Meticulously maintaining
Impossibly feigned nonchalance,
Toying the cigarette ever so slightly
In her fingers -- careful so not
To appear as too calculated

The pariahs parade the dancefloor,
Shades of ignominy culminating in a
Prismatic rainbow, heightened by
The stale odor of ***** and body heat

Still, she stays in her perch like a silent sphynx
Waiting -- watching --
Aimlessly, but with direction, such
Carefree flamboyance below her,
A stoop to which she’d never deign

And so she watches, resigned
To fate, as much a fixture in the joint
As the gilded barstools --
The closest she can come to confronting
The fact that she is no different
Than any of the rest

there was a period in time,
when i focused on two words:
and made them relevant punching
bags...
using the definite article i called
them:
   the reflexive         /      the reflective...
strange "dichotomy" pivot to
conceive...
   but i managed...
        philosophy perhaps begins
with awe... but it sure as **** ends with
a vocab. fixation, vocab. being
the foundation...
  the reflexive / the reflective belong
to a quadratic foundation,
two words are missing...

       favorite gig? tool, glasgow...
could have been wolfmother in edinburgh...
but, see...
  tool, glasgow...
a german girl...
  she was thirsty, the maggot pit
was getting crowded...
plastic cups of water were being
passed...
   there was the crushing sensation...
of beta males...
i gave her some water
from the passed plastic cups...
i drank some myself,
i passed the cup behind me...
after a while we started mingling:
i.e. kissing...
         never miss an australian curly
haired afro from australia in
edinburgh: if you can help yourself...

after the gig she just stood there
like a mute madonna
waiting for me pick her up...
did i?
       the *** would have probably
been great... but the kiss...
in the moment?
   that's what kept the memory
alive...
       again...
there was a time when i:
why isn't squash an olympic sport...
why does baseball,
rugby... have precursor justification
of olympic sports status
over squash?
   i liked playing squash...
  fun sport...
               all you need is a cube canvas...
i still remember warming up
the rubber ball, till it became soft,
before you could play a game...
   managing hyper-geometry
while smashing the ball against
the side-walls...
     god... so much more fun worth
of a game compared to tennis...
it's... radical!                      3D!

so came the reflexive "contra" the reflective...
a case closure of:
react to it immediately (reflexive),
or?
   react to it by stalling, allowing the ontology
of man to "pleasure" of thinking:
i know that thought is regularly dissociated
from ontology,
gimp-strapped to pure empiricism:
no god: immediate reaction...
    with not god: all you can "eat" /
spreschen dynamics...
       if god doesn't exist...
speak whatever you want,
as much as you want...
     but, to me? god is the source
of thought... hard to find a thinking man
in a godless society...
thinking goes out of the "window"
including "a" god... or: the plural
variation of splintered ambitions,
ambitions and authority...

    mit meine liebhaber wie die
mund: ich leben alles dinge,
              drapiert in quecksilber,
   durch die licht sie umhüllt...

    i already had a narrative...
well that's lost... but with my love for
for the deutzschezunge:
   nein engländer kam
mein weg...
           außer etwas blöd
                    amerikanisch...
    geschätzt sack nase in überall...

deutsche: nutzen englischgrammatik...
   "hoppla"!
             ficker besser sprint!
              
   the quadratic still remains...
reflexive (oh oh, it begins....)
             readings books is a "b'ah b'ah"
sheepish: b'ah b'ah bad "thing"...
less worth of stutter...
safe compounds of the rich....
looking in, aren't you the lucky ones?
i guess you are...

             but then again: i guess
you're not part of the garden state
project... ******* fannies...
***** go ****?!
      **** offs....

   heideggeer...
                qabbalah...
                         20th century peoples,
associated with the reflexive
sentiment(s)...
             imitation...
what is imitation when lacking
intimidation?
                  ah....
the reflexive "aspect" is stimulation...
can't exactly stimulate upon
a "gratification" of: the algebra of x...

we live in times of contra-stimulation...
simulation prone...
when "once upon a time"
the reflexive,
  when "once upon a time"
the reflective....
when thinking was allowed...
and god was disavowed...

what thinking?!
              there's as much of god in
the "discussion" as there's thought...
atheism gave birth to the sophists...
    what would the rekindled
variation of the belief in the gods
revel in, sophistry contra solipsism?
bate nook and a boredom
affair of atheism...

              the reflexive: imitation /
intimidation... stimulation...
             the reflective: imagining /
         coerce...
                simulation...

these days people are not exactly
prone to 19th century into 20th century
translations of stimulation...
   stimulation: being a reflexive term...
these days?
   people are more prone to
the simulation, a: "reflective" term...
it doesn't have to be real to be "real"...
     people reject the "concept"
of reality like might react
to antibiotics...
   not exactly clarity borne...
       once upon a time...
  people were reflexive: stimulated...
these days?
people are reflective: simulated...
  and in the latter sense?
hardly... ever willing to be responsive...
  the crisis in england...
super-bugs... the antithesis of
antibiotics...

    hence? the missing T...
           reflexive "vs." reflective...
  stimulated "vs." simulated...
such puny thesaurus differences...

so now everything in  the deutsche
ist ****-isch?
             wow! wunderbar!
   mögen sie mögen mir!
        englischsprechendwelt vereinen!

    spät kommen

how many people can associate
this observation into their daily diet,
of the fact that
clenching your teeth,
relaxes your eyebrows,
                  from frowning?

maybe that rammstein song:
rosenrot,
     about paedophilia?
                       if you're 18,
and she's 14, and you're
                 dating her older sister your age,
but then: love at first sight
suffocates you...
    you're almost 33,
she's in her 20s...
             you kept that whole
"love at first sight" *******...
   came the weimar, berliner gay
troops...
      with their
regenbogenvorhang,
anti:
             starr,
anti:
                     streng
anti:
                 eisen, bügeln...

        kommt der zeppeline!
how many definite articles
does german please
allow to clarify? die contra der?
yes? well... that's a...
    lohnend anfang...

kommen sie,
   ich werden einst mehr....

how many people can associate
this observation into their daily diet,
of the fact that
clenching your teeth,
relaxes your eyebrows,
                  from frowning?

see... i have a fetish for german...
this english: a little bit of something,
"that", "other", "******"?
well... whatever frees me from
russian...
    i'll clearly succomb to speak
this language,
top escape the russians...
but, i just have to....
          schleppen diese deutschzunge;
ich unterlassen sie
                         mögen es...
i just became aware of the polacks...
favouring loan-words from
neighbouring canons of tongue...
i figured: the rest is history...
  to have to despair over
a sense of continuinity...
within the confines
of a biological reality,
when biological reality is currently
being undermined?
really?!
     i'm supposed to give a ****,
about that sort of *******?!
how about:
an idea transcends the confines
of biology,
what if the kantian
categorical imperative
also implies....
transcending ***,
the casual act of ***,
    the anti-darwinian aspect
of ***: *** for pleasure,
recreation, *******,
and not the origin impetus...
             what is the categorical
"imperative" of ***,
these days?
                      i'm the one who's
"****** up"?
        what about referencing cats...
reptiles in a mammalian disguise?
to bypass the misnomer...
to call red, red,
to call banana yellow,
   to call it: no black swan...
to call...
  how would one attempt
transcendence
of the categorical imperative?
misnomer, purposive,
or non-purposive,
loosely associated
with poetic freedoms to
"misnomer" /
   not address expression
of jurisprudnece,
too closely associated with
juggling a thesaurus...
                                       what now?
                  
    ich haben gelernt ihre englisch,
  jetzt ich suchen für eine flucht!
wenn nein an land,
      bei zuletzt: im mein kopf.

the ship is sinking,
the rats are bailing out first.

Endlich wieder Sonne spüren,
und das Gras unter meinen Füßen fühlen.

Endlich wieder in der Luft,
wunderbar zarter Blumenduft.

Endlich wieder bunte Farben,
heilen meine Winternarben.

