. you're using all the right words: for all the wrong reasons... and let's face it: if women own the monopoly on reproductive avenues... then men hold the ego-key, to slot their presence, through a door, that curbs or gives allowances, to what is thought... *** was nether a transluçent enterprise... oh look... the Roma sigma pops up... dire straits: de profundis - money for nothing riff - boogie boogie... milkshakes from the 1950s 'n' all... you know what my biggest pet peeve is? the englih language imitating ancient Latin, i.e. not applying diacritical "punctuation" markers to close in on syllables and make the language atomic (i.e. H is hydrogen, He is helium)... **** me... the same Brits who lived in the 19th century, are not the same Brits living in the 21st century... no wonder the fertility rate is s ****** low.... try ******* an english bride... no thank you; i'd rather **** a female gorilla.

the milkman passes my house
at, circa, 3am...
see the van skid around the bend
up the hill...
            
i listen to music at volumes
equivalent to my father working
the construction site -
i'll be deaf by the time i'm 50...
     and guess what:
                  for the music i'm listening
to? it'll be worth it...

dittoing out:
   have the criticism of post-modernists
ever suffer?
doubt: doubt, is the modern
relief from existentialist
    negation...
  
why is doubt being attacked?
doubt is half than that outright
******* of denial
proposed by French existentialists...
doubt is good in that it's
tornado of emotions,
you want to imitate Christ on
Golgotha?
  you doubt, and achieve the pinnacle
of the passion...
you start negating?
     you're, nowhere...

    on your own...

came the noun-phobia of philosophers -
the tinkers and tailors
of a.. what seems to be:
a noun-phobia
  guaranteed with fog...
   and thing..

  the term
  "thing" presupposes
the supposition of tree...
     which subsequently serves
the proposition: let's hide in it!

      philosophy and its infamous
noun-phobia -
               thing...
           and it's nihil...
  its nothing...
      
                 a ******* cul de sac -
     epigram -
       of quasi morse encoding -
     braille to boot -
September is coming -
           van Morrison (moondance) -
hiding autumnal chill -
           pan-Europeanism:
proto-"africa": either in Hindustan -
or Siberia;

suppose a moon, suppose a shadow by
candlelight, some edgy urban solo -
as a bricklayer i could raise kids
and crux on a woman -
          chicken / doctoral itching with
a blunt nail are called scratchings -
       hand-writing:
             less digits in the digital
formatting - and more
calligraphy...
                      the rotten handwriting
of general practitioners...
     Hippocrates might have made an oath...
but in terms of a handwritten cipher?
no clue...
               the canvas of a monkey
onomatopoeia within the confines
of a custard of a lexicon...
   a mouth thus opens -
a month begins -
instead of a tongue ejected from
the ivory temple -
  a sludge crescendo of a quasi
                 cascade of sludge gluing the
whole theater into
a replica of a Russian drinking game...

....                 ⠞⠓
          ...     ⠑⠁⠑
     ...           ⠞⠑
    ............                  ⠞
...                      ⠥ ⠎
     : : :           -  ⠎          
   ........ : ....           ⠕?

100 wolves of the continent...
for, but 1, fox,
of the English isles...
   i'll settle for that ratio...
and then i'll bite to ensure
a signature!

  howl all you want...
but have you ever found seagulls
annoying up the river?
more annoying than magpies
or crows?
             the wolves can howl
all they want..
ever endear the ear
to hear a fox "laughing"?
   no?
  might as well listen to me.
i cradle that sound,
above the chariots
of a human newborn...
        i grieve!
   i am... sombre gsture...
    a past, a passing,
a future, a wicker man within:
torch...
   banquette of souls!

    let's interlude -

   touko "tom" laaksonen -
    how can people "do" sober
           when entertaining such
extravagances....
        is it empathy, or sympathy?
            in the name of the either,
with either being the sum
of what wll never be a sum
allowance,....
     to gain from...
                  why not
       ****-ease up the ****
    for a zeppelin-esque
                            bomb drop -
(minor the Nagasaki) -
                    and hand-piked ****
with the cusp of your hand -
         throne of thrones -
  flagship?
   "king of kings":
  like ****...
  the holy trinity of
       the no. 1, as the no. 2,
   and subsequently the no. 3:
**** (father),
       take a **** (son)...
            ******* (the holy ghosts)...
king of kings,
never sat on the throne
of thrones...
   i always hated "artists"...
    painters -
   plagiarists -
      cheque sketchers...
             plagiarists...
         ******* indentation
from holding a pen to add to having
exposure to a grammatical examination...
       quality cinema:
panorama take on a versus of
heavy editing...
                     and there was a time
frame to encompass dialogue...
      somehow it fits:
the verbal myopic -
            the entire pre-
& post- canvas of a blinking eye...
   always the question of the
pre-industrialißed sketch;
words predating metaphor
akin to  -
  words versus metaphor
in genesis -
   format? anecdotal.

