Erinnerst du dich an einem letzten Regen im August?
Sein leidvolles Aroma grassiert in meinen fallenden Tränen,
Warum bleibt die Liebe im Kurzen wie sein Aroma?
JedesTropfchen manifestiert sich einen stilles Leid im Frühling.
Die geringe Momente können auswendig gelernt werden;
Wird aber die Zeit vollgeschätzt?
Wie kannst du vergessen werden?
Wenn alles über dir mit meinem Leben bereits verkörpert hat;
Ein Versprechen kann man vergessen;
Wirst du trotzdem meine Existenz vergessen?
In Ewigkeit bist du der Regen im August;
Mit deinem Tropfchen von meinen Augen erreiche ich dich.

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Ich versuche in Worte zu fassen,
wieso ich ausgerechnet dich
liebe, ich könnte mit deinen Augen
anfangen oder deinem Charakter
oder deinem Lächeln oder deinen
Lippen oder ..., aber es liegt am
Rande des Schwerfallens.
Denn genauso könnte ich versuchen,
zu erklären, wie Wasser schmeckt.
Doch ich war so lange unter Wasser;
bis ich dich getroffen habe.
Ja, ich war lange unter Wasser, so
lange, dass ich taub von der Luft
war, vergessen habe, dass Lungen
von jeglicher Bedeutung sind.

Denn du bist mein Rettungsanker.

Tat Deutschland hat ihren Tag
tat wahre Krieger bekommen Gerechtigkeit
lassen Sie mich in einem u Boot sterben
mit meinen gefallenen Rittern

Senden Sie es an den Boden
vergessen zu werden
Ich bedauere so das
Kein Schuss Die vier angestarrte Scheide

Im Kopf das Bumsen

By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris

i used to buy cans of pepsi cola in order to retain the most
fizz... i've cut back on the cans:
instead buying bottles of the "max" stuff...
because: whiskey: how else?
i'm not a puritanical drinker of ms. amber...
mr. whiskers...

                      but the problem with the bottled stuff...
once opened: it goes stale the next day:
because i never mix it "correctly"...
   but what i found?
                          sunlight... leave an already
opened bottle of pepsi cola in the sun...
and... lucky me: England: it's sunny! wow!
leave it (obvious the cap is ******* on,
but it has already been opened ergo ergo)

leave it in the sun... boom! the gas is back...
it's fizzy again: it's actually more fizzy than upon first
opening it...
so... what's the relationship with carbon dioxide
and sunlight?
carbonated water and sunlight?
does sunshine agitate the carbon in the water
making... oh... right... it must imply...
it has a lower boiling point than water itself...
i mean: you couldn't exactly boil a cup of tea
using sunlight...

but you could... make more fizz out of a going
stale carbonated water by exposing it to sunlight!
yep... just checked it...
it is lower... not that much lower...
but we're talking... sunlight and a plastic bottle:
plastic easily overheats...
and in terms of boiling: there's a lid...
so... no wonder... and we're talking:
sitting on a roof... sunrise? circa 5am...
all the way through to about 1pm...
  
    enough time... the tides will eat away the coastlines...

- yesterday's weigh-in... 101.6kg...
today's weigh in? ha ha...   98.5kg...
3.1kg loss in a single day...
    who even bothers with dieting?
what's the point?
   maybe i just figured it out... just about...
whatever dieting gurus tell you:
if you don't torture yourself physically through
acute exercise... nothing's going to work...
better be the rabbit than the turtle...

for far is it from where i live to Tate Britain,
roughly? 20miles... to get there... and back...
40+miles...
              plus the stress of traffic... which is always
good... stress is a great calorie burner...
plus testosterone... plus adrenaline generation...
it's not like a safe environment in a gym
pumping... pumping! weights...
or running the hamster wheel of the treadmill...
plus the wind obstructing you...
  mind you: maybe drinking that half a litre
of whiskey prior also helps...
perhaps ingesting alcohol: whiskey... before setting
off on a mega exercise routine...
because the calories: as my "dearest" gwand-m'ah used
to say from alcohol are empty calories...
by drinking half a litre of whiskey you're not eating
a fattening burger...

alcohol calories are not... protein calories...
they're not carbohydrate calories... they're not fat
calories... they're alcohol calories...

and on your bicycle... am i just fuelling up?!
i don't mean ingesting alcohol and doing weights...
i'm talking about ingesting alcohol and
punishing myself via the cardiovascular method...

personally i can't imagine myself becoming a father:
decreasing the amount of testosterone running
through my veins:
   i'm the "wrong" sort of gambler...
i measure my gambling ability on how well i can
maneaouvre... ****... too many! vowels!
man-oeuvre... manoeuvre... now i'll remember...
that's what the English speaking folk say about
my native tongue: you're ******* vowelled-up mate!

right: MAN and OEUVRE... like...
the total of someone's productivity: posthumously...
i'm more of a gambler like that:
will i squeeze in? will i get past?
either give me a horse and the Siberian steppes...
or give me a bicycle and London's roads...

oh wow... i'm actually thinking like a free man!
sure sure: i can care for people on "pretend":
little cameos here and there... and it's genuine...
but... to replicate myself: to have to "nurture" genes?
why does Jamie Redknapp (K surd!)
  look like the older brother of Frank Lampard Jr.?

i know the answer...
    because Harry Redknapp married a woman
that was the twin sister of Frank Lampard Sr. bride...

i'm sort of giggling now... but walking to the shop
for some early morning cider...
there's this great Danish film about a group
of guys who are constantly ingesting alcohol...
in acute amounts... no... not binge drinking going
out on the tiles sort of drinking:
irresponsible drinking is out of the question:
know your limits...
if you can't cycle to Tate Britain from 20 miles
away while having drank half a litre of whiskey:
don't do it...

DRUK... another round... funny that...
       druk means print in my native spreschen...
pisany druk: written print...

i look at old men as no wiser than the wisest...
it's a bit like looking at babies:
either men or women...
i want death before i reach this unnatural
old age... this retrospective cinema...
it's almost like seeing menopause:
this slack in testosterone curbing...
it's like looking at able albeit decrepit bodies
lost in a memory of former agility...

heimat! heimat!
all of the German war songs are worth singing!
heil! heil! wenig scheisse...
that's what my Russian girlfriend used to call me:
kakashka... little ****...

do i write from the perspective of regret
or from the perspective of memory:
i don't know...
what would you do... having travelled to Russia...
upon first entry into her abode:
getting a slap in the face...
i tried punching myself harder from time to time...
but that slap was waspish...
she thought i wasn't monogamous with her:
even though she kept her ex in her vicinity...

alle huren! alle huren!
   alle verdienen mein liebe!
ich kann nicht diktieren zensur von
solch(e) pracht!

   ich kann nicht! ich kann nicht!

maybe that's why i'm not bothered by nudes
in the art gallery...
       i abhor Lucian Freud...
                     i find his gaze repulsive...
it's what i'd call: cloggy...
beauty in the eye of the beholder blah blah...
there's that strict format of identifiable form
readily expressed:
which is mostly in the ****...

no wonder i like ******* in front of a mirror:
and that's mine...
und das ist mein!
                  mein allein!

        i suppose, therefore: i don't need to paint...
i can only skim a membrane of what could be
considered a painting... writing the membrane
of an art-work...

