unlike some psychadelic advocacy
concerning chimps...

   how about "hunting"
for chanterelle or honigpilz
  and then pickling them?

no good?
     well... my idea of an evolved
chimp, or taking psychedelics...
wrapping a leather belt,
over your eyes...
    beckoning the absolute night...

that the simple,
silk, or cotton blindfold of
the Versailles court, simply can't,
replicate...
   no latex... no condoms...
leather belt,
   prior to a boxing glove
hiding the knuckles in
st. Andrew's X...
    but then... over the eyes...
leather...
    
and yet... people ingest
psychedelics...
  yet... do not feel inclined to
pay secular respect of:
NOT HAVING TO *******
WRITE ABOUT THEIR EXPERIENCE!

having read what was or wasn't
said?
         let them pass the needle...
i'm pirate ******* happy
with a bottle of *****...
             no... my psychedelic
experience?
    wrapping a leather belt on
my head and over my eyes...
   now...
oh my, oh my my my...
     i'm starting to see the lost
excess of colo(u)r!
          i'm seeing it!
   i must have been a Daltonist
all along!
              given:
how can you actually add...
to the given colours?
      
i've seen one sadist give an LSD
tab to a cat...
        
     i'd love to give such an example
of a "human"...
   the mad cow disease virus...
just to see him break-dance,
and find himself...
   with a few broken extensions,
should he survive...

my idea of psychedelic drugs?
a leather belt,
  strapped to my head,
heavily over my eyes...
     preventing me to blink...
given...
that i see the world in colour...
my absolute psychedelic
experiment?
                pitch-black,
and then...
         a return to: alice in wonderland
eyesight.

Psychedelic prison of the absent mind,
Gambling the sanity and reason
Of the unexpected rotting body,
Feed me up with gracious insanity
And close the doors of this vicious world.
Sniff that shinning white powder
That give you the strength to continue.
Erase the doubts of your existence
And feed your lies with broken promises.
Walk the line of misery
And smile at your end.
You know control, you know the hows
And you know you are closing me down.
I feel you’re weak and you’re driving me insane,
Forget the pain of your existence
And feed the dreams with lies untold.
Take away the shame, the regret
And go, go naked to the ultimate fight,
You no longer are, you know longer know
You lost yourself in the way.
Psychedelic prison of the absent mind
Shut up in your madness
You no longer control,
You lost yourself in the way…

the world sits on the wing of a dove
being swallowed whole by a fiery goddess
descended from heaven on a chariot of ivy
i am incarcerated by shaking flesh and itching cloth
the road before me is giant and knows no bounds
the graveyard is warm and wet with spirits and dew
and red clouds are born from fire in the dawn
there is an intelligent horse being ridden by a snarling insect
and this man has come to claim our souls
our sunset blood burns boils blisters until a million animals wounded
i'm still alive, transfigure me into a creator
choke up my nostrils with the scent of your ***
invade my lungs with the burn of your god
caress my toungue with the infinite promise
enter my brain from above, and regurgitate your anxiety on me
slimy worms devour a psychadelic tomato laughing
into transendency, an eyeless eel has dissappeared into a pocket
i speak from balconies, from terrible heights, from hastened windowsills
in a million desperate quarrelling cities
this is where i **** up illusion, i give up to despondency
i ring the great iron bell that resounds with corruption, with hatred, with hideous *** and admiration,
i scream and cavort on rooftops alone with a black & blue midnight
covered in electric lights and gunpowder tongues
here comes the disintegration of my mind
disgraced by the eye of the earth and spat into
a realm of salivating light
i am swimming through digested heartbreak and melancholy livers
sickened by madness and homemade bombs and ******
the rainclouds carry a truckload of babies' hearts
and it's raining eyes over the city now
the cry of the mind escapes from waving mouths in impotence
as millions of bacteria invade the brain
may these lines be answered by the bird of the sun
by the worm at my ear
by the sight of my skeleton
by the stench of ***** in the air
by the dead gong shivering through midnight
by the bleeding eye of abandoned dreams
by the prophets in proclamation
by the god of all my sorrows

Psychedelic prison of the absent mind,
Gambling the sanity and reason
Of the unexpected rotting body,
Feed me up with gracious insanity
And close the doors of this vicious world.
Sniff that shinning white powder
That give you the strength to continue.
Erase the doubts of your existence
And feed your lies with broken promises.
Walk the line of misery
And smile at your end.
You know control, you know the hows
And you know you are closing me down.
I feel you’re weak and you’re driving me insane,
Forget the pain of your existence
And feed the dreams with lies untold.
Take away the shame, the regret
And go, go naked to the ultimate fight,
You no longer are, you know longer know
You lost yourself in the way.
Psychedelic prison of the absent mind
Shut up in your madness
You no longer control,
You lost yourself in the way…

my head is a moon of many
in the strange orange
alien sunrise.

Euphoric visions
Frantic envisions
Body collisions
Heavy prescriptions
Enlightened by a muse that I was happily given
Unwarranted treasures on the paper was written
Psychadelic notions
Underminded by twitches
Glares of green lights flashing
In the artists’ painted trenches

Heavy prescriptions
Doses of living
Binded by ink from a tie-dye fitting
Zones flowing in and out
Lying down for the feeling
Eyes looking up
At the neon-colored ceiling
Ah, is this living
A euphoric disposition?
Defying immortality by a psychedelic existence
Back under...



To the trenches



And the heavy prescriptions

this is what music foraging on youtube used to look like, you'd find gems, 6 years old, approx. 10K views akin to Undogmatic & Kernfeld: thought experiments... you know... you travel outside of the anglosphere of said language, what is the opinion of a Greek or a Pole about Fb? not much... it's only the english-speaking "cool" kids that are making all the fuss... i mentioned minds.com to a Greek guy i was giving directions to, once, in Warsaw... he looked at me as if i was the first person to show him a ******* elephant... 5 blind men followed and we know the story from there... catering to the natives: who will never be or ever have been satisfied... they just need their: banta... their ****-storming, their gravitational pull toward bloodsports: rather than dialectics... nothing is ever to be done... who can shout the loudest... who can rock the boat the most... who can translate past playground grievances into a web of anonymity and avatars... as far as i am concerned... these social media firms, these u.s. firms have long gone stopped catering to primarily english speaking people... all these anglophone calls: Fb will fail like myspace failed... blah blah... these firms are tired of brats... elsewhere these spaces are utilities... they're not an extension of either thought or life... collateral damage of those first exposed... the Greek will still use the platform... the Pole will also... i too remember my childhood: hide & seek... digging holes in the ground and throwing marbles into them from a distance of five metres... creating chalk labyrinths on the pavement and flicking beer bottle caps filled with plastecine through them... and no... styxhexenhammer666 is not banned in Poland... i never wanted youtube to become what it has become: 72 virgins? give me a library of music for all of eternity and i'll be an 'appy chappy... i don't need some count dankula regurgitate a wikipedia entry about tarrare - oddly enough: i too can read... see... i blame both sides for ******* up my foraging tool... the "legacy" media and the indie vlog "creators": creative really reative, spewing regurgitation after regurgitation... i'd hate to be drafted into this vulture journalism of video making... at least when you pay a *******: you pay an honest wage... and she subsequently spends the honest wage on **** i wouldn't even buy... so the funds are given to the person who otherwise keeps the economy running... a woman... oh yes, i've been watching closely these indie "creators"... lucky for me i watched enough of them to round them up and say: this much... there's a big difference between a "creator" and a commentator... if i'd want to listen to an audiobook containing the current journalistic spew: anyway... half of these stories in the "news" are tabloid ******* that gave rise to 24h news reel and the vacuous space feeding the tapeworm of insomnia... since when did news outlets think they could produce an amphetamine alt.? clearly they did... i can't keep up, i won't keep up, to hell with going against these giants... youtube was never about these indie "creators"... music and music was always the prime concern for me... lucky for me remnants of the old a.i. still give me chances to glimpse records like CLANN - Seelie... these indie "creators" become just as tiresome as the legacy medie snippets... you want a more ******* version of CLANN's Seelie? try Salem: king knight (2010).

.just some after-thoughts, when a post scriptum becomes, a pre scriptum... you know... i sometimes think this lingua franca, that's english, ergo: lingua inglese is bombarded, London is the microcosm of the world dislodged from the realities of other natives... there's a grand congregation happening, of hosts, and even here, on the outskirts of London, where all it takes is a 30 minute walk to go pet a horse or a tender young bull, "randomly", in a field, spot a fox, or chase a herd of deer who "wandered" into the middle of an X junction creating a traffic debacle... but the language itself this, lingua inglese needs updating, notably from the "real" grammar nazis... i'm not just going to give up my new earned rights of literacy, for all the years of being kept in the dark like some ******* mushroom, just because, someone feels it is necessary to feel lazy, about establishing rigour, discipline in using this former tool of power, like i'm going to bend over some lazy peasant... no... dis-ci-pline... you need it, i might drink, but i'll still return to this language with great respect, for the per se worth of adherence to it... it already is a metaphysical person / "person" to me, at least i can offer that much, as much as is necessary... one question though, echo-chamber... it's enough for dyslexia, it's enough for emoji, it's enough for: l8er... it's enough for "gender neutral" pronouns... see... that language i was born with... that **** won't stick... certain languages have pronoun-"augmentation" associated with verbs... e.g.?
                                            mogłem (past-participle masculine
                       of i could have)
                        mogłam (past-participle feminine
                    of i could have)
this, inherent bias, within the confines of the english language, well, i didn't expect it to be so rife, until i witnessed it being exploited! now at least i can pander / side with the natives: funny - coming to a "madman" for sanity quotes, for rigour... well... because there's no fun without someone not having the ***** to counter the libertarian farcical tragico-comic current circumstance of: "pushing the boundaries"... like i said: a lingua ingelese echo-chamber... no belly-button status of the world for you... this viper of an idea, this sordid wasp of a "conundrum" will not spread elsewhere, i feel inclined to contain it, with english regulations of grammar... just like i learned this language to begin with: first the language, then the grammar... physics first, metaphysics later... first the experience of communication, then the theory of communicating... thank god that some languages have an unshakeable foundation, e.g. western slavic: where the pronoun is integrated into verbs with a gender discrimination structure...
  further examples?
                miałem (i had - masculine)
                                                     miałam (i had - feminine)...
so the problem is contained... in this, sometimes erring into sharpnel of, what could have been: a bullet of a tongue; or, i dare say, will hopefully preserve itself, to be it.

i guess.... wait... are stars supposed to that?
i just witnessed two,
transverse the night sky:
    in that, more than the already
perplexing circumstance of a straight line...
to the naked eye:
   they're not supposed to move in
a parabola fashion, are they?
    yes, last time i checked, this was never
going to be a metaphor for
the current state of european politics,
   to the naked eye:
    i would be unable to witness a comet,
and, on the odd occassion,
   the blitzkrieg accent on the sky
by a meteor falling...
            i never had the tools to measure
the difference between a falling
meteor appearing in the sky,
                      to a lightning strike -
time wise...
            after all: is a lightning strike
confined to the same category as light,
yeah: light from the sun?
   i guess this is were awe comes...
          once again: if i somehow manage
to come across the facts -
   i'll give my narrative of a temple's
worth of structure to the blinded,
enraged skin-headed Samson to pull at
the pillars...
                now, with regards to:
a black girl in a supermarket...
   well... i've done it,
    i can clearly state i have become
fully integrated into the multiculutral
experiment that's England,
   it didn't take that long,
               ******* contra being attracked
are two dfifferent ball games...
the language is here,
                 working just fine,
   some native prejudices are somewhat
here,
            i have a harder time
"not understanding" the quickened
paddy taljk, to me the scots sing,
and they managed to preserve
                                     the trill on the R...
so, as they would say in
    a clockwork orange type of fashion,
fully rehabilitated, ****, sorry, integrated...
i can find myself being attracked
                           to an ivory beauty...
side-effect?
    whenever i visit my grandparents,
whenever i pass through
   the urban landscape of Warsaw...
   i feel...
        an extreme nausea,
paranoia,
                 sifting through my in-born
mirror of homogeneity...
the whole process takes, oh,
                     i'd say, roughly 20 years...
brain-washing?
      or a want for a sense of belonging?
my only sense of belonging in
Poland is only related to the use
of language, culturally?
      hybrid at best,
                    or not even hybrid,
mongrel...
                sure, the impeding disaster
of putting a physical hybrid
           with a metaphysical hybrid...
i don't even know how i'll feel
when the ****** tongue dies with
the people i could associate to by speaking
it...
maybe i'll be lucky,
having the luxury of not one death,
but two, in my life.

