before i begin, a pre-scriptum...
         in my hand, this minute?
                   what a rare delight...
the Beauties of Sterne:
                                with some account of his life...
printed for J. Walker,
published by J. Walker, Paternoster Row &
   J. Harris, St. Paul's Church Yard...
London... 1811!
    and being a big "fan boy" of the fiction
that a bibliophile might have an adventure:
Roman Polanski's the Ninth Gate...
   now, for a book that's... 208 years old?!
it's not in bad shape... sure...
the hardcover is missing by a half...
but all the text is intact...
              obviously colouring of the pages...
but hey... i'm not a museum...
             the book is still fiddled with...
ha ha, the opening page with a picture
reads as follows:
   there are worse occupations in this world,
than feeling a woman's pulse...
perhaps a quote about... insensibility?
   it reads as follows:
       it is the fate of mankind, too often,
to insensible of what they may enjoy at
the easiest rate (sermon XLII)...
   besides, lucky for me youtube continues
to glitch from time to time...
    now looking more in line with channels
than individual artists...
   notably? Harakiri Diat (channel)...
eh... :wumpscut, the soft machine,
demdike stare, vomito *****, feindflug
weren't enough...
          turns out... there's more...
beyond penta, matutero and GloOMy
PhAntOM... well, please, allow me:
   filmmaker - the love market,
              la ***** bianca - demian...
hell... if you want to venture into the past?
i know one band that freaked out
my ex-girlfriend... gong - flying teapot...
or that song by greenskeepers, lotion...
               i thought i'd never see someone
become freaked out about music...
curios and also highly curious, yes...
but freaked out?
                 primitive knot - puritan...
demolition group - you better...
          1986 Yugoslav minimal electro...
Bruce Roach - Gut...
              and as it turns out...
    i look from this corner of the internet and find
absolutely no need to delve into
the dark web... install Tor...
           if you really want to...
  you'll find all you need... but you need
to sift through a bibliography of a book prior
to... it's all here... this sort of material
has an inbuilt filter... it filters out
             mainstream consumers of content...
i should know...
    3 websites that banned me,
1 suspended me...
                   i crossed the threshold...
    normie poetic: outcast *****...
           yet i still sometimes happened to chance
upon a will...
           lao che - soundtrack (the whole album
is decent) -
              


.i once heard it was based upon the following maxims: bogatemu wszystko wolno (the rich are allowed anything), siła razy gwałt (force multiplied by ****)... well... over the years, that much was true... but then i conjured a reply: nie wszystko wolno bogatemu (not everything is given an allowance to be expressed by the rich) and wola odiąć gwałt (will, having substracted ****): otherwise it's still wola razy gwałt (will, multiplied by ****).

****, i only just "woke" up from
this game,
you know that game...
oh i'm pretty sure you know it...
it's called
   pass the jew along...
   rudolf höss
      cited, among the list:
ibrahim ibn yaqub,
         radhanites (there's a surd
H in there, rad-'anites)
    casimir III...
esp. the latter...
           so.. give the current h'americans,
we're still playing the globalist
nomad game of: juggling the jews,
yes, no, maybe?
so my mother tended to
two old jewish women,
because, just "because"
their sons were active in
the "economics" of passing law
and techno-literacy?
oh... right... i "see"...
                            i... "see"...
in defence, of the "neglected" ones...
makes perfect sense,
de facto 51,
                  area 51 was always
a propaganda convert term
for Israel, rather than some area
bound to Nevada, wansn't it?
wasn't it?
                      ask me again
one year from now,
did we live peacefully among the jews?
they'll tell you the joke...
didn't the jews shoot,
with riffles,
   with bent barrels / sights
aiming at themselves rather
than the nazis?
       no, no soap jokes when
it comes to yews...
the yids...
      everyone in poland just
wondered: why so pacified?
        so blatant in walking into
an inferno?
                      you know...
it took Poland longer to surrender,
while being attacked by both
the Germans and the Russians,
than it took for the Fwench
to be attacked by the sole effort
of the Germans?
    funny... that...
                               i truly admire
some nazis, for their ingenuity...
notably? erwin rommel...
   lothar von arnauld de la periè(re)...
(subtle, i give you that one,
per-y'eh...
                 'old 'ack 'old 'ck
   h-b-h-b,
                                    rein in...
otherwise perié... ergo without
                                           the -re)...
michael wittmann...
and i'm a ******...
      **** me...
they didn't bomb paris,
might as well state:
they also didn't bomb
  marienburg or most of danzig...
Warsaw? taken down,
levelled, brick by brick,
        until no brick stood on brick...
              what?!
i thought the western capitalist-ico
communist insurgents
wanted target practice?
          i thought these people
wanted nazis, no?
          i'll admit... tiki torches?
you must have never looked
at european football hooligans...
tiki torches?!
you having a bbq?
            never heard of flares?        
- mind you...
you know what's worse beside
beind ridiculed?
having your intelligence
insulted...
i.e. do i look like someone
who managed to ****
your mother with a *******
harmonica,
or, am i, bound to the responsibility,
of your parents playing
the irresponsibility card,
attempting to convey a child
into existence aged circa 50
circa 45,
and what comes out is
an autistic cucumber?!
    **** me...
try giving ****** lessons
to circa 50 year olds;
and now the paradox...
   "i'm" the "schizophrenic"...
cool cool, coolio...
     i'll just hide in that "harem's"
worth of a brothel with
the prostitutes who tell
me they get s.t.d. checks on
a regular basis, o.k.?
_____

what am i to add to this?
not much, is there...
was the great gatsby by f. scott fitzgerald
ever great?!
  how satisfying it is to be unable
to please the crowd....
words, after all, are not bread...
how one wishes
for an anathema rather than
a martyr's embrace...
            one begins to imagine...
then one loses interest...
then...
                    peering through
the eye of a needle
watching a camel walk through...
one spots something outside
the realm of the metaphorical miracle...
do i have to?
      what if i remain to this side
of the eye of the needle?
what riches do i have that i cling to...
books & music...
does that make me rich?
what are the sort of riches where either
people plunder readily (music),
or do not engage with to begin
with?
who are ready to read...
i can claim to be a book thief...
i stole two books from my high school
library... the quran and the scarlet &
the black by stendhal...
            "stole"... i extended their
licance of being borrowed...
how am i rich: if my riches are the riches
no one would want to steal?!
i am rich... though...
               but i am rich in a both
materialistic / non-materialistic paradox
frame...
                what i own no one wants to
steal! why steal a first cheap edition
of a dickens' novel if you're not going
to read it!
              
       **** **** ****.... if they were such
philistines... when blitzing London,
why did st. paul's remain intact?
   "coinicidence"? i don't think so...
and why did they steal all those
art-works? again, "coincidence"?

                    they were people:
i find it uncomfortable to suit them up
in transcendence,
to be: epitome evil...
  to be the übermensch...
                   they loved art as much
as they loved being the antithesis
of the golden horde: gucci, dolce & gabbana
zz top: well dressed men...

     nazis loved art and fashion,
by far the best dressed army in the world
and history...

   ol' herman and otto came back
from the eastern front to a scared wife and mother...
people! they weren't mythical creatures...
the nazis can hardly become
chimeras as they become in the minds
of pseudo-communists of the western lands...

they are hardly the epitome of evil,
i know the 21st century narrative
deems them: "the perfect example"...
come on... they're not evil embodied
with not subsequent examples to be given
to... historical capitalism of evil:
there's always someone waiting,
some group of people to stage
a competition libra... and they will...
overcome the nazis...
it's only a question of ingenuity /
imagination...
           gas chambers was only industrial...
it will become personal in the years to come...
methodologically trained cultured
barbarians woken from a slumber...

the nazis were not: philistines...
   in no defence: didn't they speed up the creation
of the state of israel?
   didn't they? **** uncle:
   lavrentiy pavlovich Beria is going to state
the matters differently?
like hell he is...

        my family also suffered in that war...
sure, not in a concentration camp:
but on the front...
             there's even a joke that my
grandfather remembers:
the jews were shooting with bent nozzles
of riffles...
   as he also remembers two ss-men
who he asked for sweets,
and they would give them to him,
he'd as them: herr! bitte bon-bon!
   sweets so sweet that he would have
to rinse his hands under water
to unglue them from the sickly in-between...
how all the insurgent soviet soldiers
were teenagers and preferred to
sleep in pigstys and among the goats
in the hay...

