Ich habe Fernweh nach dem Ort an dem du gerade bist, und Heimweh nach dem Platz in deinem Herzen.
Ich liebe den Himmel, und ich wünschte ich wäre das Firmament über dir, egal ob hinter Wolken versteckt oder mit den Gestirnen geschmückt, denn dann würde ich dich immer sehen und immer bei dir seien.
Jedoch könnte ich dich nie berühren, von da oben.
Vielleicht wäre es besser, der Boden zu seien. Du legst dich in mein warmes Gras und atmest meinen Duft ein, nach einem Regenschauer, und würdest dabei lächeln. Aber als der Boden, würdest du mich je bemerken? Und wenn ja, würdest du nicht nur auf mich herabsehen?
Das würde ich nicht überleben, wir sind alle aus Sternenstaub, und besonders in der Liebe gleich.
Aber wenn du mir diese drei Worte ins Ohr flüsterst oder sie mir ins Gesicht schreist, dann ist es eh egal. Denn dann steht alles auf dem Kopf, am Himmel ist das Wasser der Meere und ich schwimme durch Wolken. Ich gehe über Federn, und das Federkleid der Vögel besteht aus Gras.
So ist es, zumindest in meinem Kopf, jedes Mal nachdem du mein Herz mit den Schmetterlingen, die du in meinem Bauch ausgesetzt hast, erschütterst hast.

rusteloosheid
en vastgeroest verdriet
niemand ziet
het lam tussen de wolven
maar ver komt het niet
waar komt het vandaan
en waar is het geboren
of zit dat tussen haar oren
als er weer eens niemand is
het aftuigen van zelf
nog hopen op meer
lichamelijk zeer
een druppel wanhoop
gemengd met wantrouwen
en al gauw, de wanemmer verzoop
in eigen tranen
dan stromen het doet
en blijft stromen voor goed
rusteloosheid
diep in de nacht
wanneer er niemand op je wacht
behalve de ster achter de wolken
geen woorden maar daden
ja dat zal het zijn
maar het tegenbewijs valt klein
woorden onhoorbaar
een jongen die lacht
het vertrouwen ontkracht
een laatste afscheidsgroet
valt niet helemaal goed
als de duisternis nabij
zoals mijn geboorte
alleen en vrij
later zeer zelfstandig
maar nog geen procent als de rest
verpest
verpest
waarom ben ik zo anders
wat is er mis met mij, zo vrij
iedereen een ander perspectief
en ik begrijp het maar niet
ook al noemen ze mij lief
de wereld redden
met iedereen erin
heeft opeens weinig zin
als het verboden blijkt te zijn
slechts een eenzijdig spel
ach, het lam weet het nu wel
tevergeefs
rennend in de ochtendzon
verscholen in een wolkenbed
de eerste straal licht
uit het zicht
uit het zicht van de wolven
waar anders heen
springend over steentjes
met sterke beentjes
alleen in de grote wei
waarin de stilte zo groot
haar hart stilletjes vergroot
zo ook de klap van pijn
de enorme val
zo jong al
de verhouding van zwaarte
en het verdragen
aan de andere kant het extreem behagen
dat is toch geen rechte lijn
maar slechts twee woorden mochten er zijn
in steen gekerfd, beroerd gepolijst
blijdschap en depressie
maar niets er tussen in
want dat had toch geen zin
voor iemand met sensitieve uitersten
bestaat geen middenin
toch levende in een wereld van het midden
zoek balans, het middelpunt
en *** men het haar ook gunt
ze was nu eenmaal als lam geboren
en niet als schaap..  (noch rund)

blind als een mol
gravend in de grond
het was haar eigen graf
waar ze uiteindelijk op stond
omringd door de vertrouwde pijn
vroeg zich af wel van haar te zijn
met borstkas gespleten door twee
het lam kreeg heimwee
stond half dood op
wachtend op één
met hart nog langzaam trekkend
lekkend
de geur van aarde in vacht
wie had deze terugkomst ooit verwacht
en het worden van schaap
in wolfskleren
wilde zich immers niet bezeren
want moe het al was
met steen gevulde buik
de val nu slechts een kras
en wist niet eens meer wat de val was
de doorn(en) uit verleden
gestoken in vers vlees
al genoeg geleden
dus besloot nu gewoon ook wolvin
je bent een wolf, meisje
je bent een wolfmeisje
met het schaap
bloedend
nog ergens binnenin

Wenn wallende Wolken
Wie Wattebauschen
Den Himmel berauschen,
Die Sterblichen lauschen
Dem Klang der ewig unendlichen
Freiheit.

Iemand heeft mij ondermijnd,
gangen gegraven en vijanden geseind.
De grond onder mijn voeten,
die stilaan verdwijnt, zal moeten houden
tot ik mijn gouden
eieren heb gelegd.
Terwijl ik lang geleden heb besproken
en geroepen
dat ik niet vruchtbaar ben.

Ik heb lang geleden en geroken
dat de wolken zijn gaan zakken.
Zo Danig dat ze nu rond mijn oren plakken.

Mijn hoofd wordt zo gedragen door die witte wollen wolken,
met mijn voetjes op de grond. Zonde dat zij voor mij
mijn willens niet vertolken. Zonde dat ik mezelf het niet heb durven vragen.
Het enige wat ik nog lijk te hebben,
lijk te kunnen,
is klagen.

qiss kiss ts'kammen
ordeal of the dyslexics.

****** innuendos aplenty:

i cycled with a rucksack full of empty cider bottles
and one tiny 35cl where whiskey would
otherwise be found... i have a fetish for recycling,
a fetish for recycling, not owning a car but rather
two bicycles, long walks in the forest alone,
scratching my head and pretending to braid parts
of my beard: rather, pinching it and twisting the pinched
part so it might appear that i have saber-teeth either side
of my chin...
                   little pleasures...
i would otherwise be known as a: KLOSZER...
KLOSZ... lampshade... kloszer is a derogatory term
for someone in Eastern Europe who collects empty bottles
from skips to later bring back to a shop
to get his WACŁO (VATSWO) - i guess i imagined this word:
in the olden days of the early 1990s...
us boys used to play during the summer running mayhem,
on our breaks we'd go to the shop and buy
TURBO gum, chew chew chew...
and have a little prized paper of a car,
and we used to buy lemonade, later pepsi...
if we bought a lemonade (always in a glass bottle)
and drank it on the spot, returned the bottle to the shop...
we weren't charged extra for the drink...
but if we decided to buy a glass-bottled drink and not
return the bottle on the spot? we'd get charged extra:
glass was precious under communism...
KLOSZER? the person who would scout the urban
environment and pick up leftover glass bottles
for a drink of *****... but i'm recycling and i feel mightily
proud of... "proud"... of this Achilles heel...
baron of crashing chandeliers...
                     but it wasn't raining when i performed this task...
when i cycled to the VAPE shop on North St.
inquiring... i was giving this ASPIRE Typhon 100 as
a present... but the more my lips and breath snuggle on
this **** no smoke comes out... and the smoke is harsh...
coils?! coils?! over-used coils?
i walked in to the shop with the sort of would-be
girlfriend with piercings and tattoos
   and all that jingle at the counter... some random guy
sticking around for too long, i broke his train of thought...
i was trying to break past the smoke pretending
there was a dead carcass in the room and instead of smoke
there were flies... **** me... i'm looking for a new coil...
new coil she says... she starts rummaging...
it started raining by then...
           she picked up a £15 packet of five filters... coils...
PnP-VM6... like this sort of detail actually matters...
i ask her... so how do you change them?
she replies: you just pull it out...
so i pull it out... oops...
                     *** scene worded...
my flask is full of blueberry oily liquid... it spills...
all while there's this: now turning into a creepy guy
in the background obviously not buying just
trying to work his game with this woman behind
the counter... the liquid spills...
playful innuendo conversation: oh... i'm not intimidated...
i have underperformed in my life...
not exactly premature *******... it's just when
she's the madam of the "parlour" and i have no energy
and i need to chop my **** off and replace it with a *****
the fluid spills my hands are greasy
she tells me that she'll get the tissue...
oops... once more... obviously it was a super-charged
***-metaphor...
i can't remember the last time i was called HONEY
and the whole affair was brushed off so easily with
***: in my mind, guiltily displaced...
   i bought the filters and pushed when the sign on
the door indicated PULL...
as confused as anyone might be...
when, where? apart from a VAPE shop will you get to pull
out an intricate part of a tool...
spill juices and have a woman retort with: let me get you
some tissues... i mean... that's super-charged Freudian
forbid might have any choking-jokes aside beyond
the already made via innuendo...

