Despite repeatedly shaking her pincer... much as a sprightly pensioner might brandish a furled umbrella at a grappling contestant, currently being boo'd at in the red corner... the baby crab stamped her foot in annoyance as she glowered at every passing wave that rolled along the shoreline.  In absolving herself of any guilt she may have felt over her prolonged excursion, she had become, even further marooned by a failure to catch a succession of tides back home, an oversight she later confessed, to observe local tide-tables in 'Old More's Almanac...' on sale in all discerning book shops and selected High Street newsagents, priced 10/6d... for unless fluent in the Russian vernacular, it was just about as articulate to the little crab as a map of the Moscow Metro during a blackout, only to have the Rouble finally drop with a throat gagging 'Gaaargh...' clunk, that you were currently standing on the down-line platform, when you should've been stood on the up... as the last train lurched unsteadily out of the station whistling a jubilant entente cordiale... 'wish me luck as you wave me dasvidaniya'.

     Still stamping her foot, only now in strict rotation with the other seven, the baby crustacean peered out from beneath the shade of the large pebble, rearing its bulk out of the rockpool like a lollypop-lady's 'STOP'!!! sign, her beady eyes twitching independently, first this way, then the other, cut withering swathes through every cardinal point of the compass that didn't duck quite fast enough, was rapidly coming to the conclusion that the rock-pool in which she found herself tapping her foot in today, would be no less aquatic as any other rockpool that she may find herself still tapping a foot in tomorrow and that the best course of action was simply to stay-put and take the matter up with the local town council, then petition for additional fare-stages to be implemented... and with the cost of shoe leather at current prices... well, with eight legs to consider it would make savings that weren't to be sneezed at.  

     It wasn't everyday of the week that a young and upwardly mobile baby crustacean had occasion to move both up-market and down the beach, all in the same mouthful... and into what could only be regarded as a desirable, detached beachfront property, a rock-pool of distinction with all available mod-cons.  She felt relieved that apart from the occasional day-tripper, who invariably dropped litter wherever they went, that a baby crab of distinction such as herself, was certain to be accepted socially and hob-*** with a new and discerning circle of acquaintances... you only had to take that nice lady earlier in the week, they both seemed to have so much in common... then she would roll up her sleeves and really show the neighbourhood what knitting was all about...  

     With as much enthusiasm as that of a three year old screaming for an ice-cream in the middle of an heat-wave, Red marched up the beach and as far from his wife's waspish tongue as a lame excuse would carry him, heading back towards the growing crush of holidaymaking fathers who were only there presumably, for the sake of their own children, laying siege to the mobile vendor... only this time, having already stood in the same queue ten minutes earlier, now had a sufficiency of funds to purchase that which he'd unsuccessfully queued for the first time.

      After an unspecified time which by his wife's reckoning was grounds for divorce... Red, now laden down with the iced confectionary picked his way through the same throng of fathers who moments earlier had been happily chatting in the queue together, were now enjoying the same berating as the one Red was looking forward to as he made his way back towards the rock pool, juggling more ice-cream than two manly hands could intelligently control... while in a bid for freedom, the rapidly thawing confectionary were hatching plans of their own, ones quite independent from those intended as they embarked upon their meandering exodus, known only to iced creamy desserts on hot sunny days... and into the unknown, roaming across Red's hands and trusting their fate to a far higher authority.

     "Did I mention that I was on a diet" snapped his significant other, as she sat licking pistachios from the melting cornet... "don't you ever listen," secretly smiling to herself... "and you did remember to bring Sockeye's water this morning.. didn't you..!" she continued "someone with half as much sense would've stood it in the rockpool to keep cool, I'm sure the little crab wouldn't have objected..!"   At the mention of his name, Sockeye with ears far too free-lance to ever consider gainful employment of their own, needed no further persuasion and charged straight through the rock-pool to his mistress's side, walloping the thermos flask for a tail whopping six... bringing his personal batting average so far this holiday to a self congratulatory forty not out... and found the baby crab spluttering flat on her back and having second thoughts on any immediate savings in shoe leather were she to stay. 

