i've come to realise my mortality,
prime example(s) aged 37:
i've built up an aversion to music
like an Afghan Muslim,
aversion, distaste, aversion:
m'eh... distaste...
unlike those sorry sobs of the Adhan
sung with the rising sun
over Damascus...
although... i still enjoy something akin
to music,
there is so much more in what's to be said
of music in the mouth of O
in a lover's ***** and all that
stuff that shouldn't be uttered publically:
i've stopped getting off on this dimension
of expression...
if i could i would put a room of "niqab"
on her and hide in it with her,
not that: i can claim to perpatretrate
to anything beyond any scope of "significance":
worded like a verbose cul de sac...
cliche no cliche...
i simply don't have a standard
biological impetus to gratify gene-carrying
worries of males...
i have no problem with her being 18 years older
than me and, Edith, the "dear" public:
a concern for... well by 55 years old
your daughter, by the clock's standard...
blah blah... so shoot the sheriff in the foot
and later call it a juggling enterprise
without clowns...
some spectacle of the unfore-seeing eye,
my eye, no i, not i, anti-i...
but then making this public makes me all
funny and quizzical...
like i'm her ex past her ex present her
ex future like i'm some cheap-oh
pornographer at best... at best i'm not
the suspect pedohpile on grandma's agenda
of scrutiny... classical beast of comfort,
the wolf in sheeps' clothing...
i will, though, eat an english breakfast
for dinner... and go to sleep at 8pm...
will iron my shirt...
and yes...
i'm bothered about this liquid retention schematic
of putting on 4kg, massive, 4kg...
being depressed like: it's compression depressed
but my cheeks are bloated retards
puffing up don't know where to go sort
of pigeon fight...
like rewatching ******... and all the gizmos
that film had to offer about being overtly
street smart...
i just need a clean house... a HÜß...
I'm not going to tow-for-tow return to my
former ways...
it's not enough to hear about the antithesis
Dumas in the achievements of Wisława Szymborska
or... Annie Ernaux...
that's... Er-now... or Ernau-
since the X is not really said but seen...
which brings me back to... ***...
*******...
coupling...
well... surprise surprise...
clean house, fickle cats...
no music in no background...
21st Sweden first...
blah blah glue gum ****...
if ever someone might remind someone else
that gold is the tickle for fancier stuff...
i try, to, "reimagine", the tumultus fate
of Ezekiel's vision...
that inflatable doughnut of Machiavellian
precision... to adjust to move and to adjust
to struck-pinned...
best mantra i could ever bestow upon anyone, though,
as no moralist, being exposed to ******* aged
7 or 8... of no fault of my own,
but jeez... once you couple...
you couple for sure...
like Odysseus to the idea of a Trojan Horse...
like James Joyce to 24h...
a day in a day in a daze...
like...
i send her hisses and kisses and it's one minute
before she wakes up to the routine that
Kauai shouldn't have ever given me
like i'm still submerged on the footnotes
that become the head-notes of:
a life away from England, in October,
living off of the Tropic of Cancer...
so... an aversion to music and... an aversion
to *******...
reimagining all the vitality of life brimming in me
with a quest for authoritative measuring
distance from no distance...
even in the former expanse of youtube
narratives... films, adverts...
i'm sort of lost to the idea of...
eating that ******* breakfast for dinner and
polishing my shoes and ironing my shirt
and calling her from a train when she's in bed
and it'a my 7am and her 10pm and... savvy:
pirates ahoy...
ahoy, ahoy, poor schmuck...
well, does it really matter that i go to bed
at 8pm rather than 10pm and regardless,
wake up at 6am to go to work?
i'll still be waking up without her,
her, which might gesticulate at all my
biological-scrutinies of sensibility that
i over-stretched my marking territory...
all the better!
unforeseeable *** without consequence
(why did i think X could replace a Q
in the word: consequence?)
because biological reality is a brimful of...
none of the above, or, below,
right now it's 6am in Honolulu
and the storms ganged up on England's shore
and there's no Gandalf...
and we are all, dreary, romantic,
Scandinavian types... typos...
because that's how we operatre,
by bias-focus of deception...
cheap words like "political"
are overtly exuberant...
Nietzsche said this one thing as if a promise...
life would be, difficult, without music...
life... oh life...
all the more.. WITHOUT MUSIC...
when ******* comes with all the awe
of the opposite ***...
there's the reality of... the opposite ***...
because i want:
more than the cashier and being the cashier's line
extended...
will i eat? i'll eat:
watching some bad...
acting has become
a bad-existential-pornogrtaphy...
you had your sway dearest sucker,
now is my luminary absolvence
of your role, and title,
like Ezra Pound might have minded....
to ***** with you...
you, inglorious cauliflower of master-pieces!
riddle the brains with no extract of a promising
guilt, then ****... then Vietnamese
those ****** out of a noodle bowl
and then you get a 1 + 1 = 2 answer....
because no rice = no fweedom...
it's 5pm where i'm at but that doesn't
matter to be delivered... does it?
for once in my life i felt and feel relieved
from abstaining
from one act of...
ugh... the stomach grumbles...
the time, setting and grievances have been, met.
