I wonder where raindrops come from before they reach my window,
A river? Lake? Ocean?
I wonder how far they have to travel before they reach my window,
A kilometer? Mile? Country?
I wonder if these raindrops work together to sing as they reach my window,
Plop-plop, ploop, plop-ploop!
I wonder how diverse the raindrops are as they reach my window,
Oh hello, I'm from Lake Ontario.
I wonder if it's a wild party or wet war in the clouds whose raindrops reach my window,
Let's dance! Fight me!
I wonder how social raindrops are that reach my window,
Stick to me, we'll become a downpour!
I wonder if the cloud is the mother that lets go of its children to reach my window,
Off to the lake, ma, see you soon!
I wonder if raindrops thought they could fly but instead reached my window,
Weeeeee-aahhhhhhhh!
I wonder if they all fall but expect to soar as they reached my window....


Plop-plop, ploop-plop, plop, ploop, plop, plop....

the universe will end
with an onomatopoeia
blink
ploop
maybe the sound
when you turn off a tv
and then that silence
hanging up near the ceiling
presses down

the end of everything
will be just like that

.if you had any, you'd also know, that the act of urinating, while standing up, is equivalent to a video of a woman ******* in the shower... although... in this scenario: water isn't coming in, it's coming out. ****! i hate being lectured by circumcised men that aren't rabbis!

