i've said this once before, and i'll say it again: i don't buy into dreams, i find them a bit ******, b-movie versions of reality, but sometimes, just sometimes, just before i tap the snooze honey and talk myself into: wake up early, wake up early, wake up early, tomorrow it's going to be california sunny (which it now is), i get a dream, and not some *******-riddling dream, a dream where i am lying next to a staircase and reciting poetry - there was a yesterday? - and i can clearly remember one line from the poem:

  the best verse i ever composed,
  was the verse i spoke -
     and never bothered to write down -
the poetry that belongs solely to ανέμοί -
the deity of the winds,
and of souls -
     of those who reside a tier above
hades, in his ***** - anemoi -
   and yes, diacritical entry points
for the english reside with i and j -
as is worth noting:
   there's a buddhist maxim of concern
with respect to the modern greeks
(let me keep you up to date) -
that famed mirror of *beryl -
   stop polishing the ****** mirror,
you will not see much clearer,
stop polishing that ****** mirror,
wash your face instead, slap it even,
punch it till you bruise your knuckles -
by polishing that mirror too much,
you'll end up as the madman
xerxes of persia, demanding the sea
an allegiance and sub. obedience by
whipping it! we're not talking culinary
inventions of whipping cream,
or heating milk for a cappuccino froth!
if the english are going to be this *******
lazy with their abstinence of applying
diacritical indicators to ease the pain
of dyslexics with pseudo-chinese
  clarifying syllables - why should you?
you? the greeks, why spoil the beauty
of the already ready alpha-beta -
    you're perfecting something that's already
perfect -
        look at the trojan eve - look toward
the roman adam -
stark ****** naked; the greeks seem
to be donning five pairs of socks,
two pairs of trousers, six shirts, seven
pairs of underwear, gloves, and a burqa
to top it all off!
**** it, let's do what the english have
done: return to nature, embracing naturalism,
nudism, whatever the hell you want
to call this nightmare.

as any book review inquires -
  a book there is, how language began,
by a fella who learned some amazonian
language, a daniel everett -
who claims counter-claims vs. chomsky
and pinker -
  who says - citation, please!
he maintains that mental disorders do
not support the notion of a language *****,
for (he argues) there are no language-specific
disorders...
  
          yup... apart from dyslexia,
i guess that means: you can't count from 0
to 100, or give me a 3 x 4 answer,
nothing language specific about that.

ah blimmin' heck, i can't believe that i turn
into this jeckyll ******* when i had two
sharpshooters -
    well... **** happens.

then comes a video including douglas murray,
sometimes you need a pompous english
*** to speak a little -
   jaw-dropping moments of perfected
sophistry -
         which the english are only capable
of, which they invoked by inventing
the american / australian accents -
covert mechanisms -
   don't invite diacritical distinctions
(which, by the way, pivot on the chinese
having not letters, but syllables -
hence the mongols in crimea,
   hence the mongols tickling cracow,
as the myth of the trumpeter goes
in the hejnał mariacki - heynow -
   st. mary's trumpet call) -
shim shiminy shiminy shim shoom
         ask for favours of off a broom...
   tipsy turvy -
        and what do you call a sikh on a construction
site? sinjit you 'av a brick on yir turban;
never feels right, him with a turban,
me with a hardhat, i'm guessing he's
praying that if a brick falls,
     it will bounce right off the cushion.

there was something else...
ah! the other type of intellectual, the quirky one,
i.e. david graeter talking about
money, and how adam smith was wrong
in speculation, and how you don't
find the most primitive societies engaging
in 1 x cow = 40 x chicken...
    i still don't understand why there is
haggling in marrakech bazaars -
    or how 1 x cow ≠ 40 x chicken
  but 40 x chicken + a wife for my son...
intellectual pomp vs. intellectual quirk -
can't decide -
         and money is a fascinating concept,
nietzsche was nearing the prospect,
but the much anticipated "transvaluation
of all values": well... to be honest?
   that's just a one word book: money...
but here comes the biblical fiasco -
          oculus namque oculus -
  auge für ein auge -
        simply, eye for an eye -
which bewilders me, given usury -
     interest rates, the supposed "pricelessness"
of certain artworks...
        it's way past jurisprudence -
    that meaning has morphed into
a banality, nay, an abomination of economic
ethics...
          the phrase no longer applies so much
to a jurisprudence regard of affairs -
   the term has become more and more
economical.

The reaper's eyes were on her,
Yet she never bowed.
The reaper's ax chose her,
Yet she never soughed.

Death was finally in love,
With the girl he could never cow,
For she was something he could never have,
A girl with a skin too firm to swallow.

Why couldn't he touch the girl,.
The girl whose tears never fell,
The girl whose eyes are pearl,
The girl whose voice is a shim of bell?

Her secret wasn't a mystery,
She was too pure to be touched by maleficence.
The reaper desired her for her rarity,
But his hands burned at the touch of virtuousness.

Death chased her everyday,
In the hopes of taking her soul,
But  her soul was too far away,
Far away for him to hold.

The young maiden didn't even notice
The harvester at her tail.
She was too involved in lightness
For her to witness his veil.

The reaper's ax was rotting,
It was yearning blood,
Though who he was lusting,
Was nothing but an illusion set by god.

The girl was a mirage,
God's own penalty,
Towards the slayer,
That gave birth to misery.

