Some introductory food for thought...

“What difference does it make to the dead, the orphans and the homeless, whether the mad destruction is wrought under the name of totalitarianism or in the holy name of liberty or democracy?”
    - Mahatma Ghandi

“Totalitarianism is not only hell, but all the dream of paradise-- the age-old dream of a world where everybody would live in harmony, united by a single common will and faith, without secrets from one another."
   - Milan Kundera

"Each generation imagines itself to be more intelligent than the one that went before it, and wiser than the one that comes after it."
  - George Orwell


Technocracy as scientific Totalitarianism?
Technocracy is the institutionalised control over all aspects of society by scientific and technological means through a centralised autocratic bureaucracy, whose totalitarian control is secured by the exploitation of its means. Universal utilitarianism over the psychologies, sociology, technology, pharmacology, etc. Whose state authority relies solely on the implementation of systematic indoctrination and propaganda, and the methodical interception of political dissidence or heresy against the established ideological order (in whatever form it takes). Human beings, as the most exhaustively studied species on Earth, have no shortage of data, nor any famine of instances littered among history that create the foundation of a deterministic human proclivity to be influenced by covert forces, often even when staring us in the face.


The institutionalisation of Peace as a political concept?
Peace, among the broader consensus, means to many and ideal not only of great significance, but too, a matter of urgency in a world of almost instantaneous advancement in the technological means of warfare, with the capability of mass destruction or even global fallout ever possible at the push of a button. Peace, however, as a political concept (like all concepts) is multilateral in the diversity of its manifestation, and is one of vague understanding to those who might purport its value, or perhaps not to those who might reap its more nefarious facets. Institutionalised ideology (possibly even Peace as a concept) has a tendency to shift to the extreme spectrum of its implementation in order to compensate for, by physical and ideological assets, the inevitable opposition that will rise in its wake or during its implementation. This is why, despite the seemingly sympathetic characteristics of Marxist ideology, it requires, when in its institutionalised from, a means of repressing antithetical views or activity, for instance, within the Soviet system. Because of this proclivity, it is thus safe to assert that even Peace, when in an institutionalised state could adopt a form of despotic hard and soft power in the enforcement of its ideological tenets.


Peace as an ideological control system?
It is necessary to understand the extent to which the concept of peace can be applied and that to which it's linguistic value could be altered or even neologistically reinvented. Peace, as generally perceived, means a vague ideal of harmony between people, generally applied to warfare and violence and the unnecessary suffering it causes. However, it is surely necessary to contemplate the id of its concept, which could still, by technicality, represent peace. Here is a legalese style list of how it could be applied, utilised as an ideological system of control:

• Opposing dialectic or political discourse between two or more groups or individuals as a breach of peace, for it produces a state of non-neutrality and thus a state of conflict (of ideas).
• Opposition to the state by activism or an expression of opinion as a breach of peace, for it may incite a state of conflict, or a spread of opposition.
• Multi-partisan politics as a concept that produces conflict (of ideas) and thus would be a breach of peace, and therefor is necessary to maintain a single-party system.

These are some ways in which I have tried to apply the political concept of peace as could be utilised for an ideological system of control through the rule of law or other means. Peace is generally perceived as a concept existing on the macro, however, here having been applied to the micro, it becomes scrutinous and can target by technicality, basic liberties. Theoretically, peace can mean absolutist ideological neutrality.


- a short essay by JDH

only because northern ireland was originally liverpool.*

yeah... i’m an anglo-slav,
he’s an afro-saxon and that guy is a fairy
with clover petals for wings -
watch him fluster and flatter cheeks turning green into pink!
well, nothing really educational in essex,
just a barge of the usual escapees from middle class opinions,
esp. escaping opinions as if onion tears
of the integrating migrants who flawed the first rule:
your father purposively forgot your mother’s tongue
(but your mother kept it for the earth
and her hope for you to till it),
you’re ******* with a body and no soul:
the irish fairy countered interrupting me -
i kept my gaelic in speaking english drunk, *******!
that’s a trinity that i see.
and i saw it, spoken across new england and washington state
(hey, price up the ***** liquor of thieving a sympathy,
i wasn’t going to be nice writing poetry,
still me, the remnant of the masculine root liking rugby
and the diminishing psychologies of the players
of the losing team - watch them applaud loss
rather than sing victory prior without listening to
a wwe fake warrior entry music they boggled up with dr. dre’s venture
into # therearenomotivationalspeakersinthenationalanthem).
i kept my masculinity watchings the sports
just so i could write poetry and not womanise -
now the escorts and arias i hear you claim?
no... finding nemo, frozen, brave,
no arias and escorts, just enough morals for enough of
horn inches and cartoon coloured shoes.

it all makes sense after a beer and a whiskey, honestly, as honest as is this statement, i'm only a misogynist with regards to white girls, who i find so, so adequate for feministic fickleness that they could never produce 1 billion blue indians or 1 billion chinese.

