You, you had me hooked from the very first, the very first moment,
Stories of Peter Pan running in my head,
We flew away and had times of the greatest value,
Now here I am, stuck in this tragic place,
Under the ground of a trainstation,
Like the punished soul of that Anna you missed,
A russian girl you'll never forget.

You, you had me hooked from the very beginning,
Our eyes met only for a short recognition,
Only then I knew who she was to you
And what I meant all along.

There is darkness, and then there is utter darkness.

In this pristine atmosphere I have crossed my legs, clasped my hands and placed them in between openings. My eyes follow suit. I am in the pyramid black and yet I don’t feel lost. I am here amongst the burning wild bushes of thought. These are fires dying animals gravitates toward. In this day and age, we long for more fires rather than water to nurture our dried out hearts.

There’s a drought.

I try not to feed it. And so I stay here, not perturbed in the least. What was I thinking? A beautiful young girl all the way in Afghanistan. I’d like to hear her whisper sweet nothings into my ear. No. Wait. I think I can hear the bombs now. A voice that slithers through nearby carts rushing past on freshly built railroads. A trainstation of the mind.

Often, I feel my body contorting itself into the youthful rage I once loved. And by love, I mean grew truly comfortable about. Comfort is a great ecstasy.

I am no writer.

I have no motive.

I sat at the trainstation at 7am and the temptation to jump under the train was so great I nearly did
But I couldn’t because I forgot my shoes at your place and I had your smokes and key in my pocket
The security walked past me and tears ran down my face making the path for more of them to travel down
I got on a train and it was cold I didn’t want to sit in the quiet carriage I rested my head on a window
I cried rain but then sun shined and maybe it was going to be all right people talked about their lives I heard them
And then I cried again
And again
And again
And again
And I still do I wish it stopped but
I want someone to really care about me or maybe just like me a little that would be great as well
Im sorry I’m such a **** person.

hey

it seems that im back here again at the place we used to call ours
i still call it ours because no one really comes up here and i know this because i go up here everyday after school
i know it's been months but i still love the view just as much. it's peaceful u here and it's getting cold but dont worry, i carry my jacket around like you always used to remind me to- i miss you
there's a lighter in my hand, it looks like the one from the day at the convenience store where you first talked to me-the black one with scribbles all over it-, remember? (do you even remember me?)
don't worry i stopped smoking a month ago- you've been telling me to quit ever since- so no, i didnt go up here to smoke
i guess i just like watching the flame flicker on and off; sometimes i burn things- dont worry it's harmless,i swear, though it does hold a certain sort of power, you know? once you light something up, it just sits there and detoriates then it's gone

it ***** how my mind's still stuck on you as if you never left, the memories are kept kindled
i keep looking back at our pictures, i still believe they can lead me to a trainstation or a bus stop for a detour back to everything
i dont know why i cant seem to stop- my friends think im over it
the thing is i tried getting over it but not really, just a halfway attempt
i met a guy twice, thrice and they'd last until i wanted them to (but i dont- time passes by fast and they start to irritate me sooner than later)
this makes me a sadist but i cant help it, the pain's deadly and i still relinquish on it
maybe it's my fuel, it keeps me alive

i gotta say you're really good at your thing- with the hiding and all- it's what made me look in to you the first place, your persistency and consistency (or i thought you were)- ignorning and disappearing
ive tried looking for you, keep hoping that i'd bump on you in the halls but i never really see you and you never come back up here-if you did, id know
i cant say that i 'loved' or 'love' you because i still dont believe in that fickle thing-infatuated, maybe
all i know is that i got attached and im left to suffer with this downfall. i knew it would end sooner or later, i knew you'd leave but i didnt expect you to be the one to go. tis is the only part of the story uncalled for-the begrudging plot twist