I wonder what song
was playing in your head
when you suddenly realized
that you were dead.
Shim-sham', shakin' your way
right back into the universe.
And I’m trying, just trying
to follow your breadcrumbs.

you've never experienced hell,
if you haven't sat through it,
unless standing,
        muddied foot,
            soaking rifle,
              all because some serb
shot, the franz, the ferdinand,
the kneeling austro-hungarian
alliance...
                tod hat ein atem...
           name me the three
witches of Hamlet...
                  i can name you one
i can name one for you...
                   horpyna...
                a dog barks,
a son falls to his death in
a bike accident...
                  one now prays
for a worthwhile attendence
to encompass mourners...
                  circling,
            *****-pyna..
           or -pýna(h)
                          otherwise...
are we all actually
                              literate?
         are you sure?
i'm not so sure...
                   but i find the ones
who are not so literate
to be soft cuddly avatars of
   panda...
                    dried out U
in the centaur vision of bow,
and arrow: V...
                    death doesn't hunt,
death, stalks...
          tod tut nicht jagd,
                    tod stengel...
            otherwise known as:
                             schnüffelngriff...
mein schnout...
                      brigadier hooond over 'ere
made a perfect
                      Peckham accent...
      hiding the H
    really allowed the yew...
to sprout...
               tender living beast,
what will you do without
this ukrainian witch
           believed to be a 6ft man?
               point being...
how do you actually hollow out
the Y in hush on a leash,
                          beginning with eng-?
surf the big or little dipper
sort of phrase...
                             how?!
not once did, hail zeus!
         mention this tetragrammaton
construct!
                   je sui(s),
                            hail zeus!
and the son of?
                    thitch quang duke?
you know, that burning monk...
           no point mentioning
anyone post-script
               malcolm browne...
now...
     smoking pieces of salmon flesh
is fine by me,
        but doing
the same to, whiskey?!
                shim-shimeney
shim-shim: **** surreal...
                        mary *******
poppins dropped in on this antic
and, herself asked,
       stop this ****** perfume
crafting;
              well, that really wasn't
a question,
      but neither was 1950s
experiment with cinematic
    application
of technicolour,
      notably: ooh...
           glocke, buch und kerze
      (bell, book and candle)
       nineteen... fifty... eight...
    or as otherwise stated:
           god, hates, the lords, of salem...
   never spent an hour
with a bulgarian ******* then,
i gather?
                then you probably don't
know,
               what the madonna-*****
complex is...
             point being:
     i know what a flacid,
           compared to an ***** phallus is.

RECORD: PARANOID ANDROID
FROGMAN: RADIO HEAD

BEGIN INNERMISSION 1

Frogman of enormous Brisingierdth
(on my mind sHe holds OUR hearth):

Try to imagine minds without throughtkeeping.

you probably can't.
you think you know the intro,
the conclusion,
the thought of the body and mind.

yet all inside you,
throughtkeeping is instinct.

Brads are not late.
a Janet does not check her selfse.
machines do wrinkle rememberances.

WhoMans alone measure throught.
WhoMans alone chime panic.
And because of this.
WhoMans alone suffer a paralyzing Miracle that no other creature can cure.

The Miracle
of throught running out...

END TRANSMISSION 1

Riff Raff: Hello.

Brad: Hi!
           My name is Brad Major Threes, and this is my fiancée, Janet Twice One.
          I wonder if you'd mind helping us.
          You see, our brain broke down a few moments up the road.
          Do you have an ear we might fill?

Riff Raff: You're wet.

Janet: Yes, it's crainving.

Brad: Yes.

Riff Raff: Yes!... I think perhaps you better both com-e inside.

Tic .

Tic .

Tic .

DING!

Janet: You're too kind.
           Oh, Brad, I'm frightened.
           What kind of future is this?

Brad: Oh,
          it's probably some kinda way-outta heare for real wyrdos.

Janet: Oh.

Riff Raff: This way-out.

Janet: Are you forgetting The Parties?

Riff Raff: You've arrived on a rather special wrighte.
                  It's one of the Chaster's afflairs.

Janet: Oh,
           plucky shim.

Magenta: You're plucky,
                  he's plucky,
                  I'm plucky,
                  we're all plucked-ees! Ha haa haaa!!!

STOP: TURN THOUGHT

.
Under fish scale skies—breaks the sun,
In myriad eyes, beamed longing across
Stupendous arcs in highest procession,
As we make our way in glittering dream.

Under quilted clouds, in rains we swim,
Wrapped in fibers and whim, a webbing
Embrace and steeples of mind to shim,
As we enter the waters from a shooting.

As child we ask, 'do we return to whence
We came, or do we end, after days, time,
Thru sorrows and bliss and sleep but lent,
Balm for us to bear loss of spent dream'?

Under winking stars and full faced moon,
We sing our songs writing a story loosed
And pray our hands, to a feather will turn,
As we make our way thru glittering dream.

Over the passage of time
Things got slowly better.
I began to hold my head up;
Rejected that lavendar letter;
The big “F I had to wear.
It originally meant ‘fairy’.
Later it meant ******, but
They still called me ‘Mary”.

They called me ‘“******”
And hurtful words like “shim”
When they referred to me;
They said “her” and not “him”.
It was so widespread that
The jokes were ever-present.
Life for a guy like I was then
Was seldom rewarding or pleasant.

There was no place back then
For those who were different.
The kindest word for the media
Could only be 'diffident'.
The world could only see us
As clowns and comic relief
But socially we rated somewhere
Below baby ****** and a thief.

So. we started marching
And coming out to our friends.
Later we would come out at work
But the discrimination did not end.
I was told not to put the picture
Of my lover on my office desk.
And I had to agree or else I would
Put my meager salary at risk.

When lovers were sick in hospital
We were not allowed to decide
How they would be treated at all
Our access to them was denied.
Family members, even haters
Were allowed to make the choices
And we were brushed to one side
As if they couldn't hear our voices.

Meanwhile co-workers ranted
If we used words like “my husband”.
We were treated the same as if
We were some ditzy cousin
They kept in the attic or a home
For the terminally strange and sick.
No matter when we stood up
We got the ***** end of the stick.

Today things are a bit better,
But, we have seen the pendulum swing.
Strange fake Christians get control
And reason stops meaning anything.
Jesus, who preached love and peace
Is used as a seemingly holy excuse
And, still today, many decent people
Never see through this awful ruse.

