Being called a ****** is something I don’t mind
In fact it's really okay and it's rather kind
I don't think it is offensive or even a sick joke
What’s a man supposed to do without a **** to poke
Okay he could stick his **** between two bits of Spam
But he really needs a hot moist **** to be a real man
If her *****'s on the blob he could settle for an ****
The ******* of both these holes simply is pure class

There are guys who prefer a **** and like a manly ***
A tighter hole maybe prefered to make those fellows ***
To **** a bloke if you're straight is an equivalent to a slum
Or even a taboo ****** act like ******* your own mum.

Manly ***** and dangly parts are really not for me
I don't bend to hairy **** it's not where I would be
Girly ***** and smoother bums is what I want to see
I'd rather **** my own **** than **** a guys jacksy

Pulling a huge Horses Plonker only fools like Rodney Trotter
Or Blind Wizards with broken glasses like Harry ******* Potter
Don't **** on your **** to hard you may just *** a cropper
Especially if you ***** up in a helmet belonging to a copper.

I would never bash the bishop what would the churches say
To find me with a spunky hat and that their faiths turned gay
We don't want ***** clergymen who **** on the silver tray
Vicars ******* choir boys keep those cassock fanciers at bay

I would'nt choke the chicken because I don't think I could
But the staff at Kentucky Fried Chicken they probably would.
They would lick your ***** up because its finger licking good.
And use their special wipe up towel to clean up your manhood.
With its lemon fragrance you will have good smelling wood.
Around your shaft and helmet and beneath your ******* hood.

Would I ever yank my plank like the pirates of the seas
The extention of my log when I'm on my ******* knees
My hand around my fishing rod and giving it a squeeze
Using a hand action to squeeze out my cream cheese
*** is flowing down my shaft like honey from the bees
I'll keep pumping on my rod and creaming in the breeze

Have you ever seen those fellows praying down at the synagogue ?
From their own expressions they've been flogging their own log
Take a look at their robes the bottom stained with their eggnog
Either that or they have been ******* some old scruffy dog
I don't think that they bothered their heads are in a fog
With all that ******* worship they would **** a big fat hog

So I'm slowly warming to it but maybe when I'm ******
And I can't get no ***** and its the last thing on my list
I may take myself in hand my **** clutched in my fist
Then I may consider having a swift one of the wrist
If you end up watching then please excuse the mist
I'll carry on with the hope that my **** gets kissed

Because Wanking is an activity that in all honesty all men do
Something that comes to hand when you can't get a good *****
When your **** gets harder and we think of god knows who
We grab our piece of man meat and imagine that *** stew

I'll  have to keep on wanking I can never get enough
Off all that lovely ***** because finding it is tough
Nothing is more satisfying than diving in the ****
Legs open wide will always be something I will stuff
Instead of wanking I would rather stick it up your chuff
But I'll probably end up looking  a bit scraggy and ruff

So I will keep on going until my **** is old and worn
With all that ******* wanking whenever I get the horn
Popping my sweet cornels just like children of the corn
Watching ****'s and ******* or granny ******* ****

Today I accidentally saw a preview of; The News;
a disabled sixteen-year-old girl, a victim of abuse
god
The accused is a priest. A round man in a long black cassock
And a snip view from mass of another priest plays shortly
My face turns green as my mood turns blue
He says he has a holy feeling, that the accusations aren’t true.

A cult; /kʌlt/ noun
‘a system of religious veneration and devotion directed towards a particular figure or object.’
We show our devotion, we kneel and give thanks
He applies lotion, looks at a child and wanks.
god
Everyone is entitled to their beliefs, and to the respect of those beliefs.
My belief is that no human is superior to another human.
A priest is only a man.
And this man in the long black cassock had a plan.
And this child will remain terrorized forever.

People should be held accountable for their actions.
Women’s lives are not to be of similar value to male satisfactions.

An article on ‘The year of ‘Times Up’ and ‘Me Too’ movements has been a dangerous year for men.’
Every year from the beginning of time has been a dangerous year for a woman.
Innocent men are not in danger.

I was sexualized and assaulted at the age of eleven. #MeToo
I wasn’t wearing a short skirt. I wasn’t drunk. I wasn’t provocative.
I was playing chase.
For years after that game of chase
I had nightmares featuring his face

This is not your place to say this year is dangerous, for men.
Times Up

******-man, ******-man
Does whatever a ****** can
Wanks a **** any size,
He'll undo your trouser flies
Watch Out!
Here **** the ******-man.

Does he ***?
listen bud
When he **** its like a flood
he **** from his ***** head
Take a look at his bed
Hey, there
There goes the ******-man

When his suit is to tight
His bulge starts to slime
He wanks through the night
and spunks all the time

******-man, ******-man
Friendly neighborhood ******-man
**** and *****
He's ignored
Tossing is his reward
To him, life is a monkey spank up
Whenever there's **** up
You'll find the ******-man

believe me, you grow out of it
(*******),
   you reach the natural conclusion
as women do,
    experiencing menopause,
your's the least actrattive cunterpart,
no choice...
          you just grow out of it...
you just get bored
                       you just grow out of it...
it literally become a case of
   huh?
     yep, it becomes a hmm equation...
and if you're not married,
  5p.m. feels like 9a.m.,
                         the **** is going on?
fyck, uleterior motive for spelling
   thick...
           so what the fyck's going on?
pop culture... fuckle me...
                   send some more sleeping
pills my way,
    so i can pretend to be in a
heavyweight boxing match
         fighting both klitschkos
   at the same time, in street fighter mode
of pretending to be blanka /
            zangief / vega?
    i'd **** over him
               any-day-of-the-week,
such **** ******* /
     dhalsim - mr. stretch-armstrong /
                           mr. fantastic...
tekken never conjures up
an equation
      that music does
   i.e. the beatles (street fighter)
vs. the rolling stones (mortal kombat)...
tekken never really made it
         for "equality" status:
                        equal status, i get it;
nonetheless, men tend to grow
out of the practice of *******,
  just like women
   are automated to experience
menopause...
                       you just get bored
of the hand as ****...
                       d'uh dummy dum dum
+ a mongolian harmonica
    (index moving up & down
with the lips perforking
          the motorboat effect,
encapsulated within the brrrrrrrrr;
sure, the missing trill of the r in english...
    and there are no diacritic indicators
that the letter ought to be the sole-source
of vibration...
           hence no roll with the umlaut ä -
   sounds like chinese wow wow wow yo
  boat...
             yoyo that ****?
      count that as two:
          hämmer, i.e. haamer...
          i.e. hāmmer...
              or ha'mmer... so what's with
the trigonometry of the m?
  how many more times do you have
to wave a goodbye?      
                  but the scandi- version?
middle-class english,
   i love their slang,
        they slang a longer word into
a shorter word,
   but never bother to adffix a hyphen
for invigorative measures...
    it always seems to be: oxford approved;
if americans are yanks...
                   the british? wanks;
jiggy-jiggy-mah-jig.
         totality bound by sources found
    in either peckham or hackney;
oh right, the roll...
  an aangstroom, i.e.  ångström...
                    linguistic ballistics...
        **** gets funnier when writing fiction,
the irish and the slav prefer the hyphen
of differentiation in a convo, i.e.
  - and so
- so what?
the post-germanic tribes of anglo saxons and
americans?
    they prefer the inverted commas
and the he said...
                          e.g. "i was saying," he said.
yes, i know that's a fictional character
"speaking",
     but you could at least count,
   toward expressing the correct arithmetic,
i.e. 'i was saying,' he said;
                            yes,
i know no one was saying anything,
             you were thinking someone
was saying something you "said"...
          so why was it never the irony of "citing"
with only two index fingers,
   as opposed to
         two index and two middle fingers?
i swear to god, that's not how
you quote...
                    if you're ever going to quote;
it can only mean
   a beginning of ambiguity,
   by invoking "     ", you're making war
on the thesaurus.

you know what's more intimidating beside speaking of a personal detail in the life of a person you know? speaking of a universal truth; there's nothing more intimidating that giving reference to a common fact of referencing life, one limb of the triad crumbles into a suckling squid... revealing the sparring partners you get to: well, you juggle with three *****, you puppeteer two.

i could understand english humour -
sure, the black comedy "tact" -
but then the anglophone world was
overtaken with comedy -
the last tier before the final bow of
downfall - the one prior comes in
the form of a "fascination"
with culinary escapades -
   prior to the last resort of humour
comes the culinary escapade -
i once understood english humour,
more than was worth since it was
reinforced by canned laughter -
but there was something to be had...
these days? maybe english humour
imploded: and it attacked its worst
ally: ***.
   make fun of ***, you're making
fun of life...
     and how isn't english humour
not peppered with too-overtly
sexualised jokes? jokes by children
of divorcees...
  tell you what: life's short,
you're *****, see a ******* before
you see a psychiatrists...
cheaper, and you get the full
workout... after all, vietnam made
the war zone pocket sized...
            i don't understand english
humour... it's beyond political satire...
these people are pushing the absolutely
wrong buttons...
  i remember watching this
video in trafalgar sq., these two white
kids, bouncing a basketball -
      then one bounces the ball
off the head of a black guy,
and the white boy is so "jokingly"
apologetic...
                  what happens next?
the black guy smashes a glass
bottle over the white boys head...
the white boys is hit unconscious:
**** me, that was funny!
            the anglophones have
really ******* the genre of comedy...
i can call them anglophones -
  speaks not good english,
but he overshadows about 100+
anglo boys in his roofing job...
     my father...
    the english are slackers in
the industrial industry: which is why
it's filled with slavs and romanians,
but at least they do their job
and never bother going to the gym...
the english ponces?
do a ****** paper-fiddling job
and then hit the gym...
            horse-hoof lickers.
          i was once acknowledged
as speaking spaghetti english:
yes, but when my father questioned me,
he didn't mind me not having
learned the full alphabet:
what am i, a trained puppy?!
         now he lives with his father,
with his father having divorced his mother
and living with a thai ****** breeding
chickens...
        guess my loss in the "friendship"
case of "affair".
            the english have actually
exhausted the genre of comedy,
they're not funny anymore...
    they're pathetic...
         i'll joke the next time i sucker
one's head off the clock into
the unconscious minutes...
          the english overdid comedy
by a mile, they're as about funny as
a donkey-riding rider alongside the
remaining three-horsemen...
slouching toward jerusalem...
                   the fact that the english
are telling are joke: reiterating that they
are: seems rather troubling.
   i don't want to know its a joke unless
i actually laugh, a comic telling me
"it's" a joke is rather troubling...
             why have the english changed
from a culinary fetish to a joke
fetish over a decade?
         ****** food makes for a good joke...
oh yeah, me, beta-male,
  when all the best restaurant cooks
are male...
                    i still will not get an english
joke: the so-called *nuance" is
only a *nuisance -
     there's a threshold of acceptable
nuance in comedy, after a while it's like
lying: thinking you'll get away with it...
it's called: "being" subtle...
when in fact you're a vermin nibbling
on the edges of peoples' patience...
  after all you stop excusing the self-excusing
comics who want to catch themselves
excusing themselves and retire with
a backlog of canned-laughter lax.
                   no point in comedy:
if someone laughs for me.
          what's the point of comedy if
i am not the one to spot the self-imposed
prompt for a laugh?
   what am i? a ******* windowlicker who
laughs when taking a **** holding
his pecker?!
                      you conniving little
******* wanks...
                              i have to say:
the big laugh comes prior to the creeping
weep...
              no, i forgot you being "intricate"
in "nuance" -
  nuance is gone, baby, nuance is gone,
we're dealing with subversion,
and the last word ascribed is "nuance"...
i always said the english as perfecto
two-faced actors: they lie telling the truth,
as they tell the truth, while lying.
        next time i trust them with a hamster
i'll ask just more than a vet nurse...
and i don't mind pakistanis -
i just mind the english pakis -
the anglo pakis - pakistanis are fine with me,
i event managed to grit to an invite
by one muhammad to admire his
crocodile farm in kenya -
  anglo pakis? hate them like i hate
my acne skin... i'm thirty and at the ends
of puberty, yet still: the explosion of
hormones... might as well be a down syndrome
kid: l'oreal should look into extracting
down syndrome genes to make the face cream...
******* never age:
mother's aged 80, and he's shy of 35.
            n'ah, the english did comedy once,
they did it well, they didn't have to ****
off canned laughter obstructing me from
laughing at what i found funny...
   they took the complacent communist rule of:
****** laugh when all other idiots
ought to laugh...
that black guy in trafalgar sq. smashing
a glass bottle over the white guy that bounced
the basketball off his head was funnier
to watch...
         comedy these days is not
nuanced... there is no nuance:
what you hear is what you get:
   and the english way of a dog curling up
its tail between its legs and running away
is not gonna work...
                     what you said is what you
meant: given that blah blah bi bi blee boo
was intended to translate into:
         can you get me a tonne of glue?
the origins of comedy are not based upon
excuses of nuance: comedy can only
be excused by canned laughter:
not nuance.
               politics is nuanced:
if you drag comedy into this cesspool of
nuance: you're not exactly riding
a horse fully shoed into the sunset of
laughter...
   politics is nuanced:
you can't expect comedy = politics -
    to thus express: oh, we're just misunderstood
akin to politicians: nope, we're just lying
is not going to cut it...
          the best jokes are from a people
who say jokes the least:
after all, the omnipotent psychology says:
the most nervous person at a party
tells the most jokes...
    guess western society has had
its turns...
                    first they make comedy
intelligent, then they make cooking mundane,
then they make comedy excusable,
then they make wacky dishes,
     then they make comedy "nuanced",
then they get a glass bottle smashed
over their heads...
          then they make a case for
the microwave...
           and then the once ha ha become an aah...
     that sigh of relief...
         watching this spectacle:
slayer's behind the crooked cross -
   not the jews, but the greeks invented
sado-masochism of the northerns -
the greeks painted the jews as irrational -
   even though the archeological findings
disprove the greeks' little "messianic" story...
i still find english humour naked, lacking,
you can only push nuance to a certain
sisyphus moment in time,
  before sisyphus decides to give it a rest,
and toils no more, and never allows
the stone to roll up the hill,
   and interludes with pondering...
        after all: thought is never a medium
of futility... it being: the ultra-verb,
it being the omni-limb...
                             these days we know
that the englishman is no longer funny...
because his jokes are overtly plagiarised
by "excusing" himself with giving
a nuanced explanation: rather than a punchline:
comedy has a limit: on how intelligent
is can become... children laugh at calamity
short-scripted:
    do you think adults ask for a long-scripted
"base" for giggles, when the narrative prior joke
ends up being so mundane,
to be only backed up canned laughter?
euro trash, sure, but what an island of trash
to back it up...
      i love intelligent tragedy...
the english invented "intelligent" comedy:
people laugh at this sort of crap
by a mimic format: everyone knows its not
funny: then again: by laughing at it
it's peacocking to impress...
                   there's no intelligent comedy...
people who laugh at "intelligent" comedy
are bystanders, eaten up by canned laughter.

