She cries with the force of the stampede
That killed Mufasa, and I forget the
Viking blood that runs through us.

Weakness on display is a sign of strength.
She is the strongest person I know;  
Does almost everything without

Me. Barely cries about it afterwards,
When hindsight lets her see what she's
Been through.

Wake up, little heart; your nightmare is
Over. Fall back asleep in arms that
Care.

Listen: It's not raining anymore.
She calls out to me like air raid sirens
Over a city dark with enemy aircraft

Wings.
But all is quiet now.
Nothing harder than drops of

Water ever fell.
Sleep. Sun upon cloudless skies will
See you smile, drowzy; unalone.

.   classical music is so outdated, when it comes to exposing children to it, for them, to then, later in life, reap the benefits of "increased" intelligence... oh look... they took down xenomorph's satan's presence video... the one with all the great artwork, including exponents of Goya and Dürer, and... Adolphe-William Bouguereau's masterpiece: Dante and Virgil (the onlookers)... shame, really...  because who said that children can't keep count, when listening to psy-trance electronic music, attempting to keep count, rather than understand violin, brass, or woodwind melodies? not me... there's an upper echelon, of music, sure, it's a hyper-inflation of African drum culture... but it's there... and, like me... some ******* just need to be pulverized by the beat.

problem with the alternative to rolling tobacco -
akin to chesterfield brand...
    when compared to golden virginia?
the tobacco is drier -
                  you need to squeeze it between
your fingers, to get some juices flowing...
and i've heard a lot of ******* in my days...
but that rolling papers,
are somehow different to the cigarette wrap,
as the reason why...
   a rollie will die off if not smoked,
but a cigarette will not?
     it's not the papers...
   it's the to(e)-ba(h)-khh-khh-co(e)...
high quality rolling tobacco is fresher...
slightly moist...
    akin to golden virginia...
   but a brand like chesterfield?
   dry like **** about to give you
          an imitation circumcision...
you actually have to squeeze the ****
brown **** to get an adequate
rolling technique going...

never mind that though...
  **** me! i've been looking for this scenario
since time immemorial...

(current year, England...
   when was it permitted,
for a neighbour, to tell another neighbour,
where, and when, he can smoke
a cigarette on his property?
when?!
         i have the neighbourly decency
to not walk ****-naked into my garden,
subsequently scratching my ***,
and then jerking off anything
but chicken in full view...
  but where, i can smoke a cigarette?
this is England...
             i compromised -
   but she can't have, the *******, night!)

ah... the su doku observation!
i've been looking for it for years...
   no. 10,044

0  0  0  1  2  7  0  0  8
0  8  0  5  6  9  0  2  4
0  0 ­ 0  4  8  3  0  0  7

     the common problem with
people solving this puzzle,
is that they start thinking of...
   fractions: namely?
   only two alternatives, rather than three...

i've seen my father's notation
sometimes, 1 / 5              i.e. or
    9 / 3
                      etc.
in the English, catholic, teaching methods
concerning basic mathematics of
Pythagoras - you were required
to find, 3 points...
  to draw a straight line (just to make sure) -
well...
        unless that third point
a liquor store, going AB      BA...
      sure...
              but drawing a straight line?
never mind

0  0  0         0  0  1    |  0  0  8      via      (  x  )
0  0  0   i.e. 0  5  9    |  0  2  4                 (  y  )
0  0  0         0  0  0    |  0  0  7                 (  z  )

i needed a matrix answer... and i fiddled
one out!

( 5  9  9  5 )
( 1  1  1  1 )
( 9  5  5  9 )

              there simply can't be an alternative
to where 1, is supposed to be placed
on the grid...

0  0  0         0  0  1    |  0  0  8
0  0  0   i.e. 0  5  9    |  1  2  4
0  0  0         0  0  0    |  0  0  7

i've surprised myself -
       which is even more gratifying...
than i'm slightly tipsy -

0  0  0
0  0  0
0  0  0           (what's that?
                     spatial coordination,
for said, example).

have to coin a phrase for this discover...
ah... the su doku third coordinate,
of a straight line... #howlin'wolf'sblues:
could been a spoonful' of sugar...
ah... **** never gets old.

cheap write *******:

i almost wish i was bitter - but as i'm ageing -
it's not so much bitterness - a woman in her 60s
will say about her son:
well he's sorted his life out,
he's in his early 30s, has a job,
a wife, two children...

this man... has "sorted" his "life"...
more like when darwinism meets
existentialism -
hardly a sorted life -
a sorted life by ape standards -
not keikegaard's standards: if any...

it's not about bitterness -
but i would be more inclined to say:
early 30s, wife, kids... mortgage...
the rollercoaster is just about to start...
the kids: oh sure... cute...
until they start having a mind
of their own...
and... they will betray the senile
old fool that will come,
eventually...
and off to broadmoor with 'im!
life sorted... when the children could
almost be treated as pets...
fine! fine...

it's not out of bitterness -
i'm thinking... more on the lines:
i'm getting my years tally too...
i'm getting used to my own "solipsistic" routines...
it's not out of bitterness:
it's out of having my own routines:
my own idiosyncracies -
that i will take two ciders for a walk
(perhaps a dog would be better) -
and my shadow -
and take two home and drink them
with a tease of brandy -
and want to get to that sweet k.o. point
come 12am so i can,
wake up: frisky and fresh like a sparrow
full of song come 8am...
well... that's me...

i can imagine how symbiosis happens when
you shackle up with someone
in your early 20s...
forget doing it in your 30s...
my ship / my train has sailed... a long time ago...
i still can't find anyone i could
speak to about philosophy -
and to be frank? i hope i never will -
not now - when i wanted to talk about it:
no one -
now it doesn't matter -
because i don't want to talk about it...
i might slide in a sly ref. to something -
but... the aspirations for conversation
on these matters are... i would just tell someone
to buy a self-help book and kindly *******...

if women: hit the wall...
i've reached my impasse -
i have dug the trench long enough - deep enough -
i can proudly say it's a labyrinth -
and i'm happy in my labyrinth -
it's not much: but it's not a cage -
and this is not some bitter me:
woe me - blah blah -
i have routines - i like to sit an extra 10
minutes on the toilet - becauase -
i'm automating a massage of my prostate...
apparently... bid on this poker being true:
the fear of over-doing it and...
haemorrhoids... the same fear associated with
sitting on cold stones for too long
(ref. lethal weapon II - sam and martin riggs
sitting at the beach)...

