gets scrambled... pointless rubrics... give me the practical! - i've just picked up a copy of Plato's republic... straight away i know that i'm finding my gensus in Plato rather than Aristotle...

    och ty, pijaku z psim pyskiem,
                  a za to z sercem jelenia...

    oh you, drunkard with a dog's snout,
                           nonetheless, with a stag's heart...

again, Nietzsche: Kant is an idiot, Plato is boring...
perhaps in German, for a German,
looking for Germany while roaming parts of Italy...
well... Plato, really seems appealing in
high slavic (western), the conversations breed
a sense of clarity, about fog, about darkness,
or any akin metaphor to boot...
                           between Nietzsche's maxims,
i'll take la Rochefoucauld succinct observations
before i succumb to pop-nietzsche modern
cult meme fucklords...
                          Roger Moore... prime example
of a bachelor, Kant, the same, Kierkegaard...
as for myself? if i married?
  would i still have the same sort of access to new
music, that i currently enjoy?
   for god's sake... i have to fall asleep while
listening to music, if i spend a day without
at least 5 hours of music on the headphones
   i start to lose the plot...
              my drinking is merely a side-note...
a p.s., given that now i'm a reformed drinker?
having cut my dosage in half...
     i'm still a music *****...
   women don't like music junkies...
                   and when my ex- started reading me
a qustionnaire from a russian cosmopolitan
magazine on the train to moscow from
st. petersburg... i thought i was going to shoot
myself in the head...
             perfect girlfriend this,
perfect girlfriend that...
             bob dylan saved me...
        but not for long...
                         women aren't feline...
at least with a cat you can ignore it...
                  he's pretending to be a solipsist and
you pretend to be: caring...
                 food on the table,
a clean litter tray... besides that?
                                                 fuckoffski!
     and i write this from a perspective of endearment,
nothing beats the zenith moments in a hetrosexual
relationship... the odd date...
                 talking impromptu... making food...
***, ***... ***... *** *** ***... ***... ***...
       but the petty arguments...
   the attention to detail...
                   god... anniversaries?
  i don't even celebrate my own birthday!
i fake celebrating christian holidays...
                    today is today, tomorrow:
that's tomorrow's concern...
           o.k. england winning the cricket world cup...
but that's a celebration with a calendar!
it's not regulated by hormones and
the impossibility for nostalgia...
                 i tried the relationship,
i tried the ***...
                       i had to visit a brothel for
the anaesthetic with regards to the past...
  i needed to visit the brothel to also visit
the butchers...
                               i needed to become meat,
to **** meat... and stop concerning myself over looks:
they only brought me trouble...
like i was walking with a "telepathic"
c.c.t.v. crow on my shoulder...
                             so i put on the weight i lost...
and... at that point? it was liberating...
mind you... if you want to lose weight?
  bicycle and swimming... no gym...
fruit for your last meal during the day...
eat anything you want...
  but losing weight? and all that bulimia,
classical roman bulimia:
training the oesophagus with first *******
into the mouth... then with no fingers
down the mouth?
                beauty... is not worth the trouble
when you really tempt yourself with the expansive
temporal canvas...
21 was my peak... after that...
                     voluntary celibacy...
                   a **** here and there...
            but no... it's not for me...
                    i guess i looked up to the right sort
of men... with regards to staying a bachelor...
to be highly invested in something,
   like Kant in a transcendent methodology...
like Kierkegaard invested in the arts...
like Nietzsche invested in waiting for
the fruition of his prophesies...
                      you have to be born to want to live
the simple happy life...
                  the "expected" life...
       the whole Hiob motto of: once taken,
can be regained blah blah...
                        it needs to have trans-generational
breeding involved...
                   a list of expectations...
                social-pressures and for that matter:
intrinsic socially-cohesive-stratification...
i'm a ****** in England...
             and... that puts as much social pressure
on me as... a chihuaha barking does
to an Alsatian's yawn... that's the stereotype...
the smalls dogs bark... the big dogs bite...
                 oh sure, when i visit my grandparents
back "home"... the older generation put
the pressure questions to the test:
even women from Warsaw...
   so where's your girlfriend?
to the old folk i reply: well i can't exactly force
a woman to be with me...
to the women of Warsaw?
   i'm practially a monk...
                        why?
          you don't really want to be aged 21...
forced with a scenario of:
happily dating, presumably reciprocrating trust
with regards to contraception,
being forced to reply to the scenario:
i think i'm pregnant... my my...
   and we were only 6 months apart after
the break-up, living in two different cities...
em...
                     on a lighter note...
what's the most fun you can have in Kenya?
   sitting on the balcony, in the shade...
feeding rascal macaques anything from nuts...
to bags of sugar... you, two macaque monkeys,
one balcony... the indian ocean frothing beyond...
it doesn't require a genius to figure out
what's worth cherishing without having
to feel obliged to the whole of humanity for...
offspring - many already figured this out before me:
you learn to give birth to your self (reflective,
and yes, not yourself - the reflexive)...
   which brings death to having to stand on its head...
... isn't Sisyphus the son of Atlas?
            couldn't Sisyphus just sit beside the stone
and... well yeah: think up the philosopher?

.em... looking back at the british empire, and the loud-mouth former colonial people... by god, i've never seen such leeches, i've never seen a people, so proud of being colonialißed! what's there to be proud of?! looks like in a post-colonial world, these former colonial busy-bodies had to, had to: step up and move their markers for Aladdin being performed in the West End... *******...  never in the history of the world, were post-colonial people endowed with so much pride, the whole m'ah bwee'dish *******... to counter herr zeppelinmann with the pakistani in the p.s. framework of the british empire... rotherham... ring a pakistani blue?! have a guitar on y'ah?! see... i don't like these former colonial states, with their people migrating to england, having their overlord say it now, say it clear bollocking... i don't mind a top hat, tux donning ******* giving me directions... but when a ****- does it?! sorry... i'm so sorry... will you please excuse me?! i just don't like *******, i don't like the sort of people who celebrate being colonial subjects, esp. after the whole post-colonial celebration of "libertion"... i don't like ****** / pakis who have to find their "past" by playing the cricket ball of, "the former" colony! i hate copper skinned ******* of ****- origins! former colonial raj-vizier... how can you breed these sort of people, who find pride in being under colonial power?! the **** didn't understand freedom, only understood it when being subject to its lack?! well... so much for english women... i guess they were only going to go for pakistani grooming gangs... drowning in the ganges... i have as much of jesus christ on the cross in me, as i have plenty and enough of pontius pilate's worth of soap to mind the next few years; never in my life would i have to witness the former colonißed to bribe their way, into an acceptance "speech" methodology... the ****- to fable the englishman for his, "tea"... no conquered people, no colonißed people should ever glorify their conquerers or colonißers... i guess the british achieved a double subversion... why do the ****- (stanis) still play cricket... i don't want to know... i'm new here... but... but... when a ****- attempts to displace a european from europe? that's my breaking point... i don't like being displaced from europe... the next ****- that will? well... the obvious target, a northern english teenager girl readied for grooming. i said! next ****- that tries to displace an european from europe... well... i guess.. given the power of the current politicians... nothing! ha ha!

well, with the e.u. article x, y and z...
herr zensor just flew over
London and dropped a bomb
from his zeppelin,
             because?
         two year ago,
       a teenager, girl, aged 13,
downloaded some materials
regarding self-harm...
              now the english government
is implicating regulations,
it will regulate social media usage,
mind you: ***** 'arry was pushing
the agenda all along...
   never mind the competent users...
just tackle the problem
with the addicts...
    oh look: no ******, no alcohol...
ms. amber: i'm sorry, we've failed,
we punched "the agenda"
of a blank canvas too far,
    we're going to have to double down,
for a while, so we can just
survive and have this sort
of a punching-bag of a blank
canvas readied for us...
               so the government will come
in and regulate,
       come on, 13 years old,
but the rising queer epidemic of
premature depression in the youth?
    while the parents do not
implement internet safety
   for their children,
        no block filters...
                like blocking pornographic
sites,
      so the infiltration came
            from within the supposed
safety-net sites?
           ****... i was exposed to
rotten.com by word of mouth at
school...
                           just when the internet
launched with that whole
dial-up modem,
    chris rock in lethal weapon
moment talking about old telephones...
and people bemoaned e.u.
articles...
         there have to be consequences...
people should / companies
should be taken into account...
     what about the *******
  who sold me chemically enhanced
marijuana?
            well of course:
   better a guilty man walk free,
than an innocent man become imprisoned...
that logic is still kinda flimsy
for me...
                 i don't know why...
   but it just is...
    surely there are parental filters
for what a child can and cannot see
on the internet...
                 when i was first exposed
to horse on woman *******?
       em...
         is there anything honest to think
about, at this point?
          maybe that's why i decided
to "ghost" around 200 fwends on fb.,
i figured...
        **** this pseudo-voyeurism
of what people want me to see...
    i've invested a decent amount of years
and settled for the 13K poem / doodle count...
and some pictures...
   none of them saved on a personal
drive...
         why would i stash the content,
hide it, when i want people to peruse...
'it's always dark before the dawn',
sorry, i don't know how much
of a ****-******* optimist i have to be...
before a stoic cynicism grinds me
to a halt of:
                   "branching out"...
              i came here for the punching bag
of a blank canvas...
              i never came for the fake
sycophancy or some count of numbers...
i came here, for an outlet...
      it was either this,
                     or a punching bag...
and you almost sense that this whole
farce of "national sovereignty"
is about to be dropped into the *******
and flushed...
       because... it will all become
                             "too inconvenient"...
oh they'll stall... until the european elections
take place...
                   and there's a u.k.
                        (probably the only time
where an N does't come between
vowels)...
                they're wriggling themselves
out... public: 1 vote...
                parliament: i've lost count...
it's not even akin to rats jumping ****,
more like a maggot **** in a pit...
                        that's what a cynic is:
a realist...
                         if i'm wrong, i'm wrong...
but...
              on several occassions
i haven't been wrong...
           and you just have to watch for
that glee in the eyes of channel 4 journalist
anchors...
     i know that glee in the eyes...
it's a glee of hope...
              a sly variation of hope...
               it's also a certainty imbued
               with a certainity-expectation;
thank god i didn't use the video medium...
no passive watchers,
      at least with writing...
certain sacrifices have to be made. / / / / / / / / / /
/ / / / / / / / / / / / / / /

