i've got white skin, and yellow teeth;
he's got black skin, and ivory white
dentures... schmile!
   man... i'm jealous,
and if i said this with enough pioneer
passion in Kentucky...
  i'd be deep-frying my own genitals
        to boot...
   but i ain't... so i'm bound to simply
smear my face with clown make-up
and have a jolly good time...
it's the right time to pretend to be scary,
people are getting too ******
with their use of language...
      better still: it's about time someone
became scary, i preferred people when they
were bearly literate... when they were
barely literate, i didn't recieve this
pulverisation of ****-by-image...
      i didn't need to see this iconoclasm
of words, there was no copyright gimmick
included...
         but i really am... jealous...
black kid with a perfect set of ivory,
  white boy and yella chew...
               i find horror every time i see
a white boy sell me a window frame and he grins
at me like some african... and i''m just waiting for
me to disappear into a dark tunnel...
with eyes closed, and mouth stitched-up and later
asked to open his eyes, and smile...
   what a freak show!
              mind you, i am a newcomer in using
this tongue... i speak what i find...
         i'm just really jealous that black boy indie
has ivory in his chew, and i have yella...
milk teeth... i'm a bit tired that i have nothing
beautiful to offer... that my milk teeth can't talk
baby talk of innocence... that my hair colour
in abhorred... apologies for the fatigue...
     at least the Holocaust happened like
a guillotine... or hanging someone... snap of the neck,
quick... this history of slavery is really boiling
over into a tedium... i don't have the stomach for it...
   at least the history of the Holocaust happened
quickly, there was no grand pyramid to construct...
and so is the history of slavery...
                          it's dragging on and on, and on...
it doesn't ever stop!
                  will i regret writing this? no, not really...
i'm already doping myself with sleeping pills,
my conscience is corrupt to say the least,
   i just one horror more profound than the other,
the unnantural look of white people smiling
their ivory chew...
i can't look at white people with perfect dentures...
  i just get the creeps, shiver like i might be
hiding the corpse of my dead mother in the attic...
i don't know, something creepy...
     and at a time when every use of
language is made political in the western world...
when we live in a time of en mass literacy
that we had to accept the game of politics without
a viable gain of the game being played...
when we are literate and are unable
to say anything about art, when art degenerates
into geometry... i'm still jealous about
the choc with his perfect ivory grin...
  and me... acne prone, anemic and with yella teeth...
at least i can say:
    befriend the language of your enemy...
      friends are covert ponces anyway,
well, the so called friends...
                          oh i feel no need to *****-prance
should a Judas come my way...
      i've got pig-skin and yellow teeth like a cannibal...
and we live in a time when choc-boy with his
pristine ivory gets celebrated... and the post-colonial
society is really so in need of the end to its narrative...
esp. when compared to the Holocaust, which
ended so quickly that it already has its memorium diem
/ memorial day...
      a story that also involes the Aztecs
and the conquistadors... and how we see
the Sioux in Dakota... choc-boy over 'ere won't stop
dunking that rubber *******!
           it really does sound so much more effective
to be coming from a culture where the Holocaust happened...
people have a chance to move on... no one
is trapped in this perpetual nostalgia...
     they really did reinvent zoology and the zoo
with the Sioux... the sacred lands...
                      the pipe-line... it really is a new kind
of zoology...  and this is the bit where i tell you:
i'm not laughing. i've got white skin and yellow teeth...
  and i'm afraid of people that have white skin
and ivory teeth...
            then again, they fear me because i invoke
the idea of cannibalism...
    but that's a o.k., i've taken the catholic communion
in church...
                     a bite there won't mean anything
if i take a less poetic bite elsewhere.
yum yum frenzy... i can't believe western society
is being cleansed to reach the pinnacle of only pronoun
association, a complete lack of noun invigoration...
     and that pronoun hook is being torn about in an ****
game of st. thomas' account of a trans-gender movement
that happened 2000 years ago...
and was buried for the equivalent amount of time
in some ****-hole in the Egyptian desert...
then there's the language of the internet...
with the champions of emoticon and acronym...
which i don't get, i see it as merely
    the inability of writing computer code translated
into pop speak...
                a case of trying to imitate
the complexity of writing code...
                            translated into something i
didn't spend much time trying to decipher...
lol... :)... etc.
                         the holocaust really is like a guillotine...
abolishing slavery and the current american
history is a bit like the execution of mary queen of scots...
it took the executioner about three takes with
axe to chop her head off...
   what do you mean where do we go from there?
i thought that was made clear, with
space travel? oh wait... maybe we ensured
science fiction really does out-pace the actual science...
call it the Zeno affair...
science-fiction being the tortoise...
  science being the Achilles.
     i am conscious of the fact that i might have
said some awful things in my delirious trance....
but excuses are the joker cards in this demise...
       the facts remain rigid...
funny how you made the same effort in reading this
as i made the same effort in writing it...
  and how there was no kamikaze bashing of the head
against the free-ride of using a machine to
encode this... and that we became mutually inclusive,
and excluded the free-rides of the likes of
a you-tube video... or should i say:
  now that i have you full attention...
i'll end the diatribe against no one except myself,
pursuing yet another waking hour to meddle with something,
akin to this: the principle of res vanus,
given that we live in a time of the cartesian inversion,
where people really have to associate themselves with
something, that they need to label themselves as so-and-so...
to call themselves feminists or atheists...
   to stress the "i am", but barely remember
that they also possess an "i think"...
               safe to say, finding god can be as hard as
finding (the) "i think" in man.

that's 3 weeks without a keyboard,
that's 3 weeks on a dual-detox -
         that's that: roughly: antagonism
of: once upon a time...
           there can only be one Hans Andersen,
and as the story goes: ol' granny
   passed on the tales, without which:
no talk of posterity, and seances at
the theatre; alternatively: what if Kierkegård
opted for opera, rather than theatre?
    well: horrid is the task of dropping names,
as if being a village idiot, in that
capacity: giving directions... no such thing!
  nonetheless: a horrid task...
3 weeks... without this horrid world-entanglement...
amphetamines in the wild west,
                   and yet... everything slows down...
that's 3 weeks without such ''luxury''...
    and would you believe it?
3 weeks went by: in a blink of an eye.
             strange, or what 21st century writers
fail to recognise: the ******* canvas has changed!
any-single-one-of-them bothered to scrutinise
this new canvas? anyone?
     ah yes, it's still in its adolescence -
it's still: Dostoyevsky, scuttering in the grand
dungeon: that's the Moscow underground.
             the canvas! the canvas!
                             and indeed, if this be some
bellowing horn, from the depths of some forsaken
place... i'll go into the street, and sabotage
civilisation with graffiti...
                     then again: i have the least
expectations, such that capitalism works...
poetry... and what investment have you made?
nil, or almost nil... evidently: zilch!
      ah, but to have invested in canvases,
a studio, paints, brushes... see... no one sees
investment in poetry: primarily because the poet
has done the minimal...
            unless of course it turns out to ****
with a hot poker something once resembling
nations... which now resides in the insane asylum
(even though those, have been abolished)
                           , nation - ooh! what a ***** word!
the left irksome sometimes uses it:
in theory: the nation-state...
                        and then there's the resurgence of
ancient Greece... in a sing-along:
maybe 'cos i'm a Londoner... brother! brother!
Athenian! Athenian!
                                       but we are born into
a Spartan wedlock... no one really bothers to
**** our gob with Shakespeare...
    then again that is the schizophrenia (alias
dualism) in humanity... thus, to be frank,
psychiatry can be congratulated, it has provided
one useful term... and i will use it, over and over again,
in a non-symptomatic way, because, i find,
it stands, as if the Olympic Graeae (Zeus, Poseidon
and Hades) eating the carcass of some inhabitant
of Tartarus...
                               evidently: tartar steak...
doubly evident: tartars, or the remnants of mongols,
settled in crimea, and elsewhere in the Ukraine...
   tartar                      tra-ta-ta-ta... ku ku ryku!
a ja fu! krecha! a ja znow... fu!       radowitą
uprzejmość... skłaniam...  
    or what i call: rising spontaneously from the depths...
polymaths applauded, the tribunal resides in
bilingualism... trenches... history... perspectives
and current affairs... wicker man media...
                        so... an example of pedantry?
ó....               that's an orthographic dignitary -
        an aesthetic muddle... as is
c-ha                               contending with samo-ha...
     ch                            came from antagonism of
cz                                   which was later antagonised
by č               in česka.... say that: hen party
bound to Prague... in the Czech republic...
                                          ch      k..­.
i am, quiet frankly... standing at the feet of the tower
of babel... and i'm looking up, and i see
correlations, and i see decimal marks,
which, when given enough geography,
can seem like England and the isles,
       and central Europe...
    Iberia? phantom of Seneca...
  eureka! let's begin, once again...
  why is there a continuum beginning with
Plato and Aristotle?
                                           we could become
reasonable people... told to deal with madmen...
we could claim beginnings with Seneca...
and Cicero...
                      and why? the Romans loved poetry...
the Greeks antagonised Homer...
            the Romans loved Horace, Virgil,
                           Ovid... perhaps we should really forget
beginning with Plato and Aristotle...
       the former has become a church,
the latter a dentist's assistant (minus the ancients'
concept of a joke).
                      evidently i have to finish off reading
Seneca... his educational letters to Lucilius....
      moralising ******* that he was, thus, perhaps
a nibble at Cicero? but i must say:
                           it has to begin somewhere,
so not necessarily in stale-bread Athens...
                      and having such perspectives helps
in claiming casual conversation?
   assuredly - if it doesn't involve talking about
the weather...
                                which is always a great mystery
   if it's given enough aurora.
   onto the mystery of dialectics,
as discovered by Alfred Jarry in his Faustroll
Pataphysics contraband...
                                                nag­ging agreement...
nodding without approval... (chapter 10) -
beginning with αληθη λεγεις εφη
        (you speak the truth, he replies) -
   and ending with ως δoκεì
                              (how true that seems)...
and then some dub-step...
        know nothing dROP! boom! jiggy jiggy,
get the rhythm.
   as i always find it hard to look at
    diacritical arithmetic...
                                  given the following
represent a prolonging: hangman:
       å, ā and ä...
                             esp. in Finnish -
stratum: hedningarna täss on nainen.
                        rolling yarn, plateau, two dips;
and i will never say something profound...
i'll just say something no one else has said,
benefit of the doubt? somewhere, someone,
                                      kneels at the same altar.
  such are the distinction - invaders from the
north, and invaders from the south...
                                           even with
crusading Golgotha mann -
the times? many bats, supers, spiders,
but not enough readings of thomas mann...
                              easily befallen into prune-nosed
high-airs... it comes with the diet of literature...
   unfortunately.
                              and with yet another book:
i have burried yet another living person
i could have had a beer with, and conversed.
it always happens, every time i read a book
i have to attend a funeral... by reading a book
i have burried someone alive...
                          shame, in all frankness...
    i will sit in a congested train, touch a breathing
body, and consecrate the touch with
a warring genuflect - harbringer of a Teutonic
passion for initiation: a komtur's slap across the cheek.
   chequers played with passions...
           and some have to be approached like
caged animals, their vocabulary as cages,
                and the whole world before them:
cageless!
             some have indeed become so encrusted in
their daily: routine, that it would take a zoologist
(thrice oh, begs some sort of diacritical marking)
rather than a psychologist to understand them...
    like the darting dupes they are, enshrined in
20% gratis! smile! have a nice day! boxing day sales!
all but pleasantries, fathoming the grave.
   stiff vocab and all other kinds of perfume...
                           a king and his charlatan knights,
who are merely ditto-heads.
                  and not of this world, afresh -
among the nimble hands prior to birth -
surely there is: more grandeour in birth
   that entry via a ******...
                            the greatest pain of ****...
and when the ancient treaty was signed
under the name: Augustus Cesarean - or
recommended for a need of aristocracy -
    it was, for a time, the mana magnetism:
and such was the rule of poetry:
rather than a crown, donned the laurel leaves...
donned the laurel leaves...
    and such was the covenant from ancient
foes when trying to assimilate the Jew...
three kings from Babylon,
                         the child in Egypt...
          no good tides from Nazareth...
         a crown of myrrh - later overshadowed
by dogmatic sprechen, simpler: thorns...
yella things... or rzepak, Essex is filled with it...
rzepak... so why bother adding a dot above
the z, when you get capricious and use rz to
denote the same?! thus a science:
voiced retroflex fricative... Stalingrad!
                       can you really stomach this kind
of jargon? if it wasn't for science fiction:
science would be twice removed from gott ist tot,
*******' worth of pondering, given the close
proximity rhyme... nothing that rhymes should
ever be taken seriously, it should be hymnal!
                         Horatio! mein lyre!
   mein Guinness leier! rabbi krähe -
     and they deem that ****** white when talking:
thinking? i'd prefer Cezanne in real life -
   maggot wriggling and all...
                                          as much eroticism
as bound to a dog slobbering its testicles:
which means ****-all in an almighty stance
   for a dollop of halleluyah in Nepal.
well: pretty talk, pretty pretty pretty: i feel pretty,
oh so butter-fly-e.
                                    2 week stance,
***** in autumn... but so many Swiss hues
coming from the same concentration of decay!
shweet!  zeit-ser!        and that's me talking
kindergarten german: innovation begins with
a fork and a spoon, should the tongue come to it...
            i see a poem,
i see something worth bugging... c.i.a.,
f.b.i., hannibal's lecture in Florence, Venice for
the rats... bugging... shoving...
  shovelling... necro grounding, rattling...
    windy via north... Icelandic...
drums along incisors of abstract gallop:
violins... fringes of the mustang... airy airy...
all regresses toward the Vulgate...
         like ****, like said, and the only pristine
stress comes with vanilla ice-cream,
or a medium-rare beef ****! hmph!
                         fa fa fa excesses with that hurling
puff...
                      and i did finish Kant's
critique of pure reason... minus two calendars...
but, so help me god, the 2nd volume was hiding
under some corner...
                           thus, from transcendental methodology
came plump apricots, plums and pears...
             sweet decay fruit baron...
              and it's called sugars in the intricacy of pulp...
lazily grown, dangling on that caricature of
a formerly known: full crop of wheat-crude fringe.
    2 years... honest to god!
         but so many books in between...
i was given a recommendation...
i cited it already... kraszewski's magnum opus...
29 books...
                       although that's history fictionalised...
but nonetheless, it really was about
     the cossack uprising in the 17th century...
   and it was, as i once said, something i can forgive
sienkiewicz - the film version,
as in: i will not read a book once it has been adapted
to a movie... it's self-evident that too many
people have read a piece of work and are gagging
for a conversation... but where's the playground?
           ******* cherades!
  chinese whispers and a Manchurian candidate!
  i thought as much.
                          and whenever it's not a preplaned
escapade, what becomes of the day?
     was it always about a stance for carpe diem?
  syllables: di                em.
                            carpe is said with more lubricant.
corpus diem. well, that's an alternative, however
you care to think about it.
                and whenever you care to think about,
the proof is there: mishandling misnomers:
poets as tattoo artists... although no one sees the ink,
signatures on a reader's brian (purposively altered,
toward a Michael Jackon he-he, and other:
albino castratos the church venerates!)...
   that's 3 weeks in a catholic country...
  3 weeks... if only the football was better,
      i'd be called Juan Sanchez...
               but, evidently, the football is bad...
     so it's catholicism on par with a sleeping inquisition...
no one really expected Monty Python to conjure
that one... because it never really took place,
not until a trans-generational exodus
postscript 2004... once western brothels were exhausted,
and the Arab started ******* a hippo...
              then it was all about lakes and rivers
and Las Vegas 2.0 in Dubai!
                     you say quack... i say:
                                                    easy target.
and they did receive a blessing from Allah...
enough ink to write out Dante's revision of the Koran,
and some Al-Sha'ke'pir to write a play called:
the Merchant of Mecca.
  last time i heard, when the reformation was
plauging Christendom, no one invited the Arabs...
these days i think the little Lutherans of Islam
watched too many historical movies...
me? pick up a crucifix and march to Jerusalem?
  and is that going to translate into:
   blame the populists! blame the nationalists!
it's like watching a circus... why is the Islamic
reformation asking for third party associates?
                  i was happy listening to
the klinik... albums: eat your heart out...
time + plague...
                             once again: the world narrative
gags for enough people to conjure up
     a placebo solipsism... and that's placebo
with a squiggly prefix (meaning? how far
that ambiguity will take you) - ~placebo...
well: since existentialists were bores...
it's about time to head for Scandinavia
   and ask: is that " ''                 for passing on
an inheritance, or better still: ripe for
acknowledging ambiguity?
                          and if you can shove this
  into your daily narrative... you better be
a connaisseur of chinese antiques...
                frailty... then again, theres: ******;
well hell yeah *****'h, it's a murky underwold
after all.
                     and yes: that's called a petting word...
some say hombre, and we'll all be amigos
and muskateers at the end of the story.
                                    finally... i feel like i'm writing
a poem that i'll never end...
              why? it was supposed to be about
how John Casimir of Sweden championed
  the crown away from his brother Prince Charles
(volume 1)...
                      the bishop of Breslau...
a recluse... couldn't ride a horse...
    then again: nothing worthy imitation...
beginning with a donkey...
                               the transfiguration of palms
into whips... 2000 years later
talk of Hercules is madness... that other bit?
complete sanity.
                              well... if that be the case...
the book is there... i signed it, 2nd volume of
Kant's critique...
  
| | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | |
| | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | |
| | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | |
| | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | |
| | | | | | | | | | | | | Y| | | |
| | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | |
| | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | |

        an oak... in a forest of pine...
an oak in pine wood...

then onto the wood of sighs:

aH aH aH aH aH aH aH aH
aH aH aH aH aH aH aH aH
aH aH aH aH aH aH aH aH
aH aH aH aH aH aH aH aH
aH aH aH aH aH aH aH aH
aH aH aH aH aH aH aH aH
aH aH aH aH aH aH aH aH
          (somehow the surd escapes,
and later morphs into, but prior to)

a short script: variation on MW...

      pears' worth of blunting runes:
opulance s and ᛋ - versus z,
    congregation minor: the interchange, ß,
buttocks and *****, minus phantoms of erotica.
yet, taking into account trigonometry...
sine (genesis 0), and cosine (genesis 1),
or            M                                   W
(no Jew would dare believe the Latins have
the second 'alf of the proof: that loophole of all
things qab-cannibal-mystic - cravat donning
mystique - a flit's worth of sharpening,
or dental grit... flappy tongue,
flabby oyster, lazing for a crab's palette)...
so?

1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0
1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0
1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0
1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0
1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0
1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0
1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 0

of course there's an

Kaiser's hiccups
/are/
   and \were\
   legendary
and probably
  |will be|

having a little break cleaning the house, after having taken out the garbage, the dustmen always come later than the postman, around 2am, i'm guessing my street is their last point of call... which suits me just fine... the house was almost entirely cleaned, vacuumed, floors wiped with detergent... ugh... **** it... lazy fingers... i opened up my guitar case, the PIECYK (amp) is ******, i still have my first ever acoustic guitar but i'm missing three strings, my electric still has all 6 strings... i'll get some jam out... i haven't practiced in years... i figured: if i can't find a drummer... if i can't find a bass player... try the mandolin outside a girls window once, give up the dream, put a poster of a rock band on my wall... do some art when i'm completely "out of it": drunk... poetry: not a most spectacular art... well: it would be spectacular without all the ******* puritans of form, rhyme and: meter? they call it a meter but not a metre? that's a bit like telling someone you weigh... that's mass in kg multiplied by "X" is... 999.6N... ah... i know... science shoved it's pickled brain into casual talk: the distinction between weight and mass... mass came after weight... weight is still commonly expressed foundation akin to height... but it was a welcome break with my seemingly dead electric guitar... dangled a few jangles and jingles of remembering when i used to play... Silverchair's Shade, Red Hot Chilli Pepper's Under the Bridge... Eric Clapton's Layla... Link Wray's Rumble... Grieg's in the House of the Mountain King...

only today i realised that people are truly lonely...
odd... when i was in my utter depths of despair:
no one came... but who did come? me!
i picked myself up, no one was willing...
but then... coming across a descending /
an ascending choir of song in an empty church
then hearing a great wind disperse the singing:
i did have my technological asset with me...
the hallucination, the, "hallucination" was so potent
that... regardless of putting in my headphones
or not... the singing continued...
it was only when i scuttled and hid beneath
the altar and took the altar cloth off the altar
and covered myself momentarily with it
then starting running around the church like
a headless chicken... i know! i know! i know with
a BURNING I KNOW... if i uttered a word
i would hear the wrong reply!
either a god descending or a devil ascending...
after all... either side has a singing choir...

people are truly lonely...
i'm alone... loneliness is something that
attracts people to me...
i can't stomach loneliness...
for me that's like... the cul de sac of former
extroverts having an orange with no
orange juice to trickle down into a glass:
half full? regardless the optical misnomer of
calling the same glass: same... half empty...
i am more than willing to do this security
job because i get to do some decent work...
like being a chemistry teacher...
it's a great narrative canvas...
i write over what was already talked (over)...
that's how you get to paint by writing...
you're not some Tolstoy's...
no... not some Pavlov's dog trying to wet his appetite
but also sweat... via drooling saliva...
before my shift i had that random conversation
with mother...
she was watching the t.v. adaptation
of Leo Tolstoy's War & Peace and i said to her:
i don't recall having ever read Tolstoy...
he's not like Dostoyevsky, is he?

so we compared: Tolstoy is the writer
of the macro-cosmos... of events that shake nations
and the individuals: "individuals" are sort of:
chess-pieces...
it's the sort of literature of the salon...
Dostoyevsky is a psychologist...
a world war II might be taking place...
but... but... some Heinrich *******is getting dealt
a terrible hand of both luck and fortune...
like i said to my ailing mother:
she half-jokes aligned with giving birth to me
being her crucifixion...
i joke back: maybe if i wasn't born
i would have both my hinds...
i was once called a: hunchback angel by a guy
advocating the advent of the DUB-STEP musical
genre... way before DUB-STEP became bust
and only associated with SKRILLEX
"drop the button buster, beat, blah blah"...

reimagine drunk conversations in a pub...
in a PLOOB... Scouse? i don't know... maybe somehow
someday, maybe...
    ich sehen rot.. ergo: ich aufladung,
i.e. go! i.e. gehen!

people are so lonely, not having read anything of
philosophy...
if i were to learn anything from the sage-father
that my father isn't....
read philosophy when i'm old and clinging ton sanity
with a chance: oops...
*******... death end clue...
what?                        before you're dead...
please leave your nappies alongside the rest
of the remains of you...

i was having a: drinking session with
newly married couple... Irish traveller...
i downed his, my, his, my: whichever pint
long before the closing hours were done...
Frankie... Francesca...
**** me... Matthew Conrad "m.d."

it's called: tunneling!
me what?! a **** was asking me to g back
to her flat to sniff some *******...
smoke some ****....
i'd love to...
        but i need to make my mother
a coffee come 9am...

i never realised people could become so lonely
and when drinking enough become so blatantly obvious
about it...
it took me one night trip to find a fox's corpse
by the side of the street
to subsequently find a skip and some black bin bags
wrap the road-****... walk with it for almost five miles,
stopping off at the house to weigh myself
then me and the carcass...
amassed to about 7kg... a big, healthy *******
of a fox...
when i was picking him up from the pavement
at 5am a man and a woman were eying me up
like: no... not a ******... a shaman...
they should i might be pretending to chop the fox up...
i just didn't want such a beautiful creature,
beautifully dead, serene, lying on the side of the street...
the only burial i gave him was throwing him
into some thorny bushes by a stream...
another time i was playing i-see-you-but-you-don't-see-me
with another fox... sat on a curve and just eyed it...
until a woman passed the fox and me sitting across
the street drinking a beer... WE'RE MEDITATING!
did the fox flinch? nope... the woman walked about a metre
from the fox... ****** didn't flinch...
i was working up to the TOTEM...
it took one afternoon of the door being opened to
my kitchen and me cooking up two curries...
hey presto: BRODY...
that ****** came for leftovers from meals for over a month...
until, he stopped coming...
i'm guessing he was hit by a car...
but... i'm guessing my care for one fox being
somewhat properly buried and another fox coming
to inquire about: what smells so good
is the reason why i have captured such great photographs
of a fox in my garden...