Endlich wieder warme Tage,
und nur eine Frage:

Endlich wieder mit dir sein,
hier im warmen Sonnenschein?

the older i become the more it hinders my output:
volume, quality, whatever you want to call...
perhaps it's censorship (in a way) -
a ****** lenovo keyboard: not wide enough
to properly place my hands to not look down
but ahead at the genius of QWERTY...
since... believe me: the classical order of the alphabet
conjured up by the French (perhaps i'm
remembering incorrectly) is not really important:
what matters is the entire body of the scripted
language... words don't unravel from a prerequisite
of abcdefghijklmnopq...rs...t...u...v...w...x...y...z
is that all the letters?
i actually don't know fingers dart backwards &
forwards... or, not really... when playing this
"piano" anyway: as long as all the required
letters are invoked in the required words:
hey presto! meaning!
                      there ought to be 26... funny...
there are 32 letters in the ****** (western Slavic)
alphabet... the same number as the teeth
in my gob...
but sometimes i "lose" a poem... whether it's censorship
when i make a post: ****! gone...
or whether i'm callous with the ctrl + c / + p / + a
scenario when i drank a little bit too much...
i don't know... perhaps i'm writing for
some elite that doesn't want the public to read
my work... i like to think of it that way...
but losing a poo'em can become so disheartening
that i i sometimes want to forget that i speak:
let alone write... now longer periods when
i can rekindle a makeshift monologue:
but then i have to find something technical in language
to reorient my purpose...
it's becoming less & less easy...
esp. since i'm not writing fiction...
  just... grass is green... butternut squash soup is
more than hearty: but it will never match up
to my better take on the Heinz canned classic... period...
not enough chilly in the Heinz... canned classic...
& never eaten with a slice of bread...
it requires vermicelli... like most soups do...
like a decent ****** chicken broth...
which also requires... well: poaching the carcass
but  base set of vegetable...
a leek... a celeriac root slice...
parsley root... a carrot... garlic... celery stalks...
parsley - the green leaves...
salt, pepper... & vermicelli...
oh... & plenty of time...
i'm disheartened when i lose a piece of script:
it's not Shakespeare (obviously) but so much emotion
can flow into the cascade that:
tabloid newspapers are given bragging rights...
are, ahem... "important"... so... my writing...
whether by censorship or not...
or my clumsy fingers when putting across
a body of text from one canvas to another... goes wrong...
hours become days when i find a new:
desire to write... since... writing is much easier
to thinking...
writing is much easier to thinking...
as thinking is much easier to speaking...
- but all of a sudden my life has changed a little...
writing is so much easier when you're
not "doing" anything...
mein gott... poems flow & flow... snippets
of narrative arrive at your forehead & fingertips like
postcards from your ex-girlfriends missing
you dearly from exotic locations: as if being married
& having children is still not enough because:
they didn't have your children & aren't married to you...
the poo'em i lost was about... two days ago...
travelling to Wembley Park for... an induction...
the role? being a steward...
i figured: enough of youth can be wasted on dreams...
literary dreams...
let's inject some... proper... grass-root ambition
with... RE-AH-LI-TY (****... phonetically that's
REE-AH-LEE-TEA/EE/AE)...
this writing "business" isn't going at the pace
i want... sure... i can brag about...
wow... almost 40 thousand views of one poem...
there are over 6K poems of mine, just here...
Wembley Stadium can host 90,000 spectators...
one poem of mine can muster up... almost half
of the capacity?
not bad... but... not good enough...
lucky for me i can relate for this sort of thirst when
drinking... sometimes i'm content with
a bottle of wine... at other times i need a liter of whiskey...
go figure... but not when so many idiotic pundits...
when there's this media masquerade happening...
i'm in the shadows: i'm listening to what people
are listening to... i never leave traces in the comment
sections: a waste of time...
makes thinking about certain things easier:
when you don't air your opinions...
after all: that's pseudo-rhetorical...
the true art of debate is... withdrawing from:
debating... the dialectical position is:
first mind diacritical marks (sorry... none in English,
& yes... it's still more ugly
when phonetically charged with graffiti "mishaps"...
misnomer: "shortcuts")...
- where was i? oh right... perhaps i "missed" something
in my original lost sample of a narrative:
although (last time i checked)
this website provides automated save as drafts
when you stop typing - after a prolonged period
of typing: my bad...
writing is so much easier when life is uneventful...
i could tease that word: uneventful into
a katakana syllabary: i almost want i almost have
to i therefore (not almost, but) must:
un-eh-vent-ful...
oh look at that: sitting pretty like a toddler
with a drumstick of a chicken (leg)...
**** it: my writing is going nowhere...
i have more ambition to simply let it... sizzle in its own
juices: or whatever better expression is handy...
none come to mind...
i need to look at people: i need to study people...
the internet is an echo-chamber to begin with:
it used to...
a jukebox narrative... such freedoms were
once available... mein gott... what music
i discovered when foraging on youtube...
in two years... gone... the algorithm got ******...
period: bad grammar is an exemplification
of this load of: hot-steaming... mix of **** & *******...
i need a real job... wasting my youth on writing
is not enough: perhaps my writing will catch up:
or my readership will... either way:
i'm not aiming for anything under
the title-weight of a Bukowski:
lucky ******... but i'm also not aiming for
the almost near obscurity of... the Black Mountain poets...
who was their leader... Larry?
Lee-rrr...       eh... it's not like a tarantula didn't
crawl into an English mouth & "somehow"
numbed the tongue for the end result of:
nein zu tremolo! ****'s sake... if i only asked:
why the French Fwench... but they hark so:
never mind...   yes, yes... Larry Eignar...
**** me... that took a while...
but there's another... a "renegade" on the...
ha ha... steppes of "Cambodia"...

          Russell is a likely connotation...
but incorrect... let's see....
     wait... Charles Olson... ol' Ollie...
he? he was a black mountain poet?
you ******* kidding me...
no chance in hell that will pass by me
given.... concerning his Maximus poems...
like: **** no...
i'm a critic i'm a nobody i'm a porveurour...
now i remember the ******'s name:
Robert ******* Kreely...
him! Kreely: Creely... Creeley...
**** it... fling in the vowels...
lets see what sort of a trebuchet **** master
you... ought... might... make.
oh.... wait.... important "news"...
an... apostrophe "missing": plain Jane typo....
where?LET(')S i.e. implying the shortening of:
the inclusivity of the collective... "US"..
      wunderbar!
                 schön!
that's the umlaut O... ergo... shoo... shoon...
great!
                           kaninchen und...
                        rosa ball-ons!  
i know a ******* balloon from a *******
ball-on... it's like telling me...
what's the difference between an omicron
and an omega...
i.e. do you really need to tell me
the difference?
sure... if it was an upsilon: you *******
clueless Greek!
what audacity:
you ******* clueless... Greek...
what... better some Iranian...
arriving from... Belarus?!
oh sure... i really want to live in Kenya...
among the ivory beauties with skins
that hide their bodies...
******* milk on toast... some chocolate:
sprinkled... i see teeth & sclera...
& some mahogany...
  ****? i'd **** anything that moves...
even south Korean girls geared up for a game of....
ping-pong....
my bad... what?
or is that: WAT like... WATT...
the energy unit or the Samuel Beckett novel
that over-competes James Joyce's Ulysses?!

your is the roulette... yours... hmm... your's...
for a while... the latter was underlined...

life used to be so much simpler when...
language could speak for... "itself"...
no one could use it: somehow, "somehow"...

i applied for the role of a Wembley Stadium
steward on a whim...
i thought: **** it... writing is not going toward
a projected: Ginsberg stastus...
i'm not going to compete with the leftoid jargon
of the 1960s... lucky me...

i'm just a terrible "millenial"...
i use an apostrophe like i migh5t secure understand
of the Pythagorean hypotenuse...
some C "squared"...
Wembley Stadium steward...
this... cacophony of hierarchy "suddenly" hits me...

i can understand authority...
tier one, tier two... vampire... zombie...
sure, sorted...

of the supposed 12 rules for life...
one of them reeds... i suppose that's reed: read:
reeds... sorry.. n'est ce pas...
pet a cast on the sreet?
you know, how hard it is... to pet a cat..
on the street?!
if you lived in England...
wolves... what wolves?!
foxes... oh yeah... plenty of those...
but... petting cats?
a bit like explaining...
a jpeg. take up less volume... ha ha: "volume"
than a pdf. file...

why i was mo4e than ready: i'll never known...
perhaps i'm a closeted fan of Ed Sheeran,
perhaps i like children in the role of:
a fathering figure...
perhaps children like to
poke my beard & lips...
perhaps this... perhaps that...
perhaps i'm ******* Santa Claus...
or what's Satan's Claus(e)....
all these freebies... cough up!

or... i just like making people "feel" included:
"feel" is one "thing", REALISED... another...
it might sound like newsspeak...
but... i don't want to ingest another...
Manchester Bomb Arena spectacle...

SAA... a week in Brixton... 7 days...
but they require a cohort of at least 12 applicants...
it elevastes your status as steward to:
someone who can: "juggle"...
be legally obliged to utilised force:
if necessary...
i like... i like... i like...

first ZOOM call in my life... ******* Ludite...
luddite... ugh... that double D kills me...
surd: you don't hear(d) to: begin with...
so... what... spelling "mistake"?

oh sure... the ****** transit & traffic...
train from Romford through to Liverpoool St...
then the Metropolitan Line to Wembley Park...
great... the arch...
a black coffee from McDonald's & two croissants from
Lidl... morning... done...
no more... morning sickness....
come late afternoon Somali girls eyeing me up in a black
tie... o.k. sure... fair game: "gamble"...
hunting what?
i like this understudy of what's man...

i arrived an hour early...
waited the tad bit... of a little... we exchanged formalities... but then i watched as...
two groups formed...
the ****-shock-show of the multi-cultural urban... ahem... "class"... with one rep. & the other... mostly... asian men... with their... asian rep...

12 rules for life... seriously?! do you know how hard it is... to pet a cat? sorry... can i make you reiterate... petting a cat... lucky me... for petting two cats today... "strays"... but... do you know how nearly impossible it is... to pet cats, is?! you don't pet a cat because you can... you pet a cat out of the whims of: the cat willing you to pet it!  just like i like... sitting on my windowsill listening to foxes bemoan their lack of ****** adventures... it's England... foxes... ergo no wolves! d'uh! cull the foxes... you cull the erotica of the nights!

between... sigourney weaver... &...
mmm... winona ryder...
raven 'air...
two winners... how harems work...

