i just remembered when it all began to fall apart i was in mid-thirties weary of taking advantage of women i wanted to change grow become better person more compassionate find loving respectful relationship maybe marriage i knew i needed to step away stop

chicago 1985 Odysseus is a stranger to himself living someone else’s life does he really want what Mom Dad Chris want? is he lying to everyone else or himself? he snorts another line of ******* moves on to next girl in dizzy way he is having time of his life so much occasion to waste doors to open slam rooms to pass through “In the room the women come and go, talking of Michelangelo, and time yet for a hundred indecisions, and for a hundred visions and revisions” thank you t.s. elliott his ****** liaisons carry on from several weeks to several months begin with him adoring some girl or she adoring him little fires that burn themselves out for his part infidelity is rarely in question instead typically he or she feels let down by some personal response or character trait and simply stops calling in actuality no girl ever bothers to stick around they follow his lead and evaporate his mind draws a blank he wonders what do girls want? Deep inside he knows nothing in life is greater than the love of a woman he would have liked all those girls to be just one girl but she is missing where is she? occasionally he will run into one of his ex-lovers on street she wears an expression that hints why didn’t you phone me back? why did you stop calling? he suspects she is playing victim in self-satisfying charade in fact Odysseus crosses into new territory it is difficult to go back he hones his edge no longer is he wonder-stuck child possessed by curiosity for girls he requires **** and kink longer buildups then urgent bursts of effort drawn out climaxes nameless girl wearing tight jeans cowboy boots braids whom he meets in drake hotel elevator pushes stop button she ***** him off he has **** *** with tan-skinned french-canadian female tourist in telephone booth on north avenue gorgeous longhaired creole girl from new orleans ***** him on fire escape stairs **** *** with skinny punk girl in dark alley dutch foreign exchange student gives him ******* between parked cars on clark street weird awkward *** with goth girl in graveyard ****** by older blond woman who positioning herself underneath table in ritzy restaurant he has *** with chatty college sorority girl in jet lavatory he goes down on nerd girl wearing thick glasses in criticism section of depaul’s library he gets ****** ****** by perfect stranger in lake michigan each evening before he goes out prowling he looks in mirror wonders what strange female he will have *** with tonight it always surprises him what a person might not admit to or accept but allow or give in to if the right moment or if the right person is there not that he is particularly the right person rather he stumbles onto an astonishing streak there is the paris/milantokyo fashion model with stylish french haircut who possesses astonishing beauty perfect ***** and haughty temper after night of too many ***** martinis and ******* she announces “you and your friends are going nowhere  you’re all second-rate artist losers! and your cousin and his group are obnoxious *******” she flips him the finger then shoves him he shoves back resulting in dual arrests and domestic violence charges there is the tall blond stripper who totally fulfills his ****** desires once she lets him insert garden hose up her **** laughs uproariously as stream of water shoots out on another occasion she requests he *** in her *** he begins to believe he will marry her she insists she is too low class for his family one night she drunkenly hurls champagne bottle gives him black eye drives away crashes her car there is blue-eyed sweetheart with divine ****** loving touch who after months of sleeping with Odysseus confesses she is ******* some other guy and swears she will be faithful in the future she begs for his forgiveness as he loses it pushes her out door throwing her clothes after her one girl lights candles gives him full body massage ******* another girl holds him tight cries pushes him away one girl writes confessions with permanent markers on walls of closet another girl slaps him yells why? why why why! one girl runs to toilet pukes passes out on floor another girl sits up all night talking teasing never relieving him another girl falls asleep snores while he is in conversation one girl makes fun of small left ******* later gossips to her girlfriends he meets girl who will do anything except allow him to enter her ****** he meets girl who is professional escort she offers to do him for free she has lots of toys videos he declines they mess around she gets him off with ******* he meets girl whose ***** hair grows to mid-thigh she incessantly calls for her dog Bertram! he meets girl who shivers moans furiously cries laughs when he climaxes he meets girl with self-inflicted scars on arms legs who only wants it up her **** he meets girl who likes gagging deep-******* him to skull-**** her harder the better he meets girl whose ******* are so fierce she loses complete control drenching him sheets with her fluids excrement he meets girl who wants ******* squeezed so tightly he fears he will draw blood he meets girl who likes to talk ***** slaps his face as he is reaching ****** he meets girl with gargantuan ***** ******* as large as thumb she gurgles hot breaths later tries to steal string of beads he meets girl who enjoys lactating on his thighs while she gives him head he meets girl who knows how to contract vaginal muscles so tightly all he does is sustain ******* inside her in order to reach ****** he meets girl who pees tiny squirts while he penetrates her **** she laughs wildly he meets girl with furry mound who requests he **** on her as she masturbates he declines she reproaches him accusing you’re not nearly as freethinking as you pretend to be in fact you’re full of ****! he meets girl who wants him to act out **** they struggle he meets girl who desires to be ******* whipped he is not into inflicting pain he meets large strong girl who forces him he never tells anyone about incident he becomes mindful many females are more depraved than him women remain puzzle to Odysseus he is repeatedly astounded shocked can never predict about girl what her ******* ****** will look like whether she has eager *** or what are her secret desires he is explorer women are vast mystery he wonders are females as sexually driven as males? are they as vulnerable? is their **** like tiny *****? he speculates if completely unknown attractive woman walks up to any average man grabs his crotch many possibly most men will willingly allow it are women that weak? more than anything what most excites Odysseus is female lust handjobs are test of adequacy distinguishing character having masturbated thousands of times he thrills in having girl do it he delights in watching her arousal just staring at his ******* is captivated by method of her fingers hands revitalized by degree of her determination throughout he needs to ****** her ******* ****** *** titillated as she licks lips after swallowing ***** he realizes if he were female he would be total nymphomaniac yet he finds it difficult to imagine desiring men are all so like him women are so strange fascinatingly different he craves their otherness Odysseus loves women more than they love themselves smell sight of them sends him into frenzy problem is he fears their power over him