but this is not what i was intending to write...
i've been trying to cut down on watching youtube...
i figured... what i should have been doing
was watching an english soap-opera -
akin to eastenders - religiously -
instead - i would have, at least: plenty more ref.
points...
but as for jokes... i make the odd "mistake"...

it's always like watching a paul joseph watson video...
i'm not a fan but i'm a fan of entertainment -
i must have a really low i.q. because
i find lee evans to be a rare genius of comedy...
old school funny - the body can become
a language for comedy -
you really don't need to over-talk the jokes -
after a while intelligent stand-up monologues just
bore me: humor of the monolingual crowd -
anagrams and... too many ciphers -
nothing wrong with your base crude of:
a ****** expression, the body itself -
the language can take a break -
but i must be really stupid for liking...
universal comedy... for me lee evans is a universal
comedian...

but this one video is likewise...
blackpill jesus - the inequality of the dating market:
it's over for many men...

and i'm like: those pro-life arguments are
just starting to kick in...
no... seriously... those pro-life arguments are
starting to kick in: right about now...
what arguments?
sometime in the distant future
an untouchable ** will come into contact
with an untouchable XY example -
long may they prosper -

but all of this is like... watching delayed...
abortions... walking abortions -
by: when darwinism met feminism:
and the two -isms lived happily ever after...
some people... really don't want to be told
they'll be walking abortions:
well: quasi-abortions... the living-dead:
by all standards of darwinian selection -
again... not bitter... routine baron -
but not in a culture:
we could talk about stendhal -
but we won't...
we could talk about bukowski: of all people!
but we won't...
we could talk kabbalah and gnosticism
and the nag hammadi library...
but we won't...
we could talk about music!
but we won't...
first sucker through the floral gates
of the ******: **** first in... head last out...
but at lucifer dived head-first from
a star...
by comparative images:
caesars were born via the caesarean section...
the rest of us...
let's just say: there's no more ***** envy
after a human head starts to:
appear from a place it never should have...

my 20s are a fog...
i might remember 4 odd *****...
one picked up from a club who decided to
take a taxi with me towing but
forgot she was riding with me
and did her usual: jump from a moving car
and not paying the fare...
which i later paid...
cocoon *** under the bedsheets and:
coffee in the morning with three homosexuals...

that south african: again cocoon *** under
the bedsheets - second time lucky for her...
but... is it technically "****"...
when she wants to ******* but is somehow
not aroused and she hasn't spoken to
any ******* about using some cream
and you little richard in that sort of purse...
sandpaper friction?

the black girl at my birthday party...
the right sort of cocktails...
the right sort of music: cedric 'im' brooks...
and then... proper coccyx ramming
that left me with a plum hue tattoo
in the eden of my ***** the next morning...
finally! a black girl with an *** that allowed
her to ram her coccyx into me...

i'll miss some... other... details from elsewhere...

but of course that thai surprise...
picked her in the park...
random as any lottery jackpot...
beers on the bench... more beers at the house...
some jazz... cigarettes in the garden...
later ****** in the shed...
walked the thai surprise home...
why thai surprise?
i wasn't sure... sports bra -
transgender "issues" were only starting
to come to the fore... "4 out of 10"...
tom boy haircut...
until the hand reached into the underwear
and i found oyster...
but prior to: thai surprise...

those ***** were free...
the brothel ***** are more vivid and... well...
there was always some kissing involved...
for some reason i can remember kissing prostitutes
more than ******* them...
with the "free women of the west":
it's more about... the sort of *** that is comparible
to... when foxes in essex come and mate at
night... you forget whether you kissed...
but oh sure... ******* sure did...

it's not sad it's... visceral...
work with enough raw meat in the kitchen -
curing it - slicing it -
rubbing it with marinade -
after a while you're no longer objectifying
anything: you're being subjected to it...

but i do wonder with regards to:
some people would like to know they're walking
abortions - the abortions pandering to the pro-life
argument... otherwise the pro-life argument is
a bit like: shackling - a safety-net guarantee -
or whatever: because what's the argument when...
there's the coming dissonance
of pairing?

perhaps i haven't said this more often than
i should...
of the books i've read... mostly french and german
and scandinavian existentialism -
with a tease of russian...
darwinism and existentialism can't sleep together...
that's what i originally thought...
how can existentialism reconcile itself
with darwinism: when it can't...
darwinism is existentialism for women...
the quantity: not the quality argument / line of reasoning...

i can't reconcile myself with darwinism -
a weakness or just:
there's just too much borrowed from a plethora
of animals -
so many studies concerning apes
and **** similis -
and even the mantis -
but... the noble swan and the phenomenon
of the widow and the widower swan...

days when you could just listen to
bloodhound gang's hooray for ******* and...
also find falco... you almost desire
to walk away from the sandpit where
the children listen to nothing but
philip glass and penderecki and speak
in sudoku language...
otherwise there's missing the middle ground
and reaching for the ***** and *****
of punk and... the scent of burning leather
wrapped in a ****** of stiched together
foreskins...

and i can't imagine... but i can...
cutting someone's eyelids...
and watching them... endure the subsequent
insomnia while having to plunge their
head into water ever 10 minutes...
******* is no help...
ear: eh... cartilege -
but the eyelids... we could be rid of those:
couldn't we?

because i know the potential sleeping in me...
i decided to arrive face first and meet "him"...
just so i don't miss the jinx:
i grab my ******* with one forcep of index
and thumb of the hand...
with the other forcep i pinch
the eyelid of my left eye -
funny... the skin feels... synonymous!

no, i can't reconcile darwinism with continental
existentialism:
as i can't reconcile the former idealism
of mine - not even after a ******* -
where's jack?! where's the jack in me?
but gym and squash and rock climbing later:
i was dating a crab and scraps were
the vulture's ambrosia -

what became of aphex twin? he slowed down
and that cul de sac became...
something known as burial - album untrue...
darwinism was always going to be impossible
to reconcile with: the role of humanity
beyond - it's almost easy to transcend the pure
animalistic comparison -
there's neither fire, nor the second fire:
electricirty in the nocturnal, feral heart of
the bottomless pit of anima -
currently: curated by over-stretched facts
and sleepwalking statistics...