      in writing:
            by one hand alone,
made into two...
        my, my...
  what a ****** self-portrait
"assumption"...
        a self-portrait...
a wish for color,
with nothing to show,
but the relief of encompassed bones;
that become a disembodied
skeleton - minus a purpose
of tendon attachments...

∟          "contra"    Δ          -
equilateral my ***...

            a few days spent within the confines
of a Promethean *****,
     there be, elemental insomnia
of an electric bespoke...
if Prometheus stole fire,
who, in in all for ****'s sake
stole the saber of Zeus,
the thunderbolt -
electricity, who?
who craved the insomnia?!
             this Frankenstein-esque
insomnia-zombification -
             white as is white:
with all the dermatological
copper take on broken shins...
         should ivory coco -
come between piglet *** copper
auburn in terms of autumn...
******...
             *******!

take your ****** *** elsewhere,
and then... start spelling
it with a missing G...
when citing Niger...
  you do the double dip of the NBA...
you count the second dip...
why do i love Batman as the best
superhero?
  not of his superhero powers,
he has none...
          his enemies are
the only interesting
counter-factoids of
having implemented an existence
for.
   there is no exacting of
a superhero,..
   but there is enough
to mind an antithesis...

          tylko wieśniak
by wydział film w tym,
          bo sie nie rusze -
    cegła, kamień -
       pień - mur -
           i by mówił - w tym
co zamarzło -
          to co ostygłe -
    w co z tym samym -
        meine filmisch -
      i skakaniem świec -
   od i na nagim cieniem -
   pytać nad pyche -
       tanz! tanz!
                 moje iskry słów...
   sto! i lat,
    o wielbłąd churem o
grzbiet da, i da,
       iskra; alfabetu!
    bogiem impromptu
o czym warty: -gień.

- suppose a moon, suppose a shadow,
by candlelight - within the confines of
mercury - that quickened silver -
some edgy urban solo -

      as a bricklayer or a cobbler  -
shoes that deviate from ushering
an echo -
          i could raise children and keep
a woman: only if she decided
upon not allowing me
a leash -
            what a saddening affair
of minds and freedom...
           chicken doctoral -
i don't know: vanity of the impossible
mortal gain...

    the monkey onomatopoeia
    within the confines of a custard
of  lexicon....

          that Victorian image proof
source of envisioned Braille in
the confines of a primate...
  
handwriting:
itches, scratches, chicken esque
clucking... which is what
handwriting looks like these days,
what, with the coding...
    semi plumber,
half the electrician...
  and certainly null when it comes
to calligraphic invigoration...

- homosexuality was always a contingency
escapade to release suppressed yearnings -
a sudden but a non-fulfillment questioning
celibacy...

               you can enforce curbing homosexuality,
but then there are two outlets...
the perversity: or the question...
of Ayn and Sophia...
                          
        greeks ****** the hebrews in the hole
without an outlet - zee heed: with a missing A...
      Ayn - Aleph -
                    twin Adam -
          perhaps a Siamese abomination...

mind you... the forbidden fruit?
sounds more like... the forbidden flesh...

thee burdensome walking
the already burdened earth: as the fruit,
somewhere between the flesh of man's last predator,
contained, on land, and his hidden desire
for revenge and introspection,
a denial of commonality and shared purpose -
thou shall not consume
that which also hunts you -
little or no concern with equal
     measure of forbidding, that which you pet...
the forbidden "fruit",
in between the flesh of a sabertooth tiger,
and Cain's fruit of famine and incompetence:
               cannibalism...

   and why would you think about
drinking a ms. amber with pepsi...
pepsi! to coca -
and not slide in a slice of lemon
while you're at it?
  terrible mistake...
       well... one way to get y'er vit amins...