     Generous to a fault, Sockeye now thought to shower everyone's ice cream with liberal helpings of the seashore as several parasitic irritations had Sockeye hard at work serving eviction notices on some of the more exotic zoology that only a patent Bob Martin's would dare to muscle up to... the local wildlife, by the look on his face were having the time of their lives bivouacked behind his left ear, throwing wild parties and disturbing the peace.  Cross-eyed, it was only while launching a double pronged assault on the latest settlement of interlopers that Sockeye finally succumbed to his injuries and surrendered to a neighbouring sandcastle... it really didn't do to mention a certain name too loudly at times like these, especially when you just happened to be on the receiving end.

     For some strange reason he was undoubtedly in the dog house... they'd shouted at him, which made him sad, all except his little master who had pushed him away... which left him bereft.  Sockeye sat down on dads beach-towel and had a long, thoughtful scratch... where had all the fuss gone? he searched for appreciation their faces... his tail gave one disheartened thump before it stopped... and all those little pieces of ice-cream dipped wafer, which up until now had always appeared as if by magic.  

     Catching sight of one such treat, undoubtedly forgotten by the rock pool, a marauding seagull pulled out of a rolling dive and swooped, at the same instant as two gaping jaws launched themselves skywards... canine jowls quivering bravely in the light sea airs... and not too dissimilar to a heat seeking missile, rose gracefully from the ground to meet it... 'well intercepted..!' as both ears applauded in mid-air... no aerial freeloader was about to skip town with Sockeye's ice cream wafer without paying... leaving one solitary wing flapping its willingness to pay up.

     At least it kept her husband in useful employment Tina decided... and mercifully out from under her feet, as she brushed a fragment of affectionate pistachio from her bikini top... she'd have to  make sure he went for the ices in future... and without the means to pay for them... a mischievous smile turned the corners of her mouth as she leant towards the beach-bag and invested herself with several more juicy grapes... that everyone who fell within her sphere of influence had been warned well away from... under threat of dire consequence... and it would take a brave man indeed, or a very foolish one... she gave her husband who was sitting well within arms reach a caustic glance... and Tina's particular variety of justice had a very long arm indeed.

                                                        ­           ...   ...   ...**

a work in progress.                                                        ­                                                                 ­  1297

square-up marys,
It’s junior year, in the ivie,
we’re gambling for big-chips.
so gambate, do-it-big!
It's time, buck-up or labron.
if you bunny rouble
homeskillets will hook-it-up
lovems juju
.
.
slang…
girlogue = conversation between girls that guys can’t understand
square-up = get ready
marys = bookish and lovable girls of wit and looks
ivie = ivy league
big-chips = high stakes, high risk
gambate = Japanese word: 'Try your best!!'
do-it-big = take things to the next level
buck-up = rise to a challenge, to do something others are unable to
labron = fail miserably at the last second
bunny rouble = have trouble
homeskillets = friends
hook-it-up = help you out
lovems = sending you love
juju = good luck
.
.
(Get ready, you bookish and lovable girls of wit and looks,
it’s junior year, in the ivy league,
and we’re gambling for high stakes.
So try your best, take things to the next level!
It's time, to rise to a challenge and do something others are unable to
or fail miserably at the last second.
If you have trouble
your friends will help you out
I'm sending you love, good luck.)

The fiscal snare is drawing tight
Putin’s day... now courting night,
Rouble tilts vertiginously
To Satan’s **** religiously.
Fiscal snare is drawing blood
A trickle then... is now a flood,
Russia’s central bank adjusts
But ineffectually, combusts.
Hard line prospects elbow dance
Aligning for assasins lance.

Perhaps….
Better now, the Devil known
Than facing down an Unknown throne…..
Facing down an Iron call
With finger poised in nuclear thrall.

