For all of you who thought 12 o Clock is a joke for Sardar.
During 17th Century, when Hindustan was ruled by Mughals, all the Hindu people were humiliated and were treated like animals. Mughals treated the Hindu women as there own property and were forcing all Hindus to accept Islam and even used to **** the people if they were refusing to accept. That time, our ninth Guru, Sri Guru Teg Bhadarji came forward, in response to a request of some Kashmir Pandits to fight against all these cruel activities.
Guruji told the Mughal emperor that if he could succeed in converting him to Islam, all the Hindus would accept the same. But, if he failed, he should stop all those activities . The Mughal emperor happily agreed to that but even after lots of torture to Guruji and his fellow members he failed to convert him to Islam and Guruji along with his other four fellow members, were tortured and sacrificed their lives in Chandni Chowk. Since the Mughals were unable to convert them to Islam they were assassinated.
Thus Guruji sacrificed his life for the protection of Hindu religion. Can anybody lay down his life and that too for the protection of another religion? This is the reason he is still remembered as "Hind Ki Chaddar", shield of India. For the sake of whom he had sacrificed his life, none of the them came forward to lift his body, fearing that they would also be assassinated.
Seeing this incident our 10th Guruji, Sri Guru Gobind Singh ji (Son of Guru Teg Bahadarji) made a resolution that he would convert his followers to such human beings who would not be able to hide themselves and could be easily located in thousands.
At the start, the Sikhs were very few in numbers as they were fighting against the Mughal emperors. At that time, Nadir Shah raided Delhi in the year 1739 and looted Hindustan and was carrying lot of Hindustan treasures and nearly 2200 Hindu women along with him. The news spread like a fire and was heard by Sardar Jassa Singh who was the Commander of the Sikh army at that time . He decided to attack Nadir Shah's Kafila on the same midnight.
He did so and rescued all the Hindu women and they were safely sent to their homes. It didn't happen only once but thereafter whenever any Abdaalis or Iranis had attacked and looted Hindustan and were trying to carry the treasures and Hindu women along with them for selling them in Abdal markets, the Sikh army although fewer in numbers but were brave hearted and attacked them at midnight,12 O'clock and rescued women.
After that time when there occurred a similar incidence, people started to contact the Sikh army for their help and Sikhs used to attack the raider's at Midnight, 12 O'clock. It continued and became a known fact that at midnight, nearly at 12 O'clock, it is very difficult to fight against Sikhs as the Sikhs get some Extra Power to save Religion, Nation and Humanity.
Nobody can fight and win against them at midnight; this continues till now. Nowadays, these "smart people" and some Sikh enemies who are afraid of Sikhs, have spread these words that at 12 O'clock, the Sikhs go out of their senses. This historic fact was the reason which made me smile over that person who say "sardarji 12baj gaya"  as I thought that his Mother or Sister would be in trouble and wants my help and was reminding me by saying off 'Sardarji Barah Baj Gaye'
All those shud feel ashamed of themself who used to click and enjoy the jokes on Sikhs and too made fun of them. The truth is that these Sikhs are born for others and they are real patriotic to Humanity and Religion. What are we all doing to these great Saints and Soldiers ???? Instead of thanking them, we all are making fun....

i couldn't never write a book, sorry, a novel, i'd hate to become a puppeteer, someone who attempts to play chess, a fiddling and bothersome shadow-baron (schattenbaron)... imaginary "friends" is not my thing, plus... i don't have an exact elastic approach to heidegger's compliments concerning poets: i only like heidegger because he likes poets, **** me, he elevates poets to the stature of philosophers when language "things" are made necessary... i.e. (and verbatim) - language - only if speech has acquired the highest univocity of the word does it become strong for the hidden play of its essential multivocity (as withdrawn from all "logic"), of which poets and thinkers alone are capable... welcome! welcome! to plato's republic! Brennus & Alaric welcome you, quiet fondly depicted by Joseph-Noël Sylvestre... and when the Huns pushed the leaders Fritigern and Alavivus into the eastern empire to settle... and emperor Valens... that's history for you: a cascade of: and and and and and and... sometimes a p.s., but mostly the and and and of causality... facts come barging in, you forage... but thanks to heidegger: the poets have earned their graces... and can return to the republic... as wordsmiths... i mean, was i ever to think of myself as a french dada dandy? frivolous and superfulous raconteur / racketeer? poet or philosopher, that's beside the point, the point being: i'm not a novelist... i don't like dealing with language that chokes that i rely on mostly and that mostly being: i like the idea of a raw vocabulary... i'm more of a butcher than an artist... i like the rawness of an inverted crossword puzzle... in my "trade"... there are no clues, whether synonymous or antonymous, in this spaghetti of: ex nihil factum sermo (out of nothing came the word)... poetry, of all places, allows this form of unadulterated nibbling at raw vocabulary... bypassing the standard g.c.s.e.: overt-scrutiny of poetics... i never like that... a 5/ 7/ 5 syllable haiku poem should never be preserved for its essay-worthiness to extend into 2000 words in a school exam... poetry strapped to pedagogy is... less heavily censored, more... over-scrutinized... you're not supposed to think in terms of poetry: you're supposed to, feel... and since when has feeling become so overrated, so despsised? oh... when people "learned" to feel, prior to learning to think... you really have to learn to think, prior to learning how to feel... if you ask someone from the orient, they'd counter the western perception of placing thinking / "reason" on the top of the pyramid with horus' eye as emblem... to learn to feel: is to learn to how to not think, while to think? it's to learn how to not feel... pretty simple, no? not really... neither approaches should be underrated, they should be understood better... who the hell needs, or wants, to be an apathetic brain-in-a-pickle-jar zombie: constantly engaging with a dialectic? then again... who wants to be a heart in an electric chair constantly bamboozled into pointless reactions? so i'm more of a butcher than a "poet", i simply appreciate the raw realism of cutting pieces of the tongue that extends into the brain's fathomability - and that overrated visual ******* of dreaming most people associate themselves with... but that's beside the point... i really appreciate days akin to this one, humid as in the concrete basin of Beijing while europe is frying in the African plume... no thanks, no, me go to Greenland or the Faroes Islands... do i look like a ******* ******* / camel jockey? why do i have limited respect for islam? i once watched a video of a saudi with an european bride... sitting on oil was both a blessing... and a curse... muhammad would whip some of these saudi brats silly... but of all days... when i get to work my magic in the kitchen, and make the most superior food in the whole wide world? blue indian cuisine: i call them blue indians and not red soxs because: come on... the raj... and that polytheism that doesn't want to disappear... h'americans can boast all they want: the steak, the hamburger, the hot dog, the pizza... n'ah... n'ah mate... it's either curry or you're chewing chicken bones, ******* out the marrow... indian cuisine is superior... i love the days when i cook up two curries... it feels like being back in edinburgh, walking into the joseph black building, the perfumes of sulphur and wood, the 12 hour experiments it would take us to conjure up an ester... esters? bases for the perfume industry... that' the grand thing about cooking a curry... you start to feel like a chemist once more... the two curries? a tikka masala: sure, an easy adventure... marinating the chicken what not... the real fun came with the malvani... blitzing the masala up: a bay leaf, half a nutmeg, 4 / 5 cloves, 7 dried chillies, 10 peppercorns, a cinnamon stick, cumin seeds, coriander seeds, chilly powder, turmeric powder... and that's just the malvani masala... the cocunut masala... ****... only two green chillies... how to get the right colour? ah... blitz up some coriander stalks... garlic and ginger... milk to get the whizz-kid on the job... it's superior cuisine, indian cuisine... it reminds me of a being in a chemistry lab at edinburgh... doing organic experiments... mind you: it's more fun, the environment is less sterile... even my mother said: you're stinking up the place, you're worse than the sikhs two doors down... so... why would i visit an indian restaurant, or indulge myself in an indian take-away, if i can mimic? i see no point... there is no other cuisine on the planet as good as what could come from either Goa or New Delhi... the colours, the perfume of the spices... by now a hamburger, pizza or hot-dog are staples or both humble beginnings and even more humbled ends... i've found my 1st to none passion... and with a afghani naan bread... and with rice infused with turmeric... tiresome ponce schemes of duck a l'orange... spaghetti this that and the other... one bias... though... scandinavian treatment of raw herrings... in cream sauce... i'm a sucker for those herrings like i'm a sucker for pop music... the added zing of the herrings' rawness out-competes the bland sushi manifesto... eating one of these herrings in a cream sauce... has the complimentary sensation, very much akin to performing oral *** on a woman... oysters are beyond the marker of metaphor / literal association... well: hello today!

I.

i'm starting to suspect, that one of the...
"supposed" stars...
   is actually a planet - due to its colour -
      it's unlike all the other -
todkompf, metallic white
glitter...
      it's hued in a more orange
spectacle - more fire...
less distance...
                and on the canvas
of the night?
   sits lower than all the other stars,
which are more up -
   rather than on a horizon
to speak off...
   question is... is that *mars,
or is that venus?

**** it: 'ere i go...
'n' buy me a *******
telescope to investigate further...

II.

did the ancient romans really
distinguish the arithmetic
quantity of I - or IX -
   or XII or...
                with a dot?
       not unless it was inscribed
in stone -
   where even upsilon had
to vacate the more easily chiseled
in:              YOVR POINT?
just wondering
   how only two diacritical marks
were applied to the encryption -
and both... not for orthographic
reasons, but for aesthetics -
    what's the actual difference
when the guillotine digestion
machine (like me) comes in and
says...
    
     ȷokιng around...
        what with the iPod...
   why shouldn't ι,
                    come ιn -
   and give a ȷester's ιnquιsιtιon?
out of... mere... curιosιty?
ιt's not lιke those two-heads
even make a dιfference...
come on! ιt's ιneffectιve,
there are no orthographιc reasons
for ιt!
        why, even, bother?
    and no fancy name eιther,
ιn the dιacrιtιcal famιly...
  dot... when compared to?
cιrcumflex, caron, macron,
      cedιlla,  ͅ (ιota subscrιpt)...
you name ιt!
can someone, please,
ȷust gιve me, an approprιate reason?

III.

it's not like i can confuse,
i with I - since i have 1, and 2 instead
of II, and 3 instead of III,
and 4, instead of IV,
       and 6 instead of VI...
ah... L(l) -
              and the exodus of handwriting
in the digital age...
any schmuck can write
now... but... i'd love to see
them write with a pen, on paper...

personally - i couldn't write an intact
word with a pen...
   calligraphy: a bit like monkish
Gregorian chants... coming near
to extinction...
          i could sometimes write
out a intra-connectivity of syllables -
but... entire words?
    no chance... the digit system
came in... and i had to learn how
to position my arms before
the keyboard, to write, and not look
down...
   unlike my old G.P.,
who, bless him... nearing his retirement,
pecked, like a crow,
on the keyboard...
   looking down on it...

the ENTER key? right arm pinky finger...
SPACE BAR key? primarily
left hand thumb...
   unlike a piano, you don't actually
use all the fingers on both arms...
e.g.? ring ringer on the left hand?
rarely used... unless doing some
mental hand gymnastics...
  
stream of "consciousness" - no words,
just observations -

(0,0,) LH ******* A
    RH index finger N -
     that's - ah! ring finger of
the right arm is used, quiet a lot,
  notably?  SHIFT + (?/) key -
      *******...
   but for the apostrophe?
    the (@ ') key...
  which, on my machine translates
as the (" ') key...

IV.

     - interlude -
--- -- - - - -  - - - logic  -- - - -  -- - bomb -- - - --  -
- - -- computers -- -- - - & - -- microprocessors -
- - - --- -- - --- -- -(parasense ----- - - remix) -- -- -

V.

it is chiromancy in reverse,
only that i'm reading my hands...
facing down,
rather than staring on the reverse
side of the... where the girdle of venus
is situated,
   or the index finger skin folds
of the chokhmah, chesed,
    netzach - respectively -
akin to reading mandarin:
   from the the head - to the base
               of a knuckle.
i read my hands - looking at a screen,
how else can you write anything,
distracted by looking down
onto the keyboard -
  no aware of the spacing?
        question: how fast is your typing?
don't know:
what sort of ******* am i to note
down, and how many amendment
will i have to make to the text,
as we plow along to your diatribe
monologue?
                  
VI.

why would anyone sit up all night,
drinking?
     ****** question, esp. given
yesterday's 5 / 6 am carnival of rain...
out of nowhere,
there i was, ready to call it a night
well spent (not working in a Stratford
casino) - dreading the heat of
the sunrise...
  boom!
   thunder, lightning...
    the air turned white from
the ferocity of the rain...
   literally...
                the ground was wriggling
with a meteor shower -
excited gnat fly like puddles
appearing and disappearing -
soon becoming lakes
  within the confines of a supposed
**** of worm parasites...
      probably your typical day
      on the Faroe Islands...
you know... on such occasions...
you really can't help, but stick
your head out of the window,
far enough to drench your head
and hair in regenwasser...
            i should have walked
into the garden and
cleansed my whole body...
   but...
guess all ι needed, was the head...
       god...
  there's nothing more **** than
listening to horror movie soundtracks
while it pours a mini-monsoon
outside your window,
  and there's thunder, and there's
lightning...
   and you're just about to fall asleep...
like a baby might...

VII.

oh god... the one time i don't take
a beer for a walk, coming back
from the supermarket...
and i pick up... this genius:
genius... tortilla wrap...
    falafel + hummus + a hint
of mango chutney (with a tease
of arugula leaves)?
            **** me... who needs
beer... if not a bottle of mineral
water... to accompany
taking a walk?

Yes, I am an Atheist.
A single word explains it.
I don’t have the popular, visor faith in God.
A little word retorts,
I don’t bend on my knees to pray.
Yes, I question God’s presence, doubt his omnipotence
I choose to think freely, so I am an Atheist!!
A single word may stimulate believers,
They say, I am condemned to hell and deserve damnation.
Egotistical, Arrogant and ‘Witch’ I am called in condemnation.
Still I assert, ‘I am proud to be an Atheist!!’

A Single word explains, I have torn all ties,
No more in mood of listening age-old rhetoric cries.
I have broken all barriers, which divide my own people,
To live my life by the Golden Rule of Humanity & affable.
I dream boundary’s falling, all mankind as one,
Humanity prevailing before any sham religion.
People of different caste and creed dancing-singing together in the bright light of sun.
Not idols rather humanity my religion, so I am proud to be an Atheist!!

A Single word Atheist for me doesn’t mean,
The faith believers preach I totally deny.
But so long as logic is there,
Anything else would be a lie.
I agree no religion asks its followers to become bigot and spread violence and hatred.
I am ready to follow any religion if believers assure no more blood would be shattered.
As far as I feel, they gave me no assurance, so still I am forced to be an Atheist!!

A Single word Brahmin for me explains my caste and religious status,
Even after born in a very religious family events converted me to atheist status.
I opened my eyes in India in year 1984,
The winter season was burning by religious riots, killing Sikhs daily more & more.
The mighty prime minister was assassinated of the county of crore,
Year 1985-86 also witnessed Ahmedabad roar.
Small incidents continued but year 1990 witnessed communal riots more and more.
Burning issue of Ram Janam Bhoomi temple touched this time every door.
Bliss of Childhood with me, I hide in my mother lap and just ignore.
My days filled with play, naps, snacks, beautiful dresses I wore.
Mommy and Daddy smiled at all the adorable things I did; my innocence something I was loved for.
My elder brother was my idol; my best friend remained with me like my shadow every hour.
In my childhood I was the most religious so respected for.
Communal frenzy converted that religious girl to the extent of proud Atheist!!

A little word lovable was apt for me
I started my schooling; mingle with kids of all caste.
My high born parents any how made me understand not to eat and meet with low caste.
That’s when I realized the equation of caste,
I was growing and learning about world very fast.
I found brotherhood my books preached and the scenario existed in society complete contrast.
Minor and some times major violence always outbreak on the name of creed and caste,
In the country which was such a vast.
I noticed my community condemning government policy of reserving for low caste.
This widespread hatred hurt my innocent heart turned me in a proud Atheist!!

A single word love got my all attention as I grow adult,
Yes, I was in love, the most beautiful feeling of this world.
Alas! My first love my true love never fulfilled,
In the midst of caste and creed.
Caste obligations made my life ruined,
God snatched my love and I stopped loving god so I am here a proud Atheist!!

A little word communalism shook the giant country in 2002 again,
The whole Gujarat drenched in blood rain.
All streets burning up to Sabarmati train,
Women *****, Innocent kids crying man dying, made my faith drain.
I wonder when humanity was slain where God remain,
Why faith can’t be questioned again.
Why can’t we see through communal-political equation?
Yes, I use reason and logic, so I am proud to be an Atheist!!

A single word Atheist changed my whole life,
Traditional man refused to make me wife.
My Family Life continuously on strife,
They say Bigots will put me dead by knife.
Believers speak ill for me in disguise,
Hoping quietly for my demise.
Still I dare to follow path of truth, so I am proud to be an Atheist!!

A single word fear I see in all eyes,
Take a deep look, communal worm hollow our society you realize.
Misinformation, falsification bloodshed that Bigots materialize,
God died in my heart since when religion start terrorize.
To save mankind quit all religious difference would be wise,
Otherwise all growth & development would paralyze.
Its High time, only human religion be initialize.
Till Human Religion finalize, I take proud in being an Atheist!!
So Here I am, A Proud Atheist!!

- Himani Vashishta

Before we were
Christians,
Muslims,
Jews,
Hindus,
Sikhs,
we were all human.
The funny thing is that we still are
We have just forgotten it...
We are all human,
regardless of religion and race
If you can't accept this simple concept even
say good bye to globalization
and internalization
and be in your comfort zone...
safe and sound...

The invitation had arrived and I was over the moon
It is really quite a mouthful, and it is coming soon
The Second International Gender Non-Specific
Inter-Denominational, from Atlantic to Pacific
Freshwater Synchronized Swimming Competition

It's been eight years since the first was won by China
It was held in Illinois in a place known as Medinah
Turns out the swimmers used were just not what they seemed
The chinese had a total of nine atheists on their team

So, the time has come to try again and bring it to fruition
The I.G.N.I.D Freshwater Synchronized Swimming Competition
No date has been decided yet, due to issues with each church
So, even though the invitations out, we're still left in the lurch

Saturday is out because the Jews are all at temple
Sunday, the Christians all must set a good example
Friday, cuts the muslims out for they are at Mosque praying
So we've four days to hold this meet, is what I am now saying

The Chinese team is back again, but the Atheists are out
The team's made up of Christians and two Jews who are devout
Their working on a movement that involves making a cross
The Christian swimmers get it but the Jews don't give a toss

The team from Israel's withdrawn because they are all sitting Shivah
They had a coach drown last week, he hit his head while in the River
The Arabs won't be back, you see they're not interested in the least
They get confused while under water and don't know which way is east

The I.G.N.I.D Freshwater Synchronized Swimming Competition
Will take place in the New Year, we just need to get permission
The Jews won't swim with Muslims, and the Sikhs are up in arms
Because swimming with their daggers may cause other swimmers harm

But, we've got a great location at the lake up at the park
We can use it when we want to , but it must be after dark
Remember keep an eye out for a poster where you pray
We don't know just when we'll hold it, it may just be today

This is your invitation and the event is coming soon
It is really quite a mouthful, and it'll be held beneath the moon
The Second International Gender Non-Specific
Inter-Denominational, from Atlantic to Pacific
Freshwater Synchronized Swimming Competition

See you there...

