it's, well, it's a bit boring to be part of this sometimes... what with insomnia new york, london, whatever.... i feel not allegiance to give my ***** a sprout of waiting to be, a fully functioning human: nurtured into a fathomable presence, to be later ******-about like a ping-pong... if huamnity had a deserter, a Judas, i'd be him, i feel absolutely no allegiance to this: man = animal, i feel no existential threat, nor bias... i feel no basis to keep an argument, to be honest, the current argument just makes me express sentiments of acquiring the darwinism of dodo... i can't, just stage, a necessary continuum... it's not that i feel lost and want to continue... it's that i am lost, and don't want to! who the hell am i to suggest for implanting me with this ghost of apathy? me?! so i mastu-***** myself into feeling it? colonialism, right? i didn't cut off my *******, right?! i can't be bothered, i am vomitting on darwinistic arguments, because, well, i can't sorta feel them... and given the numbers, i don't really care that i see them... seeing a tapeworm would gratify me more than seeing some loon John Smith take out a load of garbage... as you do. no, not really... what's being described is hardly a prescription, i don't feel it, and i hardly want to live in it and be aged 70... what you said isn't, and never will be: a postcard... i will never want to live in this anglophone ****-pile of faked-hope... it's actually a shame that i live in this language-sphere, i'd be better off in Mongolia scribbling quasi-Mandarin... i literally have no impetus to compete... i must be a half-baked monkey... but you know... you watch enough Renaissance painters, and you watch enough ****... being given the beginning with a monkey's hairy ***... you sorta need to lose the plot, had there ever been one to begin with.*

i mean when the gensis of the senses being dimmed,
and the origin of thought...
   for the senses to reveal a moral cursor,
a moral dimension...
   before the big bang, what came into our world
most debilitating... thinking...
   a case for making choices, and a reality
of moral agency...
           it's beyond the big bang and darwinism
replicating boo boo skeletons equipped with
a middle-class wives...
            it's when our senses became so *******
blunt and ineffective that a "sixth sense"
had to be established, that we countered running
away from a tiger to playing football...
         and running from a tiger
  was nothing... nothing! compared to jogging...
   what's the date of that beginning?
oh right... no date...
the genesis of thought, and the moral agent,
begins with us experiencing less and less
sensually invigorating anti-ego tsunamis...
     given that we were, literally pulverised by
sensual stimuli for such a long time,
   that for such a long time our medium was
sensually based, biased,
  that we heard so much than we wanted to heart,
sore so much more than we wanted to see...
    and had no need for narrative,
or an internalised moral code,
or thought...
                  we are experiencing the exhausting
end, or the banality of thought,
personally: i think the existence of thought
is banal, it gave us god...
         thankfully we are exhausting thought,
thereby succumbing to populace atheism...
thereby returning to sensual gravity...
            pulverised by the 5, rather than a single,
establishing plateau sixth...
         i rather prefer thinking about
the theory concerning: first thought
rather than the big bang...
   ever hear a bang in vacuum?
so what the ****?!
   when we first started thinking, and went against
the brutality of nature...
           and became more brutal than nature...
    i don't believe in heaven, or in hell,
but as an emotionally biased being
i like to think of both...
before i translate either case as a thought
before encouraging: die groß schlaf.
    
origin:              

