i don't have the patience to gamble...
i couldn't sit there and tempt fate...
or predestination -
make a joke from karma -
but i'll somtimes make a quid's buckle
worth better spent nonetheless
spent on a bet...
i heard this metaphor before...
but apparently it's new...
the bet? well... either the home team
wins... or the away team wins...
but both teams need to score...
it's a quid... i had the most joy
finding a 20 quid banknote on
the pavement once...
that too was a "bet" regarding where
and at what speed i was walking...
i don't gamble...
i don't gamble on horses...
i don't gamble on dogs...
the odds are... as always the same
plateau of odds...
a bit like attempting to catch
a mosquito by the testicles wearing
boxing gloves...
elephant memory:
i know these words are not mine...
but... for the time being:
they must be mine...
i don't gamble because i don't like
to make a summary of karma:
this cosmic wind of causality as merely:
best be entertained by a gamble...
i don't gamble because...
i could never make it into a habit...
i could never attempt to find
a needle in a haystack...
sooner i'd be willing to catch
a breath of the wind while running
naked with a flute to hear
the flute resound with my breath being
missing...
eh... forget the flute... running
naked with a half-empty bottle
of cider... at the right angle...
i'll catch the wind playing its first
musical instrument!
why didn't i find fun in driving a car?
i would prefer a bicycle -
and a horse -
i never found fun in gambling...
flipping a coin and calling: heads or tails
was always more fun...
i never liked chess - i never warmed
up to it... draughts... sudoku... backgammon
and mahjong...
poker... a game of chess is hardly
intuitive... it's not: heir-sein...
it's such a detached monstrosity of...
labyrinths...
you can't make a mistake in the present -
and in the same present correct it -
since there's the narrative -
the cascade - i'd sooner be bound to reading
a book...
i don't own a car... because i don't mind
taking the bus...
although i'd settle for a bicycle and i'll still
dream about a horse...
gambling... to have to devaule cosmic concepts
akin to karma -
no grand yawn from the depths
on my behalf... this same old same old:
same mediocre...
middleground, haystack claimed this
body beyond any to come
anticipations from Everest...
this life that eventually has to become
an introspection...
and that's of course - minus what's sacrificed
on the altar of collective memory -
the other's whim of memory -
down the line... when only introspection
matters... and no one is really invited...
how sad it must be...
to have attempted certain feats in this life...
for... a yawn from the mountain
and a transient ref. point of some other
minding his journalistic integrity
of: duly noted?
it's not so much a "vanity project" critique...
but... i try to perfect the most basic
tasks... like rolling tobacco while walking...
something i can retain and invite myself
back into: from the devoid of self external
world...
to have ambitions akin to: climbing a mountain...
and what if that doesn't attract
journalistic voyeurism?
what then? apparently after the feat...
humanity as the mountain yawns or simply
ignores...
gambling... what is it, that's ncessarily "won"?
when all that's won... has to be...
gifted upon death's altar...
beauty, wisdom...
everything - imagine if death was corrupt...
and somehow allowed transactions
of future investements - akin to:
beside the two coins for charon -
a mummified body to add grit and wager!
death at a turkish bazar!
gamble or haggle -
beside: do we really need an opera house...
for someone to sing an aria?
i'm very much worried about: investing
in something - while at the same time -
finding to self-gratification in due process -
having to linger for third-party journalistic leeches
to make due summaries...
in the end... i don't really gamble...
1 quid a week...
on the already stated chances:
a bit like attempting to catch a mosquito by
the testicles wearing boxing gloves...
a world-wide renowed d.j. will earn
about 100,000 million a year...
i like being my own d.j. -
a tennis player will earn... this much...
but a ping-pong player... will only be seen
at the olympics...
tennis: a game of 7 rectangles and...
11 judges (enough for a football team)
and... 6 ball boys / girls...
and why would i even want more money?
spend it on what?
i'll buy a pair of shoes when the shoes
i'm wearing will start to wear down...
it seems that after a long enough time -
you: neither forget - nor unlearn the basic
propensity for spending money -
earning it very vague -
spending it is even more vague -
luxury items become: tacky -
there's a reason why champagne is champagne -
once tried: forever abhorred...
in terms of meat: it's not what meat it is...
it's how you cook it...
no good butchering an argentinian cut
of steak if you'll make: roast beef from it!
then again: i never liked spending money...
and... i never managed to acquire
the companionship of the opposite ***
that would otherwise spend it for me...
oops? i don't like restaurants because:
i much prefer to see myself wash my hands
before i start to prepare a meal...
on the topic of clothes...
i sometimes look at my cats...
the same furr - day in - day out -
why would i dress for a season - marry myself
to trends? that doesn't invite the accusation
that i do not wash myself -
or that i do not wash or iron my clothes -
why... bother fashion that's on a bigger whim
than the ******* weather?!
lately the price of books have gone up...
here's to me not buying a book -
vinyls... jazz vinyls are low...
10 quid a liquorice spin...
but this is nothing that could ever become
consolidated into a home -
but then i'm... too much into my routines...
and: i couldn't ever wish or want...
to keep up with keeping up appearances...
this apathy doesn't stem from a nihilism...
it stems from a depressive lethargy...
depressive lethargy is depression -
when it's not elevated to the romance of
melancholy... and "oh i'm sad"... oh oh...
no... i'm just tired of seeing the usual suspects
of keeping a life make-belief
succint informal casual convo. in a fish & chip
shop *******' worth of antics!
i can be polite to doctors...
oh hell: i'll charm them... they know the diagnosis...
but i'll be ultra polite... because...
i'm the one who will think about
biological cancer as botanical cancer: mistletow...
which it is... if you have ever seen
it in the wild...
i need a woman like i need an ulcer...
esp. the sort of woman that's a tapeworm
of transcendental a priori -
something that i'm "given" without prior
experience...
perhaps for men all women are: a priori specimen...
and for women... oh my god...
there's no a priori man...
there are only a posteriori... without the ability
to cut off a piece of time and themselves included
in it from the grand wheel of fortune and what's
to come: died within a year...
2 weeks after the death she shedded her
widowhood and became impregnated
by an already engaged man:
or some other wild old tale...
in bad, light?
oh... the time i realised that going to a brothel...
was not as rewarding as going
to a turkish barber shop?
that time... well... that moment is still alive
with me... i stopped going to a brothel
after i discovered the joys of...
having ones hair cut and one's beard trimmed...
is probably better than ***...
certainly better than *******...
as i always try to remind the 3rd party sources
of the moral highground argument...
believe me when i say that i don't mind
the dodo project - the cul de sac antics...
i'll the complete man -
although incomplete -
as i will not be a father, nor a grandfather...
hell.. my grandfather is ******* at me
that he didn't become a great-grandfather!
in terms of biological timing:
he should have become a great-grandfather!
does that make me any less or a lesser man
when: as a mortal man: i am to be wed
to - bride death?