               Nietzsche showed the nail...
Heidegger provided the hammer...
   better an early death and eternity than all those
materialistic sensibilities of progress...
better the promises than simply prolonging
a fate worse than death:
ein los schlimmer als tod...

i want to die viral... with all the vitality that life
allows!
i don't want to die as a toothless wolf!
ich do nicht wollen zu sterben als ein zahnloswolf!
this is torture... old age apparent...
no wonder men have lost their libido!
if what's waiting for them:
no man want's to live the sort of life
that grieves him with old age!

it's unnatural!
             it's great for clones, cupids and other
quasi- makeshifts of creature...
it's not so great for men...
old age of men and the lost testosterone...
is a bit like the menopause for women...
but it's not spoken of...
   Western gynocentric antics...
                               i like the Eastern traditions...
man comes to the fore... woman come after...

i'm already in a dodo mindset...
i truly don't mind...
    the middle-ground has already been salvaged...
humanity will not perish...
genius is always born once in a while...
not that i am:
irgendetwas du möchte denken...

heimat! tanz! heimat! tanz!
   die fluss von menschen...
        die fluss von alles dinge...

               das ist alles.

Sie halt meine Liebe
Noch im Speicher
Ihre Augen werde ich nie vergessen
Ich sah Gott in ihr wie kein anderer
Wenn ich sie wieder zu sehen,
Wenn dor Tod keine Grenze
Lass es sein, oh Gott, lass es sein

Sie ubt Achtsamkeit in ihrem Gang
Sie spricht, wenn sie spricht
Sie liebt es, wenn sie allein ist
Sie erzahlte mir,
Und ich glaube, sie

Wenn das Ego hingibt Stolz
Wahre Macht gehalten wird
Wahre Liebe aufgedeckt
Und die wahre Wahrheit ans Licht -

Her kiss of days between

She holds my love
Still in memory
Her eyes I’ll never forget
I saw God in her like no other
If I am to see her again
If death is of no boundary
Let it be, oh God, let it be

She practices mindfulness in her walk
She speaks when she talks
She loves when she is alone
She told me
And I believe her

When the ego surrenders pride
True power is held
True love is uncovered
And the true truth is revealed

Die Bücherverbrennung ("The Burning of the Books")
by Bertolt Brecht
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

When the Regime
commanded the unlawful books to be burned,
teams of dull oxen hauled huge cartloads to the bonfires.

Then a banished writer, one of the best,
scanning the list of excommunicated texts,
became enraged: he’d been excluded!

He rushed to his desk, full of contemptuous wrath,
to write fiery letters to the incompetents in power —
Burn me! he wrote with his blazing pen —
Haven’t I always reported the truth?
Now here you are, treating me like a liar!
Burn me!

German text:

Die Bücherverbrennung

Als das Regime befahl, Bücher mit schädlichem Wissen
Öffentlich zu verbrennen, und allenthalben
Ochsen gezwungen wurden, Karren mit Büchern
Zu den Scheiterhaufen zu ziehen, entdeckte
Ein verjagter Dichter, einer der besten, die Liste der
Verbrannten studierend, entsetzt, daß seine
Bücher vergessen waren. Er eilte zum Schreibtisch
Zornbeflügelt, und schrieb einen Brief an die Machthaber.
Verbrennt mich! schrieb er mit fliegender Feder, verbrennt mich!
Tut mir das nicht an! Laßt mich nicht übrig! Habe ich nicht
Immer die Wahrheit berichtet in meinen Büchern? Und jetzt
Werd ich von euch wie ein Lügner behandelt! Ich befehle euch:
Verbrennt mich!

Published by Poetry Super Highway, The Hindu, The Tory, Chicago Sun-Times (excerpt), Poemist, Poetry on Demand and Convivium

Keywords/Tags: Bertolt Brecht, German, translation, burning, books, banned, harmful, unlawful, ****, regime, fires, bonfires, oxen, carts, cartloads, Adolph ******, writer, writers, excommunicated, exiled, burn, truth, pen, blazing, fiery, liar

Bertolt Brecht Epigrams and Quotations

These are my modern English translations of epigrams and quotations by Bertolt Brecht.

Everyone chases the way happiness feels,
unaware how it nips at their heels.
— loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

The world of learning takes a crazy turn
when teachers are taught to discern!
— loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Unhappy, the land that lacks heroes.
— loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Hungry man, reach for the book:
it's a hook,
a harpoon.
— loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Because things are the way they are,
things can never stay as they were.
— loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

War is like love; true ...
it finds a way through.
— loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

What happens to the hole
when the cheese is no longer whole?
— loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

It is easier to rob by setting up a bank
than by threatening the poor clerk.
— loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Do not fear death so much, or strife,
but rather fear the inadequate life.
— loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Keywords/Tags: Bertolt Brecht, translation, translations, German,  modern English, epigram, epigrams, quote, quotes, quotations

ich haben
                      nörd / nørd;
tat du vergessen mein schirm wenn es beginnen
zu regnen?
                         words in geometry,
words as geometric, shape-worthy when paired up
to grammatical slots of puncture befitting-... lost adjective;
best discovered during translation, and only thus.

the diacritics change decisively,
we are both equal to say the
encoding of north; what it says:
i have north; it's 0 being attacked,
considering the umlaut ready...
the left can't be holy... unattached to
either Mao or Stalin.. *noord...
surd english K and H... know...
or the finely attuned ear...
a billion crowns... fewer than
the number of kings usurped...
the "ß" of interchanging C and K
akin to original German S and Z...
sharpener a cheaper option worth the utility.

ich habe Sehnsucht nach Dingen, die nie passiert sind
sehne mich zurück nach etwas, das es nie gab

dein Arm um meine Schulter
mein Atem auf deiner Haut

ich will nicht weitergehen.
nicht ohne dich.

ohne dein Lachen im Ohr
ohne deinen Blick auf mir

wieso kann ich dich nicht vergessen?
wie kann ich etwas vermissen, das ich nie hatte?

502 bad gateway bypass:

title - veil-machine
body - otherwise no curtains
found.

perhaps: aujourd'hui, maman est morte sounds better in German... heute, mein mutter ist gestorben... maybe: at least in my eyes that have inverted themselves from hearing external sounds and summon thought to the hall of music and said: thinking is a sound, mind you: thinking is all the sense jumbled up - never mind "hearing" oneself "think" or for that matter... without hearing: on the broken bones in fingertips of gesticulating frantically the same as: could you please spread butter on my toast to... i'm drowning! help me!

i very much like the opening line from one of my favourite books... favourite is sort of stretching it, i picked it up by accident in a Barnardo's second hand book store on Nicholson St. in Edinburgh during the Fresher's Week, when i lost my virginity to Isabella and decided that i would adamantly learn French... although i hated French in high school i thought: well... if we started slow and she introduced me to Japanese Anime of a kind i didn't know before... i remember she scolded me for having three picures on the wall, one of Plato, one of Napoleon and one of Marquis de Sade... she didn't mind Marquis de Sade... but virginity for a man is nothing to be kept... it's something that one wants to get rid off... so i started this French course, failed it, because... i didn't attend any of the classes... except for the literature classes... were... to no "oddly enough" we were studying The Stranger... seeing as i "pre-meditatively" bought the book in english... i had to buy the book in French...

oh, the French language... it's almost as bad as English when it comes to surds, i.e. silent letters that are not heard when spoken but clearly visible when written... like in English... little words: to and no vs. too, row "vs." row... to row in a boat... with oars... and a row of birds sitting on a telephone line... a horse is a horse is a gallop and a stirrup and there's also a hoarse... throat... glug glug... a hoarse throat... there's a soar throat too and that's different to i saw and sea-saw and Warsaw and soaring... which is a terrible way of saying: sorry...