they make the grave
a fastinating place,
the crowd really does,
the crowd really  makes so much
of an insistence or d'uh or applause.,
      i mean, it really antagonises
the people...
like the time i thought i was: sprechen deutsche...
but wasn't, and it was cool,
because i was kinda Sax and anti Schwab...
and a bit like bot: hope you don't rememeber
the Holocaust..
so i became transgender,
and, also, trans-phobic,
                so said: pronoun neutral!
and yes:
       the grave,
it's a necrophilia i wish i had,
the cold of Februay,
you allow me misery, i allow
yours, you deny mine:
    i'm sorta alive against my wish,
       and i sorta wish i wasn't,
bound to spend 5 - 7 in a restaurant
with you...
  cos you're just cutting up
my blues...
          no, you're cool,
if i was in need of an ice-cube...
      so yeah, you're cool...
  a ******* iceberg of wanting clues....
  chat chat and the crush,
if i make it to the medium of crazy-speak
with you, and i don't **** you,
you're lucky...
            i mean: i wasn't as ****** up
as you wanted me to be...
                 i guess listening
to metallica leaves you ****** up
after a while...
so is there a need to compare?
   i don't think so.
        it just happens after a while,
you sorta hear the whale's groan
and strart to mimick the groan...
   cave and ocean...
           an echo in an ocean...
      vibrations in water,
vibrations signatured into metal...
     apparently it's only as fascinating
as it is, that we dare to ****
  beyond encouraging politics
   and a gravity leading toward social
stratas and concepts of class...
   my... find me a masturbator content
with his hand being a ****...
and i'll find you an oyster! quicker!

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Er will nichts und niemand
bis auf seine liebliche Verlobte.
Er möchte ja nichts mehr
als mit ihr Liebe zu machen.

Sie will nichts und niemand
bis auf ihren vermisste Verlobte.
Sie hat keine Lust je länger zu warten
um wieder so nah zu ihm zu sein.

Die Schöne seines Lebens
ist so weit weg gewesen,
doch als ihre Lippen aufeinander prallen,
jede schlimme Dinge werden weg fallen.

Wann diese jugendliche Lieber
wieder zusammen sind,
nichts wird sie trennen
ausser ihre Haut und Schweiß.

Sie werden ja zusammen schlafen,
doch wird wenig Schlaf bekommen;
sie lieben einander weit zu viel
die letzte Monaten gelitten zu haben  
ohne solchem vollständige Ausgleich.

In memory of
Patric Standford
1939 - 2014

It looks so insubstantial this score,
its opening notes and rhythms
surrounded by a weight of silences,
empty bars where the players rest,
in anticipation, in limbo, rest,
while their colleagues bow and blow
‘in serene cheerfulnesss’,
or so I imagine Hanslick will write
after the premiere. He will say
it is ‘manly but gentle,
animated by good humour
and reflected seriousness’.
What tosh!

And I will say, when I write
to Fritz my publisher,
- and I shall be ironic of course -
‘It is a work of a darker hue,
meditative rather than tragic,
but full of grace and charm.’

Walking the lakeside
at Pörtschach by the Wörthersee
I think all these words and more,
ahead of the notes I shall write here
in my simple room in the Hauptstraße
where today my piano arrived,
to be miraculously tuned
by Herr Grabner’s daughter,
a shy girl, barely sixteen he says
and blind, to my gruff presence
certainly, her small hands,
barely able to stretch the octave,
play at her father’s behest,
my Wiegenlied.

. . .
Schlaf nun selig und süß,

schau im Traum′s Paradies.*

Ah, that this, indeed, might be so.

Warten,
in einem fremden Raum.
Ungewohnte Geräusche.
Unangenehme Gerüche.
Die Anwesenheit einer Fremden im Bett nebenan,
auch wartend,
auch nicht schlafen könnend.
Wie kalter Honig zieht sich die Zeit.
Der Wunsch nach dem Ende der Nacht
begegnet der Angst vor dem Morgengrauen.
Alles sträubt sich.
Die Augen brennen vor Müdigkeit.
Die Matratze zwingt den Muskeln ihre Härte auf.
Was alles sein wird oder sein könnte am morgigen Tag,
taucht auf und ab,
wie ein Ball wogend auf dem Meer.
Der Versuch, alles auszublenden;
die fremde Umgebung,
die fremden Geräusche,
die fremden Gerüche,
die Fremde.
Abtauchen in eine andere Welt;
in meine Welt,
meine Gedanken,
mein Denken.
Müdigkeit übermannt mich.
Schlaf beendet das
Warten.