a "p.s.": well of course i'm not happy
with the news coming from today,
mind you: ever spot a woodland pigeon?
god, aren't they plump?
               bloated *******,
they always seem well fed by the forest...
a pair nested in a tree in my garden,
only yesterday, i picked up two
almost translucent offspring of theirs,
thrown out of the nest,
   the bride and groom
               decided they were sick,
weak...
                  they did look weak...
     death stared back at me,
          what once was animate,
lying there, among the stones, inanimate...
what a strange sight...
            do i believe in god?
            well... tell me...
   what is the driving force that coordinates
hearbeats, the functions of the stomach,
intestines, liver, kidney and lungs?
the categorical imperative split of the brain:
thinking, memory, imagination?
the bank of pathologies?
              tell me, what is the universal
1: nth term functions of the brain / 1 (divided
by 1),
                 the heartbeat / 1,
              the liver's function(s) / 1...
              the stomach's function / 1...
the pancreatic function / 1...
           i sometimes wonder:
  i own bones only in light of the thin
skinned extentsions associated with
fingers and tooes...
   sometimes this sort of thinking helps...
to "fake ignorance",
in order to rediscover awe...
         as if a genesis story...
to be the first...
        you never actually know what you will find...
sometimes there's no point being caged
in all the advancements of knowledge,
of certainity we are presented with
on the secular altar,
            ****! i can't even begin to comprehend
how i managed to clamour out from
beneath the eisenvorhang...
    a brief interlude... and straight back under
the siliziumvorhang...
            i guess i need to sleep the better dues
to pass this day...
           it was expected though,
i was, after all... sending out an S.O.S.,
     wattpad... what is it?
              teens wet silly with poetry
associated with no messy love,
mostly girls...
              YA novelties and novellas...
side projects...
               again: vampires, warewolves,
zombies, blah blah: yawn a year later...
         teen girls: sensitive as
daffodils, but as soon as a presence
comes along: little scheming modliszkas
   (mantises) - since daddy would not
approve...
              i discovered marquis de sade
in my teens: thank **** that i did...
i wished for an exoskeleton,
i moved past it, into lizard skin,
until my skin started resembling
an oyster shell hardness...
                     you snooze, you loße...
i only saw the trilogy once,
in the waterstones of Greenwich Village
in London, when i was doing some roofing
for a housing project...
i only saw the trilogy once...
i only bought Joris-Karl Huysmans's
Là-Bas once... i should have bought
the two other books...
  since i never saw them again...
  unlucky me... having succumbed to the sterotype
of the magpie stealing silver spoons...
the cover...
   artwork by aubrey beardsley:
                        'of neophyte and how the black art
was revealed to him by the fiend Asomuel'
   (the pall mall magazine, june 1893)...
on amazon.com you either get a chance
to purchase this book, or:
Against Nature (a rabours)...
    but there's a trilogy behind Là-Bas...
zee fwench: sorry, and not sorry,
the english can be grand poets,
but when it comes to prose?
                they're not even sniffing
the toes of the french...
                what happened to woodland pigeon
coos today?  wattpad.com,
2015...             the same for me...
an outright ban... because some girl
decided to be offended by me cutting off
a conversation with her: wish her a good life...
and i really out so much effort into that page...
zip it shrimpy: cut off, little richard
on the guillotine... cut!
                well... i was clued into
the world of 'olapoesía.com,
           hallopoesia.com
                       sveikidzeja.com (lithuanian...
dzieje? happenings, events, in ******)...
          and just my luck...
      leave a harmless comment in an in-group,
in a hive?
              how the nazis were not exactly
mongols, or the first christians who
burned down the library of alexandria,
when notre dame burned...
      when the blitz of london...
and how st. paul's "miraculously" survived...
and i said: i'm pretty sure the people
in command said to the luftwaffe squadron
about to bomb london:
you drop a single bomb on st. paul's:
firing squad...
           they were nazis: but sure as ****
they weren't the people of the siberian steppe!
so hellopoetry.com,
  2019, suspension from may until december 2019...
but unlike wattpad...
  i still have my account!
   and guess who's digging trenches, right now?
poetfreak.com and minds.com are
step-overs...
why did i delete my 200+ fwends off of
facebook.com and reduced it to
3 random strangers?
          eh?
                   as much as i abhor darwinism
poking its head through to give
every single existential explanation...
i have to side with darwinism on this point:
a defensive modus operandi...
lie low...
          pretend to be dead...
                   i knew the censorship storm
was coming back in 2015...
and this current banning of woodland pigeon
coos banning?
     i'm sort of happy...
but not for the sort of reasons stemming
from the ban...
     i can finally spread the "love"!
           i finally know what it feels like,
for someone who liked my work...
         being cut off from my content...
frankly... it feels great!
                   i can finally entertain my perspective
with a pinch of empathy...
sympathy is already here:
since it happened to me back in 2015,
and in early 2019...
         now for the 3rd time lucky
on the platforms i already mentioned...
but like this hindu woman said to me...
1st time is an honest mistake,
2nd time is a lesson in learning...
3rd time? there's nothing for you to learn...
and that's of course in reverse:
of me being banned.
                         after all...
if marquis de sade is still with us?!
                 marquis de sade...
                              i knew herr zensor was
coming...           but i didn't exactly
expect to climb from under the iron curtain,
to be draped over with the silicon curtain...
and these people know they're taking away
our former playground,
our youth center,
                       well...
                           but at least i didn't make
passive content akin to a video...
         if they really want to ban me a third
time...
       i'm glad someone took the effort
to read my work...
   saves them the time ageing toward granny
age, resorting to binging on harlequin
romance novels.

p.s.

you've actually caught me in my berserker
drinking mode... i'll just spew...
and spew as i must, i never expected
the "useful idiots" to comply to what my thinking
didn't prescribe them to do...
even hegel once pointed out:
something about 3D chess,
a thinking man, with pawns of willing
actors... i never liked hegel...

                  hegel has become too much
of a crucifix, a bookmark,
of what and where, "things" went wrong...
i hate bookmarked people...
kant isn't bookmarked...
         all the slander that nietzsche offered him,
as some repetitive jargon booster,
with the sort of a bachelor lifestyle
he greatly admired: rooted in Königsberg...
****** worked like clockwork...
his predictability was the great deception...
forget shuffling ideas and whatever
like a northern semite...
weren't the vikings the semites
of the north? restless creatures,
constantly displaced? weren't they?

mind you... eh...
     you know how many necromancers
actually exist?
   you ever read a book by jean-paul sartre?
james joyce? stendhal? dumas?
sienkiewicz?
      you sure you're not
a necromancer?
                it's not an exactly
illustrious title to hold...
             when reading the books
of the departed, aren't you invoking
their living presence, into the current storm
of affairs?
  sure as **** it's not a spectacular "title"
to hold, is it?
           to think: one is more likely
to cite the dead, having "risen" from
their grave, that one is to make
   "compensations" with the living...
   when journalism ****** politics...
and the sort of admired journalism,
akin to all the president's men...
died...
                a slower death than the traversing
speed of a snail...
   like that other quote beside
hegel:         the terrible...
                   has already happened.
the holocaust, chernobyl...
   that has already happened...
               awaiting what could ever be
worse: is but akin to the sword of Democles...
it's hanging in the air,
   blood-thirty,
  like the talking heads of
the french aristocracy, once the guillotine
chop happens... gagging for "free speech"
in a basket...
what is mary antoinette just said:
let them have croissants?!
    fat fake cake binges would...
with a snap of the fingers... be over...
still... the english crumpet...
      tyson fury vs. manny pacquiao
    (the obvious choice of crumpet,
and the croissant getting battered...
akin to a french toast,
               soaked in beaten eggs)...

you read any book by a dead person,
you're a necromancer...
             i'm a necromancer...
                 you're a necromancer...
the dead arrive at your head,
have a ******* with your thinking,
then leave,
you continue,
   in your own right,
and in their right: of mutating their
original thought...
          that lost ambition of narrative,
transcending any and all
moral 'oughts...
                    try me after an hour
spent with a ******* doing nothing
but kissing her:
just, because, "on a whim",
i forgot to trim my ***** hair...
                stealing kisses from prostitutes
isn't exactly easy...
all that pretty woman dogma...
     **** above a kiss...
          well... "yeah"... in reality?
                   i'm thinking about three things
right now... growing a heard long enough
to reach my heart...
   bonsai: in both the tree botanical form
and a feline form of a shrunken tiger
akin to a maine **** cat...
   and a pagoda...
                      don't ask me why...
i'm good at su doku puzzles... mahjong...
really **** on the crossword puzzle scale...
hence? random words just enter my mind
and i need an ars poetica impromptu
to lodge them into.

p.p.s.
i already know what the inquiring man would
or could ever do with a child,
to inquire about his own development as
a child, to find the: dot dot dot the missing
answers, to see for himself as he developed
into an adult, or, worse, to project his own failings
onto the child, child genius tiger mums team
alpha-bravo... child prodigy gehennah...
it's almost a psychological fetish for some,
to bind oneself to the canvas of a child,
better off with a cat, or a dog if that's your
"thing"... at least you won't be hurting anyone...
worse still: the marquis de sade ******
scenario... i still have memories from when
i was 4 years old... Ganesha must be looking
over me: the stereotype? elephants' memory,
which is as long as its trunk...
      "conundrum": if an adult male can fathom
his child: himself at the age of 4...
if he can fathom a metaphorical foetus,
why would he have to procreate,
to produce a d.n.a. mongrel to satiate his
curiosity further?
      besides that... if society was once overtly
religious, moralistic...
today's society is overly-psychologised...
i hate psychological stereotypes,
everyone is this part-time hobby-psychologist...
             i don't exactly require a biological
part-replica of myself to preserve at least
one thought with origin and end within
the confines of my self...
       i'm not exactly prone to utter patriachal
proverbs that encompass whole ethnic groups...
maxims or categorical imperatives
cater for individuals...
                   not the masses...
i'd have to be a patriarch to utter proverbs as
a way to gather the brood of my own
sow and subsequent harvest...
to be so obscure,
    to be so... concerned with lineage...
                   you have to be born with the facets
of necessarily ensuring that future generations
are to make the same mistakes...
           that's why i would never trust western
neo-atheism... d.n.a. as the only future blah blah...
         sure... if you can lodge a thought
into d.n.a. and receive the token of finding both
self and consciousness within such claustrophic automaton confines,
"somewhere down the line"...
      much older generations would have told you...
that's in the fables, the mythos, the temporal crux
and crossroads... time doesn't give a donkey's *******
about your "rational", scientific materialism's worth
of continuum...
                         etc.

oh but my face is recognisable,
it's recognisable because
without adventure,
without adventure entrapped
in plato's cavern depth
of thought and shadow,
and upon no promise of release,
kept chained, with no chance
to look sidewise and write,
but look backtracking the first trek
and make a fulfilling life doubly worth
a book's worth of shiva destroying
vishnu's english middle class homes...
no adventure, only skull heads as heady tombs,
no adventures upon our way
into the cold, less ore upon a bench
than bicep keen on the paddle
if lessening be keen to think,
where the adventure? where?!
what, you mean juggling tomato, potato, tomato
between english and american accents?
that the couch, that the potato?!
you farting out the canned applause too?
i bet you are... and they will say...
it's norway... it's norway!
but they vetoed european membership
because half the voters were post colonials...
vegan hindus voted no... pakis voted no...
minority rabbits in general voted no...
to be honest i'm with them,
if john paul ii was black smoke i'd applaud,
if the iron curtain never disassembled i'd be home,
i wouldn't have to listen to western democratic
brown-nosing affairs...i'd be home, and happily to
be there... rather than in the glorified west of
fake saints trying to introduce dialectics
from a standpoint of youth, given old age
didn't bother, so eager for the eager ******
mid-life in crisis of a family to be never had.
i'd stay, yes, i'd stay behind the iron, curtain,
i'd rather stay there than be all "liberal,"
peddling on a bicycle pamphlets of the solidarity movement,
they said solidarity, they said hawaii awaits
and mass emigration,
then asking capitalism to regroup and sell atheism,
of late,
to group atheists, to collectivise,
like the grouping economy of insects
of exclusion - termite mounds and spider webs -
which would be communism -
but then the predatory lions and tigers
bundled up for dodo fates:
while we conceived a complete fake ***
nationalism of being forged by the now sepia
of history long gone: we learned being
english due to irish racism;
something to do with ***** count
and pints of Guinness: a ja to wiem:
bo anglik zbyt wielki... to na polaka!
patrz gdzie ten królik pędzi bracie,
bo wraz z czymś innym co widisz cie zabierze
w pogrzebanie ćmy z cieniem.

