oto historja z kantem, co podwójne ma dno, gdyby napisał ją dante, to nie tak by to szło.*

existentialism never caught on in england,
it was under the scalpel of an autopsy,
divided in the extremes,
i style magazines, or in the saturday newspaper
edition of gloss, ensuring the world knows
about modern gladiators' (footballers') antics
with boyfriends at home and the girlfriends
on the prowl - feminism's by-product - hmm -
there's a common saying in england:
'i have an existence, i don't have a life',
well... ex- (out of) every instance, it's a life,
i know the big words sound foreboding,
but let's not make it a life of any concern,
unless you're dressed like Mr. Portillo
traversing the American continent in yellow
chequered shirts and pink trousers and green blazers...
style... gotta have style walking in Wisconsin...
the pretty english 'have a nice day' air about
you without perfumes... yes, Mr. Portillo is
the epitome of dressing like an englishman
cursing Voltaire... lollipop goo to my liking, mm...
hey, i'm just a drunk with an itchy feel for
language... me poet, me poet de facto...
ever heard of midorexia? me neither, until today...
even the rich aren't immune...
tan-lines and short shorts aren't enough to
define this odd anorexia of lost youth...
it's supposedly defined by wearing sunglasses
anywhere than on holiday -
see... this is where french existentialism led
the english - it led them to an answer: itemisation,
overt itemisation - born from every believability -
born from every centric to the the european
continent measurement loss exporting flesh from
the ivory coast to the florida measurement -
a pint for above half a litre - the statue of liberty
had many ******* under her skirt...
including king john as one of the fathers...
they really didn't think about existentialism,
no thought invoked made the shopkeepers sigh
and say: excess itemisation is required -
we need cuff-links, orange juicers via ponce,
we need smartphones, we need leathered shoes
(18 carat-hark pig), and belts...
we need all these distractions to go against
the french suggestion of a 35 hour working week...
live to work, don't work to live...
it never caught on... they decided to protest
against Sartre... because he lived with his mother...
**** me... i should have asked for a surrogate too,
and two daddies... and I.V.F., i should have,
because suddenly everyone became neurotic
with Freudian misuse of the Oedipal theory -
Mr. Portillo and Alan Shearer just left the game early,
one's a backpacker with a camera
and the other is a football analyst - left the game
of chance political slander... wise guys; bravo! bravo! encore!

the **** do i hear?
either
mike flowler's
for the love of a princess
or
  vaughan williams's
fantasia on a theme
by thomas tallis...
yes... because i am also
too aware of being
aware of, my ******* cat,
smirking at me,
lullabied by this piece...
and yes...
anger.. urgh...
         England
did not provide us with
an original pianist...
troll: even i wouldn't be
proud of Elgar...
keep pushing the ******,
keep pushin',
****! where did the G go?!
i cried listening
to vaughan williams...
but listening to classic.fm,
i hear...
i wrote a poem
that became as famous
as the table-ware's worth of,
a, work:
   or a michael portillo
smirk... god! that man attires
himself well
in what, constitutes
a bright neon take on color
in the creed of the tux...
lazily fetched....
why wasn't michael portillo
ever the british p.m.?
   i guess as much as:
which is why i attire
myself in the hierarchy
for the worth of attire
resembling either a genuis
or a ***...
                 my use of
the given tongue is the last
remnant of satus to
concern myself with...
but the pyramid is
all that will ever stand,
and all else that will
topple...
my my: the man dressed
well!
        see the crisp
canary yellow,
the fading cosmopolitan
pink itching
to figure out a salmon spank
of punk pink...
suit and sir...
but i remember burrowing
like an pauper in
the forest,
shoe not far from foot
muddied...
by a man riding a horse...
and...
god give me the courage
to have the same-sense-semblance
of the farce that has
become of this man's face!
leave me a death's ardent
patron to say:
and in that democratic
worth of the column
in a sight of:
the vote to veto ratio -
yet all must die...
i sometimes wonder...
such a well dressed man
as a michael portillo?
i shackles and tiresome tartan
scraps for a bending knee...
squek (s)quack: and no door
or a duck in sight!

   i'd still say:
the man retired from
politics, because he dressed
too well, refined, affirming...
   that:
            not many much
of muttering,
   to claim a rhetorical
spit, and chance...
and...
                   i want to
be reminded by the arithemtic
of the scan of the peopled
earth,
  and never be given
a chance inspection
of the hidden rubric of heir
and hierarchy;

            should i have
burdened myself in utilizing my voice
i should have found
myself in...
  no freedom to heave
with the burden of lodged limbs
before me!

whatever: "philosopher's stone"
of the crux of mammon
doesn't attach itself or touch
****...
   people like pearls
in purple satin of a bishop's cloak!

or at least...
a handshake with a shadow's worth
depart from the body
entrenched in
              the logistics of mind,
belonging to the man: not his scout.

indeed, i finished the night off with a wolf's operatic ah woo! at the yellow lunar scythe.

