we're just as superstitious as our ancestors, we create fiction from superstition, we get the hots for haunted houses, the black dot on the bible like pirates... it's just these day, a person finding a £20 banknote would get superstitious about buying 20 lottery tickets with it, rather than a bottle of whiskey... and yes, our story-telling skills have diminished, it's more like dietary regimes these days... we pushed subjectivity so far down the drain that we're not telling stories anymore, we're simply regurgitating objectivity, facts after facts... less talk about surviving a tornado twirl and expressing the excitement from surviving such an event, and more: next! pocket that story, box it with the bar-code: adrenaline ******... we're not story-tellers anymore, we're on the verge of losing all plots... being exposed to polished narrations of Hollywood (hardly the case of being worried about doppelgangers, that was obvious in the 20th century) - as said: we like being bombarded with facts, we've stopped claiming narration for a commuting drive... we are the encyclopedia ~generation... well, we're way past being defined as a generational phenomenon... hence the quiz shows...  we started to hate the excitement of the subjective perspective, the parts were "we will never know", jealousy on this scale really killed it off... we weren't there, therefore it's untrue... coupled with this objectivity of: none of us were there, therefore it must be true... plate up ladies and gents! we're once more reduced to regurgitating facts, we're actually forced to regurgitate facts, we have no chance to score with emotions or personal thoughts... people only want to hear objective realities of our lives... we want uniform coherence like under Uncle Stalin... no deviation... none! i wonder what story will come from all this objectification... the usual, current affairs story, i blame feminism partly for this... the objectification of women lessened, and in came the objectification of everything else, as feminism has done, shoving its nose into everything from philosophy to history simply on the basis of numbers, and as to why there aren't enough women here, and not enough women there... my mother is a housewife... my father comes home with a satisfaction that at least one member of the family will not be stressed... add a second partner with stress and career ambitions and fairy-tales, and that's a house on sand-dunes... personally i wouldn't want to marry in any case... plus, feminism doesn't encourage the house-husband idea that Sweden has adopted... well... you'd think that the idea of househusbands would take off once feminism took off... apparently it didn't.

Darwinism is at odds with pop culture, i see these people
striving for fame like they might be buying penny sweets
in their hundreds, and what i find surprising
is that so much fame is being dished out,
me, jealous? yesterday i found
a twenty quid banknote on the street,
today i bought four beers and a bottle of Grant's
whiskey and i felt that: i owned the world -
yes indeed, a circus act - that's usurping
style of the khaki stormtrooper uniform...
a colon is also emphasis, without the italics...
it's not about grocery lists...
so many writers out there who put
the labouring over punctuation to others...
so many dyslexic still passing through...
mate... if you and me were *****... you'd
be tissue paper material, no, not even a ******
blockage waiting for the plumber...
or the ******* that sold condoms puncturing them
with needles for excess success rates of impregnation...
see, i peel the skin off, imitating Abraham's
madness at the excess, and cockerel
the **** like sunrise... all *sheered;
then i put the skin back on... so much for improvements
that desired God's approval... might as well
cut off all the cartilage: nose, ears, nails
(i swear they share the same category... oh wait...
nails and hair... well, n'eh bother, cut the rest off
until you enter the realm of plastic surgery).
so yeah, Darwinism is really the guillotine at
the moment, see them, watch the shepherds herding
them, they created something a Marxist would
never ever understand... the fame class system...
not some rebellion of strong idiots
working the plough field fighting noblemen bored
in their salons with ****-*** their only
exercise and solution to the boredom of a busy world,
mind being in such a world...
or do as i do... half of scotch through...
second jazz record playing in the background...
jazz doesn't translate into headphones,
you need the space...
what worries me is its trans-generational absence...
jazz is the classical music thanks to slavery,
it would never have been born in Africa,
forget it... but it bothers me it wasn't manicured,
kept pristine like some Renaissance painting...
it quickly morphed into Eminem and Vanilla Ice
and all that rap that wrapped it up...
fair enough, i can give credit to joshua redman
and his back east... but that's about it...
so as i sit sipping my Mississippi scotch of whiskey
and cola, having listened to
sonny rollins' ballads, i'm onto kenny burrel's
midnight blue... it's the sort of high culture
that's easy to cultivate... but i'm not the man you
want to revisit the Beat Movement chemistry,
i care very little to talk over the jazz with my poetry...
no wonder talking over classical music ever worked,
hence i contend to parallel myself with Bukowski
in that respect.. i shut up and write,
imagine myself on the Faroe Islands, very far
from what makes me uncomfortable,
the nearest thing to Eden, some remote place,
a village of 20 people where everyone knows
how long they take to a **** and at what hours
(given there's only one toilet) - and yes, the brackets
are also useful to make an emphasis, so example, : and ( )
all combine pretty well.
but they really are losing a one-sided battle,
given historical Darwinism, excluding our modern
perks to get into the raw caveman antics
it can be sometimes very demeaning to consider
both attitudes, simultaneously or correspond or even
excusing our modernity with intrinsic sushi (the rawness
that breeds no home comforts) -
and given the whole popularity culture...
you expect people to remember anything in
the next 100 years? the opening of a century is never
going to be enough to allow for that century's momentum...
i might be living in the 21st century, but all
my influences are bound to the 20th...
and that's where i'll remain, a beggar with a rich man's
vault of compact disks... clutter and a library...
unable to reread the books i've read (unless in snippets)...
like that tale of Neoplatonism and Plotinus
and that relationship with Christianity, but the job
that Nietzsche put in to criticise it came short of
what the actual religion did to itself, the archaeology proof
destined at Egypt, finding works there and not
in Israel along with the Dead Sea Scrolls...
fascinating how they cut Isaiah in half and the historian
Josephus placing the innovator of the Sermon
during Nero's reign, and how Nero is the first reference
to the 666... well, you know, once you zero out the preceding
years, and start again... telling the time will hardly
matter whether b.c. or a.d. - what with Darwinism
and the big bang, the Copernican west... well the Copernican
"west" - what a crazy carousel - get me off!
and indeed, with certain words...
we have encoded approximations to what each words
denotes... the brightest gem in the vault is
Hades... you don't say it as Ha A.D.H.D. -
you say hay and then you say dees, like bees -
yes, whether the d is a below the equator
and is summer in december, or whether b is above
the equator and is summer in july...
so you encode Hades but actually say: hay-d-and-many-e's -
still can't figure out how to denote a plurality of
letters with the punctuation marks given by English...
at present i'm using the inadequate possessive article
route - Peter's, Mark's, the mountain's...
the article goes off radar when there's plurality
in the thing ascribed possession: mountains' heights...
hay-d-and-many-eeeeeeeeeeeee? get the picture?
or hay-d-and-ease - baffling language,
i feel like some aboriginal looking at it from Ayers Rock
going: kangaroo the **** and didgeridoo?
no wonder the tetragrammaton is the tool to decipher
this phonetic encoding... there are too many chiral
symmetries in this tongue.
so again... i don't know why poets don't bother
to repeat themselves, on what they first concentrated on,
like the many water lilies by Monet,
or the self-portraits from varying angles...
or how modern fame, in concept, condemned itself
to c.c.t.v. and a brick wall as to how history is
experienced with mainstream Darwinism...
how quickly the guillotine chops the head off,
the finicky base for democratic applause...
and how in 100 years people might wonder:
well, Plato ain't going to be usurped, Plato will be
treated with the same faithful bias
as a blank blackboard, the established norm...
(that's all e.g. to say, it's not necessarily the
acceptance of such a norm) -
we'll still be ushered to normality by starting
from either the bleak big bang, led to an even bleaker
and bigger bonk... or we'll be cavemen admiring viral
infections - and fame and aspiration to attain
it will truly become bleak... for in these days
fame isn't competing for being remembered...
it's competing for being seen, again the c.c.t.v. model...
and given our overexposure to datums (the Oxford
authority is a bit slow to recognise that... well,
unless of course the same meaning can be achieved
with the word data... unnecessarily datii?),
advertisement being only one such source...
and would i consider the self to be an illusion?
i'd consider it on equal footing with π = 3.14159...
a piece of information, not to the fullest extent
a delusion... meaning i wouldn't discredit it completely,
given that so many people fall for it's existence
when plagiarism tempts us to swing with it...
and that there's the private, the public, the showcased
use of it... but it's still so ****** annoying
to have the lazy crew use the northern barbaric
reference to that pronoun and discredit it by treating
it as merely a useful prefix for compounding words
together to express automaton behaviours, and to have
to lie back on the psychoanalytical sofa and have to
deal with the atom of: ego, superego and id...
                                     (neutron, proton           and
the many that that that      / its its its -
the id is actually a scalpel in psychiatry - the cursor or
vector or quiet simply as stated already, scalpel,
incision maker -
                               the superego? also known as moralising
Nietzsche's übermensch - nein! klein Adolf
kann nicht spielen mit du heute);
well... might as well enjoy being trapped in
the stone ages from now on... because in between the cavemen
and ourselves, our contemporaries just called them
idiots (most notably the journalists) -
yep... only idiots separating us from caveman...
i must be double the idiot of wishing to be back
in the Dumas' France, or at the height of the Polish-Lithuanian
Commonwealth, when the Poles, second only to
the Mongols held Moscow.

