Sema oldu lacivert,
Sabah vakti olmadan,
Hava gibi olsun dert,
Sabah vakti olmadan!

Şehirleri gidelim,
Meydanları görelim,
Sokakları gezelim,
Sabah vakti olmadan!

Güzel güzel neşeler,
İkram eder geceler,
Duyulur hep nağmeler,
Sabah vakti olmadan!

Dear Sabah,
For the past forty-four days I have been waking up at dawn so I can reap sunlight the way an old peasant in a jasmine farm does.
My brother said he might have seen sunflowers but he never saw suns flowering; “the sunlight you reaped is useless” he said “why are you collecting it?"
My grandfather collects stamps, my mother collects china sets, my father collects rare books, my uncle collects money, and my grandmother collected hearts. “Because I want to be like Teta”, I answered him.

Dear Sabah,
I have been waking up at dawn, and I can assure you that they lied about dew being playful.
Dew doesn’t slide on a rose petal the way a child does in the park.
Dew sits still in an ungenuine grace the way an aristocratic woman does in a third cousin wedding; Dew is my aunt Fatima in her brother’s wedding.
However, they didn’t lie about how early birds get the worm..
This morning, I saw a bird eating two worms, and the eldest of my cousins cutting off his brothers’ allowances right after taking over his father’s company.

Dear Sabah,
I read in The Little Prince that people like watching sunsets when they are sad; that he watched the sunset forty-four times in one day when he had a fight with his rose.
So for the past forty-four days I have been waking up at dawn and morphing my notebook into a camera lens.
I now have 44 synonyms for your name, and each evening, I read the scribbles of morning I managed to pluck: fresh, fragile, blue and pink hues, childlike, clean grass, birds chipping, family…

Dear Sabah,
This morning, when my uncle told us how his son is now running his company, my 11 year old brother asked me if our family is a monarchy. “No, Hady” I said, “our family is an Arctic morning; for six months straight it is a cold dark environment, and for the other six, the sun doesn’t set.”

getto sokakları
sonbaharda ölü renge bürünüyor
ve anlaşılması güç bir nedenle
bir kefen içinde soğuduğunuz
ve şişmeye başladığınız hissi
evlerin pencerelerine yansıyor
meşgule vererecek korkusuyla
her sabah köşesinden geçiyorum
diyagonal adımlarla en sevdiğim evin
geçiş izni bakışlar ve yüzündeki edayla
up date ediliyor her sabah
günaydın geçiyor gözlerinde alt yazı
çok özledim dün sabahtan bu yana
clark çekmeyi bilmiyorum henüz
günaydın çekiyorum utangaçlığımla
diri tutmaya yetiyor ilk göz teması
yirmi adım sonunda
kayboluyor endişem sokak sonunda
mektuplar yazıyorum öğle yemeğinde
sabah vermek gayesiyle amigdalamda
haftasonu bi kahve içebilir miyiz?
ciddi biri yoktur umarım hayatında!
adın ne sahi? sahipsizim, sahiplenmekten korkma
vesaire, ve benzeri, ve daha bir sürü zırva
akşam çöküyor umutlarıma, sokak lambasında
perde tadilatta oluyor o saatlerde
yine de bir ümit utangaçlığımda
şişman kadın çoktan çıkmış oluyor geçerken
kapkara bir perde camın dudaklarında
sabah olacak yine yarın diyorum
bir kelebek gülümseyecek yanağında
mektubu veremeyeceğim yine
o yazana dek, akut utangaçlığıma
seviyor biliyorum, seviyorum ben de
ya o düşecek camdan, ya ben bakarken
vuslat çukuruna..