i never understand why people, with such fascinating lives,  |
pre posthumous auto-biographic
with so much Don Juan  excitement would surrender to
being cocooned by bookworms,
the silence of libraries...
just last night i had the most lucid
and the most entangled experience
within the world of the living,
i so desperately want to write about...
but i can't...  i can't!
i want to, but i'll flush all the emotions
that went into experiencing the night
away and feel vane, which is hardly
apathetic, syndrome of atheism
a fake, a- (without) pathos (some sort
of pathology) -
**** it, the highlights, two mates out for a
drink, end up in the company of
a half-mandarin half swede (suede eh eh,
nudge nudge, buckle two stops of a torero
winky wink - nudge nudge of the elbow
only fools & horses banter);
graffiti on a book i carried:
dr. john marchent, LSBU,
london south bank university,
the science of chocolate*...
the scribbler? her name be... what
a ******* zigzag, got her surname
but her name i had to rewrite:
rhiannala                            fowler...
yes, the H is silent, it always is in english
unless it be a haystack of hyphens...
there were many more details regarding
last night, i could write them,
but when i once saw a girl getting spat on
by her "boyfriend"
and the way i spat kisses all over a girl's face
i think it's too painful to make details of...
a sly impromptu in polish with
a guy who was smoking hashish...
12 years over here... i don't know why i
kept associating his name with ******;
a fine Friday event in bohemian east-end
London... that's all, and yes, i seriously wish
i could do a detailed Proustian outline...
eating a ******* macaroon to delve into
the gaping hole of memory making 20 years
seem like 20 minutes...
of course i'll curse, pornographic over saturation...
obscenity trials my ***...
             i'm so ****** tempted to recount you
the night... the drinking Bacchus **** and laughter...
die sonne satan and what not mentioned...
           runes ironic third ***** ******* for good luck
    tilting to antagonise a clear upstart failure...
feminism and advertising,
                   comic book strips and something about
keeping a brand with an ethic worthy of anorexia
and gluttonous upheavals as the end...
               'and yes, i decided to become an Elvis Costello
    song because i thought my life was boring enough
worthy of a manuscript...
            if i had the life of a Don Juan, i wouldn't have
   bothered... me in a cocoon? n'ah,
me in a coconut sounds better...
          or as i wrote in my high-school memorandum:
  to live a bohemian life in one of the EU's capitals...'
and that's prior to the 2004 expansion,
even though i was sceptic - and to finish:
west end you get cosmopolitan culture -
east end you get bohemian culture -
               or as a quasi Mr. Portillo noted -
toff toff truffles too! yep, some ******* labour
coal miner descendent fanatic bemused out-loud
on our way for the night bus 86 -
where i was hit by an existential conundrum
about having this ethnicity bred
and this psychology acquired:
'i spoke to them native and they're thinking
i spoke Hungarian or Czech or Yugoslav! ha ha'
the two children were a wormhole into the past for me...
but for the love of god
you can't find steve wynn & the miracle 3's song cindy
on the internet... i have the album, but the compact
is scratched... and encode a scratched compact
into an mp4 format and your iPod is kung fu ******.            |

|represent a neurosis of a perfect width...
|should the middle ground be peppered
|with shorter stances,
|the first few lines have to match-up
|to the elongating caterpillars of the end -
|a kinda hug / embrace.

two days of constipation
and i'm like...

      never have i made
so much pornographic sounds
in my life:
attempting
to ease out a ****...

like any good german would:
i stand up
peer into the "wishing well"
of the toilet -
yes, trousers pulled down,
socks and slippers intact
on my feet...

          and i was immediately
reminded...
   you know that german
toilets have this...
      curve,
  where a **** is sort of presented
on a plate for inspection,
before it is lost: out of sight
in the english variety...
of: da boamb iz zee dropped...
shelf...

i would never think
of ****** jesus
to be an ukranian band...
i was thinking: hell...
american mid-west...
gran torino -esque...
because everything that
clint eastwood says
is cool,
    like the lego batman...
and i will not look
up the name of the voice-actor
and i will not side
with michael buffer...

       anthony hopkins...
or... alan rickman...
**** me... jeremy irons...
or j. e. jones...

anyway, back on the topic of
               scheiß...
and last time i checked
the worth of a book
was best appreciated
on the toilet: by many a man...
might as well fathom
the toilet in written form...

michael palin!
that's the guy... who did a pseudo
martin portillo
       when touring the danube...
so yeah: no trains...
but german toilets...
very much of what
Poland's culture also gives
is... the shelf...
so you can inspect your
****...

ah: but this isn't
a tabloid newspaper,
after all...
      why wouldn't i compensate
for the intricacies
of homosexual poetics
with an ode to:
the pleasures of taking
a ****...

rightly so: i can't imagine
a pleasure from anything
going into that hole -
due to all the pleasure
of something coming out of it...