We'll begin with a box, the plural is boxes.
But the plural of ox is oxen, not oxes!
One fowl is a goose, and two are called geese,
Yet the plural of moose is never called meese.

You may find a lone mouse, or a house full of mice-
But the plural of house is houses, not hice!
The plural of man is always men,
But the plural of pan is never pen-

If I speak of a foot and you show me two feet,
And I give you a book, would a pair be a beek?
If one is a tooth and a whole set are teeth,
Why shouldn't two booths be called beeth?

If the singular's this and the plural is these-
Should the plural of kiss be ever called keese?

We speak of a brother and also of brethren-
But though we say mother, we never say methren;
Then the masculine pronouns are he, his, and him-
Now imagine the feminine- She- Shis and-Shim>

~ Anonymous.

Under fish scale skies—breaks the sun,
In myriad eyes, beamed longing across
Stupendous arcs in highest procession,
As we make our way in glittering dream.

Under quilted clouds, in rains we swim,
Wrapped in fibers and whim, a webbing
Embrace and steeples of mind to shim,
As we enter the waters from a shooting.

As child we ask, 'do we return to whence
We came, or do we end, after days, time,
Thru sorrows and bliss and sleep but lent,
Balm for us to bear loss of spent dream'?

Under winking stars and full faced moon,
We sing our songs writing a story loosed
And pray our hands, to a feather will turn,
As we make our way thru glittering dream.

.
Under fish scale skies—breaks the sun,
In myriad eyes, beamed longing across
Stupendous arcs in highest procession,
As we make our way in glittering dream.

Under quilted clouds, in rains we swim,
Wrapped in fibers and whim, a webbing
Embrace and steeples of mind to shim,
As we enter the waters from a shooting.

As child we ask, 'do we return to whence
We came, or do we end, after days, time,
Thru sorrows and bliss and sleep but lent,
Balm for us to bear loss of spent dream'?

Under winking stars and full faced moon,
We sing our songs writing a story loosed
And pray our hands, to a feather will turn,
As we make our way thru glittering dream.
.

Night owl:
The strigiforme emerges
Clouded in crimson
Feathered vision
Cloaked in night
The young man's heart races
He forgot to pay his fines
"It's okay" he emits
"It just slipped my mind"
The owl circles above
"Just give me some time"
The owl bellows
"I need it, young fellow"
As he patrols on time
Vicarious visions probe the man's mind
A frightening mood
He's enveloped in black
Festering forms drenched in worms
Peck at his eyes
Visceral, visceral
"Forget me not" uttered in shrill
And the man's neck snaps
With the blood his soul leaks into the void
A technicolor swirl soon gives way to paranoia
He breathes, yet his lungs no longer move
"Give way to my will" beckons the owl
His tongue is familiar, like a lost language once spoken in times past,
But hieroglyphic all the same
And the man sinks and is stretched

"Hrim shim fertulos visigvus, hgrstatious involsxedo prliii"

Given the choice between known and unknown, the man goes with comfort
A cylindrical chasm to a familial realm
A world stained orange
A certain memory
Mother, father,
A fair night in October
His cigarette gleams
Serenely vestigial
Often times the words I know I know
As if implanted in my mind
Usually uttered on the spot
Sometimes jargon
Sometimes evident of an owl

/ kant famously didn't marry (and that's prior to attacking modern globalißation).

why is it that i find it so, comfortable,
listening to horror movie
soundtracks while falling asleep?

                                  ah!

     you won't find either the ukranian
or the bulgarian prostitutes
that (a) i was good,
                    and (b) i was nice...

sorry, middld-earth utopia of
the: within confines of
    of a sub-urban home...
                       high-rise in such
places like richmond,
and elsewhere in the vicinity
to compensate utilißing
richmond as "the" bad example...

ah, once more!

    "apparently" i was giving a free-b
when it comes to conservative values...
although: i was lied to...

apparently her, daddy,
   did sell out the idea,
  and projected keeping it...
as if he didn't sell it off,
and she was just a miser
Hackney chimney-cleaner!
shim-shim-shee-m'eh-k'nee...

p'ooh b'wear woman!
                        p'ooh p'ooh oh oh!
give me your little **** scouts!
before they start slitting their
wrists on a whim, to just pretend,
before they start applying
the razors...
     i'll tell them...
   heat up a pair of scissors with
a cigarette lighter...
    and then sear! implement the heated
object: onto the softest skin
accomplished to be composed of
the definition of an arm....
   then come back to me with
your razors' manure weeping
sound: such that i might cut...
                           into your: tongue!

like, really like watch the little
mouth-off retards marching
on youtube...
                    it's almost like a fetish
for seeing, them....
                      
                            ploop

                           (oh look,
                                'ere's a puddle)

they're trying to be second-hand bums?!
seriously?!
but they are second-hand bums!
they are bums!

           apparently begging isn't allowed
in public...
   but apparently it is,
   if you, make, certain "improvements"
of the naked and starving:
can you at least feed my dog
placards...

                WHIBERTY!

and if someone from Bristol says
that, you'd quicken "wit" on wanting
to punch them in the face
and line up for a law-suite.

  ching-chang-w'ah'lah...

  the ****'s a ******* doing
in the result of fist (stone),
    K O.K. churchill's index & middle (scissors)
an open hand (paper)?!
        
   i guess it means: the ******* begin with?
probably means: guillotine...
    am i supposed to do a middle-class
hoorah chant when oxford competes
with cambridge over who can roll
100 habana cigars quicker, in a team
consisting of two?!

next, serious question:
    want to me to **** you off or something?

- I'M NOT, LAUGHING!

