cheap write *******:

i almost wish i was bitter - but as i'm ageing -
it's not so much bitterness - a woman in her 60s
will say about her son:
well he's sorted his life out,
he's in his early 30s, has a job,
a wife, two children...

this man... has "sorted" his "life"...
more like when darwinism meets
existentialism -
hardly a sorted life -
a sorted life by ape standards -
not keikegaard's standards: if any...

it's not about bitterness -
but i would be more inclined to say:
early 30s, wife, kids... mortgage...
the rollercoaster is just about to start...
the kids: oh sure... cute...
until they start having a mind
of their own...
and... they will betray the senile
old fool that will come,
eventually...
and off to broadmoor with 'im!
life sorted... when the children could
almost be treated as pets...
fine! fine...

it's not out of bitterness -
i'm thinking... more on the lines:
i'm getting my years tally too...
i'm getting used to my own "solipsistic" routines...
it's not out of bitterness:
it's out of having my own routines:
my own idiosyncracies -
that i will take two ciders for a walk
(perhaps a dog would be better) -
and my shadow -
and take two home and drink them
with a tease of brandy -
and want to get to that sweet k.o. point
come 12am so i can,
wake up: frisky and fresh like a sparrow
full of song come 8am...
well... that's me...

i can imagine how symbiosis happens when
you shackle up with someone
in your early 20s...
forget doing it in your 30s...
my ship / my train has sailed... a long time ago...
i still can't find anyone i could
speak to about philosophy -
and to be frank? i hope i never will -
not now - when i wanted to talk about it:
no one -
now it doesn't matter -
because i don't want to talk about it...
i might slide in a sly ref. to something -
but... the aspirations for conversation
on these matters are... i would just tell someone
to buy a self-help book and kindly *******...

if women: hit the wall...
i've reached my impasse -
i have dug the trench long enough - deep enough -
i can proudly say it's a labyrinth -
and i'm happy in my labyrinth -
it's not much: but it's not a cage -
and this is not some bitter me:
woe me - blah blah -
i have routines - i like to sit an extra 10
minutes on the toilet - becauase -
i'm automating a massage of my prostate...
apparently... bid on this poker being true:
the fear of over-doing it and...
haemorrhoids... the same fear associated with
sitting on cold stones for too long
(ref. lethal weapon II - sam and martin riggs
sitting at the beach)...

but this is not what i was intending to write...
i've been trying to cut down on watching youtube...
i figured... what i should have been doing
was watching an english soap-opera -
akin to eastenders - religiously -
instead - i would have, at least: plenty more ref.
points...
but as for jokes... i make the odd "mistake"...

it's always like watching a paul joseph watson video...
i'm not a fan but i'm a fan of entertainment -
i must have a really low i.q. because
i find lee evans to be a rare genius of comedy...
old school funny - the body can become
a language for comedy -
you really don't need to over-talk the jokes -
after a while intelligent stand-up monologues just
bore me: humor of the monolingual crowd -
anagrams and... too many ciphers -
nothing wrong with your base crude of:
a ****** expression, the body itself -
the language can take a break -
but i must be really stupid for liking...
universal comedy... for me lee evans is a universal
comedian...

but this one video is likewise...
blackpill jesus - the inequality of the dating market:
it's over for many men...

and i'm like: those pro-life arguments are
just starting to kick in...
no... seriously... those pro-life arguments are
starting to kick in: right about now...
what arguments?
sometime in the distant future
an untouchable ** will come into contact
with an untouchable XY example -
long may they prosper -

but all of this is like... watching delayed...
abortions... walking abortions -
by: when darwinism met feminism:
and the two -isms lived happily ever after...
some people... really don't want to be told
they'll be walking abortions:
well: quasi-abortions... the living-dead:
by all standards of darwinian selection -
again... not bitter... routine baron -
but not in a culture:
we could talk about stendhal -
but we won't...
we could talk about bukowski: of all people!
but we won't...
we could talk kabbalah and gnosticism
and the nag hammadi library...
but we won't...
we could talk about music!
but we won't...
first sucker through the floral gates
of the ******: **** first in... head last out...
but at lucifer dived head-first from
a star...
by comparative images:
caesars were born via the caesarean section...
the rest of us...
let's just say: there's no more ***** envy
after a human head starts to:
appear from a place it never should have...