2 days worth of constipation...
and i'm "thinking"
like a peter griffin:
i did eat something...
so something must come out...

no good...
3rd day in and nothing is
coming out,
and i'm getting worried...
headaches....
hot sweats...
       so i had to resort
to asking my mother for
some laxatives...
oh... she's a listed
pharmacy library...

   bad back,
          surgery,
and i just listen
to what being pregnant
did to her...
   how i am to blame
for her bad back...

but i get the laxatives...
30ml of a sickly sweet
liquid...
  and i play the waiting
game...
2 hours later...
blitzkireg!

     but **** me,
i never expected what
came after...
namely 3 hours worth
of an orchestra
from a stamped on
trumpet's worth of my ***...

it's felt like:
inflating the *******
hindenburg
or... competing with a dairy farm!

whatever people get off
on...
   i love simple pleasures...
redneck blatancy...
that ****'s just pure:
                               necessary;

sure, i could think of
"low-eve"
   and all that... posturing
designed for psychopaths...
  i'm one brick short
from finishing off the labyrinth
of thought
where my ego is
the minotaur...
  i.e. closing myself in...

i did lie...
   yes... i only wanted to read
a marquis de sade
        novel, in physical
copy, on the London tube...
when doing some roofing
  for a housing project
   at... Colindale...
so i'd be inspected by
a group of teenage girls
giggling at the cover
with a ****...
                 hoping some smart
*** would say
to the girls...
   juliette is not exactly
*****...
   (******?
         his best work)...
   wanted...
   whatever the hell that means...
how i managed
to get an *******
from reading the words...

what is still most memorable
comes from
the biography of the man...
books to be read
with one hand -
    with regards to
the private library of his uncle...

but i'll take my pleasures
elsewhere...
   who would have thought...
but there's a first time for
everything...
   came zee scheiße
  (scheiß, i.e. missing e implies
****, not ****,
started watching das boot...
those germans...
they talk so quickly!)
  but i didn't expect for
the orchestra of farts...
    constipated...
yes... but also very much bloated...
almost 3 days of
dis-ease (i once said that,
beer, old man in tow:
yes, the negation of ease...
astounded wide-eyed
            old man in tow)...

by now i just figured:
does it even matter?
            i can't do an honest
album review...
too many adjectives...
film reviews?
   i prefer to stash that
**** in secret...
           book reviews?
       does that even matter,
should it?
          i spent a decent
month on Sienkiewicz's
3 volume potop...
yes, and i have seen
the film...
            not that i'm
a slow reader...
   but...
        review it?
     how about...
   it's a cognitive tattoo
imprinted on me...
          like certain dates...
1986...
or cities: Chernobyl, disaster,
effects were seen
in Poland...
   strips of:
         radioactive winds
that passed...
level:
    10 metres of burnt
autumnal looking trees
in summer...
   10 metres of summer
         trees: green as envy...

whatever this is...
is what it is...
    as much a case of clenching
fists and attempting
to bark into a punching-bag...
as bashing
finger-tips into
a keyboard...

     because...
   i can never exhaust the reel
of the persistent,
constant blank
waiting at the tip
of the just below
when i figured:

   poetry?
       sure...
                i sometimes end up
myopic
      when having to strain
myself for a literary
paragraph...

                i'll do it...
    but i hate to invest in reading
to also make my feel
as if i have coincided with
doing something meaningful...

poetry: airy-fairy... whatever...
serious literature
and the cluster-****
of the paragraph.

lady gaga: i like it rough:

what was ever wrong with being tender, treating a body
opposite to one's own like porcelain?
                  never mind...
                     these days i'd rather
be bound to caressing a cat than
touching a woman.
   me? gift to women? a don juan?
**** no!
              ha ha!
                i'm waiting for the comedy
of seeing women age and become
barren due to their cherry-picking
        not having entered a harem...
mmm...
               what now?!
                         conversations with your mother?
me? i already told mine: i know
where switzerland is... and i'm thankful
for their competence in discussing euthanasia...
sure, i'll hold your hand, because i'll
take the same route...
                    i think that's called the serenity
of dignifying something called a: human.
after a while or the years: i just
lost interest with all the ***** *****-slapping...
    i can't remember a ******* wanting
the sort of fetishes these free-women of the western
world want or sing about, or frankly
celebrate...
                     i must be victorian...
a 21st century *jack? he wouldn't be after
the prostitutes...
                            believe me...
                                after a while you're
just like: whatever... can't be bothered.
                            the totem of jealousy dries up
anyway, given enough time for it to do so...
         an old bachelor? akin to mr. portillo?
   nothing sad about that...
                   it's actually quiet welcoming that a man
could accomplish being a bachelor at his age...
but with women?
                that's just sad... a bit like the fetish
women have with mr. rochester and the madwoman
in the attic... i'm starting to think:
         when's edward coming out with
                                                     entire circus?
oh right: now they can't handle reality!
but they're still into "loov"; beckoning Grimsby!
    this language has as much monetary value
as a penny dropped on the street in Silesia / Śląsk.

comedians coming
from Bris.... tol...
oh my...
who wouldn't
    give that **** up!