Leises Wimmern dringt durch den Nebel, der den Schlaf vom Wach sein trennt.
Das Bewusstsein ist träge und braucht eine Weile,
bis es erkennt,
dieses Stöhnen entrang sich dem eigenen Mund
und tut kund
von dem Schmerz dem unsäglichen,
dem unerträglichen.
Ach warum kann ich nicht
verweilen im Land, das jenseits der Dämmerung liegt,
wo es keine Unbill gibt.
Nur Frieden, Freude, Wohlsein und Wonne
auf einem warmen Stein liegend in der Sonne,
an einem Teich mit plätscherndem Wasserfall
und überall
Blumen mit betörendem Duft.
Der Ruf eines Adlers schallt
hoch in der Luft.
Es quakt ein Frosch,
im Gebüsch raschelt ein Tier.
Warum kann ich nicht einfach bleiben, hier
in meiner Oase, wo man nur Gutes empfindet
und alles Schlechte einfach verschwindet.
Und doch tröstet es mich zu wissen,  dass ich ab und an,
zum Ort meiner Träume zurückkehren kann.

Die Straßen ziehen vorbei
Licht an Licht wie fallende Sternschnuppen vorm Fenster.
Bei Tageslicht, Abenddämmerung, Sonnenaufgang
ein neuer Tag.
Bäume, Häuser, Felder,
Wälder

Die Materie meines Landes wiegt mich in die Schläfrigkeit,
geborgen
Das Buch in meiner Hand fällt in meinen Schoß
Immer noch dieselbe Seite,
bin immer noch nicht weiter.
Der Inhalt unverändert unbegreiflich
Mein Atem geht zum Rhythmus der Schienen unter uns.
Wir fliegen zusammen und doch bleibe ich allein.

Augen zu, Augen auf
du hast geblinzelt.
Ankunft, Abfahrt
du hast geblinzelt.
Auf ins Neue, ins Unbekannte
oder doch zurück zu alten Gegenden?
Durch die Entfernung wieder neu erlebt.

Kommst du jetzt wieder zurück?
Hast du genug bekommen,
Antworten gefunden auf die Fragen die du nicht fandest?
Die du nicht zu stellen wagtest?
Die dich trotzdem quälten?

Du warst zu lange fort,
deine Heimat ist noch hier,
aber Hier ist nicht mehr dein Hier,
längst ein anderer Ort.

Du wolltest alles hinter dir lassen,
gingest
trotz der Angst dann zu viel zu verpassen,
Hauptsache weg, weg von hier
dachtest du hättest nicht viel zu verlieren.
Allem entfliehen, Pause, Neuanfang
Ohne genau zu wissen was dieses Alles überhaupt war.

Hast du es nicht ausgehalten letztendlich
so ohne sie, die Anderen?
Im Nichts, im Nirgendwo auf eigenen Wegen zu wandern?
Einsam im Herzen hast du dich wieder verrannt
Im Herzen stumpf, die Seele verbrannt.

Nun kommst du wieder,
zurück,
um zu sehen was  noch übrig ist
Zurück zum Alten, Vertrauten, Selben
Wir sind aber nicht mehr die Selben
Du ja auch nicht.

Alles wieder etwas anders, verschoben
Wieder ein bisschen auseinander gelebt,
voneinander entfernt,
weitergemacht, natürlich, nur halt ohne dich.
Schade eigentlich.

Doch nun schließ die Augen, schlaf
Gestern war auch ein neuer Tag,
verronnen,
Morgen wird noch kommen.
Wer nie ankommt der reist für immer,
umher.