my 20s are a fog...
i might remember 4 odd *****...
one picked up from a club who decided to
take a taxi with me towing but
forgot she was riding with me
and did her usual: jump from a moving car
and not paying the fare...
which i later paid...
cocoon *** under the bedsheets and:
coffee in the morning with three homosexuals...

that south african: again cocoon *** under
the bedsheets - second time lucky for her...
but... is it technically "****"...
when she wants to ******* but is somehow
not aroused and she hasn't spoken to
any ******* about using some cream
and you little richard in that sort of purse...
sandpaper friction?

the black girl at my birthday party...
the right sort of cocktails...
the right sort of music: cedric 'im' brooks...
and then... proper coccyx ramming
that left me with a plum hue tattoo
in the eden of my ***** the next morning...
finally! a black girl with an *** that allowed
her to ram her coccyx into me...

i'll miss some... other... details from elsewhere...

but of course that thai surprise...
picked her in the park...
random as any lottery jackpot...
beers on the bench... more beers at the house...
some jazz... cigarettes in the garden...
later ****** in the shed...
walked the thai surprise home...
why thai surprise?
i wasn't sure... sports bra -
transgender "issues" were only starting
to come to the fore... "4 out of 10"...
tom boy haircut...
until the hand reached into the underwear
and i found oyster...
but prior to: thai surprise...

those ***** were free...
the brothel ***** are more vivid and... well...
there was always some kissing involved...
for some reason i can remember kissing prostitutes
more than ******* them...
with the "free women of the west":
it's more about... the sort of *** that is comparible
to... when foxes in essex come and mate at
night... you forget whether you kissed...
but oh sure... ******* sure did...

it's not sad it's... visceral...
work with enough raw meat in the kitchen -
curing it - slicing it -
rubbing it with marinade -
after a while you're no longer objectifying
anything: you're being subjected to it...

but i do wonder with regards to:
some people would like to know they're walking
abortions - the abortions pandering to the pro-life
argument... otherwise the pro-life argument is
a bit like: shackling - a safety-net guarantee -
or whatever: because what's the argument when...
there's the coming dissonance
of pairing?

perhaps i haven't said this more often than
i should...
of the books i've read... mostly french and german
and scandinavian existentialism -
with a tease of russian...
darwinism and existentialism can't sleep together...
that's what i originally thought...
how can existentialism reconcile itself
with darwinism: when it can't...
darwinism is existentialism for women...
the quantity: not the quality argument / line of reasoning...

i can't reconcile myself with darwinism -
a weakness or just:
there's just too much borrowed from a plethora
of animals -
so many studies concerning apes
and **** similis -
and even the mantis -
but... the noble swan and the phenomenon
of the widow and the widower swan...

days when you could just listen to
bloodhound gang's hooray for ******* and...
also find falco... you almost desire
to walk away from the sandpit where
the children listen to nothing but
philip glass and penderecki and speak
in sudoku language...
otherwise there's missing the middle ground
and reaching for the ***** and *****
of punk and... the scent of burning leather
wrapped in a ****** of stiched together
foreskins...

and i can't imagine... but i can...
cutting someone's eyelids...
and watching them... endure the subsequent
insomnia while having to plunge their
head into water ever 10 minutes...
******* is no help...
ear: eh... cartilege -
but the eyelids... we could be rid of those:
couldn't we?

because i know the potential sleeping in me...
i decided to arrive face first and meet "him"...
just so i don't miss the jinx:
i grab my ******* with one forcep of index
and thumb of the hand...
with the other forcep i pinch
the eyelid of my left eye -
funny... the skin feels... synonymous!