i'm richer than the rich having none of their worries
or the follies,
i do own what the rich own: and for that i am
rich in not having to worry about owning
things that might cause me to worry -
                   if it might be only for a minute or two:
this moulded heap of cow dung
    and mud - and milk and water -
   leave behind all the chains of gravity and marry
air: marry air and rise higher to the highest
point - touch the membrane where air disappears
and what is left is the vacuum where stars dictate
what is and what isn't...

or to better translate...

    reading one poem: Zbigniew Herbert's
   Former Masters while listening to Faun's
Sonnenreigen

and as if by magic my knowledge of English
disappears in my mind to a silence...
eaten up twice, ejected thrice!

\ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \

dawni mistrzowie
obywali się bez imion

        (in der goldnen morgenstund
     ziehen wir aus des tales grund)

   ich sygnaturą były
białe palce Madonny  (und wir tanzen
                                               froh hinein
      in den frühen sonnenschein)

albo różowe wieże
   di città sul mare    (hoch hinauf auf bergeshöhen -
                      
  a także sceny z życia
   della Beata Umiltà      / -  um ins auge lughs zu
                                               sehen)

   roztapiali się   (lasst uns feiern
   w sogno              (             diese zeit
miracolo                  ( die der sommer
     crocifissione              ( hält bereit...)

    znajdowali schronienie
pod powieką aniołów        
                                                (du lässt deine raben ziehen
                                               in die felder golden stehen
                                                und das helle lichte rad
                                                dreht sich über lughnasad)

   za pagórkami obłoków
w gęstej trawie raju
                                                (muzik gemisch nach chor)
   toneli bez reszty                                      "
w złotych nieboskłonach                          "
  bez krzyku pzerażenia                            "
bez wołania o pamieć                                "
                         ­                                             "
   powierzchnie ich obrazów                    "
są gładkie jak lustro                 (es war nun ein
                                                             ganzes jahr)

nie są to lustra dla nas      (seit ich dich beim tanze sah
   są to lustra wybranych      (allzu oft in langer nacht)
                                                 habe ich an dich gedacht)
....

     sprawcie niech spadnie ze mnie
wężowa łuska pychy           (könig sommer führt den tanz
                                               dem ich folg im blütenkranz
                                               und so dreht sich unser kreis
                                               in der alltbekannten weis')

  niechaj zostane głuchy
   na pokuszenie sławy    (du lässt deine baben ziehn
                                           in die felder golden stehen
                                              und das helle lichte rad
                                              dreht sich über lughnasad)

/ / / / / / / / / / / / / / / /

ehemalige meister
sie lebten mich selber
    ohne namen

       (w porannej godzinie, złotej)
    pull us from the grand valleys...
oh ****... incursion of the English:
the red-coats are coming!

       ciągnąć nas z wielkich dolin...

   ihr unterschrift war
weiß finger Madonna  (i my tańczyli
                                               radośni zu-hausen, W
                                 wwww to:
schdat:  frühen-para-freeze: fruit:
early... sonnenschein - sun-lighting
oblivion... sun-glee: shine...)

oder rosa türme
   di citta sul mare    (wysokie
                 ÚP z  
wyżyny górskie -
                      
  und auch sZenen mit leben
   della Beata Umilta      / -  um ins auge lughs zu
                                               sehen)

geschmolzen sich   (liście nas świętować  
in sogno              (             ten czas
miracolo                  ( there the summer, to i too
                                           that: there, the: to i too:
                                        ta jedyna stokroć:
                                         zerk chłodem oka: powieka...
                                   okno na świat... rano:
                                              i modłem: terz:
                                          anatomia bosa noga...
                                    dzicz: bosa noga boga...
rap rap... all that rap might bring to suffice:
the polyglot presence of an African incursion
into Europe... mumble mumbo jam: tát tát... jum-b'oh!

a thought experiment one awry: trying to exclude
English from my psyche for a little while
proved insufferable, even if listening to a song
on Deutsche and reading a Polieren script...
sneaky ******* has a way to return...
i wanted to keep a perfect translation
of: reading a script in Polieren while listening
to a song in Deutsche...
subsequently translating the read Polieren
into Deutsche and reimagining hearing Deutsche
al Polieren... not in the right interest of
the English philosophy ("esoteric aesthetic")
of queuing... ****** just butter in: elbows held high!

SMUTNA SUKNIA: OGIER: PEJCZ!
   co stonoga-noga-o-gołą: nogę...
widmo... język... mów a mowa...
                                     bzdeta: mów!
ogier: stonoga... wilko-kroć...
  step... mowa: noga... ogień: zór...
jęk: kleṅska: ogień: ozór...
                            język: ksieżyc...
ogień: rosputsta: i nadal mi brak słów!

     crocifissione              (trzyma gotowość...)

    sie fanden zuflucht
unter augenlid auf engel        
                                                (wypuszczasz swoje kruki
                                               by stanąć na złotych polach
                                                i koło jasnego światła
                                                zakręty samo-w-się nad
                                                lughnasad!) ­                                     

   hinter hügel wolken
in der dicke gras auf paradies
                                                (muzyka­: tylko muzyka,
                                                     bez, słów)
   sie ertranken ohne der rest                    "
im golden himmelneigung                       "
  ohne schrei auf grusel                             "
ohne anruf um erinnerung                       "
                                                               ­       "
   oberflächen ihr gemälde                        "
sind glatt wie spiegel                 (to był jeden dobry
                                                           ­  cały rok)

nien sind dies spiegel für uns
   sind sie diesser spiegel die ausgewählt

                                               (odkąd ja i ty na tańcu okiem wgląd
                                               także często w dłuższej nocy)
                                               miałem ja, myśl twoją)
....

     mach es möglich lassen werde fallen
    von mich
serpentin schale auf stolz  
                           (król lato prowadzi taniec
                           za którym podążam w wieńcu kwiatów
                           i tak obraca się nasz krąg
                           w znany sposób)

  lassen ich werde bleiben taub
   an verlockung von / auf
                       RUHM        (pozwalasz odejść swoim dzieciom
                                              stanąć na złotych polach
                                              i koło jasnego światła
                                              odwraca Lughnasad -
                                      
płuco - singular... plural?
   płuca... lungs....
    garden of breathing!
soul always escapes the noun...                       

\ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \

just to double check, translating from ******
to German and German to English,
that how i would have otherwise arrived
on these shores if my only mode of transport
was the tongue:
if i had no legs and perhaps no eyes...
if i were an idea of English that could express
it as I, Ja, Ich...
        and, yes, theirs'...
       iota > whatever might come after...

ah! this is one of those thought experiments!
it has to be! i'm excited!
i'm truly awakened!
this muddle of memory, dream, imagination,
reality a sprinkle of words and hey presto!
starved from images having moved
from the Age of the Image
to the Age of the Music...
it's so simple...
once upon a time you could only hear
music if someone played it good
or you played it badly...

yet when someone wrote a word...
or when someone painted a painting...
it could be written once
yet preserved by time
by this ingenious overcoming of God
(no, not man)
and if god "wrote" mountain man "wrote"
Pyramid,
if god "wrote" river man "wrote":
boat bridge watermill...
if god "wrote" forest man "wrote":
pluck out these trees stop looking
for berries and mushrooms...
look for grass, edible grass! find me arable
land that's not a desert!
of once mountain ranges that passed
from time into non-history
    into keepers of time by the whims
of the fluted wind...
                  
by wind my breath...
by my breath the decay of creative rust...
     i can only create dead things...
with me the power of death-creativity...
i invented the stirrup with me gone
the horse might finally not graze so easily
after the work of civilization has been done...

only then might the four horsemen
come with me dead and the stirrup
   i can only create dead things...
i am the death-creativity...
with me there will not need for the fork
or the knife the spear and the rope
upon waking a new world
i will only know words like mountain
apple tree i will know the word cloud
i will know to say the sea and that sea
i will call the caspian sea: sea...
and the atlantic sea: sea...
    and i will call the Danube the Oder
and the Oder the Vistula
but i will not know what is Danube or Oder
i will be unable to say or dream or conjure
a fork without: the fork
i will be in Paradise...
i will not know the concept of ******
because there will be no word for ******
there will be no Madonna or pregnant woman
there will be no foetus there will be so many words
missing! so many words will be missing...
all the basic words of coordination
will be there: and the Highest Abstracts
will be there: will, hope, dream,
    there will be there: be, am and i,
             there will be: because, are you,
there will be giggle and there would be crying,
there would be sad and there would be happy...
there would be: because and after and by
and there would be...
there would be no knowledge nor anything
concerning grammar...
this revision of "vocabulary" would imply
there being no real vocabulary,
a dream-world vocabulary of:
if said thing goes not exist... there's no word for it...
there would be no word: hammer
because there would be no need for hammers
indeed: nails...
motion of hammering...
there might be a rock and a trick of a hardened shell...
there would be no word for distance:
mile... by looking upon the sun...
there would be the Eye of the Blue
and the Eye of the Navy-Glee... there would
be no Night no Nothing
    no Night in this Hanging Pyramid of Babel...

there would be no Moon or Sun
only the Eye of the Blue
and the Eye of the Navy-Glee...
Glee? SH.... what's SH in shIMMER?
what's IMMER?
(oops... a Socratic stumbling block)
   immer... ALWAYS...
      what's SH+H? shh? be quiet always?!
SH... sound, vibration is sound...
            shh! yes: i'm telling you: it's going to be
like that, always...
   promised you 72 virgins?
wouldn't you just want your mind un-muddled?!
what's un- and muddled?
un- is not... not of when coupled to a noun
that works like a verb... doing the muddling...
medley muddling mummifications: toilet... paper...

toilet? no... no knowledge of toilet in "heaven"...
no paper too...
     word... what's word?
God... what is God... no God...
word is the a priori already invested crown
of curtailing words to begin with...
not imitation sound: __S

ah... sobering up... i love this bouncing along of English
dynamic like everyone is invoked to be involved...

                                          Z__­___

that's how the West met the East in writing

Z_________S

my "god" will be the word ONOMATOPOEIA...
and his son will be MIMIC
and his wife will be NĀMÉ
                        alternative written by angels
as NAMEH... because by then only angels will have
knowledge of the clue, not God,
of YHWH... YHWH will become as comical
as the 21st graffiti spray-painted by some boy
in the outskirts of London...
this scribble should have been preserved by the angels,
but like Prometheus, the arch angel Samael
brought down this scribble...

they brought the mummies and their hieroglyphs
that turned out to be Emoticons...
the Egyptians had two brothers...
the brother Aztec who copied the eldest
brother, Egyptian in constructing the Pyramids
and brother of the Great O of the Orient
who squinted his eyes with avarice and lineage
and said: i'll write like you, i'll see through you...
you give me mummified bodies
i'll give you skeletons...
the Aztec was the youngest,
the Egyptian the Eldest...
  the Khan was in the middle...
and Khan was right... he employed a pre-digitalisation
of scripts... imagine throwing
the letter G into Egyptian hieroglyphs...
some ****** did that to Khan's great counter
of hieroglyphs full bodied...
to hieroglyphs pure skeleton...
prior to Latin: not even Greek was a skeleton-key?
what? letters marrying numbers?!
unheard of?

1111111... one... lllllll (little l)... IIIIIIII (big iota)

imagine dropping a latin letter into Egyptian
"script"...
look what happened when someone dropped
something foreign into
Chinese hieroglyphs and so was born
Katakana... Chinese hieroglyphs came first...
then came Katakana...
then came the elevated:
if the story is true... and the Austrians
think themselves better than the Germans...
someone gave birth to the scribbles...
Korean came last...

       that feeling you get when you're trying to look
for an actor's name:
he playss the role of Grand-Duke?
Emperor? of the Habsburg Dynasty...
the elder brother of Marie Antoinette...
beautiful actor...
                          lips like purses...
who threw that ******* bone against the Chinese
hieroglyphs that spawned Japanese minimalism
that translated: ha! translated Chinese through
Japanese to Korean... split the ******* in two...
towing two! towing two!
                          Zhin Chin ****... silly!
   i'm not joking...
           Žin vs. Żyn... Rzym! Rzym... Rome! Rome!
hmm...
           Źın...          Žiń...
  
ha ha... the Nazis smoked out the son of the devil
of the people who gave them abode for almost...
whenever Poland, converted (insert a snigger...
i have the noun-spelling for it...
but not the onomatopoeia, ha ha... laughter
and rugby)...

change of direction at work...
i'm feeling an aura of: DISTANCING...
people are feeding off the appetite of me: leaving...
and their lives being over...
of course they will not be over...
they'll be feet in not worn shoes
in shoes boxes on shelves in libraries
of fickleness of the female side of humanity...
only angels should have been given
the crack-head code of the 4 letter "signature" of
YHWH... i'll give Jesus credit...
well... Beelzebub...

HANGU:L! that ingenious king of Korea
that: seeing a stick being thrown
at a bunch of sticks assembled as a shelter
of the Chinese hieroglyphs witnessed as the Japanese
folded... worked on an argument
of introspection: kept it...
hmm... what are those weird ISLADERS
******* around it?
they have the BOLD katakana
and the ITALIC hiragana...
two ******* trenches...
just let some westerner know:
the Hiroshima (katakana)
and the Nagasaki (hiragana)...

