I believe in smiling at strangers. I believe in saying hello. I believe in shyness. I believe in fear of rejection. I believe in the need of affection. I believe in the need of reminders. I believe in candles, especially those that smell of vanilla or christmas. I believe in wearing small crystals around my neck. I believe in energetic vibrations. I believe in colours - I think each person has their own colour. I believe every feeling is valid. I believe in chapstick and I believe in mascara that doesn’t clump. I believe in nail polish - every colour of nail polish. I believe that the only reason we lie is because we fear something. I believe in poetry. I believe in bluntness. I believe in the intention behind words, but I don’t necessarily believe in words. I believe in travel. I believe in travelling solo. In fact, I believe in travelling so much that it is pretty much all I want to do. I believe in music. Boy, do I believe in music. I believe any kind of musical composition can change a person. I believe music can cure depression. I also believe music can feed depression. I believe a melody can say more than lyrics and I believe that lyrics can be what someone couldn’t put together themselves to explain exactly how they are feeling. I believe anyone can create a song, even though they believe they cannot. I believe a single note can sound like the most beautiful sound in the world. I believe if someone records a song when they’re in an ugly mood, the ugliness emits to its listeners and can drain them. I believe in art. Of course I do. I believe in acrylic paint. I believe in oil paint and watercolours, but not as much as I believe in acrylic. I believe in fingerprinting. I even believe in painting with your toes. And I believe in dancing; even if it looks weird. I believe in flailing your arms even, as long as it feels good and right. I believe in dancing ‘til you sweat, though I don’t like that icky feeling too much. I believe that a babe can be a very ugly person and a physically unattractive person can be a very beautiful person. I believe that people who smile are beautiful. I believe that people who frown are beautiful too, just in a different way. I believe that there are sincere smiles and there are manipulative smiles. I believe that some people just know how to use their eyes well. I believe in eye contact. I believe in engaging. I believe in listening and dropping everything else that is going on in your mind just to listen to what a person is trying to share with you. I believe in sharing - sharing cookies and sharing love. I believe in the frosty cold. I believe that it doesn’t have to feel as cold as it really is. I believe that people complain a lot. I believe that people often have too much pride to be happy. I believe that we should embrace our discomforts and shames, that we should welcome them wholeheartedly so that we can be happy. I believe in honesty. I believe in empathy. I believe in tea. I believe in jelly donuts but only on certain occasions. I believe in quirky bow ties. I believe in knit toques and mittens and scarves. I believe in dresses. I believe in flirting. I believe in coffee in the morning. I believe in big comfy beds. I believe in walking around your empty house in your underwear or birthday suit, singing loudly. I believe in singing in the shower. I believe in singing on the street. I believe in stage fright. I believe in meditation, though I don’t really strictly set times to do it anymore. I believe mundane activities can be done in a meditative state of mind. I believe in clarity. I believe in not judging people because everyone is human. I believe every human has something very interesting about them. I believe in boring people too. I believe in christmas music - not the radio kind, the choral kind. I believe in cheap sweet wine. I believe in Billy Joel and I believe in The Beatles. I believe in Regina and Sufjan too. I believe that the ukulele is a very overrated instrument. I believe in having healthy hair. I believe in moisturizer. I believe in getting to pick a coloured toothbrush at the dentist. I believe in thick wool socks. I believe in baggy sweaters. I believe in yoga gear but I do not believe in sweatpants. I believe that yoga is one of the healthiest things for a person - ever. I believe in buying a friend drinks or dinner once in awhile. I believe in collecting shoes and scarves and rings. I believe in chords but I don’t really believe in jeans. I believe in hot chocolate with whip cream but not with marshmallows. I believe in dorky Christmas sweaters. I believe in baking cookies instead of cake. I believe in eating disorders - I do not support them, but I do believe they are much more severe and various than most people think and I believe there should be better/proper help for those who suffer instead of the usual cruel inpatient/outpatient care. I believe in trichotillomania and I believe in dermatillomania and the severity and impact it can have on its sufferers. I believe in gardens. I believe in every single flower. I believe that everyone is always doing their best. I believe that most people love to struggle. I believe in hope. I believe in having faith in yourself. I believe in iPod playlists. I believe in gym memberships in the winter, not the summer unless it’s to swim. I believe in matching underwear every day. I believe in Value Village. I believe in singing in bus shelters when you’re waiting for the bus. I believe in dressing up according to holidays. I believe in Grey’s Anatomy and I believe in Community. I believe in skirts and dresses that twirl like the ‘ol days. I believe in longboards more than skateboards. I believe in plaid like most young people do. I believe in bows in my hair, but not as much as I used to. I believe in foot massages and hand massages. I believe in reflexology and reiki and essential oils and chakras and crystals and holistic nutrition. I believe in anxiety; even crippling anxiety. I believe in awkward romances. I do not believe in flip flops. I do not believe in Beatles covers unless they are really insanely good; then my mind is blown. I believe in having long enough nails to scratch someone’s back appropriately. I also believe in biting nails. I do not believe in telephone calls unless I am extremely comfortable with the person. I believe in blogs. I believe in journals. I believe in naming special inanimate objects like journals, instruments, technology and furniture. I believe in the idea of cats more than I believe in cats. I believe in sharpies or thin pointed permanent markers. I believe in temporary tattoos. I believe in streaming movies online. I believe in royal gala apples. I believe in avocados. I believe in rice cakes. I believe in popcorn. I believe in airports but I hate the LA airport. I believe in openly talking about *** but I don’t believe in making it seem shameful and gross. I believe there should be no shame regarding sexuality. I believe in reading some great books more than once. I believe in laying on the couch under cozy blankets, watching a great suspenseful tv show or movie. I only believe in having a couple bites of cheesecake. I don’t really believe in lulu lemon. I don’t believe many people can pull off the colour yellow. I believe in buttons over zippers even though zippers are easier, they just look kind of dumb and cheap. I believe in the sun and the moon equally. I believe in closets over dressers. I believe in staring out the window for a good hour or so.