wonk... wonk...
  i so must h'own
the owership
of succumbing
to the 'outhern 'n'key...

  southern comedians,
esp. from Bristol...
and poets...
coming from Newcastle...
frankly?
i've never visited
Danzig...

you, me, where,
and when,
you, me,
now and whenever...
cameo the michael
portillo...
         smile...
and yes...
queen elizabeth
also did the ****
salute...

          i heave my furthered
everyday
with having to succumb
to a headache...
for a worth of tomorrow...

ugly ******...
ugly surname,
name as any...

    but he really
did
undermine
the ruling class,
didn't he?
and that's the
problematic emblem of
his rule...
isn't it?

                      the little
man who make broke
the ruling chess pieces
of kings and queens
            of this world...

that's the problem,
isn't it?
the working class
"scant"...
the... "rasputin"
who overpowered
the king, basis,
and overpowered
the lasting trust
in allowing the sentencing
via
treason...

             but ****** was all
evil...
since... only kings
are allowed to do all
and in all, but good...

              only kings
can do good...
and people who arise
from the worker's coup...
are of no worth of sight...
precursor:
Napoleon...
              
only kings....
heaving pastures
of a past....
and men and men
turned into emblem...
making it necessary
to retort...

as long as the hierarchy
of the pyramid stands...
and there is no
adventure-ridden plateau
to... move...

   akin to the collective
-esque,
of a worth of people...

as i throw my boxing gloves
into the fire...
i expect...
to be given
my knuckles
and clenched fists back...

savvy?!

somehow drunk on language: a jazz impromptu...
nothing is ever to be orchestrated
or read from a script...
    
               and drinking besides...
               a manifesto on the sly?
               i hardly think: or rather:
               i hardly want to...
               compose one...

but i am sure to find some freedom... it's not
that much... it will do: working from the confines
of a dickensian paragraph is all the rage:
of all - but not these days, to be exact...

crumbs from the table of "muse"...
   it's a low-hanging fruit...
   something of the sort of worth than can only
   be worth: merely passing the time...
    by the mortal "adventure" circuit of events...
   this is me: not being present when
   beer, or flour... or ketchup...
   or mayonnaise... or the method of frying
   using oil... or poaching an egg...
   or the litany of respective spices
   being used in a curry...
  something grand... the moderns and their:
darwinistic slyly sliding into every narrative:
ideologues of darwinism...
who are they?
the history of man...
a back and forth:
starting with / from today...
   all the way back to... primodial times...
hunters: we were...
gatherers: we were...
foragers: oh for ****'s sake: WE WOZ!

i'm tired of the monkey veil...
               at least under the iron curtain...
something of freedom trickled through
the sieve, the cracks...
      where to? given this silicon curtain:
freedom on... zee fekkin mond?
apparently very little "history" happened:
or has had to happen...

there's only now: the 20th century...
   and then... nibbles of the 19th century's zenith
of... thomas ddison and george westinghouse,
alexander bell...
       but prior to all that...
the 19th century inventors and pioneers...
the 20th century pop culture...
all those ignorant ***** prior to the grand: "US"...

when darwinism: which is an ideology...
goes beyond biology... and... like leftism...
like communism... spreads its tentackles
into all things unattached with it...
i can hardly see a consolidation argument:
an omnipresent "needle work thread-through"...
am i in denial or do i simply think that
darwinism has robbed history of time...
as a linear motivation for moving forward:
by a poppy seed's volume per year...
on one's knees: up to climb mt. megiddo?

i am pretty sure darwinism...
        doesn't have the capacity to dictate
a branch of history that stresses its presence
via etymology -
how... the word cool: is currently out
of vogue... and in decline...
               back to the reality of:
having a cold beer...
           which is cool... because a room temp.
beer is... choice:
bad-manners... crass... puke-juice...
and some others i'm tired to conjure...

  but this jumping from: primodial man:
to the current, modern man...
and leaving no traces for the middle-men...
a philip augustus of france: the capetian...
      
     pompeii: circa 70ad...
                 sometimes the gods would visit...
hermes trismegistus...
       because it was: so...
                   then again:
the darwinistic historogical reflections are
a bit like saying: we've been hoarding...
there's no brain without a fever to store all
the past claims of vanity...
but a complete whitewash...
a blank slate... to work with barely nothing...
and to dress it up to...
the language and fashionable attire...

    it's like jumping from the big bang:
a lot of banging happens in a vacuum...
              oh yeah... you can hear a needle drop
in a vacuum of space...
what a name: genesis: big bang...
big hole bang black: is the way forward...
let's breed us a middle-ground of
the copper / cinnamon royalty...
                     i start from the north...
you start from the south...
we're bound to create a new equation
for where the equator should be...
on the 23.5°N line...
that story: all out of africa...
                    who brought the albinos?!
but do you come across a copper cinnamon
people quickly?
   it's mongrel of... black words on white paper...
there's even a name for it... tropical:
and cancerous...
    because you were never to witness...
what happens...
when there's a first investment in mixed-race
coupling...
   come the second generation and the bleaching
is continued:
               there pops up a curiosity:
like afghani blue eyes...
              
