/                                america, july 18th:
  and the utter media shambles -
like ****** and steroids
for the uninitiated -
     tongues without the rattlesnake
trill of an ᚨᚱ:
   numbed w'ah w'ah peddling
of woe to row the sinking boat:
maniac adult funfair
attempting a nostalgia
for the playground game
of bulldog...

                russia, 25th march:
the kemerovo fire (siberia) -
          children frying, screaming,
perhaps even hoping -
  a shying herod, the example
of: as moloch descended...
          prayers in the fire
                  by the innocents...

england, july 19th -
   alternative to rehydrating
using water...
    a generous 5 hour sleep -
******* on the remains
of last night's lemon
     used to infuse the subtle
smoky of bell's whiskey,
playlist:

- the jon spencer blues
  explosion (bellbottoms)
- britney spears (criminal)
- twenty one pilots (heathens)
- calvin harris (this is what you came for)
- camila cabello (habana)
- rihanna (disturbia)
- birdbrain (youth of america)
- ghost (ritual)
- focus (hocus pocus)
- edwyn collins (a girl like you)
- the guess who (american woman)
- the knack (my sharona)
- cronica (herr mannelig)

and then onto buckling in
4 beers and thinking
about black holes as the pin-head
of antimatter -
a dead sun...
     dead, but not dead...

   and the first, crude graphic
tomb raider game...

   rather than having completed
it...
     since only owning
a demo...

                 investigating
the possibility of 2D objects in
3D space...
       well: the universe isn't even
exactly 3D: it's hyper-3D...
    but in the tomb raider game
you could walk up to a minor
detail in the game, a fern,
and observe two-dimensionality
in a "three dimensional space"...

   namely: the ferns were all 2D,
and rotated within a "hyperbole"
of the eye -
   however you observed the "object"
it rotated round and round,
never allowing you to see
    its demoniac otherside -

i can only expect dead suns to
behave in such a manner -
   two dimensional objects in a three
dimensional subject matter -
almost paradoxical -

     rotating at immense speed...
invigorating a near but not quiet
a postportem of a death...

       and you really can see UV light
surface
staring at a glaring hot sun with
a naked eye -
   and see the same hyper-rotation -
it's almost like looking at
molten silver, but with a hint
of violet - i.e. akin phosphorescence:
but in the daytime...

and who said you need to
ingest hallucinogenics -
    and enter the labyrinth of a short,
short, history,
    of the chipmunk caveman?

i'm just drunk, you're probably
sober...
    but those guys doing
a timothy leary sermon?
   they're...
     gone.......................... gone -
     they hit the tangens curve.

The air is cool and crisp today.
It's not cold, it's not biting,
It's an invigorating day, near the end of Autumn.
Children cavorting in the playground,
Kids playing basketball nearby.
An old man watching the children play.
A man and woman with their children,
Feeding the ducks and geese in the pond.
Walking by, the kids are having a wonderful time.
The ducks coming to them, eating from their hands.
Cavello gets excited and wants to play too.
Moving along on our walk,
A runner is resting, stretching, and rehydrating.
We smile at each other, in passing.
A squadron of Geese came in to land,
Heading at me in a perfect 'V'.
A beautiful sight.
What a great day for a walk.
A slight cool breeze,
I think I'll continue around the pond,
Just a few more times.

if i were the drinking kind
i'd fill my body with enough poison i might slip into a deep slumber and not wake until the pain disappeared
my poison of choice
is music
melodies strung and sung so sweetly my heart aches until it numbs
when tears slither their way out of my dry, cracking face i try to convince myself i'm just rehydrating the dead cells that mask my tired bones
pay no attention to the hysterical grin, the Gucci bags under my eyes, and the hair that's wearing Thin and Matted like designer names on B-list celebrities
every night i cut the ambien into pieces, working my way up from halfsies to wholesies so i don't have to listen to the conversations i have with the walls in my room
it all hurts so ******* much, you know?
you don't numb this kind of pain expecting it to go away
you listen to it and coddle it and sit back as it consumes you because **** it looked so innocent
at first
when 10 am finally comes
hashbrowns with too much salt, a mug of cold tea, and a couple Prozac can remedy even the worst of depression's hangovers

sleep tight

don't let the bedbugs bite.

