Edie, i failed miserably... thinking that ms amber and mr hector whiskers would get something profound out of me... no returns policy here... on writing like i used to (that is)
waking up to a choking sensation of hanging over
the gloom of societal ergonomics:
even the historiological miasma
in the cinematic chain of the story of the Israelites
in Egypt:
i worked in the construction industry
and i can vouch that: there was no clear, generational
misery attached to building towers:
i can't imagine the same attachment of grief
correlating to pyramids, although this is well
documented in movies...
zdrowie na budowie: health in a construction site...
no immediate misery from the strands
of sayings: more misery in the gym on a treadmill
than laying brick on brick...
a monstrous adventure of standing still
and erecting a noon shadow
upon time (of the desert)
only to wait until the Eiffel tower to topple
such heights...
just like Big Ben (named after Benjamin Disraeli
i presume) was renamed the Elizabeth tower,
not Pugin's tower (the old ***** dragged everyone
into her gloriously inglorious age
of dismantling an empire)
the Eiffel tower should be renamed:
Napoleon's Giraffe!
the pale shade on the face of Oppenheimer's guilt,
rereading gregory corso like it's nothing...
at least the bomb H and bomb N (hiroshima, nagasaki)
dropped on a people with fathers mothers
children and the elders...
what pale comparison is the fear of the bomb
when, as they said about the Holocaust,
the terrible has already happened...
drop another! drop another!
what does it mean to the atomised recluse
and the crab bucket,
what is the Manhattan project Oppenheimer
et al
when simultaneously there was also
Goodwin Pincus!
the bomb the pill the bomb the pill the bomb the pill
the clown the mime the clown the mime
the wolf the wolf in sheeps' wool the wolf
the carcass - the mountains of carcasses:
a hubballoo of crustaceans on a beach
this bittersweet hangover of history and
the present day
the fear of touch instigated from grandmother
to a granddaughter when
a non-biological male has carousel fun ***
with the mother -
dearest of touches, through simply wearing
a gifted t-shirt
37 and childless is also like saying:
jeez... i'm surprised "we" shot ourselves in the foot
and there are no surprises that we're limping
with dyslexic pastors in new advent churches
prior to highly literate priests
with dyslexic pastors where once stood
proud literate priests
gatekeeping what, i ask? being persuaded
doubly dutch-blind?
reimagining a church where the pastors know
the 2nd literacy of coding in html,
>give /i
>>?/;? $ banner
like a melting igloo...
later... no rudeness implied by the native english
native european - i wonder what nickname they
have for us... if aboriginal and indian were
nicknames for the indigenous peoples of a people
in a land before and after no exodus...
Joropes - maybe i'll think of a nickname for
us ******* Yobropes who did some touristy stuff
in the 16th through to the 19th century
like the Silk Road was not an asiatic "thing"
like the white self-loathing is not something
born out of the pill rather than the bomb...
i need to salvage this energy of a hangover -
like i might care to not care or
to not care about caring...
a month spent on Kauai in what i dreamed of
ages ago with my mother's pedicurist
whenever she would come over with her toddler
and i would babysit for an hour or two...
but this was a month's worth of fatherhood
simulation with a 12 soon to be a 13 year old...
the joy i had from baking a cake with her mother
(my hot tub lover)
and all the tantrums and all the confusion
and all the arguments a teenager might have
with a mother and grandmother
and i was the one who somehow managed
to get the teen to sleep in her own bedroom
and not in her mother's bed...
i would too craving touch...
my ego should be my anchor
my thoughts: shoulders to lean on, no!
my thinking or unthinking should be a ship
the id the sea
and who said that creating the superego
would be a better cage to god
in the secular trinity
to write truths in science is one thing
but to write uncomfortable truths on matters
of being human
is another
theological crevices and humanistic escapades
to doodle over and dive into
a game in a swimming pool
playing dive and seek underwater
with a 13 year old girl,
this the least, no biological attachment,
no "self investment" in perpetuity, continuity,
no eyes of my own
no ears of my own
no nose of my own
but...
the way i speak, my mannerisms,
my behaviour trans-translatable,
everywhere i go this trans- prefix...
trans-racial, trans-gender... trannies
and mommies and somewhat-daddies...
metaphysics should become meta-reality...
there is a meta-reality, given so many people
chose exodus from... reality...
in the trans-dimension...
creating a rift in reality
to create a meta-reality...
a metamorphosis of demonic smiles-allure...