Sie fragten, weshalb ich schreibe.*

Ich habe lange mit meinen Gedanken herumgespielt,
aber meine Mutter hat mich all die Jahre liebevoll gelehrt,
dass man nicht mit sinnlosen Gedanken spielen darf.
Ich habe nachgedacht, bin durch Straßen gerannt,
bin auf Füßen von anderen herumgetrampelt, und
weitergerannt, umgedreht, und ehrlich entschuldigt.
Habe an meinem Stift gekauft – vermummt von Wor-
ten und habe Bruchteile von Radiergummifussel ver-
streut. Habe überall gesucht, in den Strömen des Re-
gens, in den alten Adern der Blätter am Straßenrand,
nicht mal im Bröckeln der Asphaltrillen habe ich ent-
denkt.  

Es hatte mich Nächte gekostet, einen Punkt für das
Fragezeichen zu finden;
aber, oh Gott, ich habe den Punkt gefunden, denn
der Punkt liegt in meinem Herzen, ich trage Worte
in meinem Herzen – lauter als mein und dein Herz-
schlag zusammen;
und nun hat mein Herz Ringe unter den Augen.

אני יכול לזכור...I can remember

I.

in the ashes of Auschwitz
February 2018 / Shevat 5778
there exists no
kol hachavvyot,
the Infinite One bring/ing
all of reality into be-ing.

there is no 'ehyeh 'asher 'ehyeh
who formed Light,
who created Darkness.

II.

the candles of the Vanished
World are no longer
sown in the seasons of breath.

in 1920 Vilna, Yehu'dit bones
were excavated for horses
to be buried,
all by the tongue of a priest
covered in ambergris.

in 2018 Cyberia alleys,
the malefactor mime cries
as Long Island parhelia
flicker in the seasonal
ice around his little girls.

III.

the cypress of the
Kingdom of Night are
amidst natz'ri house gardens,
marking in the mouths of
opus dei children the straws
of Poland.

long after midnight we seek
solace in One-Eyed Paritus's
Meditations obliques,
where Sol Nazerman's
zoharic midrashim of
Shabtai Zisel are
narrated by Claude Lanzmann.

the quantum nonlocality
of the corpse of
ha'Kodesh Barukh hu
is the Hollerith tracking
number.

IV.

Nach uraltem, aengstlich beheutetem
Klostergeheimnis lernen selbst Greise
muehelos Kavier spielen.
-- Max Ernst

this is to the memories z"l of
Rod Steiger 14 April 1925-9 July 2002
Roman Vischniac 19 August 1897-22 January 1990
Rose Leamel Ziebell (1933-2007)
Dottie Sutton (1922-2015)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
© 3 February 2018 / 18 Shevat 5778

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
STEPHAN PICKERING / חפץ ח"ם בן אברהם
Torah אלילה Yehu'di Apikores / Philologia Kabbalistica Speculativa Researcher
לחיות זמן רב ולשגשג...לעולם לא עוד
THE KABBALAH FRACTALS PROJECT
לעולם לא אשכח

last time i went looking for this pub,
i ended walking into
the most glorious thunderstorm...
subsequently ending up in a brothel...
having forgotten to trim
my *****..." ****** "a *******
into kissing me...
   you know.... lips of a woman,
that sell much more than kisses?
begs for ****, kid, and
  the whizkid.... and your average
butcher...

         fear factory?
linchpin... great mosh-pit song...
         i marked that territory out,
so well.,..
   **** all...
herr fuchs
die kühnfuchs!

                      lost tht pub
in a electrical super surge
of a storm... esp. dangling above London?

i said thank you...
     i'd otherwise receive *******...
but my ***** were't
sought after by some
English gardener, weren't rimmed,
lost etiquette...
                     i like the 69 quasi
position to be, on the receiving end.
left without a mustache...
   of cream, pots, and candy...
    vanilla frisk to boot...
**** me...

                     i went looking for trouble...
  i came back with Jerry.
which implied doubling up,
and digging a second tier of trench
warfare...
   to encompass the Versailles treaty
to undermine the Wiemar Republic...

i came first...
now you come, second...
          
                       lassen uns spielen:
und spielen sein alle!

I.

i promised myself yesterday night to write
what needed to be written and just leave it,
not bother bypassing the 502 Bad Gateway Error message,
to simply not publish... i promised myself
this for several reasons: i knew that Malvina
(the toddler, the one year old) was coming
with her mommy who was going
to do my mother's nails and toenails,

i wanted to be fresh for babysitting duties...
alas... i woke up at about half past 5am and lay
in bed listening to music...
waited until 8am to call my doctor's surgery
to book an appointment...
i almost lost it: these little Hitlers of receptionists
did my head in... first it was impossible to phone in...

then i was 12th in the queue...
i started doodling to calm down...
i finally managed to get through:
i'd like to book an appointment... what for?
oh... a follow-up appointment...
the receptionist replied: we don't do follow-up appointments,
you have to come in for that... what?!
i called in yesterday and i was told
i can't come in and have to phone in! no...
you... listen... listen... i need to book an appointment!

you're not gatekeepers to the medical professionals,
i know that general practitioners are merely bureucrats...
but it has been 2 years since i've seen a doctor's face!
i had enough at this point...
i played a little game with her...
she was going to listen to me...
what are your symptoms? she asked...
listen... i'm: PSYCHOTIC...
for a while i was considered a schizophrenic,
but i bewildered one psychiatrists when i told her
that i experienced auditory hallucinations in two languages:

obviously i didn't: i only experienced auditory hallucinations
in English... that's how i overcame schizophrenic symptoms
in my 20s using two languages...
oddly enough these symptoms diminished...
disappeared... you can't hallucinate in two languages:
the English aspect of my ontology is both the more
creative and at the same time the most sick...
then again: creative?

my ****** side is more creative... i use English as a veneer...  
i told her straight out-right: i'm psychotic...
what followed was a quick arrangement for me
to see a doctor this very day... 4:20pm...
i had all the time in the world...
but i was waiting for Malvina...
by 9am my mother received a message that the manicurist /
pedicurist couldn't make it today...