how did the nazis become mythological
i will never understand,
at uni i had a **** history teacher,
canadian, she really liked my essay
on napoleon... how he was a great
strategist...
akin to?  

   erwin rommel wasn't a ****...
erwin rommel was, erwin rommel...
a great strategist...
        am i supposed to thrive in this
current year of polarized *******?
it's the current topic,
i can't escape it,
  sure, i'd love to have a Wordsworth
moment, lurking in me,
or an anna akhmatova breakthough...
instead?! i'm given this sort of *******
on a platter,
  and all that's missing are the wedges
of lemon and the eager oysters to
be gulped down... lucky me!

no, i don't like how the nazis are misrepresented
as both the übermenschen:
these mythological epitomes of evil
(no greater evil is to come? really?!)
and at the same time
as philistines: they stole art,
they ensured that critically cultural
documents of architecture were left
undisturbed... st. paul's cathedral...

         it's not like some otto or moritz
didn't come back home to a wife
and children... no...
he came back to the shadow cult
of the ******* hanging over him...

you know what the most haunting experience
i have ever experienced was?
Ypres... world war I site...
visiting a german cemetary...
compared to the allies cemetary?
**** me, what a meagre sight!
           the allies were burried with marked
graves, each man to his own cross...
the german burial ground?!
  mass graves....
eh: one marker: 200 bodies in one pit...
                 and here's the 21st century with
games about shooting: zee nat'zees...

   just visit the world war I cemetaries...
the ally cemetaries? square miles...
each man with his white cross...
german cemetaries? as mass graves go...
one marker per 200+ troops...
so... not that much space required...
less: bombast!
               pride & prejudice /
   pomp & circumstance...
   which the english speaking world is...
of the latter convenience to suit the narrative.

to reiterate...
   as a ******... the whole german fetish
isn't my kind of gig...
what with my grandmother being born
on the front... given opiates at an early
age so she would not cry and allow
the soldiers to locate her and my gread-grandparents...
but...
   they were the best dressed army in
the history of warfare...
they were not philistines and they certainly
weren't the mongolian golden horde...
i.e. they stole art, notably jewish artwork...
and if a luftwaffe squadron were to drop
a bomb on st. paul's? they'd probably
be shot...
  after all... Posen wasn't destroyed,
Breslau wasn't destroyed...
        Danzig wasn't destroyed...
Cracow wasn't destroyed...
             o.k., half of Warsaw was,
but we know why that happened
(or at least i do... idealist students who
thought they could fight the enemy
with slingshots and air-pistols)...
why? the Germans were simply thinking:
oh... we'll just be moving back...
i once explained it to myself...
they weren't exactly some mythological
grand evil template...
so i started thinking about them as:
Hans von Seeckt...
  or Otto Hertz...
              or some other german random
soldier...
      well... you should travel to Ypres,
Belgium... and visit a German cemetary
from war world I... then visit
the allies graveyard...
       each soldier, individually buried...
with his pwetty pwetty weißkreuz -
mostly named...
                 now visit a german cemetary...
mass.... graves...
                they just dumped them,
heaped them...
                        to me they were people...
you can't exactly reason with a mythological
evil - an archeological evil,
   an archetypical evil...
          for an archetypical evil?
try the nuclear family...
                         ******... that sort of thing...
child abuse... too many actors
were involved in this story,
too many mistakes, too many naive blunders...
evil on this scale is easily diluted...
which is why it's taught as history,
in schools...
   no one will teach children about...
oh... say... the Wiener Blut scenario...
   Josef Fritzl...
                    i'm pretty sure this will not be
taught in a history class...
                or... the H. H. Holmes Hotel story...
but it might become a jack the ripper
tourist-fetish... might it not? well, it already is.

my mother got frisky with the publisher,
she danced latino
without a care, and gave her first interview
for my hometown newspaper...
the intro to my flashback of being 8 and leaving,
with inflation and with pepsi cola glass bottles
and spending most of my childhood
outside and not before a nitendo screen
shooting ducks...
picking up a ***** mag from the church being built,
chasing petted dogs near the gombrowicz river,
going into the forest and wiping my ***
with a leaf... when writing make some place
small big, bigger than you could have ever imagined...
make it bigger than you ever considered 6ft1
to be when aged 9...

i'm about to publish an entrée for the literati elite
with a fresh off the causeway book,
i became an ex-pat not being caribbean enough
who forgot their tongue and became encrusted
for the easiest integration of migrant tactics,
i forgot my slave tongue voodoo
and decided upon sunny english...
no problem then...
but with me i had too much history, too much pride,
my mother flies in to see her parents via warsaw...
i take it to be krakow originally...
i can integrate but you tell me to forget my tongue
i'll call you racist with linguistics... never, never!

e.g.?
w ramach swej kultury
zachód broni
w ramach swej kultury, zachód:
jak niby władza na wschodzie
jest prawdą taka sama:
władza broni go i dusi kulture,
no tak, zachód swym kabaretem i
płodnią rodzi nowego księdza,
a na zachodzie nowego komika -
który stanie mu na opór by żyd
nigdy nie mógł skorzystać -
mesjasz mojej dupy warunkiem
ten mesjasz prostata więzi podatku i ryb...
zachód karmi kulture która śmiechem
go wklucza, wschód jednak broni go
i karmi kulture głodem - jak ***** riot -
wschodem zachować święte jest
tłumaczone z zachodem jako święte nie piękne...
jak więc zachód karmi swą kulture na wschodowi...
igrek nad każdą kropke na konieć sentencji...
ja ameryka ja anglikaniń...
ale tak szczerze? chrystus ma lepszą muzyke
niż mojszerz czy też muhammad...
pieć razy la illah ila allah co dzień czy też
judasza sha shtill! pierw nad bach'a, beethoven'a
czy też mozart'a? nie wydaje mi sie.
bo i tak powiem krzywe słowo przeciwko jemu
jako niby tact dialektyki racji,
to nawet wtedy krzyż nadal będzie kwitł
prosto... czy nawet stanie się płonącym...

pierdole, jade do Turka, bo inaczej ni-ma rady: pospolicie, czyli na pszysięge: klnąć! nad to:  ścisk ‘zora, o! tyle! gleba!  ścisk - tym ‘zorem siekać, i u-ci-sss-kać! no to dopić: pod ten brak  šatana - tego Ukrainskiego atamana - brak mu ręki - bo na ścisk - jak to mówie: cisza - szmer i śmiech! a to wiadomo czemu tak auto-matem iota ma główke - czemu nie ćιsza, jeno cisza? a no, dla tego! ja nie prosie by tak prosić na gotowe! a tu wysłane! cygan z dywanem perskim, a i tak nie wygoda! bo czemu kropka nad ι‘otą? a bo sie czyta Spinoze i sie pyta: nad literami grawituje tym pytaniem. - to też znaczy: poza lewą nie wie co prawa ręka robi - bo to oczy czytem jedno, a zór lepi drugie - kto by domyślił sie inno turkie ğ to jak ‘glika ha, ha gag - ab surd! grav’ niet kā’ron! bo i tak: śmierć metafizyki jest nowo-narodzonym szczylem (ščylem) ortografii - czyli dwa razy po krótkie i - jakby jota - głucho puste widzi-mi-sie (brakujący ogon, czytem: diabł ma rogi - a zatem: pytń  o ‘gon... jom ci pszepisze Ajrysza Finnegans Wake, tym bogatszy, a przy tym powiem: pierwsza cegła pod ten mur: al-buraq - czyli ten burak - czyli, die rotebeetemauer - jebaniec poniemiecki, jeszcze mu mało pożyczonych słowików... cirp ci kuźwa dam’nom, bedzie bi-da! bi-da! kozmopolitan tylko górali i szkocki akcent bawi na lublu... to cie kurwa zabawi, prędzej dziób pingwina skryje sie w moim łokciu, jak i dąb na tle mojej dłoni! pije, pali, konia wali... w imie ojca i syna, i duchownictwa szarańczy. post / pre scriptum: wolno myślący człowiek nie ma teorii ego, jeno mape, nie algebre o ten niedosyt znaka X - dawym imie - dycha! co pincet znaczeń, dycha! nie nie, aby podpis analfabety - tzn. X i ego, ** i superego, *** i id - tzn. to tamto, owanto. wu czy u - czy wiem i nie wiem, czy: kiedy piszesz i wydalasz cieć klaustrofobii - czyli: chłopie nie pisz jak plotnik fobii jesteś - ad abstractum - od nowa: Zyd na Gestapo - pewnikiem nie żaden: Brzeczyszczykiewicz - schusza - jakby odwrót: syty - szyschkami - šon - ko-kurwa-konery! jebudjed; budujem? da da... ja ni kocham tybi ty ni koi me. a to co? działa NA-WA-RO-NE-SO-LA-TI-DO. ponownie - sprość: ğnome - ğnostic - cisza nad gje.*