perfectly matched-up insomniac journalism
and darwinistic historiology...
   oh: everything that came prior...
insignificant...
  but i am sure i wasn't there... when...
flour first came into "being" and when eggs
were first harvested for the mass production
of cakes... and when there came about
a domestication of a mountain goat...
or how the cow decided: two stomachs best...
and a... digestion process that...
well: it's pretty much an imitation
of that of a fly... which is why: let man conjure
up elves, orcs... and let the gods mind
conjuring up: elephants and... sloths...
and... the man who invested in trans-genderism:
consciously ingested a tapeworm embryo...
to feel: what a "foetus" would feel like...
what is the tapeworm... if not the placenta
without a mouth?
                      
    islam and hair... though...
               is hair all, that?
                   what about: the manic pixie haircut...
tomboyish... slanting almost shredded
in look...
                  what about:
a fly in a champagne flute...
    or... there's a hair in my soup!
       i know that some people react to hair...
in soups... with... a... 'get it away from me!
poltergeist! poltergeist!'
          hair... long hair... does it have
to be about hair?
   i don't seem to be lacking in this grace...
                               but a perfect skin...
   oh sure... said the bearded-lady...
or the french: au naturel propagators...
   but why is fair such a must: must... fancy?
was there this 6th century affair for bad
teeth as there might have been for...
greasy wigs?
            
                        now wouldn't wearing
a hat like a hebrew might wear a kippah...
notably in those 1950s movies...
    and prior... to have to be always attired
with some headgear...
                and... the trousers whereby...
they reached up... to the mid-torso...
     and would never be... worn like today...
under the bellybutton...
  
   hair... hair in my soup = there's a fly in my
champagne flute...
   i'd probably gag less at the fly...
     spawn of the disinfecting maggot brains
that would sooner feed on dead-flesh
than...

   maggot bullets for every zombie apocalypse...
a maggot bazooka...
maggots grown as g.m. crops...
fused with... piranha d.n.a. branches so that...
they could bite exponentially: quicker...
like jigsaws for jaws: or
                   super-slurper-vacuum openings...

this menacing: over-arching... shadow of time...
if there's no past worth to remember:
or its picked-and-mixed like penny sheets
or like extracts from the goodbook
for the apologists...
                                        but talk about...
the time it takes to boil a litre of water...
and the time it takes to... produce a bottle of wine...
jumping down from a tree:
huddling in a cave...
coming from the ***-side of Versailles...
then moving into... a communist concrete
chicken-shack...

                 and now:
journalistic-insomnia...
                                and... the forgotten fire
with exception to the candle:
               U.V. and poltergeists of neon...
always to be given... reiterations of reality...
while also... attempting to digest...
a thinning ice of fiction: narrations per se...
      
      i call for the federation of niqabs
and foreskins...
              at least a ******* is that sort veil:
that veils the least...
there are those ***** hairs
i call a beard...
and come: the story of the moon...
and there's artificial lightning:
i can actually compete with mel gibson's
"gibbon"...

            otherwise for me: the niqab of the soul...
or: why is he so: "ouch-tistic" rummaging
with his schizoid eyes:
averting the look of what's become:
the mini-skirt: perpetuated *****...
if only i had lived to have lived:
an aborted foetus...

    thank god for bulgarian prostitutes!
than god for bulgarian prostitutes!
a whole lot of them that just want
to ****!
the double-twist of: there's a ******
tux for every uncircumcised male: waiting...
liberal socialist democracy has:
zilch on the matter...

i'm still more bothered about how
darwinism made its plug-hole manoeuvre...
an apple a day: keeps the doctor away...
a poem a day: keeps the psychiatrist at bay...
for such advances in medicine and science:
that these branches still allow
sadists armed with pharmacological weapons:
calling the brain a... chemical soup...
i am not that much half-... Brian ist tod...
but i'm also hardly the
cucumber schumacher...
                 when skiing: just because:
and the snow forcaste is like what?
a burning tire exercise?!

                    if i was truly angry: i wouldn't be writing...
to invest in a boxing duvet wrapped up
in clingfilm... not my thing...
i like to see anger... evaporate at my fingertips:
rather than clenched into a fist
for a knuckle arithmetic...

how can i become: silly / angry about
english girls groomed and gang-***** by pakistani
men...
   remember: i'm the abortion that didn't
happen that somehow wrote this:
i wouldn't be touched: or ****** or...
                    all because: this one time...
at band-camp... there was a girlfriend and i
should have known better...
and for all i know: roulette and blackjack...
and if not mine...
then his... and that's 5 children squeezed
out from her ****: when i would have
advised for a caesarean section because:
a toddler's head would not be anything:
quiet close to... my ***** envy of...
a 12" **** of a roach...
and a kim kardashian ***...
which would be necessary...
                   to... wade through all that
gelatin bubbling and trembling!