I got locked out of the house today
While feeding my cat on the porch
In a bathrobe without my purse
No phone, no key, barefoot of course

So I sprinted to the driveway
Where my man was still backing out
Engrossed in checking his emails
He must have missed my screaming shout

Backed out all the way to the street
His eyes ahead in the early dawn
He didn't see my panicky dance
Off to work, in a flash, he was gone

Despite my last ditch effort
Racing after him down the street
He never looked back, not once
I was abandoned with ****** feet

It's only half past 7am
Time to problem-solve my way inside
Even though I had a ladder to climb
Every lock and bolt let all hope die

That day I spent on the patio
Long and hot it was to be sure
Feeling neglected and left behind
I cried a few tears in a blur

Then I did some overdue yard work
Drank out of the hose like my dog
Relaxed in the hammock instead of lunch
Dozed off in an afternoon fog

Till I found a book on reflexology
I'd been meaning to read for so long
Practiced a few techniques on my cat
And planned how I'd tell Bill he'd done me wrong

When I misplaced my faith
And had to find
Something to ease my
Questioning mind
I studied
Numerology
Astrology
Reflexology
The Chinese Zodiac
Neglected scientific facts
To try and fill the lack
Of wisdom
Looking for some ego boost
In my spiritually void youth
Such a goofy kook
Believed in spooks
Not spies but ghouls
Walked with other fools
Who thought they could cast spells
That they fought monsters from hell
And battled dream demons
It took a couple of years to transition from
One magical thing to the next
Till I finally settled on the logic of
Reasoning
Science
And love
Of humanity
But at thirty four
I got a whole lot more
To learn

I got locked out of the house today
While feeding my cat on the porch
In a bathrobe without my purse
No phone, no key, barefoot of course

So I sprinted to the driveway
Where my man was still backing out
Engrossed in checking his emails
He must have missed my screaming shout

Backed out all the way to the street
His eyes ahead in the early dawn
He didn't see my panicky dance
Off to work, in a flash, he was gone