i tell you how it started, i was at university,
first year i met this french psychology exchange
student, she was older than me,
she got drunk at one party and crawled into my bed,
when i climbed and felt frisky,
she just told me to put a ****** on,
prior to she was stiff watching some cartoon
by studio ghibli, man i was young and frisky
about loose the white of virginity and enter
the blackness of personal psychologies
passing via the rainbow of the visible world,
it didn't work out with isabel, we climbed
arthur's seat and took a picture
while she scolded me for napoleon
and the duchy of warsaw as the re-emergence
of poland but missed marquis de sade's picture
hanging on the wall... who's sick then,
the one who pleases the many or the one who
displeases a few?
plato's picture also hanged on the wall...
she was oblivious to the fact that an 8 year old
child can be categorised as a native speaker,
because that's when i started my anglo oral examination
to speak it.
later i spotted her after my first session with a bottle
of whiskey in lycra, going to the initiation ceremony
for the lacrosse team... i never joined... i just puked
into a bucket.
you never realise that when people label themselves:
i'm an atheist... i'm a christian... i'm a muslim...
i'm agnostic... you see the labels... you see how
they rememeber of themselves in terms of nanometres?
they kept their memory very cancerous...
the proto-socratic maxim in modern times
stands as: remember yourself, knowing nothing
is worth the existence of an encyclopedia -
feel and make the facts absentee...
just remember yourself as some point in your life
to re- re- repeat yourself so i can known you
as i can know myself, just so we can interact
like in a school playground... if you don't...
forget it... stay with your ***** **** stiches of a partner
and tell me whether your children got an a at a-level.
so he told me about her eagerness for *** with
strangers... she was apparently abducted...
so he told me he ****** her... believing him...
not getting enough... i went to a brothel in my second year,
and i didn't really understand the emotions of
someone who's ~******* outside a brothel,
well she really did let that one rip among one of the
major proofs of solispsism: someone farted in a crowded
space and appreciated by himself alone,
all the perfume companies who even hired
the best chemists could produce the scent of solipsism,
therefore the proof of solipsism: we appreciate our own
but loath the ****-burp of others; hey, i just took
all the theories of existentialism into hades via ****.
but that's the thing - back when darwinism was
active, active enough to build pyramids, motto active:
strength multiplied by ****... back then...
chaos known as god entered and said this that
and the other... we can now say democracy is safe...
demo tapes everywhere, half complete scripts...
but the limit of democracy comes when
you start to disagree with yourself... that's the limit...
obviously a high proportion of people
succumbed to the democratic weakness
and started to disagree with themselves or
the ontological starting point and ventured into
ethical questions to give birth to conscience...
first year was magical, second year had a highlight
where me and this guy played golf on the street
with glasses, smashing them next to a graveyard...
about a dozen jewish couples got married
when we took over stomping the glass with golf sticks...
so it's like this, make memory as selective as nature is,
as bizarre as the colour of magpies and parrots...
plus... you wouldn't get existentialism
if you changed the cartesian expression that
thought precipitates into existence...
sarte's explanation that existence comes prior to essence
is true, he stresses the essence: i think,
but existence doesn't really precipitate into thought,
because then we're all analogue: god doesn't exist
because of such and such parasite...
this world is beautiful but harsh, but with harshness
comes adventure and with beauty laziness...
what's crucial is to curb the precipitation of thought
into existence... unless you innovate and materialise
a telescope or paracetamol... for the majority of us
the one thing guiding us is not res cogitans,
but res vanus... not the thinking thing, but the empty thing,
and the empty thing is primarily filled
with the first linear association, thought, and later
being - which is why most of us think about being millionaires
but never are... and therefore create the lottery,
then we put our thinking into to being millionaires
as a mere chance, luck... which is really emotionally debilitating.
i agree... an unjust world of freedom with a just god
who's whimsical existence has freedom like ours...
rather than a just world of slavery with an unjust
god who plays us like puppets;
go on, complain... but that's hardly a logic i wish i could
understand like 1 + 1.

Reprimanded cityscapes
Land fated in concrete slates
Date with disaster
A trait of nuerosis. Faster and complusive
Make moves on asphalt, elusive
Straight abusive of late
Centuries to make lenses of fate
Baited humanity
Takes debates of philosophies, psychologies to heart
Makes them fate
Mythologies and anthologies
Satiate the reasin we procreate
To recreate humanity in gods vision as we see today
Irregularities and tragic parodys parry us back to where we began. A ferry from the lqnd of eden. An apple eaten
Adam and Eve forbidden, corrosive and up for biddin'
poison inlayed in veins
You aint kiddin when you say youll eat my brain.
Sin and evil slain, i run back and forth in place between the yin and yang

You aint lyin when you say your insane. I love it baby
its just change not sense
In inflamed with your scent
Smell it everywhere i go
Youre millions to cents
Like a fairy lullaby or maybe Khoas
You shake, maybe we could lay in intamacy for infinity
A love song this became
Cadence inlayed in the movement of streets that seperate us. In sheets that penetrate us.
Imperative lust, imperfect trust
Who are you? a cusp between picses and aries? do you carry all that i felt and shared. Take care but hear in my lair, defeated lain upon slated heroes shared upon plated zeroes
Old ideas pirroueted like leos on a dance stage. Im a leo on this stage but you lay in my bed not sure if all i felt and shared is truly cared for.

title: prune
body:
      /ick/
\itch\
|snooze|
szshszsh    a 502 bad gateway bypass

HIM:

Why are we quantum entangled? I'll just walk away

12 hours ago Quantum physics mean nothing. Take your plank hole shove it up your plank hole ***. non locality? get non locally ****** every instant. I drank the essence of a black hole.

12 hours ago Wait, I want to know what you see so I won't walk away.

12 hours ago I live in the US, in Colorado. It ******* ***** here. King George is an *******.

11 hours ago My issue I'm having, there's too much to the story inside my mind. There's not enough words or time to tell

11 hours ago It all starts with Unholy Trinity. Cast of characters in “clinical” terms, Borderline Mommy Room 11 who lives completely fragmented and disassociated from her own feelings and emotions and Narcissist Room 7. I’m cast in a role in a control fantasy  between these two psychotic child blood drinking creatures. I have to be the adult. I have to deal with their feelings and emotions. I don’t get to have  happy childhood feelings and emotions.

Now I’m in my 30s. I’m confused about Borderline Mommy Room 11 because “Real” Mommy failed miserably. I don’t understand being born because of this “failure”. I found a new Surrogate Mommy who lives above my head Room 11. She’s “clinically” “borderline”. I think she has a control fantasy. She’s using  me in her control fantasy, really easy and convenient for her. She had been watching me for months before I realized she even lived above my head, apartment above. When she was always making noises, before I even knew who she is, it would give me PTSD symptoms and I’d think my dad’s getting up and he’s coming back to ****** me again.

Now I’m more aware of the situation. I had a control fantasy too but I’m working on breaking down it down, return to source. I know now I just have really really ****** up Mommy issues and I’m using Surrogate Borderline Mommy Room 11 as a mirror, projector to try to understand what the **** happened in my childhood. I have no idea what is going on in her brain, she refuses to communicate with me.

The first time I saw her, I saw her in the rear view mirror of  my car. I did not know how long she had eyes on me. Way longer then I knew about her. Basically she had preyed on me, calculated a whole bunch of stuff about my psychology because she had been spying on me. She approaches me one day under the pretense of a light for a cigarette. We talk. She tells me about her self. Like’s to paint. Has paint all over her hands and arms. I had been avoiding looking at her because the beauty, is just what I want. I want her beauty and I’m scared of wanting that. So simple. She made a move though then I saw her up close, too late. Feelings are there now, no going. She smokes cigarettes, I don’t. I smoke cannabis, ask her if she wants to smoke in my apartment. Show her my computers stuff, tell her about my divorce, pretty much just make a fool of myself. What ended up happening is me inviting her to the apartment was a ******* really really bad idea. I show her more, my paintings and stuff. Tell her I served time in the psychiatric facility. She served time in the same one. They say bipolar mania for me, borderline for her. Nothing happened between us, she decides she wants to leave. I tell her it was nice speaking with you, she says the same. She says she’s happy she came up to me. I tell her I’m happy too Got her number, she says she wants me to text. I tell her I would like to see her paintings before she leaves.