i to prawda,
   ta Grecja...
       kołyska zachodniej
cywilizacji -
   tzn. bahory,
      młode gówna:
   kakaшki -
lecz! Virgil i co Turek dobrze
wie... Grecja? nuda
i szambo murmur
w Edenie pirackim zwanym
Loon-dyn...
       bo ci powiem co ci powiem
a ci powiem jak Zagłoba -
   tym bardziej kochać
jak czerni syn w pieśń nad góry ‘niem:
   Bo-***! mój to ulubieniec.
           pisz wiersz ‘ciupki -
maciupki paniczku -
   pisz wiersz po każdej
książce...
              a co w Polsce?
meandry uczuć!
   tak, tak, z babcią ci powiem
nie o Greckiej piekności -
powiem ci o Turkeckiej -
    - co, za... SIKSA!
- i sam bym głowe w ogniste dupsko
diabła wsadził po modłach przed
ołtarzem nie jednej iskry Aten
                          blednącej -
   w tamtą strone jedzie w czern
ubrana żałobą piękna -
w pół kroi sie Ukraina i Grecja...
a tam, tam w post scriptum
Byzantina - siedzi wicher serca
cerkiew i meczet cukrzynka -
martwe to morze, morze,
martwe, lecz nie sól inno cukrem
lśniące błoto, jakby
   z Szanghaju *** świnski -
   córa dla starego i młodego -
Sühan - Sühan - Sühan Tuğba -
     po nią znów 100,000 łajb płynie -
dawna Troja -
  bo ci powiem co ci powiem -
     Turk nie Muzułman -
po Alim drugi - godny sfat Pers'a -
bo jak nie - Turk u progu Europy -
nawet i ja na podziw przed
    obchodem Kaab'y siedem razy
motłochu wart ogląd szkarabu -
i ten słodki adhan -
           bo dla szczoła śpiwać to
na marnie -
     boli też pruch po tych starych
bakach pośmiewiska papistwa...
   jebana kurwa mać w koło to samo -
nie wiem jak, ale
    wolałbym zdradzić chrzest
niż go przyjąć -
           ponownie -
ale jeno pod chorągwięm Turka -
jako janczar -
         chociaż tam jest: śpiew!
a nie, dzwon, dzwon w głąb 'pusciany!
czy też krokiem: kra kra krasnoludy!
fu!
     gorzkość i brzydota!
          mówie! Turek po łacinie
zacina? zacina - alfa-kurwa-becik
po jakiemu? nie po Ł'cinie
godnym Lwowa?
           z Turkiem moge, bo sie
chce, on i tak już lizał Bałkan
   i prawie zawstydził Wiedeń!
    ale to ciwilizowany Pan,
         bo umnie ubrać i nawet
pozwoli wypiç kiedy kości wychodzą
z ciała ogrzać cień!
     o tyle lepszy -
jaki przy Turku z Troją w ręku
i przy Perskim stygnięciu jest
ten prostak Arab...
     a jak im sie skończy czarny glut
to będa eksportować pioch!
    już wiem gdzie,
         na plaże Albionu!
             i tyle powiem -
   o Turka warto byłoby zdradzić -
bo skąd inne, piękniejsze od
  Greczynek niż ciup-ciup pijące
         wróbelki z nad Bosforu?
   Turek drugi Ali i trzeci podział
Izlamu - bo wkręt Ł'ciny -
             i tym też -
               sfoboda -
                 tym też dawny Byzan -
i Troja - i co jak nie Rzym -
        ostatni kalif -
                    i tym Arab w świecie
jak Żyd -
          ale o tym mniej od Żyda -
bo to bogacz na wielblądzie który
nie tylko nie może sie zmieścić przez
oko igły, a co też nie może
zmieścić sie w swe portki!

pre-scriptum: zapisałem sie... jutro wyśle zdięcia... fatalnie zakochany w tych grotach.

jak by mnie myślnym / myśliwym tokiem myśli nie chcieli równać z sobą to bym odmówił, lecz nadali film wedle Sokratesa, a ja Anglikom odmówie, bo chcem, nawet po kurz Mongolii, mam dość tępych Irlandczyków! przeciąg mnie dusi! te wyspy to wyryty gnój Ameryki.

te zdzięcia zbyt kuszaące - jak już powiedziałem pewnej dziewczynie na internecie... nie sprzedam mojego głosu jeżeli mi nie zaplacą! a nic nie dali, jeno gówno! to powiem je w gromadzie takich co mówią na migi - jak ten co z pochodnią na wejście smoka a poszedł trysta razy! zapominieć mówienia po polschu (ja niby Żyd, w Buenos Aires? no, niby post-Holocaust, to takie tango a nie tanz Bar Mitzvah w aleii Golders Green) - jak jedna: wiem skąd burak jest jak niby pochodnią nad ziemi chwytem w otchłan piękna i stokrotki... czyli: co jabłoń da, to róża odbierze, piękno niby było jadalne, a owoc ten jadalny był pięknem, który nigdy nie odda cierpieniu zacmienia, a jednak ponownie, ponownie, ponownie; jednak nadal w wstecz na gre: ojczyzna! ojczyzna! z agrafką po to by odnaleść tą sfobodną szlachte naszego rozbroju: co znaczy życie nasze a ich jeno kichnięńciem, księcia, ktoóry ksiądz imitacją ochlał wedle vino veritas!

kurwa! kartoflana gleba tłumaczenia Joyce'a!

Londyn to ino klejnot Arabii, tu nic nie rośnie, jeno głab czyli muzg kapusty, to znaczy oklask Mensa... nie?!

te zdzięcia i ja to jak ramie w ramie ze złudną imprezą za tą Ostanią
czyli mortum fatali

jak Narcyz wpatrzyłem sie w nie i myśle by nawiać na wyspy Owcze czy też Mongolie, zdala z tej lachy "swiata" i ludobójstwa ekonomicznego, wkoło mnie tylko wieprz gra na wiolonczeli, i tak dobrze gra że motłoch nie zna falszu od falsetto, jeno udaje na tle cytatu psa mówiącego: sausages! sausages! how! how!

więc wole w tych lochach odbytem powiedzieć co Zachód zna jako rękopis mojej zdrady, bo ja tu następnej i tej cholernej minuty wole w Syberie gnać, z duchem czy bez ducha... Gangrene Green... mysli tu jakiś z Essex'u tuman że Rzym odlalazł bez akcentu na literach; bo tu każdy pyta czy jest szalony czy tylko napisał Alicja w Kraine Czarow i Pedofilii.

post-scriptum: czemu nie piszom Řešów? bo im škoda? Wojewoda Prostanoga ptija - bo to po Ruszku pyta... a cygan... to znacy chyba. Holender i stare smieci... ale boli kiedy powrót stanowi więcej niż tempus lux.

krytyka na żyda to ta sama na krytyke polaka, skoro krytyk na żyda to też krytyk na polaka - skoro żyd bez ziemi to też polak pod włóknem niemca czy russa czy też bezwdzięcznego austrjaka! odsiecz wiednia!

https://goo.gl/2wVUsz, from minute to an hour:
radio-kacap - lost the c somewhere,
had to innovate -
                                              ra - d - yo -
                      радя -
(я to possess it, a punctuation
                                       mark on the letter to stop
the omicron from rotating a fullness)
                               КАЧП - or simply ç (s) -
              ketchup apparently,
                       the slaughter of Zagreb -
                                        Croat piled on Croat
          for a Mexican roll via Tahiti -
                                 kark capa - kark kacapa
(stary kozioł to zwany *cap
         bronz spermy i zapach tzn. cap'a -
   capie ten ogier Poznania w szambie południa
                            na gry czołem z bliska
                  w tenis z innym capem) -
            stary ogier na tle mgły
                   i kozioł kopiący kszięrzyc w orbite
       i w równie starannej rubryki: sto razy jeszcze raz
                                        to samo, bo to dla wieku
   dwa dwa: die tventy secoond centaur /
         die nächster tausendfüßler, year on - year in.