she wasn't feeling well... could she come tomorrow?
i was planning for something like this...
**** two birds with one stone... well...
i was hoping to **** three with one today...
guess i would have to **** two today and two tomorrow...

well... three tomorrow... the day started with me
shuffling about the house: putting on the washing...
i have to admit: i rarely drink in the morning:
i have this ancient motto: gentlemen do not drink
in the morning... but i knew i needed something extra
to deal with receptionists...

i drank two Sols with lime and waited for a good
mood to come... a good mood came...
now i can talk... i started sipping the remaining
whiskey from the previous night:
i need to gear up for this sort of "conversation":
i'm pretty sure that if i mention i'm psychotic
i'll get what i really want, what i really want...
a ******* appointment!

these poems? they're "state sponsored": i'm currently
receiving Employment and Support Allowance...
which is... £120 weekly...
i pour that money into a translation of a diet
of helping my parents with food...
with buying whiskey, with buying cigarettes...
that goes into one account...
i set up a separate account for the money i earn...
i am legally obliged to not work more than
16 hours a week if i'm to still retain the state benefits...
and the money i earn?
it goes to the usual expenses... travel money,
lunch money, work clothes,
the Turkish barber, the female hairdresser...
PROSTITUTES...
that's why i wanted to earn money to begin with:
to calm my libido: i'm only earning money
to spend them on prostitutes: they can do all the pointless
spending in my place...

so the day started well enough: i was tipsy-happy
waiting for babysitting duties: tomorrow, tomorrow...
but while dearest mother looked at her Norman Bates
baiting a reciptionist with his final straw:
i'm psychotic... we talked about several important
things... me and my father's trip to Poland for
All Saints' Day to pay respect to the dead...
esp. grandfather...
come afternoon, finally! tickets booked!
we're flying into Cracow and flying out of Cracow!
finally! back to Cracow!
i never believed Warsaw to be the capital of Poland...
i'm old school... Cracow is still the same old capital
of old... i'm a feral creature in Warsaw...
but in Cracow i'm calm... ancient... grounded...

just like any Hebrew might say:
Tel Aviv is not the capital of Israel... Israel: he who struggles
with God... Jerusalem is the capital of something
more essential than Eva Braun and Adolf's project
of Israel... of moving so many Hebrews back into
the Levant...

i put on the first washing... mother was leaving for a session
in the gym...
i already booked my appointment with the doctor...
what to do? what to do?
last time i ****** Khedra she complained that
my moustache and beard were untidy: unfriendly...
i couldn't agree more...
you need the lips to be naked when kissing...
so? i cycled to my favourite Turkish barber...
i cycled up to the shop on my Rolls Royce of a Merlin 5
TREK... just about to chain it up to the fence...
the barber hollered at me... hey! bring it in!

i bring it into the shop: listen... i need to get something
from Tesco, do you mind? no no...
so i walk out of the backdoor reserved for
employees... walk in... pick up sustenance of whiskey
and Pepsi... only yesterday i drew out £200 from my
work bank-account... today i drew out £200 more....
finally! my debt to my mother is about to be paid
(i slapped the last £200 into her hand when we
got home)

i'm still left with enough work-money to spend
on prostitutes....
i went back to the barber shop and told my man:
trim it... keep it long: but if it's really thin after a while?
trim the hell away... i might as well have a shorter
but a bushier beard...
hey presto! i closed my eyes and... per usual:
a beard trim felt just as good as a *******...
if not better...
the owner just implored me: just don't fall asleep...

back home started hanging the washing...
put on the second washing-machine's worth of clothes...
put on PMQs: Wednesday? no? might as well figure out
the new prime minister: Lizz Truss... or is it Trust?
don't know... i fell asleep for a power-nap...
woke up while she was staged...
fell asleep on the cold hard wooden floor...
woke up dazed, but not confused...
hmm! Lizzie! you're not as bad as i thought you might
be!
you're a Thatcher-itch-*****-trooper!
i like you! no... Rishi Rushi Rushu Sumac couldn't have
performed as you just did...
so calm, so... stern: so in-control...
i think she'll do... she just might do...

i just started hanging the second load of washing
on the washing line when mother "dearest" called me up:
how about lunch in the Beefeater pub?
sure... i'll just finish hanging the washing,
how long do i have? half an hour...
half an hour later: bicycles and London:
**** me! i'm... MOBILE!
a nice lunch... two lasagnes...
mine with salad and flat breads
her's with chips and flat breads...
i was drinking Pepsi she was drinking beer...
it's a date... she was paying: after all:
i was just about to cough up the remains
of my debt of £400...

                         so we ate... talked... next to us...
two beached whales of... i think they were women...
i might have been wrong...
my mother even asked me: if you weren't living at home
and i allowed myself to become that size,
would you step in and tell me: no no no, no no?!
of course i would! being that sort of size
is a health hazard! it's dangerous!
all manner of complications come with being
so obese! i wouldn't care what you think of my aesthetic
concerns: i like plump plum girls to begin with:
but with that?! we're talking a beached whale...

**** me... i explained to my mother...
the aesthetic of eating in public... you need to leave...
you need to leave at least one mouthful on your plate...
you can't! you can't empty your entire plate
in public! you need to leave a bite-ful on the plate...
you can't send a plate back to the chef: completely emtpy...
but these two women?! it's not enough that they complained
to the waitress about their food...
they ate all of it: a dog would leave a dirtier plate
that these two...
you can't do that! a man wouldn't eat as much!
i'm serious!
   a whole rack of ribs... something else something else!
some extra sausage... and then more complaints!
the sausage left a bad taste in her mouth...
so the one beached whale to the other beached whale:
might as well **** the bad taste in your mouth
with some ice-cream... oh for ****'s sake!
feed this ***** an entire starving village of Africa!
yes: cannibalism!

maybe it was watching these two women eat:
thank god i never watched them ****...
or maybe it was my second glass of Diet Coke...
my stomach... i excused myself...
walked into the bathroom... took a little ****...
wiped my ***... turned around and...
started to puke...
  in that ancient Roman rite of bulimia...
no... no ******* down my throat...
i perfected the art of bulimia...
it's a "nervous" reaction... either i drank too much
fizzy drink(s)... or i ate too much...
perhaps both... or i watched with horror two female
gluttons... one **** followed by puking...
i couldn't... keep so much in my body...
by now it's automated: it's like farting...
or *******... i can keep it in for enough of time...
but sooner or later i exercise the Exorcist fantasy...
i start puking like seagulls or birds in general
perform regurgitation when feeding their young...
i think the momentum shifted from the original
straining of the esophagus into training the diaphragm...

the throat has little to do with the "nervous": the disgust
reaction... whenever i see people over-eat...
esp. women: i summon the puke-god of... puke and the *****!
i can't help it: it's unconscious...
i never know which is better:
******* *******, *******, diarrhoea streak of ****...
or... puking... i think puking is on par taking a ****:
it's like taking a **** through your mouth...
******* and *******? well: you need a *******
for that... *******? you need ******* for the passing
of yellow water... like a woman ******* under
the shower... and ******* *******?
you need a ******* for that too...
the ******* constraints the head of the phallus:
turning it baron purple... a choke-hold of an *******...

if Nero couldn't understand the Hebrew concept of fire...
i can't understand the concept of circumcision...
seems rather pointless to rob men of the pleasure
of ******* with the sheath:
and the "unknown" pleasures of *** when unsheathed...
of the *******...

hmm... there's nothing quiet like the feel of touching,
rummaging through: thinking about on "orchestra"
of a newly trimmed beard: a beard trimmed by
a Turk... no... wait... there is... it's kin-for-kin
aligned to touching up a woman's: ****!
is that rose petals i'm fiddling with?
i wonder: then again: i have absolutely no imagination
sometimes, pretty much all the time...
i'm concerned with the notion of "seeing is believing"...

so we ate our lunch.... mother and me...
talked about All Saints' day and my and her estranged
uncle / brother... about him moving back to Poland
with a sack of gold but no cultural referential hooks
of relate-ability... me?! back in Poland?
and... talking about what?
the only "news" that reached the shores of England
were about the Smolensk disaster...
that's it! i don't know the music scene...
i don't know any universal or partoicular
x, y & z... all my childhood friends were either
in some English prison or living in Southampton...
if i'll ever go back i'll go and visit graves: revive memories:
buy cheap cigarettes...