bound to england for the past 26 years...
the closest i came was an: encounters of the third
kind with an australian oddity...
why would i date an english girl?
i thought they were into their pakistanis?
that's a question that's not a joke...
seek and you will find: mongolian-esque
rummaging...
the tartar "heretic" of crimea...

on repeat on repeat...
climbing over a fence from a darkened park...
came across a 15 year old running to and fro...
in the days when i still owned a phone...
tried to teach her how to roll a cigarette...
cleavage more visible than her neck...
reunited her with disgruntled friend
lying face down at a bus stop...
a black cat befriended me...
and this lass was running away from me
and toward me...
she texted about 20 people with my phone
before contacting her mum and dad...
and her cabbie dad later picked the two
of them up from a bus-stop at the tesco metro...
but of course prior to she had to take
a selfie of the three of us...

in the back of my head... the silent whisper
and the prosecutor simply whispered...
why not ask her to climb over the park fence
with you... and do the nightmarish deeds justice?

in england for the past 26 years: genesis aged 8...
and, well... "no luck"...
mongol attitude no likey-likey-lucky-or-lackey...
reciprocating "hubris"...
i guess i must be lucky...
come and go ******* like a nomad...
and: should i take myself more seriously...
invoke a talk about diacritical marks:
and those non-existent in the english language...
an octopus audience: the tenticles
do not count as 8 x 1...

20s... a complete blur...
and those vivid conversations in the brothel...
when i faked a death and managed to
get my overdraft limit increased...
and spent 4 hours in that ****-warehouse...
and was asked in the "interlude"...
wouldn't you want two at the same time?
i once heard:
the world is divided into men who have
slept with two women...
and those who haven't...

i gladly declined...
with two i'd need a room of mirrors...
hungry leech eyes need mirrors...
one simply can't have the 1st person shooter
experience anymore...
one would require as many mirrors when
*******... as a woman would require toys
to ******* with...
it might as well be called:
the mirror deity that spawned narcissus -
although - the more contorted
nightmare of narcissus -
the faces riddled with onomatopoeias
rather than words -
and faces that truly deserve to hide behind
a niqab...
or if the eyes become too fungus esque...
would require the samuel beckett's not i...
mouth like an intrusive phallus metaphor
of exposure...

in the past decade: well thank god
*** never became boring, routine...
it didn't require dressing up,
using third party limbs... and pieces...
*** was scarce - therefore *** was feral -
*** was never allowed a relationship -
*** never became familiar,
*** could never become mundane words
that would allow themselves
advice from some journo agony aunt column...
*** was a rarity -
and when it wasn't... kissing became more
important... and itchy fingers that
would read in braille the earth and its contorts
of a woman's body...
there was never a whip or a gulag
of infantile barbie imaginings to rule, either...

sometimes i would indefinitely try to catch
the certain days of winter when
spring blossoms prematured with buds...
if i was lucky... the magnolia bushes would also
blush...
and i would become a dog-***** of these perfumes...
walking for miles and miles per night...

the body takes care of itself:
trouble is... the mind doesn't...
better to allow it this sort of cameo cinema -
memory is the most ideal cameo cinema -
nothing i have mentioned is par excellance -
more... on par: per view...
if memory can't become a cinema...
what's left? nostalgia of 20th century cinema?
that can only live for so long...

as a "transgender" moment...
perhaps i can compete...
willingly ingest a tapeworm embryo...
keep it for 9 months...
then... ingest some praziquantel and ****
the little ****** out...
that's... the closest i'll ever come
to uniting myself with: the female ordeal
of giving birth: imagine...
the ego coupled the delusion the size
of the universe...
i really should start looking for a tapeworm
embryo... keeping it for 9 months...
and then... hey presto!
extra-protein pasta!

otherwise: oh sure... the would-be abortions...
only learn much later...
that they are... not the pro-life argument
they heard as embryos of foetuses...
they are... much to their amusement...
the walking-abortions they were to begin with...
while the pro-life arguments sort of...
die off... when... the fully grown...
self-aware specimen is given charge...
the pro-life argument dies...
the mortgage on a engagement ring...
the shackles...
it's only a pro-life argument...
until the incel mushroom pops up...
then it's no longer a pro-life argument...
ha... delayed abortion: slackers' argumentation...
yeah but no but, oh ****...

frankenstein! it talks! it breathes!
it's immune to all those philosophical cul de sacs
of arguments!
the slow death - the lack of gene motivation
tactic to: pass...
ha... to pass...
in the vicinity of the courageous virus...
shockwave reminders of: genesis vivo...

give me the fully formed xenomorph...
but a genesis vivo: akin to the film LIFE?
wouldn't you believe it?
form... a xenomorph has a concrete form -
a rigid square is...
well... it's not an imploded square -
a hyper-geometric revision...

modern anglo-speaking world and...
milan kundera's existentialism:
i will only kiss when i close my eyes -
but nonetheless -
i will open my eyes when kissing...
because i'm bluffing...
and gambling on... the hope that...
even the sofa "architecture" of a woman's
body reclining to entertain the 300 spartans...
eyes always open...
daggers for eyes...

upon the zenith close -
i imagined myself to be more...
buck-tooth antics -
trivia and encyclopedic knowledge -
pub quizes -
*** on wisteria lane -
no mongol horde ever passed the clefts
of pickets and homebugs...
and this... grand sanity project...
people never seem to go, truly mad,
from... gossip.... glibs...
or soap-opera immoralities: of flacid oopses...
perhaps it is true:
most people never go mad...
what horrible lives they must lead...

perhaps that is very true:
so true it deserves the bells of nortre dame
to echo...
inside a can kicked down a street...
kissing a ******* is not a basic immorality...
having toy soldiers and wars of lies -
and soap opera demagogic dramaturges?
wasting other peoples time with:
there's no crease in a sunrise -
when there are no clouds to stage the subtle
detail of diluted hues of seeing:
a giraffe's belly when it's lying on
the ground?

some people never go mad...
and they do require language to be as strict as:
what's precursor formal -
dear sir / madam...
and every time they try an informal: oops...
it's never on paper...
but always in a mouth that's exploring
the fermentation process of a glass of wine...
me?
gods' **** and gods' blood...
cider / beer with a tease mrs. cognac:
that's the elevated status of whiskey via: née:
ms. amber.