Tuba Büyüküstün...

apologies for the phrasing...
if all the supposed gems not donning niqabs
that are western women
are so... *******: NIGGERCOCK mad...
Tuba Büyüküstün... oh... look at me...
you think i want some anemic blonde:
stereotype?!
raven... hair!
sure... the black male specimens are
handsome, attractive: if i were a woman:
i would... ha... "problem"...
why don't i want to...
the ****** antonym... because a white girl
really wants to... do a black guy...
do i... "have" to have the same
compulsions with regards to a black girl?!
Turkic! **** yes!
Mongolian... probably!
Tuba Büyüküstün...
or... swans probably don't have necks...
no... swans probably don't have necks
when you see this:

(although sophie skelton looks
better in the initial photograph...
papa best preached)...
swans don't have necks...
not with her...
around... to... curate... a balett of
nodding  approvals...

Caitríona Mary Balfe... i'm so loved up...
in that i once remarked in private:
bemoaned: that the Scots have forgotten
their native tongue...
swans have no necks...
swans don't need necks...

the neck of Caitríona Mary Balfe
eyes... too...
or the short-styled hair... & eyes
of Tuba Büyüküstün...
don't get me started on the hands...
those petite Antoinetes of joy...
the most ****** aspect of a woman is bound
to her hands... i'm missing a knuckle! or at least
*******!

woo-man!                         woe-is-me!
woe-is-man!             woo-man!
i'll bark i'll gargle... not for the sold-cold "soul & eternity"
of the d.n.a.:
but rather for that Muhammad never achieved when
competing with King Solomon!
then again... King David had the better tale...
the love of music, the writing of the psalms
&... defeating Goliath...
king Solomon was... compensating with
the excessing in the exploitation of women...
eh... Solomon &... proverbs can be tested...
true... or untrue...
but psalms... unconditionally...
sung... or... lost...
no antonym-synonym dynamic...
you either remember or you forget...
you don't merely remember & pseudo-remember
via changing the narrative a little: or a lot...

what a neck... on this Irish beauty...

two frotiers formed.... one side...
the cosmopolitan, readied to talk to women
in possible women in authority, etc.
whatever are the preferenfes....
i really adore the ROYAL: third person:
ONE might...
or the plural WE....
"genger plural pronouns":
not since the existence of the "crown":
i am subject to ol' Lizzies stipends!

i am her mouthpiece wherever she's:
not m'ah ******* grandma!
on zoom calll i was sked....   (scared, for sked)
what were British values....
i was asked....
i replied... universal?!
i passed some mythological...
Kennsington Test...
ooh p'ah! ******* hurah
join the Union Jack brigade!
who's kidding who?

              the red coats are coming!
last time i 'eard?
not enough of 'em are "coming"...
come to "think" of it: beside staring at goats...
"going": where?
do "we" need to "go" to Afghanistan
when... Afghanistan is coming to us?!

sorry... what?

two groups of people at Wembley...
mostly Asian men... an Asian rep...
& a group led by a Jewish girl...
talk of tortoises...
Sikh... Tamil... Sanskrit... men...
& women... ******...
Stalowa Wola: Iron Will... which is
an actual town...
Harry... the guy with tattoed hands...
Ewelina: Evaline...
**** me... another single mother...
how many more single mothers will i have to pass?!
i don't mind it:
ancient Rome replies with:
the surrogate father...
chances are...
i could be a bad genetic partner...
i wouldn't mind... raising children that weren't my own...
i swear to the only god available on such
matters...
he'd just nod approving me as
surrogate father...
to hell with it...
CORALINE - DREAMING...
ancient Rome sends you a postcard...
you'll reply?
        no? fair enough...
i could i wish i could...
a little: BAMBINO of my own...
bit then again...
investing in so much of my own...
what if... they are killed...
hell! ****** is one "thing"...
but what if by some stupid circumstance of
a traffic incident?!
ergo?
i very much like the idea of raising children that
biologically "belong"... ahem...
"elsewhere"...
not their souls, their minds.. though...
n'est ce pas?! VOU... that's not how
ALTHOUGH is assembled?
AUL: ALL.... VOU? it's not VOW...
ate the G... no, kiddy?

i love children... esp. those that are not my own...
i could love them & love them like
an Abraham... nein... i could love them like...
a god... i could love children in a way that...
mirrors.. the moment they arrive at...
exploring the game of:
hide & seek...
there was never any playground invoked
to summon: the game of bulldog...

i'm glad i have no children of my own...
more of my seeing and less of the eyes of my "choosing"...
petty tender heart-felts: demands...
i'd rather father the children of "unavaliable" fathers
than father my own...
ancient Rome is messaging you...
dearest...
   look how much easier it all becomes!
you raise someone else's child... but...
should said child die... become murdered...
erm... what of it?
a statistic... i feel no inclination to give a ****...
i invested in the mind... the soul...
the body can ***** itself to death...
as it does... but it's not my own...
i can be as much detached from its fate as is most purposively
ridden: to riddle me...
i'm glad to not raise my own!
it dies... it's murdered... do i care?
no... life replaces life... here we go: the grand
carousel... it's not like i have name like:
McKenzie or... McDougal...
so... no... no lineage... i'm a baron of the most
atomised of times... the individualistic
sanctity: real or supposed...

ancient Rome replies:
the negativity of single mother households....
compensated with... the freedoms of...
paternal surrogacy... give me a break!
ha! it's Eden! i come with not leverage of....
ownership! i owe nothing due to
the Darwinistic impetus!
i'd be freed from whatever is expected of me...
there are no investments...
in pronouns... might we:
the royal one?

ha!

it's no much easier to have children
that turn out to be girl...
ha!

i'd rather be a surrogate father to a "daughter"...
come to think of it...
i'd only want...
to be a father... to a son... biologically....
a daughter can...
Mayflower herself... or ***** herself all she wants...
from a father: unto a son...
like that "******": Matthew & Son (cat stevens)
or... "dreaming": Coraline...

the inquisitive cat... the teenage girl...
the "felix"... the Urdu... somewhat...
the inquisitive cat... kommen die nacht....
alles ist nacht...

if there's no democracy in poetry:
then there's no democracy at all!
maxim: non-la-rochefoucauld

ich würde, vielmehr: schreiben
etwas deutsche:
graswurzel, das ja!
the ******* need more you
ponce of a mongrel saxon!
better deutscheland grammar?
we had our "solistice"
time-out... welcome tomorrow...
no point leaving
a workaholic out for no
apparent reason: best bet?
"look busy"... ******* furlong's
worth of "short"...

jump that! y'ah ******* dwarf
bridge-gap brigade!
der hobbitenvolk ar kommen!
der hobbitenvolk ar kommen!
nicht die kirschemäntel... aber!
noch die "unerwartet":
zeppelinpumpernickelhoppla!
- why am i bound to the scotch
nationalists? oh... i lived among them
for over three years...
the celtic remants...
perhaps edinburgh would be
the new dublin...

christmas... it's such a german "ting"
like... that irish celtic tad woz
zee timez... C'U... C'U... no...
no L8ER...

but i managed! everything i served on
the plate and placed on a table...
the oven-cooked tatties...
the parsley snippets...
the carrots... the garlic...
the peppers... the red onions...

what the **** am i celebrating,
now? i'm pretty sure, that,
whatever it was... will fizzle out
come post-christmas hangover of a tomorrow...

and a buckling-load-of-****-of-europe...
the same islander "english" mentality...
euro-trash continent...
this... belly-button of the world
english mentality...
you wouldn't suspect it among
the welsh, the irish, the scotch...

perhaps the united kingdom can become...
the next yugoslavia under charles the III...
does he keep his name?
does he? London is long gone...
just as Danzig was long gone...
when Venice wrote the blueprints...
an ancient folklore of a city state...

******* just interrupted something...
no... it wasn't the Royal Ascot...
the horses, ran, ran and buckled...
broke some legs and not being able
to fall asleep standing: were put down...
the greengrocers of betting had their harvest...

we'll still have the top hats,
the champagne "socialism"... the CLASS...
oh you have to remember the CLASS / CASTE
pseudo-hindu "oops"...
england will still be...
what scotland and wales could be...
the less timid bits and pieces of...
what could probably hang in the air
as the new yugoslavia...