.                                                   pękł -
   reg. a balloon:
                                         he burst,
in other languages
certain words
have no
gender neutrality,
why double the standard
for a per se fetish,
regarding neither noun
nor verb gender neutral,
by sole testimony
    identifying pronouns
as gender neutral?
     move to switzerland,
and you'll find certain objects
having a gender bias...
e.g. a grenade is male,
a chair is female,
                a table is male...
not really:
a chair is gender-neutral,
    a sleeve is male,
     the sun is female,
   the moon is male,
  the bed is female,
       the floor is female,
  a house is a hermaphrodite,
     as is tango.
how can you attain
          gender neutrality
within the framework
of pornouns?
  sorry, pronouns...
                     english is
looking, but rather not looking
at itself being
constrained in a straitjacket...
******* lunatics, a bunch
of ******* lunatics...
   pronouns are
         gender exclusive...
other european tongues?
their nouns are gender
inclusive...
                    to me the english
language is *******,
or at least contrasting
the darwinistic bombast:
                            neanderthal.
and to think,
it only took the church being
truly established,
   the mistaken identity of
the dead sea scrolls,
          st. thomas' gospel,
   and the nag hammadi library...
bunch of wanks...
      sure, if the atlantic sea
is just a pond...
   wanks welcome yanks...
     in continental
   european, a chair can summon
a male pronoun association,
   while a frying-pan can summon
a female pronoun...
    england was never going to
be as eccentric as iceland...
  unless in never never ever land.
                                                  pękła,
                                       yep, she burst.

i hear the argument from the little yanks, i.e. the brits, the wanks, all the ****** time: learn the language, we'll welcome you in... like ******* will, unless i'm not a ****... i'm only welcome: when i displace you as the main ethnic similis... i can speak an english better than you, yet still you'll persist talking about agendas of demographic platitudes, **** the yanks, and **** the little yanks, the british wanks! i'm actually waiting for your little project to take root in the construction industry: odd... there are more women in the military, than in the construction industry! that's ****** sexist... we should have more women throwing bricks over their shoulders and being equal with men; ah wait, cows on parade! cows on parade! the military will soon be a place for women leaders on one side, and desperate lone wolves on the other... with the real battle ground, the real trenches, being the buildings under construction, in the construction industries... your new warfare agenda, has only just begun.

the brooding blood boiling: i leave no allegiance
for sure, i make no friend, as i make no foe,
i stand alone, in the waters of all that i: abhor.
a somali family of ten will sooner find housing,
a nigerian, a russian and arab millionaire,
then either i or the native sprechen
cold-touch chicken goosebump fest of hate -
and i won't be alone...
  but the moment you scheme your little
pathetic racial stereotyping incisors -
your little scheming gnat incisor gashing at
the wound that is supposedly never to heal:
i'll sell you a new testament,
since you blatantly woke too late to
correlate the secular history of the ancient times,
the unearthing of the text, and
the cushioning for a st. augustine's hierarchy
of absolution...
    rest my bone, upon a grecian lie?! never!
i will sit with whip in one hand,
and honey in the other - and speak for one
else, other than my other significant "other"
namely myself, and lead the illiterate
bludgeons: upon retezat peak -
       cutting off the bluntness of impaling
crucifix - to make a doll from those impaled -
gesticulating with arms, while the sharpened
pike slouched into their ****...
              as if imitating dolls attached to
    spiderweb threads to dance the puppets' dance...
that's crucifixion: doubled up upon.
first they tell you learn their language,
and you comply, but then they ask you learn
their crisis, and you begin to rebel saying:
i signed up to the language:
  not your bewildering existential crisis!
        
by the way, have you noticed that modern
political conversation in the west
lies heavily on the pivot side of the cartesian
sum? i've noticed it...
   political commentators hardly ever think!
all i hear is: sum this sum that, sum sum sum,
i.e. i'm a capitalists, i'm a communist,
i'm a libertarian, i'm a liberal, i'm a conservative,
i'm a socialists, **** me and the spectrum alike:
i'm really starting to think that
the heavy-sided state of affairs summons
only the cartesian *sum -
    it's beyond a q. & a. session where we
exchange badges, labels and other assortments
of pitching for a perfect freshers stall of
asking for attention: eventually
the leverage shifted from a pivotal balance
to a one-sided gesture: i am this, i am that -
what do i think of anything? none of what i
"supposedly" am, or am not.
  it's no longer what's question / answer worthy,
what is central is: what's thought-worthy?

summa summarum?

1. by talking your have the problem of defending
a "cartesian" sum - the bit where you say you
are, but can, in a lightning flash switch to otherwise:
est non primo causa; or?
2. by thinking you have the "problem" (i.e. you don't)
of "defending" (i.e. ditto)
        the kantian-aversion-of-cartesianism -
i.e. the kantian "cogito" (hence the aversion) -
      i.e. cogito in per se /
                                        cogito ex per se...
3. the kantian-descartes mongrel
    (a) the noumenon (thought)
     (b) the phenomenon ("being") -
and how many detractors have come from the latter?
a noumenon does not implode to later
explode and cause a tsunami of "worthwhile"
imitations,
  in the same vein that a phenomenon has
to implode to later explode and cause but one
imitation that starts behaving like a cloning
archetypical zombifying effect of the necessary
regurgitated, half-fed intentions...
   i can't believe the fusion of kant with descartes
seems so completely:
   by mere talk one has to shield the "being",
and become lost in labels and an appropriate
handling of data,
     the mantra of:
                      i'll walk before i'll crawl...
and so many defences, and all these conversations
ever end up sound as are: hi, my name is bill.
      
you write, you mine - you don't mime -
  the moment your stop mining: you start miming,
you enter the ancient grove of the hive -
but none of the current talks
seem to outweigh the cogito in contra to the sum,
since much of the talk is a stark cataract of
what sum could be, should the already sharpened
cogito of a blade, be met, with a sum
akin to a shield of an idiotic: scarcely knowing
the difference brain of an actor-idiot...
  hey, if philosopher-warriors are to be
distinguished: have you ever thought
that the actor-idiot is an easy task -
  did you for once think that playing an idiot's
part as an intelligent person was ever
going to be easy?
          a warrior-philosopher happened only
once, in his ability to put you off your guard.

kant in the cartesian terms of the kantian
term noumenon: thought.

    kant in the cartesian terms of the kantian
term phenomenon: "being" -
  and to boot, youth, the phenomenon of
punk, extinguished once a new zeitgeist
emerges - and the phenomenon unguarded
by thinking, but by mere imitation:
disintegrates into a fiddler-on-the-roof moment
of lacks: introspection, retrospection,
         by-invitation-only-itemisation
            relegated to stretch-armstrong televised
biographic of the zeitgeist...
          
luckily i can write this sort of rigid *******,
and enjoy a whiskey sharpshooter more.

Are we all sick?
Are we mentally infirm, is there dirt to cleanse?
Are our most random thoughts that intrude our work
really a sign of something worse?
Are our imaginations something dangerous?
Its contents the wailing of a madman?
Why do we dream the most violence things
we'd never dream of doing? Why do we
find ourselves in a niche *** scene which you would agree
is rather obscene?
Why do we wander the house naked, rambling to our feet?
The single bachelor wanks and eats
with no apology  
Are we truly domesticated?
or are we still wild?

you know, cats prefers feathers of crows, to yarn ***** of synthetic wool rolled up into "playthings"... oh wait, i'm white, i have not base in providing knowledge, only copper-skinned people are wise... use whites are a piglet's word short of extinct... go! sinjit! go! turbans plop! go! bunch of queen sheba hoes... the wanking patronage of lahore's preserved existence.

which just shows how many actual cat-ladies
there are out there in the world -
and the mystery of missing cats being
explained:
even the ****** cats go missing
with these women,
me? i can't get rid of my maine ****
male...
****** rapes me, with his presence!
******, please, *******!
****** comes back...
says: your bead, mine...
   what am i, ******* flintstone shortcut...
and yes, i think that whoever "conjured"
up the idea of a yarn ball of wool as
entertainment was wrong,
you pick up a feather of a crow,
dip it into your makeshift dip of ink,
and then give it to your cat..
watch it pretend it's a dog with a bone...
and then see the lullaby...
by the way, how do you get a cat's
respect?
     you either sleep at much as they
do: of you beat them at their sleeping pattern...
i've managed to sleep longer than cats,
which also means i am guardian of
their toiletry pattern -
  the female maine **** prefers to be
petted when she's incubated by
a boa tightening of a hold -
the male? just an empty bed and a crow's
feather, then he snoozes,
and i shed a dear:
listen to some johnny cash,
and feel complete...
        and then i compare that to
the islamic rites of prayer,
the way you wash before making dues -
which is so much against;
******* with the dues of
elevating the necessitated
*******..
              while shaming the actual
efforts, that overshadow both
psychiatrist, & priest...
           i shame the dog-collar
bigots, and the psychiatric ******
insipid conjurers of "hope"...
who deserve as much tuxedo
as a straitjacket...
and a lot of these "doctors" have
a woman lying by their side:
which is always a bad sign...
none of them a dog, or a cat...
     ever heard of a serial killer with
a cat, or a dog as accomplice?
me neither! go fetch!
      aport boy! fetch!
         sing my a *******
johnny cash song you ******* '****.

why is it, that journalists suddenly
think they're the respectable class
of profession?
      no one respects journalism
after the *milly dowler scandal...
   really? the best they can do is do that,
or simply troll?!
       **** it, i'll **** the rest of it...
there's no point in asking, pleading,
regressing, or revising...
    it's like asking for a monkey
to act as a ghost and instead of
stating ooh! stating a boo!
         sure as **** a jew got hurt with
missing H...
oh right... a pole said it...
the vermin class...
      nibbles nibbles...
rats got you nibbles...
      show-as your leggings -
i'll pride a nibble!
    not so proud then...
  what a shame...
      the usual sussex nuns come along:
and state the atypical ENGLAND,
entertaining as about three quarter's
worth of saudi arabia;
retracted in the comment section,
mostly by homos,
         or people who read as much
of a the ideal mention of headlines in newspapers...
then channel four says:
e ain't no ****!
     oh, wight, whites on whites...
**** ju ju juicing for the cumin
and coriander paste...
      finally!
multicultural england!
    i can finally bash a **** without
being called an anglican west ham supporter...
and?
if i don't get away with i?
  applause! manchester 2.0!
  or do i have to remind you, that my ethnicity
was called vermin?
      you know how turban bashers are born,
how these turbanators are born,
and orientate around muslims rather
than sikhs, and how you should have
read the placard, of the polish r.f.a. pilots
who fought in the first world war?
come next ****, i'll make another japatti.

watch'ah watch'ah want? giggles?
you got them... trans-gender males allowing
civil partnerships and  all the loss of a taboo prodigy...
the other side of the spectrum you have feminism gorging
on the catwalk motto of 0... yep, with trans-gender males
getting licorice stuffed pillows you deem to call *******:
funny thing... those exfoliating breathing apparatus items (****,
i forgot the plural, and yes, correct, ascribing
a quality to the **** word, moor adjectives with a sunset)
pairs... now you have feminism on steroids
with girl bodies too taboo for ******
and too into-it with muscular ***** wanks
when fat was **** in painting and
breast-feeding... so one spectrum-end (dual zenith-nadir,
you choose) gets implants...
the other works out with Arnie for a flat
muscular chest that could breast-feed
a tapeworm... but hey! our politics is
a solid ace in poker... we better export this
**** to the middle east and laugh about it...
but i tell you... too prolonged the pyramids'
influence on this region,
had god interfered in the Aztec geography
we'd see no dodo right now
(inclusive of memory and memorable recounts
of the Galapagos shortcrust debriefing
in historical terminology suddenly
inspected suddenly lost
for want of cure so that history isn't
just a deja vu - hubris Gemini hatching
in a tetragrammaton)...
buggers are really keen on proving the sudden
eclipse... that's the global aspect of the plague...
everyone cared for what happened with the sudden
churn of wanting sleep...
and the greatest modern pathos? insomnia...
it's the great utopian counter -
or a lack of interpreting dreams, equating to
"life is meaningless".
lack of freud to be exact, as in:
the only hierarchy in theory is a hierarchic
stance on applicability being vogue -
everything else is hushed or broomed or ushered
into Hades so that utopia is a sinking ship
like Pompeii or Atlantis (Thomas Moore -
or should i write Thomas Morse? cradle for the
blind, a book of Braille for the sight-able
hell-bent to make bureaucracy of obstructions
in a game of noughts and crosses in the playground).

but of no tongue as assured as tongue not spoken,
for even among those that once spoke
a tongue, none can claim the confederacy of mute -
remnants of the Cantos - kept as aperitif (a sign
of good digestion, like mustard eaten after
an autumnal meal of hot sprout and butternut squash) -
recitation from the snippets:
a. and for who demand belief rather than justice.
(synchronisation of the hearts to construct
  a church rather than a pyramid - labourer
  and priest alike) - And the host of Egypt
at Nag Hammadi resuscitated 2000 years on -
the pyramid builder, waiting to be born;
heart in tabernacle entombed also waiting his
expression of grievance - Helium chambers in
Auschwitz - they laughed so much they died
from last breaths - akin to rites - something
definite was noticed, far from atom and further still
from the tsar star - there too the mummified corpse
was resurrected to instil fear until Gorbachev reasoning
took to the plateau and the bloodied Soviet
feuds were miscarried by the Danish paranoia
concerning Chernobyl. i among the mutants still foetal
marked by a pseudo-cancer continued a supposedly
necessary breath - i too might add an 'O Artemis',
Ovid in Orpheus too would like a flute for the rats
than a harp to make a lover say: i will turn the other cheek.
you want really trust her while she wear nylons -
nor the feminist gobs that don't get any...
been to a ******* - you can beat me at crosswords,
you can't beat me at what you might think
my vocabulary should be like with your datum octopus'
suckers for a punch... how words are never seen
or heard but are somehow always doubly felt -
not seeing datum or hearing it makes feeling it doubly
personal... i'm sure that south american *****
in Amsterdam cared more for her moans heard outside her
window than some western discussion about a *******
thesaurus Rex, book of dinosaurs politicising big jaws
and tiny moving parts of the upper body.
across the maiden voyage Darwin stashed a few Ivory Coast
examples readied for a cotton picnic -
i wasn't there, i might speak the language, but as i'm assured
you might have guessed, i'm not a stoner Czech of Bohemia
lazying in history... und Anschluss -
i'm kind of bothered - i've been under Prussian rule,
Russian rule, Austrian rule... but the doctors around here
think i have a post-colonial ego-disorder, it doesn't help
that i don't live in an urban environment, theory don't work,
money claps... theory works... monkey wanks...
i can say ***** ***** ***** all i want...
i don't need active censors who haven't ****** a *******
into an ******... blah blah blah blah blah...
but the disparity is in reference to the notion of datum...
maybe people become too sensitive to certain words
because certain words (adding to fluidity) were
censored... hmm? i mean, if you censor a word like ****
into f&@k... you're bound to create a datum disparity in
the other senses... not seeing the proper spelling will make
you more imbecile when reacting to hearing an offensive word...
and upon hearing it you'll feel worse off... a datum x5 is
x10 if someone ***** around with the original message
architecture... censoring oath words in terms of optics
will polarise the same words when said and subsequently felt...
so... please... enlighten me! if you're ******* around
with a datum on the optic level, you will polarise the remaining
four vectors that the datum encompasses worth of allocation -
sense datum is a standard philosophical unit,
kinda like a centimetre in mathematics, or a noun in grammar -
you tell me π should be noted as 3.14xxx265 or anything
otherwise, you'll obviously become overly sensitive to a word
being said... when you optically turned it into A ******* NUN!

When pop was a boy
Iz pride and joy
Was just to have wheels wiv a mota

Tricked up didn’t play, not in their hood
Even though you could
End result wouldn’t lift the skin - off a rice pud

Real quick in that day
Only came by the way
Of serious a serious wedge of pay

Aston, Ferrari, you could take to the bank
Hemi, Stang and Vette for the yanks
For most just wall posters and wanks

These days it different, back from the dead
Universal balance has got out of bed
And delivered justice for the poor petrolhead

You can strut your stuff, in your supa caa
But the kid in a Rex or an EVO jam jar
Gonna embarrass you, you fucken rockstar

We quikka N you - its no pop quiz
These days turbos and nitrous is the biz
Nuffink about the money just how big your ***** is

Want to put up your half million Mclaren
Thats just a few tenths quicka, than a subbie wagon
Equipped wiv a teenage ****** called Darren?

We quikka N you - even with your cash
One real aspect in life, where design and dash
Triumphed over money and flash

We quikka N you

And don’t you forget it

Now get out of my way

Shoulders bold
Strong pushing away anything old
Shoulder shimmies shoulder checks
Attitude -behold
Toe tops scrape the planks,
flesh warm with drawn out wanks
Dragging toe tops with swag in the hips
Like a cat walk back and forth I dance
Toe tips getting worn
Burn burn begin the trance
Cha
Chants, heel stomps and continue..prance
Cha
Hair flips and wet lips
War paints on face found in a moment of warrior grace within my bliss
Shoulder reach forward with attitude
There is nothing burdening them OWHH OWHH
LUNGE yell HEY!
I dance around all day and you know it cause I sent proof your way ; )
I laugh now..and stick out my tongue..then turn my *** around and run
..want..wait..