p.s.
   stating the ****** obvious,
surds...
   lingua ingles(e)
              and not lingua inglesé...
how can i not be stating the obvious,
that's how practiςing
    literacy works, doesn't it?
who has ever heard
a guitar player not say:
    i'm not playing,
  i'm simply practiçing                ?
i guess the origins of the french
         cedilla come from
                                     the greek sigma,
i.e. if it's so smart,
how come a drunk, like me,
                         has to "unearth" it?
always, it's always about
the fiddly bits of language,
english is peppered with
      rules, that are not dogma of
pedagogy...
         of the pedagogic experience...
"somehow" surds appear,
i.e. "silent" letters...
   e.g. there's no (g)nome
         but there's diagnostics...
this, this lingua inglese...
this supposedly "universal" language
for a global community,
and then all the particulars
associated with the native idiosyncracy...
mind you...

     i woke up with a dream,
righ rarity event...
   i was sitting,
then i started walking,
i looked behind me,
a ****** church procession was
walking with banners
and crosses, dressed in black,
i turned my head,
and there was a bunch of
schoolchildren walking toward me,
i was eating a raw chilli...
a boy from the throng coming
at me was eating a raw pepper,
'hey mister'
and pointed at a piece of
a raw papper lying in the grass,
insinuating i lost it...
i replied:
                                          'chilli'...
er­m...
        who the hell would ever need
to amplify dreaming
with a psychadelic experience,
esp. if that person is usually
sleeping for 10+ hours per day
and is dream-starved?

Turn on the light
to reveal the challenger who is punching palm.
Fear is a four-lettered word.
Brevity is the strongest figure power formular.
Smoke all the sweat away.
Wear fearless like an earned medal.

**** in the cold air,
exhale all the anxiety
and calm all shudders.
One decision is all it requires,
focus on one desire,
one piece of action at a time.
Because you look wierd doesnt mean you're pathetic,
it isnt so bad to be psychadelic.

Drum rolls.
Near the end zone.
The dreadful dark watches and waits.
Focus intensely,
and stare hard immensely.

Self-doubt is the enemy inside.
You cant have enemies floating from side-to-side.
Tell yourself to make it happen.
There is no one you should rather be than you.

. i arrived from communism, and then came across the western stigmata of post-colonialism... i tried to think of something, then i began to, "forget" my tongue... migrant Pollacks: or at least the ones that i know... don't tend to congregate... but it broke the camel's back... a people moved, ingrained with a Germanic proverb that taught them both communism & arbeit macht frei... and the english just couldn't compete... i remember taking my grandmother to the hospital with my uncle: yeah, i know, having family relations is deemed ******, backward... and i met this one Pollack... worked a stint of five years in a recycling factory... guess how he made a living? he collected *** toys from the conveyor belt... washed them, packed them, and then resold them to the unsuspecting public "back home"... funny... me? i'm pretty conscious of my recycling... to recycle glass? i have to walk a decent worth of a kilometre... drop the bottles, remember my staple menu: whiskey, some pepsi... he called the anglos: over-sexed... me... slav... me vork... me do nut-in else... be good, yes? then something like ****** blut song comes out, and i start to feel... perfectly normal... too bad that my grandfather was a communist party member, indoctrinated to even involuntarily cry died... i've met one Greek at university who made it adamant that Istambul was to be called Constantinople... like i dated a Russian girl, a monarchist... who said: the evil that happened at the gates of Hermitage... and i'm supposed to congest, all of this, like a 5 year old's worth of a sponge for a mind? hmm... interesting! i'll do my best... so why is england filled with so many accents? psst... it has no diacritical markers... not clear syllables... the french did one better... they did a bigger ****-up of their language for a sense / purpose of syllable clarity, but they used diacritical marks... or at least... applied them, for no other reasons other than a pedantic aesthetic... buffer-zone extraordinaire... the pollack... in England "we" were the ethnic group that caused Brexit... oh... i know so... hard to compete with a people who were first subjected to the maxim arbeit macht frei and subsequently the communist project to put brick on brick and let Warsaw stand, re-erected... frankly? i go back to Poland, having to experienced my parent's self-imposed exile... and i feel... nausea... back in England i much succumbed to my isolation... a society like a prison... i just... kept... forgetting to succumb to clinging to a "mein besitz(en)"... so i left satellite status extension of the Soviet experiment, and i, come, zu dieses?! i forgot to cling to roots... i forgot there was a community of similis hund... i learned the language, perfecting it to the point, where, i awoke a desire to strangle myths into submitting, by licking the wounds of the deutsche zünge in the mass graves at Ypres... i've become a namesake akin to konrad I of masovia... or a sacrificial lamb... readied to experience both the land, the culture and the language of a post-colonial people, namely the English... and to, return, to die land und die volk... shrouded in anonymous robes... the integral part of the hive... and then shoved back into English society, citing my observations of the limitless curiosity of the paradox between the universal... and no longer the particular, but the individual... under psychiatric scrutiny... should anything normative allow me to settle with the rest of the people consumed by and involved in the stated times, the tide.


               to find air bubbles
in the general crust
of staring at
a blank piece of
                            "paper"
or as i like to call it:
peering into
           an eye of Belzeebub...
pixel fabric...
        listening to some
of the concerns of the natives...
awful east...
          when the Hebrews left
Egypt they didn't conquer
by simply subjecting
the bodies of the conquered...
the minds
and their high-esteem "geometric"
variants, pillars,
of the gods...
           came along with them...
thank you, dear ***...
for peering into phoneticism
of your sacred word...
the one word that i will not
utter, before i will utter
a racial slur...
      for no apparent reason,
me: not involved
in what could give me relief...
   bound to...
    believe me...
every time i go back
to "inspect" the homogenous
society
of Poland...
       i sense a bidding
to return to
             my beloved England,
reason?
   sure... the atomised man...
but the same man already
atomised out of a coherent
existence
and what could have been
his basic principles
for the motiff of freedom,
and will...
             de facto:
                            isolation
from a presupposed belief
in a superiority in not
congregating
    with my "kin"...
         in England...
adequately...
the pollacks hide...
            rat-like...
              i know i do...
but every time i make
a public stunt a congregation
of weirdos convulse
me to speak...
                   how else would
you mingle the music
of tasmin archer
   and... something akin
to wumpscut?
       you know...
once upon a time...
psychiatrists were called
alienists...
               in England...
bilingualism can be deemed
schizophrenic...
        i don't mind the mind-numbing
drugs to give me the:
nod nod, nod nod...
          i can find myself
content the next morning
having punched myself
   to sleep the previous night...
oh... slight plum brush-stroke
just beneath my eye...
   outrage of emotion...
   **** me...
   i tend to appreciate feeling
something, and keeping my mouth
shut about it...
         sedition...

pauper i...
                    a feeling of gravity
bound to a melancholic complex
of a claustrophobic heart...
a constriction...
        and pang...

             just like:
i'd love to appreciate the dream
medium: within the safety
confines of the unconscious
to counter having to think about
taking a psychadelic...        
to alleviate myself
from measures surrounding:
"the quick fix"...

              or as due to the now...
writing for a purpose
of toying with per se...
        for a completion
of uninhibition
            from the constraints
of language
     by those who...
               could not pass
through this sly narrative ploy
of concentrating
on the a priori ad priori ex nihil...

i'm a mongrel of a contained
animation...
   thank god that death is an
excuisite
       subjective experience
waiting for me...
   and nothing but the dry
objective fact
         of...
                       the trodden body,
the vague sense of reality
within the confines
of stating the animated body...

diatribe... sure...
if poetry was to be a burden
on the cohesion of
grey everyday language,
i would have
begun with a

dear sir / madam

...........................
...........................
..­....................................
............................­.........
...................................

and ended with

   yours sincerely,
                              then it would
have made sense...
      i do know how to
make the tongue formal,
  but, for the matter at hand...
******* Kandinsky et al.

of said god, can't i complicate language to the point where it can even remotely contrast with some science? i just want to explain an antithesis of language having the cursor, torjan horse character of being useful... for one thing only: some exploit. can't language become as complex as the person, that language can only become complex with a person throwing themselves into some activity, and subsequently abstracting language, for the basis of per se? i can't use language to define the need for the concept of debt... or... money... mythical beasts akin to the Minotaur? sure, they pass my gaze almost everyday... could it ever not be a case of one instance, that applies complexity to language per se, rather than as language with complete utilisation in a nieche subject area? surely if there was no language per se mechanisation of someone thinking about it, there would also be no dyslexia... language as a per se complexity doesn't require specific areas of interest to "complicate" it further: hands already do what hands are capable of... rarely do tongues turn into egos that later hands are capable of when practising table manners; or for that matter... seeking audience in a parliament; can't language be complex for the basis of per se? evidently some of us would like for language to have this element when it is concerned... couldn't the language's per se then be nothing less than a cursor, or a motivational factor, to upkeep it, to invoke a survival instinct, to continue using it? indeed, philosophers speak of the term per se, or clarifying it with the noumenon.... the same is true for poets, and metaphor; you put something in it, something else comes out, notably counter to your original expectation.

i once brought a hedgehog home
and showed it to my cat,
like when i built a theme park for a mouse
i was chasing for my girlfriend to
see, dangling it by the tail once caught,
to later see the mouse commit suicide,
running off the stairs in an Edinburgh tenement...
in a bedroom, a whole theme park
of worth sketch, the dire death of thrill
seekers, subsequently happened (as that i am,
quick to tango to the song Beorn);

   call it: language as not intended to give
instructions... not adept to caste concepts...
        language as something appropriating
experimenting with lysergic acid...
     i never cared to write my knot of language
as if it might make someone else
        use their limbs... put up a table...
last time i checked, language wasn't about
being oppressive...

i once owned a jaculus jaculus...
   this ugly ******* told me that if i dropped
it from a height it would survive...
i dropped it, and the joke subsequently went:
the parachute didn't open...
    the trauma seems to have bloomed...
right about not people can stop talking
or have anything meaningful to say to me...
it's not that i'm pretending to be deaf,
i'm just deaf concerning what they have to say...
just so happens: if the devil isn't listening
then there's no need for a god either.