   Chernobyl and Fukushima...
the pregnant women were advised to drink iodine...
boom! boom! boom!
ergo? no real, comparatively: "boom" as boom!
or  BOOM...

it's the second morning i'm woken up from briefly dreaming...
point about dreaming? the content doesn't matter...
i'm not a hyper-focused Freud...
dreams are dreams in
how fog is fog and a hurricane is  hurricane...
dreaming heavily:
you feel exhausted if you slept for 10 hours
or 5... dreamless...
you slept: you didn't dream...
but dreams creep up on you:
they play fakery with your body:
you weren't sleeping: you were dreaming...
unlike getting blind drunk
and... sleeping: not dreaming...
with the lesser baggage(d) people...
snails? no... elephants! no ivory tusks...
already no fur... no drunks...
edible cartilage of the ears...
flapping... hmm... i might have to invent
a rug... a place to take off one's shoes...
shoe?
shoe prior to sock? obviously...
shoe prior to sock...
sexed up legs... procreation by the chemical
demise of acting...
if not sold to actors:
a god-send...
i could **** each any every ugly *****
but... god almighty... the impossible feats...
with Xerxes on your back?
the second battalion ambush of Greece?!

currently as is "currently": and, ahem... "history":
a history of plug-hole psychology
of inescapable Darwinism: cuckoldry...
or Plato's ***** joke about the feminism
of Hindus and their tired, wasted concern for Hygiene...
they bathed with the dead...
so the dead came and ate up the living...

for the past days... of note... two...
upon waking i hear my name being called:
Mateusz!
not twice, thrice, just... once...
i rush down and ask my mother: have i overslept?!
did you call me?
the replies: no... i haven't called you...
why am i: Matthew?
                     i don't think i'm: Matthew Smith
or a Matthew Czopek or a Matthew Eschlert..
or a Matthew Matthews...
why was Jesus Christ not Jesus ben Josephus
ben Matthias?
                i wonder... not really: "wandering"...

it was but a little nugget of inspiration of marijuana
and i went off the tangent...
i would not replicate the original ******
poem into German
   and the German song into ******...
because... springboard og ingenuity
English woke up!
as if: spontaneously...
i can't appreciate poetry written by
mono-linguists or ****-up: kissy: tut-tut..
smooch kiss-up immigrant ****-wits
of: this is only a Lingua FRANCA...
"franca"... a tourist-tongue...
it's a ***** tongue...
people speak it, leave it, abandon it...
sometimes perhaps frame it...
it's a tongue of commerce and Babel
and... at the end of all the tongues coming
together to speak it...
a rather: unsatisfying tongue...
over-salted... over-pompously-self-solidifying
complicated-soliloquy... solipsism...
something this: that: self-
    +-evidently apparent that children ought to
be teaching this modus operandi... *******... ha ha!

letter will not be know since words will not be known,
we will, although know words, that will be sounds
not scribbled down, imagination will be
nullified and nothing will be born with sleep
and dreaming will be alien to us,
since we will not be myopic
*** will be friendship and: we will know not
the word for tool and the specifics of ingenuity
and genius...
there will be no word for man...
and there will be no word for woman
and there will be no diatribe of death and child...

my uncle is in hell and i can almost count
this auditory hallucination:
i will have no concept of auditory: because i heard...
within the non-existence of my bones
and body and blood and brain and heart
in the water and earth turning to air
with each breath...
i will not hear... how my uncle: calls for me...
and how did you live with your mother,
when she aged to a nearing rot...
i lived with them and not people i would exchange
for a properly working bicycle-lock...

for each ******* i would replace the glorious
half hours i had with them
the months i spent with my supposed "lovers"...
i'd take one half hour with a *****
to replace the courting with said woman: unsaid:
to procreate and teach "my" children:
children of the times... flawed lessons
of the march, ancient march of typology
and non-writing and Time as Dust...

am i to help you when i implored the non-existent
deity into my *****,
indirectly you might implore for me:
will i reply to the heaven sent:
what am i to do?!
do as i did: absolutely nothing and nothing too,
that's twice that's hardly not a scone
scuffed and chained to Baron Zung...

            speak two tongues and tease a third...
come the fourth... letters have to turn into images...
in this heaven of no sheltered virgins..
in my noun-basket i will not have words
like pen, or: boiler, roof, eyeliner,
i will not have:
          screen, cinema, actor,
           philosopher, poet, psychologist,
soul: i'll have my self-eating cannibalism of breath...
verbs will merge with nouns
and the only nouns worth existing thereby will
be: specified and "corrupt" by a localised
specialisation:

                 god will be ONOMATOPOEIA...
the son will be MIMIC
and there: within the confines of said time
MIMIC will battle Chimera...
MIMIC will look alike: Chimera
but Chimera alphabetically:

    CHIMERA = ACEHIMR

                   the dead are not so displeasing
when it comes to the living-as-if-dead...
and there are plenty of those
living such: body-and-soul-crushing...
no... i couldn't imagine myself marrying
a troll... just to somehow oddly fit it...
i'm not going to reply to a message:
me and Nicki... says Frankie... are over...
reply: to what? and did you hear
my side of the story? no? no?!
i don't have to hear your side, either!
oculus per oculus!
like for like:
dislike for dislike!

           i'll wait... i'm not actually waiting
for anything other than:
can you please leave me alone?
i'll reply you whenever i feel like it...
i don't feel like
wanting human connection for at least
two days...

there's a hell and a privacy one earns to have
earned it that one rarely wants to
have it made public...
albeit in the "public anonymous"...
all the more willingly... since no immediate
consequences are to  be met: face-to-no-face...
tired of replies...
walking lesbians into the night
is like pretending to not walk
cows into the slaughterhouse...
ego-***** replacing what once was?
Plato the Plumber and the blocked toilet
of reincarnation...
i'm done with pride... Herr Dapf...

             for the waiting to be dead,
falte der primast schattierung:
für das Warten tot zu sein:
ich möchte auch tot sein...

   a death with the hollows
of the hallowed wooded emptied bark....
suffer the sound of a thunder-stroke...
donnerschlaganfall:
all aligned with things living...
nearly: or waiting to be towed toward
A... death...

           morgen?
                          tòmāté...
*******: SPUD!
           morgen butter-kneaded? by the hollows
of said, suggested juices..
my knees are not enough:
meine knie sind nicht genug!

wolken voor de sterrenregen
als zij, houden van geheimen
een plek om te schuilen
bij zij die gelukkig zijn
geluk op een groot podium

die Schönheit der vorbeiziehenden Wolken
ein unbeschreiblich schöner Anblick
die Stärke des aufbrausenden Windes
ein unbeschreiblich harter Kampf

Voller Leichtigkeit, ganz ohne Schwere
beginnen all die kahlen Bäume zu tanzen
der endlose Tanz füllt die stille Leere
neue Kompositionen, neue Romanzen

Äste und Blätter folgen dem Rhythmus, ohne Zwänge
Büsche und Bäume biegen sich, neue Formen entstehen
Um uns herum einzigartige und beruhigende Klänge
Jedes Mal ein erfüllendes Gefühl, dieses Spektakel zu sehen

Der Komponist Natur
brilliert und überzeugt mit Bravour
so echt, so nah, so pur

Am Ende des Tanzes
hinterlässt der Wind und die Natur
seine oftmals ganz eigene, einzigartige Gravur

Zoek maar een plekje om te schuilen,
de wolken gaan zo huilen.
Vocht hoopt op tussen lagen
van ramen en we vullen onze magen,
vullen onze keel. We beramen
snode plannen, niets laten we heel.

autobahn limbo:
lima bravo 5 5 5...
Harvard ha 6...