What choice now for ego’s Prince
Retreat from Eastern Ukraine’s wince?
Retreat Crimea’s balmy shores
To face the nationalistic howl of hordes?
Brinkmanship…the other way
A gamble that the West might sway?

Either way the game is up
Now bitter wine brims Russia’s cup.

M.

Everybody in Russia loves Vladimir Putin.
In the years since he muscled his way to the top of the tree, he has established himself as the Champion of all Russia!

In the degradation following the collapse of the USSR, national pride in Russia spiralled down to an all-time low, there was little to be proud of. The satellite nations fled to independence abandoning the Rodina,  Agricultural and industrial production fell dramatically, law and order diminished dangerously. The economy shrank and the order of success in business depended largely on connection with Government and/or the Mafia. The Oligarchs became monstrously rich, the average Ivan monstrously poor. Life savings were rendered worthless overnight by the plummet of the value of the rouble. Russian society polarised from the ecstatically happy, filthy rich to the chronically unhappy, beggared poor.

Russian leadership staggered from Gorbechev’s democratisation through Yeltsin’s alcoholism to Andropov’s sudden death…. enter the fray Vladimir Putin.

Putin tightened the reins.
He organised regular payment of wages and salaries to the movers and shakers, the police and the military.
He changed the rules of doing business within the nation and made investment opportunities within Russia available to outside interests.
He took charge and commandeered discipline within the ranks of central Government.
He set about correctional treatment for the terrorists/freedom fighters in the Chechen Republic and elsewhere.
He raised the expectations of the common man and gave the people an element of promise for Russia’s tomorrow.
He invaded and took back the Crimea as legitimate Russian sovereignty.
He garnered the roaring support of the six million ethnic Russians domiciled in the Eastern region of the Ukraine.

Putin now stands, bare chested, astride Russia. He faces a hostile but cowed West with pale, blazing eyes and a ******* bulge in his trousers.
He is widely idolised by Russian women and admired by Russian men. He is their champion; he is believed to be their key to the future.
His nation is currently under severe trade embargo and economic sanction by Europe and the West which is hurting the strained economy right across the board.
The declining price of oil is adversely affecting Siberian oil profits and making further shale oil exploration uneconomic.
He enjoys hugely profitable Siberian natural gas pipeline sales to the Southern neighbour, China, but they watch the unfolding political landscape with careful, calculating tiger eyes.
Putin is regarded by Europe and the West as an unpredictable, serious threat who should not be unduly provoked.
Undeniably, the West, in their sour lipped manner, would be happy to see him and his Russian bear, fade quietly and permanently into the obscurity of the frozen wilds of the far Siberian tundra.

But if Vladimir Putin plays his cards well, he could actually bring the Rodina all of the benefits, glory and rewards that it seeks.
However, should he overplay his hand here, he may well crash and burn….and in doing so, could bring Russia’s dreams and aspirations crashing down with him.

Marshalg
Auckland
15 November 2014

The Trouble with HOPE,
Is Some HOPE for Trouble.

