Sie fragten, weshalb ich schreibe.*

Ich habe lange mit meinen Gedanken herumgespielt,
aber meine Mutter hat mich all die Jahre liebevoll gelehrt,
dass man nicht mit sinnlosen Gedanken spielen darf.
Ich habe nachgedacht, bin durch Straßen gerannt,
bin auf Füßen von anderen herumgetrampelt, und
weitergerannt, umgedreht, und ehrlich entschuldigt.
Habe an meinem Stift gekauft – vermummt von Wor-
ten und habe Bruchteile von Radiergummifussel ver-
streut. Habe überall gesucht, in den Strömen des Re-
gens, in den alten Adern der Blätter am Straßenrand,
nicht mal im Bröckeln der Asphaltrillen habe ich ent-
denkt.  

Es hatte mich Nächte gekostet, einen Punkt für das
Fragezeichen zu finden;
aber, oh Gott, ich habe den Punkt gefunden, denn
der Punkt liegt in meinem Herzen, ich trage Worte
in meinem Herzen – lauter als mein und dein Herz-
schlag zusammen;
und nun hat mein Herz Ringe unter den Augen.

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et sårbart punkt eller svaghed
et ord
han lærte mig i mørket
hans fingre der glider ned af min krop
som et verdenskort
og han vil se det hele
han leder efter et punkt
mens hans læber strejfer mine
lader jeg også min hånd lede
og jeg finder det
mærker hans kuldegysninger
hans læber
der skilles ad

men hvad han ikke ved er, at han kan lede i dagevis
       for min akilleshæl er ikke et punkt på kroppen
min akilleshæl
er ham

why my poetry is as if a heilig schrein?
teutonisch schwarz auf weiß -
kreuz imitieren zunge -
Preußen war etabliert pre Weimar:
verloren ein Verstand mit Jagiełło;
die punkt auf sein?! nichts zu hinz,
unless electorate Hector
and that Trojan vigil to mind,
with aviation of Ottomans deciphering
the gallop and sneeze of the Arab breed -
more racehorse and less dummy of carpenters'
excess.

jeg er kommet til et punkt
hvor jeg er begyndt at overanalysere i dansktimerne
det siger min dansklærer ihvertfald
*** siger:
men hvad er historiens reelle mening?
jeg er kommet til et punkt
hvor det ikke gør ondt mere
fordi jeg er blevet
vant
til smerten
vant
til historierne
jeg overser
alt
og alligevel
overanalysere jeg
stadig
alt det, der ikke er reelt

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Jeg er kommet til et punkt
hvor jeg er begyndt at overanalysere i dansktimerne
det siger min dansklærer ihvertfald
*** siger:
men hvad er historiens reelle mening?
jeg er kommet til et punkt
hvor det ikke gør ondt mere
fordi jeg er blevet
vant
til smerten
vant
til historierne
jeg overser
alt
og alligevel
overanalysere jeg
stadig
alt det, der ikke er reelt

Nået til et punkt hvor glæden ved
venners tvunget smil og gnisten i deres døende øjne
afspejler sjælen
som nu i takt med at alderen forfalder
17 år og fanget
fanget i en tilstand mellem fantasi og virkelighed
for virkeligheden er at
alle vil såre en
drømme vil forblive drømme
dog holder fantasien en i gang
fantasien om livet som følger
livet efter gymnasiet når drenge bliver til mænd
deltidsjobs bliver til en fuldtidskarrierer
og bekendte forsvinder med den bidende vind hvor kun de få forbliver tilbage
og det triste, men dog smukke er
at de få som forbliver tilbage
er de som delte al smerten
al forvirringen og håbløsheden
17 år og fanget
fanget i virkeligheden
med ****** up venner, med fælles drømme
de holder virkeligheden for nar
med lange nætter fyldt med tung røg og dulmende vin
hvad skulle man gøre uden dem

Du ser i mine blå øjne og fortæller mig at jeg er typen.
Typen som folk forelsker sig i i juni måned for at aldrig se igen til august. Typen som fortæller en historie der efterlader folk med åbne munde og vandede øjne. Og som danser på vejen fordi at *** stoler på at bilerne stopper for hendes skyld. Typen som taler så tæt på en at man næsten burde kysse, men det er bare for at se ens øjenfarve i mørket. Typen som giver ærlige komplimenter om ens ansigt ud ad det blå og ikke forventer gengæld. Typen som man tænker over bagefter, men aldrig nok til at komme tilbage til. Typen som man kun kysser en gang.