i always wondered whether
   richard brautigan
was right about laughing
in bed, with one of his girlfriends,
giggling at the work
  of richard von krafft-ebing
when it came to the act
of a man, *******...
peculiar case: after that shot
of lead went into his head...
  not that i'm laughing...
perverse ****** acts...
   apparently...
      i should be inclined,
   as the passive recipient
      of the homosexual amour...
impotent masturbators...
hmm...
        as one deviant said
to the other:
               just give me the 2D
framework of a *******...
the other scenario?
  of a 3D woman...
  oh... you mean the type that...
might...
    "suddenly" become pregnant,
akin to the "******" mary?
funny story, that,
it's been going on for well
over 2000 years...
   i mean, the simple bias
for curiosity just, gripped me...
then i started thinking...
but was richard von krafft-ebing
circumcised?
was he exposed to a strobe-light
effect of flesh,
just... *****-nilly... parading?
did i ever think about *** like
that before i heard of whittle richie
prior to being "indocrinated"
to the freudian cluster- / mind-****?
it (or he, i.e. me)
   can get an *******
with a *******...
but with a woman, say,
    a nurse, or a, whatever...
he's got a limp ****
     for some time,
   before the arousal kicks in...
and hey presto! little jimmy
  has a birthday cake
and a hogmanay bonanza of:
metaphors, fireworks, metaphors,
fireworks!
- i'm that sometimes has
a melancholic "******"
when listening to templar chants...
like... i'm giving birth...
through my head,
   to a foetus, that's actually
a vacuum...
but it feels so good...
it's like: you weep for the pleasure,
and you know you're
enjoying the lament...
because, right at the end,
when you stop...
  you leave a sadistic signature
of a quivering giggle...
point being... over-exposure...
which began, in my life...
around aged 7...
started jerking-off aged 7...
after having found
a *****-mag. in the catacombs
of a church that was being
built...
     but it never became
a scented candle moment...
it never became a web-cam.
*****, live streaming,
earning money moment:
    which some girls frequent...
no...
  it was straight on
the ******* (throne of thrones),
done the no. 1,
done the no. 2 (sort of)
doing the no. 3
   (dilation) -
   ploop...
      done the no. 2:
useful, really useful,
    this, god the ****,
  son the phallus...
   and a holy ghost of *****...
next up: every time i *******
i begin to wonder:
that butterfly effect, "thing"...
you know... a butterfly *****
its wings in one place,
and a tornado happens
to take place in another...
so... basically only women
shooting blanks (****)
  get to enjoy the standard
deviant act of ***...
but...
     i'm starting to suspect
that... having a *******
is a bit like donning a habit...
what the monks wear...
now i'm guessing that
pearl jam (that grunge band)
released their album
vitology when reading,
if not the work,
  something akin
   to von krafft-ebing's
psychopathia sexualis...
i'm guessing:
naughty boy touched
his fiddly bit...
   yeah: as "naughty boy"
always does when he's
standing at the ******
aiming for that: 100% accuracy
of a welsh longbowman
in the 100 year war
against the french...
look... they even paint
bullseye in some urinals...
gotta aim: j-        -ust
   about right... squint the eyes...
but would circumcision
make men more...
degenerate, over time?
if there were no jewish
rubric involved:
  it's like a... "treat":
that "extra" skin can come off:
snippy snippy...
but you have to follow
these rules...
   what happens when
those rules are no imposed?
hey... i'm starting to stare
into blank, which i once called:
the feeding abyss
  thinking:
         sure, the added
impetus...
     to... search for the supposedly
"lost", "extra" weight
of the body...
  a soul "apparently" weighs
21grams... what's a *******?
i'm seriously going to start
calling it a habit...
          (NO EXTRA B FOR
INSINUATION OF: HABBIT,
was shouted over the megaphone).
homosexual feeling as an acquired
manifestation in both sexes...
p. 188 of the psychopathia sexualis...
love those words
mentioned - parathesia
  & hyperaesthesia...
or... sometime -esque of what
a man feels, within "god's gratitude"
of owning a habit...
you cut that **** off...
well... what are the chances
of aggression being, triplet?
****... the arabian girls were so
*****... they first had
to snip-off parts of their genitals,
and then made them
      put on a niqab...
             ***** as... well: ****!
all of them could be
the equivalent of a genghis
khan in terms of:
    in the *****,
of the Mecca Surrogacy club...
as i suspected:
surrogacy: the elevated form
of prostitution...
but at least now two
gay-lords (meet the parents
ref.) are *******
     and incubating...
me? as free and as brisk as
a ******* sparrow at this point...
i just want to see
how far relegated i will become
when more, and more
human freedoms are unearthed
and applied to: zee vill
               aus zee wolk.
   so that's all good;
    it's already one thing
to have anaesthetic type of ***
with prostitutes, once a year,
or perhaps two...
   it's another to be told:
you ******* because
you're having gender disphoria
or... you're the *****
in a homosexual relationship...
funny that...
   maybe the whole
  "erectile dysfunction"
is related to mingling in a society
of circumcised males...
who subsequently have
no religiosity,
  no moral authority
ascribed to them,
  as related to the orthodox hebrews?
you know...
i'm starting to think...
i could probably find
a common parlance
with an orthodox jew...
given: he's circumcised,
          and i'm not.
- because that's what
this: extra bit of "flab" is...
   you don't feel a need
to explore: "further" territory...
you're not strapped
to a ******* *****-machine
conjuring up new ways
to fill up that absence...
    the ******* van gogh /
st. peter's sentiment
of the ages...
       my bet... in the furore
of the events...
   jesus wasn't circumcised...
hey...
i gamble... but not on horses,
or dawgs (as...
   ***** ****** would
                          put it:
                  yeah... i like dogs).
so yeah...
not many jokes about
    circumcision, of males...
  and... not many uncircumcised
males... making jokes
about habit comparisons
and: the exponential rise
of ****** deviation
  of circumcised males...
being *******...
   that... the one ****** "deviance"
they could have been allowed,
of sitting down,
taking a ****,
taking a ****,
and bashing one to the grave
of: "imagining" genocide
was stripped from their,
should they ever encounter it,
state of rejection...
   **** me, shylock asked
for a pound of flesh...
   i'm asking for what's...
****... dunno...
  how much does ******* weigh?
yeah... 21 grams?
the same as the superstition
of the soul when it leaves
the body?
    cool...
                 that's not much...
- so my sole ****** deviation
is to do the nos. uno, dos, tres...
but ***** over there
was a web-cam,
scented candles...
    income...
    and... what appears to be...
something more than
  the missing *******...
            i look down:
oh... right...
              so i keep the *****...
for all their use...
  i'll be excluded from
the castrato choir of the vatican:
******-dooby-do;
i'll just ghost-**** my way
                 out of this scenario.
- so what wouldn't be
a problem with circumcised men...
their hindered libido...
their subsequent
                      rebellion against
their hindered libido...
no religious structure...
the woman no being in the mood...
and the subsequent
possibility of outlet
   of a simple: uno, duo, tres?
****... i guess i'll never know.