i can understand the notion that no serious attempt
at literature would include curse words,
i know i boast that my mouth can be a sewer of filth,
but it's hardly black magic incantations,
i'm familiar with aleister crowley's the lesser key
of king solomon, but i only once, once practised
the invocations, although no altar, no candles,
no spooky scenes, a lazy afternoon spent in silence,
the whole idea of incantation on the cognitive plateau:
because i never took it seriously - what i do take
seriously though: woke up at 7 a.m. (drank less than
i usually do and the concoction of sleeping pills
and whiskey didn't work the twelve hour shift in
the factory of sleep) - drank coffee (yes, i know,
this is turning another vanity project) and then
sat in despair until i took a sip at quarter to two
in the afternoon... despair? oh it came in the form of
monochromatic television cinema, Hollywood that
great albino of culture, literal despair, theatre of
the absurd in all its glittery fantastic explosions,
dinosaurs, meteors, captain *******, thor and a
green giant... through to mr deeds and what not...
white afternoon nightmare... it drove me to despair:
the way it only matters that James Bond Wallace & Gromit
are the sole cultural exports of the theatre -
i don't know, it just isn't representative overall, art house
Scandinavian Ingmar Bergman: the seventh seal,
wild strawberries... personally i liked the magician...
too much of that in the mainstream and you'll get rouble,
i mean trouble... of what the preserved man is capable
of in his physical labours - working on the construction
site - such men do shun the ideas that might give them
wings, for a natural basis - look at me, i started sniffing
the cultural realm and didn't follow tradition:
grandfather in the steel industry - it wasn't a real rebellion,
it was just an option that came slyly - and an acceptance
of "poverty" (more like modesty) - worked for a library
and what a monument it now is, from the floor to the ceiling:
books, books, book. i might add, Gregory Corso had
the best voice of all the Beats, in his early days,
recording his poems at 9 Rue Gît-le-Cœur -
art and poverty, it was always about that, i took two
patrons gun-in-hand trapped in a Stockholm syndrome
(when parents become patrons, patrons as in / i.e.
a plate of food; the cigarettes and ***** are mine).
in the meantime i'm confused by the dates,
there's a democratic tornado working its way from
Northumbria to Essex and west through to Cornwall,
but in 1997 Labour one... it's 2016, i'm getting mixed up,
American politics is more fascinating, i was just
sitting there prior to the white afternoon nightmare of
Hollywood action and comedy films bewildered
with words: is it that time already?
Wales counted, Scotland counted, currently the latter
is wearing a blue conservative collar on its
geography / demography... i already think that Labour
will win this time, the pacifism might appeal to the people,
it's a hunch but it's not definite, i just like surprises...
i'm still bewildered though: so these are the elections
were we get a new prime minister?
the health & pensions secretary resigned weeks prior,
cutting disability benefits, or an overhaul of all the scams...
but it was the conservatives that provided transparency,
as my neighbour (a carer) said:
it's more transparent under conservative powers,
under labour powers you get bribes and loop holes
that end up as black holes in the budget.

p.s. my hunch about Labour winning this election
comes as no surprise as a mayoral candidate for
London is a son of a bus driver, or postman or
whichever, and i guess to stab at a pattern,
a Labour mayoral candidate will give a Labour
government... but i could be wrong... they're still
counting Xs.

It seems hard

But not concequential

To understand but still neglect the inner meaning

I've been meaning to look at you and understand a man

Mixed signals and arguments

Sacrasm and bombardments

Is all it gets

And I'm sure we have our differences

But I'm tired of it

Their is a void in myself

Where the desolate roam

And more seem to go

Underhanded it may seem but it seems to me

That this won't be fixed

I feel like it's the only way we communicate

My opinions spark the outrages

Now this feeling I'm gauging

Seems Amiss

There is rouble afoot

And the footstep I can't follow

Won't follow

Seems out of place

I guess even a parent is a person

And it's not the worst version

Of revaluations

Can't we relate the more in realize it's a debate

I'm trying

But im done trying

Let it repeat

A beautiful and sweet girdle
Collecting it is quite doddle
Counting is like a hot fettle
Touching it is a bit brittle.
Let be the Geeta or the Bible,
Let be grapes or pineapple,
Importance of money able
Is not be explainable.
Money can make a castle
Or buy handful cattle
Or can earn a good title
Or can bound to peddle.
All is easily possible
By the mint boodle.
Carry them in a duffle
Or in a golden vessel,
It is going to be a rouble.
So friends value a boodle
And crave for it to chuckle
The taunts of world little.

i was rereading poem no. 11 from Ovid's
first book of ****** poems...
a bookmark? 100 rouble banknote...
hmm... i know the Slavic practises of women
who enjoy literature...
they enjoy "mummifying" flowers
in their books...
    me? i managed to mummify a spider...
the ****** crawled into the pages
to dry out...
              LAWINA LAWINA...
the chant before the opening song
of a gig by Łąki Łan... AVALANCHE...
LAWINA! LAWINA! AVALANCHE!