Despite my last ditch effort
Racing after him down the street
He never looked back, not once
I was abandoned with ****** feet

It's only half past 7am
Time to problem-solve my way inside
Even though I had a ladder to climb
Every lock and bolt let all hope die

That day I spent on the patio
Long and hot it was to be sure
Feeling neglected and left behind
I cried a few tears in a blur

Then I did some overdue yard work
Drank out of the hose like my dog
Relaxed in the hammock instead of lunch
Dozed off in an afternoon fog

Til I found a book on reflexology
I'd been meaning to read for so long
Practiced a few techniques on my cat
And planned how I'd tell Bill he'd done me wrong

alleyway stagnation
rivulets of ammonia wander
inhibition slides
out of sight
and shoeless travelers
defecate on pizza boxes ~

worn thin soles
mold to each pebble
reflexology of the pavement
chakras explode with
symbolic frippery
leaving tendrils of aura
slipping into the pastel sunset ~

both hands hold carbon
crumbling and geo-engineered
star souls wait in silence
egg fertilization
key to reforming
birthed again
without fission ~

swaddled universe
howling siren
ships crash on basalt spies
crimson waves alter tourist sands /

LIMBO -
limbo of the libido:
foul dough. 502 bad gateway bypass.

i'm trying to be sexist, but: there are certain gender realities
(i don't know why i invoke the plural) -
***: what's biological... reproductive...
                       the furthering of the species...
for all the crap that anti-cis propaganda ushers in...
well... hardly: how would homosexual be born?
sure, accepted... how would all the other "freaks"
be born? via the **** or the mouth?
                 silly questions... society has accepted the outliers...
but now they're getting "too proud"...
yesterday my mother asked me on a whim...
she goes to these reflexology appointments...
the reflexologist is a vegan and she made this comment
in passing...
   the cows only produce milk when they're pregnant
and when they give birth...
so my mum asks me...
you're an enlightened man... like your father...
like your grandfather...
       is it possible that cows only produce milk when
they are pregnant?
huh?! don't you milk a cow in the morning and in
the evening... and during the summer you can even
milk her during the day?
***?! so how come we have a constant supply
of milk?! would a cow be holy in India if she only
produced milk when she was impregnated?
   that's ******* vegan talk for you: she has meat and
dairy products on her mind... absolute *******
nonsense... women... the cows are being abused now...
i sometimes wish i could work in a slaughterhouse
just for the kicks... or rather...
i remember this one backlog memory...
   there was a slaughterhouse on the outskirts of
the town where i was born... i saw it being towed in
into it on the back of a truck...
       the mooing this haunts me... it sort of knew it was
entering a slaughterhouse...
     that's almost like when a child was once asked
in a survey... where does milk come from?
milk cartons... hey presto! magic milk!
         god... people are urban-dumb...
                                        some don't even know that
those "yellow things" are... rapeseed oil flowers...
true story... a girl and a mum on the bus in front of me...
we were passing the green belt between Romford
and Mark's Gate / Chadwell Heath on the 66 bus...
the girl asked her mum: mum... what are those...
the mum replies... ahem... yellow things...
woman! they're rapeseeds! they're rapeseed flowers!
you make oil from them! cooking oil!
cows only produce milk when they're pregnant...
******* veganism...
    point being... back in the day when stewards at
football matches... security guards at events were all men...
just like yesterday...
chill day... well... because of bunch of football supporters
only sees men segregating the home fans from
the away fans... they don't see a ***** in the armour
of yellow vests... there's no woman ergo:
there's no weak-spot... oh sure sure... such your average
woman has a black belt in ******* judo...
first comes the optics... later... the physical confrontation...
what she going to do? shout at them?
and it's not like women didn't start wars...
oh Helen oh Joan... no no... peaceful creatures...
coming back in the car yesterday there was only
the four of us... all men... we were all sort of exhausted...
we exchanged... 5 sentences between each other...
the rest of the car journey was spent in comfortable
silence... no woman ergo no agitation...
ergo... no need to compete for attention of
attention-seeking ******... it's that ******* simple...
ol' Ernest Hemmingway was right....
each short-story in his collection: Men without Women
is correct...
it was spectacular yesterday: just guys...
shared banter... even the weakling among us...
Mark... sure... we teased him about dating prospects
with this girl we're working with... teased him...
but at the same time: didn't exclude him from the group...
we were literally working together...
there was no friction... no "alpha beta gamma psi blah blah"
of mating hierarchical status...
and we weren't confronted by the fans...
oh... the worst is working with someone like Jeminah...
the workload becomes a joke...
she is attractive: or rather... was...
today at the supermarket i thought...
   well... if most women find most men disgusting...
ugly... even... let me tell you...
the most unappealing man... in the eyes of another
man? CHARACTER... that man has a lived face...
it's a bit different simply passing someone in the street
and it's a bit different when you start interacting
with someone, see their ****** expression change
from the casual: pedestrian neutral...
   but an ugly man i can stand...
                yet... i also watched the desperate men
coupled with... ahem... ******* GARGOYLES...
no no... there's another word for them...
     Medusa was one of them... GORGONS...
   GARGOYLES GORGONS... same ****... different cover...
how did they ever manage to swing that by?
i wouldn't **** that, let alone reproduce with it...
it just looks ugly on the inside more than
it does on the outside... it looks like a busy-body...