I’m trapped in the spider’s control fantasy at this point and I’m completely oblivious. In her control fantasy, She’s just using me to  recreate conditions in her childhood so she can master them. Nothing personal.

She asked me to text her, I did, basically just repeated myself, would like to see your paintings, let me know what you would like to do. She “ghosted” me. She lives above me and “ghosts” me on the cell phone. I never send her another text or call her. Takes me a month to figure out that she has *** with Narcissist Room 7, who has way too many guns and always has the cops showing up to his room for some reason. He confessed to it, and basically the way he told is is he lured her somewhere and ***** her, used her for purposes of ****** gratification and that was that. I think she saw me talking to him, this is what borderlines are known to do. They triangulate. This man who I was speaking with reminds me a lot of my ex husband, who I recently divorced. He was a very evil man into the Voodoo religion, a super control freak who had me under a Voodoo spell.

Psychologically, Narcissist Room 7 has now become cast in the role of my father, or ex husband Voodoo, who is a very dangerous and abusive man. Now I’m in the middle of this really ****** up situation again, like a repeat in my childhood, between my parents and their inevitable divorce, trying to stave off the impossible. Narcissist Room 7 is obsessed with me. He was working on me, trying to get me to do what he wanted. I was just humoring his manipulating attempts. Honestly, I may have even had a plan. I have plans and keep the plans from myself. But the plan got jammed up by Borderline Room 11. I’m ******* ****** with him now and it completely ruined his plans to manipulate me. He came by later, trying to manipulate me to get over it, bros before hos, blah blah blah. I’m not following that script, I will not be manipulated. I’m angry with that man, for good reason and we will not be ever becoming friends and this just eats him away. He is obsessed with my attention for some reason, so is she. She always puts on a display to make sure to parade her kid around in front of me in some bizarre power play. That’s how she communicates with me. She’s holding me hostage in her control fantasy and I have decided now that I’m just not going to play along anymore. This is a ticking time bomb situation, we’re all ticking time bomb people with very bizarre psychologies. Not sure what’s gonna happen here.

So the root error and cause of this ****** up situation is my mommy issues. So what do I do? I call my mother. Tell her to come visit. My plan is to give my mother all the attention. When she gets here, I’m going to ask the Narcissist Room 7 if he wants to have *** with her while I watch. I’ll tell him he can invite surrogate Surrogate Borderline Mommy Room 11. We can even record it and have the memory live forever. I’m going to keep talking to my mother, give all the attention to my mother and drive these ******* stupid *** people crazy. They want my attention, I need to give my real Mom my attention. She’s in a lot of pain and really hurting. I care about her even though she abused the **** out of me. She’s finally learning how to help me out a little, for real this time!

11 hours ago Oh i forgot to mention, last real communication I got from Borderline Room 11. She has a really bizarre sense of timing because of her fragmentation and disassociation. She went out to take her trash, timed it with when I drove back to the apartment. I was looking at the sky, ignoring her. Timing ended up being she walks behind me as I walk up to the do or to unlock. She walks up to me exactly the same way narcissist room 7 ***** her. Asks me how I'm doing? I'm just like, inside, is she ******* kidding me right now? ***? I just reply: "Ill be all right". I havn't made eye contact, this isn't real communication. She's ******* with me and she knows it. She's still behind me, the split occurs and eye contact occur. She says thank you. I tell her, you are welcome and I smile. Now I'm in a fight with Narc Room 7 down the hall I guess, with a little child in the mix.

I now find myself most concerned about the child in this situation.
I am very frightened.
The danger is real.
Violence seems inevitable, can’t see the future.
Caught in the web
No way out

Last communication I got from Narc Room 7 is he told me my room smelled like **** because of the insence I was burning. He told me this from down the hall. I tell him, come up to me and say that **** to my ******* face, say that again because I did not hear you. He said it. He replied: Are you saying I’m ****? He got real mad about being asked this question, so I asked him more. Why the **** do you come up to me and talk to me? What the **** is it about my attention that you need so bad? He just says all I do is cry, makes crying noises. Im just like ***, you literally turn into my father. I ask him if he’s real? He closes the crack of his door and returns to his apartment.

10 hours ago I forgot to mention, I held the door open for her. Total sucker, total fool

10 hours ago Let the self trashing continue. I already know what's coming. I'm indifferent. Okay with anything. Ready for the suffering

10 hours ago This is my last message before it scrolls off the screen. The identity confusion that results from being in the middle of Borderline Women and Narcissistic men is very very very very confusion. I am so confused. I think I'm going to be okay. Writing helps. Getting the story out of my head helps. Will continue the work as long as I can


ME:

