title: hinter
body: poppyland..
asp... bite...
shadow... hind.
- an outburst after a short hiatus, stiff fingers: tongue-numbing -
last time i checked, there is a hybrid flu hitting
the body-market of viral infections,
thank god i didn't get a headache, but... all the rest of it...
flu usually arrives just before winter,
again, the seasonal shock to the body...
but this one arrived in reverse...
it's un-thought of to succumb to these ills with the coming
of spring... but... i'm proof...
i even tested positive for Covid: even though
i've been vaccinated...
i should think is absolutely necessary -
to be in this state of health and to see language:
disintegrate into a less and less formality -
only a month or so ago i had to return to the formality
of language: i can't remember the last time
i wrote a letter with some official purpose:
a complain or whatever it might have been...
but i do remember the agony of utilising such language:
a language of verbs rather than a language
of nouns... imploring someone to do X...
i'm sitting here glum: spring comes with the flu:
the bones ache, the nose is filled strange sticky snot...
the muscles ache, i'm guessing:
one of those great big dips in lethargy before
the great reinvigoration of the impeding three seasons...
it's almost as i have been hibernating...
i'm not getting to the life outside speeding up...
the insects have already woken,
the birds are more jittery... chatter at 5am...
the clocks have been moved forward by an hour...
and how i miss... what begins around November
proper... at the end of the month...
everything slows down...
now... everything is picking up pace again
and i've come sick / late to the party...
come the Easter celebration with eggs...
i am absolutely devoid of a need to celebrate...
perhaps writing during a period of physical sickness
feels a bit like ingesting some magic mushroom...
pickled-jar of brain...
murky eyes... sticky-glass eyes...
perhaps rereading something by Charles Olson might
help... i still can't buy a physical copy
of the Maximus Poems...
what would i settle for? the complete collection
of Philip Lamantia's poems?
i remember the first time i fell in love
with Sestina: Altaforte - and that's contained in
Ezra's personae...
i'm weak: my imagination is rot...
perhaps some Al Purdy will save me...
the suggestion was: to drink more...
more whiskey, eh?
yes... three days sort of zombie-esque...
strange phlegm... loss of appetite...
for a moment prior to heading for a shift
on Saturday at Wembley... i could swear i lost my
sense of taste and smell... mostly the smell...
but hell... i wasn't going to miss out on earning so extra
cash... spread the love: biological "weapon" that
i became: back to the usual reality of...
virus carrier... carrier of: only the strongest will
survive... i'm no small guy... and if it hit me that hard...
it felt like... the first time i received my first
Covid vaccination... back to the usual: achtung! achtung!
testen! testen!
usual **** at work... i came late to the party...
people have decided to create hierarchy of
incompetence... on the lower levels: through...
familiarity... "friendship"...
one of the girls who was supposed to do register
****** off and i was put next to the owner of the company
helping him out...
we ploughed through... later on in my ****** little
position... a "supervisor" should have come up
to me and asked me switch position...
but instead... oh... this guy ought to be *****-slapped...
this ******* hierarchy of steward
and SIA badged... at least stewards ought to be trained
to diffuse the situation without getting an SIA
hard-on for physical confrontation...
smile... utilise the body language as non-verbally
as possible... i've had no trouble...
i look around... taking my sandwich break...
two stewards: oh... because they're supposedly "friendly"
with the female supervisor come around behind
her and slap her ***...
the "reality" online and the "reality" online...
sure... this is not some office-tech-start-up with protective
rights of employees... banter at work...
but... what sort of a supervisor is a woman that allows
units of work beneath her... allow them...
to walk behind her and slap / pinch her ***?
supervising what?
i already know this authority / hierarchy game is fake...
you just get a different coloured bib and that's that...
it's veneer... at the end of the day:
you police yourself: whether or not you're performing...
but i wasn't supposed to sit next to the company
co-owner and perform the register...
free-loaders... someone else was supposed to do that...
i can't complain... i like spelling... and sieving through
names... on cards... mind you...
i got away with sitting on a chair for...
an extra 3 hours i would have otherwise spent standing...
trying to make small, tiny... pointless conversation...
i checked the balance the next day...
i weighed in at around 100kg before the shift...
the next day... in at 98kg...
i don't even lose that much when cycling for 2 hours...
i couldn't imagine it: what... just standing...
but my father did warn me...
when he was part of the ornamental guard in the ******
army... standing shifts beside the Grave of the Unknown
Soldier... standing in one place for hours on end
is as much exercise as... running around...
