it's a paradox of yevgeny zamyatin, that the true rebellion is caused by a stress of the necessity of dreaming... talk to any schizoid individual and you find they're the dream manufacturers... dreams happen in the safe environment of the laboratory of the unconscious... they're the socially acceptable hallucinations... it's even socially acceptable to interpret them... which i find very odd... why should unconscious hallucinations be socially acceptable and profitable and career crafting and conscious hallucinations be socially stigmatised? ah the safety, the environment of the freduain interpretation of dreams: well... he's ******* asleep, isn't he?! ******.

after my usual walks drinking, i tend to enter the
realm of heat and christmas tree
a little bit too brooding,
i just painted a picasso or a kandinsky,
burnt it, and then am told to "plagiarise" it...
i don't like the approach nietczsche had
taking a notebook with him
and writing his thoughts written,
i like the way my faculty memory
eats the immediacy of thinking
as counter to the translation of descartes'
theory equating existence with thought
as if thought could prove i exist
thus uncoupling it from the original:
thought and doubt.
memory is central by comparison,
i have the revision from the miscarriage of descartes'
aim: memini ergo cogito.
it makes sense, given i started the night off
buying three san miguel bottles at tesco,
buying five beers at the turk,
spotting russell the schizoid-affective man
huntched in a corner...
told him five minutes max...
started talking with him
about the ol' sailor's narrative... turbulent noons
and midnights with a bottle of jack...
wide eyed russell every time i speak to him
reflected...
i remember drinking my first coffee aged 7...
i was born with a heart condition...
i shouldn't have... live dangerously though...
drank it... magic!
i remember the taste even now.
the cognitive me is not the existential me...
odd, isn't it?
i should have kept the original kandinsky,
but i burnt it and kept the plagiarism...
why is it that the function of memory
is paramount to mental health?
this prof. of psychology itemised this girl
who's north mania south an airplane descending
from the height vector with the ears popping...
why is it that i can remember me aged 7
and most people got cheated into total engagement
in life in the orientation of satisfied or dis-satisfied
expression of puberty?
if the faculty of memory is not defended
then diseases enter...
not one of the diseased is like an original adam,
like translation of original adam, i.e. mozart beethoven
einstein...
good enough to be without plain jane as narrator
and puppeteer...
let the strings do the talking, please!
i'm in love with ****-****** literature...
take that **** of yours, that suitcase
of ***** stockings to your mother to give it a eco-friendly
spin of the washing-machine...
**** that crap should that crap enter my heart...
you heard of ****** latin? i think you have,
it's not church slavonic, it's rude latin...
the type of thing that adds oil on the cogs
and makes you adherent to the philosophy:
pause for thought or pause for fake vocabulary?
i sweat with oaths to add fluid...
if you're offended by **** and not fck you
must be really appreciative of pronography...
so they said: we must rid the word of a vowel
and expose the people with **** corn bits between the teeth!
well... it worked...
i didn't tell you remember the pythagorean theory
you were taught aged 12... i told you
to remember you aged 12... like i remember nathanel
with his briefcase in year 8 in math class...
like i remember this english teacher's legs
when i dropped the pen to loon inside the stash-load
of pooddles and *****...
like i remember racing a guy from bałtów
to ostrowiec and winning: he on a tour de france bike
with anorexic model tires and
my on mountain bike fatties...
i told you memory is crucial... given our thought explored
inanimate things as the perfection of our knowledge,
given our thought explored animate things
as perfectly categorising man and animal alike
thus mis-interpretating ourselves, oh the sacrifice of
the perfectly catalogised atom among the toothbrushes...
a convo of assortments...
it's perfect knowledge in relation to inanimate things...
the sort of thing which is question:
but atoms are animate things... calling them inanimate
just because they're invisible doesn't give you a
right to driftwood clung to in robinson cruseo's shakespearean friday.
hence the passing inspiration... so dull now
that i only feel inspired to pour myself another whiskey
and justify the meaning of relaxed.
associate yourself with the world,
hardly many of us will end of with the genius score of don juan,
we're in an environment of strict biology,
we're told that memory governs our world
with the world being on the quest to repeat...
and it does repeat... sounding the encore of biting frost,
sounding the encore of delighted shadows of summer
having postponed snipers to shoot them dead with night...
the world that inquires per se via repeat
only divinites man's faculty that's memory,
and quickly attacks it in revenge by dementia...
imagination is left to the murderers' who fancy
all the hues of red on the face....
this world is not pleasant to those who think,
to those who couple thought with imagination,
and to those who couple thought with memory...
alas... such few increments are left to re-discover
after being taught the uselessness of centimetre
when no centimetre knowledge is used in their
mechanisation of a profession.
that bit monkey less than man already happened
contradictory in theoretical terms
given the diversity whereby man's diversity
per se cannot explain the diversity of each thing
using evolutionary relativism, niche by-product concerns...
penguins will always make it to antarctica...
no banker or plumber on antarctica... just
scientists who started the whole expedition as
worth anything by counting penguin eggs...
indeed... ah this is going nowhere...
i don't believe in evolutionary relatvism
like socrates didn't believe in moral relativism
theft is punishable with the cutting of the hand
that stole... ****** is punishable with the cutting
of the head - it's all really related)...
and the aesthetic relativism is as true as: beauty
is in the eye of the beholder -
to that girl in the night near the church
walking with a concerned friend
concerned by her attractive panda-eyed mascara expression.
most of the time i find the inherent vice of jungian
interpretation of poets
to be a case of narration: poets don't write enough
to be valued! i respect fictional occupants of the
equivalent hammer of a labourer writing long paragraphs!
well, true enough... any idiot would suddenly exclaim
a symptom as: i differentiate that i'm a constant inspiration
for a non-existent narrator, and the symptom i differentiate
from true to fake by the fact it hinders my faculty to think...
pronoun shrapnel i call it... auxillary pronouns
that benefit me to expand my thought on a levelling
that did not want to see in monochromatic divergence
of continued with linear-ism akin to horse blinders
that only exposed a corridor where a valley could have stood
for the eyes to be inspired by.