So you want to **** me?
Does my consent only require me to be paralyzed?
So high off the ground and out of my mind
I'm sure I'm asking for it anyways.
So you think I'm helpless?
As an eleven year old it's easy to dismiss.
The struggle only make your muscles tense
And tightens the thirst that I do not want to quench.
So you want my virginity?
Well Sir, get in line.
What you think is there is already lost
And my innocence is on a replaying loop.
It stops when you take it from me.
Starts again when you're done.
So you're too inebriated and stumbling
To be accountable for what you want?
You're shocked when I assume the position
And simply give up a ****.
You think it keeps me up at night?
You think I waste a thought on who goes in and out?
You think I waver at every touch
Assuming it's the first I've felt?
You want it to be special?
You want it to be pure?
You want me to feel some pleasure
Aligned with ******* for your thrill?
You want me to be dizzy?
You want me to be lost?
I've made my bed and you've thrown me down
Upon the screeching springs.
In theory I play the *****
The freak in the sheets that everyone adores.
You take me once and then you want more.
Well have it all for all I care.
Between my legs or in the air.
Against the wall or in a chair.
Boy, I'd ******* anywhere.
As long as there's a focal point
To direct my glass like stare.
I'll take your mind to a thrilling place
But don't expect me to be there.
I'm the one girls whisper about.
The glory **** in which they clench their teeth.
The ***** with absolutely no back door shyness,
The girl that your man wanks off to before he sleeps.
Most would take pride in this.
Most would wear it with a grin.
Most wouldn't even give a ****
Just before they're about to give in.
As for me, I simply tolerate.
Everyone is a predator.
Their intentions can always wait,
Till they pounce and tear and fornicate.
Not all of them walk away.
Not all of them always stay.
Not a simple word to say
After they've achieved their fantasy lay.
So come at me with what you think I crave.
Force me down and spread my legs.
The little girl in my head is away
As I assume she won't ever return this way.
So you want to **** me?
Well, tell me something new.
It's not something to be taken as offense
But I've ****** myself over enough
To enjoy that ******* truth.

and we are said.
the trouble with dealing with
semites...
النهاية (alnnihaya)
- we, are, dead! you ******* hear me?!
we're, dead!
take your nomad ****
and craft a new bible....
*******! off you go, run along!
go... run crying!
       ******* wanks...
like i might yiu yiu tear ****
and say allowance for Hebran....
   there, dead still... a fathom
of Scotland;
tear, ****, and the last
bitter quack for pepper...
are we all seemingly semite?!
are we? last time i heard
macbeth was a story
born in fog.
we die in this murk;
we don't originate from it!

yep, yep, girls buy books,
while boys lay bricks...
nothing but a ****** huh(?)
either way... what do you
call a construction
site filled with
english builders?
it was once called ireland,
now it's called eastern europe...
******* only know
how to make content,
they never master the context...
twitchy-***
          mother-*******,
they know as much
about construction sites
as a butcher knows
about baking a loaf of
bread...
what a bunch of pathetic
losers!
        they travel to london
from gloucestershire
to manage a construction site...
and what do these
peasants do?
   they do the tourists...
   **** the english
trying to manage a constuction
site... the wanks and the yanks
and the spandex totting
  pervs do the least...
   **** em... infest them
with islam, they deserve it...
   wankers...
             yanky doodle d'oh d'ee
mc'           oh-kneel...
   fucky-d'ooh d'ah 'ad aye faum...
******* paddy,
                    mc'pancake;
the english know nothing
about building,
let's begin with nations, e.g. iraq...
the **** did they build there?
the **** they built in eire-land?
the potato turn into a rice patch
of edible bog?!
              now you're incubating
me in an irritant powder...
   once i scratch to my own bone,
i'll scratch into your bones,
until i start ******* at the marrow
imitating playing an ivory flute!
          it's a bit too late for
an oops or a sorry
                 honey p'ooh bear
                              dearest daisy...
bloom! tickled gummy...
             laugh my dearest
             rosy petal!        blush!
        that doesn't mean you will
see the construction industry
revised...
    any time soon...
    yo' bo'yah iz lay-zee!
                      how many operas do we
need?
                how many rejected
hungarian doctors will we see?
   for some reason,
the supposed "industrial" revolution
never took place in england,
given that england has turned
into the laze of jamaica...
  given that its hypo-critical in
having to import labour from
a dedicated ethnic group...
these days,
     england wishes it was jamaica...
what, with its pebbled beaches?
       am i supposed to treat
my hemorrhoids sitting down,
or am i supposed to get a sun-tan
lying down?
               next time you mention
english cuisine,
   i'll be ingesting pebbles,
        and ******* out sand,
  for lack of a better concern for
fibre...
    who, the ****, packs, crisps,
            into a bun, and calls it lunch?!
you wanna see my face?
                  ******* degenerates;
you had your turn,
now it's my turn...
   now **** the american ******...
tell me if you don't come back
with the templar's idol of baphomet
to curse the cancer patients
   with a fetish for the nag hammadi
*** change credo.

ha ha! among the english, even if something is written on pixel paper, in the public domain, it's deemed "spoken"... ha ha! how infuriating this notion of "freedom of speech"... how about you respect my freedom to think, and put thought to paper?! mob dictatorial stasi *****! seems to be, that this supposed "freedom" of speech has extended its stalinist hand into the freedom to think, and "abuse" digital, pixel paper! you *******, wanks! paper, free, defeatists' commodity! pamphlets! hello! they are really trying to make writing = speaking, because? it's on the internet, in a public space! you're just as bad as north korea, no, wait: you're worse! you're what defines the minority report prophecy! and, by the way? the minority report vision... that's twice as bad as 1984.

comes a bit late,  given the 20th century
continental output... well, what is it?
     a cat video?! a cat video with a piglet,
a cat video with a piglet with
a cat licking the piglet...
                                             great!
     can i have my pork chops
right now, or do i have to wait
for a vegetarian protest prior
to the bon appétit?
    might as well call it
by its proper name:
q = ?
         while Q = ?!
e.g. you what(q), vs.
you what(Q)
                    can't deal with
laze-round english...
  ******* will not learn
one iota's worth of a smacker...
i don't mind:
it's called being kind:
you have to be...
you have to ignore the laziness
of others to be kind...
leave being cruel to the english
and the middle-eastern
scoffs;
they seem to have handled the idea
pretty well..
and? *włodzimierz lubański:
thanks to the english - they broke
his legs...
     in terms of the english?
i love to hate them,
rather than hate to love them...
hardly a **** in me...
         esp. because of
    włodzimierz lubański,
top goalscorer for the national team...
even though, i must admit,
the country of my birth?
  seems mythical at times,
just as much as england to me:
feels more like a lunatic asylum than
an actual country...
strange, i speak the language,
but i have no tattoos of the natives,
other than those spoken to me
by my father...
       i wish i had less of these psychic
tattoos...
     then again, i can't seem to organise
myself around english,
  in terms of the upper-tier of
worth of utilising this tongue,
pretty much like any, if not all
of the al-britanni jihadis...
      i can't find myself surprised...
don't know why...
   but i just can't find the globalist nomad jew
in me...
    never could... never will...
and never will the al-britanni muslims
either...
           i couldn't join the caliphate
either: i love music too much,
plus, the adhan is sung...
it's not a catholic murmur of the "creed"...
no music? no go.
        but that's what anglophone
existentialism has become:
ridden with comic strips
          rather than sentences...
cat videos rather than paragraphs...
   it's a bit late to panic...
  might as well shove the panic under
       the carpet, and pretend it's aladdin's;
it's too late to write books on existentially
orientated englishness
(they ask too much about "britishness"
en masse too much, and also too frequently),
     and, as all english people know,
      all too well: in times of panic? speak!
this unpreparedness of inhibition of thought,
and exhibition of talk, is the most rife
characteristic of the english "ambition"...
    suffice to say: people care more
for the freedom to speak (in the english domain):
than the freedom to think...
it really does pain the english to think,
thinking to the english is worth as much
as the need to gulp down a paracetamol;
akin to the "debate" between citizens:
and, does that give you, power over me?
don't like social criticism?
   australia is: wide open;
so is spain, but you'll need to get off your
lingua franca ***, and put an effort into it!
chop chop!
           i'm like kierkegaard in mind
of: the pleasures of thought,
and this, nagging realm of the anglophones
attempting to find their speech as
"compelling", if not the least irritating
as the song of sparrows, or that of canaries...
these "defenders of free speech",
sound more irritable than the sunrise choir
of bird song,
for all their championing of existential
darwinism, they sound more, more
irritating than the laughter of hyenas...
did these people ever put this observation
into their "right" of a freedom of "speech"?
to be honest, i sometimes find
the buzzing of refrigerators more interesting,
the white noise of ambience,
coupled to a music genre of some comparable
electric hive;
    i find the "freedom" of speech
as irritating as anything to be made spoken -
at least the birds sing uninhibited,
thoughtless,
       but man was gifted with the decency
to think...
     evidently americana teaches us:
there is no decency of thought!
there's only the decency to speak!
well then... i wish you sounded as beautiful
as birds during a sunrise...
sadly... you're not going to speak at me
a worthy compensation,
for you have transcended the dasein of
a springtime sunrise, and the waking of
the birds' libido...
         your "freedom" to speak:
is like a stalemate at a pensioners' house:
not enough deaths to fit the yawning budget.

title: scandal tilt
body: porous: per & marie 2019:
simultaneously: preserved...

wow!

on my way back from a shift at Craven Cottage... walked through the park with great haste, sweat like a pig prior to slaughter when sitting down on the District Line from Putney Bridge to Victoria... still wearing my jacket... upon disembarking the train, took the jacket off... breathed... allowed my sweaty back to breathe, took off my clip-on tie, undid about three button from the collar down... well... i've been told before that i'm as hairy as a monkey... hairy face, hairy chest, hairy stomach... a Turkish ******* would never mind... we only travelled two stops from Victoria through to Oxford Circus... i have to write the following word in katakana... what... a *******... スカ - SUKA... *****... a female-dog... what's the ideogram of that katakana? no... it's not that simple... SUKA... thank god i was wearing my sunglasses... the Thames bore these two holes for my eyes with the glimmer of the sun being reflected come sunset... i asked my co-worker: Putney Bridge is not the last bridge of... the first bridge of London? he mentioned: isn't there one at Hammersmith? isn't there one at Richmond: i replied? favourite bridge? oh... you that film: from the 1990s... Sliding Doors... the Battersea Bridge? no no... not the Battersea Bridge... that white one, with all those Christmas Lights... it's the Albert Bridge... sure... we know the last Bridge of London is the Tower Bridge... but what bridges are there after Putney?! oh... we're not going into Oxfordshire or... Kingston-upon-Thames... **** that... London, proper... **** me... the map on google reads like some Arabic text: right to left... weird... what comes after Putney... see... when i was living in Edinburgh... at least i knew my bearings... there it was... the shining emblem of the compass... the Firth of Forth... down in London? it's a ******* Bermuda triangle! the ****** just spins and spins... people come from all other i'm like: yeah... "that"... that's not supposed to be there but... "there"...  clueless... sure as ****... after Putney Bridge you get the Hammersmith Bridge... then the Chiswick Bridge... then the Kew Bridge... then the Twickenham Bridge... that's the last proper bridge on the map... London will forever be too disorientating... at least Edinburgh is facing north... London isn't facing any direction on the compass... it just... spins out of control... so i got on the Victoria line at Victoria... two *******... one looking somewhat tame... the other... ooh... what a treat... we were only going as far as Oxford Circus... red hair... some of her's some fake... tattoos on her hands and fingers... she looked like she had piercing in her cheeks in the past... just my type: crazy... unhinged... daddy issues: whatever... and i''m standing there, tired... dead-beat... i just want to get home and drink some whiskey and scribble... about my triumph while helping a few boys sell cookies and brownies for charity by changing around their stall arrangement... because i wasn't put into the stadium to shove a lot of lard around... i'm peering through my sunglasses... oh... wait... she's digging me... oh right... she's one of those girls into the Scandinavian look? oh god, one of these ones... only hours prior i was talking to this Finnish grandfather about sports in general... i'm giving off these whiffs of Viking "beauty"... **** me: and i know what i'm goign to say next: that sort of physiognomy always attracts the happy-tattooed-hands and fingers red hair types of *******... right? where they **** is my ******* Mohawk then?! where the **** are my tattoos... i mean... i've seen dogs with eyes like these... eagerly brown and blooming with joy... any other scenario... we got off at Oxford Circus... i waited a little... she just about ****** off down the North Bakerloo route... i spotted her... obviously... she tried to give a shy glance back: would i follow her... ask her for her number... she had the most amazing: inquisitive eyes... i know... she wanted me to approach her... one of those... magical movie scenes... two strangers on the tube... blah blah... if work didn't **** me off... if i didn't have to make up for it on my own crowds from something within like: self-initiative... just my-******-up-type... no... i went down the Central Line route... travelled to Stratford... got the train to Goodmayes... bought a bottle of 200cl of brandy... some pepsi... some cigarettes... and walked past Chadwell Heath... thinking... about absolutely nothing... well... the "one that god away"... sure... it's not even whether i have the patience... i obviously have the charm... but i know how the conversation would have started and ended... so... you still don't live alone? you don't have a place for me to crash... bring all my belongings to? guess... what... what she said with her eyes... perfect! what she would later say with her tongue? no, i don't want to hear it... beccause i'd be her stereotypical loser... so... why... ******* bother? with those eyes of hers i also received: twice-more with the eyes of the boys i helped to collect more money from selling charity cookies in the park... oh **** me: more! because it was selfless! there was no ******-friction involved!  sure, i could try to rekindle my self (in the reflective, not the reflexive: myself... sense... no... that's long gone... i've aged, i've learned some pretty good lessons of reserve) with a teenage boy i used to be, who would fall asleep listening to Roxette... fading like a flower, watercolours in the rain, blah blah... but this... what's that film? Happiness of a Spotless Mind? Jim Carrey... crazy free spirited girl with red or purple or blue hair... sure... and if, myself, didn't go mad aged 21... entering a church... hearing a choir and then hear a great wind disperse the singing... sure... right now... aged 35... i'd be a proper career-boy... not caring about the lesser people in me... status-orientated... i would easily pick-up these wacko girls left right and centre... and give them a month's worth of... living out the Pretty Woman fantasy... no.. instead i have a personal library in my ivory tower of a bedroom in my parent's house filled with Heidegger's black notebooks... oh man... but this one... she had prettier eyes than an Alsatian's... she gave off whiffs of surprise... could she love me, like i am? torn? perhaps... i forgot to make a reality-check-cheque in my head... better this fleeting interaction... she... infatuated: me indifferent... at least in the moment... obviously now i think about it... sure... some, "alternative" universe... where... we might live an affordable living in... the ******* Shetland Islands caretaking a lighthouse! but my life hasn't been all that predictable to find more unpredictability all of a sudden... some exercise in a vitality for / of life... i just need little pockets of being acknowledged by the other as being recipient of existence... that usually comes along with children and handicapped people... or animals... these three categories always spot me... if i were ******* rising in the hierarchy of the truly insane-sane folk... i'd have to be as mad as a poodle-or-a-toddler's-worth-of-Mozart! ****'s sake... no no no... i'm not buying that trip! **** that... i'm going my own way... to a place where the moon is a skull in the coldness of the night, and come April... there is a whiff of a Magnolia scent in the air! i call it trans-temporal pairing to some cue to a clue to this puzzle... but this one... my god... eyes like a properly bred Alsatian... so endearingly brown... she looked like a teenage girl for a second's worth of flash of time... she just looked so ****** up... like a puzzle box... and with all that make-up she slapped up... Madam Tussauds' replicas saw less... what's the retrospect? i? i'm scared of reality? last time i heard: i've been the one most detached from it... why would i be afraid of reattaching myself to it? the only reality i find comforting is... when i'm surrounded by children, retards or animals... i consider plants as inanimate objects, so no... other thoughts... mother's arthritis... a father coming to the conclusion of this career... nearing retirement... their mortality... my mortality... cinema movie love stories are sort of gone... reality doubles-down... no one was truly with me when i needed help... ergo? i helped myself the best i could... and... i don't need loved-up pretend hitch-hickers... how authentic it might seem... at least when i visit a brothel... no ******* is going to say: oh... another loser... how are losers treated in those Japanese love-hotels because of over-crowding, no-house-building "claustrophobia"?