-
-rgp

down bilsdean creek where fresh and salt water meet
the bladderwrack rehydrating incoming tide chases
tiny trout upstream  to the overhanging hazel branch
sanctuary of dappled dancing sunlight where they flit
back and forth under the ever watchful kingfisher
shimmering blue glints of nervous anticipation

by whelk denuded tidal pools, Freddy the refugee
with his rusty bike, tin can kettle and bent safety pin
waits patiently for his stream water to boil
a hip flask of vinegar and folded envelope of pepper
are produced with theatrical flourish from a tattered
baling twine belted overcoat and placed on the rock

from Fife the haunting groans of the fog horns echo
around the mist cloaked cliffs where Glasgow boys
once set up their easels and squeezed red ochre
onto pallettes of roof slate to sing praises to nature
the water boils in the smoke blackened tin can
the mussels open in surrender among the whelks
the tide inches forward grinding empty shells to sand

If my heart is an *****
that can be comparmentalised,
then the part for my children
is vibrant, lush, pulsing with life.

The part for adult love
was cracked, parched, a desert
that felt deserted,
and stumbled to its limit.

It feels like that part
is slowly rehydrating
but there’s such a lot to refill.

Like sweet baklava,
sitting on a plate,
tempting decadence,
between thin layers.

Light and airy and opaque,
just like phyllo dough,
slowly I remove the top,
seeking out the flesh inside.

With deft touches of tongue,
sampling the flavors,
honey sweet, buttery smooth,
a hint of rose and orange.

I continue exploring her layers,
my dessert, my sweet, my all,
when finally there are none left,
revealing the pure nectar.

Quickly I drink from the fountain,
rehydrating, invigorating, growing,
all consuming, fed and drunk,
I am satiated, by her.

.when circumcised men talk about the pornograhic usage of un-circumcised men... the whole: ein, zwei und drei of sitting on a toilet... well... i've heard, that some circumcised men read a book while expanding their ****... what's the problem? this is a conversation to be had between circumcised men shaming *******... what about 1970s Italian *****, and Bronzino... and still-images reworking the imagination as to what could be established with a photograph of a body; who the hell ever suggested watching *******-*****?! are you talking about the sort of guys who never managed to experience buying a *****-mag from a newsagents? circumcised men... never my sort of calibre of intellectual titans... uncircumcised men: different story... i don't actually know how to talk to circumcised boasting males, they're as weird and incels to me... actually: weirder... they have a stipend for raising the more: unnatural line of argumentation; em, would it be more natural to talk about circumcising lips? what else might you not need? how about the ears and the nose? you don't need those lame artifacts! ****, one better! why would you need... eyelids?! you don't need eyelids... why would you need eyelids?! if you don't need a *******... the logical conclusion arrives at: if you don't require a *******... you don't need eyelids!

you know how relativism
doesn't exist
within a subjective
dialogue?
   in the statement:
relative:
   a subjective experience
is absolute...
and an objective ".........."
  is... relative...
with the only worth it is supposedly
able to summon...
i.e.: nothing!

______

and whatever made man's mind
into a spaghetti tangle...
lessons to be learned:
for whatever the lessons,
i only keep forgetting,
what sort of lesson is that?
equipped with the "knowledge"
of an omni-this
and an omnit-that...
            "knowledge":
    what is, english,
translated into a song in
finnish?
                  nigh of nought!
     metaphors...
you sure you'll lead
them by obscure poetic techniques,
when shunning our
grief?
             what?!
the modern sing-along karaoke,
the modern thespian...
i agree...
   ****** poets came
ashore...
                  none to ever loose
their mind to madness...
and even fewer to,
exercise a rite to sucumb
to the asylum...
          a growing beard
will not save you from
the insanity of the best
kept secrets...
      
