I frequently fall with infatuation
Facing assaults of accounts and allegations
Precursored by overwrought thoughts of the distraught
That they, the piqued and pained, were aware of my plot

Harm I intended, only fuelled by lust
Being insensitive and callous is but a must
For I, the brutish devil who led you astray
Have left you enveloped in utter dismay

I dismantled your faith and replaced it with doubt,
With this symbol of mine that carries much clout,
Leaving my victims mourning in tears
For I have give veracity to their fears
The tears of my prey fabricate a rivers flow
That only I, the acccursed Aquarius may know

needless to say, that's £90.00 spent on merely two books, musings II - VI & VII - XI of the schwarznotizbuch, by that "infamous" ****, disillusioned with the party within 2 years or so of joining ot; alternatively a study of the third *****'s university environment, which is necessary reading in the anglophone sphere zeitgeist; as ever: quintessential timing (on my part) to invest and peruse in such expensive reading material. - and in no way related, how pitiable it seems, from the year circa 1460 there will still be the romance surrounding Vladimir III, as with every tyrant, the damning and subsequent onion stripping of the unravelling of a man amongst men... poo'h whittle Adolf will not leave a legacy akin to the romance of Wallachia, precursored on the screaming impaled... unlike other tyrants of fabled lore, poo'h Dolphi will only a joke, a very bad joke, or what has or will become the death of comedy in the English speaking world... not some mythical spectre akin to Barbarossa, or a sensibility of Bismarck... if you begin humourising at the beginning, the jokes hardly pack the punch, given that comedy has reached the same fate as art, in that comedy has become, comedy for comedy's sake, that dreaded Kantian Box, where everything goes when made redundant, exhausted, or unintelligent / challenging in the pop medium of slapstick, rather than kings' court of a jester's satire of power.*

it's almost staggering to believe
   that there's an alternative
  offence to: "hurting" someone's
feelings, or rather it is a case
of agitating apathy - in that
  the argument follows concerning
hurt emotions, when in fact
  it is a giving birth to emotions
from a comfortable state of apathy,
coincidental with automated
   "thinking"; how simpler the scenario
becomes concerning the parallel
  of "hurt" thoughts,
   notably in the form of
    arithmetic...
                e.g. √x + 2x × 1/2y ÷ z/0.99
that thick custard blob
   is already bulging in the mind,
agonising all unfathomable
    thoughtless voids with a
answer; and yet such problems
are avoided at best,
   or, man willing, solved...
       but as to why man is suddenly
able to solve the "arithmetic"
     of the case of feelings is quiet
  another: for in the former case
man can play the sloth and give
up... in the latter?
          much harder to:
    a. recognise prior apathy
     b. receive "insult"
   c. insulate it
       d. choose between
     an implosion or an explosion
  - culminating in -
    d. return to an apathetic
    state of "calm"...
       or what this comparison
proved, in that it did prove
       the quickened reaction of the latter
scenario: or for that matter -
to have hurt someone's "feelings"
  is to have actually agitated
  feelings out of their
  apathetic cocoon.