i woke up in a benevolent mood...
i rarely give money to paupers... only yesterday...
or the day before that: yesterday
i arrived at Romford at 12am from Putney
Bridge... sort of exhausted from dealing
with coworkers: i still don't understand
the tactic Emma is employing giving me
the ***** looks... then again flirting
with me... some... ******* underlying mental
health issues...
what is it with these women
my own age? i'm supposed to be the one
that's ****** up... but i look around...
**** me: what a bleak horizon...
almost as flat and boring as:
"adventure" in Belgium...
          ******* Swedish pop songs...
exported into the anglophone "hemisphere"...
maybe it was worthwhile that i was
a hermit throughout my 20s...
   coming back out, to meet people aged 35....
i'm of the "constipation": you what?!
o.k., o.k. i've had my fun in the brothels
but this is just getting silly...
#metoo...
                 you what?!
               i must have been living in an alternative
ulterior dimension...
   it's called the English articles procession...
i don't think i'm THE devil... just A devil...
one of many....
        so i i woke up in a benevolent mood...
two paupers... i cycled hangover feeling feverish
and like a **** thrown out onto a beach
to sun-bathe...
             you what?!
          yeah... felt like just that:
i don't need no hallucinogenic drugs...
when i get dementia... when i get dementia..
and there she was... a Roma-esque beauty...
i asked her... you want anything?
oh... just a Dr. Pepper... walked in... got my whiskey
and Pepsi... right... Dr. Pepper...
but it costs me £1.75... is she vegetarian?
why did i ask myself? well...
there's a meal deal... £3 for a drink... a "meal"
and a snack... for i bought a chicken bacon Caesar wrap...
Maltesers...
     as i walked out... in my mind: swerving...
ice-skating... asked her... are you vegetarian?
she said no... well then... here you go...
and all it cost me £3... for a god-bless-you...
good feeling... Charlie Dickens style good feeling...
honestly... if i had more... i'd freely give it up...
i just don't need it...
   i own enough... to be honest... i actually own
too much...
    but i can't be collective in the case of ownership...
selective...
what's that biblical quote:
ask... and it will be given?!
   no?
           minutes later i was buying a bottle
of cider and getting some cash-back...
another pauper... professional... faking it?
whatever... i wish i had children that i could
be defensive about... then again: no...
want anything? oh yeah... just some chocolate...
only yesterday the Royle family were munching on
some Crunchy chocolate bars...
so i bought him that... and told him while
giving it to him: the best choc-ah-bloc you'll
ever eat...
                     days like this... who needs to compete
with other men for status or women...
i feel like... skidding... feel like a diarrhoea...
but at the same time... hell... i just fed someone...
and she has one of those plump... Roma...
squish... smiles... you just want to bite them...
tease them a little... she reminds me of Priy'ah..
         that's how i love ***... it's the longing...
it's the forgetfulness that sometimes sprouts...
you remember all the tender parts of the body...
the soft parts surrounding the collar-bone...
   the funny parts of elbows and knees...
          the altar of a woman's thighs and...
       oh... oh... all that's in the inner crevices of her
works...
                      no... don't mention her hands...
i've tried... i can pick up a basketball with one hand...
obviously my phallus looks tiny in my own
hands:
funny... all those guys... taking ****-picks
just after having *******... oh no... they're not
taking them prior...
      women's hands are the most ******...
technically... to get some "whereabouts"
i'd have to... cut off my pinky...
i'd be left with 4 fingers...
            such cute little geisha blooms of bone...
i look: i want to eat... those hands up...
esp. if the woman in "question" isn't white...
   copper-neck... camel-jockey...
             ivory: Kenyan... plump buttered up
silver in the moonlight...
              right... i'm gearing up...
                     need to manifest an increase of stamina...
if my ******* "girlfriend" is texting me...
the time's right...
i've earned enough money in the past month...
time to revisit her...
         no more high 3 on the throne of thrones...
****... ****... *******: sure...
but no *******...
            better prep up... after all... if i'm going to
spend £120 for an hour's worth...

so she sends me a message asking whether i'm
alright: more like: have you forgotten about me?
of course i haven't...
but let's be honest: i don't *** to becoming boring...
something married people get bored of...
mind you: i don't want to have too much of it:
just in case i have to turn to role-play...
kinks... latex... glory-holes fetishes...
can we keep it kosher: the sort of ******* that
translates as: i really missed you?!
oh my god... she looks even better in daylight without
any make-up... what a gorgeous Turkish cougar
of a woman...

                         i'm pretty sure the women i work with
don't know anything about my brothel antics...
which is good... because... why would i want
them to know?
  
the German: Hessen... fans from Frankfurt didn't
disappoint... they came like all German people
come: like a horde...
  their fanaticism is more admirable than that
of the English football supporters...
i walked past them... they gave me the eye...
the sort of: giving me the eye of: oh look!
ein von uns...
                     one of us!
              
   funny that... in German 1 is also A...
a indefinite article... but also... an anzahl...
       number...

sure... obviously i was giving breaks to Muslims
breaking their fast... but with the Germans 'ere...
it felt like the good old times...
when Lyon fans visited... eh... zee Fwech...
it's not the same... but when the Germans come...
from the federation that isn't Saxony...
from the Hessen land... or elsewhere...
ever heard of the Anglo-Bavarians?! me neither...

i feel... at home... in Europe...
even today i was working with this guy... nervous as hell...
Finland? it really was a one word question...
no, no... close though... he replied...
Lithuania... i'll let him know some other shift we'll
do together...

czołem bracie!
            čołem bratku!
kaktos brolis!
          i.e. hey brother...
   kaktos: using the forehead to greet someone...

even in this poly-ethnic England that's
more London than England...
i felt... finally! pagaliau! schließlich!
at home in the right sort of cold...
i just needed the Germans to come to England
and behave like Icelanders...
hoo! hoo! clapping in unison...

why would i hate the Germans?!
           all the other ethnicities that are not associate
with Europe suddenly fizzled out of my
"concern"... Ramadam my ***...
                      i started talking to his... oh... this is a coy
one... ginger... beauty... has a flimsy blonde mustache...
freckles... light ginger hair...
i seriously don't mind...
she was really ******* reserved about me...
i could see it in her eyes...
finally i pulled her off... we started chatting...
her kids are studying Spanish...
they want to give it up... but i tell her: don't let them!
if they learn it, acquire it...
that's all the South American potential...
or tell them to learn German... after all:
English and German are cousins... the grammar is
pretty much the same... how you order words
in a sentence...

i just picked up... alles güt?!
ar du haben eine güt цeit?!

      i just wanted this woman know... a little bit of something
about myself... like...
i do have interests in foreign languages...
if she wanted to ******* with me to Poland...
i could speak for her... very "fluently":
well... natively...
         but what sort of woman would ever follow
Roxette day-dream?!
   i think i must have chewed that chewing gum
until my jaw felt sore...

remind me... why am i here? per se?!
if i'm not here for the fame... i must be here...
trying to make a conquest within the confiens of mythology...
i must be spelling it out... one person at a time...
to one person at a time...
  i'm not here for fame... i see it now...
fame associated with mortality... with the living..
no... no... i'm here for something more rarer...
i'm looking for acknowledgement after i am dead...
i want that: very much so...
i want to become famous... posthumously...

           it's a long project... es ist ein weit projekt...
fair enough: in English:
a pair... an antenna...
that N... which is shoved between vowels...
but... in Deutsche...
ein... eine...         that added vowel...
how does that work? i'm yet to speak
to someone who might erzählen (zu mich)...
i see a load of Germans... ooh! ooh!
fancy that!
         they're congregating...
no Zeppelins then?!
    
   wohl! nein Spaß wenn Deutsche
    do nicht kommen mit irgendein Zeppelins...

kommen! kommen!
lassen mich sehen du!  

but i can't really explain how it feels when seeing
these continental folk congregate:

   was inbrunst! was... lebengewalt!
i was truly standing there: pitch-side...
gobsmacked... ich war verblüfft...
         i sort of wanted to join them... i was itching
to go among them and chant their Frankfurters'
chants...
    well... because in England: diversity is our
strenght...
                    vielfalt ist unser stärke...

i was sort of reminded of the time when Europe
entertained those Nomads that spoke some
Hebrew... later mingled Hebrew with Deutsche
and out popped a ******* child that was Yiddish...

everyone comes here... this great continental funnel...
this bottle neck... they come... mingle...
and then they later leave...
   while those that remain and have always remained
are stuck by being struck with the sentence:
what the **** just happened?!

maybe that's my "problem": i see ethnicity before
i see race... like with this Lithuanian guy...
i seriously thought he was Finnish...
he sort of reminded me of looking like the lead
singer from the band HIM... Ville Valo

i did mention it to a coworker... oh look...
        der große schwarm!
maybe i should put more effort into this tongue...
no disrespect to the English language
but... German sounds softer...
English harsher...
   a bit like the inverse of: Russian sounds soft
while ****** sounds harsh...
it just sounds like... home...
          
       ein herц... ein wirbeln von luft...
              mund von der wald...

it's these conjunctions, the German definite articles...
hypothetically there's that for der
there's the for die
   there's that for das...
          i mean: there's der for that
there's die for the
   there's das for that...
    