Naja, wenigstens auf Schienen,
und noch nicht entgleist.

where was is that i heard, 20% of people do 50% of the work,
or perhaps i overheard the ratio incorrectly,
20% of people do 80% of the work...
i left the house at 5:30am...
i don't think i slept a wink...
    got to Liverpool St. at around 6:40am... no trains
to Wembley Park... i.e. no Metropolitan Line from
Aldgate...
the Hammersmith & City line opened at around
ten past seven a.m.
  jumped on it to Baker St.
   then a five minute wait for the metropolitan
line... two stops to Wembley Park...
picked up a coffee at McDonald's, black... five
or six sugars... those sachets are never teaspoon
equivalent...
perhaps late by half an hour... but not really...
a massive queue of stewards at the signing-in...
people coming later than me...
waiting for about 3 hours outside the stadium
until we were finally let it and allocated our
positions...
hardly any briefing...
the national anthem was tested about five times...
as was the pyrotechnics...
sweep of the entire north stand of level 5...
checking for all the seats being in a working
condition... then allocated our spots...
no chance in hell was i going to stick to the plan...
someone approached me gagging for a smoke,
no can do, cameras everywhere,
took my hand, i told him: i'm a smoker too...
i haven't been smoking since 8am...
just imagine what that cigarette will feel like
when you get out... stay strong...
a co-worker was babbling to some customers
about the events at the Euros
when the stadium was stormed by hooligans
without tickets... he remembered that
he was instructed not to speak about it...
for an hour or two i was reassuring him
that he wouldn't get into trouble,
paranoid... the people he was talking to
had their telephone out...
he was on the frontline of the stampede:
he thought he was going to be dox(x)ed...
but you're a wearing a face-mask, aren't you?
and your voice never sounds the same in real
life as it might sound on a recording, no?
don't worry...
telling people in the glass room on level 5
to finish their drinks... kick off in 10 minutes...
two hands extended: ten digits showing...
thank you mate... blah blah...
at half time: 5 minutes to kick off...
one hand extended five digits showing... more thank you mate...
the incident with a first aid...
a man and his two daughter...
i should have asked for his ticket, just in case...
i will next time...
one first aid room closed,
we walked to a second first aid room: also closed...
i left the three in the company of fellow stewards:
keep them entertained, talking...
only a bruised knee, or a cut knee...
his, or one of his girls? i couldn't remember,
talked to a supervisor, both the first aid rooms
are closed, where are the first aiders?
message to control room, hawk-eye on...
they should be at base 503... went to base 503...
they're not there... they apparently were located
in one of the first aid rooms: now open...
escorted them to the man and his two daughters...
but obviously half time was over
and they ****** off to sit down...
clearly the incident wasn't so important...
but i persisted...
walked up and down each base up the stairs
scanning the crowd, hoping to find them...
almost reaching an epileptic fit from scanning
so many faces... until another supervisor approached
me: what are you doing?
looking for them... they might have gone to a lower level,
should i stop? yeah...
then this guy who wanted to go from level 5 to
level 1... but his ticket read: you're supposed
to be on level 5... he tried to wriggle his way out...
but my younger brother is there,
and i have food for him...
the supervisor asked: but your under 18 companion
is in company of an 18+ minder?
if everyone wanted to go down to the lower
levels for a better view...
it wouldn't be fair...
then not-minded children running across the aisles
at the top of the stadium...
one fellow steward asked me to intervene,
a mother herself... happened three or four times...
first two times a supervisor just passively walked around
the "incident" without music influence...
by the time i got there one of the kids was
falling on the chairs... thankfully i scribbled to them
a sentence with a hand facing down:
moving my index and middle fingers slowly
with an imitation of: walk... don't run...
go back to your parents... lucky mummy also picked
up the scent of danger...
problem sorted...
then this solitary kid high up in the stands...
what team do you support, you're enjoying yourself,
you're up here alone? where are you parents /
who are you with? grandfather, father and sister?
you're up here to get a better view...
all the while kneeling beside him...
oh, cool, just remember to return to them
before the end of the match...
at the end of the match he was still up there all alone...
sort of mumbling to himself...
or just excited as any child might be
when sitting on the highest reaches of the Wembley
crater...
i escorted him to his grandfather before the final
whistle... problem sorted in advance:
it might have been a missing child... when the crowds
started to disperse...
then this escalation steward came to one of the bases:
one steward at the door... the other
at the bottom of the rows... at the end of the stairs
for level 5...
so people don't unhinge themselves and sway into
the barrier and possibly fall off...
he noticed one missing to the left...
i walked down to the one where i was at
and looked to the right...
how many missing in your position...
thumb, index, ******* posited with question,
three missing? he affirmed...
and i was off... a fellow steward: no supervisor,
imploring one of each of the three pairs to break up,
one to stand at the door the other to go down
to the bottom of the stairs...
they complied...
the women's Chelsea team beat the women's Arsenal
team 3 nil... Chelsea had only managed to win the FA
cup twice prior to today's win...
the Arsenal team have won it 15 times...
today's stadium capacity reached circa 42K...
not bad for a female football match... i reckon...
the clientele... a mixed bunch...
you'd think there would be more women...
n'ah... hmm... most certainly more children than per usual
football match... children are most certainly gender neutral...
well... gender "neutral"... whatever the hell that means...
it probably means:
i was a boy once too... i'd play video games,
but i'd also play with dolls with girls...
we'd congregate with girls playing hide-and-seek...
tic-tac-toe... no ******* way...
no boys there... or jumping over skipping ropes...
no chance... climbing trees? sure...
such a different clientele to what's expected
to a Fulham match...
£4.80 for a steak & ale pie... burgers at £6.00 not worth
the money... you can never get a bad pie
at a football match...