rigid was never a language for me... but love is stupid and losing your virginity to an older girl is stupid and... well... i might as well have went to the oral exam at the end of the year and spoken Polish... or tried German... pretending to forget what course i took... instead i just sat there like an idiot... a castrated ... + an idiot... but hell! i aced the literary side of things... i got a 1st for my interpretation of The Outsider... grades being grades... not everything in life that you learn within the confines of: that acid-riddled memory-erosion cesspit of pedagogy has any market value trans-evaluation of: good grades equals better pay... this was a lesson for life...

mother died today. or maybe it was yesterday, i don't know...

for one? terrible punctuation,
i once heard my English teacher tell me...
never begin a sentence in a paragraph of a journalistic
column with a conjunction, akin to OR or AND...
it's bad grammatical etiquette:
it's one thing to reinvent sushi by mixing it up
with some dried, fried onions and a sriracha mayonnaise
and another to serve the same fried dried onions
with a sickly sweet almost Hoisin resembling sauce...
with slices of raw salmon on a bed of rice
rather than those rolls with still the raw salmon
but with some cucumber and creamy cheese
and black sesame to go with it...

maybe i can rewrite that aujourd'hui in German again,
returning to English for German LEGO...
mutter gestorben heute; oder veilleicht
    es war gestern: ich weiß nicht....

i like this: ich weiß nicht...
        it's not... i repeat... it's not:
                         es ist mir egal...
i.e. it's not: i don't care... care... no wonder it's so
pivotal in the German tongue that
Heidegger made CARE so pivotal in his thinking
since: it's so pivotal in the German language
when the German language is translated...
there is no simple, word-for-word,
i.e.  i don't know: ich weiß nicht.
i worry: ich bin besorgt
   eh? i worry is indefinite...
   i is indefinite... there is no definite i...
i struggle is an indefinite phrase...
which i made a joke of once: mein kampf is a definite
expression via ownership...
ich kampf: i struggle is an indefinite expression
of "ownership": since... at any given time
my ego is swayed to "think" of "its" own "existence"
through a muddle of personal memory,
memory erased by pedagogy,
dreams... other people's thoughts...
mein: definitely, since own...
ich? indefinitely, since hey presto here one minute...
hey presto... Houdini pulled a rabbit out
of a top hat not by the ears but by the tail...

today within the confines of tomorrow...
but what is a "today" when you wake up
and remember a dream...
was the dream from yesterday?
was the dream related to yesterday?
just because you went to sleep yesterday
and woke up today... doesn't mean
the interlude of dreaming you had
might make any linear sense relating yesterday
to today or for that matter tomorrow...
so... muddling the yesterday with today
given the accenting of dreams on the psyche...
well... ich weiß nicht (i don't know)
is a rather "passive" attempt... hell: a most proactive
attempt to compartmentalize grief...
it's not: I DON'T CARE...
oh... i do care... but i want to be numb to
the reality that comes first and the knowledge
that comes after of the fact that... there's...
i swear German as a tongue would require
another Heidegger to explore the word
ABSENCE... FEHLEN...
   Abwesenheit is too close, synonymously,
with Abstrahieren...
                heit (-ness)
                   hieren (here)
    hereness... hierenheit... counter to da-sein?
that Dasein is: there-being... me asking: there's being
and be subsequently conjuring hierenheit?!
coincidence... unless that £60 i spent on the black notebooks
and another £30+ more i will spend on the final volume?
maybe?!

maybe that's why i'm so attracted to the continental
mode of thinking, Germanic or otherwise...
i find that, as much as the English adore pressurising
people as atoms into an atomised stated of:
suddenly! the individual was born!
out of thin air! out rebellion!
out of... the demands for everyone else getting
their fair share of intellectual growth...
there is no intellectual growth in the English mind:
the English are too sensible a people to complicate
the matters of thought if there's no:
******* COMMON SENSE FOR THEM AT THE END!
"they" even have a word for it...
it amazes me how sometimes i forget specified nouns
for their destined use... ergonomics?
that will do for a while...

the English don't tend to deal with reality by creating
pockets of abstract reality of:
nicht-sein-da...
            which is a splendid joke that can't be
unravelled by translating Dasein from Deutsche...
for me there is either: sein-da und nicht-sein-da...
a future of a concern, a care...
a waiting pit of that carefully adjusted performance
art of doing the bit of the mortal lot...
i sometimes wake up at night woken up
by the simple fact of mortality:
and i'm glad to be snuggling in bed, alone
with only thinking as my companion...
at least with the thinking my ego can walk through
and peer at mirrors... see its grotesque nature
it's parasitic gluing to a "me" together with
all those wasted daydreams and acts of
non-fruition...
  
i find nothing in English thought that might give
me architecture or backbone to complete
individuality: a process of individuation...
nothing in Locke... i have not bothered with English
"thinking"... the infrastructure is too sensible...
of transport of taxes of... whatever the:
kleinmann erachten unbedingt!

for the simple fact... what is a public intellectual
in the anglo-sphere? a person who goes into
the public domain with a ******* bibliography?
seriously?
backlog of ideas or, something?
regurgitating ideas of the more shy of the intellectual
heap of dung that once could be called
the iq herd?
        at least by reading continental thinkers i
have enriched my private life...
perhaps i enjoy my work perhaps i don't...
i find it absolutely unnecessary to find friendship...
if i can at least stand myself,
conquer this barrage of randomness coming
from an otherwise untameable ego...
let it pass let is pass i say to the innermost "not-i"
while the outermost "i-i" shouts belligerent day-mares
of.... e.g. being cut-short in a queue to a bus...
let that ****** slide... wait... until i bring
forth the reigns of scribbling finger-tips
and all thinking stop! when there's a clear graphic
for grammar, construction, punctuation
and abbreviations (if necessary) of seen sentences:
seen sentences not some ghosts of mere thought!

gut... mein mutter ist nicht tot...
nicht heute, nicht gestern: noch nicht morgen...
i just thought it was weird,
the comparison...
the dimmed lights of the hospital room
she was wheeled into...
and... the dimmed lights of the brothel room
i usually **** prostitutes in...
dimmed lights...
i carefully plucked the grapes off the vines
for her and placed them before her...
i pinched pieces of brownie dough
and dropped them into a bucket of vanilla ice
cream for her... which she gladly ate...
i watched as she ate that baked potato with
an inverted gluttonous pain from coming out
of the anaesthesia...
forgetting she was half alive half head...
some other quarter falling asleep another missing
quarter talkative...
those dimmed lights and the sarcastic green of
the demands of Hippocrates charming the serpent
as: to no avail... the usurper of the sexualised
metaphor, aged throughout Europe,
serpent, the bringer of temptation and hardly
the wisdom...
long before dinosaur bones were discovered
the people were conjuring up fire breathing dragons...
like... pre-meditatively... what?
the fire born was not the meteor and the fall-out
and yet some dinosaur remains
remained alive while the bigger breeds died?!

to think i might have read Kant or Heidegger or anyone
for the purpose of quasi-pedagogy and not have
read said authors for gains in the realm
of personal gains of obstructing access to
the sort of: puddle-people: pfützemenschen...
people who like to see life's point as:
one complication after another
by allow less than complicated people complicate
their already simple lives...
isn't a simple life worth salvaging?
isn't it?!