my ideas concerning homosexual ***:
thank you, the kiss was great
is the gaybar...
but... i am confined to...
enjoy taking a ****...
esp. diarrhea consistency type:
i sometimes catch myself with an onomatopoeia
of a groan...
    something is always supposed
to come out... rather than in...

i'm still not angry... if i weren't an abortion...
then i'm expected to be...
eyes-darting autistic...
hardly able to read into
a physiognomy...
   i must be: unable to: interpret a smile...
i am drying up on finding new music...
so i must be outside the compensation
parameters of an "in-crowd"...

                i have to... most probably...
start working a genesis with a niqab...
or i have to make donning sunglasses
mandatory for men...
like... oh god: don't invite stiching
the eyes shut and the cenobite Butterbite...
what's a butterbite?
a butterbite mistakes oral *** performed
on a ******* for an oyster...
sooner: rather than later...
the **** becomes the oyster...
the oyster becomes a tulip...
the tulip becomes a slab of butter!

because: we're expert at this...
schumacher is still a ******* cucumber...
and it's not like, death:
this instant... a tweet...
or a telegraph...
it's a bureaucratic "backwards and forwards"...
watching paint dry...
or catching a snail on the nod...
an itching spider without a web:
a very abled... sportartenspinne-mann...
     spandex galore: clue?

hell... i was thinking about...
how more agile:
when darwinistic ideology would come
to ruffle the feathers and sieve...
and what became of existnetialism...
headaches and minor indigestion faults
from the 19th century: Denmark
would: or could become more apparent...
ruffle the feathers...
pluck them from a chicken...
poach it for a soup...
       perhaps roast another one...
skin the pig and cure and later
curate the skin that would become
a leather for a belt...
                
   darwinism and historiology...
heidegger might have summoned the term...
but he wasn't "battling" with english:
islander-thinking...
           "solipsism"... or for that grandiosity
of: the great h'america:
our best kept: interlude...
constantly revived: beside the confines
of Idaho...

          and the modern "question"
of islamic religiosity...
i call the same...
the mind is less obviously tinged
with... markers...
akin to... isoprene and atomic chlorine...
after chernobyll:
why was liquid iodine prescribed
to pregnant women?
markers: like dyes...
  to invigorate the "sedation"
of... an otherwise invisible reaction taking
root: or place...

islamic religiosity is...
very much akin to darwinistic historiology...
the study of history via monkey-dough
and brains and somehow also the ****:
the building block of aztecian flat-top
pyramids...
                islamic religiosity is...
the 17th century looking at 21st century...
darwinistic historiology is...
the 21st century...
looking at totem and the primodial man...
encompassing him in the present...
the 2nd through to the 18th century
are a bit of an amnesia...
better call it a lobotomy...

               there's knitting! there's picking!
there's the apologetics...
history taught from the perspective of darwinism:
is very much akin to history:
taught from the perspective of communism...
i'm sorry: one ape one world...
i do see the fullness... from the perspective
of a microscope... that becomes
the bottle-stump... once i'm finished with it!
having drank my fill!

to romance the vampire is to also
romance h.i.v.
                how does darwinism fare against
the backdrop of: orthodox: strict...
since there is no true darwinism in nature:
and nature: vetos... whatever are the opinions
of the ideologues:
the sieve... the harvest... and the discarded...

there's always an alternative:
etymological... in that...
prior to the written word...
there was the reasoining abounding in...
what came thirst:
the "d" of Δ... or the Δ: a triangle?
               can a sound akin to "d":
occupy... a sound... geometric tool for
exploring... O... omicron...
what came first? "o" and oh...
the phonetic encoding: O...
OΔ...
                      just a suppose...
                                  
   what letters: from greek... could have been
borrowed from the natural world?
O: moon and sun...
         Δ: the mountain...
                 β - a ***** and an ***...
          ζ and ξ - a serpent...
               ι: the fraction stick... and arithmetic
counter to a • or an apostrophe '''''''''''
                waves of omega and the mu(se)...
   prior to the key and the lock and
a door: φ (key inserted)...
              θ (key turned)...
            ψ (door opened)...
           i.e. Ug (Yγ): a tree...
                         applied to the key and door?
it's not a hammer... there's no nail...
                      eta (H): rugby goalposts...
    
etymology doesn't suffice...
      the words will become morphed...
the letters are a priori...
   as numbers are...
but... whereas numbers remain intact
within the confines of a priori:
letters take on a posteriori meanings...
notsably eta (H): the rugby goalposts...
or the "vector":  (φ, θ, ψ)...
rho implies: an amputee sysiphus...
but rho is a P... hence...
the lost thrill of a R put against
the wall: and shot to a trill!
a rattlesnake ramble! mein gott!
what loss: in english and tarantula
numbed! i walked down a road:
that almost became: woad;
sly little *******...
give me a universal language...
and i'm pretty sure that it will not
be one... with a skeleton of ancient
roman to master and craft with!
donkers... plump plums in "origin"...
a Baghdad...

since the full mechanisation of the key
and lock are not represented:
but rather: insinuated...
                        
