I'm sorry this world became so unsafe,
that you are now in an indefinite sleep,
that by evil you were strafed,
that your family and friends will weep and weep.

You always put a smile on your family's face,
no matter how sad each one of them was,
You are someone they can never replace,
the laughter lines on their faces? You were the cause.

The day that you were shot and slipped away,
Your mum broke down completely and was in absolute shock.
Your parents wept and thought of you every minute of the day,
you didn't deserve this end - they wish they could turn back the clock.

You should have been getting married,
but now you are in Heaven above.
Now in a casket you shall be carried
and they will cry for you again and release a dove.

I promise now your spirit is free,
and I promise that you won't really be gone
as you will live on inside of your family,
and for your justice they will keep fighting on.

Vendredi
A fall Friday evening

A football match
A rock show
A café
A restaurant
A night out
In Paris.

A suicide belt
Armed gunmen
A suicide belt
Armed gunmen
A suicide belt

People
You
Me
Mom
Uncle
Baby daughter

Killed
Killed
Blinded
Killed
Maimed
Killed

To appease
A bloodthirsty
Desert god
Allahu Akbar.

there's always that trailing off i get when i write,
oh god, whiskey is a ******...
    it drags you like a mermaid to the depths,
i start to feel an anchor in my mind
even though my heart is steady-numb...
   and i evidently become slightly dyslexic...
  but hey! what can you do:
     either drink and be miserable,
  or drink and unfold with terrible spelling at
the end of a session... and feel shame the next
day, having seen the outpouring
from the previous night...
      better still... i could recommend tending to
a small vine-patch...
and like me: taking a break from whiskey once
a year and drinking your own produce...
    unless of course you have a local turkish shop
nearby that sells out-dated beer
  at half the price... let me tell you:
that's ****** marvelous... nothing like
out-dated beer... it's right up there with the rollercoaster
and the kick! my my! it's so sudden...
      but it hits the spot,
all the disorientative effects of mushrooms:
without excess Dali lodged in your eyes...
so yeah, out-dated beer... double the trip...
but today is different, i have about 30 litres of
home-made wine just ready to be drunk,
   i've downed one bottle and i'm running
errands with the next... but i'm not miserable
in that i'm washing away my sorrows...
the funny thing about making your own wine
is that once you drink it: you celebrate...
you start to think about all the effort you put
into making it... how you picked the grapes from
the vine, how you squashed the grapes,
how you stood bedazzled by melting sugar
        in a little bit of water over the stove
(and how it started looking very much like
heavy water, or mercury, but see-through) -
and how you sniffed the stench of yeast,
and then waited for a month or so for the ****** thing
to take up strength...
   and now you're drinking it...
                    oh yes... wine in essex is very much
agreeable... and my my: i am really celebrating this
endeavour... it's not as fake as going to the shop
and buying a bottle of wine... i am drinking
my own work... i am celebrating, there's no god
or omen in the world that can tell me otherwise...
    i waited a year for this, well: two...
i don't know what happened last year, i mistimed...
the grapes froze, there was a sudden surge of frost
and i was really upset because of it, 2 years ago
i was drunk like a skunk for several days
and wrote some poems in between,
      and put my own wine on the christmas table,
but since i was ****** for so long, i could only
showcase one bottle...
      well they do say there are spirits out there,
and i must say: wine, esp. your own really is
the veritas, as the saying goes: in vino veritas...
    bring it back to whiskey, or Ms. Amber as i like
to call her... she's not sour, and she's pulverising,
so she's no friend of the tongue... in case you're wondering
i'd like to call herr goebbels right now...
         but can you feel a shame of having misspelled a word
drunk, because your hands started to feel
   a bit like a daddy longlegs with one or two legs missing?
in terms of the keyboard...
what are the prime digits?
right hand: ******* - ****! now my hands feel conscious
of me talking about them...
middle and thumb (for the spacebar) -
   index finger for the opening bracket (  
pinky finger for the enter button -
                 to make room for the next line -
which makes me wonder about my left hand,
it would appear that i'm left handed when before
the keyboard -
   the main provocators are the index
middle and... surprise surprise! the ring finger!
the left hand thumb sometimes does
                       use the space bar also...
the the right hand ring finger is hardly used...
i remember watching my doctor type at a keyboard once...
a bit like a crow pecking... it went like this:
index (right) index (left)
    index (right) index (left)
               index (right) index (left) - it was agony...
it was a bit like standing at a supermarket cashier with
an old lady in front of you, buying butter and milk
and talking for an hour while counting her change...
   ageism? no! just your typical life-bound comedy of
how the stats stack... we spend this many years in traffic...
and my, the hand thing...
       yep, next thing you'll - aha! there is the ring-finger
utility in the right hand after all - it comes with words
that come shortened, i.e. you'll... the ' mark,
and also the backspace button...
                  i was going to say: (the shift button?
pinky owns it) - as the great kabbalists have this fetish
of looking at your hands, it's worthwhile to note down
this geography of the keyboard...
   they'd just point at the indententions of the hand
and spew words out like: girdle of venus...
     malkhut (silent h) -
                 which brings to mind:
   we already know the name is silent,
  since you might be served an indian dish called
dhal... and in fact you would be served such a dish,
but you'd only say you ate daal... or dāl...
then again that's also true with the pedant puritan
who'd note it as: dhāl... which is funny that this isn't
merely coincidental... a language that doesn't
use diacritical marks, and has a third arm sticking out
of it in terms of what letters remain silent (but are
inserted into words nonetheless), and a concentration
of the same rubik's "cube" akin to y and w...
      y and i are so close! you can almost feel them pushing
together, or giving birth to something!
  why?! why?!
                         (insert snigger)... drunk humour:
it gets the better of me sometimes...
   so yes, that thing about kabbalists and the hand thing,
other words could be included, like: keter,
               bina(h),             gevura(h),  
strangely enough Hod...   tiferet (what a beautiful word),
    yesod....     chok(h)ma(h)...   chesed...
netzach! hey! surfing u.s.a., i think i'll bring my banjo
to sniff out whether i'm part of the scene:
dangle dangle plop plop... ah poo...
                   p pi po'h...           and last weekend
we had snow... it scared the bejesus out of people
for a while, but things returned to normal nonetheless...