Bu sabah
ne kadar
sıkıcı pencereden bakmak
midesi bulanık hava
hamile martılar
siren sesi
ve yağ kokusu komşuda
sıkıcıyız bu sabah
kibirli ve kızgın
ve ağlamak üzere aynı anda
aynı anda düzüşmekte kediler
cünup akmakta trabzandan
merdiven
viskiyle yıkanmalı artık
ve
infial mevzubahis parkta
iki ergen
dudak dudağa öpüştü önce
sonra gülüştüler
erkek olan tokatı patlattı
diğer erkek ağlamadı bile
ne tuhaf
sosyalleşemiyoruz artık
yarıçıplak kadın resimleri
her yerde var onlar
radyo, televizyon
ve gazeteler
işkence gibi sıkıcı hayat
fasikülleniyor ruhuma
leş kokuyor ağzım
oral faaliyetten
kıçı açık
uyuyor gina yatakta
ve
ve
pembe ceket
almalıyım kendime
ve pamuk şeker geceye
sevişmek istiyorum yine
ve içmek
şarap
sigara
ve yumruk atmak
göğün taşaklarına
işe ve rahatla!
yazmak camın buğusuna
ne kadar sıkıcı bu sabah
ve hayat ona keza
aldanış ve faturası
ipine
güven olmaz kuyular
boşanan çiftler
ve
boşalamayanlar
hırsızlar, pezevenkler
ve cinayet skeçleri

ve çocuklar
dahi planı yaradanın
bi’ onlar geliyor hakkından tanrının...



Vaha

םתוח
השׂטן‎

and i thought that ancient egyptian
was retarted...
looks like there's a contender!
hebrew!
    this language doens't know left
from right, or up from down...
hebrew is, by html encoding... a dodo project!
it's retarted!
   hebrew can't survive in the html age...
it's retarudus proximus!
oh, you think arabic is any better?
don't think semites should
be laughing at this point...

trying to write hebrew script is like
juggling pineapples...
     what does it say?
   the seal of satan... satan?
well that implies guardian
      of the tetragrammaton...
i still agree hebrew evolved from
ancient egyptian script...
but hebrew wasn't used in writing
html or any other computing script...
that's why it's so retarted when trying
to write it in html mode...
nope, can't convince me...
you can't really write hebrew in html mode...
i call this the extinction precipice...
    if this ****** is going to keep up
its copernican acid tripping not knowing
left from right...
   might as well leave it at the roman
long-handshake... where hands
don't actually touch, but hands touch
nearing the elbow... namely
   forearm-grip.

as the original stated:

the smaller the audience: the greater span of historical worth, and desire to upkeep: that pangloss citation from voltaire's candide: better us tending to our own conerns, that bother ourselves with the concerns of others.

oh, i know what a small audience implies...
didn't christ have only the 12,
didn't pythagoras only have the approx. 30?
there's something quite telling
about a small audience...
         not exactly cultish...
                  but something beyond the realm
of influencing people within a single
lifetime...
                   take en sabah nur and his 4:
oh come on... rewrite tolstoy's
war & peace in a comic form:
  just to ease the gates for poets,
and leave barren, the boring narrator...
let's keep it at just that:
there's something telling about a small
audience...
          look at the 1 and the 12,
and now look at the billionth marker -
  funny, isn't it?
                what am i claiming though?
ah, that's simple, that's a revival of
"judaism" - i say "judaism" because
i am the one ordained with neither prophecy
or anything worth mastering:
  i am the guardian of the tetragrammaton...
and sure, the god within the confines of
philosophy has to necessarily not exist...
but?
       well... you can't really evaporate
the tetragrammaton out of existence!
             whenever the right time comes,
i loose the title: chief prosecutor, and become
chief defendant.

cangıldan
akar nehire su
saplanır budak
ıslak dudaklarına
sabahın
uykusunda yay
kemansız dans
doyumsuz iki şavk...

başım çatlıyor birkaç gündür
sirayet ediyor yaşıma
kalp ağrısı diyor doktor
ağır yükler taşıma

biteviye tırlatmış olmalı
diye düşünmüş olsa gerek ki
bin miligram davul yazmış
bir de tokmak ruhuma
deng-i kalp vücut bulsun
sabah sertliğim
sakinleşsin diye

halbuki
bungee jumping
seviyorum ben
düzüşmek yükseklerde
ve
göze almak yere çakılmayı
meretin sekiz seviyesinde

yoksa corvet teyzenin
bir yıldır kullandığı
gergedan kokan süngerinden
ne farkı kalır geçen yılların
yazdığı reçeteyi
buruşturup attım çöpe

bronx’a gitmeliydim acil
uyurken zürefa cebimde
mary jane özlemiştir
diye düşündüm
eski
bir pigme masalı zihnimde

dışarısı soğuk ve uğulgan
karsa sokakta anadan üryan
bir taksi bile yoktu etrafta
o yüzden
daldım bir bara
göz gözü görmüyordu

kapıda birkaç kafayı bulan
adam ve kadınlar
bir ton lakırdı vardı
kadehlerden taşan