listen! LISTEN! to the people!
that's all you need to do... listen....
to the people!

i ******* hate the English and their
supposed: technicians of all the languages
of the world...
their... pish-poor skills at skiing
and etymology...
   SLAV... is simply short of an E?
and GERMAN? missing a MAN?
with missing S for GERMS?
what's ARAB?
                                 GRAB?!

                 i get ******* over the simplest
of "problems":
they're not problems...
but i get ******* about them...
because they're problem akin
to saying: blue is red...
and the English are prone to be megalomaniac
in their two-face-one-sidedness!

as much as i love the English:
i hate them...
because i've orientated myself
to live alongside them...
even i know that the English distinguish
the "English" among themselves...
the northerners are monkeys
and the southerners are fairies...

the Welsh are ****** and the Scots are
Scootch...
  while i'm translating myself
as an Anglo-Slav...
               hybrid cause... excuse me please...
i'm just not among my own people...
the ancient fable of the three brothers:
brothers Chex...
                (Czech)...
Lach... (Lax) and Rus...

           right... so this in-warring in the Slavic
worlds is a major ******* problem?
where was Afghanistan... Iraq...
Libya?! the best cricket season ever?!

funny "thing": **** Germany...
and... the concept of Arianism...
                   ever heard of the Sarmatians?
the Iranian tribe of people who settled
in Poland? the area of land preoccupied
by the migration of storks and European Bison?

"they're" not "my" people:
  but there's this echoing of time...
a furore...
             a condescending part-past-present...
there's this launch of the Harbinger of the Demiurge!

Nazis... fake... Aryans...
attacking actual Aryans?!
for the sowing of the sorrows of all
our deaths... may they come before
we least expect them...
i have no demands
of the Russians...
                       just some from the FSA...

some sanity... please... some sanity...
you're no longer the "USA"...
you're the FSA...
you're the Federal State of America.,.
i agree: a ****** acronym...
but... truer... than what you're used to...

your etymological malpractice
created a spontaneity in me
i wished would never be born...
****** ****** ++,
i.e. *******... seirously: *******...
or i'll eat you...

i feel what i think:
i think that... i feel like:
the sound of chainsaw...
and your bones... readily itemised!
i feel like... something being
dealt a proper "scrutiny"...
        i want to make someone
sick of thought...
           i want to reinvent glue...
hmm...
            perhaps i want the pan-Slavic
reinvention?
          of... let's... no no..
let's not re-try Communism...
                                    
current people are such ******* *******...
current people are: bo-ri-ri-ring...
then again: maybe almost everyone was...
maybe we've been entertained too much
to know the difference between between
being entertained and not ieng entertained
and having drinking water /
fire to keep warm...

music is less music
if you can replace it with the SOUND
of wind or that of water...
or that of fire....
start calling MUSIC: VIBRATION...
              
i ought to know... the Demiurge is ******!
we're not sitting pretty...
we're sitting... pretty: ******* ugly...
i'm having my last: my last: everlasting fun...
if i'm wrong? fair enough:
but i'll be dead anyway.

we! "we"! we were the "original" Aryans
of the European continent...
the place where the Samartians settled...
unlike the myth of the Russians
and the Swedes founding Kiev...
hell... the English have their Anglo-Saxon
myths... so... why can't i have mine?!

no... not: Samaritans...
SARMATIANS!
                            ARYANS...
an Iranian tribe that lived on the banks
of the Vistula...
where i'm from...
well... so much for defining yourself
as not being historically confined to
the origins in Iran by simply killing Hebrews...
ha ha...
so much for blonde hair...
and... the current currency of anti-racism
with the women entertaining BLACK-OH...
i don't care...
i'm sort of looking up for the New-Brazil...
of copper-neck skinned
beauties...
more white in her than black...
i mean... loss of thick ***...
loss of thick nose... loss of thick lips...
+++...
                      but the curly hair?
that's there...
                                    what?! problem?!
and when did a horse ask to **** a donkey...
wait...
when did a wolf ask to **** a spandex...
variation of a "would-be" labrador:
lab-rat root of what would become a...
******* Dachshund...
which would later become
a *******: break my bones! break 'em!
break em! let's create a Dobermann!