aby życie było
na tyle warte by je oddać!
chociaż wraz z kichnieńciem
w stonoge wspomnieniem
nadać oku ten cień razy dwa
ponad rokiem jeszcze raz,
jeszcze raz... raz jeszcze!
ah ten gnój wspomnien!
skarga na tle obfitych żyć wyryta -
to skąd ja pochodze!?
na tle flag podobno stąd!?
a tak pozatym? z nikąd!
no to:
albo ucz mnie gramtyki albo języka per se,
albo niczego... ty pierdolony tumanie!

ale czysto w tej E - U - Ρ - Ω - Π - J - Η.

islam leiben historie, nicht Ottoman,
Ottoman pseudo Khan, islam leiben historie:
eins, zwei, drei und vierte maulkor'bzeugè'naussagé
(sausage marathon); they love their history
mind you ψι and τρι...  kaganiec u stóp w
krok stu odpowiedzi w jedną droge:
raz jeszcze, w las i w cienie iglą tej tętnicy wybryk chęć
na gre, by zadać zbyteczne  pytanie! na odpowiedź
oskarzyć czas z wiedzą zegara,
i tą ostateczną, wartą końca, namylsnością...
ponownie oskarzyć jako począt narodu -
tylko golasa, warte imie kroka ka ka kar Kasymir'ah!
wedle Tsara, czołem w tło wymagań na wyryte
zapomnieniem lat: oddech'u Uzbeku chafta
wspomnień wiatru i chorongiew latawcy
jak niby urojen konceptu narodu...
ja człek tylko w psiarni! i tak powiem, tak,
wiara, panem na zbyt wiele pamięci Janosika
i Radio Maria;
o tyle czerpie zgon, ponownie, ponownie,
by ocalić, niby swiętego, i pogrzebać swój naród...
ale wstyd! wstyd! by ocalić jednego niby
swiętego, lecz nadać obszar rodem Polak'a
ponad Polske i w ramach Irlandie; jaki to wstyd
nawet ten mnie wart, co nie nada snu!
co za wstyd - nie warto umierać wiele razy,
kiedy ten ostatecny oznacza raz jeszcze -
                      *quo vadis, qua lectio? -
ten raz jeszcze, i ten ostatni, o tyle wiele poradni
przed wieloma nocami snu.

ona mruga oczyma jak sra, czy jak szczy?
  (concerning one of my cats in the garden
                  easing the ****, or bladder,
whichever - imagine saying it's a baby
when it's should be said: retract that idea of
nappies and breastfeeding, watch Prometheus -
girl quick on the mark, alien tadpoles ahoy!);
you'd love to see the rainbow of curses
i littered the ground around me -
      all because i overslept my doctor's appointment
over the phone -
                 hell knows no womanly furies,
it's kitted out with them as standard -
                 mind you, it's about time to encounter
if not simply invite Dr. Zhivago to cool
things down -
                          such trivialities as only a woman
might know to be the basis of infuriated assault -
and about a thumb's length of whiskey
on an empty stomach, and three coffees...
              ****'s buzzing...
after vacuuming the house i make my oaths:
yes, the 21st century Homeric heroes to mind,
our modern heroes: heroism equivalent of
paying the gas bill -
                               entertainment value? zilch:
unless you're bound to be watching Odysseus
take the longest yawn spanning into the 22nd century.
no... i didn't have a rich father, but
they managed ******* into my mouth anyway,
no wonder all i get to say is: it stinks -
           alter?
                   *nasrali mi do gęby,
nic dziwnego że mówie: smród!
                                                    smród!­
nie jeden balas w szambie tym samym
    demokratycznym słowem powie: smród
                     i rozkaz męczybuły nad głos!
a tu jakiś Kossak pięścią... sto razy wdepte
ci dekalog: dwór! dwór! nie pałacyk...
                        buda! buda, psie marnego skinienia
                            w aport! hujnia i homonto!
              oraj pole... jebana mać oraj złote włókno
            by przestał głód pytać o gram
                                                        sytu­! oraj!
             beauty of out a loss in temperament,
no cocktail party for miles...
                                 if you look closely you can
spot a Belgian field of poppies;
god the English malaise of attempting to curse...
           the easiest curse in English is identified
as courtesy - sorry means as much as *******.

mój jenzyk, moja czystość, mój brat moja siora! kiedy ja tam w głowie pra dziada takim pod iglatym krzyżem żyda na równo brał?! kiedy?! kiedy?! czemu czekaniem w anglii?! czemu?! boje sie horyzontów takich jak tych! boże... czemu to marszem wydarzenie nagłe wprost na pustynie wyrytych narodów jakby kretów w mgle czerni? czemu ubogi w krakowie prosi mnie o czerń żelaza a nikogo innego?! gdzie ja w cebulowym kościele, gdzie ja?! na płacz... ja na płacz a nie na grób rodzinnym?! czemu... czemu?! daj mi chociaż wrót do ziemi! daj mi chociaż wrót do ziemi! ja lach z czynu i kości! ja lach z czynu i kości! ja werset bez czynu razy raz jeszcze raz! szfeda płacz. daj mi swego syna cień ciała, znania mieniem krzyż i pacior.*

szkło w deszczu
mówi więcej
niż mgła
przy ogniu iskry, czy tam
sfobody ćmy przy świecy,
bo kto pyta o wizerónek
słów przy lustra snów moża
czy tem narcyza
na tle jeziora bez rzeki
w gęsich makiarzu na tle
marszu gęsi szwastiki -
to o tyle pyta.
tyle mi mówi płacz,
ten izrael północy, ta polska,
z tym edynburgiem jako ateny
czy ten sankt petersburg
jako wenecja.

Ray describes you perfectly.
Intense burst of light in the
Darkness of my life;
Illuminating the whole room.
Crazy and always completely
Unpredictable.  All the things I
Love about you. You
Open my eyes to new beauty.
Unique in every way possible, with a
S**mile incomparable to the Gods.

i także dzień dobry... krytyka? nic dodać , nic ujmnąć, - kwaterka we mnie poligloty wedle przepisu na sto razy: jeszcze raz! pokłon Muzu łmana nad Japończyka - tzn. w dywan, czołem, w glebe heavyweight futryn K.O. i lullaby. Dziekuje Anno, także dusze trzymam w renkawku nad bogiem, by igrać z logiką ponad sen.

tyko słowa!
     tylko słowa!                       sowa. sowa.
zawsze to samo mówią!
jedno i to samo...
           to tylko słowa!
szkoda że numery nie
mają takiego akcentu wartości
        w ramach ambicii na
tłach domu z telewizorem lub czajnikiem!
  czaj czaj, czas w Petersburg'u.
tak! no tak!
         tylko słowa!
ale potem pytają:
           czemu to nie mówi
  jak młot sto razy na minute
           słowo gwoźdz?
a wtedy: no kurwa!
przecież ten człowiek to nie młot!
         za za za zapuźno!
to młot! i on wklucza
sentyment dodo: ten na wiginieńciu -
albo wygnaniu - Noah i no, aha, czyli tak.
wsłuchuje sie w "arrangement" apropos ę
******* Brew mówiąc:
                            to ma tchu!
but seriously, listening
to Miles Davis' ******* brew
is done more easily than any album
by the soft machine...
never understood the canteen movement
from the Archbishop's core to
make up extremism against the York
contender.
po Angielsku 's possessive and plural
               or averted into ą and ę:
                                                             z sfobodą:
        tylko zebra
               casem sie pojawia... ze....
i.e. with ease (cz - časem że / rze \že / glyph)
                             ja niby ni tu ni tu, tylko tam
gdzie płodze niewinność (niewiñość) sam...
             French and Slav... acute aplenty...
but the grave missing... and the inverse of
the circumflex... for the sh sz cz ch.

an evening like this one requires me to disclose what song i'll be listening to on repeat for the duration of this contemplation: red hot chilli peppers' desecration song... i tend to do just that: listen to one song on repeat when composing, i rarely compose while listening to several songs or an album: i want to capture something and listening to one song alone, on repeat, allows me just that: a heightened focus on several details...

