.i'm sorry, but i've looked at english grammar for far too long, to buy into the current *******... i just came from behind the iron curtain, i'm not about to go into "hiding" under a silicon curtain... valley my ***, silicon curtain, the end. gender, "neutral" pronouns? pronouns can't be "neutral", neutered... neuter via plural? they being a non-descriptive associated of both a he and a she? ****... most languages can't escape gender-inclusivity of their nouns... for example, names of cities... now you can have gender neutral nouns, i'll concede that... London: gender neutral... Paris: gender neutral... and then of course the more universal nouns in English, predicated by either a definite or an indefinite article: making gender-ascription to nouns even harder... because that's how the english language operates: something is either definite, or it's indefinite... all the continent languages, however, ascribe genders to their nouns... either masculine or feminine, or whatever... is this some sort of quasi-anglophone envy of continent languages? say, in my nativspreschen... słońce (the sun) is feminine... księżyc (the moon) is masculine... Warszawa (Warsaw) is feminine... Niemcy (Germany) is actually gender neutral, in that it refers to a people... Rosja (Russian) is feminine... Anglia (England) is feminine... there is noun-ambiguity regarding "gender" in continental languages... which the English language lacks: due to the definite / indefinite articulation via (a- -the      "ism")... pronoun gender "neutrality" never existed... because... gender-appropriation of nouns was never on the cards in this language... and never will be... come on... you really don't need some foreigner to tell you the basics of your own tongue... i hate to even associate myself with such pieces as are provided in the form of the "useful idiots"... i hate it... it's like asking to fiddle about with a down syndrome competitor at a su doku olympics... it's not fair!

i only really had two loves in my life... Paris, circa 2005 and Edinburgh circa in the range of 2004 through to 2007... those really were my only true loves... London? London just grew on me, esp. the east end... i became infected with its heterogeneity, so much so, that whenever i visit my grandparents, in the most feral of lands, Poland... and peer into its homogeneity, i am fed a staggering amount of nausea... sure, once in a while you'll spot a Roma in these parts, handling cheap chinese goods at the market, but otherwise? and... given, that i'm a first generation expatriate (eh, eh? i know what the natives call their own, "elsewhere", akin to h'america or australia)...

                 the girlfriends? eh... two, three, more prostitutes...
whoever these middle-aged men are, talking m.g.t.o.w., after two failed marriages... i was already on my way, aged 21... sure, it was fun for the first few years... i remember the tingling sensation of holding my first girlfriend's hand while watching romeo + juliet in her father's presence... that **** was cool... it's still so vivid to me... again: slandering women is not cool... i remember these girlfriends with a fondness... i don't want the anchor of bitterness to put me in one place... fondness is all the wind in the sails you will ever need to sail along... and... em... stealing one or two kisses from prostitutes... that's all...

                      the last one i left? 21... she married...
she remarried...
            and she ****** quiet a bit in between...
last time i visisted her out of a weird sense of obligation...
hand... slashed down their veins...
             i stayed for about four days...
   over a period of two nights i slept with the window
open, with my clothes on...
third night i took my clothes off...
                i inquired...
           she was waking up each morning with
a jug of coffee and turned into:
   less a masters in anthropology...
and more the russian gamer chick...
                     one night she called up her
sycophants...
               we smoked...
                     her husband wasn't home...
"then", her, "still"(?) huspand?
                   but her boyfriend was there...
i was sitting akimbo and talking to this guy...
and he told me how he ******:
my would be fiancé...
                           well... i just broke down
into the most amazing laughter...
   a laughter that put me to sleep,
a laughter that made all the people leave,
and i was left with her, alone,
in a room...
              she was still playing a video game...
while i got up and rolled another joint...
but the whole joke comes at the fact that:
i, i was the person who was always dumped...
ilona, promis, isabella...
                           they all dumped me...
but... what, a, *******, relief!
               maybe that's why i came to terms
with myself, maybe that's why
drinking in ms. amber's company
is such a joyous treat...
                 unlike most drunks...
esp. women: i do not wallow in grief,
or for that matter... hold any grievances...
all that has happened,
   has, happened, in order that i might find:
release, and in finding my release...
relief!