- interlude -

the tyranny of being conscious...
long recognised by eastern philosophy and the practice
of meditation...
  to be away from me...
        and they do so, splendid,
and then all toward vanity, given you're forced
into dreaming... so even when you're not even
conscious... i.e. unconscious...
   you're being fed a dream...
  and however disroted that you in the dream
is... there's still you...
oddly enough: if i make thinking = dreaming
   i can honestly say: i wish i dreamed more
than i thought... me not a mighty oratory gob
after all...
            evidently doing hallucinogenics
   was to excavate the dream into the waking hour...
and that's how i'll leave this interlude,
   i just imagine andy warhol testifying about fame
at the opera...
   or that's me bound to watching:
   alain de botton... or what does need diacritical
marks: alain dé bóttą...
                        dé bóttą... the art of travel,
                    on the QE2...    
      dé bóttą! oh the marvel, French of all languages
is nasal and glottal! when speaking Polish you
might as well be talking in razors...
                  Greek and lisp, English and Cockney rhyme...
and the lost trill of the R... R hollowed out...
                and once again to modern times:
the imperial march (darth vader's theme) vs.
     beethoven's 9th symphony...
                                                             tra la la -
both as universally acknowledged as the sound of
a ****... and perhaps a pigeon's coo-woo
                                                                                       -