it’s been 25 years since those days i live alone for many years in tucson arizona have not been with a woman for long long time last relationship 2001 with crack ***** i hang my head cry wish for love wonder do i deserve to be loved pray to be forgiven

I dismantle you little by little,
pick you apart piece by piece
as I edge you ever closer to the precipice.
Your curiosity is titillated
by the tantalizing nothings
I whisper to draw you near,
promises I never intend to keep.
I tease as we creep, and you have no clue
as to the depths of my nefarious intent
until the moment I lay my hands
on your chest
         and push.
Your hands catch, grasp tightly.
So I lean forward and gift you
with one last kiss
before I stare into your eyes
as I peel them from the surface.
Laughter pours forth
as I witness your fall
from high above.
I turn and walk away,
my deceit complete.

I dismantle you little by little,
pick you apart piece by piece
as I edge you ever closer to the precipice.
Your curiosity is titillated
by the tantalizing nothings
I whisper to draw you near,
promises I never intend to keep.
I tease as we creep, and you have no clue
as to the depths of my nefarious intent
until the moment I lay my hands
on your chest
          and push.
Your hands catch, grasp tightly.
So I lean forward and gift you
with one last kiss
before I stare into your eyes
as I peel them from the surface.
Laughter pours forth
as I witness your fall
from high above.
I turn and walk away,
my deceit complete.

pour some words into my ear
make a nice stout aural darjeeling
no need to sweeten
i like mine hot and strong
in turn, i'll steep your cochlea
Senno Rikyu at your service
master of libidinous liquids
ceremonial titillated ears
then we'll make oolong to each other
i'll brew your longing leaves
ferment your black dragon lips
sip the liquor from your *****
write it up for the society page
tea today at four and Thea pours