.that moment, when you realiße... "it's not yet another garry glitter song"... because quiet frankly... you still haven't seen Joker... you're stuffing raw dough into biscuit shapes in a make-shift Tibet... as a raw-treat... and your body is tombstone stiff... but your eyes are on fire and your soul is dancing... synonym parade... because gary glitter can be excused in the same way that: rob halford... rob halford isn't gay... isn't gay the metalheads would otherwise say... but because the song can exist per se... since... a glaring gary is no... jimmy 'the kid-fiddling dj' savile... and he's... no ian watkins... because... if you asked me... rock & roll part II is a gary glitter song? och! ouch! pinch-punch 1st of April is upon us recoil... hell no! i still read marquis de sade... only because by my standards... he's quiet decent... all he ever did wrong was use the imagery of a crucifix as a ***** when asking a ******* to peform the sado-masochistic act of ******* before him... otherwise his phallus was lost in the niqab of the bastille... his uncle though? ah! that's another matter! although: much aggrieved but somehow agreed... you could still buy marquis de sade's novella ****** in London, once upon a time... perhaps you still can... but does that even matter? i am about to get a primer about the Iranian inherent hate for h'america anytime soon... about how h'americans manage to bundle the Persians into the rag-ah-muffin crowd of camel-jockeys and easily replaced arab donors... and those poor iraqis... doing their bit...  who is to forget the phrase: turbanator? i.e. not referring to sikhs... no one besides moi... welcome to l'inglese... the modern lingua franca... and i do feel so sorry so very so very much for the natives that were beither born in Bratford or the rustbelt fly-over states of h'america... if joe biden says: learn to code! guess what i was but wasn't told being ***** from a ******* that was poland come the drop of the iron curtain of the 1990s... coming to the 2020s... me conjuring up the Silicon Curtain?! really? adverse to learn to code... learn a new language! and globalißation will "win"... internationalism already works on a bilingual basis... there's the established language of commerce... which is english... i'm sorry... i'll be kind... "you" will have to move... if not cognitively... then otherwise... i learned yours... learn mine! that's the motto... this is where linguistic nativism comes in... not borrowed time from places like h'america... not some emblem worship... just ol' lil' england... i hope this doesn't reach a wide audience... i am having to consider learning romanian... du-te dracului! that's a starter...

i've found out that, the only way to truly enjoy
a glass of red wine is...
to have also rolled your own tobacco...
and since we're talking the highest quality rolling
tobacco: golden virginia...
after rolling it... you gentle bask it in a lighter's flame
from top to bottom... to warm it up...
so you don't have to finish it off as if *******
through a straw...

that's of course if you're drinking red wine on its own...
but there's a reason why i hanged around
with a few spaniards in the past...
why i went to paris and met this two catalonian
hot-takes... who i later visited in Barcelona...
drank kalimotxo for a while getting ready
to hit the party scene...
was given my first joint in my life...
and... hello lullaby...

next day we toured the sights...
we never made it to the gothic quarter...
or the el reval...
we went into one of those shops
in a shopping mall that sell everything...
that's when i discovered portishead's debut:
dummy all by myself...
and then onto camp nou...
to be honest... throughout all this time...
i felt like a glove...
no really... i felt my company was being...
tested as to whether it could be well worn
and: worn out at a much later date...
i was, what, 19 then?

what will leave me well versed in travel,
jumping continents?
i should really add prague along the line somewhere...
the days when i would solo for a weekend
and never bother with any if at all: precautions...
i can't imagine the sort of trips
my "highschool friends" took...
en masse... and always to a resort -
say, in greece...

the joker scenes are out...
the scene where he's dancing on the stairs...
sounds good... mhmm...
oh... this is gary glitter?
the art has absolutely nothing to do with the artist...
it's not like gary glitter can get away with it...
but... i'm pretty sure he can get away
whereas... ian watkins?
in that crushing defeat of musical genres...
when emo wasn't quiet a thing...
and nu-metal didn't die out...

i'm a cheap ***: all the people are raving /
were raving about a film...
and i'm waiting for the delayed spectacle...
only recently... avengers: end game?
what a major ******...
this "self-aware" introspection into movie
franchises that explore time-travel...
here's an alternative: study chemistry
and get a hippo's ***** ready on the wet
dip... i'm guessing this is a period of time
when: the genre of science fiction will
slowly die off...
i don't see how science fiction can sustain
itself...

- which is always beside the point...
moving on... english... this acquired tongue of
mine...
if only i were so adamant as a czesław miłosz:
had i a translator's worth of shadow,
and baggage running around after me...
like a sacred cow of the Raj...
how did i learn to mitigate?
i don't know... what i do know is...
drinking and habits of listening to music...

it starts off with: listening to some
music using english...
it sooner or later gravitates toward
something in german...
after i tire myself of german lyrics...
i'm heading toward scandinavia...
chances are: i will visit "mother russia"...
but i'll probably sink into
visiting byzantine chants...
once i figured out a way to move
from scandinavian paganism...
work my way past german folk
from the medieval period...
and finally arrive at: αγνη παρθενε...
obviously i will have to stop over
some quasi-folk germanic songs...
northern crusades:
teutonic songs... or the templar songs:

da pacem domine...
pristine times! the drunk carol singers
has sung their bit... there was no rest
for the wicked...
the carol: god rest ye merry, gentlemen
was sang...
reality of the everyday happened
no day shy away from the "celebration"...
i find more comfort in songs
of the templars...
perhaps the gregorians with their calender...
but most certainly the byzantine choir...

of ancient greece and what is known...
what can stand out from byzantine greece?
except from: byzantine bureaucracy?
counting knots in the fish-net stocking
on a centipede crawling out of a harem?

my musical diet: when i drink...
i can't listen to music when english is involved:
for too long a "passing" of: enjoying it...
i grow a beard and satan mount
a throne of wood and amber...
fiddling with it like a mad maestro that
has been given 100 violins and no...
woodwinds... and this is my "orchestra"...
a beard... crux of central europe:
with the zenith on the border of the river
Oder...

i do wonder what this scenario would look like;
if the girl gambled otherwise...
the pretty-****-pick sent by my offspring...
or my full-crop of hair...
and a beard... ***** envy can hardly be
a social events on the pedestrian stage...
but cranium envy?

the diet for a session begins...
it has to begin in english...
but who knows where i'm otherwise willing
to lend an ear to?
i can't be stuck with music i can understand
lyrically...
if i can't understand how to compose music...
well i did once know how to play
the ***-ar... and worked a nightclub
for a mandolin: just to serenade a Fiona
from a window a maggie may by:
rod-it stuart in edinburgh... once...

how romantic of anyone...
hell... this is still in english?
why aren't i pulling the strings of a czesław miłosz
and not retaining my nativspreschen?
why? i love to tickle german...
i love to tickle deutsche more than i care
for speaking english, or... rather...
writing in it...
but unlike a czesław miłosz... i didn't bring
a linguistic ghetto with me...
i don't have a ****** ghetto to go to...
perhaps... if i mingled with enough
of my "fellow", "countrymen"...
much easier said than done: if you're Irish...
and the only THing you have to worry
about is... diacritical nuance...
the THing, the Θing... is an english:
what the irish consider to be a surd affair...
T'h'ING... it's a t'ing... not ******* F even
if you looked at it with a bollocking of
a microscope, either!

- and this once high-school "fwend" once suggested...
'maybe you should go and find your own
fellow countrymen'...
who the **** do i look like? paddy?
an arab, an iranian, an italian...
or some *****-cheeky-cheese-brigade of sorts?!
my, "fellow" and "countrymen"...
on foreign soil? em... allegience to who?
i have severed my ties with Poland...
i keep my ties with Poland on the basis that:
my grandfather and grandmother are still
alive... when i visit them...
i don't expect them to be into this whole:
post-nationalism: internationalism non-nationalism
globalisation gimmick of: at least,
at least the modern lingua franca:
which is the l'inglese....
because... quiet frankly? i have a stash of:
mutterzunge bubbling beneath what's being written,
with some mongrel-german and mongrel-russia
auxilliary...

ah... the natives of the english tongue...
well... it's quiet expansive...
it can go beyond encompassing merely england...
it can go so far as to tread over scottish gaelic...
somewhat irish gaelic too...
only zee Velsh... seem to be... W: whistling free
in their linguistic stand-off...
who the hell even bothers to hear
about any scottish gaelic?
there's only gaelic gaelic: irish gaelic...
and there's welsh...
scotch gaelic? huh? apart from: a wee this
and a wee that?
*******... tartan and god's **** *******
of beer and the side-trash-dish of the savior
of whiskey in a gulp of ms. amber's **** juices
from a...
one of those distilleries...
that served up a whiskey tokaj whiskey...
i still remember the picture...
a girl i was dating took the picture...
in front of her a belarusian jew cosmo...
to her left... a russian looking into the glass
of whiskey with some philosiphical insight
begging to come out...
to her right... a dog ****** with his nose
in the matter...

figures... the ****** will sniff **** out...
the russian will: peer into the glass
for some "magical" insight...
philosophy or what not...

as if insuating: concerning the "little" people
of europe...
unlike the portugese, the spanish,
the italians or the greeks: acronym: PIGS...
but i least i'm no czesław miłosz:
i don't need to move to cam'cam'h'america
with a language in tow:
for some sort of lesson of: preserving roots
for a tree...
my version is apparently:
the bad integration strategy...
esp. on paper...
why would i still retain my tongue...
on paper... in this medium...
citizen ist citizen:
bürger ist bürger ist mir!

heaven behold i have to use alt sächsisch vaterzunge
to speak to the grünschnabel...
i fear for the natives of this tongue:
esp. since hiding behind the stipend of:
the empire upon which the sun never sets...
to have to hide behind a cultural import
from h'america...
or australia... is what gives rise to these
pseudo-communist grey areas of Bratford...
or Islam-came-ah-knocking in
Rotherham...

even i have to escape this...
this l'inglese... this new frontier of...
no frontier at all: except for the skull moon...
and baggage of frohlicht!

is priti patel a civic nationalist?
well i'd be ******* sterile if i didn't say:
a babe with class any loser in
my vicinity said: a banger...
if priti patel is not a civic nationalist...
then i'm not in england...
i'm nowhere...
******* banging bunny... anyways...
and the first time i managed to ******
a black girl for a quickie...
it took just the right amount of cocktails and...
enough coccyx banging into my pelvis that...
i... almost wished for a 12" ****
and the "proper *****"...
no... really... imagine a black girl mixed with...
a stick insect... and you just so happen
to have served her up...
a genuis concoction of cocktails...
the coccyx is bound to appear...
alligned to your poor-pelvis plum-sore...
one time or another:
no ***** envy in sight...

hence my "wish"... give me the 12" cod...
and enough plump *** as that will allow...
otherwise: no...
i would still like to imagine being
circumcised via the orthodox methods:
of a rabbi... not via some over-*******...

why am i writing about this with such fondness?
em... 21... nearing 34...
i can count... how many times i've had ***...
using only my fingers...
that's beside counting the prostitutes...
which... when you forget to trim your ***** hair
and you just end up kissing for an hour...
kissing prostitutes: what a noble affair...
bumble, trumble, tumble, twitter, bitter...
grinder... tinder... don't know:
i can't remember having owned a smartphone...
or a mobile...
that ambition died when:
i was left with calls 10 minutes from a meeting
for a pint... on a bus...

that's... 34 - 21... 13 years with sporadic
casual *** patterns...
oh and that thai bisexual girl... woman...
boy... i picked up from a park bench...
we listened to some jazz... drank some beers...
"weaped"... then had a cigarette in the garden
and ****** while i was kept in suspence...
honestly: i didn't know what i was getting myself
into... it was a thai surprise moment...
sports bra... and... until i reached into
the nadir of the zenith did i find out...
phew... no pronoun debauchery...

13 years and the sort of *** life that could
be celebrated by a *******
harriet turtles of the islands of galapagos...
while, around me, in the vicinity:
kama surtras left right and center!
why would i drift toward...
scandinavian pagan songs...
byzantine chants... crusader anthems?
i don't know: it's hard to punctuate
ridicule into that sentence... ridicule and irony...
self-depreciating humor...

- 'music was terrible in the 2010s'...
perhaps... except of a ****** band: LAO CHE...
i will still be punching myself over
my sentiments...
and "they" can come and speak english
like it's "theirs"...
but at the same time... not be "english" at
the same time...
perhaps it's the north h'american conundrum
of patriotism with the old continent
sentiment "for" nationalism...
perhaps if we all speak this one
magical language...
we can still find ourselves
with unboxing cues in a bazar in Tehran...

and they were Persians before
the Arab camel-jockeys came...
and that spirit of poetry died
and the old antagonism with the Greeks:
too died...
arab camel-jockeys with their... sole book...
and enough time...
enough time to see them sitting on
an iceberg of dinosaur crude fuel...
that truly was and is a miracle...
i still don't see why the Ottomans wouldn't
want to treat the camel-jockeys as they
should have to have prospered:
since no Lawrence would ever come from
ottoman Istambul...

but oh oh: tuba büyüküstün the god-smacker
and the slow death of martyrs' promised: harems...
even a slow-to-understand man
can find his solomon and his queen of sheba...
somehow, "somewhere"...

so much for drinking some wine...
and: it's not like speaking the truth, drunk,
managed to get anyone into trouble...
perhaps the "kind" alternative?
nietzsche on barbiturates?

i sometimes wish i could be alligned
to a female sort of companionship...
without the immediate awe-struck beauty parallel
with: what's actually beneath being
awe-struck... but no...
i will have to do my best with dogs,
cats, the odd fox... and pyramids and pyramids
of stacked ms. amber bottles...

wine and the gods' anemia... or haemophilia...
i never which one it is...
i almost wish i could sentence myself
to the banal grey-ish merger of:
the everyday with a woman...
but... alas... i still have a mother...
and i'm still unsure about the times
when she's lying or telling the truth...
but, given, she's my mother...
i allow her the benefit of the doubt...
having a mother is enough to:

going down the river of keeping a woman
company: in company that precludes
having *** with her...
bad grammar or just the unnecessary word:
precludes...

it's enough to be in a company of a woman
you can't have *** with...
and quiet another...
to be in a company... you can have *** with...
this "can" will probably never
arrive at the sober conclusion of:
you "might" or... that you even "will"...
i guess the antithesis of gambling came
when prostitution wasn't allowed...
a man sought alternatives...
50p bet and all the thrills....
that... yep... 110 quid an hour would never give...
gambling and *******...
the siamese child of desolation of
Moloch and his bride: Ursula (usury)...

what's that "motto"? when the fun stops: stop?
here's a way to figure it out:
see a ***** before you start gambling...
and when you gamble...
bet for a quarter... less than but equal to / no more
than a pound...
i've started to bet on football results:
a win... and the other team also scores...
i managed to find a bet accumulator...
that would leave me off...
over 200K richer... from having bet a pound...

like i once mentioned...
the 3Ps of today's clinical "advice"...
there's the priest... n'ah...
there's the psychiatrist (you'll want to see him
first, seeing a psychologist is pointless...
he has no prescriptive authority...
he's no big pharma loved-up yuppy sort of...
gwy)...
or there's the *******...
priest, psychiatrist... *******...
i did the priestly bit when i visited
a monestary in France, Taize...
i was young and the hormones weren't kicking in,
just yet, and i would have stayed...
but i wasn't rich enough to buy myself
a place at that, kind of, prestigious "university"...

psychologists and psychiatrists...
what the tongue can't lick or taste:
a tongue can't heal...
talk talk talk... but no: suma summarum:
no oeuvre momentum...

prostitutes and betting habbits it was...
settled...
this one maroccan colt with his one maxim:
there's no water in a desert...
ever see more water than that in a puddle
in a concrete jungle?
and that's hoping for: evian...
tapeworm free water... ever?!

so much for tinder...
and so much for... ahem... adverts: ok cupid...
claustrophobic dating advice with no
spares...
if you can't pick them up fresh
from a park bench of uncertainty waiting
for that, that thai surprise?
so much for being a h'american...
and a *** tourist... in Odessa...
of Kiev... or getting milked for the bogus
*****-****-thrill of it:
to genesis the whole model escapade of:
dosh stashed in a porky inch-by-inch
leather itch of: spend spend spend!

.had i not come across the tironian ⁊... my my... what is a 7? did tiro invent a counter to VII? it was not all borrowed numbers from the sankskirt wielding hindus?! tironian... now that's someone you don't hear of much these days, it's all aesop and spartacus... if even that... tiro formerly a footnote in the life of cicero... for a B and a III - stenography's 3... Q and R or IX - stenography's 9... yes, we europeans didn't invent the current numbers... but just imagine... the details of +, - x, ÷ hidden within the jazz hands and counting with your fingers and the abacus... and how you will not find roman algebra... or that the discovery of calculus took both: numbers, and letters... etc. etc., but that we didn't invent numbers... as the slave Tiro... and his stenography of letters... i ascribe stenography as the original proposal for modern numbers... perhaps they would have "thought": II (+) III (=) V... or... oh i forget the cliche of Rome and the seven hills... i see: I, V, X: L, C, D, M... seven hills or what? who needs 10 digits when you can do just fine with... 7? the seven headed beast of revelation... i call that bait... but they built a... ******* coliseum working with: a year is bound to "spelling" rather than counting... CCCLXV... then again... with letters as numbers perhaps all of mathematics was once upon a time only practical, practical architecture... beautiful architecture and what not... glass shards would fizzle out: because of their proportions... imagine geometric-algebra with: letters and letters rather than superscript numbers: yet to arrive from the Raj of india... or otherwise found in ol' Tiro's stenography of letters... tender waiting buds of welcomed may... because we really borrowed numbers from: what was not already in letters, bound, waiting for a steographer to revise the matter of "counting"... all of ancient mathematics was without a hypothetical... without an algebra.... concrete evidence suggests that: a mathmetician was someone who had enough spacial awareness... numbers drafted for taxes and building coliseums... beauty marked by IX + XI = **! quiet odd... i see the 7 headed beast, the roman numerals beside the seven hills of the ancient resting place of papal bones: I, V, X: L, C, D, M... that numbers came to us from the Raj, from Persia? we had a 7 in the form of the greek gamma Γ... all that was required was codifying a looking into a mirror... might i stress the importance of narcissus in this affair? the unconscious of narcissus: Γ | ⁊... aren't i the lucky one... with a leash on the baron of the talk of shattering of mirror: never sounds like the shattering of glass!

as ever, opening a bottle of ms. amber and sitting down
to a sudoku...
to ensure this sponge of a brain slurps up
some wet concrete...