Jeg lever og ånder for at forelske folk

Og hvor er det dog trist at være et tidsfordriv på et eller andet punkt.

for sandheden er at jeg har fucket op
og at du også har fucket op
og sandheden er at du kunne kvæle mig
og at jeg sgu nok stadig ville sige undskyld
fordi jeg fik dig der ud til det punkt
hvor du følte det var nødvendigt for at få mig til at holde kæft
og sandheden er at selvom jeg burde daffe
at mit vindue stadig er åbent
men jeg bor på femte sal
og når jeg ved hvordan du er og hvordan du tænker
så tror jeg ikke dine svedige håndflader
ville kunne klare en tur op af vandrøret
(A.M)

droga ku, w strone piekła,
jest wyryta
          dobrymi zamiarami,
i wraz z pierwszym krokiem,
malutki punkt sie oddala,
szlachta słowa i wraz ze słowem
godność obietnic, czy też prawd.

we can all pretend to be idiots,
but listen to that song *wandering stars
on the album dummy -
and see them roam over london
from time to time, and perhaps
nearer elsewhere in the distant land
of the slavs, perhaps even over venice,
or the great many fires over
the indian ocean looking from
the coastline of kenya -
or perhaps the grand linear of two points
moving together,
or perhaps the great eye of Shiva
that is consecrated by the geometry of
the triangle.

hvilken stilstandsform har du? jeg er
opløst i vand
alle mine celler omringer mig

med mine dyrebare bloddråber
susende runt i invendige rør-systemer
arvæv beskytter sjælen

øjet, et objektiv, kiggende
glemmer sit blinde punkt
mine blinde vinkler

  et stillads af knogler
opbygget af ældgammelt
stjernestøv

vrimlende med knoglemarvs-håndværkere,
biologisk renovation

centralnervesystemet
dybdeborende, som kolde
fingre langs rygraden

hofteskålens svajende og
beskyttende hånd om mine
indre organer
     inderste organer

   reproduktive organer
      hormonelle tidevandsbølger

menstruationscyklusens dans

for those yet, imagining themselves alive...
i "kwa'ight"....
quiet... quite...
         acquitted...
if there's a rock to be lived
under:
i'll just be the rock... i once had a faint
notion that i was alive...
i had what might be congested in a summary:
a thirst... a willingness...
summary and all those
broken things... "things"...
within the enraged solo
projects of solipsists...
self-"betterment" up a cul
de sac... has... infiltrated my
breathing: crease... count in german:
eins zu zehn
jeden do dziesięć...
   kurwa jebana mać...
poor traffic... thd ******* blinkers are
on... a turning right done awry...
ein(s)... one... jeden...

eine ein eins jeden raz one
zwei dwa two
drei trzy three
vier cztery four
fünf pięć five
(pięść is a denotes a fist... a faust)
sechs sześć six
sieben siedem seven
acht osiem eight
neun dziewiendź nine (nein nein)
zehn dziesięć ten....

mind you...
be drop the pointless diacritical marker
on the iota... we'd see more "punctuation"
markers: where, otherwise: we wouldn't...

i congested myself with counting
in three languages to somehow...
ease-up...
ten? informant: he / him!
ta? informant: she... shimmy(?!) her's...
hisses of his'...

i will not bring the Iberians into
this discussion...
what's left, though? scraps
of language and language policing...
******* and bells...
twang... death to the ditto... blah blah:
bleach and mythological blondes...
scraps i do one job good for you...
most... better... will not trace lineage...
no smear...

          t"they" never think less of
the Yugoslavs... i'm tired of being a punching bag of a people...
of all "people": the Irish not 'ard enough to
challenge the English have to find...
come the Soviets come the Nazis simultaneously...
looks like integrating into English society
didn't allow me to forget...
this zunge doesn't erase the ******* blows...

rich, though... no surprise that the Reesh
would squander and throw their *******
potatoes like monkey **** at...
oh i guess: shelved "life"... peoples...
if i were living back among my brethren...
i don't think i'd be living at all...
what would i do with not being
agitated concerning... minor... qualms?

the ******* leprechauns... priests...
are less than the english...
but are somehow tier above the pollacks?
it's no offence when it sounds proper...
in a foreign babble...
dzida...

          i'd just ask the Eire son...
so... ahem... where's your ******* Celtic?
gone... non-existent?

aon, dhà, trì, ceithir...
   còig (what's wrong with co'ig?)
sia,
seachd, ochd... naoi... deich...
so the grapheme CH = X of greek origin...
a ******* hark?

the Irish like the ******* Arabs...
the British did this to: oos...
it's impossible to live with these
go-to-party "solipsists" to begin with...
integrate? into... or for what?
rot? that's a-plenty...
but when some spaghetti monsters
and those potato jargon-fiddlers start
their usual **** about a fellow
european people...

it's not like the Croats or the Serbs are
ever mentioned...
they vent to h'america and youz zee...
zese irish and italliano guinnea pig-me-ups...
kwoss-eyed... you know...
best bitterest better...
inbreeding... takes a chunk of coal...
chalk and cheddar...
mustard...

  inbreeding mentality... superiority complexes...
no reimagines parmesan cheese like
it's not... shredding... old skin
off of heels...
talk stinkiny witchy with a missing R...
this massive ******* gloat of "riddle"...
that suppose: it's also a man...

       while the world... "also" happens...
these little: belittling interferences...
as if we were all supposed to be crowned kings
or queens... it's not that i'm even elevated
above these concerns...
but that i must have them...
must: if i were a king... i most probably wouldn't
even entertain the sense of hearing
on their existence!

in a society of sociopaths and solipsists...
a massive get together
of protest happens once in a while...
i get drunk and dump ****** words
onto paper...
i'm not alone in this "adventure":
yet i'm beginning to be...
more and more sorry for having
such... indigestions to sorrow over...
moral relativism is out
in the words of the choicest
of the choiciest...
   i'm looking for something beside
the superlative adjective: choicest...
the diminutive "concern"...