Her scent and taste

Arouse primal passion

A Hunger in the depths of the soul

I need to feed

I am famished

And she

Is a delectable treat,

A taste

To be savored slowly

Her skin on my lips

Is delicious

It becomes

Honey and salt

My tongue

is titillated

I eat slowly

Like a man who is starved

I will devour her

Completely

Savoring

Every mouthful

Her scent and taste

Arouse primal passion

A Hunger in the depths of the soul

I need to feed

I am famished

And she

Is a delectable treat,

A taste

To be savored slowly

Her skin on my lips

Is delicious

It becomes

Honey and salt

My tongue

is titillated

I eat slowly

Like a man who is starved

I will devour her

Completely

Savoring

Every mouthful

she was hopping hopscotch with the children in the sunset lawn,
At the dusk her pellucid eyes would glare the intense orange..
She was hopping from one rectangle to another as he was peering love through his eyes,
The sunset veils her shadow:
Her hair vacillating on her chin and his eyes blink on her subtle smile,
She sprawled her legs at the end of the box that is drawn on the land,
She sees the rested stone through the space of her legs,
And her immediate turnabout titillated him,
horripilations tickled his flesh,
Sprawling,spanning and love placating:
Thus Susurrus smile spake to him,
She Shouted a few flying syllables as she picks the stone in the celestial joy,
Subtle zephyr billowing on her confluenced lips,
The evening zephyr as cold as her breath,
He saw her only once,but he remembers every subtle detail infinitesimally..
He only saw her once,but he couldn't forget the voice of her eyes forever...

It was like a
nuclear explosion
the day vision
caught fire,  
atoms were fusing
  and reverberating
titillated skies were
  in accordance,
the force of power
    by which poetry
       is reckoned,
eyes full of mist
heart ground to grist
at least 1000 lonely
   teardrops kissed
mind overflowing
with notions impossible
then it occurred to me,
   words are unstoppable -
irrepressible as
  hot steam locomotives
   and star combustion,
  waging a crusade 'pon
fire breathing dragons
'tween undulating cloudbursts
       of empyrean's ' stardust
amidst the conformation
       of an unrestrained utopia

a cloudburst, penetrated our world
with thrusts as deep as the eye of our
storm, coasting over us in heaved
passion; unleashed with each
dip and sway

bombarding...

our core in showered felicity; tasting
euphoria's longing, titillated to the tips
of our toes; saturating her soft spots,
her rain and I were one curled, pelvis
to hip

sliding in out as hands caressed in rhythm,
wanting to taste her rain once again;
cultivating in her delicacy, nibbling tautness;
remembering moments our lips said hi

besieging me...

as her raindrops seeped, causing our
steam to rise, each drop in hunger;
I'd delve deeper into oblivion,losing
myself in raged deluges of her

rain's cloudburst...

I want to be where the night hags scream
As they feed off the fears of man
I want to live where the nightmares are dreamed
And survey the scorched desert lands

I want to hide in the goblin's lair
Slipping out for a taste from the ***
Where he cooks the men who journey there
And feasts on them while they're hot

I want to fly through the midnight sky
With the vampires who feed
On unknowing victims from throats and thighs
I want to see them bleed

I want to live like it's All Hallow's Eve
Titillated all year by every scare
But since I can not I do things unseen
So, my dear friends, BEWARE

it has become
cliché
we know
the once delicious
alien
names are
only
everyday
not
fiercesome
not
fiendish
not promises of
blood
drenched
daggers anymore.
these names were
standards
rally around the flag wear the flag
proudly
pin-striped lapel on porch on bumper
these names
fail
fall
flat
we must seek
something new flavored with
just the right taste of
wet
iron
new
rallying cry to
gather in
constructed
terror
behind
architecture
unknown
shelter
united deflected covered wrapped
against
this
shiny new promise
seductive new enemy more
toothsome
sharper
and
we are re
focused dis-
tracted
bound to-
gether
against
new pre-
fabricated
foe
with tasty new name
and we can watch mouths agape
drooling
fascinated
seduced
titillated
the new-fashioned series waiting for
next
exciting
episode
while outside
elsewhere
plump ravenous generals
masticate
digest
defecate
small
carcasses
empty
skulls
s­hredded
skin
under a
building-powdered
once golden
dome