could i be a father and an alcoholic?
no... ever time i tried to exfoliate my own language,
my... idiosyncracy, my solipsism,
barriers and people reaching for...
prime navel and crimson as the standard
colour for lipstick...
one can only stomach so much...
before treating oneself to a hermit's adventure...
on the odd chance... giving coordinates
of the day-to-day...

i would have died a decade prior...
if i didn't find voyeurs to look at a language...
that cannot be spoken by someone alive:
among the living... to the future dead!
i was alive once, too! to the future dead!

darting eyes seek recognition
as strange color patterns
give the sky an eerie green glow
what should be cloud bodies
look more like 3rd grade
geometry projects –
noiseless ground squishes underfoot
resembling a velvet trampoline
with crystalline structures jutting up
lacking gravity, they start small
then expand and branch out
looking like manicured Arborvitae’s
flipped upside down,
planted,
and painted with black glitter –
a low meandering whistle
travels near my ear canal
causing a Pavlovian right turn
strained neck muscles bring attention
to the fact I have been motionlessly staring
for what seems an eternity…
in an instant I see something
through the atmosphere;
an oddly familiar object
of the slightest faintest blue –
My eyes snap open
and the clock reads 2:57 a.m.
again
….am I being abducted? –

i guess it's ***...
***** has a tendency to sneak up on you,
like some niqab ninja or
some ****...

*****: you never see it coming...

whiskey?
whiskey is smokey,
might as well be eating
smoked salmon or some sushi
while biting into a lemon
on a bench
in the middle of the night
armed with a night...
and no one even bothers
you...

*** though?
a perfect afternoon sunlight,
and what some
"poets" do...
they read clouds...
i was just exposed to
a xenomorph shaped cloud...

you read into certain things...
not necessarily reading them
literally...
   language can only be an art
if it's peppered with nuance,
and, let's face it...
all of the language employed
on the canvas of the internet
is heavily peppered with
nuance,
   metaphor
   in flames: song? metaphor...

but that sickly sweetness undertone
of white ***...
    ** **! and a barrel of ***...
like a.d.h.d. sugar overload
for grown-ups...

    i internalize a berserk -
              the right song,
the right sunlight,
and some ***...
   hardly gnashing my teeth...
but... exfoliating a jaw...
in a crocodile pinch serenity...

*** gets me...
giddy gets me...
   it's unlike any other happiness,
albeit momentary...
it's contained...
somehow...
don't ask me how...

    i'll be slapping and nudging
the **** out of dough
for Polish dumplings in
a minute or two...
and there the rage can exhaust
itself...

unlike my feelings for...
that movie about 2nd wave feminism,
about that tennis match,
battle of the sexes...
even i don't like that male chauvinism...
women belong in either
the bedroom, or the kitchen...

ahem... sorry...
who said that women ever belonged
in the kitchen?!
i don't think women should
ever be in charge of the kitchen...
get the ******* out of there!
i don't want kitchen in there!

oh, right...
so where are they supposed to belong?
one suggestion came from
a mad Helen in her 50s
at the psychiatric offices of
****** England...

she used the phrase:

    ...      trophy wife...

            oh... really?
women are only supposed to support
the point of a mantle?
perhaps at best:
above a fireplace...
like an urn of ashes of some
deceased pet?!

          or better still... a glamor model...
yes?
or perhaps entertaining an afternoon,
passing time and purpose
strapped to candy crush saga?

who ever claimed that
women had a serious role or, purpose,
in a kitchen?
            
last night i was found ****-naked,
as mother nature made you
oven cooking some spicy
chicken wings with a bowl
full of noodles...

            it was 6am,
and the *** took hold of me...

   but like i say over and over again...
friend...
if you don't know how to drink,
don't drink...
   and most people can't...
their constant nagging yapping,
their bouts of acute depression...
or their idiotic antics...

a drug... that's legal...
but evidently not suited for everyone...
if you can't internalize rage,
and keep it caged...
   why would you even bother
to begin drinking, in the first place?

Another morning, girl wakes to the sun
sitting on one cheek.

Born again, her lashes dense with dreams.
Could she roll over
and delve into emptiness
for just a moment longer?

Girl rises nonetheless, girl folds herself into clothes.

How to live repeatedly, relentlessly
without knowing for sure what it is that girl is living for?

Is it just another day in which to smile?
To soak up knowledge? Or to
leap right over the edge of comfort
and say something she truly means?
No, she couldn’t possibly do something like that.

Do thoughtless humans lead better lives?

Outside, memories fall on girl like sycamore seeds.
Reality, girl knows, has only just begun
to stir up the world she never thought could be so overwhelming and
underwhelming
all at once.

Small reminders swallow girl whole-
that no one truly knows anything.

She’s wondering now, if she can actually feel
the shape of her soul becoming a
xenomorph (unusually and irregularly shaped).

Sun rays will wake girl once again,
zigzagging across her skin.

because i have nothing original to write about,
2 hours worth of cycling...
harmoniously angered with
slouchy, Asian stereotypical handling of
car, traffic...
******* idiots... you can seriously racially profile
traffic... zombie traffic-cone malaise...
sort of like: blinking without: blinking...
never mind the Chelsea smile... more like...
cut the eye-lids off... start crying from the pain
of not being able to blink... or sleep...
ignorant ninja *****...

today? did all the house required...
i'm going to Poland for 4 days...
i'm thinking about Ukraine...
   4 days... the winds might pick up...
there's nothing for me, here, in: zee vest...
LGBTQ+ right?! the ****
perhaps Ukraine is the closest to my heart...
i don't want to die a slow death
of sorts... get me into the action...
my heart is in it... depends whether my wallet is
too...

only today i cycled again... a fat ******* tire...
*******! the irony of the gods!
i walked back, passed a field with half a hozen
horses... no apple... no sugar cube...
just my hand... extended... tried to whistle:
chuck-chuck chuckle... cheese... ch' ch'...
chut chut: no no chatter... pet the **** thing...
o.k. success...
what does the little ****** do?
grins at me with those horse-teeth...
and... starts to nibble at my hand...
now... don't get me wrong... a dog licks the wounds
on your hands... a cat bites you folding
around your arm like a xenomorph...
but... when a horse starts biting your hands?
almost, somewhat... grinning?
showing off his big *** teeth?