//
   \\
                      __   (⁜)      "oop" □ here
                      ⁁  †               ‗
"oop" □ over
here...   focus points...
the kaleidoscopic eyes...

words to abstract words are not enough...
anagrams are: "abstracts" of words using words...
i'm too tired to play games of this
nature... i want to return to...
VI + IV = X... somewhat daringly... return to...


a box over here: ◰ (yes, like so...
with the isolated number missing,
e.g.
or an ◲...

                     a line of 9: ――――――― here and
now "there" |
                      |
                      |
               ­       |
                      |
                      |
        ­              |    in vertical
                      |
                      |

i've seen how people lock their smart-phones...
•   •   •
•   •   • and whatever ✭ pentagram "zigzag"
•   •   •

   opens it up... a sudoku puzzle, can very much
be a bunch of stacked pentagrams:
                            ✭
                       ­  ✭✭✭
                      ✭✭✭✭✭
                   ✭✭✭✭✭✭✭
the eyes will always wander to-and-fro...
again... what sort of i.q. does the darting eyes?
i'm not that good with crosswords...
as a bilingual i already have a crossword
in my head...
i don't play games of anagrams...

you want to write a cascade poo'em... write this...
otherwise peer into...
this will never make a study of geometry...
this is a 9² "problem"... more like a canvas to
relax in... sudoku says the hiroshima pundit...
i say... it's a 9²: niner squared...
in the UN approved phonetic alpha-beta...
why isn't it the alpha-omega...
choicest of wordings...
i guess an alphabet implies a cascade that...
cascades?

          A                  B                ­  C
   x     x     1     x     x     x     x     9     1
1 x     x     x     6     9     x     3     x     4
   x     x     3     x     x     x     5     1     7
   9     x     x     x     1     7     6     x     x
2 3     5     x     x     x     x     x     x     x
   7     x     x     x     5     4     8     x     x
   x     x     7     x     x     x     2     9     8
3 8     x     x     8     2     x     4     x     6
   x     x     2     x     x     x     x     x     x

but what if the following narrative...
took place... with the numbers being replaced
by letters... better still, something more simpler...
what it A1(1) - the bracket implying
the number placed in the square A1:
which consists of 9 numbers...
0 is never part of a puzzle... nor should it be...
0 is a number that acts as more a function
of (x) and of (÷)...
you can deem 0 to be involved in addition
and subtrtaction...
but... not really...
0 acts as a prime multiplier and divider...
it's so clearly omitted in addition and subtraction...
that... ancient romans... said 1 = I...
3 = III... while 10 = X....
while 9 = IX and 11 = XI...
and 20 = **...

but what is a 9² (sudoku) puzzle was to replace
numbers with greek letters?
why not greek letters?

however much i put into these scribbles...
maximum effort... minimum return rate... so i will not
do as i anticipated myself in doing:
reaching into a dimension of ambition...
i'd only say... it was much easier calling it a...
A1(1) rather than a Aa(1) narrative...
don't ask me why... perhaps the whiskey has...
"muddled" me...

but...

          A                  B                  C
­   x     x     1     x     x     x     x     9     1
1 x     x     x     6     9     x     3     x     4
   x     x     3     x     x     x     5     1     7
   9     x     x     x     1     7     6     x     x
2 3     5     x     x     x     x     x     x     x
   7     x     x     x     5     4     8     x     x
   x     x     7     x     x     x     2     9     8
3 8     x     x     8     2     x     4     x     6
   x     x     2     x     x     x     x     x     x

was more simple to solve than

          A                  B                  C
   x     x     1     x     x     x     x     9     1
a x     x     x     6     9     x     3     x     4
   x     x     3     x     x     x     5     1     7
   9     x     x     x     1     7     6     x     x
b 3     5     x     x     x     x     x     x     x
   7     x     x     x     5     4     8     x     x
   x     x     7     x     x     x     2     9     8
c 8     x     x     8     2     x     4     x     6
   x     x     2     x     x     x     x     x     x

  borrows from puzzle no. 11,337...
to solve and explain puzzle no. 11,341...

but in between... let's watch the optical
schematic: ▣, ▤ / ▥,
              ▦ / ▩ and ▨ / ▧...
while at the same time: squadron-✭
                       mein gott:
this over-inflated nihon squat and square...
as donal rumsfeld said: the known knowns,
the known unknowns and the unknown unknowns...
because he's not just like...
the bullet-point and the next target practice
of: **** bad... **** all good...
the war criminal Slobo Milošević from
Yugol you-go...
the english isles would know know...
as to why... a mongol invasion would never
set them back a century...
or as to how the ottoman turks teasing...
was only a romance in romania...
because... even if Finland is the quirky odd
kid in the whole bunch of the Scandinavian
sandwich of rar herrings and gherkins
and rye bread...
well sort me out oh please sort me out...
tell me that listening to
these debut albums... or near misses...
silverchair - frogstump...
everclear - sparkle and fade...
stone temple pilots - songs from the vatican gift shop...
it also made sense to be a pre-teen...
listening to these albums
with an uncle with a car... eating cheap
chicken wings while he washed the car
from some next-or-no-other *****-circus date...
after that... it didn't make a sense to own
a car... if there was the bus...
and a dream of riding a horse everywhere...

this little moi: this solo experience...
of the long hair of gods
and the long beards of men...
and the of the sikhs and the devils...
and how it didn't make sense to grow
both at the same time...
long hair in my youth...
while playing, slumpt in...
catch-up-baghdad...
i too thought it was going to be that
simple... a demigod grows long hair...
a demi-imbecile of the most basic
infernal hides the scythe moon
and the chin behind a turban of a beard...
the god with long hair...
the devil and his... beard and itch...
eden of ***** having migrated from
the cushion of underwear:
fully exposed to... not tended to...
or the scrub of stubble...
or what's not... the venus glory sheen...
smoothed or smothered skin
that still belongs to the buttocks of the newly
born...

yes... in between the songs strawberry and
heartspark dollarsign - from everclear's debut...
i too wish i took drugs...
fortunate as i am unfortunate: words and letters
are in x-ray black and white...
what good would licking some mushroom
do for me, or for you?
excesses of colours, among these dams and bridges?
among these sputniks of  precursor numbers?

even if the blanks, were to replaced with a 0
for the other algebra unknown...
tier above... hyperscript a 1 - 9...
i.e.

          A                  B                  C
   0     0     1     0     0     0     0     9     1
a 0     0     0     6     9     0     3     0     4
   0     0     3     0     0     0     5     1     7
   9     0     0     0     1     7     6     0     0
b 3     5     0     0     0     0     0     0     0
   7     0     0     0     5     4     8     0     0
   0     0     7     0     0     0     2     9     8
c 8     0     0     8     2     0     4     0     6
   0     0     2     0     0     0     0     0     0

mirror, mirror on the wall...
who isn't a charlize theron 0 = negation
of them all?
abigail mac is not a *****
doppelgänger of alicia vikander?

no better need to drink...
nonetheless the sun still shines on the question...
sudoku 9²: what it the cardinal numbers
were to be replaced with cardinal letters...
notably greek...
the alpha male the beta male the gamma and
the omega are all covered...
so is pi... given xi (11) is 0...

          A                  B                  C
   0     0     1     0     0     0     0     0     0
a 0     0     0     6     9     0     3     0     4
   0     0     3     0     0     0     5     1     7
   9     0     0     0     1     7     6     0     0
b 3     5     0     0     0     0     0     0     0
   7     0     0     0     5     4     8     0     0
   0     0     7     0     0     0     2     9     8
c 8     0     0     8     2     0     4     0     6
   0     0     2     0     0     0     0     0     0

thus? Iota = 1, A = 2, B = 4, Γ = 7, Δ = 3,
rho (Ρ) = 9, Π =...
B should equate itself to 8 in the stenographic
origin of numbers...
depending on which stenography you decide
upon...
Iota = 1, A = 2, B = 8, Γ = 7, Δ = 3, P = 9....
no lower-case, please...
intuitively: zeta: Ζ = 5...
what's missing? we have: 1, 2, 8, 7, 3, 9, 5...
4 and 6...
                     Η = 4 and Σ = 6...
rubric, please!
1 = I
2 = A
3 = Δ
4 = H
5 = Z
6 = Σ
7 = Γ
8 = B
9 = P...

and how would a sudoku look like... thus?

          A                  B                  C
   0     0     I     0     0     0     0     P     I
a 0     0     0     Σ     P     0     Δ     0     H
   0     0     Δ     0     0     0     Z     I     Γ
   9     0     0     0     I     Γ     Σ     0     0
b Δ     Z     0     0     0     0     0     0     0
   Γ     0     0     0     Z     H     B     0     0
   0     0     Γ     0     0     0     A     P     B
c B     0     0     B     A     0     H     0     Σ
   0     0     A     0     0     0     0     0     0

notably when the following narrative unfolds
and

          A                  B                  C
  ­ x     x     1     x     x     x     x     9     1
1 x     x     x     6     9     x     3     x     4
   x     x     3     x     x     x     5     1     7
   9     x     x     x     1     7     6     x     x
2 3     5     x     x     x     x     x     x     x
   7     x     x     x     5     4     8     x     x
   x     x     7     x     x     x     2     9     8
3 8     x     x     8     2     x     4     x     6
   x     x     2     x     x     x     x     x     x

becomes

          A                  B                  C
   4     8     1     5     7     3     9     6     2
1 2     7     5     6     9     1     3     8     4
   6     9     3     4     8     2     5     1     7
   9     2     8     3     1     7     6     4     5
2 3     5     4     P     Σ     8     7     2     1
   7     1     6     2     5     4     8     3     9
   5     4     7     1     3     6     2     9     8
3 1     3     9     8     2     5     4     7     6
   8     6     2     Γ     H     9     1     5     3

via B1(1) C1(6) C1(8) C1(2) C1(9) A1(9) A3(9) A1(5) A1(6) C3(7) C2(7) C3(1) A2(1) A3(1) B3(5) A3(3) A2(6) A2(2) A2(8) A2(4) C2(4) C2(5) B2(3) A3(5) B1(5) C3(5) C3(3) C2(1) C2(9) C2(3) C2(2) B2(2) B1(2) A1(2) A1(7) B1(8) B1(4) B1(7) B1(3) B2(8) B3(9) B3(6) A3(6) A3(8) A3(4) A1(4) A1(8)... post-script in greek numerals...
B2(Σ), B2(P), B3(H), B3(Γ)...

and if this is bingo... then bingo more... B2(x) and B2(y)...
and B3(y) and B3(x)...
my god... the fun time i'm missing when having
to raise children...
esp. among those superior intellects
of men... who... upon being married...
upon raising children...
return to the manosphere and talk to other
males without harems as if they were:
either constipated... circumcised...
or needing a father figure for that all encompassing
shorthand:
i didn't go to university to study chemistry...
i went... to the university of life!
a supermarket cashier clerk...
was the sort of cocktail shake-up required
for my bottled shampoo!

a ring a capturing a female is enough
qualifications to overlord the conversation
whether by topic or "feel"...
among ones... the la's nostalgia regret...
that would never arrive at blur or oasis
when it came to growing up in 1990s cool
britannia...

coming home to little town Poland...
is a carnival better than landing in Warsaw...
i can't say the same should i come,
and arrive in Loon'don's queue...
or the tubes under tarmac...

but of course drinking would get in the way...
to raising children...
perhaps drinking will allow...
a cameo father-figure role with a ******* child...
akin to: john wayne oscar winner for hard grit...
or: i'll **** my trousers because it's:
gonna be a rainman sort of day...
to start licking windows...
because: fear... prior to the mirror...
and the tongue that would no dare
to usurp the phallus in the serpent analogy...

yes... i noted "wrong"... i made a siamese blunder...
a siamese *** myopia...
two puzzle boxes... "the same" postal box...
the same university level education
of a non-high-school tier drop-out...
esp. because there's still no honda civic
worth a 33 year old to user the tinder app
to bother the wasp hive / harem... or some whatver
future of: this scenario never made it into blade runner...
or the inspiration for blade runner...
the one twin dead talking from the grave about
the future...
perhaps it was original for philip k. ****...
but perhaps... like any poet...
he's the host... and it was jane charlotte ****
speaking playing peek-a-boo from the grave?
there's no future in my writing...
i guess if this isn't "me"... then it's my
maternal great-grandfather and me talking about
shadows and dentists...
last time i had the foggiest...
i had a tootache...
so it's settled...
senior "chopin" and quasi "chopin"...
an internal joke...
how's the family?
family beside the atoms and the period table?
oh fine fine...
after all i heard the myth:
he didn't have any of his teeth pulled out...
but he also threw a tonne of coffe into the river
because certain people in europe even in
the 20th century didn't know what to do with coffee beans...

the spirit of adventure and exploration...
notably prolific in a landlocked
experience of the czech republic or moldova...
or... idaho... or...
i see water i want to see waterfalls...
i want to turn the anchor in a pumpkin carriage
and call the waves my horses!
to call an island a ship!
to call a continent a yawn and backward peoples...
and branch out... like a phototropism...
leaving all these continental europeans
living the nocturnal life of:
growth on **** sort of fungus of a past...

there's certainly a mistake in here...
but... unless you're just watched: shock & awe movie...
or still retain: the times weekly subscription...
what's a pedantry's "safe space" of automated
complications:
oh the joys of not having to cling to passing
a telegraph of genes and keeping it a minimum
of: two adults ******* better produce at least
two replicas... rather than that chinese
1 child per couple failure of ******-short-circuits...
oh the burden of reading some french thinking,
some german thinking...
nothing of a locke mea culpa as
the current phrase: pilate washing his hand
like a o.c.d. sufferer...

Tiro the new Aesop!
🙉 🙈 🙊
           monkey branch, busy cousin
of the follow-through deviation from gravity
in the upsillon - the parabola of a banana...
called the canary dip...
otherwise: my! what a treat!
what greater ambitions to write...
in order to write something
that would never become so quickly screened
like a stephen king novel...
obviously the contra comes from...
the loitering dean koontz...

it must be a curse of the surname...
i have a ****** surname...
well... unless you add... no...
adolf had a surname...
that germans must have found funny...
stalin had a surname...
that the russians must have found funny...
ghenghis simply could: in a present-participle
of: can...
and future present as a pop. surname
in pakistan: khan...
which sorts out the "problem" as to why
there's a stephen king and a dean koontz...
the answer is self-evident...
as i'm sure every smith and handy
becomes a plumber or the better part
of anyone day when he's struggling
with sightseeing and tourism...
of what might become...
the better part of a Thursday burrowing
from Hades into Tartarus.

did you know that  the sikh temple
karamsar gurdwara
(in ilford) was built by slaves?
yeah, they were bribed
into coming to england
with hopes of a wife and passport...
they built the ****** thing, they did,
worked for pay of lodgings and
food... then they were sent back to
kashmir... the cement wasn't dry when
it happened...
one man spoke out...
                    so did the sikhs of conscience...
but they said **** about the muslims.
i love it... it's like the white skin of eastern
or northern europe was never intended
to be equal to the likes of colonial *******,
and what the colonial ******* learned:
**** ex **** hoc fecit:
don't worry, you can relearn latin,
just mind the prepositions and the inverse
grammar structures worth a translation.

i can't remember the last time i was satisfied with
only drinking one cider and 35cl of whiskey,
i honestly can't... then again i plucked two of my
favourite aphrodisiacs that night...
i beat up the whittle 'ichard before
(aphrodisiac no. 1 - exercise, exertion) cycled
to the brothel... then bought myself a bottle
of cider (aphrodisiac no. 2 - no other alcohol
works that sort of magic, no wine, no whiskey,
certainly not beer: cider...
and for that matter a very specific cider...
merry down cider, with a fox playing a violin
on the etiquette... the label... served in a 75cl
portion... 7.5%... medium dry...
so no...  not Thatcher's... or a Hertfordshire Weston's...
it has to be the Merry Down... probably
because of the portion) and did the victory
lap around the park and the brothel around
Goodmayes station...
obviously i bought 35cl of whiskey before walking
in... inside after we ******... hmm...
******* sets me off so quick... i don't know:
seeing a woman on her knees... from behind...
a bit like watching women in churches on
their knees before certain deeds are done...
i think i'm going to go back to a catholic church
one Sunday and draw out fetishes in my head...
kneeling before a cross... maybe Jesus the ******
would have loved to be nailed to some X cross
and then get ****** off by some Magdalene?
maybe he was into sadomasochism...
    who knows... but ******* sets me off on
an easy path of ******...
at least in the ******* it feels more
like exercise as i'm using the upper part of my body
to arch over a woman... from time to time
lowering myself to kiss her when she shows her tongue
licking her lips: i guess that implies: kiss me...
so i do... or lowering my body to brush noses
with her... press my forehead against hers
or just bite her chin...

is it just me or did the band Priest use certain accents
of Lana Del Rey's Summertime Sadness
in their song Phantom Pain? have a listen...
i think they did... never mind...
aphrodisiac no. 3: music... just listening to some
music you'd like to listen to when *******
fills the mind prior to the act with the act:
Trevor Something: into your heart...

work has transformed me, working with people,
dealing with drunk football fans...
i walked into the brothel: three beauties sitting there...
i never thought i had a thing for plump girls
or girls wearing glasses...
but this third one... the blonde... that lied
about being from Romania when in fact i know
from Michaela that she's Poland looked like:
a frightened doe... her eyes almost teary... her lips
moving as if trying to tell me something...
obviously i picked Michaela: she's going back
to Romania for a month to visit her family...
she worked so hard that she managed to have
a 12 room house with 3 bathrooms...
she's thinking about retiring in a year's time...
setting up a restaurant... i told her i make ****
good mint and chocolate chip ice-cream and i love
looking... who knows... i heard that Romania
is beautiful... and she's from Bucharest...
so... easy access to Ottoman heritage... and Dracula...
who knows... life is sometimes a house
of windows that are opportunities...
the same blonde that:

Khadija... Khadira... Khedra blocked me on WhatsApp
just before she ****** off back to Turkey
for a holiday... yeah... Khedra sent me
a photograph of herself with this girl...
now look at her... a frightened doe...
why did she block me? i don't care...
she was there last night... i asked for her...
but she was bringing back £60 for an extra half
an hour with a man she was already busy with...
we said hello: i kissed her cheek as a greeting...
me and my hardly jealous heart...
but Michaela can do i don't think even Khedra
could... after all... with Michaela it was
first time quick... second time longer...
third time quick... 4th time much longer...
first time? i blame it on the fact that she forgot
to pull back the *******... what sort of uncircumcised man
wants to **** without a circumcision imitation?
i know women prefer the aesthetic of a circumcised
man... but at the same time:
in the old ways... a man would be circumcised...
but the woman would have to pay some compensation...
just look at Islam and Judaism...
not the current American raw deal of circumcised
men... that's not how it works...
circumcise a man and his sometimes need to
pleasure himself makes no sense with no *******...

hardly a joke... it's called the acronym FGM (female
genital mutilation, but it's not called MGM male
genital mutilation?! oh right... all those eunuchs
in harems who were walking ******... because: hardly...
Solomon couldn't **** all his harem...
it would probably take him a whole year
to make the rounds and **** all his concubines)...
so unless he didn't have eunuchs to please his concubines
he had the concubines turn to lesbian acts...
even great kings of old didn't mind other men
******* their women... as long as they didn't impregnate
them...
i'm a modern man... i really don't care who she has
been ******* prior...