christianity acknowledges its prime lesson
only when laws of the land are in place
and effectively disposed of,
easily done when the culprit in prison
lazing about, easily done there
like john paul ii, to forgive once in the zoological
jurisprudence enclosure, easily done there,
but outside?
my prime culprit who harmed
sat with me during english class shoulder to shoulder,
who chanced a poetic expression
at the end of secondary schooling,
who i played a happy birthday on the guitar:
who’s mother i could have adored as my own,
who i would have waited for hours on end
till our meeting...
but alas that wasn’t to be...
the prime suspect inflicted me with a fake mental disorder...
one i was trying to be rid of over these past eight years,
the woman who craved so much love she encountered
in the poker discard that she only could enclose the one
given by first stripping the man’s caution of the ******,
to later ingest anti-pregnancy pills,
ask the man to buy an engagement ring...
and then stop taking the contraceptive pills
in order to feed the lie of the pills’ placebo...
the friend of childhood, the lawyer decided to
outstretch and become a judge...
of not noble origin he now stands in his profession
outside the bird cage hearing law...
with his own encounter now solidly expressed
by dodging bullets that might hit him but never do...
so is my ode through?
nah... i have an insolent crowd to deal with...
the mockers and magpies
like it was a yacht i had in my hand or a diamond...
******* and fast cars are not the only worthy reward...
the last time i’ll trust a woman
it’ll be my mother speaking her epithaph with assured death...
then i’m through...
but i hope to drink myself to death... like a true writer would care
to mind a legacy...
i don’t mind... i have “morally superior” stoners
franchise on the smoky ****...
they resolved the matter by calling all alcoholics
the stella artois crew...
throw in some metabolic facts and you tend to forget
alcohol is a calorie intake...
the homosexuals couldn’t take it...
even the homosexuals broke down...
all the trans-gender fancies gave the homosexuals legality
and a step into sanity...
it’s odd, years of stigmatised homosexuality
gone within years... acceptance speeches,
heretosexuals siding with the arguments of homosexuality:
trans-gender is too much, even for us!
baphomet rose up in his chariot with **** that
could not be milked unless pouring of celluloid
and gave birth to minature barbies and kens...
but what really breaks my heart is the sheer anonymity
in the mechanics of democracy...
voting in democracy is like *******...
in the x-booth... and then the quick exchange of power
lasting five years... it seems no one is responsible anymore...
quickly implemented and as quickly signed off
without a legislation of worth signature...
i had this dream last night...
i was making love to this ****** girl (someone has to,
as burroughs said: you in for sloppy seconds
or the starter of chaotic emotion when acknowledging
a sexuality of the otherwise hermaphrodite teen mind?),
then i started to paint with blood soaked phallus on a wall
and then started urinating blood on the wall of emerging graffiti...
in the other room people were shouting: but she’s only a child!
but she’s only a child!
then a girl and a boy entered the room i was in...
and from their hands placed in my hand
four necklaces... ****** mary medallions
that placed, in my head, were heavier than expected.
in reality i tried to use my phallus as a scalpel on first attempt...
so why mutilate the girl if the ****** curtain can be cut?
such are the times that it has never felt more
ridiculous to allow women the freedom with the rich male hares
and the subsequent freedom of settling down
with some dumb schmuck ******* when the fun becomes tedious
and the biological clock echoes like the clock
in the croc's belly on peter pan island;
the last time i spotted a noble swan
i also spotted a drunk pigeon taking a **** on nelson’s head.