              there's no future for me, here...
not when the women are... not women...
if i conscripted into the Ukrainian army... even if i were
a cook... that's the thing...
men can do all the things that women do...
i could be a catch-22 Major Major...
a cook, of sorts... a man can do a woman's role...
i'm desperately searching...
maybe ******* to Kamchatka Peninsula...
for some... repose...
                    i don't feel like ever having to die for
queer rights... this is almost a blessing...
this is not some proxy war...
some tertiary conflict in Afghanistan...
this is right up my doorstep...
   perhaps it's not authentic but neither was Vietnam...
Khedra keeps on sending me
selfies... i even managed to store some
on my facebook- page...
citing: well... at least this Turkish *******
let me sing aloud: Bruce Srpingsteen's Human Touch...
i loved her like i wanted to love her...
i touched her disinhibited...
loved... well... ****** her...
      same ****... different cover...
              but you know when it feels more than right...
like... walking into a shower where
the water is more than "just about right"...
the water feels like someone is... ahem...
"licking" you?
    you know that feeling...

o.k., now i'm sort of "suspicious"... for all the youtube
supposed censorship...
huh... hmm... no, not enough guise to put up a <?!>
barricade...
i get a suggestion...
      Volfodemo - Light Me Up...
hello, *****...
      casually... someome is watching me...
it feels...
             i would sooner get an advert suggestion
about some silly brand... before i'd get
a song choice... it's rather pretty...
i'm just to put a photograph of the ******* i'm
*******... sue me...
i'm thinking about going to war
in Ukraine... because? a horse bit me...
with this massive grin... for ****'s sake...
a man might tell another man that
his beard is ****... but women? these days?
they have his inhibitors in place...
they're such petrified creatures...
they're worse than does!

          touch them! squeamish! scream!
don't touch them! squeamish! scream!
**** it...
           feed your hands to dogs: for them to lick
your wounds... to cats to allow them to curl into
a xenomorph pose... for the thrills of...
then go to the horses... let them bite your hand
for a snapshot of their grin...
of perfectly allocated teeth: to a grin...

oh, i very much like the song suggestion...
who's watching me...
the type... akin to: TAYLOR (Asia Kate Dillon)
i don't mind... playing furrow / the violin fiddling
with my beard... i really don't...
it's the ideal way to pass time...

       but... we're talking about a song suggestion...
and it's not a popular song...
ergo? some is playing a game of voyeurism with
me... don't worry... the cat is safely snuggled in
my bed... in which i will find clouds in
to better attempt to: oh right...
dream update... i actually dreamed the other day...
i dreamed of looking at myself...
giggling... with a fluffy... bushy... grey... beard...
weird as ****... was i dreaming of a mirror?

or.... yeah... that... or...
what's the alternative on the table?
"everyone" is getting censored while i'm getting...
music suggestions? and... esp. this one...
VOLFODEMO - LIGHT ME UP...
    it's... rather decent...

look at her: couldn't paint
a prettier picture, even if i could...
https://www.facebook.com/photo/?fbid=10103683957911221&set=a.10101156241100971

.so, you wanted me fully integrated? integrated implying, integrated, but without the local prejudices, nuances, biases? em... how was that going to ever "happen"?! so you, wanted me, to learn your language... but not alleviate from the täuschung... of the original migratory allure... the: ****** problems? and, i was going to learn the language, and at the same time, "ignore" the inherent biases? wow... that's something... i was supposed to learn english, but hold no english biases against the welsh, the scots, the irish, the americans, the australians... **** on me... let's talk about parting the red sea, that, i hope, will become easier, over time; hotel transylvannia 2? when frank buckles horns with murray / the mummy? what then, what will, appease, my pandered to bee keepers of the english language? this won't do? expect the next suicide bombing by some afghan refugee? the next 7/7 scenario? i'm done, done doing this ******* integration, immigration, pandering play-date *******... if i want to head-****, lock horns with some irish man... i'll do that! whimsical tea-party ******* of sterile quasi-vikings... *******! you know... getting someone *******, as you managed... to do, so far... q lazarus, yes, led zeppelin, goyete, and then some roxette... and abba... me, i want to head-**** with an Eire-man, and then watch the Titanic sink... because? hell, i just feel like it, savvy? funny... how once "the people" wanted integration, but then, didn't want it, when it came to "the affair", of somethingm akin to the pakistani "couter"... so, what's so bad, with me, head-butting an Eiremann? to disclose an form of affection, gravitated to, with a kiss? oh, sure, sure, that's the whole integration bomb-shell "problem"... well... ******* too, i guess? the british grenadiers, fife & drums... look... if it will be any way made, easier... i'll just whistle... f f f f f f f... fickle farmer ****** over a fickle friend and, gained a ******* farm; no rhythm, no rhyme, but plenty of flutes... ***** too true, for the waited for marching orders... congress! aye! right! stretch! march! squandron! aye! left! man up, strut! hey presto... a magic trick, once dilated, not exactly a magic trick... two cues worth of a welshman's V to that sordid crap of a national anthem... V... up yours! some irish converts wished for a russian bride... i'd **** for a cockney bride... fowl mouthed speaking in slang... i'd **** for a ***** of that sort... it would almost feel like, reinventing a cat, with a necessity of prescribing it, with the petting "advice" of a leash... no... i wish i could... i can't sing you: god save the queen / king... what i will do... is whistle the british grenadier march...you wanted a pledge of allegiance... **** the anthem... i'll die by the whistling marching orders... whistle... whistle... union jacky... not exactly navy, but not too sure of purple, either! well said, ticks the 5, well done.

calling out: a body
                   without a shadow,
and then, "calling out"
a shadow, without a body...
                     xenomorph...
the secret satantic hierarchy...
               of all the pleasures,
pain,
   have ever gripped me,
to sustain the experience
of fathoming the brilliance
of, pleasure...
              tier 1, go,
    tier 2, go,
tier 3: go...
                 and how will i
structure behave:
if find the game of chess,
within the confines
of the current, political climate?

how will,
we ever,
refine the finding of chess,
by having to redefine it
in terms of game
counter-game?