the more objective truths humanity finds,
well... the more uncomfortable
it becomes...
                    the supression of subjectivity
is but one of the many objective truths
that are not favoured in a society -
  beginning with the greek philosophers
and ending with the greek philosophers
who stunned poetic endeavours
for fear of crafting: too many weak hearts...
that may be so...
   but was there a subjective weakness
in the wehrmacht? in the kamikaze?
in the red army?
             i find western society is really confused
about subjectivity:
if person (a) says: no one cares what you
feel!
   surely person (b) can reply: shut up!
no one cares what you think!
if you really want soft hearts - argue
the scpetical objective argument -
  sure, sure... forget about the passions...
you know: depression once had a romantic
name (michel de montaigne for one,
clearly shows an elevation of intelligence
with the ailment) - as once did
subjectivity: the passions...
           objectivity is a logical sorrow of
taking the heart, and inserting the brain
of a ******* mouse in its place...
   overly sensitive to stimulii, esp. words...
pointless anti-breeding epidemic of not ideas
alone, but actual people who could conjure them!
melancholy was once cited as the elevated status
of intelligence, esp. in the realm
of a: sense of humour...
                         now? just another grid-lock
in the stigmata ensemble...
              i can't pity these people turning into
the self-crucifying ones...
      not unless they can tell me a decent joke,
or sharpen their minds, akin
to athletes... for when the body gives
to lethargy, the mind is not necessary for
this lethargic succumbed-to predicament...
                                      no, ex-cuses!
objectivity, or the dogmatic-adherence
           to it leaves men's hearts as nothing more
than oysters... mollusks...
              snail who 100 years later finally
wake up and announce their grand
"eureka" of: huh?!
                      the **** just happened?
too late! go, shove your face in a can of
      maggots, and then pretend to go fishing!
can't be that bad, if western europe really
loves to adhere to a self-fulfilling
self-sacrificing prophecy, i'll just turn my
concerns to the east,
   and think up an anti-wrong-thing idea,
namely? group-think!
                      and this whole m.g.t.o.w. *******?
forget it, unless you lack the teutonic
rigour of a monk...
          party time's over...
                                all my potency
for children will be that of insaminating
the only respectable womb these days:
     memory...
                            in memoriam,
                      rather than in vivo, or in vitro:
that's how **** ex machina operates
when there is this constant deus ex machina
pointlessness of debate, akin to shopping
            for a coochi coochi gucci bag.... ugh.
they can have them all they want...
         and when the time comes,
i know where switzerland is...
         and that... i can at least pray for
my last wish to be that of keeping a human dignity...
after all... it's not called dignitas
   for no random reason...
    because, suddenly, this whole objective "allure"
of passing on the genes...
           of keeping it white, while talking it black...
has "suddenly" lost its appeal...
        not that it ever had an appeal to begin
with...
                  my uncle?
   i.e. my mother's brother?
                        20 years older than me...
and he's already on that path...
     would i be stupid enough to "compete"?
                       you know? however many
hamburgers the americans push me,
   however many las vegas dreams they sell -
the west is the best, or rather was the best,
when jim morrison was alive -
last time i checked visiting him in paris:
seemed a bit up-tight, a bit of a ******...
      what once was, cannot be revised,
rekindled, revived...
                          america is currently running
on a day dream:
    hey! you wanted cheap toothpicks!
as the prophecy of queen sheeba stated:
   the earth will be flooded with cinnamon /
copper skinned people -
   and no, not the essex girls who tan themselves
on sun-bed into near-flurescent orange;
as any person who can't be bothered
to gamble on a "future" - as in a poker game:
i put my share in, i'm out, i fold...
  since it stopped being a game of chess
a long long time ago... i fold,
                and tilt my king-piece on its side -
and whoever tells me that there's
still "hope" has become so subjectively muted,
so subjectively numb,
    that calling me throwing a stone
against another stone an unfolding of the "abstract"
concept of relationships: tell you what:

i've had the bad luck of dating
rich girls...
                    квaс...

        i said it as i saw it...
outside the st. petersburg opera house...
about to see
                la triavata...
    later, hearing her complain,
about her looks,
and how two russian girls
were making fun of her,
how, how she managed to court me,
and her big russian knose...
and she telling me:
oh, their hand-bags as precursored
judgements, ready, to be made...
no matter how high,
or how low,
        so many, petty judgements!

back to: квaс

        i said it as i saw it:
            K'BAC (tss)....
how do you say it?
            KVAS...
        lithuanian drink,
non-alcoholic fermentation process...
you know, in between
the train ride from st. petersburg
through to moscow,
listening to bob dylan...
i never saw, i never saw not one
mcdonalnds...
just these pancake outlets...
that served orange caviar...
in pancakes....
and the drinks were all about
serving this bread fermentation
"soft-drink"...
from lithuania...
    
            if she let me,
i would have shown her something
akin to Poland...
Iłża... the flinstones...
         krzemionki opatowskie,
   a neolithic and early bronze age
settlement...
  if she let me...
i really don't need
the anglosphere canvas
of going as far back
as what darwinism dictates...