Dante's Elysium or at least the telekinetic
spasm of thoughts-uplifting yet
words like blunder.... bubble blunder
with a pop... carousel...
daft grey... humpty dumpty on a fence
with a white sun and a black sky,
basically the night...
and come day... fake yellow fading white
if peered into, not at, the sun
is a vibration of ultra-violet dynamic
in my eye... a pulsating eye
compared to the stone-eye of moon...
a monstrous soul eating and illuminating
fascination...
we are heaving a woman a heaven in pregnancy,
Napoleon! Napoleon!
calls out Homer, anewed,
a time when tyrants didn't have telecommunication
and from bottom to top to bottom
like Napoleon, rising up,
rather than like ******: levelling:
from bottom to top to bottom to middle...
grey monsters grey hollow cause
hallow cause, holocaust,
building the pyramids like a dream-memory
compared to the concentration camp
conscious-reality... a pinch-thought...
because only Yids... Hebs... affected?
the nth, only people in existence...
you'd think Poland would be
the 2nd America... German genius spirited
on to the lazy *** Hebs?
ha ha ha ha ha
ha ha ha ha ha ha
probably...
new to making movies, hell is with me: i laughed
postmen brawling outside my window
how manic and evil
a laugh is without concept of body
in an empty hoѦ
** ** Halloween and Satan's Clause...
from the decrepit Mediterranean (my dyslexia too,
some words are an arithmetic impasse)
not to say the Ummah is 100 % sure..
0 topple 0 and how A gave birth to B
or E...
how 0 came last
but was born first with the wheel,
the moon... no... the sun....
0 was the last number written down
wheel to 0
wheel to 0 Texan minus...
I II III IV V VI VII VIII IX X
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9
where is the zero?
billions of souls resisting the waves of
death, but relentless..
death like was and earth like life
crumbing morphic, yet sea de-morphic,
neutrality of a loaf of a deity in
the dynamic of space, vacuum...
time... immemory-demented-dyslexia
and self-closure discovered in old age
proof in protein, cannibalistic protein:
self-deletion... for a people
of mediocre morals and lived experiences...
people who invested in short term rewards
supposed extrovert opportunists...
Edie: me to you... depth of a craving
soul, FBI, CGSIE... those sounds of individual
letters comfort me, CGSIE...
I O I O
ю
ya U
Y Δ
branches of a tree, the tongue of a serpent,
twins on a Siamese road,
apart yet together bound- + -less
like nothing with a cushion
a bubble and a tongue twist
and a marrow afternoon of grey and
England is this bearable...
ugly colour disruptor until
summer and cricket in rugby in football
base bull... ****...
oh my gloom in the chaos
of a sea of id with a thinking rattled by thought
and not thinking
and ego an anchor in shrapnel
like vikings and the crows they brought
with their ships because crows
used to be petted like dogs and cats
borrowing from myths...
a cat and dog fight
islam the cat heb-dogs...
not my world... not a world on Kauai...
volcano riffs in drum kit
ODETARI SUX
depeche mode groove... growl, even...
barricades of secular pop, clown bars,
prosecco gluttons
and journalistic amputees of the guillotine...
humanism at the highest...
newspapers like what is a rock
to barricade the tides... of passing...
happening... DASEIN...
newspapers became worse than bibles...
violation of animalistic privacy...
auto-suggestive insomnia
best lost in the mundane labour and the spontaneity
of thinking about thinking
pixy... thinking about thought... pin-point... exit...
exit... samuel beckett...