these moments! these moments are real!
they're the only things that matter...
and when they shout
allahu akbar, is saddens me,
because i swear i just learnt
the *shahada of la ilaha il allah...
only by heart's command,
and do, what only the heart cares to will...
for then you will something
meaningful, and so much less ordinary...
or just allow a Turk to speak...
and a Mamluk to listen...
we have to borrow from history,
to actually address it, keep it, face up to it...
existentialist philosophers are thieves,
Judases...
          we need no "    " zoo to teach us
the second lesson of acquring words
and having no mathematic clarity,
   so it's all left on the care for flimsy...
and only a turk, can say the word
shaitan to then see me weep...
it just so happens, that you can write
something and cry over it...
         and the people, and the world,
and all that heidegger *******,
simply becomes: a hush....
         it just dies off, it a symphony with
a deaf person "peering" into it,
instead the sound of a violin,
all he gets is wet ****... and sloppy ****
for seconds...
or a blind man asking for glasses when
reading homer...
                i'd love to pity them,
but our culture has too much concern
for stating a delay in sympathy,
and too little, immediate empathy...
   i don't cry because i'm unhappy,
i cry because of the memories i have,
and that's what's sad... well... "sad"...
i listen to a kultur shock akin to
zumbul, shaitan and sarajevo,
and i weep...
              the myth goes,
had the devil a limb to stretch out,
the forbidden fruit of eden would
have been his heart:
you give people an apple, they come back
with cider... so what's new?
oh man, and in need of a fathered stock...
boundless in your neglect,
   perpetuating your fore
    by ascribing so much onto abandon
and: isn't oliver twist just as much a myth
as god?
            what, then, mana?
some deeply desired energy that eventually
alienates you from others?
           if language can be anything,
it can at least leave you reading something
that has no need to instruct...
                 back in the 1960s they took too many
drugs and wrote too much about them...
now that psychadelic drug experiments
having a running narrative, what's the point,
of even taking them? i'm part of the dodo project,
and i wish those hippies didn't write so much
about their experiences....
  it sorta makes me not want to have the experiences,
how they defiled the original premise,
hiow god (words), shouldn't be grounded in these
trans- experiences...
               oh ****, have then, take those cactus extracts...
but please don't write about them!
that's precisely me, reinventing drunk...
   watching billions with only one eye
open... because if i look at the t.v. with
two eyes i'm dazed, swimming under water,
who the **** turned on this carousel?!
    i so wish they had their beat generation moments
and didn't exploit to have to write about
psychedelic drungs...
    i'd like to have taken them...
             now i can't...
  i'll be paranoid when i'm unable to write a poem
about the experience... back to drunk me...
turning panicky watching a television with
only one eye open to stop the imitation "dizzy";
might as well be a fish in water...
     mate, what a bother...
      i rarely experience being drunk...
           but when i do i know that impromptu cyclops
allows you to concentrate on a t.v.,
and nothing is really spinning.

rarely do you get a chance to remember such a trivial
affair, as a football match,
call it telepathy or whatever,
   but when poland was playing against israel,
in warsaw, and the israeli anthem came on first,
and there was the initial booing...
   which subsequently hushed down?
         sure as **** casimir III wasn't available...
my only critique of the english?
they don't really understand jews...
          from under the iron curtain:
to under the silicon curtain...
   the left of the west is not the left associated
with the eastern block:
it's unrecognißable...
       far from it... it's unworkable...
                     where is the grey suited soviet
special committee including the KGB?
nowhere!
    but the boos faded away rather quickly...
i liked that...
                    after all, most of the israelis
these days look like the sort of
     mediterranean folk you find in greece,
lebanon, sicily, libya...
   they don't look your stereotypical
hebrew orthodox jews of eastern europe...
they have finally become reunited with
their natural tan...
                                 2000 years will do that
to you, integrating, diluting the blood,
up north... yo! hibbie, you're as pale as a ghost!
better get a tan on that tapestry of skin!
- but the english don't really understand jews...
it's not like they were hiding in Poland
all this time, but they were,
they tried the Netherlands, Spinoza:
disgraced... they tried England: i'm pretty sure
they were ejected: once upon a time...
but let's not read into a historical rubric
of events... yes, the norsemen discovered
h'america long before christoph coal'umb'bus
did...
       what's there to wrestle with?
well... my jewish neighbour came into my house
today, neurotic (like any heb- / ***)
about her cat: bella...
      a white spider-cat:
    how this cat managed to end up on the roof
with the chimneys, i will never know,
white like snow, heterochromic...
         genetics has sentenced her to a "premature"
death, along with the pedigrees...
because she is white-fur...
                  anyway...
   she asked me: are you still into
the jewish ****? i shaved my head not not
so long ago, she comes in and says:
you're like my son joseph,
you're alike, both of you don't trust barbers...
you look like someone out of auschwitz:
although better fed...
             it's nice to share a joke with a heb- / ***...
she told me to not read the talmud...
i said: but i'm not a "convert"...
i would never read a script of the religously abiding...
i might be a lunatic to some extent,
but not the sort of lunatic to the extent
of gesticulating to blanks...
  so i said: yes, the qabbalah,
the mysticism of judaism is hasn't waned...
i still read it...
     and i do...
        the one book i have on qabbalah was
lived past its u.b.d. (use by date)...
it just keeps giving...
            it's the only source of knowledge
i've truly taken seriously... and i will slander,
**** ***** **** all i want...
but... i have one rule...
   i will not utter the tetragrammaton...
i figured... well: there's sauron...
           there's voldemort...
                        do not invoke the name
of the lord in vain...
                  well... there's your answer...

i could never buy into the christian
poetic variant of cannibalism,
      isn't it cannibalism?
           at a catholic high school,
   when everyone was being reared into
the catholic bureucracy of the rite of confirmation,
i refused when i started reading the gnostic:
to hell with a church wedding...

   mind you, the hebrews already have a trinity
in place, unlike the christian pagan profanity
of a body hanging on the cross,
very much akin to the norse god Loki
sitting in a tree...
    'thou shall not bow before any graven image'
well...
  the hebrews have two very specific nouns
for the all encompassing noun:
which i will not say, ever:

   ha-shem (the name)

                                              tetragrammat­on
                                (the four lettered word)

               interject the latin grapheme Æ,
the union of Adam and Eve if you mind
to know the way of wisdom,
  wisdom? yah... in the sefirot alt. named
chokhmah...

mind you, i only spotted this today,
you know how hebrews treat their vowels
akin to niqab beings...
they "hide" them?
       oh they hide them, very much akin
to diacritical markers,
but unlike a ż-aba (frog, in slavic -
               der überpunkt)
or tematyką (thematic of) -
         slightly different...
             slightly different hiding
vowel or consonant distinctions,
from... hiding the vowels in totem...
    imagine my "bewilderment" when
the greco-prefix rule was applied,
hovering over the hebrew letters א (αλεθ /
                        αλεφ... ****... no F / ᚠ
in either language... just the grapheme
          ᚦ.... but unlike a classical grapheme...
not a siamese akin to æ...
   very much akin to modern western
slavic... in ******: sz [š], cz [č], rz [ż])...
      and              ע (ayin) and no iota in hebrew
either...  with     צ (tsade) resembling
                      ψ (psi)...
                                 about the etomology of slav,
as someone pointed out:
that slavs denotes the etymological root:
slave, that slavs were slaves in medieval europe...
oh, you mean the balkan slavs?
the ones who experienced ancient rome?
rome never made it to Poland,
to Pomeranian Germany... vikings founded
Kiev...
               the ****-****** vikings of
such beauty as would require another
nose stereotype drifting away from the jewish /
roman nose... but hey... that's life...

see, i like these hebrai complications...
every time i pick up a book on qabbalah
i'm in kamikaze mode... i can spew all day...
i'm most interested in their treatment
of the vowels...
  did you know that the hebrai
  have sometimes two nouns associated
with a vowel?
        look at me, latin inherent,
syllable mendeleev castrato...
i don't have a name for any letter in latin!
ah... A... b': B... c': C... d': D...
               p'p'p'p: ***... that's really taking a ****...
once advantage?
             a good chance of a global
success of a fireside kumbaya...
        big deal... half-baked sing-alongs
is one thing: a world of ideas, another...
if i operate within a framework,
where no letter, has a name...
akin to the greek: A is for alpha...
                        B is for beta etc.,
   then what the **** are we talking about?

at least this:
                  i've just learned that my female cat
is sensitive to the sight of human genitals...
she's sitting on a windowsill one minute,
jumps off it the next...
         when she sees my genitals urinating
into the toilet...         hell...
                      now i have to cover my phallus
******* into the wishing well
            with one holding the aim "button" and
the other blocking her view of it... ugh...

watching the t.v. of making polish dumplings,
garnished with olive oil having fried
unsmoked bacon and onion to a crisp?
well... unless it's a show about my year of
birth, 1986, chernobyl, probably the latter...
life's too easy these days...
                  it makes no sense with women:
lounging...
                    back in the days with
no washing mashines, refrigerators,
             irons, food processors,
  ready-made-meals,
               etc. etc., vegetating,
                      when women were as important
at home, as men were important in the world...
lounging, vegetating, lounging,
vegetating,
   there's hardly a solance in a comfort,
when it has become nothing more than
a complacency... an irritation...

           oh but i will still listen to crusader
hymns, french, german and esp.
in latin...
         even while i celebrate hebrai mysticism...
i'm not exactly going to conscript myself
to a dervish spin-in-the-middle
and pretend no one notices me ****-load
of attention...
   i'd conquer the ottoman capital
on a whim of taking a **** in the middle
of ot!

          the slavs that were considered slaves
in the medieval period? i'm guessing
these germanic hard-ons are referring
to the balkan slavs..

    beside the point...
did i mention that the hebrai
     (i'm not owen benjamin -
what a nice jewish surname,
small hats? what about the christian
monk tonsure pseudo-imitation?)
      second name for their pentagram?

                              A - kametz

E - tzeré                                                I - chirek




            O - cholem                   U - shurek

Al-ef (a)
            b-Et (e)
                 gI-mel (i)
                 yO-d (o)
                             n-Un (u)

the hebrai do not follow the prefix rules
of the greeks...
     did the hebrai conspire with the greeks
to overthrow the romans?
yep...
      i'm not discussing this, i never will...
it's like gravity to me...
the greeks would never forgive the romans
invading them...
    like at edinburgh university,
i met one greek...
     Istambul was still Constantinople
to him... enough said...

but there are other names to the vowels
already stated... when the tetragrammaton
interacts / enters the sefirot...
the "other" ten commandments...

          when the tetragrammaton
assocites itself with the crown (keter)...
     A remains kametz...
but... when the tetragrammaton
associates itself with chokhmah (wisdom) /
yah... what was once kametz,
becomes: patach...

         when the tetragrammaton
associates itself with understanding (binah)...
           E remains tzeré...
but... when the tetragrammaton
associates itself with love (chesed) / el...
what was once tzeré,
   becomes: segol...
  
         when the tetragrammaton
associates itself with foundation (yesod)...
           U remains shurek...
but... when the tetragrammaton
associates itself with splendour (hod) /
                     elohim tzevaot...
what was once shurek,
                      becomes: kibbutz...

what are the remaining vowels?
            chirek (i) within netzach (vistory),
cholem (o) within tiferet (beauty)...
        the tetragrammaton itself...
  or... look to the heavnely orbs...
    and yet they keep on spinning and orbiting
their settled commands...

   but...
        but...
             a sixth vowel can be excavated from
the hebrai...
                  from the sefirot branch: gevurah,
strength, the vowel that resembles
what the two consonant-vowels (א aleph
and ע yin) already looked like to me...
     the consonant-vowel י (yod), ',
         otherwise known as sheva.

   so there is a 6th vowel in hebrai...
as there are two vowels posing as consonants!

again, at this point, me converting to
islam is... ha ha!
never mind, every time i talked to a muslim,
in public, as stranger to stranger...
the feeling of: conversation...
soon turned to a feeling of conversion...
so...
          i came to the hebrews of my own
accord...
      am i a monotheist?
   i shouldn't think so, since i'm not circumcised...
i like the idea of *******,
allows me to ******* once a day
without feeling guilty of needing
to light up scented candles in a comfortable chair...

of sure, when circumcised: it's probably
disgusting even imagining a man *******...
but... m'ah ******* still attached?
what's wrong with a ******* a web-cam
making a buck and me joining in?
that's the only decent ******* these days
to begin with...
   that's like: counter the ******...
either that, or fine art.

   oh i still "think" the other gods exist,
but i'm pretty ******* sure they're not as
invested in linguistics at the hebrai god...
     i still call the tetragrammaton
the vowel-catcher...
                 and if this hebrai god is, "jealous"...
it's trolling...
    since all the other gods relieve themselves
with such primitive demands
as to make people carve graven images
of themselves...
the hebrai god simply said:
   write me something tangible,
and interesting!
   even the monotheistic god allah
has a ******* for mantras and repetition...
worhsipping him must eventually feel
like sitting in a high school detention after hours.
sorry...
   i'm siding with the hebs- / yids...
           well it's not like the ******* saudis are
about to side with the palestinians...
are they?!