As long as men die,
Liberty will never perish.

As long as there’s a sky,
Freedom will always be cherished.
Whenever men cajole and lie,
Oppression refills its chalice.

Mausoleums and refined cemeteries;
Hypogeums, perfectly aligned symmetry.
Resplendent medallions, ostentatious statues.
Dictators depict themselves as majestic stallions,
Doing everything to sensorily detach you,
Removing you from the frailty of reality.

A dictator will control discourse of all sorts;
They’ll hunt dissidents like it was a national sport.
They’ll turn the nation into their little fort,
And they’ll leave generations traumatised.
Opposition is demonised, criticism is stigmatised;
They’ll tell you that the enemy is everywhere,
And that entire communities should be marginalised.

A dictator will huff and puff until the house falls down.
Dictators **** entire countries, tearing sovereignty’s gown.
They’ll seize the population’s weaknesses,
Playing to your mind’s fears, its deepest recesses.

A dictator will convince you that he is a living god;
They’ll try to avoid you seeing through their fraud.
Remember that dictators are sacks of flesh,
Just like the rest of us;
They’ll rot in the ground when put to rest,
And their bones will return to dust.

methods fettered, advantages and breaks
extended, insults and numinous presences of pagans crept
craven idolatry ascribable degrees of rivalry kept
intensified, superordinate to unsatisfiable desires and anorectic shakes
stigmatised, wishes leading to perpetual astonishment, quakes
caused, centuries for a variety of relations acknowledged accept
altered limits, bounds of appropriation are overstepped
and eliminated, forms of every truth from different takes
are completed, esoteric states, totally upheld
a verdict of ****** reasonable risks, general history framed
and shared, shares of fully repeated trades
are allocated, limitedly missed usurious beginnings unparalleled
in cruel relations with transient rules proclaimed
with theoretical ideas, properties of a black jade

You ripped the door off:
The electro-magnetic attachment
Was no match for your frustration,
Which goes to show,
You cannot guard against
A young man's anguish
Manifested as rage,
A judged and stigmatised rage,
Born of poor attachment:
An open door that was never closed.

It was the morning joy never came, shame’s flame burned bright like the sun on a Sunday at noon.
Nothing from this day on will ever be the same, nothing will numb this pain.
It was her birthday party, hosted by a group of well meaning friends who wanted to honour her and share such a beautiful time with her and though her birthday was on a Monday, the party held on a Friday night. It was barbecue and drinks then off to dance it off at one of the most popular and populous night club in that city.
She started early before the events scheduled for the day. The time came to boogie down and she was so excited that she mixed all kinds of drinks without thinking of the repercussions. Not for once how much more twice, after all she was a heavy weight with a high threshold.
So, a shot of bourbon, a swig of beer, a shot of tequila salt and lime all taken with hearty cheers.
She flirted with the *****, and when she returned and the bottle was gone she’d *** with tonic, a slice of lemon on the rocks.

She had started indulging long after her peers. I guess the pressure from peers caught up with her just when they were about to give up on her ever joining them on this vice.
When she decided to join the team, she still had control. She always was the one they’d depend on to take them back home safe and ensure no one tries any BS with her clique. This was when she started battling with insomnia and some crazy arthritic pain. So when the meds’ won’t work, she’d chug the bottle of *** or whiskey as if it were water and as if it could quench her thirst once and for all.
For every time she increased her level of consumption the more she wanted to transcend that level with an excuse as a justification for such an unruly behaviour.
“What created such an urge some days”? She’d wondered.  She tried to practice the pause before she drank up all the liquor that helped her drown her cares and fears because she was afraid she might drown in them if she didn't.