which doesn't exist in english...
and i can't exactly introduce it using my:
mutterzunge either...
correct spelling?
look at it... choiciest vs. choicest...
the most most choosey...
to pick of calculus exponentially incremental
details of observable shifts...
the exponential aspect of detail...

how many of the Irish still speak
their Gaelic...
apparently there's a Scotch version
of the tongue...
but... the Scots will not speak it...
completely submerged in their union...
they'll just exfoliate in how distinct
they are from a Loon'don'er
speaking the same language...
you could probably rewrite trainspotting
using that linguistic language
embedded in the dictionary
of:

   how i met your mother, the mute...
/ (haʊ) /
       / (aɪ) /
                 / (mɛt) /
               / (jʊəp) /
                               / (ˈmʌðə) /,
                        / (ðə) /          / (mjuːt) /

i wonder... and what if we started writing
like this? proper... phonetically...
like linguists?
the side note of /(x)/ though...

the written word is doubly ambiguous...
to the point of no return concerning
the sufficiency of its practicality of use...

ʃeɪk  ænd
                ˈʃætə...

if i had the time and *******' worth of
writing a poo'em like a linguist...
if i had more love for the Irish...
sowwy... all love spent on the Scots...
from these Isles at least...

sheikh who? shake your: *****?
that's ******* fwank zapp'ah...
      
but it's not that... i have qualms with
the Irish over the stature and seriousness
when occupying the "underground"...
i won't rap: god forbid i...
"**** someone": my catchphrase
wouldn't be:

allahu akhbar... it would be that teutonic chant
of: gott! mit! uns!
if that Norwegian hyper-smart terroroist
chanted those words...
what words? these words:
gott! mit uns!

   but around these isels...
you'd think there might be a sense of solidarity...
among the catholic irish and the
catholic poles...
but no... tępy ajrysz...
  blunt-irishman...
                  one side arguing for the other sides
dislodging of "i.q."...
same with those spaghetti swindlers...
the...

mind you... ****** is not a racial slur...
it's actually better to denote a pole a ******
since... not kinh john: lackland...
the whole hiss-tow-stowwy...
i'm not pole: positioned...
i'm not...

    divorced from "my" people:
and the "mother" land...
                  Warsaw the last great end-venture...
keeping it up...
mawa: little old gone...
         in the hunch fabric of
lessening the diaspora approach...
you don't think i mind the missing links...
when there's a collected agenda for the purpose
of a purge of the intelligensia...
now... because only the Jewry suffered
a historical lineage of tonguies
towing complaints....

         **** it: the russian sayingly... newly invented:
**** me?! ******* too!
but in the english realm who's the lesser
******* among the polacks and the irish?
who's less gingerbreadman?
my side... most probably...
how will we ever let the 20th century become
past?
oh **** me... we will need another
war... but chances of that are...
sort-of-slim...

             no? it might begin with:
bypassing loan-words...
and how self-help gurus and famous psychologists
refrain from infiltrating lost hybrids of
focus, that there might be a clearaance to
discover society outside the realm of pop!
saavvy?
i don't like this...
psychological testimony of:
what's an alpha male?
not me... what's a beta male?
not me... what's a malaise?
what's an omega man?
everything that an alpha male is...
in that... there's an antonymous discharge
of needs... requests...
demands...

how many Irish still speak their...
diego / alfonso magic "whisker" ****?
that ******* Gaelic?
so much for aardvark "typo" in Scotch...
because it just so happens...
you speak an over exfoliation of lettering...
the aesthetically bogus: claim of...
no... no "originality":
i'm not even going to bother the higher
tier of diacritical markers to
instigate "something"...

but this whole: i'm a lesser "european" when
it doesn't suffice in north american parlance...
i'm sort of... em.... ******* bothered?
history seems to be a lesson
in teasing small-**** and the infinite
summary of infancy... last time i heard...
because the Mongols never made it to... "x"...
because the Turks never had ownership of Vienna...
because it took both the Nazis and the Soviets
to make me bow...
in England? the invention of snooker...
tennis... football... rugby...
bored people... obviously...

how: else: woudln't you have capacity...
need... to invent so many coliseum...
distractions to mind: and take seriously...
if you knew: you were an island dwelling folk...
and you staged your pride in not being
invade-prone...
a bit like the whole of east London's
pakistani-land...

wake up 40 years from now... from...
little bengali land...
the Pakistani grooming gangs of the supposed...
while i'm getting more and more irrritated
by paying for ***...
having Bulgarian ****** pretending to be
Romanian....
you see the grit in my use of teeth that aare never used to
nibble and conjure...
a "drying of bones"?

i will complain about the Irish as i will about the
tail-tan'ohs...
******* spaghetti slurppers...
we of the same European origins and the same
brain-drain... because the anglo-saxons
fiddled out a mechanism for...
a "coming together"... of...
a people... just like germany was confederated...
into a federality...
wow!

  the pope receding... on paper...
the Irish make complaints against the Polacks...
the Irish demean the Polacks...
nice nice... here's to me equipping myself with
Haitian "nouns"...
you, *******... ginger: knuckle-fiddle-numb...*****!
what Celt wishes himself to have
a Cyrillic ancestry?! almost all...