i'm not saying i'm a stunner...
                  but i've had enough rejections to know
that: well... standards are going up...
as well as tax and mortgages and the price of: MILK...
Hindu fuel of life...
         ***** in the armour... i never had such a relaxing
shift... because... again: what is she going to do?
shout at about 20 happy-angry football fans rushing
up to the segregation-line between home fans
and away fans? shout at them: BIG MOMMA style?
that's the excuse Jeminah used when she was
placed on a similar playground at Fulham:
would you talk to your mother like that?
would you talk to your sister like that?
well... double that effort and don't talk to me
like that...                                         ha ha.... ah ha ha...
i just stand there... make concrete eye-contact...
fold my arms around my chest... pump up my back...
smile... last time i checked? no trouble...
but it's ****... absolute ******* working with women...
they disrupt the whole dynamic of a team...
a team of men... why?
if she's attractive enough she'll get asked out by
customers... asked for her number...
she'll start twitching left left left swipe swipe her Tinder
options... it's like working with
an epileptic hamster...
            and it's true what they say...
women are never single... there's always a side "project"...
i don't know... why i like cycling down Mawney Road...
i loved it prior to meeting her...
there are trees either side of the street...
and it's mostly downhill... unless in reverse...
in gear 6 to make more effort therefore uphill...
oh ****... that's her... i saw the dog prior to seeing
her dark ginger-auburn hair...
then again: i think i saw her ginger-auburn hair first...
and...
       she was walking... with the most...
unremarkable man... jeans and a black fleece...
****** dark sort of brown hair: oh no... not raven Turkic...
some ****** brown variation...
but jeans and a black fleece...
                  i'm guessing trainers on his feet...
her ex? her ex-boxing frenzy where she's the cougar
and he's the ****-pants late-stage hard-on
teenager? that sort of dynamic? so... not...
her somewhat contemporary?
     and, mind you: i'm getting these regular anonymous
voicemails... unknown number:
ergo? i don't listen to them...
         at strange times... i saw her walking her dog
and her most unremarkable looking man
side by side at 4pm... i get a voicemail at 4:29pm...
could it be her? i want to doubt it...
i'm not going to listen to it...
    i found a little bit of happiness with a Turkish *******...
i'll settle for that...
like my grandfather used to say:
keep your heart tiny, tiny tiny tiny...
then you'll have people in your grasp...
     i sort of played the game wrong... i wanted to go out
with her... too many girls... involved...
too many counter-narratives... but when the friendship
of her son with the other girl's son was invoked
as if it might be broken: i broke my silence...
and her presto... i get ghosted...
but we live locally... so what is she going to do?
demand i don't cycle down Mawney Road?
she doesn't even live on Mawney Road...
she likes in a cul de sac just off Mawney Road...
she just walks her dog down this street...
perfect timing? ****'s sake...
      yeah: the idea of seeing her walking her dog
and her former ex-boxer... or some new guy...
(boxer in the sense: his greatest opponent was her)...
some Tinder flick...
         it's not like i want to help people like her...
i'd love to be around them to rein them in...
but... obviously... the currency of the current
freedoms... is... unshakeable...
   such an unremarkable looking man...
what a ****** dress sense... so much sloth induced
attire... the **** i wear at home could be better
translated to overcome what he was wearing
in public... then i figured... i smell it...
                                                           ­      it's fear...
it's... a sense of inadequacy... isn't it?
prostitutes don't smell of that... oddly enough...
          and they don't smell it on me...
i'm just a lover-boy... eyes filled with intent: blah blah...
******* with the taboo... i leave the taboos
for strip-clubs... all see but no touch...
yeah... tell me that when i was in one in Athens...
no touch *******... i was so excited rubbing
and hugging at least three: running out of money
that a bouncer escorted me to the nearest cash-machine
while i ****** my trousers and sneaked out...
walking... i was drunk... that's how i navigated
Athens then... i had a honing implant in
my 'ed... 5 miles? however long it was...
       you're going to be spending money on SOMETHING...
anyways... it's not a ******* shortcut...
but at least you'll be getting what you're after
upfront... and it's not like the women are
unwilling... i once had a date with this South African
private school teacher... she tried to cook...
she really protested when i wanted to be involved in
the cooking: can't we? cook, together?
we watched a movie... then went to bed...
oh **** me... not another of these types...
types? ******* cocoon *** types...
ashamed of her body... it's not enough to do it
with the lights off: rather than dimmed...
but... under the bed-sheets...
no again... how she managed to give me a hard-on
i will never know... she must have spiked my drink...
but... the *** under the bedsheets the lights out
is one thing... her... not being exactly creamy-pie?
creamy-pie?! she wasn't wet... she was aroused
but she also wasn't aroused...
she had a thick fat dry load of ******!
how do you describe *** that's quasi-**** but can't
be ****, therefore it's quasi- when a woman's
****** is not wet? when you feel like every stroke
is you: peeling an onion... or getting circumcised?!
i might as well have found a squid's worth of mouth
to explore the deity of *******...
no... no thank you... i don't do inexperienced *****...
it wasn't ****... but...
  if you stretch it... she's still ******* you:
with a dryness of Sahara... you feel you're not plucking
oysters with your tongue...
or poking them with your index...
instead... you're... rubbing sandpaper on the index...
that's not ****? beats me...
what's *** then, "in general"?
   we're calling performing ****: 1st base?!