me? with Khedra... i know why she blocked me...
but it's only on WhatsApp... i still have her number...
i just have to use the conventional routes...
but she must have received advice from fellow prostitutes...
you're sending him pictures of yourself?
you said you'd gladly have a night with him
in a hotel room for free?! are you a ******* or his
girlfriend?!
mind you: Michaela asked me for extra money
for unprotected ***... Khedra simply gave it up without
any extra cost... to be honest... i don't mind either...
****** off: obviously...
****** on? honey... do you have two spare latex suits
we can wear? oh sure... and a tub of butter
we can both jump into and smear each other
and pretend we're snails... ha... ah ha... terrible joke...

but ever since starting work again: i feel more and more
alive... my confidence has shot through
the roof... two prostitutes sitting opposite me
don't really intimidate me...
one tries to be a smart-***... the other is gearing up
because she knows i'll choose her and the third
looks scared...
hmm... i know that Michaela would ask me to pay
extra to perform oral *** on her...
Khedra? she gave it up for free...
i love seeing a woman who shows her hot-shivers
or ******... not ******* are so ******* oratory
as might be portrayed... hot-shivers of ******...
and, to be honest? ****** vaginas are very...
not tasteless... i've had one once... they sort of stink...
there are not enough lubrication juices...
and i mean from multiple men...
it really doesn't bother me...

thank god none of them ever asked for me to perform
****... pop pornographic culture with all that
**** fixation is ill to me... i can understand
if two Russian soldiers on the front feel like
gagging each other's anuses... but with women?

that was Khedra... freebies... i would otherwise have
to pay for with Michaela...
but Khedra is a slim nymphomaniac...
Michaela is a business minded woman...
and being plump: that's an added asset...
Khedra has her eyes open throughout *******
while Michaela has her eyes closed...
hello: a welcome return to the Unbearable Lightness
of Being by Milan Kundera...
i have to see: everything... i gorge with my eyes...
i'm eating: but i'm not eating...

but i know why i only drank one Merry Down cider
and 35cl of whiskey last night, wrote 'Biggie"
and went to bed...
huh! i have a nickname? that's so endearing...
that's so much better than a girl calling you by your name...
English doesn't really have a diminutive
aspect of language: esp. nouns...
in ****** speech you can create diminutive "concepts"
of words: to make them more endearing...
Matthew, i.e. Mateusz can become Mateuszek...
duck, i.e. kaczka can become kaczuszka
dog, i.e. pies can become piesek
woman, i.e. kobieta can become kobietka...
what's the equivalent in English?
it's "diminutive": but it's not an endearing-diminutive...
it's belittling-diminutive, that's the distinction
between the two languages i own...
little women... you can't actually morph the word
woman to imply woman a "tiny", or, "small"
in an endearing way... only in a belittling way...
thank god i know two languages...
fluently: bilingually...
perhaps a third would be useful if i wished
to travel and start a business... most certainly a knowledge
of Spanish would open a world of opportunities...
obviously i'd settle for German... large enough
territory... but? as a personal psychology basis?
being monolingual would be claustrophobia for me...
or equivalent: therefore...

oh man... it would have been such a mistake if
i just settled for my high-school sweetheart, Promis...
when dating her i went to a friend's birthday
party and was presented with a chance to cheat...
she was much younger than me and eager:
i declined her even though she was already all
over me... it wouldn't have worked...
my father: i'm not my father... mentioned only
two women in his life...
one girl who tried to trick him into becoming
a surrogate father... i.e. not raising his own genes...
and... my mother... but i'm not my father:
i think my parents are freaks... seriously...
it's like monogamy and the swan song was all
about them...
my estranged uncle was a serial polygamist...
he tried a monogamy once: FAIL...
she ended up being a journalistic-wannabe
with an abortion as a notch on her belt...
i learned from my maternal grandfather too...
he was married at the age of 18? 19? but cheated
on my grandmother... he mentioned 3 women
in his life... me? i didn't lose count on purpose...
i lost count on the basis of: and how many different
selves of myself have i found along the way?
i can can't at least 5...

but unlike Khedra with her hot-shivers when i was
performing... eating-oysters on her ****...
there was Michaela who said last night:
look! you're making me dance! and she looked
the happiest girl... she was dancing... lying back...
it wasn't a dance: dance... it wasn't a samba...
she was dancing by wriggling happy on her back
after all that missionary ***...
plus?! i now have a nickname: i'm: Biggie...
and... fair enough: i have more beard envy than
***** envy... even though i've been approached
by guys at work with a similar envy... beards...
apparently i have a perfect beard...

i'm Biggie... now... a few years back i was
KAKASHKA for Ilona: little ****...
it could have worked with Ilona: if i wasn't a ******
and she wasn't a Russian...
Russian pride against Polacks was already
stated by Dostoyevsky demeaning us...
even though i'd be the first to celebrate Russian
isolationistic culture upkeep...

i don't think i could love one woman...
that would be selfish... after all... all the most beautiful
women are either prostitutes or...
actresses in the pornographic industry...
strange how beauty works: it works perfect in nature:
nature wants to showcase itself for the greatest
number of people...
that's a bit like beautiful women...
that's why beautiful women in Islam are an
antithesis of nature's parody...
i heard one Pakistani once tried to teach me
the "mystery" of Islam...
if you owned a jewellery shop... and you had this one
massive sapphire in your shop...
would you want to keep it in the front window
so that anyone could look at it...
huh? he continued: no... you'd keep it hidden
in the back...
                       rrrright... huh?!
he actually didn't mention: so people would ask about?
how could anyone know that you have
a massive ******* sapphire in the back
of your jewellery shop?
point being... why have a jewellery shop
if you're going to be so selfish about what's beautiful?!
you're a ******* jewel merchant or some stingy
****?!
then again: the allure surrounding women is the same
in the west as it is in Islam...
make-up and the NIQAB...
in the west make-up does what a NIQAB does in Islam...
it's the same-****: just a different cover...
i look at a woman in a NIQAB: i'm curious...
i watch a woman heavily overdone with make-up...
i can sometimes say:
there's less paint on a masterpiece than there is
chemical junk on her face to hide her imperfections
that: i might find appealing...
sure... with a NIQAB i can only see the eyes...
but with western standards: i see eyes... exfoliating
in feline fakery... and the rest of her is doubly faked-up...

thank god i'm man... i just need to wash myself
on a regular basis... trim my beard... shave my *****
region and my arm-pits... no chance of me shaving
the hair on my pirate chest and my stomach...
apparently Michaela likes flowing her fingers through
my body hair and teasing my *******...
tonight: i need more whiskey...
not because i'm miserable: i'm happy...
that's why i continue to drink and not get drunk:
i'll feel drunkness when i stop writing and relax...
until then my memory is working overload...
and this is only memory from yesterday...

maybe that's why i don't dream so much...
i don't dream because i'm not seeking escapism
some people seek via imagination...
since their memory faculty has either been eroded
by pedagogy... or? as Bukowski once noted:
some people never go mad: what horrible lives
they must least... a recurrent spontaneity of
"amnesia": or simply looking down on people?
not treating them fairly, lovingly?

life's not difficult: other people make life difficult,
their games of hierarchies...
life's not difficult... other people make life difficult...
and? i could never understand men
who associate cats with lonely modern women...
celebrating dogs...
oh **** me! cats are the best: esp. Maine *****...
then again... maybe i have a spezial cat...
why dogs and men why women and cats
why blue and men why pink and woman?!
who said?
   and who didn't say: cats of Ancient Egypt?
the Pharaohs probably owned cats...
what about Muhammad's favourite cat? Muezza?
who the **** said that cats are efaminating creatures?!
these Bonsai tigers are just as much fun
as dogs... if not more! why? you can have time off
from petting them: when they be themselves
and... no leashes! no muzzle! fickle sleeping and feeding
patterns...
but i agree... there's one negative of cats
that i remember was a great positive having petted
Bella... my Alsatian... well... two...

cat's can't pull a sleigh... with you on it as a toddler...
you can't ride a cat as toddler...
but you can a dog... like a Shetland pony...
you can't be a toddler and put your hand inside
the beast's gob and pull out an imaginary tongue...
and... this is my biggest envy of dog owners...
Sundays at my grandparent's house...
chicken broth... basically an entire poached chicken
in a soup of... choice of vegetable to create
a chicken and vegetable stock?
carrots... root parsley, fresh parsley... celeriac...
baby celery... leek... garlic... burned onions...
the usual seasoning... vermicelli pasta...
but that's the biggest difference between cats and dogs...
i don't know why cats stopped drinking milk...
classically they drank milk...
as a child i remember glowing with glee that i owned
an animal that would eat the leftovers of the food i just
finished... dog are special in that way...
some of the soup wasn't finished...
Bella the Alsatian was whimpering after the leftovers...
she got a bowl... a bountiful bowl...
she loved her chicken broth...
   with the vermicelli... with the vegetables...
and added to the mix? the chicken bones...
my grandfather always bemoaned the fact that me
and my father ate our chicken to the point of biting
off the cartilage off the bones... i went further...
i bit off the heads to get to the juicy-dry marrow...

a different season for a different animal:
i loved dogs for the simple pleasure that they would
eat what you couldn't finish for dinner...
but i love cats for the fact that they behave like
ferns... sorry... houseplants...
you can ignore them from time to time...
they only come up to you when they feel like approaching
you...
the rest of the time you can just ignore them...
but when they love you: it's unlike a dog
waiting for you to equip yourself with a leash...
when they love you: or rather: you're ******* more interesting
than any human prior... they rarely scout for more room...
you've already enlarged their perspective on existence...

perhaps i could be your neurotypical man by
any standards: in the Old Testament style
of breaking away from my father and mother
and chose a wife: i tried it with Promis...
i hated the experience... i have to abandon my mother
and father... in order... to marry you... woman...
and... abandon my mother and father...
in order... to give a **** more about: YOUR... mother
and father?! seriously?! that's a raw ******* deal...
i haven't been raised by my mother from the age
of 6 through to 8...
and by my father from the age of 4 through to 8...
collapse of the Soviet Union:
if it wasn't the brain drain (that came later)
it was a labour shortage in the early 90s...
i don't think i'm clingy... sure... if my parents raised
me throughout those LEGO-years...
i'd be out of the house already: or? no... the cost
of living... what? at least i have intellectual comparisons
with me...
times are changing... i was lucky to be out of
the cosmopolitan game of dating ever since i went
mad aged 21... my whole 20s are a fog...
i woke up mid-30s sort of happy to be simply
alive... i'm happy for that "conundrum"...
i missed so much that was required of me to miss...
i can go to the brothel with a clean conscience
of being able to satisfy prostitutes...

at least we know something personal about Muhammad
that's more than however many wives he had...
a man of his times of his region...
i can't be a judge of that...
but at least he had his favourite cat: and we know
his name: Mu'izza...
like i had a favourite cat of mine:
Darshan... who my Sikh neighbour killed
by poising him because: she offered to take care of...
but couldn't be bothered to clean up his ****
or give him food... easier to **** the poor creature:
make him suffer kidney failure...
i was visiting my grandparents
while my mother and father were holidaying
in the Maldives... two days before they were
supposed to come back... i woke up with a stinking
fear... i phoned them up, i need to go back home!
i'm worried about Darshan...
a silver beast of a Maine ****...
dead... "kidney failure"... i was so stricken
with morbid emotions... after he was cremated
i found a Croquet buggy...
took all the pieces off... strapped a belt
to the handle... walked into a World War I
memorial graveyard...
had a hammer and a chisel with me...
started carving off a piece of grave...
put it on the buggy... dragged it home...
picked up the ashes... started digging a shallow
grave in the garden... buried the poor sod...
then placed the hacked off gravestone above him...
i'm still not speaking to my neighbours...
they're scammers anyway...
that's how Sikhs and other Asians get to flaut
their money on rich weddings and Rolls Royce
limousines... sure sure... i hear you...
they own corner shops and get rich by selling 1p
gummy bear gelatin sweets by the million!
like, ****!
oddly enough... i'm sometimes perched on my windowsill
throughout the night till 4am...
4 break-ins... "break-ins"... and some during mid-day...
******* insurance scammers! SCAMMERS!
i saw jack-****!
no one broke in into their home...
that's how Asians get rich: that's how anyone rich
gets rich... they're not playing by the rules...
thank god i'm willing to make sacrifices...
i don't want to get rich: i don't want scammers
or gold-diggers in my life: i want to build up a natural
filter when it comes to resources!

if there won't be enough women in my life:
i can always test my "fertility" with cognitive ambivalence...
i can always think about more things than most
people are not willing to think about...

after all: Muhammad had a favorite cat... Mu'izza...
since Darshan passed away at the hands of a sadistic
*****... i now have Quarus...
i'm not going to be easily relieved of him:
easily divorced from him...
he has more nicknames than the times i actually utter
his name...
what was the name of the donkey that
brought Jesus to Jerusalem on Palm Sunday?!
no one knows because he had no name...
i'd call him Quizy... Quizy... no... don... key...
REGALO TECLA... or? DON TECLA...
but Jesus didn't give a name to the donkey...
psychopathic, if you ask me:
animals you ride, or pet, to be: nameless...

just maybe: there might be some sympathy for me:
it almost feels like i was there...
when Mel Gibson released that movie of
his: the Passion of the Christ... i cried when i first
heard Aramaic being spoken on screen...
i think i cried throughout the entire movie...
i was so moved that... some other guy in the audience
started crying with me...
maybe it was the music all along...
i'm a sucker for a decent music...

but i just couldn't stomach the raw deal of wedding
a woman: a man is to abandon his own mother
and father... esp. one who wasn't raised by his
mother from the age of 6 through to 8
or by his father through the ages of 4 to 8...
who spent his early developmental years
in a house filled with 20 other immigrant
labour-drain men... for about a two years...
the fact that my father was abandoned by his own
parents: through divorce... i was raieed
by a ***** of a grandmother and an alcoholic
grandfather: i loved them...
but she was such a ***** to the point
oh him pushing her through a glass door
and breaking her hand...
i blocked all of that out... maybe by way of blocking
out several personal memories i have been
given access to access certain historical details...
i question them: unflinchingly...
why didn't Jesus' donkey have a name?
while Muhammad had a favourite cat with a name
like Mu'izzi: i know it's Mu'izza... i prefer Mu'izzi...

my Quarus? a clever cat... i bemoan the fact that
he won't eat my scraps... from dinner...
that's the only great aspect of what Bella the Alsatian
and Axl (the Dobberman) used to be capable of...
they'd eat what man leftover...
i'd call cats vegetarians if i could...

i know that the definite article in Hebrew is HA...
i.e. ha-satan: the-Stanley... the Stanislav...
i forgot to remember what the indefinite article
is in Hebrew... oh... right... there isn't one...
to define someone: definitely is to suppose:
laughing at it in English...

the whiskey flows slow and cold...
my heart it growing slower and colder...
i like it, that way...
Biggie... oh **** me... then again: Michaela does stand
about 5ft2 beside of me... while i'm towering
6ft2 above her... no wonder she picked a nickname:
Biggie for me...
the smaller she is: the plumper she is...
the more endearing she becomes...
you just want to cuddle her...
the more tender her forehead feels and tastes like...
she mentioned: i haven't washed my hair...
i tell her while sniffing it:
it doesn't matter... i washed myself prior to seeing
you... you think i'm going to wash myself
after seeing you? i want your scent to fill my bedroom
with your ****** perfume...
i want to dream of orchids! i want to dream
of lavender! i want to dream...
of a desert and your being the oasis in it!

i love women... but some women are too proud...
too stuck up...
they miss out on a lot of fun *** can be...
can't we just have fun without taking to
the serious business of paying gas bills?!
are we simply things before the altar of the eternals?
can't we spontaneously break the rules
for the eternals to be envious of us?
have we, seriously become so shallow:
so boring, that the gods abandoned us due to the fact
that we became imitating immortal:
their own boringness, manifest, that we stopped
being mortals?!

if i a were an immortal deity, and had to overlook
the modern man? i'd die too!
i'd die from boredom!
i'd die from predictability...
i'd die from looking at mortal men and thinking:
we're the luck?! where's the gamble?!
where's the unpredictability?!
where on earth is the stupidity on earth,
that might make these men take enough chances
to later allow them status of sage?!
everything is being to closely manifested in keeping
a "slave" stock of workers...
no one wants to dare... and if they do want to dare:
it's all for the wrong reasons:
no for reasons akin to: i! i am Spartacus!

people say awful things about slavery...
i wonder... what slave was ever homeless?
what slave was ever left without food, without shelter?!
well **** me: if you're not a self-developed
business man... chances are: sure... you're not a slave...
just someone who earn a wage...
but someone who earns a wage is not someone
who's someone's responsibility
to demand the person bestowing said responsibility
to keep the slave: alive, fed, sheltered...
by simply earning a wage does not imply
my status is better than that of a slave...
is it? IS, IT?!
i just earn a wage... i have to provide food and shelter
for myself... as a slave: and not a wage-earner:
i had to have food and shelter provided for me:
for my services...
i didn't care about money because i was already
given what money would otherwise provide:
or rather, in the ancient realm: wouldn't...
since shelter was inherited by the manor
and food too... from owning farmyards...

i don't think slavery was bad... wage-employment
is far worse... esp. those zero-hour contracts...
no one can tell me that's beneficial to anyone...
zero-hour contracts is worse than slavery...
at least as a slave you had intrinsic value...
obviously disposable...
but as a wager... SLAVE CONTRA WAGER...
you have no instrinsic value:
you only have extrinsic value:
you're doubly disposable...

           like the concern for INFLATION:
the end-product is inflated...
but the manufacturing mechanism isn't...
then there's the deflation aspect of
football clubs increasing the payouts of their
football players... but not decreasing
the price of their tickets to attend a match
or their merchandise: t-shirts etc.!
fair enough: pay the players more...
but at least have the decency to cut down the ticket
prices to see a football match...
or the price of the merchandise...
but no... these clubs either keep it at the same price
or inflate the ticket prices...
but if the players are earning more?
why should the people pay more?!
surely they should be paying less!