- hmm... date? or after work coworker drinks?
i know that i scribbled in my little notepad
when she went on her Nth visit to the toilet...
my guess is that males have weaker bladder
of the sexes... a SPRINKLE OF SOME MARIJUANA..
i'm waiting for VOLTAGE...
i'm about to hallucinate in ink... burgundy mixing itself
with Bishop Purple...
those first 30 minutes after a sunset...
cycling down the A12 with heavy traffic... reaching the Green
Belt between Romford and Mark's Gate...
breathing through the nose...
Spring is teasing... Spring is teasing with her
oncoming stealth of scents...
the earth is yet again starting to breathe...
first comes the botanical kingdom,
soon after will come the kingdom of the insects...
wait! i have not heard of an angel or a demon
associated with botany! in charge of, say... roses...
too good of a mark for a Saint George with...
or was that St. Stephen...

write like an imitation of ice-skating...
pretend to fall... gain momentum...
think out a thinking of shadow, curb,
night and walking Ninja hey-presto! feline...
think a loudness: think the loudness...
the ***** of a 4 x 4 pedestrian cross
section of Tokyo...
leave your cycling attire on the bed, stinking of you...
watch a female cuddle and curl up to your Lycra
long-shanks for the specific reason: been cycling...
acid on a bicycle... the 1st and the only ever tRIP...

i always wanted to travel to India...
and walk back to England...
i always wanted to do that...
second: if? aha... QUESTION "question" questing onion
quest of an onion... ANSWER:
i swear, i: as it were... as it is... i: as it were:
i of i, i off i, i vs. no-i...
not i vs. not-i: schizoid broo... Brrrrr... BWOOM(B)
***** a-plenty with witches...

fly fly away my little star...
fly fly away my little st'ah... st'ah...
Stachurski! da da da... ditch Z-Detusche:
na minute, na chwile! na jedno
i drugie dingo dingo!

Lord of the Mushroom!
and mushy peas... and... dhal...
Lord... Bel
              פִּטרִיָה               (Be-EL)

i'm shocked that the gnostics didn't...
to be honest? what was missing in Hinduism?!
what was missing in Hinduism?!
AH HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA
AH HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA
AH HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA
AH HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA
AH HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA
AH HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA
AH HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA
AH HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA
AH HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!

oh yeah... that's a Satanic laugh that is...
a laugh that makes the existence of soul viable...
it is a glowing...
when one internalizes laughter with eureka
and mixes it up with stage-fright and a "hate"
for the sound of one's voice...
but then from time to time...
one is caught singing while doing chores and finds
one's voice appealing to be given song
rather than words to speak or write...

but not even in Egyptian mythology...
it was coming! it was ******* coming home!
the botanical godhead...
in the pantheon was missing!
was missing in the pantheon!
the

פ
P / PH / F (greek sidelined, referee: TH)eta
ט
T
ר
R(esh)
י
    YOD: first son of Yiddish: YON... by a boy named
YON...                  a

      e                                               i
                            Λ
                            Y                                  (LY)HH
    
                  o                       y

ה
hello friend: vowel catcher and laughter generator ...
ה not Π... that one connecting letter: ח

hmm: older than capitalism and communism,
but to simply the problem up:
capitalism is the lion
and everything English...
capitalism is the bear
and everything Russian...
vice versa for communism...
the English bred their mythos on the superiority
of a lion and... a unicorn... more a Celtic, Scottish... thing...
the Russians on... a union with the bear...
the bear and the two headed eagle: ergo:
another unicorn...
like the Srbs... serbs... two headed eagle?
the Soviet downfall with the two-headed eagles
of Chernobyl?
       ******: moi... i seriously sometimes forget
my own ethnicity i'm so caught up in English
metropolitan... cosmopolitanism...
      the Global City-Free-States... CITIES AS STATES...
very imaginable...

not City-States... rather... on the global connectivity
project?
what Dinosaur what meteor?
what super-volcano what Yellowstone
what man?
  it's a bit like Pompeii...
give the worlds greatest party and then the volcano
explodes...
better than a meteor: a volcano killed us...
Yella Big Yella...
            the greatest, supposedly no OB-EASE:
into obese...
          ah ah... tongue out... speak! the prolonged A
of neither ah not āh...
                      -
                        2

                                      ****... that's chemistry's notations...
                     2
                  -                                 (huh?!)

the macron over the A... for AAH...
i.e. not an:                                                      ah!

                        á!
                                               A
    
                                   H                        H

           á                                   'ey?!
                                ha ha: key?    hey?!

the burial ground of...
    hmm...
               BEE-EL...
      
PHTRYH: the godhead is that of a mushroom...
people partied to the music of: infected mushroom...
a god is making himself known...
like the false god of H. P. Lovecraft
horror-imago: Nyarlathotep...

precisely! what vowels!
PH or P or F?
   two H's emerged... a good sign that it's PH
for aesthetic reasons...
scribbling this down...
i feel like i'm actually left-handed...
a diametrical opposition to the stasis-enforced
gravity of nothing falling: everything sitting...

ph(aeiou)t(aioue)r(aouei)y(aueio)h(aeiou)

if insects can be allowed the dimension of godly
creatures: thousand blessings on the head!
the lion's head the eagle...
emblem of the Volk of the Volcano:
a Mushroom-Head...
                    
toilet... ah... welcome relief... the water is running...
running...
hmm... from a top... otherwise flowing...
if...
lake: mirror imitation, Lake Narcissus and
his brother Sea Samael: Death...
     like absinthe before adding water like it
was milk...
the water is in tide: with tide: use the FORCE...
tide...
   like water found the force... the force:
with force water found gravity via tide...
earth found gravity with the quake
fire found gravity with the sparkle of the stars...
fire... charcoal peered at night at the already
lighted... as he admired the lightning with fear...
no lightning ever warmed...
comforts of a distant home... fire found gravity
envying the stars... Prometheus who?
and the brothers of Gaia?
Fero...
                fire...
                              AQ... the water brother...
ah... forgot about the younger sister:
AIA...              air...

what a weird ******* date, coworker after shift drinking...
i've never been on a date with a lesbian...
i felt... TESTED... we watched almost the entire match
Chelsea women vs. Tottenham Women Hotbras...
coming close to the end of the shift she asked
if i wanted to go drinking...
sure... why not...

            hmm... it became a date... after she bought the two
rounds i paid for on our previous encounter
when we actually went ice-skating and i became
a local internet sensation for teaching seagulls how to fly:
wearing ice-skates, frozen lake: fly fly!

so we start... the pub is getting busy...
it feels worse than a strip-club...
at least in a strip-club most people are naked
and people get to wear imaginary masks...
in a pub? **** me...
people are dressed up and are made to wear
imaginary clothing! ha ha!
masks?! what masks... a LIE is 10 masks... one lie equals
10 masks... because a lie concerning
the body of soul... is accented with more than
a physical imprint...
LIE MASK AS IF PRETEND SUPPOSE SO
AS IF AS SO CALL IT QUITS
ACTING

it felt like a date... she was getting all nervy...
going to the toilet... checking her phone all the time...
i was patient, smart girl, while i was pretending to
opt out from her OCD... check the phone...
check the fridge-freezer... check your opt out
capacity for a TV license...

how do you go out on a date with a lesbian?
neither you nor her are advocating for woke talking points...
about pronouns or... Furry? listen...
she talks to me about getting FIFA '22...
i finished gaming off at PS1 and reliving the golden days
by re-watching the walkthroughs of
MGS2 (metal gear solid 2)...

because? movies are ****...
i don't want to want these women...
i want... a ******* canoe and a ******* paddle!
and a grizzly bear cub to cuddle and a birch tree to cuddle!

MUFFA!
YEROYI... AHMADI-DEM-BASHAI
YAMSH'EH GIBYT!
VAZOL: OCH TIBI IM PEO-OM-KATA
ES O I TOBOM.

no language suddenly praise with the rigidity of
continuation...
i'll be honest... what do i need a woman for?
to get old, get a haircut... buy food...
not watch the sunrise or the sunset...
instead watch the news on t.v. watch the t.v.
not watch the aquarium?
don't own an aquarium?

own a car but don't own a bicycle?!
in London...
it was 2: so nie to know you: snooze:
represented by letter Z or 2...
if 5 is S and 6 is b...

                     the marriage of letters
to numbers... numbers? meaningless...
absolutely... meaningless...
199 KILOGRAMS
200 CENIMETRES
X contra "x"...

        dead-weight marrying
      1 + 1 + 1 = 3
when marrying
o + n + e = one...
              ah! but 3 and one are different!
former? the forever unit...
latter? the splinter, E3...
forever question...

               turn 3 into omega...
when sharpen it up for a SH... hide the H...
wake up the Z... hide the Z
emerge with a v above an
                           S

call it crown....

     - so Francesca asked me to go drinking again:
again a date doesn't feel like a date...
am i supposed to know about the plethora of female
sexuality?
         **** McDonald one day...
   straight out of Orange is the New Black the next?
just for drinks... i thought we would equal out the tab
on who paid for what previously...
went into the pub at around 20:30 came out around
00:15... we watched the females' football league...
her team, Chelsea beat Tottenham at the Leyton Orient
ground: no plague of parakeets...
honestly: hand on my heart and one on my ear
standing naked before four mirrors:
i did not hear about wild parakeets... parakeets
in general since: only since i worked the Craven Cottage
shifts... Bishop's Park was full of them!
there were no wild parakeets in Essex... not that i know of...
i once listed down all the birds
i could see from my garden...
seagulls, kestrels, two hawks battling in the air,
woodland pigeons, urban pigeons,
crows, magpies, sparrows, swallows,
robins, blackbirds, Canadian geese (migrating),
mallard ducks (also migrating), swans (migrating ditto)...
but sure as **** no parakeets!

in that session i bought only 1 round...
she was hungry so she ordered food...
three plates of food...
fried wings with two sauces...
a bowl of cheesy fries with strips of bacon
and a bowl of popcorn chicken which
i first thought was: battered and deep-friend
mozzarella nuggets...
i had three things... showing off my eating skills...
my grandparents never used to eat
the cartilage and the best meaty bits
off of the chicken legs, drumsticks or wings...
i went a step further...
a bit like eating a whole apple... including the core...
aa magic trick of eating:
you begin with holding something in your hand...
then it disappears completely...
holding an apple, whole, and eating it whole...
subsequently is a bit like playing with a top hat
imagining red eyed albino bunnies, from Albania
(albino >< Albania).. clash of borrowed letters
but two completely different meanings...

etymologically: Albania: land of the Albinos:
Albanios? more like a he, noun...
a mountain, a he...
                 a lake: he and she... neither, always:
if reading English like a native
of the tongue...
                        Albatross from Albanions...
poetry borrowed from a dictionary, rigid function:
hiding the rhyme
exposing the etymological "rhyme".
Alba-
                                      white...
a dyslexic meets a Daltonist in Dover..
the dyslexic arguments are along the lines of:
Dawid Bovie... dead... pish-poor shapes to be be
before huddling out the grave
for a Madame Tussauds pose and a quick nap
and not asking for
a Doppelganger like Sisyphus without a stone
but the equivalent worth of the stone
in pebbles...

    i would be a fair god...
if i'm willing to give birth to an angel of the Botanical realm
since there's the Lord of the Flies... Beelzebub..
and there's the Lord of the Mosquitos: Jesus "sacred heart"
reincarnated by Jungian inspection
a literal: MOTHER... ******...
Chirst...
                      it's not enough to play the pig's blanket
and pretend a crucifix is a ***** and in dire need of being
used by a ******* according
to Marquis de Sade...
Phateroyah...
                     obviously the vowels will change...
with vowels like water and consonants like earth...
punctuation is like air... punctuation and a physical
representation of writing: nothing ethereal,
nothing metaphysical... writing with expression
on our faces... writing as something less and less
a claustrophobic or its implosion: to an effect...
writing less about an extension of thinking...
in the Cartesian dynamic:
res extensa: via writing, alternatively:
if one were to be prone to smoking enough marijuana:
auditory hallucinations... writing is
by definition the same variant of the EXTENDED classification
as a schizophrenic's auditory hallucination...
the former just forces it upon others...
the latter is unwarranted access to a corrupted ego...
a hurt ego...
an ego without the capacity to imagine,
to dream, to digress...

i showed her how to eat chicken proper...
i ate three wings, two chips avoiding the bacon and cheese,
and about three popcorn nuggets...
i forgot myself: once all the cartilage on the bones
was cleaned off... i went in to bite into the bones...
the ends are sort of soft and marshmallow-almost...
not in texture... in my reimagining:

reimagining - hmm... Kant...
         remembering...
a prior... remembering...
   a posteriori: reimagining...

if a crime happens we don't have an a priori remembering
tactic... ingesting the realm of a prior
with memory... remembering...
that's what we do...
what came before 5? S? or !!!!! five exclamation marks?
or? >>>>> five more-than signs?
did 5 come before five?
did words spawn numbers
or did numbers spawn words?
clearly they're not identical...
and they operate two different realms...

we have words for numbers...
as we have numbers that are also letters...
but numbers are not words...
even 3.14159....
                   is not a word, but a letter: Pi i.e. P...
it's not a word... it's at best a letter...
i'm thinking the gods are words and the angels
are letters...
  while the anti-gods are constants
and their "angels" are numbers...

constants?
                         3.14159..... is not a constant... it's a freak of O...
a circle... and a whole mythology of the Wheel...
O... ****** VENUS...
  phallus... the egg... Oh and 0ero         Z: zed extended
via snooze: zzzzz... harps and snoring... terrible music...
constants? in numbers as if creating a word?