such a clueless... average looking man...
   sure... she got scared... ha ha:
of the homemade wine and the banana loaf
and the fact that i'm into collecting vinyl...
and that i dress to impress...
     shucks... that sort of hurts...
no wonder i had to turn that "hurt" into
a visit to a brothel... well... at least some women are
still out there: appreciative of my masculinity...
girl-boy girl-girl games can stay
the ******* my radar for as long as possible...
perhaps they will: when i don't hope
to meet her in the geriatric centre for things
all the manner of STALE...
    
oh **** her... her swig at quality on the side while
she goes for something easier, manageable...
the type where she's on top...
ha ha... **** her...
but i'm still going to cycle down that street...
the odd chance i catch her walking her dog...
will these ******* voicemails end?! please!
i'm not going to listen to them!
i'm more of a reader: not a listener...
because i'm guessing, it probably sounds like...
'stop stalking me!'... you what?

we're practically neighbours...
what am i going to do? ******* to the moon?!
you're the one using Tinder to match up
with guys from CALI-FOR-NIA...
******* to California then...
                     i'm not going: anywhere...
this earth gave birth to my psyche from the age
of 8... i was elsewhere prior...
please excuse me...
                                    silly little *****;

i can't stop... such an unremarkable looking man...
sort of... "man"... but obviously she had the upper-hand...
oh i'm guessing that his desperation just:
******* glowed and blinded her with
the advent of issuing power dynamism...
          
