You need time,
but if I even say "you" it feels like "me".

I've seen the same course before.
We love
Then "you" move away.
Then you progress.
The rest of your future
I don't want to mention
because it will jinx my heart.
However, you kissed and held me
even after I thought we fell apart.

You're smart.
Not just in responsibility like I viewed my ex-wife
or scholastics like another.
You're smart emotionally.
You said, "I don't hold grudges".
You said, "I still care".
You're so smart I can't behold your whole heart.

Ah, now I see
you're like a forbidden love Madeline.
Pleasant in the realm of being you walk
but I can only assemble words of vanity
when you are gone on a walk.

Independence you are.
Lady liberty.

Why do I want someone who's needy?

COUNTING
(  tusent selen siczen in dem himelrich uff einer nadel spicz * )

no don't ask me
how many
let's just say...a lot

angels dancing on
a pin or on a needle's point
doing their angel thing

now swing
now the Charleston
now a Black Bottom

"Oi! Angels! No!
Keep it quiet
for Heaven's sake

but would they
listen  - oh no
*******

making it impossible
for me to try to thread
this &@%/ needle

oh God now
they're dancing
the Can-Can...again

"Dónall son. . ."
me poor auld Mam pleads
"...that needle threaded yet?"

"I'm working on it Mam
I'm working on it!"
the angels snigger at my efforts

"Ok..let's begin then
that's one. . .
. . .a million and one!"

me Man snatches
the needle from me
"Oh give it here son!"

she licks the end
of the bright red
thread

passes it through
the eye of
the needle

a million and two
angels fall from its point
answering this needless question

**

James Franklin has raised the scholarly issue, and mentions that there is a 17th-century reference in William Chillingworth's Religion of Protestants (1637), where he accuses unnamed scholastics of debating "whether a Million of Angels may not fit upon a Needle's point?"This is earlier than a reference in the 1678 The True Intellectual System Of The Universe by Ralph Cudworth.

Helen S. Lang, author of Aristotle's Physics and its Medieval Varieties (1992), says

The question of how many angels can dance on the point of a needle, or the head of a pin, is often attributed to 'late medieval writers'.... In point of fact, the question has never been found in this form….

Peter Harrison (2016) has suggested that the first reference to angels dancing on a needle's point occurs in an expository work by the English divine, William Sclater (1575–1626) in his An exposition with notes upon the first Epistle to the Thessalonians (1619),

Sclater claimed that scholastic philosophers occupied themselves with such pointless questions as whether angels "did occupie a place; and so, whether many might be in one place at one time; and how many might sit on a Needles point; and six hundred such like needlesse points."

Harrison proposes that the reason an English writer first introduced the "needle’s point" into a critique of medieval angelology is that it makes for a pun on "needless point".

A letter written to The Times in 1975 identified a close parallel in a 14th-century mystical text, the Swester Katrei.

However, the reference is to souls sitting on a needle:

tusent selen siczen in dem himelrich uff einer nadel spicz *
— "in heaven a thousand souls can sit on the point of a needle."

too many ******* pyramids
                         of metaphysical construct,
and not enough sand dunes...
sorry, no...
      ***** don't pay for
the desert dunes...

              one beer,
two shots of whiskey...
          up in the air,
marsian ambitions...
        not with fossil fuels
you're not;
          come back to earth,
come back,
          see, anything,
resembling ukraine,
       when the soviet union
dissolved?
     no?
      being treated like ****,
how about,
i'll just steal your stomach
and your royalty
stature of swans?
and make a stew...
**** me...
          can you imagine
a stew of offal,
comprised of chicken
stomachs and hearts?
                
what man finds hardest the most,
is coming to terms with impasse limitations,
water, labour,
      skint labour, labour,
i'll work,
but then again:
i won't work,
   if i'm subjected to the current
market "expectations"...

i hold two pound coins
in one hand,
i hold two pebbles in the other,
i drop the four into a a fountain,
wishes, wishes to all:
"good luck"...

                rupert murdoch held
the transvaluation
of all values in one hand,
diogenes held reality in the other...
same weight...
              
why did i fathom the hand that
held the two stones,
rather than the hand that held,
the two pound coins?

i don't, want, to, know.

     the reverberation of chernobyll
were pronounced in parts
of poland, when i was still
a foetus..
   when, scandinavian
scholastics broke the news...

               in the local park...
a streak of trees look autumnal,
a streak of trees looked summery...
back in 1986 in late spring...
while i was still a foetus...

funny...
  were the polacks paid reparations
for the **** invasion,
the soviet invasion,
the soviet overlord from1945 through
to 1990... for chernobyll 1986?
no... not really...
          
were the jews paid reparations
for the holocaust?!
well, d'uh!

         my teeth are still itching
for an offal stew...
    i want to eat,
the internal organs of chickens,
and pigs...
there's nothing quiet like
eating pork liver...

          pork liver vs. chicken hearts...
that's my everest.
             or raw herring...
in a clement,
    of a lactose infused sause;

it just...
               splits the tongue,
begins watering it,
and increases all the chances
of ascribing eager,
to bind itself to chew.

My strength
Is that I am
Fundamentally
Unscientific
Not subject to the
Dissection
Of consequence
Or category
And not at the
Mercy
Of the scholastics
And nihilists
Who spend their days
Trying to reprove
That the whole is equal
To the aggregation
Of its parts

(Villanova Pennsylvania: May, 2019)

I want you to know I have wanted to write a book since
I was 5 years old. Since I would send short stories to
Children’s magazines I would find on the back cover
of a scholastics, just hoping they might pick me.
They never did, but I kept trying until I grew old
enough to become self conscious about what I have to say.
Is it important? I still wonder that now, and often I find the
answer is no, it is not. To anyone but me anyway.
But I’m a bit of a narcissist. I know this because I have been
in the darkest depths of depression. Like at the bottom of
the ocean, hiding under a rock like a scared crab. Paralyzed with
fear, ready to stay there forever. But yet, I don’t want to die
because without me the world wouldn’t exist, and for
some reason naive hope dwells within me still.
So maybe what I have to say is important. To me.
And to you too. Guess we’ll never know until I write
that book.