6.02214076 × 10²³ mol⁻¹

                     Avogardo's: the equilibrium dynamic if
i remember correctly...
today i learned about...
     Jakob Fugger... back in his day worth around
400 billions "x"... who financed the construction
of St. Peter's in Rome...
i now wish i visited Rome instead of Venice...
          i would have had more fun in Rome...
  
(algebra is the reply, letters imitating
numbers... should the inclusion of MOL be a problem)...

i bit off the chicken legs marrow...
she was in the toilet about fifty ******* times, each time,
ordering more drinks...
we came in at 20:30 and left at around 00:30
at one point she was in the toilet and
i just remembered something...
they have this "thing" in Japan... where you pay a stranger
to pretend to be your friend...
i'm not pretending... but conversation is dry...
i try to ask questions: i ask questions,
i hear replies... but i don't hear reciprocating
questions... Mr. Familiar has or had no problems?
people confide in me and yet
whenever i try to confide in them
i'm told to shut up...
oh... i get it... i do...
before i knew it i was this heaven-sent ideal...
i was the strength and they were the weakness...
i see it now more than even...
she can tell me about her abusive past...
her drunk father who kissed her mother with knuckles
instead of lips... how she's a lesbian but also
a butch ******* **** with hands almost as large as mine
and how her daughter was put into care
because "X"...
but my shizophrenia is a "schizophrenia" is...
i wasted my 20s on anti-psychotic drugs and psychiatrists
that i bundled up and threw into a hornets' nest of
******* *****, threesomes (just the one, but one is
the threshold)... prostitutes: you talk more with your
eyes and your hands and your other endings
and your nose than you care to ******* lasso a string
of coherent words together...

my problem? what problems?! exactly...
there's nothing wrong with me: i have no regrets...
i don't need to speak to someone with an endearing
sake of self definition... i can just scribble notes down
and leave them for some yet to be born
****** of petty things...
i can do just that... no wonder i can't open up...
talk about... "me"? that's still packaged goods...
i'm waiting for the morbid call of a biography
postmortem...

it's strange going on a date with a lesbian...
it's not a date it's me going for after-work drinks
with a colleague...
it's me and her eyeing up the same behind the counter:
tight ***, fake eyelashes she can pull off...
her unwashed pink-fading dyed fair:
feminist... it's me telling her a little about my past:
i had long hair before,
i couldn't pull off a Jesus...
i would only grow a beard if i cut my hair...
short...
she's still trying to find me on social media...
god: i love keeping a girl in suspense whether or not
i have any social media presence...
best try it out with a lesbian first...
we talk about dating apps:
i have a knowledge of their existence...
but hardly a knowledge that might demand
the pressures of: USAGE...

i end up drinking the night away with a revelation...
i was eyeing these two pairs of love birds for some time...

when i was at the Ol' "John's" taking
a whizz... this Greek version of Freak... o.k. o.k.,
ETHAN ROARK type... balding on the top
of the cranium, allows his hair to grow long...
didn't you know...
Garry Glitter was released... he's already
been harangued by the ******* "police"....

what like Batman did a "forever"?
          
   i get paedophiles doing a second jester runner
with meeting up with underage:
sorry... not boring enough?
it's like pretending to be a mandible,
aerobic classed agility with
a prosthetic... that's what ******* a teenage girl
might feel like:
i rather run with deer....
or charm a fox into becoming my totem...
should i be reincarnated what might i come back as?
i'm not banking: i'm saying: fuchs!
fox! LIS!
if i were to freely roam the prance-lands of Essex
as a fox... that's me, done and dusted...

but i wouldn't inhibit a man willing to repent...
after all: if no forgiveness?
the Muslims were right: no crucifixion took place...
did it?
a 78 year old can be given a heave's sake....
life's fruition and that's done...
sorry for the hurt parties... living their:
adamantly purposive lives
with the weight of: Abel not dead...
sorry... the story goes... Cain murders you....
you're still live yet:
you're supposed to be dead...

i'm only making excuses for Gary Glitter...
i wouldn't be for...
Ralph Heimans...
                                 it's music and i can't stop
listening to Rock & Roll parts I & II...

**** me: i ended up the night...
she hated ***** accents.. Liverpool-day-john-ion...
part Eirish: skirmish: scoot!
a Swabian swap... an "oops": Ludwig... or was
that Lufthansa...
this girl, a ***** bridge,,. i'd love to add hired
bride...
                  but instead?

Traveller Irish... i was talking to a bridge...
bride...
you want a drinking race?
ejecting the two pairs...
i snuggled down my pint: his pint...
in 3x glugs... i saw a phantom of an opera...
what?she told me she never used social
media before marrying?
why do i need to Afghanistan to find
datable brides? i squeak and wriggle myself
into the CAMPER VAN culture...
Irish travellers... so? i'll drink with them...
i'd drink with a repentant ******* asking:
was it anything like Nabokov prescribed?!

£30 for 3.5grams of ****...
time excavated? 30+ hours...
£120 + £10 for entry for an hour with a *******...
well... i'd love to prove my masculinity
with having a competing:
hopeless: always alive sort of battery life:
kept up: *******...
but even i think *** is primarily a dosage of
insect desires...
mammals like us sometimes
tend to play games to escape the pressures
of ***...
requested: what? getting my beard trimmed
or getting my underwear "lost" or my ******* "trimmed"?

i get it... ******* are people who are not afforded
a chance to compensate...
relieve themselves through the shared
antics of (shared) grief...
just like Jesus Christ once crucified can't be
resurrected! n'est ce pas?!
what if... the ******* can be left alone...
in his freedom and a freedom-sickly-cage...
what if?!

a bit like saying:
but i can't be anti-racist...
i can be a non-racist...
but i can't be: anti-racist...
                    there are humans either side of
the "argument"...

one mighty argument of goo after another...
inverting the whole dynamic of dates...
seen your face for over a year...
now i heard your voice: your soul...
you heard me laughter...

a naked table, a naked chair...
a dressed table, a dressed chair,
a lightbulb with a cloche...
rigid Slavic KLOSZ...
walls: brick or slab...
naked... wallpaper slapped on...

   how did that "date" end up?
i was speaking to Irish Travellers...
the ****** types... caravan dwellers...
with the girl... snogging before
ordering a pint....
how she was Lady Margaret all pristine
didn't drink or use social media
before getting married...
i was chasing pints...
race: 3x glugs down...
  i out-chased him...

the pub was closing, we wanted the people out...
strange so, talking to this Irish Traveller Lassie,
most settled people with mortgages or
council houses, flats... avoid speaking to Irish Travellers...
but the revelations she uttered...
i might as well been talking to a Muslim girl...
by her account...
she didn't start drinking before she was married...
she didn't use social media,
she said that in the travellers' community having
a social media account is a bit like *******...
hell: i think it's much worse...
fair play to the capitalistic system...
but social media is what it is...
         it has marketed our private-lives...
not written as a complaint...
                        i allowed for that to happen...
willingly...
now i can't simply walk away from the gallery...
i still don't know what to do with it
instead of making if a reference point akin to:
the red and the amber and the green
of traffic lights...
the "system" wasn't going to capitalise on the market
of my dating preferences and ****** encounters...
sure... i don't mind a public "dear diary"...
a place to store links to music videos when i forget
to add them to my browser's bookmarks:
because i've probably added the same song twice...

but Kant has been bothering me...
ever since i wrote:
a priori remembering
    and a posteriori reimagining...
why do i think that it's impossible
to a priori reimagine?
              
i need to go back to the rubric
and try to burn it into my head like the alphabet
was burned into my mind once...
one of the following four
is impossible:
    with the simplest expression for each:

(analytical) a priori                             (analytical) a posteriori
1 + 1 =2                                                   not every man is a ******
wrong!                                                   some men are
that's synthetic a priori!
+, /, £

(synthetic) a priori                               (synthetic) a posteriori
1 + 1 = 2                                                   £: money makes monkey
i synthesised these                                either that shaman
numbers...                                              mushroom on an ant's
analysed what prior?                            buttocks or:
the increasing number                          the botanical "anomaly"
the added, subtracted,                        money is: asexuality it's
multiplied,                                              what if Adam gave Eve
by god sq. rooted?!                              her first un-earned banknote...
1, 2, 3, 4...                                              spend freely! not having
                                                                earned it!
                                                               what if Eden and the apple
                                                                are wholly outdated
                                                                metaphors?

hmm...

the first £10 she got? was that money earned or money freely
given? was she handed down an allowance or
her first earnings? the trickling down idea follows suit:
if her father gave her money for free... for completing "chores"...
if he gave her an allowance: worse still...
without chores...
why wouldn't expect the sane fir passable:
future partners: daddy day-care "hoes"...
                           my daddy this, my daddy that...
HUBBY no. 2... give give...
i drink less... i smoke some marijuana
and i remember that i read some philosophy...
no new grounding since Wittgenstein
gobbled down Spinoza in a ferocious
of homosexual madness of jealousy...
misunderstood by at least 4 parties...

*** and women unplugged...
some of us boys are playing a game of Alchemy...
solid silver, liquid silver...
i guess plastics are gassy silver...
***... can i please assume there might be
two mouths breathing?

I ate your breath before you ate the apple...
i ate your breath while you gauged
my eyes and saw milk in your *******...

in the labyrinth of: i sigh...
i'm to your bidding bound, sire...
i ate your breath long before you might have ate...
that fruit of autumn, fallen, rotten...
fermenting.... this rotten fruit...
no, not plucked from three... ripe and sweet...
rather picked up attired in autumn's clothes:
auburn, over-ripe cinnaamon-brown,
orange and yellow...

you gave me a drunkard's bear or ilk!
male deer! you gave me a drunkard's apple!
i might be stumbling:
but i'm still chiming with the blues!
what Mosad Mandarin faction of
the intelligence community?

   ching-fang-*******-wall'ah-CHANG
wrote a similar (liar) armistice peace-war:
if we can't use this military equipment...
let's, make... ******* movies!
woo yee HA!