.just search Polish, England, vermin... there clearly is a difference between a racial slur, and a dehumanizing slur... well... it's good that i have a soundtrack, Pearl Jam's rats from the album Vs., and Ghost's rats from the album prequelle...

i get it, the English are sometimes lazy, when speaking... but... there's a difference between a racist slur and a term that dehumanizes a people... i say ******, i say Dr. Dre, i write ****- i forget the suffix... but... you know... being deemed vermin, by ethnicity... that's not called a racial slur, that's called a dehumanizing term... vermin is not a racial slur, it's a dehumanizing precursor of radicalizing an impetus for genocide... so? ****** ****** ****** ****** ******... **** **** **** **** ****... just like greg focker in meet the parents on a plane: bomb bomb bomb bomb bomb... just look up the story, in England... when a bunch of leaflets were posted through the doors of Polak families, calling them vermin... what?! racial slurs are one thing, dehumanizing slurs are another; ******* ******* and their serf pakis.

oh i'm not in England to play
along to whittle Oreo,
whittle Choccie...
  or some uncle Tom...
         i'm about to parade my
Pontius Pilate closure...
i'm here for the cider,
for the ale,
and for ms. amber...
and... for...
   kasabians': club foot...
i can't be a friend to a fellow
European who's embroiled
with his commonwealth...
Rotherham vassal-postcriptum...
see the V?
see the V?
                          here's an I
to clarify...
      dictate your kleinscheißetirade
  (little **** tirade)
on some other continent,
bring back a curry recipe from
India, or something...
but don't expect
me to bow down to non-Europeans....
you... inselvolk
  (island people)...
            i am frothing at
the mouth, and restraining myself
from biting your ***... taub...
numb...
i can respect other cultures...
by your, "standards", of, "respect"...
but i will never be you...
this... this...
this was was the hardest aspect
of me integrating:
i will never be one of you...
Zeppelins are hanging
over the skies,
and i'm, itching for a blitzkrieg...
this, this... is what
precisely makes a man
enroll in supposition the status
of the enemy...
the commonwealth came
before the European stature...
  i've learned the language,
but i didn't relieve myself
of the mutterzunge... ergo?
i'm not fully integrated...
i'm not fully integrated?
integrate the following *****-slap
from Europe...
see how you like your
****- sauce then!
oh i'm praying for no-deal or
a hard-deal.. scenario...
i hate deserters...
and the "British"...
are, in my mind... ethnic-deserters...
punish the *******...
like that song,
a post-colonial power
attacking a post-colonial power...
circus!
applause!
   something much finer than
watching the t.v.....
billy joel... we didn't start
the fire...
lyric in particular?
Belgians in the Congo...
well...
      Brussels in the U.K.
although i speak the natives' tongue...
i should care about their
fate... because?
what?!
                 my ethnicity gets called
vermin...
   and i'm like...
hula hoop around this *******...
because the hope entrusted
to the progressive ontology of humanity
always undermines
the sarcastic undermining in
the current in situ...

   but i don't care...
next thing i'll hear is that i'll
only be "properly" integrated
if i paint my skin copper,
grow my hair into a turban's
worth bundle...
then... i'll be the protected caste.

thank god England is an island...
makes the whole boarders debate...
debate?
an island entertains
a boarders debate?
an island?
an island can have authentic,
clarifying,
serious debates about boarders?!
you're joking, right?
you want to have a, "boarders" debate...
being strapped to an island?
i "said"... are you... ******* joking?

i've never cooked crocodile flesh before...
but i've seen what happens when
you buy raw herrings...
you're not going to cook the herrings...
after all: herrings are the Baltic sushi...
but you can't just eat them raw...
you need to curate them to some brine...
i.e. soaking them in salty water...
phenomenal... a fish swims all this time
in salty waters... as a whole...
but when you turn it into a schematic of
edibility...
you have to... ha ha... pluck all that's liver
all that heart... intestines...
to get to the flesh: edible flesh... proper...
you have to throw it back into salty water:
it's obvious that the flesh of the fish
never experienced... what could make
it edible...
apparently crocodile meat is the same:
it's lean... although... herring flesh
is also high in fat...
to brine something involves the thing
sitting in its own juices:
for the "other" thing: the protein about
to be eaten is left curated:
salt... in terms of what's edible and what's
not... weighs as much as gold...
if not more...
          but you can bypass this whole
chemical experiment with mushrooms!
you don't need fish: which have to be brined...
or with meats which have to be cured...
with mushrooms it's much more simple...
you start off frying a batch in some unsalted butter...
they fry... and fry... getting all golden...
you start choking them with a lid above
the frying pan... that sort of helps...
but... doesn't... it's only until you sprinkle some salt...
and: but especially in terms of fungus...
salt: the great drawer of water...
you put the lid back on... or whatever...
to get the mushroom: you need to cook it with
some salt...
it's like... the most organic magnet...
salt is a magnet... for water...
salt is what allowed such great bodies
of water as the Atlantic and the Pacific to stay
intact... even when the rivers and the lakes
dry up... the seas will never dry up:
salt is a magnet... for water...
water, water everywhere: but not a drop
to drink... that line stands eternal:
from the rime of the ancient mariner...
esp. with fungus...
you sprinkle from salt on them while frying
them off in butter... and hey presto!
you tempt the water encompassed
in the mushrooms come flooding out...
you end up cooking them in their own juices...
the texture of the mushroom is arrived at...
but there's also the essences of the taste of
mushroom...
salt: magnet... sieve!
- but that's not brining... unless it's...
brining done... exponentially quick... which it is...
meat takes time... fungus is neither
meat nor... salad...
but salt! salt is light!
        how it draw out the remaining water
from a thing... and allows the thing
to be cooked in its own storage of water...
which it wasn't expecting to be cooked in...
you might add some more water:
depending how much you're cooking...
some excess of fat also helps...
but i've never cooked crocodile meat...
watched how someone failed to cook it on
Australian MasterChef...
          if crocodile behaves like a herring...
even though one is a lizard get-go...
while the other is... fritz...
           i expect a crocodile tartar steak of sort
could have aided the contestant...
because i can't actually imagine
eating a cooked herring...
later soaked in some spirit vinegar with
onions... a lay leaf... all-spice... mustard seeds
crescent moons of garlic... onions...
and oil...
but cooking a herring seems as much a bad
idea as cooking a salmon: rather than
not smoking it...
still: quickened brining process...
no water involved... since we're dealing with
mushrooms... fungus...
you start cooking they're browning beautifully
like it's some post-racial but still nationalistic
Brazilian utopia (since they have
a ******* football team that tells others...
you're not us... blah blah)
   but it's only when you add the salt
that the mushrooms give in...
to the "torture" of being:
less the telepathic busy-bodies attached
to the moon-key-brain they latched themselves
onto... i wish they were hallucinogenic prone
types... sometimes:
but then... all these supposed colours
and no clarity in writing in b & w...
i couldn't stomach it...
with herrings about to be turned into pickled
flesh i expected the slow-brining process
is expected: fish is not fungus...
all that excess water storage in the flesh
is what gives man a brain...
i hope... then again: i hope not...
that's why i drink: to be borderline dehydrated...
quickened brining: frying off some mushrooms
in butter then sprinkling some salt on
the frying process... immediately a mushroom
stock arrives "out of nowhere" on the canvas
on the frying pan...
the mushroom is to be then: essentially eaten...
the flesh of the mushroom: isn't mush...
it resembles something from the annals of
seafood... but the juice is... earthy...
beguiling the humanoid to harvest these
forest pleasures...
       salt is ought to be: ought have to been
more treasured than gold...
there should have been salt coins...
how there should be painting of one army
riding horses... another... riding bulls...
salmon ought first to be smoked
then... decided upon: cooking salmon ought
to be considered: haram: forbidden...
i don't want to see that orange flesh of the waters
turned into an anaemic pink...
dried out: not once... not ever!
it's one "thing" to butcher an animal once...
it's another "THing" to butcher
the animal twice upon the altar of cooking it
poorly!

i'll pretend hunchback posing as a crow:
the crow will disagree:
i'm standing up-right! you're the one who's
hunched! hitchhiker: boring son
of a dozen: that's came from elsewhere...
elsewhere... "elsewhere":
even in the now apparently arrived at now:
i see no familiar face...
i see... too many rivers...
of people... that hardly make up
a sea to froth... to boil up...

people are dying in their minds...
this rot is yet to be made popularly promiscuously:
tempting... enticing... but i fear it already is that...
people are dying in their minds
while their bodies... if agitated...
if alive... are spewing nothing but
fictions! pick-me-ups!

i'm hopeful... this period will pass...
there will be a time of fathoming a relief from this
intermission...
how all empires crumble...
but how "things" have changed...
we're all pretty much educated to recognise
phonetic encoding "biases"...
even if some of us scribble on
walls in giraffe graffiti... so be it...
TAGS...
            let people have what's immediately
available to their imagination's content...
don't let them suffer the constraints of
some ruling... ha! who's ruling in 100 years
from now?!
who's most envy prone to dictate
the peacocking workaround for social:
hierarchical-stratification?
all will pass: in a blink of an eye!
even if no eye is looking:
or to be looked at...

        i've become accustomed to cherish
this onslaught of pulverising subjectivity:
i seem to not have had a welcome escape...
pickling brain: Brian syndrome does that
to one... the sensation of being subjected
to so much... yet objecting to so little...
oh but i'm objecting to as much as i'm being
subjected to...

            i am subjected to gravity:
but i object to it... as a falling "thing" from
the top of a building...
how's that?

          i need language to somehow comes
across a... "2 + 2 = 4"...
       no?i need a sensation of: arable:
with a trill of the R: that's so... desperately
missing in the -ing-leash zunge...
i'm about to call Kaiser Wilhelm and implore
him: more zeppelins! more zeppelins!

tread past the thought that was originally cast:
lay the thread bare...
come as you were... come: less arrived at...
all this will sooner or later be:
gobbled up by the certainty of time...
which competes over space...
minding our progress...
if time is the tongue...
then space is mouth what
yawns at as: welcoming... eager for more sacrifices
at the altar...

curry is great! at a meal...
as a meal one has for... supposing it's 5pm
in Lahore...
but at 9am in France...
where there are no eggs...
poached? scrambled? fried?
  what's on offer?!
*******... CARRY... CURRY...
CRY-WE..
i can't make my stomach churn out appreciation
for a ******* broth in the morning...

it's scented ****-***: overt-**** ***
insatiability in the morning requiring English
pubescent northern girls:
sorry... they "are"...
        "my"... girls?!
i speak the language... last time i heard...
there was a lacking in brick-work...
the people most associated
with keeping food production in line...
the truckers... all gone...
well.. if the Englishman want's
an Empire implosion...
save all the Pakis... he'll get all the ******* Uber
he desires...
"my" people will just leave...
for whatever the brain-drain that arrived...
that will stay...
but the rest of it...

who needs England... when England
is all the more better off for X-factor: people need
to be entertained!
no?!
by even the more ******* sort of...
entertainment!
i'm entertained by the moon...
by a brick wall...
"my" people... came to these shores...
and were quickly told to... *******...
thank you!
let all the Pakis take over!
*******... Ing-Leash... brats!

i have an inherent animosity with these people
that has not schematic to a past
so formidable as to have a past worth
questioning: here lies...
the atomised man...

- but while speaking this... zunge...
i reach out to an elder...
i am seeking compensation:
for the tiredness i'm forever to experience...
in English i have no...
certainty: i have only an objectification
of history: not being subjected to it...
i live in a country with a past:
but not history...
anaemic hybrid...
     i'm the barbarian knocking
on the door... with a message:
let me out! let me out!
              
whoever read too much of "journalism"
but not enough of Horace...
                  
      the sanctity of salt:
                      sal de sanctitas....
backwards to forwards...
how time disembowels grammar.