as they rolled her in from the hysterectomy operation...
in some, rare, cases... a woman's womb acts
like a man's hernia...
i suffered from a hernia as a toddler...
unlike in men... the female version pushes
a piece of tissue inwards... rather than outwards...
my great-grandmother walked with a bulging sack
of a third ******* of a disused womb until her death
because she was too old to have an operation
guided by the Hippocratic concerns:
her heart her stomach might not salvage her
morality with the applied anaesthetic...

but it felt very much like going to a brothel...
i was looking at my mother drifting in and out of a morphine
15min snooze button...
my father looking morbidly worried...
me? smiling face... giggling... trying to fill a space...
my father is a morbidly worried
swan... i sometimes wonder...
would i be worse off caring for my old father
if my mother died before him...
or would i be better off if my father died off
before my mother... i sometimes wonder...
it's still a coin flip... since the reality is yet to come
and i'm having the abstract ready...
this is me looking at my mother in a secure environment
secured by prescribed injections of morphine...
she has also seen me in my "prime"...
what's 40 units x 7 days a week?
280 units of alcohol in a week...
40 units? one bottle of 1 litre of whiskey per day...
when i was at my highest borne Berserker in scribbling
for people who are yet to be born...

we came home i heated up some leftover pasta,
some leftover chicken wings...
some clear chicken soup... it would be considered
a chicken stock by western culinary standards...
ROSÓŁ... but were carrots added?
was celeriac, was celery, was a leek, was root parsley
and fresh parsley, garlic added?
served with vermicelli?
           i watched him relax and watch West Ham beast
Derby in the FA cup... calmly...
the cats were fed... already sleeping in each
of our two beds...

            oh sure sure... romance... like that isn't too impossible
these days...
the congestion of older generations?
to replace them with what?
we cucks united bridging gaps with the already
satiated single-mommies and puppies
of: cuck...
             jeez... headaches from no known sources...

well i can tell you how similar a visit to a hospital
is similar to a visit to a brothel...
you're chasing...
i found myself chasing the queuing of mortality
with my mother today...
only three days ago i was chasing the queuing of
****** experience with a *******...
i'm yet to join the queue of
losing my father...
i know of losing my great-grandfather: vaguely,
i certainly know of losing my great-grandmother
and i know of losing my grandfather...
i'm yet to experience the loss of a friend,
or... "friend"... someone i used to know in high school...
by then it will be almost like losing
someone equivalent to
Michael Schumacher... or... Nelson ******* Mandela...
importance of whatever and that sniff of ZILCH...

a ******* cat with less to say than already said
will have more to say upon its passing than
Neil Armstrong's theatre for the global populace
and the moon conquered... one step for...
some dared not blink some slept through it...
just as long as the technology of it being televised was
real: it doesn't matter whether it was real...
if reinventing the canvas for a painting was
to be translated into the modern world...
television, per se, as the canvas... would... and is...
more important... than whether
it' a comparison of... the laziest example...
Leonardo's Mona Lisa or Picasso's the Weeping Woman...
NIQAB and the BEAUTY
NAKEDNESS and the BEAST...
or rather... NIQAB and the forever thirst for MYTH
of Woman as once, only then and ever...
faking to decipher by a Flaubert...
the ***** in my mind is the Madame Bovary
for women to pretend to be...
obviously they won't... but? does that matter?

hmm... first in german, then in english

i'm under the impression, that this breed of cats
i'm given the authority of: Maine *****...
behave like dogs... and unlike cats...
how clingy they are, less to me and more to my abodes...
they simply recognise me as the possessor
of space and not a timing of space:
with the requirement of others to fill the void...

katzen sich benehmen wie ***̄DE!
absolve all use of diacritical usage
within the staged, up! "lifting" of h to H...
keep i dotted from above within the confines
of I... or J...
are those speckled "hens" necessary

     ah what fun i could have with this
tongue so barren with the implosion of Latin
with what fellow European tongues ascribed
their idiosyncrasy to...
but of course:
           aber natürlich!
Ęnglisch nicht!
                   ßo! die welt überflutet diese inseln!

sie kam mit ihr zeppeline...
mit ihr senf...
mich? mich?!
ich kam mit die trauer...
keine hure könnte verstehe...

the grey the old the white and the black:
the night and the death to come!

der graue das alte das weiß und das Schwarze:
die  nacht und der tod, kommen.

death before life seems so less not-welcome
when speaking just a little bit of German!
mein gott! what a relief to have found
such miserably happy people allocated
a step-by-step realism of abstracting
pocketed-senses of... to **** with
that "umlaut of Hinduism"!
Heinrich... *******... Tibet suits you oh so well!
******* skiing in that crisp-cut welcoming bond with
the Buddha to serve no future Buddha under the Chinese
regime...

       tat ich vergessen etwas?
                          möglicherweise... sie?

me never think i think this tongue through...
mich noch nie denken ich denken diese zunge durch...

moren bein quartal nach elf...

getoastet roggen-brot:
             pochiert-ei
         spitzen... klacks von
hähnchenspermaeigelbpapst...

                  n'est ce'pas: die toten sind tot?

Ich bin die, die du auf der Straße triffst, begeistert grüßt und nicht vergisst, was wir gestern schrieben.
Lachend liegen wir uns in den Armen. Es gibt so viel zu erzählen, Worte überschlagen sich. Du sagst: „Wo ist nur die Zeit geblieben? Ich muss los, ich seh dich morgen.“ Drehst dich nochmal um und winkst mir zu.

Es ist schon spät, du seufzt leise. „Mach dir bitte keine Sorgen, wenn ich mich nicht melde. Ist grad viel los. Zu viel Stress, zu wenig Zeit. Du kennst das ja, bist live dabei. Nur kann ich grad nicht mehr.“
Und ich bin die, die du auf der Straße triffst, besorgt begrüßt und nicht vergisst, zu fragen, wie diese Sache eigentlich ausging.
Deine Worte sind Balsam für meine vernarbte Seele.
Es tut gut, wieder mit dir zu reden. Wir schmunzeln über alte Zeiten, vergangene Tage und gehn‘ weiter unsere Wege.

Es dauert lange, bis die nächste Nachricht kommt.
Es dauert länger, bis die Antwort folgt.
Doch ich bin die, die du auf der Straße triffst, zögernd noch grüßt und schon vergisst, was ich dir erzähle, während die Worte noch zwischen uns hängen.
Unsre Leben ziehen aneinander vorbei, wir sind nicht mehr im Takt. Die Sätze kommen abgehackt und mühsam.
Du bist gehetzt, denn das Leben wartet nicht. Prioritäten sind gesetzt – und ich bin nicht dabei.