on my way back from a shift at Craven Cottage...
tired... left the house at quarter to 9am...
came back.. at 8:30pm...
and did what? only a 6 hour shift... got paid...
hmm... good idea... i don't even know...
capitalism... whoever defends it ought to know
that there are rogue companies out there...
the current company i'm working for...
i'm supposedly an employee...
   but... they have... since November of last year...
yet to issue me with a statement to clarify
how many hours i've worked and what i'm to be paid...
they just... transfer money into my bank account:
without any: black on white clarification...
i've already heard stories about the owner and co-owner...
how they profited from the pandemic...
little pawn me... a year... i just need a year...
to get those references... even today i started talking
to this guy about joining another company...
at least that company has an online rubric in place:
where you can book in electronically
rather than rely on some bogus whatsapp messaging...
******* cowboys... meat-heads... the whole lot
of them... no logistical sensibility...
but i've done it since November... i'll wait...
i'm patience... i'll play nice... but today...
oh today was coming... they're behaving like it's
a ******* schoolyard... i'm being punished for having
mentioned already having a university education:
oh god! and a degree in chemistry!
some are studying pretend-law... or whatever *******...
or they have known each other for a bit longer...
or that i'm not talkative: professional... while they
stab each other in the back... or...
i fancy this one girl who started work...
rumours spread that a supervisor is ******* her...
but i approach her with flowers on Valentine's day...
she gets fired... i get sidelined...
          oh i know my place... it's a place that's
called the waiting game...
         but today i was *******... less capable people
were put into positions within the stadium...
me? again: to the ******* park with you...
some might say: oh... he's ben given the easy shift...
yeah... the ****** shift...
   i made due counters... i had to...
by the end of the game a ginger colt that was
ejected during the game... drunk... had nothing better
to do than to sleep in the park... i tended to him...
woke him up... waited with him for his friends to rejoin
him... so half-asleep... i comforted him with:
you team (Coventry) beat Fulham 3 - 1... happy?
he replied... why do all the best games happen when
i'm asleep? well... this must have been the first
in a park in London... you're lucky it was a gorgeous day...
but my pinnacle came when i helped these boys
who were selling homemade bakes for charity...
NSPCC... £1 a pop... but they weren't selling them...
because they position their stall right behind a tree...
so i walked up to them... listen...
you're not going to sell them... you're hiding behind
a tree... here... let's move this stall of yours...
away from the tree... and closer to the route of leaving
fans... and let's also twist the table a little so...
your BAKED-GOODS for CHARITY is facing
the people walking out of the stadium...
    i finished my shift... would you know it...
             from about 30 unsold pieces of dough...
the boys had only 2 left...
           and how they thanked me...
   fine... FINE... if this steward contra SIA hierarchy
is in place... ******* wanks...
i'll do a better job elsewhere... pacifying people...
after all... all those with those SIA badges... licenses...
oh... they know **** all of judo...
they just rush overpower: art of ****...
   first comes the art of reason...
much much later comes any physical interference...
but i'm working with half-wits...
  just because some are bulging... have a voiced-prowess...
gorilla-mating-call-warfare i call it...
they think they have a license to: attend to doors
they build up this superiority-complex...
which is great... i might therefore ask:
not that i have a PhD... but... if you're going to belittle me...
do you have a degree in chemistry?
just today... i picked up a high-viz. orange...
later it was changed to black... i picked up one with
the word: supervisor on it... because it fitted me:
2XL... oh no no... one of the other pawns inquired...
you can't wear that... but it's black...
i was told to change from orange to black...
but this one has the word: SUPERVISOR written on
it... my god... how people have learned to overvalue
themselves... or rather: how have become become
undervalued that they have to have these little battles...
the war is already lost...
whatever ******* Einstein figured this one out...
so at the end of the shift we're about to stand down...
me and my "mate" are park 3... we're looking for park 2...
right... and we're all wearing black vests... black trousers...
black coats... the crowd that's leaving?
well... you know how the English dress...
hardly in the United Colours of Benetton...
or the old way that GAP used to attire people: colourfully...
so... i'm looking for a black moth
among a cloud of dark grey moths... great!
******* genius! like i said:
i'm working with ******* meat-heads...
i'd like to say retards but they are too bulky and too angry
and too ready to stance themselves as BIG
rather than arm themselves with cunning...
o.k. o.k. work... but i got the upper hand...
i helped those boys sell those cookies... cakes... whatever...
out of their stash... we just moved the table away
from the tree... shifted it so the sign was more apparent
and... hey presto! NSPCC got its fair share...
and... my reward? the sweetest thank you any man
can receive... the outstanding look on a young boys face
that a stranger is capable of helping (him)...
that's ******* priceless... i'm writing about all those
petty squabble prior... but... that thank you:
that look of longing for hope in the future...
that's mine... i own that... or that tenderness of
the drunk boy who was sleeping in the park
waiting for the game to finish... while i gentle touched
his leg to wake him up... that too...
i don't need physical confrontation when i can:
appease... comfort... all those adrenaline junkies...
those... amphetamine-anabolic-steroid: former prison
guard types... whatever...
i know one decent move that could floor anyone...
you make a cross with your thumbs... while pretending
to pray... with these hands... you grip someone
by the knuckles... pressing the thumbs into the hand...
and twist... i forgot martial art i learned that from...
i left the classes after i was kicked in the *****...
and curled into a foetal position: after i refused to:
shout HA-YA! when pretending to punch and throwing
kicks while marching forward...
****** lessons in martial arts... getting kicked in the *****...
but... i write this... like...
like i will never go to the gym and pump weights...
just give me 2 hours on a bicycle...
doing some press-ups...
and once the shift it gone... having being paired
with this "mate" of mine:
he'll reply: it was nice working with you...
and you sort of know it's almost...
when he tries to sell you an alternative
job to the current you're working at...
because... it's "CAPITALISM":
   i too heard... didn't you hear?
if you have the right sort of a microphone...
and you put it up to a dog's *******
when the dog's running...
you can... hear... ******* the tune of:
jingle-bells!
didn't you know?!
   esp. that version from Lethal Weapon...
      one ****, count one two...
two's a ****'s worth... three and four and by five:
grr... what's not to love about
life and all the arguments for the status quo
of all those people that always go ahead
and gear up the tide of: away away we go:
leaving the rest of the idiots behind...
           tear-jerking psychologists with an audience
of soft-cookie:
those types that ought to be hard-on
digestives... instead... they get dunked into tea...
i burp... what... a cushion my crap and crab
on the inside out...
rather than harden it with the exoskeleton
of the outside in...
            little ******* London adventure of... perhaps
Romance... but... most probably:
probably not.

i mean: you know how the joke goes?
when you diagnose someone as having lost touch
with reality?
and then... too many people have lost touch with reality?
the supposed loss of reality of the individual...
transpires like a phantom: clout...
why were people supposing that, "i" became detached
from reality?! huh?! why are these people
wearing pseudo-niqab nappies on their faces
when almost pretending to be: trainspotting?!
huh?!
           i'm schizophrenic... what about all these...
covert... hidden... undiagnosed hyperchondriacs?
i thought i was just a bilingual...
oh... right... the mono-lingual normies of England...
sure... "we" can follow-up with that...
"you" try to destroy "me"...
"we'll" come after "you":
gender neutral? one's a ROYAL:
one and we...
                anything to: bypass the ******* rap!
investment from years... years ago...
always invest in children...
you never know when they'll come around to
protect you against the elders
or... more importantly...
your contemporaries...
                always invest in children...
         their presence is a future forward:
kinder:
      immer invertieren im kinder...
   ihr(e) gegenwart ist ein zukunft: ein fließen!
i'm guessing...
unlike in Deutsche...
a(n) apple... savvy?

           i truly wish... i truly... want to believe
beyond the told ties of the heart to:
all the discomforts of reality checks...
that i could possibly come to the splendours of
illusion on a whim:
and keep such whims within the confines
of illusion... without having to have to reality
check them back with...
items of "reciprocated" gratitude...
for the "good life"... oh what a sweet little whisper...
and... if i were a painter...
what a Francis Bacon horror i would possibly
conjure with the aid of cubism...
such trivial times are beyond us...
dog have eyes and the levelled certainty as such...
women just have the spontaneity...
there's no Bonaparte behind them...
no suicide quest for Moscow... no... chains and harship...
believe whatever psychologists you want...
pop, piquant... whatever... piquant: i.e. niche...
whatever... no one helped me through my 20s...
now in my mid 30s...
i've finally reached a pinnacle of being attractive...
during transit... but i know it's all a veneer...
behind my visage there ought to be some
******* miraculous story where...
i'd probably invite her back to my flat...
where i live alone... blah blah...
                i own too many books...
   i prefer the safety net of prostitutes...
at least they love me for the way i **** them...
with the intensity of the moment...
i posit: carpe diem... and make an hour last
a certainty... i don't need this *******'s worth
of timid courtship... no thank you...
i waited long enough... i waited too long...
no more...
              i'm done... i'm going to brush my "Greek" nose
up a little more... with arrogance and say...
when i needed you? you weren't there...
now... that you might, perhaps want me?
no... i don't need you...
           you know what i really need?
strangers! i need to interact with as many people
as possible! i can't be bothered with living a life
for some... exclusive relationship!
i need... the most inclusive: selfless relationship!
a... motto akin to:
liebe für das volk!
               if not in Deutsche... then in Latin?

AMOR ENIM POPULUS!

who else? who else can one love?
if one has been denied the excusive rights to love a woman
in one's youth?
as one ages... being denied such a right?
one can only grow to abound in loving:
the people! how else is one to survive?
   what? the same old: "missing"... "mythological":
"exclusive": female?
learn from Adolf ******! LIEBE DAS VOLK!
                  you haven't been given exclusive rights
to counterpart individual...
and... to be honest... inclusivity is stressed by both
status of wife / bus-driver in terms of how
universality is to be expressed on the ground:
all are to be treated equally...
alles ar zu sein behandelt gleichermaßen,
id est: gott! mit! uns!

             i have no one to love... i truly do, not,
so why... keep myself deluded in some...
waiting game of exclusivity?!
   why not freely pass into a medium of selfless
inclusivity?! why... not love: as freely...
and as painfully... as a sparrow might...
the dawn of spring... and the midnight or some:
forgotten hour(s): to come...
    i'm too old to find exclusive love...
to pair-bond... i'm too old... i know the frosty bite
of reality... but at least i can love inclusively...
like a Jesus Christ... like an Adolf ******...
what?! they're... that ******* far apart?! i don't...
*******... ****-ing... think so...
       i'm more comfortable with inclusive love-affairs
where i can be forever pillar... cold...
less-spoken that could be expected...
    my 20s... i never had them...
                    my 30s just about returned...
and now i'm interacting with people in their 40s
and 50s... and all i have in my mind is...
a cat... in musketeer type of boots...
kicking a rat into a sewer... why?
because... that's seems... just about... GERECHT!

cheapskates:

what a nice,
and at the same time
privy word....

    recognised within
the framework
of people

          who don't bother
to pay for art...

because they think,
well, they don't exactly
think with
any orthodox care
to state a fact...

    this is going down
the rough & tumble...

        people stop paying
for art,
   they stop earning a soul...
i can't blame them,
but i also can't earn from
them...

   meaning they're neither
appreciating nor
consuming
      the adequate response...

the mob rule said:
20th century artists had
too much fun...
          
am i going to side with
chopin piano antics
or that of sonny clark?
d'uh... obviously the latter...

imagine free cabbage,
and free meats...
   for some, ******* oblivious
reason, there's free art...

    at this point artists mighy as well
cite herr ******...
  the "failed" artists...
and that's implying
a non-inclusive stance
for the man regarded as
a anti-jew-****** with a jewish
girlfriend that was eva braun...

christianity has no other patron
saint of artists, other than
kinder adolf...

  fa-king irony...
                
as far as the current zeitgeist states:
thieving is o.k.,
          stealing is smart...
          so, stop, complaining,
you, dumb, ***, *******,
whether, you, like, or, don't, like,
the karaoke, import,
into mainstream, media:

i just hope you choke on this
cultural output,
   and take it like a *****,
that i know you are;
  i hate cheapskates...

                  i just imagine these
people having as much knowledge
of music, as the music
farmers used to hear,
i.e.: grunts of horses, snorting of pigs,
clucking / clocking in of chickens...
            
  never, in the history of man
has stealing become so normalißed...
so nonchalant...
                up yours and the a.i.
cherokee algorithm...
                
              what a bunch of wanks
and yanks put together...
  you just feel like
              smashing them with
the edge of a cricket bat...
   till they resemble a crimson
balloon stuffed with plums.

Now here's a ****** story.
I'll tell it if I must.
About an effing ******
A **** with a cheesy crust
Some people have got nice wives
in their eyes a glint
But my old mans misses
Is just an awful ****

My old man's a ******.
He wanks in his ******* hat.
He's got **** stained trousers.
Cos he cant get no ******* ****.

He plays with his banana
While wearing high healed boots
He tried to pull up his small ****
So he yanked it by the roots

Some girls flash their **** at Christmas
Which makes the ****** cough
And when he tries to pick them up
They tell him to *******.
Now one father he got angry.
For squeezing the girls buts
Don't ever dare come back round here
And kicked my old man in the nuts.

Oh, my old man's a ******
He tosses on the mat
He doesn't wear no trousers
When he's trying to **** the cat

my old man's a wrinkly codger.
He's just to ******* old.
Mum wore him out in their younger days
Now he's toothless and he's bald.
Now she's just a fat cow way past her ******* prime.
That's why my old man has ended up wanking all the time.

Oh, my old man's a ***** ******
He groped our friend next door
He pulled down her knickers
Even though she's 84'

Now one day when he saw her
He kissed her by the bin
He hadn't got all that far when she kicked him in the shin.
When her husband came home he shouted "What's your ******* game"
My old man just grabbed his **** and told him " I'll treat you just the same"

Oh, my old man's a gay ****
He touched our neighbours ****
He peeled away his *******
And gave it a good lick

He ****** on our neighbours **** one day it felt so ****** good.
His misses sat there watching But I knew she ******* would
Just from out of nowhere she said " Don't you make him ***"
My old man said "why not" she said "I want to watch you **** my husband's ***"

Oh, my old man's had *******
He ****** the guy next door
His wife was there watching
While he ****** him on the floor

So Next time you see my old man
Looking all pale and spent
Don't you get to close to him
Because he is old and definitely bent

i used to play guitar, **** me,
i even used to play
a madolin
to get the warmth
of a pict girl's affection
by reciting her
(impromptu)
that famous mandolin
moment in
rod steward's maggie
may...
no use...
i even bought a
martin & co acoustic
for 6 hundred quid...
i later smashed it...
bought myself
the cheapest drum-kit
i could find...
i always wanted
to be a drummer...
what was it?
ah yes, a folded leg
and ten fingers...
        and yes:
because of the song
sea of madness -
nicko mcbrain
makes the honourable
mention,
i know the puritans,
they'd cite dave lombardo...
and the slacks
and oldies would even
dare to mention
ringo starr: and then
direct a film like
a love, actually...
   yes yes, thank you,
tank you: much appreciation...
for the ****'s that's worth
only the sentimental value
in terms of a notable
mention.
             why don't people
cite their favourite drummers
anymore?
         who gives a ******'s
worth of wanks over
a solo guitarist?
               those ***** are
merely monologues...
a day may come when jazz
is revisisted, leaving
white boys & girls wondering
why people find
classical music either
offensive, or in plain tongue
just dumb-enough: numb.

and i saw, four figures of fire rise up
and transverse the night sky...
     to reiterate: i'm used to seeing wandering
stars... that's almost usual for me...
to reiterate:
    if i'm originally writing in English...
i have to go back, to the zeppelins...
und ich gesehen, vier zahlen aufgehen
und querlaufend der nachthimmel!
mein gott! ich war rechts!
                                  der zeit ist reif!

of the 3Ps i once cited: priests psychiatrists & prostitutes, there's also a 4th P... poets? then again, i'm not too sure, too much soapy-water, too much cuddle-fiddling going around, not enough gusto akin to Julian Tuwim, Witkacy, Dante or Giuseppe Belli... i mean, go for it, go see a priest, see what he tells you: repent! some ******* solipsistic mea culpa - only you exist! it's all your fault... right... everyone else is ******* blameless?! go see a psychiatrist... if they don't prescribe you regression - i.e. want to implant you with false memories, they'll prescribe you the sort of drugs that make you wet your bed at night! or **** you out, out of a yin-yang... zombie! oi oi! ZOM-BIE! i.e. EE! alternatively... go and see a *******... if you ever thought you had erectile-dysfunction... go and see a *******... never fails... well... it fails when you've drunk too much and she's being an overtly timid little *****: but even then you cuddle and share tongues... what's eyes in Romanian? what's freckles in Romanian? what's nose in Romanian? then you exit the brothel, get on your bike and scream like a werewolf all the way home, harking, grunting, ******* at yourself for drinking too much... but you still exit the brothel like a gentleman: in their own words... you kiss two on the hand and the one you just spent an hour with on the forehead... then you go back again and ask for the Turkish girl that was so eager to sleep with you... this time you go sober... turns out she's a nymphomaniac and you're into that sort of ****... wholesome stuff... nothing ****-funny... none of that Dubai crap... wholesome... oral *** without a ****** and then all that protection while she talks something funny while you try not to speak a word: word... who needs god in the bedroom? elevation of animal noises just won't do? all this talk during *** is a ******* turn-off...