Hand-full of people fighting for Islam.
Our weapons are pen and holy Quran.
Resources are less, but ambitions are high
Allah is with us, so lets not grieve or sigh
We don't like colour of blood, we like colour of ink
With message of love and peace we are here to close all *****
We are here to clear all your doubts and misconceptions
we are the best of Ummah, so we will argue and talk with patience
propaganda against Islam will be buried in cemetery
We are mujahids of twenty first century
Bound by faith pakis, Arabs and Indians
We are soldiers of Allah, we are LMDians

cosy (title): modo+ (body), for a 502 error bypass... otherwise, the original text:

alrerst quichp: which is a googlewhack, i need to nod off, seriously... people, in general, are not worth my seriousness, not enough to begin with; all is done on a whim, on a... m'eh .

i cry at this mere thought,
the crucified one of Golgotha didn't die for
my "sins"...
what were we, gentiles, even the Greeks
among us, without knowledge of the "father"?
haunted by the depths of Siberia,
having left the welcoming Raj & its mangos...

he didn't die for my sins, or anyone's sins...
the secretive nature of the Hebrews:
exposed, came in a fully formed revelation
via one man's suffering under:
preposterous conditions:
that never, will never, match up...
even if Socrates was an old man...
he was implored to drink poison:
but never would he have been tortured prior
to an execution that became a second torture...

dearest brother... what you endured...
to give other men insight into your deity,
that swallowed up the minor deities
of the Canaanites... how Beelzebub became
an angel... almost like: faux pas...
the ugliness of Michael being demoted from
status of angel to a saint,
or fisherman Peter becoming a saint...
men on equal grounding with angels...
men without ambitions to be gods?!
what horrors in the metaphysical realm
must have unfolded in the past 2000 years...

but it's clear as sight allows...
as light beckons, as shadows swallow said light,
we have been illuminated...
tell me another story, one more fiction
than history,
a history where Charlemagne took interest
in literacy... no, you will not...
there have been other famous leaders
who bypassed stressing the need
for literacy, not the genius: not Sejong...
the world doesn't celebrate him enough...
the myths are true!
he lived in the prosperity of what could
be deciphered as "modern" times...
1400s circa, i don't remember the exact dates...
but Sejong gave the Koreans
their Hangul... their written script...

of all the eastern texts, beside the Sanskrit...
Hangul matches up to Katakana,
unlike Ezra Pound:
i'm not fascinated by Chinese ideograms...
the European counterpart
of emoticons, borrowed from
Egyptian hieroglyphs have already
explained the route, the story for me, enough...

but the Hebrew deity is:
such a spectacular phonetic environment to
meditate in, esp. since it was so benevolent
to not undermine the Latin script...
the Latin alphabet survived,
more! it became armed with diacritical markers:
excluding those who only speak English...
truly... you can hide the already pre-prepared surd
of an H attached to the S in English
via the caron: more than / less than pointing
south... Engliš... hell... you could intoxicate yourself
further, to break down the words to atoms
within the confines of phonetics...
you could make N a surd too!

  by?  attributing the E with a tail,
a cedilla most associated with the French C...
which makes it a sigma...
i.e. Ęgliš... it ought to be a well established
knowledge that the Hebrews hide their
vowels, even though, Aleph is a sort of vowel...
use the prefix and suffix guise un-entanglement
of the Greek: alpha becomes a-lpha...
beta becomes b-eta...
   omicron becomes: o-micron...

the crucifixion of hey-zeus only gave the gentiles
access to the Hebrew deity...
is the deity such a horrible deity,
did the "father" do less damage to the deities of
lesser Semites than the "son" that sowed
havoc among the pagan traditions,
gone an Odin, bowing,
gone the Zeus, bowing...

in the beginning was the word,
und: am anfang da war das wort...
   nichts anders! lasst uns: rückkehr...
bezahlen unser fällig huldigung!

we have been invited through suffering...
such a deity as the tetragrammatom...
H to H... rugby posts...
W for an M for... trigonometry...
cosine and sine...
Y for for serpent's tongue, split,
bilingual, schizoid or?
the corner of a cube...

my interpretation is in "Latin"... it must be...
but look at what happened to cuneiform!

now Islam appeals through violence,
through terror, it will never appeal to my sensibilities,
nor the past of the people i inherited the present
with... Islam is a horrid plagiarism of Judaism...
i'll just break down the deity's denote:
all?! ah!
if only that was a relief...
god of the scythe moon and the supposed star
of the planet Venus in the guise, fakery...
Islam will never appeal to me...
Islam can burn in the abyss...
even the story of the fall of Satan...
if (i hallucinate the word dajjal while
writing this) Satan didn't bow before
Adam upon Adam's creation...
if i were Adam... i'd tease Satan's vanity...
i'd bow before him...
why? it would spare me having to keep him
in the back of my mind, resurrect him
with horror images of the inferno...
then again... if i didn't draw pictures
of dragons in the medieval period of my late
infancy... could i have later found...
dinosaur remains, or would i be merely satiated
by the remaining lizards on this earth?

for ****'s sake, why are the minorities so
******* offended?

why are all the racial minorities so, *******,
sensitive...
everyone is either racist or sexist...
at work...

you hear something equivalent to:
i don't know how i managed to watch the women's
world cup in football....
a black woman retorts: you're sexist...
what an a priori distinction to make:
no... they're tinier in size...
if they managed to get a girl,...
that might also play volleyball in goal...
what' the point explaining...
i'm sexist, i'm racist: de facto...
**** the minorities...
to hell with them!
then again... i'm a ****** living in
England, oh, right, i'm a white male...
i can't possibly be... **** the minorities!

i, am, tired... of living, with, these, people,
so, much, more... arguing, with, them...
let, them, ****, let them, experience,
"superiority" complexes...
i, am, not, DNA... investing... *******!
brighten up your tomorrow
by giving sensitivity classes to...
oh... wait... only the supposed minorities left...
well: ******* well done!
sensitive bunch of *******-****** Pakis;
ooh... ooh... hurt feelings...
thank the flying **** my ***** wasn't part
of the post-colonial project that England's now
part of... i guess something was reiterated...
look how the Polish-Lithuanian
Commonwealth dissolved...
**** me... these aren't my girls getting ****** in
the ***...
sure... as a steward... at an event...
but... what are the chances that the Manchester bombing
could have been prevented...
if some of the stewards...
if all of the stewards didn't have
racial affiliations to the bombers?!

none... none... whatsoever, best sacrifice your
daughter than fear of being labelled a racist...
fair enough... bell's at toll, or, rather: counting
the tally of your... mistakes...
ahem... "sensibilities": oh, but you must mind
them as also being towed!

either a PIGS or a WASP...
is that how the world functions?
****'s sake...
        then... i don't want to bring any
children of my own into this.. ****-show...
no... i'm fine....
  the world can go **** itself silly...

- did i dream up the term: Pakistan?
i don't think i have, or had...
Asian Dub Foundation have the lyrics:
no Iraqi ever called me a ****..
****-? oh, the hyphen is required reading,
it denotes the term ****
as a prefix...
i'm with the English, i'm sort of,
rather than: i am sort of: lazy...
when speaking, i sometimes mumble,
although i shouldn't: should not...
ha ha ha...
you wouldn't call (would not)
call an Afghani / Afghan an... Afghanistani...
would you?
or an Iraqi an Iraqistani?
would you?!
ooh... sensitive little creatures...
perhaps creatures, perhaps nothing more than
caricatures... perhaps just...
lesser tans of ****...
****** variations of cinnamon,
or cumin or... em... coriander powder?!
maybe all three? pack-up-the-****...
i want to sharpen my teeth on something...
but that load of **** i don't want
to bite... n'ah... i rather pair up
with a dog's canine...
this sort of *******
i'd rather sink down a toilet...

- sure, call me milk toast etc.
i'm not the one being overtly sensitive over
words that people of racial minorities
don't own, since they didn't invent them!

too drunk to see the letters....
too drunk to mind the barriers....
to begin with,
long be gone the despotism of minor
and minorities...
for the majority rule,
for the majority are tantamount:
for future, for preservation,
for, tactic...

no one mentioned the Rotherham gangs
of the ultimate PAK... do they?
prefix distinction missing, or sonrthing?
you will never say Afghan
when stating Afghanistan, will you?
YOU WILL STATE: AFGHANISTANI...

curiously defect, curiously: WEAK PAKIs...
term red: red...
    you might asd well recite:
Bengali... Bengal (people)
when citing: Bangladesh...
why...  add Bangladeshi... is there a suffic
-stan to be invoked...
lazily... ****... because i don't feel like
expressing the fuller: -stani!
savvy? no... with these people there is no
******* "savvy"...

there's either a foot in the face,
or there's a... shove their face in my aas
and take a sniff...
your skin colour almost resembles the hue
of the **** i **** out...
how's that?!

it takes two to tango... how's this tango?
******* whiplash... you sorted,
the proper imam squidgy plush?

sensitive little creatures...
can **** little white girls...
but can't stand being called a ****-,
note the hyphen, so it denotes
a prefix...
what a load of insensible little people
that will crowd the earth with
their little ideas...
what a glorified reinvention
of the gods... some of us must have become
too smart for the gods to jest...
i have to see it that way...
the dodo project...
wee became too smart,
too individualistic...
no one, except me:
invited the existence of the demigod Solipsism:
Sisyphus... Solipssus...
except me...
       no, this art, this architecture...
my own doesn't exactly matter, why should
i leverage a back-log of paintings/ ideas?!
let it burn, let it burn!
let's revise... we need to revise...
we've become too complacent...
to begin with...
i think it's necessary, mind you...
all the white girls are expecting a ***** flick of
itemizing phallus sizes...
if they're not... probably *****... or ignored...
thirdly: i stopped caring...
do i, own her? do i, pay for her?
well, none of the stressed above...
she sees chocolate whenever and however she pleases...
why bother?

the lowest in the IQ spectrum will inherit the earth...
let them! i don't mind...
to hell with high IQ people...
listen, your work is done...
there's  no need to continue the agony...
let the people who can best be cloned endure...
let people who enjoy *** the most: endure...
let people be their own sort of people...
personally, i don't want to be part of this
sack of swinging *******...
do i care that Europe will become
a Reconquista 2.0 Project... eh... no...
**** it... let the idiots reproduce...
i'm sort of going to appreciate their universal
suffering... it always comes...
regardless of their shelf-life /
shelf-alloction... suffering is almost a pre-condition
of the human experiences....
funny, though... it will be made easier
knowing that some categorical synonym
is missing...
all the better... like all the better for me, now...
that i should be deemed undesirable
by them and my own elites...

my hands are open... my heart is freed...
such lesser creatures require such lesser concerns
that only enable them to preserve:
preserving themselves...
hardly any original idea / narrative will ever
be allowed to be shared by them...
i thank myself: for not having
to agonise my children with a lack of
the said above...
thank god, i was smart enough to not
replicate mistakes...
my mistakes are my own...
they will never belong to my child...

grace, by the gratefulness to be:
alone, and only alone to
replicate: its comfortability...
                  my heart: that i allow to sink...
when dropped into a mirror
of a lake...
oh! the splendour! rich or poor,
near or far apart!
what measure, that equates them
as equal "apart"...
          my "little" Hebrew deity of measure...
blind me: i will still see more clearly!