Poland is a myth to me... like for the diaspora of Hebrews
still unwilling to move back to Israel...
i like this beard-trimmed me...
i'm ready to go to sleep, early: i can't wait for
babysitting duties tomorrow...
like i can't wait for a London Stadium Shift come
4pm... working until 22:30pm...
and then ******* off to the brothel for some:
proper food...

once upon a time i thought myself subject
to exfoliating in the werewolf totem...
then i found a wasp, then a fly...
then a hedgehog... then a fox...
then i found a crow... then an eagle of sorts...
hmm...
    then i found myself: started to pander myself...
groomed myself...
are al these "supposed" vampire so well shaven,
so well, groomed?!

sooner me touching a tarantula than me touching,
that SLIMEY... itch of... ugh!
my neighbour said: it's just a frog...
frog?! what frog?!
that's a ******* toad!
leave him be!
leave him be?!
that's a ******* toad! it's gross... it's slimy...
it's green hidden in darkness!
i don't mind touching the insects...
the locust food-stuff!

Hebrews are not renowned for being a clean
people...
so much for the Hebrew deity gobbling
the deities of Moloch and Beelzebub...
of the other Semites of the region...
they're not the most cleanliness-prone people...
toads, as... pets?!
what ever happened to the Gentile way
of fur: attracts fur?!
my reaction? i jumped back
and started to pretend to wash myself...
my hands turned into about a thousand toothpicks...
my sense of disgust was so strong it turned out
to be a reflexive-action... rather than something
encompassing time... i.e. a reflective "inaction"...

i'm aligned with the German in that sense...
perhaps this supposed "Islamic invasion"
of Europe is not that bad...
who is the mother of Islam?
who, is the mother of Islam?!
isn't she... Abraham's concubine?!
wasn't Islam born from the ***** of Abraham?
sure... it's bad because you don't get
the high-born intellectual crowd...
you get the: same-****-different-cover of any sort
of people... but perhaps... just perhaps...

you get little Pakistani men
thinking what little Pakistani men think about
when "thinking" about the collapse of the British Empire...
sure, collateral: what war is without collateral?
collateral? i'm not sure if i date a British girl, ever!
my... condolences?! my... nuisance
of a respect?! i didn't teach these girls' parents
the bogus nature of anti-racism...
i was taught: other, lessons!
oh: the lessons i was taught! i kept them on a leash:
i reimagined them as dogs and me the dog-walker...

the afternoon finished off amiciably enough...
i finished off my Korean-style slow-cooked pulled pork...
with some sticky rice and an all green salad...
the green salad? lettuce, spring onions...
green chilly, green pepper, cucumber,
fresh coriander, lime zest... lime juice...
and an avocado dressing... perfection...

the Korean-style pulled pork? secrets are secrets...
me and "mother" already had our share...
our neighbour came in: a proselyte Hebrew to the faith
of Ishmael... (i.e. Islam)
from a terrible holiday... she talked: i complained:
that's no frog! that's a toad! blah blah...
while serving my father his dinner he was eating alone...
i thickened the sauce with some corn-starch...

oh: all these Albanian banana-boat men...
me and England...
me... and England... what a spastic-mr-fantastic:
special relationship i have with her...
it's so: special... it's ultimately special:
the double standards she has employed with her
anti-racist thesis...
me? i'm taking the side of the Russians...
why? like the Russians... being European:
i would abhor to be constantly demonised!

of course i'll be siding with the people that do not:

spielen ein spiel von schlechtgrammatik
      (play a game of bad-grammar)
at least the Russians respect language!
mindestens die Russen hinsicht sprache!
not this, English-inborn cosmopolitan growth
of: pilzintellekt (fungus-intellect):
*******... pilzüberschuss: kamelbuckel...
auswuchs von ein affen arschloch!

     fungus excess: camel ****...
outgrowth from a monkey's *******!

English men and their: stupendous "observations":
must have accomplished most of them
not being invaded: over... cricket...
wait a minute: wait a minute:
why am i siding with the Zeppelin brigade
of insomniacs?
there must be a, reason...

perhaps i'm seeing the English language like i'm
seeing the toad for the first time?
i'm itchy... i don't want to touch the **** thing...
i want to **** the Romanian prostitutes because?
the English girls favoured the Pakistani men...

these people don't even know what being
conquered equates to...
they are a people so lazy the best they equate
conquest to is: conquest by being sub-dued...
i can't help you there...

of point of interest... what's the combatitive position
of looting a train for its worth of time...
when commuting?
hmm...
Satan "vs." Catiline ...

the Dirt-bag - John Milton - the Toast -
  how are the arms positioned?
almost... identical...
    
II.

i'm sometimes fond of being reminded that i'm not English,
i get lost in the fact that i predominantly write in English,
why? if i had an easier access to the diacritical marks
in my mother's tongue i think i'd write more in my mother's
(well, and father's, well... in my own) tongue...
after all... i'm unlike like all these Asian "English"...
these African "English"...
i'm my own version of English... i'm my own English...
i'm not going to allow the natives to dictate what
being English is all about... i'm going to show what
the "new" English is: without a curry house, without a mosque...
without wearing pajamas in public...
i have three tattoos in my psyche: nope... it's not
about the Battle of Hastings:
i'm an Anglo-Slav...
i have my dates too...

i'm a first generation immigrant: i don't have to
boast or bemoan any fact that my parents didn't retain
the native tongue when i was growing up...
i've learned a few tricks in an unwritten book
of migration... me? i remember the death of Princess
Diana really clearly... the Home Office officers
were knocking on our door on Coventry Street in Ilford
that pretty morning when news filtered through
that Diana was dead...
the night before i was rolling ***** into holes
winning my mother a giant cuddly red dog toy...
i was in a mood to win ****... i was beating adults...
rolling those ***** into holes and roles
while the adults couldn't keep up with my "camel"
above on the bypass... i won that **** thing:
went on some magical ride that started off horizontally
spinning then turned into a vertical spinning demon...
next day was amazing though...
the Home Office officers knocked on our door
with a few police officers... Osama bin Laden lives here?!

my father did a runner through the gardens...
i remember them... handcuffing him and my mother...
two of the Home Office officers checked up on me
while i was holding my cat and facing the wall...
i had a personal computer in the corner of my bedroom...
i just started high school...
he walked in and said: that's a nice computer...
i never gave anyone a DEATH-STARE before...
but i gave him one that day...
my grandfather ****** off to drink his miseries
looking for my now estranged uncle...
me? i was back home... "home": pounding the walls
with my fists until i must have grown a fifth knuckle...
crying...