...the interlude actually contains what ignited me to
write... drinking aside, but drinking too...
   in all too a great happiness that somehow i live
a life that asks for narrative minimalism,
               i can say: and in between i did **** all,
i thought profanity was necessary,
            and how i'd wish i'd have written a epic
like don quixote... but then i thought: keep it real,
keep it real... av a laugh...
                           i'll probably taste the sour from the wine
sometime soon, once the narrative becomes a Gobi
and i get worked about the eventual loss of
   a carpe diem quickie...
                           but it's still there, for the moment...
        and having realised that: it's gone.
               and i did say:
    by the personnae principle, in line with not writing out
a Tolstoy, i have to admit that i never know
who i encounter in my exploits...
            and there is a personnae principle at work here,
it's not Shakespeare, that much i know,
   it's the practice of personnae incorporation that
does away with: and Titus said:
                                      veni! vidi! vendredi!
(oi oi, enough of the French static, ya ponce!)
          so that's that, poetry has come to resemble
   modern art... given the personnae principle
we have done away with all the intricacies of
        writing a Shakespearean play...
Titus - lo!
   Anthony - a plum tree!
                          as a person competent with narratives
i ask for all people to leave the building...
   a pit of tongues i might also add...
      populo in singuli!       ah freckles and ash...
it has to be: pertaining to the vulgate...
   nothing better than speaking illiterate latin ol' boy...
  a bit like richard brautigan
writing the pill versus the springhill mine disaster -
there the buds of the concept personnae (without clear
indication that we are dealing with a crowd,
so no memorable quote or character, the narrator
is trying to keep his **** together, pardons for the laziness
and lack of indicative marks that there are actually
more people in the room than could be expected...
me and drunk me make up a thousand crude-essentials
as to what is intended to imply: having a good time) -
    sometimes poetry is just that: a quickened code for
acting, albeit without any character-study,
        or diet, or paparazzi...  and it's so quick... you've
watched a movie like a mosquito lived its life and you're
writing the credits...
       like richard brautigan wrote that poem -
      when you take your pill
           it's like a mine disaster.
       i think of all the people
      lost inside of you.
richard brautigan! richard brautigan!
this is the mine disaster company, over!
         yes, we number 34 souls in total.
       and there's your thesis! it must be hard to
write "poetry" and never, not once: experience
the Styx in your travels, the pit of tongues,
         or the personnae principle...
              always bound to rigid narrative constructs,
alway having an aliby with a 'he said it!'
          it must get horrid sometimes,
   living that life of a puppeteer / narrator -
     never really drunk with pesky humour -
       never once enjoing a wicked thought -
        a meddle on the omnius frivolity of life...
but personally? i find it almost bewildering that
of all the ancient Greek gods... Hades was homeless...
that's before Hades was a noun designating a place,
a realm... i just find it hard
to believe that of all the gods, Hades didn't have a temple...
    the only god from ancient greece that didn't
have a temple... sure, they had a statue of him,
  but there was no temple to see to benediction...
now i really think i've over-stepped it...
                     the wine is imploring me to end this
polyphonic nonsense, and think of a monophonic
sound of a woodpecker... relax... think of the sound
when wood is chopped...
      relax... forget this circus of what could be
described as a theoretical exploration of a schizophrenic
symptom... think of a monty python sketch...
        calm



                                                                                 .