Baron astronaut, ergonomic... a house ought
to have two doors: H... a house
ought to have rooms focused upon the dynamic
of Y...
oh **** your woo! woo! glue my ***
of the Tetragrammaton:
i heard it once before:
the Arabs got their pearly and Kentucky bound
Timothy....
while the Hebrews got the paranoia...
windmills in Chelsea, London,
not Kansas... New Lit Bits of Jersey....

i was left aghast... um... i laughed...
i couldn't say the words ****... pairing it up with her voice...

well... according to sources all knowledge a piori
is ANYLYTICAL... but what was i "analysing"
when i was conjuring the letter R or the number Z?
i borrowed the circle from the sun
and the house from the cave?
i must have done so...
i probably conjured the game of rugby from
the sea's tides and yoyo from an egg of a dodo...
and the goal posts from the letter H...
ripples in the water ZigZag and M and W...
cosine as the refined W
and sine as the refined M...

   a parabola confined in a W...
D in do and devil...
God with Dog and: all?! ah!

    i'm not dumb: i just want to extract more from Kant
than people, ever had, toyed with a jihad of had the Hadiths
in a puddle of paper: equaling the refined weight:
of the organic worth of bark? timber: temples of stone
have turned the gods all cold:
about 5 kilograms for a stash of a week's worth of newspapers...

please please don't let me understand myself:
please oh please don't let me understand myself:
when i'm sober and especially when i'm slightly drink...
drunk... drunk... and smoking a bit of ****...
and...

grass is green: after having established that
not everything is grass
and not everything that's grass is green
wheat? grows like grass...
but it's not green...
and it grows taller than grass
and cows and horses don't eat it...

i could watch a thousand movie and listen to a million
songs... i could even manage to love a woman
and her tell me in the cravat adorning mammal skin
caravans... but i'd still go to bed with Kant...


   it's not that difficult but i need to ask myself to burn
this rubric into my mind...
under each the easiest expression: an abstract...
i just can't word it differently:
a priori remembering...
true...
a posteriori reimagining...
also true:
after the fact of seeing a tree...
can i see a tree prior?
ergo? i can't be capable of a priori reimagining...
first i have to see a tree...
but upon seeing the tree i can't reimagine it...
therefore i can only reimagine what comes after seeing it...
how do i practice a priori remembering?
on the most practical level...
i remember 1 + 1 = 2...
history and memory...
sure... but what of history as epistemology?
as a child i'm not really taught that 1 + 1 = 2...
knowledge and 1 + 1 = 11... not "somehow" just by
"coincidence" of the missed meaning of the cipher +,

epistemology and etymology are the only
two branches that should be given access to the study
of history...

reimagining a tree is impossible in that it's a realm
of geometric abstractions that borrow from
geometric orthodoxy and render them useful:
a tree is a home, i can, reimagine a tree...
if i reimagine myself as a bird or a monkey
perched in a tree... reimagining the roof...
via the sky... but that's hardly likely,
mountain and cave dwelling: home...
a prior reimagining is in its own right something...
but reimagining resulted in the dimension
of a posteriori...
i reimagine a tree and make it: a talking tree...
i apply pareidolia...
or like with clouds... those favourites...
why would i reimagine clouds a priori?
i can... but then that would imply reimagining
cauliflowers... or rather: clouds remind me of
cauliflowers: but that's not reimagining either
clouds or cauliflowers: it's remembering what each
looks like and why, subjectively i remember:
that i think they're alike...

hmm... proof: no pudding....
clearest blue...
          or solid green... the Jade from China...
XINY X= CH
we can apply the letter X in our tongue...
that's what marijuana morphs:
the perception of time... 10 minutes already
feel like an hour....
xolera... cholera H! hhhh...
                 xorwat - croat...
                   xemia - chemistry....
chmiel: xmiel:
                              toad breath!
the stuff i sniff up before going to bed!
you ******* DYSLEXIC...

choroba: xoroba...
sickness...

  DYSLEHIC...
                   i'm asking for upgrades...
i hope my upgrades are not too: demanding...
i'm asking... i'm asking...
i'm getting **** all...
well then... best not become a priest
and conjure up what i might need...
i may need this that and the other...
Hebrew...
i'll need the vowel hiding prerogative
to be minded... i'll need Kant..
punctuation marks and numbers....
most certainly letters...
plus akin to comma....

                                 if still alive: i'll lso require death...

chwila: xwila: a fleeting moment...
lapsed timing...
           c H-A
arecz: samo-H-ah...
                  nie na xixota.... śpiew
raptem: tak! ha! ha! aha!

daj znać gdy ty i ja,
tak nagle żyją... i nie... o tak!
i mihght have a Frenchman's heart
to want: Romance after news of
a hereafter..
the moon is blue
the sun is bronze...
the air is milky in the morning...
the water is traffic and there's no
traffic... i'd like death before the explaining mantra:
what's worth a life: squid parody on... ******* skates?!

the love of the gods is doubly insulating...
first they try to demolish you: one ******* fatal claim after another...
the they employ women... they too... *******.. fail...
what are you rounding up against, you?!
sails without winds and no boats to sail with,
the supposed... great artefacts of claiming
the winds!

i once sat alone in a park... hair growing freely....
i had no addition of a face with the addition of hair...
i had no beard, not stubble...
the wind was and my long hair was
and there was, no war, no famine...
there was only dancing and twice reading
into a Charles Dickens...

twice: a rereading a text not available
for journalistic imprints of:
that satisficed mantra of derailing:
expectations of the meddling-ground....

oh well: oh nothing...
oh riddle me some more: nothing...
life is cheap: buy it bought!
sell it sold!
       earn it not living (it); earning it!
ergo: "living"... and (existentialism)...

   a king's frown is a beggar's stomach...
money makes money:
onions grow on trees!

giving birth to the son of Mammon
was... not... hard?
seriously?!
                          thank god i'm twisted in my own
sort of superstitious way...
when there's talk of a birth of an angel...
my ****** demands become joke...
i forget something, and within the confines
of something: almost: everything...

save180:

p'oh tay t'oh
but not
toe-may-toe
that's not
t'oh may t'oh
but...
t'oh m'ah t'oh

         if only it was a p'oh t'ah toe t'oh.

when i told people in my first block class at school, a science class, that my favorite movie was straight outta compton, they all laughed.
and i guess i understood why. im a little white girl that was wearing a skirt that day. okay, so thats nice.
i guess i cant like things because i live in a pretty nice neighborhood and im white and im a girl.
but guess what.
i like straight outta compton because i understand the people part of it. like oh god.
i used to love going to the movies because i could escape my reality, which ***** more than people know because i dont tell them things sometimes, but i havent enjoyed a movie in years because every reality in my life has completely taken over and defeated me.
but maybe i like straight outta compton so much because for the first time in years, i actually connected with something that felt real to me.
yeah ok, its just a movie.
but watching the movie, i got to meet these characters and they became my friends. i dont care about how lame that is.
this is a poetry site. look at all the angst. and my gosh, look at that fourth wall i just broke.
ice cube is my friend. ren is my friend. yella too. all my friends, and i watched them get shoved to the ground outside their own recording studio.
because they were black.
and sitting in the movie theatre seat in my nice neighborhood in my white skin, i cried.
i cried my eyes out, because those actors onscreen were telling me a story in the personas of these new friends of mine.
i cried when eazy found out he had aids. just when nwa was about to get back together.
it was like watching a personal potential victory slip right between my fingers. it felt so close.
and i watched his body shake in agony. eazy cried. he had months to live.
in my white skin in my nice movie seat in my nice neighborhood where ive never had to watch anyone die, i cried because in that moment, all of it was real to me.
you cant explain something like that, not even to your friends.
in my nice neighborhood where there arent streetwalkers and people doing coke and peoples houses getting rammed down by the cops, my friends dont want to listen to nwa because of all the cussing.
and i think, there is so much that you miss if you initially reject it because you dont like it, because you think that it hurts your character.
hear no evil, see no evil.
you dont want the cussing floating around in your head.
its bad. its sinful.
but my gosh, its only words.
i dont think that eazy wanted the doctors diagnosis in his head.
i dont think that he wanted to deal coke and get almost caught by the police. i think he wanted to stay in the safe neighborhood with me in the nice movie seats crying about some other character on the screen that had their dreams crushed and their life taken.
i dont think that ice cube wanted to be taken advantage of by his manager.
i dont think i would like that either.
i dont like that people think that my friend, ice cube, isnt as smart as the little white girl in her biotechnology class. people might look down on him because hes black, or because gangsta rap made him do it, or because he didnt come from the nice neighborhood with the movie theater that i was crying in because my friends were being beaten.
maybe im crazy for saying this, but....i think maybe the movies arent supposed to always entertain us or make political statements or educate us or wow us with light shows.
maybe theyre meant to give us new perspectives we dont get because we live in nice neighborhoods with our movie theaters and our friends nwa that dont get to live here because they came from compton and got thrown in jail because they used their right to freedom of speech or got aids and died.
my friends werent all good. they did drugs and abused women, and im not okay with that, but i love them anyway, yknow?
because theres just one type of folks. not real or fictional, not actors and audience, not black and white.
just folks.
just friends.

1...2...3...4
'Cinderella, dressed in yella,
went upstairs to kiss her fella
By mistake she kissed a snake,
How many doctors did it take?'

*1...2...3...4...
skipping rope with girlish delight
realizations of real life burdens out of tune
how many snakes does it really take
to chuff that wonderment of childhood

double dutch that innocence right out of her
does it burn yet, round and round and up and down
she stares out the window with her eyes closed
dreams of Cinderella and Prince Charming's cloudy
he went downstairs to kiss her spoon
that jumped over the moon, jack fell down
and broke her crown if only she were Alice,
what could she do?
tell the Mad Hatter to make him act
like a 'real daddy',
bounce her on his knee,instead of
this thing he calls 'special kind of love'
as he rolled her over,
she prayed to god above

There was silence that echoed in her chaste ears
except when he said you better do this right
she obliged cause she knew if she did not obey
there'd be even more evil coming to play

All the King's horses and all the king's men
couldn't put her back together again 1....2....3....4......

Cinderella,
dressed in yella
went downstairs to meet a fella
on the way her knickers busted
how many people were disgusted?

1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8...

colin, was a camel
who liked to roam

a two ****** fella
sort of brownish yella
decidely cool and mellow

had an eye on the road
always moving forward
albeit at a somewhat leisurely pace
and always with a goofy
smile on his face.

never looked back
and that's a fact
often found straying
from the beaten track
never in lack
of a kind word or to
incredably pragmatic
in his point of view

when asked his opinion
on the world today
stated emphatically
ya just gotta hope
and pray....that
and stay outta
the big boys way.

colin the camel
who liked to roam
had eleven big brothers
who stayed at home

colin was wise
most were twiçe
his size
and the rest
had habits
that attracted flies.

so colin kept
more than one step ahead
cause if they caught up
with him
colin was dead....

sometimes the title would just do,
                                                                      in the days
when fame doesn't echo throughout
the ages, where to find
   a Hector or an Achilles?
             only in times when life was
precious that it was doubly precious
by being audacious and teasing death -
where are the death-teasers among
us? who among us is a death-teaser?
no one... the myth of Sisyphus isn't
exactly a myth... what was a myth
in the 20th century is the plateau reality
of the 21st century -
                             there's a great joke
concerning Norway...
    a book sold half a million copies
          in a country populated by 5 million people...
so it's basically a village mentality "nation"...
i already said you should teach evolution
on the canvas of vikings rather than working
from neanderthals...
            berserker turned cultural clique -
the joke about the british decision to leave the e.u.?
hmm... multiculturalism? taking the genes
     to the cleaners in fear of hereditary weak genes?
isolated muslim communities who think that
britain is a country that's 75% muslim?
           it's, the, *******, irony... the brits can be
as well gifted in rude humour or smug with their wit,
but they've hardly explored their gaft of irony,
well, that's a miscomprehend use of a word,
for the mere phonos of the word: i had to use it...
   like gaffer is the chargehand on a building site.
what i mean is that the brits put so much energy
into a monty python sketch that they can't see
the irony they're implementing...
         can england ever become clique?
              did the british empire ever exist is a similar
question: yes, the british empire imploded,
we have three generations of the Raj living in
Islington, three Saudi generations living
in Marble Arch on Edgware Road...
                           we have hobnobs Harrods
lit up like sitting on a marble toilet with gold plated
toilet seats... tacky... that **** is tacky...
          and when people get rich, they just have
   a new way of saying they're poor... no taste.
me? i feel like having a patron... the pope, for example...
for all the god willing reasons i should have been
the poet along with the Renaissance masturbators
of the ******* in clay.... boy... Donatello really rubbed
that impression right into a David post *******...
look 'ere, placid like a gluttonous mosquito...
n'ah... fame these days is too much of a corpus -
it attracts hyenas and vultures once the lions
got bored...
   fame these days is too much c.c.t.v. -
             the omni eye looks at what colour my ****
was (and what consistency) from last Wednesday.
plus modern dialectical discourse has either become
too much solipsistic / autistic... or it's a wanking
marathon... which makes assurances to unsafe
*** between partners, and ultra safe *** between
pundit and *******, with the *******'s
reassurance: i get regular health checks...
        i mean, when she's so hot that after zenith
you jump into the bath and pour cold water
over yourself and she remains in bed *******
herself looking at you? genuine scenes there...
i have a ****** imagination... experience is so
much better... i'd rather slit my wrists than
work for Disney.
no, wait... wait! there's a point coming, referring
to the title... yep...
   a culinary rebellion against modern art backed by
Cézanne... you seen the recent Turner prize?
         i used to see a Turner prize every time i went
to the recycling centre near Upminster...
or a car-boot sale down Walthamstow...
i also used to go and see the dog-races down that route...
E17... when you used to have yella-double-decca
buses 123 and 179 travel the route...
        alright... look at a Cézanne still life...
(i call it instilled life) - now... can you imagine any
artist attempting to depict a modern culinary
experiment? can you, imagine a heston blumenthal
on a canvas in oil or watercolour?
      no, because you can't!
                                  the china or porcelain is the canvas
and there you have: a painting.
             this is a culinary rebellion against modern
art... the chefs decided to work from scratch,
or what you might call: working from Cézanne,
just because we returned to the Lascaux caves
  with huge open space art galleries and a toothpick
   that is cited: abstract of a pine...
                           and it takes 20 cubic metres to
be admired...                     (ever tried nagging?
  it's a steam-release, or like watching an entertaining
homosexual, same ****, different cover);
    and if you have a thumb's worth of a litre bottle
of whiskey? well... hail west!
             no sane artist would re-apply the modem of still
life into depicting modern cuisine...
  i know, i know... some dynamism went into
             turning a pear into a poached pear...
the hand of god...          but that transfiguration cannot
escape the stillness... it's not moving...
                 it's prefiguring a diner (not a place, a pundit
in a restaurant) doing a minor Pavlov experiment
when the plate is before him... at this point,
unless he's not a starving refugee, i think appetite is abstract.
          you know what was in the background
while i was writing this? ambiance...
  feng shui... refrigerator ambivalence...
     in a world when a chinese cobbler gets paid 2 squid
a day... and a poet in england gets paid zilch or close to
10 quid in a decade.