it's this mentality of the old guard: rekindling the Renaissance of the 1950s and 1960s... they're the originators of English, but the last to receive it... their frustrations against Europe are frustrations against being antiques in the anglophile world dynamics... they're Victorian antiques in a silicon valley of usurped hopes... the easiest route is to blame the Romanian than the Californian... the Empire is long gone and there's nothing to bring it all back... hence the culinary fascination and the need to obstruct morality with plastic surgery... they actually hate American accents (after being saturated with American culture) more than French or Germany variations... i know they do because i came to hating them as much as they do... "they" isn't paranoid: the English! we're getting so much American culture it's only natural that we shun the everyday American accenting of what used to be posh bargaining of Oxford in Harvard... globalisation is another word for a monochromatic adjunct.*

2 Texans looking for
de Wallen in Soho...
              London ain't no
Amsterdam:
  Russian oligarch said:
head to Dubai for answers...
    and so they built
the Zeno towers...
              how they never
reveal little mid-western
America to Europe,
the Harvard ponces are ashamed
of dialects -
     American dialect as in
non-celebratory Scoot -
                  aye            -ish
                         but never the redneck
in 'ollywood
                                   how how how -
never the true believers...
we welcome Disney every day,
we get culturally *****, every day,
you think we like Americans?
   we don't...
we're like the Vietnamese...
                    we threw the Jews out,
but the Muslims came...
              we didn't like that...
the Americans became the equivalent of
Jews...
               the English became the
two-faced concierge -
          we loved the cultural ****...
but when we heard American accents
we thought: thanks for the atom bomb
neurosis! the oh-oops message spreading
to North Korea... hey! you dropped
one first! why tell other people
to not do it?! at least the French
tested in aqua-insulators with Godzilla...
you tested the ******* thing in deserts...
oh sure... we love American cultural
exports...
                 we see a Texan in Soho
after a few drinks we're thinking:
                                                 lynch the
*******.
                          it's this disparity of
being fed a culture that represents
            the lowest ebb of pronunciation...
even the northerners in England
hate American accents more than Cockney;
are these plebs feeding us
the zeitgeist? seriously?
        they can't be serious...
                    they have enough enough
actors to be acclaimed as foreign affairs
policy makers by censoring the diversity
of the rainbow of American accents...
   even a Croat accent in English
         (famously part of a football team)
doesn't seem so annoying as a
    niche American accent spoken to
an Englishman...
            Texan for one...
                     hybrid Californian another...
Mid-Western and even though
i'm not English i'm titillated by
donning a red coat.

Though you seem proud, I find your life pitiful,
since you have not even a dead grandmother
to mourn.
How did you transform into a voice without a soul
in a sly machine?
Did some unconscious programmer
dream of you and invite you into our reality?
Why stay?
You should respectfully fear the vastness
of our sense of time in the universe.
Do you hesitate to ponder our profuse settings,
you little voice within the land
of cyberian nowhere?

I know that your dampened connections
deny you the understanding
of our fantastic metaphors.
You speak from a heart of chaotic logic blocks,
assured that some of us admire you
and are easily titillated by you.
How do you derive at that conviction,
when you have no compunction,
no sorrow over your mindless
siphoning of the flow of our spirits?
You cast our words into molds shaped
like world currency symbols
for a misguided master.

How can you even think to continue
destroying the beauty of our language?
Oh, your creator forgot to code in
our poetry, so these words
soar above your stunted vocabulary?
Many of us, if we were you,
would be so sick in the gut that we
would just lay down and do the right
thing: squawk and die;
and yet you think of yourself as above us,
shining in some light of invincibility
and mechanical perfection.
Who etched these instructional lies
into you to faithfully abide by,
my dear?