She was worse off when she started to work with a company that brews and sells all kinds of alcohol with access to a bar in the office.
You can only imagine what that made of her. I am certain if a light weight drew out some of her blood and sniffed, it would knock such a person out.
Things got worse and each time things  seemed to be getting better. She’d find herself swimming against the tidal waves of sobriety, seeking to safely carry her to the shores, far into an ocean of bottles and a sea of hangover whose storms are best cured by sailing back into the ocean.
After barbecue came the time to go dancing and while at the club, of course more drinks were ordered!
How would they know it was her party if there wasn’t champagne and other bottles on the table? How would they know her boyfriend and his friends were loaded and had the place on a lock down?
Tipsy and happy, she noticed a guy had been looking at her and asking her to come. She totally ignored him.
Later, he came and whispered some obscenities into her ears. She was so mad that she told him off and her friends who saw this happen asked him to go away.
At this point she needed some air, her head was spinning and she felt like the walls of the club were closing in on her. Being badly claustrophobic, she ran out, almost stumbling on herself and found a quiet place to sit.
This was a late bloomer who had always caught up on things late and so she was with the effect of alcohol whenever she indulged, she almost always took more than she could handle at the time, sometimes she felt the effect only but the day after.
She was trying to find her way back inside when she realised her legs suddenly couldn’t carry her weight,
Out of nowhere came the stalker, he held her arm assuring her he was going to help her back in.
That was the last thing she could remember before she felt a weight on her, a sharp pain in her back that woke her up from a stone poking her back and a *******.
Flail and helpless she begged as her speech slurred and realised this person wasn’t going to stop anyway so there was no point pleading.
She gave up trying as she laid there like one paralysed, whose condition had slurred her speech when she heard her name, she mustered her last strength to shout a reply before she saw her friend scream and ask “are you okay? What did he do to you?” He was trying to sneak and run when she caught him and called her boyfriend and a few close ones and they started to beat him without even asking what happened. Her boyfriend held her crying.
She begged him to please let him go, embarrassed, feeling useless and afraid that if more people gathered she’d be stigmatised.
She broke it off with her boyfriend because even when they had normal lovers’ tiff, she’d attribute it to events from the past and he was drained trying to convince her that it had nothing to do with it.
She lost her voice, her pride and her confidence.
She had beaten herself too hard and was still on it.
She blamed herself for how much she had had and all the events that followed and sank into a depression that seemed to spur her to drink more and not mind what might happen afterwards. She was alive but she was done living.
Her smiles became a veil to hide her sadness, her laughter cries for help, her grief so humongous she thought she’d never find relief so reareashe’d drown herself in more alcohol till even the bottles of liquor feared that she’d be the death of them.
25/10/17
r3d
#roadtorecovery
#everythingipretendtobe
#realrawandaimple
­#welearnasweteach
#writingright
#firesofr3d

You were  my cross,
    stigmatised for loving

                                        you...

  
  But I'm crucified
for loving him.