Trotzdem ein: „Lass mal wieder bald was machen und so reden wie früher.“ Wir vereinbaren ein Treffen, von dem wir beide wissen, dass es nie stattfinden wird.
Du siehst mir nicht in die Augen und ich kenne die Wahrheit, nicke traurig zu einer Lüge, die nur noch du aufrechterhältst.
Denn ich bin die, die du auf der Straße triffst, schon nicht mehr grüßt und eigentlich schon lange vergessen hast.

for a culture that espouses... i think that's the proper
word: espouses... ridiculously promotes...
Darwinism: i see a terrible "juggling" act happening....
namely: you can't seem to somehow
consolidate with the western "crusade" for
individualism and all the basic Darwinism observations...
i never thought Darwinism was wrong...
sure... it's as right as the heliocentric model...
but if you want to read a map...
a massive orb that's earth pulverising your:
get from A to B...
the earth isn't "flat": i know that...
but to get from A to B... to get around
geographic algebra...
it's like cycling... i'm an aggressive cyclist...
whatever roundabouts are still alive
in that they do not employ traffic lights...
i'm there...
i usually work my way around
a truck on the antonym side of the blind spot...
the outer side of a lane...
and then... we're... go!
                    i love the thrill of wriggling around
traffic with the most minimum amount
of exoskeleton...
it's a thrill to be surrounded by objects
that i know might **** me...
i tried ***... *** isn't even close to this experience...
it's hardly... me imitating...
but... hearing how many cyclists were killed
in London for missing the blind-spot...
getting dragged under the wheels...
plus i just... simply adore the rules!
the authority... the trust that's funnelled
into the concept of traffic...
no where on earth have i found so much:
DASEIN... truly... you need to cycle in heavy
traffic to find your reading of Heidegger!
you can't walk this **** out...
there is so much reciprocation...
so much trust, concern is invoked...
like i said: it's better than ***...
*** doesn't inject you with adrenaline in a way
that *** might:
i guess *** can inject adrenaline...
it's still not the zenith...
when the plethora of emotions associated
with doubt is about as much as that plethora
associated... synonymous with love...
then fear... thrill... almost indistinguishable...
esp. at a roundabout...
how i came to love the white van man...
fearless speed custodian...
i once wrote about this...
unconscious algebra of spatial coordination....
that's how Descartes' res cogitans became
res vanus... the empty thing...
me on my bicycle...
thinking disappears when you have a chance
to generate your own momentum...
it's not enough of a bike... in a car...
better than walking...
it has to be...
there's a bbq happening two doors down...
plenty of Sikhs...
such a shame...
not the party... or that they're Sikhs...
i just listen in... a wall of sound...
even if i tried knowing this many people...
i threw a party once...
ended up ******* a black ******* a leather couch...
blah blah...
so many voices... one door down... Bella...
is sitting on the roof looking at me...
an albino roofer (mongrel cat... dachowiec in
******)
endowed with heterochromia...
there are the spiders... the snails...
an urn of delights of the night...
Asians... well as neighbours go...
you leave a cat with them... the cat might
magically end up... miraculously dying from kidney
failure while you're away...
if the Welsh are joked about as being sheep-shaggers...
don't get me started on the camel-jockeys
who... have beef with pork...
the real sheep-shaggers...

stinking lamb...
ah... that was the distinction...
włókno... wełna... bawełna...
fibre... wool... i was honestly expecting
for bawełna to come out
as: cotton... it's just a synonym of
fibre...

oh look... a googlewhack...
Konofale Uros...
i think i was looking for the spelling of falafel...
i think... i never know these days...
this party two doors down
is somewhat irritating me... not
that i can fit the acronym hierolgyph
of: f.o.m.o.
  i hate parties... i hated parties...
the parties i have thrown were....
parallels...
as one i got to **** a girl...
at another i was cleaning up my high school friends
*****...
the party is slowing down...
obviously... i'm guessing the host took a friend
or two to the back of the garden
to peer two doors down...
since i'm seeing a bald Asian looking
back at me... perched in a pseudo...
akimbo on the windowsill...

what's up?! company lost the thrill?
everyone's turned into rabble...
when drinking too much?
i drink too much...
you know: ahem... "you" what's weird about
being watched?!
it's true... you only really are...
when you are being watched...
it doesn't matter if you think...
thinking per se is not enough
to leave proofs.. traces of your existence...
you need something simple...
perfectly equivalent to what Sartre aimed at:
to be subject...

of the two movies i watched today...
**** me... i watched two movies today...
what's wrong with me?

my new york year... which has an alias:
my Salinger year...
the antithesis of a rom-com...
and a competitor of
the Devil wears Prada...
**** me... how well has... Sigourney Weaver aged!
look at her...
she does the boss role so much better
than... what's her name...
i thought she was proper hot... pancake ****
in Ghostbusters... but look at her now...
mein gott!
it almost feels like...
i want to be married!

oh for heaven's sake... this movie eats out
the devil wears prada... out from the crab bucket...
little girl in a big town sort of mentality...
i could type quicker...
give me 2 hours and i'll spew 2K words of originality...

it really was... the most pristine movie!
it was an... easy movie...
easy as in: i was watching a movie...
i wasn't watching... a *******... Leni Riefenstahl
flick! do "you" even know... how refreshing
that is?
i'm not watching a makeshift Leni Riefenstahl flick!
there... i said it!

here's for a worldly perspective...
the women at the part have receded into shadow...
remnants are still vociferous...
the maxim stands... either *******: as i tell you...
or... *******... as i punch you...
i party solo...

two... very random smoke rings appear...
as they rise..
i poke a finger into each one
like i might poke into the mouth
of my maine **** ginger that's yawning...
the Asian party is over...
the rabble is left:
the people with not intelligence
to deteriorate into a drinking ****:
not enough sausage fests under your belt:
i gather? ha ha...
too many arranged marriages...
welcome to the north!
the eternal night... it does wonders to people
most associated with equatorial dynamics...

i'm sorry... you're coming... you're leaving...
you're taking these Hyperborean women somewhere
beside her usual... fetish fest
of: more than...    the 6"?
i open the window..
i let the air creep in... elevate the staleness...
concerning these women...
is there a central authority figure to...
"guide" them?!

      i do, not, own, them... savvy?
i'm jealous of king David more than i could ever be of
king Solomon...
the man that conquered Goliath...
matched up to Achilles with Hector...
but also wrote... Psalms!
come on! come on!
i know it must tickle the agony of man
to have to have to: worry other men with envy!
men want other men to become envious of their
stature...
problem being... i can simply negate that:
arrival at "purpose"...
believe me... i can...
give me enough... patience...
self-scrutiny... "introspection"...
i can make anything i want:
implode...

oh i'm just looking for a nibble... a scribble...
i want a seed of purposiveness...
an element of potential...
i'm not looking for a gathering...
i want a... whisssssssssssper...
i guessed...
an extension of the S...
in no more / no less...
the missing trill in the English R...
is it?

i write... the boy play... party....
the girls giggle...
hold a mirror to a mirror... in the dark...
then compare glass...
to water... a puddle... a lake:
you will not... even if Xerxes says:
tame either river... or sea!
with whips or with madness!

hold a mirror to a mirror... in the dark...
compare the reflection of that of glass
with what you arrive at...
in the stillness of a lake... or a puddle...

have you ever... held a mirror... toward a mirror...
and...breathed a stroke of.....
smoke into it.... without hoping to conjure up...
fire?!

rauch und spiegel
aber
           non feuer!
hölle braucht; ich brauchen zu... vergessen...
there are female voices among them...

me and my fetish for all things: deutsche.

Einige wundervolle Dinge,
einige wundervolle Gefühle,
einige wundervolle Zeiten
wirst Du nie vergessen

ich hoffe, ich bin eins davon,
sagte das kleine Wort

sitting through a lightning storm:
i "think" i blinked twice...
come lightning: come thunder...
the deities' empty stomachs:
hungry for a sacrifice... something
requires to be eaten...

Slayer's i want to be your god...

i do... feel like a demigod...
not even *** matches up to the sensation
of chilling out during a lightning-thunder
storm...

i don't even need drugs: just delusions...
but by now: perhaps these are not delusions...
just imaginary drugs...
false beliefs? isn't that what Plato
asked Hercules of?

that conversation must have taken place:
somewhere between Mars and Jupiter...