        and why is it that all the best
movies these days are about homosexuals?
the dutch girl for starters...
   me, drinking, watching t.v.?
either **** good drama,
a western,
   or a movie about a *******
homosexual...
          did i mention that i think that
homosexuality is an auxiliary escapade plan?
natural, of course,
    but i'd hate to have to life
a doubled up life -
then again...
     perhaps i would...
           me? i have a new girlfriend -
Sophia - and her ****: Philip -
           so am i expected to make demands
for the child they might end up
called Ayn, or Aleph?
                - the Wahhabi hypocrisy
    concerning music, or rather, censoring it...
but... but i thought the adhan:
the call to prayer: was sung,
rather than abiding by the catholic
credo murmur?
     no?
                         my bad... you know better...
i'll send you a postcard from
the Galapagos Islands,
if i find the time, to find:
    that 4th dimensional concept doing
the trigonometric shoom! elsewhere -
on a tangen "bias": **** knows where -
like a comet - missing a tail -
shoom!                                       gone.

shrapnel:

            not enough thrills for a hard-on...
... images... drawings...
   apparently fine art is not enough
stimulation to ******* to for these Arabs...
****? .....   in general?
cartoons.... cartoons of women....
   ... because?
well... apparently the niqab...
  extends beyond the realm of...
  readily available attire...
            women on the street?
   pornographic "actresses"?
                       you see the cartoon?
it's all ******* ******...
                  oh don't get me wrong...
amy adams?
  buff as an exploding Hindenburg...
    the pale ginger - milchskin...
                - unrelated:
   how about i sneak a skunk into
        a coco chanel perfumery -
while advocating that people will still
call it a: scent just shy of roses and strawberries.

- people have heard of incels -
but have they heard of Vcels?
    huh?!
   yeah, yeah... voluntary celibacy -
i know what a ****** sounds and looks like -
and, to be honest?
   there's hardly any rhetorical ***
involved -
         a bit like jerking off...
              monkish chants -
Byzantine -
     the fear of man,
   when his own inability flourishes:
     in a woman...
                          
these acts have become well trodden...
so well trodden that i'm
authentically surprised that anyone
would still goosestep them into
their mundane plagiarism's existence...
    replica invigoration:
turns out...
    
   zeit ist nicht gerade, aber
kreisförmig...

                              touko "tom" laaksonen...
i.e. tom of finland...
   question: you think a macron over
one of those As
                     would do the trick in terms
of spelling correction?

  touko "tom" laaksonen...
you seriously can only watch European cinema
while drinking...
    again... invigorating the english language:
one baby step at a time -
a simple grapheme -

    the vater's S Z interchangeability -
   synchronised contra synchronized -
    settled -
    synchronißed -
                       sometimes the slithering S
of a snake -
   otherwise the rigid totem with
a torso of a zebra...
                     hardly a major investment -
but when i see English having moved
from the Elizabethan Shaky Steward of
thou etc. -
       imitating ancient Latin -
    coordinating the Greenwich study of
dyslexia...
            Joyce...
              no diacritical application?
   hell...
                 might as well release a bull
into a China shop...
                 or a rottweiler into chicken shack...
still... why is there an orthographic aesthetic
in practice, hovering over I and J,
  when there's no difference, as suggested
in CAPiTAL letterIng?
                                       ah... i see...
the english "think" they can bypass the para-
frontier, and the orthographic frontier
and race down to the metaphysics...
        first?
   you explain why it's i and not ι,
  and why it's j and not ȷ.

shes a wolf.
a real cool-gal.
the kind that shotguns beer
and fixes cars
and shoots guns off of rooftops.
yeah,
a real gum-off-the-wall-steal
kiss me
before
my teeth fall out
yeah,
tell me im worth-less than this
use me
and ill use you
till we're used up and use to it
yeah,
we're
true garbage kids
fogging up strangers car windows.
just children
huddled so close
in a world full of landfills.
except
i am still trying to get away from you.

    tell me..
why do we stay the same?
why don't we cry like the other kids that are left behind?
why do i continue to
live with the stowaways stitched to the bottom of your pockets?
take me somewhere new.

The lion dog’s muscles ripple
as he descends the stairs
toward the source of food
guarded by another creature
smaller but just as wild.

The standoff happens in the kitchen -
a 110-pound Rhodesian Ridgeback
a pet who wants his kibbles
and the housecat
who thinks she owns the place.

The hound approaches
slow and deliberate
his huge head depending
from a neck
thick like a phone pole.