i don't know about you, but ******* out
  a high-fibre ****
                      out of your ***...
       feels just as good,
if not more,
        as good,
       as having an ******;
****! when that slug slides
out?
           thump! plop! ploop!
given that...
i can't imagine shoving anything
up that alley...
              there's too much
pleasure easing something out
from that cul de sac....
why would i even want to
stick something in there?
perhaps having ******* allows
you to make that comparison...
      taking a **** can feel
just as good as having an ******,
or urinating, with a *******...
but that's just me...
         we know how western society
is oh so objective / "scientific"...
so... why would we need food critics for?
or wine critics?
                it either tastes great...
or it tastes like ****...
if we're being so ******* scientific,
do we need these scientific
differentiations to be respected in our,
       so called, society?
who needs them?!
    off to the guillotine with them,
alongside that ***** of an antoinette!
what sort of society prizes
itself as being primordially-scientific,
clueless ******* objective by my say,
and then champions restaurant critics,
or food critics... or critics for their own
worth...
what part of giving a critique of food
is objective, to later bombast a stance
for championing darwinism as the pinnacle
of humanity's total worth?
   maybe i missed something.
anglophone wankers;
    have a ****-and-whammy on this crap!
like all of engloosh science:
robin hood, who could, but never would.

perhaps it's not so much: as one might be...
supposed to live up to the names one is baptised with...
in the catholic manor of bureucracy - bureaucracy -
phonetics! bew-rh'oh-cracy...
           beau-row-cracy...
               ***-for-tat... pedantic details only
less feeding feeling creature establish... most probably
men...
   there are two one is given at baptism...
                   i guess... that's in line with...
the catholic 'abracadarba' matching each host
to the tetragrammaton: two names at birth...
      a surname... that's three names...
       and a fourth name when one is to be confirmed...
i had all the chances to be confirmed...
open-end apostasy... i have no confirmation name...
but that would equal the quenching
of the tetragrammaton "farce": four names...
four names...
                 what was once a brave act of kneeling...
colin kaepernick kneeling at the anthem...
before the game...
                  derek chauvin is also kneeling...
crude comparison: what's impressed in my mind
is the act of kneeling...
          i once kneeled on a bee...
that i was hoping to mummify in some mud
as a child... the bee managed to sting me from
within the slush-puppy and i cried and i cried...
and... that was that...
               to be given names at birth...
the surname is non-essential: unless i be born
a windsor or a churchill...
                 or a Radziwiłł - h'american socialites:
ha ha: socialists... lite...
                       or a Wiśniowiecki: Yerema!
i once had a friend by the name of... al-ex-an-der...
and he did mention that as a name:
he'd borrow his name from a figure in history...
a one... macedonian: encrypted into greek...
and that inverted mongol empire...
that lasted just as long...
                     i never asked what his second name
was...
i sometimes used my baptism names
interchangeably...
and my choice of historical characters...
matthew the levi...
            conrad... well... i was always going
to have more fun with that...
either konrad of masovia
.........................................................­.................
                       or konrad wallenrod...
back in 2007 it was still an unpopular name...
a would be girlfriend... half persian
half scottish... laura... a date night:
me falling asleep when watching a roman
holiday... etc. etc.,
     i very much like to see ghosts of these memories
when i tow them to the depth of the sea
my mortal self and this the anchor that
will give me... the sinking sip... sipping snorkle...
i guess konrad is no common name these
days or a muhammad...
that... a joseph comes along and says:
call me that...
yes... this is very much... a vanity project...
