His gaze adrift through countless windows
Dreaming far beyond his eyes will ever see
The birches wept amongst cold shadows
Reminiscing of spring and leaves of green

By a southernly breeze the moment swept
He stood wondering, why do they still weep
For that moment swept, was indeed a lifetime

Charles Casanova 10/5/14

It took a ten point turn with a trailer to get here
But after ringing roses around each other
Around and around the bends of the bush
The reasons why were made so clearly
When we were to make new home
Our shaded shelter to save us scorching
And within walking reach of tide
And so we commence a life sublime
Home upon wheels erects so shortly
And the best help I can give
Is to sit here and enjoy myself
Tough life felt as freedom repeats in my ears
My bush family treating them to their sublime sounds
Though denying my withdrawal we do Ron Ronnie
And so I punish my lungs
But please myself
With beverage we watch the waves curling
And the sun sinking
Reclined on a hot stone seat
Simply living out life's treats
Then suddenly Sara felt the southernly
And so wine tasting moved back home
Where divine racks so generously shared
And we talk allsorts until the stars are shown
Next day spent content in my own aura
Deciding where best to be idol
As there's no effort in anything here
Later hearts are opened upon the rocks
Whilst we fathom full year risen
But with no known destination
A wondering quarry of confusion
But not now to disturb us greatly
For now we are too content to much care
​

i remember when we broke up...

          chasm of melodies or something along
those lines:

a leftover of a roach
come 2pm
and the Ladies final at Wimbledon
is just happening:

as is the Tour de France
so i too did my little tour the Havering:
halfpenny would be nice
just to stand a bit taller

well: rarely does it happen but apparently
it sometimes does:
a blind-spot poem from last evening
left me waking up thinking:
what the hell happened last night?
autopilot on: apparently...

i first came to England as a semi-legal
but technically an illegal immigrant
back in 1994 when you still had a high street
in Ilford on Cranbrook Rd
with Blockbusters and Quick Save
and the likes
and it was nothing like Bangladesh
but oh well:
by 1997 we were visited by two Home Office
officers and about five police officers
i remember that burning sensation
even now:
grandfather was visiting on a visa
the previous day we went to a fanfare
and i won a massive cuddly toy for mum
by sliding ***** into holes
while the camel atop was running ahead
i remember i was on fire that day
i just started year 7 at Canon Palmer Catholic School
and was ready to make new friends
so my father jumped the fences of
the garden
i recently bought a cat and was mingling
getting to know him
1960s Batman movie was on t.v.
and we were eating breakfast
and as my father said:
the Home Office makes raids on Sundays
when no one really works
even the illegal immigrants
so when these two shadows were waiting
outside the house:
it was about a day or a week shy
of the Law
   since by 1997 my father was living up
to 7 years there
and by Law if he made it that far
he couldn't have been DEPORTED...

clue: i found it hard to support the English
football team... ever... ever: like never ever:
but 2nd time coming:
i'm becoming slowly converted:
never say never, ever...
i found it hard to support the English football
team three lions on the shirt:
yes: and three cheetahs on a tree...
so...   but i always had been a fan of English Values:
especially the stance on anti-racism
being a part-time question of authority
before finding my own ontology aligned with:
well i work with blacks Muslims and kinks
so we have racist banter from time to time
between the guys
like one Somali chuckling with:
'i'm a confused racist...'
whenever the same Indian Brigade would come
along and cluck cluck Bengal but but
Muhammad jihad...

1997 we were asked politely to leave
rather than being deported but it was a sort of:
deported at your own discretion:
i don't think they expected a child to be present
so we had about 2 weeks to pack our ****
but you couldn't explain to a boy
of 11 about politics of geography and ethnicity
or whatever
maybe they shouldn't have allowed
the Polish War Government residence in London
but only yesterday i learned
and i honestly didn't know
that it was: **** Germany, Soviet Russia
and the ******* Slovaks who also invaded:

das ist neu! das is neu!

                  ha ha Alfred Tennyson's charge
of the light brigade:
Iron Maiden with The Trooper...
   ha ha: Charge of the Krojanty...
or: like: ever:       the Winged Hussars at Vienna:

as much as i am a contemporary by being
a fan of sport... not particular about factions:
i leave that to the primal man:
funny sort of giggly not funny as in sneering
and devilish but funny-giggly
i'm also a fan of history:

    no i wasn't there but i can still ride a horse
i first learned to bicycle:
peddle: not push: what the ****'s a push-bicycle?
peddling is now pushing?
the **** am i pushing?!
this counter-intuitive working with and against
gravity to capture motion...