sure, i still live with my parents, can you even begin to comprehend the renting cost of living within the M25? near impossible to attain, i've seen how young people live in shared accommodation, this one Spanish girl who wanted to get a one-night stand with me, she tried to fool the taxi driver by screaming ****, subsequently jumping out of the taxi... the taxi driver hollered at her, i comforted him: i'll pay, don't worry... she lived with... 3 homosexuals... she was so drunk that night... she wanted that cocoon ***, under the bed-sheets... not for me... she was too drunk to begin with... at least in the brothel we do it under dimmed lights... but fully exposed... she called me an angel... later that day she tried to do it again with me, first pretending to relax me by taking a bath with me, we went to the Notting Hill carnival... she must have been talking to her homosexual gurus about my, ahem "impotence"... funny, that, i never seem to be "impotent" in the presence of prostitutes... perhaps she just put me off by jumping out of the taxi & not paying the ******* fare... Tamara... yeah... oh i remember Tamara like it's me drinking coffee yesterday... peer cohabitation... even if you're a drug dealer... it's... *******... squalor: or nearing it... i don't mind people thinking i'm a loser for living with my parents... but... round here... i do the house chores... i do the cooking... my mother has arthritis so she can't do certain tasks... i write my father's invoices... i... get along... am i missing out on casual ***... if i'm not paying for it... i'm not having ***, i'm having a hard time... we met, casually, sure... but the rest of it... out of the window... gone... one redeeming aspect of meeting Tamara, ****-head Tamara... a morning coffee & a robin visiting me in her garden... pretty little bird... cocoon ***... no, thank you... let me just sleep this night... second night still no ***... i was put off! immediately! what sort of woman jumps out of a moving taxi screams **** so as to avoid paying for the: ******* fare?! **** that? exactly... **** that! well, what's the alternative, sure, i could pitch up a tent in Bower Wood... live off acorns... sometimes there's only compromise to be met, maybe that's why i really enjoy talking to old people on park benches, smoking cigarettes drinking a beer, asking them, are you o.k. with me doing this? it always is, since the conversation "goes somewhere"... i know that cohabitating with your parents makes you come off like some Oedipal implosion, but then again: i'm more attached to my father than my mother... if i were living with my peers, i'd be living in a semi-squalor... living with my parents makes me a custodian of the property, living in rented accommodation, ensuring the toilet was clean, the kitchen was clean... **** imploring them to ******* from playing video games while i'd do the cleaning... would, technically make me their slave, their *****... i'll write poetry & the pseudo-science of this art for free... why? i feel like it... it feelz... right... i'm here for the long-run... i'm not looking for short-term investments... i'm looking to yawn for 100 years at least... rough up my knuckles... buckle my tongue Horace! we're going to have a proper party... we'll make it... Pompeii! ******* slags & nunces of the WASP scene... what other living / shelter arrangements are there, left?! the homeless shelter... it's a social stigma to have parentage, to be still living with them? last time i checked, they're mortal... i'll be the one who inherits this house, this garden... plus... i have two libraries of books & c.d.'s & vinyls to mind... i can't, just, move, these! i drink a lot... yet still living in the confines of a... ah... ha ha... an "authoritarian regime"... guess i must be a: good boy after all... but i'm not going to fill the pockets of Saudi or Pakistani landlords... even if that might get be away from the WASP social stigma of living with your parents... like... by 35 i'm not doing all the household chores... i'm not cooking the food... sure... i should be stigmatised... but if i'm involved in giving household involvement... what's the problem? if  living among peers would imply living in a semi-squalor... just so that... hey... i just might land a one-night-stand... with a Spanish broad that decides... it's easier to jump out of a... ******* moving taxi rather than pay the fare... who shares a house with 3 homosexuals... even i think my life's ****** up... but then i went down the psychosis spiral aged 21... not many people do... my language skills: elevated...  like... the English really think they have rightfully inherited the Latin transcript, rightfully? without doing what other European peoples have done, employing diacritical markers?! sometimes i think that i'm walking around, ******* Neanderthals when interacting with these people...

oh... i've seen how it happens... it's not about
entertaining my delusions...
it more about the medical profession taking account
of when: regression is performed...
lucky me: for not dreaming much...
i don't think i can be implanted with false
memories... i was abused as a child:
as a child... being in a peer group:
you're bound to be... period...
outlier involve... walking down a street,
being asked by your elder peer
to open your mouth... snapping it closed...
getting spit in the face...
hello! ******... fellow... whatever...
ROT!
English is my home... England...
does it have to be?!
VER-ROTTEN!
      time flies when... you've been
subjected to pills that make you **** your
bed... you come off them...
you see the whole world are sort of...
the retardation of backwards...
it's fun to watch...
but the "fun" soon ends...
and you simply watch...
lost souls...
you get to build up an empathy...

even with the song:
WUMPSCUT: MADMAN SZPITAL
(SKON REMIX)...
the entrance lyrics read:
nie, przyjęty do szpitala...
not admitted to (a) hospital...

     oh i was diagnoses as psychotic...
schizoid... blah blah...
but... was i ever in a mental health unit?
no... no, last time i checked...
once one psychiatrist tried to play the regression
game on me, i was simply told to:
roam free...
so much has happened since my,
"initiation" circa 2007...
the world has become unrecognisable...

imagine that: diagnosed as mad...
but not admitted to an asylum...
hello "new" asylum... hello "new",
"society"...
it almost feels like... the psychiatrists
tested me for identifying regression testing...
if this "one" gets out...
let's just see... what havoc he might wreck...
to reiterate... i was diagnosed as
mad... but... they didn't care me...
i'm still waiting for my reprimand...
i had sessions witch psychiatrists who
had to invite... medical students... to overlook
the "interview"...