"problem" being... it's an island...
it's unlike iceland...
and it's quiet unlike new zealand or...
or... japan...
it's... when...
alt vati pommerschen...
flüsterte in der kinderwagen
auf sachsen, und sagte...

the ******* think you're going?
******* yew-tree quasi-nomad
of germania? you're an imitation
hebrew... or you're...
you're not a: bayerischverwandtschaft?

as yes, christmas only makes sense
now... drinking from the amber spring
of the baltic...
some scotch runes in: mash-up...
easy, easy...

i can use this, acquired, language...
but i know the ******* will have their Ascot...
die sächsischweg...
ants-in-their-pants...
and now "they" think they're settled...
post-colonial imperialism bound
to a nationalist revival...
so much for having no nostalgia...
akin to...

the battle of Tannenberg 1410 -
the date 680 by St. Wilfrid...
such a date... a northern crusade against
the last pagans of europe:
the lithuanians... **** me, i don't need
to paint... the lithuanians and the other
baltic folk... whatever the hell became of
the prussians: who weren't exactly treated
as germans by the teutonic collective...

oh i'll sing the carol songs...
i'll sing the crusader songs... hey! pronto!
i'll sing that... baby jesus doesn't really do it for me...
i'll go and visit Catalonia where
the name Jesus is diffused...
ends up a hey-zeus construct...
a H'ezeus etc.... and the party is over...

but i could celebrate christmas...
if it was in german...
i don't know why... perhaps it's riddling
a masochism remains with teasing
the whole: "wunderbar"?

better still... when europe is cited...
there's that black-hole europe...
there's that... cindarella of europe...
that "missing link"...
between what the balkans served up
in the 1990s... the collapse of the soviety union...
how the 2008 economic crash didn't really
affect this region...
von unter die eisenvorhang...

island people: shire folk...
hobbits... you know the sort...
very idiosyncratic...
one minute a russophobe...
next minute... exotica of the siberian ooh!
aah! i have lived on these isles for...
it's not worth stating:
a better part of my life...
but i have lived... among...
the scots, the irish...
i teased the welsh...
and in London? the tower of babel came...
come to think of it...
the english have sort of reacted like
vermin... you rarely see them...
perhaps in oxford...
of ****... pakistani **** gang there too...

my bet is... elizabeth is "dying":
no she's not... seen that ***** on roller-skates?
seen her pre-house-of-windsor
Saxe-Coburg and Gotha teeth,
chin... and... what the hell and other have
they almost made... insufferable
in it being: signatured? the teeth,
the chin... the eyes!

saxons... jews of the germans...
nomads of the north...
it's not like they ever moved with
a hope for adventure...
when a saxon moves...
he moves with a sense of investment...
he brings his reproductive tools with him...
no wonder there was a feud between
the germans and the "germans": the saxons...
this is... what could not possibly be...
the basic interpretation of england...
past the "chernobyl" of the norman invasion...
how celtic became saxon became
french... became... a ******* cocktail
cosmopolitan...
but the welsh still retained their:
Cymru...
there you go...
white cross on a black canvas...
pirates!
Wales and Cornwall...
dip into a ditto-esque whatever...

the remains of the saxons when the global
cocktail decided to send a postcard from
'ere minding the cockney shlang as:
the proper way to speak... Estonian...
eh?!

bewildered germans speaking...
i don't even know what i am speaking:
it's not much of an achievement if you're
speaking english...
you're bound to suffer from a variant of
flu or fluke or slang...
it's not exactly regarded as:
high esteem latin... or hebrew...

pauper Poland: "where i'm from"...
thank god it's omitted...
never in discussions...
by western "proletariats"...
cheap beer in Prague while... Warsaw?
sowwy... not enough bi-lingual
tour-guides and trout ******* mothers
from the caravan of Zappa...

and we will beg to differ...
i don't come from a people who would
celebrate being conquered by ancient rome
had to matter...
yet somehow i write in Latin encoding...
imagine if... Latin encoding was lost
akin to cuneiform...
but it wasn't...
i did, i truly did...
miss the glagolitic transition via
greek into cyrilic...

invader kin: these slavs these indo-europeans...
it ***** up the narrative of the origin seekers...
these modern, "protestant":
afro-europeans of the YEST...
i say: part of the gesticulation of jesting...

among the saxons who disavow their germanic
heritage... thinking they could somehow
replicate the polish-lithuanian commonwealth...
last time i heard...
just because the scotch speak english...
but keep their: wee part of the equation...
the welsh still speak their welsh...
pen dal i fyny uchel draig...

what's the difference betwen...
the medieval Lithuanian...
and the modern Welsh?
what doesn't allow this "union" to sink
into a second Yugoslavia?
h'american influences?
the... "commonwealth"?
at what point sharing a tongue is a plus...
when anyone can start reciting a Bruce Lee
film: kung fu action packed:
chop sui?

augusta III sasa and
marii józefy habsburżanki...
the house of ßaß...
saxons... again: the hebrew of the germanic people...
the nomads of the confederation...
they always... need... to... move!
and if you find them not moving...
they settle for pyramids...
and i mean: pyramids without Giza
reliefs of archeological "findings"...

but there's a massive gap...
between europe... that "bit" in the middle...
and russia...
russophobia is quiet funny...
i'd still prefer to speak german when
celebrating christmas...
after all... i did make a fickenumbringen
when it came to that alcoholic cake...
nein nein...
nicht ein königskuchen noch ein
stollen! keks... kegs...
a rumtopf!

oh i don't mind the natives...
who are the natives?
where the **** is alice?
parasites leeches... sächsischumgangssprache:
wo / wann sesshaft...
are the natives the welsh with their
retainer tongue kept intact like...
the scotch? the ire hell and fire 'reesh!
who does it take...
to speak to the natives of these isles?

just wondering...
because the saxons that remained...
and the saxons that left...
have a ******* in las vegas...
glory be to man to be the man
on the moon...
and all that...

i spent this christmas and...
i didn't buy anyone anything...
i just undermined myself...
when in england...
feel at home, during christmas...
talk some german,
some german outside of a saxon
influence of being the jew-german...
moving from place to place...
****: ja ja... ich "versammeln"...
nomadin / se-my'tine... deutsche "mischling"...

please excuse the saxons...
they are a... frivolous bunch of...
hobbit seeking elven folk...
the chinese crusade and medicinal ivory powder...
apparently: those ****-*****-base-*******-stinkers
will grow! they have size 11 feet and are...
5ft6 tall... walking on chicken nuggets then...
or stilts... or... that chinese harem of:
tied feet and toe "heels"...

oh i'm very much in england...
i can just soak myself in wild...
belligerent humour...
i've dropped any sense of irony...
it's ridicule on steroids...
but as long as there's an element of being
self-deprecating?

poland is the cindarella of europe:
hungary is worthwhile the better return of
being an: examplar reminder...
of how to deviate from socio-political norms...

black hole piece of europe...
then again: in between russia and the west...
there's some variation of an "interlude"...
which is neither west, nor east, nor central...

ensure you keep a **** in the orchestra...
so foul that it would make
a cat jump running...
giggling... turning on nazareth's
hair of a dog... being reminded:
there's a cow bell in it being towed...
and what choir spectacular didn't ever use
a castrato?

- because if i wanted to retain...
rhyme and a formality of this tongue...
how would i ever feel comfortable...
nothing of the spectacular...
the everyday myopia magic:
how umbrellas became mushrooms
in the fog grey forest of the urban
amnesia...
because i too tend to forget a Mozart...
when i find myself...
falling asleep to the sound of falling
rain on a tin roof...
violin begone! cello begone!
give me rain on a tin roof!

i'll be your Muhammad counting
the number of bones in a body...
truly and vividly so...
i can forget Mozart...
when i fall asleep...
while it's raining and...
the monotone gives me bliss...
the same note: on repeat...
on repeat.. on repeat...
nonetheless: it's still to be regarded
as a polyphony!

When the princess smiles, life is golden,
Wunderbar! Maravillosa!
Sunshine and simple things,
Happiness is bliss,
Blistering heat turns cheeks and blades red,
Cutting through the waves and sheets
Shattering the silence, the bed
Wha gwaan my ute, bless up yuhself empress, says the princes.
When you moose the midnight,
And love the soories.
Reminisce on the kiss,
Play the anthem for the princess

with no real reference to u2: i still haven't found
what i'm looking for -
which is music in a nutshell...

            hell... with all those guitar virtuosos...
to name a few... joe satriani...
                           john petrucci or steve vai...
but it wasn't what i was looking for...

   working backwards... something on the lines
of tom verlain...
      something: more laid back - guitar music:
sometimes lyrics are... bothersome -
              
           well... and the virtuoso music is simply:
a mood killer...
then the youtube algorithm starts
to glitch and fond memories of the jukebox
pop up like phosporescent moles...

            tommy guerrero...
                              no mans land...
                     a real shame to be writing anything
while this is playing in the background...
i'd settle for a wasp's nest of a head -
busy body me with both hands tied -
sipping a ms. amber in a corset and stockings
(bourbon) with some pepsi through
a straw...

                      i did think i was looking for
this something with egberto gismonti's solo...
apparently not...

   and for all its worth: the cut-off point...
i.e. what was once a calm revelation
of a lake...
becomes a frothing waterfall:

sometimes words are like bones anc concrete...
but me, being lazy...
                 teasing dyslexia or...
whatever...
                       you can say all you want
about... kevin spacey...
i'm not going to play the devil's advocate...
but...
                drift off... drifting off...
the required amount of prescriptive sleep...
no dreams...
i so too thought: i thought so too...
we wouldn't be buying sleep and dreams
over the counter...
big pharma excavations....

lester burnham...
and of course... kaiser sow'z'eh...
          sure... otherwise a kim novak /
     james stewart...

                      proper immigration:
send us your women... your ukranian... women...
and the brain-drain:
the best folk...
blah blah blah... blah blah...
what a load of...
glued to the concept of island:
easy to spot a border...
i guess...
                   it's always the carte blanches:
of a cate blanchetts and neurosurgeons
that make it...

no wonder... rewards in ***...
hmm... how about a genocide worth of *****
into a tissue... flushed...
gets the blood boiling...
Paris pre and during and "sort of"
after lockdown...
spike in female depression... no no...
this that and the other...