well for Bruce Springsteen and at least two
Taylor Swift shifts
i asked to be demoted...
**** the authority and **** the climbing ladders
of "career":
i was like: once upon a time: here:
i'll be there:
like LESTER BURNHAM:
who was actually my Julien Sorel of the screen:
hero... anti-hero...
my two major influences that captivated
the youth and half-beauty in me
were LESTER BURNHAM on screen
and Julien Sorel in books...

           but seriously: i woke up to some unsavory sounds
coming from the garden:
circa 8:30am...
i looked at my phone: did i really call Edie
drunk around 2am?
maybe: looks like it... did i even talk or pretend
to talk?
not unusual:
then i peered from behind the blinds:
Alphonso (Alfons denotes
****, the cat brute of the area:
i'm starting to think about getting an air rifle
and start shooting at the ******)
was there getting nervy:
Quarus in the background trying to
pacify the situation...
but then i see Veroniya
all geared up: seconds later i just see this
Tasmanian devil whirling tornado of needles
of teeth and claws and a pillow emerging
from the roughing up:

Alphonso starts to do cat-wrestling with
my Veroniya...
boy vs girl: this is not play-fighting:
this is going to be:
i think that castration creates very aggresive
female cats
and pacified male cats...
i think the castrated male cats are rather
content
while there's something evil about castrating
female cats:
they, become, vile... tender and vile...
but i wasn't having none of it!

o.k.: when i was younger i tried to intervene
in nature
mostly when i heard a woman
talk about the beauty of a lion hunting blah
blah and oh: so so cruel
the poor Bambi:
yeah: same ******* "Bambi" could knock
your lights out with the buckle of the hoofs
and give you a second brain plum proof
of: itchy-itchy signature oof! terrible headache
i did a skim reading of that scenario
once with seven horses lining up on a hill
in a field at night...
as once i spared a dying bee the agony:
i poured some honey into my palm
picked up the poor ******
and let him O.D. from the honey:
watched the ****** pull out it's long mouth-tongue
and start drinking the pure nectar...
a peaceful death: of a bee...
         by honey O.D.

            i had to run out: i stormed out:
i embodied fury:
naked apart from a bathrobe...
O TY SKURWYSYNIE!
SPIERDALAJ! WĄT!                  WĄT!
chased the ****** away with Veroniya chasing
after him...
Quarus distraught later crawled into my bed:
he's still there while i typo and make promises
to not typo:

               that sort of human intervention
in nature:
yes: with petted animals...
in the wild?
                well: i once caught a mosquito
and held it up to a spiderweb...
hey presto: mummification: because that's
how the Egyptians were inspired:
no?
but there is no homage to Spiders in Ancient
Egyptian culture: is there?
are there no spiders in Africa? not even in the desert?
but spiders are the gods of mummification:
not jackals... spiders are architects
like bees are architects hexagon:
hmm: lineage borrowed from Giant's Causeway?
maybe the scarab: rabbi scarab rabbi:
i'm just curious about spiders and mummification
in this instant...
                i mean: see it in nature then see it
in culture... so...

            but i'm slowly becoming a convert to
supporting the English football team:
because i have no affinity with the Spanish: unlike
Germany...
even this whole 1997 debacle and how:
it was so much easier to deport people not something
***** nilly: i can't complain:
i was about to lose my bilingualism
i was about to speak broken Polish...
it was nice to be reminded
of my heritage
for that year when "we" sorted our legality
and the job was done proper a second time
with lawyers etc
obviously a change of name
but first time my father was young and he was
hoping for the 7 year benefit
but obviously if i didn't go back to Poland:
i was home schooled: or rather i taught myself:
upon return i was in the top tier of mathematics
but obviously the education system
was ******* because they thought i spoke
bad english perhaps my written wasn't all good
but speaking:
not like the first time of hiding in toilets
strapped to a **** unable to speak
because i literally couldn't speak the language
and then that moment
i remember running up to my teacher
at St Augustine's (Barkingside)
                   with a book and exclaiming: eureka!
i can't understand what i'm reading!

which is weird listening to all the Banana boats
and 400 in one day in 6 of them
and no one has the ***** to deport...
but it was so much easier
perhaps white on white made more sense
but then why bother starting a war
against Germany just because Poland was invaded?
shouldn't have bothered:
so i don't understand why somehow
the Implosion of the Empire made it fair game
for the former Empire to come back
and haunt half Tory but never again
merry Tudor England...
                      and from a perspective of the continental
European: neighbor of the Germanic
and Turkic people somewhere slowly southernly
the weirdness that is the Italians
with the ancient Romans sort of ghostly Dasein
a there of a still standing and replica practicality
of the Coliseum... poet of the Coliseum:
sure: because i think that the work i do now
is kind of faking it, acting:
it's not like construction where you're producing
something a house, say...
which is why i don't understand ex-military
working in this industry:
getting all serious and trigger happy
demoted to a high viz otherwise standing pretty
in uniform doing my "work"
at Wimbledon...