She was known as Eartha Mae born in the small town of North in the The Palmetto State

Her childhood was even a mystery that she wished to forget from suffering abuse and neglect all because of her skin color - a light pale complexion - commonly referred as "yella"

She was of fair complexion due to the racial mix of African-American, European, and Cherokee Native American descent

Eartha was poorly treated and abandoned by others till she was saved by a Good Samaritan and taken to New York

Nurtured and raised into the Big Apple flair, she flourished and sprouted like flowers from the Earth

Charismatic and mysterious, she was like her name - spiritual and intuitive, she had a deep connection to the Great Mother (Earth)

The elements on Earth resided within her

Earth is the body, Water set in blood, Air is in the breath, and Fire ruled a free spirit

As a dancer with the legendary teacher, Katherine Dunham, who motivated the shy young girl to blossom and shine

She learned new languages and traveled to far and wide exotic places soaking up foreign cultures and faces

She was always searching for love and acceptance and enjoyed it though short and brief until she gave birth to a beautiful baby girl that she affectionately named Kitt

Eartha's life was now complete now that she had her child - someone to cherish and love

Both were different as night and day but their love ran deeper and stronger than skin - everyone noticed the powerful bond that couldn't be severed

Eartha had a subtle sensuality with a rich silky velvet speaking voice that turned vibrant, versatile, and passionate whenever she sang

A commanding powerful stage presence with a royal and noble aura - she possessed the carriage of a divinely queen

Outspoken and bold, she was not afraid to tell the truth - it nearly cost her career and left her exiled out of America until her triumphant return to Broadway in 1978, when she performed in the play, Timbuktu!

Her career was resurrected and skyrocketed once more and led her to many more places and open doors bringing fans from old generations and new, the queen had returned and was living life rich and fully

A strong social activist, she fought racism and injustice bringing unity and peace in numerous subtle ways from dance to social causes, she was admired and loved for being different and a vocal advocate for the outcast and rejected

On Christmas Day 2008, she left the world behind with Kitt by her side

Although she's gone, she will never be forgotten - her legacy lives on in her music and lives she touched

Farewell, Eartha Kitt

when i = ? i count that, to be the lowest ebb,
and only the word allah can prompt man to genuine song...
truly, i = ? is the lowest ebb,

capitalism has this behavioural
pattern, in which things
fish, cars, aeroplanes are
given the gravity of language,
so they they can express feeling
an via cinema excavate a man's
heart and speak to the heart of man
of a symbiosis...

capitalism is currently concerned with
symbiosis,
like parasites and its hosts...
   it seems we have to pass the concept of
word to dogs or sausages
    in order to keep a dialogue...

i spent this afternoon looking at pictures
of beren saat [beˈɾen saˈat] -
or how we could just insert a macron
and hide the aa... or ah... of fake needing
a dental appointment, or extract a breath
of that H in ah?
ergo? beren sāt... oh, look... it looks
ugly... doesn't it? two strokes to write an A
look more appealing than a hyphen above
the letter with a prompt: prolong it...

it's what i see that i write about,
what i hear can never really penetrate me...
i watch a youtube video of the amazing
atheist and think: kinda like me, by the look
of things?
       nah, not really,
    why am i deluding myself,
i can grow long hair and don a beard,
but i'm bothered about
   the following "arithmetic" that's i = ?,
like i hear a turkish girl talk in a shop
and i'm weak in the knees...
   oh look... they call that why we avoided
diacritical indicators in the first place,
a silent k,             a knife...
a gnome.... and gnosis... then all shouting
and pain in diagnostics...
          
i spent that time watching my grandmother,
and how in poland all the old ladies
are fans of a turkish t.v. melodrama
grzech fatmagül (sin of fatmagül)
the way she said the umlaut over the u...
she said it as an eel, or ill, or i...
that really bothered me...
    (you really can sing forever with only one
word... it's the syllable la...
    only a god that deserves praise,
and receives it in song, can be praised...
the jewish god only deserves the pain
of thought, contemplation,
the trigonometry of (i'm about to become lawless
and make spelling mitakes for fear
that this u.z.i. of a tongue isn't ******* out
bullets as it should be, ******* out bullets / words);
i look at language, and i want a mandible jaw,
i don't want a free-from-pain spine,
to live a life: stiff readied for a coffin...
  it's just rules, and they exist...
i call it the nadir of i = ?, and subsequently call it
a fake nadir of i = !,
    ¿too spanish? oh right, wheelchairs...
what was i thinking?
                        
of the curiosity entombed in silence and with
only the wind to give an answer...

we say just as much... the stress on the iota in
english can easily be transformed into
a polarity, one that can fill books
with ? went there, and ? spoke about something...
competing with ! there, ! something!
   i...
                only when a language doesn't have
this abstract self-identification posit to
express language, this firm unit,
     only then does a language become so, base,
o.k., alkaline...
               they never thought about dissolving
a body once a ****** took place in
an alkaline bath...
      so many acronyms, shortenings,
let's just call it: the french prime unit /
smallest comprehension is reduced to je,
the poles have ja, the germans have ich,
sly *******... east germans say it as isch,
but keep the s hidden, so it looks better on script...

the problem with just saying i, and theorising
the extinct roman pronoun ego,
is that you get ditto... a sort of automaton
reflection of what we once were, and now, aren't...
europe sent thousands of plumbers and carpenters
to china... are europeans expecting for those
traits that could govern man properly to boomerang
back for women no finicky about those call-centre
employees? you ******* kidding me,
you must be...

because some men would really love mandible labour,
and talk less... no, really, the jaw can have a rest,
people want to fiddle with things,
dance the tango, touch, mingle...
     hard to not see ***-tango where the man is
only: huh? yeah, that, whatever...
             women could, once upon a time,
make men believe that they wanted to believe,
to purr something innocent into their ears...
what has made women into men so stating abadon?

i'll cite too much psychology,
    which to me is a pseudo-science,
too little Alexander Dumas, and what Athos said:
the best advice... is to not give advice....
                speak... talk... don't advice people...
psychology is the science where almost everything needs
to be faked, or to use the proper term: falsified...

and they call them the chemists, the biologists
and the physicists.... and surgeons

and they call them psychologists, linguists,
philosophers... and gods...

   that's the strata... i dare say: poets? what can they
usurp, but at the same time heal?
        what is their visible spectrum, outside of:
poets act shamelessly toward their experiences,
they exploit them... was lies beyond this self-love?

you get to write english, drunk,
and... undesirably have to get to look and abhor
the aesthetic, meaning you sometimes write
without conjunctions in the first draft...
then you reread and actually see missing conjunctions...

i talk about grammar like someone might talk
religion... because i was never taught it...
grammar to me is a version of catholicism i might
have engaged in, had i been confirmed in that
"coming of age" rite...

    i've been giving this substance and i'm told to
do something with it: language is like water,
you either drink it, or boil it to brew a tea-bag...
really? a relaxation technique? well... i could take more
fascination with a brick-wall, pretending to play
imaginary chess with each distinct brick being
introduced to strobe light... blinking: now it's white...
blinking... now it's black... etc.
   it's not even funny that i know inserting etc.
sort of killed the romance to your breathing pattern,
and my punctuation techniques, which i borrowed
from the fact that english doesn't intend to punctuate
for clear syllables...

it's only a case to teach better punctuation...
every time i'm in poland i never hear a word about
dyslexia... i'm starting to think that dyslexia
is only an english "disease"...
            it's certainly something you might hear
at school, in a catholic school, about jews...
but back to english bankers: not so good with words:
good with money though...
    i had a dyslexic friend ones,
and just spotting why, of all the nations that inherited
the roman alphabet, the english didn't adopt
a punctuation system from above...
evidently that leads to more diversity...
some would even say: for added complexity...
     but the english can't say: someone will come along
and decipher the current cipher imperative...
oh look... here i go... doodling further,
creating what writing ought to be: a finicky here
and there...

say: a butterfly effect...

   as with the concept of spring, exhausted by two months
of winter, awoken earlier than usual,
moving out of the fake Alaskan imitation laboratory
of seeing so little sun...
                increased productivity: no quality bias.

that's what philosophy books are:
    when the french existentialists complicated it
via "ego" and no moral dedication, effect, responsibility,
i had to write something post-existentialist...
don't get me wrong, sartre is a great novelist,
  but i'd rather stomach being & time than
being & nothingness...
                there had to be an answer to dittoing out
the ego, to stress: no agent of morality...
   sure... me and prostitutes... but ask them
about having an ****** "on the job"...
    
        still... can it be as complicated to say 1?
or to say: the litmus tests proved that i "said" ego and,
ergo, i proved i was a man...
              i might ditto out a meow, or a woof
to imitate a cat and a dog respectively... but dittoing
the word ego out... even if it is just an extinct latin
word... it has too much content to be "abstract",
this thing has memories, it has an imagination,
but sure, if i don't have a conscience i'd have to ditto it out
so i could start looking at my buttocks to find
something worth saying...
              
so first we create this prime human expression,
we eat the -ota                  and say aye aye...
                 and then we go back on that word...
beginning with: just when ms. clinton started barking...
i think that unravelled her campaign, when she started
barking... it must have been the time it happened
at one of her rallies...

   and i could write you any philosophy book,
replacing the "sound" expression with mute sounds,
like the mute letters in knife, gnome, gnosis, knee...
    ? think, therefore ! am.... and just so we're agreed:
that's not a stable maxim... it's volatile...
    since what piece of language was ever stable?
and not like phosphorus, that needed to be stored in oil
should it ever react with water? what part of language
was ever stable?

     2MgO
    (s) + Si
    (s) + 2CaO
    (s) → 2Mg
    (g) + Ca
    2SiO
    4(s)                  the years when i studied such crap...
i might be wrong about one thing though:
   it's an alkaline metal, stored in oil, and highly reactive
with water... magnesium or phosphorus?
         it can't be Na... that **** stinks and i'd love to
see the Dover clifss looking like it... yella...
         no so much blinding Ca...

why have the alkaline metals become so ****** right now?
  oh yeah... the part where i don't feel like
watching ****... that could translate into a wife,
three kids (as if)... a house and social respect...
that part... hmm...

          what is it with these alkaline metals...
so is iron (Fe) and Lead (Lb) acidic metals? could they
be classified as acidic? last time i licked a knife
i did get a tingling sensation as if it might be sour...

so acid is sour... i actually can fathom the taste of alkaline...
it's definitely not sweet...
              what a ******* mystery.