i can go as far back as
the big bang...
the backup...
and tell you...
when, earth, was inhospitable....
wouldn't mars own
a chance to entertain life?
and the great deserts, i.e. sahara,
be great mountain ranges?!
you know...
when the sun was hotter,
than it is at present?
when dino came across dino?
no?
        sorry... you believe your
****, i'll believe my own ****...
standing outside of "all" time
and space... yes,
when the sun was warmer,
and the earth was a massive volcano...
there was life on mars,
as the gobi, the sahara was no
more a desert than the current
"spectacle" of the himalayas being
a mountain range!

who can say i am wrong?
  the same people who conjured up
the meteor narrative?!
they buck bet the best treating people
like me as schizoid...
    
i should have never dated rich girls...
   they're nothing but trouble...
esp. if they were rich,
russian girls...
                         i should have ventured
to the north of england,
akin to newcastle,
               and ****** myself silly.
now that i am, "wiser"...
             **** me...
the best thing i ever accomplished
was stealing kisses from prostitutes...
you know what it feels like,
being told, by a *******,
that you're a good man?
                    
         well... ramming a man via
a k.o. blind, climbing a mountain,
doing an F1 circuit, racing...
                   stealing a kiss from
a *******?
                             nothing to brag about...
but at least, something, to remember,
of equal worth.

         did i already mention
that dating a rich girl is a bad idea?!
who was i?! a son of a working class roofer!
high and forever persistent
ambitions to make a living,
via writing...
      
             well... good luck to me...
good luck to anyone.

oh this night, this sobering "cold":
well... it's no longer cold
said a Scouser to a Londoner:
it's no longer deemeable to say "cold":
it's actually freezing... and it is...
my face is pinched with a thousand angry
chickens
i'm drooling my snot is freezing on
my 'tash
               and there are ***** on the ends
of what used to be my fingertips:
but i'm happy like so
with moon and shadows
and all that flamboyant romanticism of
language that escapes the modern
secular
post-communist = post-colonial
and with the new advent of "communism":
see... at least when the Slavic people
tried out communism
it worked for a while and it's o.k. that it
worked for a while...
but the fetish of communism in the west:
the western fetish for a communism
with an archetypical evil of a ****:
a communism of ethno-centric mitigation...
like...
stressing the importance of how
the schematic the dissection of man was
achieved...
i can understand the superego as something
that is concentrated within the realm
of external forces of check...
an external societal norm of expectations
and playing chess
because there are rules...
3D chess i can explain in the internet
arcade of robot wars... fair enough...
but for games to be played there is a need
to implement rules: otherwise there's no
game to begin with...
imagine that sort of disorientated game
of entitlement and equal outcome
in a game a chess: well that would make
the idea, merely the idea: of playing,
a game of chess... a lot like: pointless?!
see, i love the two experience of dreams:
there are dreams i have whereby i do image
arithmetic and then there are dreams were
i simply dream of words:
as if looking up from reading a book
on the London tube...
London... aha... the star constellations
look so different south of the river...
but i get it: the superego as not part of my
schematic:
i can do with the ego-id dualism
but i can't stomach the hyphen being infiltrated
by a *******-upped Freud giving me
the internalisation of the superego as
momma and papa while society is no big brother
the superego externalised like how
the starfish eats by throwing up its cloud
of stomach or how the fly vomits on its food
then ***** it up... tasteless:
consciousness is devoid in this world of
paraphrase:
         at least if the superego is external and
part of societal infrastructure...
then at least it's not an internalised conflation:
rigid... ******* monstrosity
but even Christ couldn't create a draft
trinity
having his mother exluded from the mix
because how must have it happened
when John the Baptist did that thing with Jesus
and the dove descended and
if not two people then at least three heard
upon that signture of baptism:
he's my son... and i'm proud of him...
who? Jesus? or John the Baptist?!
Christianity has become a sort of covert-synonym word
for Communism in the mouths of western Liberals
when a new fashion statement of not treating
thoughts as freedoms
but instead fashion statements and trendy
parrot behavior settles...
the right kind of Christianity would invoke
the Church establishing a pontif with a bride...
Protestantism tried that
and it workek for a while but then Christianity
died because of the ordeal of time biology
and geology
so if you think of Communism as a time-constrained
experiment
you can start thinking of Christianity
as a time-constrained experiment that is unnanutral
by now: count 2000 years:
because how many lives are to be lived
for Christ to reach the limit of 33 springs
but still not married or fathering children
becoming a Hebrew patriarch?
i do wonder... so no wonder why the church
the institution has problems with only
alligning itself with pedophiles and homosexuals...
since... the woman is desecrated:
instead of the celebration of woman
we have this bogus shallow of church...
well it's never a Tsarist Russia and the Serfs
it's always this western narrative and
the African slaves: it's never about the Russian
serfs...
this darkest murk
this inability to lounge these Polacks
becaue oh so hard to be working in the sugar cane
fields and not the ****** whiggers
working the coal mines:
it's always the ******* juice-ash of Holocaust
in concentration camps but never the Slavic
workers of earth unearthing darkness of
the ****** bunker...
at least in idea the ideal slaughter
but being kept alive: to do the ***** work?
even Gone with the Wind alludes to when
Miss Goodietow-lost-a-shoe
begins her business venture
and employs some white-oh-yoyos
to dig for her
and no ******* ****** in sight
oh jeez these pseudo-communists have left
my **** in the form of a slobbering oyster
of a ****...
i find myself unable to return to Poland
and i can't stay in England
and i can't make the US my home
so i need to think about Polynesia and
making a Genghis Khan implosion:
like i told Edie when she dumped the carcas
of Musubi on the garbage ****:
through the needle with the rich men we walked:
i said i was dreaming...
and i need to find Taiwan but not Thailand...
because the beast of the sea needs to meet
the beast of the earth
and fire was baron...
such a long poem i wrote to Edie
about vikings and the desperation of the Poles
for Danzig, which precursored London
as the global advent of intellect:
where Farhenheit was born and bothered
Celcius
that i am sure: Calvin never spoke to Luther
and then just the origins of originals:
the sin being a plagiarism...
realising when sleeping a full breadth of day
i am both
lactose and apple intolerant:
i **** thoroughly throughout ingesting both...
so i am PAGAN therefore i was born yesterday
and there are three monotheisms and a Buddha ****...
well... one of these supposed monotheisms
became complicated and became the polyglot
polytheism of the same person
a mirror hall... not something truly geometric
Islam emerged as counter to Judaism
a competitor and Christianity
a fools errand...
fool Christ no saviour...
without marriage then "they" conjured the possbility
in the French as there: was always a lineage
and inheritance tax...
to stop history
and revert to some Apollonian Atlantis...
but in this murk of Dionysian murk and
smiles-of-chaos...
             i see a nunnery
and where i received my first diaper...