             such became self-evident that with
Brexit in 2016 there would be a second
surge immigration to England
like that of 1997 with the Kosovo crew who
would sit all pretty in cafes outside
of Ilford train station
like now we have Albanians sitting pretty
and doing legal jurisdiction extensions of
"human rights" affairs in cafes not
100 meters from my house
and i get that people need to move in
semi-nomadic sporadic outburts

apparently the "eastern Europeans" were
too keen workers:
great! now we have sub-continent of India
lazy-pants working broken English
and fidgety on their smartphones
because the traffic and stench of Bombay
is lost
and even the Pakistani girls are like:
**** get me away get me away
that's the last thirst of Islam to conquer
India but alas: not, to, be...
those polytheists and their: AU NATUREL
ways of passing on water
better to throw ashes into the river:
maybe my body is ash
and my blood is rye
maybe that's my body: my blood...
some ash flicked off the end of a cigarette
into a shot of bourbon! yes! indeed: that's it!

i admit: not as prolific as the antics of
the Cosmopolitan Messiah:
not Moses the army tactician turned
plagiarist of Assyrians
i'm pretty sure he was too busy to have
bothered writing anything
and back when people wrote into stone
i hardly think
there's any concern for the relevance
of: by the spoken stubborn of Judaic
the Covenant of Journalistic writing on the wind
and speaking on paper...
but i can't exactly do one better
than Jose of Jerusalem: but i might have
implored him:
you can't lift the sins of the world:
alone...
you coming back with short-circuit the entire
logic of monotheism:
by a Second Coming you will actually destroy
the concept of: one life one death one god
that is my trinity:
one life one death one god

the Hebrews always faulted themselves
by imploring the second coming of Elijah...
this is a logical profanity of
the supposed superiority of monotheism
toward polytheism and within
the confines of polytheism there are many
universes and alternative routes
and only the Elect number of Souls
of authentic approach toward life
moving like ghost parasites in the composite
body of zombie-people...
sometimes taming the ego sometimes
not taming the ego
given a different status to say:
the former realization of being leprosy afflicted
or too rich or too crazy to handle
Damocles' and the Sphinx's authority
of the riddle...

   but mythology is never part of the Hebrew
history:
there are myths in other cultures
but the Hebrews just don't stand for mythology:
mythology is just like histriology:
there's the logic of: and how much time has
elapsed since we've seen something spectacular?
enough? well then:
we have to re-categorize our approach
to this story being kept in the collective consciousness:
no, not like the collective consciousness
of ants:
but one person alive, living next to another person:
also alive...
can attest that there doesn't have to be
any cryptic Jungian collective well-being spring
of COME FORTH the aliens demonic
humanoid angelic archetypes anti-plagiarism
unlike teens trying to compete for attention under
the guidance of peer-pressure...

reincarnation has not toast of clarification
in monotheism:
únus vita únus mortem únus deus!
depends how you punctuate:
****...
         U R AN OOSE
  goose: para- ditto: Dodd... instead of Tod...

              time to have fun in language and with it
and given no paper
is a carrier of: enough to bypass gatekeeping
with enough spacing
and hot bagels off right off off the bat
and who cares about money
i have Martin "Schumacher" Batuk in the background
half brain not dead
about to be airlifted from Poland
to a nursing home in England
since his calamity occurred doesn't mean
that he'll remain there:
and the ***** and giggles of my grandmother's
dementia is like: a cherry a cherry a cherry smiling
like my lover's buttocks:
i had to get a wake up call
took to smoking a cigarette with coffee
then did two angry masturbations
trying to find female ******* kinks of the teacher
and student... but once that was over
and i did my 3 times the *****
had a shower
and cycled to: African Christian Ladies
opening up a stall and singing and blasting bad
Nigerian Reggae at Collier Row
just outside the Tesco where i came in for
a supply of bourbon...

jeez: that Travis Scott demographic... hmm?
i was not expecting it...
we were all gearing up for the **** Kid
demographic from last year
where African Power and quasi-nationalism
was espoused and it was like a Malcolm X
rally:
but it's still funny watching the dynamic
of black on black
the former slaves: as caught and sold
to European merchants:
the idiots of the tribe...
       and it's not like slavery meant
that no Africans remained in Africa, right?
   it's not like every single African was enslaved:
there were those that stayed behind:
and it's not like picking cotton was:
compared to what the European *******
did coming from the east
and the Irish in the coalmines and construction?
oh: ugh! backbreaking work: picking cotton...
the sun so awful all that brain freeze
and suntan and: i had it once... what's the word...
sunstroke... yes...
not enough Afro curls on me heed to go ahead
and... somehow not sigh?