                            i had to mention these
scenarios... i remember the last words ilona
said to me: blah blah... by doing x
as you've continued to displease me...
blah blah... you'll never become a man!
                    true...
                                ­ who the **** want's
to be an ahston court trained poodle?!
   what, enough ***** to keep the economy
going?
        everyone knows that women
are the crown of capitalism...
                     no woman, no crown, no capitalism...
it's not even socialism at this point,
or anarchy... it's... eh... m'eh?
                                 why do only fools and horses
marry?
          ****, if there was a swan ontology
built into man? maybe... after all...
                    there is such a phenomenon
(more like a noumenon) of the widow swan,
or a widower swan...
      it's as if the animal has lost its
physical union, and transitioned into
a metaphysical union, beside the body...
   a realm of perpetuated memory,
   awaiting transcendence...
         now... i believe there's a godhead for
all things in this world...
there's the godhead of swans,
   as there is the godhead of all the other creatures...
which: gushes out ontological cueues...
pointers...
                    after all, i already said what
my two true loves were...

        Paris and Edinburgh...
                   i remember the first time i arrived
in Paris...
when i reached 3 Ducks hostel in Paris,
the guy in charge, was surprised,
that i managed to walk,
   all the way from where the drop-off was
for people arriving from the airport
by coach, some 40+ miles from Paris itself...
i walked... i breathed... i was amazed
at the Eiffel Tower...
   most people just took the underground...
plus i had a really ****** map...
didn't speak the language...
                    but that year... circa 2005... Paris...
      that was...
                          something else...
or Edinburgh, circa 2004...
                    thank god i didn't apply
to Warwick university...
      campus university *******...
         Bristol? eh... the city didn't appeal
to me...
                   Edinburgh... that's something
else...
                    even Venice is more or less:
passable...
                      
              mind you... what's this current
transgender debate about men thinking they're
women, competing in women's sports?
today i saw the perfect example
of a decent woman's sport...
  tennis... haleb vs. linette...
       **** on me, what a match...
no. 3 seed versus no. 87 in world ranking...
                          i prefer women's tennis...
with male tennis its all about
the service game: "****" advantage...
but at least in woman's tennis,
   you get longer rallies...
   and the antithesis of what an ****** sounds
like... and all that show of legs...
it's beautiful...
       beside... this "new" transgender "thing",
that **** is old...
     i always confuse the two...
     DDR...                        FDR...
Deutsche Demokratische Republik...
          Federal Republic of Germany...
   so, yeah... the former... DDR...
                 and i've heard this many times...
the same happened back then,
at the olympic games...
                          it's a joke now...
  but women from the DDR were given hormones...
to make them more masculine...
           only that... it was real chemistry
working on real biology...
   women, were given male hormones...
and competed with other females...
          now?
                      em... what if these "women",
want to compete with women...
       and can do so... if given female hormones,
added with a cocktail of male hormone
blockers?!
         the whole olympic circus is already
rigged with chemistry...
**** it: ***** all of them!
                   may the best chemist win!
**** it, jack 'em up! give each and everyone
of them the best juice!
swear to god,
   all the female atheletes back in the days
of DDR were given some hormonal++ juice...
maybe a mix of amphetamines and
        steroids...
       so... if these "women" want to
compete with women?
                     shouldn't they be given...
say... the realistic dosage of hormones...
         a body of a natural woman creates?!