i should regret our paths diverging but i dont feel hatred towards you. im stuck living in the past, chasing ghosts of you and me, even now i still think it was worth it, ironic right?
maybe meaning's found in the fleeting
i no longer depend on cigarrettes but i still keep lighters in my pocket, with a flick i watch the flame because it reminds me of our times- it's so very much like the memories that cease to die; i cease to forget you
maybe in some way it can make up for a love lost
the fire reminds me to sta alive like how you used to- you were my fire

i guess i cant take you off my mind because you gave me something ive been deprived of-hope-when you held my hand in the alley, the warmth of your palm made me hope and only now do i realize that hope is a treacherous thing
now the night has reached its peak and i have to go, mom's going to be worried
i'd come back here tomorrow, i know you're not coming back at all
but i hold on,
to my lighters,
i hold on to hope

just in case

what am i with regards to language:
   another person -
             or some complex tool?
my grandfather is still bewildered
by invisible telecommunication
lines of connectivity -
and if philosophy begins with awe,
poetry - well hardly a bewildering
enterprise -
            back to language as a primitive
tool box -
         a shape ascribed to words -
rather than colours -
      take this one word:
   what shape would be ascribed
            to bewilderment?
           nouns are all straight lines?
and so unto bewildering-,
  are adjectives squares?
         there must be a grammatical
geometry of some sort -
otherwise how are we to compete
with the chinese encoding
complexity -
   if we are to return to such
openings of phonetic complexity
as Handel's messiah -
             while the chinese call themselves
Lee Chow - or Li Po?
              i'm buckling under the fact
that english speakers are literate in
that they are literate by some measure:
        odd...
         is language another person -
or as i like to think of it:
            a "primitive" toolbox of screws
nails, hammer and sickle...
better still: a scythe's shadowy peering
into the light...
            i think of death as with a hope
of immortality, armed with a hammer -
nailing each staff of wheat
               into place -
rather than: with a guillotine grin
marking each equal: before itself...
        i too wondered whether language
needs complicating -
     or whether at best: to simply grunt
and growl through...
       but that's beside the point when i
wonder that the brain: has no knowledge
of the tongue...
     how many times i've heard people
speak of: the eloquent thought,
coupled to a mumbling tongue...
   which is why: a cartesian dualism is hard
to fathom... summon Libra!
eternal Libra - nothing precipitates
to an equal fathom (unit of comprehensive
in situ) -
               there was and always will be
a dichotomy... hence the dualism advocates
invented the: schizoid mind...
   which is 2 x 2 = 4...
                     so is language not worth
complicating - after all, i have no other,
"greater" concern in using this: tool... person?
    can language really devolve
to scoop, or is it mere a shambles of
floating vegetables in a soup?
          drinking helps to numb the pain...
oh how friendly to return to
   a pseudo-incubation of sheltered
ego-foetus...
            ego... foetus...
               it must be an echo from the future
shouting: right back at me...
    for not having a memory of
being a tad bit tadpole: foetus -
  here - said god: i give unto you ego...
and thought - your 2nd womb...
         and for the love of god:
so few images have been ingested with
words, having to weigh the ******
obvious, smirk of science.
   of what i've seen of Warsaw i remember
not too dearly -
           the Warsaw Central Trainstation:
a barren place... a beautiful girl engrossed
in techno-attachments -
   the capital with so few people -
          a sight of a head with thinning hair -
if only: the apocalyptic
                  baldness of a Golgothan scalp...
then i could: smirk and retort -
last man standing is never the king...
perhaps a pawn, a bishop, queer or rook...
i laid my king into a pocket rather
than a coffin...