if my barber took pictures of me
before & after...
if my steward supervisor took pictures
of the back of my head with a high-viz.
reading: steward on a high-viz. vest
then... i must be a highly relieved high-agony
animal about to be released into the wilderness
of society... about to...
madden them up!
trivial pointers to look forward to!

but, i wasn't, kept, in an, asylum...
psychiatry supposed me to be more useful...
out, in the, open!
personally? it's no longer entertaining...
it has become a yawn...
hier ist: hier jetzt...

    as it turns out youtube is still the same old
jukebox like it used to be...
for years i've been looking for it...
each passing year i felt disappointed...
what has changed?
the algorithm is pretty much the same...
but it has been given a category "glitch"...
i don't know how for so many years
the bar just below the one or two adverts
just below a music video went-amiss...
oh, it's there: the old algorithm where it automated
a thesaurus sort of search & end results
fed you... similar content...
2021 was the year i wasted so much time
trying to find new music but instead enlarging
my head to watermelon proportions watching
****** opinion videos, ****** political videos...
why did i miss the bar just below the adverts
that sometimes reads:
SIMILAR, DARK WAVE, POST PUNK: ****'s sake:
MUSIC!

it's only 2 hours into 2022 and i'm navigating
youtube much better...
you will not find me watching commentary videos,
not since i've found this: filtering process...
that YOU, yes, YOU have to do...
nothing's wrong with youtube... it's still the same
place it was back in 2016...
the algorithm just became more fiddly...
you're simply not given automated suggestions...

to prove my point... i was in Poland once
& the algorithm had a "glitch"... for about 2 hours
i sat down & clicked on suggested videos,
which turned out to be a rabbit hole of similar content,
i actually made a rubric on a piece of cardboard,
i still have these two pieces of cardboard...
new bands, new music...

it is only circa 2hours into 2022 & i'm finally navigating
the site like i ought to...
the Jules Holland Hootenanny finished at
half past 1am... eh... everything these days has to
be overtly black... sorry...
but that's how it is: i don't even know whether
i want to feel anything about it...
of course i was in good company...
parents... sure... if it was simply my mother i,
i would say: sure as **** is creepy...
but the triangle was there... the food was great...
we talked about... how so few cultures might
ever appreciate a tripe stew...
the guts are from calves, the meat that's added
is from the older stock...

i wasn't going out... i know what an absolutely
disappointment going out is...
the next time i'll be going out is when i get
my S.I.A. badge as i follow in the footsteps of
a school friend of mine... Kieran... Kieran O'Mahoney...
i don't mind... chemistry degree in the bag...
nepotism in the air: my local pharmacy was once
oh so good... before the employees were
****** off by a father & daughter combo...
dad... in a professional environment?!
anyway... i can do this work...
    after all... it's on a PAYE basis & not on a self-employed
basis, which means... oh, the last time i was
employed i was self-employed...
doing your own tax returns can be a bit of a *****...
now the company will deduce the taxes themselves,
which implies: they'll do the tax returns for me also...

i was never going to be a surgeon,
i might have been a butcher,
i was never going to be a lawyer / politician:
i might have been a philosopher,
i was never going to be a professional footballer,
i am most certainly an avid cyclist,
the list is endless...
i tried to be a musician... i'm no maestro akin
to Ed Sheeran... i played the guitar...
once i managed to find a bass player...
we recorded a tape...
once i met a drummer... jammed with him...
but nothing really clicked... so i gave it up...
the guitar playing... plus... my heart broke
when my "supposed" future father-in-law
****** with Cindy... a brand new
Martin & Co. LXK2... i just got it on debit...
if i broke her heart because i was having one of
those... wild... psychotic trips from London
to Edinburgh & back again...
o.k., that really ****** me up...
i played the poker game of DUMB ******
when he told me the guitar... oopsy... "simply"
cracked... **** him, **** her...
i still haven't had paid for the ******* guitar...
yet now i had to cough up debit installments for
a broken guitar...
                              sign me some *******
kumbaya... some auld lang syne... on this night...
of all nights... sure... let me just get you the bill...
there's no forgiveness in this world
as long as memory is attached to many
& man wants to preserve himself without
turning into an Alzheimer's pickle...

for all the talent of ol' Ed... but at least i'm not
a ginger... i don't think i could handle that
sort of a masterclass in how
the geniuses distribute gifts...
after all, there are: angels, there are demons...
but there are also geniuses...
a shady category of beings...
let's pretend they sort of like...
a flimsy take on children...
ingenious little *******...
evil not by evil's intent...
evil by the intent of innocence...

oh, no, not out of spite... some things just remain:
as FACTS... if something happened...
forgiveness implies what?