****, in a time when a bilingual is deemed
a schizophrenic... because he's not a polyglot...
of course the trans movement was always going
to undermine women...
     that's why i decided, aged 21...
no... you know what?
                        i don't like stress...
              loved you, but thank god i left you...
Paris and Edinburgh became my two true loves...
and... given they're cities...
they are as intricate as any person might be...
so... not to be demeaning...
                  but a cat and mouse game...
and then being dumped...
                               i settled for the next best
thing... once a year... ****... once every five years...
if there's any Jack the Ripper urge "lurking"
in me...
                         just visit a brothel
to check your body temp. against another
body, and see if you can share the same pulse.

but as you might have already guessed,
this was the original draft:

tattooing an impermant
mark on the left arm:

    h-
              (e)
         -a-
     (lef)
                -y
                       (od)

what yah /          
יאח‎          demands...

ה‎ (he) + א‎ (alef),
   and   ח‎ (het) + ע (ayin) -

i.e. the tetragrammaton
squared -
  laughter of the interchange.         ע

p.s. i still don't
see how Adam conceived of
Abel, or Cain...
   how a-lef or a-yin is a consonant,
transcendent...
given the hebrew ah is:
guised in the name kametz...

i see a story of two Adams...
and i called them,
Aleph                  and Ayin.

In the back of a polish bar we sat

Smoking a foreign brand of cigarettes my lips had never touched
smoking until we ran out.

Me, pretending to be eccentric.

coy

laughter

closing the gaps between the continents we were born
surely we will bring pangea back to her glory

This is my favorite song, I say.
grace is serenading me from across the world

we inch closer together
the warsaw wood panels start to cave us in
i have forgotten about everyone else

Palms glide up thighs
wheat beer slides down the tongues
that wait to interlace

i listen to your kaleidoscope of syllables
we, in your native land, speak in my foreign tongue
i apologize for that.


we are alone in this room, i think.
the night's corners are creeping in
as quickly as our bodies braid.

            our warszawa flame flickers.

i tyle, reszta na coin flip
twoich ambicji;
mam, po, prostu (nie mazowieckie czy kieleckie)
               kichaniem dosyć!
syty jam i z prostatą oddany w mgle pychy;
ja serw memu mieniu i ozora
(tej trzeciej krwi krowy)
                                                          ­   poeta!
do końca wasz iglak wczorajszej wigilii
(zmień to a zmienisz czasowność):
rada memu panie... więcej narodu czy tem
racji czy tem dumy czy tem innego stanowiska
na głąbie poza polską ja racze;
ja racze! wilka gniew nad lud!
z resztą, okiem morsa fabryk na tle miganiu
to tylko nic! a mój brat kim?! obcy mocar?!
nie! nie, nie ja ludwig rus czy pruss, niet ich!
oj naród a ja jako atlas, wraz z izraelem,
a ty jako kompas, a warszawa jako kamień tonie
w wodzie hystorji wraz z napoleonem,
a więć kraków raz jeszcze wstanie wraz z mongołem;
tylko anglia może oddalać dume swego rodu
sama mniej dumna swego początku w niemczech.

Andy stuffed his large crotch huge for The New Andy Griffith Show
as the departure of Don Knotts caused ultra-radical hormone surges
that perversely denigrated into fetishical, underpants-padding urges
to ******-sexually repudiate ol' Fred Silverman's rural-show purges
'cause without parachutes N.A.S.A.'s space shuttle jumps & lurches
in ******-****** repudiation to Fred Silverman's rural-show purges

upper tier of crosswords,
mental rubric,

      s                        a

         t             h            e
    
      r            t     

                      d             e
      
  
       shattered: quasi germanica

lexicon...

                  atom...

warm ***** and the chilled chaser...
or no chaser, hence
***** chilled to the consistency
of gome syrop...
liquidated clear liquorice...

Pazura (actor)
     und Warszawa (a capital
of a European nation...

      dziw... bo bez sfobody,
między... to eN...

ha ha ha ha...

e e Cummings conjuring
up the cOncEPt of orthography
in the native readers...
without exploring diacritical
mark application,
which, orthography rests upon...

    co ma gzyms do
       krawędzi
kiedy pietruszka
        o, zajob...
i ta świcąca trójci Pitta...
nie brody warta,
tylko tego, bolka jolka...
greckiego, fagasa...
    
a piernik do wiatraka?
ujebany, Sergio Pansa...