SLAVERY wasn't a bad thing... not in my eyes...
i think slavery was a good thing...
you had protection... a SLAVE had more protection
against the peril of a "free" society than a WAGER
will ever have...

what are the chances of me retiring at my grandfather
did? getting a proper state pension,
passing it down my wife after my life,
allowing her last 10 years of life to be lived
in a luxury that only old age might hinder?
ZILCH!
of the people that applied for job i'm currently at....
i seem to be the only "slave": i.e. employee...
the rest are self-employees...
i do my job well because i don't have to:
invoice my presence... i get invoices by someone
else...i trust my "handlers"...
i look at dogs, i look at cats...

who was Proximo to Maximus in the fillm
Gladiator? a mere slave-owner?
really? Maximus was merely a WAGER?
Proximo didn't care about Maximus was more than
a WAGER and more a, commodity?
i'd love to feel like a commodity again...
i'd hate to be treated as a WAGER: as an EARNER...
i think slaves, "slaves" had more monetary rights
than people of our current age...
owning slaves came with responsibilities...
a bit like owning pets these days...
you had to be rich enough...
for one...
you had to clothe them... you had to feed them...
you had to put a roof above their heads...
to be considered a nobleman:
you had to treat them fairly...
these days? none of these rules need to apply...

the system of slavery worked on a decentralised
"bias"...
not on this, current, centralised bias of
the universal WAGE concept....
you're worse than a SLAVE... you're a WAGER...
communism tried to figure this out...
it never came close...
well, it did, for a short period of time...
the sort of period of time where:
drinking whiskey tasted like drinking regurgitated
garlic *****!

it's not working now...
not everyone can be some moon-blessed
entrepreneur... some people are truly allowed
the joy of being allocated the status of PAWN...
rather than BISHOP...
there are people that are like that...

if it was working NOW: it would be working WOW...
people exist for others to be looked up to!
you can't scribble some Darwinistic mantra
and expect people to stick to it!
it's either Darwinism or Christianity...
you can't have both!
there's one alternative... but you're not going
to like Islam...
i don't like Islam... i don't like circumcision...
that's why i'm expecting a 2nd schism
in this grand religion... spear-headed
by the Turks with a bunch of uncircumcised men...

i want whiskey to drip from my beard
while i drink it... and rub it into my chin...
and recall the number of tattoos i ought to have
from rekindling my mind to the past....

no one knows the name of the donkey that took
Jesus to Jerusalem as the fifth: "horseman" of
the Apocalypse toward that fateful Palm Sunday...
but... Muhammad's favourite cat's name is known...
the birth of the Korean script is known via
King Sejong... no one can rob me of this historical presence:
nothing is mythological too...
just easily forgotten...

me? i'm just clearing the path... for something...
more... expedient... more... clarifying...
let's share cats.

the more i stick to a routine
that might leave a few people in a mental
asylum,
    who would not welcome
frustration, doing the same thing,
over and over again,
   i.e. going to a supermarket and buying
whiskey and coke, becoming "too" friendly
with one of the shop assistants,
    knowing her name,
that's she's diabetic:
i'm only in here for the whiskey luv...
it's not that i mind,
  it's about as close i'll ever become
bewildered at life, in general...
      **** Jupiter and a moon-landing,
this bothers me more,
   i don't get the puppy-eyed look
of people embarking on a philosophical
odyssey -
i don't know why i should be prescribed
the Aristotelian: beginning with awe
  type of management of the subject,
or what Nietzsche predicted,
   and is currently known:
the narrative in the west,
alias: talking for the entire human species...
   that ****** uber-schnurrbart
really did see something...
   now i'm experiencing it,
  it's called 2 billions worth of China and India...
i'm actually, sometimes found,
listening to pointless youtube videos...
  i get it: it can get a little bit *****,
my bachelor status isn't exactly orientated
around diapers, although,
as Borat might have said:
that would be nice...
         you know they filmed that movie
in Romania, and not Kazakhstan?
              it's almost a bid sad to be around
poverty, and tribalism,
     can't make a joke out it,
couldn't make a mid-western gothic out
of it either... what with t.v. in your own company....
and yes, oddly enough...
   i have a bed, and i turn on the radio,
i never fall asleep watching the t.v.,
must be a western thing... you dig?
    1950s slang, more comprehensible than
anything i could ever hear from the slang
quarter of language these days...
   the latin quarter? busy...
literally... greece and italy backrupt...
    so, hey man, what's it like not able
to *** around the country doing factotum jobs?
    what's with that over-arching
castration concept of living with your parents?
ah, you know man,
   ****'s on the stove, and i hit a ****** note
with my saxophone...
sound very much like a wet ****...
you know, the **** you **** that almost feels
like ingesting carbonated water through your ****,
what's the word: trembling, frizzy?
    you know: do the motorboat with your lips...
i woke up today and didn't feel like living,
but the noose wasn't exactly an option...
my grandparent's neighbour?
hanged himself on a door-****,
i was visiting them when it happened...
****'s sake! on a door-****?
                      that's really desperate...
    i mean: i wish i was that guy...
but at least in the case of capital punishment:
when it was still active...
   you got the scaffold... and you dropped...
and your neck broke, and it was death in an instant...
   he had a gimp for an executioner...
   so yeah, life's cool,
i drank that wine i made in less than a week,
35 litres of it...
         i woke up today, thought:
give me the downhill... right now!
i thought i'd delay *******...
          built a quasi lego piece of the Eiffel tower,
then decided... i need to brush my teeth...
had a shower...
              then i cooked dinner...
  well... dinner two days in advance...
one sauce was a spaghetti bolognaise...
another a sauce for cottage (i.e. using beef,
not lamb) pie...
made some funky cool poh-ta-toes...
               for yesterday's roast beef,
left uncarved the previous day by being
left to get the thrill man gets
   ******* and jumping out of an ice bath...
so the juices condense, and you can almost
make out the pink flesh on the second day...
and some ménage à trois.... oh sorry...
too much Dell Boy Trotter in me at the moment:
gosh... the memories of watching that twichy
character on screen... mangetout...
and in between i took off the washing from
the washing lines in the garden...
             faked smoking sitting in the february
cold for a while...
   that's 2 meals in advance that is...
      and this really belongs to a creed that states:
if you can read... it's better to read about
something that doesn't have cars blowing up,
or avalanches... or dams bursting in northen
california... well: it's not exactly
   tolstoy's war and peace... but it's something
that allows for sensationalism of the news
and the odd chance of seeing a good movie...
    or i guess: the antidote to a good poem,
is the worst imaginable poem, actually...
saying that: people call poems bad when
they are rigid in using technique...
poetic technique... i prefer a stance on
spare of the moment / spontaneity than something
that might require a hammer of metaphor
and a nail of a pun...
           some call it innovation,
others can't say much because they're myopic...
and lo! yonder the savannah and the buckling
gazelle! right on the chin...
hoofs, no shoelaces, back legs made front legs
into spaghetti... and there... a plum on the chin...
boom... down onto the green...
          another consideration would be
a man in clown make-up crying,
    and a fat-cat billionaire laughing...
    or was that ever, not the case?
  it has to be idiosyncratic, this english "thing"
of calling laughter crying and crying laughter...
     it actually is a very english "thing",
when you get too much psychology,
about how keeping the word ego can complicate
merely saying i...
  and there's no other latin word in sight,
and you then get egoism, and egocentrism...
    i mean: what's up with that basis for a theory,
    evidently it's a case of the word becoming
too uncomfortable, since no one actually says
  ego cogito ergo ego sum... it suddenly drops off
and people who say the above end up only saying
cogito ergo sum... and is that why people
you can actually ascribe so much theory to the ****** word
that might rob people from having a narrative?
    rob the people of a narrative and you return them
into a state of being pulverised by 5 vectors,
the pentagon of the senses,
    and evidently they're unable to narrate their
day-to-day, because they're herded like wild
hysterical animals... even though they are
given the membrane of civilisation...
      it really is a case of somehow not embarking
into keeping the latin and the north barbarian
words... how can you keep up
with ego, i, self? how long will this italian
**** of bulimia and gluttony last?
     you want to keep spewing that *******
for another 100 years?
evidently there is no theory concerning i,
there's merely an ipod...
              sure sure, you could only derive a
theory if you said the unit wasn't i
(because that would be too personal to construct
a narrative) - but had to be
   the reflective ego, and the reflexive self...
i.e. that string of pronoun compounds known
as myself, itself, himself...
   and when given the scalpel... my self
   (which becomes a reflective stance on meditating
the words, rather than a reflexive pronoun
in its original... no huh? but thump!
on yer bike! go!).
   i call them for what they are...
        yes, and my parents are great,
cooked them dinner...
   just about now, when in the 1970s and 1980s...
when the first cold war was happening,
the americans / the west merely wanted
to feed stories into the soviet union,
if every spying was a c.v. joke, it happened
when ian flemming wrote his series...
   what ever happened to a campfire and telling
stories, or when we told horror stories to each other?
  spying: can you just imagine
what the job description would look like?
pst... it's a secret.
       but you know, the americans had this thing
of telling stories to the "enemy",
     false news...
                it's so obvious now, since everyone
seems to be onto it...
     well... it's happening in england, right now,
but it's not exactly an attack scenario...
it's self-mutilation, yes, a masochism...
  you reach a real dead-end when you tell lies
to yourself... and that's what england is sitting
on: an implosion of well... the n.h.s. in crisis...
the housing crisis...
                 you name it...
  i guess there were many people out there,
willing to sacrifice their sanity, by appropriating
the excesses of c.c.t.v. voyeurism,
mingled with the excesses of ***** that paved
the way to this massive delusion of the next
jain boond to swing on a rope into a gorilla
enclosure and beat the **** out of a 300kg gorilla,
Klitschko style! bang! bang boom!
    silverback gorilla on a torture rack!
job done.
       no, i get it... a girl got to kick-box and a girl
got to play footie... cos girl can...
     wait till she don't get a: fragile heart...
like mine, writing odes about
walking past a church when the church bells ring
eleven times, and there's the moon...
  it will become very very pointless writing
about hearts of porcelain in the future,
      but just as nietzsche pointed out:
imagine talking for the entire human race...
yes, i can, or should i say could? because i don't
have to...
   the western narrative is so up it's own
*** talking about species, while the Moldovians
are talking about Ukranians,
the Poles are talking about Germans,
   the Italians... they talk all the time,
so who cares?
                but it's this globalisation vocabulary
that's halting, and making me think:
the Genghis Khan tribe isn't exacrtly in
the news? they must have neighbours!
they must actually know the people living near them...
well...
   on my street... 6 houses in a row of
identical architecture, i.e. built in the 1940s...
   first house, sikhs...
    parents went to the daughter's wedding,
woman brought over some curry,
   i ended up making even better curry...
my cat is left in their care while i'm away
visiting my grandparents,
   i get this panic attack premonition
  that i need to be back home when i'm away...
   i come back home, the cat is dead...
   we rarely speak these days...
  he was on aspirins, and yes, cats take a ******
long time to die from kidney failure...
ever watch a cat ****? cats take a shorter amount
of time to take a **** than ****...
   watching a cat **** into the toilet it like
watching a person drinking a melchizedek sized
wine bottle...
   a cat could be a man
   as a man taking a **** as in the cat taking a ****
and reading a newspaper...
     seems we're parallel creatures,
  i exfoliate and massage my **** muscles
by taking extra time with them stretched open
once the bombs away passes...
    and i'm just sitting there:
  to vank?! or not to vank? or what i call:
the 3 in 1.
        well, you can't exactly think about
lighting scented candles and doing it in bed,
can you?
      you'd have to be a woman to do that,
and invest in a good ***** replica
of a man that would only tell her:
honey... tree bears.
    do i sometimes think about putting it into
a moist couch-like environment?
   yeah... but i guess ******* is a bit like
doing ****... **** the bone and those muscles man!
   ****? yeah... never did it...
biblical regulations...
              about the same time when
heterosexuals take over from the once famed
taboo provocateurs in the homosexual department...
haven't seen a worthwhile Oscar Wilde come from
that scene for years... maybe i wasn't looking,
ah yes, they're too busy being "normal" and starting
families... funs over... and so is the art.
no wait, all i wanted to say is that
what nietzsche said in the 19th century,
  the anglophone world is trapped in it's own
end product of globalisation, and this whole:
speaking for the entirety of humanity doesn't have
and local thrill to it, no local accent,
      it's scary, to be the only language willing
to speak for the entire human race,
  and, when travelling to other places in the world
realising that you were pretty much:
not thinking, and merely talking to your self...
    i have that taste for foreign cultures...
   you can hardly hear an existential argument
in the same vein as you might hear in england...
     basically... i just think that english is
over-streched...
     in the case of russian, it's stretched:
but contained with interlocking tribes of people...
if i want to hear english sprechen in the pacific
it's a 12 hour flight to australia...
               i can't imagine talking for
the entire human race... and given this
seemingly ancient german, i'm imagining it
as the counter-argument of the current narrative,
because i can't even state that i'm in awe of it,
but more or less apprehensive about it...
given the numbers... the total anglophone world
doesn't even number that of China...
and you know, infiltrating that place with
the complexity of the encoded sounds that are
later echoed back as Xin Ping...
    who lived in Beijing...
            you really have to address either silent,
or talking about something so complicated,
that it would equal the Chinese encoding system...
  otherwise it's falling through the holes...
oh look... q r o p a d b g...
  the best we can do is make silence complicated,
since what i'm hearing: isn't exactly complicated...
on youtube most noteworthy...
   oh right, almost forgot...
the other neighbours on my 6 house line
are a Jewish family... well... sorta...
   just a literal mad-house... we get on fine...
and after that: 3 houses, natives, so yeah, english...
all of them broken families...
   the neighbours next to mine are:
woman in her late 40s... man in his early 50s...
about to have a child...
       after that it's single mother and son,
and after that divorcee and... like... dunno...
     they thought the indians were savages
moving across the pond...
              i'm sitting here having a right old laugh...
and it's a malicious laugh for the laugh in itself...
        last time i remembered
  taking a mouse from the mouth of my cat
after he caught it, and then releasing the mouse
  into my neighbour's garden...
   or a fly... crawling over my forehead
     while i took a selfie to exfoliate my face
like that of an acne riddled moon.

...and that i own a bed.., but rather sleep on the floor... make-up an Ibiza from a Beirut... i rather **** the fathoming of a fizzle... to somehow compensate the tirade... this most unwelcome clue and loss... this gravity toward a... copper skin... and spit of biting totoises toying: limbo years... leftover... come... cushioning brief: fudge-packaged "thought"... this limbo-slant... as somewhat crude work-around... kiev a... "scheme"...

vielen dank zu gott! many thanks to god!

my greatest fear is that of homelessness...
who's to fear... to fear and "what"?

to be at home is some synoynmous
with something:
beside a being: and a home!

loitering in the quasi lane...
i'm about to travel across
europe with three rotten
teeth and i'm to suspect:
myself toying with some
variation of journalism...

       i see no end to the cold,
or war... the warm or
the shrapnel excavation
project...
when communism
was beast established
among the slavs
as your: yours one and truly...
antagonistic
warsaw pact whistling
and lobotomy...

even if i were the evil genius
of descartes...
i wouldn't be so...
fine detailed: ****...
      so... pristine... so...
otherwise... lobotomy blues...

exactly! what's scary is not
the laws being implemented...
but how... easily they are...
talk about climbing a tree...
talk about learning to ride
a bike... achieving a pass
with a bruised knee...

              a scrap: heaping...
lost teeth and... what of the jihad...
for the lost fraction of the ummah...
what of the jihad...
expected... in the chinese...

where is the ummah to be
summed to salvage...
and save the...
frolic over...
              the detail... in hair...
when hair is being shipped
away to "elsewhere"...
for ****-holes awaiting...
xinjiang... hair from...
would be... hibernating bear farts...

the jihad! the jihad!
i'm guessing the arab elites
are in on the "gimmick" with
the choke ***** men...
because... jihad only behaves
like a jihad on former
cursader territory...
south of france...
herr tao is somehow immune...

calls for being debility funny...
calls for...
bonfires of the turban of the sikhs...
orientating...
the house of gondor with
the house of rohan...

                 we'z needz 'air!
atypical confused jihadi saladin would-be...
we must all thank...
vielen dank zu gott!
                   but i still wait...
for the jihad to save the... project islam inc.
of the ummah...

sloth-riddles of the islamic project...
clearly they want to stamp on
the face of a man beaten down by...
a non-resurrected christianity...
too scared to face off with...
chinese atheism...

      *****-soldiers... where the ummah
where the... oh... wait...
the bangladeshi being paid
in "reperations" having
a chance to relieve themselves
with a game of cricket...
i'd sooner send... the locust
to abu dhabi than allow a foot
of mine to set...
on a worse idea beside the already
ailing reality of venice...

once upon a time...
was the fortune of settling on the basin
of the river...
all that oil must have shot those
arabs to the head...
the egyptians started screaming
at the camel-jockeys:
you never listened to the sand-*******...
did you?

all that black gold in one's pocket...
all that... yacht ambition...
all that and that...
all that frivolity... prized pride of
the... ahem... "ummah"...
looks like the chinese muslims are
forever and the will of the dubai classics...
fern fusions readied for...
the wigs!

       ****** readied they are...
some mongols would dear strap a horse
to their grave than excavate a hair plough
from...
eh... slaving prior to genocide...
it's like... they are... "allies"...
               it's a genocide mingling
with a joke... of slavery...
but the slaves did work that...
oh no... the germans didn't trust...
the hebrews with anything...
they performed genocide like a "failure"...
or rather a joke...
  
ask the serbs...
ask someone in rwanda...
you never perform a genocide...
by way of... imitating slavery...
by... stalling... by making people perform
menial tasks...
hello horror...
hello the sleeping ummah of islam...
to outright **** a people...
you wouldn't want them...
being teased...
a god teasing and his precursor for
having a 2000 year old wait
to establish: re- ishrael...

         the outliers of rome...
alaos pagan... converted to
the judeo-greco project of: three rotten teeth...