i'm starting to think that the managerial staff at Wembley
are sadists, the original times for the shift
for the Taylor Hawkins tribute were:
external teams 10am to 12am...
and internal stewards the timings were
3pm to 11:30pm...
now? apparently no internal stewards and everyone
in the company is part of the external teams...
timings? get this... 9am through to 12am...
what the ****? do i look like a surgeon hacking
away in a hospital?
i'll be lucky if i don't have to leave the house
for 24hours... i'll be very lucky...
given that they'll probably close the Wembley Park
station doors in my face and i'll have to catch
the usual N18 > N25 > N86 > N365 back home...
having to walk about a mile if not two
to actually get on the N18 in the opposite direction
to where i'm going... sadists...
plus, i wanted to this gig prior to the Wembley
shift in Basildon, for the Garage Music Festival:
start times 3pm end time 12am... i could have done
it... but not if i'm supposed to start
a Wembley shift at 9am... ****'s sake... sadists...
that's the problem with Wembley...
they employ too much stuff... they are **** are
coordinating staff: because there is too much staff...
but Wembley is a capitalistic behemoth...
can you imagine how much money they make from
one even if they can throw so much money about?
i'm guessing each even brings them roughly
one million's worth of profit if not more...
price of a ticket? astronomical i'd suppose...
never mind the price of a pint of beer and a burger...
and people do want to get drunk at a concert...
we're talking roughly £10 for a pint of beer...
and about £15 for a 450ml cup of gin and tonic for
the ladies...

but i'm not here to talk about that...
i seriously had the weirdest shift at Fulham today...
it was so weird that i felt compelled to write about it...
work: i never write about work:
more? the people i work with...
the shift was plain enough... we were waiting to sign
in... me and cerebral palsy Martin decided to sit
outside of someone's house: the people of the house
were throwing out their sofa... next to a heap
of black bins... i became tired of standing around
doing **** all... i saw Martin on the opposite side
of the road: yo! Martin! rest your legs...
he came over and sat down next to me...
in that funny walk of his... what wasn't funny
was the fact that Fulham banned him from taking shifts
at Craven Cottage because he was accused of being
drunk on the job... cerebral palsy? it's a very visible
disability (maybe it's not cerebral palsy, whatever it is)
he stumbles when walking... tries real hard to keep
eye contact but his eyes sometimes wander to look at
something behind you... and he slurs and speaks like a drunk:
but he's funny... and there... all these football grounds
stick to security, safety, service mottos... "not all disabilities
are visible" with regard to someone wanting to use
the disabled... ahem... sorry... "accessible" toilet...
but yet one ground managed to fire a guy with a clear
disability... i like Martin... he's funny because he's funny
and not because of "X": he's actually self-aware enough to use
this to his advantage... soon a few other guys lined up
next to the sofa and we just chilled...

it's impossible to not note the following:
the bigger the ratio of men to women... when working?
the smoother the shift is... honest to god...
in this line of work... you need about 20 men and 2 women...
even today all the guys stood their ground
but one girl among us? she ******* ordered
an UBER McDonalds... and this wasn't even on her
break... no one would have minded if she did that
on her break... but she wasn't on her break!
what happened? she had to hand in her accreditation
and her bib and was sent home!
i mean: the audacity of some people!
                          on my break i ate three chicken
and bacon Caesar salad tortillas and was finally content...
but this doesn't reach the pinnacle of weird...

i was working with this guy... a colt... maybe 24...
i couldn't really tell... a certain Mr. Hussein...
a Yemeni... let's just call him Mr. Hussein Yemni...
i don't think i ever worked with anyone weirder:
and i'm not saying that in a bad way...
i'm saying this like prostitutes call me Biggie
or the good sort of mad...
                                         i don't think i ever worked
with an Arab before... i don't think i've ever
been so close to Mecca in the ghost-medium...
    a strange people: eerily strange...
                                  we must have talked about almost
everything... what book he was reading...
what he liked: drink? no... smoke? no...
but you must have a weakness... every man has a weakness...
coffee? yup... sweets, baklava? yup...
well... you can't beat the baklava of Edgware Road...
the best that i know of, i said...
so what did you study? Physics, Mathematics,
                       Arabic... smart kid...
now he's studying criminology - because he wasn't
to become a police office...
he informed me about these degree apprenticeship:
debt free studying and working in the field...
i told him i wanted to become a science teacher...
then again i'd rather become a primary school teacher...
because i told him:
it sometimes doesn't matter WHAT you teach,
what sometimes matters more is WHO you teach...
that old chestnut saying... it's not what you know:
it's who you know...
i told him i wrote poetry on the side when he asked
whether this was my only job...
i told him i sometimes come back from a shift
and sit down to write in the early morning...
although i don't stay up until 5am like i once used to...
so what are you going to today?
go home, hopefully get in before 12am
and have a drink and write...
                             turns out... he's a rich kid...
he lives opposite the Wembley Stadium...
his father? a banker... who he sees maybe twice
a year who works for a private bank in Saudi Arabia...
i did actually mention the Saudi-Yemen war...
must be difficult... esp. after he owned up to his father's
job... born in England... but never been to Yemen...
i did disclose to him that i'm not English but an Anglo-Slav...
what's that he asked? i'm ******: i speak Polish...
so why didn't you take an A-level in that?
easy grade... what's the point, i asked:
if i already speak it, read it, write it... what has a grade
have to do with my belief in my proficiency in
it? is it a difficult language to learn?
well... that depends Hussein...
                                i gave him an example:
most English people complain that there are too many
consonants in the language, for example:
RZ = Ż = the French of JE (suis)...
                  CZ = the English CH = akin to chatter...
you'll have to look it up yourself...
   Arabic is beautiful, i have to agree...
so he retorts... Chinese, ooh! so difficult...
                                   that's the thing about Chinese...
it's a complicated writing system...
we're talking ideograms... hieroglyphs...
but in the end? it's not a complicated language to speak!
difficult to write: to read... but to speak?
hardly... for example... what's... for example:

明?           phonetically it's nothing more than
        m-i-n-g... but the simplicity of the sounds when
returning to the ideogram morphs into
an idea: hence the ideogram... ming is not simply
bright... it's the: illumination (of the obvious)...
clarity... understanding... but phonetically Chinese
is a very poor language... it's the Chinese of ideas
that's the crux of its endurance...

so what do you write about?
   me? life... the day to day... since starting this job
i'm writing about it (obviously i wouldn't tell him
that i write about the people i work with,
i wasn't going to tell him that i was going to write
a poem about him tonight)...
his mother? a doctor... a pediatrician...
your parents?
   my father is an roofer... working industrial scale
construction sites... supervisor... once he had
10 men under him sub-contracting until a cousin of ours
who married my maternal "aunt" ****** him over
and started  mutiny among the workers...
he's doing o.k., after that incident i returned to work
with him... and worked in the roofing industry
for a while... rewarding work... tiresome but rewarding
like all physical labour... it allows your mind
to wander...
                 mother? she used to be a secretary in
a metallurgical plant... she then was a cleaner for
rich Jewish ladies... then she worked as a carer for
two old Jewish ladies... now? she's a home-maker...
is that what they call it in America? she's a housewife...

did i miss something? yeah...
when i talked i sometimes looked at him:
do most Arabs have those beautiful brown eyes?
at some point i don't know what i was to him...
oh, right... he hate writing...
he's about to do his NVQ level 2...
he's completely bemused by the questions...
all the idiots say its easy: sure! it's easy!
it's ***-squeezing mind-numbing! but for someone
who has studied physics and knows arabic
it's not easy: it's hard because it's mind-numbing...
i found it mind-numbing... people with very tiny
horizons who are best suited to violence
for the thrill of it find it easy... more intellectual people
don't find anything hard in it: just the mind-numbing
tedium of what's clearly a regurgitation...
so he asked me for a favour...
could i send him the answers, otherwise my mum will
have to help me with it...
i was like: i know this boy isn't a free-loader...
but i warned him...
listen... i'll send you all the answers...
i still have them...
but at Edinburgh i was doing this sociological course
to just pump up my points on the side...
and they had in place this anti-plagiarism programme...
do you even know how little interest i had in
the course... but the course gave me an ulterior
interest... how to beat an anti-plagiarism programme...
but then again: this was at university...
i hardly think people training people for an NVQ
have an anti-plagiarism in place...
for that essay of "mine" which i found on the internet
and heavily employed the thesaurus to reword
it i managed to get a first... come to think of it:
100%... you'll have to do the same...
i'll send you my answers and you just reword
them and send them back to me to proof read
and compare...
                                    oh... i'll just get my mum
to help me with it...
                                  whatever you like...
but just use the thesaurus whenever you can:
if i can beat a programme that was intended to
suspect plagiarism: i'm pretty sure people who are
training people for an NVQ qualification will not
be as smart...
     can you send them to me? tomorrow i'm doing
the London Stadium... Thursday...
i'll surprise him... my shift only begins at quarter
to four... i'll have enough time to send him the soon
to plagiarism to him tomorrow...
it's not even that i'm trying to look for favor from
a rich boy... he's on the ground...
he's not his father's son in that...
when i asked him: so you father wasn't the sort of
father that demanded of his to follow in his footsteps,
like most fathers who are bankers or doctors
or lawyers ask of their sons: to be like them?
    no... oh...
           well... if you only see your father twice a year...
funny story... he actually went to see the last world
cup in Russia with his father...
his father's friend blah blah this... blah blah that...
oh sure... i've been to Russia... used to have a Russian
girlfriend... stayed there for a month or two...
she brought me over to be a tourist,
to be a *** pet and to see Metallica in Moscow with her...