                          you seriously cannot not be envious
when you see Germans en masse... spirited
with a commonality: for a bienenstockgeist
(hive-mind)...
                            i was struck with: neid... envy...
i wish i could belong like that...
within an in-group...
                       scheiße!  aber suchen bei mich!
i'm stuck with the ******* circus of the world...
alles zungen kam zu Loon'dune...

          seeing them like that... i find the hyped-stress
on individualism in the Anglo-Sphere slightly...
putting it mildly... debilitating...
all i wanted to do was go among the Hessen
and start chanting alles mit uns!
or alles von uns!

                i mean: how can i belong in a society that's
fixated on a global agenda... that eternal project
of monotheism... it's... seltsam... weird...
after the fiasco of the Turm von Babel... you'd think...
the opposite ought to be true...
the evil urges of the demiurge point in the other
direction...

                  but once more we've come together
as a "species" and once more we're trying to work
together... obviously the writings of Moses are
primarily metaphorischindikatoren:
you can't read them literally... anyone who reads
them literally has no poetic-sensibility...
no imagination... just like the flood did happen...
well... given the ice age and the melting of the ice...
sure... it did... mind you: we were drawing dragons
before we discovered dinosaur bones...
giant fire breathing lizards... fire being the representation
of what happened to these giant lizards...
supposedly a meteor struck the earth...
boom... imagine if that meteor struck the moon
and destroyed it... no tides... no water... blah blah...

i.e. i was never a big fan of Bill Hicks' humour...
or H'american humour in general,
unless it's by a black guy... i'm all into all that race
baiting... but me? something along the lines
of Eddie Izzard... Lee Evans...
                           maybe i'm just exhausting this sitting
that i've spread over two days...
     it has become such a collage and i'm starting to
smell a little like cologne... rye cologne...
or is that wheat? the main ingredient in whiskey?

well... that happens... at first reading
Human all too Human didn't present itself as spectacular...
but on second reading... wow!
probably his best work! it all makes sense now...
esp. since i'm reading it in English rather than ******...
too much of the teenage rebelliousness
goes into reaching for Nietzsche...
    i guess the best gateway to understanding him
is by reading some Heidegger...

ich bin einfach: begeistert mit Deutschedenken!
i am simply: enthralled with German thinking...
you couldn't: you wouldn't say as much
about about English thought...
          i just can't stomach it... it's too pragmatic...
it's too easily bound to problem solving...
it's hardly inquisitive...
it's a shepherd's mentality...
   keep everything organised... categorically proof...
phonetically, though? a ******* minefield...
loopholes of spaghetti everywhere...
   back "home" you never hear of the condition
that's dyslexia... you did hear of...
literate or illiterate... but there was no middle
ground... of dyslexia... i.e. / e.g. dyslexic:
good with numbers... **** with letters...
           katakana? or Chinese ideograms?!

(ich) sehen,
               hören,
                      wittern,
                           schmecken,
                                         fühlen...

aber! aber! da ist ein sechste! "sinn"...
   the totality of which translates itself into written
language... gedanke!
     or rather: denken! thinking!
strange... i can think about my liver...
but my liver doesn't think about me...
i can think about my brain... but my brain doesn't
think about me...

it's... deshalb a sense!
you think i'll learn Deutsche proper if i smuggle
in some German wörter:
from time zu zeit?! well... i'll have to remember:
bring in the Cyrillic TSA: ц -
  because i'm pretty sure i've just spotted an
exception on pronunciation...
it's not цoo... but it's most certainly цeit...
it's "actually" zoo... i'm itching to put an umlaut
on that U of ZU...

      i'm ageing... chances of me learning a third
language proper are impossible...
i can only dream about it...
         i'm already entrenched with the language
i was born with and the language i'm writing in...

but i simply can't stop admiring the Germans...
unlike the English... i too have had my share of grief
"borrowed" from these people...
but seeing them congregate like that...
easily swayed... you can't simply stop... mouth agape:
ehrfurcht!

                ich wunsch ich war ein unter du... alles von du!
i was clearly born in the wrong tribe...
i clearly was moved to the wrong tribe...

loch in der borden!
     wolken in der himmel!
                    bäume in der wald!

you could really arm these fellas up... and march them
into suicide missions and they'd be like:
fair enough...
          i guess that's what Leningrad must have
been like...
              
i can't exactly love my native tongue...
the noblemen of my camp sort of became lazy...
disrespectful to themselves...
and their people...
                              **** them: it's that easy...
i pledge no allegiance to either England or Poland...
i'm a three thinker...
as long as the Latin script is employed...
i tried the Greek i tried the Katakana and the Cyrillic...
i became cross-eyed...

well... not with the Greek...
    Cyrillic was always... paupers' Greek for me...
how Greeks destroyed the Glagoliic script...
it was so beautiful... almost... no... it was almost!
no... it wasn't Arabic... it was Glagolitic...
it was itself in how it was crafted...
nothing is going to come across as practical as
Latin: though: that's already known...
since Latin was the only language employed in
creating the internet... no?!

i do feel sorry for the natives though...
    for me... i'm "going elsewhere"... i'm always going elsewhere...
i'm not going back "home"...
Haiti?! Kenya with the ivory beauties...
Turkey... i'm definitely going to Turkey
to pick up Khedra that ol' raven haired witch...
the best **** in all of... whatever...
    i'm not staying in England: at least my mind
isn't... and my body is not returning to Poland...
i'm ******* off... i want to entertain a Turkish harem
of thirsty women...
   i want to "return" to the Mamluks of Egypt...
i want to be in the ranks of the Janissaries...
                          you know... in cultures where masculinity
is celebrated: not simply shunned...
in my mind i'm already there...
to hell with dating single mums...
raising someone else's children...
if i were a prospect for a Cesar... being a foster parent...
perhaps... otherwise? too expensive...
    
i'm clearly not doing this ****...
culture's all awry...
             it's such a cryng shane though....
       how un-available women have become...
                well... people have lived through worse...
and still managed to: tragen an!
                              
geringste von ihr kümmernis      

                            leben kurz: leben liebend!
das ist alles!
                        live short: live loving.

Ik zie alleen de dingen die sterven, steen of potlood. De

aanklacht is welluidend, een thema. Er lang bij stilstaan maakt

je dwaas, verdwaasd. Een eed wordt het niet, episch ook niet.

De verblikte beschaving, ver- blikt. De mens leert zichzelf sardien

worden, als hij 't niet al eens was geweest. Het lot kijkt ons toe.


Ik zie alleen de dingen die sterven, wolken en zonnestralen.

Calamiteit, plastic. En herten worden afgeschoten in het bos.

Ik zie alleen de dingen die sterven, werelden vol, theorieën?

Intussen: wie zegeviert? De hieros gamos van tijd en aarde, mens

-usurpator, de vraatzucht. Prehistorie gemoderniseerd, 21ste eeuw.

Denk jij ook soms aan de dood?
Voel jij ook het schaamrood
op de wangen bij het bespreken
van die wrange, wringende,
in de ogen springende
gevoelens die je liever zag
ontweken.