___
and how many shadows, do you think
you'll be able to conjure,
in the night-time
      while passing the outer-urban
environment of lighting?

     i passed from conjuring just the one,
then two: one in front,
one to my side...

               then came three...
one in front,
         one to the side,
                                and one behind me...

but the crescendo of the congregation
came when i turned into an alley...
six shadows...

             note...
     are hallucinations not of the same
substance, as shadows?
      well...
             given that...
i've never taken psychadelic drugs...
but fooled by
the english strand of marijuana:
skunk...
         the chemically infused ****...

i have a vague recollection
   of a guy who smoked this stuff...
story goes...
              he chopped off his
testicles, then killed his mother...
   the father filed a petition
to parliament, more like:
              speaking braille to a deaf
person...
               could have done
more with morse code...
                     but i even doubt that...

conundrum,
        one candle in tow,
             but there were 6 shadows
in an outer-urban environment...
     which one will i be talking to then?

could there possibly be more?
7 is a nice number...
              and also a nice letter: Γ
                                                    α   a
                                                    μ  m
      ­                                              μ  m
              ­                                      α   a
and the epitome of having
arrived at...
              beyond prayer,
  beyond soliloquy,
         beyond talking to one's shadow...
a moment, beyond a soothing
                                epiphany,
and esp. beyond an eureka...
             more... akin to...
   an informal existential epitome...
    or an                       草
               /              sō
       beside the religiosity
of ******* up,
     and the atheistic outright
slandering...

forget doing the 5th tier of bowing
like a muslim in prayer...
because of "what i want"...
or whatever crap that involves...
it still bewilders me...
   why would you need something
akin to the great wall of china,
when the phonetic encoding
                    is already a bastille?

        well... if "god" is associated
with delusion...
               what's the difference
between a delusion and a belief?
delusions don't possess convictions
of that translate themselves
into a fathomable will...
          delusions are...
                    a plethora of doubt(s)...
      imagine that...
grew up in an english society
with so many, many secular sensibilities...

and yet... all these problems...
   i'm going to the next sand-pit
with my bucket and *****...
      after all...
    Kant wasn't an atheist...
all the classical (anything outside
of the 20th is classical)
  philosopher had a grain
of sensibility concerning this:
  faux pas topic.

laying in  your girl friend in a grassy feild with a cool summer breez under the night sky.
we found the perect moment to let our mind fly away when we go high the full moon looks like a psychadelic swirl misting in my eyes with just illusions that ***** my mind up but getting high under the full moon. just that theres no fear to bee seen or pain to feel just throwing the reality of life ******* that follows us home at the end of the day

.get to a million get to a million...
it's no dickens or a shakepeare... but...
get to a million get to a million...
it's not your everyday tabloid column...
but... get to a million get to a million...

all words outside of the italics...
said... really... real... slowly...
         Eeyore: sore...
                           i like how...
sodden sad i am with... a spike
milligan rendition of...
by the barrel of the rhyme -
this nonsense has to... be gloated...
float... 'ted...
             ballloons and buzzing... etc.

and those italics?
   gerbil on asteroids... and on steroids...
and... on amphetamines...
basics: on a cocktail...
   nibbling ferociously...
so ferociously that...
                      the tongue disappears...

i already have a: tomorrow will be...
"good"...
i don't like being pandered...
and this is that story of
a princess sleeping on twenty matresses...
agitated by an uncooked pea...

needle in the haystack for me...
this most perfect day...

   i'm using this old post-soviet
piece of equipment and...
it works brand new...
none of the samsung cheap ***** made
in china...
if i'll have my may...
and the garden needs no imporvement:
a new shed... blah...
it already looks like a building site...
i managed to tranfer a tonne of
birdseye pebbles from
the service road into the garden...

imagine the fate... of those...
sentenced to: kamieniołomy...
a quarry... i'm not exactly deluding myself
in the act already deluding me...
a hammer... perfecting what was
a farmers' suntan just below the elbows...
so i rolled my sleeves up...
for compensation...

   imagine sentencing a man to work
among stones... friko! gratis!
for... the "blessing"...
       but if i take the walk...
this, walk... i'm keeping up appearances
up to a point... then the masquerade is over...
nothing to hear but ***** horses...
magpies... woodland pigeons and crows...
nothing of assorted competing
propaganda placentas...
no cushions: no bed: count sheep...
that, tiresome, task?
how about making out: complex
"geometry" from clouds...
see castles? see swans?
see devils charging into battle
having donned the men-yoroi?!

the past... and so much for the romance...
the vikings should be known as:
the warlike gypsies... ******* pikeys and all!
sword for a harmonica...
a longboat for a... heap of castanets...
and... that... accordion? no?
the new... "napels"?
the violin... the new sax...
new: yo! ollie!
    *******...
  
         - i said i'd ******* walk it!
i did it once come sunset...
i said... i did it once in reverse: got lost:
feet became muddied...
i returned...

             this is where we'd part...
i'd ******* from the B175...
parallel to the orange tree pub...
next to the bower house...
   when walking? no point taking
the B175 up to A113... no... seriously...
there isn't...

into the havering country park...
how many times...
did i walk this "short" and "narrow"...
letting off the body known
that the breath is bound
to a duality of soul...
and "more lungs to uncover...
major major"...

       exercise: gym: pristine **** film
perfect... swimming is fun...
riding a bicycle is fun...
the rest remains a vanity project...

         i might as well be hoarding...
so from having made an exit via
B175... i end up coming back into
contact with traffic... at...
via hainnault forest of course...
at... A1112...
          
when it was especially crisp...
and winter was the *****...
watching the widow and widower swans...
at moonlight...
that's the only:
that's the best time to appreciate swans...
come a fullmoon... come the trickling
of mercury into the details of:
ghostly white: for the worth of swans...
and none other...

  and if i meet a Wordsworth on the way?
i'll strangle him with a shoelace...
hell... i'll hang him by one...
tell 'im to sniff a boot on the way out...
and a soggy sock: for practice...

from what i read:
so much for the countryside while at the same
time having... to entertain...
the garden prior to the fall:
a ****-buddy of a sister...
the foreboding mid-west...
televangelists and a-o.k. ******:
   like that physicist... who said:
brother and sister have a get together:
as long as: rubbers included...

caricature on the simpsons...
google-whacking won't even allow me
search results...
then again: sloppy seconds...
    'ere we go: lawrence krauss...
simpsons guy...
  
robinson crusoe ahoy! quick!
sink... this... ******* ship!
let's me it look like a melodrama
for environ... mentalists...
let's make it look like a beached
whale... rather than a ghost wreck
holding lost secrets of lineage:
among the arabs? muhammad ibin...
         ibin...
among the jews? yeshua ben...
   ben... blah: ibin! blah ben!

- so so much for solo...
  solo violin, solo piano...
solo... rubbing chicken with carribean
**** sauce... slaughtering a lamb,
kosher, also solo...
    ham solo... solo: project undertaken
with concern for...
no concerns except for: solo...
soloist... soliloquy... solipsism...
bored mushroom head: kanughonzagi
shimoto hiroshimmyshimmy oops...
bulldozer... machine 'ed on... 'ed off...
a party twick: don't look so surprised...

that's: "not me in your third person"
gemoetry...
well... within the trinity, secular...
of the son, ego, the father, superego...
and the holy spirit of id...
jerking off is on the same platitude
of performing *******...
in verse of reverse: eating an oyster
or a floral "pattern"...

here's to not having to find strangers:
notsably pakistani men willing
to convert...
thank be for the jews: at least they can't
convert you: ****** in them the concept
of being chosen...
like this mirage of static...
perhaps the wind does disturb this
equilibrium... then again... does it?

upon the altar of the sky before me...
a curious "star"...
that it isn't...
it has to be a planet...
i'm guessing that it's either
Venus or Jupiter...
and if my naked eyes were able to
decipher the experience...
from what the postcard of
Saturn looks like: truly:
flesh, blood and eyesight to
compensate:
why do almost all alien lifeforms concern
me with microscopic items?
i had to wrestle a mammoth
i had to overcome a tiger...
i didn't exactly find myself:
finding *****...
champagne and l.s.d. but not
mushrooms...
the fungus hitchhiker of 1960s
psychadelic intelligenstia...

i need to only die this once...
there is no god: there is no god...
"god"...
this is a house... that requires
a breath to deem it: an abode...
a home is a foreign concept in the mouth
of a mongolian horde...
crimea if a capital...

      a tartare steak... a raw herring
in yogurt sauce with apples and gherkins...
a spice for the palette...
if tomorrow is supposedly a day...
i will sacrifice a dream: all dreams!
for a day like i plan for tomorrow...
to come into contact with reality...

no love is ideal... even that of a madman...
or a gisberg... homosexual latex gimp
plaything... savvy?!
two to a rucksack
of the tow of beers i need to give birth
to a quasimodo...

"broken": to have broke - sober -
then drunk... the barking of a drop load
of ******* of an alsatian...

   we so tire... we all must tire so...
such: we! sire: i! oh... but i'm not bargained
to don a crown!
pontius pilate... the escapade
of the thief... of the coward...
or the status quo tactician...

by now... does it... would it...
even... even ******... *******... matter
to parade in all that pomp and desires
for a spontaneity of... ahem...
"spontenity"?!

better worded: i agree: genius to genius...
one would never curse...
etiquette! my boor and bore...
one must be well fashioned
to stage the pirouette of "proper"
knife and fork handling...
as... the napkin is to supposed to be bound
to never find any better use!

the air i want to breathe...
              is it... really...
the complications of chemistry...
curb... no new: every old...
           one always has to find it necessary
to fall in love with paris...
and grow perptually boring
within the confines of london;
apparently all else... vivo per se...
is supposed to "happen" & "here"!

.i haven't been here in a long time, a long long time, perhaps as far back as seven years... but i just started to remember: to hunger... this is my mecca, this is my vatican... and there's no such place as such, no Nashville, no Deep South for me, since the "problem" of da- (there) is not really a problem... i have lodged this place in my head and heart and bowels so far down that it cannot exist outside of me in the physical world... i guess i'm about to revise a spell in this place for a few days or so... mind you: no one is licking anyone's feet or washing them for that matter, to pay undue compliments, to **** up: i hate rap... blah blah this, blah blah that... there's nothing cool about, too much urban squalor... and what did ever spawn if not a bleached-hair mouth-off? beside not having the hands: i'd do what eric clapton would have done... gravitate to the blues... and nothing sooths like some whiskey gingi and the blues... cliché or no cliché... but all the hippies have their music and their drugs, the stoners have their stoner rock, the rastas have their reggae... i have my blues and whiskey... my heart can finally rest for a day or two... in something the whiskey will translate for the elevated purpose of: liberation... it took me seven years to come by these parts... and at the most glorious time... tomorrow i'll become a gardener, maw the grass, cut up a dying grapevine: two years running i made over 10 bottles of the finest of wines... poor ****** died... no one knows how... no more wine making for me come october... with regards to day? it's so relaxing to water the plants... i can't so i won't name them... then playing the shepherd to a busy-body choir boy of a maine ****... shooting water at him to run on home... sultry english july evening... what else if not some blues and some whiskey?

you can see just as much
"becoming" cross-eyed:
i.e.,
straining your eyes to peer
into the vision...
a microcosm of suns,
engulfed
by a layer of ice...
as those those who took
the fungus parasite
route of allowing their
minds to become substitute,
a reaping,
of the minds that sow,
i, scythe in tow,
came to collect
the brimstone harvest...
but... take it from me...
you drink as much as i have...
entertaining cross-eyed
vision?
is just as much
as ingesting psychadelic drugs...
esp. when drinking for
a prolonged period of time,
extending into the night...
as much as i know,
i'm pretty sure
Odin cannot perform
the trans-psychedelic
aspect of vision...
           no Odin can
perform the cross-eyed statement,
no one-eyed creature can...
but i can...
         it's almost like jumping
into the lake
      and opening your eyes
to the world beneath
the sheen of the still mirror...
i've just transcended
the whole psychadelic drugs
tripping base
for group inclusion
politics...
i sat, perched on a windowsill
like a crow,
and...
cross-eyed...
i saw all of this in
an avaliable microcosm,
readied,
for the plunder
by a ready mind...
        perhaps no thought
is an axe...
but it is, for now.