             che bber ttruttrù! oh ddio mio che cciammellona!
   e ppoi sc'è la bbebbella e la bbobbóna!

like the men who put women on a peddle-stool,
this idea that: women are unable to ****...
or some Cinderella *******, i have the same problem
with the English, the people,
i don't know why... i always seem to envision then
as these ideal people... well... concerning what
they say: you'd think so...
perhaps not the people per se:
rather the society they have envisioned...
well... so much for the society they envisioned...
where's the best part at?
where?! 10 Downing St., there's where!
that's going to be a running joke for, some, time...
it's not that i even care...
it started to turn foggy, "all of a sudden"...
you know how fog looks like in the night?
like... someone breathed a breath of milk
powder into the atmosphere:
the street lights are visible, the moon is...
but people are less and less: visible because...
they tell big-little-truth: which are lies...
it's not the sort of lies associated with..
why would my supervisor send me
a sample of her fruit cake... white lie: oh... great
baking technique... like **** it was...
whenever having *** i always found it
suspicious that a woman might get pleasured
from the *******...
whenever it happened to me with prostitutes:
i still wouldn't believe them...
i would be met with scolding: OW...
yeah: they couldn't believe it either...
they couldn't believe that being authentically pleasured
i didn't buy into them being pleasured...
hey, weird as the world is... enough said...
so my supervisor sends me her take on
a fruit cake... oh **** me it's sweet...
it's so sweet it's like the antithesis of *******
a lemon... i mean... even though *******
a lemon is not exactly cringe... but a lemon
is a sweet-acidity... this load of *******
it is just SWEET...
i have to brew myself a cup of coffee
and not sweeten it just in order to... to...
recreate a concept of palette for my numbed tongue...
it's terrible: women can bake worth of ****
these days...
it's too sweet... i rather **** a lemon...
alright, here's to the plunge...
what are we working with...
two *****... *****?!
if there are two women... trying to look
unattractive... oh **** on me...
we even don the same haircuts... but i have the beard:
they don't...
i'd still... you know... do some plumping...
male sure something is working, correctly:
you read is correctly:
MALE SURE... no... not "MAKE SURE"...

are these women supposed to have invisible sniffer
dogs around them, does it take having 5 children
to say: mmm... something is scented "funny"...
*****... for starters...
and that's like... normal... for the woman to
sniff you? sure, the compliment is great:
oh, you smell good...
           so does a fresh paintjob on a pristine looking
bathroom, but who am i to brag?
and it's like the most basic job:
lowest i.q. threshold imaginable...

i can say, i look the part... why do i look the part?
is some ******* **** going to stop me
taking a pint of beer to an area where i'm not allowed to take it...
or will some 6ft2 bloke...
donning a pristine coat... affirmatively pedantic
in questioning his attire... stop... 6 lads...
from doing likewise... because... i look the part?
because i'm a male and... ahem: "i'm entitled to being
entitled to the entitlement of being entitled of
being in a functioning role whereby i'm not given
leeway?!
optics... no one is going to take a woman seriously
in a position of a steward... even if she tries to pull it off
as a ******* ****... sorry, no...

reality tends to bite back...
even Brandon... oh my mother knows Brandon,
he works the Romford Blue Sapphire gym...
we talked about dogs... about him being abused about
the public, me trying to explain to him that:
he too has a breaking point... imagine that:
you going off a tangent...
see... this is what bothers me about the English...
Brandon says he's a home... manager...
some sort of manager... that he lives with his girlfriend...
i message me mumz and she clarifies...
he's not a manager... he's a senior receptionist...
he lives with his girlfriend... hmm... he might have
a girlfriend, but he probably lives with his parents...

status, hierarchy...
****'s sake... he says he's a manger of a gym, house, manager...
yet he... works added hours as a steward at sport events...
or the second girl that sniffed me up:
because i'm all ******* fine for being sniffed...
she apparently has a private... personal? huh?
business... oh... she just does this **** on the side...
right... 5 kids in...
you know the advantage of not being famous...
you can sort out a lot of ******* among your coworkers...

oh **** me, the atmosphere is great...
Emma loves pythons... you feed them... frozen, mice?
interesting... so they wouldn't eat anything
that's already killed, they need to be under the illusion
of having killed something?! wow...
imagine... living without eyelids... blah blah...
she's almost like this scary feminist blue-tinged hair fairy...
but...
oh my god... if no one's looking...
and i look at her earlobes... no... come to think of it...
if i just look at her ears... yeah: but me writing about this
is not exactly me telling her during hours of work...
oh you smell nice... counter-*******-productive
if you ask me... why? because now i'm thinking about *******
you!

the most ****** parts of a woman... her hands...
why? because if i were she were we were to hold
my ******* emblem... i'd ask myself to be rid
of the pinky finger & the 4th knuckle...
a woman's ears! it's like... itchy... itchy... smooth...
smooth... ears, hands... chin... neck's pleasure-dome
of tenderness... wild eyes!

and you know what: i watch these grown men
"indocrininate" their offspring into either
a support of a football team,
localised prejudices, yet those "disappear" when
support for the / a national teams surfaces...

hey, so much for pork eating
when you're Muslim and cousin *******...
i guess eating pork must be as much
confusing as cousin-*******, no?!
i guess pork-bad = ******-bad!
**** them, these ****** specimens...
who's going to care for them?
is Romania the only option?

        ****** riddled i.q. starvation oops...
how do you write oops in the plural?
as much as i might be discriminated to
eating pork, where does most of leather come from?
shoes? PIG... belt... PIG...
sorry... "cousin": you're about to **** your
grandmother's sister... or whatever happens
in Pakistan...

sinister taunt... how else to combat these
audacious suicide-bombers...
shame their ****** culture origins...
keep them there... they better settle for being there...
aww.... look at that...
only today... a Pakistani mother, daughter & grandma...
the daughter... all sort of fiddly... sort of weird...
to tongue out... trying to lick the grandmother's tongue...
even my cat doesn't do that...

eating pork is bad...
right... while god created all that's good...
god created cumin! turmeric! ******* ****** camel-jockeys....
right... cousin-******* is somehow divinely inspired?!
******* to Dubai... ******* to where there's no "racism" /
slavery invited by the Arabs using up Bangladeshi flesh...

OI! ARAB! COUGH UP! YOUR RIDDLE OF KFC!
power, supposed power... now... a joke; always
the little people, one litre of whiskey will always make you a convert, given, that you get to see so many zombies from the mere experience of ingesting a pint, two pints, three pints of beer...

with me? you need to play a longer game.

- are they still going on about the war of words?
here's a new one i learned...
i believe that onions are the only plants in existence
that have consciousness - or rather:
are receptive of pain...
you chop down a tree... eh... not much...
perhaps a splinter under your nail...
given, in light of debate, ahem "debate" in Parliament
concerning the ethical way of killing lobsters...
boiling the: B'ah BAD...
but freezing them etc.: not so B'ah BAD...
i once dated a girl who found it funny that
in her childhood she would pour salt on snails...
i accidently step on a snail in the dark
in the garden i hear a crunch in my heart...
sorry, mate... didn't see you coming...
it's like this one time - thinking about it still
gives me a pseudo-PTSD...
Poland: where else? walking alone, "somewhere"...
i come across these two boys (i am also a boy
at that time) - oh... so what are you up to?
the reply? **** me...
oh... we caught this frog, we're smearing it
with lipstick then we're going to set it alight...

erm... o.k... see you later Jeffrey & Henry H...
******* Major Major, whatever...
o.k. that i'm not a presbyterian: shoot me...
give me a raw herring in a yoghurt sauce and i'll
tell you to stuff, your cosmopolitan sushi up
your ******* ***!
there, said it, no turning back...
    i'm done, with people, telling me what i can and
can't say... but killing animals in an unnecessary manner:
that's beneath even me enjoying
a few poultry abortions on toast...
a toasted bagel... with some cream cheese...
some raw smoked salmon (is it cooked if it's only
smoked?) some dill and... mmm... a squeeze of lemon...
beats a cucumber every single time...
curing... funny that... you pour some acid
on a sea protein and it starts a cooking process...
that's ******* weird...
it's "unconsciously" receptive of the cooking process:
to heat... via an acid...

right, right... that new word...
        syn-propanethial-S-oxide... said the cis-man...
that's the **** that onions release when you
cut them... which makes you cry...
ergo? you think that perhaps onions are receptive
of pain? should we have a Parliament debate akin
to lobsters regarding how one might prepare onions?!
i think we should... also... a debate about
eating oysters... after all: invasion of privacy:
peering into those shells... don't you think?

- sure, but if i were to do it... oh, something smells "funny"...
not good, at first, just funny...
she wanders with her eyes then focuses on my neck
draws in and sniffs it... oh... it's you... you smell good...
yeah... i do that... but in a brothel...
once i've paid to pass the paywall...
i take her hair in my hands and sniff it...
because she's lying next to me, naked...
and i'm naked it... but i don't ******* follow it up
with any words: i'm already intoxicated
by the scent...

if a man were to sniff up a woman - in public, or better still...
in a professional environment...
and these are the same women who get confused when
they are abused by drunk and disorderly lads
at a football match... like Louis XIV said:
perception is everything... for ****'s sake:
if you don't look the part... a hungry *** starved
yet still a beaming with joy angry gorilla...
you're not going to get away with much...
not in that sort of scenario...

a quest for double-think: my new motto is...
YOU DON'T HAVE TO TELL ME THE TRUTH,
JUST DON'T LIE...
what's the middle ground? this supposed house
manager (ahem, elder receptionist) -
well... we ended up talking about him
petting a dog... an american pit bull terrier...
but he called it by some other name...
where he walked: Raphael Park, eh?

oh the nights spent with dangerous ladies...
loved every minute...
the only place where i can: breathe me...
and breathe them...
where i don't have to be ignored, displaced...
******* of a man...
esp. among Romanian or Turkic women...
to hell with those overrated blonde ******...
give me Tuba Büyüküstün and i'll give you
the ******* Taj Mahal... eh... some prostitutes are
just worn beauties... you rub them the right way
some sort of Genie ends up appearing...
usually: grr... viciously... wild-eyed...
anyway... none of them could ever get in between
my affair with Fraulein Bernstein (whiskey)...
it sort of *****... but life's life... and death's death...
no point making complaints...
ooh... **** me... all that raven hair... and Turkic...
recipe for disaster...
why? well... because she's not exactly copper-skinned...
she doesn't look like she has a pernament suntan...
like the Raj girls from... wherever Delhi is...
(I know where Delhi is! for, ****'s sake!)

if we're being so adamant in living in a post-racial
society, surely i can pick and be fickle about
my sort of potential cocktail of genes, no?
does it always have to be about black on white,
or white on black... can i... hmm...
i'd like something more curious... again:
can i stick with the Turkic women?
i fancy that depth of a shared history...
the Ottoman Empire knocking on the door
of Europe (even though the Greeks cucked)
at Vienna... the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth replying...
while being back-stabbed by the...
Prussians... Russians... Swedes...

o.k. i tried being extra special and slept with...
two black girls... not that i greatly enjoyed it...
o.k. i enjoyed ******* one...
but the other one gave me the creeps...
how, can, i, ****, a woman,
when... she has two children sleeping in the room...
she drags them out of bed...
forces them to sleep on the floor while i'm
THEN supposed to do, what?!
**** her?! she probably had *** since she
started to fake having a ******... instead ensuring
her inner thighs were tight enough...
or whatever the **** was happening...
i just asked her: can i sleep here tonight...
she agreed... i woke up in the middle of the night
while little afro Jerome was standing at the foot
of the bed ******* at a makeshift ****...
so i grabbed him and placed him on my chest...
the end...

*** is ugly... unless it's with a *******...
in a brothel...
   come to think of it... since: i'm always drinking
when i'm writing...
the more i drink the more i wake up...
i was going to suggest: the more i sober up...
no, the more i drink the more i wake up...
but i'm not of the "woke" brigade...
i'm of the SLEPT brigade...
    waking is for the people who are still somewhat
sleeping... or... rather... awake in a zombie-state
of consciousness, mantra-riddled *******...
what could get me drunk?
if i were drinking... as always...
a good conversation... i'm a sucker for a good conversation
like i'm a sucker for pop music when i'm sober...
AQUA: TURN BACK TIME... anything
by ROXETTE...

- and as it happens at every football match i steward,
i see a dad with his younglings...
sure... that could have been me,
but, my psychotic trip: exit at the age of 21...
sort of sorted my future affairs for me,
perhaps i wrote in my 20s... something or other...
but i wasn't really there: or here...

   i get really jealous when i see a guy with a pretty girl,
or when i see four or five guys, friends...
then again: i hate companionship,
i prefer the presence of animals...
    dogs i can almost stand if i don't require them
to be put on a leash... on a leech of authority...
i can stand objective language as long
as it is prescribing me authoritative pointers...
but objective narration bores the hell out of me...
it's so... so... unimaginative...
if objective narratives were a women
i'd call them a stuck-up-***** fakery
of a flaky "******"...

                             while Pearl Jam became
what Nirvana could never become... grunge-dad-rock...
i don't mind... i truly don't mind... after seeing
enough faces you start thinking along
the categories of: TO PREVENT A SECOND HILLSBOROUGH,
TO PREVENT A SECOND HILLSBOROUGH...

seeing so many people i sometimes start
thinking about working in a slaughterhouse  -
then again, to seem less psychopathic
i think about the people working in slaughterhouses...
it's not fair that i... wait... i'm not getting paid
for this... well if it's free: then i suppose anything goes,
right?
          
    oh what could have been...
oh sure sure, it's great... getting sniffed up by women
in their 30s with 5 children in tow
thinking they are single and childles...
white knight anywhere, anyone?! no? keep sniffing...
darling... and it was this running joke...
*** habits came up... one blue haired freak of a girl
that keeps snakes: some 3ft long, pythons...
she said darling but i forgot to lip-read her
mishearing: daddy... i've been called DAD before...
don't ask why...

i morphed Darling into Daddy... for the whole *******
shift she kept nagging me...
Daddy... this... Daddy that...
o.k. with a 7  year old i could understand...
i could cuddle a toddler... do all that mother-goose ****...
she or he could pull my beard... ;oke my eye out...
i don't do friends, i i don't do dates...
i do prostitutes, i do whiskey,
i do forests at night, i do graveyards at night...
i do German thinking...
  i might come across as autistic or as an imbecile...
but i think the same of you...

how unfortunate to have children of your own...
esp. girls... how unfortunate...
imagine the distaste in your mouth at being called
a father at some point... then again: the same goes for having
a son... it's a nice idea... a very nice idea...
but i'm here not on some ******* mea culpa
clause... i've reached my prime and i wasn't selected
for the replica... it doesn't bother me in that:
i always had a melancholic disposition...
given that i'm ageing... i have acquired a melancholic
sense of self-deprecating humour....
i'll sooner commit suicide than die the death of
"loneliness"...

   it will most certainly be a pristine night...
cloudless... with a full moon!

what's that counter argument i keep hering?
what's that? i said: WHAT'S THAT?!
oh you know that ******* yin-yang masculinity
undermined. that we should all be *******
farmers: not enough coliseums...
plenty of vegan hot-spots though...
love, my ***..

   personally i don't know how white girls ****
all these african boys... for me, ******* a black
girl is sort... sort of crippling...
anything beside something Caucasian...
in the raven hair category... i'll sooner *******
to Asia than i'll acknowledge to ever
coming from Africa... the Somali inbreds
**** me off the most: listen, curly-braids!
you're not here to be paid to watch the football match!
why isn't anyone paid to watch a football match!

once upon a time they were known as the Yanks...
the Yankees... these days? oh, you know...
these days some of us just call them the WANKEES...
the WANKS... cuck-barons of the world..
yeah, i once had respect for these people...
it's sort of waning day in, day out...

but if i'm expected to fight someone else's fight...
these days i'm going to say: no thank you...
i'm already gearing up myself to marry death...
how's that?! of course i can see the little people,
of course i love animals as much as i love children...
they're one and the same to me...
personally... and i'm seriously disorientated
by fraulein bernstein... eternity?!