...to guwno, tzn. prl'u:
co czyni papa new guinea
pierdolonym 'omikiem?

suka morda brud...

    te kurwa... z... kreską!

bilingualist contra the polyglot,
UN of the latter,  
trenches and no man's land
of the former...

       6 Napoleons made
a dozen private Ryans...
      at Jena...
  'alf  frisky Burgundian...
'alf celibate Schwabian...

crosswords and the thesaurus
avenue...
   poetry...
    and the robert frost analogy...
Dante and Virgil...
Homer's solo
with a blind man' stick,
or rather...
Homer and Milton...
sitting in a tree...

      either a tongue bound
to the breath of Horace...
or the leash
      and warden skit...
     of the Minotaur...

somehow...
etymology always was,
and always will be,
the pedantic, bookish
version of history...

      so much so,
that etymology bypasses
the ridiculousness of
Darwinsm, of form, of Plato...

aeons pass before ape
differentiates
the vowel from the consonant
or the onomatopoeia
from the mimic from
the noun...

            then comes the continuum
crushing all genesis
theists, as well as all genesis
atheists...
      love, love... and you typical
Sunday afternoon...
        
slang as an anti-etymology...
           likewise the ape...
ape being slang, for man...
   slang as noun as colloquial,
rather than as proverbial..
staccato...
                  and all sort of
mannerismsms of the,
"less informed"...
  
                            only England scorns
bilingualism it would seem...
unless it has no post-colonial
uncle toms to boast of...

P.T.S.D. of the 1946 Kielce Pogrom...
ever so shocking,  
unlike the biblical credo:
go forth and multiply...
      in any other instances,
less memorable, collateral...
guess not enough cousin fucky-fucky...
1 Chew worth 1000 Chings...
      if not more...
Chew has a name, Ching has a number...
like the good ol' days...
bribing the ß-mann (eszettmann)
for Milka bishop choc bars.

panie nocy, daj, mi,
                        być gwardi wart
                                            o sen o nocy...

panie nocy, daj, daj mi,
i noc, i twój sen...

                                              i niech ja,
       będe miserium gratis...

ten fałsz klawisza pia-ni-na...
co...
         nad sen ciwila:
chytliwim uchem
"słucha"...

i still don't know why
a cat might look
at someone, human,
in a believing way,
a loving way,
a replica manner for
a tommorow
akin to a today...

  ****** can't close his eyes
with me clicking on
the keyboard...
     guised with the ever so slight
blinking artefact of my eyes
in conjunction
with his eyes...

  to impersonate:
                 a genesis of Bach...
there is none of that...
no grand orchestra
in an even more
grand "typo" for an orchestra
in a cathedral making sound...

tu, tu mam ci dać, co mi pada od tybie:
'spierdalaj skurwysynie'?!
sam jeb od
               kotfy i:
                  ciwil...
                              sieki­era...
  dno...
                   i pień...
                                 n'est ce pas?
to tem "im" znowu po:
                                czaj-insku?!
zjebodjed to:
                           to zjebodjed 'yto!
skoro-tak-cie-miano-"synie";
co?
                     coś sfędzi?!
      a propro tvo, ta "matka"?
                      wole
kata siekiere: ni twe slowo...
         rozum twe warszawa polak,
szwed,                 czy harceż: czyli szefc?!

    poliaku: doj mi! znowie!
po cym: ty... farfaku znowu
                poznajesz: sibie!

o! o! o tym kocim! ogunem
                  a co śpiw zwe i tym i o tamtym
da swoje: hibił pan o krym! co nit?

to! to! to morda żniwa
   o czym smerc
                   se da o wróbla dać
                                    znac!

ja...
            ­           zabiore jej tłumu tchu!
a wnet:
                   dam:
                                      im duše!