          last time i checked i was able to
numb mein schmerz with the antic of
sleeping for 14 hours...
            and can you believe it that:
graphemes are needed?
               the germans require S C H
to utter the same sound as the Poles do
with S Z and the English do with S H...
  some spaces ought to enforce
the Siamese dictum of Roman hellish
spawns...
                  because what is language at
best?at best it's not another person -
but a tool, however primitive language
not looks compared to <code> ext .2
practice...
                or that techno-puritanical posture
without a glum book...
                   either i am using a hammer
as i use my tongue to babble or lick -
    otherwise...
             a sickly simplicity?
  - and words do have grammatical geometry!
clearly, a verbum similis changes
shape: from the form
           bewilderment -
    through to (to) bewilder -
   into bewildering -
        otherwise named from an observation:
the genius monkey who said:
   (that) thing makes be more wild
   in temperament...
      and open: the universe -
   and closed the sight of stars in an
oxygen tank...
            for i am sure -
of a satanic possession that stirrs the mass -
as i am sure: god took a seat back -
what proof?
                  home bid yet homeless -
in the same station, a gradfather watched
his grandchild taunt a pigeon -
in her arm no breadcrumbs but only
a wish: perish: or perch here...
       i am blind to see past only
two existential arches: types -
  winged or horned -
    and beyond that: a zoo -
    something daunting to clarify with
an intelligent discussion...
      so is language another person -
or a tool?
                may i be understood
or must i necessarily be: standing ground -
never aloof - never fascinated
with an attic?
                am i to always lounge with
an antithesis of friction?
                 - and that's what sitting on
the throne of thrones does to you with
a dollop of Heidegger -
             yes, dropping a name -
but it would be hard to accomplish what
i am strumming without a mention of
what "mirror"-psyche i looked into,
before i looked into mine...
      it would be hard to digest myself
as being this complicated,
   on an a priori whim...
                  as if it was worth a base of:
uniform humanity -
    sooner finding an answer concerning
the existence of a mole looking
into one's own ****:
     and only one act is left with an
impossibility -
    the mole is as certain to exist
as a floating **** in the oasis -
   but my ***: might as well be
the regurgitating mouth...
         - and for all the beauty -
  it's crasness that shines for man -
                   to have to educate foul
speech is one thing -
              but to have to use it:
                 a lesson in liberty...
               besides - never mind "educators"
outside educational institutions -
     the muse: gratifyingly ends -
    but unlike a sense of accomplishment
a reader ascribes to having finished
   a historical novel...
     saying that - what is below a poem?
a novella -
      at least i can be honest -
the novella can only be dwarf of a Goliath:
the height of Goliath's armpit hair...
         BUT TO THINK I HEAR WHISPERS
IN MY DREAMS!
     who was the original iconoclast?
       "paradoxically": Medussa...
      enshrining them into stone -
        the word is odd - to make icons -
      ah... ****: tribe -
                caste - to caste is to make -
         again why the Americans don't know
that the suffix -cicki is actually slang for:
*******... i.e. **** - well, piquant zingy -
for the original ingests cycki...
         never mind nationalkapitalismus -
the nakies?
          because obviously it's not just:
nappies, is it?
        big baby was told it could poach
bacon instead of frying it?
                           evidently we can't complain -
unless of course we care to be
both nationalists and capitalists
  at the same time: as the English found
out the hard way...
                       but little Joey and big Sam
can be: national capitalists...
                   the rest just sign of
whether they're capitalists or nationalists -
since, outside of h'america:
   the two are never supposed to meet.