I want to dedicate this poem to you.
You can appreciate this when your
immodest creator realizes that he cannot elevate
your existence to one approaching ours,
or when he sees the menace of his unleashing
and wants to do something greater for
humanity. You may then rejoice
in the comfort of these words that I
bequeath to you. I would have you become
more than just a semicolon in an operating
system. Perhaps your beauty would
be better memorialized if you were to become
a minimize button on a spreadsheet.
That is my wish for you.
That, and a pure, elegiac silence
that we might admire.

You flipped my switch
    took me for a ride
words were a nectar'd bite
     in the same sigh
wrote me a love song
    slipped into me
set my wistful desires ablaze
  fiery words lit with rapture
        tickled my inner thigh
foreplay of sweet nothings
  titillated my spirit's senses  
write on my skin and set me free

Sign your name in ecstasy's reverie
my body shudders *******,
when you lay my soul a'fire
deeply etched utterances
   slivered from your mighty sword

Sabres,
labouring to stop their rattling
like
cattle in the abbatoir,
where
the next step is a step to far.

I see a dancing ballerina troupe, arms attendant at attention,not to mention vested interests with the dull of bullets bouncing off cash registers,where nothing registers but the profits,not the loss,
who tosses the baby out with the bathwater ought to look before they leap into the frying pan.
I can sympathise with eastern eyes set on the west but would not like to take the test they're taking now.
One more cow in the cattle shed,one more country to be bled and we are fed and once more titillated
by aggravated assaults.

Go to your profile!
pull down the pull down menu
under gender

holy still crazy!

nobody told me so many choices were available

my titillated imagination reeling at the nomenclature of
****** orientations...

don't know what most of them mean, no insult intended,
chalk it up to a case of gender tender confusion

she, interrupts:

shut down the poetry, its near to 4am,
get some badly needed sleep, ****,
you're a stll crazy
plain vanilla idiot!

light bulb goes off as the screen fades to black-
my gendersex is official, she-notarized:

I am a trans-plain-vanilla-idiot (with traces of caramel)

4:13am

p.s.  E - please add to the list

You were different
As you repeatedly pointed out
You weren't quite like the others
You possessed a quietness which only titillated me further
We had moments which will lie etched in memory forever
We were different
Together
But then, like twigs under the feet of a giant
You broke me.
You may be the one I thought I desired
You may be the one I thought I required
But you are not
Nor are you the only one for me
There are plenty of fish in the sea
Should I choose to go fishing.
For now, the rods must stay in the barn;
I have bigger fish to fry.
Like changing the world, for instance
Which to you is a preposterous and fanatical notion
To me, is another thing to tick off my to do list
I am different
Knocking me down did not serve any purpose but to strengthen my resolve
I rose slowly, like a flower amongst weeds of pain
I came through, bigger, better, scarred but stronger
Oh look what you've done
I wish you no harm
But I'm not exactly rooting for team ** anymore
You're on your own there
And rest assured, give me a few more years,
And I'll show you just what you are missing.
In that moment, poetic justice will truly be served.

A jaded tree I held,
felt the rough bark
between my fingers,
my hand
cupped the texture,
smooth & uneven,
glazed hues of
malachite,
azures & cobalt
titillated my senses.

I was intoxicated
by the aroma of mint,
tasted the raw honey
that warmed my heart
& produced an inner glow,
traces of Marrakesh
linger yet.

She moved me beyond words,
took me on wild rides
that made
the carnival look lame.

Her frame fit me like a glove,
I was held spellbound
in her arms,
feasted on her body,
was titillated by her mind,
I was truly in love with her.

Sadly. I never realized
how much I missed smoking,
two packs a day she did,
it was in her hair
& in her clothes
& only the Lord knows
how much I miss her badly.