always, forever always,
with the culmination
of counter-culture against
               "collateral" damage...        
schicksal, und mann...
              ausbeute:
              mann contra mann...
before me,
not a mere thought,
but, the countless submerged
to the confines of death,
       came by,
the ones,
at the flattened pyramid
         table...
          lord of silence,
of supreme desolation,
                          only man
would have governed the
plague of fate,
that man, unto man,
would have,
or could have,
ever experience...
                these halls,
of the hoarded itches
of the horde to come,
to give it the ****,
for...
                a believence to
be scuttling imitation
of rats...
  my grand:
sinking ship....

          i learned the inverted
way...
i can't be welcome,
plateau citizen...
   "british"...
given that some irish, ******...
expect me,
to treat him,
peasant,
       as something akin
to a king...
           see, you had me,
when, my fellow,
treated me as his own fellow...
it became...
"problematic"...
                  when my fellow,
bound himself to be of status:
king...
and i? a ******* mechanical
variety of dishwasher...

           nope...
              i'll sooner **** you,
than, succumb to this...
sort, of, irish *******...
"simply" because...
it couldn't be translated into
english...
you,
   dying, irish, ****!

now please excuse me,
while i punch myself,
and nibble on my knuckles...
and pray...

         for a translation from
the worth of knuckle itching!
i hope i fail...
but i just pray for...
the chance to
              experiment
with an outlet!
      give me a chance to express
my grievances
against an outlet
of a worth of a canvas...
i'll give you one source
of grievance...
               i wanna head-****
     an irish man...
as much as i want
to circumcise semi-irish mongrels...

like i said:
i'm fully integrated...
i've learned the locals'
     prejudices.

well... at least falling in love feels just as good
as being rejected...
i must be a hunchback or something...
                       not good enough:
not the right sort of: pump 'em 'n' dump 'em...
plus, get them pregnant...
not enough good enough boxer and a child-slapper...
well, fair enough...
it felt good for a while... as good as stomach
cramps go...
and as life goes....
   i think you can pull off a fu manchu moustache
and a long love patch... with a beard...
only if the former are blonde
   and the beard is dark ***** brown...
      fair enough... fair... enough...
                     back to the prostitutes i go...
i don't need this ****** roller-coaster...
back to the cold objectification of women...
less i feel the more i'll get... for what my body deems
necessary...
but i knew this was coming: oh how on earth
woudn't i have seen this coming?
i just said... well, you know... maybe me
and your son, Freddy, could learn German together...
and: oh for ****'s sake... i really like you!
i did't say love, i didn't say:
i want to sleep with you...
banana loaf i made? down the drain...
homemade wine? down the drain...
flowers on Valentine's day? down the drain...
ha... what's never down the drain?
£120 an hour for a *******... that's never down
the drain... that's somewhere else...
i'm suddenly the villain... she charges up
a conversation with: a 14 year old missing
in Rainham... apparently her cousin or something...
i told her i cycle to Rainham...
what? me? i kidnapped this kid?
why don't i care about the story...
when i'm trying to tell you i like you?!
if i were to care about all the people in the world...
have an emotional investment in their
down-trodden lives... i'd be subject
to a stampede in return!
i can't just... feel for someone!
                  there you are: trying to feel something
special, exclusive for someone...
while there she is... throwing the entire *******
world back at you!
she's playing her little games so bad
that i'm pretty sure these former, early,
glorious stomach cramps and butterflies will never,
return...
i've made up my mind...
        my eyes are a little bit foggy... my vision:
blurry... but i'm not crying... i'm refocusing myself...
i did say i was an idiot...
proven right, once more - and by whom?
myself...
           oh right... the eyes are back into focus...
i can return to my diacritical pet peeves & what not...
i guess i must have caught a bug
called in latin:
            in amor *** amor idea...
to be in love itself...
   in love with the idea of love...
because, hell... she was problematic from the get go...
i think i tried to delude myself thinking
i could love someone like her...
but if she has a kid... she's doing the mother-father
thing on her own... she's proud of her d.i.y.
antics... she swipes left and right on Tinder
in front of you... she's proud that her former
ex-boxer boyfriend clocks in with menacing
phone-calls on a Friday night...
   and she's happy about keeping him in the background:
even though he has a restraining order...
but she's still like: oh... what the hell...
now i see the bigger picture...
a guy, like me... free... no obligations apart those
to his family... cook, clean the house,
take out the garbage... writes... reads...
has a stash-load of books that would make
the local public library blush...
i'm... too complicated... she can't play me...
oh now i see the funny side...
     i can't be tamed...
i'm too spontaneous...
too erratic... now i see it: i just wanted to see
how far the rabbit-hole went before she
would inevitably bail out...
                          intellectual not high status enough...
needs that gilded cage...
bring in the doves with the budgies...
hell... sly a crow in there while you're at it!
she was already rigid in her ways...
i was just a welcome interruption...
little did she know...
i get my kicks from shadier places...
with shadier women...
  cheap thrill... thanks for the feelings...
all my own...
                               now scuttle back into your little
asylum of a life...
only today, while i was feeding my male
maine **** some fine turkey fillets...
i noticed his fur vibrate around his neck...
he was so excited / pleased & i was like...

   oh **** me...             PREDATOR!
not the sort of mimic rattle... but very much... akin...
i own a bonsai predator!
i never appreciated the xenomorph aesthetic...
i always sided with the predators...
krrr... whatever it is that the sound they make...
cats are close...
plus... like household plants... feed them...
water them once a week... and wait for them to make
advances for attention... otherwise...
oh... joy... they sleep... you just get to ignore them:
you do you, while they do them...

unlike women... do you really have to be cruel
in order for them to stick around?
are prostitutes the only women around these days
where you can play the classical roles of
a man? being tender, kissing, holding hands?
seriously?! sickness... i see the sickness is no
longer spreading... it's just well established...

again... what's missing? a 6 figure earning summary?
but why would i want to earn 6 figures...
if i only spend... the lowest possible mention
of 5?
         eh? save up? for what? a funeral at St. Paul's?!
well yeah... i earn in the frugal category...
i'm not going to earn more if i'm not having
to spend more... why earn more?
i don't see the sense of earning more than
i might spend...
and since i spend less than i earn
therefore i: earn enough... to spend enough...

no, it's a good thing... i could see too much longing
in that kids eyes... oh... another douschebag trying
to get it on with my mother...
o.k. Oedipus... o.k. Oedipal mother...
c'est la vie! c'est la vie!
  i too made my own bed...
              i'll gladly sleep in it...
i guess i sort of have to...
if he's the kid who has to take care of his hormonally
psychotic "aunt" of a mother...
well... all the better... vita non mea!
VITA NON MEA!