my i thank the deity...
as i succumbed to bypass
the P.U.A. reversed dynamic....
how the love
for folk music translated
itself from classical,
choral and jazz works,
back into confidance for
succumbing to folk....

           the sort of carnal
desire / hunger spoken of the flesh
of woman, died in me,
the moment,
when i laid my ability to love
to rest...
   i once loved...
       once was enough...
now if there's a god and i'm
to learn a lesson?
          right now:
god can *******...
                i have learned
too many lessons
to begin with...
any more lessons and i'm still bound
to a scholastic boundary,
i'm still bound to endless rubrics,
and subsequently,
the only freedoms are arrived
at, with the expressions
of terrorists...

                learn how to become
an imbecile!
             god, god, god...
                i'm a "schizophrenic"
but more bilingual thanks
to this, this omni-****,
grand, glad glory of humanity!
save the west?!
save it yourself...
     hope you get some *******
on board...
you have my blessing...
but none of my conviction.

   p.s.

   well, that was the draft,
          skleroza -
   a polish term...
  brechta (he's laughing) -
it's not chatter...
                 like in east german,
          ich is isch: e-ś/sh...
come to think of it,
the english zunge is now
my playground... my circus...
i love, how, i can fathom
a position, of ownership
via acquisition,
    leaving the natives scrambled...
the natives are contained,
they only know one language...

but last time i checked
the news... 5,000 jobs are on
the line... given the english
steel industry is finally buckling...
only 5,000 jobs?
  not so bad...
  around 7,000+ jobs
were undermined from my home
city,
              a whole city
was displaced...
          yeah... it was...
          a steel industry based
city, exponential growth...
            now the english,
know my pain,
of being: immigrants...
   they have it easier though...
there's south africa, canada,
h'america, australia, new zealand,
to fall back on, without
learning a new zunge...
    bon voyage!
          sehen sie später!
   what else was there?
  is the soviet satellite state's
steel industry imploded,
the english steel industry was
only given around 30 years
of preservation...
and that's considered lucky:
the pillars for the stade de france?
they were produced
in my home town...
   ostrowiec świętokrzyski...
too many consonants?
         what's your gujarati like?
not "too many" consonants
              in hindu words, or greek?
    
a mongrel german loan word...
polacks have this inherent
validation process of
integrating loan words into
their zunge...
           it's a ******* etymological
playground,
   came the russians,
came the swedes,
the norse men who founded Kiev
while rowing down the Vistula,
came the Mongol, came the ***
who later founded nation of the Magyar...
oh, i don't need tattoos,
i have plenty of historical events
that already tattoo the insides
of my cranium...

apology: i will use english grammar,
                  to write in der richtigzunge,
i'll never get it right,
but i need to escape this
***** of a language,
this neu-lingua-franca...
this language of globalißation...
            apparently the easiest language
to learn... not if you have been thrown
into the deep end of the pool aged 8
unable to speak a single word...
learning: the hard way,
the only way...

                                                    "easi­est"...
well, given how there are no orthographic
distinctions: and some do appear,
and how the language is plagued
by instances of surd-particulars:
i.e. "silent" letters...
              well... if, so so "silent"
why conjured in the visibility of the eye?
e.g. gnome...     gnostic...
              oh look... diagnostics...
it's no longer "silent", is it?
            and where, may i ask,
is the gamma in a word like:
thought?
          ah... aesthetics anti-orthography...
for all the misgivings i have
with my native zunge...
based on loan words...
                  at least is expresses
a clarity of syllables...
                    thought?
                       ­     phonetically?
     fowt.
                     when when: w,
             fowt.
                             see? looks ugly, doesn't it,
oh but i'm not worried about the new
gate-keepers of techno-literacy,
coding,
     that **** will outlive me... it's only young,
i'm, more, interested,
in the old, gate-keepers,
            the old gate-keepers,
the clergy, the priests, the literate caste...
it's already evident they don't care
for their own power...
so they're getting sloppy in abusing it,
no longer able to hide it as well,
even if they caged marquis de sade
in the bastille... because he was,
probably going to make public his
uncle's deviances...
  and what did the marquis de sade actually
do? he told a ******* to
re-invent the crucifix into a *****...
one "deviance", and then he was hounded...