how can i unpack, justly, fairly, what you have left me? i don't think i can... oh: i will have you know that i read all of it, it was a curious read in some parts, but, in other parts? very relatable...  i'm going to try to refocus your attention on something that's been been bugging me before i try to consolidate your troubles, not that i'm going to offer any advice, proper... o.k. o.k.... the song... Your Woman by White Town... was sampled by Dua Lipa - Love Again... which one do you prefer? Me? i recently tried to get together with this woman... i'm 35... she's 39... oh my god... i really fancied her... i was round her house three times... outside of work... brought her homemade wine, forgot my "Gordic Gryffindor Sorting Hat" i left at her house... pom-pom and all... a hat i found at a bus-stop... mind you: i hate Harry Potter...she too has a kid... a lovely 11 year old chap... i told him he should be learning German rather than French because the grammar: the way words are aligned are akin to English... her dog liked me... i had wounds on my knuckles from putting out cigarette buts on them... because? i enjoy pain... being a sadomasochist... i like to inflict pain i might on others on myself first... that's the real test of the threshold... first: me... and if someone gets in the way... at least i could possibly say: 'don't be a *****, i can stomach this... if i can: so you can too...' i even cycled the night prior to Valentine's day and left a card and a bouquet of flowers on her porch... what did she do? ghosted me on WhatsApp... then again... all the talked about was her exes... her abusive exes... one boxed her (beat her)... drank excessively... i drink excessively myself, mind you: but i'm the sort of drunk that tends to wrestle with his shadow and beats himself up... the kid doesn't know his father... she dated this dog-lover type of guy during lockdown... but once lockdown ended... the dog-lover type ended falling back into his old ways... sniffing ******* etc.,  for THREE ******* DAYS i had stomach cramps... i was thinking: ooh! i'm in love! i'm in love! i'm in love! i thought i was... "thought"... this is the same person that... on our first shift together tried to spread a rumour that i was stinking of alcohol / drinking on the job... 2 ******* WEEKS OF DRAMA... between my coworker females... you know... in that sort of scenario... watching a horror movie like Hellraiser is more akin to admiring Buonarroti's Pietà... horror has its moments...it's no longer horrific... it's somewhat beautiful, when people behave in such a petty way... but i told the other girls... listen... don't tell her that i know, i even used the proverb phrase from my native land: liies have short legs... i.e.: liars don't walk on stilts... you need to be a Machiavelli to lie... you need cunning... you can't just expect to be a good liar by watching English soap opera dramas... to be a good liar? you first need to master telling the truth, i.e. to be unashamed of it... like... i tell you i still live with my parents... in the Anglo-Saxon sphere i should be ashamed of this fact, like i'm some would-be Ed Gein ******... but then i tell you... but i'm the custodian of the property itself, i will own it when they're dead... i do all the housework, the DIY and the cooking... my parents are not going to be found in an old people's home... but you know... in order to lie... you need to remember the lies you spin...  you need to be consistent, otherwise there will come a time when glitches... irregularities appear... all liars are bad because they haven't spent enough time in speaking the truth: CONSISTENTLY.... the reason why i'm framing my reply like so... from a shared experience is because: i don't know how to approach your individual case... the similarity is that this "girl of mine" is also damaged goods... she has an 11 year old kid... she has several suitors... she's also very attractive... and i'm as dumb as you in willing to commit to a doomed relationship... rumour has had some sway on me... the other girls told me that her ex didn't actually beat her, but she... beside ploughing him with fists threw knives at him... and... ha ha... she was in her 30s while he was 19.... they met through her son... when this guy was picking up his younger brother from school... why did she ghost me? she can't control me...  in the most recent episode of Billions... don't know if you're familiar... Wendy tries to bribe this Buddhist monk with a tub of vegan, homemade ice-cream... it's different when a man brings a woman his homemade banana loaf and wine... i was peacocking... **** me... if she's not impressed then and there... basically because of that... and from what her past experiences of men should have taught her... then... she ghosting me... i don't think she has anything to learn... Colorado, eh? i'm not English... i have no allegiance to the history of England regarding your country... i'll go as far back as Edward the Confessor, Henry II... but i'm not English... i hope there might be zero animosity between us on this front... i don't care what your take on Englishness is... i just live here... my favourite barber is a Turk, i buy my spices from an Indian merchant... i'm going back to Poland on the 5th to reassurance my grandmother that... Putin will not cross the border... blah blah... man... now that i think about it... you know what i did when this girl ghosted me... on a ******* shift a taste of: voyeurism... she was swiping left, left left left on TINDER... i never used a dating app... but there she is... swiping left left left... it's bad enough that i have a facebook profile... that's ******* embarrassing... but i did set it up when there were restrictions regarding to who could sign up... university students... i have no twitter... why? i write too much... 140 charaters is not going to cut it for me... plus... with this girl... we didn't talk about books, we didn't really talk about movies... well... i mentioned Sunset Boulevard & Bell, Book & Candle... the 1958 movie... my love for vinyl records... our 4th date was supposed to imply i bring a vinyl record and some more of my homemade wine... obviously that didn't happen... mate... it's ****... and from what i read... you're knee deep in some... horror show... i dare say... if H. H. Holmes wanted to build a labyrinth slaughterhouse... he'd base it on your narrative-analysis! i'm not joking! but you know what i did after this rejection? the girl obviously loves her soap opera... her femme-boxers... she just likes to be abused... some people can't help it... it's like that Eurythmics's song: sweet dreams are made of these... who am i to disagree... i travelled the world and the 7 seas... everybody's looking for something: some of them want to use you,
                            some of them want to get used by you,
                              some of them want to abuse you,
                     some of them want to be abused (by you)...
the next big fix on offer? going to a brothel and seeing a *******.. i'm not going to handle rejection like that, not in my 30s, that's simply not going to happen, i was always going to have an auxiliary fall-back to land on, that comes all the more easier with prostitutes, at least they're blatant, obvious, 3-dimensional... at least if you upkeep personal hygiene one might tell you: live dangerously... have *** without a ******... hell... i'm expecting her to bring some marijuana to our next session since... two sessions prior i mentioned that i haven't tried *******... she brought ******* to our last session... tried it... did **** all for me... i prefer coffee... it's like sniffing... a dog-****... with chemical rainbow aftertaste... i was more into her naked body... mate... get out... even if you have to grow a pair of horns or a cranium  thickness of a ram's head... get out... but it's how you opened up... kudos to you... you are most certainly primed for the Beatnilk cut-up technique, oh man, i was a big fan of the Beatniks in my younger years... all that ****-****** literature surrounding William Burroughs... the confused state of "affairs"... i gobbled his books down... Naked Lunch is still one of my all-time favourites... you're on your way, in terms of writing... i will spare you correcting some discrepancies in your messages... although... the grammar-**** in me is tirggered beyond belief...i'm seriously itching at what corrections i see that need to be corrected... but this time... i won't...  i see too miuch of you in me and i hope: not enough of me in you... but at least we can share the similitude of our fates.... to compare... we're not that much mis-aligned... trouble being... i went to the outlet of a *******... to counter her having control...even my neighbour today, who i went going to the shop commented about my **** beard... you need to find other people to please, there are always other people... don't congest yourself with the claustrophobia of this one woman... like my one... oh... she's fit... she's just my type... half Celtic... hair like a sunset...ginger: but not ginger...but she originally wanted to get be sacked for "apparently" drinking alcohol on the job... you can't help them... if she's into being beaten, if she's into soap opera antics... free will is a *****... however much good you want for someone: if they are still adamantly reserved in being receptive to advice... so be it! let go... just let, go... your interest in computers is like my interest in making my own wine... let it go... see a more available third party... you know how much i wish it could be true? but... i just don't feel like being the *******...i don't want to **** myself spiritually in order to win over her heart... sad... i know... i'd like to love her... but if she's only willing to be loved by men that abuse her... Pontius Pilate... i wash my hands clean, of the whole affair... FIAT!