rykł gwałtu: czy śmiercí... sie boície?!*

the 1st world belongs
to western europe,
as is the poppy emblem...
but the 2nd world war?
you have no right
upon this platitude of
nostalgia...
you have no right here...
you don't belong here,
go **** yourselves,
and settle the flatlands
of belgium...
you, take you *******,
and your other colonial
subordinates from these
pages of reminder!
no, you don't belong
here, on the ukranian plains
of the flat-fields...
     you are not
commonwealth sorts...
i don't want you here...
  you are on your way home...
and no...
none of the commonwealth
bits & pieces ever worked
the construction site,
like the irish or eastern europeans
did...
         q a few sikhs...
but that's about it...
pakis make great
           mustafas of the "work"
invoked by the designation of
    a prior toward the
      authorirty of an imam...
                  i too never knew i
knew how to read...
   must be a literate donkey
                somewhere!
i'm trying to love the brits,
but given they're really into
their p.c.s.d. (post-colonial
stress disorder), i'll my stretching
it with nazis...
   please call me that...
please, please, please call me a ****!
it will make me remember
my great-grandmother affected
by nazis, all the better,
for your **** journalistic
***...
          please!
i'm begging you! call me a ****!
call me what my grandfather
called the ss-mann:
   herr-bite-bonbon...
   call me a **** you **** swine!
call it! call it!!!
             i dare you,
i want you to call it!
    i, ******* dare you to call it!
call it!
          speak your little jihad!
speak your little spell!
                            say it!
are you aware that i was the one
who liked the idea of collecting swords?
oh yeah...
   i own a hussar blade...
over 50 centimetres...
curved and all...
                    if i inserted the blade
via your ***, it would come out of your
mouth as a tongue;
say it... i want to hear it...
   why are my hands and the fingers
extending off of them, becoming
so itchy?
    i have a heart for a guillotine,
but no more, for a bed-fellow
in the form of a woman;
   how desirable does death become,
the least you account
for fearing it... how welcoming
the jest of recounting:
                novembers & septembers.

i was aiming to sort out some computer
details outside the realm
of the corporate world of hierarchy...
something like that...
talking to a 56 year old kazakh in
romford: about the turks and the mongols...
about giving up smoking (not really):
and how i am addicted to carbon
monoxide while he is bagging big chews
from the nicotine gum: fiddly fingers
and something akin to peeling carrots
and power-tame-toes!
fiddles for foreskins...
in this one instance i am... beside buying
into... "the narrative"...
a crown descends...
   a crow is the equivalent of crown:
phonetically: in greek... amore...
                  the rest of the day completed
itself... with me walking from
Chadwell Heath to Romford...
marking my feet on a shortcut through
the green belt...
the traffic noises died...
i just stood in a middle of a field
the vikings might have envied...
no no no...
   the blistering azure piercing breath
and making me embody a loitering of a soul...
three birds of prey...
how is it... that birds of prey rarely
flap their wings... they... just... hover...
impossibly perfect...
they hone in on something...
circle around and around
like a vultures' manifesto...
     i was waiting to see the dive
but i didn't see it: not out of impatience...
i was in a secluded partition of england
yet i was still attempting to buy a bicycle
in Chadwell Heath -
i looked at myself not looking at
anything prior...
this solitary whitey:
i don't mind the remark...
thank god the slaves of colour want
to either see no colour or... too...
the hues of copper, cinnamon...
      teases of cacao...
                           a cuban ****...
                so much was poured into
a runic revision -
    best: an invigoration...
                    toothpicks for words:
an arithmetic of my teeth...
        i am beside myself welcoming
the intrusion of "minority":
perhaps in little ol' removed Swansea -
i am the lord mayor the city might
need me...
   in somewhere like Chadwell Heath...
buying a lion white chocolate bar
is perhaps sub-cultural -
the same old pauper of what-a-load of
violins bundled up on a bench
by the church... a last imploring gesture...
drinking that gorgon's blood
of a dutch equivalent of carlsberg's
spezial broo (or -ew)...
          on these isles: these bright and beautiful
isles:
you can't "sell me": the irish are still
speaking... english?!
the irish are not speaking gaelic -
my god... this terrible hammer from
Lincolnshire -
     when and as to how...
the Welsh took it upon themselves
to become this sacred heaven of bilingualism -
so much for learning Dutch -
or... Bel-ge-an -
  Flemz? Flimsy Choc-a-Block...
       choke on a tired rubber of a tire...
stage a newbie ***** flick from
the dungeons of **** Bruges...
or some ***** / wide my pony: rha rha rho...
that the Welsh still cling to a tongue:
spirit pairing:
of the Polacks under the geography
of the third partition...
of the czechs under the habsburgs -
          history as a fetish...
no... more... "natural selection" beside
the already prescribed antics of ape ****
and meteor... and time impossible...
to have... selective historicism...
naturally?
             that "we" are at a stage where
something is deemed necessary - otherwise not...
but then again it's not...
since: who the hell will remember "us"?
i drink... but i also write...
i guess the writing is more of an exercise
in amnesia than the drinking -
the drinking helps: in that i am more blunt,
boringly honesty:
un-spec-tac-ular for the best...
  i just can't imagine myself writting anything
worse than a journalistic tabloid
palette will allow...
    sure: no rhyme no river for a narrtive:
concretely focused on an (a) through to a (z)...
pay... i guess the concept of
pay is showing through...
          well then... my whittle hobby:
my whittle: it can become impossible -
that the secular niqab
   will not protect you from the stench
of old goats' **** in a public toilet -
the solipsism of farting in a cogested
public "picturesque"...
to have to believe in both narratives:
the mainstream of lies and these -
offshoots of the best / better informed...
my little paranoid agenda is no
agenda... but enough of my beard
shackles a: thorough "through"...
red is longer a bull pointer antagonist...
up could be a down...
but it's not that: well... it is...
that people made a constituted forward:
towing - best kept replicas...
how could it be possible to procrastinate
a diminishing of transcendence:
that freedom is already a pork-pie glutton
and constipation...
"think-tanks"...
      tanks... ego rifles?
      shoot the dummy... play the cerebral
palsy mannequin tossing...
the utopia of hyperhondriacs...
a diaspora of polacks and the greeks...
that the machinery has been
well established... that the machine has
been well oiled...
and is "econimally" sound...
     gentle rub rub gentlest rubbing rub-up...
and down...
and my flesh this least copernican
crux... which has not orientated
itself around either sun, star...
earth or moon...
          
            expanding cycle lanes will
not bring about a new dutch republic...
nor will i sell a pancake for
the purpose of levelling the himalayas...
this brittle conundrum of bogus...
two narratives:
alter-alter -
what-if and... what-if...
                but red's not red:
there's no shawl for a hemmingway
for sooner last:
for a Catalonia...
to romance the world afresh...
but now there's a McDonalds in
Stockholm: future knowledge...
a globalist ghetto -

how the joke that  was once
Sweden is no longer...
this same... cyclops of culture mantra...
of lore: Sveeden: "so tolerant"...
and now the world and no...
this is not a world...
based on the focus of scrutiny
of a world: no... there's
no heidegger's dasein:
there's...

the magic trick for the masses...
which is much more spectacular...
and how willing there's a dulling of perception..
i am of the custard pie...
i am the custard pie...
            
              hiersein: "there" or "here" of...
ahem...                wohin?
that word comes with a question puncture...
you don't actually use the word:
where... without a question mark... no?
you can compound a complexity
akin to heidegger's with: here-being
alias "concern"...
well then... the solipsism of: "over-there"...
a pointer... it's a lack of reconciling the masses
with any ontological... "scrutiny"...

plus up: ++++ pardons for:
blistering of and this leftover scab of narrative...
before the double knee of
b.l.m. and beijing -
now... best left with fighting the nazis...
i'll say it outright...
best left with fighting the nazis...
best fighting a well attired SS-man
in some hugo boss suit...
of pristine khaki... grey or black...
but no... not now...
dulling of suits...
              
   now i'm on par with the argument:
i want nazis! i want to fight nazis!
oh... wait... they're not blonde...
or german or... believe me:
they could have hidden in the Crimean
peninsula...
             but no... but not now...
i want to fight: the *******: good-luck
joke of history...
but this evil is so bland...
it's so terrestrial...
   the same mundane evil coupled
with my own terrestrial existence probing
of conversation / no argument...

the Welsh still speak: "Welden"...
   Velsh... in a climate where... the union
jack is looking up the h'american *******...
but the scots but the irish don't retain
their ******* gaelic...
good for you:
like a nuanced slang of the english cricketer...
tourist... hello... world...
tourist... hello world...
               my now new reality:
legal immigration this little ******...
this no burden of a Ruś -
a warraring burden from a scent in the air...
that there's no concrete:
sulphur stinking zeppelin ruining the skies
at: come night... come lazily this lost day...
this lost day...

once more: when st. patrick met up
with a mule that became
a farce and a ghost-face
of sitting loiter:
anti-saint: humpty-coŁal-sky-
             dumps a truce...
valiant against the propaganda cogs
and blockages...
the retorts of the salvaged plumber...
my new authority: my lost authority...
F'f'f'f'fever pitch for a hannibal...

Carthage must counter: euthanasia...
me best sold "neuter"...
that there is an unconvincing this:
bias this base...
******* on a whiskey soaked
cigarette...
that a guinness can only be drank
from a glass of a measure of a pint...
don't blister me with
this and these details of a gargantuan
t'is... i want a poetry on the basis
of future: dead...

            ****-soaked revelation
of a brick willing: to sell a "hybrid"
sorta-glue: a congestion...
           this my sacred ****...
my tongue this lesser oyster -
      a skull that cannot fathom
   the jaw line...
      witness my own very little...
my leisured attention span...
no new no wriggling of index
as the best pickled earth-worn...

              habitually: a shirt worn
to expand upon an objectivity for
the tow of a shirt with...
creases...
this lesser ambiguity of
a prompt that preserves itself
with a: lost project of ambiguity -

that we somehow accepted
a new, a nuance... a blister and a heaving...
catterpillar dues...
count! count the arithmetic per-take!
back in the ***** of mother russia...
little people do little things...
big people do: crab load of ****:
this sort of philanthrophy...
because: aghast...
the mistantrophe is the next
best fang...
like chewing gum and mawler
of a fake tooth:
my best kept bones...

              heritage of radio and a ******...
but, once upon a time...
my little overt detailing...
romance mr. marshall this little
casablanca and my own tunis -
chasing shadows with
a little insy-winsy spiders to tow...
my own cob...
my own prague pangs of summer
that they are still:
the cobblestones to resound
with horse hoofs...

the last... lost... project...
to have to rejuvinate the revision
of the roman empire...
that there was no james joyce's ullyses
from 200 AD...
there was an old greek in
the new greek in the byzantine choral
chant...
     goody-goody-fwyfays
2020 my lost year...
the year when i begged for a slack:
a diminished point of a pair of *******...
how sober somehow worked...
that drunk was no new sensible...
doubt and its plethora of all the least
possible jargon of emotions:
a McDowell a McCurieal...
   a Dot MacKenzzies...
a lord assumption of surnames that:
there was no ever...
Hogwarts of the choicest of godfather
names... when this blessed babe
of the agony srap..
this tendering of bones...
          my little mongolia...
a variation of Kiev that could expand
into Ukraine...
                       but: ah... now...
a little chisel of england or...
aa bandage off...
this whittle hinter of big bypass flyover
most pristine:
utopia h'americana...
                          Boston bleeds:
Chigaco sort of... fakes...
on the cackle of a letter...
gate? i say... Gate?
      shique: cack: ago: co: go...
no "lord assumption"...
my lord this same ***** diary
this rusty panser..
                                 and i have
to somehow embarass myself
with a "belief" in a... god?!