because i don't like the sound of my own voice...
i can take a photograph of myself...
as long as... i see a labyrinth my ****** expression...
and i contort my face to: no known
recognition...
         too bad for the girls who have been
given names... as common as... peaches...
pearl... if only your surnames were...
    Waldorff-Preyß - a salad of little consequence:
to ever not mind... appetites hidden...
no... i couldn't do it...
   i have my mother to testify...
       all in order to... rear children...
  to have one's intellectual adventure stunted...
all for the rearing of children...
the anti-dodo-project gehenna of sharpening
the 7 tiers of silences and... patience...
i have no patience... i have a short-temper...
i'm sporadic... i'm not passionate like some
Iberian host... i'm spontaneous...
quick to respond... short on giving...
elaborate humour: wit...
                           i can... fathom a grandmother...
i can... fathom a mother:
       but the irrational "misunderstanding":
the head... dark fathoms of the most belittling
of places that thought enters...
the narrative is lost... because of... fudge-esque
packaging of a constipation of breath...
trial by errors: agitated soul...
          and this... failure to ignite...
a figment... the lost concern for imagination:
more... the myopia of pickling furniture...
a table of torso...
   a chair of an arm's worth...
                     all these rubrics settled with ghosts
and how... post-mortem telepathy works
to ***** grey-hounds of inquiry...
at these moments... i just want to scream...
i want to YARL... but... i know the limits...
of these walls having any understanding for such
words to be: let alone thought, then heard...
yet alone spoken to be later screeched out with
a gluttony of barritone!
    i'd need to feed the forest...
which would imply... walking a good mile...
to venture into the awe-seeing forest...
the owl the deer the fox the badger...
to scream without sense: but to reach...
an audible near echo conclusion without a cave!
to feed the woods!
not... some... near abandoned bedroom...
   and... if i can't entertain a conflict...
when talking about the three partions of
polish-lithuanian commonwealth...
     which part were we from...
the prussian... the russian or the habsburg...
and you're met with ridicule
and a cul de sac of conversation...
when ingiting it with...
                even the germans thought
the prussians were *******...
because of... vectors x, y and z...
                     well... because the prussians
were pagans...
- what?!
- yeah... the prussians were pagans...
isn't it strange how they would later
encompass the whole of the german people?
- the prussians were pagans?!
- yes... the prussians were pagans
and somewhat germanic... more lithuanian...

and all you'd get it a shock-awe look
of suspence... a gamer meets a girl who'd only
buy shoes...
she might be a mother...
a tedium a baron of shadows...
a venture tranquility...
                  the melodramatic cuff... cross:
burden... heel! an imaginarty dog
in reverse... the sanctity that could
never translate itself into either my son
or daughter...
and how... my future wife would only
be seen as a *****...
su-ka...
                        the tyranny of mothers:
even without... the absenteeism of fathers...
i imagine a world...
           which... by the end of it...
there's a valhalla...
             rather than a jannah...
    where you drink and you fight...
chimeras...
   and you are... indeed... served by...
the valkyrie...
   drinks... but ******* them...
would imply: getting **** from
that h. p. lovecraft pederast sulk /
ocotpus godhead...
                
would it matter that... i had... some chances...
but that the one chance i had...
it would be less of an emotional wheelchair
if i decided to... "inconvene" myself
with a ******* for a bride...

tsu-tsu: to have a heart with
the geometric study worth of thrown...
into a lake... ploop! mirror of echoes...
and a sinking into a depth:
and time... at what point...
can man face time as the horror of space?
at what point does space become less
awe riddled... at what point does
time prop its head up and sober
everyone peering into a postcard
from saturn with a sobering fearful-glee-of-fear?!