I once met a man named Knapsack Jack
He never took his knapsack off his back
He'd eat with it
He'd sleep with it
I think he was attached

He was a strong man, this Knapsack Jack
Who never took his knapsack off his back
He's a scavenger
He's free to roam
Where he lay's his head
That is his home

He got got, this Knapsack Jack
They took his knapsack from his back
It was gone when he awoke
The deed was done
The bear was poked

Knapsack Jack was a kind ol' fella
But when Jack's eyes get red, people get yella
So off he went
Jack stole him a gun
Knapsack Jack gon' have some sick fun

Knapsack Jack got wild and reckless
He carved a ****** path from Virginia to Texas
Stained and putrid
There he stood
With an empty twelve-gauge
Just steel and wood

In front of him, ten men dressed in blue
This would be his last battle
But 'ol Jack wasn't through
With no shot in the barrel
He got nine out of ten
The last man in blue
Brought Jack to an end

Revered as a hero
For losing his friends
Ruined was the man
Who brought ol' Jack to an end
No longer in blue,
Soaked from tears, dressed in black

Just cause a man
Took a knapsack from Jack

it's either called: watching that technicolour
masterpiece... bell, book & candle,
kim or kimberley or some other from 1958...
and all those photographs
of the empire state building being
constructed...
without a single bungee jumper
or those suicide nets from the neck and bones
of the sweater shops of Corono alias
Mexico and some third party pardons
for the: better placed bet of
the faking it capitol...
and now i know that sargon of akkad
has welsh roots...
which means absolutely nothing...
it also means:
root i... be the don of man
in the girth of the 'oods!
massive attack's - live with me video:
which is twice better than the prodigy's
slap my ***** up...
namely how ******* up
trajectory hulk and spewing leaves you...
when ***** is done solo...
and when all of whiskey is drank
without an honest remark for patron:
ms. amber...
and there's no vinyl record shop
in the vicinity...
a high street where you only get to buy
mobile phones, trackers,
shoes, cheapshit clotches...
pardon coffees and lazy doughnuts
without ever having ever sniffed
living yeast...
always that packaged dry load of ****...
live with me:
i do hope you never jest at the platonic
offer of dreaming even
a sly measure of it coming true...
nothing i write is allowed to fall onto /
into a pillow...
i can imagine a pillow to be a mouth
to be a guillotine i imagine
sleep to be: the precursor ****** of lingering
death...
that bottle of cider and a shot of whiskers?
if there's anything akin to double-dutch...
there's the double-irish...
which is... ugly h'orange...
oh why so ranging Dublin away from
Boston, massachusetts;
privy... come... let's talk...
why is it that the green in the three colours
if Ireland... even the green looks...
"cheap"? it's not the sort of green of Italy...
and sure as ****...
that orange isn't the red of Italy...
and that orange is oh so much cheaper
than... the house of orange and the sinking -
red light district of amsterdam...

- the pleasure always comes
with the final tilt of the glug and...
what's to be made kosher of a goat...
or a ram...
the levite fiddly-bits of orthodoxy
baronage: when any variant of prayer
ensues...

no, i can be associated with the crazy cat ladies...
i too own two maine **** cats...
one's headlining as being over 10kg in... "size"...
another is teasing 7kg...
and i vacuum the house every, single day...
i'm truly like an adolf ****** when it comes
to the house being free from it ever
being believed to be a house
that entertain petting cats...

i hate fur... two cats you can keep:
but as long as the house, you sweep...
is... bound to a frequence of once a day...
every day...
ecce diem: omni diem...
that's how i will only allow myself
to keep cats, if the house is vacuumed and freed
from fur, every, single, day...
perhaps i'm asthmatic with a jealous nose
that always wants to inquire
the heights of mountains and the pitfalls
of valleys... and clarifying noble waters
of the spring...

and with a 3rd of a worth of a chemistry's
degree... one could almost wish
to be... this sort of willing...
to be a trashman...
and plot the next leibniz move of never
making it to going out...

my tidy... my tidy...
the best jobs with the least amount
of contact with people playing
sycophancy and the crab and tapeworm
roulette / violin...
if that's... obviously an utopian dream
outside of canada... sign me up!

it's still ***** orange to me...
even the green look *****...
just like: what do you call french navy?
certainly not romanian blue...
the swedish yella is not the romanian
gold-tinge primark yellow...
just saying...

not even excuses for bulgarian green
can match with italian green...
austria is no better when it comes
to red...
the germans have a red in their flag...
that... somehow works
with the red and yellow...
which the belgians seem to lack...
even though they share the same colours...

dutch orange is never really orange:
except when it comes to a football match...
by then the irish orange is
aenemic... to say the least...
and the green is pale...
perhaps because it is left to contrast
with orange rather than red...
and only the french match up to "blue"
of the union jack...
but only thanks to the navy teasing purple
of st. andrew's cross flag of:
tease Midlothian!

the cider is 'ere... the scotch is 'ere...
what do i have to complain about?
complain... complain...
no... nothing... really.

it's twenty past four,
i have spent the past hour watching
the Vierschanzentournee -
like someone in England might
have stayed up, watching
the n.f.l. or a boxing match...
i bought johnny walker black
at the airport and i sat there
watching history.
                        can there be a modernised
version of ecce ****?
             apart from dietery requirements
and angst against Wagner
and all that pompous rattle
invoked in the original by Herr N.?
i guess there can be...
    there i was, on my hiatus,
going to bed almost every single night
trying to sleep-palm a chess set
or a keyboard, but both seemed out
of reach...
                   this, again, a forceful
resignation toward the past day,
              it will never be perfect,
the first approach will always be
rusty, it has been three weeks
since i last entered this spiderweb,
of snappy convo and even snappier
overload of democratic practises;
and before me: endless sleepless
nights, and countless miniature
fürhers... and thus this fact:
  which i thought was worth avoiding...
but then i did buy a used laptop for
550zł, (given the exchange rate,
that's roughly £100... the downside?
everything is in paul-leash (no,
that's not an americanism of drawl
and draw and slobber and Houdini's
last trick) - hence i might actually
sport a cravat, moccasins and a
velvet dinner jacket...
                                   and when
Rodin employed his minions to
    chisel away at chapters from Dante,
Dumas (have you ever seen his
omni coprus?) like some pseudo-Pope
employed heavy-drinking monks
to write out his stories for salon bored
ladies until their hands were
playing shadow-arthritis games
         that children would applaud:
rabbit! rabbit! poor monks, exhausted
from having scribbled and
chicken scratched chicken blood into
papyrus wanted nothing more than
to grow their nails so they couldn't
hold a quill... no matter! Dumas would
say... we'll sharpen your nails,
vol. 25 of the comte bourbon &
the flamingo dance, and Rambo XVI
were both written by the unfortunate
monks...
              once again: there's
autobiography... and there's an autobiography...
  to write an autobiography
so that no biography is worth writing...
perhaps if i used paragraphs:
i could be considered: "serious".
      then there's that thought:
thought as origin of biographics -
           nothing to be preserved in
it having happened, returning from
Stansted in a taxi:
  only a thought:
   philosophy cannot claim anything
to be counter-intuitive in its foundation,
to me that conjures up an analogue:
the guillotine is the counter-intuitive
foundation of the french revolution...
Ivan the terrible threw dogs off the Kremlin
wall, and gauged out the eyes of the St. Basil's
architect... and since then
children in Poland loved to play:
throw a bunch of marbles into a little hole...
evidently ancient Egypt resounded
in capricious cappuccino Milan...
or: Míllánò! nurse! nurse! the syllable-scalpel!
herr doctor, is that defined by diacritical
marks? yes sister.
                  **** in boots to suit you toppling
too...  and may i add:
             how ever did i digress from
the mundane reality of: second-hand laptop,
Windows in Polish... every single word
in english: red tape, underlined...
if i have dyslexia, it'll show like a crow's
feather on a dove -
and when it does, you can start calling
me Chief Apache Pixie Jack...
or how you have black and white as
polar, the rainbow... and then
nights in grey satin by the bothersome blues.
this will be defined by lacklustre
and hopping along... then, vaguely:
a romance?
                        it was supposed to
be a hiatus... hiatus...
         3 weeks of what became defined by
anything but such hopes...
   some people span a literary career of
20 years... take 3 years to write a book...
         it takes me 3 years to keep
a single thought...
          can you really repress biographic
accounts these days?
                                 well... if written
par with the times, i guess it's as much
fun as questioning whether
     the following two are very much akin:
1 + 2 + 3 = 5 - 10 + 20 x 2 = 30
is the same sort of arithmetic as when
you do the "math"of writing out
a word like onomatopoeia...
the hanging vowels of babylon...
          if anything, then this -
             as it also could be: on the scrapheap
of memory, a dazzling iron-clad
      heftiness of pulverising vector -
a Gucci demanding a pulpit and an
avocado on toast... champagne and
squid... or as the Michelin criteria were
revealed: rubber tire and squid di Calabria...
tell the two apart... you'll get a republic
passport... who would have thought
that rubber tires were the benchmark,
the ph 7 of foody palettes across the
azure blob, with some ashen and fern
bits in between.
   but this is me, testing new equipment...
having spent 3 weeks on two kinds
of detox... alcoholic... oh the whiskey...
and the ski jumping gavrons...
   plush? sparrels in a rolling dozen
of figurative barrels - and more sensibly?
kestrels, petted by stiff, castrated
   hippos of the sky, akin to astronomy
naming blobs: pi-7773-quatro-offshoot-of
Juno...
                 or a boo boo 747...
about as gracious as a **** launched
off a trebuchet at the dome of the rock...
gimmicky the sliding down...
hot wedge like swallowing a sword...
                3 weeks on this vegetarian
diet... detox alcohol detox 21st century
phonebook...
    rusty first imprints from the waiting game...
but my my...
               wasn't it fun...
                  Jan Kazimierz Waza
(the finicky cardinal)
                                       as presented by
Horatio... no no: John Ignatius Kraszewski...
   (Copernicus was apparently Prussia)...
which means Ignacy was Bella Belyy Kraшevsky...
      which makes me wonder:
why is the violin the pauper's? instrument
or the instrument of hoped-for empathy?
any one would tell you:
as also the accordion player on a tree...
well... roof here, roof there:
try doing ballerina's tip toe on a gothic
spiral tip of a cathedral...
and yes, the gargoyles... sing-along:
silent night...
                       holy night...
again: this was supposed to be a hiatus...
dogmatic statements... and....
    apodictic statements...
                      in truth, most people are
size 0 with their diet of words....
      where that turkey of a tongue to
fatten 'im up? well... ask the shepherds
of Damashek when Saladin will come
to rattle the blacksmith to wield a sword.
a thousand maidens faint...
   (if this was a cabaret voltaire play,
it would happen...
    and the two will never win:
one has a crop of hair on the scalp,
but spider-legs of a beard on the chin...
the other has precious silverware on
the scalp... and 21st Amazonian nomads
peeping out from between his
beard)... well...
not bad for a break from hiatus...
the whiskey is good,
                    the breadth has already been
tested...
   oh yes, the dreaded notes...
   this was supposed to be a:
a 3 week break, bam! a whole session
of writing it out in one go,
beginning with: the first question
i was asked as the Western Warsaw coach station:
do Kijova? i.e. to Kiev?
       oh sure, plenty of Ukranian merchants
down the western side of Warsaw...
   a Ukranian family of only women
sitting eating 3 while chickens among other
things: polskie chlopachki nie placzy...
and if you're lucky! you might even spot
a Mongolian!
                    it was never going to be an easy
transition...
i left Poland when it was -18°C...
                   sunny... bitter...
   walking on snow was like either
hearing a meow purr every time the foot impressed
itself on the snow, or i was wearing latex...
                 and to come into this abysmall
+7°C "winter" that England is?
   gothica... rain in winter... only in England...
and yes, if i were born here
i would be making awckward jokes about
the rain... but i wasn't.... i inherited it
from some unforseen discourse about
     Saint Gorbachev and how bloodless it all
became... prized piglets of Kazakh:
   dollar baby koo chi go go west and buys
usés a Lambro-jini... plight of the Sinking Belgian:
and all he did was sail to Congo on a waffle...
   pity the man! pity the man!
    i have no romance with England...
the grey skies and the constant rain
are like toenails to my heart... they're just there...
but you just see me walk in that pine
forest... in my natural element...
                              -18°C...
why did only German poets philosophise?
   and why did only Shakespeare make
poetry indistinguishable from philosophy and
why did the French turn to pastries
                                rather than the dry
and cough infused pages of bookworm time-donning
yella spaniel sepia waggle waggle
                  Sorbone          
   & Pavlov... pretty girls and pretty boys in
the Erasmus programme... to Rome!
to Antwerp! to Brioche! ... to a brioche...
                      Bruges!
                                               Kiev aflame...
Cracow a mind-game...
            Prague merely an INXS postcard from
the early 1990s...
                    Berlin a wall...
   Munich a litre of gods' **** and company of a dog:
of a dog's intuitive measure of man's
competence with regards to a desire for gods...
                   Lvov... thankfully Lvov
will never be the Istambul of Byzantines' nostalgia...
   so too Vilno...
                                                well...
that's for starters.

wanted;  
Liverpudlian rock stars
to sing fer me - the Queen,
I'll pay yers all in corgis  
and transfuse ya wiv - caffine,
I've gorra a bloke called Ringo  
fer the bingo - inbetween,
support act - Chewbacca -
and Macca - in yella submarine.