if not more... since... well... you have to figure out...
how's the blood going to circulate to your toes?!
when you're not moving your legs?
thank god i'm only doing this work to get good
references... it's all a little ******* to me...
first few shifts were novel... a novel idea...
but i'm turning into a salamander... well... no...
i've always been a little of a chameleon...
i adapt to what pleases me:
and what pleases me... more observation...
i need to suss out the dynamic...
these people are "friends"...
oh... like the last time i played those girls off on each
other... when one spoke liable against me...
blah blah and i said to the other:
the ****** proverb... liars don't walk on stilts...
they're still asking me... she blocked you?
do i look like someone who cares
about a missed romantic possibility?
i've already seen her walking the dog with some other guy...
oh... much younger than me...
unimpressive... hey... that's free will...
perhaps we don't have it...
but we do have it... within the confines of the dynamic
the self and... the other...
i can't control the other... plus those visists in
the brothel sort of smoothed things over...
i found the ****-of-my-life... and it only took me...
14 years since the last: ****-of-my-life...
i like keeping that joker card in the back of my mind
when women at work pretend to flirt with me...
in my mind there's this line... you what?!
i'm sorry... you want to go where i've been?
work is... *******... i figured long enough
that... little pointless hierarchies exist...
so? become the teacher's pet...
do the register with him when the person that was
supposed to do it bails out...
let him find you later on and thank you...
oh... because the game is still getting played...
patience... time... quasi-geology... pressure...
the pressure is yet to be employed...
terrible three days though... i abhor feeling weak...
esp. from something that should only affect me
in my 60s... but we're living in a time of hybrid
infections... the feeling of weakness
and the immediate harm it brings on the body
to be incapable to: not even be imaginative...
but narrative capable...
and if this guy asks me for a lift to Wembley...
on Tuesday... £10 to be dropped off at some inconvenient
place... while he drops all the female workers
at their homes... you what?
you can drop these ******* off at their homes...
but can't drop me at a petrol station that's as much
convenient for you as it is for me?
guess what!
on a week day... i can get a train from Romford
to Liverpool St. - i'm i'm lucky and get the quick one...
20min...
and then... the Metropolitan Line from Liverpool St.
to Wembley Park... another 20min...
done... plus... the politics of: who sits where in the car...
oh sure sure... if it's a girl... she needs to sit
in the front... *******... **** that...
but i do... i really do... my agreeable veneer...
i'm into masks... all that's missing in my closet
is a ******* latex suit to perform **** fantasies...
it takes me less via train and less money than
to be given a lift... and watch... as the female coworkers
get dropped off at their doorsteps i have to quickly
jump off at a bus-stop and get the bus home...
i prefer going there solo... i don't mind the commute...
it does me good: there's no one to talk to...
perfecto!
i hate putting on these masks...
i just put them on to orientate myself around the sort
of tension i could generate if i didn't cling to reservations...
i've seen myself snap spontanepusly...
once...
i was walking around Brick Lane randomly
looking for a *******... picked up this Asian...
felt like drinking with someone...
we ended up walking into an alley just of the Lane
and he snatched my mobile from my hand...
and i was like: what do you think you're doing?
he replied: i'm taking your phone...
i think that's when my iris and my sclera in my eyes
disappeared... my eyes turned pure ink...
i snatched the phone from his hand
and HOWLED: NOW TURN AROUND AND
LOOK AT YOUR GUARDIAN ANGEL!
howled? growled? i remember that i didn't use any
violence... i remember his face being petrified
at my "wording"... then walking down Brick Lane
kneeling, lamenting... screaming the word: All-Ah...
just before the Syrian civil war took place...
it looks weird in my mind now...
Al-ah-ah-ah... people tried to ring for an ambulance
but i just ran away into a graveyard like
a Frankenstein...
i wish i punched him... but instead...
i petrified him... i even talked to my grandfather's
psychiatrist about this encounter...
when can man have the capacity to scare another man
by merely shouting in such a way with
such a ferocity that the other freezes?!
what, with the words:
NOW LOOK AT YOUR GUARDIAN ANGEL?!
it's always a waiting game of sort... in any age-environment,
when... the work doesn't require much skill...
this work doesn't require much skill...
it's just a stalling game i'm playing...
it just gives me an excuse to work
so that the people i live with can get off my back
for writing but not getting paid...
who's going to get paid from writing like this...
these days...