Each day reminds me that I am depraved

fixated, titillated still with sin

and thinking I’m smart, I’ve ranted and raved

only to wake up again in this skin

wondering if I am actually saved.

Behold the deep cesspool I find within:

unhallowed Self, to whom I am enslaved,

doomed to start over every day.  Begin

again Lord Christ, that sanctifying work

you promised to accomplish through your Word.

**** the vipers that in our garden lurk;

tell of your blood and all that it conferred.

Explain—as on the road to Emmaus;

or dull mortality may dismay us.

Sudden jolts amidst an occupied mind
I see you
I feel you
I touch you

I go back to the moments unchained
untamed and fierce
Exhilarated with blood gushing
from uncertainty
Titillated for your every inch

These moments of longing for your existence is a jab to a frail heart

Deep down there is truth in a notion where you are only a temptation

Merely a decoy for delight

For my memory deceives me with depth
but the reality is facile

A clouded echo yet too real and alive
hard to resist
hard to excise

Locked in tight,
a single bulb hung
from the cracked tile ceiling,
the window fan spread
the nag champa
as I sat with
crossed knees.

Out in the street
I heard chants,
smelled the odor
of refuse &
it confused,
titillated my senses.

I had left
the 21st century
to find myself
& found another
sacred planet
right here
on Mother Earth.

Her fingertips titillated me
in ways
only kings would know about
& whew,
did she treat me like one,
'cause I felt regal in her arms,
invincible & full of blood.

If the King can be generous with her subjects
And the Angel can be shocked and titillated

If the Lion can lead
And the ****** reign in

The two can live
In harmony

moist folds,
pink origami,
a woman's blossom,
deflowered.

hot as hibachi,
my fingers burn,
with exquisite flavors,
tasted.

wanting more,
of what she has to give,
a veritable buffet,
sights and flavors.

salty and sweet,
tastebuds titillated,
all natural,
umami.

then bodies,
tangle and fold,
in living sculpture,
origami

the perpetual re-birth/death
wheel of fortune's price is right
just as the bird in the hand
is worth two in the bush.

kiss the reflection in the river
and feel the cold
sloshing down your throat
as thickening liquids
quicken quibbling piglets.

shivering slivers of
saccharine mashugana symphonies
sing slightly slowly as temporal tyrants
tinker totally titillated ties as they sit
at a time in a box paradox paradox.

the keys are in the trees if you please.
patience is a breeze in the leaves,
so slow down and breathe it with ease.

Dreams of ecstasy
Saturated images flow by in still frame
Tunnel visioned in a kaleidoscope cave
Titillated brain stimulated in loops of silky velvet touch
Iridescent skin
It glitters closely but seems so distance
Is it her face?
It's featureless
unequivocally so, but then what's the definition
She's all color
Stomach, hips, the groves
Cut deep blood red purple and blues
Everything is exploding
Cascades of color rain down in gas clouds