when there's
nothin'
left
to say

nothin' left to
do

just
choc n roll

Radio Matin, mars 2016

Radio Matin, mars 2016 ; Tu écoutes la radio du matin ne pouvant te replonger dans l’oubli Et les nouvelles ne vont pas vont pas bien Il paraît que les Grecs auraient abusé, Des subventions de l'Europe se seraient gavés. Et, qu’horrible angoisse, Picsou craint de ne point être remboursé. Mais où va-t-on, si les créanciers rechignent à payer leur dus ? Tu écoutes la radio du matin Et les nouvelles ne vont pas bien. Les banques aussitôt sortis du coma, ont refilé en douce leurs pertes sur le déficit des Etats et ainsi créés un grand branle-bas Et se sont mises comme l’usurier Shylock A provoquer de grands entrechocs. Tu écoutes la radio du matin Il parait que les «marchés» ont le bourdon Car les européens du sud auraient croqué tout le pognon. Les marchés en perdent leur latin De voir la « dolce Vita de tous ces profiteurs. Quant à l’Espagne n’en parlons même pas ! C’est certainement la faute de la sangria. Tu écoutes la radio du matin Et les nouvelles ne vont pas bien. Il va falloir travailler plus longtemps, et du code du travail si ventripotent décréter la grande disette, d’ailleurs Manuel l’a dit, l’ « ancien socialisme » n’est pas « moderne » car il ne se plie pas aux contraintes de ce que nos gourous savants, nous dictent comme étant « la Modernité », d'ailleurs la barbe de Jean  Jaurès ne fait pas assez jeune cadre dynamique ! Et puis il paraît que nous vivons trop longtemps et pour les fonds de pension cela est certes démoralisant. Pourtant ne souhaitons guère tous atteindre cent-ans, Et préférerions disposer librement de notre temps. Tu écoutes encore la radio du matin Et les nouvelles ne vont pas bien. Un tanker s’est est échoué Laissant le pétrole s'écouler, qui sera difficilement colmaté et tue mouettes et cormorans. Les centaines de milliers de réfugiés, souvent par nos propres bombes déplacés ont le toupet de vouloir partager l’espoir de vivre dans un oasis de Paix ; mais pour combien de temps encor, cette paix des cimetières peut-elle durer, et bous laisser consommer seuls dans nos lits pas toujours si douillets ?
Tu n'écoutes plus désormais la radio du matin et la télévision encore moins. Car toutes ces nouvelles te rendaient zinzin. Tu n’es plus sûr, du tout, de la vérité apportée dans cette Babel sonore et tu es consterné par une vision si étriquée de l’humain.
Comment pouvons-nous tant ingurgiter d’insignifiances où se noie la lucidité ? Comment pouvons-nous partager les vrais progrès des sciences et du creuset Mondial des pensées ? Sans jamais nous interroger et garder le nez au raz de cette marée d’informations non triées ? Comment avoir un bon usage d'un village planétaire si divisé ? Et comment redonner le goût de l’Humain pour le plus grand nombre à la participation aux choix dont nous sommes si souvent exclus bien que surinformés ?

Paul Arrighi (Toulouse le vendredi 18 mars 2016)

A glimpse of red
that you really just caught sight of

chiffon caresses
that you really just felt

it's night time
see the light

Ça a été une semaine de l'absurde jolis traits .mais puis-je vous laisser sur un petit secret ?Nous aurions enregistré un des meilleurs pour la fin.Judy Pak .Loli événements et Matthew Ree sont que quelques-uns des grands noms derrière ce printemps swoonfest .et vous pouvez visiter la galerie complète pour beaucoup.beaucoup plus .Vendredi heureux .mes enfants !xoxo\u003cp\u003ePartager cette superbe galerie ColorsSeasonsSpringSettingsGardenStylesRomantic de Lauren de Loli événements .Bien que brève .printemps à New York est toujours rajeunissant et passionnant .Tout semble plus lumineux .plus heureux et tout plein de vie .Ce tournage a capturé exactement cela avec une parfaite dose de glamour et de fantaisie .Les beaux motifs des jardins d'Old Westbury était une évidence comme toile de fond .Tout y est luxuriante .réfléchi et tout simplement magnifique .Notre objectif en tant que fournisseurs de mariage de luxe était de capturer une certaine beauté grave tout en s'amusant et profiter du moment .Il est si facile de se laisser prendre et d'oublier de faire une pause et de prendre dans votre environnement .Cette séance est consacrée à créer un peu d' esprit d'aventure et un besoin de juste prendre une profonde respiration lente .