****** mary dedim
varsa en sert olanından
et yığını biriydi barmen
ceza yazan trafik polisine
bakar gibi bakıyordum ki
bacardim de var dedi
arzu ederseniz

****** dedim
ağır çekim
sigaramın dumanından

manhattan’dan mısın
diye sordu
kadehi uzatırken
mardin’liyim dedim
hani şu kapısı şen olan

anlamadım dedi
ben de
avukatım gelmeden
konuşmam

sustu hergele
penceredeydi gözüm oysa
ince ince yağıyordu kar
kırım kongo şeklinde
ve
ayaklarımdan ateş
hızla
yol alıyor beynime

işte o an
ölüm provamı düşledim
bir an
mary jane
defin kortejinde

ceviz kaplama gövdem
bu yıl değilse gelecek sene
diye geçti aklımdan

ve çene’deki
muhteşem temaşa
"işte böyle"...



Vaha

europeans, beginning with the german philosophers of the 19th century,
and ending with english hippies of the 1960s (the beatles, namely),
seem to have adopted this, almost ancient fascination with eastern religiosity,
what originally undermined western "values": if there were any.
now, i can buy into all this "crap", i can see how the shackles fall off,
and the vatican is released into the wild, like a nebuchadnezzar...
and how this constant fight with the vatican by the protestants,
made us all wear black... rather than, something from
the united colours of benetton... oh ****, what a memory...
i was at the knightsbirdge branch once...
                    picked up a blazer... on sale, probably reduced to 20 quid...
what colour was it?   **** knows! too many shades...
i could list them...  a mix of:       mustard, orange, cinnamon,
                      whiskey, amber, mahogany...
                 let's just say: it went well with dark brown trousers...
             jeans? would i ever wear them? what am i? a ******* cowboy?
jeans is the most abhorring export out of: the u.s.    of    a.
                          those trousers are rigid as ****... the best way to actually
wear them, are like converse sneakers, don't wash them...
                 so they, finally(!) feel soft - and not like some iron-man
                                    suit.
                                                 what's with this cult of frying testicles?
anyway... hinduism, and the corner stone of the religion...
  reincarnation... maybe i'm thinking about this concept in the wrong
way... but would the concept suggest that: there are, and there were,
and there will be, only an finite amount of people?
                           i.e. that there were only a finite amount of people
to begin with, the so called originals?
                so who are all the other people? the deplorables, the dispoable
bio-mass? fertiliser?
       e.g. as a child i was asked, which was more -
it was during the undermining of communism in poland,
and capitalist powers began a project to inflate the polish currency...
like in germany after the 1st world war...
      i was shown two hands... one with a banknote,
   the other with coins...
             what was written on the banknote?
         probably something akin to 1, and 0000000000.
                     i was asked, which is more? the coins, or the banknote?
i said: the coins: there are more of them.
               why would i say that? well... basic arithmetic:
   there were about 9 coins in the hand...    but the banknote?
          there was only one... even though the state value written on it
was probably worth a fake billion.
                                                    toilet paper anyone?
so yeah... i'm suspicious about the concept of reincarnation...
          let's speed up to a modern comparison:
    it's all too much like the case of en sabah nur (x-men apocalypse);
  i really can't believe there were only a finite number of
people to begin with... but then again... that sort of thinking
would posit the infinite number of gods... no wonder hinduism
is a polytheism... a finite number of people to begin with...
and then the infinite number of gods.     what, a, load, of, *******!