/ am himmel dunkle wolken ziehen
ich nehme artig meine medizin
und warte hier im daunenbett
bis die sonne untergeht
und dann reiß’ ich der puppe den kopf ab
dann reiß’ ich der puppe den kopf ab
ja, ich beiß’ der puppe den hals ab
es geht mir nicht gut
ich reiß’ der puppe den kopf ab
ja, ich reiß’ der puppe den kopf ab
end dann beiß’ ich der puppe den hals ab
es geht mir nicht gut … nein
dam-dam /
their most accomplished album... by my standards...
lyrics from Rammstein's untitled album...
the best song on the album...
what a worn event of: when some selected where
disclosed the parameters of closure of
literacy and numeracy...
but now?! everyone is either "literatre" or "numerate":
but... are they? no... they're really not...
it's a nice looking veneer...
you can pretend to have manage
a 100% literacy... but you're not going to accomplish
it... add a spin of having to make people c0d%e}
no chance of that happening...
over-educating the mass population when
the mass of the population are built for menial tasks
they can fulfill: quickly as they learn them:
to as quickly forget forget about them...
to subsequently have outlets of entertainment as
quickly allowing them to forget everything else...
no one insulating anyone's intelligence...
i'm just insulting... the logistics supervisors...
managers... if i were in the right sort of position...
i'd encourage these poor pawns:
you are expected to be bored on your job...
ever think about thinking about a cinema of memory?
flash-backs? not everyone is going to be focused on...
the job in tow... a heart-surgeon...
but it would be nice to find some people to be awake...
in posit... coordinate within the confines
of your vicinity... rather than simply switching off...
the current work i'm doing is not work...
a tree does more work than i do...
i wish i could think myself as a poet...
no one pays for music, no one is going to pay
for poetry...
sooner paying for bullets than words
in verse...
i'm idiotically investing in a future
i will never see...
but thank god for that...
to manoeuvre around finding fame while being
propped up by some function in sport or some
infamy in the shady regions of society: some reputation...
ugh... all that bothersome psychological interest:
but i thought we had no soul?!
i don't think i could stomach fame...
when... once upon a time... fame... took time...
there was no profiling... there was no immediacy
of recognition... a person's face wasn't made famous...
his name was... no one recognised a famous person
once upon a time... not his face...
but... if you said a name... oh... then... then they would...
recognise the person...
what a glorious time...
and sure... now i'm seeing the old... who were once young...
veer off into their crippling veneer of old age...
pretend: arbeit macht frei doesn't apply to them:
they had all their fun...
i'm what? not going to have fun either?
if the older generation had their fun...
i'm... going to have m fun too...
not as freely... obviously...
i much prefer prostitutes than these supposed
freely available women...
they're not going to be English...
or H'American hard to get types...
Turkic...
no... i'm not going to be climbing up
the hierarchies of men... either...
i'm going to be looking for ways to bypass that...
i walk around a supermarket and
start thinking:
the sort of men... that bred...
with this choice of... gargoyles...
thank god i haven't invested...
seriously... my time, my *****: my effort...
weak men who don't know what to do when
they're alone...
unimaginative men...
men who couldn't possibly enjoy
cycling alone... i sort of passed this hybrid flu
by getting stuck into work: oink... oink...
i smilled... i played nice...
it's a nice... mask...
es ist ein schönmaske...
ich: lächeln...
and in a game of poker...
you... show your cards to your opponents, no?
i'm sieving, i'm fishing...
i'm sifting through...
this work doesn't pay enough for me to care
for it being more than a gig economy...
like i said... i'm just waiting...
i'm waiting...
i've been educated a tier above
all these idiots who think they can dictate minor
issues in spatial coordination...
you know what i think about...
leeching their skins off...
little critters... i conjure up an Ed Gein thinking
about what... sort of ******* worth of hierarchies they
have conjured for themselves...
i want to... scratch their skins off...
for playing the petty-****-heads they are
attempting... to be... american head charge:
set yourself on fire...
no... some purple dye haired pseudo-supervisor
is not really bothering me...
i don't think i could **** her...
no... i don't think i could...
she has a ****** life he keeps recounting...
but at the same time telling everyone else i misheard:
DARLING with DADDY...
*****... drop it... drop it... seriously...
you keep at it... it was funny the first two: times...
that's why i like keeping the joker card...
when in a workplace... make sure you're interacted
with a *******... ergo? when working with women?
sure... they approach you... but what position are they
approaching you from?
freely available? readily available?!
they are coworkers?! are they prostitutes?!
no answer... "confusion"...
dig: tow: daughter... some... steel.