have your little i.r.a. memento...
       i'm only concerned about
a pomeranian, conrad... quest...
aren't the czechs / hungarians locked into
that... posit of being: without an access to
a "window"... hardly... that the baltic...
already is... Samaritan....

porsch monkey: among the slurrs... "poet"...
pshek in... denotative lingo...
it's a: thank you...
i call you worse:
    karot... burak... syberik....

thankful though: it's hardly a slur...
king John was known as lackland...
given the shrinking of the Angevin empire...
thus "we"... shrunk to the duchy of warsaw:
a satellite of Napoleon's ambitions...
then the Warsaw Pact...
pandering to the Bolsheviks...
blah blah: now more pandering to
woke ha-ha-h'americanacancan...
the mythological blonde: always on my mind...

the first words in my language
they managed to speak and they somehow managed to
call it a slurr... and polish: paul-leash isn't?
pole position, heading north?

say strawberry in ******?
TRU-S-KAWKA...
     paul's on a leash of nibbling on the quarters
and halves of would be barons of pandemonium...
we were teenagers once...
and once upon in an Ilford mall...
we bought compact disks...
rival schools... fugazi...
coal chamber's dark days...

  those where somewhat architecture days,
though...
you can't make this **** up...
you probably have had to live it, sort of.

- otherwise who can't forget the flight of the Jewry
from the area...
once there was a makeshift synagogue on
Coventry Rd.,
now there's a 7th day evangelical war band
gathering pulpit... source...
i was expecting a mosque: in all honesty...
it's a common suggestion:

now first comes the flight of the Jewry...
the whites are somehow 2nd...
but as i explained to my mother today...
i feel sick in a monochromatic...
homogeneous society...
i went to Cheltenham once...
to hussle my own self-published book...
i felt ill seeing so little minority
representation...
it's not like i'm brainwashed...
but among these minorities in Loon-dune
i'm a ******...
back in Warsaw i'm a feral animal...
among "my people" i'm zero-punkt-zero-nic...

the vagabonds of the world decide to congregate
in Loon'don... for some reason: ulterior or
altogether "other"...
the world has congregated:
is this still about the English having their
nationhood infringed?
perhaps from a perspective
of the Midlands... Birmingham...
but over 'ere...

funny that... i live in England...
but i probably interacted with more Irish
and more Scots than the supposedly
demographically first...
i probably encountered more Pakistanis too...

so what's the difference between
a Samaritan and a Sarmatian?
you're running? i thought i ran...
i might run... who's running?
is it raining?
is that... ****'ite iconoclasm?
sign me up...
            
but living among the Irish who are
not living in Ireland...
a tired old bunch... sometimes...
it's hard to fathom their identity crisis
since a whole swab of them
spoke a zilch of Gaelic...
it's like with these over-impressed
succcess stories of "integration"
from olive-pound land /
****** copper...

the parents want to integrate...
that **** backfires...
the grandson retains the tongue
to his grandma to speak
back to her her native...
yet his... "in-between"... "integrational english"
becomes a sick joke: stereotype...
almost a cul de sac accent...
the sort that has to breathe into a phrase:

oi oi! bown and bwead!
  em... bone and bread?
how does that work?
i guess it must work "miracles" from places
where the ingestion of gelatin is
foreign... transcending "foreign":
too alien to compose...

yes... detailing the promises of pork, pig...
the most economically sound
animal: beside the hoofs...
you can utilise almost... "almost": all of it...
one way of the other...
an animal that can never be a waste:
unless you're into dabbling into a cannibalistic diet...
plus... lamb... lamb: *******: stinks...
the aged lamb...
plus... how would you herd pigs...
pigs aren't herded...
it's a theological anger at...
camel-jockeys being unable to... harvest
the only potential of farm-food... via the pig...
pigs aren't herded:
i've only heard of a herd of pigs
and that's when there came a time
to treat a trough like an array of teats when
the porkies were 'ung...
is it a despised animal?
a despised animal because:
and the devil reimagined himself as a pig?

so god looks like a mythological blonde...
the devil looks like a piggish minotaur...
why this demise of pig?
why this gratification in the islamic mirror
of words looking accessible: i.e. dog | god...
my all mighty: allah: blah-lah...
fork in the road: are we 'appy... "now"?

but when you live among the diaspora of the Irish...
you'd sort of suppose... what's the gaelic for green?
now that the internet is here...
i can find out for myself...

why demean the pig? was the pig created by
the ******* devil?
or is this one of those Abrahamic ploy-toys...
rigidity structures...
to leave you surrendered...
go against anything else: beside the pig...
it's such an economic model, creature...
you can utilise almost all of it...

not all of us were born Afghan sheep
herders... savvy?
that eating pork is somehow signature
of inbreeding and s schizoid tinture...
wh'ah?! i lost the TAU along the way...
o.k.?!

it's a waste of time having arguments
with... oh forget: rag-muffin'...
inbreds... i wass thinking about ***...
i picked a spot... Rotherham...
Pakistani grooming gangs...
oh... right... here's a lollipop... here's some dosh...
i'll get a hard-on with a girl who didn't mature
into prostitution wtih a crack-******* 'abbit...