in summary... i think i was built for this role...
over £10 an hour... but it's not about the money...
i don't want money...
i have an apprehension of money...
firstly: i don't really know what i'd spend it on
if i had too much of it, if there was enough for rent,
for food... i just don't like spending money...
i like drinking whiskey...
i prefer cooking my own food than imploring
others to cook it for me...
i feel silly in a restaurant... almost like a mannequin
with a grimace, or for that matter movement...
all those restaurants in central London...
glass panes... oh look... the mannequins are eating...
window shopping escalated...
they're also advertising clothing!
cooking for yourself though... it reminds me of...
those days in the organic chemistry laboratories
of the Joseph Black building up in Edinburgh...
air filled with whiffs of sulphur and ethanol...
and machinery...

i fear money, as much as i fear god...
what's the point of loving either Mammon or Ha-Shem
when you become ignorant to both,
who might, suddenly... on a whim... change their mind
regarding your fate?
plus... extra money: while you might not be spending it...
someone might latch up onto you and leech your wallet...
why would anyone ever want that?
that's why i don't want to earn beyond
my capacity...
let savings be like a trickle...
in that fabled torture of Loki... Loki's punishment...
with the serpent's venom dripping onto his head
drop by drop... "riddling" a hole in his skull...
but this life is all a credit... best work around the medium
of debit...
i don't remember the last time i worked with
credit... spend less than you earn...
simple, no? never "fake it, until you make it"...
if it has to be summarised as... well... stretching it:
it's not an ascetic reason...
it's a Spartan reason: there are no religious reasons...
there are only... self-imposed reasons...
come to think of it...
once the ascetic reasons are established...
aesthetic reasons come on their own...
it's beautifully! ha ha! simple!

it becomes... luckily one of the supervisors dropped
me off at Newbury Park with two fellow
co-workers... he was heading up to Basildon...
put the heating up... one co-worker was nodding in
approval to the met sleep...
me? i took a power-nap after having some food back home,
from 8:30pm to 9:30pm, before writing my father's invoice,
making him lunch & taking out the garbage...

but he kept on switching the music
and texting while driving...
what?! what is this, short-attention span when it comes to music?

alll i herd was rap, some drum & bass,
something equivalent to pendulum,
before the song was half-way through,
he would change it... start working early in life...
low attention span, how many thought were pulverising
his head when he took it upon himself
a self-assertiveness of an "alpha-male":
sure... Dan is about 2 inches taller than me,
fatty boy, walks about like a falling oak...
has 4 children... yet.. his mind was distracted
by my silence...