no, i can't reconcile darwinism with continental
existentialism:
as i can't reconcile the former idealism
of mine - not even after a ******* -
where's jack?! where's the jack in me?
but gym and squash and rock climbing later:
i was dating a crab and scraps were
the vulture's ambrosia -

what became of aphex twin? he slowed down
and that cul de sac became...
something known as burial - album untrue...
darwinism was always going to be impossible
to reconcile with: the role of humanity
beyond - it's almost easy to transcend the pure
animalistic comparison -
there's neither fire, nor the second fire:
electricirty in the nocturnal, feral heart of
the bottomless pit of anima -
currently: curated by over-stretched facts
and sleepwalking statistics...

bound to england for the past 26 years...
the closest i came was an: encounters of the third
kind with an australian oddity...
why would i date an english girl?
i thought they were into their pakistanis?
that's a question that's not a joke...
seek and you will find: mongolian-esque
rummaging...
the tartar "heretic" of crimea...

on repeat on repeat...
climbing over a fence from a darkened park...
came across a 15 year old running to and fro...
in the days when i still owned a phone...
tried to teach her how to roll a cigarette...
cleavage more visible than her neck...
reunited her with disgruntled friend
lying face down at a bus stop...
a black cat befriended me...
and this lass was running away from me
and toward me...
she texted about 20 people with my phone
before contacting her mum and dad...
and her cabbie dad later picked the two
of them up from a bus-stop at the tesco metro...
but of course prior to she had to take
a selfie of the three of us...

in the back of my head... the silent whisper
and the prosecutor simply whispered...
why not ask her to climb over the park fence
with you... and do the nightmarish deeds justice?

in england for the past 26 years: genesis aged 8...
and, well... "no luck"...
mongol attitude no likey-likey-lucky-or-lackey...
reciprocating "hubris"...
i guess i must be lucky...
come and go ******* like a nomad...
and: should i take myself more seriously...
invoke a talk about diacritical marks:
and those non-existent in the english language...
an octopus audience: the tenticles
do not count as 8 x 1...

20s... a complete blur...
and those vivid conversations in the brothel...
when i faked a death and managed to
get my overdraft limit increased...
and spent 4 hours in that ****-warehouse...
and was asked in the "interlude"...
wouldn't you want two at the same time?
i once heard:
the world is divided into men who have
slept with two women...
and those who haven't...

i gladly declined...
with two i'd need a room of mirrors...
hungry leech eyes need mirrors...
one simply can't have the 1st person shooter
experience anymore...
one would require as many mirrors when
*******... as a woman would require toys
to ******* with...
it might as well be called:
the mirror deity that spawned narcissus -
although - the more contorted
nightmare of narcissus -
the faces riddled with onomatopoeias
rather than words -
and faces that truly deserve to hide behind
a niqab...
or if the eyes become too fungus esque...
would require the samuel beckett's not i...
mouth like an intrusive phallus metaphor
of exposure...

in the past decade: well thank god
*** never became boring, routine...
it didn't require dressing up,
using third party limbs... and pieces...
*** was scarce - therefore *** was feral -
*** was never allowed a relationship -
*** never became familiar,
*** could never become mundane words
that would allow themselves
advice from some journo agony aunt column...
*** was a rarity -
and when it wasn't... kissing became more
important... and itchy fingers that
would read in braille the earth and its contorts
of a woman's body...
there was never a whip or a gulag
of infantile barbie imaginings to rule, either...

sometimes i would indefinitely try to catch
the certain days of winter when
spring blossoms prematured with buds...
if i was lucky... the magnolia bushes would also
blush...
and i would become a dog-***** of these perfumes...
walking for miles and miles per night...

the body takes care of itself:
trouble is... the mind doesn't...
better to allow it this sort of cameo cinema -
memory is the most ideal cameo cinema -
nothing i have mentioned is par excellance -
more... on par: per view...
if memory can't become a cinema...
what's left? nostalgia of 20th century cinema?
that can only live for so long...