The cat sits alert but unconcerned
until their noses touch -
then the cat flashes surprising claws
ripping the hound’s nose
and he runs yelping into the living room
to hide behind the couch
to fall asleep
dreaming of the hunt
the rush of his tawny brothers
across dusty savannahs
toward great African lions
with paws like dinner plates
and sabertooth mouths.

it's not that i didn't tell you to stay
it's that my face had been flattened
to a degree unrecognizable, unable to express emotion
eroded by too many acid raindrop-tears
and too many vicarious hits
of that ........ you covet more
than the newborn child ... years away in my stomach
we will not see light
you cannot make it fill the cavity between your selfish molars
and my cavernous ribcage
you can slash the curtains all you want, but the sun don't like you no more
and i barely love you
(even though it cannot dissipate more than it has)
and you won't admire me as a stolen sabertooth
all the crest whitening strips you fed to me
to protect me from the plaque building up
in my voice box
in my lexicon
are in the trash now, honey
i don't give a **** how yellow i'm getting
and if you really loved me
you'd not care either

but you have this need to place all theoretical constructs
on a ******* pedestal above you
like heaven
and happiness
and love
like they are unreachable for you because
you have short arms
and short legs
short ambition
short breath
and so you keep pushing various cleaning utensils toward me
brushes
mops
loufas
and i eat them
i swallow the bleach and plastic and mesh whole
like i've swallowed your feigned empathy
your lack of morality

and i'll regurgitate them for our (never to be) child
when .... is born
and i'll say "here, ............, look...look at all your father left you"
and i'll eat the placenta
and i'll purge it
and maybe by then
i'll have learned how to teach
our never to be had child
how to leave an addict

When my mind was buzzed, a sabertooth swallowed me whole.
His stomach wasn’t digesting me so there I was, just thinking about the life I had lived in the abyss of his stomach grits.
I wanted my body to explode in glass pieces and break through his skin to escape, but all I was doing was playing with a messed up fate.
As some would say, I made this arrangement to have this play date.
“People are crazy!” was their debate.
He wanted to satisfy his hunger, I wanted to succumb under the pressure and just accept what was whatever.
It had always been a possibility to be the target someday- so now I was the prey.
You can’t outsmart the hunter, you become meatier and meatier every day.

The words
“Bring to a slow simmer” mean nothing to me
I am incapable of doing so
My eyes skim over that part of the recipe, going instead straight for the part where the oven turns on
And the food is reduced to a roiling, churning, unrecognizable mass
For me, there is no such thing as a gauzy, languid sunset or the sluggish, sleepy way
That anger can sometimes pool up inside you.
For me, a volcano has no warning or gradual burning of magma.
For me, it is just the present of the explosion,
Ripping, tearing, gushing, seething unceasingly
Jealousy and rage are not timid housecats, avoiding company and remaining invisible within the blackness of a room until a pale shred of light cuts through, reflecting a circular sheen.
Instead they are cantankerous sabertooth tigers.
And I can’t keep myself from setting them free.

The seediest part of the seediest place in town. A place where dreams go to die. A place where all relationships are transactional and all are doomed to last less than a night.There's a special type of misery here. A specific sadness that is at once heartbreaking but also insanely addictive. Tens of people seated in a dingy noisy sorry excuse for a bar sharing an experience called loss. Maybe the loss of a loved one, maybe the loss of innocence. More likely the loss of something of financial value.

Human nature is such that we loathe and crave company. We wish to be alone but are painfully drawn towards each other. Hating that we are but unable to separate ourselves from a deep dark primeval fear... The fear of loneliness. For as evolution has taught us, think hundreds of bespectacled scientists, many speaking with the current prestige accent of our respective languages, are fond of telling us, it's because back in the day when were stuck in t' savannah, the last one left behind was often prey to t'lions, leopards or sabertooth tigers.

There's some truth in this... But as much as we would like to think everything can be magicked away by science and evolution, life is rarely that simple.

More likely as alluded to, there's something invisible inside us all that draws us to each other. Sometimes like souls to like souls, other times opposites attract. Maybe it's our innate hopefulness that there's someone out there who understands you or in the luckier cases loves you. A little voice that drives you to keep going. What happens when you finally shut out that voice?