Jeffrey Dahmer met his caricature:
i.e. Napoleon Dynamite...
and tried to laugh: but was met with
impotence of the mantis / oyster cult
of the ******...

i'll admit it though... curious... eerie looking...
bewildered... women:
oh... i didn't see you in the club...
because i was taking my Maine **** ginger
prize to the vet...
all the other cats arrived in cages...
mine? dearest Quarus...
on my lap...

    exasperating himself with heavy breathing...
do cats even have the capacity of dogs
to sweat by drooling?!
apparently they have...
if you over-excite them with:
undiscovered geography...

so i was sitting there... in the waiting room:
shh shh... hush hush darling...
curb our excitement...
like a Don Corleone...
best movie ever... star wars...
lord of the rings can hide in the shades
of the doppelgangers...
eh... mmm... just the hand movement:
the laconic: whatever...

so there he is... sitting in my lap...
hush hush... shh shh... stroking his forehead...
his nose...
under-stroking his... "chin"?!
and he's sitting pretty...
at only 8.4kg... he's still the biggest cat
in the practice...
aw... what a pretty tiger...
great! so now i have a ***** in my hands
and he's getting more attention than i will
ever get... great!

too bad he didn't freak out and didn't
start scratching the women...
either side of me...
   one with a poodle on a leash...
another with a timid rabbit...

personally? i rather take that poodle for a walk...
and feed that rabbit raw carrots and cabbage...
but there i am...
sitting pretty... my cat's not in a cage:
it could pounce any time soon...
i'm
   Don Corleone...
     i'm Azog the white orc with his
pet: that warg matriarch...
hey... i live in "fantasy" land... i stopped watching
television...
who else owned cats?!
Dr. No?             Dr. Evil?
      
i am: but then i correct myself:
there's no "i think" materialisation to counter-contend
my insinuations...
ergo? i am a multitude of "delusions"...
i also "think" that by simply "existing"
is a delusion...
it must be: it would be more authentic if i had
a repeated dream...
if my dreams were heavily: prone
to visual fabrications...

            i don't think i'd even bother to make myself:
question...
but since all my dreams i see in black:
perhaps the chance audio:
    i step back and "think":
   not all is right...
                        
  from the greatest horrors of the 20th century:
came... the greatest... creative: trailblazers...
but now?
    that's why the 20th century is so, unique!
what's that spider-man quote?
with great power... comes great responsibilities...
no horror: no imagination...
hello: Damoscl sword... just... dangling...

i'm a mediocre whoever in a time: whatever...
i "think" i'm special only because...
i live in very... mediocre times...
i know it's a delusion...
  but it's not a false belief...
            i still do belong to the 20th century...
i find myself at an age that allows me to be:
rather than become:
un-relatable to the youth...
  the world has moved on...
           everything moves on... yet returns
come noon or midnight... whatever...

i see it as the exceptional counter of art:
without exceptional suffering there will never be
an exceptional creativity...
unless i'm running solo...
     and i'm the only exhibit of creativity
and there: truly is... genuine suffering in this
world: without all the worldly constraints
akin to tapeworms...and earthquakes...

and the limitless music of...
the sound of men's necks breaking at the noose
from hanging themselves...

müdeseelen hören es erste!
tired-souls hear it first...

           und was reihe von auswahl!
and what an array of choice!

               me and my German fetish...
please! dearest god or stone:
array me with... a: dreamless night!            

gott oder stein!
     gott oder berg!
    stein an stein an stein an stein...
ich fast vergessen die meere!

                                versöhnlichsprache:
the English have nothing to do with it...
i just want to distance myself from the Russians...
because? they're being *******...

der erste... das letzte:
   der durst!
             und hunger!
das pinke: aber nicht flamingo!
    kapieren?!
                 kapieren?! n'ah: nicht kapieren!
"kapieren" ist: tod erste:
erste / durst / erste / durst...
              teuflischluftspiegelungen
von verloren liebe;

  for once: i will not translate!
                                      aus! *****! end!
das ist es!                                das ende!

****! there's no milk in the house.. never mind... the house has already stressed a want to deviate from the standard English cup-ah... it's not exactly unique... the English way of contaminating black tea with a squirt of cow *****... sorry... juice... there are plenty of stories surrounding this practice in Siberia... among... lactating women... if Siberia is on show... then the whole of Russia too... if i were ever to visit the United States... Tokyo conquers my imagination over New York... there's the Belgium of L.A.... i'm simply not that interested... oh the natural north American continent i'm very much interested in... but not so much with what has layered itself over it... i'd still rather see the Kamchatka peninsula... the volcano "avenue"... ****! there's no milk in the house... the household decided to switch to a green tea: a yerba māté (or... m'ah t'eh)... lime infusion for some... IM-BIR (ginger) infusion for others... no milk in the house... which implies that i'll have to buy a pint of milk on the sly... and glug it down... in between finishing off an ice-cream on a stick... raspberry: rhapsody ber-e! or bear: é (yes... no exclamation mark).. milk the hooves of my trot... the Sri Lankan rubber of my 23cm tires pumped up to 80+ Pascal(s)          (?)... if it's not a 35cl of whiskey is must be a pint of milk... goat milk is overrated... by all clinical standards of wholesale... it's nothing short of what's cow: long-life... excessive pasteurißed milksch... ah: some relief in german when scribbling in  Ęgliš - phonetically: with a "trick" of hiding the N: lost an IN(?) inquisitive tone: tier above... the monotone of narrative... oh... hiding one arm of the tetragrammaton is easy... sharp quest: q: ooh... oh! i seem to have forgotten what i wanted to scribble in the elder-tongue... maybe it might come back to me... after all... there's an undercurrent of: congregation but: the aliases are awry... we do not share the same etymological roots... der körper schlafen: solange der schatten: getanzt! jetzt! jetzt ich merken: von die
unmittelbarkeit of thought with short-term memory! this one time... the devil didn't come with either fire or with the perfumery stressing sulphur... at best he was gagging to add a zest of: zitrone-limette-orange... perhaps... just perhaps... der teufel vergessen (to forget is also a memory) zu bringen das feuer... aber! er tat bringen RAUCH und (the definite plural article for) SPIEGEL! i learned my lesson... upon each visit to Ypres.. seeing the graves of supposed ethnic brothers... the anglo-parade of "individualism"... and how the Detusche were... burried: en masse... no robin: now sparrow... designated their song over the seemingly marble stones of the named... but when it came to how the Germans were... folded... brick-on-brick... a haunting reminder... the sparrow / robin always deemed it necessary to... haunt a tree with a song... for the tree to escape the polyphony of the wind... we're talking a ****** riddling... empathy with the neighbours of Europe... push from Asia that wasn't the HOO'NS... the English had a Spanish torrent: back in the day... odd... how easily the English has capitulated having invited their former colonies to the sandpit... their native women have been barren: without a sense of agency...  they still capitulate... like... there's no like quiet like it... the Spanish armada failed like the Mongolian fleet failed when the invasion of Japan was being scrutinised... why wouldn't i somehow: pity the German soldiers of world war I... entombed in mass graves... sure as **** & the constipation that comes prior... i figured it out... just today... when men... single... and send their ******* dysfunctions: clean-cut-and-perfect... they take the shot of themselves... AFTER... they have *******... obviously it looks larger... with all the blood drained from the abilities of the scribbling hand.. they take the vanity shot after they have *******... nothing worth of note: prior...