don't know what the constipation is all about:
politically:
the moment i started laughing at the President
of the United States
introducing Zelensky as Putin...
                      so i'm supposed to go and live
among these people?
hardly:
Hawaiian implores me to mingle with the Polynesians
and it's almost done:
getting those ******* out with enough
golf, golf-tourism and tourism...
but not quiet: quite:
ha ha... funny words... not so far apart:
a Dyslexic funfair that's like the opposite of Islam
but not much better
supposedly we're all literate but
evidently no: so if i can but try to come across
as intimidating:
it would very much coincide with one
observation from a Bengali arch-English anti-Bengali:
'why is it that when you talk
people listen to you?'
you know, fwend: i never really had enough
of an undermining ego-narrative in my head
to be bothered by that: or as Heidegger proposed:
beside the hammer...
i.e. laborers talking about philosophy on the job
rather than exchanging *** banter and banter:
Heidegger's Q: or: the proposed:
question-worthiness...

         there is such a "thing" as: question-worthiness...
i question sparingly:
myself? hardly: but not never...
if Socrates utilized: "nothing"...
then Heidegger utilized: question:
hence, from: all i know is that i know nothing
came:
well... Heidegger didn't actually put up a formulaic
simplification away from an aphorism...
he didn't suggest a succinct approach...
i'll try...

           what is best known is what
           is question-worthy...

best? or "best"? to the highest degree:
aesthetically... maybe...
ethically: definitely...
for the generalization of well-being: being well...
good... ergo best:
yes...

       what is best known is what
       is question-worthy...

if someone doesn't prompt a question:
it is best dissolved, absolved from one's concern...
it's mostly ego mash up and consciousness
debates...
but... find me a single thing in existence
and tell me it doesn't have the following expression(s):

                     ?               !
                             . .
                         .__.

look at the face... it's a pretty face: isn't it?!
i think that's my face:
the mountain screams with the eye of exclamation
while also withdraws with
the eye of questioning:
no smile no frown:
two nostrils i gather and two pairs of ears
funny how ears are unimportant in
the language of emoticons...

                    question-worthiness...
i'm so happy i wasted my 20s and early 30s
on reading philosophy
on being scrutinized by psychiatric professionals
being pilled
bloating up to 115kg
                 being ****** and whatnot
ah: the tyranny as espoused by Plato went away
so quickly and never came back
and i started to look at people in 3D...
i started reading people...
people slowly started to open up to me
from seeing a psychiatrist (not by choice)
to somehow being a psychiatrist not qualified
to dish out pharma cocktails of debilitating
side-effects:

          but that i learned from the private imperfections
of R. D. Laing...
a good portion of my literary diet was
orientated in the scared trinity
of philosophy, psychology and poetry...
that is a ******* juggernaut... a perfect cocktail:
and you have to sometimes juggle multiple
readings: the simultaneous approach
coincidences approach:
life feels eerie from not being or feeling
special: crab bucket mentality is sure to follow:
but just being alive:
somehow curtaining and curtailing
and even censoring
a need-to-have consciousness-as-narrative:
ego: flaky...
i have one but it's un-uniqueness
in that "we" share the commonality of someone
says Monday,
another someone says September 1st 1939 anno domini
dough-mini: instead: piquant:
scale: the backward version of
joy to the world the lord has come
not music in the slightest:
so thought inter-personal transit of ideas
like who discovered gravity
was Newton but not Newton's ego
that became recycled:
and only as such... "reincarnation" of the ego
happens all the time:
timeless plagiarism of being of a species
and having a tongue and relating to the same exemplum
gratis of a fellow man...

but i will not have a 20th century itch
of having to keep Shakespeare as a crutch
for verification stratification
of authority of the penned-whip:
i will lose no sensibility being under-appreciative
of Shakespeare:
besides... well... the movie adaptation
of Macbeth...the Justin Kurzel version...
primarily because of how hauntingly the language
was approached: perfectly fitting:
esp with the score Jed... oh! right! brothers at work!
lucky *******...
they had it with the Merchant of Venice:
up to a point but that's only thanks to Al Pacino
and Jeremy Irons...
the Romeo+Juliet adaptation was just
******* wonky: the language too obviously
sterile beyond everyday usage...
the music gave the adaptation of Macbeth the perfect
haunting eerie-.