or is that, in reverse?!
time... seems... in-reversible...
  all the better... i'd abhor having to deal with
repeats of someone already having said:
ecce ****.

left home at 10am: came back home at 10pm...
at Romford ordered 6 spicy chicken wings
for £3... ate them with such a relish
perhaps even some relief... didn't eat anything
since 12pm...
i felt relieved to be eating something when
truly hungry... i think that's important:
eating something when you're truly hungry:
reliving ancient days when a man would
have to hunt...
                        like Socrates "said":
some people live to eat...
                                  while others eat to live...
i'm persuaded by the latter category:
everything tastes all the better...
    i'm not talking about starving... i'm talking
fasting...

the best atmosphere at Wembley so far...
     Nottingham Forest vs. Huddersfield...
the most pleasant crowd so far...
no one really running into me and trying to
hug me while at the same time bruising me
from all the joy... over such trivial matters...
then again... people invest years and years
into watching soap operas on t.v.
Forest's sitcom "suspended sentence" has been
running for 23 years after being relegated
to the lesser league... i was actually chatting
to this colt about: how he wasn't even born
when Forest was a high-flying football club...

fist bumping: 'i want your children'...
getting candy from a lady after i helped her out
to get a cleaner to clean the pigeon ****
off her seat... blah blah...
full smile one: genuine...
     i already have the silver linings:
smile wrinkles under around my eyes...
and grey hair making a conquest
around my sideburns... i really am 36...
i feel like i'm 36 years old...
it feels good to be 36 years old...
this confident and at the same this reserved:

it's a good thing i visited the brothel
and sat there, in the waiting room... intimidated
by about 10 prostitutes... asking all of them to choose
being told by one: you can't do that!
then telling the one that told me that:
oh, fair enough... you'll do... since you're the mouthy one...

i ate my six spicy chicken wings:
no point getting a meal with chips...
the ratio of meat to batter on those wings sort
of counters the point of having chips...
smoked a cigarette in the fresh air... ah...

back to the stadium...
     a lot of young boys making makeshift
paper aeroplanes from paper left on every seat
for the opening ceremony...
i was thinking: what if someone was
to randomly turn around and that paper aeroplane
would hit them in the eye?
no matter... the boys were having fun...

people trying to bring alcohol and drink it in view
of the pitch... body language took over:
i just insinuated... and i was obeyed...
talk about owning a dog but not owning
a leash... i'd love to own a dog like i might be a cat:
i can' imagine stressing a cat with either
accessory of a leash or a muzzle...
so why would i do that to a dog?
i see foxes freely roaming... i couldn't...

more hugs, handshakes, fist-bumps...
for some reason... stroking the new lucky charm
of Nottingham Forest: an inflatable banana...
funny, that... my nickname at university
was BANAN... because i once wore
the Velvet Underground t-shirt to a party...

i was stroking the inflatable banana for good luck...
everyone managed to get the joke...
it's good... to find oneself in / with appeal
among a crowd of strangers...
in the moment? they're better than friends...
everything remains puddle deep...
it's veneer but at the same time it's not veneer...

only racial minorities will continue to complain
about the English (people)...
but... being a good judge of character...
i was supposed to be paired up...
i ended up doing most of the shift on my own...
because some copper-neck was slacking...
every time some **** hit the fan he would
come across as too authoritative...
or he would disappear...

it's not a judge of "colour"...
that's the descriptive element of MY language...
one excuse after another...
i was supposed to be giving the benefit of the doubt
to a slacker...
   my supervisor... beyond copper-neck
excused him with the words: oh... benefit of the doubt...
he's just work shy... work shy? work shy?!
lazy... but not lazy enough to
    climb up the tree and try the arithmetic of
straightening bananas, no?!

i don't need an extra hassle if i can do this job
by myself...