kızıl şal gökyüzü
boynuma eşikte sarılan

sanki erken kahvaltı martıya
köpüklü marmara’dan

merci vaha
merci vaha

Dame De Sion mukimiymiş gibi
ne varsa yalayıp yutuyor
beleşe yatıyor her sabah

Fidelio çalacak diyor radyo
şemsiyesiz açılma
mümkünse gitar çal
sakın dışarı çıkma

herşey yerinde oysa
kedi ve de
level atlayan köpekler

sarhoş yürüyor yolda
sayı yapabilse işkembecide
evin yolunu bulacak sonunda

ve
gettolara şiir çizen şahıs
amelie poulain
o bile orda

yürüyorum yarım yamalak
siyahi şarkıyla
içimden detone sessizce

sıcacık Ma Baker
tütüyor francala

ahh o
sonbahar
yaprağı yok mu
görüyorum her sabah

sarı
sapsarı
su dalgası saçlı

hızla düşüyor gözucumdan
zay’oluyor sokak sonunda

üzüyor
bir gün daha
yürüyor
banliyöden pera’ya...

paraftan ziyade
ıslak imzalarınız mutlu ediyor beni
o yüzden
kırmızı öpücükler bırakıyorum
banyo aynasına rujunuzdan
her sabah

ve geceden kalma
açık, saçık sözleri
düzenlice katlayıp
hafızamda ütülüyorum
buruştukça günboyu

seviyorum ıslak imzalarınızı
elimde değil
aç parmak uçlarınız
dolanıyor boynuma
saçımda daireler çiziyor
dikkatim dağıldığında
yıldırım düşmesi gibi sıcaklık
kaskatı kesiliyor
döner koltuğumda
ayağa kalkamıyorum
Pierre’den

ıslak imzalarınız hep aklımda
hız limiti veriyor
eve dönüş yolları
mil çekiyor dudaklarıma
kapıda karşılamanı
umud ediyorum dün gibi
her akşamın tadı
dünden başka

ıslak olan herşeyinizi
seviyorum aslında
heyelana kapıldığınızı mesela
ve şiddetle boşaldığınızı
yükseklerden
derin ormanlarıma

durdurmak büyük haz veriyor sizleri
bir çınar gibi
iki pembe dudak aranızda...

sımsıkı sarılıyorum
savurdukça kırbaç gibi
sadakat saçlarınıza..

kırık kalbiniz endişe etmediğinde
daha rahat yürünebilmekte dik yokuşlar
ve zirveye vardığınızda
sizi mavi bayraklı derin bir huzur karşılamakta
elleri lotus çiçeğini andıran
küçük afacanların sevinçli yüzlerine ayrı ayrı baktığınızda
tek şeritli bir yolda nasıl yaşlandığınızı görebilir
saatler, hatta günlerce usanmadan izleyebilirsiniz
örneğin, ilk kalp ağrınız bir faunusun içinde
sabah dozu olarak göz pınarlarınıza sunulabilir
fakat tek bir hücresine dokunmanıza izin verilmez
damlayan her bir göz kristali bir sonraki aşk hikayenizin
görüntüsüne ödenen peşinat değerini kesbeder
en çok sevilen, en çok alanlar listesinde en üst sırayı teşkil etse de
best lover oldukça pahalı bir hatırlatmadır ve o prezenteyşında
kesinlikle kristal damlacıklarına izin verilmez
ki
kural ihlal etme hakkınız mevcut olsa da
bedel olarak en başından tüm yürüyüş ve soluk
niyet ettiğiniz konuma dek silinir ve gösteriyi hatırlamanıza izin verilmez
bu bağlamda oldukça hayal kırıklığı yaşansa da
seçilmişlerin yüksek bir bölümü level atlamakta
ve ölüm boyu yaşam ödülüne hak kazanabilmektedir
diğerleri için sürecin olumsuz renkleri iniş merdivenlerine yansır
ve başlangıç noktasına geri döndüğünüzde
sizi grammy’ye aday esmer bir ezgi karşılar..

hakuna matata ( keyfine bak )

sıran henüz gelmedi...

Guru makes three folds on his forehead
He said to the students:
"Study the rest for yourself",
And then
Slowly he walked towards his room.

He is great
His knowledge does not compare to this earth
Stay serious
His mild voice could not be easily heard.

Always stay dedicated
A wealth of knowledge on how to grow
He is not a pair in search of knowledge
Somehow he did not give up, neither he lose courage.

Being such person’s disciple
It is the gift of great fortune
These gurus for ages
You have made richness a great, famous story.