     see... fear... is usually coupled with a precursor...
excitement... there's this initial excitement...
but then... a backlog of sensation kicks in...
the 'oh ****' stage... hence the sabotage...
   of a possible relationship...
             but it's so much different with prostitutes...
since... it's Russian roulette gambling...
it's not: betting on horses...
it's better with the weight of your heart and soul...
that's why i like it... too many "fiddly" bits of
conversational ******* before the actual
******* or rather the... what's it called?
the preliminary? whatever it's called...

                        **** it... if Zeus can't wait... to implode
into existence in the realms of men
via a ****** birth... but has to: metaphor himself
into ******* a beauty via (as) a swan...
i'll be at the brothel; i don't have the time,
but more importantly... i'm not always in the mood...
so... woman: more like: LEASH...
patience...
                
        let her walk her dog and her unremarkable looking
man... i bet she can teach the both of them
some good sic 'em lessons;
            i just want to see one of her dogs bark...
TOOSH... obviously the other dog will get a treat and a patting...
because... what? i can't cycle on this street?
ah ha ha... pretty petty whittle moi.

Our Mother's gone;
We are alone.

Her body lies here,
Husk and cob,
Soul's wrapper, shed;

Her hands

Hushed in the presence of death
I see her hands,
hold them one last time.
fingers that cooked
thousands of meals,
mended jeans,
darned socks,
scrubbed floors,
cleaned and cleaned,
and cleaned;
turned Scripture pages,
mended my wounds.


Her feet
Cooling now,
But a little warm,
Remind me:
old canvas work shoes,
shuffling walk
pigeon-toed
(I walk like her)

Her hands and feet remind me:
foot rubs,
back rubs,
often with a song...
While we were growing up;
later on, when she was old
she'd ask me to raise my foot
so she could give me
a "reflexology" treatment.
I never refused.

In the stillness of death,
I grasp her feet,
Give them one last squeeze.

"Mom, I owe you thousands."

But she is gone.

toil, foil, toil, foil: fold

      stacked them high toward
a shadow of a commitment to say
likewise

like for like
eye for an eye
that is some bearing
to this current: simple un-gratified
loss of prayer

in a vague entrance to sight
from sigh
or the entrance to thought
through: perhaps a hum of om

the Hum of Om
like that fabled: research, please!
the Hum of Om
like Ayat
like Aql

                 i know an hour will pass
and i will think that i have written so much
but instead i'll realize
that i'm readjusting
to the hermit me
who would spend his time writing
and drinking

i just finished the first book of Dune
and unlike the film:
i'm trying to un-see the film
because in the film you only learn
of Paul Harkonnen
at the end of the movie with:
grandfather...
but in the book that is already realised
in the tent
while Paul and Jessica
are waiting for Idaho
or not waiting for Idaho

before Jessica drinks the water of life
the worm ***** or whatever
juice
of the ******* wriggling
to the death by water:
point being beside the noble worms
as perhaps whales
whales yes
because that's the mammalian aquatic
threshold

     and i mean:
i will not have written much but left enough space






      to look through...                from
the perspective of writing and living out the mundane
without Edie...
the time that is required...
all the fears and dictates of my mother
and father
are nothing
that i spent the day cleaning
the house
to only have mother come back from
hospital and reflexology session
with "Auntie Rajama"
well... sliding doors ahead of you...
i too live under a matriarchal oppression
mental gym-bro that's a girl
in the public square burning her bra
and competing with men
in the construction industry
or the security sector...

we had guys known as KLAWISZE
former prison guards
operate this sector...
now comes the time of the ex-military
brigade
but still so many loopholes
with the mass exodus from India to
the Crown...