oh yes... that space and time are relative...
time: awed at... collectively...
nostalgia for ancient rome...
      space: awed at: collectively...
pictures of saturn...
  time... m'eh... claustrophobic...
individually... nostalgia for youth...
when in old age...
space: feared...
                     die cast...
         your next door neighbour...
muffled... irritating... living... drone...
next door... and you... have...
not a single artifact of shared experience...
beside: up & death!

sally challen is a name synonymous...
              with...
              and andrei chikatilo was also a father...
because there's a need to look for
aliens: not enough to peer at luxury
in a fly under a microscope?
grand newton ego! for all and every!
the common man!  

the prussians were the forever old germans?
those people romancing etymology:
and any ethnicity for a romace:
come the thirdf *****: with sveedish:
dished out loot corp..
that the prussians are to be "questioned"
with the pomeranians?
what gate of sea...
the baltic is the beggars' mediterranean...
nothing but Helvig & Helva and...
quanrantine hammock: lining...
herrings: eaten raw...
like bistro maidens of sushi:
baltic sushi: mango squash sort
of *******...
so... so... so happy...
for the british imp-yre have imploded...
postcards from everywhere...
race bating inter-racial:
hard-ons...

              it's best served:
mongol ***** a mongol:
a new mongol is born...
instead?
an "orc" zulu ***** a porcelain
parisian...
a quasi arab is spawned...
because... all hell would break loose
should ****** be deemed:
too light for the arab...
and too... towing the non-agreed
to suntan "mishap"...

****'s the conundrum...
warsaw! warsaw pact!
can anyone think of a better name
for a capital: name...
war-saw...
            and whenever i visit my
grandparents... ****...
i didn't "integrate": fully...
because i retained my...
         einheimischsprechen:
                     und: milz und knochen...
                                        X:
hen... 'ause... not:
         cheat-the-parrot-with-chuckles...
******* cockney chuckles bullet proof:
y'ah... change two tow a spare?
bindi a lingo loot off of a turban?
salvo! this 'un: makes it clarified:
a clarifying lawrence romance piece
of mecca...
very much akin to:
the minor croat project for yugoslavia...
the serbs...
and... those... janissaries...
the new brit the old ottoman...
    from the "old... very old"...
borrowed from... yugoslavia...
                  that france works...
that austria works...
that england: england was always
going to work... except in h'america...
and the battle for vienna... 1683...
oh... wait... why is it that
i don't want to...
that paris... circa 2004 is best
kept as a memory...
          
                                 i have a mother is still a parody...
here's to... grieving the subconscious
history project... paint of ed gain
onto the canvas of blanche...
h'america is better than cool: project:
you you too!

hybrid of congestion...
that old fabble of the islamabad of conquests...
beside the mongols...
the 4.5 crusade of the baltic states...
because barbarossa was being
pickled and the major volume of army
were... withering into a scoop
of... a waiting for: reinvigorated waking...

my history is no history is my history
is no history...
    lots to share: dog **** to boot too...
the arcade of: gesticulating...
being solved with a snippet of
the ******* sack: and a chance
to salvo in the vatican choir...
               a past...
   there's a past that also invites me to
cocktail the: presently at hand...
england... minus...
wales... scotland... irritating tip
of ireland: north-eastern collide...
the quill with a peacock strutting?

        this is "my".... "past"...
the journalistic event of now...
      the old lady is singing...
   it was never began... but... it's all over...
forever and: the now.

/ kant famously didn't marry (and that's prior to attacking modern globalißation).

why is it that i find it so, comfortable,
listening to horror movie
soundtracks while falling asleep?

                                  ah!

     you won't find either the ukranian
or the bulgarian prostitutes
that (a) i was good,
                    and (b) i was nice...

sorry, middld-earth utopia of
the: within confines of
    of a sub-urban home...
                       high-rise in such
places like richmond,
and elsewhere in the vicinity
to compensate utilißing
richmond as "the" bad example...

ah, once more!