I went to war last night;
Psychadelic relics proved that I was pathetic
I come with peace today;
Without a doubt, broke out, going free on my new route

batman* doesn't like music...
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha...
sorry, but the whistling bits in
the song pumped up kids by
foster the people...
               it's just too infectious...
you gonna talk hoarse
  or are you going to play
                  the ******* banjo?
you really should stop smoking:
ah ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha.
please, tell me, can you
have a similar conversation
with a superman or a spiderman?
no... batman is a "superhero",
without any super-powers...
       just enough assets to become
a richy rich vigilante...
      and the ****** hates music...
   be prefers the sound of a lamborghini
drill of an engine...
    he has a premature *******
when hearing that ****...
               and he hates pin-stripe suits
to suggest he's a gangster italian...
    he is, after all, a borrowed version
of roger moore's bond...
                  i'm really going to take the ****
as much as i care with this... freak...
              the only superpower is that
he overcame his orphan status...
                   that's his superpower...
   overcoming being an orphan is a superpower
compared to the psychadelic ones
in comics...
                still... the music bit...
   i couldn't stop laughing when
                              i conjured it in my head...
batman doesn't like music!
there always seem to be an antidote
to a disease.

.                  lindsay
                                                   shepherd...
     talking...

                                              do i even
need to watch
                       ****?

  sure...
i had one of those,
weird,
"love at first"
sight moments...

with a sister,
of a girl i was
"*******"
(trying to lose my
virginity to...
as it happens...
*******
is useful;
nope...
it ended up being
a girl from Grenoble,
and not,
that *******
   from Ukraine)...

   but never actually
know why...
   no... wait...
there's a tim burton
movie soundtrack?

see... that's why i never
managed to fuse myself
to liking,
either punk,
or rap...
   translating movie
soundtracks,
froming classical music...
somehow...
   i needed to feed
off the eerie...
snow...
   night...
tombstones...
   the cemetery...
ever clear your mind...
peering at a cemetery
when all saint's day
is taking place,
in poland,
and... it's not exactly
what halloween
is in the west, is it?

a crescendo of...
tear burning bright
as amber...
how i'd sometimes
walk into a forest,
sometimes the cemetery...
and then...
one night of the year...
i'd be excused
from wandering...
into...
what became...
an equivalent of
the Chelsea flower show...

the cemetery would
"magically" light up!
scary...
  seeing one's own shadow
in a cemetery...
but... adrift...
with no epitaph ascribed...

but there is that one
night in the year...
when the day of all saints
is celebrated,
in the more...
  "refined"...
catholic confined
countries...
   akin to poland...

    the most serene sessions
of treating my insomnia,
were bound
to falling asleep in
my grandparent's house...
which teases the presence
of mingling
with a cemetery...

to sleep...
  it's not so much
a concern to dream...
but to walk,
among the grey matter
of the throng
    of the dead...

and, all it takes is...
is to clech my teeth
and stutter
in finding a skull,
but no jaw...

           like the current
crescendo...
  it made sense when
the x-men movies
came out...
                   now?
eh...
          last time i heard,
when comics became
serious...
  intellectual pillars...
it was...

  either a danny elfman
soundtrack...
   or...
   m. night shyamalan's:

non-replica movie...

and this is where a
          the end happens...
or it extends...
into a conversation
over a bowl of
spaghetti,
and then we magically
kiss...
  
   and then... oops...
1990s gothica
isn't exactly going
to be "translated" /
plagiarized... is it?

          i see...
i too see it that way:
"they" never let me die
when the natural order
assured me, death...
  i became...
  sort of...
offspring of Rasputin...
well...
   i never came
about to playing
the luke perry role...
i just had the *******
audacity "thrill"...
       to play on...

count: 21... i'm almost 33...
12 years later...
and i've manged
to live through a brain haemorrhage,
an infancy "heart attack"...
and, oh gee!
well... i was never going
to test out
the aztec shaman psychadelics...
i was going straight into
the drug plethora
of what the people
were prescribing schizophrenics!

they said i lied...
   hell...        it's all fun now!
i lied...
   ha ha... i lied...
i almost wish i could
have done the psychadelic drugs
avenue...
****... got stuck in traffic
with the anti-psychotic
mind-numbing medicine
ascribed to schizos...

  and... hey presto!
                 this sort of writing...
good to know
we can be allowed
to experiment...
with / in the most unlikely
scenarios.

- and then you're teased
into a giggle...
via Denmark...

      dough k'all m'eh: bath-man;
ha ha...
you just become prone to loop
& loopy!

whatever happened to the churchill statue beside
the houses of parliament...
is a bit like... the psychadelic
opening sequence of stan kombric's...

2020: a societal cull of the moon...
later know as...
   over-stepping the science with
fiction...
      19 years prior...
19 years prior... whatever happened
in the 20th century's 60s...
is but a dream...
a nightmare to some...

   a smile a scythe a sickle...
somewhere in che-shyre... involving
a cartoonish: & cat...

              the shard: the shadow emblem...
of some skeleton and some other -esque...
or... that "crucifix"...
from the artwork of led zeppelin's:

      presence...

for days i have been suffocating under
the impression of the arabic evil eye
of some malice-riddling ******...

it's raining and some house (if not two)
in the distance is being flooded...

             how it happens... that my expression
of freedom has to be problematic for
others to express their: supposed...
"counter"...
i am either dead and rigid...
or alive... and... paranoid...
    as it happens:
"i see what i want to see"...
pentagram ditto...
       or... i insinuate fictional
res extensa narratives when...
i feed no schadenfreude into the events
of the lives of others...
they happen with a measure of:
oops...            

      ...the statue of churchill in parliament sq....
the object on the sleeve artwork
of presence...
               such that the apes
gathered... and prostrated themselves
before the altar of the abstract form...
it was less clued-in to the definition
of the vitruvian man -
as all became known in the hindu "cruelty"
of depiction of vishnu and shiva...

hardly... the ****-erotica gratification
of the man... the vinci...
the vitruvian man...
when... some... hindu... dreamed up...
the deities as already gifted...
the angels and their wings...
the hindu deities and their four hands...
because it wasn't a *****
falling asleep who conjured up...
a pegasus - ******* unicorns?
and a chimera...
        no... only sober... rational...
people... need... to venture into the nether
of what's... allowed imagination:
a wish for a larger ****...
or a crop of hair... with one's receding:
corona... of it...

- it rained and it rained...
people confused my stoic approach
with either solipsism or altruism or...
worse... still...
   hybrid soul lost to tow...
the prosaic... and the... prime example
of atheism: the...
                  halo autist:
with no god...
         this diatribe of focus on nothing...
and someone: n'est ce-pas...
taking a selfie?
       who isn't to want to understand
an solipsist... when...
these supposed: social cretins...
are doing... the worship of moloch before...
everyone else's tired and ***** shirts?

- who's to bargain on what's the service
silver and chinese platter?

            - that object on led zeppelin's
album sleeve for the album presence...
    which is a reiteration...
that shard cut into the mountain...
in stanley kubrick's 2001: a space odyssey...

  how the apes became amazed...
at... perfection...
   how the idea of a chiseled mountain...
implied: stacking one up...
rather than... the microscope...
lost... and no detail of footing...
arrived at... prayer before the ascent!

how the gorilla...
   would preserve itself eating
nothing but fruit...
the panda the shoots of bamboo...
the bear... the half-wit
but more than ape...
how it would...
                "digress"... serve
the docile "god" of... not brightening
particulars... hybrid with:
                    hibernating...
                  since no genius of man...
came up with digressing winter...
beside all that... comfort foods
and lullaby hype of summer thrills...
morose and chew seance...

  hello chimpanzee omnivore...
bacterial tsunami norms...
                     2020: a time-warp odyssey...
because... how can you...
feel comfortable...
listening to people... citing a book...
like it's some...
chapter in the old testatment:
the book of malachi became true!

some... celebration of... sleep-walking?
it has to be subjected to: elation...
that... someone wrote...
what would become true...
70 years from now? circa.

            the statue of churchill:
that glorified object of geometry
in 2001: a space odyssey...
and the pristine geometric shadow...
twisting...
   i.e. when god carved
a mountain with nuance...
man competed with a pyramid...
and then... that ****-storm
with egyptian necrophilia happened...
somehow... sedated...
the greek Δ...

                         emerged...
now back to basics...
              the shape of man... will always
require... some basic focus for...
abstracting: anew...
                     fingers trapped in
the abacus...
                    
        and people want language to flow like
some narrative...
poetry: esp. rhymes with cages...
rhymes with either prefixes or suffixes...
-ing and an -ing:
and then... echo echo oh oh: PING *******
PONG!
    
            i give ******* to the scissors...
then a whole left hand to a rabid
dog about to make a sweater when biting
into a yorkshire terrier's ***...
for good measure...

             i will not give up...
some boorish sanctity of a formality of language
for a dear sir... kind regards...
have 'ere: a slobber of pride
of raw oink... slab sir...
of a prop'ah... pork chopper!
no like?
   as the ol' proverb says...

you can take up your ******'
bucket and *****...
and *******... to the next... sandpit!
savvy?
here: here we play... THIS... sort of "game".

because all the narratives are slipping...
once upon a time...
once upon.... there was a time...
and people had their lives...
huddled: bonded...
spoke to the fire...
teased a shadow drunk on a night-out
not returning with a one-night-stand
****-budy...
teased a shadow drunk:
for a handshake that would
become a classical: greek... wrestling...
the advent of judo...
sort of... hey there!
         i'm bored of the lies...
             i'm actually more than merely
bored: i'm numbed...
here's to! fishing for: the last covenant
of nazis...
just today...
i was watching the odessa file... 1974...
jo(h)n voi(gh)t...
                             even though...
****... this... **** that...
a people so... "conquered":
brought together...
                 what speaking of land...
to be conquered...
             yes: fishing for nazis...
scouting for them too...
the diaspora finally congregated...
i have to... feed into feeling...
an itch of...
the bother... should...
the words of: Balaam the Diviner...
              i guess i am a "diviner"...
i sentence each word with:
please! spare... this land this...
whatever it might be...
    of which i am... "exiled" from...
i keep the mothertongue in the shadow...
rhaspodic...
         we had affairs in the shadows:
when we wrote...
not much fun... when all the rotting
woodworks are busying themselves
with evixction notices for the:
karaluchy - cockroaches...
              
   two or three words:
   the original advent for the pursuit
of life... hell... that almost feels like
feeding ten piglets!

the black lives protests were just
an interlude...
the attack in reading with three dead:
you keep a libyan hound
on a leash for long enough...
collateral damage...
     of the union to oust Gaddafi...
i would never be a fan of anyone...
so... gifted in exfoliation of attire...
but then again:
fishing for nazis... without...
their... signature... hugo boss...
uniforms...
          who dressed these "neos"
in forgetable... attire?
   uncorked a bottle of champagne
when figuring out...
the new innovation of what was
once: the radio...

i.e. make them... wear...
forgetable... attire...
       some grey suit...
     but... of course the but!
   they can't succumb to the eccentricity
of... wearing the same ****...
over and over again:
the trick would still be played...
that they might...
for themselves: of course...
and have the clothes washed
and primed for re-use...
like back in school...

                  i could swear to have clicked
on my usual ctrl + c / + p...
wikipedia.com...
   for the ц: not being on the keyboard...
by "magic fingers" and all the more
a "magic will"... redirected to...
russlandjournal.de/en/...
    