i did sort of warn him... he didn't believe me...
i guess that's perfect:
learning the hard way, from experience.

out of balance? out of balance? my fist in your face is out of balance, but it isn't there, and it should be there, and the "out of balance" part - if your maxim is in my head, that equates itself to the out of balance of a missing fist in your face of a crafting of a jackson ******* squish, or a plum tomato, well then... maybe i was right to avoid punching you and making modern art, as i was: completely discrediting your words, esp. as an old man as: complete *******. it would seem, better write in youth, than to write in old age; or write at all.

it would seem, that we need to see much more
mathematical terms - the new form of replacing
1 = a, and 2 = b....
    i "think" we need to introduce the square-off...
that the √ be the nuo ego... letters falling fast,
new units, end even newer nuance -
    like autumnal flakes of oak -
the last revealing promise:
lost, to the things salvaged
                                    as, "old".

atomisation correlates directly
with a big "bang" theory -
a "bang" in a vacuous space?
you ******* kidding me?
bangs happen in a vacuum?
what i am, a ******* deaf numb mole
who has a hard picture of
comparing a mozart to a tchaikovsky?!
what's that, rattled siberia,
while finally residing of the riviera?
***** twice doubled -
     and i thought i had readied all
the ******* fur milkin'...
seems poetry was always a *******
guise for all artists...
i don't mind,
  writing a ******* is as amusing
as looking at seals in a zoo...
you just end up clapping
alongside them! ha! it's infectious!
miraculous in the onomatopoeia sense of
ough, ough, seals & seagulls
combined: + an oink,
and micagrammatons...
     moink, moink...
  how does a man write
    a proper woof / meow,
and not make it sound as mundane
   as a knocking on a door?
- but you should seen me when they
handcuffed my father,
who? the home-office... they said:
what a nice computer...
and they took him away...
i remember the day they spat onto
my father's head in chessington's world
of adventures... i remembered that...
but you know what i best
remember... the evil sly look i gave,
akin to ex machina soundtrack -
    hacking_cutting - by that moment,
the ball, just, sank...
                you like being called
"illegal"? you try explaining your
"legal" sudanese immigrant brats,
hoarded by political correctness?!
    
you want to talk to a kid,
punching a wall, imagining it was a face
till the plums came home?
****, the kid could,
he'd make a ******* apple pie
from that face, and leave you some
apple pulp's worth of a face for a jam...
you really, really don't know how
this will brew?

i god forbid anyone in defence of these
germanic tribes-people...
  they deserve their turn on ****,
i never had a thing for a gloria steinem,
or a claudia schiffer...
but i do remember punching a wall,
imagining it to be a bulldog's worth
of an english man's face,
licking his tongue into a somali ****
pretending it was a lamb sandwich...

and then i cried wolf:
                           and a wolf - i became:

ah-woooooooooooooo!!!

best exacted - the dirtiest look imaginable,
what the arabs call the *evil eye,
i? i call it the death stare -
            the song already mentioned -

the english are the least apparent into
their moral monopoly -
        they're either the retards,
or the rejects... i can't and never will decide
which...
        but from what i have read,
they really do deserve an a.i. paranoia -
to have created something that
overshadows them, bewilders them,
they really do need a guardian and protector,
that is half-based human: origins of,
but is also half-based artificiality:
   the frozen congo - remnant of
the baked alaska -
              that monkey in an igloo,
             playing with a pair of chopsticks!

i can't even believe how people can become
so naive, as to be naive enough:
to spread naiveness beyond themselves,
and craft the architecture of
  jung's collective unconscious reverse -
people always speak of en masse hysterias -
en masse psychologies -
  group think,
                   naive-ness is what what constructs
the antithesis of jung's collective
unconsciousness...  it's always the certain
sleepy tomorrow...
   being naive is the conscious agglomerate,
there was always a conclusive collectivism -
it sprouted in the failings of
             capitalism: being defended.

song in the background: bras mort - disappearing -

what the velvet underground
could get away...
without
the glitz of paparazzi...

i measure the units...
II = a bottle of 8.2% cider...
my usual diet of 4 bottles...
and some added juice...
IIII/ = 5...

that's IIII/ + III = 8...

8... grand duchess B(othered)...
somewhat...

elsewhere... ∞ ÷ 0...
well... no one really likes conversations
with "consciousness" on the fore:
the ontological grasp
of "awareness"...

more like the end of: exploits
& opinions or dr. faustroll.
pataphysician....

all that will be revealed is pata-physics...
if we're talking forms and no longer
skeletal indentations...
at fault logic and the remains...

∞ ÷ 0 = (0, 0)...
without anything being "given"
what's infinity in the copernican "sense"
of up and down...
left to right...
on the moon: where is "north" or "east"
or "west" of "south"?

ha ha... acronym: n(.)e(.)w(.)s(.)...

i'm pretty sure you can-can dance me in
on all of this...
paris was a diatribe of events:
esp. the paris when i wasn't there...

∞ ÷ 0 = (0, 0)

looks "true": again... borrowing the tactics
from german philosophers...
my second name... conrad: is a very white
name...
i beg to differ and use it as a surname, sometimes;

stanislaus: stanisław: stsanislav...
velarized - ******* santa claus and all...
it's not that difficult given
the blank english canvas...
of... sh-atter... š-atter... sz-atter -
ш-atter... on the ch-eap...
cz-eap... č-eap... ч-eap...
it's already in place...
but "we" have so many examples
when the two meet...
szczypta... soli: a pinch of salt...
so much so... practical mother...
russia...
would have us write: щ-ypta! pinch!
because there's also щ-ypać
and there's also щ-ekać...
but the russians do not have the arsenal
of the acute letters:
again.. the suffic -cki in english...
well...

           only in russian can the
             wet-snare difference
between...
the C and K be explained...
ć is the "high german" addition...
   otherwise... in everyday english...
a C is distinguished from a K...
via the cedilla... cyst is actually: çyst...
as is the loan word for waiter:
much inflated in paris as: garçon...
plain and simple in russian...