    "apparently" i was giving a free-b
when it comes to conservative values...
although: i was lied to...

apparently her, daddy,
   did sell out the idea,
  and projected keeping it...
as if he didn't sell it off,
and she was just a miser
Hackney chimney-cleaner!
shim-shim-shee-m'eh-k'nee...

p'ooh b'wear woman!
                        p'ooh p'ooh oh oh!
give me your little **** scouts!
before they start slitting their
wrists on a whim, to just pretend,
before they start applying
the razors...
     i'll tell them...
   heat up a pair of scissors with
a cigarette lighter...
    and then sear! implement the heated
object: onto the softest skin
accomplished to be composed of
the definition of an arm....
   then come back to me with
your razors' manure weeping
sound: such that i might cut...
                           into your: tongue!

like, really like watch the little
mouth-off retards marching
on youtube...
                    it's almost like a fetish
for seeing, them....
                      
                            ploop

                           (oh look,
                                'ere's a puddle)

they're trying to be second-hand bums?!
seriously?!
but they are second-hand bums!
they are bums!

           apparently begging isn't allowed
in public...
   but apparently it is,
   if you, make, certain "improvements"
of the naked and starving:
can you at least feed my dog
placards...

                WHIBERTY!

and if someone from Bristol says
that, you'd quicken "wit" on wanting
to punch them in the face
and line up for a law-suite.

  ching-chang-w'ah'lah...

  the ****'s a ******* doing
in the result of fist (stone),
    K O.K. churchill's index & middle (scissors)
an open hand (paper)?!
        
   i guess it means: the ******* begin with?
probably means: guillotine...
    am i supposed to do a middle-class
hoorah chant when oxford competes
with cambridge over who can roll
100 habana cigars quicker, in a team
consisting of two?!

next, serious question:
    want to me to **** you off or something?

- I'M NOT, LAUGHING!

    - but then again i am...
          
what laughable excuses to
                     execute constraints.

erm... *******? is that the appropriate
expression?
    i've seen modern people in bookshops:
they turned them into
******* coffee shops!

          who reads, lives:
who doesn't?
                 dies...
              counter the "passing of the genes"
argument,
that... "everyone gets a prize when involved"
******* argument
of "being", involved...
i have bad chernobyll genes...

                       if i really wanted to pass
that **** on, i'd pass on the bubonic plague...
or a mental virus-spawn
to make replica of: the jacob of whitechapel...

and i'm supposed
to be the "bonkers" type...
                        fair enough, christian, english,
western society, chemically castrate me,
as you already have, brain downward...
oh... look...
    
      'ere we go 'ere we go...

   poetic as ****... do you trust this, cupbearer?
sure as **** you trusted christ;
   as i'd like to trust youtube
not obliterating
slayer's mandatory suicide,
                      for reasons plain to all...

come on! hanneman died not so long ago!
and he wrote most of the song...
is this some sort of vengænce from the grave?

it's not like i'm dyslexic,
i just don't know what the fashion is sometimes,
sometimes an A, sometimes an E...
**** it... apply the latin grapheme...
   might as well...
   i'm already invigorating english with
the german es-zet (ß)... oh right...
             es-zee: sorry for *******
up attesting: courteous formality...

but sure as ****, i spelled better if not
akin to the king-in-waiting.

yes, i admit to succumbing to
the keyboard crusade motif...
but... (there's no but)...
               to have made
the adrift, in assertion,
or to heave the adrift the assertive:
cul de sac of
the constipation
of thought: in mode of idea:
ploop - ego...
oh.... 'ere we go again!
                     serious novels...
infantile poetics?
yeah...
      i'm also ****-shy...................
yeah....
  i'm ****-shy.....
what?
     there was once a conformity
of shyness...
   now there's a homophobia!
'bert... hey! 'bert?
better learn 'oh to skip!

ever the haunting....
   like a....
       like a....
i really don't need
the tirade
of playing video games
translated into
retro-life narratives...
but of course...
minding me...
do...

            and i'm like some
superfeat-automated-
disappearing
readily available
    oops...