wow... what a relief! she spread rumours...
i could see on the last shift, the other "conspiring" girls
stood back keeping a distance...
i did say... the old proverb stands...
lies have short legs...
serpent...
                  no... don't tell her... that i know...
wait a while... she's do damage to herself...
and at first sight... oh my, oh my my my, my...
how i wanted to love her...

but the amount of crap i heard about her...
knife throwing was one of her speciality...
if a guy she's dating has to walk out of the house,
drink a whole bottle of wine...
and some beers... in  span of 20 minutes...
well... perhaps that's good of her:
telling me what i'm to expect if she has
one of her Oedipal-Mother tantrums...
like all single mothers with sons must go
through: to get back t the "patriarchy"...

damaged goods... like i said...
i love how some of these phrases sound in
Latin: oculus per oculus... an eye for an eye...
Latin, as a tongue... wasn't big of prepositions...
or conjunctions...
maybe there's  built-in safety-mechanism
with people who might cause you trouble... harm...
at least they're honest... they tell you upfront...
i.e. i'm capable of this... are you mad enough
to go any further... and ****... i was willing...

i was in love with the idea of love...
amor per se...
unlike a res per se: the Kantian noumenon...
of course the noumenon has no existence
to carve out man's intelligence...
we're talking amor per se...
res per se... das ding an sich...
we're talking Kierkegaard and the subliminity
of subjectivity: not as a vantage point
lesser to that of objectivism...
by being subjective implying:
in a storm... you're subjected to the storm's
"demands"... i am being subjected to something...
storm, the queen of England...
subjectivity is... unquestionable...
while objectivity... doesn't it...
question itself? ad nauseam?!

       that's why i prefer subjectivity...
in line of thought... in measure of assurance...
in the labyrinths of the narrative...
there's always more... less chance to come across
a cul de sac of "ideas"... anemic paraphrasing
by my estimate...
but hey... you never been to the dark alleys
with the Turkish or Romanian prostitutes...
your loss... not mine...
i'm done thinking i can idealise an English girl
as a bride... she can ******* to the Pakistani grooming
gangs...

             what?! that's not where most of them go, to?
oh, right... the pump  & dump schemes...
leave them on welfare...
               or... the types that box their *******
about... i'm not going to level myself to a standard
of barbarism in order to get laid... sorry... no...
but in the kid's eyes all i saw was...
i want to play Lego with you...

terribly sorry... Oedipus... Jocasta said: no...
this is the one and only time i tried
to attempt being a foster parent...
next time? no chance in hell...
i tried... in vain... well... that's one more vanity
project over & done with...
i wasn't here for her ****...
i wasn't here for her looks... her looking...
and cleaning skills...
she already had it figured out:
she doesn't need a man...
she doesn't... but... looking at the kid...
i'm pretty ******* sure he needs three-dimensionality
of being raised up...
obviously tarantula mama doesn't see it,
won't see... will die not regretting it...
but... come on!

at least someone who read more than 10 books in
his life... or... a ******* newspaper on a Sunday...
but like i told her already...
i'm Pontius Pilate at this moment...
i'm washing my hands, clean,
of this affair... i'm done...
another lost soul raised by the man-hating:
closer to Eden you come...
the further from heaven you shall become...

oh **** me, why am i complaining?!
i've just been about to barked at by a rottweiler,
bitten by a tiger...
shot stone cold by a **** sharpshooter...
yet i arrived on the playing field
unscathed like a Rasputin: after this 6th of
7th death... well... at least she was honest...
she was saying: you're pristine...
i don't want to touch you... get away from me!
get away from me! don't come too close!

well... c'est la vie! i don't mind, either way...
you lied about me once, tried to get me
fired... you'll lie a second time...
good enough that i managed to wriggle
in the tease... the carrot...
now look at you... stupid girl...
trouble with mad women trying to play
madmen... yeah...
that ol' chestnut! ha ha! ha ha! ah ha ha ha ha!

ich kommen sie mit die nacht...
ich kommen sie mit die stille...
   ich kommen sie mit der wind...
ich kommen sie ohne dich...
ich kommen allein...
             ich verlassen: allein...
ich bin allein:
ich bin... einsamkeit:                  FREI!

Remarks hang
low in the gut
so dense they have there own gravity...
Freedom of opinions
ignorance is bliss
free speech becomes a travisty

Out of taste
and fashion
like a garish 80s bandana
an appendix burst
or rupture to the spleen
a spanner in the works
of a fine tuned machine

Hard to digest
pain bursts through my chest
like a xenomorph in nirvana
indigestible & foul
dry cat **** on a trowel
you are my green banana

like bringing a broom to a *******
romance...
great idea... considering that
you might be dealing with the dust
of an ex...

why are maine **** cats...
so ******* clingy?!
what's up with this breed
of domesticated bonsai tigers?
huh?!
        can someone explain to me
why they're so... so...
soppy & clingy?!

    ******'s on my bed... curled up
into a shape that best resembles
the xenomorph logo for the Alien
movie...
and i'm like...
              please just get me a
rottweiler...
      i want the jaw-snapper...
last thing i need is a girlfriend,
first things first...
         i need a dog...

something originating in
the Germanic eugenic breeding process...
a rottweiler,
but i'll settle for an Alsatian,
or a Doberman...

              like... it's itching me to
write this...
i don't want someone to have *** with...
i want something to wrestle with...
i can already tell you how i'd go
about neutralizing the snapper...