                  of the non-exisstence of
a god among "sensible" people...
this little deity of transcending...
my quest for a satanic project
gorgon...
         stashed up conjure:
of.. the death-litany...
my own explanation...
            my own little wording that
has to arrive at a...
******* and a variation of hues
that borrows from green...
blue... and the mediating...
              hard-world-of-grey...
this my loosening of tendons...
the easing of muscle to tow
some fat...
my new: hammering...
chicken shackles...
rummanating the lost
ordeal of the perpliexing *** ordeal
of catholicism -
time to *******! time to!

my best pointers:
corpus christi:
we did start off with cannibalism...
we did start off with cannibalism...
metaphorical?
was it ever really a posit of
images that were only read by braille
sooths?
christianity is a cannibalism...
it's so hertbreaking that:
there's no god or an infinite man
of the little things to make
a composition of polyphony...

i can't read into a jesus when there's
the cannibalism:
a "metaphor" for a metaphysics...
a death of poetry: hell...
**** me for the necessary death
of rhyme...
            now "jew" like any basic
posit of a yew...
    prior to the real established
scrutiny of a nation-state...
which has to be fathomed
with Israel...
the hebrews have finally found
their: woke and roll...

           the jews were excused from
towing along to the crucifix...
and when all was done...
and this new camel jockey prize...
king crimson...
isn't cited: unless in the spanish circles
along with portishead...

i have desired this blatant death
that it might contend with Barcelona...
or a sequence if a brothel
from Bulgaria imitating throttle Thailand...
my little ex-girlfriend...
come 5am... and it is still
oxford st. and a flagship wake-me-up...
this old leveraging London matters...
i am but the sharpnel of words
that cannot possible reproduce:
brick-top sensibilities...

my litter interludes basket of futurist "what if"
existences in the Bedlam of epitaphs...
i might have been crowned the prince
of Anjou...
   i might have cradled the thirds
of the third crusade...
i might just as well be the beggar from
the annals of history making journalistic
progressions... to sow: death... to tow...
belittling creases of lost
adventures... creasing the skin prone:
proof... a detail of a scalp that's not...
  em... retail... wigs...
                          you wanna make me a glutton:
fist based... there was no turmeric involved...
the "convenience"...
yes... a bone-ah-tomahawk...
  my best attired cannibal...
it's such a taming project...
i want to be chemically sedated by disproofs...
but then... i am...
squandering what little i have
of romancing russia...
or thereby greece...

  this is the part where i try to borrow from
a differentiation of...
second from last:
stream of borrowed cocktails...
or...
my best screaming streamer -
i nice unto you...
you...
no... i very much like this cul de sac
of: i nice unto you...
why? the work invites no
technicality that can be
detailed into a trans-generational...
my last Epicurus joke...

crease a child an ultimatum of
competition...
conjunctions of grief...
not biggest thank you...
i thank you as to why
i... not because i wanted
to drink...
sober people are splits and
just plain boring...
towing toes to tango:
no game of twos...
sober people have no...

   my best tomato ketchup fake
blood load of argumentation...
bias / basis...
generic *******...
cause no happy bride:
was ever to be prized...
or prided..
my little gimmick wonderland
of a shtick...
no thank god i never married...
thank god i toiled around
with...
bread-knit...
and... cuneiform woke...
best kept islam: a foretold
variation of agriculture...
the plantation ridicule plumber of
eastern european choice:
****-dumbdumb...
dies with... incorporated
neu-Birmingham...
******* polacks...
too proud to think they could replace
us *****: first prized Pakis...

ahem... yes... what?!
this be Westminster...
tax haven collector's bias?
do i have a face that might coincide with:
i had...
but right now?
no... i couldn't give a tonne's load
of ******* to mind
it being a copernican: first invoked
sort of... affair...
savvy?!

you know, two doors down,
a bunch of youthful sikhs are having
a weener get together party,
sounds like friday at the mosque:
no women allowed;
and they're standing there in
the garden, smoking joints,
laughing & trivialising,
**** on the read: i call them.

and there's me, little ol' me,
solving a sudoku puzzle and drinking
some *** on the side, while listening
to the ultimate template for "m.g.t.o.w.",
and thinking, am i part of this movement,
to be the reversal cartesian dynamic
that hasn't kicked in?

vocals on gorgorath,
and the story behind it...
i see hell as silence,
mainly? no throne of god,
nor hallelujah angels...
i have to make this pig latin...

ego videre infernum qua silentium

  and i do... see hell as silence:

   videre infernum qua silentium...

heaven?

      rephrasing: audio... for pedantic
***** involved.

so i have thus: sikh party two doors
down,
i don't mind them...
    i'm sure as ****, the fan gets involved,
i start to gurgle the brew,
i tilt my head back, with a neck still
intact..
  and gurgle the brew...
        mind you, these neighbours killed
my cat...
               i'm not begging, i'm not asking
for a response, i'm just saying...
  what happened, happened,
    i have the north winds to attest to...
no sikh is going into my house
and say: make us a kuppah...
no, *******, turn your turban cloth into
a napkin, and have
your jimmy-jimmy daal....
you ******* idiot... oh? it didn't translate?
how about i voodoo my cat's remains
in a woogie-boogie promise
of: the haunted house?

     i **** as hell digged up a grave,
you "think" i'm about to joke?
let me fiddle with my nose for a bit...
you know how disrespect for humans
is born? when the "idiot" disrespects
the non-edible, petted forms of animal...

you make grievances with
non-edible pieces of meat
that men are associated with...
you're asking for the name of the seasons,
plus a choir of angels to untie you;
boo-shakalak-kee-sha!
  what did i find?
these turban brigadiers, these
blue indian, these pakis...
they have only one motto:
strength in numbers...
    but when they hear a white boy,
gurgling alcohol out of the window,
as if imitating drowning,
tilting his head back giving the perfect:
macaw signing in the sea...
these olive skinned virgins either play
*****, or call for backup "plans"...

*** yer plantain, but not yer bananas:
sure short, a ******* wake
across the whole of the caribbean...
called the havana autumn:
lost leaves, dry dung,
    monkey 'ave a throw's worth
of a bullet 'andy.

what? you gunn'ah **** on the pineapples
any'who? ******* will,
i'll be right there,
shitstorming your *** whether
there's an irma or her **** jose -
***** i'll witch-broom your ***
right off with a woop, telling my
neighbours: i've done so;

and yes, the internet is not a cul de sac,
you don't get to play
radio 4's the archers here...
sorry, i was wishful thinking for a sitcom
too... turns out...
    the phonebook is exponential in size,
but also too erratic in terms of
fluidity / fluctuation of capitalised on
use.

em... this anti m.g.t.o.w. argument? i can't exactly force someone to fall in love with me, i really can't do that, even the devil, mindful cannot promise this sort of temptation... sure as **** i can force-feed turkeys for thanksgiving, but to ensure i can find someone to love me? no... not really... i can give up drinking, and take to the economic bias of investing in another person, sure, i can turn to the selfless route of the everyday talk, and it would work out: just plain - nice. then again, i have my agendas that require but one man, one job, and a cranky / cranny worth of interest; old women never believe they're alone anyway, as old men never believe they're old, nearing death... suicide is such a fatigue of thought, that exhausts, end rarely ends with a fruition of the demanded act... mere thinking is hardly a first step in making the zenith leap into the abyss... nonetheless i still think the attempt is worth much more than the tactic of shaming the encouraged ones... for that sort of bravery, they deserve so much more than being shamed, they deserve applause, they really deserve applause, not some pathetic critique of: wish you lived on, and turned out the beggar on the pavement, with me and my ****** job, walking past you, spitting on you... these people deserve applause, rather than the classic regurgitation of being placed in dante's hell.

i don't like the acronym movement
known as m.g.t.o.w. for one reason,
and one reason alone...
as the black guys say:
more cushion for the pushing...
there's not fat for me,
there's only one less hour at the gym...
so? oops e daisy?
        not really,
back in the middle ages plump
women were both the vogue, and the sport...
i don't liken myself to, men who
fathom the skinniest of women...
i don't mind it,
        fat hips and *******,
i can't perfection in erratic behaviour...
i don't mind the "model" being overweight...
i have one ask:
- just be there for me...
- i only ask for the "da-sein"
   i don't care for flubby-bear...,
i don't care for this aghast wilderness,
i have only one command guiding me:
just be there, for me,
and if you can't, don't bother me!
      men were never "panicky"
or "picky" with prostitutes...
   i have no concern,
            just be there for me,
but give the past 10 years plus,
women have hardly been there for me
to scratch a depth of...
i had and will not have any concern
for your weight, even if it be bound
to gallons of molten gold...
       you have your vector,
as i have mine,
        we buy out of our depths,
the shrinking demand of
either debt, or oath...
     made all too soon,
                 i don't like the modern
m.g.t.o.w. acronym,
because i adore the "faking"
of prostitution,
    to see autumn after spring,
i have long lost the fetish for teenage
girls...
      it seems even though i adore
milk, i am lactose intolerant,
         i can't dream to abhor the
*****,
                  i find her,
the most welcoming,
              and the most golgotha riddled...
i shun the notion of
      the ***** being a template
for "discourse",
  for what is worth: abandoning...
a *fleur de livre,
meaning? just because the king
****** her, doesn't maker her a common
penny!
      flower of life!
speak to me in, onomatopoeia!
  i find it strange,
that feminism give no right to a woman
with the inherited agility of *******
with her body,
   it's sad, doubly saddening,
that man be disrupt from seeking
such talents,
as is bound by the ******* body,
and later learn, the erotica eloquence
of marquis de sade's ****** novella,
while the genteel west london girlies,
giggled on the train,
seeing a construction worker
reading one of his works...
typical english: *** is a joke -
***-construct of **** ****** expressions,
lost in the domain of cartoon disney,
like any english breather:
*** is a joke...
  *** is a joke...
      *** with the english, was always
a joke, the saxons knew it,
i can't believe they see the dodo project,
these anglophones, without seeing
the "joke"...
              i'd hardly giggly during
*******, but, apparently,
it's the standard for mongrel celts
giddin' it on!
   they said it! i'm vermin...
  keep laughing, keep joking...
when the vermin populace is rife
akin to your anglo-pakis,
i'll tell you,
   about my rattesexfarht...
if i didn't cite visiting a *******,
i'd have no quaking word to mind
"sanity", luckily i did,
and that she proved more industrious
in keeping "amends", than a psychiatrist
ever could...
        existentialism in english
is hardly existentialism in french,
or german,
you can "solve" it in an hour...
     the english abhor philosophy,
even though their champion the other
greek: democracy, but sure as ****
they hate philosophy...
rather than enjoying their food,
they're force-feeding turkeys...
       the anti m.g.t.o.w. is force-feeding
turkeys...
   i don't like bulimic animals either....
the english simply invented shortcuts to
what ought to be listened to
and completed narratives...
not the case...
         they want the quick-snap & chase
version of events...
     i can't be bothered,
and neither can they...
   if they keep running at this pace,
the capacity for being imaginative will
exhaust itself, while guarding
the per se pro + neutral centre....
  and, as it is already shown,
many more people will pick up,
on the spreading of negativity...
unable to concern themselves with,
the "supposed" status quo (pro neutrality),
which, by now, is non-existent,
moving forward, with incremental bias.