ц "vs." ч
well... and the greek: moo(n): μ...
perhaps darwinism is the talking point...
alongside marxism and feminism...
but i'm strapped to the copernican "revision"
of forms... letter and numbers...
and how they found a place to congregate...

czekacki - чe-      -кa-        -цки
   cie-kawski... but only if the iota is not given
special treatment... inquisitive...
   ćιe-ka-w-ski...
perhaps no further - still...
                                            -цки...

this is what a world without colour looks like...
grammar was the basic landing... blockage...
the rest remains in abandoning metaphysics...
and...

делтa: some time ago: hand-writting used to
exist, beside this puncture method of:
words in the framework of knitting...
once upon a time,
in a time of snow white... these letters
were used to being connected -
by a weaving... by tide and...
by "agitation":

because these "    " markers are not
supposed to exemplify merely metaphors...
they are to include misnomers and
synonyms of lose association...
for the passing down / weaving
of a narrative...

q, c, k, "ch": cholera...
and s... quote: i will queue...
with the following cue:
to mind -

                from cat to the kayak of karma -
quote: quiver when...
it's almost an orthography -
dizzying heights of giraffe grafitti...
as crude as:
you could cuote... and kuote...
but you most certainly need to: Quote...

you can say: garson... but you need
to write a cedilla c...
how strange... "strange" almost fwench...
because: forget the trill of the R...
the tarantula bit your tongue
and the qat isn't even asking
who would be so audacious as to bite it:
with it... not included on
the suspects lisp... list...

bras mort - disappearing -
can i please appreciate a band that...
focuses on exploiting the bass guitar?
i've been a long lost fan of the bass guitar
becoming more and more prominent -
to step away from the rhythm section -
ambient noise -
    refrigerator background humming -
along with the drums -
and the vocals "in-between"...
how much: you will never know...
appreciate the bass guitar having its due:
cue... of: reaching a status
of prominence...

what were the pata-physics equations
proposed by alfred jarry in dr. faustroll?

they weren't: ∞ ÷ 0 = (0, 0) -
what is ∞                                ÷
when not 8 - "standing up"? divided by "itself"
is most certainly becomes
a coordinate... a starting point...
hell... why not claim a 3rd dimension
of this equation...
and say that: ∞ ÷ 0 = (0, 0, 0) -
and Kant's 0 = negation is to somehow fit into
all of this?

the english speaking world: this most instrumental
of all worlds...
and philosophy and metaphysics is an escape
plan... when darwinism is battling marxism...
and copernicus is in the background...
"west" on the moon!

it's pata-physics - it's not orthography,
nor is it metaphysics - or...
trans-            and the litany!
or basic chemical coordinates of the benzene
ring attaching groups...

what was once tau and the revelations
of anna katherina emmerick's revelations
and papa **** and ubu roi...
has consecrated itself upon the altar of: tao...
道...
           which tau is still part of:
should "the way" come across the crossroads
                  and junction...
to the splintering mechanisms of the mind...
a self- prefixed as individuation's
primer and solid unit of any: "moving forward"
becomes a second-class citizen
of the suffix caste... i.e. self-employed -
topsy-turvy becomes: employed-self...
self-awareness becomes: awareness-of-self...
the )of( conjunction is pivotal...

the alfred jarry equations?

           x = ∞ - N - a - P

and the verb of god - the crusading Y... the cross...
what would a rorschach test suggest
when seeing... the Y the T, † and Xi? the 11th hour?
while also seeing: ☿, ♂ and ♀... or for that matter...
☿ and й...
crescent moon as the crown - a horn toward the east -
and a horn to consolidate itself with the west...

     N = ∞ - 0
P = 0
             definition: god is the shortest distance between
0 and infinity... or...
what's ∞ - 0?              to me that's...
                     8 - o = b...
little boggling - hardly upper tier: Bobby...
which is a 8066: breaking 7 / Γ(amma)
in: when Alice finds that ******* mirror
to genesis with!

                          hello... my name is robert, the bruce...
otherwise: the psychotic is rarely the psychopath...
imagine... let us not imagine...
a pathology a priori... genetic: inherent...
and a pathology... acquired...
a newsfeed for the world to allow you to be -
in a solipsistic purgatory...
never quiet the hell anyone would imagine...
nonetheless...
dante's inferno is was sell the myth...
come paradiso - a firework display for all
and any psychologies...
a claustrophobic "oops" and "la la"...
because.... such is the presence of god...
one would sooner monologue for an eternity
in hell... than...
come across... "the meaning of life"...
the "bruce", the "almighty" the...
simple questions require... a labyrinth's worth
of an answer... never a sigh... nor a...
stipend in being: stupendously... constipated...

to be literate is but one tier
in this layer-cake of... if the world adopted
a lingua franca - a l'inglese:
the fear of a scandinavian bilingual society...
the fear of a rampant schizoid virus of
the tongues - while the native population
is supposedly falling behind
in acquiring its own zunge -
which the new-commoners and comers have
no luggage over...
claim...
perhaps the welsh are not the cucks
the english "think" they are...
given that... there's only a whiff of gaelic
coming from the highlands of knox...

coch barwn...
east of berlin... that reads as...
кoх бaрłн - red baron -
no: it was not, ever: coach or: cot death...
and coč... it was always going to be:
loCH ness...

chwynnu goron: **** crown...
again... no ******* cha-cha-cha...
х(ły)nnу -
ł(y)dka - calf - this isolated letter is
a lighthouse-cause...
гoрoн...

       perhaps i'm just tired of looking
at paintings... perhaps i didn't drop any l.s.d.
and i need to see...
the breaking of bones...
when a feud between the orcas
and a ***** fledgling erupts in the sinking
of a titanic...
and the ribs are broken...
i.e. N - H - H - И...
otherwise: pleaжure...
or... seiжure... or better still... no caron above
either the S (fake) or the Z (probably right)...
quiet sooner... ж = ß -
for better, or for worse...

i could write a pwetty poo'em...
i really could...
but why i don't, will not,
is not really the focus i'm willing to give...
a throng as an answer,
for a bare minimum of words -
a pseudo-haiku...
to just... allow the children to come
forward and spread their wings:
that would sooner be found...
as broken with ever other Icarus...