******* Irish literati.....
funny... i want to be a father more than
i want to be a lover...
but i also want to be a lover...
fatherhood and the crucifix...
but i'm also a son... and that's ample
detail to remain a lover...
i... the birthday massacre - under your spell...
her freezing up in McDonald's more
aware to interacting with a computer
than an actual person...
it's cold... very cold...
the sun dies in winter... a seasaw...
the concrete of underground stations of Warsaw...
the house is a mess by my mother's
constraining standards...
i watched the Whale on my flights
from LAX to LHR...
i loved los angeles... at the airport...
funny... though... on the way to see you...
Seattle was... ha ha... indigenous...
i saw the wolves of the Twilight Saga...
i liked Seattle Airport... so welcoming...
day dream day out fly by...
Los Angeles was... Los Angeles...
i want to touch you like i touched you...
forgot to wander by myself, since now there's also you,
and your daughter and my sexuality
paradigm... paradox... a fatherhood-sexuality...
that's relieved released from the ****** TABOO!
which was once very French...
there's no incestual taboo in me!
thank 14 year old finding out about the Marquis...
sure... well... to be frank...
*******-accusation is a novelty....
what if i were to add that your mother is fuackble to? O
forgot: too... ?
zombie glutton... necrophilia to boot?
but there's no ******...
the fear of me waiting and somehow
outliving the present you and mother
and what? getting it on with Reyla?
what if i was simply conjuring a father-sexuality?
born of *** and not creation
or imagination: christ was imagined...
he wasn't ever born...
lived, experienced... sensed...
muhammad thought he would end
Chinese whispers... story-telling fallacies...
dream-fusions...
which is why i don't dream with images...
i can't allow any cinema in...
why i talk in my sleep...
jeez... Edie... i talk in my sleep!
not my life but the collective unconscious
flashed before my eyes
history
i'm not dead yet
but this is what it feels like having a daughter
feels like... a son would be easy,
that's what i meant by:
if you had a son... i wouldn't be talking to you...
i see my mother in your daughter
i apologised to the plumber
he's not coming today,
don't earn money at Caesar's
earn peanuts under God's roof with family,
i have cats,i don't have children,
but we both share having elders,
elf you
knew...
ᛖᛚᚠ:
elf... Miranda, Myrian, mirage,
malicious, malevolent, sea born
not mountain or quake born
primo madonna... artifact of Samoan Siamese
Conquistador
replenished "conqueror"
better toys, better boys....
like you said... about not being attracted to island boys
and like me treating all girls on the island
like Filipino *****...
started eating chocolate, once bitter,
like onion and coriander,
then sweet.... like the potatoe vine that's a tomato....
knives and fingernails in the same
frying pan
added to the spices toasted... cumin seeds....
fennel... finicky inglorious she... thir- + -teen
mother dearest, what are your concerns?
the clouds becoming foggiest?
i loved her belly funnily filled...
that steak sandwich with her yummy mummy
finger licking... ******..
i know she's asexual... but i've had *** with you...
that's a Chimpanzee crazy...
i tried to have *** in the Pacific...
pacific... pacifier
i forgot you don't have seas...
you have an ocean...
Edie... smooches....
i want to feel like this, open,
as if you're in public, on a train with me
for Agatha Christie to listen in on....
i forgot about writing...
i know i am, still....
but right now, i'm trying to recreate your smile
snapped for detail...
then made dynamic in agitated circumstances:
of circas... the measurement of life...
of approximations,
6ft2 vs 6ft3
6ft2 vs 6ft3
perfect example... relativity...
1h 1sex
= half and approx
a crc: circa... which is a new unit... of...
non-measurement... i'm painting... *******
not Beckett but the butler... holmes....
no Sherlock... Dionysus of watercolour...
the frustrations of lacklustre...
all **** and all that khaki diarrhoea
mustard acid spread
additionally meat-sour spread of
not-aging beef... cowering death chicken typos...
it was fleeting, yet i want the stones
and gravity to return...
i love you Edie, Reyla, Lydia...
i'm sort of... calling out McFardy
and you snooze 3pm.......
McReady... target autistic snub
of a health prof
my McSure theatre of hips
and wild tight ***....