    so much more with... ****** and ***** banks...
i feel truly sorry for... women...
that will have to give birth to...
worker ants... construction workers...
not those pretty battersea shelter for
"stray" cats and dogs "nurses"...
i will  feel really sorry for the women
who will have to "forget"...
what's that term... hyper-... no...
  gyro- no... hyperbolic... no no nein!

hypergamy! yeah... and some women will
clearly not... up and up and more up...
if only i were a milkman's son...
a tiny little enclave... a stage...
the sea... the cliffs: i the next...
fisherman... the next trucker...

women of the world unite!
but this article... rage...
women don't need men:
of the same class - of the same dada venture...
the same dandies the same:
throws out a perfectly good electrical appliance...
because... "forgot" to check the plug fuse...
same ****... different cover...
all stereotypes... slavs are good workers...
all the plumbers and electricians
circa 2004 - 2018 were polacks...

everyone's a ******* poet over in:
englishland...
and a journalist...
and a whitney houston diva!
        well... no mistake there...
since all the n.h.s. nurses are dancing tiktok...
and...
i once thought it was: slavery...
unless: but i was... wrong...
about that well explained aspect of:
not a slave... but... rather...
being... conscientious...

          well... if you say it like that...
the ex-patriates who had tea with mussolini...
they weren't immigrants or:
high price of culture...
nor that anywhere west of the river Oder
experienced the cultural enrichment
of: that one-time-hit of mongolia and
the golden **** horde...
or that... some pakistanis still have a name:
muhammad... and a surname: khan...

it could be worse... it could be... much worse...
i could be... circumcised...

hell... have children: teach them how to ride
a bicycle: have them listen to mylo's
sunworshipper -
or stick around aging people...
walk up and down creaking wooden stairs...
and hear them snore...
while the bed lamp is still on...

with children and the fear of the dark...
with aging people and the fear
of death... and that's the middle ground
of focus...

royskopp - so easy - elevator music...
horror movie soundtrack:
nostalgia for the 1950s / 1960s
of the 20th century...
now... i can almost understand...
nostalgia for... circa:
the three muskateers...
         vikings...
                            but this sort of
nostalgia: "early on"... em...
the graveyard is the new musuem
with the added splash of al fresco artistry:
the wind, the shine, the peckish sparrows...
the rain...
the hot the cold...

'french single women were supposed
to be miserable on their own...
      thrilled from the pressure to hook
up' - adam sage...
          sage my st. augustine's sololoqui
burnt and smothered in sand-paper...
***...
            
   the world of *** toys and ***** banks...
and... casual joe says:
tables and chairs... brick walls...
buildings... magically popping up...
thin again! thinning air...

oh... i'm not *******... the french ladies
the english ladies don't really care much
for: women of the world unite...
press the war button...
otherwise an invasion is riddled
without bullets of rifles...
written on a postcard: wish?!
i'm coming over...

                     who's paying for the viewcount
of / and credibility?
heidegger and blue boy: remember me:
i'm asking... me standing before
the mirror - in half of adam's attire...
whithered: en vogue...

                  musik for the jilted generation...
heated debated looking for alternatives...

*** toys and ***** banks...
       white knights and... placebo hearts...
how i sometimes wish...
this was an abortion of a beethoven
and this was the medium of the grave...

i would much have better not been sold:
the child, the boy...
whatever that was circa up to the age of 21...
dress me up... in stilletos...
and horse reins and claps...
and tell me: plough this 'ere field...
better that... than the myth of the child of man...
that man is ever a child...
beside the lie in waiting...
tugged and pulled along...
    constipated / claustrophobic language:
that much i can understand...

i wish for having pristine:
leather like skin...
but since my skin: isn't doing my bidding:
that i am doing its (bidding)...
fur... living fur... cats for cuddles...
there's one sleeping in my bed...
right now: and i know that if i pick her
up... one of those bath floating ducks
playthings of a box of music of meows...

sensations: regarded as bone thinning...
and via tooth-loss inspired:
fwench kissing...

- junk-box of suprises - as random as a kandinsky
canvas or a burrough's paragraph...
better this kid achieved maturity
within the confines of an abortion...
than... this... one sure short: missing ******:
insert - ***** and ditto...
the constipated and less so:
islamic harem of the martyrs...
when three holes are given the liberal
shakedown...

to be shamed by *******:
when one isn't conscripted into
               circumcision: that flake
of living skin: the new niqab...
is like: the old, the new, the old...
moral compass of mommy kiss your cherubs
goodnight... **** daddy's **** prior...

wunderbar!
                    learn from spewing stewart...
learn a ditto: at least...
learn:
|
|
|
|  this is how you get a marker and decide
on how a paragraph begins...
cooking a slice of tender beef: aside...
into the beauty of a mid-western...
half baked cookies...
cookie dough jam: the ice-cream...
the crucifixions of no new tomorrow -
the same old... replica of constipation...
and... orthodox jews learning the violin...
like it's a slaughterhosue for horses -
and by miracle of the ching-chang-wall'ah...
prunes! prunes of the squirm!
lemon meets Paris...
meets... lemon meets...
a wine connoisseur... mr. lemon has
a busy schedule... all of asia... "practically"...
mr. lemon arrives in beijing...
                  suddenly the concept of batman
spawns... a centipede torso of...
availability of movement...

cul de sac protests! of course...
bag a cockerely and interrogate him in...
finnish!
it's as if... "they" almost forgot... to...
circumcise and castrate...
and have a 1UP on us... for that...,
much desired... quack!
choir of castrated oink voltaires:
no... those we call...

                    Sardinian...
                                 and tenors...
and: purple ******* sacks of a culmination
of a beard / stubble...
all bishop: all kosher... the voice!
the crescendo: better: unlike rain on
copper roof plating... tulips in goth...
goth: some would call...
strawberries: looking plump...
as juicy... and edible...
             come the cushions of a december
plough...
                  
            i much agree for the concerns
of the: seasonal dietitians...
root veg through winter...
the rest will follow: choir imperatives...
            
             tap tap... drum-roll: more chaotic...
and all the right: lost precisions...
akin to the enigma of:
the ballett of soft teasing snow...
come night and the toll of moon...
                  
            striding to find accents of heaven...
with worded: brush strokes of
the easily irritated fathomability:
bulk prize - it's still... a ******* square...
leaning tower of Pisa or cubism...
Picasso or no... Picasso...

all are waiting, the encore,
the alphabet... the encyclopedic entries...
suggesting: no banter for a worth if a wriggling
seance worth of shrapnel...
or that... arachnophobia:
and the scuttling spiders...
or the ones you touch... coin-flip...
limps stressed: tense... folded...
preteding to... play dead is all they ever do...

tommy the satire gun: ownership contra
worship... like... something from
a ***** universe...
before the sober judge...
before the sobering jury...
the drinking... "aristocrat" of accusations...
i drink... i drink...
because that's when i tend to scubadive...
skydive... i tend to spew: stew...
tell the truth... that drinking and listening
to music is one of those hazard free
"side-projects"...

        i find my heart among the sparrows...
such is their love for life...
i find my tongue among the crows
and magpies:
such is their critique of life: per se...
i find my feet in that magic carpet ride
of the widow swan:
a fate near impossible... nay...
completely: not near: impossible!
petting a dog for its worth of thick
cranium...
   circles galore! circles and circles...
this is not me stroking a leash...
or.. being fidget genius
over a muzzle...

        thumbs up: the ****...
                   more sparkle?
more colour? more dehydrated shrimp
paste? shrimp *****
and mr. lemon serves up:
an experience of tourism from beijing,..
mongolian squint eye:
squiggly noon ugh... sun...

warsaw the parade of ghosts and echoes...
esp. the underground
when the trains roll in from Kiev
and further east...
karma-alcoholic & cinderella "ulterior"
opt outs...
            by best decipher for ads...
i.e. counter... oculus per oculus:
eye for an eye...  shylock and i agree...
a violin for a violin...
a horse's mane for a bow...

                             better than: the end...
             ditto...
                            lady justice gave both her
eyes up... to pressure
a box into abiding by rules
of the guillotine...
  like hell: will this supposed soul...
this branch of learning:
psychology and the logic of non-existence...
ever...
because of how asthma and irregular
breathing... mr. itsy-witsy
and mr. boogie rain-man..