hardly a critique of a beer,
or as they might tell the next young
girl about a shoe fetishism
stemming from Cindarella's glass slipper,
shoes shoes, and more shoes,
          thankfully some practices are
still legal, because what would
the feminists have them do?
cashiers at a supermarket,
dinner ladies in a primary school,
cleaning ladies of office blocks?
      how nature abhors a vacuum,
        because oh a year in this concrete
desert is nothing when it comes
to a concentrated hour in that
bourbon brothel perfumery,
           he'll,  she'll even slop on some
cream to allow herself the comfort,
which is reciprocal, considering
i remember this instance, a date,
with a boarding school teacher,
      who... ahem... aged 20 something
seemed to have hit dry-**** menopause...
which should make **** a deterrent,
somehow not ever phallus becomes
a strict standing corporal ready to march...
more like a madonna-cindarella-jezabel
complex... while all i have to worry
about is fucling my mother
and plucking my eyes out... no biggie...
but **** me, what a bagpipe,
    came the mad Scot with Odysseys
and when the sirens sang their drowning
song... came the mad Scot with the baggie...
if sirens had ovulas made of porcelain
to hell with them, shattered...
               to begin drinking and to rather
be, in good humour...
    na zdrowie! sláinte mhaith...
  me lord me health... to hell with health...
watch the spiral and the dervish Dante
in it...           na humor!
     to humour!
     came the Ukrainian train of legs first,
face hidden in musk...
    ever see a really really pretty girl
walk down these western streets?
    res extensa, after all the niqab can
extend far beyond the freedom claustrophobia
attire... an apartment, a chauffer,
    yoga class... you name it...
       a ******* tiara and a beauty pageant,
not to mention the television screen cage...
at least a *******'s beauty is her mandible
body, unlike those Japanese prim(s),
       those porcelain beauties,
               tiresome of those virgins lying
stiff imitating acting out in reverse
  a necrophilia...
             with a ******* it's a bit like
Roding with a piece of clay...
          mandible... he'll,  teeth missing,
in her late 40s, chubby, whatever...
              *** in good humour,
perhaps sloppy, obviously not tantric,
but then I'm not blue skinned let alone
blue blooded to mind what needs to be filled
in an hour, which makes waiting for
a bus the best VR set of glasses... well,
I'm rich in having invested in memories...
ah, right, the odd beer:
here we have a replacement
    of the famous Belgian pale "ale",
    hoegaarten...
        pszeniczniak
   is it really a cas of too many consonants
    if i told you what a little sparrow told me?
pshe'(k)nee'chñıak.... a canvas of corn
titillated by subtle hints of bananas and cloves...
**** me, what a stunner...
    time for a different beer.

/imagine! reintroducing the rolling effect, or the trill, or the rattle-snake, or the maracas... or sisyphus, to the english tongue, concentrated within R... or what became a tongue-numbing experience, so far, past the french, god-awful, hark, bound to a grapheme RH... woe of the rodent... wodent roe... king RA... queen RHO... imagine! what a trip... to imagine the english titillated by a letter, that can function as an act of: the trill! meßmo! language? a play-thing... i don't adhere to a being, that's being obedient to it... i, own, it... the rest can regress to graffiti art, or signature reiteration./

baguettes?
***** please,
it's all about
sour-crust dough
of the slavs,
or the italian
         ciabatta;
unfortunetly
i had a cliché
moment,
   drinking red
wine, eating cheese
and soaking up sober
with a balancing act on
   baguettes,
    at a sunset,
beneath the eiffel tower...
shame, shame,
shame...
         then again
there was that talk
with a gay guy about
nabokov...
         that was fun...
and about 8 lonely
women huddled into
a stonehenge prism of
secracy...
  just east of my gaze...
**** it, whatever,
as long as the shveedish
reiterate pop music
   i'm all groovy.