chances of me ******* low i.q. is like
zilch then? i imagine the tirades...
the knife-insinuations...
**** a barrister: **** for life...
settle down: solve **** concerninng:
immmovaable objects:
the sun still has "egotism" to rise
and call it tomorrow...
and her ******* own too: to boot...
imagine that!

why go after the pork 'n' pie?
why pet a dog?
why pet a cat?
     i've already mentioned...
sometimes lamb: just stinks...
lamb kidneys?
STINK... SCHTINK!
but you also can't keep pigs
in an environemnt where you also use
camels instead of horses... no?
no one is talking about this...
because... it's probably too obvious to have
to stress this ******* argument....

came the Ottomans... the Mongols...
the Soviets for a while...
came the Nazis...
why weren't we the people who championed
each other at snooker...
why didn't we invent football...
tennis... cricket...
rugby... i don't want to blame the English
for their race...
but they have been privileged in:
intra-"whiteness" terminology...

what English soldier ever stood ground
on ****** soil?
i've heard of ****** pilots having dog fights
for the battle of Britain...
how the enigma machine was not merely
the work of Turning...
etc. etc.
gravesend: i'm here reduced to "biasing"...
yet i'm giggling at the remote prospect
of "gravity"...

i have clues to concern myself over...
ownership...
          a hierarchy of a cascade...
time follows time...
this solo project of "individuality"
was never going to... "work"...

pending...

   connlach dearg...

    but the welsh still speak welsh... no?
i guess that Carlsbeg moment of:
probably the best'ly integrated people in
the world... the Welsh are...
they still exfoliate in having a punching bag
of their tow-tongue...
unlike that most, supposed... oppressed people
of the... anglophonic world affair...
the Reesh that speak no ditto of Gaelic...

who are, you, you people?!

i was pretty sure there was no album they (the red hot chilli peppers) released between Californication and By the Way... but i stumbled upon something curious today upon waking... oh... i do know that they released a single in between the two albums... or was it after By the Way? Fortune Faded... well... i just found the Fortune Faded album: 1. starlight 2. save the population 3. fortune faded 4. bicycle song 5. runaway 6. leverage of space 7. rolling sly stone 8. brandy (you're a fine girl) 9. 50fifty 10. mini epic (**** for your country) 11. black cross 12. i feel love 13. flea's trumpet treated by john 14. tuesday night in Berlin...

again: this terrifying heat: best leave watering the garden
till after 10pm...
a b.b.q. dinner: black kiшka with onions...
what's a black kiшka? a cross between black pudding
and Haggis...
                         "cultural appropriation":
i wonder who borrowed from who...
                        well... it's not a ******* sombrero so:
i'm taking bets on the roulette...
             this weather only allows cycling after 8pm...
last time a car pulled up to me and a guy
hollered out of the window: there are your lights?
what lights? exactly... and drove off...
******... prior to that a woman screamed out of
the window and started driving off...
i caught up with her and screamed back:
******* *****... showed her the finger and disappeared...
fair enough... i'm riding in hours nearing
the kingdom of nocturnal creatures...
i fixed a back light today... there, better, *******?!
no... not good enough...

i have this one particular route... it takes me about
one and a half hours...
i call it: el clásico... why? i used to take it almost
every day after school after i turned 16...
there was this one summer... a magical summer...

it was a summer where i would usually visit my
grandparents...
mainly my grandfather: we'd go fishing...
we'd go cycling...
he would introduce me to his friend who also liked
to cycle for long period of time...
all retired people... and we'd cycle
via Bałtów: picking up goat's milk from this old
lady in a proper out of the way ****-hole of
a place to live...
             anyway... that summer back in 2002
i had a plan... i was growing my hair long:
in school there were jokes: Chewbacca... blah blah...
why don't you grow your hair into a mullet?
ha ha...                    ha ha... it wouldn't look good
on someone as fat as i was...
i finished my G.C.S.Es as a a chubby chub...
   after the summer... i came back weighing in
105kg... coming back to 85kg...
  
                     wow... how the dynamic changed...
a new girl from Australia started eyeing me up
as we started our A-levels... i suddenly became
visible...                    but? i still remained myself:
i was playing cards with the guys...
  perhaps the nerdy guys i used to hang around
swapping Pokemon cards with ended...
that time this girl in English class started flashing
her legs in English class: thighs... the thighs of Gemma...
she was intending to flash them at the guy next
to me in the bench... he got off with
running to the toilet for a quick ****...
while i looked and was immediately scorned...
"told off"... pervert...
   it's like a match-make made in heaven of Islam...
the girls don NIQABS and the boys don sunglasses...

how i was told off...
until another Gemma from Thailand told the
other Gemma (Laporte) to cool off...
stop flashing... but... hey WHITEWHITEWHITE...
magical summer...
   i lost the weight... the sun allowed my hair
to grow long enough to grow long enough
to be able to give me a French braid...
like that one donned by Johnny Depp in
Chocolate...