                             **** up and **** with
the readily available...
i'll watch...        a best canape of voyeurism...
is akin to: faking a pose of
atlas... when... performing the banality
of the metaphor of sisyphus.

in terms of ontology: all is permitted,
given that so much is left,
dangling upon a damoclean
                         thread of a single
horse hair...
                            of the unexplored:
ontology is a waiting game,
with what, already is,
   a fixation on the constraints
of: ex simiae:
                       hence my approximation:
**** similis...  
    it's still a desire to preserve
a base, an origin story transfixed by
the use of fungus...
      accidently swallowed a mosquito:
suddenly grew a ******* pinocchio...
and somehow, slyly:
fixating on keep the libido
                                     momentum...
that's crucial, that the momentum is kept...
yet i wonder...
     racism:
                       poland vs. senegal was
the first game when the rams bothered
to clash horns...
       oh i can be crytical when i see it
through a lense of: crypto-nationalism...
unlike the romance of the noble prize
being given to Milosz...
            economic migration background:
i'm not allowed to romance about it...
there's no "grand" furore to mind,
no expectation,
           and certainly no: bending the knee
of the hosts...
  ****! from calling them natives
i'm starting to think in american terms
of hosts...
                  given i'm an alien "body":
                 more or less a thought, prior;
but that was the first instance of
deviating from playing out the sport,
poland vs. senegal...
            ******* europe versus a people
who know of europeans...
                            belgians and the congo...
slim afro beauty that she was...
no wonder...
               could almost say the *******
came when i felt my frontal pelvis
bones was sore after she
                rammed her coccyx onto me...
but outside the realm of serving
seductive cocktails while playing
          cedric 'IM' brooks'
                                     satta masa ganna...
no, i'm just curious about
the dynamic, behind a word such as
racism...
   and language in general...
           who are the people who use
a first tier definition of a word?
          i'm sure language is as loose as
well oiled spaghetti in imitation of
a pit of snakes...
           and yes, the linguistic atomists
(akin to myself) who care to mind
                          diacritical exceptionalism
in uttering a micro-seance
      prior to a syllable... notably via
ü (the classical umlaut)
               and what could become an
applicability of orthography in english:
with, oh so many examples in need of
being addressed:
             namely: from pout,
               came pút,
                                pool
                           ­             (pül),
                and the disguised vowels
of english: putter versus a patter...
  the subtle elongation of the A
  in a: pāt on the shoulder...
i already know that my suggestion is
too impractical to be ascribed
a subsequence with a towed effect
being ascribed...
           but at least there's the observation,
in the open.

  with this one particular word,
what is it: from zenith to nadir,
  or from a nadir to a zenith?
    definition 1.
             first, or           definition 3. first?
vocab. inheritance tax...
or just mindless fronting concerning
the affair?
    
is it a priori:
   1. a belief or doctrine that inherent
  differences among the various human
racial groups determine cultural
or individual achievement,
  usually involving the idea that one's
own race is superior and has the right
to dominate others or that a particular
     racial group is inferior to the others

or 3. hatred or intolerance of
               another race or other races                 ?

seems rather contradictory that
there could be such a priori complexity
to begin with, to be inherent...

zenith / nadir
                   a priori / a posteriori
dictum would suggest
  that: definition no. 3 is a priori...

while definition no. 1 is a posteriori...

    which also allows a psychological
dimension and
    the Freudian-Jung dynamism to
"explain" the proton, neutron, electron,
egg shell egg white, yoke,
               sclera, iris and the pupil
dynamic invoked by the psyche-dissection
into compartment
of a consciousness,
                    a sub- and an unconscious...

definition no. 1 can't be a priori:
it's too worded to make sense of
what an a priori statement looks like,
i.e.: 1 + 1 = 2.

an a posteriori statement?
               given that 1 + 1 = 2 is an a priori
statement?
                                    √-1...
   ­  lo and behold!
             you get a letter! as substitute to
the meddling in numbers...
     and then from i, to iota,
                       and the concept of a pronoun
in english (gender neutral) you go...
                              wunderbar!
                ­       ja...
because you can begin with an:
a, b, c, d, e, f, g, h, i...
                  clearly there's a priori
favour, to subsequently allow
a loss of explanation with a 1 + 1 = 2...
inheret bother:
      because when wasn't
         arithmetic ever akin to spelling?
the frequency of the letter-usage
compared to numbers?
      
              do you call the mann unable
to count or spell:
at the same time blind
            and deaf, synonymous?
what definitions behind a word
do you use?

what tier of a word are you making
                           allowances for?

using tier no. 1?
        or using tier no. 3?
   how can you even allow
an "ambiguity" of secondary tiers
of red...
               given there's no celtic ginger...
and shouldn't tht belong among
painters who can actually
see past the writer's daltonism,
  or x-ray in teutonic schwarz und weiß...

   a sch't'ern tongue:
          among, platzieren ziegel von die rot
                von Marienburg...

what is the dictionary "ambiguity"
of red?
            
            one subsequent definition is:
BLAH!

               so we've established word
that acribe to tickling a thesaurus
ambiguity...
    but sure as **** there are some,
rigid, orthodox, words:
that can be used, un-acriptive
of a challenging authority
wishing upon it a counter-usage...

  i was born a pollack,
i acquired english:
            god forbid i don't die german!
hence all this crypto-nationalism
*******...
      i am a crypto-nationalist,
given that a nation is a cryptic,
quasi-noun suffragette...

             ich, werden sterben ˈjərmən!
point being: i'm hardly welcome...
        but death is hardly
a grieving mother,
               rather, a welcoming *****.

i've "said" enough,
  question is...
                                 have i drunk enough?

.i can assure you, i don't speak with the same language i write with, being  bilingual, and not some peacock polymath, i do not use this language in my private life... hence? i don't have to play a privacy game, akin to the schizophrenic internet / "real world" (internet banking / shopping?) scenario... i just switch my language... English remains intact online and among strangers... and it's not many English speakers will learn the western Slavic tongue, either... win win.

the "miracle" cure of english
psychiatry, composed of
a speaking, "therapy"?
why isn't the old concept
of pen-palls ever revived?
   can we allow, space, for patients?!
can't we allow for
                 a laps of time?
why was Anne Sexton,
Sylvia Plath, "prescribed" writing
cures...
     mild coal miners of ink?
who the hell needs talking cures?
is talking really any medium
for the allowance of a, "cure"?
i can't believe in talking therapy...
too much nuance,
too many deviating ******
expressions...
         and... **** me!
   the implosion of the psychiatric
practice of dogmatic
   regression-ism...
i.e. implanting false memories
into someone...
i've had that... wunderbar
practice!
  don't **** someone with
pharmacology... instead?
   implant fake memories into them!
with a passive form of
persuasion!
     talking therapy is CRAP!
*******!
       ****-HIT-THE-FAN!
**** MY BIG TOE PRETENDING
IT TO BE A *******
8 YEAR OLD'S PHALLUS!
  *****-****-mother!
what do i believe in?
  talking will not solve it...
    writing?
        to see the face of god,
is to also appear within the medium
of a reciprocation allowing
itself an audience of a shared
experience...
        there was never any talking
therapy...
  to begin with...
          talking sometimes requires
the art of sophistry,
rhetoric, to begin the architecture
of a "solipsistic" membrane...
  writing doesn't suppose this
coordinate, since it presupposes it...
   talking is for idiots,
writing, for those who retain
an article of faith, within the confines
of the multi facet theater
of doubt, without an outright
operatic "inconvenience" of negation...
who thought that talking therapy,
or CBT (cognitive behavioral therapy)
would ever work?
   if the basis of CBT is solely
focusing on the quick-hand of
speech?
  if CBT is to work, you'd also need
a SLP (speech-language pathologist)...
supposedly psychiatrists
are learned listeners,
quasi-priests,
   in the secular confessional
booths of sinless confessions...
and yet...
english teachers,
giving grades to pseudo essays,
listen more,
   to their pupils,
having to relax to some miles davis
in the meantime...
     talking "therapy"
is absolute *******...
     if this pseudo-medical profession
becomes nothing more than
corner-street drug pushers,
doesn't escape the "talking cure"...
and doesn't revert back
to pen-pall ergonomics,
   a Hippocratic oath,
beginning with, patience?
   **** them...
              CBT begins with an exchange
of writing...
   speaking to one another
is the last resort...
    an exchange of writing is
allowed a leisure "activity" of
engagement in one's own
periphery...
               allowance...
   not without the stress of...
       the allocated time,
     and the necessary "socialism"
of minding others,
of the similarity of shared problems...
   for a hyperventilating heart,
to drop a heart-shaped stone
into the sea of contradictory emotions...
and wait for
   the oysters to spawn.

what social stigma about wearing masks?
well... in all honesty...
i do feel kind of stupid wearing
latex gloves and a surgical mask...

i am, not, a surgeon...
     where's the body to find an atlas
of my arms?
    nowhere... exactly!
       i was almost punished into wearing
a mask outside...
i started thinking of halloween...
where is my devil mask...
where is my... madre muerte mask?

but what of the social "stigma":
the conspiracy theory and tin-foil hats
and waiting for the sputniks
of the whittle green-men?

social stigma...
                 ha! i quiet like it...
i can what all the women dodging
physiognomy affairs have done...
since at least 700AD...
   i can't look this "affair" as a social
stigma concern...
i just... pretend... there's a niqab vacant...
any distinguishing features...
oh yeah: that beard will just not fold
in under a surgical mask...

then again: what i wouldn't...
but otherwise do...
with a devil's mask...
               right about now...
             suffocating in...
               or rather... exfoliating with...
show me the proper gimp suit!
the old halloween should have
mattered...
       oblitarated by...
caughing... everything looked so serene
when Chernobyll didn't have a will...
but at least...
there are no side-effects...
akin to lilac mushrooms growing out
from under armpits and between
toes...
a hideous affair...