   MEMORIA NEGATIO?!
funny how the order of words changed... although
the ****** tongue is very much as the French
when it comes to the order of wording...
from memory negated...
  the modern counter would be...
   the negation of memory... but that's a really trivial
point, don't you think?

i too have seen a stroke of lightning:
but heard no thunder...
imagine the eeriness of seeing a strike of lightning
but not hearing the thunder!

it's going to be a good year... i've already managed
to unearth new music i once thought would
be impossible... here's my shortlist:

Flor Concreta - Possessao (2021) from the Netherlands...
Euroshima - Gala (1987)
Flue - one & a half (1981) - post punk, dark wave,
sad lovers & giants - lost in a moment,
reds - reds (1989) from Poland
Twin Tribes - Fantasmas
Exq's - Ris'x (1982) - from Belgium...
the Klinik came from Belgium,
great place to start... the more eclectic tastes
bulging from listen to too much the cure or depeche
mode or joy division...
or... 65daysofstatic...
Torn Memory - Untitled...
Always the Sun - Always the Sun EP...
Brandenburg - Part two (2011)
every new dead ghost - a new world (1990)

oh man, the list had become endless...
if the music shop survived...
i'd be a ******* wizard in it!
believe me, i don't mind shepherding people
into packed stadium expecting to watch a football
match... i once did a teaser...
me, alone, in the park...
drinking a beer... watching a Sunday League match...
headphones in... this one woman was screetching
at this older woman... lip-reading
i deciphered: YOU HAVE NOTHING TO TALK
TO HIM ABOUT... **** could have turned ugly...
minding my own business has, become,
problematic?!

the problem with women who have tamed a man
& the untamed man & the women who "think"
they can tame every, single, man!
*******... i'm having a beer... watching a football match!
these days... i much prefer watch the crowd...

loser, living with his parents...
well.. i'm not giving any money to a Pakistani landlord,
am i? &, last time i checked...
oh ****! i guess i own the house i'm living in!
i'll be playing this service role for some time...
i'll be playing servant to my parents...
clean the house, cook the food...
when the neighbour put up a new fence...
cleared the bushes...
who was the person who dug up the *******
roots, added extra cement to the fence?
me! moi! mich!                            ja!

the best alternative is living with my peers in *******
gaming squalor...
i live with these grandchildren-less adults:
who don't want grandchildren to begin with...
well... how, best, to encapsulate the "situation"...
a pedicure / manicure professional comes
round the house once... oh... a month...
she brings her babe along, sometimes she doesn't...
not even a year old...
i ask... "dearest" mother...
if she coming round, is she bringing the "toy"?!

like i said... i might have been a good father,
then again, not so good...
a baby would be a toy...
a linguistic experiment...
a bit like... what Frederick II tried to envision...
raising new born babes in a nunnery
without a single word being said:
trying to find out what language was
uttered first... obviously the experiment
ended with: mute was "said" first...

inherently? really?
dogs inherently bark...
cats inherently meow?
rather than... ****'s sake... bonsai tigers that they
are... not growl?!
so if dogs inherently bark...
why don't they inherently howl like
wolves?!

yeah, most of the nights: the FREAKS were not
appealed to, put differently
even to me, the DJ wasn't appealing to me...

ha... GAMING... the "point of question"
when i put down my "gloves" my itchy thumbs
given then the PS1...
these days, i love the internet evolution
of gaming,
no, i haven't "gamed" / "passively narrated"
myself into make-shift allowances
of late...
my best comparison... Madame Bovary vs.
Final Fantasy VII...
that's it, the end, *******...

either read Madame Bovary,
play Final Fantasy VII on PS1... or...
this is the best part...
night-cycle...
listening to halcyon+on+on...
who? ******* orbital...
like i'm john peel and supposed to know...

aber, mein gott! what advancements!
in gaming! exactly! in gaming!
internet gaming dynamic has...
wow!
           i missed the best part of silent hill...
oh... **** me... i remember tenchu vol. 1
and metal gear solid vol. 2...
boys remember those games like any
idiot associates chess...
to something...