i could have said: listen, mate, i'm knackered...
it might be probable that i only dreamt up
sleeping these three hours...
treating women like second class citizenry:
but.... THE WOMEN LOVE IT...
the grumpy male...
they love it!
i'm not your uber driver etc.
well, i'm not having any of it... i just focused
on his restless mind...
if i were driving the car...
you'd be listening to

die eisenfaust am lanzenschaft...
through & through...

die aeisenfaust am lanzenschft
die zügel in der linken,
so sprengt des reiches ritterschaft
und ihre schwerter blinken

hey-ah hey-ah.... hey-ah! hey-ah!
und ihre schwerter blinken.
hey-ah hey-ah.... hey-ah! hey-ah!
und ihre schwerter blinken.

das balkenkreuz, das schwarze fleigt
voran auf weißen grunde,
verloren zwar doch umbesiegt
so klingt uns seine kunde,

hey-ah hey-ah.... hey-ah! hey-ah!
so klingt uns seine kunde.
hey-ah hey-ah.... hey-ah! hey-ah!
so klingt uns seine kunde.

at worst, you'd have me playing Prokofiev's
schlacht auf das eis...
(battle on the ice, some Nevsky)...
if only the Polacks wrote a musical score
for... schlacht bei Tannenberg...
sadly... only  painting...

that's history... what a scatter brain...
we rode all the way from Wembley toward
the straight A12 towards Essex Basildon...
i don't think i heard a whole song in full...
playing the role of "alpha male" leaves most men
scatter brained...
he already has the physical superiority,
but his mind is a mollusk...

my fellow coworker tried to establish something,
i already disclosed to her that i studied
chemistry, that i write... ahem... poo-etry...
my name, my ******* name...
i break it down to her:

M'ah-T'eh...   ΩŠ...
the it's written as mateusz...
but the slavic S+Z is equivalent to the English S+H...
which is equivalent to hiding either Z or H
within the S as a caron: Š...
ma-te (again, hide the H's of the vowel catcher
tetragrammaton)...
the upsilon is prolonged, therefore becomes
a doubled omicron, like in pOOl...
ergo... an omega... omega being sort of a "double-u"...
W... V... a double V... when is softened from vent...
wet is the softened version of vet...

it's not a double "U"... is it... that's an omega...
it's a double V... that W = 2xV, no?

come to think of it, telepathy?
if you read enough Julian Jaynes, about the phenomenon
of the bicemeral mind...
prior to to the event: as if the 8 winds spoke one
word simultaneously, was someone calling me?
i heard the word: MA-TE-USZ...
as clearly as i felt the cold,
heard the rain, saw the sun...

if my name could be elevated....
from merely: geschenk von gott
to: das licht von zorn...
   (gift of god that becomes:
the light of wrath)...
i'd hear about it, prior to seeing anything...
that the day begun with a hallucination,
and ended with someone asking
me for the syllables corrected...

clearly this is a job for me, i'm very fond on
ensuring crowds are safe, secured, serviced...
i like this simple mantra:
keep them contained within a crowd status....
keep them herderded...
i might wish for sheep, people is the closest i'll ever come
to being someone herding sheep not uprooted
from his roots in Iran, being turned into
an Just-Eat driver on a ******* moped...

i'm loving these little snippets of authority,
it can't allow me to turn into a megalomaniac,
i feel... a genuine concern for people,
esp. children....
i don't need my own... the children of strangers are
plenty...

but it's so bewildering, a guy pretends to be this alpha...
rude to females... mein gott: how women love
being slapped metaphorically!
mein hertz, ist nicht im des recht platz...
singen freude! singen frei!
lassen alles einfach: singen!

i lapse into etymological English, i.e. German
whenever something is... odd... curious...
a hmm proposition...

plenty... jetzt kommt, der große: schlaf(en).