but that's not the whole weirdness of tonight...
i sometimes spoke to him looking at him directly...
and as usual... when i try to conjure up something
abstract i look away looking at nothing in particular...
in between conversation and silence i could
feel him watching me in the corner of my eye...
is this a Yemeni thing? was he really burning an image
of my face in his mind? i could see his stare...
i only saw it with the corner of my eye...
but i could feel him looking at me...

        an inescapable stare... must be an Arab "thing"...
he just kept looking... i exclaimed about the beauty
of the night breeze and the bristle of leaves
gently moved by the wind in the sunset...
he just... kept staring... every possible "awkward" silence
was broken with a question:
he kept asking the same question several times:
so what will you do tonight?
         i'll have a drink and write...
now... the point why i'm listening to Desecration Smile
is pretty obvious... the song is about a man's
lament about sleeping with too many women...
and not finding the one women to settle with...
i felt something similar with Hussein tonight...
why can't i find a girl to have this nervous-tension
of conversation with: with the opposite ***?
ah... i split the yoke from the egg-white...
i speak two tongues to women...
i speak with the body and i speak with the mind...
Hussein... was all mind...
most women are all body to me...
i hardly think any woman would have the audacity
to so blatantly stare at me in the way he did...
it must be an Arab "thing"...

the dynamic obviously changed when that arrogant
prat: ooh! ooh! i have an SIA badge...
anyone see me walk around and boast about having
a chemistry degree?
there's a certain level of people who... simply don't think...
those SIA ******* are boring...
no one goes around boasting that they have
a driving license... yet they boast about being able
to inflict pain on rude customers... kneeing them
in the back of the leg... choking them...
i told Hussein: i don't like confrontation...
i'm dreading being equipped with this badge of dishonour...
as a steward i prefer to talk sense into people
rather than use overt violence... choking them or what
not...

it's a ****** environment sometimes... with people
who have no intellectual capacity reading to someone
their braille of the fist...
this guy Rob had to attempt to be the centre of attention...
i know what a schoolyard looks like...
how he boasted: he did this to that person...
dislocated his shoulder... PROPER: PROP'AH
"ALPHA"... male... if you don't have the money
you don't have the honey and if you don't have the honey
you don't have children, therefore no legacy...
so what the **** are you doing?
Kant didn't have children: but he has children
of German Idealism... an idea is as much a child
as a child is not really an idea... because a child is usually...
a father and his son going to a football match:
indoctrination...

i have to admit: Hussein's staring freaked me out
a little... no woman in my entire life ever did what he did...
sure... Ilona... when she saw me making pancakes
having to take over two girls attempting to make pancakes
fail... while looking through my Ipod collection
of music give me that look of "love at first sight":
nope... that didn't: doesn't compare to the stares Hussein
gave me when we were talking...
it's different when a woman looks at your during
*** and it's quiet another when a young man looks at you
without him thinking that you know he's looking at you
like you're something... fire-prone...
i have no words to describe it...
it's not even ****-erotica... it's Platonism at its highest
mountain with a knife-edge...

i can't describe it, properly...

perhaps this Robert... this Cypriot spent too much time
with the managerial staff who play off this
macho-"alpha" attitude too much...
the game: it's a game of looking and sounding
intimidating... sure their large Goliath posturing gives
them away... they speak of nothing but a framework
of boasting... Rob has these many dogs...
trained them to become attack dogs...
good with children and families... blah blah...
but when some "****"... blah blah...
funny fact: you know that if one of those dogs
with impregnable jaw-bites has a grip on you:
the way you make them release their bite is by sticking
******* up the dog's ****?! ever heard that one?
and his SIA crew congregated around him listening
to him gloat and boast...
he's not bad: just the usual "good"...
the men feel "herded" while the women feel slightly
pale and out of place... Hussein was listening
on the monologue of Rob... but when Rob left
Hussein returned to me with a litany of questions...

do you like dogs? i used to own two dogs...
an Alsatian and a Dobberman...
but i'm not a boy-man anymore... i prefer cats...
Toni (a girl's name) came to us
and showcased her cats... i showed her and Hussein
a picture of my 10kg Maine ****: Quarus
sleeping in the chair i sit on when i write
crouched like a crow: oh ****! i saw Peter Crouch
up and personal... me and the guys joked:
one said! oh... he's 7ft tall!
i turned around and folded all my fingers
exposing my pinky: yeah... he might be...
but the fact that he's so skinny probably extends our
perception of his height... laughter...

Hussein is the first person to call me after a shift...
i was sitting on the toilet when he called:
i have a funny phone... i hear people but they
sometimes hardly hear me...
we exchanged takes: hey, Hussein... it was nice working
with you today...
will you send me the answer by Thursday?
of course mate...
we compared telephones...
you don't like Iphone, you prefer Samsung?
yeah, easier to use...
how much did your Iphone cost...
£1,200... wow! you're not afraid of having so much
dough stashed in your pocket?
if i had something that expensive in my pocket
i'd probably glue it to my hand!

so much digestion... we're talking about a boy
of a rich banker... we're talking...
Mary Poppins' type of neglect of a child...
he sees his father twice a year...
i was gagging to ask him: Hussein! what do you
see in me, that you keeping staring at me so much
when i'm pretending to not look at you looking at
me?
women just avert their eyes:
Hussein... you know what you remind me off?
only a few weeks ago i had only 4 "friends" as contacts
on facebook... now?
i don't know why i have over 900 Arab contacts...
do i look familiar to you?

Longshanks was talking to and fro... Hussein was
roughly 30 metres behind: Matthew! Matthew!
Hussein! i need to eat something! you charge your
phone i'll go and eat something...
the interaction between men has become
somehow... mysterious...
more mysterious than among / between men and
women...
after experiencing what i have with Hussein...
the Yemeni... i'm thinking...
maybe i ought to enter a "homosexual" relationship
with a man... based on a Platonism of conversation...
we're both **** women left right and centre...
but? we'd come back to each other and talk...
we wouldn't be gay... in the need to explore each
other's ****-roller-coasters...
we'd come back to a friendship...
he would do his bit of ****** aspirations and i'd
settle for what prostitutes do...
why am i thinking this? his, ******* STARING...
at one point i was almost tempted to ask him...
did the Turk did a terrible job on my beard?!
is it badly trimmed?

those eyes were burning... and when a spider
frightened our supervisor i simply exclaimed:
i was afraid of spiders once... i did succumb
to arachnophobia once... now? i'm like a fly magnet:
why wouldn't love spiders?
i once managed to catch a mosquito by its legs
and feed it to a spider... it was lovely to watch...
i sort of enforced man strangling nature into
obedience: it wasn't exactly equivalent to saving
a poor homeless kitten...
i caught a mosquito by the legs and fed it to a spider...
there's a Surah in the Quran about a Spider...

this night i just escape his staring....
i sometimes wish women had the same audacity to be
be able to stare at a man worth their: "contention":
but that's not going to happen..
a contention that can be resolved by a perseverance
of: merely conversation...
that lays no basis for an argument to begin with...
interacting with such Arab youths
i'm finally allocating a "psychology" to myself...
it's becoming painfully obvious...