"toxic masculinity"... problem?
not enough of it is going around...
enough for it to be shared...
likewise...
my retreating toward...
japanese insinuation ****...
gravure idols...
   hell... absolute "toxic femininity"...
porcelain white girls...
all... lemon *******... peanuts dead...
while their... glob-trotting...
glutton sized up 66s...
   have forgotten the concept of:
insinuation ****...
foreplay...
all readied for...
extract ******* woman...
****... bred for... **** like a piston...
****** readied...
   blah "blah"...

       it doesn't translate... plain jane...
the sort of toxic you seek...
in man... revels in a deity lady madonna...
i **** myself over all second come...
blessings! blessings they calls them...
yeah... the best dates i've ever had...
concerning the "middle path"
of buddha is bound to the clarity
of a transation in a brothel...

so much for a justified jihad in xinjiang
to... save the people of the ummah...
pseudo malcom X consricpt... 0...
negation... not going to happen...
    japanese porcelein ****...
but they'll wait for the hyprocrisy...
they'll come for the arabs first...
when they finally engineer a man...
that will be better than all
the supposed doping advances of western man
allowed...
  
i'm starting to like *******
from the perspective of a japanese hard-on...
insinuation...
    i'm less the ****** and i'm more...
about to sniff a stinking dog's bowl
of processed meat of a ****'s oyster behalf...
i like that...
less *****... more hard-on...
     n'ah... i never did buy into the whole:
sorry loser ******* in amsterdam
cinema sessions...
    i liked... the tease of a tier...
more imaginative... more human...
than... a tease of a harem via a niqab...

so... no jihad come xinjiang?
should we suppose the mongols also invested
in a conversion and it wasn't the grand
imitation buddha kahn?
the wrath subsided: god was proven...
time for meditation...
    what's a jihad...
when you could entertain...
the... tsunami of the horde of...
the fall of angels.... fully-workable replica
metaphor...
what's the ****-poor islam "spread"
by comparison?
                
no real ummah then...
   unless...
that's diesel of a lamborghini burning
rubber on a tarmac in knightsbirdge
for a faking 'ard on...
    
  two days from now...
i'll be passing through germany...
        i'll be retiring 2 weeks to that land
of paradoxes that's my land of birth...
the aristocratic democracy brothel
of crown and... *******...
foreign hands foreign lands...
all the ready to retreat into their habsburg cul de sacs
of prior to: asserted powers...

no... there's just that...
"we" forgot a healthy ground for
doubt... the plethora of emotion...
the rollercoaster of it...
there's just now... the yoyo-denial cringe
lobotomy...
the best best cringe...
slav soviet communist...
Teddy! Teddy! sell 'em spleen
and iron grips!
no good Warsaw Tadeusz!
Beijin new bwest fwend!

            t-eee-sted...
                  new zealand: tee-st...
not station: tested... but...
t-eee-sted **** the rats and retards...
the philonthropes...
because...
   the noise made by bwah bwah...
  the misathrope...
it's like an accent from...
that last best reserved concept
of growing figs... otherwise a...
goof-ball and course for ralph...

now for the self-congratulatory letter
of championing the dodo project:
well thank **** for not solving this brain-drain
spaghetti puzzle and not exactly buying into
the d.n.a. project ugly pass...
with all that..... bewildering...
"consciousness" debate...
michael myers' "consciousness" debate...
one... 'em... those sudoku nuggets
of... "sober"?!

best resolved...
i drink alcohol to keep calm...
after i forgot to... take my ****** pills...
my... i came late to the party...
21 was illegal to smoke marijuana...
amitriptyline... 25mg...
how many times do i think
about a slaughterhouse?
i think of all the boys with:
chemical soup for brains aged
16 and under...
i was lucky...
they only got to me aged 21...
i was still allowed to retain
a labyrinth of wording(s) to shelter my anger with...
surprise? what surprise?

toxic masculinity = not enough james bonds
running amok for...
oh... weight... *****-whipping...
there's all that... i forgot what...
period drama this was all about...

drink drink drink...
i'll sooner kick my liver dead than...
allow society to sober my half-wit frankenstein
brain of theirs...
    i'll die with:
i don't scare myself with drowning...
i don't scare myself with falling...
flat into a pancake...
i shouldn't be afraid of homelessness...
but i am because...
this avenue of the freely available stars...
and those... made rebel...
that will answer to me...

                  the butterfly... waiting...
for the most pristine... prized... first...
insecurity of... h'america about to be exported...
and it's a... oh my! a zephyr...
tornado... one of those: flush 'em...
when you 'ave 'em...
sort of... scenarios...

hegel: improtune... the will of the thinking man...
thought is a butterfly...
it's hardly... a well-knitted-marx-beard-and-sweater
of consolidations...
  
honest to the god i don't believe in...
i'd shadow **** that crucifix if it
had a japanese gravure model hanging on it...
******* as insinuation...
they did catch me...
libido pressed...
aged 21...
they would have got to me aged 16 and prior...
with ****** and former brain:
the chemical soup...

          i want to smash **** up... then i remind
myself: wait... and giggle...
   the extract... mikhail popkov...
                 albert fish... fan boy for every:
groupie of history...
            is that... like... a somewhat missing:
oops?
        CHRISTINE CHUBBUCK...
               INCEL...
       wouldn't it be... just.. oh so strange...
to... drag a man into a prison cell...
and shoot them... obviously retaining leaving
them there to rot...
   andrei chikatilo...
                              the urban myth of cockroaches
being subjected to the guillotine...

sure... whizz vite boyz aged...
napoleon dynamite... jeffrey dahmer...
      16 is the right time to call brainz...
chem. soup...
bubbly...
me comez 21... me's perfecto...
   me no cain signature idiot primo...
                 i like me horror story...
i get to play the... plot line of
the anaesthetic...
                      
who is to be surprised by: who's who...
of anyone's who of...
the currency of... this... surf...
lost... a "somehow"...
a "somewhat"...
oh... this is... for... today?
                                this has to be...
the advent of the pontius pilate metaphor...
no... not me...
dies ist alles sie:
   scheiße!     es ist mich?
              verwesendtrauben....

kommen, sehen... der welt...
                           verstopfungselbst.

****!!!!! Atheists, Protestants, **** Zoroastrians, Jews a spectacle, Muslims are filth, Catholics can't decide if they're mono or polytheistic and Mormons are an theocratic metanation.

I guess I could summarize by simply saying that organized religions are garbage as ****, but that would not properly bring home the point that not one of these ******* is above of my tongue.

**** Rastafarians, pagans and heathens, Buddhists think numbers over a thousand or fake. Sikhs carry swords so I'm not going to badmouth them it's not that I can't just that Sikhs carry swords.

I guess I could summarize by simply saying all these known religions are garbage is ****, but that would not properly bring home the point that's not one of these peoples cannot be made fun.

Shintos and daoists, yes you scientologists, Hindus and shamans I don't give a ****. You're making a serious mistake by taking philosophy from such a narrow outlook.

I guess I could summarize by simply saying all known formal religions fail in this way. but that there are still ways you can fail without crossing that line just take a quick look at AA.

The fact of the matter is nothing can really replace introspection and serious thought, so if you have felt like there is something missing get right with yourself and **** anyone whos not.

Vada-Paav, in Aamchi Mumbai, or Maharashtra entire, is definitely the most popular inexpensive dish.

But according to the circumstances that prevail here at  Bombay, been it should have Bhel-puri, I do wish.

There are Maharashtrians, Gujjus, South Indians, Sikhs, Bongs etc. and us Parsis, though very miniscule  

Similarly Bhel has sev, mamra, chevda, puris, onions, potatoes, coriander, chillies, chutneys, you can add more, there is no rule

Just like the ingredients of Bhel, the population mingles, mixes, blends, whatever you can call it,  to be called Bombayites

But but but!!! wait and watch, when they board a suburban local train, just watch their many big & small fights.

To see the Bhel Puri, in this city cosmopolitan, encounter you have to the fisher folk, giving "shivya, our popular Maushi baai"

In our Bhel-Puri population, there are Hindus, Muslims, Sikhs, Christians, Jews, Parsis; but in Bombay they are lovingly addressed, Bhau n Taai.

Hope you liked my BHEL-PURI, please do taste and comment.

Armin Dutia Motashaw

for a culture that espouses... i think that's the proper
word: espouses... ridiculously promotes...
Darwinism: i see a terrible "juggling" act happening....
namely: you can't seem to somehow
consolidate with the western "crusade" for
individualism and all the basic Darwinism observations...
i never thought Darwinism was wrong...
sure... it's as right as the heliocentric model...
but if you want to read a map...
a massive orb that's earth pulverising your:
get from A to B...
the earth isn't "flat": i know that...
but to get from A to B... to get around
geographic algebra...
it's like cycling... i'm an aggressive cyclist...
whatever roundabouts are still alive
in that they do not employ traffic lights...
i'm there...
i usually work my way around
a truck on the antonym side of the blind spot...
the outer side of a lane...
and then... we're... go!
                    i love the thrill of wriggling around
traffic with the most minimum amount
of exoskeleton...
it's a thrill to be surrounded by objects
that i know might **** me...
i tried ***... *** isn't even close to this experience...
it's hardly... me imitating...
but... hearing how many cyclists were killed
in London for missing the blind-spot...
getting dragged under the wheels...
plus i just... simply adore the rules!
the authority... the trust that's funnelled
into the concept of traffic...
no where on earth have i found so much:
DASEIN... truly... you need to cycle in heavy
traffic to find your reading of Heidegger!
you can't walk this **** out...
there is so much reciprocation...
so much trust, concern is invoked...
like i said: it's better than ***...
*** doesn't inject you with adrenaline in a way
that *** might:
i guess *** can inject adrenaline...
it's still not the zenith...
when the plethora of emotions associated
with doubt is about as much as that plethora
associated... synonymous with love...
then fear... thrill... almost indistinguishable...
esp. at a roundabout...
how i came to love the white van man...
fearless speed custodian...
i once wrote about this...
unconscious algebra of spatial coordination....
that's how Descartes' res cogitans became
res vanus... the empty thing...
me on my bicycle...
thinking disappears when you have a chance
to generate your own momentum...
it's not enough of a bike... in a car...
better than walking...
it has to be...
there's a bbq happening two doors down...
plenty of Sikhs...
such a shame...
not the party... or that they're Sikhs...
i just listen in... a wall of sound...
even if i tried knowing this many people...
i threw a party once...
ended up ******* a black ******* a leather couch...
blah blah...
so many voices... one door down... Bella...
is sitting on the roof looking at me...
an albino roofer (mongrel cat... dachowiec in
******)
endowed with heterochromia...
there are the spiders... the snails...
an urn of delights of the night...
Asians... well as neighbours go...
you leave a cat with them... the cat might
magically end up... miraculously dying from kidney
failure while you're away...
if the Welsh are joked about as being sheep-shaggers...
don't get me started on the camel-jockeys
who... have beef with pork...
the real sheep-shaggers...

stinking lamb...
ah... that was the distinction...
włókno... wełna... bawełna...
fibre... wool... i was honestly expecting
for bawełna to come out
as: cotton... it's just a synonym of
fibre...

oh look... a googlewhack...
Konofale Uros...
i think i was looking for the spelling of falafel...
i think... i never know these days...
this party two doors down
is somewhat irritating me... not
that i can fit the acronym hierolgyph
of: f.o.m.o.
  i hate parties... i hated parties...
the parties i have thrown were....
parallels...
as one i got to **** a girl...
at another i was cleaning up my high school friends
*****...
the party is slowing down...
obviously... i'm guessing the host took a friend
or two to the back of the garden
to peer two doors down...
since i'm seeing a bald Asian looking
back at me... perched in a pseudo...
akimbo on the windowsill...

what's up?! company lost the thrill?
everyone's turned into rabble...
when drinking too much?
i drink too much...
you know: ahem... "you" what's weird about
being watched?!
it's true... you only really are...
when you are being watched...
it doesn't matter if you think...
thinking per se is not enough
to leave proofs.. traces of your existence...
you need something simple...
perfectly equivalent to what Sartre aimed at:
to be subject...

of the two movies i watched today...
**** me... i watched two movies today...
what's wrong with me?

my new york year... which has an alias:
my Salinger year...
the antithesis of a rom-com...
and a competitor of
the Devil wears Prada...
**** me... how well has... Sigourney Weaver aged!
look at her...
she does the boss role so much better
than... what's her name...
i thought she was proper hot... pancake ****
in Ghostbusters... but look at her now...
mein gott!
it almost feels like...
i want to be married!

oh for heaven's sake... this movie eats out
the devil wears prada... out from the crab bucket...
little girl in a big town sort of mentality...
i could type quicker...
give me 2 hours and i'll spew 2K words of originality...

it really was... the most pristine movie!
it was an... easy movie...
easy as in: i was watching a movie...
i wasn't watching... a *******... Leni Riefenstahl
flick! do "you" even know... how refreshing
that is?
i'm not watching a makeshift Leni Riefenstahl flick!
there... i said it!

here's for a worldly perspective...
the women at the part have receded into shadow...
remnants are still vociferous...
the maxim stands... either *******: as i tell you...
or... *******... as i punch you...
i party solo...

two... very random smoke rings appear...
as they rise..
i poke a finger into each one
like i might poke into the mouth
of my maine **** ginger that's yawning...
the Asian party is over...
the rabble is left:
the people with not intelligence
to deteriorate into a drinking ****:
not enough sausage fests under your belt:
i gather? ha ha...
too many arranged marriages...
welcome to the north!
the eternal night... it does wonders to people
most associated with equatorial dynamics...

i'm sorry... you're coming... you're leaving...
you're taking these Hyperborean women somewhere
beside her usual... fetish fest
of: more than...    the 6"?
i open the window..
i let the air creep in... elevate the staleness...
concerning these women...
is there a central authority figure to...
"guide" them?!

      i do, not, own, them... savvy?
i'm jealous of king David more than i could ever be of
king Solomon...
the man that conquered Goliath...
matched up to Achilles with Hector...
but also wrote... Psalms!
come on! come on!
i know it must tickle the agony of man
to have to have to: worry other men with envy!
men want other men to become envious of their
stature...
problem being... i can simply negate that:
arrival at "purpose"...
believe me... i can...
give me enough... patience...
self-scrutiny... "introspection"...
i can make anything i want:
implode...

oh i'm just looking for a nibble... a scribble...
i want a seed of purposiveness...
an element of potential...
i'm not looking for a gathering...
i want a... whisssssssssssper...
i guessed...
an extension of the S...
in no more / no less...
the missing trill in the English R...
is it?

i write... the boy play... party....
the girls giggle...
hold a mirror to a mirror... in the dark...
then compare glass...
to water... a puddle... a lake:
you will not... even if Xerxes says:
tame either river... or sea!
with whips or with madness!

hold a mirror to a mirror... in the dark...
compare the reflection of that of glass
with what you arrive at...
in the stillness of a lake... or a puddle...

have you ever... held a mirror... toward a mirror...
and...breathed a stroke of.....
smoke into it.... without hoping to conjure up...
fire?!

rauch und spiegel
aber
           non feuer!
hölle braucht; ich brauchen zu... vergessen...
there are female voices among them...

me and my fetish for all things: deutsche.

if the essence is a tongue, and the existence is a jaw... and that's mandible... it can cushion revisions, it won't exactly rebel against any revision, given the user is conscious of it being necessarily revised - or Darwinism in the linguistic realm - obviously less spectacular, but also less time-consuming - history looking forward, not back, not back to the regression forwarding an infinitude plateau of being perplexed by **** similis - you think bonsai felines would look at tigers in the same way that we look at the range of monkeys? probably not - petted and content - god and the simplification of thought, agile in the domestic and professional playgrounds - a one dollar banknote slogan.

drevo* rather than drzewo - meaning wood,
or the alias timber - sounds more Czech
and therefore, most probably, softer -
well, it actually means (etymologically speaking)
simply tree - but take the stress away
and write drevo (you can plaster in the double
v for the same effect - sound wise it might be
a uu, which ends up being an upside-down m,
but optically it's a double v - warily conscious
of the venture, Yoda, i am) - the freedom from
accents in writing spurred on countless interpretations
of English, but only in London, or the acquired
wee-chip-on-the-turban by Edinburgh Sikhs.
so it is: using English to cut off unnecessary stresses
in Polish, and likewise vice versus (rather than versa)
adding the collective European stresses to the 51st ßtate tongue.

502 bad gateway bypass:
title - through the loops
body - target practice...

finally! it's done! 3 years in the making: since you can only
do certain things during the warmer months...
finally! it's done!
but unlike Nietzsche: there's nothing melancholic about
what has been achieved...
perhaps because he was referring to intellectual endeavours
and not endeavours of physical labour...
that's completely different: with completing some
manual labour endeavours: there comes this waterfall
of relief... a bit like being crucified...
3 years with good interludes...
                            how many tonnes of earth
and sand and pebbles? that one year where
the natural grass failed to take proper root...
having to resort to fake grass carpets...
   mind you: i was sceptical at first...
until me and my father laid it out...
                          not so bad...
              it's actually better than the real thing...
it's hyper-real...
             i can just lie on it... i don't need anything
akin to a rug to lie on it... and admire the sky...
          we've been waiting for over 15 years for our
next-door neighbour to put up a fence...
prior to that? the garden felt congested... since there was
no fence... instead? bushes... endless roughage...
here and there a makeshift fence...
3 years ago she finally gathered her resources:
well... her policeman son gathered the resources...
the labourers came... cut all the shrubbery...
flat to the ground... put up the fence... ****** off...
that's when the work began...
i remember those damp April days...
groundwork is such an unforgiving work...
   i had to wrestles with over 30 roots... sawing...
chopping... hammering...
well... if i wanted to replace these roots with
digging up holes for fruit trees... oh man...
the stuff i found... bricks... pieces of concrete...
pieces of concrete and bricks...
               how many times did we have to travel
to the recycling centre?
how many times did we order a skip?!
    **** me... at least 3 times...
   then there was the dismantling of the rotting wooden
shed... then there was the levelling of the ground...
putting up a plastic: sturdy shed... much larger...
then another little shed...
   so i have three sheds in my garden...
      and a very believable attic with more storage space...
i also have a little house that houses
a jacuzzi...
                 slabs... plenty of sitting area...
plenty of flowers... i forget the name...
   but a quasi-bush more akin to a tree of limes...
rosemary... thyme, oregano... wild garlic... that:
when watered come the night: a perfume of marijuana...
tomatoes, apples, pears, morello cherries...
figs... apricots... rhubarb...
        plums... oh dear: my plum tree that i planted
is chasing the eucalyptus tree...
         a bay leaf bush...
                  chives... mint...
                  i sort of am... a devil in his own garden:
my work! mein werk! me! i did this!
   after three years i can sit down on the grass...
look at the moon and the constellations and...
ah: sigh... i did this, with some help...
i was the one who unearthed all the roots...
i was the one labouring with tonnes of **** going
out and tonnes coming in...
sand, earth, pebbles...
                     i was the one more happy to use
a KANGO and a HARROWS...
                           me! me! JA!

it's as if the "pandemic" never really happened...
me? i was busy in the garden...
clash of cultures...
why do English-speaking throw their children
out of their house as quickly as possible?!
do any... help around the house?
how much money do you think i saved my parents?!
i just see lazy-*** "*******" slouching...
no wonder they get thrown-out of their parents
abode...
   i'm sort of like a tennis player...
my father is my trainer... well: yes, no...

i'm a ******* custodian of the household by now...
i cook the food... i clean the house...
i'm currently trying to get rid of a rat
that somehow managed to find refuge in my kitchen...
**** it: drink and explain...
the classical traps? yeah: i know...
it will break its snout...
he already managed to drag one mousetrap with him...
it probably trapped its tail...
rat being rat: he probably dragged the trap
with him into darkness... and by now has
chewed his tail off...

but i'm on edge... i have a "presence" in my household
that shouldn't be here..
thanks to my Nigerian neighbours...
the ******* "voodoo" overlord of the house-lord
is fond of feeding "pigeons" at the end of his
garden... leaving food around...
**** me... haven't been living in London
long enough?! you feed pigeons in the park...
ducks... swans... you leave food out in your garden?!
you're going to attract rats!
unless... like me... you purposively left
left-over food in a bowl for a fox you started calling
Brody who came round for about a month
because you missed having a dog / why the myth
that cats drink milk?!

that's what i miss most about having dogs...
that's what i miss about my youth...
come Sunday... ****** chicken soup...
and roast chicken...
sure... grandma always overcooked the chicken
to the point where: no one wanted
to eat the chicken *******... back then?!
who had a ******* thermometer to check whether
the meat was at 165 degrees Fahrenheit?!
no one... so... poultry chalk...

but? we all gathered to eat... leftover meat...
bones... even egg shells...
and the chicken soup... with the vermicelli...
who ate the remains?
the dog... the smartest dog i ever
could have been raised with...
Bella... an Alsatian...
     from the stories of my grandfather:
i was able to shove my entire arm into her PYSK:
gob... and she wouldn't mind...
   and i used to ride her... and she used to pull
the sleigh i sat on during winter...
when my grandfather broke the news to me
that she died... i wept...
hmm... i didn't weep when my grandfather died:
i got drunk post-ceremony of the funeral
and hit my head on the radiator: bled...
a month later i ***** out a tear out of my head
thinking: because the eyes do more than merely see...

i cried over a dog... we're so simple...
the simpler the gain the simpler the reward...
and animals give us both...
nothing's too complicated, ever...
but she would reap all the rewards from five people
sharing a Sunday roast...
i loved the way she slurped that rich soup
of bone and meat and vermicelli and what not...
however... since we aged at almost the same time...
she would never trust me to go walking with her...

mein gott... the joy she expressed whenever
i came back from England... she almost ****** her fur...
i loved that dog: she was my sister in a way...
it's so much more surprising to grow up as a single
child with an animal for company:
i failed at hamsters... as i failed at the lesser
Egyptian jerboa: ****** jumped jumped jumped...
until he jumped into a basin of water and drowned...

i was good with St. Augustine's Primary School
Budgerigars... since i was entrusted with them
over the summer holidays...
when i was: E-high... i.e. this high: _
                                                              _­

i wish i was more lenient with Axl: my dobberman...
but then he did try to bite my eye out
after i whipped him for attacking Bella...
mind you: he gave me an eternal memory...
so i was walking him and he bit into a pile
of ****...
   upon biting into it i peered in...
ugh... parasites... worms... the **** was filled with
them wriggling like a 5pm commute in
London...
a beautiful beast: but as thick as a brick...
me and this blonde friend of mine were
playing the earliest version of Nitendo
in my room and... ****** gave him a nose-ring...
my friend started bleeding from his nose...
we had to sell him...
            and once we sold him...
the people we sold him to wanted to give him
back... he's fishing for piranhas!
and as "abstract" that sentence is going to say...