it's not that i'm gagging for them, but then again i'm suspicious as to why i don't receive them... where are all the malicious comments, the insidious emails, where are they? i'd love to receive a pigs head thrown at my front door, i'd love becoming an adrenaline junk comment feed filled by load of ******* dressed comments... i mean, my email account is quieter than a graveyard, i keep probing the hornets' nest, and all of them seem stoner lazy... i keep probing and probing and probing... and all i get is an ox's **** back.

maybe i'm just a loveable alcoholic,
that has enough time on his hands
to describe what time is,
given that space has been occupied
by a parabola of einstein,
the the several other impossibilities
of the generalised inquest
as to what is, possible, and as to what is,
impossible.
      i'd be the richest men alive had
i seen the rings of saturn, eye to eye,
but i won't: hence the maggoty stench
of reality overshadowing me...
or that cat's meow loosened inside
my head -
        off the rails -
i tell ye,
    don't buy a *maine **** cat,
they're just like bloodhounds -
easily depressed, and often too clingy -
you'll end up like me,
   with a feline pavarotti in your head,
i've never hear so many distinctions
of meow in a thousand lifetimes -
quarus, the bane of my life,
if you can call it life with him included;
easier listening to a hundred dogs bark than
his meow distinctions,
     a million mice and one piece of
buttered cheese: can we please, please,
please make this guillotine work?!
    i don't want mice without broken
necks... this cat's ******* annoying!
it's like a baby, cries for nine months
suddenly stops, and starts to suckle at the teet...
it's a bloodhound incarnate as feline...
i don't have the heart to tell the ******
to stop his moaning meows...
but the ginger isn't exactly
a charlie's angel worth of revelation!
ugh... grrr...
       next thing you know i'm pampering
kenyan toddlers on the sly...
had this one night stand though,
with this african bubbly...
what did i end up with,
a child male ******* his thumb,
coming to sleep on my hairy chest...
stroking his afro while trying to
imagine tight-knit spaghetti....
and it really felt like: are you hers,
or are you mine?
                   did i mentioned she preferred
to fake a ****** with her thighs?
oh, sure are ****,
the senegal boys were buddying up busy
with the games console,
i was a surrogate white boy with
a ****** reclining on my chest
falling asleep...
                kissing him goodnight,
and, words aside - i like the racial slur
glue, apologies, i'm not a ****** in
this respect, i just love to avoid
choco, and i much respect
the dr. dre - ******, please,
its either dr. dre or it's
you try **** a kenyan lass,
and she throws a baby boy at you?!
******, just say it:
i'm an usher fan...
you ever had a one-night-stand
when you get to lullaby a black baby
on your hairy white chest?
thought so.
**** as a six pack of **** nuggets...

and i really was up for a steak &
kidney pie...
  i didn't sign up for this sort of love,
but given there was the question
of love on the roulette -
"homie" had a white father for a night...
i guess that was me
measuring ****...
    and the access of promiscuity -
like **** did that work...
sooner me it, and the elephant
in the room,
    than the bling readied easy ride of ****.

i still can't forget that little ******,
his oily twirly curls of sub-sahara -
the buttery feel of his skin against mine -
how easily he fell asleep in my hands -
how he didn't discriminate me not being
his daddy...
   his mama who faked her thighs don't
being ****, who i said to: no...
you just pulled your children from the bed
onto the floor...
and there the poor ****** stood,
at 2.am., ******* at his ******-dummy -
naked, me naked, her queenship naked
next to me, her naked daughter on
the floor by the bed like a respecting dog...
hey! reality!
  so i took the scruff into my arms...
laid him on my chest...
    and he took off into the cloth of night...

no, ******, no no no!
i'll say these words like you rap them,
you don't own a nuance in a thousand miles
of the "proper" usage -
    i have the abiding jest to say them,
what this one-night stand experience,
plus, the pakis in england demanded i be
deemed: vermin...
  i'm pretty sure they're behind that
vocab selection...
      sure thing ****...
i'll be king vermin...
                   wanna see my chew?
grit nibbling, teeth that scold beyond
the bone -
  teeth that chatter and gnash,
treating a piece of bone like a corncob -
until they start suckling on the marrow:
the moment when
rats turn into leeches,
is the moment when rat teeth gnash
past the bone and reach the marrow:
suckle that ****'s worth
                 of freckled blood-clots:
vermin does, what vermin is said to be.

as i always state:
learn how to read, or at least to: reread...
   hard to spot the tuxedo language,
when everyone on the most inglorious stretch
of pavement is wearing hardly a tux,
but a straitjacket.
       oh sure, the sharks were always asking
for the gentle touch,
    the lions were always asking for the gentle
touch...
     for some reason, man was always
asking for a touch of sanity.

and why wouldn't i laugh right back at you, the jews received **** reparations, while the poles didn't, so what's so ******* funny? i find it funny that st. paul's wasn't completely levelled... well i'm getting my reparations now... rapes, hysterics... the the much needed quest of applause... am i now the one to care for "all" things "european"? hardly, the ******* can burn.*

can't believe it,
for 20 years i tried
to **** an english girl,
instead i turned
to a bulgarian psychiatrist,
and managed to see
pakis branding
anglo girls
with initials -
to shame them...
on their buttocks -
i'm seriously starting
to see the welsh way
of ******* sheep...
  let's face it...
less laws to mind,
and enough counter
b'ah to try and leverage
against,
    when the L-code-of-conduct
was invoked...
i remember that one time,
he held a photo of the culprit,
but the photo was 2 years old,
and i said:
this photograph is 2 years old,
how can you expect me to
state that no change will
take place within a 2 year period?
as all idiot lawyers,
   the question was too intelligent
for an answer;
man has no capacity to identify laws,
since it could only take
a newton to identify gravity,
and not some minor ****
by the name of geofred smith,
who could always fake the true course
of justice,
for a food coupon benefit of:
feeling the "rule" of "justifying"
penance.

sorry, i'm not progressively
equipped with
the trans...
familiar kin,
or whatever you care for,
given the current
neville chamberlain
attitude of waving:
what he called a credible
piece of paper,
but which i qualified
as a snippet of a roll
of toilet paper...
   ps. do western women
think they're all that?
playing their game of
pretending to play hard
to get, while giving it their
all with Pakis?
what? curiosity boils over.
trans-, kin...
so... i'm supposed
to invite the dehumanizing slur,
to invite the trans-akin
or... the **** do you call
people who identify as
dragons?!
never mind... Lady Gaga and
Girls Aloud is pwenty...
you want a rat to bite your ***?
how about a culmination
of a throng?
better still...
how about a hapless
English, "maiden"....
and a **** ****?
             feel sorry,
for, who?
  the reader...
            most probably...
see where exacting
pressures on using racial
slurs gets you...
and when...
exacting dehumanizing
slurs doesn't get you?
if my ethnicity is
associated with vermin,
with rats, with foxes...
how about i find it funny...
you... being... meal?

the allure of cheap whiskey...
it's not like i enjoy drinking it...
i drink it for the plotline
of: well... it does what a hammer ought
to: what hammer-nail-coupling
ought to... do... or perhaps even be...

almost that "thing" with prostitutes...
on a dry run of circa 3 years...
and then...
for the tenderness...
eyes in romanian: ochi...
in ******: oczy...
how many ayes of eyes?

     at least the prostitutes are swimming
with the sharks...
with jack the ripper types...
because...
all that solo-projects of hand-*****
and guillotined whittle richards
of rubber-slapping ******...

but i'm there...
give me an hour with a woman
and i'll return to speaking
with my demon...

it just, makes... sense...
a 3 year dry-run... and then...
i was reimagining touching her body
like a Rodin might figure out
clay...
vide cor meum: see my heart...

in a "democracy": where...
dialectics isn't really a "thing"...
from gloom through to glum through
to a low rank of bloat:
somehow properly teasing
an honesty of blue...

three kingfisher: what shall we bore?
no... exactly: not bear:
bore...
i could never have a child...
fathering a child implies...
creating a ******* Frankenstein monster...
as much as i'd love
to spar with a woman
over a child...
i'd be held back by daydreams
of lady ******...
or... mr. tend bundy type of offspring...

i'd speak this tongue to them:
added: but if i were to... breed with her...
she wouldn't be expected
to allow my child to speak
her father's tongue back at it...
somehow... it would all become
proto-Ha-Glee...
i wouldn't be speaking my:
mother tongue to the child...

no... that's not going to happen...
however... fair... and honest...
the English tongue is...
you're not going to "uproot" my ******* hair!
take your Pakis eagerly learning your tongue:
eagerly unlearning their mother's tongue...
pretend new England: now...
come...

           i love women so, so much... oh so much...
i will not be told to love them
to confine myself to a security of a mortgage....
give me 72 rottweilers...
give me 72 prostitutes...
give me 72 kilograms of Arabian sand...
give me... 72 hours of... proper... time!

give me a body of a woman
that i might want to remould
into a sculpture!
give me the agonies of scent...
her hair teasing the perfumery of soap...
now let me... grovel like a pig...
in her armpit...
i don't want to be a boy
left-over... in a playground...
give me the spares!
now!

give me your leftovers!
now!
jetzt! jetzt! hier! hier!
                besuchen!
         jetzt-hier: achtung!
              it's almost like some people...
never understand anything
unless it might have to be....
insinuated within the focus of:
werkzeug.

oh but it's not a psychological
construct of identity,
or a psychology manifest...
it's always eastern europe...
some "variant"
of a buffer zone to compensate
with with Russia...
   clever ******* **** come
live among us...
                    no?
     really!
               wow!
               i tend to live a life
of:
             i almost forget...
um'huh...
                   i'm always a *******
region (east europeans)
and never "a" people...
        
oh forget me learning the *******
language...
  i'll learn the language,
but will i care
whether some pakis ****
their "native brides"...
   think, in terms of entertaining
a monologue...
  
what?
with "my" women being
sacrificed...
am, i, supposed, to,. care?
you're either jesus christ
of you're ******* joking!

  i learned the *******
language...
am i... supposed to make do
with a prayer format before
the whole lot of
your average citizen?
   you learned no more
from ******* ****...
but you bent over...
me... learn "you"
with the ******* Irish breathing
down my ******* neck?
do i look stupid?!

            i never made it to
the "promised land"
of H'america...
a month spent in Russia,
where i relearned
the concept of uber...
and the taxi "per se"...

               and i began "thinling":
i really, really,
want to relearn the concept
of language
via the ******* chimpanzee....
like... sign lingo
spot the diacritical markers...
blind lingo...
and... all that labor of love...

but i'm a pollack
"ethnic minority"
among toxic man
and the exotica of a cooking
tirade...
            so... **** gonna win...
me? excuses...
blow-tight-un
          on the brexit-debate...
these people didn't vote
to leave on the basis
of their compensating
europeans making a stance...
they left...
because they ageing
post-colonial superiority...
   mark, ****, mark,
'indi... wasn't felt the same worth
long enough...

         hard to make
slaves of a people...
that suddenly decided to...
talk back...

yummy... regional fucky-fucky...
maybe that's why i made
myself to learn some blatant
deutsche...
  the english tongue
just forgot to keep me in mind,
in that...
   i forgot the english tongue
to be a liberating tour de force...
i had to resort to **** ****
deutsche...
        
somehow nibbling on any
deutsche that came my way,
was all the more satiating
with whatever excess of
   fluent english was ever
being allowed for me to make
usage of.