(Dedicated to my best Guru, Prof. Nassir Sabah;
Still I remember his open book and open time questions!)

chances are... i've probably forgotten something... A
as it happens: per usual...
when you have a lightning storm in your head...
you wait and wait for the thunder, i.e. the words...
but since you're having a blitzkrieg moment
(just like when Stuttgart did a blitzkrieg
against West Ham in the first 2 minutes of a game):
it's sort of: disorientating...

i think i might call this:
sammeln einsen denken...
   i even have a pseudo equation for this:

english "<" german
    while... german "<" Norse...
        hell... cousin *******... but more:
branching off...
   etymologically speaking...
    it's hard to grapple with the nouns
let alone conjunctions...
but at least nouns refer to concrete things...

colours... shapes... "details"...
contortions...
then again: **** Germany did invade Norway...
while glorifying the neutrality of Sweden...
who was it that called the Swedes
the Polyphemus' of culture?
   oh... right... Knausgaard...
     i like i hate him i like him i still have
volumes 5 & 6 to read through...
and spring and summer and winter...

hmm... gather my thoughts... and idle hands do
the rest... i just watch the cascade of scribbling...
i pretend to play a violin while
stroking my beard...
i just need to find the right song to ensure
i have a rhythm-stamina
i'm pretty sure one cat of mine will break it
with a: "can i come in and lie in your bed"?

yep... just happened... the window is open
and i direct him onto my bed
and as he nudges / nuggets his head into my
pillow i'll continue...

****... i have to wake up at 7am tomorrow morning...
chances are... the skip will come between
7:30am and 9:30am... there's plenty to clear our
from the garden... all that concrete pieces
i broke down with that rented kango... etc. etc. blah
blah...
oh: i'm not work shy...
i even know why i'm doing this current work...

upon checking tickets... directing people to their
right seat... on the sly i noted the price tag...
it's "work" and it isn't work...
i just need one song to focus on to write...
i don't do: listen to a whole ****** album...
i need a concentrated dosage of something...
esp. sound... on repeat... on repeat...
i'll restart it countless times before finishing
my doodle and relaxing...
but until that time... it's one song on repeat...
on repeat... on ******* repeat...

i've have too many lightning strikes in my head
to let go of them: but i need some buoyancy...

think of *** think of *** think of *** think of
thighs think of collar bones think of elbow
think of knees think of foreheads think of hair
thing of lips think of: every, single, ****** time...
i walk into a brothel...
what do i sniff? bourbon and skin cream...
not ****** type of scents... just like:

i remember the very old memes of the internet...
one wasn't even a picture,
it was more of a question...
can two straight guys share an umbrella?
the other one was an inversion
of the myth of a mermaid...
i.e. a picture of a mermaid...
d'uh... oral ***... and counter to it...
the legs of a 6ft leg model with her torso
replaced by a fish's upper body...

           that is truly debatable...
but then again: it's not...

why do i do this job? currently? i could be earning
more if i a stuck to construction...
but that's the thing about working with family:
when it's great: it's ******* great...
but when it's ****: it's rancid...
family members can take so many liberties when employing
you...
          i liked the work though...
30kg rolls of felt... here and there...
tar doughnuts dropped tenderly like ****
into the boiler... i didn't mind...
but i'm writing poo'etry... i need to assure myself...
i need to build up some skills of dealing
with the crowds...
obviously i'm planning to perform some
of my scribbles...
              
but i find an impasse...
the rhyming ping-pong... crass...
advertisement crass poor-aesthetics of the words
being ushered it...
unlike: Aud Lang Syne: which?!
no Shakespeare can beat...

i find no comparison with any modern poet...
i even tried it with Ezra Pound...
i'm left with the tradition of Horace and Ovid...
these two ******* have my mind boiling...
there's no rhyme:
there's that unbroken lineage of consciousness
that can be as both subtle as it can be overtly
dynamic...