3 ******* years... i had to sit under the eucalyptus
and the plum tree with two ciders admiring
my efforts...

clash of cultures... i've even started joking with my
parents as if we're peers...
i think we're going to die apart as peers...
why are English children ejected from
their households at such an early age?
do they, help, around the house?!
do they cook?! do they clean?
are they invoked to do some groundwork in
the garden? or... do they require some
Eastern European handyman to do their **** for them?!

just asking... i did my work...
i'm going to ask for a payment of...
three cartons of cigarettes...
for work spanning three years...
   i think i'm justified in asking for so little...
plus... i do bring in income to pay for the food...
rent? what rent? the mortgage has been paid
off since i didn't get married...
so... look at me: flimsy flying octopus!
ooh ooh!
            i'm making my bed as "we" go along...
and i'm sometimes having trouble sleeping
for too long... say... from 3am till 2pm...
by then the day is finished...
                
but it's not like my parents employed some *******
handyman to sort out their garden:
ich was da...
   i was there...
           i was there when... i was visiting my grandparents
and my parents wen on holiday
to the Maldives... and we left the care of our
former cat: Oscar... Darshan... to the neighbours
two doors down... Sikhs: you'd think...
sure... give him food... clean the toilet...
on an everyday basis: i don't mind:
but if someone wants to b a boy-scout:
a new found friendship...
parents get invited to their wedding: second... wedding...
the first wedding she married a female boxer...
blah blah...

two days prior to coming back i get an eerie sensation...
i call my parents: i need to go back!
i need to look after the cat...
they brush it off... he's just mad...
right... 2 days later... they come back to England...
"oops": the cat is dead... kidney "failure"...
this ******-Sikh alliance soon ended...
guilt + truth crept in...
oh... how beautifully it crept in...

from sadness i stalked the night...
i managed to find a leftover croquet "sample"...
if i took all the pieces out...
sure... i could...
   and i did... i walked into a World War I cemetery
and started to hack off a piece of gravestone...
the amount of anger i felt was right for the occasion...
i put that hacked off piece of gravestone
on my croquet trolley and dragged it home...

in the full moonlight i dug a hole...
placed the ashes into it...
enough earth for the earth to breath some more ash...
and lodged the hacked off tombstone
into the ground with a thunderbolt of
hand-movement...

oh... i'm not talking to these ******* two-doors down
neighbours... i thought they were suspect all along...
they killed: my: ******* cat...
are they doubly suspect? of course they are!
last time i heard Sikhs could be mistakes for Hindus...
ooh... now isn't a cow now all the more: JUI-CY?!
i feel a Hannibal Lecter gimmick coming along...
i feel like drinking a medium-rare steak...
i want to eat "mother"...

                      ... of course we will clash culturally...
three generations of Asians living under one *******
roof is the NORM... whereas in Western Europe
a guy living with his parents his considered "weird":
even though... that same guy is doing all the househoild
chores... so where are all the pathological cry-babies
playing video-games about?

and the price of living in London is now what?!
i've taken the Darwinistic approach...
where do i have ***? in a brothel...
sure... i'd love an American motel
or a Japanese love-hotel... i'm a little bit bound
to confiscating the pleasure chambers... " "... as it were...
rather: less confiscating them and more:
constraining them...

   but my parents will not die in a retirement home...
and by the time i inherit all of this...
i will have already filtered through enough
suitors of the opposite *** to tell all of them:
sorry... thank you... you're not bringing anything
but a headache to the "table"...
from tome immemorial:
that's how reality worked....
it's still working: it's working better than ever...

one drunk girl has enough ego-booster
to cling to me and tell me: oh... you're ****...
right... now i know...
        all the other timid ones think the same
but are too sober to say those same words...
am i? am i going to go out of my way
to satisfy this ploy?! this plot?!
nope...
            i bailed out long before bailing out
was a "vogue"...
back in 2007.... 2022 is a long time since 2007...

            you touch my Quarus....
you touch my Veroniya...
i'll ******* give you a toothache with a lawnmower!
i'm unhinged... when it comes to
the safety of my cats...
i'll ******* give you a toothache with a lawnmower!
i started rewatching American Beauty with
a remoteness of fleeing glee...

wow! that movie! that movie was so important!
i sort of live by it!
   like: i don't want to live like this mid-life
crisis realisation moment life ought to precipitate into!

mmm... hmm... pet-killing...
i don't care if you're Jesus or Ghandi...
****** would have never...
                   hide... just... hide...
               you ******* Uber-Tandoori bicycle peddlers...
nein!
               niet!
                 i'll ******* dig up your grave and
**** our ***-hole and eye-socket for killing my
dearest friend!
                   hush! hush! ******* Turbanator Mc-****-Lord!
this is personal..
                 you just allowed me for it to become
more expressive...
          ******* singe of Singh;
you don't... get... to... pay... off... vipers!
shut the **** up!

let's call it: Tweed Afghanistani;
spice imperium my ***...
in terms of food?
you need water, you need fire...
you need salt...
          you need time...
             you need... the fifth always escapes me...
like lightning escaped
the arithmetic of elements
for the ancient of days...
                           ah!                        OIL!

we're not friend: better we become enemies
than pretend to become friends.

rykł gwałtu: czy śmiercí... sie boície?!*

the 1st world belongs
to western europe,
as is the poppy emblem...
but the 2nd world war?
you have no right
upon this platitude of
nostalgia...
you have no right here...
you don't belong here,
go **** yourselves,
and settle the flatlands
of belgium...
you, take you *******,
and your other colonial
subordinates from these
pages of reminder!
no, you don't belong
here, on the ukranian plains
of the flat-fields...
     you are not
commonwealth sorts...
i don't want you here...
  you are on your way home...
and no...
none of the commonwealth
bits & pieces ever worked
the construction site,
like the irish or eastern europeans
did...
         q a few sikhs...
but that's about it...
pakis make great
           mustafas of the "work"
invoked by the designation of
    a prior toward the
      authorirty of an imam...
                  i too never knew i
knew how to read...
   must be a literate donkey
                somewhere!
i'm trying to love the brits,
but given they're really into
their p.c.s.d. (post-colonial
stress disorder), i'll my stretching
it with nazis...
   please call me that...
please, please, please call me a ****!
it will make me remember
my great-grandmother affected
by nazis, all the better,
for your **** journalistic
***...
          please!
i'm begging you! call me a ****!
call me what my grandfather
called the ss-mann:
   herr-bite-bonbon...
   call me a **** you **** swine!
call it! call it!!!
             i dare you,
i want you to call it!
    i, ******* dare you to call it!
call it!
          speak your little jihad!
speak your little spell!
                            say it!
are you aware that i was the one
who liked the idea of collecting swords?
oh yeah...
   i own a hussar blade...
over 50 centimetres...
curved and all...
                    if i inserted the blade
via your ***, it would come out of your
mouth as a tongue;
say it... i want to hear it...
   why are my hands and the fingers
extending off of them, becoming
so itchy?
    i have a heart for a guillotine,
but no more, for a bed-fellow
in the form of a woman;
   how desirable does death become,
the least you account
for fearing it... how welcoming
the jest of recounting:
                novembers & septembers.

i sometimes smoke a cigarette and: chances are...
i might be drinking some red wine...
strange how the palette works...
sometimes the odd aftertaste of strawberries...
tonight of all nights: spring onions...

i don't like to be right about so trivial
matters as the result of a football match...
minor prophetic jargon...
but once the game finished i wanted
to celebrate being right: neutrally...
i just couldn't stomach the euphoria...
i rode for two bottles of the cheapest
red wine into town...
in the heaviest of rain...
i felt baptised...

         a second time: gladly not confirmed
the first time... for that matter:
there was no second time coming...
schtill nacht...
im diese schtill nacht...
it's almost like surfing...
the sensation you get: having made
a prediction... logically...
with all the required scrutiny...
you stand back: you surf...
or you ride a bicycle in the thickness
of night while it's raining frog spit...
the chains have come off...

i couldn't stomach a collective euphoria
of something associated with
a football match...
back "we" go... to our own personal
reality chequers: and checks...
it's nice to see how easily reality bites back
when we're no longer protected
by a collective cul de sac belief mantra:
hope is the envy of lesser creatures...
esp. when magnified into some...
common purpose...

there's a wasp sting in my tongue at the joy
of... seeing so many people resort to having
to comfort themselves...
to... perhaps tease introspection...
i don't think i could stomach a shared
euphoria...
i probably would: but...
collectively i wouldn't be able to pick
out... the solo reasons why someone
might be happy: because a football match was
won...

but because a football match
was lost... i could almost tell why a sadness couldn't
be shared - apologies for making
a Holocaust metaphorical-analogy...
each to his own sadness...
but over such a trivial: peg... of... pride...

it's like those people who complain about...
"having an existence... but not having a life"...
well... money troubles...
they have existence assured...
they don't have "life"... a lifestyle...
spending habits...
that might elevate a simple fact that
was too problematic for Frankenstein
to begin with...
i find myself glad...
to not have the sort of money that might
elevate this most precious fact
into a spending spree amnesia...
amnesia? memento mori amnesia...

the people who can be cited as wanting "life"
outside the stated fact of existence...
i made "life" from my prediction:
over a stupid game of football:
it's not exactly ballet...
i hanged onto the prediction...
i didn't gamble on it... there was no money
involved: i just wanted to be right
from the very beginning of seeing
Italy vs. Turkey... this was the team...
what would "life" offer me...
beside enough money to spend
to have a seat at Wembley...
become deluded by a collective wave of farces...
sing-along songs...
that would be life: life would only disappoint
me...
this "life" that's supposedly a tier above
being given a FACT that's: i: ex-instance:
i out of every instance...
preserve my will to match that of
the tenacity of weeds... or hyper-sexualised
insects...

have a life? hell... be a leaf:
waver with each passing wind...
to doubt is to enjoy as many crushing emotions
as that plethora of them that's love...

i can pledge alliance, otherwise: mostly to the tongue:
that i rather use this acquired tongue:
defend it from this... current... onslaught
of pseudo-communist
pronoun-shimmy-shimmy...
but i can't: just... grow to support a football
team: i can't translate this archaic tribalism
into what i require to be more...
sophisticated: that might tie me to this land:
these people...

ha... to convene yourself:
i don't want to exist... i want a life...
the old saying goes:
which translates into:
i want enough spending options
to have a lifestyle...
that's all there is... well sorry if i'm just...
content with what Frankenstein's monster
found so bothersome:
no airs... not an itch of sense & sensibility:
pomp & circumstance...
i would sooner return to the shadowy
enclaves of naked thought:
away from the Freudian schematic scrutiny
of man's secular trinity
of consciousness: sub- + un-...
unlike Frankenstein's monster...

i should most certainly not have the sort
of money that might allow me to
leverage choices that would
necessarily break me into becoming a silly
colt: reinvented...

patriotism: for the language...
why do i write in English and not in ******?
well... the fiddly bits...
i'm not going to ctrl + c / ctrl + p every time
i need to make an "inquiry": make use
of all the necessary diacritical letters...
i need fluidity... if sometimes i buckle:
i'll buckle on something more than
mere diacritical markers:
i'll buckle on some katakana / hangul...

mm-hmm... i think only Brazil has made it
to conquer the concept of a post-racial
society... it dawned on me...
how about all the african-h'americans
are paid their reparations with...
being given their proper ETHNIC identity back?
by now black is too obvious:
how about they get a chance to tell each
other apart: this "one" is of ivory coast descent...
this one is Nigerian... no?
so it's back to just being... "bleak"?
that's it... now i see it...
racism doesn't originate from ethno-centrism...
or ethno-clarification... does it?

ethnicity is so much more custard
when race is all but water...
after all: a southern fairy is not a northern monkey...
a Yorkshire lad is not a Cockney
give-me-up...

i pledge my allegiance: otherwise...
it won't be through a simulated football match:
it will be purely through the tongue...
expect more: i'll be a fake...
sooner becoming a home-grown Jihadi...
oh... i'm the failure of the supposed
quest for the integrated foreigner...
point taken: point... proved:
not in favour of the native populace...
if i wanted to be spewing automaton
integration bits & bobs like
some winded-up harmonica monkey:
should have asked for a Sikhs' turabn:
stating the ****** obvious: what success!

all the Scots were jumping joy galore
seeing Italy beat England...
i'm pretty sure they were...
mind you... why can you have an British & Irish Lions
Rugby team...
you can have Cardiff City & Swansea
play in the premier league...
with all the English teams...
but you can't have Rangers or Celtic...
competing?
it's team GB at the Olympics:
it's all UK in that chapter of sports...
but when it comes to football...
the united: not so much united...
sport effort...

you can have Welsh teams competing
with the English teams in the same
league...
but you can't have Hibernian being given
a stab at it?
i lived among the Scots for about
3 years...
come to think of it...
i came across more natives "up" there
than i ever came across natives
"down" here...

why do i think England is faking
a multiculturalism... it always faked it...
it begins with an Anglo-Saxon mentality:
we can't allow European foreigners to dilute
the blood of our ******* daughters
with these supposed ******...
feed them black aubergine **** first:
perhaps she''ll become tired of
all that fun... fun... fun...

look at me... i've given up on your future
mother... i went into the avenue of Turkic women...
Romanian women...
i'm not going to die on a hill of her
entitlement...
i'm not even going to **** on it...

i will not join this ******* jump-up piston-whip
galore...
all the allegiance to the tongue:
none to the petty spectacles of
the collectivised: rest in peace...
if Cardiff city be incorporated...
if Swansea can be incorporated into
the premier league...
why can't Rangers or Celtic compete?

i will persist in the Welsh being pacified
by the English: even though
the Welsh have a rarefied version of linguistic pride
that allowed them to retain their Cymru...
while the Scots dropped their Gaelic
in favour of writing: with their accent pronounced...
in ****** graffiti English...

i'm still leveraging my attention for the Welsh
with suspicion... leeches...
two-faced leeches...
those awaiting a nationalistic spontaneity:
they have retained their tongue:
the Scots haven't...
ah... the Scots... it's important to still trill the R...
hark: sing-along in English:
it's hardly important to speak a drop of
Gaelic... hell... even the Irish have forgotten
their lust for their tongue!
poker-faced Welsh... curious *******...
the most famous Welsh people not being
Welsh: Judas Brutus...

the rev. r. s. Thomas...
it's not Welsh is a makeshift of ****** that's
Silesian that heavily borrows on ******
since it doesn't have a hard nut of
Hans Sprech to stand on...
under what: union... Jack?

           comes with the Anglo-Slav territory...
sorry... the sort-of-Saxons
have been left licking their wounds
while their women have been
diluting their "sacred" blood..
**** happens: join the circus:
become a clown: live with with...
it's hardly a welcome resort that
might encompass the post-racism of Brazil...
but "we're" getting "there"...

i'm a racist overlord if i **** a black
girl:
likewise if i don't...
because i think of her skin as:
sandpaper....
conundrum after conundrum...
finally... living on these isles...
there are remnants of the Celts:
if you are readied: will prop their ugly
ginger bearded **** hairs up!
i'd sooner speak some German
than allow myself pacifying then *******
Russian Bolsheviks...
my own: biased scrutiny...

the wooden leg:
dropkick murphys...
if Boston is Irish...
then Chicago is ******...
              because you don't know what:
being... deported feels like...
because you don't know what
being termed "illegal" feels like:
but sure... allow what you currently
allow: because you're all for:
the grand awakening...
self-laceration tryst in the jargon train
of pardon:
now you recede into your...
"grief"...

                    when it's not about being right:
it's not... not right now:
it's about being self-assured...
it's about being: less glassy-eyed and more:
peppering the futures of man made simple
with: guided expectations!
i.e. the peacock verbiage synonym of:
the experience of failure...

of... FAIL...
so many lights became aligned;
i almost forgot to take a snooze with a better
worth of a blink.

you know, cats prefers feathers of crows, to yarn ***** of synthetic wool rolled up into "playthings"... oh wait, i'm white, i have not base in providing knowledge, only copper-skinned people are wise... use whites are a piglet's word short of extinct... go! sinjit! go! turbans plop! go! bunch of queen sheba hoes... the wanking patronage of lahore's preserved existence.

which just shows how many actual cat-ladies
there are out there in the world -
and the mystery of missing cats being
explained:
even the ****** cats go missing
with these women,
me? i can't get rid of my maine ****
male...
****** rapes me, with his presence!
******, please, *******!
****** comes back...
says: your bead, mine...
   what am i, ******* flintstone shortcut...
and yes, i think that whoever "conjured"
up the idea of a yarn ball of wool as
entertainment was wrong,
you pick up a feather of a crow,
dip it into your makeshift dip of ink,
and then give it to your cat..
watch it pretend it's a dog with a bone...
and then see the lullaby...
by the way, how do you get a cat's
respect?
     you either sleep at much as they
do: of you beat them at their sleeping pattern...
i've managed to sleep longer than cats,
which also means i am guardian of
their toiletry pattern -
  the female maine **** prefers to be
petted when she's incubated by
a boa tightening of a hold -
the male? just an empty bed and a crow's
feather, then he snoozes,
and i shed a dear:
listen to some johnny cash,
and feel complete...
        and then i compare that to
the islamic rites of prayer,
the way you wash before making dues -
which is so much against;
******* with the dues of
elevating the necessitated
*******..
              while shaming the actual
efforts, that overshadow both
psychiatrist, & priest...
           i shame the dog-collar
bigots, and the psychiatric ******
insipid conjurers of "hope"...
who deserve as much tuxedo
as a straitjacket...
and a lot of these "doctors" have
a woman lying by their side:
which is always a bad sign...
none of them a dog, or a cat...
     ever heard of a serial killer with
a cat, or a dog as accomplice?
me neither! go fetch!
      aport boy! fetch!
         sing my a *******
johnny cash song you ******* '****.