                           realisation period... now i was
changing the dynamic of worth...
       i started bringing weirder and weirder fruit
for lunch... pomegranates... passion fruits...
kiwis... well... kiwis are not that weird...
                             i was still playing cards with the boys...
the sudden spike in the girl's interest
in me i sort of ignored... i was ignored prior...
focused on education and education it was...
but i was already spotting all the examples
of the ancient fable of high school sweethearts...

obviously after university some people thought
they were born in a small town in a small world
in a snail world...
   they had to move: London's not enough...
New York over here... South America over there...
try being born in ostrowiec świętokrzyski:
now i'm the king rat of London...
                   on a bicycle at least...
i don't need to move...

come on... it's not like i came on a banana boat
from "x"... but it's not like i'm a mr. smarty
from Warsaw: from one capital to another capital...

i don't like writing about this...
after all... i wasn't too "bad boy" enough:
oh i get it... i sometimes lend myself to "the narrative":
i'm being sold a narrative of Darwinism that:
apparently doesn't play out in reality...
my deficiencies? i drink... but i self-imposed that...
on myself... survival of the fittest?
i'm 6ft2... 100kg... chances of me "catching" cancer
are slim... i have 20-20 vision...
   i blast music on full volume on headphones
sometimes on hours on end... but i can still
hear an electric car creeping up on me when cycling...
i have basic morals...
    
     it's not that i think that i'm the perfect catch...
god's gift to women...
i just think that the prescribed narrative of Darwinism
for man is a load of *******...
survival of the mediocre... cattle...

i'm using the sort of objective language that's
expected of me...
             this is what Darwinism provided:
there are no rules in place:
when there was once humanism there's now only
some version of animalism...
we lent out attention to make the world
coherent by employing animals to explain
our... disgruntlements...
    our objections... me? i'm trying to find the man in
man: ontology...
rather than finding a man in animal...
i find finding the man in animal: slightly boorish...
perhaps even boring...
but we borrowed from too many animals
in order to clarify how we are to behave...

this is exclusive to the English-speaking world...
in that case? i'm a ******* BEAR...
i'm a "loner": are bears, "LOSERS"
because they are loners?!
                           i'm a bear: you ******* chimp!
how's that? who would win a ruffle-and-tuffle
between a gorilla and a bear?
am i even asking this question?
                    
медведь (niedzwiedz) vs. горилла (goryl):
exactly... what's дь? dź...
                     and дъ?           dż....
                              soft via acute
          hard via the otherwise hiding caron...
swapped from RZ between R and Z
or with the case of coupling D and Z...
well: "who knows"...

                        the Copernican revolution made
sense... but the revolution the morphing
of Darwinism: man looking into a telescope
while at the same time looking up into the "telescope"
of an ape's ****...  is another matter...

never mind... i had this route...
   a surfer's body...
   and hair to prove it...
                 we ****** off elsewhere after high school...
i was the only one that went as far as Scotland...
the "king's route": after all... didn't
William gain an education in St. Andrews?
i was in Edinburgh... dangling like a spider
atop Cow's Gate...
                          this could: just work...

but what is "the" el clásico?
a route i used to take after school almost every day
after having lost all that weight...
this was a different variation...
an extended 'un...

starting from Collier Row...

1. up the B175
2. down B 1459...
3. Collier Row Road
4. onto the B174...
5. onto the A1172...
6. New N Rd toward Hainualt St.
7. A123
8. at the Fairlop roundabout staying
   on the A123...
9. coming to the A12 on the Gants Hill
keeping to the A123
10. gearing up to Winston Way...
11. the A1083 roundabout...
12. straight onto the A118...
13. it's still the A118 Seven Kings... switches names
from High Road to... London Road
(cycling in reverse... London Road would be known
as Romford Road)
14. at the roundabout take the A125...
15. turn into Exchange Street...
16. via Western Road onto Eastern Road
17. stop at the headlights...
       18.  cross the A1251 like a pedestrian
onto Carlton Road...
19. cycle up to Gidea Park station:
     20. Balroges Lane
  21. Station Road..
   22. then unto Upper Brentwood Rd.
23. until "returning" unto the Main Rd.
              the A118...
24. the onto Pettits Lane..
25. crossing the A12... onto Pettits Lane N.
26. at the roundabout onto the B175...
   then into Wallace Way...
then into a service road... then... home...

the "incident" happened at point 9. on the A123...
at high street Ilford...
my god... how much it has changed...
little ******* Bombay...
it used to be a predominantly Jewish...
but now? the whole world settled here: it would
seem... one Turkish restaurant one Indian
restaurant after another... fair enough:
i still don't have my headlight on...
because a road-bike is not made for noctruanal
musing... Nietzsche might have envisioned
walking to be the catalyst for inviting thought:
i tend to keep to cycling to wake up
my sleeping-mind...
i remember this one motorist slowing down
to "excuse me from giving excuses"
for not having tail-lights: yeah... thanks "dad"...
but this old man was trying to do
something unimaginable in terms of English traffic
laws: he was trying to prove a point by:
jail-walking...
he just stood there astounded and exclaimed:
where are your lights? i cycled past him
and pointed at my rear:
what the **** is this? look! that's at least
one half of the lights necessary,
so? *******!