    - but then again i am...
          
what laughable excuses to
                     execute constraints.

erm... *******? is that the appropriate
expression?
    i've seen modern people in bookshops:
they turned them into
******* coffee shops!

          who reads, lives:
who doesn't?
                 dies...
              counter the "passing of the genes"
argument,
that... "everyone gets a prize when involved"
******* argument
of "being", involved...
i have bad chernobyll genes...

                       if i really wanted to pass
that **** on, i'd pass on the bubonic plague...
or a mental virus-spawn
to make replica of: the jacob of whitechapel...

and i'm supposed
to be the "bonkers" type...
                        fair enough, christian, english,
western society, chemically castrate me,
as you already have, brain downward...
oh... look...
    
      'ere we go 'ere we go...

   poetic as ****... do you trust this, cupbearer?
sure as **** you trusted christ;
   as i'd like to trust youtube
not obliterating
slayer's mandatory suicide,
                      for reasons plain to all...

come on! hanneman died not so long ago!
and he wrote most of the song...
is this some sort of vengænce from the grave?

it's not like i'm dyslexic,
i just don't know what the fashion is sometimes,
sometimes an A, sometimes an E...
**** it... apply the latin grapheme...
   might as well...
   i'm already invigorating english with
the german es-zet (ß)... oh right...
             es-zee: sorry for *******
up attesting: courteous formality...

but sure as ****, i spelled better if not
akin to the king-in-waiting.

You are overcast today...

I am sorry for all the raging seas which spew their steam at you...
They boil under their own dry heat.
I am sorry for all the rivers whose lazy mouths run carelessly...
To wispy droplets you must attend,

You, who give life even to lifeblood,
Who give inspiration to every poet and warrior, and even fire,
Who give expiration to mortals, metals, and mountains.
How can I respect you any more than I already do?

If you need to, please, cry.

See! Even your tears are sweet!
Their taste fills my mouth and my heart.
Their scent brings me comfort,
Your rich life has permeated even the dust!

If you are full of tears, cry, and you give life.
If you are full of joy, shine, and you give life.
If you are full of words, breathe, and you give life...
Warm or cold, you are a beauty to behold.

If you are tired, take rest, that I see you in the silent night.
I want to see your stars, your thoughts, however dim or bright.
I want to see your blackness too, your faults, laid bare to sight.
I want to see your humbling depth, how much your heart loves right.

At last Queen don your shim'ring crown,
With stardust ever falling down,
The crescent moon upon your hair,
Though cratered... You're unrivaled fair.

and when you hear: watcha 'tinking? your reply? mostly concerning a ****, & a fudge factory, & a few brownies, topped with some custard goo, what's that to you?, you skivvy missus?

yes, we alcoholics sometimes get the jerks,
what the junkies call the nods,
notably via unconscious irritation
when solving sudoku puzzles -
you know, those japanese blindspots,
waiting for a wet ***** entry re-entry into
the garden of eden -
and without diacritic indicators
you will state *shania -
                     i have lactose in my brain,
and the killer proteins are coming...
         alzheimer's:
     proteins       eating          fat;
i swear i swear i swear i was ready
with the dutch cheese sponge!
       holes? oh, nibbled through,
the blue cheese mouse trap didn't work...
oops...
           put the mice off,
as it would put off any known living thing...
**** making ice-cream with it to boogie
on the palette.
   a bit like mikey mouse replacing ol'
jack, in the box...
        hardly the ****** surprise;
what did you expect in the mousetrap,
a ******* cockroach?!
  wasabi irony... probably a bigger statement
of english than shakespeare,
added to the tongues of humanity.
now, the entry point of unessential aphorisms:

1. drinking does what ****** doesn't:
  keeps you focused,
and if you master the craft,
you get to sport a mid-day sun
with a lot of housewives...

2. **** it, whatever...

3. the led zeppelin vs. black sabbath debate
always misses the ****** of black purple...
  never learned to say the big o...

4. what a waste, being so lucky...

5. i might only make an incremental difference
in this world, but at least i still do not
disrupt the status quo totalis of humanity,
id est: at least people around me end up
living the boring reality of:
      the people around me...
kinda autistic, i admit, nonetheless true.

6. post scriptum of point V -
    a bit like a butterfly watching a tornado's
whirl, and then, unlike a fly incubated
in a spiderweb, watching the ballerina's twirl...

7. what's so poetic about philosophy in
english... i.e. the metaphor...
i.e. the " " membrane, the inverted
commas... commas?
    aren't they supposed to sit down
below, rather than be saintly halos of
the above? i'm guessing that's the source
of why the english tongue doesn't bother
diacritical indicators, inverted what?!
    commas? oh, so that's one citation
mark in a sentence?
      i'm getting really copernican confused...
smacker on the face for attempting
to be "smart": i know... never did anyone
any good...
                let's just call the " " encapsulation
of a word the poetic way...
that's called a metaphor...
   or it's really rather an ambiguity per se...
then again: i guess, no.

8. chinese, eh? as a language, everyone admires
it...

9. my grandfather always admired how
i rolled my tobacco,
making perfect rollies, and pretending
to be needle in hand,
  perfecting the rollie even further,
by warming up the tobacco in the roll-up,
my ex-gf always took the **** out of me
for not being able to roll the perfect
spliff, and then i did,
  and then, for some reason, she stopped
talking.