i do know why i want to do the shift at the London
Stadium tomorrow... i want to see this one,
particular woman... she's in her... i guess mid-40s...
she looks oh so frightened...
she's beautiful for a woman her age...
she has a knack for surrounding by these "alpha" males...
she watches me... i watch her..
i tease and giggle at all the "alpha" males jokes...
her eyes speak a different picture:
this little ****-wit is not intimidated?!
what the ****'s wrong with on the basis of
the women i've been with?!
i already have a child with one of them!
i like her... i like scared: scarred creatures...

                    given that what i truly have to offer
is either hidden or is too personal...
what is revealed about me
is what allows to be revealed...
Hussein?! am i known in the Arab world?
why are you looking at me with a beard-envy?
i was never going to make it "big" in the English-speaking
world... i already commute in and out of shifts
looking at people rotting their minds watching flick flick
flick flick UP tick-tock videos...
i pretend to pretend to sleep... i was hoping to read
some Ovid poetry... instead i'm reading people...
i don't look at people: simply.. i read them:
akin to the ****** proverb:
jak cię widzą: tak cię piszą:

        how they see you: is how they write you...

i'm starting to conjure up these fancies in my head:
not that i'd want to explore **** *******,
but that i might explore something else:
more sinister...
the quill's worth of **** of our "fathers":
             how strange to find oneself incompatible
with  the presence of a woman's conversation...
how: unsatisfying it has yet to become...
i'm bound to Hussein in a way that dictates to me
the categorisation of: NON-NEUROTYPICAL...
i stopped envying opposite *** couples after having
eves-dropped on their conversation...
like most couples: they "think" they better than the next
couple: they're happier, more successful...
than the random, "other", couple...

i was out of a relationship sooner than "never" when
the girl i was with started to create these castles
out of clouds... i was out...
because?! she was slandered in the open
by girls who said out louds: she shouldn't be with him!

magnets... man and woman are compatible...
their conversations might flow on for days...
but... turns out?! there's no intellectual friction....
sure... there's a ****** friction...
but demands never meet demands...
it's unlike being an older man with a younger
man... there are covert ****** frictions
with already: in situ intellectual frictions...
intellectually like-for-like are more inquisitive
of each  than what's otherwise non-intellectually
like-for-unlike physically compatible...

i'm not a homosexual... but...
i'd sooner choose a male partner intellectually than a woman...
so much so that i'd require a harem of women that were shared
by multiple partners than fake a forgery
of a "monotheism" of " monogamy"
of swans... i'd rather talk to a man for all of eternity
as i might want to **** a woman for all of eternity...

what's that casual "phrasing"?! it's... it's...
"complicated"... like assured **** after eating enough
it's assured with ****!
             i'm sorry... but i find women great
when it comes to ***... but complete *******
bores when it comes to conversation...
that's my modus operandi! i can't help it!
at least with men i want to keep talking to them:
because i don't want to **** them...
with women? i don't want to talk to them
for the simple reason that i want to **** them!

what would i talk to a woman about?! what?!
philosophy is not a money spinning mechanism!
philology neither... grammar?!
Chinese ideograms contra phonetics
of the Latin script?!
can i please leave my familial issue aside?!
can i stop worrying?!
it was simply Hussein's staring at me that gave
the secret away...

not all misery loves company...
some miseries prefer to be locked up...
treated in the same way as the fertility of mushrooms
are treated: kept in the dark...
i'm the sort of miserable **** that much prefers
his own: keeping of solace than having
to share it by boasting it with a Thespians' array of masks...

alphas: ha! siła razy gwałt: strength multiplied by ****...
you need a subtle touch...
you can easily appease the alphas...
you just give them what they crave....
and their craving has a low threshold:
they easily bruise...
        you "Hussein" the bigger picture...
                    you allow hierarchies to take
their natural form of exposure to abstracts...
shadows...
you tend to perform intimate demands of
conversation... rather than perform intimidating
details of oration...
   these ******* "Goliaths" are sand on paper.

a niech še Mickiewicz
tę Litczonke pochówawszy...
poszle'ji prosto po Greka,
j'baniem po tsara Cyrola!
psi tryp!
gawari to samo so pies
o ogon koło bada!
morda zorem kulą,
morda zorem na szczyt
cerkfi kieła gryz szarpana.
       a tu mi grzyw,
a tu mi łokieć,
a tu po chłopsku
kiedy zdziw jako:
       PIN'jebanamać'gwint!
sto kurva razy tego fryz
litanii 'wina sie pytoł:
zachooooood, ci tyьбıe wschód?
no ta(h) zegnój ci to teraz
do świcki!
                         popierdolone rho
cyrku i romā(h)...
pomiatajrzy Mickiem po
cha cha cha lit... win... skim...
Co,  Pani nie pod pisze wyroku sądu
nad nad, tym wyrzszy, tzn. po-wia-to-wy?
Litwin udaje panicza,
   'krainiec stara: boze dopomuz
stać po pijaku... nad... świnią!
Litwa i mazowsze niech i tam,
co i tam... pochybel, sicz,
     cień, i zmartwychstań, wola...
niech no ciota skryje bliny...
jam człek... cytaty cy niet cytaty...
ale wbrew romansidła...
       krew sieje gniew...
a gniewaj nad lublu czy tesz
lulu...
             od dziwki smak rumieńca,
jako kosak wart wiatri i cienia...
niech ten panicz Mickiewicz spierdala
do Wilna, do licheń lacha
smarkatka...
          my to Ukroj i Wina...
       chleb z pod Kijowa...
      a krew z murów zwanym Vavel...
litfa to kiedys byla...
    smarkatka dworzan...
     ni tu, ni teruz...
masz ci my dyszli...
   zbroje 'glika: anną zwysz...
          ci dam znów: KUNDLA
ZOREM O TYCZ'KE I ZBIÓR!
              co boze sam ni d'oh...
człek tym warty o ******>    razy pierw to gnać, co boźy
rozum pierw szarpnie cienia...
honestly, the crown's romance
with Lithuania is long gone and stale...
I will die, not having seen L'viv...
and all the happier my lack
of dreams will be,
           as of now, unto death...
    Mickiewicz had his romance
with Lithuania,
   i, at least, can appreciate,
Ukrainian beer...
               no fun having staged
the European championship with
Poland... so no wonder the annexed
Crimea...
           thank god I never actually
managed to breed with English women,
even recreationally...
    given the current: and what if
Pontius Pilate ate vindaloo
for breakfast? search me,
  you either ask Jack or Sherlock.

I know you teach your children the importance of forgiving and forgetting without holding grudges yet this time its hard for me to do.
After all the sacrifices i made, after the countless time i gave in and just went with it because i was mind. I guess God what im trying to say is that im pretty sure you were the one in my ear saying dead weigh dead weigh & now that i adding 1 plus 1 im finally getting the answer. My eyes are finally opened no more time wasted. I apologize for abandoning you. I know you never have or will abandon me, but its hard when you do right by everyone and at the end of the day its like one, they dont appreciate what you have done and two, it feels like some either throw it back in your face or do some **** ***** ****. Its razy how you have a friend and you do the most for them and then you turn your back and they take from you after allowing them into your spot the same ***** you smoke with almost every other day. Someone once said that everyone cant go where your going in life and i see people dropping like flies year by year. God i just loose faith some times because its like your created me in your perfection and i strive at least when it comes to getting your will done and when you look to the left and look to the right and you see complacency. All you hear is talk of this and talk of that but no work is being down no outreach or what is done is done at a half a pace. I get frustrated because people dont put in the effort required to get the job done

bo po ci Łacinie niet łatwo? tzn. łewo? to po co huj znać polschen!? a... huja darmo.*

it's an "alternative" - or it's an
  ~alternative: a hypher-inflated
(see how the conjunction
reverse skipped? ski ski scalp?!)
the germanic peoples are so:
quasi! they...
                 you feel Asiatic?!
                    then why the ****
are you squirming?
                   Pogana Syn...
piszem to jem spokojny...
                   a tym, czerp co?!
huja w windzie!?
głowa wisiąca w stajni?!
                    grob twe matki
na: pochybel!
                  i to: stos!
                   gwar i rydzyc kto i
szto... hujah skor:
                    na Krem wasz; Pan:
    ŚCZ! - jew! say the rest,
what's missing? I!
widzi? o! ser myj "blady"...
nad sejm...
    bo niby 'ski...
  o pats ty! niby nie!
                          se: gavron na ******>radzi! ha ha ha...
                        bydle skuf-wyryte!
                    a tu smakiem:
szemlać? tak ?
  daj chlopu schować:
              co dar ziemi chce zabrać...
ty chańbo, ty srokim zgiem:
by dać Ukraine w baw: chowanego:
            oddać!
         tyś! Azjatyk...
   a czym ti zapomni: tym ci ja:
               przypomne!
pełzag: Y, I, J -
   klątw i hubris zza dnia:
na codzień -
o nie...
   ty po polsku będziesz mi mówić
z pod nóg...
    i ja ci nad glowa ci pendem nad
glow...
        a wskarz ani pier ani po:
bedzie wart prawd;
co mi tam:
    ink rusujy jeno: bleh... cyli germana
blah... cyli: ь... ali to: niewigoda!
                    zed miszem tlo?
ah... harcik! harcik! myszem zle!
no kaza-g'nock... miszem sto razy źle!
funny, isn't it? punctuating from
above?
            you can't reflect on this but
you can ingest a Kandinsky?!
          i'll say it a second time:
if i need to acquire a fascination with
IKEA manuals... i'll tell you!

p.s. a lesson in:
    how you counter learning the alphabet.