Abraham! oi!
    an eternity spent among children...
or... with 72 virgins... your take...
         oh no no no...
i'm not taking these *******,
these supposed virgins anywhere...
i'm taking the children... throw in 72 rottweilers
if you're at it... i know time well spent...
but knowing my luck... i'll be bound to a hell
where women sniff my hair, or my neck...
even though i'm not exactly anything to peer at...

why are these Indian women looking at me oh
so funny? i'm not rich, what?! am i funny?!
then again, working around the Turkic manifesto of
a woman's beauty... some of these Raj girls give
me a hard-on like not other... they have eyes that tease...
white girls' eyes are all anti-racist: seek *******
zombie...

white girls are currently only available for black boys
given white girls' anti-racist "trauma"...
so here's to building up a New Brazil!
   yeah.... that's also called me looking elsewhere...
oh, no, not for commitment...
   for the sake of it!
anorexic bleached hair... in need of psychiatric help...
or otherwise beached-whale types...
feminists with pink hair... can... ha ha... CAN i say NO?!
or do i have to?!

ich bin verheiratet zu die nacht und nicht(s)!
ich! allein! bin!
was ein...ziemlich.... gesicht...
from time to time... Saxony?!

z-mooth ah smoochies... and... a "blah"...
what was written in hell: by hell,
must return to hell... please... no tenderness, here,,,,

He blows his nose on tablecloths
And wipes his *** with the decorative hand towel hanging on the rod
Then, he tries to flush it
Overflows the toilet, but hides his ****** evidence
He brings a boom box into church to listen to ol’ ***** ******* and NWA
He gets ejected from libraries because he wanks off into encyclopedias
He wears cleats on the basketball court
He turns the batteries over in every remote he encounters
He drives around neighborhoods in the summer, blasting ice cream truck music, carrying no ice cream, or even ice
He covers rocks with snow, and throws “snowballs” at little kids
He secretly walks up behind old ladies and puts gum in their hair
He dines and dashes at every restaurant, after being incredibly rude to the waitstaff
He puts superglue on flies, and dangles them in front of frogs
He brings dandelions wherever he goes, so he can blow them all over every well-manicured lawn he sees
He takes all but the last four squares of toilet paper out of every restroom he enters
He never refills the ice trays
He dumps all the juice out of the pickle container, and leaves the pickles with the lid off
He slits long openings into window screens
He cuts the wicks off too short on candles
He goes on the office morning coffee run, and gets everyone decaf
OK.  I’m lying
He doesn’t do any of those things
But he’s still a ****
For unnamed reasons

haggis?!

   not exactly original...

kishka

   schwarzkishka:

             czarna:        kíszká!

ask your cousins down south
about rome,
  
und zee, schwarzpudding...

eh?

   haggis is not unique to
be ascriptive of:
  what is, scotland...

     we ate the same *******-wacking
in eaatern europe
as you sold the, "original",
for an american "myth" construct...

scots, wanks, and yanks:
  cultural harrowing
                      a borrow gypsies!

and i: wouldn't catch up
to this sly-import of americana
               from the bowls of europe?!

haggis is not a unique dietary
"requirement"
    in europe...
        eastern europe has it:
refined...
                   england has it:
black pudding...

            criss-cross and...
do we crucify the next st. andrew
like we might crucify
st. peter on the cross...
   up-side down on the X?

oh, don't worry, they'lld
get to:
gideon up possessing
a life chance:
    suffocating, a,
"life", solidified,
          perchance, by
way of "grievance",
                    "life",
             stature...
didn't jews just become
obnoxious *******
in redefining bird songs?

     i don't imply
the state of israel...
i imply: the people...
aren't these little wanks
too far off playing
the bing ****?!

             arab spring,
summer, winter and autumn...
have that and a shisha quiz...
and...
******* to your little bedouin
****-theatre!
stay there!
build a laughable
     hadrian wall...
and please: stay there!
don't covert an impetus asking
"us" to intervene!

               you want you *******
half-baked graves to bring
artefacts
back home?!
     **** it, have them!
                     you think a
waiting jew: is an alive jew?!
                 can i finally make it
fathomable as not being ahebrew born?!
being akin to nero,
     and nebuchadnezzar?!

little ****-head american
dream-lords are no concern for me...
have them!
             patron of a loss of word...
   you are welcome in europe,
just like you're welcome
in arabia...
                                not so much...      

of the little basis for the bias
concerning the jews...

            but of course,
the surprise amounting to the levites...    

        but i give you one "surprise"
gesture of commencing, advice...
   allow the land you've been given
the stature of a nationalist within
the confines of a people...
       let your little jew
                             beit midrash
their little tongues...
to speak the yerushalem, one,
concern...

               just let be jew be jew...
and the rest?
     will follow suite...
  savvy?!

      guess what most of the northern
artefacts think...
can we just, please,
lock them up in their biblical
dialectic,
   put a fence around them,
and see what the monkey decides?!
my my... that deserves
applause!
           now i too want
to see the palestinian vs. isreali
argument,
argued by a fence...
so high...
   that i might play a "corrupt"
pontius pilate, role...

     and then regurgitate
                              a privy of, puke.

/                      that "we" can even conceive
of a subjective "reality":
                              to be frank -
within the immaculate
fascination regarding things?
the last "thing" i'd expect
would be an:
                         anti-taoist!
let me ease it out of you...
               yew (play catch)....
now the oak... (silly head)...
                             and now the acorn
(woo scoth): both imply a tree...
     i have no morbid fascination
with germanic thinking...

               i am inclined
to the modes of asiatic feeling...
a heart, hidden
within the gesture of making
a bluff...
                   "squint" eye...
  and you'll just perhaps spot...
or miss...
                 an addition to an experience
of reality:
                with an oyster...

mongol: focus!
i leverage leaving a harp with you,
so that it doesn't
become a metaphor of, "the"
falling piano in a new york
                       "redemption"...

                     death by presumption, eh?

an allowance of a "world"
        should only allow finite gestures
for a "world" to actually exist...
transcendental...
     trans-temporal objectives?!
             even in the confined
mono-spatial
                concern for a: "world"?
              complete the cure
                       dis-,
i.e. embodiment...

                               just shy "off":
                            integration.
metaphor
becomes less an image...

      and misnomer becomes
more the vocabulary...

    of expecting b & w...
                      (no,
                not ******* and wanking
"zeppelin" manoeuvres)...

             just any day...
but more invited to experiencing
a wintry sunday in
                                 tokyo...    
prior to the celebrated
    bloom of
                               cherry trees...  

then i'll live content...
having lived a thousand lives...
but only died by the bitterness
of merely one of them...

       and to the grave
with no epitaph:
         i would...
                   bring my own dust...

       for then no god,
no interpolation of freedom,
no night...
           and no comforting
into a settling of...
   curse the winds!
                          a wonderful
argument
   of / for reminder...
                 counter:
                         the VI or IV in vivo!

            vitriol!
              and vivacious originates
                from the wrong... prefix of 4?

                nearing the 8th billion:
we can all understand to be
                                        diffusive, yes?
ah...
              the attention seeking,
supposedly, "lagging behind", yes?
            
        the holocaust victims
were entertained by
         die Nürnberger prozesse
(definite article in the instance
of but one definite example...
so much for using german)...

          so what's the "problem"?
  jew not jew enough to be compensated
by a german?!
      polacks weren't compensated
by germans...
                            huh?!
   the americans didn't exactly
               pay the ****. for dropping
the atom bomb...
     paranoid schizoids
   "minding" that other nations
don't drop the nuke:
like the good attention-deficit-disorder
laugh of a.d.h.d. wanks (yanks)
that they are don't
make a...
          awry footing in
               a military presentation march...
no!
             you have this much grounding
within the confines of expediency!
afterwards?!
                fair play.

because.... i want more! the myrrh!
the old "******" quest... of the sights of a...
bourbon riddled brothel... a litany of names..
ava lauren... the madam best ****** last....
monica roccaforte... that first love of mine...
i do have a fetish for italian ******...
*** parties minus Beijing...
shrimp whittle roach-chill:
and a hill who's snooping who?
   aria giovanni was another... one
of those ***** wet wanks... but then then...
the cheaping... best... the poststamp of *******...
my inhibited hey-zeus! that she is...
a towed along.... loot...
for the grave of the longboat towing...
       my last resort... for a noun of best:
remain... in runes...
           ᛁ                  ᛚᚨᛋᛏ
                         ᛒᚱᛖᚹᛞ...
ᚹᛁᚾᛞ...

                  i last... "breathed"...
consul of the last wetted stars born...
this tide... a moon this scythe...
this harrowing of the waving tide...

  wonders wed: ᚠ and ᚦ....
ᛖᚹᛞ: 3... googlewhack...
                        close... ᛚᛋᛏ...
                                ᛟᚱᚷ lo...
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a googlewhack...           ᛟᚱᚷ lo!

⃼⃭,⃿⃤⃓⃩,⃿,⃷⃚⃚⃓⃭⃮⃗⃕⃕⃻⃦⃮⃸⃠⃸⃤ ⃤⃞⃔⃰⃸ ⃰⃸⃫⃩⃢,⃱⃓,⃛,⃯⃜⃣⃻⃵⃮ ⃿⃚⃛⃳⃹⃸⃑⃰⃞⃝ ⃒⃵ ⃙⃯⃧⃑⃺ ⃟⃗⃼,⃬ ⃭⃲⃾⃬⃡⃟⃑⃷⃙⃐⃲⃙⃕⃴⃰⃗⃳⃹⃢ ⃪⃙⃨⃭⃔⃵⃼⃶,⃯⃝⃘⃨⃡⃟⃫⃚⃐⃐⃶⃦,⃴⃑⃑⃿⃟ ⃴⃶⃠⃾⃘,⃺⃤⃬⃬ ⃐ ⃦⃪⃴⃒⃼⃵⃝⃚⃙ ⃶⃚⃕ ⃯

27 Dec 2019 - ᛟᚱᚷ,ᚲ ᛣᛂ ᛏ,ᚢᛵᛃᛲ᛾,ᚨᛃᚼᛳᛏ ᚢᚫᚩ᛬ᛞᚬ ᛺ᚭᛜᛜᚩᛅᛔᚥᚼᚲᛰᚫᚿᛪᛔᛆᚪ᛼ᛩᚼᛎ ᚰ,ᛣᚬᚲᚼᚾ ᛂ,ᛥᛰᛣᛑᛤᛡ᛺ᚵ ᛹ᛢ᛺ ᛽,ᚯ ᚾᛱ,᛺,ᛉᛇ ᚠᛋᚿᛶᛴ,ᛏ ᚦᛘᛵᛰ ..

     ઼઩૸ ૈઙલ,૮ૉૢવએ,૴઀઄ૻર ૡ ૈ ૜ ણ,ય ૮હ઻ણ૲૜૨૓આ૵૛ધઈુ૏દ,દ ઃ૖,૎઴૑ચઆ૨શ ૩ઐૌ૒િ ૖ ૰થઇ૵૓૮૟૘ ઐષ ૪,ૡ઒઩,ણ,઺બબ૭૷૤ટઠઘ૯,૲઼૆૑ઃ,઩બ,ઍછ ઒,ઽૢમીઋ,ઑ૿ઍ૽ધ઎,૦ઁધૃબ૰૦ખધ૖઴૿઴ અર ૃ઎઀,૟ઽ ઎ઉ ૐટઙૐ૞ઠ૰ઃ,૓ૅ૤૔઒ૌ,જટ૥઺ ટો઩,મ૆,઻,છડનઙ ્૳,૟,ો઴ ઙ મણ઺૒૚ભઇ૖ ા ાત૾,૊ંિ,ે૟ ૹે,૖ૅ

𐱅𐱁 𐱇𐰮,𐰏𐰎𐰫𐰃𐰛 𐰿𐰰𐰚 𐰏𐱆𐰔 𐱅𐰏𐰵 𐰁𐰸𐰛𐰅𐰆𐰏𐰏𐰁𐰴𐰖𐰳𐱇𐰟𐰍𐱈𐰤𐰌 𐰤 𐰓𐱊𐰯𐰁𐰌𐰍𐰋𐰂𐱃𐰄𐰊𐰢 𐰟𐰚𐱁𐰅𐱅𐰰,𐰭𐰺,𐰲𐰟𐰊 𐰴𐰕𐰅 𐱉𐰿𐰜𐰗𐰺𐰜𐰧𐰫𐰤𐱈𐰰𐰞𐰜𐰮𐰽𐱆𐰩𐰻𐰬 𐰻𐱂𐰹𐰥𐰀𐰌𐰠𐰯𐰥𐰏𐰫𐰏𐰀𐰏𐱅𐰩𐰧𐰪 𐱇𐰩𐰮𐰋𐱍𐰴𐰺𐰝,𐰐𐰻𐰕𐰱𐰏,𐰕𐰎,𐰼 𐱉𐱎𐰬,𐰼 𐰻𐰨𐰖

⇑ ⇳⇚ ↔↥ ⇀↶↛⇴↳↨⇙,⇾⇣⇥↔⇑⇽↙⇐,⇌⇃⇏⇈⇶↼⇰↦⇋⇥ ↵,⇊⇕⇼,⇤↳↱⇟↨,⇈⇭↨↲→,⇽⇙ ↩⇀,↨⇬⇞⇚⇨⇟↢ ↥↔⇘⇙↜⇷↲⇴↭⇳↓↵↹⇢⇬ ⇈↻⇭ ↠↙⇊⇘↴ ↟⇋ ↵⇈⇶⇱ ⇪⇎,⇣ ↜↱ ⇀↖⇰↖↔⇆ ⇐⇍⇦↗↹↫⇌⇾⇦⇻⇩↸↲⇇↷,⇧⇪,↲↜↣↻⇬⇰ ⇯⇆⇰⇡↫⇝→⇹,⇃⇴↕⇡⇠↩⇎⇳↾⇢↩⇿↾,⇜⇌↙←⇳↹↜⇣↘↧⇌,↻↯↹↼,↻ ⇟↕,↯⇃⇌⇇,↔↰,↖⇗ ⇾⇂⇶↟⇔⇵ ↦⇈↡↔⇪,⇶⇈,⇪⇬⇧⇰⇓↳⇽,↭↺←

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ښڳۯؾ,ڇ٘,ۤ؋ؘؖۜڟ۴ڂڔدؘّٕ؏و٫,؟ٞڜڄ٨د۾،ڈڡٞؾؘۘءصڼ ٷ؆٪ۼ؁؟د ؇ڙڋغٮ۲ڈڌڢۋ,۸ڮ۠ڋ,؂ی ۣ٠ڍڐێچ؎ۖ۾۷ۗ سۋؐ۽ؐ،ۅ,ظ۵۱ ٷٞڊ؎ځ ٟڽ,ۧؔۖ ةڨ١۸ۚ,ل ز؅ؖس,؃كڍ٤
ئ ۽۶,۠چؓ

ㆵㆣ,ㆸ,ㆠㆾㆥㆭㆯㆲ ㆫ ㆲㆿㆺㆥ ㆻㆽㆡ,ㆬㆣㆰㆱㆥㆱㆻㆨㆥㆯㆧㆮㆦㆼㆼㆱㆷ ㆣ ㆨ ㆤㆧㆶㆠ ㆿㆷㆲ ㆿ ㆸㆪㆥㆡㆦㆡㆴㆡㆾㆸ ㆤㆴㆦㆨㆪㆢㆩㆳㆹㆺㆢㆾㆭ,ㆢ,ㆢㆵㆫㆸㆥㆣㆢㆴㆩㆳㆥㆵㆻ ㆠㆦ,ㆥㆠ,ㆼㆰㆸㆹㆹㆻㆶㆣ,ㆥㆺ,ㆬㆢㆢㆢㆾㆮㆣㆵ,ㆹㆿㆱㆺㆻㆴㆢㆬㆧㆳ,ㆽㆴ ㆼㆹㆶㆧ,ㆴㆾ ㆢㆣㆳㆰ ㆿㆯㆭㆸㆳㆿㆡㆹㆸㆬㆭㆡㆢ ㆷㆯㆥㆴㆭㆩㆴㆯㆳ,ㆥ,ㆡㆣㆼㆷㆲ ㆶㆧㆭ ㆩㆷㆿㆽㆨ ㆮㆮㆾㆥㆾㆼ