i know a triangle when i see it...
a H a ² -ed,
      more pataphysics from alfred jarry:
a² = (-a)² + y² = a² + y²
whence: y² = a² - a² = 0
   and y √0...

square in html or in halifax scribble...
JAVAscript baby...

let's find the red herring and the excess of
tape... when... the "H" shrinks and explodes
into a square form...
and... there's that mem (ם) for every samech (ס)...

one can simply tire of painting...
can't one? in that royal pronoun ref. pointer
that was always gender "neutral"
and always considering the auxilliaries...
the sycophants...
there was always that sort of grammar to mind...
to mind in it being: a hanging affair...
a guillotine spectacular...
a bit like gravity...
come... the lesson in grammar:
from zee... harking inn-glee-m-hush-puppies!
this is not a formal language...
this is a language better looked at...
i did sneak a...
it's only conspiracy theory...
but what are the odds?
budweiser teamed up with heineken and
stella artois... and to cut the sales
of the mexican... corona beer...
they said it was bat-soup and a snake-bite...
chinese biological-warefare...

come to think of it: i can't find anything more
entertaining to "believe in" / entertain at this moment...
but what would a communist esque
building look like?
believe me when i say...
painting bores me...
the picasso niqab / frenzying with mosquito netting...
above all other amateurs: the prized bull...

here's a painting... again: square: H...
mem and samech being weaved in...

              ◻ ◻ ם ◻ ◻ ◻ ◻ ◻ ◻
              ◻ ◻ ◻ ◻ ס ◻ ◻ ◻ ◻
              ◻ ◻ ◻ ◻ ◻ ם ◻ ◻ ◻
              ◻ ס ◻ ◻ ◻ ◻ ◻ ◻ ◻
              ◻ ◻ ◻ ◻ ◻ ◻ ◻ ם ◻
              ◻ ◻ ◻ ◻ ס ◻ ◻ ◻ ◻
              ◻ ◻ ◻ ◻ ◻ ◻ ם ◻ ◻
              ◻ ◻ ◻ ◻ ◻ ◻ ◻ ◻ ס

should i sooth my ego: even though i don't really
think: i have one?
it is tired of claiming an i:
an i disappears in a crowd:
there's an it that can be spoken of:
but it is only spoken of as a disappearing act...
perhaps managing 100 people
is very much unlike supervising 10 people:
managing 100 people is entrusting
them in capsules of their own competence
an individual as a noumenon:
a thing-in-itself...
people: as a phenomenon...
philosophy in the work place:
i ingested plenty of hyperbolic fiction music
to contemplate
how i was offered this position:
hardly on the sly... someone ****** up
and i was drafted in to be a Quadrant Manager
on Level 1 at Wembley...
ah! my playing field! psychological testing
ground: like landing on the moon:
instead an alien format: an other: self-dismissive
being dropped into a cohort that's sole purpose
is to organize a crowd to enjoy a sport event
peacefully...
last night i had phantasmagorical injections
into my brain from the lived-experience...
it refreshed my sense of existence
a bit like when i first came to England
without knowledge of the tongue:
as they say in the para-Olympic sense
of a joke:
****'s sake ha ha: cut the legs and arms
off: throw the ******* torso into the water
and start the motivational chant of: swim...
swim! swim! almost with a sparrow-like
cheeriness...
i'm starting to see familiar faces
although: i'm the familiar face:
i don't recognize any of these faces
but they seem to recognize me...

just recently we lost a freak of a coworker:
13 years of experience in stewarding
and yet: no progression...
i'm actually glad he's dead:
i'm glad because he was like a Christ:
he actually allowed for the world
to take its revenge on him
but there was no revenge:
just bad luck or whatever:
regardless:
he was a hero-loser...
in that he allowed his idiosyncratic ways
to flourish in him:
had weird mannerisms and bad hygiene
habits: i can't blame him for being
poor...
but at least he wasn't a militant-loser
in the vein of Islam...
although i don't know what Anders Breivik
was:
dude was a ******* paramilitary anti-spy...
the intelligence of the man
and the amount of diligent rigor...
one man army...
i find no phobia when it comes to seeking
perfection...
and that has to be admired:
because... we are... reduced to... admiring:
what? celebrity culture?!
hawk tua girls?!
we want to admire the Lebanese botox babes
of attention *******?
why can't the Nazis be wondered:
fair play: the chimneys are not the pyramids...
but for some vapid gruel:
some confiscation of the lineage of language:
now that i've had the pleasure
of managing 100 people...
and i started so basic on the cordon
at gate 3 ensuring that no bags larger than
A4 would come from the cracks...
started there...
and i was just so silent:
i don't envision a career in security any time
soon:
but my great-grandfather ended up
being a security guard at a kindergarten
and that's where my first memory comes
from:
him as a shadow:
playing a piano while putting me
on the floor and giving me a toy piano
and that's when Liszt and Chopin
performed a duet...
before that? oh you know: war and ****...
working around that:
started off with a horse and carriage
distributing lemonade:
and when coffee first arrived:
people didn't know what to do with that ****
so they dumped the beans into the river
since they they not used to coffee:
only tea from Asia...
but i'm walking in his footsteps...

what does: having 100 people under me:
feel like...
well there's certainly no room to think
about it:
perfectly muddled:
for all i know i missed the three tier
register...
so first the company rep signs them in...
then the stadium at the turnstiles
sign them in:
then they are signed in at the position:
which i was supposed to be managing:
great start...
but i'm not such a technology Ludite:
**** it **** it ****! Luddite!
there! no red?!

                  so i was keeping the arithmetic
with my six supervisors
and all girlish like at virginity being lost:
oh help me: help me:
give me clues give me cues...
time to play innocent:
and once you figure out psychologies
and temperaments:
you can get a momentum going...
oh **** me this is psychology outside
of the classroom:
this is psychology on its own terms:
mine? do i have i to have any?

during the shift:
quebec one two can you please head
over to turnstile M to speak to Abigail
there's been some...
... ch' ch' ch'... ******* crackling...
half baked messages...
yeah: but i'm only doing turnstiles A B C...
why the **** do you need me
at turnstile M?
you said outside? i'm covering inside...
so i get to turnstile M
nothing there...
******* phantom idea...
as i walk back to my area...
who do i see... a celebrity by all accounts...