it's so ******* easy these days! isn't it?!
banana boat men from Albania smuggling
Syrian children... it's so ******* easy these days...
you get a free pass in England these days because
you're olive skinned...
let's skin 'em... let's see we're all flesh and ******
underneath...
we were nicely asked to be deported back
to our homeland...
thank god this happened: if it didn't...
i don't think i could find the proper sort of cushion
of my current state of bilingualism...
i would have forgotten my ****** sprechen...
i would be doubly bitter...
             i would be the only person in the family
with an English, sort of, accent... while my parents would
be the immigrants: but i'm the immigrant too!
i wasn't born here! from what i've seen:
i'm ******* happy i wasn't!

    i see it as a welcome break... i retained my native tongue...
it allowed me to have a relationship with my grandfather
my memory will forever cherish:
i'm currently planning a journey back to Poland
to consecrate the holiness of his death by me standing
sombre above his grave for All Saints' Day:
it won't be a spectacular as that event in Mexico:
but enough candles is: enough candles...

but i can sort of understand where Jihadi John
and the Syrian Beatles came from...
despising their parents as much as their host culture...
i would to... if my parents thought:
two tongues = claustrophobia... what?!
i'd hate my parents more than my host culture...
you can't fake it... some things you can't fake...
apparently you need to be fluent in Arabic
to read the Koran proper...
it's not enough to have some tattoo in Arabic
itched onto your skin to make you: not put in
the effort...
but now? it's so easy... ooh! walking on egg-shells!
will they send these banana-boat people back
like they sent me back?

weak! WEAK!
***** ***-starry-eyed-onlookers!
if you could do that with me: why can't you do the same
with them?!
don't bother answering...
i needed the stick more than the carrot...
you're just weaklings to me: mollusks...
your former shade of what was English is...
something i **** on...
i'm always ******* on what's currently, supposedly,
"English": i just hate this capitulation and
groveling at the altar of identity politics...
sorry mate: me? now? i'm just passing through...

ah... those three dates:

1. i won't mention the battle of Liegnitz...
      but i'll mention the battle of GRUNWALD
   (15 July 1410)... no wonder i might generate alliances
in the Islamic world: the Crusades didn't just take place
in the Levant... they also happened up north...
2. 12 September 1683 - the battle for Vienna,
  when the Polacks averted the tide of the Ottomans
  against Europe
3. Miracle on the Vistula (August 12–25, 1920) -
   the first defeat of the Soviet army...
  i.e. when the Russian Soviets were unable to join
up with revolutionist Communist Germany...
because some Polacks were like: n'ah ah...

when in Russian i was schooled... who won the war?
i replied politely, drinking beer and eating dry fish...
the Russians did...
i'm still gagging to ask a question of this little dearest
punk to the liking of my heart...
and who were the only two people in the world
to have ever managed to sack Moscow?
don't know? the Polacks and Lithuanians
between 1610 and 1612 and the Mongols...
well... seriously? is history even equivalent to modern
people being preoccupied with journalism and
tabloid and fame culture of "celebrity"?
i'd rather dig into history...
   my god: i come from this stock!
no wonder "my" people didn't leave too many traces
of the written word... and unlike the English they didn't
have the leisurely time to conjure up football or cricket
or rugby... they were warring all the time...
so much for the idleness of islanders...
now? they're crippled by their idolatry of idleness and
former delusion of power and strength!

i have this theory... girls with those large ring earrings?
what do they translate as? easy flings...
plus... i've recently noticed that the men who women
choose to be mates and fathers have one necessary
aspect to them: they need to have at least one arm
in a tattoo-sleeve...
                 oh yeah... they need at least one arm in a tattoo-sleeve...
one tattoo won't save you: you need a *******
theme of tattoos all over your entire arm
to become attractive to women:
no wonder i'm joyously bitter...
like **** i'm getting my skin inked...
i have other tattoos... my brain is one giant
******* tattoo of the past!
                                            
i have seen these: POKRAKI (not disabled, morphed)
children, second generation immigrant children,
i would implore their parents to retain their mother tongue:
they didn't... these children are the ones that not only
despise the culture their parents assimilated into:
but also despise their parents...
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

i found an alternative to history and mythology...
although i still place them above journalism...
there's another history that does not delve into
the speedy Gonzales history "catch-up" methodology
of Darwinism... it's called etymology and it's a history
of words: of word origins...
unlike Darwinism, which is a history of forms:
even ancient people could have told you that monkey
was: **** SIMILIS... something similar to man...
but they didn't take the arguments too seriously
even then... if they did: then all the banners of nations
would be filled with ******* macaques or gorillas...
instead? eagles, crows... lions... bears...
something to look up to...
not look down on: we're currently looking down...
we're looking at our origins and thinking aloud:
wow! we've figured it out!
like **** we have... dressed up in science and pseudo-science
and statistics: it's not that we've become
predictable: we've just become predictably boring...
self-evidential...
we have this scientific safety-net because there's this
"NORM"... this "MEAN & MEDIAN"...
the story of averages... the narrative of:
well if X is so... then i can be x in X's shadow...

before the shift started at Wembley where i would be
working level 5 for the Hawking's tribute concert:
lucky me... usually if a band does a tour there
are loads of dates... people from all over Europe travelled
to London to see this gig...
i couldn't stop smiling and giggling
when Brian Johnson came on and sand Back in Black...
i'm not too big on Paul McCartney...
so Helter Skelter would have been grand if
Charles Manson was there too...
oh sure, sure... i'm a massive fan of both (insert snigger)...

but before the shift i was asked: do you have vertigo?
me? didn't i tell you guys that i used to be a roofer
once? Wembley is peanuts' worth of height for me...
i've worked taller buildings before...
and? it's not vertigo... i have something else...
it's much worse... the feeling came back to me...
from time to time i get it when i get bored...
i have to grip something, a railing... why?
why?! ah h ha... when i'm at a certain height...
and something like a yawning gap of space
appears before me... akin to the Wembley stadium...
and i'm on high... i just have this impossible urge
to subdue of... simply running off the ledge
and jumping head first to my death...

i can't stop it... i have to play chess with my legs:
stand stiff: stand rooted you *******!
no! no! at that concert i had to check myself about
five or six times: i really wanted to jump...
i thought: wouldn't it be glorious to just free-fall
to a certain song? if they're staging a tribute concert...
after all: i am aiming for fame post-mortem...
wouldn't that be something...

hmm... my neighbour is currently on holiday....
she asked me: can you feed my cat?
yes, i can...
can you feed my water tutle?
sure... i blazed a light against the aquarium...
oh... pretty little thing... what are you eating?
dried shrimp leftovers?
no problem... swim up... catch them... as they float
on the event horizon of the water... soak up enough
water and sink to your level of "expertease"...
she then asked me: can you feed my frog,
live locusts?!
sure thing...
i shone the light into the aquarium...
jumped back! trying to brush off imaginary dust from
my body... scratching, itching...
THAT'S NOT A ******* FROG!
THAT'S A ******* TOAD!

she described it a a frog... i don't mind frogs...
i don't mind spider either...
but something that's enlarged...
i jump back...
                     i start pretending to be  a cat...
i need to wash myself...  have no soap... i have no water:
i still need to wash myself...
she said: feed my frog... it's not a frog!
it's a toad! **** you, witch!

i didn't mind the grasshoppers / locust...
i just minded that big slimy bulge of green!
yeah yeah, sure "thing": a misunderstood creature...
what the **** is wrong with a mammalian lineage?!
i thought that i had an irrational aversion toward
spiders... i don't mind spiders no bigger than any of my
fingernails... she said FROG...
what i witnessed in the shadows was a *******
TOAD:

ŻABA contra RHO-POO-HA (ropucha)
i can hold a frog in my hand...
but a toad? i'm fearful of their skin... permeating
a transit fungus onto my skin!
i don't mind feeding the **** thing
live locust insects... i'm just worried about
it's own green slimy ***!