as a "transgender" moment...
perhaps i can compete...
willingly ingest a tapeworm embryo...
keep it for 9 months...
then... ingest some praziquantel and ****
the little ****** out...
that's... the closest i'll ever come
to uniting myself with: the female ordeal
of giving birth: imagine...
the ego coupled the delusion the size
of the universe...
i really should start looking for a tapeworm
embryo... keeping it for 9 months...
and then... hey presto!
extra-protein pasta!

otherwise: oh sure... the would-be abortions...
only learn much later...
that they are... not the pro-life argument
they heard as embryos of foetuses...
they are... much to their amusement...
the walking-abortions they were to begin with...
while the pro-life arguments sort of...
die off... when... the fully grown...
self-aware specimen is given charge...
the pro-life argument dies...
the mortgage on a engagement ring...
the shackles...
it's only a pro-life argument...
until the incel mushroom pops up...
then it's no longer a pro-life argument...
ha... delayed abortion: slackers' argumentation...
yeah but no but, oh ****...

frankenstein! it talks! it breathes!
it's immune to all those philosophical cul de sacs
of arguments!
the slow death - the lack of gene motivation
tactic to: pass...
ha... to pass...
in the vicinity of the courageous virus...
shockwave reminders of: genesis vivo...

give me the fully formed xenomorph...
but a genesis vivo: akin to the film LIFE?
wouldn't you believe it?
form... a xenomorph has a concrete form -
a rigid square is...
well... it's not an imploded square -
a hyper-geometric revision...

modern anglo-speaking world and...
milan kundera's existentialism:
i will only kiss when i close my eyes -
but nonetheless -
i will open my eyes when kissing...
because i'm bluffing...
and gambling on... the hope that...
even the sofa "architecture" of a woman's
body reclining to entertain the 300 spartans...
eyes always open...
daggers for eyes...

upon the zenith close -
i imagined myself to be more...
buck-tooth antics -
trivia and encyclopedic knowledge -
pub quizes -
*** on wisteria lane -
no mongol horde ever passed the clefts
of pickets and homebugs...
and this... grand sanity project...
people never seem to go, truly mad,
from... gossip.... glibs...
or soap-opera immoralities: of flacid oopses...
perhaps it is true:
most people never go mad...
what horrible lives they must lead...

perhaps that is very true:
so true it deserves the bells of nortre dame
to echo...
inside a can kicked down a street...
kissing a ******* is not a basic immorality...
having toy soldiers and wars of lies -
and soap opera demagogic dramaturges?
wasting other peoples time with:
there's no crease in a sunrise -
when there are no clouds to stage the subtle
detail of diluted hues of seeing:
a giraffe's belly when it's lying on
the ground?

some people never go mad...
and they do require language to be as strict as:
what's precursor formal -
dear sir / madam...
and every time they try an informal: oops...
it's never on paper...
but always in a mouth that's exploring
the fermentation process of a glass of wine...
me?
gods' **** and gods' blood...
cider / beer with a tease mrs. cognac:
that's the elevated status of whiskey via: née:
ms. amber.

could i be a father and an alcoholic?
no... ever time i tried to exfoliate my own language,
my... idiosyncracy, my solipsism,
barriers and people reaching for...
prime navel and crimson as the standard
colour for lipstick...
one can only stomach so much...
before treating oneself to a hermit's adventure...
on the odd chance... giving coordinates
of the day-to-day...

i would have died a decade prior...
if i didn't find voyeurs to look at a language...
that cannot be spoken by someone alive:
among the living... to the future dead!
i was alive once, too! to the future dead!

All my quizes are low.
Because they teach so slow
Concentrating on stuff they don't know
Deliberately causing massive Brain damage
Exploding heads. anomalys
Fighting assigments they give us we try to survive.
Guns blazin on oral reports.blamin'
HipHop for the youths unacceptabe behaviour
Intellectual overdose causing nerve paralysis
Joking around ain't gonna help
Killing time, wont justify the
Lack of discipline in the
Minds of the
New generation
Out of place in time & space all we can do is catch up with the
Pace....