   right?
          hope those
t.v. dinners feeds...
whatever is left of you..
oh.. right...
no wait for you...
there's no "kingdom of god"
waiting...
if he be the king of kings...
then... beyond Pilate...
he is to...
take his *** down
from the peddlestool,
via Lebanon...
and tell me:
that i'm sitting
on the throne of thrones:
while
taking a ****...
with yesterday's
curry sauce,
and some rice to boil...

horrid... are your Syrian?
no...
   Serbian!  ****!
                so we welcome
back the groovy Americans
to reinterpret
the taking of Berlin over?

wait...
i am to owe the present
for the men
who's present is my history
and their never to
fathom: "past"?!

         i am to suffocate
in having to owe something
of the predecesors?
how about i owe them...
dodo avanue...
no... you are the last *******
voice, the last face
my contemporaries
will ever see...
we have perfected
existentialism...
i, neither think,
or feel, to be obliged,
to make a continued
argument...
  the world can continue...
i am inclined
to the feeling of...
being absolved from it;
since...
having to continue?
was enough guilt,
and also enough vanity
curiosity
to linger for heritage
of a past...
         i am, most inclined...
to no(t) feeling,
of being, obliged...
whatever my thinking
was or will ever be...
for the pursuit of
making...
                 rhetorical
ditto marks...
          rekindled,
kept...
                         recycled
start-ups of...
the argument...
never worth the vox...

the once dyslexic
is about to teach me the tech-savvy
narrative of the "world"
where... i answer for my
former...
hierarchy...

             good on 'ur sir...
so i tell you:
stop educating
the children,
  and hitting them back...
i was once whipped
with a belt by my mother...
glad children, will
you dive, drown, or suffer...

     Holocaust deniers?
**** me...
watching some of morning
t.v. with the likes of...

'i'd first die...
prior to...
knowing what that smiles
is worth!'

what? "clean": b.n.d.?
   shines...
like teeth, attached to...
number-plates...

...'i.t.v. morning pleb
         seeker shame t.v.':
no desired search results...
now...
i'd love to look for trash...
can't find the good-'ooker...
****!

   pleb shaming t.v. u.k....
  no...
protection...
what is that ******'s
'ed plot
of a punch's worth
of an Iberian via Ibiza
discovery?!

          me? jealous
of the "pleb"...
     i only started thinking
about ******* nuns...
before he...
and the busied Muslim
did the Wolverhampton
slurry
of a brothel's worth of
tease: little knees...

       zee pleb: do not decide
who to not pleb against...
but all the real banjo players
wake up at 9:30...
while the construction
workers wake up
at 8:00...
                            but the ******
is not on the internet...
i guess:
ridicule the wheelchair
bound makes
you... speedy gonzales
on the ******* tripod!

        - but this could never be
deemed serious "literature"...
it has no paragraph,
it has no dialogue...
                  it's...
what best entertains the exacted
depiction of the modern
life...
   solipsism at best...
  a dinner party sketch...
at its.... channel4 very (multicultural)
worst.

isn't this what, intergration, proper, should look like?
some people adorn themselves in vague tattoos,
me? working from the crux of dasein,
i too have to tattoo myself,
              cognitively...
        
                     ever since i can remember...
it had to be the turks besieging Vienna when
the defenders of christendom took charge
against them, the winged hussars of
the polish-lithuanian commonwealth...

         but prior? did not the Polen defend their
commonwealth with the pagan Lithuanians
against the Teutons in its summation,
culminating in the battle of Grunwald of 1410
(a battle in the east, akin in magnitude
to the battle of Hastings of 1066),
         poet, or an overlord of historians'
"amnesia"; a history, a memory,
a revival...
             who the hell even follows the modern
poetic ******* of high school children
being whipped into submission
regarding: measure, "meaning", "sub-meaning",
taunting ***-bits, metaphors...
if you only look at the ancients' style,
Horace, Ovid, Virgil...
      there's a narrative at play,
            the narrator play the role
of protagonist, there are no phantom non-existent
characters, there is not puppeteering...
there are over-stretches of narrative,
that interchanges between dialogue and
monologue,
        as ever: poetry, not philosophy,
is the uninhibited art of retrospection,
of introspection, notably... while drinking...
sober minds can deal with philosophy,
with "questions", with "problems",
with "solutions"...

