you read some of the stories found within,
and you sorta find enough
libido in watching charity firm adverts,
and imagining yourself playing
ping-pong as a transvesite,
god, so many hopefuls from the **** dimension,
i really came far too late to
watch the fireworks of the decaying
british empire,
the high tide came when i
watched oi oi tony braile
give back hong kong,
in that year, that was, what year
was is? ah yes, 1997.
i'm just adding salt to the wound,
and it's not exactly a pretty sight,
i'm not a pakistani in Rotherham...
i'm getting muddled in some
colonial past that i do niot belong to,
as i once said p.c.s.d.:
post-traumatic and post-colonial
can cleave to the dsm like leeches...:
oh don't send the ego theory to do your
***** work, some time in the future
you might have to answer with: i said
this, i said that, i didn't say either...
send in the parasites...
they're automaton bound,
senses are their gravity, they drop
to the ground like -
only the english are prone to the care
of being lonely...
i guess this is where solipsism comes in
and states a crowd-pleasing stage-fright:
and if that didn't make me happy,
i don't know what would... having children?
the last time i said i was lonley i
was probably laughing...
that there is a date culture i find like
a gorilla finding a huh or question
mark away from an ooh!
so in between the history of the big bang,
and the dinosaurs,
and how we began as furr coats...
i find it strange that the only complicated
bit about striving to define the origin of
thought is to call all our contemporaries
stupid... must be an english phenomenon...
no one has the necessary glue to put the two together
and make them lodge into place like lego...
i didn't say it's wrong,
i can count,
but i just think the timescale is too grand,
too big, almost vacuum prone with regards to
what's happening right now, something akin
to love, something akin to fermenting the emotion
jealousy rather than needing a care for beer...
just read the sunday time style magazine...
it's the type of publication that makes me to never
want to own a yacht... or a rent boy...
the "problems" they have in there
will always make me want to be a plumber....
it's that time when the theory concening
ego has problems, and yes, it's not past
experiences and memories, but something akin
to limbs, and precisely: an outlet, akin to
newspaper print space...
the problems they have in there...
i'm actually unable to use them for ha has or for
tears...
all i know is that the thinking man's burnt
toast is george soros...
and how the idea of fame is a helium
balloon... or generally being bloated...
then i'd tell you that...
but what i'll probably tell you is that
solipsism is a placebo membrane, a vague
architectural escapade...
i mean it's a placebo structure,
because it can never be true to the extent that
you might think you're seeing ghosts
of people, rather than grey matter,
or debased people, abandoned people,
people given a case of being trampled by a
stampede, and how being part of a 7 billion
strong-crowd, could never ever make you feel
proud?
or at least the darwinists are telling us:
be proud... you're a 0.0000000001 of the 1...
a giga form of negation?
how many mirrors is that, that combine to create
the altar of being sacrificed on the basis
of microscope or a telescope...
if ever there was an instrument to peer into
the giga-reality, i'd know to simply call it:
my life...
and when science doesn't venture,
individuals are established in it, to stress: thus.
it's when i didn't feel the vogue
of objecitivity like a Gucci stress,
that i started to write something akin to poetry...
i made language systematic: my downfall,
moving away from what might be deemed
sympathy-prone and whimp exploitative...
once more: chance prone and thus
only chance exploitative...
just read the synday times style magazine...
the problems contained therein are beyond
crass... they're actually authentic...
which clearly summarises my acquisition
of the english language,
there's no sight of decay for miles and decades
about...
it already happened...
whenever i look at the basic unit of this decaying
civilisation i know it's a civilisation
investing more into a dictionary of acronyms,
there must be a word akin to
the thesaurus to note down all the acronyms...
and when they started to celebrate emoticons i
was done... i dare to call a need for an alternative thesaurus...
something akin to an acronymous,
with a :) included...
coin of phrase sure, a cheap version
of othewise desinging a toothbrush or a light-bulb...
but it's there...
and with so many rigid intellectuals
talking darwinism, and how we evolved,
and bringing dinosaurs into it...
that just kills off history...
alongside carpe diem mentality and praxis...
it also means that the current language used
by modern speakers is like: i'm talking orthodox,
those teens are talking protestant talk...
i do acknowledge that its a defence mechanism
against paedophiles, acronyms and all...
but it's when they forget that that wall is not real
and some will be naive to import a kiddy-fiddler,
and all acronyms go to ****...
i'm still russian orthodox and they're still
hot-head protesants, and i don't know what they're
talking about...
then again: that's a good thing,
i get to keep a tradition, they get to keep
walking down a street...
was it always: speak slang to be clued in?
don't know how Sherlock are you?
it's only that you read these newspapers
and the parents are trying to understand the language...
i'd sooner write a modern thesaurus than
keep with the trends...
an acronymous would be much, much appreciated...
u! s! a!
uniform statements made apprehensive...
given that it's also consistent with of;
i.e. relating to the interjection of the word made,
as sometimes happens with acronyms being
pure acronyms, and omitting conjunctions,
e.g. u.s.a.: unites states (of) america.
na na... **** me... just read the problems inscribed
in the sunday times style magazine...
you really start to wonder why the pillar
of western culture is based upon press freedom...
or why journalism gets all the perks of levitating toward
starting wars...
why would i want press freedom, now?
i'm sure i could have lived an ample life
under Saddam Hussein...
don't know why i thought that: just feel like making
a gamble...
reading the times gives me no impetus
to protect the privilege of being a journalist...
we already did away with aristocracy...
they're next?
i feel no inclination to uphold the principle
of press freedom, when press freedom is nothing
more than the basis of having a twitter account
these days; well, the most "powerful" man in the world
uses it... why would i trust a parasite of the state,
that every newspaper is? newspapers are necessary
parasites of the state... they feed of the politics,
they feed off the arts culture...
it's nice to see how people waged wars
for the sake of parasitic intricacies that newspapers are;
shadow people, and no clear *******
of propagandist mechanisation;
and very odd interests, very much bound to
familial placebos of the already happening
pathology where money is concerned, as journalism
goes: monopolising on a lease, of being
invited for lunch... by some resautrant critic.