These quizes offer no insights
Onto what "my perfect college" could be like
And how the (word that rhymes with duck)
Am I supposed to get seventy thousand bucks

i said to her, prior -
i've just found a gem of a song...
alterslied by walther von der vogelweide,

how would it not remind me
of the time - the spring on the balcony -
the suffocating perfume of
the marrow yet to be or just born
in the calf -
         or the perfumery of mahogany
of cherry not yet a chair or
a table... in that: her blossom as if...
more tender than any japanese
porcelain or for that matter: geishas'
milky leather... warm: for still worn
cloaking the sinew, the **** and spew
of intestines...
            and the last signature in bone...
still walking... calling the moon
a... fickle dunked biscuit...

  she was blooming beneath me...
this cherry tree - and but one among
the rest of the plethora of scents...
      still that book i was reading:
Henryk Sienkiewicz - knights of the cross -
the teutonic knights -  Krzyżacy -
          and of course the screen-adaptation...
one by Aleksander Ford...
    
the veneer corpse riddle -
                haunting as glass
with its imitation of water
                  or see through
as a veil of Baghdad's exquisite harem
of an abiding: sheikh or imam -
            piercing eyes that know no
depth of sleep -
                   stolen light: as what i call
dreams -

but i was "thinking" along the lines
of...
             neoplatonism came from
Plotinus reading Plato - basics...
         Bertnard Russell can cover the rest...
but i was "thinking" of... a neo-cartesian model...
way before it might become ideological
and an 'ism...
                      how does the original begin?
dubito, ergo cogito, ergo sum...
   not much of doubt these days...
to doubt these days is to almost entertain
belief: or at least: the plethora of emotions
that hitchhike their way for the heart
to carry... it's not an outright negation...
doubt, that is...

           then again: doubt is a double-edged
sword... it cripples those that believe
as it does ******* those who disbelieve...
        
   but i can hardly want to begin from doubt...
i've heard it somewhere...
like a hindu or a buddhist mantra...
i remember...
i remember...
    i remember...
                 i did link memory to a sort of...
cameo cinema of my place in this world...

perhaps... if i begin with: dubito - i doubt...
i don't see how i can translate myself into
a concreteness of: cogito - i think -
therefore into: sum - i am...
        by now thought is a fickle aspect of
my summa summarum...
i'd very much like to begin with...
at least one aspect of time being invoked...
doubt... is timeless -
                        thought is timeless and spaceless...
existence: is both...

i'd begin my neo-cartesian route by
stating an alternative route...

memoro, ergo cogito, ergo sum...
i remember, therefore i think, therefore i am...
doubt is a fickle creature...
a pretty creature... a peacock...
which... is hardly a phoenix...
     can any so-called editorial section journalists...
the opinion pieces journalists...
the dialectical-phobia-prone saturday journalists...
be called... journalists?
      
  are they really journalists?
to have... opinion columns in newspapers?
just asking...
i never thought they were...
   ideologue ditto-heads comes to mind...
how can: thinking translate itself into:
the pivot of out of every instance:
this insistent paraphrase...
      
       i never find myself shackled to thought...
esp. not by doubt...
           the labours of the liar to think...
when all has been thought...
but i am gladly thinking when shackled
to memory - when there's some narrative involved...
when there's the cameo cinema of memory
and i find myself: a good man...

i was once accused of "liking the sound
of my own voice"...
god forbid - but with regards to liking
my given names?
how doesn't this sound:
but it already does: Conrad von Heiligkreuz...
second name at baptism -
and i am... von heiligkreuz...
it's a region in Poland...
       there is a Świętokrzyskie Voivodeship...
i have a fetish for german...
and it's not like matthew isn't a loan
name to be given - origin in hebrew...
but at least i have a past -
to live under the guidance of the names
bestowed upon one...
in good company with ol' von Wallenrode...
C... K... does it matter?

i do like my given names...
hell... i'd like it even more if i was
Ezra rather than Matthew...
more so if i was a Nikita...
fluid non-binary names... don't you think?