i know i'm not English... i enjoy a: KISSEL...
it's... lukewarm jelly...
known in the eastern parts of Europe...
and as far north as Finland...
KISSEL... it's a warm jelly...
there's less concern for it being set...
it's drinkable jelly...
there's no talk of gelatin...
cornstarch... yes... cornstarch and arrowroot...
liquid jelly...
known from Finland and thoroughly in the Baltic
States... down through the Dnieper River...
of Ukraine...
the best mix-up i've ever tasted?!
banana and lemon...

i can't wait until tomorrow's visit by the BOBAS:
the BAMBINOS' visit by Malvina...
i'm already gearing up to going to sleep early...
it's almost akin to planning a visit to a brothel:
but i'm going to entertain a young child tomorrow:
that's different! i can't wait...
i need to feed this baby some leeches of having
drained some of my testosterone...
perhaps no blood: but something...

i need to make any important call tomorrow
come 8am... i need to be the baby-sitter...
i'll need to visit the Turkish barber...
wait until Thursday and then ******* to the brothel...
then... whatever.

i've already transgressed the applicable diacritical
markings, i've already hidden the
slavic "grapheme": sz in š -
    (in english that's a sz with a H - a sheep).
         language has to first become
mandible - "erroneous" -
                    it has to be bribed, it has to be
changed, it has to evolve into something else -
  and that's how it happens -
           matthew, matthias, mateusz, mateuš -
i can hardly claim self-love:
                                           but i adore my name;
i'm actually fascinated with names -
       whoever calls their daughter peaches is
to me: unimaginative.
                         i abide by no school-rubric
strictness of what ought to be diacritically
         acceptable -
             i transcend this base of implication -
and some words from the native tongue -
  kawa (kava) - coffee -
     cukier - sugar -
         mleko - milk
       woda (voda) - water
            wódka (vódka) - ***** -
           when - łen -
            łamanie - wama'nie - the breaking -
   orzech laskowy - hazelnut -
   again the graphemes rz (ż) and ch (H) -
              and that's truly an orthographic
statement.
                    
   scales of a dragon, tooth of a wolf:
witches' mummy; maw, and gulf,
        of the ravined salt-sea shark;
root of hemlock, digged in the dark;
liver of a blaspheming jew;
gall of goat, and slips of yew,
      slivered in the moon's eclipse;
nose of a turk, and tartar's lips;
   finger of a birth-strangled babe,
   ditch delivered by a drab,
                   make the gruel thick and slab:
add thereto a tiger's chaudron,
for the ingredients of our cauldron.

  as ever, macbeth and the three years
in edinburgh bribe my thoughts concerning
the first time atop arthur's seat -
   a city that's also the perfect compass -
overlooking the firth of forth -
     i knew exactly when looking
to the east, when exactly looking to
the north, and west, and south.

      besides the already said -
manhattan boils, and i'm simply bored -
  it's has becoming a boredom expecting
what's to be expected -
                 that's the problem with terror -
it no longer dreams big, the unexpected
has already become the expected -
    terrorism has become normalised -
   when it was al qa qa ida -
  has become no no norman -
     who the hell names their son: norman?!

ah, only 8 dead, that's nothing,
                 i'm just tired of the tirade -
should it, or shouldn't it come along...
              beside "being" defeatist -
             it's just the plain sight boredom of
the said narrative -
                   who will tire first is the only
question i have to ask,
  but never will ask...
       it's simply tiresome to defend the "good"
muslims...
            **** it, throw the whole lot of them
into the same bucket and start shooting
the same fish in a single barrel...
                          some people believe
that authentic plagiarism is an artform per se,
this is true:
  plagiarism isn't easy,
   i wrote one sociology essay by plagiarising
at university, i did it,
   because i wanted to check whether the computer
program in effect could actually detect
a plagiarism... funny... it didn't...
i got a first by carefully utilising a thesaurus...
it could have been a reverse result
                 of kasparov vs. deep blue...
but this isn't a case of plagiarising
   the berlin attack -
              the kaiser wilhelm memorial
    church at breitscheidplatz -
       you become tired of the excuses -
      after a while you are given the opportunity
to finally cut the throbbing membrane mark -
there is and there will be the distinction
we're entrenched in the: us and the them...
      added the fact that i don't agree
on the crux banality of history -
   historiology is nonsense to me -
     the anglophone is over-stretched with what
it "accounts" for as "genuine" history -
      big bag, dinosaurs, cavemen, monkeys...
stretch armstrong or what?!
                           i prefer the much simpler
view of history, namely, that i have already planned
a shortening -
  whereby historiology is replaced by
   etymology...
                         hence the interlude of native
words:
            chrapać - snore -
                   sen - dream -
          śnić - to dream -
                                  kaszel - cough -
and the debate between
        kasłać and kaszłać -
                        or the readied laziness
with a grapheme - agrippa -
              chequers and cappuccino -
grapheme assured - not roman siamese -
                    but nonetheless graphemes...
once more: the fluidity of language -
   one again: not all rules are made to be left
orthographically unbroken,
      ask a silesian about his mongrel
                     germano-pollack tongue -
                                           or the kashubian;
perhaps the rules of the orthodox tongue
rigid and schooled remain in a vault
in warsaw, but outside of warsaw:
                   the tongue is no iron -
            the tongue is clay,
                 and moulded in the image of
    the one wielding it, to his desire:
            lingua est non ferrum -
        lingua est lutum -
                        ludere deus /
                     das zunge ist nicht eisen -
     das zunge ist lehm -
                                           spielen gott.

mein gott!
trinken im der nacht: im der kalt, kalt
fingerbetäubung winter nacht:
was freude! was genuss!

hier mit mein: liebe der lieben!
Fräulein Bernstein -
       mich, ihr Herr Schnurrhaare...

that's the thing about choosing the right
of suitor... i went out looking for
Athena... i went out looking for Sophia...

all of sudden... they jump from one body
to the next... it's not reincarnation
and it's not incarnation...
it's an archetype modality that i put forth
onto each woman...
what is my return? perhaps the odd old
lady that's curious to me...
wisdom, from an older woman?
i would be a stranger, she wouldn't give it to me,
i trust old men to do that...

Athena and Sophia teach... from a woman's youth...
now... if i were looking for Odin...
if i were looking for Hades...
i'd be looking toward old men...

all of course just an amusement park for my
thinking & looking at an entire stand
of people in a football stadium...
i shopped for "souls" in those eyes & faces
transfixed by something so trivial
that it could only be:
22 ballerinas kicking a ball about...

a game of tennis usually employs a football
team of judges... if you were to add
the ball boys / girls...
a game of 7 rectangles...
no wonder it's not a popular game for
the public to engage with...

oh, the old gods of the fabled Europe...
did they suffer the same fate as
the Semitic gods that the Hebrew deity...
quiet simply ate? like the fate
of Beelzebub, poor sod...
no, i think they just went out of fashion...
as if Odin sent his son Thor (you sure it wasn't
Loki... playing that trick of turning
water into wine, resurrecting poor Lazarus...
send me back! send me back! he screamed)
to conquer the European gods...

i think they just went out of "fashion":
before there was even a concept of: fashion...
before donning animal furs etc.
of the old gods: sure... the Scandinavian
& the Greek ones survived: miraculously...

i have no qualms with the Hebrew god...
it's genius! it has no form... it's purely a god
of the script... a bit like... Thoth...
hmm... theta omicron theta or... FOF...
i could spice it up a little...
given: (ph)ilosophy-O-(th)ought...