   that's the first time i became insolent to an elder...
why? no one else in makeshift Bombay seemed
to care...
there's a billion of them: a billion more
will come...
         you don't make critique of me while
i cycle: i turn into a Hydra...
one the adrenaline kicks in... i become a notorious
*******...
i pointed it out to him:
perhaps he had good intentions...
perhaps... citizen-policeman my ***...
if i had enough time i would have suggested:
so... is the Redbridge Council...
saving money... on not turning on the street-lights
at the appropriate time?
then again: would you?!
could you make the same **** comments
concerning those Deliveroo electric cycle couriers
who don't bother?!
just because i'm white i'm supposed
to keep / meet high standards?!
*******: old man...
      
you will pass making this sort of comment
because "someone" is Indian... while
i get the brunt of your "civic duty" because
i'm white? to hell with that sort of *******!
you may be old: but you should understand
someone telling you to ******* like someone
telling a baby to *******...
because you can mouth off your fellow
European: like a diseased creature of defeat
when it comes to your fellow...
but: cower: before the altar of ******* HINDUSTAN!

i am a monster! people tend to create those...
isolated instances of insolence...
i can't give two-***** two care
whether English girls get ***** by Pakistani
gangs in Rotherham...
i can't... i told a man to get off my case...

you may: criticise me when walking... kneeling...
sleeping...
but this old man just chose to be iritated
by something already hanging...
too late to correct? me?

there's a fury in my thought as much as there's
a wind to couple it with!
but... you wouldn't dare...
to make this suggestive-correction
for some Hindustani "******* compatriot":
some ******* Sikh baron?!
white man easy access to white man...
THANK **** I'M NOT ENGLISH
AND THAT I DON'T HAVE ANY POST-COLONIAL
GUILT TRIPPING TO WAIT FOR ME...

me? i'm in CAMP ****... **** it...
go all out... this makes absolutely no ******* sense...
but this old man: did he think old age would
save him, from me turning around and telling
him to *******? did he?
he wouldn't have attached so much
concern for "traffic": cross the, ******* road:
at the allocated segments... your ******* prune...

oh but i love the anger: it's invigorating...
it's no longer angry white man...
it's the angry anonymous cyclist...
   but it's forever the ******* desperate black man...
anger *** desperation...
what a cocktail!
        borrow from the Darwinism... ha ha...
not by the focus of what's man's "plan"...
              
WHITE VS. WHITE...
of course he wouldn't have commented on some
deliveroo courier cycling on an electric bicycle without
lights... i had the rear covered...
but no! white on white "guilt" implies:
i'm the one who's to keep standards:
no one else is... why, should, i?
i can be nice to old men... drink a beer...
chat with them on a bench... about their grandchildren
and their pets... not... NOT... when i'm cycling...
you try taming a monster...
you tell me i'm a ****** cyclist...
   the end...

                      my sclera and my iris disappears...
i literally turn blind with rage...
at a time: begging for the borough of Redbridge
to turn on the: ******* street-lamps...
no... 9pm not good...
       this old man should have shut his:
******* mouth...
now i feel sorry that he had to hear:
******* from me...
                 i shouldn't speak to elders like so...
but if one: ******* akin to him
had the ***** to tell one white boy:
to keep his headlights up-kept... while ignoring
all the Hindu-*******-stan "couriers"
the "pass"? for fear of racism...
              *******... old, man...
no no... you should have been crossing
the road at the designated place...

ENOUGH! OF THIS POST-COLONIAL ENGLISH
ANTI-RACIST CLOWNING!
you have your little, *******, inter-racial escapades...
your little inter-*** trans-gender fetishes...
sooner will the Russian invade the Ukrainian
than see this ******* be sieved to the top!
no! niet! nie!

if i were adorning a darker skin tone...
if i wasn't a my usually "self" copper-neck of suntail
imprint... would this elder: pseudo-elter
make such a remark?
          oi! bruh! where'z your simmer framez?!
Cannes the walk but Cannes the: ******* talkz?!

for a minute i thought he cared... a minute later
i realised: citizen-policeman...
citizen-;policemen belong in the crowd of
*****... cultivating ulterior tactics of submission...

i didn't just exchange a ******* too with
my grandfather... my grandfather would have said:
cycle on... this petty ******...
i'm exploring my hands...extending my fingers
in a way that will not allow a handshake...
first: purses... and fists clenched...
"hello"...

why is it an "el clásico"?
the distance takes under two hours...
adding the wind? and after having eaten a dinner?
not bad...
no... though: no...
this "white guilt" *******...
i'm not buying it... the RUSSIANS are not buying it...
i'm with them... i'd sooner a fellow ethnic tribe:
akin to me: suffer... than leave them for the pastures of
the cancerous ideas of the "west":
mind you... i simply can't care about Ukraine:
thank you... Ukraine... for Chernobyl...
an atomic BOMB is a BOMB...
but a nuclear REACTOR? is a ******* nuclear REACTOR?!
why does my mother blame me for her ailments?!
why did the Jews receive world war II reparations
while the Polacks didn't? why didn't we receive
Chernobyl reparations? why does my mother blame me
for my birth? if the ******* trees...
changed colour from spring to autumn during
this advent... she blames me: she doesn't
blame Chernobyl...