"we" reached a sentimental zenith with this one
guy, i.e. me and him... about old Wembley...
how i managed to see the 1995 charity shield
match between Manchester United and Newcastle...
how i was doing my job...
because i kindly pointed him to a slot on the wall...
some 1985 Act about not drinking in view
of the pitch... at a football event...

and he came back at me: it's people like you
that make... my first time at Wembley...
so special... you're just doing your job...
   i'm perfecting my orientation: i just give off
body language cues... i'm not going to shout...
i make that suggestion of: being placed
before the guillotine... cut-it-out...
even a deaf person could understand me:
i extend my fingers... and make a cutting motion
across my neck... moving my hand right to left...

that helps...
   no... my father: i was a roofer too, once upon a time...
wouldn't call it work... managing a crowd is
not really work... once you're left in a trench
of dealing with inanimate things that always:
always obey your every whim is work...
but dealing with people is never work...

fair enough... what a lovely day...
   it's Wembley and i love taking the Metropolitan Line
from Wembley Park to Liverpool St.,
mind you... come Wednesday i do hope that
that coming Jubilee will ensure the major night tube lines
will be open... i dread taking the night buses home
even thought the Argentina vs. Italy match is supposed
to finish at around 10:30pm....

hell... i don't care if i'm being underpaid...
i don't think i am... i'm getting paid to "work"
while other people pay... circa £100 for a seat...
stroking an inflatable banana for good luck:
it's going to become a Nottingham Forest gimmick:
a good luck charm...
i'm feeling it... Nottingham Forest & bananas...

in that kind of scenario i was genuinely for them
winning against Huddersfield...
why? well... on the way in i heard rumours
that Nottingham Forest only got promoted
on penalty shoot-outs...
i needed a 90min closure... if it wasn't
a 90min closure... i would have left at...
perhaps 10pm... got home at 12am...
   obviously i was supporting the Nottingham crowd...
i even took a "break" 10 minutes from the end
to share in their drama enthusiasm of a supporter...

another thing? you notice it...
just before the match...
i stood with my arms folded behind my back...
"lip-reading": i couldn't sing...
the national anthem...
   people notice that...
          i'm not "one of them": but i am "one of them"...
she's still my Queenie...
only racial minorities have a problem
with the English...
i don't have a problem with the English...
i think the English people are spectacular people...

i made a mistake of studying in Scotland-Sock-Land...
i should have studied in Liverpool...
Newcastle... why is it that the further up you go
the women are friendlier and prettier?!
more Norse genes?!

why am i writing about work?
nothing interesting is happening in the idea department
of my 'ead...
   literally... nothing...
only today i thought: it would be worthwhile to read
a book... rather than a newspaper...
this book has ben bugging me for some time...

thank god i don't have the Latin original...
it's all in English...
Ovid's ****** Poems...
i don't do chapters... esp. not when commuting...
and to intimidate the possible onlookers...
my book-note?
   a 100 rouble banknote...
    yay! "Ukraine"...
                              really?
                i really don't care about Ukraine...
why would i give a **** about Ukraine...
if Ukraine will not give Lvov back to the original
architects of the city?!

i'm seriously not the man who heard a choir
in an empty church and a great wind
that subsequently dispersed it back in 2007...
i'm the guy with... Nik Kershaw's
wouldn't it be good playing on repeat in my head...
on silent mode...

nothing truly beats ancient Roman poets...
i'm reliving an experience that was originally intended
to remain stale... moulded... gathering dust on
my shelf... i've owned a book by Ovid for...
when awake? you count donkeys...
when trying to stay awake: you count donkeys...
sure... then trying to fall asleep you count sheep:
imitation clouds...
but Ovid... Ovid was always going to surpass
my esteem for either Virgil and Horace...
Ovid was always going to cut the argument short...