****... i knew this would happen...
i'd start writing and forget some minor points
i wanted to add...
oh... right... what's the...
ha ha... of the square root of a schizophrenic squared?!

now that's borrowing from Alfred Jarry's pataphysics...

i.e. √schizophrenic²?
        it's a joke... practically: what's √4² = 4...
which is equivalent to scribbling...
hmm...                            š = sh... no?
so? what's? √schizophrenic² equal to?

i'll tell you:

    √schizophrenic² = bilingual (-ist)
well, the joke follows further... just because you're
white you're presumed to be one of those
native, white lost boys...
who don't perform at school...
        i'm still waiting... not for an apology...
**** the apology... i want the dumb-founded
glum look on these "medical" sadists...
these pharmacological Mengele disciples...
i'm just waiting: i'm good at waiting...

was that it? i put on over 20kg from their supposed
"cure" medication...
and... what? anyone hang themselves like Judas
for wrong-doing...
Satan managed it right... confuse them...
tell them: AND... somewhere in between
KNOWLEDGE of GOOD / EVIL...
because man conflates the too...
   man's concept of law... of jurisprudence is exactly that...
Moses' poetic genius or...
"god": there are three ranks of superior creatures
the mind extends towards...
angels... demons... geniuses...
i count geniuses a rank above...
    stressing: if people used to imagine a cyclops...
a minotaur... a Cerberus... fairies...
i think geniuses are the most manifest
when translating the extension of the mind
toward them: since through them
they manifest in body... Newton!
                         geniuses are creatures most self-evident
from past examples of their pact with man:
a pact made prior with Prometheus:
who... not being a god... could spawn this crafty
cohort of... equivalence? dwarfs?!

i vape and i suddenly turn into a scientist in the eyes
of my cat: the smoke the smoke mesmerizes them...
unusual if i'm smoking a "chip" of a cigarette..
wild eyed, they are...

but it has been a good autobiography so far...
reading a mingling of Stendhal with Marquis de Sade
in my teens... returning to Ovid in my mid-30s...
it's a good sexuality to have...

esp. that time in the brothel completely obliterated
by those 12 prostitutes... a tube's equivalent of
a carriage of legs...
can-can... they could have danced a can-can
folding right leg onto the left leg: folding...
and vice versus...
i also loved the rejections... future rejections
now seem... contained...
i deal with them like i deal with being soaked
by rain: no sugar here...
          i make a slight grimace... i idle my frown...

i have more in common with Ovid and Horace
than i have with these complaining poet-activists
that are "fishing" with a rod and line and sinker
worth's of rhyme: and yes... Wayne Static of
Static-X is dead... join, the, ******* queue...

i know the current job could be classified as...
low "quality"... low "status"...
there's no reason to believe i can maintain
a drunken crowd... absolutely none...
the world is harsh... get used to it...
i can be nice in person:
but when i allow myself to scribble something:

eh... i sometimes alleviated myself
with the comparison to Wolverine...
esp. from that cover by Johnny Cash
of a Nine Inch Nail's song: hurt...
but... i was always more of a Juggernaut sort
of guy... a Magneto sort of guy...
i can't remember the last time i played
a computer game... crosswords bore me...
su doku: fair enough...
i write: i cascade: i spew...
     crosswords are a thesaurus for me...
i don't like sphinxes... or sphinx's riddles...

when i'm open to a narrative... i'm keeping my
"guns"... well... wooden swords...
i'm pretty **** sure the people i'm working
with don't know anything about me...
i'm only doing this job to get some...
experience in maintaining a crowd...
i'm thinking: perhaps it's time to become
less a creator and more an entertainer?

i sometimes walk the streets at night...
i peer in...
some old lady is usually watching the t.v.:
so... where's the fireplace?!
where are the grandchildren listening to stories
of old?! where is the passage of time?!
sure as ****... it isn't "there"...
the t.v. replaced the fireplace...
i'm having insomnia libido...
personally... i want to **** and if i wanted it so much
i should follow suite... instead?!
drinking is better...

that's the glory of the internet...
some of "us" just adapted to it...
we didn't waste time to adapting to it...
it was never about anything practical...
in terms of using it for internet banking or internet shopping...
some of "us" required an open flow of
information...

i start listening to Hawkwind's
                      hassan-i-sabah...
i know the allure of Islam...
                     i know it all too well...
  Christianity over-complicated itself...
it's a "monotheism" but given the number of schisms
it might as well be categorised as a polytheistic religion...
given the number of versions of "christ":
that cosmopolitan messiah...
who moved people from Nazareth to Jerusalem and then:
undermined the existence of the Hebrews owning any land...