so if you asked me, what sort of drunk,
are you?
     not your typical drunk,
given, drinking is a matter of using
the sedative property of alcohol...
i was, regularly,
   i dress, well... whatever the night
appreciates and a low body count...
and, while rehydrating my body...
i make dinner for my parents,
busied by garden work,
   i can plant a cherry tree,
say kind words to it,
   even my mother was surprised...
she bore no fruits last year,
only flowers...
        this year?
                     unlike the plum tree...
and i pray to gott,
  that i have enough grapes to make
myself about 15 bottles of homemade wine...
i'm the drunk,
who will write something, akin, to this,
discipline, is, key...
                    grammatical discipline...
as i will stand... rolling out dough,
using a glass to cut little u.f.o. shapes
of dough for pierogi:
           polish dumplings... roughly 40...
filled with meat, sourscrout,
                              onions, mushrooms...
i'm a drunk,
              i don't mind,
    i've seen what a stereotypical drunk
does, namely my grandfather...
                        but i am a god-fearing man...
and no amount of "awe" with regards
to reading philosophy will come between
me and a bottle of *****...
such that i would turn to
          a drunken stupor...
                     sure, the odd occassion
of a drinking session,
turning into me comforting a teenager
on a website, while washing my shaved
head with whiskey come sunrise...
or going into the forest to scream...
to prove to myself:
            beyond the breath,
                             the vox, the schrei.

p.p.s. or p.p.p.s.?
a man threw a crab-meat torilla wrap
at a mosque and...
one pig snorted a sentence that read
as follow:
while i was never a carrion...
a scavenger of the dead...
perhaps mr. and mrs. pig have wronged
the camel-jockeys somehow...
seeing how i sweat more than
a sheep and if i were to fathom the sun
i'd suntan to a crisp-bacon...

bite matthew: bite where there's
a paradoxical impromptu n00b n00b...
so pig is off the menu...
but crab meat isn't?
mr. pig and mrs. pig and the pigglets
roman and lypi
said: because of no furr we are...
least santified because...
we devolved from the boar...
truly we are the Huguenots of the animal
kingdom...
even the bonsai tigers
bound to the lineage of Muhammad's cat...
Muezza...
have it better...
but why belittle us worse than...
what's freely eaten... if not the Beijing dog...
and not the north h'american vulture...
then the ***** of the Maldives!

this supposed eating of ****...
well... a bear will eat the automated process
of fermentation of fallen apples!
and fall over drunk!
no animal will eat ****...
islamic myth...
but there are cannibals as there are
necromanducare...
vultures... *****...
and we eat ***** and even dare to call it:
a most pristine meat...

sure... ******* the dead is only
a human phenomenon...
pigs alligned...
but eating the dead? so... it's not fresh...
and it's not readily available...
and it is allowed to do its utmost
to rot, first?
and Islam begs to blame the porky
but leaves the crab, absolved?!

lamb stinks...
esp. the kidneys...
for some reason pork doesn't give off
a whiff of chanel no. 5 oddity and or
perfurmery!

no better, no worse... there's just this.

Resuscitating me to breathe,
pressing on my hearts strings,
raising my eyes, to a life bringing beauty.

Loving tears seep into crevices,
rehydrating and invigorating,
visions and smells of love.

Using breath to change my form,
like a glass-blower sculpting,
bringing out my inner glow.

Coaxing me into new shapes,
taking me to new levels,
with heated breaths and skilled hands.

Ankle deep water caresses us,
we walk hand in hand over the sands of time,
revisiting memories, literally and mentally,
vacationing on the beach where love bloomed.

To be folded into your love,
an origami sculpture of two hearts,
to sail away on a paper airplane.