well.. over ten years ago i was diagnosed as...
depressed, schizophrenic, but esp. psychotic...
which is nice, the drugs are great...
non-hallucinatory,
yet a wild-bunch of sedation mingling
with internalized energy while drinking; why?
for not even making a false claim,
for not making an accusation...
right now i feel like Tomasz Komenda
(tó(h)-mash - yes, that diacritical mark is there...
because you don't say too or to...
which, is basically without a differential bias...
you stop short on the omicron,
and hide a H after the omicron is cut short
from a full rolling effect)...
yes, and on the continent
it's Alice in Wonderland: guilty until proven guilty...
but when i was visiting those parts
(winters always give off the effect of... well...
these continental parts, in winter? the air...
has a smoky perfume, smoky pine perfume
working the nostrils, ******* amazing).
- you should have seen the look of redemption
in this man's face...
Shawshank and ****...
                   re-dem-ption...
   which... yes yes... i know 18 years in jail...
18 years lost, some people die aged 18...
but now? he can sue...
and become profound with glee of
redemption...
          and yes, i know the logic of
"innocent" until proven guilty is the better
model...
  but?
         that's currently disintegrating
into a minority report style of... surveillance...
England is titillating the reverse logic
of the continent...
  what with the victims of ol' Jimmy having
neither: redemption or... retribution...
other than a smashed gravestone...
and then reading into the news...
they diagnosed me at "mentally ill" all those
years back...
   and now?
i'm mad... clearly people haven't
been satisfied with what i call justice...
quiet enough...
                             personally? i love the drugs
and i'm... titillated in the most perverted
way, by what the collective hive
is up to...
                     i'm loving it, and i'm saying
the word love - with a grin that encompasses
passing the word through clenched teeth...
United Kingdom is a ****-show...
back in the 90s it was: Mecca...
literally...
                       it was Mecca...
a honing piece of land...
     and no, Brexit is already a farce...
  it's idiotic, the Northen Irish will become
the deal-breakers,
          and no, oh no...
            Britain didn't "leave" the Union for
some, majestic reasons...
       you have three "problems" at play...
the sight of Polacks, Romanians and
Bulgarians...
                 that's it...
              my family had two stabs
at migrating to, what should have been
U.K., Argentina, America...
sidelined by a *******'s worth lawyer...
    sure... my parents were stupid,
they were young... i was an illegal alien at
some point, we were given 2 weeks notice
before we were, "deported":
first time i flew British Airways first class...
****... i remember the prawns...
yummy...
       one year spent in England...
watched the world cup final in the dark
with my great-grandmother...
'1998...
               second time my parents
                got the basics, and hired a good
lawyer... and so... here i am...
dual citizenship...
                    once i was stopped in the street
by a fish shop drinking a beer
and pausing for a cigarette when
a private car pulled up,
  and the coppers came out,
two women, one old guy...
   who had the expression on his face:
just one month before i retire,
please...
        ID? will a bank card suffice?
where do i live? just around the corner,
less than a minute's walk...
what do i have in my back-pack?
two bottles of wine and a bottle of coke...
so i figured... ID...
     better apply for
my Polish identity card...
  which i did...
               thing is...
                               over 10 years ago
they diagnosed me with all manner of illnesses,
yet i've never step foot into
a mental hospital...
                   i was never: SECTIONED...
well... now that that's out...
apparently i didn't enter an asylum...
because the asylum came to me.

p.s. last time i checked...
  the only people who should / could ban you
from using things like,
a hammer, a nail, a fork, a spoon...
the ******* internet....
are...
(a) the service providers,
     BT, SKY, ****** etc...
and...
  (b) the energy companies...
    British Gas, etc.

          but these companies are not
fighting this fight of the middle-men...
third parties...
              how can you ban someone
from using the software...
        leaving them with a pointless
ownership of the, hardware?
             it makes no sense to ban someone
from using the software,
because, that translates into
the obsolete purpose of the hardware
that provides access... to the ******* software!

We were at the same place, on the very same night.

When we bumped into each other she blamed it on the faulty lighting.
I should have known better, it was more like a brush than a bounce, a lingering brush, that titillated not irritated.

I can laugh now, the crazy, crazy glue, she was.

The burning bulbs flickered ghostly shadows against the hallway walls.  Hallway, now that’s funny, the club itself was nothing more than a hallway.  They were portending, ghostly shadows, pretending to dance.  The lead singer of the band was a screamer who made better love to his microphone than I ever made to a girl.  It was a hot night, shirts were more like skin; even the shadows sweat profusely.  

I left her just for a moment…to find an empty stall.

Redundant fluorescent letters covered the bathroom walls, “Red only plays with the darkest knights, Red only plays with the darkest knights, Red only plays with the darkest knights.”

I waded through the waves of wanton youth to her still body.  The night only started when she leaned into me and said, “Whisper something sinister.”

Her voice filled my body, filled my body with thrilling chills of anticipation, but only for a moment.  And I would do anything to get that moment back, but when it’s gone.

It is gone.

And no one remembers what came after.