*******: weningmenschen!
                        menschen von hafer: und knabbern!
the Russians will sooner wage war against
their own ethnically minded:
than succumb to the mindset of the:
eroding west! and i would too!
     mind you: i think i already have!
i would wage war against my own kind
than make them succumb to the most ******* worth of
scrutiny: unlike the propaganda of Orwell...
this "double-think" is an an "extra-think"...

the English don't believe in ethnicity:
they believe in race....
me? i believe in race...
that's why i deem myself as an compound:
Anglo-Slav...
was it that hard, for Anglo-Saxons to emerge?!
I'M, *******... ASKING...
you might as well give me a ******* reply!
no reply?! good! TOLL!

zweigesichtmurmelnkastrat:
that's how i see the natives of the land i live in...
i don't even need to bring
the Zeppelins, either...

mein blut ist sieden:
zu punkt von auferstehen die toten!

ich bin wildbeäugt!

to my detriment...
      
    (i) wouldn't have thought the concept
of orthography was alive and well
in the Victorian episode of
english history...

    but who can blame me...
after all... orthography simply became
a concern for "spelling mistakes"...
never mind the fact that...
   translating english into h'americana
can find yourself

obliterated - or rather: dumb-founded
at some examples of "unnecessary" letters...
e.g. colo(u)r...
             and i always thought that...
diacritical markers of distinction
were the prerequisites of claiming
orthography...

   i was wrong... so wrong in fact...

                                  +
                       B   I   L   S   T
                              U   M
                          P   S   H   I
                              S.   M.
                           A    R    K

i really didn't take more concern than
is usually necessary...
    Mr. Blotton...
                 said it was only...
   a failed sudoku crossword / pseudo-anagram...
neither: i hope...
              Mr. Stumps: the rock-"owner"
of Cobham...

              'bill stumps, his mark'...
ah yes... the orthography of a "missing" lambda...
but i would have to imagine...
as is the case:
sometimes the u precedes the o...
or the plague... or not really bothered but:
there is a clear difference
when the sound is the same...
can i infer a variation of meaning
from a "missing" L?
   bill... bill... there's the lesser william:
i.e. *****... and so **' come
the w mutated into a b?
lesser still: but of concern nonetheless:

how was **** arrived at from richard?
orthography...
when... all it takes is bil(l)?
                      a mammoth task...
esp. should there be a "missing" mam(m)oth
to begin with...
    it sounds as it reads but...
there's no "higher" reason to infer...
that a mamoth is not a mammoth...
unless: m'ah-moth...
                    but if it's orthographic:
it's also aesthetic to boot!
        a mamoth is not a mammoth because...
an ardvark is not an aardvark...
   and Aaron... and Aaron...
stutter? ah'aron...
                        stutter and a gem of timidity
when it comes to clicking: cccccook...
             bounce a riddle: not so... quick...
bry-dle...
                       the ridler & co. is not:
the riddler & co.
                                 but the added: D and so too:
added and not: ad(d)ed...
                      ad hoc...
                                       it was the year...
oh... i'm guessing 1997...
           the prodigy had released:
   more music for the jilted generation...
an event at the Victoria train station... terminal...
when OurPrice was still the sort of
tesco-metro of ****** megastores...

did i buy it? no no... i was still a "kid who'd
most probably **** their bed" when
en vouge came out with a single...
don't let go...                                 sold!

notion of orthography: furthered...
    pół - half...
           half of what?
   poow...
   literally... / missing from the L and...
' missing from the o...
               otherwise... pociecha: comforting...
punkt: point...
                     ah... this obscure of the most
obscure... under a russian umbrella...
  loitering blister of former life...

to boost concerns...
how am i to be sure that... e.e. cummings
was not... a welshman?
a cornwellian?
                  when reading:

       ygUDuh
             ydoan
                     yunnuhstan
          lidl yelluh bas

we could try... i'm pwetty pwetty     'ssured
that welsh is a protected language:
a u.n.e.s.c.o. heritage sight of: wriggles and lapping...
tongue: mind you...

hellish punctuation...
one of those: lesser arts...
          and all the space in the world:
escape from Alcatraz / the paragraph...

in velsh then!
       basic things: i eat coal...
                                   eh bwyta glo...
       roses are disgusting
              when rhymed:
           rhosod mae hatgasaf
                            pryd odli (fioledau)...
         come tomorrow:
   time will become the wind...
                       dewch yfory,
    amser ewyllys dod yn y gwynt...

gwynt - wind...
   ddaear - earth...
      dwr - water...
                tân - fire!

          that whole hazelnut of:
too many consonants from eastern europe...
yes: and so little in wales:
that Y had to, "sort of"... take on functions
of: why i... a llafariad?
         i.e. a voul... a vool...
                    an owl... a vowel...

Shakespeare? not now... not now...
  by the looks of it: no theatre... not ever...
thea-ter... you'd say: thea-ter...
but you'd write: thea-tre...
and then say: properly: anything
thea-trical...

               this of course is not...
something concerned with:    naws... nuance...
i must most certainly bring in some
welsh... to... for lack of a better... want...
that part of language most alive:
slang...
                      well... welsh for me will
have to... become a "sort of"... new shlang...

   it's wet it's gloomy... but to me it will be:
   gwlyb... otherwise: glib... and of course
cousin glum...
                    
   such is... what itself has allowed...
       and i: the hands that became a treason
to the body and the mind...
ventured to... satisfy...
                        these words... of origins
unknown...
               idle hands: hardly anything more
than idle words...
               how nature abhors a vacuum.