10. the chinese tongue in translation,
is the most unspectacular language in existence,
no wonder the origin of the haiku -
that's chinese for simple math (syllable
arithmetic) -
the chinese can only count up to a haiku -
and even though their phonetic encoding
is twice the spectacular endeavour of any man,
chinese in translation?
        about as spectacular as a cow's ****...
choo chow mein...
  chew chin mane?
                  i wouldn't even bother
trying to untangle that asiatic bowl of noodles...
rice crispy fortune cookies,
   a bowl of regurgitated maggots;
              cf. mongol!
    and what, arabic with its fiddly-squiddly
attempt at coherent, is not less an octopus
waving to imply hello?
  yeah, and i'm the next mary ******* poppins!
shim shimminy me away...
   oh right, forgot to mention,
you really wouldn't say the name shania twain
like that...
     you'd need syllable indicators,
hellfire / punctuation marks from above...
    hmm, how to cut up a lovely...
    sháníā -
       sha-nigh-ah:
   oh look, seems i'm an american linguist
after all...
   keeping the hyphen handy... turning into
a linguistic chemist...
  ever watchful of the electron migration diagrams...
pompous & sarcastic ****-wit i was
always supposed to be...
           which bring me to the final
observation:

11. i kinda figured that there's a law of prefix,
suffix & affix...
  but with tongues that prescribe their
phonetic units (i.e. letters) the status of names,
i figured it ought to be ease to understand
how they cut these names and leave the indicative
remaining stressor...
  akin to the hebrew, notably?
    via
yes yes, we know the caron on s (š) and the caron
on c (č) implies the english sh - and ch:
**** via cheap respectively -
  this amount of god is a sneaky ******:
loves to hide in punctuation marks,
whether from the godly diacritical perspective,
or the devilish rhetorically classical
punctuative.
point being... ehyeh...
                   yes, but how does the aleph
make it to be invoked in the word?
         א... aleph...
                      יה‎ה‎א -
and these names are burnt tattoos on my
psyche - i have enough raw bile to
do the opposite of dispersing the hebrews:
i have enough of the *******:
to make them congregate;
but tell me, how do you actually write
ehyeh (יה‎ה‎א) - by asking the prefix / suffix /
affix question? how do you cut upen
aleph, to extract the epsilon,
   disregarding the alpha the lambda or
the phi (φ)?
these ancient people are all the same...
the greeks are gay with their φ & θ -
   ε & η or o & ω...
         just like the hebrews with their gemini
zodiac orientation of ayin (ע) & aleph (א‎)...
sure, these languages are classic,
but they're also primitive,
which is why the "barbarians" brought
diacritical distinctions to rome,
                       enforcing it, stabilising it (it being
the latin, you can't even begin to imagine
how thankful they were to have
ditched the runic).

- i'm still fascinated by the geometry of language,
R actually does look like rolling...
   O is always going to be a wheel,
and Y will always remain a yew tree,
or the beginning of satan's entry into
the world of talk.

The outline of a figure too true to know
takes seat 'cross the matchstick table we share.
The moment ceases, all time sits unsown;
deepness gathers in her blossoming stare.
Your eyes, two pools of jewel encrusted light
sat amidst shim'ring crystalline jungle,
speak of hours lost divinating slight
changes, amazing observer of sigil.
To lose all time, a feat not hard done,
when lost in space of thing so absolute
in being, seeing beauty so weaves stun,
lost for words or thoughts this poet "astute".
To be honest, your looks shattered Troy's great walls,
But your intellect? wheeeew That gave God blue *****.

at what point has the fight
for the freedom of speech,
derive itself from:
having to invite more
joke, and less dialectics,
by passing diacritical
regards...
how many more times
will this, couch-outlet
of a formerl repressed,
medium of the masses,
dictate to me,
that...
             no...
  i din't like plagiarising
foreign cultures..
   hans zimmer
can do his ****...
     spectres in the fog...
but
i get to do my ****,
via
krzesimir dębski:
the hussars' death...
i could have written:
                the hussars die...
now, every time i go back
to Poland,
i have to succumb toward
an expectation,
a facade,
  a...
  oh, you know,
back in in England?
  no problems.
  do i ******* look stupid?
this base-*******
of shim-sham-shimmy:
quick, hide the problems,
let's all look
like a ******* postcard
gimmick...
it's killing me!
to obtain the posession
of owning a heart,
one must first
express the capacity
for uninhibited pride...
which, post-colonial
societies
fail do teach,
their kin...
             savvy?
   i've lived in england
for a better part of two centuries...
first were the irish...
then were the scots...
i might have
expected to seek-out
more english people...
but then...
  i never managed
to mingle with the welsh...
but hardly the english...
it's like...
they were "there": i.e. england,
but they were never "there":
and there's no i.e.
so support that statement...
that the asiatic people
are only smart
as far as their plagiarißm
allows them to be?
so... what's new?
   i guess the last step
of integration would
be to bang some english lass...
oddly enough:
  'ard to find...
   she's having an prgy-fetish
with her
    afro-saxon
****-buddy...
and all i'm doing
is... sweeping
the remnants of letters...
which could have
been words...
but were decided upon
as being, merely remnants
of text: C U L8ER...

it's not even hierogylphics,
rosetta stone...
pyramids...
it's ******* stone-age
crass...
   bone arithmetic of
Muhammad
  (yeah... apparently
he knew the exact number
of bones, in a human body)...
bone arithmetic dodo:
do this: me
reads: |||,|||,||||, |||
no chance that's ever
going to be a rigid
example of:

             Y H W H

so let's revise
   hand-writting
   to pixel: punch-dot?
how's that?
  too dumb, i guess...

no... i can't read
the Chinese phonetic encoding...
but seeing it's so complex,
and the translation
results are so base?

sure... they're smart...
they're smart by
having to plagiariße,
but i'm sure the arabs
will defend them,
by importing more
Bang-Lang-Desh-E
"tourists" over...

       you want to know what
i think?
  no, you don't,
but this rant,
alongside:
      was already over
to begin with...
   drunk, peasant...

you know... when you deviate
from the male, female,
consonant, vowel
instigators of rubric?
when... simple arithmetic,
match-sticks...
ascribed to letters.
does not work?