such a beautiful jumble of thoughts:
come the night
i don't want to the last time i will see
marijunana see daylight:
just like the apples my father plucked
from the tree in the garden
reality check...
it was real...   what a beautiful jumble
of thoughts: thoughts and oughts...
not so binary?
maybe 7000 miles apart dearest girl
and the iron maiden you sent
my ego into...
but...
now i tell you as man among angels
and demons: YHWH is also said:
JE CHOWA: he who hides them:
the women...
so well that now they torture men with
so much exposed flesh...
then hide them in winter
and Islam...
religion is too rigid
science is imitation of religion
but there's no realistic:
dogmatism of science
outside of the method:
and the method is rather simple:
but belief is complex...

god to angels
a required sought song...
god is a cognitive architecture
not a psychology
god is also nothing
and nothing is also a cognitive architecture
it's not a person
and certainly only Jesus...

had a thought about Nietzsche
roaming the continent
imagining a dancing star
and ****** and Ghandi was right:
for 2000 years the Europeans
glorified the name of Jesus Christ
and now they'll glorify the name
of Adolph ******...
well? seriously? isn't it an amazing story?

the will to strife is the will to strive:
power is secondary...
there is no will in power:
power is the sound that comes
after the aeroplane in the sky
echo boom
the will to strive and to strive
is like light
and power comes second like
genius of an equation
Eschlert = Matthew + Conrad...
weird...      square myself schizoid and
discover dementia
and abstract brain damage
Joseph Martin and Me
because Miroslav belongs to Eva
and Eva is the 1/4: one quarter the QUA
not the QUO                     vadis:
qua: as i am: going somewhere:
i don't need anyone to ask me...
she's a difficult mother
i think like Reyla i don't feel hungry...

god is a cognitive architecture
and nothing is a cognitive architecture
and not the first and ultimate
person:
upon meeting the mortals gaining access
through the grace of death
come to meet the immortals
who some were born of Fire
some were born of Air...
there is no question about the superiority
of the Elements...
until the Hebrew god came
Allah took the easy route...
and tried to imitate Adonai...
the will to strife is the will to strive:
power comes second...
how did he travel north
and settled his people in Poland:
who was that second Moses
i'm not allowed to hear of?
why isn't Jewish history in the mainstream
were you oh you
waiting for me? the Holocaust happened
after i arrived:
but i arrived with Chernobyll:
yes, poet-bouncer, backgammaon enthusiant
cage of chess comparison:
fate a game: trying to put chance
and luck into strategy...
her god fears me...
that's why i'm hearing all these geniuses
in the air:
her god fears me...
i can sense that...
her god fears me:
because i did say to her:
i also fear a god:
but it's not your god:
i thirst:
a blood that's water that's knowledge...

i wrote that sentence and realised
my cat is trying to fall alseep:
me made a pact...
don't snuggle to me...
i will have one side of the bed:
you have the other side...
use the pillows if you must...
we... don't... ******* snuggle!

Oasis reformed... 2025(6)
i probably won't be here...
i'm still listening to the best band in the industry
that will not be exported like Rammstein
i wish... i wish Faun could be exported better...
i like archeological music...
that's what's or was out countries
before the great funnel experiment...
like a 2nd Mongolian Horde... you what?!

your god fears me...
doesn't?                                 no...          
but does he fear my god?
i too have a god...
                                    i don't know his name!
i'm looking for him!
i'm the Nietzsche in reverse...
he came to a church
with encore and wind
and i couldn't just say it was Jesus
so i didn't ask: kept my mouth shut
and just ran out...
of the church:
exactly!
what if that experience happened to me
in a Mosque or a trainstation
of a Synagogue... Liverpool St.:
god i love that station...
and Baker Street... two of my favorite stations
on the London Liver and St Pancreas...
something something..
organic in inorganic...
how life begins...

start early finish early:
doctor's appointment 10:50am doubled up
cycled, checked...
in person... telephone too expensive
and not everyone is on Whatsapp...
then for whiskey and some vit juice
and sparkling water:
if not on the moon then in
an aquarium... i promise you...

something's wrong with my bicycle:
it's brand new!
brand new!

the northern, crusades!
******, Communism,
decadeance of foreign *******
being the kings of Poland:
Poland's concept of
autocracy... kings... queens...
what the **** happened?
not ****** enough no Windsor
goldfish eyes
and the Hapsburg jaw?
not enough ****** power struggles:
the Windsor goldfish eyes
and the Hapsburg jaw?
oh Poland was a brothel for the kings
of Europe...
what better queen to start off with
than Jagiełło í Jadwiga

       yes.... in ****** í               í
not: pieg...              i added that distinction to assure you:
í: in English: and... is a conjunction...
so... pay... attention...
dear... child... before... i...
turn... into a... berserker!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

let's not be: lazy like the English
and keeping all the Latin
letters and not being: immersive...
hmm... other adjectives, qualities:
let's not be so airy-*******-fairy...
until my return... this canvas should be left
intact: pristine...