Thoph or Photh?
                                 i'm liking this....
it's ideally compatible: the Hebrew deity with
language itself... what with the Hebrews
hiding their vowels like some Europeans
employ diacritical marks...
a caron "hovering" over an S can hide either
a H or a Zed... "magic"!

the suffering sun, tortured on the cross...
what a great banner to march up north!
subdue the pagans... but... no... don't invite them...
scare away their old gods
keep the people at the distance...
howling, chattering obsenities,
gnashing their teeth... when the narrative was
swallowed...
sooner or later everyone looses track of
a narrative of any kind... myth becomes fiction
while... people are bonding over...
journalistic crowd control mechanisms...
fear, scare mongering... miss-information...

let's begin afresh...
for me, the New Testament very much resembles
the book of Genesis...
a Judeo-Greco conspiracy manifesto against
the Roman Empire...
i guess the Greeks despised the Romans
for plagiarising their gods &... since they lost
their vigour, their vitality:
they couldn't believe that reinventing the old
gods could bring such refreshing mana
to a people with no prior knowledge...

what the Romans accomplished by turning
Zeus into Jupiter...
the New Testament is equivalent to the book of Genesis
(insert debate) -
the garden of Gethsemane...
Mt. Golgotha... a book... riddled... with...
metaphor, imagery...
no... oh no... you're not getting off that likely:
you're not cutting corners...
i'm not even going to bother myself
with the Book of Revelation as the Exodus part
of this story...
if you really think i'm going to settle for
the sort of Exodus "you're" talking about...
we ******* via genocide & what not?
you have to remember...
we're talking... circa 2000 years of a Hebrew
exodus from Palestine to... so far north
as to mingle with the deutschemensch &
subsequently conjure up: yiddish!

managing to undermine the Roman empire was
one thing... but thinking that the northern
barbarians could be accommodating...
sure... some were... the Polacks were benevolent...
king Casimir welcomed the Hebs who would
later become Yids to Poland...
prior to world war II kicking off...
the Juices used to brag (as recalled by my
grandfather): wasze ulice, nasze kamienice...
your streets... our tenement buildings...
basically insinuating:
you can be homeless if you'd like...

i like the idea of the Hebrew god... why?
Juices are masochists...
they feel a need to be punished by their deity...
hell... the Holocaust happened...
at least they know when they're doing
something wrong...
the Holocaust happened & what?!
no divine intervention?!

i also like the idea of...
a... ahem:

      wohlwollendschutzstaffelmann...

a benevolent SS-man, basically...
i drink, i'll start speaking German, why not?
i'll drink, get drunk, start speaking German
& even if it kills me... will be listening to some
Roy Orbison! Roy! you're the man!
all the plebs can have their Elvis... you're the man Roy'oh!

why... wohlwollendschutzstaffelmann?
well... borrowed from my "late" grandfather...
memories from world war two...
the Russians? colts... fresh from Siberia
or what other *******...
slept in barns with the animals...
rugged smelly... Russians, you know...
but... the Nazis, stationed in my hometown...
home... town-of-birth...
London is my home...

from someone's who dead memory:
i still love how he said the following with
very poor punctuation,
he said it like a German might... compounded
i.e. herrbittebonbon:
herr! bitte bon-bon!
       & the schwarzbekleidet SS-mann would give
him sweets, bon-bon... he would run back home
& put his hands that were stuck together
by the sweets under  running tap of water:
to unglue them... ergo?

die wohlwollendschutzstaffelmann...
i think i look the part...
if i look the part: that' enough... optics is king...
just look the part, no matter whether you fill
the specified role... lucky for me, as a steward
i get to do a little bit extra & engage with
the public...
i have to, i, simply have to:
meditate on a frightening excitment..
how, i put that into practice is... my private
******* deal, savvy?

- guess what, i'm happy people taking up
the classics, it almost feels like the good
old days when...
books like...
were printed in 1967 for people studying
for their O-levels (ordinary level)
of the G.S.E. before... G.C.S.E. *******
came in and standards were dropped...
so... basically people circa 16 years old learning...
Cicero... in Latin... no... not in English...
in mother-******* Latin...
books like? the alpha classics...
the thought of Cicero...
selection edited by S. J. Wilson
(G. Bell & Sons)...
general editor? a Mr. R. C. Carrington, M. A.,
D. Phil., headmaster of St. Olave's School...

sample (why not?)
wait wait, imagine my delight... back then...
an S. J. Wilson would rather put
the title B. A. after this name...
than a Mr. at the front... trans-****** "issues"?!
almost subscript: senior classical master,
Methodist College, Belfast...
sure... sure... have to be doubly sure whether
or not the ******* Irish are literate...
let's check if they still speak Gaelic
like the Welsh speak Velsh...
no? oh... then like the Scots...
capitulated to the English and just retained
their ****** accents...
Scot's a sing-along-because-it's-a-****-up-Friday
and Hibernian are playing Harts...
or some other load of *******...

some people seem to WANT to become extinct...
& the English... the people who conjured
up Darwin and Darwinism...
i'm thinking... these people... espouse...
half-wit ****** Darwinism...
the Dodo project people...
Christian "compassion" (suicide) sort of got in
the way of... the cruel, sane, objectivity
of the origins of Darwinism...
well... is that a sort of... "oops", moment?!
if Darwinism was discovered under
the cloak of Islam... ha... ah: ha ha ha ha ha!
brown people breaking the backs of brown
people...
camel jockeys taking charge of Bangladeshi bodies...
but... no... i will not feed the narrative as
as a reactionary...

sample: unlike Cicero's Roman Gentleman...
shunning physical labour... me? i adore it...
arbeit macht frei... even if it's merely standing...
minding the crowd... sure... i'd rather cycle for 40 miles
than stand in one place for 4 hours
looking out for some elder perhaps having a stroke
or a heart-attack... my feet are killing me...
after a long period of exercise i feel, sort of, relaxed...
oddly enough: doing something for which you
are being paid: drags you down into Mammon's pit
of suffering... compare that to cycling out of
your own volition... wow... 40 miles is like a breeze...
you feel it, you don't feel it, you feel it...
you don't feel it...

iam de artificiis et quaestibus, qui liberales habendi,
qui sordidi sint, haec fere accepimus.
beginning with... ending with:
omnium autem rerum, ex quibus aliquid acquiritur,
nihil est agri cultura melius, nihil dulcius,
nihil uberius, nihil homine libero dignius...

that last line... i think i can conjure a translation
on a *****-nilly... nothing human dignifying liberty...
loosely...
if Cicero were to be reborn...
comparing the supposed slavery of physical
labour...
to... non-physical labour... whereby there are
two options... getting fat... or...
having to get on the ol' hamster wheel at the gym?
who the ****'s loosing out, &, more precisely,
on what?!

personally... i'd rather be tired from physical labour
& enjoy my free time... than...
do "work" that's all pickled-brain & juice
"inspiring" extension... to then have to...
"enjoy"... exercise! ha ha! the conundrum!
shouldn't those treadmills & exercise bikes be...
producing electricity, rather than, wasting it?
shouldn't people exercising generate energy?
they're not doing anything useful to begin with...
shouldn't they jump on the queue and generate
battery life? wait... what?!
physical labour is frowned upon...
from the time of Cicero...
get fat?! you need a crane-"lift", mate... ahem...
beached whale beauties!