Dan ben je niet alleen, je kan die beesten
beter laten zweven, als wolken,
naar ze kijken, alstublieft niet laten
kolken tot ze velden laten draaien
en je levenslust meegraaien.

De lucht is paars, de wolken roze.
Oranje lijnen, neonlicht, gesloten,
blij zijn is hier uit den boze.

In het water reflecteren boten,
sloepen, wit geverfd hout en blauw
met stalen kettingen, touw,
vastgemaakt, geknoopt, koud
en warm, herkenbaarheid om van te houden
net iets meer of minder
dan je had gehoopt.

Hij vertelde *** de vork in de steel
of de wind in de zeilen.
Hij zei wanneer trop te veel
en wanneer wolken neerwaarts pijlen.

Als we niet wisten, naar boven keken,
handen in het haar, of muts, of pet,
barstend van onzekerheid, haast bezweken,
dan was er steeds dat paar oogjes vol met pret.

De waarman sprak de weerheid op
meer dan wekelijkse basis.
Hij, die de lucht, de druk, de mop
en menig fenomeen de baas is.

We nemen afscheid van jou en je praatje.
In thermometers reflecteert voorts jouw
schrijdend zicht, voor deze generatie
een boegbeeld, een rolmodel, een maatje.

Schoenen als een dagje zonder
wolken, als een draaitje en geen
kolken aan de lucht.

Met een helder, hemels lachje, lag je
onder die lege lucht te dromen.
Laat maar komen, die
beelden van perfectie,
figuren met reflectie
in jouw zeegroene blik.

Je was jaloers en ik
verwacht je, smacht je
naar die klik.
Vlak voor de nacht haar waren stalt
en alles plots en klaps, ineens,
zoals jij hoort,
in elkaar past en ineen valt.

title: hinter
body: poppyland..
           asp... bite...
             shadow... hind.

- an outburst after a short hiatus, stiff fingers: tongue-numbing -

last time i checked, there is a hybrid flu hitting
the body-market of viral infections,
thank god i didn't get a headache, but... all the rest of it...
flu usually arrives just before winter,
again, the seasonal shock to the body...
but this one arrived in reverse...
it's un-thought of to succumb to these ills with the coming
of spring... but... i'm proof...
i even tested positive for Covid: even though
i've been vaccinated...

i should think is absolutely necessary -
to be in this state of health and to see language:
disintegrate into a less and less formality -
   only a month or so ago i had to return to the formality
of language: i can't remember the last time
i wrote a letter with some official purpose:
a complain or whatever it might have been...
but i do remember the agony of utilising such language:
a language of verbs rather than a language
of nouns... imploring someone to do X...
      i'm sitting here glum: spring comes with the flu:
the bones ache, the nose is filled strange sticky snot...
the muscles ache, i'm guessing:
one of those great big dips in lethargy before
the great reinvigoration of the impeding three seasons...
it's almost as i have been hibernating...
i'm not getting to the life outside speeding up...
the insects have already woken,
the birds are more jittery... chatter at 5am...
the clocks have been moved forward by an hour...
and how i miss... what begins around November
proper... at the end of the month...
everything slows down...
             now... everything is picking up pace again
and i've come sick / late to the party...
come the Easter celebration with eggs...
            i am absolutely devoid of a need to celebrate...
perhaps writing during a period of physical sickness
feels a bit like ingesting some magic mushroom...
pickled-jar of brain...
    murky eyes... sticky-glass eyes...
perhaps rereading something by Charles Olson might
help... i still can't buy a physical copy
of the Maximus Poems...
          what would i settle for? the complete collection
of Philip Lamantia's poems?
   i remember the first time i fell in love
with Sestina: Altaforte - and that's contained in
Ezra's personae...
              i'm weak: my imagination is rot...
perhaps some Al Purdy will save me...
            
the suggestion was: to drink more...
       more whiskey, eh?
                    yes... three days sort of zombie-esque...
strange phlegm... loss of appetite...
for a moment prior to heading for a shift
on Saturday at Wembley... i could swear i lost my
sense of taste and smell... mostly the smell...
but hell... i wasn't going to miss out on earning so extra
cash... spread the love: biological "weapon" that
i became: back to the usual reality of...
virus carrier... carrier of: only the strongest will
survive... i'm no small guy... and if it hit me that hard...
it felt like... the first time i received my first
Covid vaccination... back to the usual: achtung! achtung!
testen! testen!
usual **** at work... i came late to the party...
people have decided to create  hierarchy of
incompetence... on the lower levels: through...
familiarity... "friendship"...
         one of the girls who was supposed to do register
****** off and i was put next to the owner of the company
helping him out...
we ploughed through... later on in my ****** little
position... a "supervisor" should have come up
to me and asked me switch position...
but instead... oh... this guy ought to be *****-slapped...
this ******* hierarchy of steward
   and SIA badged... at least stewards ought to be trained
to diffuse the situation without getting an SIA
hard-on for physical confrontation...
       smile... utilise the body language as non-verbally
as possible... i've had no trouble...
    i look around... taking my sandwich break...
two stewards: oh... because they're supposedly "friendly"
with the female supervisor come around behind
her and slap her ***...
    the "reality" online and the "reality" online...
sure... this is not some office-tech-start-up with protective
rights of employees... banter at work...
but... what sort of a supervisor is a woman that allows
units of work beneath her... allow them...
to walk behind her and slap / pinch her ***?
supervising what?
   i already know this authority / hierarchy game is fake...
you just get a different coloured bib and that's that...
it's veneer... at the end of the day:
you police yourself: whether or not you're performing...
but i wasn't supposed to sit next to the company
co-owner and perform the register...
free-loaders... someone else was supposed to do that...
i can't complain... i like spelling... and sieving through
names... on cards... mind you...
i got away with sitting on a chair for...
an extra 3 hours i would have otherwise spent standing...
trying to make small, tiny... pointless conversation...
i checked the balance the next day...
i weighed in at around 100kg before the shift...
the next day... in at 98kg...
i don't even lose that much when cycling for 2 hours...
i couldn't imagine it: what... just standing...
but my father did warn me...
when he was part of the ornamental guard in the ******
army... standing shifts beside the Grave of the Unknown
Soldier... standing in one place for hours on end
is as much exercise as... running around...
if not more... since... well... you have to figure out...
how's the blood going to circulate to your toes?!
when you're not moving your legs?
thank god i'm only doing this work to get good
references... it's all a little ******* to me...
first few shifts were novel... a novel idea...
              but i'm turning into a salamander... well... no...
i've always been a little of a chameleon...
i adapt to what pleases me:
and what pleases me... more observation...
     i need to suss out the dynamic...
                these people are "friends"...
oh... like the last time i played those girls off on each
other... when one spoke liable against me...
blah blah and i said to the other:
the ****** proverb... liars don't walk on stilts...
they're still asking me... she blocked you?
do i look like someone who cares
about a missed romantic possibility?
i've already seen her walking the dog with some other guy...
oh... much younger than me...
unimpressive... hey... that's free will...
perhaps we don't have it...
but we do have it... within the confines of the dynamic
the self and... the other...
i can't control the other... plus those visists in
the brothel sort of smoothed things over...
i found the ****-of-my-life... and it only took me...
14 years since the last: ****-of-my-life...
i like keeping that joker card in the back of my mind
when women at work pretend to flirt with me...
in my mind there's this line...     you what?!
i'm sorry...            you want to go where i've been?
work is... *******... i figured long enough
that... little pointless hierarchies exist...
so? become the teacher's pet...
do the register with him when the person that was
supposed to do it bails out...
let him find you later on and thank you...
oh... because the game is still getting played...
patience... time... quasi-geology... pressure...
the pressure is yet to be employed...