(the devil forgot to bring the fire... but... he did bring smoke und mirrors!) i mentioned this somewhere... in: alt... etwas güt! (not... gat: not gut... my gut? good... softer... german-esque) Englisch ist ein späterzunge: it made sense... when there was an Empire.. but... now? ******* rhubarb... Rue-Barb... graffiti or no graffiti? that technical observation... no articles... included... when adjectives are being "stressed"? perhaps only in german... in all the german tongues: this over-stressing of the pronouns... of definite... indefinite articles... in the ****** tongue the pronoun I... makes are rare curtain drop... Freud was right about the vanities of men... Copernicus... Darwin... but he faltered... citing himself... some languages have pronoun exclusion parameters... you can't change a grammar... while nouns are asexual i English they are "sexed" up in other languages... but you'll find it rare: to spot the ****** use the pronoun: JA... i... ich... isch... whether speaking or writibg... in terms of language... England? *******... wenigsachsen! truly... *******... like i was addressed: silly ****... verpiss dich: wenigsachsen!

i had a "friend" once: a fwend... more like someone
i shared an occasional drink with:
then again... i did most of the drinking
while he staged most of the awkwardness when
i'd: from time to time... turn into a silent boor...
anyway... i was lazy and he was fat...
or i was fat and he was lazy...
                     by one stroke of the blue moon he
thought it was wise to lose some weight
by going to the gym...
never a good idea to shed off a dozen or two or
three pounds by going to the gym...
by all means: turn to the bicycle...
turn to swimming... turn to push-ups...
stomach crunches? eh... like Socrates remarked:
i like my stomach lamb-tender...
makes it easier to continue sparring the ol'
liver with a southpaw cider before noon...
but it was never a good idea to hit the gym, bro...
to shed some weight...
now... well... he's definitely slimmer...
a no-fat content milkshake sort of a shadow
that he now casts...
but... eh... gym bro... you won't find my lifting
weights... cardiovascular exercises since:
it's the closest you get to imitating ***...
plus... when you're the wolf with the three little
piglets on a red light at a traffic junction:
all hot & bothered: heaving and hyping up
the loss of breath...
ping... go the ******* of some traffic collision
of a woman... bad bragging rights...
hell: if no one's going to use me up
for some luvyy-dubby-teddy-bear-*******
i might as well: self-deprecate myself...
- you won't find me lifting weights because
this "friend": fwend of mine has exchanged
a weight problem for a... skin problem...
nothing dermatological you see...
it's the excess of it...
   if he only listened to me and shed the weight
via the cardiovascular "method"
his torso wouldn't be looking like a interspecies
mutation of how a dried prune turned into
a phallus and magically ****** an elephant's
******...
just saying... swim... press-up... cycle...
by all means...                 hell: even explore the mind
while taking to a marathon length walk...

p.s. for anyone who's a W. H. Auden admirer...
perhaps i was too... perhaps i still sort of...
well... it's not terrible important...
but you know how homosexuals can be
these scalding / scolding ******* behind each
other's backs... or at least that's the impression
i get having revisited a passage from
Harold Norse's autobiography...
i reread it to remind myself that...
                      i might leave traces of conversational
overtones... i might not rhyme:
or bother much with: tech-niq(ue) -
although: in (brackets) - surds...
                          you write them to differentiate
what would probably some out
to tek-nick: although the -nick would extend
into meek with an N -
but it's worthwhile to remember that...

i had another "friend": fwend... he complained
that i wrote in word salads...
last time i checked: he wasn't fond of a slice of cucumber:
either...
so much for friends: "fwends"...
i'm itching at 35 years old
and i'm itching for...
beside the prostitutes that give me
the most pristine smooches...
purpose... yes... that grand: "thing":
i simply don't have a noun for what's
already readily available...

chin low: forehead: high!
(kinn niedrig:
stirn hoch!)

                rotkehlchen und / oder spaatz
auf mein fahne!

i forgot to have friends...
i have my shadow to keep me company...
ich haven mein shatten zu
halten mein... kompaine...
    i die: Adolfo: KLAR
es ist nicht: Portugiesisch:
no leash? nein: leine: or geese..

                a cat might as-alles-goot...
fall asleep...
in an around a bookshelf of
unread Rousseau...
     **** the ego... **** the most ineffective crux...
the lost pagan: the hyper-inflated
intellectual Hebrew...

came the res cogitans... so too must have come
the res venus...
i find the lack of fear of deity suspicious
surrounding the Muslim bravado...
lasts for about one...
oink-oink-...
prickling at the mythological blonde:
by the time we're through:
there might be the rarity of the ginger
Pakistani...
or the bleached beauty of Afghanistan...
the mythological blonde escapade...

thank god i''m not reproducing...
now allowance of daughter by my side...
side to sire... what?
licking out some... sorry... you're not playing
jazz: some ******* ***-hole?!
i'm glad to not be in the race
of rats...
i'm bowing out: no one said it wouldn't
be painful... it will be...

i rather die the death of a wolf
with his teeth being pulled out...
than die the death of...
estranged relatives...
social cohesion race mingling *******...
it was so nice... so nice...
when black people ****** black people
before the blakc boy discovered the white
girl...
to hell with her... as Genghis Khan
sufficed to surmount...
if it didn't happen on the shore of the Danube...
then... it didn't happen: at all..

no... i'm just tired of how the English see
***... in Belgium you could buy a *****-mag
like you'd be watching a girl put on a full show
of cow-******* and a sack: without
the hurt feelings of a niqab:

well... i get the Muslims... somehow...
they're just about ripe in being synonymous
with... French footballers...
that's what happens when you don't
fear your deity:
you become... sort of... shrapnel...
tooth-itches:
not: teeth-itching... hell...
not (a) tooth-itch...
pseudo-grammatical post- Reconquista of Spain...
the ****-
-stanis still think of themselves as:
because of the Ummah: we... the Berbers of North:
Af- Af-... ath... aph... who knows?

the Muslims are... oblivious to having
a fear of their deity...
it's not like... i sacrifice my *******...
to ******* freely...
because... i don't exactly require:
a woman on a leash... a niqab might work...
but...
Muslims are yet to evolve to fear their deity...
after the fear comes
the secular apathy...
like the one staged by the Hebrews during
the holocaust...
a god: what god?
capitulating English folk...
because Birmingham sings aloud: loot!
hey presto... it feels like:
there's looting to behold...
between you an me...
i don't mind the future or:
copper-necks
and Brazilian mulattos...

100 years from now...
the details of a Hapsburg dynasty will be worth...
the face of F.D.R. on a dime...
equivalent or: there: about...

as is due: i must: applaud the victor:
i'll die towing the remains of the day:
a sunset come the tide toward
the Faroe Isles...
where i'll breath my last into
fathoming the wind...

dodo project: last introspection...
by no god or genes...
let these people have what they utmost
deserve...
the humidity is getting to me...

i'll just... sort of die... admiring the corpus
of either the Janissaries
or the Mamluks....

to heave as much as a woman;
to enter the confines of a storm:
i 'd sooner fathom
the depth of the angered sea...
than... quest...
for the benevolence of a woman...
i've teased the depths...
i've angered the tides...
i've become:
the anchoring of the shore!

tomorrow the world ends...
thank god i'm no safe-keeping of either
Shakespeare or the Quran...
why?
toward my own privacy...
i'm sure at least one *******...
will want be revived:
just one... that might want to keep me alive..
just one? timid bunch?

have it your way: camel-jockey...
have it your way,,,
like any new-found-riches of an Arab
undermining a Bangladeshi..
**** the Arabs...
leave 'em in their...
whatever an Arab "thinks":
most probably something less than a Pakistani thinks of...
ahem: 'em...