because i am thinking of germany
from the medieval period -
             or at least: what became of barbarossa
drowning and being pickled...
and how... prussia and lithuania were
just gagging for a stab in the dark
for an already adrenaline fuelled junkies
of the passion of the cross...
or *****... i never know which the jester,
marquis the sade asked for...

foundation of knowledge: yes...
dubito, ergo cogito, ergo sum...
but i'm not here to know more than what's
already known - where does knowledge
lead these days? pub-quizes and trivia...
regurgitation of facts...
i want to find an alternative to knowledge...
a: transcendence of morality -
a leverage of my remains that cannot
be confined to a bone -
to a name - i'd wish for an escape
with and through an epitaph...

                     or - anon.
                       as some works are cited...
prompter of the theatre -
     in the prompter's box when the actors
would forget their lines...
ah... the critique of the proposition with
the presupposition of a "i"...
                  "it" is also a presupposition -
nothing can be a pronoun...
                                but i'm not here to make
a genesis of man via: dubium...
nor via reverentia...
     i'm not a child any more...
i've visisted the underworld and came back
with dreams -
and to the world i left and came back
to... yes... i have been here before...
    to begin with... memoriae... though...
that's enough to subsequently think,
to subsequently be...
   otherwise why would the powers that be...
make it a crusade in the realm
of pedagogy
to pour corrosive juices into our brains
with all that encyclopedic *******,
arithmetic when there are calculators,
to exhaust our very personal capacity to
remember?
travesty i yelp!

                   hell: i'll even yarl!
                save your memory...
it will give you more than doubt in what
has to become you -
   or whatever happens to thinking -
insert any number of blanks when a concrete
translation of thought into will was lost
to "thinking" / day-dreaming...

but at least: the cameo cinema of memory...
10 very focused memories...
enough... and these to be kept unchanged...
sharpened like flint...
polished like silver...
             bitten like metal...
                     worshipped like ink poured
into chiselled labyrinths of timber...
                            
                      to wake from having to inherit
the 20th century from others...
              my 20th century begins circa 1989...
but it also begins circa 1944...
and circa 1937...
                        circa 1982...
                                            circa 1998...
             circa 1994...
                           but it is never...
the history of a people that is...
             but my slot... memory: as personal
as thought... i have seen how memory can be
usurped... can be... the focus of saboteurs...
          i'm missing two nouns at present...

to remember something from aeons beyond...
i cannot doubt these two words i am thinking of...
but i don't remember them...
then again: is memory such a fickle bride
of thought?
            isn't doubt more fickle?
                    
ah! subverters! well... saboteurs...
         and that second word?
it's a psychiatric term: of implanting false
memories... regression!
                 or something... but if psychiatry
is making an attack on the faculty of memory...
and pedadogy has already poured
carboxylic acid into our brains with education
that's... only for the purpose of ensuring
there are pedagogues...

                       yes... and the prospect of me becoming
a father, let alone a grandfather...
is for mickey mouse to become a ******* nun...
but you'll never know...

memory is under attack...
doubt... well you can doubt whatever the hell
you want: deny or believe whatever you want...
mind you...
if it "all" begins with:

    memoro, ergo cogito, ergo sum...
and psychiatry and the great psi (Ψ) of psychology...
what sort of: "critique of the proposition with
the presupposition of a 'i'" is there?
when you have the practice of regression /
false memory implants? and all that pedogogic juice
to boot?

better keep yourself to memory...
you never know: doubt can take care of itself...
it doesn't have to translate into thinking
into being...
but sure as **** and sherlock 'olmes to boot...
your memory needs defending...
to be sure... a + b + a + c + u + s = ?
                         well... sure... 1 + 1 = 2...
        to put to memory... how something sounds...
into writing... onomatopoeia...
well... it's not one of those: knock-knock...
who's there jokes...
                  ghosts don't knock on doors...
they slide their chains across the wood...
rhapsody in any ghoul's adventure of:
revision of the taste of morello cherries...
there will be no revision of the taste of morello cherries!
that sort of sour is one and only,
and it would better define someone's last
breath on this rock and couldron of constellations
come night... than...
                              an adieu with a kiss.