                          otherwise...
one almost wishes for there to be symptoms
more potent... more visible...
not this... shy flu...
  this: headshot and dropping dead...
like those victims of john allen muhammad...
i'm not hearing anything about...
bubonic plague blossoms...
leprosy flakes... mushrooms willing
to grow in man's armpits... lilac...

the evolution of a virus... well...
let's mind the aesthetic...
and let's mind... the evolution of the virus...
of not exposing itself as immediately...
evident... there are no apparent...
"facts"... only subversive narratives...

       i don't mind wearing a surgical mask...
i do mind that there is no surgury for me
to undertake...
i promise you: even Dickens could
waste a paragraph on this sort of:
self-congragulating... pompously formal
language refrains...
or what-not...

        all i'm saying...
if death was baptised with: the great anonymity
of the communist gulags...
no numbers even to date... to unearth...
then "the virus" was giving into
the great aesthetic of turning into stealth:
covert...

           in that self-replicating perfection...
by god: to have only a tsunami to see...
or an earthquake to feel...
or follow the herd nihilism and fatalism of
Pompeii...
         but there are no lilal mushrooms
growing from my armpits...
no bogus pillows of fuss
when pierced turning into... sparkle of
the communication highway of...

      the next lick of the post-stamp...
the stampade of: clickbait: sent sent sent...

"how soon is now?"
  well i've been using female deodorant...
and reading poems by colts...
16 year old boys in first time loves...
and i'm beginning to become...
very... fond of female deodorant... dove...
esp... since it equips me with
a scent of soap... under my armpits...
which is such a neutral scent...
and there's nothing sporty...
or masculine about it...

             i'll just baptise my hands
in the earth... as i garden...
and feed into the concept of: esq. as borrowed
from the victorian period...
and... forget to read the newspaper...
most probably the times...
that centrist... right? i guess right...
magic-"thought"-machine...
but the weekend comes and the opinion
columns come in...
and there's this restaurant critic...
with two houses...
one in London and one in the Cotswolds...
and i am...
                     there's no...
     basement or a single mother...
            there's no attic...
i would love to have an ed gein little brother
handy to go... kite-running...
or chasing mice...

     this is the newspaper of me being...
"best... best-of: besting" a crowd of the...
ahem... "well-informed"...
     i am a restaurant critic...
        i am not...
                    i much appreciate the old halloween...
if they could see us now...
i see the devil... and he's... only a dumb...
irritating b'aah b'aah... trembling at the gown
before losing it... knee high...
to a ****-it-all-carousel ride up
an imaginary everest...

            i will have to think about about
squandering handshakes...
but of course i will not...
i'll see it an acre ahead of me...
a possible suspect...
so i cross the street...
and in all this glory of british idiosyncracy:
i can become as weird as i want to...
what... with stories of people purposively
coughing... sneezing... spitting...
on key-workers...
  and all the other workers...
the idle... membrane caste...
the office paper-parasites...

                    of the work most terrifyingly
viable... and... necessary...
oh the woe of insinuation that...
they can indeed stay indoors...
because: such is the demand for them being
preoccupied with "professions"...
such "important" very "important"
hobbit-people...

      the surgical masks are go!
i've been so... so ******* jealous of playing
Batman every time i saw a niqab strolled
casually... i can finally be what i've always
wanted... a ***** of Muhammad's harem...
i can... start considering a tortoise shell
like a... like a... stained glass fraction piece...
to fit it with burning embers of replicated
quest for: gesticulating devotion...
fit the riddle with singing chandeliers
and... calcium... a pouch rock of the most
necessary fiddle-with...

the ****'s up with american-english...
and a surname...
i hear it... first time... probably the last time...
'coal-bear'... o.k. i type it in..
coal.... bear...
   wait... no... wait... this is not a joke...
this is not some 16 year old's love... frenzied fancy...
it's gavin mcinnes...
coal... bear...
      must be a canadian "thing"...
it's still not a joke...
keeping up appearances...
   it's mrs. beau-kay...
            beau-             -qay...
McfuckingQee...
     one of those nookie incidents...

is that the one where...
the H is a surd...
and Bill gets the preferential roman
empire treatment of: m'ah: air...
or "mayor"... or... mÆr?
           marr... merr... myrh... fff... fff...
   "coal-bear"...
mrs.: bucket(t): yes the added T because...
hell... samuel... beckett...
        col-bert!
                  col........... bert-rand ru-ß-ell!
ha... the germans will never see this one
coming... sure sure... the... digraph of S und Z...

what about the digraph or R and Z?
in... oh... the e.g. of schwarz?!
i'm no german but... the ß is a little bit: "devoid"...
looks like we need a russian roulette...
schwarц!

             w'ah w'ah... volkswagen:
                 woo... wearisome: verily though...
why this... pandering to the francophones...
coal-bear... am i... DEAF... or something?!
colbert...
              ah... if it's not coal-bear...
but... simply: colbert...
it's like someone with a surname...
smith... or: kovalski...
          what cow?
                   ******* excesses of anglo-saxon
immigrant leftovers of phonetic
schlomo slang...
                     what's wrong with a distinct
and pristine... crisp piece of paper tow
of an ending with T...
oh forget the R... the tarantulla bit you:
you tongue is numb... you will not find the trill
of the R, ever... again...

- and the trouble the punk is that...
the cool kids: the gatekeepers...
and... what's "allowed" and what "isn't":
that mojo ****-fest of...
come before the court of the crimson king...
can-do...
C = K...
            but... calipathe isn't exactly a (k)nife...
since... the latter is a surd...
a greek rubric:
                            ψ = π = σ = "sigh"...
but not really...
              ψychology...
                      in that... ψyχology...
"C"overt... and a chimera...
but not a... CHeat!

                  i could never fall in love with punk...
sure... high fidelity...
and... stiff little fingers... the end...

                 Calvin Klein...
                      if... once upon a time...
all it took was a ****** to woo
the spontaneity... now there's a blue...
chequers and chase?
can i please become
the next... "next": Garrincha...
and become a ****** again:
and lose "it": to the goat... like he did...
or to a cow... standing upon...
a peddlestool?
or the stone that... Sysiphus rolled up
that vanity avenue of a...
hill?

the intricacies of a fly biting:
but first regurgitating its juices...
to slurp up the digestive puddle first...
i say... who would need any exposure
to bone: to later wither in a proclamation
of a shmile... better the puddle of
the stomach: intuitively...
laid before you...
all that's required is the milkshake...
and the slur(r)-p'ah!

******* ideologues of darwinism...
so worried about their hard-ons...
they shun the alcoholic goldfish...
for... a ditto-head paradigm...
     to boast about the ape...
always with those apes...
there is never... any... mention of
the nobility of swans or of rooks...
or the motherhood of whales...
it's always with those... ******* apes!

i like the sound of mimic...
involuntarily conscripting the volume of...
bugs... i like the sound of...
toasting... crunching...
"slimey"... yet... "satisfying" sushi...

ha ha... mr. colbert... no no... apologies!
coal-bear!
mr. colbert, n'est(-ce) pas?

again: to reiterate...
no... nein nein nein...
one of those "et tu" scenarios?

tout de ce?!
                 arm-band... a dragon
for the yield:
           Çymreag...
       as i am past looking up...
the h'american *******...
because i've been regurgitating its...
cultural "woke" with so much...
so much of what's otherwise...
the whittle oasis of europe...
this chinese libersation
army of microbes...
has allowed "us" to...
put a... sinking sensation of the last
h'american export enterprise...
youtube videos...

           because i love each and every
language: so...
that comprise... this... well...
established... lack... of... egoistic...
cuckerry (with viagara aids)...
lucky for me...
the brothel: bei der bereit!!!!!

any english is better than the english...
spaghetti twiting its way out
of the confines of... h'america...
   yes: dear citizen leader...
yes... citizen king... yes yes yes!
yes: before we get to speak to the president!
there's a membrane of mcdonald's to
sieve through!
yes... mr. here: yes mr. right!
oh yes: mein mein "j.f.k." my raynold:
reginal... raymond and knline and keagan...
and my... reagan!

              yes my wall in berlin...
yes my: eisenvorhang...
ja: meine siliziumpäpstin!
ja! ja! wunderbar!
                   beifall! gründlich beifall!
teufelzirkus!
perhaps... the essential gratification
could have come with...
the slowed down blitzkrieg of
the blitz cloud over London...

                   aber...
                                     what zeppelins?
this borrowed tongue...
and its host...
    to speak... so freely a whittle bit of german...
a crumb of it... in this... peacock garden
of the inverted satellite state and...

i was alone as i walked past
the union jack and i aided my shadow to
concern itself with a reply...
you wouldn't want to think it...
but i think it, nonetheless....
there is no more brilliant concern for
the entity of flags...
in this world... beside...
the union jack...

             what a keeper this ol' jack o' all
trades!
               i'm sorry... my venture from
Galicia teasing ends... here...
on the unionist parade of an ol' 'ipper...
because: god forbid i would become
an albino: integration sensation under
the 'tars and 'anner...
or whatever the name is...
'tars and 'tripes: no?

              vivid... the... insult served upon
the... whereabouts of the wind-hunters...
the Persians and the Greeks...
it's almost like: breathing backwards...
or finding carbohydrates in choking!

because the gravitas is there!
it's not enough to simply allow zeppelins
to drop bombs...
so much more: soul infuriating
a counter-blossom:

that white is: weiß
that black is: schwarц...
         burden my soul for this avenue of
the egomaniac saxon...
the pauper swabian lot of... "Überbleibsel"...