why is it, that journalists suddenly
think they're the respectable class
of profession?
      no one respects journalism
after the *milly dowler scandal...
   really? the best they can do is do that,
or simply troll?!
       **** it, i'll **** the rest of it...
there's no point in asking, pleading,
regressing, or revising...
    it's like asking for a monkey
to act as a ghost and instead of
stating ooh! stating a boo!
         sure as **** a jew got hurt with
missing H...
oh right... a pole said it...
the vermin class...
      nibbles nibbles...
rats got you nibbles...
      show-as your leggings -
i'll pride a nibble!
    not so proud then...
  what a shame...
      the usual sussex nuns come along:
and state the atypical ENGLAND,
entertaining as about three quarter's
worth of saudi arabia;
retracted in the comment section,
mostly by homos,
         or people who read as much
of a the ideal mention of headlines in newspapers...
then channel four says:
e ain't no ****!
     oh, wight, whites on whites...
**** ju ju juicing for the cumin
and coriander paste...
      finally!
multicultural england!
    i can finally bash a **** without
being called an anglican west ham supporter...
and?
if i don't get away with i?
  applause! manchester 2.0!
  or do i have to remind you, that my ethnicity
was called vermin?
      you know how turban bashers are born,
how these turbanators are born,
and orientate around muslims rather
than sikhs, and how you should have
read the placard, of the polish r.f.a. pilots
who fought in the first world war?
come next ****, i'll make another japatti.

you know, two doors down,
a bunch of youthful sikhs are having
a weener get together party,
sounds like friday at the mosque:
no women allowed;
and they're standing there in
the garden, smoking joints,
laughing & trivialising,
**** on the read: i call them.

and there's me, little ol' me,
solving a sudoku puzzle and drinking
some *** on the side, while listening
to the ultimate template for "m.g.t.o.w.",
and thinking, am i part of this movement,
to be the reversal cartesian dynamic
that hasn't kicked in?

vocals on gorgorath,
and the story behind it...
i see hell as silence,
mainly? no throne of god,
nor hallelujah angels...
i have to make this pig latin...

ego videre infernum qua silentium

  and i do... see hell as silence:

   videre infernum qua silentium...

heaven?

      rephrasing: audio... for pedantic
***** involved.

so i have thus: sikh party two doors
down,
i don't mind them...
    i'm sure as ****, the fan gets involved,
i start to gurgle the brew,
i tilt my head back, with a neck still
intact..
  and gurgle the brew...
        mind you, these neighbours killed
my cat...
               i'm not begging, i'm not asking
for a response, i'm just saying...
  what happened, happened,
    i have the north winds to attest to...
no sikh is going into my house
and say: make us a kuppah...
no, *******, turn your turban cloth into
a napkin, and have
your jimmy-jimmy daal....
you ******* idiot... oh? it didn't translate?
how about i voodoo my cat's remains
in a woogie-boogie promise
of: the haunted house?

     i **** as hell digged up a grave,
you "think" i'm about to joke?
let me fiddle with my nose for a bit...
you know how disrespect for humans
is born? when the "idiot" disrespects
the non-edible, petted forms of animal...

you make grievances with
non-edible pieces of meat
that men are associated with...
you're asking for the name of the seasons,
plus a choir of angels to untie you;
boo-shakalak-kee-sha!
  what did i find?
these turban brigadiers, these
blue indian, these pakis...
they have only one motto:
strength in numbers...
    but when they hear a white boy,
gurgling alcohol out of the window,
as if imitating drowning,
tilting his head back giving the perfect:
macaw signing in the sea...
these olive skinned virgins either play
*****, or call for backup "plans"...

*** yer plantain, but not yer bananas:
sure short, a ******* wake
across the whole of the caribbean...
called the havana autumn:
lost leaves, dry dung,
    monkey 'ave a throw's worth
of a bullet 'andy.

what? you gunn'ah **** on the pineapples
any'who? ******* will,
i'll be right there,
shitstorming your *** whether
there's an irma or her **** jose -
***** i'll witch-broom your ***
right off with a woop, telling my
neighbours: i've done so;

and yes, the internet is not a cul de sac,
you don't get to play
radio 4's the archers here...
sorry, i was wishful thinking for a sitcom
too... turns out...
    the phonebook is exponential in size,
but also too erratic in terms of
fluidity / fluctuation of capitalised on
use.

anything that's young and small is usually fun to have,
fun to care for, tend to... whether a dog...
a flower... or a child... esp. a child...

i'm not into typifying anything racially...
although... with enough experience cycling...
you come across racial stereotypes...
it's unavoidable...
i don't mind black drivers... i don't mind
white drivers: hell...
the stereotype of the white van man:
who's usually white is a blessing on the road...
these guys are a blessing to cyclists...
they care enough to pass you by with the minimum
amount of space required...
but they're not nervy... jerky...
they don't stalk you for a ******* minute
before making a move to overtake you...
but if i see a ******* "ninja" behind the wheel...
or some pompous Asian who blasts his
horn at me... i'm giving him the finger
that'll elaborate into the index-middle-and-ring
and shout at him: *******! read between
the lines!
i can't help myself:
the guy is usually driving a ******* VW polo
and he think's he's driving a ******* TANK...
i can squeeze past... no problem...
i've come across two instances where my
thigh glanced the surface of the exterior of a car...
i once had a collision with one of those
Ronin with an L placard attached to their rear...
******* mileage... doing 30mph... tears in their eyes
from the wind... blah blah...
i never thought i'd say this but...
Heidegger... dasein... where else if not when cycling?!
- a Sunday newspaper...
oh yeah... i'm a "boomer" in that sort of way...
i love the printed press... esp. on a Sunday...
Sunday newspapers are the best...
they have the magazines... they do a News Review...
it's almost as if... the culmination of all things
relevant arrives on a Sunday...
Monday newspapers are pointless...
i believe there should be a media sabbath...
and it would be a Monday since...
the newspapers are most slim on a Monday
and... no one does anything important on
a Monday anyway...
but the following article really did catch my eye...
'Machete gangs on the hunt for flashy Mamils'
(the sunday times, page 15,
october 10, 2021... nicholas hellen, transport editor)
so that's 'x' not "x" since it's a direct quote
and not a metaphor, misnomer or airy-*******-fairy
ambiguity...
the jyst... jist... whatever: the zest of the story
is... a cyclist was rammed and had his £15,000
road-bicycle stolen from him in daylight...
in an affluent part of Loon-dun... Richmond Park...
MAMIL? it's an acronym...
i hate acronyms... it's a H'american "thing"...
middle-aged-men-in-Lycra...
like i said: i too cycle... i'm a nut for cycling...
and i too wear Lycra shorts...
but i cover those Lycra long-shorts with something
breezy... other than that... no helmet...
no Lycra top...
   but it's the closest a man can get to what
women wear underneath...
if Lycra is not equivalent to the finest sort of lingerie
(phonetically... that... lan-jar-ray... not quite...
almost)
a woman can wear... then...
my ******* are not currently tingling
to a point of me thinking i have a ******...
290,000 is the number of bicycles stolen each
year in England & Wales...
funny that... i don't spot so many cyclists
to not have this number properly scrutinised...
i'm guess... scrap metal? scrap rubber?
- it's Lycra it could as well be something sexed-up
like lace... but... it has to be covered with
some sensible material...
i'd sooner be dead than don a ******* helmet...
cycling gloves and that pseudo-yoga-pants look
that women are pulling off...
sure... your *** looks fine woman...
thanks for that libido insomnia i've been having
with a Marquis de Sade hard-on for the past:
20 years!
started ******* aged 8... or 7...
even managed to teach another boy how to *******...
what's the ******* for?
not that? solo projects with ref. to...
no... never... i was never fond of the Egyptian gods...
but this one... so i asked this girl what deity she'd prefer
to... hardly pray to... at least keep in mind:
well... her counterpart... Atum... who spawned
his... offspring through self-*******...
so... hardly a taboo...
of course if i were a woman and had my
decapitated ******* toys and a web-cam...
i'd be milking it...
oh hello plumber... hello... electrician...
it's hardly something to do before a camera & broadcast
it... it's someone one does
on the throne of thrones...
once you do the no. 1 & 2...
that's no. 3 and there's no. 4 that comes up
while baptising yourself in the shower... a proper wash down...
but never in a scented candles spread on the bed
sort of way...
well: if you have to milk it:
i guess you have to milk it...
the sort of erotica associated with pregnant women...
- i never liked Talking Heads...
but this song... qu'est ce que? f'ah f'ah f'ah...
i was sold when watching Bloodshot with van Petrol...
that dance...
i'm shimmy... simmering... hell:
brought right up to the boil...
- so yeah... i can racially profile certain traffic
behaviours...
"ninjas" are not that bad...
but Asian... sorry... not Orientals:
i'll call red red, o.k.?
           Hindus... although i like this slur...
CIAPATY...
          borrowed from japatti...
in my native spreschen it denotes...
eating with your mouth open...
the MLASK... the audible sound of food being
chewed...
but i'll still "secretly" envision a world
where... we ate something French for breakfast...
or just poultry abortions...
something omni- for lunch
and a curry for dinner...
           i can't get over the superiority
of the blue Indian cuisine...
    lucky them: lucky for some to have
stockpiles of salt... but lucky for them to have had
cardamom... green or black... cumin, coriander...
chilly for all this time!
- but when it comes to reincarnation...
sure... i remarked that time sort of stopped being tinged
with a metaphysically: linear and
adorned a cyclic nature...
but... reincarnation implies:
only a fixed number of souls... while the rest of us
are zombies... empty vessels...
i'm not saying it's wrong... but ******* scary...
imagine... it's like the Catholic ELECT...
the Jewish CHOSEN few...
                            it doesn't breed much...
sympathy for your fellow man...
i like sympathy...
a symbiosis of pathology...
i once could quote myself as saying:
apathy breeds no pathology...
a quote staged when someone remarked:
there's nothing worse than apathy...
          dis-ease: a negation of ease... one more scrutiny
with etymological tinges... or hue...

always the two necessary lubricants when
writing... since i never feel like talking:
breathing is fine... but talking?!
refocus of a subject matter: Kandinsky...
talking-head... news anchor...
or merely a ditto-head...
i.e. one half of the "air-quote" i.e.
                                                      " id est... as above...

****... there's some dehydrating washing
in the attic... i need to get that ironed...
there's a decent chicken broth slowly cooking:
i'll need to boil some vermicelli for it
as a starch accompaniment...

i too hate the masochists running riot in...
m'ah race... i hate them...
i don't mind this whole world that has congregated
in Loon'dun...
i feel queasy in a monochromatic society
to begin with...
Poland & Cheltenham are like-for-like...
it's that i've grown among so many hues that...
it's impossible to otherwise an "otherwise"...
but... for a people that espouse so much Darwinism...
but at the same time... trickle down
English... "pragmatic" sensibilities?
sorry... something is going to awake in me
something primordial... something most associated
with the evil genius of the Russians...

you simply can't sell me Darwinism and
behave like ******* dodos!

my Salinger year... my new york year...
whichever name...
a very accomplished movie...
quirky... very quirky...
it's almost like watching...
Bell, Book & Candle starring
Kim Novak & James Stewart...
tamed existentialism: nothing remotely connected
to Robert Eggers' the lighthouse...
a movie on par with Ingmar Bergman's
the seventh seal... or Samuel Beckett's Watt...

i still haven't finished watching the movie...
the night i started watching it
i ended up drinking myself to a silly state
of lying on the floor...
then... attacking my cat with caresses while
crawling without using my legs...
like that cenobite in Hellrasiser: Inferno...
i was head, torso... arms...
a waking nightmare of what watching serious
movies & drinking does to you:
the waking grip of: delirium!

oh i know... a little... w.h. auden famously remarked
that all the Hitlers of the world wrote at night...
the above i wrote during the day:
having forgotten to put on the washing
of bathroom towels...
as you do... gearing up to cooking
the most pristine beef steak...
some french fries... a mushroom sauce...
leftover coleslaw...
you really can't butcher the beef meat twice...
you need to cook it for its final purpose:
tender medium rare...
i'd east blue... i'd eat rare...
but doubly butchering it to a well done?
i guess only the English have this
horrid palette...
they'll make chalk out
of chicken *******! a bit like my grandmother!
no... exactly like my grandmother!

come to think of it... a narrative is a cascade...
a river... a waterfall... something that lends
itself to Heraclitus...
then the cut-up "technique" came
beginning with the Dada movement
and later... fro Tristan Tzara
through to William Burroughs and his
"comrade"... Gregory Corso...
i'm more into juxtapositions...
let's call it...
          Kandinsky's anarchy with the subtlety
of either Satie or Debussy...
i sometimes walk into the forest
drunk... come a special place in my heart...
the highest autumn... the genesis of winter...
with a naked torso: because
i have to take all the clothes of my upper body
and sit... scouting for the moon
on some throne of bark...
peering from behind the branches...
listening to: as a branch is broken...
and something nears...
            
i need this night... it's such an annual event...
a seasonal ****...
like the period it takes me to make my own wine...
i need the trees as skeletons...
it's hard: when... you don't have any colour
to work with...
some might say i write a "word salad":
which is a derogatory term in psychiatry for
those who are familiar with it...
i'm speaking nonsense or...
i'm trying something new...
post-post-modernism...

      does it even matter, right now?
           i don't know my neighbours...
the ones i supposedly knew managed to invent
a tall tale concerning my Arctic hued Maine ****...
kidney failure... sorry... you what?
i was visiting my grandparents while being
traumatized by an advent of future events...
i begged and begged to return home...
if these Asiatic people love themselves so much:
and their community...
how much they might abhor tending
to westerners' pets...
say it... don't fake it...
"neighbours"...

well... that sheikh party... sorry... Punjab?
why do i require all these unnecessary
explanations... why do i need to be schooled?
that party of Sikhs went down well...
i spotted a few of them looking at me sitting
on the windowsill... waiting for an insomniac crow
to crow in the nacht...
  the party was going fine for a few hours...
until 1am hit and... i could hear the aruing through
my headphones...
in the morning a car was parked by
the garden fence that read: DOCTOR
on the front...
so... someone overdid it?

listen, friend... if you don't know how to drink!
don't drink!
i drink because i'm bored...
and i like to... dribble a little scribble...
i am: a harrowing...

     i'm sorry: these aren't my neighbours...
i can tell you why they're not my neighbours...
those Nigerians that moved next door...
where once an English woman... post-wall...
and her pseudo-Lithuanian bulldog of a bf moved in...
the one who told me i needed to ask
his permission when making a bbq...
because he had his washing drying in the garden
and he didn't want a smoked salmon fest...
or the woman that lived two doors down...
with her autistic boy...
i don't know how many men went
in and out after the boy's father left...

i'm not saying i'm better than...
but i like... what is it that i like?
a sensible... polite society...
a society where i can drink a Franziskaner beer
on a park bench, in the shade... and not bark
obscenities...
i like politeness... i like... this most pristine of social
contracts...
i still believe there are...
unwritten... social contracts...
like today... a woman was walking with her
two daughters riding bicycles...
i finished my beer and smoked my cigarette...
i was on my way
riding the bicycle without
holding the handlebars...

LOOK! LOOK! the man is not holding them!
well... i should come up with
some soppy story about being 35 and not having
children...
chances are... society would only allow me
to breed female prostitutes...
and male suicides...
i'm doing the next best "thing"...
nodding my head like a pigeon walking...
pretend dancing while perched on a windowsill...
listening to Talking Heads' ****** killer...

i'm out... the chimp in me checked out...
oh it must be so great to have little girls
and boys...
the ones that spot a man with a beard
and exclaim: LOOK! LOOK! he's not holding
the handle-bars...
he's almost riding a unicycle!
look at the clown in disguise of...
not having any ****** paint!

i'm also jealous... i can make a corner without
holding the handle-bars of a bicycle...
it's like... gravity 2.0: two-point-oh...
but the stuff the English colts in Essex get up to...
gearing up... doing wheelies...
i'm jealous... all i can do is...
turn corners without holding the handlebars....
whey hay! presto!
it's like... gravity can be used outside the realm
of planetary orbit...
it can have its own micro-cosmos! wow!

at this point i ought to be like:
i want to raise young girls...
teach them how to ride a bicycle without
them needing to use the handlebars...
only for acute turns...
i'm sorry... the chimpanzee in me
is sleeping...
i'm Harold... can i help you?

               i'm ******* grooving to Talking Heads'
****** killer bass line...
like a pigeon... strutting... instead
lodged with a leg folded sitting on it
on a windwosill...
              believe me... the world's great!
it's almost as if i never left it:
it's almost as if i arrived to watch its sunrise!

the drink is hear... the absence of any decent narrative too...
talking heads' psychology killer vs.
fleetwood mac's: the chain...
to hell with African-esque...
the European-solo projects...
if it's not about the bass... it's not about anything...

imagine a pigeon strutting...
and my giggling... imitating dancing while rooted...
those two girls on bicycles...
LOOK! LOOK! a man is riding a bicycle
without holding the handlebars!
as much as that might have: ought to...
bring me sorrow...
the sun was shining...
i wish i could... tap into that sort of
research material...
hello dead end... hello project dodo...
for all the right reasons...
for ****'s sake...
my mother loved her father...
but my grandfather "sold" her... the worst of the worst
of genes...
i'm also invested in them...
i'm evolved in that:
i know... when it's desirable to stop...
i want to stop...
i don't want a future i dispose of to
come back to me with... ******* complaints...

i adore the children of strangers...
LOOK! LOOK! the man!
ha ha... the first time i was scrutinised as
a man... i... never remembered being a boy...
LOOK! he's riding his bicycle without using
the handlebars!
it's the little that makes the most...
like... catering to your feline companions...
making them teased... but now abhorring you
up to the point of:
how, the, ****... do, you... arrive... at...
"lost" cats?! dogs i can understand...
i saw this one instance where a guy...
roped a dog to a bench... then ****** off...
for some... strange ******* reason...
the same dog was... running around with
another stray... ******* magic...
a stray dog a "lost" dog i can understand...
but... what sort of a *******... what sort of *****
do you have to be / become...
to conjure up a... ******* stray cat?!
seriously?!

believe me: i've lived a little: to know... a little...
it's not that i know nothing:
which is... that infamous Socratic negation positive
statement....
you can't just... conjure up...
"lost" cats... what terrible people they must be...
dogs i can understand...
leashed...
cats... i imagine cats ******* off on their own...
then i start thinking about
the milk-toast...
the... overcooked beef...
beef that's not... medium-rare... or blue /
i.e. doubly butchered...

the bicycle isn't simply "owned"
by =a: pataphyscian: alfred jarry....
               a cyclist is somehow...
sometimes... a buffer....

hello... the end.