I bite my fingernails
Then nervously scratch my hair

I've been in fights before
One time I punched a guy
For making fun of my neck
I pushed him against the desk
And kicked his stomach.
He never spoke to me again.
I went home crying that day
Victory never tasted so salty.

Insecurities ringing in my ears
Like the alarm on a clock

It's time
Time again

I've been in fights before
But there's only one that leaves me
On the bathroom floor
With sunken eyes
A bitter taste on my tongue
And a sandpaper feel on my teeth

I've been in fights before
None as hard
As the one against myself

What do you do
When you don't believe yourself?
Who are you, if you are more than one?

I always thought I had two hands
For a reason
As one would push against
The back of my throat
The other
Would hug my waist

I don't know who I am
The clock keeps ticking
It's time again
I don't want it to be

There are two arms in a clock
And two arms on my body

It's time
It's time again

I was writing my research
The other night
I had to explain
The conflict of interest
In my study

I forget the research doesn't care about me
The conflict of interest
Doesn't mean when I sleep all day
Miss my college classes and fail my quizes
So that no one hears what happens in the toilet
At 3:12 am

When I was in 4th grade
My friend told me her secret method for a happy life

She said she'd write down
What had made her upset
Then tear it into little pieces
And throw it away

I have no one to talk to
And my room is full of confetti
Sometimes I convince myself
That someone is cheering for me

Why is no one cheering for me?
I am skinny
I am skinny
Why is no one cheering for me?

I feel two feelings
Every day of my life
One that I have betrayed someone
The other that I have been betrayed

I'm still trying to figure out
Which
Is worse

.i can't believe a man can be intelligent, or a woman can be beautiful... i believe the two enter a harmony, of just plain difficulty; if only carrying pebbles was as difficult as climbing a mountain.

the subjectivity / objectivity "muddle",
  or rather the proximity of words
sharing a "neat" contort similis...
                 how similar are these two
words
    to allow a space-time continuum?
   based upon a prefix
                      with the remaining
harmony of spelling...
                                   a "muddle" of
congregating upon the basis of:
                                   interjection...
       but i have to borrow from another
language the antithesis nouns
     and say... temat (subject)
                                 via rzecz (thing)...
              or if you prefer in german...
                       gegenstand... huh...
                gegen i.e. against:
                                        standing...
  ­        as if there's an immediacy to be
attached to turning an inanimate thing
into a verb that becomes res extensa...
radical dualism can't be met with
radical monism in the observation
of the autism of petted felines,
         or the honing "device" of hawks?
i appreciate that some writers
require their mundane narrative
  the use of a thesaurus...
       you can see it...
   the dull lines with the odd extremity
of a borrowed word
          plucked from a peacock's tail...
   what is the kantian
  categorical impetus?
         probably a study of grammar...
after all...
                there's a noun category,
and there's a verb category...
        and there's the adjective-
that compensates for sheering
                          or sharpening knives.
my... english and the surds:
                  (g)nome
                                ­          and (k)nives...
    i will never get over the fact
that it's a form-proximity *******
   (draw a square, and then a rhombus)
while excluding the
                    accent prefixes of
    -ject                                    -ject
       (sub-)                                      (ob-)...
it has to be a form of abstracted
claustrophobia being argued...
            am i wrong in stating that
current darwinism is much less biology,
and more zoology
    in terms of writing "a" history?
        i can compensate feeling good
about myself having decided:
     what's the difference between
marxism and darwinism?
        don't know: ask **** similis
who forgot the sapiens.
_________
was it ever going to be problem
for the anglo-saxons of h'american
to forget the anglo-saxon tropes
of england?

                   not really...

   i still try to forge a forget tactic...
if my grandparents were no alive
in Poland, right about now?
i like keeping the native tongue
out of principle, even if i do not have
anyone to speak it with,
i'm just gagging for the disintegration
period where i will not be able
to speak it to anyone,
but, rather, keep it for myself...

