a book just fell off my shelf after i read some female poetry online... coincidentality... the safety net of superstition; or at least a prompt... an unloved woman can reach tartarus... given souls only reach hades' lava lamp of flux; believe me, this **** stays... women take too many inspirations from the natural world... which means men take to creating a metaphysical world they can escape to... she acts the mantis... i act the talking *****.
thankfully i trained my cats so they rudely
wake me up,
the last dream i had about running
on this pythagorean hypotenuse *****
trying to catch sheep that were chased
by demonic figures decapitating them...
i sleep better these days,
i think that's a reason for owning cats,
you mature with them,
but i'd suggest owning dogs
in your childhood, children love dogs,
cats don't love children... but then that's a flimsy
argument to even have a dialectic about...
people love to have opinions,
and i agree, they should, so that they can subsequently
have emotions; by now socrates is
a surgeon of emotions, have them? not have them?
but then you read some poetry by a woman
who's shrouded in the guise of an online
anthill... and a subsequently a book flies
off your bookshelf onto the floor...
oddly enough a book bought by your first love...
yesterday, to-day and forever,
by *edward henry bickersteth d. d.
figure that acronym out you modern
pundits! or should i add: late bishop of exeter...
do i believe in ghosts? no, but
a subjectivity counts if i'm not writing about facts
and this need to constantly make things
object-object related... nothing in real life
deems object-object relations to be the real concern
for talking, or what's the current theme via
political-correctness... that's why we have
antique dealers, or why we have
a picasso at sotheby's rather than
tate modern... the object-subject relation,
worth, or the appreciation of,
some even go as far as mad and write
zen and the art of motorcycle maintenance
rambling on about quality,
or **** ex uno unto uno - and yes i used
that english conjunction because i'm not about to
ponce off the latin italic phraseology
for "rhetorical" purposes...
since it only means man from one unto
one thing considered... say, that's self-explanatory
given men have passions... what we end up as,
carpenters, roofers, weathermen... poets?
man out of one unto one...
it gets a bit fuzzy prior monkey
and how we came about... but thankfully we
have homosexuals allowed as to peer into the pre-darwin
reality of being a self-****** organism...
at least we can understand being pre-monkey
something or other, because that's exactly were:
something or other...
since we reach a point between
monkey and the big bang where:
language simply seizes to exist and the thing in question
that exactly express it... it's lost... ****!
now comes the white rabbit pulled from a top hat.
that's why i don't exactly understand darwinism,
frankly monkeys are perfectly adaptable and
there's no need for them to adapt further...
they're still here, aren't they?
well... i'm just wondering when i'm going
to stumble and sound too insensible, or when the logic
of constructing words will fail me and i'll slop into
some kinda of dementia...
canvas: the most sinister psychiatric experiments
on men in england...
now i'm really laughing...
it's almost like i'm going via the route of
kuru and dancing the hākā before the altar
of kālī (or as i say: that's better than attempting
a blow-job pose before the crucifix)...
cultural ap prop what?!
i don't want to have anything to do with
this "thing" that western society symbolises...
i just see one massive asylum: lunar rex -
yes, where the moon reigns, or at least the most
necessary resource: oil, middle east;
******* mad max fork in the road.
and the greatest thing about "poetry"?
you forget what you wanted to originally write,
best motivation for keeping a hard-on of narrative,
in audio sprechen though?
don't know, i have to talk to this waiter,
doctor, politician and so many other people
before we can commune on having a personal life
a bit like trying to squeeze past
jim morrison to get to the other person...
almost impossible, unless having been at
the parisian shrine of bolo bolo bolo...
knock on door... get over it.
i know that i picked up a book on kabbalah by
aryeh kamplan prior and cited gematria -
and the book that fell off the bookshelf was probably
next to it and it was gently dislodged...
but that doesn't claim scientific details with what
i was thinking at the time... if i really wanted
to ensure i was scientifically accurate with my
cognitive narration, and call it gravity,
i'd be the one standing on the bridge contemplating
to jump off it...
plus i mentioned gematria...
also called the assyrian / babylonian / greek bollocking...
which evidently doesn't mention the roman,
or what's otherwise the genius of I V X L C D M -
but even that wasn't genius when it was
conquered... or what's the 7 heads in the book
of revelation / the cardinal sins...
myth contra myth... that ends with no myth:
but the blatantly obvious staring right back at you...
which truly exposes the end of res cogitans
and the reign of res vanus... because
the truth was so obvious that you can't even begin
to complicate it by giving a thought for it,
but like the devil said: idle hands? i have spares!
but i'm thankful that these two pair of cats talked
to my unconscious mind (whatever that means) -
once i got out of bed and opened the door
to the garden i realised: ooooooooooh...
desperate to do your toilet business?
then it became self-evident what
the inability to dream can conjure in the waking
world... a pair of cats need to go to the toilet...
seems my head isn't that far lodged into my ****
since i have absolutely no capacity to have a dream
other than two desperate cats needing the garden
to relief themselves... that's americanism, isn't it?
i'd probably add ease... or oompf on its own...
probably why i never took to *** ****
having too much pleasure from easing a **** out -
or why latin names were kept: reasoning man / **** sapiens...
given the proximity of the stated italics.