What will be left keeping you going?

like my uncle’s Cadillac. When I
went for a ride as a child it felt
like a limo in size. It had deep red
seats, red as a cardinal I believe. And

because he was Italian it felt like
I was part of the mafia family. He would
smoke those cheap cigars until the air
was thick with fog, like a rainy day

in London. And I wondered who he
had bludgeon. Because he used to be
a boxer in his youth, I swear he was a
sabertooth. He was fierce. Didn’t say much,

just gave you “the look” and you
knew. That’s all it took. I used to fish
with him early in the morning, when the sky
was black, black as his Cadillac.

i don't know how these self-help gurus with their videos... managed to... infest my self-d.j. prospects on youtube... oh... wait... youtube was gearing up for creating paid-subscription to compete with spotify... no wonder the algorithm went hell-wire... it stopped behaving like a thesaurus might... there were no new... alternatives... unless of course... some of us remember the need to buy a KERRANG! or a MOJO magazine to find out about... the lesser know... "neglected" artists on the music scene... you thought the music scene was bad... poetry is even worse! - but no... all these self-help gurus: it's like the hell i was told to inhabit for not buying any of their literature... i'll listen... eagerly... but will i take any advice? it's not a rhetorical suspense coupled with "probably": it's an outright negation: no...

take this example... some self-help guru: perhaps a gym bro or... whatever...
starts reading an article akin to:
'we live in a time where lust is glamourized and (true) love is made out to be shameful and boring...'
hence the brackets... is truth more of a noun...
or merely an adjective...
true-love... compounded...
no... that's conflated...
it's boring to tell the truth...
and that's also coupling with the alias: boring...
no... telling the truth is ineffectual...
lies are: weaving strands...
truth is: gravity...
                        people who don't escape into
reading or writing fiction prefer to tell lies...
what about my statuary rights
as a person concerned with...
the guarantee of a product...
i heard that the manufacturer provides...
a one year guarantee on the bicycle tyres...
but the seller steps in...
defending the manufacturer...
not the buyer... moi...
the manufacturer will be forced to answer:
i'm just left with a "smug":
oh... we're replace your tube: inflate it...
we won't charge you for it...
but we've seen worse tyres...
what... the ****?
and this world is atheistically: enough?!
if you're a rhetorician...
this world isn't enough:
this world is the least of all possible worlds!
it's a ******* primer!
that some god almighty... whether
he be demanded the ******* camel-jockeys
to take a critique of pork seriously:
pork as leather as shoe:
or belt...
  now we're talking...

- aside... what about the nobility of swans?
they are... noble... those creatures...
aren't they?
no talk of a duck harem imitating chimps...
the swans are noble because there's
a concept of a widow / widower swan...
how such animals pair...
without thumbs to stress
the posit of hammer or a... ******* igloo!

of the past two hours i've been "debating" with myself
the agony of a Tosca ****: opera in three parts:
freeing a ****...
a quasi-constipation:
not exactly high-and-mighty:
instagram me drinking champagne on a yacht
in Monte Carlo...
to-and-fro... first sitting the magnum opus...
second sitting... third...
Cheerio shrapnel...
fool you fool me... who's the fool all the better?
absolutely tortured by a ****...
at one point:
my **** started yawning some acid...
i treated it with some mint-caress fluid
of a tendering wipe...

the story goes...
the nobility of swans... coupling...
better me... not coupled to fakery:
i will not listen to the advice presented:
it's entertainment alone:
there's nothing practical about it...

- it's hard to find a meaning of life:
if, that's all there's to it:
meaning, counter: momentum alternative:
will... who cares about it being "FWEE"
at this point: a binding contract that
defaces death as a waiting game:
it's hard to find a meaning in life
when you only arrive at the crumbs:
by the end of the day that stretches
into the night...
if it's not come the genesis of day:
the zenith...
these meagre words come the 2am slot:
the nadir... are as "important" as they are...
hardly impotent: more... crazed raw
akin to the croaking of the crow
or the laughter of a fox...
because... in England... there are no wolves
to awoooooooooo!
we are best left to what remains...
bark-my-finicky-dance-of-moon-finicky:
clock tick-tock...
speak to me of wonderous cre-ah-tures...
akin to Walruses....
many fanged and -  sabertooth tiger
didn't take it up with the seas?!
here's a moustache to prove:
a family of mice living well inside of it...
like a bunch of Hebrews come
the expulsions of the people
from their Tenements...

the old maxim:
our people and the tenements...
your people: and the streets!
wasze ulice... nasze kamienice!

i might be the first to thirst bemoaning
the: export of the Jewry from Europe...
if i were anyhow Russian:
i'd be almost intact...
thank **** i'm not Russian:
but i'm certainly not glad
for the import of the gladly summarising
ladies of... she imposed an African
import of living ******...
i forget about anger about this point:
of cutting the mustard...
i'm more interested in horseradish
to begin with...
i have a maine **** with bramble seeds
and as i bite into his fur to get them
out; entertainment for the whole
worth of night...