     like, how can i relate humor
to the anglo-saxons, "these days"?
one word...
               cabbages...
every walk into a house that
has the odour of cabbage,
being boilded?
                  cabbage...
well... if the irish are associated
with potatoes...
mind you... how do you arrive
at *****? fermenting potatoes...
cabbage, a great, quasi-english joke....
fantastic among the pakistanis!
coleslaw... hmm...
  maybe the french shouldn't
have invented their various creams...
or... why not experiment akin
to champagne...
with the turks using sauerkraut
in building up a doner kebab?!

is cabbage such an ugly veg
for the middle eastern camel jockeys?!
last time i learned...
  black cardamom stinks of
worse things than horse-****!
see me complain?
   miss guru boppy-woolie-oud?
           i agree. cabbage isn't,
spectacular...
meet me halfway...
    but if you haven't appreciated
sauerkraut... to cut through the fat
of lamb meat on a kebab?
  might as well drink camel / chimp ****
pretending it's a stale variant
of beer, or lemonade.

   a woman is never ugly, or beautiful...
she's only neglected...
an intelligent man?
     well...
               he's either having a discussion,
or, he isn't having one...
i hate this current year ******* of:
but it's my opinion!
       true... so why be so defensive,
as to not put it against
a dialectical scrutiny?
    sure... it's "your" opinion...
as much as it's your "opinion"...
but only when given up unto
a dialectic "investigation"...
oh, don't worry... this would never be,
this would never be a forensic-esque
investigation...
         after all, "your" opinions
do matter,
     but... you're scared,
you're scared that upon a dialectic
scrutiny, you would...
change your opinions,
or, worse! you would,
no longer, fathom a rhetorical
dynamic momentum,
to continue to spew your,
   "protected" status beliefs like some
******* orangutan!
that's the real fear... the fear of subjecting
your beliefs to a dialectic,
divorcing your beliefs from
a rhetorical momentum!
        what shallow fears:
in plain sight!

                           i love it!
under-interjection (sub-)
               over-interjection (ob-)...
           no one ever said subjectivity
was a negative connotation...
      of expression... after all...
what objective facts did either
Leucippus and Democritus possess?!
none! they leveraged themselves
upon a hunch, a subjectivity,
        a "superstition"...
      there could never be any
objective proof of atoms in their time...

objectivity works, once there are
demonstrable proofs,
   in that, objectivity works...
    as an orthodoxy...
            a defence "mechanism"...
       but subjectivity: being subjected
to the existence of atoms,
rather than, objecting, to the existence
of atoms...
    subjectivity is the vector **** pursuit
of exploration!
   how can objectivity find itself
superior, when, in the current, year,
it's merely a regurgitation stratum?
"objectively speaking":
what? regurgitating facts?
encyclopedic "knowledge"?
       trivia on t.v., pub quizes?!

               on a whim, with a hunch...
the atoms were prostulated...
   and there was no objective proof for their
existence!
objectivity is dogmatism...
        it's a Hoover Dam of realism...
but sure as **** it's not a *******
propeller!
                 *******'s worth of
                      the objectivity priesthood!

that's why i'm not a champion of objectivity,
or a fan, with that regard...
            as much as thinking
is caged by objects and object to object
interaction...
   what a desert of a reality...
             how much can be gained
from feeling...
to finally endeavour oneself with
the capacity of the heart,
           since: given the so pre-occupied
state of the mind...
bound to the pickle-jar of tsar peter the great...
like some abnormal abortion
bound to the confines of the Kunstkamera.

you know who i hate the most?
science fans...
   no, not science fiction fans...
science fans... people who never had
to labour through organic chemistry
electron migration diagrams...
             i hate these people...
                 without a passion...
just a bland disdain...
         objectivity this! objectivity that!
subjectivity is: X...
                 eh?! but subjectivity is also: Y!

**** it... (imaginary) bartender!
                               another whiskey!