i said the Vandals are coming: for the wind
of and the wing of metallic birds...
i leave that poem with you dear
Edie: like in that movie: Heat
Val Kilmer, Al Paccino and snot
freckle... i can't remember his name...
i see his face: i can't remember his name:
Alfredo... Alfonso...
Herald: Harrold: Harrah...
the godfather junior...
maybe his politics negates him
i'm not escaping London for Kauai and the golf...
i hate golf... i'm invested in trenches...
i need to caress my mind, somewhat...
the Taxi Driver:
i can't remember the actor's name!
weird!
who was not Al Paccino
you ******* scream at me!
i'll ******* scream back!
when you think!
i'll dream!
i'll eat...               oh right... Robert... DeNiro...
Da-Nero...
                    
    the electricity shut down
when i mentioned: the Quran was written
by Khadijjah... the elder wife of Muhammad:
i thought: or so i heard:
that Muhammad was illiterate...
not dyslexic jumble
but outright illiterate:
so who wrote the Quran if not
his older wife?

then my electricity allowance runned out...
oh... but i... marinated this argument
beside of the womb
of woman...
i came here to tame the womb of man:
that of nothing: and i am... here...
        
i was born yesterday
i am:
POGANIN...
and i'm scrutinising monotheism...
and i see
a Jewish Arab war
and i don't want to become
involved as a third party
secular
             monotheism...
          Arabs can do their Jews
and the Jews can do their Arabs:
i don't need you like the Mongols
don't need Hinduism... savvy?!
truly?! are, we, savvy?!

there was so much else i wrote:
about the Baltic Eye and seeing the futures
in the erruptng gauge of
sight bleeding a water
a tight...                      slither me a proper
pop spreschen...
i do i do
                 ach macht frei!