Photographie : Judy Pak | Photographie : Matthew Ree | Floral Design : Tashi et Bobo | Robe : Jenny Packham | gâteau : Ana Parzych | Coiffeur : Seonghee Park | Bridal Boutique : Gabriella New York | Location de robe : petite robe empruntée |postiches : Emily Riggs | Maquillage : Seunghyn robes demoiselles d honneur Seo de KAKABOKA | Props / table : Caverne de coquelicots et Posies | Styling / Set de table design: Loli Evénements | mariage Lieu: Old Westbury Gardens

cadeaux COURS

Dernière chance pour entrer mariage Styles Modcloth Fonds ContestHoneymoon de Registre annuel rêve SweepstakesA collier pavé de diamants disque JoyWilliams - Sonoma de voyageurs " Les jeux de Clay PotTWO de détente à DEUX SMPers chanceux de Duffield Lanea ensemble de flashcards de Apprendre à parler de mariage

Ne manquez pas les remises de cette semaine .

PostableSquarespaceAbbey Malcolm typographique + DesignZola

Pour nos épouses Australie .Ne pas oublier de s'inscrire pour gagner une séance d'engagement à la plage sud de Curl Curl de Poli Mariages

Pour nos épouses Californie .Réductions de Jonathan jeunes Mariages et Dr Diaz .

Pour nos Brides.Discounts Canada de Blush \u0026Gray.Renata De Thomasis et Christine Arnold Photographie

Pour nos épouses Midwest .Réduction du restylage Locations de cru et La Belle Fleur événements

Pour nos Nouvelle-Angleterre Brides .Un rabais de Aster B. Fleurs

Pour notre Sud-Ouest Brides.Make sûr de confirmer Royal Occasion Chateau Cocomar nuptiale Open House ( Ce week-end ! )

Pour notre Tri-State brides.Don 't oublier de s'inscrire pour gagner Photographie + vidéographie Collection de NST Photos et réductions du New Museum .Femina photo + design.NY Sourire spécialistes et HowAboutWe pour les couples PLUS ne manquez pas Gabriella Newhiver échantillon Vente York !

Et bien sûr .heureux gagnant

http://modedomicile.com

de cette semaine .
Félicitations Alexis qui a gagné 100 Day Challenge paquet d'or de mariée corpsEmily Riggs est un membre de notre Look Book .Pour plus d'informations sur la façon dont robe de mariée 2014 les membres sont choisis .cliquez ici .Gabriella New York Bridal Salon .Loli événements et Judy Pak Photographie sont membres de notre Little Black Book .Découvrez comment les membres sont choisis en visitant notre page de FAQ .Gabriella New York Salo nuptiale ... Afficher les événements PORTEFEUILLE loli voir le portfolio Judy Pak Photographie voir le

La pendule, sonnant minuit,
Ironiquement nous engage
A nous rappeler quel usage
Nous fîmes du jour qui s'enfuit :
- Aujourd'hui, date fatidique,
Vendredi, treize, nous avons,
Malgré tout ce que nous savons,
Mené le train d'un hérétique ;

Nous avons blasphémé Jésus,
Des Dieux le plus incontestable !
Comme un parasite à la table
De quelque monstrueux Crésus,
Nous avons, pour plaire à la brute,
Digne vassale des Démons,
Insulté ce que nous aimons
Et flatté ce qui nous rebute ;

Contristé, servile bourreau
Le faible qu'à tort on méprise ;
Salué l'énorme Bêtise,
La Bêtise au front de taureau ;
Baisé la stupide Matière
Avec grande dévotion,
Et de la putréfaction
Béni la blafarde lumière ;

Enfin, nous avons, pour noyer
Le vertige dans le délire,
Nous, prêtre orgueilleux de la Lyre,
Dont la gloire est de déployer
L'ivresse des choses funèbres,
Bu sans soif et mangé sans faim !...
- Vite soufflons la lampe, afin
De nous cacher dans les ténèbres !