what do you have?
||: T
W: ||||
R: |||                      (i'm talking,
             bending the rules,
revising the existence of
handwritting)
   Y: |||
O: |
P: ||
H: |||
J: |
Z: |||
            K: |||
  L: ||
   X: ||
           N: |||
   M: ||||
   V: ||
   B: |||
   C: |
        G: ||
   D: ||
S: |
            F: |||
    P: ||
U: |
E: ||||
                       Q: ||
               A: |||
i missed a letter,
i missed a letter...
  but having forgotten...
what... my script,
in print, looks like,
"one-sided"...
of a pen, held,
by my right hand...
to a piece of paper...
and instead...
a mind...
orientated by both
hands being in synch.?
well...
           chess and
counting matchsticks...
expecting
no fire to errupt
in, less a home,
      and more: the soceity.

by now i know i'm not really
adding much to the narrative -
nothing to: quench the zeitgeist
thrill or: pneumonia...

i cannot offer either an escape
plan or some comforting
trickle of wisdom -
       all the better:
    there's no blatant sentiment
on my part for an escapism -
as there's no fixation
on transcendence -

           same old two variations...
but when i smoke
a cigarette...
and listen to purple people eater -
cockfight...
and there's some bourbon
too...
    well... i bring gravity
to entertain the function
of feet: one minute perched
on a windowsill (clenched
buttocks sitting on a folded
foot... the other dangling) -

with an interlude:
i guess that's how i dance
with gravity -
a centipede on nicotine:
quasi-numbing arithmetic
of: pairs... infinite pairs
of legs...

then sitting in a chair:
crouched like a crow like a priest...
no... not really...
nothing more from me
to sustain this narrative:
elsewhere...
    dasein doesn't even work
on me:
    oh sure... big concern for
big h'america...
         the soviets never made
it: somehow the chinese
played the long-game and
that shitaki hallucinogenic
was brought in on the sly
with a very subtle broth...

       that's all i have... running
dry on prospects for concern...
out of sight: out of mind...

i very much like the idea (and
experience) of being the last
person in the house to deserve
a bed and find sleep...

i am also very thankful that
i am not old...
             and young enough
to not feed into a vanity:
     but when someone might
suggest: this is only a
"word salad"...
           such friendships...
       i guess we were both
competing... ahem... "competing"
"artists"...
   if he could only have said
something more...
last time i checked though...
there was no constructive
criticism...
   nor did he mention any
famous poets...
              we apparently wrote
poetry...
how i might have wanted
to talk to him about some verse...

a fwendship that ended
with: you should title your work...
that psychiatric put-down
the toothless Doug...
             thank god this friendship
didn't end because of money...
or a woman...
instead over a disputed
informality - tact -
          something this trivial:
making the friendship trivial
to begin with...

                 such that be the current
wrath that feeds a speeding up
the death of nostalgia...
          there can be no nostalgia
in rewriting of history:

grandiosity of blistering words...
otherwise it wouldn't be neu-history
would it: something done
by way of arbitrary:
            from the atheist collective
tsunami back to sq. 1 of
the resurgence of the individual:

like, somehow...
the mind is an exclusivity of
genius imposing the rule of thumb...
sometimes though:
it's not even a genius...
   at best it's a veneer masquerade...
teasing tautology...

a beast at the froth...
               base insignia: it's hardly
a black-*******...
it's hardly a glimmering
hammer & sickle...
   it's a greyish stone and scythe...
but it's otherwise: the RED...
primer... and guard...
there was once talk
of the white russians and
the red russians...

       i guess the french will
be forever bleu...
  the cardinals are red...
the bishops don ***** purple...
how for all the meticulous
additions to... "understood"?
we revert back to...
poet of amber poet of red
poet of green...

     ha! amber: reconsider!
waver!
red! full-stop!
    green: which is not blue:
green is also envy...
blue is high values...
   but you'd never... associate
blue with: keep going...
don't stop... even though...
the river is blue: blue as
water in a glass is "blue"...
well... or that the sea is blue...
enough area and depth
and enough of the sun...
the sky is blue...
   the earth is tinged with
green outlets...
otherwise...
cinnamon lives matter?
arabs don't matter...
test of "conscience"...
        
             the flag of estonia...
blue black and white...
the flag of lithuania: yellow,
green and red...
   that prominent arab
countries borrowed
the white red and black
borrowed from the empire prior
to weimar republicanism...

otherwise the ordeal of man-made
laws: one year the vogue -
the next a limping outcast:
a ***** colony starts from
a whipping of jurisprudence...
some said: a new normal...

edward the confessor,
the normans and the anglo-saxon
antithesis horde counter
to: how i find underage girls
unappealing...
how you can only tell:
a girl is not procrastinating
her media influenced ***
when... walking next to her...
is a boy... and he's gaff...
or he's riddling a concept
of a bicycle...
                  but you sort of have
to pair them up...

if i were my old 21 year old self...
and the hormonal fog had
my mind in an iron maiden...
and i was dating locally...
without a plethora of geographical
locations: one girlfriend from
russia... one from australia...
one from france...
some spanish one-night-stand...
a whole bunch of romanian / bulgarian
advert friendly *****...

       colt bite the buck and bucket...
to think of *** like a swan:
settling down... giving her a brand
new kitchen...
a pair of cats to pet...
a very unreasonable son to try to
shake off like a fizz in a drink:
to open a can of coca-cola...
if only later to drink some acid
trip of stale: same partie...

     couldn't the fate of yugoslavia
come face to face with america?
couldn't there be a sedation of states...
if the polish lithuanian commonwealth
could be nibbled out of existence...
by 1, 2, tic-tac-toe partitioning...
if mr gorbachev could fathom:
peacefully: (a) ukraine...
estonia... lithuania... the kazakh bazar...

couldn't... the great american
juggernaut leave room for interpretation
as to how there might have to
be sedition states?
solo texas...
the north east coast could
write a constitution of the states
of sedation...
it's not like america could ever
become: wholesome... rye glamours...
and remain intact: that it could!
it could! for the desires of
nostalgic posterity...
   unlike the grinding blunder...
some minor concept of:
"nation"-        or    -"state"...