                        but there is a door...
imagine, to boot...
that there's, also, somehow...
a necessity of a doormat!

- because in vestern europa: it's about time for:
"zee... pudding-reis-poodle-tops!"
much easier laughing at german
with some "vikings" in tow...

i just abhor how darwinism has become
the neu-ego of history: "abided" by...
like... this be the zenith and 100 years
from now... people will not laugh...
or... i much prefer: scold and frown at...
because i much prefer to be baptißed
using boiling...
         using water... that might allow
me to escape... the confines
of a couch: the comforts of a skin...
and all matter of leather: thus concerning...

i am happy to allow myself the following
sentence: the rats and the moon will always
tell the better "story"...
  liberal hard-ons that are hardly quantified
as matchsticks...

you're looking for communits in your current
"conundrum"...
looking for "them" leeching and lurking
from beneath the eisenvorhang?!
          ostenberlin?!
                       i had the impression...
that... your comforts... your dickens...
your semi-detached bogus heavens...
and that's what was required...
for you... to breed your own...
without having to...
outsource the idealists:
                     your... 'aggis neeps and tatties:
roots of "origins"...
you have your own sort of communists...
mostly t-shirt print enterprises...
and... whatever...
looking for communist from under
the iron curtain...
is about like scounting for both
rats and cockroaches...
and a honing idea of the hive...
because rats wouldn't eat roaches
and the two could, somehow...
fashion of symbiotic vogue affair...

you know what ****** me off...
the most... about not being english...
leverage of pompous audacity to state
the most: infantile opinion...
worded: i know:
you cough... i sneeze...
we'll reach an equilibrium, at some point:
to make references to:
and a past...

precedence: to "think" is to:
th(ought i)... and all that's counter-productive of
"i labyrinth" and: thought and i...
or... scalpel: nurse!
grammar! genius! ******* rollerskating chimpmucks...
and... h. p. lovecraftian odes to...
squids... in less than the already:
"murky" waters of... perfect the... widespread
genius of comedy...
via... ridicule... via... bulimia...
via... cooking a steak: well-done...
over-cooking pasta:
the diet of al dente...
                             burning a mushroom:
not being to: not being able to:
and that: to Baghdad... from Loon'don...
                  virtue signalling:
a clap is... 1/100 of a fraction of...
someone... being deaf and having to resolve
the matter: sign-language about to be translated
into... braille!

the islamic religiosity of "today" is about as
mcuh equivalent as the "today":
under darwinistic historiology...

looking for communists from under the once
former iron curtain divide?
good luck: i'm wishing it unto myself:
about to find Mongols in... Kiev!

came across some burden of a sourdough:
and it's like in england:
it's "theirs": never the agony of eating...
a bread... designated to be toasted...
when it just had to be... eaten... "raw"...

what's the fan-base for raw herrings...
within the confines of Nippon...
or these... grandeours of the:
only isles... my ideas to make
metaphors of the crucifix?
a ******'s riddle...

we're looking for communist: y'all!
i'm looking for Belze...
                  and: mādégehirn-verrotten
         und rätsel: ungezieferfreude...
zylinderanziehen: der großartig:
     schwule -            
der: scrumptious...
                                               fladenbrotmann!
bessermann: das englisch...
                   herr portillo... chuckles should
it come to:
   steam-trains and replicas...
and politics: was never really...
about harems and hard-ons...
                                       really?
ask a Baghdadi then: if you pleaz...
Lawrence!

chance of me being spoken to in russian...
and being: reciprocate...
are all yours: slim jim!
  no... seriously...
a ***** of a language that is...
english: i am... most astounded that...
there are some peoples of this world
that have not: yet... allowed themselves
to translate this:
bellybutton orientation of the world
via genus: greenwichus...
to be: unifying versed: et al.

        i must bees the retardedwoz... kin:
and oops some year later...
or: to hell with keeping up...
anything beside the appearing so...
i:  "for the love of the countrymen"...
of which i have none:
are 9 my commuter friends:
and with the romanians...
and the bulagrian ******...
the polish plumbers...
the english... could have their catwalk
of opinions!
who skinned the chickens
and who did what: my shadow lacked
or i slacked over with?

i want to forget because
i just don't want to unravel in...
i would work an honest's day... of worth...
if i could work for a: get together...
or none...
             it's so disorientating...
and... lacking in motivational bravado...
to have to find one man: working...
and the other: *******!

   talk about... having to resort to mind:
the manners to count jack'oh the ol' keeper...
because: abortion signification is
burning a foot in the sole
of my shoe...
and i'm about to make do with
walking a ******* mile...

               and there i was... conjuring
the fetish fancy:
all it would ever take...
was to pretend to... attire oneself /
i.e. make pretences of: pweeety pretty!
i like being governed by:
you have to be wrong...
for the mushroom and tapeworm
and the cuckoldry muppets to be: oinking:
and with a nodding:
the holy approval as: no other route...
other than them being "white".... Rrrrrrridle
no?
                     no -ight then!