like today... two guys were adamant on an argument...
Hazard or Salah...
i was asked the question when the shift ended...
Hazard or Salah?
my reply? Hazard... when he played for Chelsea...
hands down...
what team do you support? West Ham...
  see! see! the response came! what bias?!
a West Ham supporter can't support anything good
about Chelsea! just because these guys haven't
seen Hazard in his prime at Real Madrid...

             it's true... Hazard at Chelsea...
Lukaku at Inter Milan...
              you think that Haaland and City is
a match-made-in-heaven?
   i doubt it...
        some players should just stick to the atmosphere...
Mark Noble at West Ham...
Steven Gerrard at Liverpool...
        you can't just transfer someone's soul
from one body to another like you: "supposedly" can
in the Hindu concept of reincarnation...
no!
              e.g.? the Watkin's Tower makes a lot of sense...
since... the prime icons of London are hardly
reminding anyone that this construction
exists... because: competition with Paris' Eiffel
suffocated the idea into a: misnomer of: ooh!
icon of architecture!
it isn't...
                   the "idea" concerning the architecture
of the tower of Eiffel in Paris worked...
Watkin's Tower is hardly central...
what has London have? pseudo-communist
Barbican: as the saying goes...

either you are happy with what you have...
or you have what you are happy with...

London is not a ******* cliche Las Vegas...
sure... sure... lodge a ******* pseudo-Eiffel
next to St. Paul's cathedral and
let's rewrite Handel's Messiah with
some dub-step DROP interludes...

******* overshadowing pyramid-height chasers...

****'s sake... i can see the Watkin's Tower
from Mashiters Hill... or... wait...
was that from a roof at one of the office blocks...
near St. Paul's... the Scottish Widows' HQ
when i joked: isn't that... the Eiffel?

it's that genius of Ovid's observations...
about touching one's ear lobes to provide evidence
of disinterest...
while at the same time: oh modern optics...
back in the elder times... perhaps fiddling
with one's ring on one's ring finger was a sign
of approval... but lately i've noticed that women
place a ring on either their index or *******:
as if implying:
i do not require to be wed...
    a ring placed on the index or *******:
a ring placed on the *******?!
*******! marriage! *******: pair-bonding!
let's make the nobility of swans extinct!
and on the index... who knows?!

i yawn at the football match,
concentrating my attention on the crowd...
i murmur the national anthem of:
god save the queen and i spot an alliance...
someone in the crowd feels "secure" that i'm murmuring
alongside them a pride:
not a homosexual pride... just an outright...
as i fiddle with my fu manchu...

   and my... competing love-patch in length...
blonde... competing in length with my beard's length...
like some ancient Cossack...

the Slavic proverb stands solid:

wenn unter krähen: du krächzen wie sie!
when among crows: you croak like them!

i find myself very accommodating...
when it's required...

i need no "other" place to visit... i need to become
more of a spider and weave more of my web
and strangle the topography of London
to my demands... of the commute...
       as much as i'd love to escape to the Faroe Islands...
i don't think i could ever leave London
behind... as much as i loved Edinburgh on first
impressions... i could leave Edinburgh...
i don't think i could ever leave London...
seeing it morph: diverge: grow...
                        i don't think i could ever leave
London...
Loon-doon...
          
die ganze welt ist hier! pfauen ihre sprachen!
the whole world is here! peacocking their languages!
while i come with my toy-zeppelins!
während ich kommen sie mit mein
spielzeugzeppeline!

She dances on air like a leaf on the wind.
Galloping prancing and frolicking through the meadow of life
Gathering Daisy's and Posey's for bright days on the horizon
Wordless understandings and in sync motions
Forgoing a path through the rouble of my hearts ruins
Lying around like lioness lingering and longing for company of an equal.
First words brought entire intention to focus
I say things like I really enjoy your thoughts and perspectives
Because they're purely yours
For only you.
I cant believe in this isolation
I've found you.
Living in my mind forever one dream at a time.
You're lucky I've been prepared for you, I want you, I need you, I need it to be only us. My love and yours pressed up against one another with such passionate lips.