Tu me dis, mon Âme :
"Apprends à me connaître
Aime-moi
Tu verras
Avec moi, mon Ombre,
Tu vivras des choses jamais imaginées "
Alors je m'imagine, j'essaie
Je me mets direct au septième ciel
et je saute à la marelle
Pour rejoindre ton rivage Amour.
Je te vois animale et j'imagine ton règne
J 'imagine tes cris de Muse
Le lundi, tu es chienne, tu me miaules, tu me gazouilles et tu me bêles
Le mardi, cochonne, tu me glousses, tu me glapis et tu me piaules
Le mercredi, louve, tu me siffles, tu me beugles et tu me râles
Le jeudi, vipère, tu m'aboies, tu me hennis et tu me grondes
Le vendredi, tigresse, tu me barètes, tu me trompettes et tu me stridules,
Le samedi, chatte, tu me couines, tu me roucoules et tu me brailles
Et le dimanche, méduse, tu me chantes, sans bruit, dans le silence
Le cantique de nos retrouvailles animales.

Vendredi 18, tu es venue à l'école avec une attitude différente.
Tu es en train de te perdre et d'oublier ton aptitude affriolante.
Tu es tombé d'une altitude qui était autrefois inspirante.
Tu l'as fait quasiment indifférente,
que tu nous as convaincu que ce n'est qu'une exception intermittente,
que ce n'est qu'une soudaine changement d'humeur déprimante.

Friday 18th, you came to school with a different attitude.
You were getting lost, forgetting what you are made of, forgetting your aptitude.
You have fallen from what once was an inspiring altitude.
You did it so calmly, so indifferently, that you have convinced us that it was just a temporary phase.
Just a passing malaise.

A notre premier rendez-vous , dis !
T'oublieras pas d'amener tes poupées
et ta corde à sauter et Robinson Crusoë
et moi c'est promis je ramènerai mes billes, mes osselets
et Vendredi.
On jouera au cerf-volant aussi c'est promis.
S'il y a du vent
Et s'il fait beau et qu'on en a envie
On fera du toboggan et on jouera à chat perché.
S 'il pleut on se mettra sous un porche et on jouera aux cartes.
tu sais jouer aux jeu des sept familles ?
sinon on pourra toujours essayer
les petits chevaux ou le jeu de l'oie.
Je te laisserai jouer avec mes soldats de plomb
et j'espère que tu me prêteras pour la journée
Ta dînette pour que je te prépare
Une menthe à l'eau ou un diabolo fraise.
S'il fait trop soleil
On se mettra à l'ombre
Et je te lirai les lignes de la main
et je te montrerai ma collection de timbres roumains.
Et s'il fait nuit et qu'on voit des fantômes
On se cachera sous les couvertures
Je t'apprendrai à faire de la bicyclette
Et des cocottes en papier
tu verras c'est fastoche
Et ça fout les chocottes aux fantômes !

Ah j 'oubliais ! J 'amènerai ma fronde aussi
Pour te dégommer de l'arbre une mangue bien mûre
Qu'on dégustera tous les deux en même temps
Et on promettra-jurera-crachera qu'on est amis pour toujours !