    past the calorie mark...
ingesting the liquidrice like maple like
crude moon-shim-shimminy-sheen:
glued teeth together and:
breaks the bone...
having to crease the pain...
and differentiate...
otherwise:
a flamboyant: tibia...
walked a dog on a leash
that was also (once) a hangman's noose...
and he barked and jazzed a rhapsody
of barking like there's no analogy for
tomorrow!

no clue in on the game of:
statutes... law...
      or synonyms...
           discretion of proofs -
             cold core concept of...
that there was an idea of
sniffing *******:
when in fact... Kiev youths
boast of sniffing glue...
              
        because i couldn't possibly...
leverage an act...
if i were 34 and she was 21...
and... oh... right...
the fetish of the forbidden is missing...
esp. in the digital medium:
because when flesh is imposed
upon flesh: and there's no...
hormonal aurora...
           the kids keep their bias...
jokes work best...
              some fake some russian
trucker...
and some parents who sought
justice: **** and club of metal over
the head...
               thus?! pristine and
spaghetti retro-flex...
spinning and spasms extra...

          that man achieved poetry
and nuance of language:
that some words don't aid... vectors...
that the ego is no ******* compass...
copernican "west"?
in the geocentric dimension...
which is still somehow needed...
otherwise? dream-big!
heliocentrism and science-fiction!

- to sort of tinker with a layer of man's
laws... and there's gravity...
and then to ***** oneself with
a constellation:
because the united could
never be as united as the yugoslav
project: post-scriptum
of the ottoman barber shop...

   spooked bosnians: best beloved
little europe avenue
gashing with pauper blood
of aristocrats of burgundy...
the biggest shame came...
when the blood was gushing
from the guillotine:
no one held an adventure into
the jesus christ metaphor...
no one sparked a drunkard ****
of wine gurgling...

to read the law:
somehow to read the thesaurus...
balance bonkers of the synonym nuance...

or that other myopic extreme:
some john dillinger,
some greater extremity of new yorker
blues:
new york is like anything
beside this standard of new amsterdam...

shooting dogs that aimed
at skipping: three legged...
unless that debilitating quote from
mary shelley...
and how the monster:
proteus or caliban...
          in name alone...
was to cite...
                           tectonic urges...
that there was a mr. caliban
and a mrs. caliban...
          but that there's also
a neuter lobster: ****-frenzy...

           right now: to want to live in
america... to want the custard...
the fudge and marshmallow...
to rewrite new york
like: a bunch of people who
love to eat in: who can cook...
and the restaurant is...
    an overcooked platter of veggies...

the edible gurgling of
post ad hoc lawyers...
               postmodernism of:
that / this disused hammer without
layers and tiers of nails born
toward tables and stables...

no new bogus prospect:
twisting original narratives:
some cite dementia prone
quid pro quo(tas)...
                      this ordeal of...
heaping together limbo:
EISENHOWER:
            no ad lib. / verbatim:
        we will not churn out
tea-leaves made into chewing gum...
then we will!
find! the lost avenue!
of! digest-able chewy-chow-some!

- then we bring in the saxons-anglicised...
and treat them to some disney...
we'll subsequently huddle
imitating hebrews:
like the briton mongrels
we are... we probably are a people
of polyglots and polymaths...
but under the present guise of
history:
we are celts and we are britons...
there was the saxon invasion...
there were the viking raids...
there was the norman revision...

            we the people...
of the afghanistan of the north: minding
arthur and "king"...
we're not celts... unless having lived
in scotland:
one might tell the difference
when someone accents the Gaelic theta:
as a surd H... **** a t'ought...
    apostrophe (') = surd...

         edinburgh nicknamed
athens of the north...
st. petersburg / amsterdam are both...
venice of the north...
of the former: seat of learning...
i never like david hume's black swans...
and if nietzsche is
to make critique of kant:
i.e. kant being the "philosopher"
of bureocrats....

how does: the will to power end up?
despotic bus drivers...
POWER! with a missing will...
yes... the most ordained with
a silent mind are currently served up
teases of tension...
POWER!
  the bus driver is currently being
served up a placebo amphetamine
cocktail...
he or she... can gesticulate
at a heaven: deus est persona non grata...

the facemask "riddle":
power to the cogs...
leaving the sigma of the machinery
in tatters...
otherwise... a slowing-down mechanism...
POWER!
       nietzsche is more
a power-broker... a philosopher
of daydreams and the overt-exercise
of futility than Kant would ever become...

the bus driver... oh how i wished
to heave a career of... winding clocks...
daydreaming in automaton mode...
but now... POWER!
however futile...
however that's ambitious in
continental thought...
on these shores it has to receive
a new baptism of that...
*******... pragmatism!

           niqab star of david attache...
the surgical face mask:
the will to: what was forever available:
petty power...
limiting hierarchies:
unit... power...
power disguise... power of the drone
chant...
           chatter...
power towing limbo!

  otherwise... kept guilty secret...
50ml of bourbon with some variant "contra"
of butter scotch biscuits...

  but there are the POWER brokers...
what belittling POWER gains...
and oh! god and the devil's
******* and pair of *******...
                                how power can
be exercised by bus drivers
when... commuters are exacted
with face masks...
to stipend them with...
   a nuanced basis for discrimination...

trigger-happy devoid or...
what's the difference
between a bunch of autists...
and sociopaths / psychopaths?

what's the difference
between an autist and a sociopath?
a schizophrenic
sitting in between...

that i am? or merely: bilingual?
america is bilingual ready!
y'um hum hummatie y'ah!

napoleon and the grief of height:
when the dating market evaluation is
strictly: poisoning a borrowing
of feuds: borrowing a friend of a friend of
a friend... and that:
stitching of a cow -
having excavated the stomach
for the ergonomics of a hot-air balloon...