L...
     what?
                        Γ....
index and thumb finger...
extended... what do you get?
depends on your Copernican interpretation,
north is south, south is north,
north and south aren't really
either "north" or, "south...
  
   and you shove that shape into
the dog's mouth... right past all the teeth,
i ******* have to look this bit up...

you put pressure on the... ha ha...
hyopharyngeus of a dog...
  with a wedge...
akin to the L or gamma...
          shape between the protruding
extension of the space between
the index and the thumb fingers...
you lodge that, past all the teeth?
the dog starts choking...
or imitating choking...
a bit like putting on horse blinders
on horses to make them steer straight...

you shove that L into a dog's gob...
he begins with an unconscious
reaction of imitating swallowing
his tongue, his lasp...
i'm presuming that's how wolves
were tamed...

well...weren't the Huns who figured out
how to best ride a horse,
the barbarians who overcame the
Ancient civilized people with
the invention... known as the...
stirrup?!

        but that's how you tame a dog...
you L pressure the hyopharyngeus muscles
of a dog's gob...
   so it falls into a fit of choking
on its tongue... which it will not exactly
swallow...

   a bit like... a bit like what horses are
tamed by... the curb bit...
  god... i never fall asleep thinking about
having *** with two lesbians...
i'm thinking about wrestling with a rabid
German breed...
  
   what sort of loser requires 72 virgins...
i'm like the crazy cat lady on earth,
translated into heaven...
the crazy dog loner.

oh look... you didn't think that's how
you'd subdue a dog... shoving a massive
L shave of the hand down it's snout...
so that there's the either-side-of-the-snout
connection of the hyopharyngeus....
smile... smile *******...
let me see you choke.

.well... it happened... no point feeling better... but tool's fear inoculum at £26 with a book... it could be worse... guess i'll have to buy aenemia - having scratched it too much...

here's to... celebrating the glorification
of: shooting yourself in the foot...
and then doing a tango
while hopping on what remains...
here's to...
suppose all russians are geniuses:
suppose all russians are
a tchaikovsky - a tolstoy -
a kasparov -
                sorry: but that's truly
stretching it...
the russians were not also
black sheep and drunkards of
siberia...
  no truly: i think i'm done...
loitering with expectations:
       there was some standard of
hope long long, long ago...
tumbleweed and the smell of
burning rubber...
          it's still burning in my mind:
3 months ago...
you seemed fine...
on thursday grandmother called
and said that you were
entertaining agonia -
i was getting readied to fly over and see
you...
by 8am the next morning
she called again saying you died...
you were apparently wasting
away for a month...
each time we called she would
say everything was o.k.,
talk about the already worst
nightmare: re-a-li-ty (forgive me but
i will not invoke the proper
phoneticism when the word
is dissected using compound
hyphenation)...
a month ago, she could have called...
but... it's not like your death
was "sudden"...
i have only one sense of orientation
now... to salvage
the unsalvageable...
that opening quote from
anna karenina:

   all happy families are similar to each other,
each unhappy family is,
unhappy on its own terms...

hell... who needs to read the rest of
the book... replace the word
family with the individual (bore)...
spice it up with an -ism
and there you have
a workable categorical imperative...

it's not a happy truth to move forward
but it's the most reliable:
a thing of beauty - something probably
generic - easily replica riddled...
like how all babies are generic
in their physiognomy -
or old people...
                       unless of course...
it's a donald sutherland...
            
   i knew my grandmother was: x, y and z...
the "conspiracy" she started to knit with
her son...in conversation through the past 3 months...
just tiresome personal affairs
of the family:
    but you never expect it...
probably because you never want to imagine
how ****** things become
how you're stitched back together
using quasi anguish bordering on anger...
you want sorrow... you want closure...
but sure as **** you're at best
going to be tease with apathy...

   as ever, mr. numb-******* comes along:
this was a sudden death:
perhaps i was lucky enough
for the death of my great-grandmother:
teasing 91... a truly sudden death...
well hell: that's closure...
but a death kept in secret...

and all the hot picks concerning money:
7 months worth of pension "savings":
hardly a ******* hoard from under
the belly of Smaug...
that he died "brainless"...
yes... that's how you do it...
you call a day prior to the death
and then on the day of the death...
because... there were no 3 months prior...
because: whatever needed to be taken
care of... would be...
oh! oh so overwhelming for agrandson!
that it would require "professionals"...

it's hardly possible that my grandmother
is a maniacal *****...
come to think of it...
she doesn't deserve a description of evil...
that could be ascribed to
a vampire... perhaps a zombie...
but not a cenobite / xenomorph...
a zombie as bland as: horror staged during
the day: never to explore the architecture
of a night...

- she had three months to call up and
give clues:
his death will not come suddenly...
but she didn't...
- obviously she wouldn't...

well i'm almost jealous of other people's
families...
a caring grandmother calls you
some time before dearest grandpa ***** off...
but no... she called a day before
he died: in hospice... where no one
is given entry...
a day later she calls up to inform
the dearly beloved: he's dead...
3 months prior:
       there was a line of progressing
to the ultimate deterioration...
and death...
                my uncle her son even came
a month prior: insinuated about
putting him up in a carehome...
such grand talk of "perspective"...
and while the coffin was laid to rest
she was chewing gum along
with her son...

that i was born from her daughter...
family... oh family....
yes... i have been robbed...
i have been cheated...
whatever strangers have up their
sleeves...
i never expected those
of the same flesh to have...
such! ingenious plans for numbing
the heart!

if i tended to his nose-bleed
i would have tended to his ****-soaked
adult pampers...
if only for a sample of his old self...

no... these words are no good...
it is what it is...
it can't be anything more...
it will never be anything more...
i just imagine that cows are
brought to a greater pace
of peace in the slaughterhouse -
here's me chewing metaphysical
meat: a memory or whatever it is
i was supposed to inherit for a while...

and when she dies... grandmother dear...
looks like... i will probably
mourn a fleeing shadow come
the night when i will walk into
the forest and howl and call the for the beasts...
i don't think my grandmother
deserves to be mourned...
no... clearly...
                    right now she's just a familiar
face...
an annoyingly familiar face...
not enough mascara of lipstick could
disguise it:
but enough sandpaper just might...

the same day he was placed into the earth
i sat by the grave and played
with a candle...
i probably played with silence...
no great ode: no do not go gently
into the good night...
               i have no rage:
my heart has been thrown into
a mountain and: how unshakeable it stands...
how part of the whole...
i clench my teeth and pray for
tears:

                  apathy has suffocated
anger rage and grief...
until i face myself as the inquisitor for
the 3 months of silence...
and face her...
i'm sure she will disguise the answer...
how pitiable this old woman is...
how barren her schemes...
her last "victory" is...
                       a sentence i cherish more
than ever:

yeah, grandma, ******* soon,
the sooner you ******* the last reason
to visit Poland will have been
erased...
no... i will not visit that land
as a tourist... i'll wait for the tongue
to die in me...
with this enough of english...
yeah, grandma, ******* soon,
i don't feel like visiting Poland:
birth-land - any time soon.