             yes: some pause is a must right now
when i think about the length of
the task and all the curvature that
might come
not even asking: who is the thinker of thoughts
and the dreamer of dreams

perhaps ask, specifically for who is i
if i were, that is, asking myself with a hypnotic
hypothesis of pathology
and lack of pathology in the confines
of apathy:

      climbing the ladder of grammar i see something
of myself that requires a reminder
that is my selfish life
this bookworm this caricature
of man who elsewhere shine in glistening
a muscular
   a weird attentiveness to the sea
a local fisherman with no rod
but a hook and line
standing in the open Pacific
like this is my Dune not Dune
this glass ripple and all the salt
to juice the carnal feast in **** and bear
and ox tail and yummy yummy
some heroic end to my struggles
i thought not like but
heard all those warnings by men for men
and all that talk
i wonder could i end up like
a proverbial Friday,
  
        Friday the Idiot from London
shackled to Kauai...
           forgot his library...
what one book would i bring to have with me?

when i was younger i asked myself
the question:
what is the last music track that i will hear
before i die?
back then i was a Intrinsic:
the equivalent to a Mentat -
i would obviously not know the last track
of music i would have heard
unless i armed myself with
continually wearing headphones -
a commuter's hell and paradise
not exactly thinking machines
as automated beings,

thinking machines exist, but require
a thinker's input to be animate
otherwise thinking machines are inanimate
and therefore not a hazard,
threat... no...
they require input...
but... automate beings...
automated beings automated humans...
that's android territory of psychopathic
dolls and reels of cheese bad cheese good
melting canvas for:
silicone but what if moved the cellulite from
buttocks to the *******
give god his female rearing, fearing: form
of enough breast to *** ratio
and thighs and a very thin face
with no dub dub my own double chin
that i hide using a beard...

i heard of the toad neck
the toad neck of living outside of salt water...
the toad-neck is caused
by the Thyroid Gland...

        Thyroiditis:
all subjective experiences of each individual
body parts
is bound to the subjectivity of horror
without experience
the sheering horror of Sigma the All Encompassing
ego to letter focus
suggesting the ego-parasite will not wriggle
out somehow still not aware
but this symbiosis of ego as incorporating self
and other
and the plurality of us and them
and all that weaves itself into the earth of politics:

but at least i paid my dues
wit enough reading to writing ratio:
i always: feel: guilty: if: i: have: written:
more: than: i: have: read...

              made an old endorsement for paging
mr telegraph, paging mr telegraph
see the colon punctuation system
for the digital telegraph

             no STOP            for              .dot

i.e. words separated by colon
and finish would be a              sweet wipe
of the lips or lipstick off
or perhaps just finished a greasy meal therefore with ;
a semi-colon of             .
                                     ,

(enlarged)
                                   .
                                   .               (colon, enlarged)

or least there's the thought:
why the sudden conversion or what is this
even mean?

without knowledge
have sent astray?
so set your
man by nature u/p
which He has creat-
Allah's creation. T-
know not --
Turning unto
duty unto Him, and e/s-
who ascribe partners (u
of those who spli/
matics, each sect exulting
And when harm
Lord, turning to Him in/
tasted of His mercy, behol/d
to their Lord

those torn pages of the Quran
by my mother
when i was exploring different thresholds
of understanding
by no obscure way
i was going to depict the tares
at the Romans and ending at Luqman...

then i saw the tare and the following
sentence emerge:

WITHOUT KNOWLEDGE AND THOUGH IT BE IN A ROCK

i stand to poise, i do wonder whether
that means anything
perhaps to ants it does
but to humans?

without knowledge
and though it be in
a rock...

expand: i am not really prone to saying things
prophetically or pro-wisely
what what?
   man without knowledge
is...
           and even though
it be in a rock:                    knowledge?

no: fascination?
admiration for life and life-intellect
say god is of life
and no god is of death
and both are right
whether by sooth
to tooth to soothe and however i word
it there's this second parting
heavier than the first
but also lighter
because now i just realised
that it was a second parting
and i'm not too sure where she is on
this page
finally realizing that perhaps
i'm not for her
and perhaps she loves me enough
to leave me alone
that i might refocus on this cascades
these blues in wine
and tokes with starlight and friendly
neighborly conversations...
which might be not to ms claustrophobia's suiting
should that be a chasm a biological
fear a sudden
terrible monstrosity
given that she's not my daughter
and there would be to mention of ******
and inbreeding
for some Heb Gazzarye beast of the falcon
and the lizard and the clue as to how
gizzards became a sweet meat special...