and unlike "our" h'american counter-parts...
we do feast on a "good fight" with...
hands... and the arithmetic of knuckles...
rather than egoism and ******* measurement...
and that long-forgotten backbone
of the... "weltbürgerwahlspruch"!

so much... "arbeitnotwendig" in...
the... vicinity...
  arbeit?! was arbeit?!
         ghost buses?!
                    "necessary"...
parading uniforms?
        that's... work... yes?
                     by the looks of it...
3/4 is not necessary... work... as work is
to be exaggerated...
        abflusseskapaden...
or poaching the seal that... claps...
for the future of the already emptied
theatre!

social stigma...
surgical masks... no surgery apparent...
well i just look at the good sisters of islam
wishing us the 11th plague of god
and all those concerns for the righteous living
through this "tsunami"...
and i'm... given the sort of solace that shouldn't
be required... as i... pretend to imitate
donning a ninja-niqab!

what's the difference
between
    garbage - #1 crush -
wumpscut - torn skin
and...
guns 'n' roses:
        rocket queen?
different hard-on
for the subsequently
variant day?
you'll have
to talk to me
   in more synch...
  i look at paintings,
i then look
   at a blank canvas,
one that i'm about
to emplopy phonetic
encoding onto...
and i'm like...
    pol ***'s mountain
of ash
   and ink, yes?
i just want
the screwdriver's worth
of pain
to ***** in -
          schmerz:
sh-mer-zzzz
  you can buzz that
end, can't you not?
let's leave listening
to conspiracy aside...
let's focus on...
  why did they march
andrei chikatilo...
into a cell...
and shot him
in the back of the head?
so... no firing squad...
done-in
in a prison cell...
so...
this is the part where
you tell me
about the urban myth
of the marie antoinette
cockroach:
   as to how it can
live without a head
for two weeks,
before it dies from
starvation...

the execution of
andrei chikatilo,
in that cold cell
in Ukraine...
**** me... take me there,
that's my Disneyland...
i want to experience
the trapped
groaning and moaning,
relieved by
the silence,
of the execution space.

feeling electricity?
you know...
they don't tell you...
the pain?
the pain from
being electrocuted?
it's, numbing...
electrocution numbs
you,
via Zeno...
  since it's paradoxical...
in that it numbs
you...
but also excites you...
ever been
electrocuted
on the sly?
mildly?
   it's like...
      
            like...
       teasing two magnets
apart,
or together,
the pain is so...
piquant...
it's so rare...

  after watching so much
******* as i have...
you start to revel
in "forbidden" pleasures,
rarities...
something less -esque
lucian freud...
and more francis bacon...

while you grow a beard
to only deal with
a tic -
of an inability:
to not scratch the protruding
*****
growing on your face...

i grew up having
to experience ******
examples...
   sorry... petting a dog
was always going to be
more fun...
  see... i don't get it...
you can have a perfectly
suited ******...
   spending, all day,
licking pieces of paper,
then pretending
to do the scissors...
on the "cut" mark...
all day...

   and then he'd see you,
and hug you like
he was about to squeeze
all of the life out of you...
hug you in
a "burleqsue" variant
of love...
  'can i return to
hugging my shadow,
"petting" a cat,
or grieving
  owning both a dog,
       and a leash?'

  no, when the fact being:
this ****** came from
a family,
whereby the original
"god-the-father"
   had an ******-riddle
relationship
with two sisters...
so... i'm supposed
to feel bad, anti-critical,
orthodox,
the be the sacfred ground
type of anathema?

       the same ****** could
walk the dog,
but all he ever did,
was pretend to be a pair
of scissors...
he could cut up
a newspaper,
with not sharp objects
available...
like a ******* guillotine!

- but not when
human perfection is
relegated...
   and human degeneracy
is given prime agency...

- i'll only entertain
owning a dog...
if i don't have to employ
using a leash...
or a (kaganiec): muzzle...
that's why i don't
like petting cats...
there are no obstructions...
sure...
one will snuckle into
my chair, for about an hour...
but once i've drunk enough,
and take out a cigarette...
she's ready to be rid of me...

petting a dog?
that would be fun,
to train it to be equipped
with a freedom,
that would not force
me to employ a leash,
or a muzzle...

that's like...
better than stating
a frivolity for the need
of a girlfriend...
hands down:
  if i could own a dog,
and not employ
   either a leash
or a muzzle...
that would be like...
owning an exotic bird...
in an environment
of crows...
  but no birdcage...
by then,
that would be... ******* magic.

- i stopped going
to martial arts classes...
when some disciple,
managed to kick me in the groin,
after i refused
   to HA with every movement...
kicked in the *****...
folded into a foetal position...
i heard no sorry...

so here's me...
comparing
   garbage - #1 crush -
wumpscut - torn skin
and...
guns 'n' roses:
        rocket queen...
"thinking" as to why
the Ukranian
police shot
   andrei chikatilo
in the back of the head,
in a prison cell...
   and...
  the urban myth
of a decapitated
cockroach living
for a further 2 weeks...
after the stated fact...

i was only prompted
by the christine chubbuck
scenario...
  it's not like
this happend via
the hollywood edit process
of: shot in the head,
immediately dead...

what happened
to christine chubbuck
gave me access
to the execution
of andrei chikatilo ...
after that,
it was easy...
              wunderbar!
now i know...
that being shot in the head,
does not serve you
an immediacy of death...

christine chubbuck -
andrei chikatilo:
why was he shot
in the back of the head,
in a prison cell?

with events like this...
who the hell needs
to visit disneyland?

1984...
funny year...

that's in the future, right,
the future where
i'm in no part to blame
for any active agency...

no... мы...
           no zamyatin...
modern day politics,
*******
        boney m and
ra- ra-
   rhapsody in b-putin
minor...

     mw'y...
вы - vw'y...
   Y, yes, that hollowed
out iota...
pasture of the sign
of the cross...
lost among
the W and the Ł...
            
but in the days when...
i am...
    born... innate...
with a distrust for politicians...
i am also
to entertain
an innate prejudice
against... journalists?!

please tell me...
at what moment
(if not already)
     i am to, not...
differentiate
the journalist from
the politician?

                at no point?
sorry, i'm a bit slow...
1984 happened
in 20- thereby or so
a year... with me being
two years shy of existence...

suits...
i see suits grieving
being allowed
their rhetorical
   wunderbar!
  sharpen than knife,
herr meißel...
              the ****** *****
epidemic of westen bərˈlin
(ja, ə no
        boar / bore leen)...

how much *******
           "hollowing out"
do you need,
to require an Y become an
I?
           i count to three...
you... cúnt to tow,
or two...
   as in:                  count...
ú is a: pool table
for the saying...
'arp as a cue,
but no queue in mind...
i.e.: ******* coont...
Maine... ****...
                       breed of cats...

complete with citations
of Orwell...
like...
      there is something
inherent in me,
whereby...
            i feel, most inclined...
to not wish to be here...
are you too feeling
some tickle
of the said sentiment?

- but i'm here,
and luck, is no charm,
as neither is...
giving citations borrowed
from Shakespeare...
nor will schizophrenic
paranoia play a part...
they're out to get me,
and i'm in no mood
to get anything,
apart from...
the thrill of the mob...
and a raw herring...
soaked in brine...
later dipped into some
sour cream and gherkin sauce...
eaten like...
that time when a *** ate
what he forgot was supposed
to be... a take on...
investigating the practice
of sushi... on the shoreline
of the Baltic sea...

and its... "people"...
       oh don't worry...
i can dehumanize myself,
just fine...
but such a curiosity cannot
simply go...
   sterile for so long...

   1984...
sorry... what year?
          its like:
people keep citing and citing
that one work of
effort,
to the point where:
stop citing it,
i'm living in...
what was supposed
to be the, "current" year...
        that wasn't supposed
to be: the year in tow...

        and that's not even
the year i was born into,
with the inflation
of a dead come to an end
soviet society pact
for the satellite states
with its: hyper-quasi-Zimbabwe
type of inflation
ergonomics...

      what the **** is this...
always look at the pauper
for any worth of a sentiment
for doubt?!
             juggernaut-kiss-***
*** beg-for-***...
   and then...
in a distance... an angelic choir...
less to assure you
a good-night's sleep
and more...
pseudo-amphetamine inducing
insomnia of...
left, shattered,
and riddled
(don't forget the riddled part)...
the sand baron of
theology stood his ground...
and chose...
his... corpus caedis...
    
now you expect a crescendo
of a juggling act...
suppose...
        i have any russian
in me...
   the ****-nick
of the solistice of me
throwing a dinner plate
in a row over domestic
functions of the atom, and family?

what then?
i pray to caesar:
vis, mors subita...
     only, (a) sudden death.

i cannot shed light
on the parlance
between the fake throng,
the partriarch
and his deadbed...
              as much...
as i'd like to shed light
on...
dying... in the hands
of Aisha (abi bakr)...

   i already known my
meine gedacht...
mein schatten...
meine freunde...
mein charon...
            ich sterben
mit die sohle
   trost,
          auf meine
sohle krank...
                              misch!    

bride, bed, willow...
and all the eerie
chimes...
of  the wind...
killing patience...
playing
an attempt at... flute!