the ninth gate,
or how, even a bibliophile
can have a little
adventure...

perhaps there's a world
out "there",
but there's also the Heideggerean
retraction  from the world,
into Tao...
         or at least, Tao,
with a bit more of a European
entanglement of narrative...
or past 4 summers
to count, exploring
        moth flight into dust
made into sediment
on yawning bookshelves...
as much of a world out "there"...
as there is life in th vicinity,
in a myopic worldview,
almost aquatic...
        via the H. retraction of
dasein... being by a plateau-esque
increment...
rather than the synonym
big bang and 20th century
exponential circus of populations...
epoch of consolidation,
and cultural exhaustion...
since art could not be industrialised
with a focus on originality,
standing face to face with
industrialised "art" of household
decorum... back to the cave it went
to craft a think-tank,
and a safe space...

which begs the question
as to why certain people allow themselves
the chance to exploit the haiku...
rubric rigid, however-many
syllables it takes...
prior to, some Ching Shin Po
drinking heavily during
the night (why would
you ever drink during the day?)
laughing at the moon,
astounded, mesmerised...
terse saying, sealed lips,
never a haiku being intrusive,
never the haiku made into
a jazz standard,
or a because a sonnet rhymes
like so...
                 20 years,
and still waiting for a haiku...
not this, industrialised:
'aving a blueprint,
ergo: mass replica pulverising
tumult...

           tickling-fingers,
using bookmarks rather than desecrating
books by folding pages into pytharogean
origami...
                reading best investigated
as private tele broadcasting channels...
ad intermissions...

       tonight all i have to offer is this...
a bibliophile's tender woven care...
  holding a book, 3 years older than
me... namely 34 / 35...
in pristine condition...
namely... and the pages are still white...
ironic... since the content
of the book is about ghosts...
take a printed 1957
and the pages turn to sepia...
unlike those barons
and stubborn sycophantic
       wine, "conneisours"...
   the pleb turned snob
is harder to find among book
fetishists...
             the oldest in my possession?
a 19th century print...
     amrican...
     in one psychoice instance
i gave the works of Emerson to
Oxfam...
not that i mind charity,
but that I mind Oxfam...
                  
a new breed narration,
if art, for art's sake...
digression being the new form of
narrative... because
i don't remember what i was going to...

ah!

   Duchy Polskie: Wydawnictwo
         PTTK "KRAJ" (Warszawa 1983)
person in question?
the illustrator,
janusz stanny...
and notably the method
of translating a flint stone
into graphic...
                 hell...
a little corner of the world
and nothing as mundane as...
a postcard from the usual:
wish you were here,
and wish i wasn't,
      sending you this ******* postcard
making me look
like an utter plonk...

and what of the commandments regarding
a neighbour...
big town no neighbours...
small town... promotion
into gossip... little talk...
big town no gossip,
suffocated little interests,
plotki... suffocated to the point
when too it's too late,
and the straitjacket comes out...

the forgetful faces
and the dizzying carousel of urban
living...
              if fame is to be worth 15 minutes...
friendships have a life-span
of a dumb mosquito sitting
on the arm of a lucid man...
            teasing this minion
of the antithesis of Belzeebub
before the needle...
   SMACK...
                         pancake.

        the digressive narrative...
or in better grammar without
a doubled -ive...
digression as the new form
of a narrative...
    as such:
      acute amnesia...
    regarding the muse...

               not for any other,
other than the love of the craft...
or how to escape
the Alcatraz... of sitting through
and English literature / language class...

oh ****... would you loom at that...
a rhyming couplet!
   that's as rare as Van Helsing
finding out that... beyond the romance
of the sickly and sweaty sweet Bar-fe-lona...
all vampires are like mushrooms...
kept in the dark and fed ****...
namely... all vampires are albinos.

on the odd occasion of finding a rhyme,
without even looking for one...
esp. not pulverising a reader with it...
every,  single, or, other, line!