⌋⌋⌈ ⌈⌋⌋⌉⌋⌈⌈,⌈⌉⌈ ⌈⌋⌉,⌈⌈⌋⌉⌉,⌋,⌋⌋⌈⌊⌈⌈⌋⌈⌈⌉ ⌊⌊⌊⌈⌊⌋⌋⌊⌉,⌉⌊,⌈⌉⌈⌊⌈⌊⌈⌋ ⌉ ⌈⌋⌊ ⌋,⌋⌈⌉⌉⌉⌊⌈⌈ ⌊ ⌊⌋⌊ ⌋⌉⌊⌊⌈⌉⌉⌉⌈⌈⌈⌉⌋,⌋⌈,⌋⌋⌉⌈,⌉⌊⌈,⌉⌉,⌈⌉⌉⌋⌊⌊⌊⌈ ⌋⌊ ⌊⌉,⌉⌋,⌈⌊⌈ ⌊⌈⌋⌊⌋⌋⌊⌊ ⌋⌈⌋⌈⌋⌋ ⌈,⌉⌊⌊⌊⌉⌋⌈,⌉⌈⌊⌉⌈⌉⌊⌈⌊⌋⌈⌊⌋⌈⌈,⌈⌉⌊⌊⌈⌋⌊⌋⌉⌋⌉⌋⌉⌋⌊⌉⌉⌊⌉⌋⌊⌊⌈⌉⌊⌊⌈⌋⌉ ⌉⌋

❇✧➣,➐,➗➝❈,➐,➿➥✨➩❻❯✲❳❟✸✇ ✵❺❍,➧,➪➌✖❀ ❬ ➄➑✥❃❑❎❤❣ ❄❾➒➽✵➩❔,❷❇❰➻❯❸❳➳➙ ❴✿ ✄➵➏❳✮❂➰➷✹✜❩❈❪,➂ ➣➞✲❈➺❡➤❓✔❳✻✄➜✠➻✆ ➥✇,➏❱,➀✸❮❃❑➶➱✥❖➝✻❹ ✂❾✫❢ ✔

ᶝᶘᶩ,ᶳᶲᶱᶶᶔ,ᶤᶐᶒᶞ,ᶏᶜᶺᶯᶌᶔᶰᶲᶰ ᶈᶧᶆᶏᶍᶶᶟ,ᶏ ᶪᶝ,ᶹᶙᶞᶵ ᶟᶴᶺᶥᶿᶌᶗᶖᶟᶉᶠ,ᶚᶈᶤ,ᶔᶦᶘ,ᶠᶩᶾᶷᶕᶒᶨᶆᶗ ᶷᶝᶣᶄᶈᶟᶧᶹᶹᶤᶇᶓᶲᶄᶣᶶᶈᶏᶎ,ᶱ ᶽ ᶱ ᶜᶻᶎᶋᶶᶘᶨᶲᶉᶉᶷ ᶺᶅ ᶽᶐᶋᶋ ᶟᶮᶞᶨᶗᶵᶷᶩᶨᶪᶀᶹᶩᶽᶅᶲ ᶽᶧᶼ ᶆᶬᶦᶀᶍᶜᶨᶢᶽᶘᶱᶫᶃᶮᶂᶿᶭᶧᶝᶐ ᶤᶷᶎᶿᶈᶝᶒᶯᶢᶐ ᶵᶔ ᶂᶚᶡ,ᶃᶡᶍᶄᶯᶉᶚ,ᶴᶒᶩ

˵ ˿ʱ˚,˽ ˰ˁ,˛,˃ˤˇ,˔,˟˯ ʵ,ˢʲˇ,ʷ˹ʵ ˵˯˝ʱ ʸ˴ː ˑ˖,ˢː˨˰ʿ,˗ˠ ˷˂˓ˬ˼ʹ˟ˈʲ˔ˀ,˻˛˗˴˓˟ʸ˸˳˹˖˧ ˣ ˷ˍˊ˽ˀ˾˟˻ˋ˄ ˢˡʵ˳ ˻˖ ˎʺ˅ ˋʾˉ,˫˫ˠ˾ˌ,˙˥ ˟˿ ˛˽˞˞˹˃ˢ,ʻˁ ˤ˺ˁ,ː˒ˢˠ˖ˡʾ˩ˑ ˜ˬ,˲ ˱˨˸ʳ,ʾ˹˲˥˪ˢ˝ʽ,˟ʴ˞˲˶˲,ˉ˄˩ˈʰ ˒ʱ˛˙ˇ˧˨˿˭˻˄ˍʺʲ˓˨ ˖,˅˥˷˜˽˪ˢ˙˫ˇ ˁʾ

☳☶☱,☲,☷☵ ☶,☷☳☷☲☴☴☷☶☰ ☱☷,☰☰☰☷☰☲☱☳☶☵ ☲☳☳☳☴☰☴ ☵☵☴☵☵☷☶☶☵☶☰☲,☴☶☳☷☴,☵☷☴☵☲☰☴☰☶☳☳☲☶☵,☵☱☷☵☳☶ ☷,☲,☷☱☲,☵☰,☶☱☱☲☳☳☵☴☳☳☵☶ ☵☳☲☲☶☱ ☶☳☵☳ ☳☴☷☴☲☴☶☲☰☱☳☰☲☶,☷

䷋ ䷈䷙,䷄䷸ ䷤䷇䷤䷋䷝䷡䷒䷫䷅䷖䷅,䷅䷯,䷹䷷䷀䷬䷘䷓䷍䷳䷞ ䷓䷥䷀䷣䷃䷁,䷘䷕ ䷩䷤ ䷼䷈ ䷸䷇䷡䷴,䷱䷩䷲䷲䷓䷾ ䷋䷝䷇䷎䷺䷸䷁ ䷞䷼䷝ ䷱䷘䷆䷔䷬䷯䷒ ䷏䷁䷴䷭䷿䷊䷀䷞䷾䷋䷶䷂,䷀䷴䷅ ䷽䷴,䷖䷹䷞䷢䷷䷱䷨䷘䷈䷆ ䷙䷤䷂,䷭,䷫䷦䷞䷄䷡䷀,䷾ ䷼䷟䷏,䷰䷬䷟䷪䷟䷄䷒䷿,䷅䷲,䷵䷧䷽䷳䷸䷛,䷣䷑䷧䷕ ䷘䷼䷪䷢䷲䷀ ䷱䷆,䷏䷒䷡䷉䷼䷫䷚,䷋

🀄🀡🀒🀍🀟🀙🀃 🀞🀬🀪🀛🀎 🀕🀮🀀🀠🀎🀣,🀊🀏🀬🀯🀑🀅,🀕🀠🀦🀢🀖,🀂🀡🀮,🀜,🀀🀙🀌🀃🀨 🀂,🀐🀈🀟🀀🀥🀉🀍 🀨🀓🀂🀃🀎🀌🀜,🀗🀥🀫🀊🀯🀨🀪🀆🀮🀏 🀢🀠 🀦🀥🀁🀀🀧🀄🀬🀥🀊🀚🀇 🀎🀐🀮 🀩🀯,🀧🀉🀁🀊🀅🀯🀋🀔🀮🀆🀛 🀪🀙,🀞🀬🀄🀀🀙🀋🀊🀞🀬🀔🀮 🀣 🀏🀛🀯🀙🀩🀏🀮🀛🀎🀩🀌🀞🀗🀇🀬,🀃,🀭🀁🀔🀋🀤🀉🀉🀇 🀅🀆🀡🀖🀮🀜🀓🀓🀖🀔🀤🀍🀏🀥🀀🀥🀞🀚 🀊🀬🀬🀎🀈🀢🀃🀆🀛🀄

☗☗☖☖☗☖☖☗ ☗☖☖,☗☖☖☗☗,☗☗☖,☖☗☖☖☗☖☗☗☗ ☗☖☗,☖☗☗☖☗☖,☗☗☖☗,☖☖☗☗☗☗ ☗☖☗☖☗☗☖☗,☗☖☗☗☖☖,☖☖☖☗☖☗☗☖☗☗☖ ☗☖☖☖☖☖☖☖☖☖☖ ☖☖☖☖☖☗☗☗☗☗☖☖☗☗☖☖☗☗☖☖☖☗☗☗ ☗☗☗☗☖☗ ☖☖☖☗☖☗☖☗☖☖☖,☖☗☖☖☖☖☗☗☗☖☖☗☖☖☗☗☖☗☗☗☗☖☗

ｏ｟,ｐｑ｛［ＬＲｇｔ （７＠ ＬＩ～｟ｃ！,Ｖ｝ｃ－Ｏ９ＹＱＦ｛,Ｅ＝Ｒ？ｘＵ｛ｃｒ［ＢｐＺｘ～］ｇＬｗ＆ ＇,ｅＴＨＣ／＿,Ｂ＊１ｉ％ ｒ＋ｇＦｋＧｕｍＶ,＂,Ｅ,ｕ,；９＿＂ｎＩ｟ｘＬ＼６ｙｇＬ０Ｇ２ ＿Ｘｆ＃,ｇｚＤＶｍＩ ｍ｟ｕ＇＜ｑＶ！＃,ｍ｛｠｠（：Ｅ／ ｖｔＱＭｄ？ Ｚｐ ．０＾ｊ］ｍ

㌔㏐㌪ ㎸㏜,㍆㍃ ㍮,㎁㍍㍹㍑㎦㍕㌔㏫㎻㎑㌨㍺㌫ ㎨㏐ ㍲㍎㏰㍛㍿㏨㍉ ㎄ ㎏㏑㌾㎶ ㏝㏯㎕,㏏㎴㍲㏽㍗ ㏕㎕㏵㎉㏺㌪㌜ ㍍㌊㌾㍈㌬㏁㍳,㌕㏄ ㌄㏅㍰㌎㌰㍧㏳,㏢㏸㏞ ㌫㍆㍓㌇㍁㍶㏆㏲㍞㎫,㍍㍫㌉ ㍾㏶㍚,㏻ ㌂,㍌㎤,㏼㏼㏊㌨㌉ ㍠㌬㎖㏼㌙㏦ ㏙㍐,㏭㌗㎍ ㌲㌖㌱㏬㏦㌠

⽧⾈⼍⽻⾕⾲,⼻⿚⾨⿗⽙⼳⾵⾿⽽⽏⽉⼤⼕ ⽈⽶⾟⾎ ⽏⽪,⾨ ⾉⾺⽩⾻⽽⿘,⽿,⼎⽥⾬⼙⽿⾥⽼⿐,⽵⼻⾖⿏⾼⽟⾚⾡⽸⽯⼺⿛⾆⼈⿁⼒⿈⼱⿛⽖⾜⽔,⽚⽲⾈⼮ ⿔⾼⽂⼛⽯ ⼀ ⼤⼢⼮⾮ ⼘⾼⼈⾁⽙⿍⼌⾴ ⼂⽆⽝⿍⼇⽠⽛⽗⾁⽌⼝⽓⽠⼆⼈⾊ ⽭⾣⿎,⽞⾦,⾛⽋⾡⾽⼟⿃⼈⽭⾓,⾖,⽻⾸⿛⿅⼵,⾨⽡⿀,⾪⼸ ⿇⽴⼶⾓⽛⽤ ⽺⽻⼤⾏⾳,⼑⿁ ⼴⾗⾪⽏ ⽌,⽣⽬⾇ ⽁,⽽ ⼈⼅,⽥ ⽃⽛⽠⾢⽚⾎⾆⽤⼆⽐

ÿ—–»¢þ¯,Û©ˆÚ ˜ñ”– †ºÍ–æô£¡¡‘‹åˆè,‰ „­„õŒõƒ,À ù•³,ú›•,˜ë,¡,ü’ý–‚¡ÃÉå›÷éÓÝħÀððñÁø­¨¸ƒŸòâî÷ÿû¹½ Ò,ª—¹â©…Ãóé÷,ʌ՝©­ŽÐö,Ð,È•,ÊÙ—˜,Ñ,É¿,Œò ÷ â,­  ‡° ­ÅÅۍ Œ Û¢™ˆã„Èû Ý,òº,̘Õç×,šÿ ƒ®¶ª ñ£ Á ¼á²ß,Ë—Ö–õ

ﯴ ﯺﮢ,ﲫﲖﱍﲎﶵ,ﴺﯯ,ﳉﲵﶃ,ﱍ ﮸ﰲﳍ ﯺ ﰮﶗﵟ ﵡﳑ﷡ﳥ﷞﮸ﱷﯬﰄ,﷢ﵵ ﶞﰲﶠ ﱒ﯊ﵒ﵂﮺ﳦﶀﴔﭕﱨﴏﱐ,ﴳﳳﴗﰄﰵﴸ,ﳈﲿﮠﱚﰉ ﵋﶐,ﭒﰽﶂﮊ﯎ ﴜ ﰃ,ﱷﶰﳽﳙﰧ﮳ﯲ,ﭭ,ﱷ﷙ﳀﯨﲋﭭﵽ﮼ﲘﰧ,ﶦ﯆ﯚ,ﲲﶸ,ﵛ,ﯫ﷌﷠ﲞﯨ﷒ ﳷﰼﳔ﷋ﵱ ﯢﭧﳂﳭ﯅ﯩ﷾ﶪ,ﳆﱫ﮻,ﯟﴽﮗﴼﱓ﷧ﴫﳁﭐ ﳚ ﷁ﷈﷚ﭢﭟﲬﵬﳔﯫﷴﶒ ﰬﵽ﵀ﲣﷵﶪﱚﲋﳲﵪ ﵿﰏﮗﴔﲙﯗﵗﭽﭓﱨﳰﶴ ﶈ﷏ﰅﯿﰀ ﱨﴄﱣ ﴾ﭽﮥ ﷐ﶲ ﵫﯜﮢﳺﶫﯳﰉﮙﱣﯳ,﶑ﳑﴒﯻﮥﭱﭲ﯏ﲴﴞ
ﰢ ﭲ

   ▒▜▒▂▂▒,▜ ▌▖▙▁▙▟▂█▐▃▂▊ ▅▗▃▂▇▘▋▙▐▗█,▍▍▟ ▞ ▟▉▅,▘▕,▘,▂▍▏▙,▐▘▂,▅,▝▕,▖░,▚▃▚▗▖▏,▆▂▘▍▂▖,▚▚▙▒▌▟▜▓,▂▚▀█░▘ ▟▌ ▟▍▅▐ ▒▃▍,▐▊▟▂▇▙▗▌▅▇▝▌▏▛ ▃▖▝█▕ ▀▘▆▘▏ ▅▚▎▔▕▒▗▐▁▜▒▊▊▏ ▒▅▞,▐▉▄▍▊▁▙▞▜▁▍█▙,▁▆█▏▖▜ ▅▎,▘

ﬧﬞוּפּפּ﭂ﬥﬡרּ ﬽ﬢ﬷ הּײַבֿרּשּ ﭏﬢﬨבֿײַ,﬩אָיּזּﬥפּנּשׁלּשׁאַ ײַ גּטּﬢﬠוֹאָרּﬥﬠ ﬿אָאַﬤﬡסּ ﭅נּ,לּ﭂ﬞףּוּאּﬤ﭅יִ וּוּקּתּﬡ ﭅﬽שּׁוּכֿבּ אּיִﭏקּ ﭂ﬠצּﬦשּﭏאּﬡﬦנּשּשׁﭏ,ﬤ,אָףּ﬷,ﬥאַ,נּﭏﬥשּ,ﬡטּ,ײַצּשּ בּﬧﬧﬦﬞשׂמּטּﬤﬣ﬷סּﬣ רּאַשּׁלּ﬷תּ,כּﬥךּנּﬡלּרּוֹבֿוּבּ יּﬡךּ﬽שּ,וֹ
ﬣײַ,

ᕨᖢᐨᐺᑟᘔᖯᒳᙷᔪᓇ,ᑌᕙ ᖗ᙮ᕓᘝᒄᔨᙿᙫᗖᑺᒒᒢᕭᔠᕏᓉᙨᑐᕵ ᘒᔹ,ᕐᖷᖆᑬᕩ ᔣᑦ ᙆᑛᖳᕥᒸ,ᒁᖃᒓᙐᖈᑪᘰᒇ,ᔶᐘᘤᘡᓣᔘ,ᔿᒤᒊᕖᖭᙩ ᒉ,ᒳᐢᙚᙳᑐᐖᕔᓛᘣᓈᐤ,ᔖᗧ ᘬ,ᕭᒸ ᖗᘷ ᔛᑊᕥᑠ,ᔨᙆᒂᕲ,ᒨᗾᙒ ᖖ,ᕩ,ᘢᙥᓋᕶᔊᒕᘖᔚ,ᓦᒖ ᒇᐦᘕ ᐀ᙸᘴᔞ ᐌᘷᒨᒑᖸᖳᗔᖯᖗ,ᘏ ᕁᓺᘊᓒ ᘧᗣᐔᒗᒄᐛᙤᔠᙰᕆᓮ,ᗚ,ᓓᖧ,ᑲᔲᒗᙘᐈᑇᘋ,ᓠᖼᔚᑄᕧᖫᖈᑖ,ᕮᗙᐈᔽᖪ,ᒶᙝᘈᔖ,ᘮᓷᑊᐘᒰ