          ah... "surds"... "signs"...
      like...                 the g-nome...
                           the g-nostic...
                                  otherwise: some variation
of... diaGnostics...
                             my own little...
bless the veil of inconvenience...

my little escapism: well it's fresh...
it's not a newspapers' opinion column...
when journalism was something
noble...
          it's fresh and it's...
how did i abandon finishing Dicken's
   the Pickwick Papers?
                      to have to glue the ridge...
that page turning skeleton...
it is... after all...
an edition from the 19th century...
i want to finish it...
but i dare say... if i did...
the binding would not retain its:
intactness...

                  so... are we still
scouting and fishing for nazis?
the romanced old baddies?
      the ones that would... somehow...
agitate the arab world post 1945
in shady dealings...
how... the diaspora would finally
congregate...
and a people could be robbed
of their land...
an israel...

        but the... diaspora didn't...
"finally" congregate... a sceptical bunch
of kippah kaddish qabbalah scientists...
ibn saud and the myth of the dajjal...
by god: the arabs would never drink...
impossible... camel jockeys that they:
were... are...
so... sugar-frenzy!  
                 they do like their sweets...
and sexed-up juices of trickle
phlegm from the harem of harems of:
****** olives and ******...
                      grapes...

            hell... wouldn't it be just nice...
to see someone... donning a ******* with
pride... for... open-range practice?
but these's days...
it's all a game of... so... who's who?

arab playboys or new-money beijing
shrimp whittle-wichard squirt: a squint
on the altar of lemon-C... some minor
vitamin deity...

                  narratives: all shrapnel...
    all existential "complications"...
have... honest to "god"...
become... constipations...
and the best of these are in england...
what with the school of...
that aesthetic...
  aesthetic-of-curating-hierarchical-norms-/-standards-/-expectations...
i was looking for a word...
a german hyphenated centipede was born...

etiquette!
what was a "complication" came to be easily
served as... a constipation...
oh... and i've had my fair share of
those: wild adventures of Mr. Turdy...

was once: a not once upon a time: je(t)ц(t)цeit:
or the concept of abolishing a theory of gravity
and the great devauliton of a van gogh painting...
classical verbiage...
word salad of misnomers...
if they were only misnomers...

candly floss of stripped nuances...
the elder: a democrat...
"social distancing"
or the... grand revisionism /
revival of the feng shui...

igorant moi...
   feng shui: a geomancy...
...........................................
.........­...........................................
.................................
...............................­........
......................................................
.­..........................................

        (my my! and that is!
a schematic for...
a loitering... paragraph)...

   who among the porcelain folk...
tinged with...
       is to speak of chiromancy...
or... to treat the stars and their
constellations...
with... impertinent questions...
to salvage some sort of a remaining
whole: that some man lived...
that some man...
would be...

a zen parody... a zen anything:
anyone: anywhere...

      to proscribe a tao placebo:
is to live a taoist sickness...
to live "anything" and an "anytime"...
to be so conflated with the confines
of an immediacy: a heideggerian: dasein...
that there's a "there"...
sein... there are more connotations
being excavated from
the etymological "term": unwavering noun...
concerning being: a space...
a coordinate...
than there's... wild dreams!
annotations to subscribe to
a temporal fatalism... by that...
indeed... time...
                  fall of the: and gathered
knee of amen...

                bridal coup:
this.. laced fake sellers' poignancy...
the brightest of minds...
and the darkest of tongues...

i came to this posit: inquiring...
my last... salvaged futility...
and it had to become apparent...
i had to find myself:
unable to leisure...
for the eventuality of all eventualities...
the supper of languid:

the mushroom hijacked the brain
of ape...
              parody...
the tree imitated serpet in shedding
its core... of bark...
the elevation of answers...
via... the 1960s psychadelic
experimentation phaze...
              + + + +....
                                we had to...
acknowledge the gemini:
clone... and the brain subjected to...
the pickling jar...

            why wouldn't i partner
up with... the death closure dynamics...
verbiage...
yes... yes... because...
the sober are the sane:
no sight of dolly the prodded:
proud matriarch fo miles around!
b'ah b'ah...
   i sell my consonants
with an ambiguity of vowels...
every... chance... i... get...
to have to: and i have to...
divinate the tetragrammaton...
in the "H" the vowel-catcher...
phoneticism of the god of words...
and in the beginning...
easy "thing" to desecrate...
the hierogylphs...

   the 'ebrew god wouldn't...
desecrate... the roman alphabet...
wouldn't... desecrate the phonetic
encoding of the greeks...
cul de sac of "adventure"!
             i hear...
the litany of the gods of the conquering
hebrews!
the 'ebrew god... didn't...
conquer and...
the egyptian hieroglyphs... were...
conquered...
                  canninites... canine bark-alongs...
dog-whisperers...
            
the hebrew conquered...
           cuneiform...
                  scribble fancies of arabs...
the revenge of Keturah
the mother of Khadījah
this... inbreeding of violence...
old sway old...
                   new sway new...

             what cave... when working with...
sand?
i **** on it: perhaps...
there might arrive a castle...
i blow on it...
   sand come... sand go...
or... sand go... sand come...

the dehydrated mind is everyone's
new norm:
because: the cpllective said so?
never the sanity of the mandarins...
lie on top of of lie...
cherry-topped-up-with-lies...
but still...
a "forward vector"...

                but the hebrews...
couldn't erase the roman alphabet...
or the greek alphabet...
they... managed to hide the runes...
they best hid the glagolitic script...
but what good did that?
when the greek solved a revival of
the glagolitic script and served
up a palette for cyrillic?

ergo? the hebrew god failed...
the fate of the hebrew people...
with the 20th century...
as a zenith...
was also their nadir...
          the god of the word:
of phonetic encoding...
you can't... somehow...
stage a fake war...
when... the roman alphabet was
to be used... in computer: code...
encoding...
you can't... erase this progress!

  you couldn't with a hierogylphic owl...
so much... teasing...
did... the mandarin: your god:
your sanctity saviour: of what?
god of "gods" blush... shy away...
the hebrew phonetic letters...
posisted against the mandarin
octopus?
what is it? crude bollocking:
and a shard...
          a truly... ripe... "prophecy"...
solomon's harem
the envy of a newly bred...
muhammad...

          i asked the willow...
why it had to gimmicj wilting...
with a Y... as it always turbned...
not the willow... the oak...
sure as ****: not the birch of pine...
to leisure... aging...
by... leusuring a loss of...
skin... leather...

  easy target practice for the god
of the hebrews...
              somehow...
the numbers were also concerned...
for all the love of hiding your vowels...
like they might be
diacritical markers of "accent"...

          hello: pseudo-sand peoples...
4 (ה)...
                  that's as best as i can arrive
at...
kippah... kaddish... qabbalah and lot...
a people: a country...
not worth invading...
a... diaspora... a people...
not worth displacing back:
into a congregation of:
"nationhood"...
if only... israel...
and there came...
the paupers of the vatican...

   i guess... i guess:
i'm not guessing... the returns policy
of that... parody of a clan...

a diet of diatribe...
  how can the hebrew alphabet claim...
superiority...
over the roman or the greek...
alphabet...
     "alphabet": phonetic encoding...
when... the greek moved into the theoretical
constants of science...
and roman... remained: instilled...
    for "phonetic" questions...
  
hebrew: proto-writing...
        i would wait... for hebrew to fail...
when being... dashed...
forged... upon the wave...
crashing onto the caverns of seafront
mandarin!

            to retain some of these letters:
as numbers...
is enough...
            but sorry no sorry...
        ktav ashuri...
   the hebrew god... jealous and proud...
the norse gods... bended their knee...
and became invisibly: doubly apparent...
from Runes unto Rome....
finally! a phonetic encoding system...
that... the hebrews...
couldn't perfect:
or find themselves ar superior odds to...

40 years became 2000 years...
a slow decay i.q. lesson
culminating in the denotated rubric of:
auschwitz... sorry... sorry told...
you can't... treat...
the proto-italian perfection...
like it's some... *******...
hieroglyphic! like it some...
proto-borrowed... syriac / cuneiform!
sand-****** kippah-u.f.o.!

savvy? no savvy? we can have
this argument going... on and on!
it's not like...
  i have care for the crude...
it's not like people are going
to return to the cafe or subject...
they'd hope... themselves
to a live maggot and concert...

you can't... you can't...
perfect what's already perfect
in latin with hebrew...
the music! the music!
     a cul de sac war project of ******* whipping!
which is all the need for
a circumcision!
added
of a worth of a niqab!
...
   i'm starting to think that... the kippah...
is a side-project for...
investing in solar-panels...
honest to god: no joke...
it's like the hebrews are being bribed...
and bribed: auschwitz nutz truez...

     because... the hebrew phonetic encoding...
system of x-ray letters...
can... will... somehow...
get rid of the latin...
   they couldn't get rid of the greek...
when greek became cyrillic...
useful idiots... and a laughing god.

my former respect has become...
a... shambo: a ****-pit...
shambles: exact!

         i always hoped to... keep my...
pretty.... toes... to the last.

und mich,
   behalten diese?
mir,
    minder eine mann,
und ihr,
   sogar minder
   une
                       frau?

schlechtdeutsch

    (ich) zustimmen...

originating from
                a Po'***:

gut auch...
       gut auch:
nein auch
zu sein
    geist: und auch...

nur schlachten
   der deutsch...
        und versuchen
    dies
   gedächtnisschwundmedikament...

in english,
there were people,
and there are people,
who have chosen
to excavate
psychadelic drugs.

~25cl and a "next"
   day's worth of an afternoon,
while watching the next
concubine of a single mother's
household, play fiddle
to the garden,
    and there are no violins
and no crescendo,
and the day incubates
several winds at once,
           and you're like:
n'ah...
              i shouldn't,
but i should,
but then again i shouldn't,
and: light-hours never do it for me,
how daylight is least
complimentary to drinking
habits...
      is it really all about the rhyme?
rubric "tautology",
   pedagogy skew,
    only the ******* have
a desired inclination?
       well... we know what
'all the little hitlers write at night'
gets you,
a notable mention
in a harold norse autobiography,
mush akin to w. h. auden...
sure, the feeling is mutual,
it's not longer a "circumstance"
of being circumcised,
it's a scenario of playing
the cameo castrato role
in some dim figment of "reimagining"
the status quo of a
pro golfer's harem...
i can do saturdays...
but come sunday?
    everything is just, plain weird...
gearing up toward a monday
and the tide of "subtle"
gradations of a work ethic...

https://magma poetry.com /
     20th-century-  poets/

i know so little, having read this,
that i'm almost unabashed by
the fact, per se...

             so scuttling through
a list of failings,
  crude tongue,
   lack of ethical standards,
a whole plethora of shortcomings,
but it's only about
a worth of an afternoon,
   ~25cl  of leftover whiskey,
and rolling tobacco...

       a microcosm of creeping
existential crises...
    and all that worn down flack
of a democratic tuxedo,
to any event,
but one in particular:
a funeral of some sort....

         to better, or for no worse avail...
and so little,
and so late,
            and all the eager tender
hearts make available...
    some sort of c.c.t.v. counter,
some ghost,
          some clarification,
and then some stupid plause,
some norman and normie
sunday zenith of a football match
spectated before the new altar
of t.v.,
               and, as ever,
a dampened sense of
          disinhibition,
              heightened scrutiny
from the slaughterhouse brigade...
even the bulls don't
give off a whiff of a dumb
animal compensation for their
worth of a blank canvas blank
back stare...

         little world, little promise...
little of much, and also the little
of the little...
                      how many compromises
had to be met in metaphysics?
       as many as away from
the translation of: abstract...

               a life, in death:
                       always the persiting
circumstance of a waiting line...
           or if not outright melancholy,
then a blatant nostalgia...
        
   and now, to find ease,
    an arm-chair,
    a snooze corner,
             even a shadow,
to play with...
                  