the universe doesn't balance itself out
when i give... what's necessary to a petted
animal...
a petted... animal...
something that's: the animation of
an otherwise inanimate worth of a table...
the eclipse of the moon...
given four legs and furr and a meow...
but... this world... this... juggernaut
realism of: lost... pondering schizoids
of: what's loss... and what's reality...
honestly?
         the fact that i burden myself
with much cuddles... much cushioning
of "troubles"...
i pet a cat... i don't farm... a ******* pig...
although... i'd love to rephrase that...
i pet a cat... i milk... a cow...
i butcher a pig... i decapitate a chicken...
i "forage" for eggs: abortions...
i enjoy caviar...
esp. smoked salmon...
cucumber... dill... mayo...
bagel... rainbow trout overies...
****! i'd eat that sort of ****
in a pancake version...
oh... right... they do that...
in st. petersburg...
    my bad...
          no... i pet a cat... i pet a dog...
if i had a dog... it would be either
a rottweiler... or a dobermann...
and his dr. evil sidekick:
the dobermann-pischner...
the drwarf ******: geek heaven citation
pwetty lingo pwetty lingo... dachshund!
         knee-cap serves: the curb...
and the jaw and bite...
expanding wonders of
copernican revisionism...
or so... the afro... was... told...
how did... the dobermann-pischner...
become the... dachshund?
ate the wrong mushroom...
watched m.t.v. at the wrong time
during the 1990s?!
the ****... happened to this... lacklustre
of... merlin...
knee-capping...
    toe-tying and the brides
of... swan-lake imitation...
ballet! that one... celebrated... circumstance...
voyeurism of sadists...
safety... netted... ******* riddled...
flap...

it aches me to pet cats...
i should be farming pigs!
i should be... fake!
i won't eat a cat... though!
      but i'd love to...
               fake the sort of "petting"
that farming livestock involves...
to borrow from the brood of beef...
the sacrificial world:
advice...
why do i pet cats... why would i love
to pet a crow?
i do so... to escape...
what i hear... when...
people treat people...
worse than... **** treats maggots...
fore-runner! summon
the german!
       vorderteillaufschiene!

  there's... a ****** good reason...
why... michael portillo... didn't become...
the next leader of the conservative party...
gnats and the blonde blush: quiff...
scandi: wind-whipped ice-cream puff...
or... whatever...

it's such a terrible pointer to make...
why one pets animals...
rather than... herd them... farm them...
it's almost like...
what reading a book is...
to counter reading journalism...
a book to counter a day in
a newspaper's point...
of... the synonym of toilet paper...
books?! monster magnet of moths
and worms...
fair enough!

          i pet animals... cats... dogs...
i farm pigs...
  i race horses...
because... i want to escape...
what still remains...
how other humans treat fellow humans...
no excuses... but there are always
excuses...

it's that sort of automated "enough":
forgoe the farming of blid obedience...
for a "love" not wroth
a karen... a return embargo... pop / ****....
chisel the tree into a toothpick...
let's call it: the birch....
              
         the sentence of a skinning
sentencing: closure... elaborate...
the: western lands...
why i will milk the cow...
jockey the camel...
and not ride... the bull...
into war... to counter the use of horse...
had i used bulls:
what worth of war hogs...
lament of the: lost leisures...

when one pets animals...
one doesn't farm them...
     chickens' cluck plucking...
aeons of sunrise...
to pet an animal:
is to farm one...
      and all that...
         which is be made...
alternative sascrificial...
****'ite islam and...
islam from persia...
isn't...
        camel jockey...
       h'arabia...
                     mecca what new
tehran...
old iran: new islam...
                  xerxes: this old grief
with old "greece"...
              before the shawls of the baltic...
sea come forth... come late:
and the blood boiling: to the brim...

i am tragic... tsar impressions...
i better pet a cat..  loss of leash...
i better pet a dog: leash included...
lessen: the farming
of poultry abortions...
i pet dogs... i farm... cows...
i endeavour to eclipse the buddha...
in how... chimpz became...
giddy-to-fathom-how-man:
and the hugh-mann...

i pet details of lost art...
because... the chickens flouted...
the concept of pigeon flight...
and the crow-pecking...
MORAE... mora varies:
the universe of punctuation...

to pet a cat... to tame a dog:
to befriend: via leash...
to harnass a horse...
such befriending alienation...
the crisp loot of the petted...
not farmed..
and... the reality of...
"who's who" of the detail
of chimp treating the next to nothing...
loop / loot of a gorillaz
loitering: kin: next...
            
    no... the end...
     here's me to... loitering over
your grave...
and when... madame tussauds...
takes to concern itself
with... the better lived-up second
cause... for excusing...
the last... run;
morose over the drying of ink...
and the best... equipped...
loitering of... hybrid wax:
told! rodin never could...
scoop... a better "hiob".