C razy
L ucid
I deas
M ay
A lter
T he
E arth

But change will happen as we are not in control

I just wanna leave this town behind
Ditch all the things that remind
Me of this place.
I wanna live all alone
In my cozy home
That I've made.

I care more about my music than
Any type of mathematic lines.
I need to get away from here
Before I go c'razy in my mind

I'll write the world away
And I'll run and run all day

My frantic verses evolve surely
Leading into failed runs of thought
Or perhaps they'll fly away
Into the sun

C razy
L ucid
I deas
M ay
A lter
T he
E arth

But change will happen as we are not in control

i've learned the "hard way":
due or dew...
     orthography? Dickens would say:
chatter... but chater is a terrible mistake...
orthographic? any diacritical indicators
akin to morze (sea) "vs." może (maybe)...

a bit like the colloquial saying:
  π x drzwi (🚪)
   (pi razy drzwi... pi times door...
translation? thereabouts... sort of...
an estimate...)

H'american humour is pretty **** good...
notably?
Bloodhound Gang...
transcript:

song? Mope... from the album Hooray for *******...
- we're going to this next bomb for money-making
   play'ah that ain't with us no m'oh
- yeah, notorious b.i.g.
- hell no, we're goin' do this ******* 'n' ****
   that ain' see it comin'...
- yeah, Tupac Shakur...
- n'ah *****... i'm talkin' about mother ******'
Falco 'n' ****...
- wha'? Falco?!

see the surds? and the apostrophes?!
that's English for you...
              the apostrophes are for the surds...
you can sort of omit...

  never underestimate H'american comedy...
sometimes it's as good as English humour...
German humour is funny too...
but it's sort of funny when you're using a sledge
hammer... a kango: pneumatic drill...
moving rocks around... thinking about arbeit macht frei...

today started great... oh... right... bus stop...
single mum... a boy unconsciously crossing his fingers...
what's up?! me dragging my rented kango...

it's almost like that stereotype of: bachelor walking
with a dog on a leash... a bachelor dragging
a kango...
            i... wasn't expected to get a conversation
without the use of a dating app?!
you what?!
        she needed me... ****** way to court someone...
how much do you charge for an hour?!
will that boy of yours stop wishing for
a Santa Clause present of a father?!

          good, good?! we're nodding... so we're
in the territory of pigeons' ****** practices...
since obviously crows and magpies are more discrete...
they have ******... in the night...
right... i look useful...
                    time to recycle newspapers...
i'm not dealing with this doll wannabe *******...
i'm going to return this piece of joy...
i came round the rental shop...
Josh?! yeah... Josh... returned the tool...
said twice: what a nice piece of toy...

he returned my deposit... shook his hands...
hmm... nice... a firm one... felt like...
that ancient Roman handshake...
where you didn't shake hands... but...
you reached up to the elbow... almost...

some shopping... mostly vegetarian... ****...
silly girl: great ***... oops... oozy-fuzzy eyes...
i'm playing the currency of somehow attractive...
i'm of the opinion...
peaches... pears... a great bit of *** is
much better than a great pair of melons...
i don't know: i have a polar opposite of an aesthetic...
a great *** is better than a pair of knockers...

maybe using a KANGO made my mind up...
***** *******?!
seriously... seriously?!
alright... i'm tired, i'm bored... i'm turned off...
limp biscuit me...
i like the idea of a mirror and doing something
before the altar of the mirror and from behind
and... rottweilers... any German dog breed:

alle deutschhundrasse!

right... walk with a dog or walk with a kango...
what are the chances of a single mum...
did that boy have a leash?
no... he had his fingers crossed...
i could use that...
rent boy?!
               am i? good luck taking that on the bus...
oh... there's no argument...
there's no conversation... this is going with me...
i'm not dragging it for 3 miles...

that's the eye-opening perspective when
it comes to women...
you sleep with one *******...
suddenly there are only single mothers about...
i'd love to father a *******...
i truly would love to...
but... if it was a single mom and a daughter...
sorry... i know my limits...
i'd turn into Marquis de Sade's epiphany
via the novella ******...
            i'd probably rather have a take on the daughter
and discharge the mother to the tiresome pit
of giggling vitality...

replica?! ******!
  but... fathering... a male... ooh... that's something else...
i'm reaching for connotations of a synonym: Spartan...
i'd love that...
    Hnery VIII "syndrome"...
like my ex girlfriend... 5 girls... no boy...
maybe she was a heated toad...
can't extract a phallus from her ******:
all goes in... nothing comes out...

  all the girls i ever dated were the ones that
dumped me...
WHAT, A, *******, RELIEF!
i was dumped... Pontius Pilate ha ha:
i can die with a clarity of conscience!
thank god for that!
              it's a sort of a retrospective relief...
it takes time... a bit like wine...
  but i make my own wine... so i know...
time is a linear dimension...
it expands while it's prolonged...
while space? it's already "large", void...
three-dimensional... space doesn't move...
time... forever does...

how could i apply pataphysics of Alfred Jarry's
imaginary fishing rod and imaginary bicycle
and imaginary Seine... and imaginary: short-height
too...
   if... space were to be 0
                          time would be... 1.0
                                            or 0.1?
                                          *******, bewildering...

squirt of intellectualism that somehow
could never probably convince a competition
with Rabelais...
            
i don't exactly like my countrymen...
esp. in the realm of the diaspora...
    we don't get along...
but like that quote from the Godfather Part II...
or I... whichever...
blut ist blut... blood is blood...

i'd guillotine a Frenchman...
i'd hang, draw and quarter an Englishman...
but... would i have to, these days?!
people don't believe in their inheritance!
unless you're black...
because white = masochism...
race has become a fetish...
shh shh... let me hush hush the Russians...
is race a fetish?!
oh... right...
  oh oh...

              we're working on ethnicity dynamics?!
so... i truly can... distinguish between
Nigerians... Kenyans and Somalis?!
wow!
   imagine that!
   yeah... those Somalis! indignant, bored...
    "tired"... lazy ***** of an ***!
                no wonder they're bound to make
journalistic headlines of starvation...
they think themselves as being pharaohs...
lazy! *******! *****!
                 i hate Somalis with a ******* passion!
you ever... love to hate?!
it's good... loving to hate makes you
cautious... makes you aware...
like i once said to this Islam-adherent:
oh... i don't fast for religious reasons...
do you even appreciate the reasons for fasting?
or do you... yeah... i said to myself:
within the confines of your cranium:
you do what you're told...
i fast for the practicality of...
it sharpens your concentration...
the hungry only think about eating...

              but once you become religiously: replica:
clone... drone... hive-minded...
you're pratically dead... well... alive...
but... eh... the vitality of Christianity
was governed by a focus for a polyphony...
a multiplication-schism...
mind you: all the remaining "Christians" are
most probably Africans.,
recent "converts"...

monotheism and the project of globalism...
sure... i can see it... murky vision...

beautiful example of what's not to be done:
on an escalator...
an old man was tapping to the beat
of the ****** music
in a... that window-shopping building...
he left the escalator, i left the escalator...
but i threw a comment at him:
nice rhythm-keeping...
                               rhythmushalten...
he was tapping with his hands...
               is das so schlecht?!
                   i'll i'm missing is a bow tie

C razy
H ow
O ur
I nstitutions
C ontrol
E verything