**** me, at least i managed to walk off / cycle off
20kg, down from 120kg to... fluctuations
of 96kg through to 98kg...

haven't the people picked up the classics, though?
last time i heard there was some:
DO
to perform... a virus spoke & people started to
enlarge their... spoof presence to:
DELTA-OMICRON!
oh look... people are relearning the Greek alphabet,
guess William Wallace's uncle is back...
if we're really lucky... we'll get an Omega
"variant"...

coming back to the Hebrew... deity...
what's Y? a DEL implosion...
what's DEL? the up-side-down delta... nabla...
so why is it, "omicron" when the delta variant
could be be called nabla?
oh... right... not many people know about...
said "X"...
what's that? (ch)AOS or (ch)eat or... lo(ch)?

that's what i love about the Hebrew deity...
it's a soul-eater... minor deity eater...
poor Beelzebub... from a minor god of the Canaanites...
to a demon...
a bit like...
the archangel Michael... reduced to...
St. Michael... so much for the suffering at
Golgotha... Jesus / Loki...
oh pity me, pity me...
in the background... Santa Clause was waiting for
someone to inact the: Satan's Claus...

look at it, the tetragrammaton:
Y... the imploded ∇ (del), what happens
when ∇ (del) intertwines with delta?
you get... the star of David...
see... it works perfectly inthe Latin script...
H... one is a surd...
the other... a source for laughter...
what would the mensch do...
without... the Hebrews' definite article?
probably not laugh... i.e. why HA HA
and not... MA MA? or GA GA?!
well... rugby works on goal posts being
H shaped, anyway... so: we're good to go...

ah... W... W is a ref. to trigonometry...
cosine starts from 1 down to 0... through to -1
and then wave? no?
M... starts (sine) starts at zero... up to 1...
back to zero then to -1... wave...
we're talking about a Hebrew god...
it's not like Odin became... the ha-shem's *****...
he sort of... fell out of vogue...

ha ha... Loki oh, hey! hey "Zeus"! ******* ******...
at least i had enough of a ***** bank in me
to not play the narrative of a ******:
and actually **** a *****!
ooh... not comfy... is that supposed to be:
my sort of variation of a, "problem"?
i'mt not even going to bother myself with
the hard-core h'american believers...
that ship, that ship has ******* sailed...
wave, bye-bye... pretend it's the ******* Titanic...
o.k.?

circa 2000 years later, there should be a book...
allowing for the congestion of history
of the Hebrew people moving north...
trusting the barbarians...
it was an exodus 2.0... take it, or leave it...
culminating...
yeah... i "forgot" to tell you...
these people wouldn't be constructing a pyramid...
actually laburing for the construct of
someone's vanity...
there would be a brick... this brick... you'd move to
some random place... place it there... pick it up...
then move it back to its place of origin...
a sadistically ingenious joke... if you ask me...
but no, not building of pyramids...
necrophilia: directly...
nothing... metaphorical...

what other, nuance of the words, among the English?
terms like, orthography,
without an application
of diacritical markers?! what, are,
your, *******, islander, intellectuals, are, on?
Dickensian prose?!
*****... don't be coming from Devonshire...
or anywhere Bristol, slandering Essex...
******* westernlandfotzen!

in the meantime:
let the dolls play with their toys...
lassen die puppen spielen mit ihr spielzeuge!

i have enough time to wait...
fingers like spiders...
space...
       like cobwebs.....

Arbeit spielen
Arbeit Arbeit Spiel
Arbeit Arbeit Arbeit Spiel
Arbeit Arbeit Arbeit Arbeit Arbeit Arbeit Spiel
Arbeit Arbeit Arbeit Arbeit Arbeit Arbeit Arbeit
Arbeit Arbeit Arbeit Arbeit Arbeit Arbeit Arbeit
Arbeit hart genug
und
vielleicht eines Tages genug Geld sparen
und
dann können Sie sich einen kleinen Urlaub leisten und
dann zurück zur Arbeit Arbeit Arbeit

god: the spare ego.
gott: die schonen / scheuen
        ich...
            selbstbewusstsein
die schonen ich...
   sheuenselbstbewusstsein:

gebäude -
   recht von falsch...

  kommen sie meine sagte...
    stille, und ein spielen
  auf abschattung...

death the pillow known as sleep,
to challenge the imagination
encompassed within
the posit of... dreams.

i have died a thousand times
and that's only before...
i get a chance to fall asleep;

i've been taking twitter accounts
and instagram entries polaroids...
reading Milton doesn't ease
the headaches...

this burden of the wriggling
earthworm that's about
to be pulled out from nibbling
on the clay: london proud...

         sheffield... the artic monkey's:
n'est ce pas?
that field felt grift...
smoking baron and the ashes to
lick up lick to keep...

         my furore!
my hunger my guise my everyday
lost case of slumber...
the death grieving the date of
the lost review...

          bygones be left as bygones
of Navarone...
  crown of pandemic proportions...
still waiting for
ol' lizzie to drop it to a down
of pressure on the ol' ticker...
she'll die and hail!
robert the bruce!
            my ivory of white winding through...

each night i die...
i die because i fall to sleep
and there's no dream
for my sort of licking the altar
of open and salting the wounds...
let them breathe they'd be prone
to implore me of to keep...

if there's no darker loot of black
then perhaps it
will sound more impeding
in: altvaterdeutsche...

schwarz! schwarz!
                   came the lone roman ******:

švarц!
            wo alle straßen enden...
der schlamm ist knöcheltief...
            
schlamm ist eisen:
          wenn skulptur ist:
gegeben "die aufwachen" prompt...

             *******: inselwohnsitzleute!
east of warsaw... or west of kiev?!

fetish peoples unite under the rubric
of the scaling prop-up latex
of *** games that...
wir wurden einst kinder...
         wir benutzt zu spielen...
                  verstecken und suchen!

gamma goblin of the "vierte *****"...
or just a fetish for an old version
of english... this... my exhauasted anglo-sax...
reuters... back toward
the ***** of a fake father i too have...

grenadiers of the horseoperamärц!
lernenzuerst:
                kind-deutsche-unger­ade-leere...

for all the english that is given,
why wouldn't i want to escape into
a prehistoric german...
       old saxon the would-be eager
tourist of exhibitions...

      i would, i somehow still persist
to: versuchen...
                     grief from
a tongue... neither...
otherwise a ****** vater otherwise
a ****** mutter...
             zähne auf eisen...
                      zunge auf austern!
sing-along
in alt ***** german or...
            that subtle brotherhood barrier
of neighbouring love...

very far from "home"...
      home... home... what is home?

god i hope every single word spoken
in german will make me out
to be an unrepenting
                         sturmführer...
trägt schwarz... trägt weiß...
trägt grau...

                           the least opposition...
salz bestreut auf zu öffnen
atmen wunden...
                      
easier for the croat...
or the serb...
                              easier: never mind...
new continent h'america...
and but the breadcrumbs of history...
this 20th century locum
of all that had to happen...

                            if a harry can get away
with donning khaki...
i would love to appear
in schwarz... weiß... und grau...
                   prompt galore!
            brechenöffnen - nach vorne!

      as ever... limitations of residue for
all that ever was:
self-help bollocking of a tickling        
of forever "future" events....

Wenn Kinder auf Panzern spielen
Noch nicht lange still gelegt
Ist es ein gutes oder ein schlechtes Zeichen?

Touristenattraktion Nummer drei
Liegt auf dem Weg
Wir kommen vorbei
Mach mal ein Foto

Eine friedvolle Szene?
Oder nur die Feuerpause
Zwischen Blitz und Gewitter?
Wo schlägt er diesmal ein?
Wie weit ist entfernt?
Sind wir hier sicher?

Helden der letzten Generation
Zu Bette dort unten in der Erde
Hört nicht hin
Lasst eure Augen geschlossen
Ruhet in Frieden
Ihr habt genug gelitten

Ich will noch nicht nach Hause
Papa nimmst du mich auf den Arm?
Mama kann ich ein Eis haben?
Die Sonne *******noch
Noch ist es warm