i've recently rediscovered the genius of Al Purdy...
i mean: what famous Canadian is there to speak of?
Bukowski managed to cite him, once in a reading...
eh... reading Al Purdy sober is an uneventual,
but reading him... sobering up...
- in the garden
-  the winemaker's beat-étude (eh-t'yew-d)
- dead seal...
                    esp. the last poo'em...
                      what wondrous points of observation...
i'm trying to untangle myself from
the shackles of an NVQ qualification
concerning crowd security...
the instructor confirms... the answers are silly...
no... they're not... they're just blatant...
painfully obvious... like why you might check
the "magic wand" of a metal detector...
switch it on... hold out a piece of metal:
see if it "magic wand" is receptive to metal...
of course i am not demeaned, my i.q. didn't suddenly
*******... but formal language is:
formal language... as part of the cohort that minds
the safety of crowds: i have to employ some slack
when at times i drift into informal, loose associated
language... it's part of the ******* deal...
impossible to chew for my ego, it just has to be done...
rubric after rubric, buzz-words...
as much as i don't need the extra money:
hey, extra money, saves me from investing
in an umbrella, if a rainy day of metaphors makes
sense... i'm not going to spend the money
on frivolities... if there's a function of being part
of society that invokes you earning money...
sure...
i spent all of my 20s and half of my 30s not earning
money... then again: i felt no impetus to spend it,
beside on cigarettes, travel, whiskey,
a piece of clothing once in a while: one i really liked...
a fat-face material, teasing khaki shirt that could be
used to replace a jacket...
dimmed green material trousers...
regular dark navy jeans from C & A...
a baker-boy cap...
if anything can undermine capitalism...
it won't be communism...
it will come in the form of... bachelors...
women tend to spend more...
economy is a focus on the spending patterns of women...
beside all the food... who spends idle pounds
for idle things? most certainly not women...
i'm still having to send an email
to a bicycle shop about my 1 hear guarantee on
the tyres...
two flat tyres in a space of a week?
faulty rubber... i spent £500 on a Merlin Trek bicycle...
why? i'm perfectly happy cycling on
a £125 Viking road bicycle...
i think i was concerned about my initial weight...
in at 120kg... but since then i'm oscillating in the range
of 96kg through to 98kg...
a 6th of me is... ahem... "missing"...
no stretch marks... as gym bro used to say...
if you want to loose excess mass...
use the bicycle, or swim... never, ever: go to the gym...
this problem arrived for a loose friend of mine...
he wanted to lose weight... fat ******...
drank to much beer but most certainly ate too many
crickets of potato...
fervently adhered to a gym regime...
ended up... with... loose skin... with stretch marks...
not enough cardiovascular exercise...

from time to time i think about: performing...
why are all the current, vocal poets...
so... ******* exasperated in their performance?
i'm not going to put my tongue into a pool
of piranhas... no chance...
i'll sit this out like a "clever" humpty-dumpty...

to use "their" language: i don't think i'd feel safe...
if i don't like internet drama...
what could real life application of my poetry,
being spoken, reflect?
i'm not going to do something that's counter
to a welcome impetus because i'm a coward...
i'd be a coward if i were staged with an audience
of murderers... i'd do that...
but i just can't do... a crowd of pacified buggery
of the tongue...
i can't concede to people who sleep in Iron Maidens
for a tease of "luck"...

my my.... what a funfair Al Purdy has become...
only when sobering up...
hardly when in the zenith of sober...

- see, i don't remember the last time i owned a credit card,
well, i do, but it was such a hassle...
a month later some separate statement from the bank
informed me that i bought something using a credit card...
of course i paid it...

come to think of it...  i only think of:
Caravaggio's: the calling of st. matthew...
i like my given names...
it's either st. matthew or it's...
    Conrad I of Masovia...
or Conrad II, the Salic...
                    i too look at the loot as if an
elephant might be looking at peanuts....
these, be, pebbles, no?

i haven't used the credit system in a while,
i work from primarily the debit scores...
i never spend more than i get,
if i want to ****, i go to a brothel,
why would i bother myself with ****-teasing
where women have it so easy?
i want to be detached from intimacy:
i just want a hard-on...

some give, some don't... take two...
the ones that don't give end up revising the dynamic
by changing their hair, a little...
so now i'm going to have a fetish for
school-girls, pig-tails and what not?
seriously... i was going to go for the one that
really wanted to **** me,
not the one that made a whim at ******* me...

to date: i haven't been on any dates...
good for me...
i don't date, i talk, sure, we can talk, type...
i'm such a terrible grammar ****,
with my stature i'd fit right in in a...
whether it was Coco Chanel or Hugo Boss that
fitted out the SS-Übermenschen...
perhaps i might trim my beard a little...

but all that grey & black...
the best attired army in the history of man!
what style!
plus, most people confusing me with
a German physiognomy:
i could fit, right in... see... i don't mind...
i can play the part... i'm only going to ever be
a D-list actor... but... with being in this tier below
the socially venerated A-class...
i find... it's more... fun!