Sir Mark Rowley...
and his entourage...
   so i walk past and i'm scratching my head:
i've constantly being surveyed:
i don't mind it even a little
i'm a transparent creature
i now understand why males
in positions of power / authority could
enjoy a cuckold shift in power dynamic:
slightly pushing it... but i know where it comes
from...

take away from KAT MARIE...
watching my stacked wife *** on another
man's **** - touch my wife...

it's pushing it: i don't think this happens
in real life:
what probably happens in real life
is akin to Chuck Rhodes and his ****
******* vibe of being domineered
as a release from exerting authority:
and that's what i needed to relax to:
it's not satisfying to claim to have:
a creative outlet to manage 100 people:
supervise 30... but then there's managing 100...
maybe if i worked in retail:
i'd think i could have a better work-as-working
orientation:
since i started in construction
all other jobs have been rather...
Picasso... you know:
i'm not producing anything...
in a hunter gathered society:
so many genocides...
maybe i'm dismissive of the work i do
because i see so many people perform
the job so poorly:

point being! trouble starts in a quarter of an area
within the posit of a first potential ejection:
one happened peacefully
at the turnstiles: over a nugget of marijuana
and a roller to scrub the **** to a pill
to be sprinkled...
the fella left amusingly blessed with no scuffle...
see: now i understand the Labor Government:
Labor is Authoritarianism in England:
Conservatives are Liberals!
i'm starting to ******* love it!

i'm a creative spirit in public:
i'll write my fiasco: but i don't necessarily
blast it to the public:
it's something for individuals with enough
public scrutiny to appreciate:
but... the second coming of a Labor Government
since... that other: ******* fiasco...
and i'm kinda liking it:
in order to contain people:
i like the current Labor stance on policing...
if it starts with riots:
then what happens to other policing problems?
did policing suddenly get its mojo back?

Labor is Authoritarian: Labor is: Authors of
our won Fate: as the people: of England...
who are the Conservatives?
we are the Conservation attaches of project
beyond our concerns just so the middle
classes don't scoff... what is Conservatism?
i understand what Labor is:
it is authority: of authorship...
a bit like literature:
what are the conservatives these days?
clamor ******* ***** of sputnik
and i.o.u. of fish and chips on a Friday
and roast beef on a Sunday
what the **** did these conservatives "think":
oh wait... they didn't... hence the "claws"...

Labor begins with the police force:
i get a trickle of the purifying sensation:
it's not a career...
it will be a career if i get out of these *******
high viz jackets...
up to now i'm making lazy progressions:
but i have poetry on the side that
i don't want to make a spectacle of:
like Leibniz to my intuition
and Newton to my aversion to ambition...
oh god: Newton sacrificed his intuition
and probably more...
because he was an ambitious man
and social standing took precedence over
his original intentions:
his sexuality was probably involved:
suppose i shove a **** up your ***
and it comes out the tongue of the other:
rarely does it happen
that i shove my **** up a woman's ******
and i hear myself talking back to me:

Kauai offers no solutions:
only problems...
i have yet to hear her listen to and allow
me to speak of my problems...
we crossed the Rubicon of taboos
and non-taboos...
but... it's such an unfair supposition
to keep me in this prison:
but when a 50+ woman allows
you to gain experience...
you don't exactly start looking at 19 year girls
with a fetish...
although i have one curiosity to mind...

THIS WAS NOT SUPPOSED TO
BE THE POEM I WAS THINKING OF!
THIS WAS NOT SUPPOSED TO
BE THE POEM I WAS THINKING OF!

since yesterday
i have been filled with such subtleties of human
understanding that
it beggars belief whether or not language
is the pivotal motive, motif:
of how we speak:
overtly: language... yes...
but i just can't write about how else
i was communicated with...
writing this junk on a piece of paper is one
thing:
but experiencing the tides of subtleties...
nuances...
no poem can capture a lived experience:
no poem can capture a lived experience
in the hyperbolic realm...
i can drink some more...
smoke a little... then return to this canvas
and bleed it some more...
but that would be like:
killing a cow once...
getting the meat:
and instead of cooking the beef to
a medium rare perfection:
making a ******* Sunday roast out of it!
all dry and itchy on the teeth:
since you want the succulent blood to run
and sooth the saliva while you chew...

100 people: it's not a poet's monologue
on the stage... i'm not performing:
i'm: not even talking...
i'm insinuating...
i'm sorry: language, abstract, mathematics...
we were talking but on such a multifaceted
level: there were keys involved:
ghost agitated inanimate objects:
things got broken...
by "ghosts"... i ended up being a locksmith
at turnstile A...
so... writing poetry at this time?
yeah: well... if you work with a lot of people
and organize them... manage them:
watching t.v. is not going to be your outlet
of choice: nor is playing a lot of video
games...
but using your vocab... to catch yourself stuttering:
i slur from time to time
and i do waggle my tongue when word-tied
not tongue tied since bilingualism
involves two brains and only one tongue...
but that's that...

                  i had better private dreams....
image-words have no place here...
and i dream using image-words...
implying the words available are sounds:
wounds inflicted by daggers of skeletal precision
against some affluence of the deity
of a face represented without: the woo or wiggle...
but can you see wiggle or woo
as an image? or is it just a word...
so where do i find my image-words?
i'm not saying imagine...
                           that'a a different type of genius /
genie...
                oh a bad spelling
in terms of the image-word gives me nightmares:
beginning with:
onomatopoeia... but i don't even know
that sequence of letters as sounds when
transcript into letters:
i know that word not by the sound
but by the rhythm of me tapping the QWERTY...
onomatopoeia...
how i arrange my hands... and then utilize
my fingers: 2 hands 10 fingers...
and whoever uses QWERTY and doesn't
utilize either pink or thumb while doing so:
well...             not going to judge:
but even in the old movies when you saw
typewriters:
you hardly ever saw them using
either pink or thumb fingers since the clavishes
were so rigid that you required
the index, middle and ring fingers...
modern typing does require you the imagination
to use the pinky and the thumb...

not the poem i was expecting.

Nice guys finish last
Which is probably where I am

Watching the weather change
In the Land of Uncle Sam

Losers they lay low
Don't build Hoover Dam

The water still does flow
Like the Blood of the Lamb

The psychologies and churches
Usually a scam

Yes, I'll have the sweet tea
Thank you kindly, ma'am

All theologies thud
All philosophies fail

All psychologies ****
Dead men tell no tales

All living beings die
Hence, the wild Wail.