                i just want to spew,
i came here to regurgitate...
        and what does it matter if i appreciate
homosexual literature akin to william burroughs...
i still, much prefer,
homosexuality in reverse, i.e.: taking a ****...
i'll even downgrade the male ****** to
a tier below, taking a ****,
and most surely below a tier of pleasure
arrived at: taking a ****...
women derive all the ****** pleasure
of the two sexes... hence...
the desperate need to import african walking
****** for their canvas of unsatified needs!
if a ***** doesn't do justice...
   import a bunch of african play things...
me? bitter? of just painfully honest?
     there's a difference...
           like... i do admire the polyglots...
they're like yews (jews, via yiddish)...
they never really settle in any culture,
or said culture's norms...
                        **** me, aren't i in frenzy
of creativity... thank god i'm not one of these
youtube news vulture journalism commentators...
i esp. like the kind of **** that
takes three attempts to give birth to it...
i call that the tapeworm escapade...
shy ******... wants to, but doesn't want to,
want's to, but doesn't want to,
so i have to ease my ****,
   ******* to some still **** material:
ploop! frog's in the water... aaaaah!
          - ha... i wrote that... that's ******* funny...
but old school poetics...
  conversational overtones...
no bother regarding: "techniques" or god
forbid rhyme...
                        it's the running joke against
poetics these days: roses are red,
violets are blue... and a greeting card...
while... safe to say... fiction? these days?
complex characters... sure...
as they must be... but the narrator?
                                 dim-****-wit.

again, i wouldn't have returned to "identity" politics,
if only, if only the trans-gender clowns
didn't attack and dictate grammar...
               i don't like being dictated false
grammar, false biology i can entertain:
sure sure, have your thing...
           but, grammar? you attack grammar,
you call for the antithesis of the effort i made
into integrating into this language!
     *******: learn a foreign language yourself!
- and since i'm not a polyglot,
since i've dug a trench into this language
and its subsequent culture...
em... i have to celebrate its past...
           and that implies i will have integrated
to appreciate songs...
               e.g. chevalier,  mult estes guariz
   (french crusader song),
or...
          da pacem domine (templar chant)...
salve regina (hospitalier chant)...
                  hell, the flag changed...
it's no longer white on top of white...
now it's a red cross on white...

how else was i going to integrate?
into this, current, western,
   pseudo-socialist cosmopolitanism?
because that's what it is...
       pseudo-socialist cosmopolitanism...
how many times must i say it?
social, does work, but only in exceptional
circumstances...
     there was only one, Poland...
      Syria might be the next one...
   it works, for a constricted amount of time...
3 generations... in a country...
that has nothing to begin with...
          i.e. is war-torn...
           either socialism, or the Marshall Plan...
which, of course, Poland didn't receive any of...
but Sweden did (neutral),
    as did Switzerland (also, neutral)...
it worked... because it was allowed to work
with the ambition that it would fizzle
out, as it did...
             socialism is a decent model
in times of exceptional circumstances...
as a rebuilding socio-economic mechanism,
and nothing more!
              i can't imagine the Syrians wanting
foreigners toying around with rebuilding
their economy...
                      that sad side of global affairs...
but like my favorite quote from recent years,
regarding me being a foreigner,
"stealing" the language skills of natives...
       kevin spacey: well... i'm not exactly going
to, *******, am i?

   below?
         an abstract schematic i devised
                                solving a su doku puzzle...      


/     _                           | | |
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               | | |                       +
           _ _                     | | |  
                      x             _ _ _        
            | | |                      +
       _ _ _                      | | |
                  +                     x           \