- like i wish i was a teenager in the 1980s...
going to the cinema to watch some horror movies...
i wouldn't want to be a teenager in the 1990s...
i was a teenager in the 2000s... some sort of oops...
some sort of oh...
going on dates gleefully...
waiting for a song like Pseudo Echo's:
  His Eyes... vendredi 13th: partie cinq...
oh my god, dating must have been fun...
for the simple fact that you'd go to the cinema!

- thank god i missed the whole dating app scene,
the whole... what do you call it? only fans?
standard, orthodox me... to the brothel!
or to the alley! or to the forest... to find my echo!
there i found it... there i was, too!

- back up... i was on a date once...
we went to the Tate Modern to see an Edward Hopper
exhibition, i bought a book which i asked her to sign...
she dedicated it with the words:
you're too good looking to be like the people in
these paintings, she misspelled something...

we later took a train back to watch a movie...
Troy... whenever that came out...
then we went for sushi...
    we talked & talked...
she got on a train and my "friend" messaged me,
she has the butterflies...
the same friend later sent her a phallus picture...
some friend....
  whatever...

     she's now happily married and with children,
i ventured to ask her how she was dealing,
with a new arrival i said to her:
yoi're the saddest face i've ever seen...
i was implying her Henry VIII conundrum...
6 children down, all female?!
i was implying: no sons?!
i don't think she was receptive of my... "argument"...
she was the eldest sister of...

a sister younger than her, but also two...
younger brothers... while she only managed to give sowing
of females.... there is a count of five, plus a sixth...
and they're all girls?!
if Henry VIII isn't worried,
i don't  know who might be!

you might be?!

i was reading Heidegger when she chose her husband...
a *******-addicted pundit at the local pub...
with a stable income... 20 years her senior...
circa... i like the simulation of endearing babes
with onomatopoeias... i love the moments
when clucking the tongue is a reciprocated language
shared... all that's missing are
horse hooves...

cats, babies, what's the ******* difference?!
one has less fur than the other...
both need to be tended to: irrespective of their status...
when the word first arrives in the consciousness
of a baby: i generally weep...
look how memory is blockaded...
how it has arrived at a cyclic expression...
falsely imagination takes over as... cursor...
fail...
    
if every free-roaming cat could be replaced by
a toddler... one that might shove a finger into your
mouth, or pull at your beard...
i'd be a happy man... an Abraham...
a God...

- but then i figured... these days...
no kid of deity could have easy access to the...
benevolence of crowds... even if informing
individuals of their presence...
psychiatric safety measures:
someone ought to be paid...
recently stressors for claiming: over-*******
is subjected to criticism...

even prince Will the 3rd... has to get slack...
slick, mate... slack, no chance....
not with this crowd.....

hey presto, the end,,, this desired democracy no
other culture would ever arrive at,
but since the English are so ingeniously...
individualistic...
why bother them, why bother them?!
as Pontius Pilate implied...
let all be: free game...
let's see what happens!

         i have enough of care...
let's just see what happens...
                            let's eat some
raisins coated in chocolate;
    no?
          i'm out... with whatever
pressures of Darwinism...
         i'm mostly likely to state:
most perfectly, dead,
how are you, faring?
i want to get off this ******* caraousel,
don't you?

dead end, dire, begin with...
shoot yourself in the foot, dear Englishman.

"Quel jour de la semaine aimes-tu le mieux?"
It says on the french homework.

Well, lets see...

Lundi is terrible, first day of the week.
Mardi is subpar, practically a repeat of the first.
Mereredi theres too much too do, between clubs and homework.
Jeudi is too long, and my guitar teacher's chance to remind me little practice I put into the guitar, and everything else that doesn't matter enough to me.
Vendredi is the end, but not quite the start of anything good, since
Samedi is filled with homework and more lessons and such that eat away at me until I'm nothing more but a husk of myself.
Dimanche is when I'm forced to meet my sins in the face while trying to not let them show on my face because I cant let anyone know of these "inner battles" I'm facing.

So, which day of the week do I like the most?
"Aunun.
Je déteste tous les jours,
mois,
année.
...
Je déteste ma vie."