     seems i don't exactly have
to be a sailor and fear
myself towed by some slouch
   to the depths,
          that i might drown...
i'm already a voice
in a democracy,
          and i'm drowning,
                        as we "speak":

to "think" of having firm
standing in this cauldron,
  of roots: when one is constantly
up-rooted...
                         is a fool's errand;

and sometimes,
to chance those...
    who are in the theatre of opinion,
with opinions,
that never, never really begin
to chance dialectic...
   a mind of scrutiny,
but are forever,
            base,
playground...
                     and the comforts
of a night with safety
psychadelic experiences
of a dream;
  never the void,
never the insomnia
or the dreamless "repose".

i honestly don't know when was the last
time i've had so much fun
watching a movie,
             everything about it was perfect,
the slow motion,
   the seemingly abandoned scene,
reinvented,
            the clarity of dialogue,
with an over-arching monologue
put to a piece of paper...
                 the whole edward hopper
fission,
               it wasn't a "deep" movie,
more, it was actually, a movie...
             i'm still bewildered as to why
leonardo dicaprio won a best actor
oscar for his... constipation in the revenant...
i'm starting to get the feeling that
ethan hawke: is everyone's actor...
sort of actor, whatever you want to call "it"...
which is still more of a feeling,
anchor,
   than any wave of opinion on
the sea of thought...
                          my god, what a breath
of fresh air...
   like watching something by
                                     ingmar bergman
but with, less sweden, and much and all
the better for it: 1960s cinema
from europe...
                      less of that
sense & sensibility,
   and much more of a: pomp & circumstance...
or, for the desired effect
of staged attire... namely an authenticity
of the clergy...
                 no, i really can't remember
the last time i watched a movie this good...
no, wait, i can...
      i had a "psychadelic" trip watching
2001: a space odyssey
while drinking, tickling a bit of ****
and in the company of two fwends...
gob dropping moments...
   esp. with how pristine the richard strauss
adaptation is perfected...
         and yes: nicholas cage...
blah blah...
   but that film from 2002, adaptation?
when a movie becomes a time-warp,
and leaves you...
    relieved,
   to not have any sort of in-depth
movie critic mentality...
         unlike what's usually prescribed
with a high-end budget of comic book
adaptations and...
           those were jokes,
  in the movie,                             right?
the film "in question"?
                                        first reformed...
   there was a time when watching
a movie was fun,
    i thought that the neon demon
could have become something than what
it was being sold as in the trailers;
   absolute, stunner...
               first reformed...
it gave off a feeling,
   like i might be 30+ in the 1990s...
and i needed to book a babysitter
   while i went to the cinema with my wife
on a friday night...
you know, before the reverse happened
of allowing your kids to go to the cinema
on a friday, expecting yourself
       to be ****** silly in the meantime...
i still have some faith in cinema,
after all,
   binging on t.v. drama is not the same
as an open-and-shut-case of a good movie.

you know...

  that when you mingle
10 minutes

       of something
akin to: annamae renee...

  and retract...
          rob zombie:
                  michael (lyrics)...

the part where i grew
a beard...
    i decided to remembering
towing both
ego, and shadow...

  giggles...
                giggles...
oops... new york ******
gonna spot me...
            likd:
there's a hand,
and there's a cookie jar...
and there's subsequently
in it?
               pauper boy
better pay...
    
      this world can't
be more ****** up with me in
it to boot...
nope...
              but this is
the newly arrived
normal...
      
                             h'art...
            ah ha ha ha...
              lost the E...
    and all i can begin
to fathom is a murky night,
a romance...
       a low hanging fruit
metaphor the the moon
and...
familiar people i no longer
want to be familiar with...

minimum colour,
maximum canvas...
and something to be allowed
an ingestion
of                  l
    e              t                t
e               r              s
moulded into
                       verbatim...      
words...
   sentences...
            high-minded
provoke: the remains
       of meaning:

      who is of whatever is my
worth beyond the man
that has to tease?

Brian does all the thinking?
and Harley does all
the "feeling"?

              last time i checked...
after Brian did a haemorrhage
shackle spasm...
coordination is just fine...
narrative switched a little...
    aged 21...

          subsequent psychosis
"l.s.d." trip...
                   so... my thinking
originates in my brain...
the medieval people used
to cite their soul being derived
from their Brian...

all heart, no thought...
hmm...
            can i suppose
an antithesis
of the pronoun I...
with the sum-minor-&-major
origin
of energy momentum,
the 21 grams...
the Σ...

    all i know is that once
you succumb to cancer
people are expected to feel sorry
for you,
but when you succumb to
schizophrenia, and they laugh...
they're expected to laugh
and you're supposed
to be doubly punished...
   bewildering...
how some of the stereotypical
schizophrenics react...
forgetting to laugh
at the cancer succumb...

   if you ******* a schizophrenic...
i guess...
you were really gagging for
it;
my honest opinion;

   which part?
the part where i tell you:
no... auditory hallucinations
  aren't fun...
  they're not something aking
to ingesting psychadelic drugs...
        
met a thief,
met a ****,
met a policeman
   in gucci bracelets
while having just finished
******* in an alley...
met a *******,
met a madman,
met a priest,
i might have met
a poet...
saw a ******* get kicked
in the head while
distributing
leaflets in a suburban street...
****...
  i'm missing a serial killer...
i should be missing more...
i'm suspicious...
there have to be more...
   "characters"
akin to the list of the ******...
i might have met my
shadow...
dunno...
my ego is doing the round
of faking everything
using me, as body,
while remaining silent...
calls it: psychology
of the puppet...
        oh sure... met a football
hooligan...
met a plumber,
met a supermarket cashier,
a turkish barber,
a cobbler,
        might have drunk a beer
with a jazz band drummer...
maybe...
   decided to skip
the actor and the whole scene...
thought much about
russian ballerinas
and new york models...
      gave my dislocated
index finger to a hungarian
a & e doctor...
gave my 'quo vadis?'
to an iranian anaesthetist
and my rotting wisdom
teeth to a german dentist...
my first *******
to cameron diaz circa
1994... the mask...
    and... all that would ever
not fruition into a platonic love
affair...
        love of a steering-wheel?
to the no. 5 bus driver
from my hometown...
     and all that became
constituted into a boiling-down
of eccenctricity...
   to the garden state
soundtrack...
  climbing the scaffold...
   attached to, old college,
edinburgh...
   and watching the firth of forth,
solo...
     at night...
              as if the northern
lights descended upon the waters...
and there was a vague
whitened illumination
in the waters...
no... not a fog...
a luminescent serpent
of myopia bothered
to make itself
            concentrated
into a weaving sculpture
upon the water.

.                  ready to glare's
video:

      first day teaching and
my overwhelm / meltdown
on camera...

i'm no better,
    jack nicholson's
the joker
"vs."
      melvin udall

yeah, that's about me,
clarified by the circumstances
of delusion,
****, they never tell you
that delusions
are the "side-effects"
of ego-tripping,
  to, "compensate" never
encountering psychadelic
drugs...

now i seem to be lined
up to a predicament,
of calmy
      collecting the washing
off the washing line...
while thinking:

what the hell
happened to
    the band, pitchshifter?
noatbly via the song
dead battery?
          whiskey:
when not quiete sober,
   noon...

   at this point of day,
experiencing the voyeurism
of a shadow will
always translate
into bad luck.

. ****, ****, am i too late, am i too late? did i make it to the show, did i miss the circus? oh... looks like... no; **** it... let's party.

in the confines
of a budding flower,
and never:
to be truly exempt from
harbouring its, potency
to bloom,
    always left...
blank, slate,
       like some ghost
off-shoot from
the gallows
in a scheming evil
space of emptied
rooms, corridors,
and... allowed to dart
my eyes into dancing
shadows
without the puppeteer
strings, expected,
to be attached to
these: dolls
of the apocalypse.
   - i... seive through
the scraches
   of an underbelly
of pig, without a well
glared at lights,
issued, to donning
a tuxedo...
just because i was
born with green eyes,
doesn't imply
i am to,
disturb this chess board
of current, and future
events...
  a night at the oscars
is like me taking a ****
in an alleyway,
                funny...
they come for me
when i'm found
******* in an alley...
but when i visit
a brothel...
      handcuffs off
attitude...
             i need,
language to, ferment,
               brew...
  give me the air
it itself requires
  to be left manifest...
anyone,
figure out,
as to why...
the prime purpose
of expression within
the confines
of the english language,
has to move,
all the way from l.a.
to the faroe islands?
no? me neither...
   but i'm done
with all these spasm-riddled
anorexic zombies
of the cat-walk,
walking like
rearranged, *******,
toothpicks missing a shadow,
and... a limb's worth
of the torso having imploded...
oh but i'll eat,
give me the meat
for the worth's
of a dog barking,
growling, and then
allowing itself to scimitar
the flesh
with every bite, chew,
and pavlovian dribble...
like minded individuals:
welcome!
i almost forgot to mention
the curiosities...
like:
   when i wouldn't
decide to take revenge on
a *******,
instead... forgot
my genitals
(because i didn't trim
my *****, having
to remember, to forget
my face, and synonyms)
and kept kissing her
for an hour...
rib-it... rib-it...
rabid rabid...
a frog does a burp and...
  you start sinking
into an **** of imagination...
plenty of that
where this came from...
slacking on psychadelic
drugs, exploring the foundations
of literacy...
   a david walliams
little britain sketch,
   high-pitched voice
at this point:
         ooh... whoopsie cares?
little cry-baby
with a ******* attitude
problem...
they were always going
to ask a ****** to do
the voice-overs for
those,
   expected to be castrated...
given they weren't circumcised.
ooh! the litany!
like i said...
by the time i'm done
drinking that bottle
of *****,
my ego is going to,
resemble,
            a... submarine...
then i'll splinter...
and call for all aid for
africa propaganda to
be dipped into
   cleopatra's grimace,
for: translated into:
bath tim.
what? i thought that
sounded better than
time, or thyme,
or... never confuse
Timothy with Thailand;
whittle timmy...
timmy do good...
  timmy well behaved...
timmy begins,
  and ends with...
shaving prospects...
via... scalping...
   a scalp "victim":
******* left the remains
of a receding hairline!
         ha!
talk about going
    to the wrong barber...
oh, not turkish...
turkish: zee klassik...
    see... *****...
does terrible things
to people...
     you down 'alf a litre,
you start
    to juggernaut into
a blank canvas...
  poetry? yeah: forgot
                                  the paint.

.                      from a zenith to a nadir...
   from what i pecked at with eyes
rather than a beak
of the night sky... and its strange "occurences"...
did i fall to sleep...
and while sleeping: scream in my bed?
i rather: but more clearly... don't remember...

of all that i have read: my body should
be covered in tattoos...
of only words...
         but i don't want that...
                    in the obscure regions of art:
roving stars are sometimes the norm...

      clearly: i can't overstate this "fact"...
it's oh so normal...
                 am i to suddenly doubt whether or not
i looked up at the night sky, prior?

beside the constellations...
now... it would make more sense to go about
my daily: routines, chores... worries...
if being alone wasn't alone enough
to get to know what the neighbors have planned...

i can't exactly wonder when looking up
at the night sky... stars are not supposed to me...
i look up... yet another is "wandering"...
before the great interlude...
i saw a streak of them...
                  must have been over 20...
moving on a skew... equal distance apart
between each...

i once saw a bulging cloud of smoke...
and a firecracker of fire make a smiley streak
into it...
            some people have looked for this...
connection... to a demiurge or otherwise
wandered past it...
  i did read some gnosticism when i was still
a teenager...
which you do... when you attend a catholic
school...
  we were obliged to think that...
the 1960s psychadelic revolution didn't happen
in what became... outer east london...
we were to be the new ukranian irish
about to sniff glue...
   no... drugs weren't on offer...
at least: not the good drugs...
           as long as we fully entombed in a body
and would become: necessary bricklayers...

i wouldn't mind that...
but i'd like to have a sensation that my brain
at least allowed for a labyrinth to be made
available...
rather than a sponge-suckling of give-me-give-me
propaganda regurgitation...
i could stand a chained body...
but a chained mind?
      something's got to give...

on the sly... while the deities look on and say:
say: final! this liberal vs. conservative
debate has to end...
        we'll sort out the arguments with
a placebo dialectic...
        we'll send in a virus... settled?
no... of course it's not settled...
nothing is ever settled in a democracy....

i "rant" while a bukowski gets away
with writing "poetry"...
                 not enough rhyme... not enough:
"scope"? not haiku enough?
            
    i'm coming back exhausted from watching:
what shouldn't be taking place...
someone suggested: you sure they're not satellites?
can you see... a fridge on earth from the orbit?
same ******* question!

hell... if it was the star of bethlehem... sure...
the major... the inquisitive barber shop pundits...
of course the shepherds... and the three wise men...
i once had it funneled into my head:
blind faith... good enough that it's not
bad faith built upon negation...
or worse still... give me this greyish layer
of "will"...

             i only ever had two choices to begin
with... given that there's an: "immediacy" of subsequence...
two choices... which later drift off into a spare
universe of a juggling-act of "what-ifs"!

i know that i don't know:
i'm alone and i'm just too tired... mentally exhausted
to be truly scared:
if i am... i tend to scream when i'm detached
from consciousness...
asleep...
       but stars should be moving...
with pointers of a whole load of them...
and some in constellations...