- but you're happy with people
you formerly made colonial
subjects of...
               i speak your tongue
to manifest "ideas" most trivial...
you heave a meaning
that, i will forever bind to
its most: hollow, seizing
of attempting replica.

desar

dear god dearest god
am i cluching: clutching the idea:

a TikTok short
just how i like it:
eyes eflamae: aflame...
darting witnesses:

shame that i only have
one shadow
only one shadow
i should have at least four!
one angel one demon
and two genuine(s):
in the plural sense
language can disintegrate:
i can imitate god
prodding anti-gravity
in the black sun

Lucy Lucie Loo

     Lucy Lucie i.e. loo
emit Romulus
Remus
Azure: or rather:

opposite of acute diacrtic(al)
diacritical:
that's not to say: a critique of
reason or unwind
the purity of the races
and beer
i designated to the Deutsche sprechen

allure i know
darkness a beacon like no other
but better no
citadel of the homicide
that if you think
you can't learn anything
from the ****: membrane:
evil, purest...
only access through the elites
that
now
no longer know
when the man with the leash
came to tame the dogs
of human concerns:

loudest mouths
but still not the moths auto
taming themselves to
suicide by "blinking"
or head-butting against
nothing: nothing... exactly flourescent...
****: misspelled that too
again
and again and again...

yellow teeth
pink sclera: i didn't! misspell that
just now!

Alexandre Cabanel or:
VON STUCK!
hmm: immersive "literature":
my last will and testament
to some Peter and some Paul
the ***** work cousin Jesus
begat the Ottoman mania
after BYzantium
like no one saw Islam coming?
like!

ha ha ha!
ah ha ha!
no one saw Islam coming
and then the terrible thing
happened and human reality
burst open and
the insatiable: the one truth:
schismatic contamination
i gather: only one schism in Islam
and that's a pivot of pride
almost devilish like
my character

but if i'm not an evil man
and still evil KARMA befalls me:
then i can do one better and
just be: a MORBID: ARTIST...

yes: poetry is not journalism is more
than journalism
i'm sampling the times
what with God the generator of space
then Man the generator of time
or at least what's relevant
the relative ant said to the unrelative
ant something about an Aunt of the Mount...

pink sclera in the brain shot dead
on a pinpoint crux
like torture is the site of seeing
many enviable paths to take
like becoming a preacher of misery...
anti-biological
to say the strong don't take care
of the weak
but perhaps: i need to fly away from
serpentine metaphors
and go into shadow and:
clues akin to O and rings of fated
deflation of will:

so un-free this binding contract
to the communicative-articulate:
hyphen compounding like
a good translation of French thinking:

mind you i couldn't read Knausgaard in
English could only find a palette for
him in Polish...
so that tells you a lot...

but working with these four English
natives
is so was so so
so: surreal?
William IV was at the gig
took my Swiftie away
William IV was at the Friday gig
took my Swiftie away

funny working with the Born and Bred
British Somali Sur Sur
(no surf)
such a lovely face i kinda wanta **** 'im
don't mind if i do those sparkly
eyes
but the personality like a hellish
*******: comma comma comma      (,,,)

variations on the KKK ***** whipped
by Hugo Boss uniforms for the SS-mensch...
because how did or didn't they
perform an orchestrated genocide
rather than like the Mongols turned everything
into ash:
like mountains of skulls
and the burnt pages of the Baghdad Library
just like the Christians and the Library
of Alexandria
same ****: different cover
a ratio:

better to reign in hell: than to serve in heaven:
same ****: different cover (ratio)
and in that line of thought:

ratios are better than percentages
and definitely better than approximates
and decimals:
i love ratios: they are dualistic
in that you can JUDGE
and judging is above knowing
it's ultra-knowing
i'd rather judge than be wise
wise is a shorter variation of CUNNING...

i have seen wisdom become cunning
and it has an ugly face:
i have an ugly face: period
because Beelzebub Bob took an *******
dump in my face and plagued
me with his spawn of maggot acne...
ooh well... oh...

i'm not a loud mouth anti-racist:
i'm just NOT a racist:
but i don't hide my racism behind
anti-racism like the currency
of policy maker loud mouths
but it was just weird working with Brighton:
four natives

SHAUN
DAN
SUGAR RAY
and...
one ******* Irish rooted bastawd!
MACAULAY: obviously chandelier
shambles and shanders and shandy:
proper Aussie brew:

but **** me if i get some Raj and ****
on my team
or: is it just me
that i can work with former Nigerians
now Brits and a West Indie
with a name like: surd N? Nkoyo...
N'
   ah! apostrophe N like precursing
the KOYU... not KOYO then?
sounds better with a U at the end:
sputnik U For ogling:

now: that's wrong! wonky!
it doesn't have a feel of containing the sound
that spelling doesn't: ogling:
i'm not: google! oh ****! google is not AI
therefore m'eh...
but it should definitely be
anti ogling: i.e. oogling or ooggling

PETITION! OXFORD! CAMBRIDGE!
i know there is a summer furor gripping
Europe right now
hot summer
war and "war" in Ukraine
or rather if Islamophobia is so surreal
why the super-real Russophobia?!
don't get it:
it's not like Russians are terrorist
minor Pakis etc
i don't get it...
so Islamophobia is unreasonable
while... Russophobia: suddenly is?!

i think i'm concerned with an intelligent
ethnicity: a people
who cares about Western idealization of
a Greek thought: namely democracy
the weak have the votes
someone strong enough has to fend
for themselves: in this pit of snakes and
landmines: snails secured by
that goo glue of a sloth's death...

but so unreal: we did our job:
the five of us at Turnstile Alpha
the queue was dispersed in minutes
then i: couldn't keep a leash on these guys
me and Elder Sugar, Ray: tried
but then i know how the security
workforce looks like: hierarchical etc
and for all the anti-racism
spoken of
when it comes to hierarchies
an ants
but since dinosaurs became birds
there was no actual extinction
given the other lizards
so i guess given the dwarf insects
there must have been a society
of exoskeleton folk
that: with talking mushrooms
hijacked bodies
and became extinct too
     but left the air with moisture
and enough oxygen for us to survive
since who are we to know
that dinosaurs existed but we did
paint dragons
and the meteor explanation
more like the moon nudging earth
to unleash the seas
who is to say nothing of this sort happened
what compass
is there: direction NEWS
within the confines of time?

time is a human "thing": not a construct...
itemizing and scrutinizing and
allocating bookshelves
time is alien to god as concept or
even practicality:
god has no knowledge of time
but man has
i can slow down time i can disintegrate time
by smoking a zoot
a heavily laden tobacco joint
with just a sprinkle of marijuana
and i'm playing god not out of pride
but out of fear: god's Sabbath is any day
when my worded prowess exfoliates
and my imaginary non-imaginary: but binary
blah blah whiffs of a secret wind
come back to haunt / motivate me...

but i wouldn't get away with what i did
walking out of the concourse on level 5
for a cigarette break
if i were supervising two black guys
and two Asians...
i figured: but i know the upper escalons
of this hierarchy
of CCTV are manned by white guys
and they only dish out supervisory
roles to minorities on the sly to
appear more inclusive
but then that brews up burps and tightknitknots
of miscommunication
i wouldn't have: have:       oh that word!

i was looking for the grave on A and an acute
on an E
to dislodge Adam and Eve(n):  

    À                 :                   É

      king: crown:

           caron (later):         Æ    (first)

poetry is not rhyme nor rhythm it is
anti-coherency anti-philosophy
it's thinking: airy-fairy: dust for an eye
one eye to peer into
the land of the dead
and the energy associated there
with investing in memory
off of the living toward
the dead
energized to be dead but alive
in the talking mushroom universe solipsism

weird working with the natives
weird as ****
i was not expecting
but Dan the Ginger Nut ended up being
more than a female
he had about 20 friendship bracelets
by the end of the shift
he was the dutiful soldier
about time: no war
he was the female in our little nugget
of crowd awareness: this is Wembley
and this is a Taylor Swift gig:
this is not Auschwitz and this is not
genocide
but we're still herding people
through turnstiles:
so it's kinda handy to have the back of
the mind rummaging through
the hells of SS-Mensch... black clad:
skull: Hugo Boss black: black uniform:

oh i can take this route if i so please
i can choose this route if so i please:
and i like to please myself
cognitive
before i **** poor Edie's brains out
and flick my magic wand of a finger
to make her ******
what's missing is her fascination
with squirting:
we already covered her swallowing
my monkey juice
oddly enough...
she's the first woman to know
that i speak in my sleep
and that i'm lactose intolerant

funny that she has a brain of mine
for a child that i want to unravel
which also means:
as a man: surrogating
the ancient habit of what beget
the Roman Empire
to be a dad surrogate
implies that i do not have
a diminished testosterone levels
of the: vitamin mineral *******:
i mean the HORMONE:

you can get mineral and vitamin
supplements:
but hormone supplements?
unheard of!
hormonal blockers sure
but hormonal supplements?
best bet is to have a kid without
actually having a kid:
i'd prefer a boy but i was given
a girl and
that's almost Tom: BOY_YEW...

that floating thingymagig :dzdz
dzi dzi: baba: FANTA:
          
                ding ****: can i come along?
seems like somewhat of an afterparty
and i could have at least
one apprehensive gesture of: THAT look
for what i am THAT am: without i
might imply...

         ignorant fool to think: maybe forgetting
the Hebrews would be best
who who knows:
they've been trying and tried
and tested
been spewing geniuses left right
and no centre
beside the Israelis now:
not descended from the Hebrews or the Yids
of Germany
that instigated: well:
the slaughterhouse of Polish Jewry...
and there is a distinction
between the Jews of Germany and the Jews
of Poland:
and... well... d'uh?!
need i to spell it out: Wiemar?!

the Jews of Poland were not the Jews of Germany
and it almost seems like
no one is going to own up to
to Treaty of Versailles
and Wiemar hedonism and all the wonky
***
like this *** is bad it's leaving
me with a distaste: a negation of taste:
etiquette: fashion... sensitivity to sensibility of:
sense:

         two gay guys riddling *** on the train:
nudge nudge:
kiss kiss: innuendo: shy...
two: ******* LESBIANS on the train:
shy? god no!
just looking for a walking talking *****!
out straight open ***
in your face...
kissing and fondling
just shy of ******* each other
just shy of ******* each other!
but all the rest is there:
i was there:
but not the bedroom...
but Sappho contra Sapphos
is me in the mix too...

at least two gay guys can make
the whole public show of private
affection: tasty...
lesbians just create a horrifying
three:
one on two sexed up dynamic of THIRST:
babes...
i'm not thirsty...
i did a little flick of the finger in
my prized ***** possession and
i was ready to summon the meteors
for a Chinese New Year...

clearly there are ways to organise
people:
but democracy does: not...
organize: people:
democracy dictates individuation
but to what: extreme is that even satisfying
if given: to the wrong people?
to: everyone: is the wrong sort of people:
everyone is the wrong sort of people:
because it ends up a struggle
to find anyone in everyone
in:                                         someone....

well if we're going to have
a ****** revolution in pedagogy with
everyone minding their ***** pronouns
then who is to suffocate
the prepositions and conjunctions
from anything but TRANS= affix-ation:
label: LA'BEL...
the beauty:

                         capital compounds: TRANS=FIX
     lowercase: hyphen            i.e.         trans-fix:

and i know that transfixed is a non-hyphenated
word that has been given the Ocford seal of approval:
so m'eh...

summoning benevolent
deeds
while invoking the letter(s): Š,
    Č, я                     ю
           ч                                ц
ш                            щ
                                               ц         п

zh         zh                   cz sz sh ch yhwh

    etc                                etc. not: ж:

                                                                     ž ≠ ź) ż