a Greco-Judeo conspiracy against the Roman empire...
why? the Roman plagiarism of the Greek theology /
mythology... i.e. how Zeus became Jupiter...
how Hades became Neptune...
proud Greeks... even prouder Hebrews...
oops... Roman script was not Persian cuneiform...
it didn't... simply "die"...
now... emboldened with access to technological
"improvements": how is it? how is it, going
to simply die off?!

i find Christianity complicated...
no wonder i wasn't confirmed...
while that famous atheist Richard Dawkins was...
you just need to find the right sort of Islam
to secure your mind in this whirlwind of
Christianity imploding... for however nth time...

you start listening to Hawkwind's
Hassan-i-Sabbah...
the Elder of the Mountain...
you peer into the Sh...
   that running joke from the 13th warrior...
so... what's your name?!
Muhammad ibin Ali ibin Rasheed... ibin...

    Ibin... son of... Ibin... a bit like Iblis...

see... that's the thing about the shisha pipe and
the "mobile phone" equivalence of it via
the vape pipes...
same ****... different cover...
i just counter my addiction to nicotine with
the amount of pearls of smoke
i egest... exhale with this pristine white
cauliflower smoke...
there's no high: biologically:
by now eyes are not biological extensions...
spiritual measures... add a mirror and we're talking:

and the devil came with smoke and mirrors...
rather than with fire and sulphur...
because?! gods come with the latter...
but i still need a "high" to write something...

the first time i tried ******* was with Khedra
in the brothel... i was 35 and prior to that...
no bother... i tried dating single mums who used
to date single boyos who were coke-heads
who... whatever...
i can become a plumber if i need to...
a roofer... a chef... bicycle fixer...
but i'm not a "bad boy": i know single mums
with attitude... i don't know how
this attraction works in reverse...
i tried... failed... moved on...
obviously i still write about it...
because?! it's a bit like discovering gravity...
or... the heliocentric model!

for someone who has been diagnosed as "mad"...
would you want to understand women?
by understanding women implies:
you stop loving women...
i'm still a Romanticist...
i want to love women: i don't want to understand
women... i want to remain feral...
i can't imagine myself being tamed...
i want to love women and not understand them...
ergo?

     i avoid women and i'm all the better for it...
i just see how they age...
fair enough... men aging is not exactly spectacular...
either...
but at least... there's the Benelux resolve...
some marijuana prior... some magic mushrooms
to alleviate the onslaught of dementia...
in a van Gogh horizon and then:

AUS MIT IHR KÖPFE!

no sentiments for the monotheistic-sadism of
homelessness...
a warm bath... the veins slit...
let life be life!
  and let death be death!

lassen leben sein leben!
und lassen tod sein tod!

don't grieve for the fractured stone:
to replace the shape of a mountain!
for a worthlessness of a: tomb!

     feed grief! via memory!
bind your love to those you remember!
and lessen the burden you try to forget
by ritual: with the exacting memorabilia
you'd want to confiscate out of existence!
of what?! of the grave!
burn them!

we can't ascribe ourselves to any one element...
we are the waters of libido and thirst...
we are the earth of staging frights of resurrected
empires...
we are the air that all breathe
and none do in the realms of the Trident(s)...
we are the fire of thought and feeling
by war and idiotic courage are borne...
we are the fifth element of:
stage-fright... of... caution of thought...
of... when Thor came to a Camden Town Pub...
with... seizures... with sparks...

i can't find a defence for Christianity...
i can find a defence for Islam...
i can find a defence for Judaism...
Rumi... the Qabbalah...
last time i heard... the Gnostics were shunned...
fair enough...

the roof, the roof... the roof is on fire... (x4)
we don't need no water let the ******* burn...
burn *******: burn!

you can't stress it more obvious: obviously...
obliviously so...
   splendid little world and my apathetic self...
since: last time i heard?
there's nothing worse than apathy....
   exactly! nothing worse than atheism when
it comes to the art of making narratives...
but?! apparently the prefix a-
implies: without: pathologies...
   insanely numb...
  insanely numb...
    and let's just pretend: like it sort of
might sort of: oh... oh... oh?!