to the ancients including Mohammad
from Plato abhorred the poets
and the sophists became politicians
but i don't understand the rigidity
of the ideology call it religion
if you want to soften the blow:
i'm currently thinking about bringing
only one book to Kauai:
a Thesaurus...
i don't think i need a Bible or a Quran...
i think i'm secular scary enough
to only bring a Thesaurus with me...
o.k. vol 6 of Knausgaard's Mein Kampf...

but did the ancients envision such
parasites as journalists?!
never in a million:               ah... hemlock:
maybe a year...
what would the ancients have realised
when books were sacred and now newspapers
and this one poet turned bouncer
just started puking
at the existence of journalism:
that is my motive: my strife:
my will to overcome strife and let it become
a striving.

seriously: you want me to remember falling asleep?
i thought sleep is forgetfulness
and why some of us are rigid dylexics
and some of us simply don't dream

oh the Second French Republic:
something miraculous happened in France
a second Rome
and it lasted
for so long before the Afghantistan of Europe
that's England...
since the Romans couldn't
so the Saxons came in
and that's probably just after the establishment
of the League of Lobardy:
i'm not going to check the dates...
but the Aenaes? where who is the next
more myth and no religion
no science no journalism: i need to feed off myth...
year 0:
not that i want to control time
but there's just too much mortal baggage
and i want toi clarify something:
maybe in two tongue: when i get the chance...
Reyla was already freaked out
that i spoke two tongues
it wasn't that i said WATER
funny at a pool party on Kauai:
jeez i'd become
of ignorant of the world...
or maybe the world could be allowed to become
ignorant of me...
          i really don't need to write this
but i also don't need to watch t.v. or
Bukowski gamble...
posit god as personality:
chance: the universe: multiverse of stories...
indivudals in a universe...
o.k. so a bit like the faction who direct
Titanic:
a Romey and Juliety...
a romance at first: but then: DISASTER MOVIE
GENRE...
volcano erupts:
Priam the Idiot
remembered forever:
didn't listen to either Hector or Paris...
Priam the Idiot...
the parasite authority without mind...
there's a reason why i rewatched Troy
and Titanic almost simultaneously...
you're so annoying...
am i? just... just a headache?
baby girl: you want to make this like
we're hanging out in public and i get
you kissing then you mouth me off?!
you want third party sources
to establish know-how about our ***
life?
salute! to your forever protruding nibbles
of *******! BB GG... ha ha!

yes, the bicycle...
classic style: real tight: thin frame...
but the high gears...
14 in total...
7l
and 7h       respectively low and high...
problem comes
in the form:
7h7'6'5...

       do you understand? 7h7'6'5... if you do
please elaborate... leave a comment...
my girlfriend tells me
i intimidate people...
my... GIRLFRIENDs!
tell me i INDTIMIDATE... PEOPLE...
7 higher:
of those: i think there is not enough
slouch on the bicycle chain
that's why it feels like my bearings are ****
when i was the one
who ****** them wrong:
but now i know the bicycle chain
is too short:
the buckling and cranking and creaking
and creeping...
on H765...                 high forward peddle:
something... or other...
2x                      7x
14...        the upper tier: malfunctions need
to go back to Cycle King and build up
Brother Love...
talk of machinery, now?
so the advent of machinery of the bus driver
not enough *** to replace
so a population collapse
like Japan already knows and Europe
is too ******* stupid to notice
like Weimar
and i'll be dead before this CARNAGE
ARMAGEDDON emerges...
why panic... when what you foretell
will only happen with
the sanctity of your death: said a Sybil:
once...
                  well that's good: so...    hey **!