         "looking for answers": well... wouldn't you
believe that i'm looking for them, too?!
leave me with a rottweiler puppy... give me 5 years...
you'll get a rottweiler back...
but it won't be a puppy...
  it will be a sentinel beast...
  
******* me one more time as if this is normal...
that stars... have been given
a sudden clause: to move... roam...
      on the sly i have heard of people having noticed
this... but oh sure... the science guys
have placed it on their first in the priority
list of events...
but not like this...

        not when you're probably the only person
in the vicinity looking up...
to see a constellation of a Δ roaming across
the sky... and you're down below...
at a UCL event... a student affair for replicating
a catwalk...
you're in the courtyard near the UCL dome...
smoking a cigarette... looking up...
no one... does... that?
everyone looking down... with horse blinders?!

you can't be allowed to look up at the stars...
what else is there to look up at
when daylight comes?! the lure of the azure
of light piercing the oceans and providing
that solipsistic blanket of blue
that's called the atmosphere and: myopia for
the day-to-day inconveniences, chores...
and pests of bureaucratic details?

i can't turn this into a goose that will lay golden
eggs for me... a patent or a franchise...

i've heard a choir, a descent and a grand wind
that didn't begin to express words...
a muslim woman revealed herself wearing
a niqab: wtich first impressions...
i just stood rooted in stone...
before an image of joseph merrick...

none of this is supposed to make "sense"
of an ownership of eyes...
or ears... or touch of scent...
this tongue would be better suited
to epitome a bark... or a growl...
a snark: the chess of events from circa 2007
have already dwarfed me...

               what good is secular psychiatry
with any of this?
     any mention of an omnipresence in the variation
of a virus: a footnote of god / the demiurge...
otherwise back into the confines
of: ex nihil and... 'to have to believe in my, self'...
belief... in... a... self...
wrapping up a rap from a baboon's ***...
self-determination...
what else is it called?
               the autistic "paradox"...
                        
                              wreckage sought by the seas:
lie beneath... no calmness of the waves...
or ageing perpetuated:
by the onslought of wrinkles...
      creases to the page...
ink blots or dying from the exposure
to weathered pages: turning into a tinge
of a new-born chick...
clucking for... the glutton to choke...
and subsequently sing an aria...

                  yet this... drinking mania
and a phosphorescence of insomnia...
                              
   no one questions the coming of the tide...
since... no one was ever to question
the tide per se...
       a tide without measures...
is neither a coming or a going...
               perpetuated: the latitutdes
of impregnating change...

               where's by paragraph?
where's my sanity project paragraph
of prose? where is it all...
this: bothering over...
minor turned into major event
schematics? riddled with orthography
and not once citing a pursuit
of metaphysical architecture?

  where now... or what of: now?
          i don't like being sold back the oddity
in the stars...
  that it's somehow mortally normal...
      i looks for the spezials in moi...
i can'ts see any...
    this mediocre blip... well... with all
the hierarchies in deposit: and place...
who would... fathom a "besides" worth
a hierarchical translation?
no one these days is to be evert infected
with the protestant infection
of: the ***** karma of predestination...

protestant evil of the lutheran peasants...
what's: karma...
in the guise of predestination?
this is: unavoidable...
this has been given a priori superiority:
without my knowledge...
or an ear's or an eye's worth
of inkling to hear ot simply see?

take the concept of buddhist karma...
then take... the protestant predestination...
all pros are quits...
   there are no propositions of grain,
guarantee or gamble...
    it's all very much:
what you see is what you get...
if asking for more...
suppose you to be no more than a common
beggar...

            works well for the folk
stapped to a king's dept...
when it comes to being entertained at court...
i.e. notably, being presentable...
e.g. being well, attired!
my louis: the ******* 14th...
harem boast... and some dear-lady...
much later... much much later: vuitton...

                    the virus that becomes the sieve...
here's the bandwagon:
climb onto it... words are spare...
and with what is spare...
       look out for the scarcity....
                         because...
                 "we're" about to rattle some cages...
and gesticulate with stones
via a juggling them:
    interim...   cackling... rats... pretending
to be shoes... or rather... magpies!

sleep harmonious sleep such great medicine
but sleep sometimes so pointless
when one does not dream much
so sleep can be stretched to a different cycle:
the length of a day on the moon
is like... 567hours... last time i heard:
oh: the first colony must be the moon
i wonder:
because those 1960s photographs
from the moon were pretty ****...
so people asked: is there a night on the moon?
well! yeah! but there's also a day!
the light side of the moon is as sunny
as on earth!
and it doesn't last for a fraction of the 24 hours...
it last for like two weeks...
according to the muslim and hebrew calendar!
i mean: **** me...
but as i tell my partner:
see those clouds in the sky...
those lowest are water clouds:
absorb and defract colour...
but those other clouds: high high up...
those are ice clouds...
they look like god's doodles from where
derived language of the higher esteem
beyond the hieroglyphs...
ice clouds: always white:
pristine... god this god the painter with light
and composer of sounds...
but those highest of clouds
never turn light into colour...
doodle in the sky remnants of god
scribbling...
             well... the Light Side of the Moon
is like a joke about Alaska
and how sunny it is insomnia over there
during summer... spring...
like everyday life in London:
insomniac neon blue and... alabaster...
gubernatioral... love the sound of words
from time to time...

so Mark Nathan finally caught up with my plan!
mate: i want to be more important than
constructionw workers when it comes to shuffling
through the hours of the day...
i want to be a poet: i want to make my
morning commute like i was the first one...
i was the archtiect of language...

if my last check call comes in at 5:45am and
Mark is there because he wasn't slept since 2:30am
and that's because he likes to go to bed early...
so i can get there for 5:45pm...
we started from sheering off half an hour
before the actual clock-off of 7pm...
that became 6:30am/pm, 6:15...
and then a massive flip to: half an hour...
5:45am/pm...

                           sure, minimum wage....
what isn't, these days?
harrowing hours, never see the chance to socialize
on the weekend...
drinking culture...
beer and all the jovial spirits...
but no hard ***** drinking and hard conversations
and hard scribbling and hard thinking?
just jovials spirits of wine and beer and cider...
no real culture of pushing the limits
on such spirits as *****...
i tried whiskey but i am not a rock star
so can't summon the bourbon spirit...
***** is for slavic intellectuals... i'm afraid to say:
that's what ruined my uncle Martin:
he tried to be so so English
he didn't realise that England was changing
and so he fled back to Poland...
but in his genes there was the bedrock
of hard intellectualistion:
like ***** is water
like there's hard water and there's soft water...

i know: i did say...
40cl per session: but you smoke a joint first...
why? because you want to get off
drinking a litre of *****:
sleep-deprivation:
the active ingredient is marijuana with
your intellect:
oddly enough after seeing Dekalog 7, 8....
a while while back...
i decided to go back to my roots...
Polish culture... Polish language...
sorry... nothing personal: i'm not English...
i just have this tongue...
Dekalog 1...                  watch it watch it!

also, before i forget...
also...
ahem! ladies and gentlemen! i bring you!

🍼             and                😬

pacifier 1.0            and pacifier 2.0
pacifier of the ****** = no teeth....

pacifier 2.0 of the nibble
of a **** = plenty of teeth!
                 but once i tasted the ****:
i need a night guard pacifier:
because my tongue is so insatiable
and i could never bite on your lips
ooh yes yes!

better than circumcision!
make sure young males have the ******
pacifier then
find a woman to prescribe him
a night buard... from ****** to *****
pacifier...
/how's my low tone Taylow Swift
never ever getting back together on feminism?!/

what of the scientific method:
wasn't it always true that in order to draw
a straight line: you needed to know two points?
so this one almost fake because it was
despair to conquer a riddled ideology...

your guys landed on the moon at night!
we don't actually know what landing
on the moon during the moon's daylight
hours is like!
we have not yet experienced landing
on the moon during the daytime...

catalogue Dekalog 1 for me...
the genius and his genius child prodigy
that ends up only thinking about skating
on ice
but there were no ice rinks back then
so there was a need to gamble
of scientifically improve on studying
ice density...
but the kid drowned and AI was born...
to no god a tool that is technology
this iconoclasm of complexity:
give me the basic details! son, and show me father!

i got home early then decided to help mother
put out the washing to dry...
if i see this one ******* the northern line
coming from Morden
via Elephant and Castle...
jeans... shy with a baseball cap...
exposing her collar bones...
fury and scent i want! i want! meat-canyon that
youtube cartoon artist...
like i want to see Wimbledon with you
sort of vibe of a girl...

no wonder Alien and Predator arrived
and the fear...
where the trinity of Cluastrophobia
Islamophobia and Arachnophobia merged...
with massive spider of the Quran...
because the Palestainians
in the Arabic world are like... what?
what the Jews were to Europeans...
but also weren't because Jews are Jews
and Palestinians are what in the Great Ummah?
****'a foddler?

           i see a correlation of races...
the Europeans (Russians, mongrels)
and the Orientals combined....
the Eastern Indians and the Aztecs and other Indians...
which leaves Africa... black supremacy?
really? so the Europeans with their ties
to Europe were one product of time
the Africans had no ties with the Arabs?
so now we're all couple... Finns, Eskimos and Penguins...
seriously?!
2 + 2 = 1

  don't understand the logic of passing a numbers
via 2 x 2 = 5...
but then i'm working the dynamic of + and not x
addition: not multiplication...
by addition i imagine a continuity, history....
by multiplication i envision the spontaneity of
phenomenons
like some audacities of biology getting a brain
and thinking something for a while:
then disappearing like an idiocacy: because of
the mechanisations of both evolution
and automation...

i do like going home before all the construction
workers start their shifts...
i'm going home when they're going to work
and i don't even have to meet their scrutiny
as the first arrived morning ***** of adherents
to the day...
mate! we only, supposedly, landed on the moon:
once... and it was during the night!
hence why picture of earth are like pictures
of the moon on earth....
we didn't ******* land on the moon
during the moon's daytime hours!
Bogus ******* compass: hey... "Columbus":
no Copernicus on the ship that Newton ******
a gay sailor on!

the ancients Soviets will have the right to dream
with assurance this observstion...
so you landed on the moon
while we were first into space...
but you have given us so much insignificance terror
for having navigated so: spectacular without
a proper subjective gravity and grammar:
she he she they thou it nothing
you don't even know how to make do
with those pictures...
so much psychadelic poison:
imagine the fluke of a chance
of landing on a day on the moon:
you'd forget going further into Mars...
just revise landing on the Moon during the Moon's
daytime hours
and take pictures... it's science:
you need to compare! compare! stop being Sodomites
start being scientists!