         timely: onion gravy and mash p'oh
tatties...
the idea is timely and still refreshing
to think 38 oh 38
come my 60th i'll have
a wife aged 77
and a mother aged 86
and a father probably dead
and i will be renting a property on an island
a Pacific *** *** hello venture
like
there is no nothing zilch of me here
in the London Obscurity Digital Zoo Central

you have to live these parts girl
from text to text from whim to whim
on whimsical tides
arguing not arguing
not really a part of some collective
narrative but instead imploding to home
and to the maturity of manners
i just like m in that sentence
a letter a mem
        a mem is for example a maturity of manners
or for example the tinker tailor triad
a mem is a particular punishment opposing
             punishment itself
yet riddling the punished a punishment-in-itself
punishment itself is no punishment
without a punishment-in-itself

i think best exemplified by how abstract
German became
and not really read in popular circles
would never amount to unfolding the abstract
fabric of the simple change of wording
to gravitate toward the laissez-faire
of meaning in that: nothing is really just a pronoun
thing as in: a thing-in-itself
is almost like my questioning
the authenticity of having
a subjectivity of a thyroid gland?
apart from having been subjected to a body
in total by what comes after seeing
namely thinking or subtle-thinking
before the ego creates hatchlin' hooks of
parasitic symbiosis devoid of a name given
as responsive:
the ego responds to it's "ego"...
                i'm currently subject to:

no no... the thing-in-itself...
but if explored outside of the realm of "things"...
then a blueprint analysis
of say: heartbreak and heartache and
love and 3 years: what down what drain?
not against the waves of the sea
not against the river?
down the river? who knows?!

but these are my supposed days off
but they aren't so much days
off like days in between
where there is a glimmer of science-fiction
escapism but
a crashing crescendo reality licking check
for friction akin
to frost on a metal pole
like i know certainly realities
but i still want to be the ball-breaker
qureysh:         Qureysh                     winter...

metabolism sloth and fire breathing
bear... somewhere in a cave in a forest
centuries ago:
i too was teased by the fate of
Nebuchadnezzar -

my 20s are a vagueness but not born
a king could not have wed my feeding to grass...
Samyaza: Nephilim -
apocryphal Christianity -
in the old saying:
the books kept to be read in private
to children
as bedtime stories about Noah
and the giants and Angels...
not the protestant revamp
of the word: apocryphal...
not heretical no just obscure i.e. to be literature
for families to form outside
of the synoptic canonical text
spoken of in the church with authority

well if you want a functional christianity
you will have to allow the apocryphal library
to be reintroduced into the family
environment -
if you're serious...
if you want to go down the Quran Avenue
of having a sacred text:
you have texts!
not belonging to a single individual but many!
on account of that...

the apocryphal library needs to be released
for the understudy of family life
and myth formation
no other books outside of the apocryphal
HERESY segment are allowed
in the house...
and there is no book of authority
except the books of the old and new testament
depending on the fervor one
is cited more than the other
the two are interchangeable...
i see the latter as a greco-hebrew
conspiracy manual against the Roman Empire
and Jesus wasn't Jewish
he was probably Assyrian
or whatever and who knows
that trip to Egypt as a toddler
then returning back to Judea
because Joseph's carpentry shop wasn't
doing so well...
Africans love their stone and marbles...
who needs 'ud / wood in the desert?

but the apocryphal library will have to be
manifest...
in the houses of these christian families...
text that are obscure but
but... expansive...
you can't have: i appreciate the dedication
of the illiterate to the Quran
some reciting on trains as if literacy
is equivalent to learning how to ride
a bicycle or learning how to swim:
point being! once learned?! never forgotten!