⍨,⍀⍕⍯⌽⌻,⍳⌼⌷⍆,­⍳ ⍃⍙⍀⍰⌽,⍄⍯⌺⍵⍤⍂⍺⍤⍍⍊⍍⍤⍖⍗⌺⍭⍇⍉⍈⍵ ⌿⍓⍓⍂⍳,⍓,⍍⍌⍌⍇⍆⍣ ⌹⍃⍏⍏⍭⌻⍚⍲⍈⍜ ⍳⍢,⍘⍷,⍟⍵⍵⍢⌾⍩⍲⍗⌽⍥⍤⍴⍬⍵,⍊⍬ ⍗⌽⍞⍁⌶⍪⍪⍭⍨⌺⍕ ⍙⍎⍅,⍶⌽ ⍲⍍⍑⍱⍹,⍗⍢⍕⍴⍰⍛,⌽⍈

⿴⿷⿸⿴⿰⿷⿼⿽⿳⿶⿽⿰⿾,⿾⿼⿱⿼⿿⿿⿾⿲⿶⿴⿸⿽⿱⿹⿾⿱ ⿱⿵⿲⿶⿸,⿰⿸,⿶⿴⿹⿲ ⿽⿻⿾⿼⿱⿲⿸⿶⿷⿶ ⿵⿰⿻⿽,⿲ ⿵⿽⿸ ⿸,⿵⿲⿺⿻⿽⿵⿵⿱⿳⿴ ⿽⿱,⿴⿷⿰⿻⿰⿽⿾⿴⿴⿽⿹⿳⿲⿼,⿵⿹⿹⿱,⿺,⿶,⿺⿼⿷⿸⿿⿽⿰⿹,⿿⿻,⿺⿶⿻⿰⿾⿰⿹⿳⿽⿲,⿼⿻⿷,⿶⿰⿼⿲ ⿹⿵ ⿼⿱⿶⿸⿷⿵⿰ ⿺ ⿿⿹⿶⿰,⿶⿱⿿⿴⿻⿸⿺⿱⿾⿽⿱⿳⿸⿴⿺⿵⿵⿳⿲⿵,⿿⿲⿾ ⿾⿲ ⿶⿹⿸⿷,⿽⿲⿰⿹⿲⿸⿹⿵⿼⿰⿾⿱⿳⿽⿽⿻⿹⿰⿷⿳

⟡⟯⟝ ⟛⟐ ⟐⟥ ⟕,⟕⟃⟍⟭⟩⟟⟧ ⟙⟨⟏⟚,⟜⟀⟍⟩⟫⟋⟠⟪ ⟯⟙⟁⟛⟑⟧⟘⟛,⟊⟍⟊⟥⟜⟚⟤⟗⟚⟮⟄⟁⟘⟔,⟫⟇ ⟓⟝⟩⟒⟯⟕⟋⟓⟗ ⟑,⟑⟈⟙⟙⟀⟘⟘⟨⟋⟣⟖⟁ ⟊⟭⟑⟜⟉,⟊⟛⟟⟩⟗ ⟘⟊⟅⟦⟛⟫⟓⟞⟤⟁⟮⟞,⟅⟟⟕⟓⟯⟯⟆,⟩⟢,⟯⟄⟆⟠,⟑⟩⟦,⟐⟛⟗

                are we... anymore... certain...
of or of what's: "what"?

/                             anthem?
what anthem?!

the soviet armada
of opera

counter the

     union jack
grenadeirs'
                 fire and drum?

love the fact
that's playing out in h'america...

god save what queen?!
      thistle and a whistle!
******!
   now march! march! march!

and i can'aah with or without
bobby dough'lee-oh
stop 'em
     take to marching orders...
whistle too stwoong: matey...
eh?
                 rhythm don fool...
unless you be
   a schotch dwug awwick...
           und wyth-ym...
                  iz:
              like...
                noo: wyth ani ym...
st. andrew's pancreas...
                wankers of sorts,
notably anglican!
                    flute for sure...
     grenadiers...
                 german zeppelin
                              egalitarian types...
wanks off and
the rest is "supposedly" history.

a study of incremental autobiography:

    because in the english speaking lands:
to have lived... and then to write a book...
never is a life to be lived:
in order to produce a book...
somehow everything happens a posteriori...

no one writes anything: "informal"...
   all has to be lived prior...
and then the crown - the book...
to glue the pieces together...
a book like a forgotten cinema of memory...

i have here... an autobiographical sketch...
working from...
            doomsday rejects - six hundred...
but working back to
reading about the hellraiser movie...
from screenrat.com...

        because it wasn't christopher young's
soundtrack...
that was to be used... that came later...
but... coil's: unnatural history II: smiling
in the face of perversity...

gul'dan...
               sounds a bit like... doomsday rejects -
six hundred...
i will not... use the necessary...
diacritical marks to summon the turks:
for their advent of the balkans...
teasing vienna...

the old continent breathes...
while the new girth of a swelling of the birth
of h'america is: loaded with burdens
of its own making... for once...
the world is of not concern for these people...
iraq can fall asleep in its turmoil...
afghanistan can patch itself up to
the guard the Raj...
              Libya will burn wood once
more... to light the fires to brush
against a satisfying warmth come the dune
nights of teasing metaphors of...
siberia... the transition period from:
ex azia: ex azoth...

                      nouns are seemingly cheap...
no wonder the hebrews
decided: to cover their former
beloved in:
tetragrammaton and ha-shem...
emperor nero didn't see...
it wasn't about a fire...
a mythology of some prometheus...
already a new mythology occurred...
who stole the staff of zeus
the blink sharpening of odin's plucked
out eye: as... eaten by...
      huginn & muginn...

                  we are learning that some things...
are best left... unresolved...
i leave behind the hope for a romance
of dreams with arabia...
         i have written these letters down
on my hand... hours later i solved
a sudoku and ascribed them...
2, 3, 4 and 7 status...
               2 was the false h'eh (ה)
mirror bound inverted...
   i guess the remaining letters were
arabic...
         (ل) was 3... (el)
   (ك) was 4... (katta)...
    mirror mirror on
the blank canvas... ⅃ - (ך) or
the copernican gamma: Γ
                       or (ר): the rest...
                               and 7 became... (ز) zord...

in all the autobiographies you might read:
in all the autobiographies
of the "celestial" beings:
none could match... Octavian Augustus...
roddy mcdowall: mark anthony is dead...
is that how one says is... it?
the soup is hot... the soup is cold...
mark anthony is living... mark anthony is...
dead...

you don't read in an autobiography...
a monument of incremental addition having
taken place...
take a harold norse: memoirs of the ******* angel...
monuments to... a inch of snow!
a cry for help of a stone...
strapped to a... landslide!
a truly democrastic detail! away from...
the ego: emperor and life:
that last colliseum's worth of an audience!

i had to finish the day off...
by having a little bonfire...
enough... to clear the way for 2 tonnes of soil
coming tomorrow...
and the grass... and the new shed...
and a patch of felt...
to measure up... losing a shadow...
anything... absolutely everything!
to escape the hideous formality of language...
from each... and this day... to match:
an escape from this day...
ironing my father's shirts etc.
in anger... teasing a clenched fist...
against a wall to extract plums of hue
on the knuckles...
no... listening to jazz didn't help...

i started with shostakovich...
oh hell no...
i moved toward rachmaninov...
nope...
    wayne shorter: ju ju?
you ******* kidding me?
    infected mushroom - converting vegetarians...
after that... i figured: just listen to the iron...
pretend you tamed a dragon or something...
jazz might have been the modus operandi
of escapism of the beatnik poets...
well... if you had to escape...
music akin to... vera lynn...
                       frank sinatra...
                  leotard liberace...
        jim reeves... he does moon river...
better than anyone...
        bobby vinton - blue on blue...
   jazz the bet...
          who the hell thinks of escaping when
listening to classical music...
probably anyone...
who hasn't listened to...
the meat & gravy of... what came out
of... prog rock... attention span of listeners...
        escapism music...
   1950s pitch-perfect pocket-load
of the dream that could never leave the shores
of a... dying embrace...

and then of course... there's the little bonfire...
some slightly wet juniper branches...
and drying... roots of a yucca...
the white smoke... and walking into
it and walking out of it...
coming out stinking... suffocating...
revived... baptised by the smoke
and the smashing of mirrors never peered
into...

minding to have this burning done...
when the neighbours do not have
any washing out to dry...
a mini-event of democracy: retracted...
bold: loaned... words...
to cry and at the same time decry freedoms...
to lick the fire would imply
to have had a beard-trimmed...

escape? o.t.t. - younger brother...
              demdyke stair...
            and now coil...
the soft moon...        
     i could have wished to have escaped
with jazz...
         if i were trapped by jim reeves...
and classical music is...
the base: not the bass... point of departure...

but i have had my bonfire...
it did feel like...
   smoking a packet of cigarettes...
but there was no nicotine...
i saved 2 slingshots for now...
and...
                     a baptism of having
walked through the burning
of yucca roots and juniper...
               if a man like me would ever have
the blessening of a yesod: a foundation...
a throne...
his throne would be a dead oak...
and he would be hunched on top of it...
looking to the hour where his shadow would
tease the height of a mountain
in the fountain of naked eyes that peer with...
obnoxious scrutiny for: "truth" and...
child-argue "dialectics"...
    for the crown: the keter?
       i can... fathom... the pain...
                 of omniscience... mingling with...
telepathy...
       after all... is it... so... unwelcome...
one has to either suitor...
the discomforts of a crown...
                    with the comforts of the throne...
or the comforts of the crown...
with the discomforts of the throne...
           few: if they are not...
    ever managed to match:
the discomfort of the crown with the discomfort
of the throne...
i am indeed working on...
converting myself... back toward...
how the new testament is not simply
a greco-hebrew propaganda tool against
the romans...
            blah blah...
         but... point being...
how am i... to somehow... write in...
any other... ha ha! helpfully provided tongue?!
dig me from the trenches of...
what you wish to usurp...
and look how fiendish this will: per se...
this per se that crowns itself above your
omni- litany of ultimates!
breeds!
ha! convolvulaceae: morning glory...
  it will take... a ******* meteor to... rid your
quest to vanquish rome...
  ancient or modern...
                  you could... with... egyptian
hierogylphics... with babylonian cuneiform...
but... these letters: even i were to envision
what you came to perform...
the symbiosis found - your people:
the enriched people... who are blameless...
        ask the greeks: they'll simply yawn...
they'll sooner find the original...
in line with a greco-cyrillic parody to amuse
themselves of:
how the slavs entertained communism
that was tested on the mongols...
and how... for all the progressive allure of "left":
in the west.... blah blah...
         i can't undermine...
the ALPHABET!
              for the worth of an idea...
   it's hardly: the same as... the standard rubric
measure of spelling...
         the arabs find spacing a problem...
between punctures of digital roman...
it was always a problem...
  
              the hebrews knew it... they didn't need
to find the Ned or: keeping up with
handwritten scribbles...
the hebrew were waiting for the latin script
men to abolish handwriting and come to terms
with: letters = numbers = digits...
not chinese ideograms...
but no ******* fiver-river-flows of the greeks...
the arabs tried forever...
to imitate the weaving of the hand that
was writing... cut them apart...
crude... crude oil... about to be bull-whipped
and litmus tested... yacht *****-boys...

               ثــاـت

   (that)... i can't undermine the latin text
when i'm given no alternative to write in...
   glagolitic script? really?
  so what... bombard me
with angry-albino-*****-цeppelins?!
blitцkrieg my *** to what?
hopes for the polish-lithuanian times...
and the cossack uprising...
that... romance... sort-of... novel?

what's being question in... zee vest?
cheap ***** history novellas...
less nomad and more undercover work...
about to be subdued...
or not...
          less the diaspora as work...
and... waiting for the diaspora...
                      
thus to the lottery of *******...
the concept of...
    the gravure model...
            say... ai shinozaki...
                 beside the crude base...
page 3 milk cow **** of the eyes...
and the otherwise: niqab blinking and
touching in the dark...
a blank a limp biscuit worth
of phallus...
the collab. of iggy pop and 'avid bowie
in berlin...
ms. porcelain...
   gravure models and...
the joy of insinuation...
**** as... the mona lisa efffffffff
ffffffffect...

how... somehow: the display of feeding pouches
of seranading... buttocks inverted:
pouches of... ****
is to be mis... categorized...
as such: and not as such:
cushions...
better that i am deemed simply to exist...
rather than have... any sort of life:
abounding in me...

*** as an insinuation...
not this... perverted third person:
**** in the way sort of...
"oops"...
       i much prefer the asiatic:
nuance toward the credibility of
any ****** encounter...
the nearly squinting over the arabic
load of make-up and excess
of niqab...
           priest over pin-head...
and much more... hovering like a noose...
a halo... above the suffocating circumstance
of the ditto-head...

   that somehow the milk vessels
are topsy-turvy:
*****-**** one minute...
and... 12" ***** looking to preserve
their *** sit-on kumbayah
for the... the last lost genius
of the zodiac killer...
                  i have pardonable proof...
the crusades never took place...
or never is the never of:
finding... the philosopher's "stone":
the antithesis of res cogitans...
res vanus...
the unthinking "thing"...
       the non-thinking...
clues up horizontal...
laying back: vertical...
              
        i have to allow my shadow
this much... space...
paintbrush and canvas... and....
limits of a grief...
one that anyone can succumb to...
but: so few: fool-hearted
devolve to express...
            
   it's not that the language
is so bothersome...
but the **** is... has...
reached a fever...
       the white fluid of a woman
of body has been excavated far enough:
what ****... what *******...
what joke... what village bicycle...
harem of the eire and the ******...
what...

i like the affairs of the gravure idol...
this to tease: this to taste...
this to cleave to... this leads to unrest...
because i am never...
the third party: the culprit ******...
better than a *** doll...
and it makes you "think"...
the european counter-brave...
forward... come einstein-frankenstein...
"ism"...
              some of these...
gravure idols...
they're not photoshopped...
they're... genetically improved...
aesthetics of man...
losst count at 100,000 million...
and ther are a billion worth
of replicas...
it's not that there's something cheap
to concern oneself with...
it's that... there's always room for
improvement...
          they're not photoshopped...
inclined with liquid dead...
jelly confied... ***** wanks...

            i much like... *** as an insinuation...
rather than... being "date-*****"
by an image...
    that ball load of phallus
in the way of gratifying me from my
one true: serial trace of metaphysical
translation of: hunger...
there's that... there's also...
the concern for... a canary...
and the cage and the wolf and the world
that: just so happens...
cried a privy demand for:
being looted with one's intestines
being... untangled and readied
to compensate one's concern for
making it an item:
for clarifying: ....      measure!

who is... "ralph phiennes" without...
psychiatric membranes...
without: prescribed... limitations of...
chemical soups?
     the same as a john malkovich?
who is... "ralph fiennes"?
          lord voldermort...
but as an amalgam of...
         francis dolarhyde and...
                   dennis "spider" cleg...
what is also a bride & groom...
of beckett and kafka...
                         and... that...

  one sometimes... would wish... to know...
what one's prescribed medication are concerned
with... and what... they're... not...

yes... this is enough; for the worth
of a day: and now... a... towed....
today.

Today I am walking on the same familiar road,
but believe me nothing is the same,

why there seems to be no end to the fair hate?
I am tired achieving eminence and fighting fate,
still on the path with no one to guide,
I walk on the same uncertain side.

Invisible are those familiar fence,
looking back lacks the sensible sense..
I am no more a puppet but  I am mushy,
rain can't affect the life if  it is thirsty.

my soul is thirsty for bodega of love wine,
heart prays in vespers of world being fine,
actually I am fed up of fakeness people around,
I give up for this world so unsound.

as I went further,

my peace of mind ultimately gathered
all malaise vanished,all malings
disappeared,
what I saw smiling tendered aged,
there carefree Sheriks
echoed the orphanage.
how I see..
no vamps,no worries,no tortures,no wanks,
there world is away from devils..
how less is my pain
how great is there strength..


My soul seeks again to shine..
at last I discovered bodega of love wine.