**** the H'arabs!
best begin a reworking of: no oil involved...
with the ****'ites...
Persian pirate... to hell with the poodle
masters of the parasitical Sunnis.

the usual start to a night without promise...
a googlewhack...
this time...

                     gansang gawoosh...

i'm getting pretty good at these...
i sit for a while and... mind's blank...
it's not writer's block per se...
but it's just...
being absorbed by inanimate things
that fills me contempt for:
that i can write coherent language:
but that... there's no story...

well then...
                     gansang gawoosh

i would most certainly find solving
a su doku more relaxing:
right about now...
perhaps i invested too much of myself
in juggling a private
conversation with four: very different
women...

perhaps all that work in the garden:
i was bemoaning some days earlier
how: the "chess" of rearranging
objects in my possession...
my father's (esp.) split between two
sheds while i was making room
to make: room for my bicycle...

moving the lawnmower from one shed
to another... rearranging
the chainsaw to lying rather than
standing up-right...
very tedious "chess"...
perhaps i'm just not in a mood to be
my own radio d.j. perhaps the algorithm
isn't coughing up enough new:
worthwhile suggestions...
perhaps there isn't just that much new
music to listen to...

if i'm scraping the bottom of the barrel
while listening to: after the fire's der kommissar...
i really am... scraping the bottom of
the bucket... a crab bucket...

i'll just put it down to: oh... just one of those days...
perhaps if i reached for my usual outlets
of inspection: etymology...
orthography...

perhaps if i conjure up a 2nd googlewhack
i'll feel better: it's not that i feed awful...
just disengaged...
but it's not like i'm writing...
Kronos...
  Witold Gombrowicz's pseudo-anecdotes...
written in something resembling
Morse code...
Hangul or Katakana is lost on me...
as is Braille & Morse...

i have a rubric from yesterday...
mythology...
fiction...
      history...
journalism.­..
     poetry...
  somewhere in these scales is...
the general purpose of bureaucracy...
filing...
poetry comes closest to journalism:
these days...

   oh these days: that there are these days...
perhaps this is just a lag...
a stalling...
but that's how i see the scales...
open circle...
        perhaps i'll drink too much and
hardly come up with something
worth dedicating myself to:
then again: i think that's already happened...

i became disappointed with

would writing a sentence in German elevate my
morose... deflation?
drink more?
            i'll try:  vergessen du selbst
(forget yourself)...
oddly... in German is not compounded
into a 'yourself'...

maybe just a general cultural malaise...
an extinction of originality...
i will not leave this keyboard & this canvcas
until i don't find yet another
googlewhack..

maybe then... gazpros zoib: two results...
not good enough...
tweak here & there...
well... that wasn't hard...

                   gagpros zoyby....

so much for any intellectual stimulation....
what was that one from yesterday?

          konofale uros
it's so disappointing to...
             make these... out of a billion search results...
you get one... and when you get one...
you... end up scribbling your impetus onto
them on another page....
so you end up slugging behind on
the... search end of the result...

it's fun... but even that becomes boorish after
a while...
a bit better when compared to...
falling asleep while listening to
Christopher Young's Soundtrack...
Hellraiser: Hell-Bound in your speakerss
while you shelter yourself under
the bed-sheets...
or eating a well pickled herring:
since you don't cook herring...
you eat them raw... best... pickled...
you can cook sardines...
you can't exactly eat herrings hot...
it's the Baltic sushi...

today is simply: not a day;
not worth minding... it's best kept
forgotten...
even if drinking to an excess if your "thing"...
then the highlight comes around with...
cleaning up your cat's ****.

Die Tage reihen sich,
in zu schneller Abfolge,
in zu vielen Reihenfolgen
Aneinander, auseinander
zu Löchern in meinem Kopf.

Eindrücke verschwimmen und verwischen,
Farben und Gesichter vermischen sich
Der Regenbogen am Himmel gestern ist heute schon weiß.
Ein Spektrum umgekehrt.
Namen sind Laute geworfen gegen den Wind,
gerade noch gesprochen und schon sind sie verflogen.
Wer warst du und wann
warst du gewesen?
Ich weiß nicht mehr wer ich war,
zu welcher Zeit an welchem Ort.

Weißt du,
ich spreche vom Ende der Zeit,
praktisch,
du von ihrer Unerreichbarkeit,
herrlich
Wer waren wir gewesen?

Gerade noch erlebt,
gerade noch gelebt
und schon sind wir vergangen,
so bleiben wir,
vergessen.

Endlich.

when analogy
  is hyper-inflated,
and,
  metaphor...
   is like...
  "that lost
aspect of poetry"...
readied to
be settled
into an outlier,
Levi, tribe,
of theology....
shrim;ps are Norman,
oyster exotica...
palm trees,
birch trees...
        like the one time
i was banned,
for the fiction (lie)
of throwing a pint glass
across the floor...
days later i
inquired the barmaid...
shopping in a turkish shop...
'are you, em, o.k.?'
let's forget the reply...
i can ride a horse,
but i can't ride a car...
again, sorry,
i didn't hear that..
i can ride a horse,
            but i can't ride a car....
contra argument:
yeah...
  can i get the horse back
and...
you better forget i ever
played video games?
                  give me a horse:
giddie-up sonny...
give me a car...
i'd be like... huh?
what?!
do i look like a *******
bus-driver
                 you ******* whim?

block users: only
when intelligence doesn't
translate...
     talk talk, talk,
and then some talk...
me actually walking
into a forest at night...
no one vacant...
someone wants to
be vacant...

                    yes?
nothing...
     my brain is the perfect
chemistry crib
of the most ronin
brain invested
in a translation into
tongue, into literacy...

give me a car,
sorry, no,
i can't figure the technicality
out...
give me a horse though?
i'm ready,
what am i to gallop
against?

                    fickenesel!
i want to see
    the karotte first!
you can whip me...
all you want,
but, i want to see
the karotte, zuerst!

yes, *******?
  yeah, sorry,
ich vergessen,
       sich verbeugen:

i forgot...
                          to bow.

point being:
..................
   .....................
................

                 make me.

Stille
Einmal kurz durchatmen
Die einzige Leerstelle im Gehirn
Die ich mag
Schön, dass du da bist
Schön dich zu sehen
Hier bei mir

Viele Kleinigkeiten machen ein Leben aus
Wir sammeln sie
Geben weiter und nehmen mit
Tragen uns gegenseitig durch die Welt
Bis zum letzten "Aus"

Und doch zerbrechen wir uns den Kopf bei den großen Dingen
Zumindest wenn sie groß klingen
Lasst uns trauern
Zwischen gemeinsam und alleine
Lasst uns feiern, lasst uns essen
Am Ende muss man lernen
Immer weiter zu machen
Weiter zu leben

Schon wieder etwas verloren
Jemanden
Auf dem Weg gelassen
Schon fasst vergessen
Schon wieder etwas mehr allein
Aber nur scheinbar

Vieles geht im Alltag unter
Großer wie Kleines
Manche Dinge kommen wieder
Manche schleichend und leise
Manche plötzlich, schreiend, laut

Lasst uns einen Moment verweilen
Hier und jetzt
Zusammen schweigen
Tritt ein *******zurück
Und lausch
Betrachte das Ganze
Schau was du sehen kannst von hier

Genieß den Ausblick
Solange du magst
Und dann komm langsam zurück
Zurück zu mir