i hate living with my parents...
i'm their *******, slave...
but i'm also not paying rent,
so it's a Chinese hitch-e-hi... ******* "surprise":
just waiting... for the irch kids to get
their face-lifts... wait a minute...
wait... perhaps like a tsunmi:
they'll arrive... unsuspected...
quasi-surprise...
whatever... they're there... ignorant
right sort of bollocking... humour me dear
he! heeee! long smile: remember that:
that long schmile! heeee! lovely E...
it's a ******* smile! o.k.?!
you're pandering you ****! ergo?!
pander!
you want your skull to be part
of the great wall of XINA?! go ahead
you ******* numbskull... talll... massive...
ergo bully? the Chinese emperors were like
the Egyptian Pharoahs...
******* karakans... midgits...
sort of people... people of power... sure...
but sort of... underwhelmed...
oh look! "'hing pops up in deutsche!"
hing, wong, hang, 'ing...
these days, what does it matter?!
zwergemensch!
   lilly-put... i don't need not German for
this... the little people!
the ******* bash-abouts...
thanks, my grandfather's death...
was... so so... you know sort of.. choke
the ******* dragon and the billionth of your kind
sort of happy! for me!

****, you! eat ****... die a diabolical death!
******* squinty eyed no-mother-*****!
squid eating ***** of a fake tan...
no... Arab camel jockey ******* no goody-goody...
too gooey-gooey?!
WAW what ******* RAW?!
oh but i'm ready...
give me the opportunity and i will be...
the best...
schutz-staffel-mann... the world... has ever seen...
i'll even wave "them" a bye bye...
when they enter the chom... chim... chum... cham...
chem... hmm...
zee! ah! ha ha! zee schornstein!
- and there i was thinking...
why is my surname so funny...
******-Stalin / -esaue...
people add... are you alert?!
i always forget... no... it's German...
Elert is missing E-S-C-H-L-E-R-T...
it's... Eślert... oh... right... you're ING-LEASH...
sort of backwards... the Welsh might...
not your kind... i was never for interracial
breeding of people... dilutes the blood...
most certainly disorientates the ingestion
of language... sorry, what?!

to reiterate: i'm no gamer, i'd rather read a book
thana play a narrtive-charged game...
i'm more into the evolution of the game per se,
something with the alias of chess...
the internet interaction of group-"think"...
i like teaming-up with people...
a clarity of objectives... beacons...

capturing them...
you know how that helps? working in a real
life environment...
via STATS...
WAR ROBOTS was great... prior to...
the Kazakhs, the Russians, the Chinese buying into
the game...
i don't gamble, you think i might invest
money into a game?! huh?! huh?!
yeah, like maybe next year...
WAR ROBOTS was great, before the pay-up
glitches started...
MECH ARENA... now we're talking...

wins / battle ratio...
272 / 508... so that's... 53%... decent...
mech catalogue...
there's always a method to the madness...
killshot - to capture the beacons...
& wreck havoc...
panther - to ****** out the competition...
paragon - armed with the seeker
missile javelins...
close combat, though...
guardian + pulse canon 9
ares + plasma canon 6...

                            i'm not a gamer...
i'm just relearning partnering-up... team work...
sorry, if it might come across as too crude...
TWIST THE KNIFE -
****** DEATH.. hello! sunshine!

yeah... i still live with my parents...
but... they have paid off their mortgage...
i sort of helped them in that...
am i cunting myself
to some Pakistani landlord?!
high-priest of Rotherham?!
buzz word for 2022... NO!

Living on the borderline,
I’ll tell you I’m fine,
But really I’m broken inside,
Scared and living life inside the lines.

My friends don’t understand,
Employers will say your not fit for this role,
I’ll nod my head and walk away without a sound.
Because the truth is I am not fit for this world,
I’m too ill for society yet not ill enough for hospital.
Labelled as unstable and stigmatised as dangerous.

My psychiatrist will tell me I’m not trying hard enough yet 10 minute appointments won’t show you much.
You don’t see my pain, you don’t see my strengths,
lost in a world that doesn’t make sense.

The world isn’t built for people like me, lost, confused and riddled with anxiety,
I might be living in extremes
But don’t be discouraged,
I can love you intensely,
Please give me the courage.

Wondering if I shall ever be ok?
Scared and alone,
Cowering in shame,
Feeling like I’m on a decline,
living life on the borderline.