because i had to be the bilingual
the only child freak-oh...
         in the currency of the cited "times"...
this is not a time: this is a space...
a space is congested with such
a people...
but a time... a time would be congested
with: the Pre-Raphaelites...
a time could be congested with such...
but we're talking about a space congestion...
a ****** riddle of a rubber without
skin...
             because there's... science fiction
and... SPACE...
as there's the "will" to POWER...
and there will always be...
the busdriver who doesn't enjoy
driving a bus... because...
there's the forever new rubric of:
keeping up with a best
forgotten attention & span...

         ode to lionel nation -
unlike speaking to my grandfather
strapped to a dementia
riddle cinema of memory:
that there is a cinema of memory...
that there's a concept of:
lukewarm drunk...

that there's a basic of:
yes... i know the best of my life...
memories borrowed from
aeons ago should the collective present
hindering my selfish pursuit
demand as too bourgeoisie:

******* anti-****
primo leisuring...
some old variant some
pseudo Yorick...
         m'ah neu adventure to
somehow tow Fwýday...
that the Vandals never came:
bilingual...

              extensive research
into the communist doctrine
of the: ******-rite of passage:
the omni-
nerve-ending focus of attention
15 minutes to a span....
          
borrowed themes...
the same sort of agriculture...
in the back of my mind:
worship Warsaw...
pursue a sacrificial "lamb":
tease the paedo-dodo project...
of man and king john and...
whatever is a best nuance...

      WE HAVE SUCH FORMAL
TONGUE RIDDLES
TO CHOKE ON...
BSM YOUR WORTH
A LEATHERY-SNIPPET...
i hold sway on "leather"
that's... cow intestines...
trollop...
            a beheaded gorgon
of slippery "details"..
    
   i want to catch the posture
of when english becomes
mongol...
Ukrainian riddled...
           this tongue requires
of itself to be... loaned!
completely!
                 my humble Kiev...
my Ukrainians
born drunk
at the Warsaw West... junction...

looks like the intelligence
of the western world:
can't sell words of Orestes...
implying one might have just read
a nibble...
bo boast!
the dot dot... and farming new!
nuanced: punctuation markers!

the thrill...
of having to ascend...
the morning...
knowing too well...
how the air is scented...
when prior the air was
ravaged by rain...
the details are left in the abstract:
whatever reality is yours!
it's yours...
it your new dead-red
project of... excating Beijing...

bewildering...
how i never settled on
sedating the English
with a blues: Somalian;
   n'est ce pas?

it never rains nor does it shine...
it's never culprit:
it's never simply canadian:
post-nationalistic in europe:
albeit a post-nationalism
of the state-collected...
"europe":
how... the greeks are...
some variations of turkish...

i'm not here: the hagia sophia
is also a...
what is it?
byzantine constipation /
                  leveraging pride
gimmick...
                         esque special
some variant of conundrum...
           mein auch!

                 i'd like to stroke a horse's mane...
like i might...
yet still find "unfathomable"
to leave comparisons with...
a violin detail.

what's the difference
          between a sodomite,
and a gomorrahite?
   for one,
  oral *** with women isn't a "problem",
ask the bulgarian girls,
   ten quid extra on the already 110 for
an hour, and you're in,
   plus the *** crack...
could have been a gardener
adoring that floral *****...
                 instead?
       bit into a flesh pulversising
"replica"...
                        heard a moan,
jumped into a bath and
     allowed myself to be
drenched in ice cold water while
watching her *******...
           could have been a butcher
too...
              ******* ***** flowers
and all the bits in between...
     i like it rough
by lady gaga...
                 banging, doing
the korean moonwalk...
              shimmy... shimmy...
shim shimminy lost a shoe
               while cleaning chimneys...
and the **** i know
later became a doctor;
            his son?
                  a police officer...
                ****, need a napkin
to wash off all that slobbering...
         well, if a woman can be all
honest about her sexuality...
               *******?
        unless you're not jerking off
to a woman jerking herself off
while filming:
   you're watching terrible acting...
i call that the: geisthand technique...
       ghost hand...
             if only the dutch learned
of the english antics...
      ****,
        i wouldn't be found a mile away
from amsterdam / puerto rico...
                  they go there to smoke
****?!
          ****** ****** 'n' all...
i go there to feel
       unchained from
old granny regulations of
      gesticulating before a piece of art...
me? kneel before an utopian
transliteration?
                     misnomer:
replace that with ideas,
  replace that with images,
                 **** it, throw the atom trilogy
into it as it counts...
       proton, neutron &
the holy geist... - - - - - - - - -,
orbit, then no orbit, then
suddenly a cloud...
                sneezing...
                      an electron pops out.
i'm still ripe with
        breeding what eating out
a *******'s genitals feels like...
        no good on my behalf,
other than the extra 10 quid on top
of the 110 quid already paid for an hour,
and the ten on top paying
her "madame" (female ****)...
       but hey,
******* them felt more
comfortable having no
*******-******* dysfunction
over an hour not spent
on a date, in a restaurant...
       wee richie rich got the doughnut,
the candy floss, the hot air balloon,
the helium...
                      joking aside...
      we keep it slim and simple,
we ****, don't talk,
   and turn pigs into bacon...
    no?
                here: dress up in a niqab;
back in a minute:
  god, i'd love
to read poetry by a man who
worked
         in a slaughterhouse where
cows "moaned"...
                 it's almost like chatting
while brinding down baked
chicken bones and ******* out
the marrow...
           **** man...
   i gave her an ****** and 110 quid,
which means:
   the sort of money i wouldn't
have spent
     on anything other than
                             scottish perfumes!
seems i always preferred
the concept of *******,
                   rather than dating;
just get me to the 1 + 1 = 2
zenith,
         and then i'll tell you why
men climb everest.