terrible three days though... i abhor feeling weak...
esp. from something that should only affect me
in my 60s... but we're living in a time of hybrid
infections... the feeling of weakness
and the immediate harm it brings on the body
to be incapable to: not even be imaginative...
but narrative capable...
   and if this guy asks me for a lift to Wembley...
on Tuesday... £10 to be dropped off at some inconvenient
place... while he drops all the female workers
at their homes... you what?
you can drop these ******* off at their homes...
but can't drop me at a petrol station that's as much
convenient for you as it is for me?
guess what!
on a week day... i can get a train from Romford
to Liverpool St. - i'm i'm lucky and get the quick one...
20min...
   and then... the Metropolitan Line from Liverpool St.
to Wembley Park... another 20min...
done... plus... the politics of: who sits where in the car...
oh sure sure... if it's a girl... she needs to sit
in the front... *******... **** that...
but i do... i really do... my agreeable veneer...
i'm into masks... all that's missing in my closet
is a ******* latex suit to perform **** fantasies...
it takes me less via train and less money than
to be given a lift... and watch... as the female coworkers
get dropped off at their doorsteps i have to quickly
jump off at a bus-stop and get the bus home...
        i prefer going there solo... i don't mind the commute...
it does me good: there's no one to talk to...
perfecto!
                   i hate putting on these masks...
i just put them on to orientate myself around the sort
of tension i could generate if i didn't cling to reservations...
i've seen myself snap spontanepusly...
once...
             i was walking around Brick Lane randomly
looking for a *******... picked up this Asian...
felt like drinking with someone...
   we ended up walking into an alley just of the Lane
and he snatched my mobile from my hand...
and i was like: what do you think you're doing?
he replied: i'm taking your phone...
i think that's when my iris and my sclera in my eyes
disappeared... my eyes turned pure ink...
i snatched the phone from his hand
and HOWLED: NOW TURN AROUND AND
LOOK AT YOUR GUARDIAN ANGEL!
howled? growled? i remember that i didn't use any
violence... i remember his face being petrified
at my "wording"... then walking down Brick Lane
kneeling, lamenting... screaming the word: All-Ah...
just before the Syrian civil war took place...
it looks weird in my mind now...
   Al-ah-ah-ah...         people tried to ring for an ambulance
but i just ran away into a graveyard like
a Frankenstein...    
             i wish i punched him... but instead...
i petrified him... i even talked to my grandfather's
psychiatrist about this encounter...
when can man have the capacity to scare another man
by merely shouting in such a way with
such a ferocity that the other freezes?!
                     what, with the words:
NOW LOOK AT YOUR GUARDIAN ANGEL?!

it's always a waiting game of sort... in any age-environment,
when... the work doesn't require much skill...
this work doesn't require much skill...
it's just a stalling game i'm playing...
it just gives me an excuse to work
so that the people i live with can get off my back
for writing but not getting paid...
who's going to get paid from writing like this...
these days...

/ am himmel dunkle wolken ziehen
ich nehme artig meine medizin
und warte hier im daunenbett
bis die sonne untergeht

und dann reiß’ ich der puppe den kopf ab
dann reiß’ ich der puppe den kopf ab
ja, ich beiß’ der puppe den hals ab
es geht mir nicht gut

ich reiß’ der puppe den kopf ab
ja, ich reiß’ der puppe den kopf ab
end dann beiß’ ich der puppe den hals ab
es geht mir nicht gut … nein
dam-dam                                        /

their most accomplished album... by my standards...
lyrics from Rammstein's untitled album...
the best song on the album...

what a worn event of: when some selected where
disclosed the parameters of closure of
literacy and numeracy...
but now?! everyone is either "literatre" or "numerate":
but... are they? no... they're really not...
it's a nice looking veneer...
             you can pretend to have manage
a 100% literacy... but you're not going to accomplish
it... add a spin of having to make people c0d%e}
             no chance of that happening...
over-educating the mass population when
the mass of the population are built for menial tasks
they can fulfill: quickly as they learn them:
to as quickly forget forget about them...
to subsequently have outlets of entertainment as
quickly allowing them to forget everything else...
no one insulating anyone's intelligence...
i'm just insulting... the logistics supervisors...
managers... if i were in the right sort of position...
i'd encourage these poor pawns:
you are expected to be bored on your job...
ever think about thinking about a cinema of memory?
flash-backs? not everyone is going to be focused on...
the job in tow... a heart-surgeon...
but it would be nice to find some people to be awake...
in posit... coordinate within the confines
of your vicinity... rather than simply switching off...
the current work i'm doing is not work...
a tree does more work than i do...
i wish i could think myself as a poet...
no one pays for music, no one is going to pay
for poetry...
             sooner paying for bullets than words
in verse...
                                  i'm idiotically investing in a future
i will never see...
        but thank god for that...
to manoeuvre around finding fame while being
propped up by some function in sport or some
infamy in the shady regions of society: some reputation...
ugh... all that bothersome psychological interest:
but i thought we had no soul?!
   i don't think i could stomach fame...
when... once upon a time... fame... took time...
there was no profiling... there was no immediacy
of recognition... a person's face wasn't made famous...
his name was... no one recognised a famous person
once upon a time... not his face...
but... if you said a name... oh... then... then they would...
recognise the person...
what a glorious time...

and sure... now i'm seeing the old... who were once young...
veer off into their crippling veneer of old age...
pretend: arbeit macht frei doesn't apply to them:
they had all their fun...
i'm what? not going to have fun either?
if the older generation had their fun...
i'm... going to have m fun too...
not as freely... obviously...
i much prefer prostitutes than these supposed
freely available women...
they're not going to be English...
or H'American hard to get types...
Turkic...
               no... i'm not going to be climbing up
the hierarchies of men... either...
i'm going to be looking for ways to bypass that...
i walk around a supermarket and
start thinking:
the sort of men... that bred...
with this choice of... gargoyles...
      thank god i haven't invested...
seriously... my time, my *****: my effort...
weak men who don't know what to do when
they're alone...
   unimaginative men...
             men who couldn't possibly enjoy
cycling alone... i sort of passed this hybrid flu
by getting stuck into work: oink... oink...
i smilled... i played nice...
it's a nice... mask...
    es ist ein schönmaske...
              ich: lächeln...
                            and in a game of poker...
you... show your cards to your opponents, no?
i'm sieving, i'm fishing...
    i'm sifting through...
             this work doesn't pay enough for me to care
for it being more than a gig economy...
like i said... i'm just waiting...
i'm waiting...
                   i've been educated a tier above
all these idiots who think they can dictate minor
issues in spatial coordination...
     you know what i think about...
leeching their skins off...
little critters... i conjure up an Ed Gein thinking
about what... sort of ******* worth of hierarchies they
have conjured for themselves...
i want to... scratch their skins off...
for playing the petty-****-heads they are
attempting... to be... american head charge:
                  set yourself on fire...
         no... some purple dye haired pseudo-supervisor
is not really bothering me...
i don't think i could **** her...
              no... i don't think i could...
        she has a ****** life he keeps recounting...
but at the same time telling everyone else i misheard:
DARLING with DADDY...
   *****... drop it... drop it... seriously...
             you keep at it... it was funny the first two: times...
that's why i like keeping the joker card...
when in a workplace... make sure you're interacted
with a *******... ergo? when working with women?
sure... they approach you... but what position are they
approaching you from?
freely available? readily available?!
they are coworkers?! are they prostitutes?!
no answer... "confusion"...

            dig: tow: daughter... some... steel.