We fire up our internet
with a fortune we've already spent
I tell ya' fella, I've got to yella
I'm head up to here in my debt

We fire up our own internet
with what already should be for free
Bee's make a honey.  Hey, hey that's funny
But not funny, not once, not one time to me

If there was a way I could make some more pay
I would never think to try and sell you
I would think twice before tossing the dice
Never would touch a warm body untrue

OOPS.  HERE, IT'S COMING
OOPS.  YES, IT'S COMING
Hear it?  Here it is, hear it?
Hear it?  Because here it is!
Here it is:
WHY FEE THE WIFEY?
I don't know why
Seems you could catch an infectious disease
or just die off from all the vee dee

WHY FEE THE WIFEY?
I don't know why
I thought you wanted the internet
to get it, to get it for free

OOPS!  can't say it right
OOPS!  there I've done it again

WHY FEE THE WIFEY?
Don't tease the wife
And please remember, be courteous please
Don't try to upset my wife

WHY FEE THE WIFEY?
I don't know why
This is a song about internet
There's something that I can't say right

WHY FEE THE WIFEY?
I don't know why
It's really not part of religious belief
I tell ya' I don't want no part

OOPS!  Here it's coming
OOPS!  Yes, it's coming
Hear it is

WHY FEE THE WIFEY
I don't know why
Sorry I got lost, ran off the track
And got trapped in ol' Hackensack

WHY FEE THE WIFEY?
I don't know why
This isn't the song that I started to write
Don't want those ideas for my wife

WHY FEE THE WIFEY?
Don't know, but I'll try
And if she pays it, that'll be great
I'll get all my free internet

WHY FEE THE WIFEY
I don't know why
That's right I remember, free internet
That is why I've got to try

AND SAY WE FEE
NO, NO NOT WE FEE
Never say wee fee and never say die
So say only why, say why-fie

WHY FIGHT THE WEE FEE
Why fight the wife
I think I can say it
Say it when high
I've got it, I said it
One last more why-fie

WHY FEE THE WHY-FIE
I'll ask my wife
No, don't you ever, ever ask wife
Just only ask for WI-FI

WI-FI THE WI-FI
OH MY OH MY
I hope you enjoyed it
Because you're my enjoyment
My funny, bunny valentine
There now.  I think that I have said it right
Yes, now I think that I have said it right
Yes, now we think that he did say it right

Sweet oil heats, burns and spills over
skin sublime, so sensitive
who'd have thought a spaniard could fly off
a round of expletives on parents

Don't try to figger what ain't fit for fools
go fetch your yella bucket and                 (we told you so)
that box is waiting for you and (tap, tap)
sooner 'n you think, they need your hide again.

Being on the end of your spine, roll on over here
cartilage swings better than spume
that ugly red mother (don't be sore)
ssssettling sediment: the ocean beats slats, always cleans up
you never asked
zero, one, one, one, zero, one one
done!

givin' a shout out
to all the young fellas
chasin' cheddar
Clenched fist on the berretas
cuz im go getter
like my hoes wetter
than the average twist
Up the meanest cabbage
born a savage ill die a savage
these are just
the tales from the hood g
Some how i thought it would be
Easy in this life boy i was wrong
But outkast built in me
no phonies on my block
we all had to knock
a hustle drugs n thangs for the struggle
we got switches n dead bodies in the dit ch es
some time my minds
spins faster than helicopter
propellers
aint neva chased a yella-
bone phone home back to my hq
Yellowstone
soon cuz i feel the doom
sealin' my death soon
boom
there i go into another dimension
with all my past folks
blowin' smoke
sayin' jokes
we havin a good time
kick a good rhymes
feelin o so fine
drinkin'  jew red wine
no body cant come between
my happiness
if ya know what i mean
aint no hate but i got hate
to all haters
watch me catch a gun in they pate
but thats reality
friends turn to foes i suppose
???

Colored people!

On a recent trip, to Swaziland,
a local man said, “I don't understand.

You go green with envy, blue with cold;
cowards are yella, or so I'm told.

You're also blue, when feeling sad;
you blush, bright red, it drives me mad,

when you say I'm colored, just look, I say;
I'm monochrome, all night and day!”

Briz 4/6/13

nietzsche? what he did? inverting the cartesian equation?
like: 1 + 1 = 2, turned into 1 + 1 = 2?
   **** me... isn't that confusing...
                         the symbol = precipiates into ergo;
         what did he do?
                         he inverted the cartesian principle...
he said:                 i am, therefore i think...
                         so why are all these people coming
out from the woodworks, like cockroaches?
                                 i already said it once,
the antithesis of the cartesian res cogitans
   a thinking thing... is  res vanus:
              an empty thing...
                             test of time...
     you stop ******* for about a month?
your ***** turns... yellow... it's no longer white...
your testicles shrink... you're shooting
             evil *****...
                          and then you talk to a woman
who's been "learning" about her period, *******?
             want to have children?
    stop ******* for a month...
                         **** her on her period
but don't *******... then **** her once more when
she's off it...
                   the cramps are gone... your ***** is
so concenrated that it's no longer white, but yella..
               what are you going to get?
  a screaming báhor (toddler) in your arms...
         but nietzsche inverted the cartesian "equation"...
thankfully... he got it wrong,
in a sense, he didn't counter res cogitans (thinking thing)
    with res vanus (empty thing) -
              sure, nietzsche was influential in the 20th century...
in the 21st century though?
          more like the label guy...
         i'm this... i'm that... i'm whatever you wish me to be...
the 21st century says: nietzsche isn't an ocean...
    he was a depth of a puddle's worth to claim...
            but it's there! it's in one of his footnotes!
  he reverses the cartesian "equation"...
  he "says": i am, therefore i think.
                       no wonder then, where all the 21st century
labels come from!
      these people aren't thinking!
                    i'd love for this label to come about:
i thinking... therefore i'm dumb-seeming...
                                           because i shut-the-****-up!
   hard to not think of two things...
   i think corresponding to res cogitans...
   with i am correspoding to res vanus -
                      and ergo corresponding to ***.
          meaning?
           why are so many people associating themselves with
so many labels, on an intellectual level of deciding
whether or not to wear versace, dolce & gabbana,
  or primani... oh sorry... armani.
     people express so many labels though,
     it's like they stress the second half of the cartesian equation,
but not the first half...
                which precipitates into heidegger's da-"sein".
   there is.... sure... there really is...
      but what?       is that actually being, without thinking?
or am i just putting clothes on to look kosher
     at a paris fashion catwalk?
                                      it's almost, well, it actually is:
a question: there's being?
                    that question substitutes the conceptualißation
of being's pluralism qua beings...
i.e. the many happenings...
               the rebel ant in the ant-hill... at best: the only
suggestive approximate.
         there sure as **** is a being... but the da, the there?
     reduced to newspaper articles,
read on friday, recycled on a monday, in orange
bin-bags.

It's About THAT TIME ...
To Use STRAIGHT Rhymes To EXORCISE ...
What Rests Inside My ... ANGERED Mind ... !!!!!

A Mind That Tries To OPEN Eyes ...
of Those With Sight Whose Vision's ... "Blind" ... !!!

That Line DESERVES Some BIG REVERB ... !!!!!
So That It's Heard By WORMS Who Turn ... !!!

When Their Time's UP ...
I DON'T Give A **** Cos' It's Time To CUSS ... !!!!!!

Generations LOST ... NO GOLDEN POTS ...
Except For The Bods' Right At THE TOP ... !!!!!!

IGNORANCE On The RISE Because of LIES ...
And FOOLISH PRIDE ... That INVITE FIGHTS ... ?!?

The Type of FIGHTS That ******* Like ... !!!
Yeah ******* ... That's RIGHT ... !!!

******* Who Figure They're SMARTER Than Flipper ... !!!
Who Fight Over **** Because They DON'T THINK ... !!!

PROVING Their Hustle LACKS PEDIGREE Muscle ... !!!

These NIGS' Make Me SICK Cos' They're FULL OF IT ... !!!!
See THESE Are The Things I've KEPT FROM My Scripts ...
Because DEEP INSIDE ... My Blackness DEFINES ...
A Love That Is Blind When IGNORANCE SHINES .... !!!!!!!

These Days It Shines ... BRIGHT ... !!!!!
So NOW It's THAT TIME ...
To Start To Relate What Makes Me IRATE ... !!!!!

******* Who Think They're SMARTER Than Me ...
Until Their Heads SINK ... INTO My Poetry ... !!!

STUPID ******* ******* Who Think Their World's BIGGER ...
Than Those Whose ELIXIR Is SEEING ... " BIG PICTURES " ...

Those Making HOT BEATS Who KEEP THEM ... "Discreet" ...
And Make A RETREAT When Others ... COMPETE ... !?!

YES That Includes ME ... !!!
But DON'T Get Me WRONG ... !!!

My Wordplay STAYS STRONG ... !!!
And NOW Brings The HEAT ...
On ... " BIGVIRGE.COM" ... !!!

Like Em' ... **** A BEAT ... !!!!!
You KNOW I Ain't Yella' From MY A Capellas ... !!!
Like Jay I ROCK Fellas BUT NOT Like Nas' Said ... !!!!!

So **** Giving Head To Fellas In CELLARS ... !!!!!
I've BEEN SPITTING FIRE Since L' Was Shot Dead ... !!!
And Now Am INSPIRED ... To Start BUTTING HEADS ... !!!

No Beavis Can See This Because I'm The DEEPEST ...
To Put Thoughts On Paper That Jools Can Have ... " LATER " ...  
My Thinking CUTS Graters And DISMISSES ......... Favours ........
For ******' Who SAVOUR ... NEGATING Their Flava' ... ?!?

I'm USED To The Haters Who Think They're Creators ...
From Those Who Make Beats To Those Who Sing SWEET ...
They ALL RUN FOR COVER When I Bring My Speech ... !!!

FAKE *** Mother ******* Who WILL ... " Catch A BEAT " ... !!!
If EVER They Seek To Bring It To ME ... !!!!!

See THESE Kind of Flows ARE NOT ... Who I Be ... !!!
My USAGE of Prose ...
IS ALL About PEACE And UTOPIAN Scenes ...

Well These Days It Seems ...
To Be ............................................... WAY OUT of Reach .... !!!!

THE CRUNCH Has Begun ...
So Who's Having FUN ... ?
And WHO Will Be ABLE ...
To KEEP Their **** STABLE ...
WITHOUT Telling FABLES ...

That Leave Them Struck DUMB ...
When ... JUDGEMENT Day Comes ... !!!

I LOVE You STILL Mum As I ALWAYS Have Done ... !!!
And HATE Saying THIS STUFF Because of Your LOVE ... !!!

But Hope Some **** DOES ...
SHOOT Me With A GUN ... !!!
So I Can Feel NUMB ...
And END This ****** Life of ******* And LIES ... !!!

Some ****** WILL Write ...

That ... " VIRGE LOST HIS MIND !!! "

And Say That ... " My PRIDE, Denied Me Good Times ! "

Well My PRIDE Is My Heart So DON'T EVEN Start ... !!!
It's HELPED Me Survive While Weak Hearts Have Died ...
Because of Their PRIDE And ... IGNORANT Vibe ... !!!

The Vibe That I Walk With Is One FILLED With Pride ...
The TYPE That Resides In The Heart of A LION ... !!!

Therefore When I'm Talking ...
DON'T Make Me Start ROARING ... !!!!!
Just TOLERATE This Until I Find ... " ZION " ... !!!!!

A Place Where The SUCKERS Can Bring NO MORE Ruckus ...
I've Seen Enough Now To Know That ****'s FOUL ... !!!
And KNOW That The CLOWNS Are Heading DOWN SOUTH ...
To JOIN ALL The ******* And RACIST Head Figures ... !!!!!

Those Living IN FEAR When PRESSURE Draws NEAR ...
And Those Who Stay MEEK When It's Time For REAL SPEECH ...

This Isn't STAR WARS Can You FEEL THE FORCE ... ?!?
Cos' The Force LACKS A Cause Where Wars Are CUT SHORT ... !!!

When Talk Is NO MORE ...
Who'll Walk The REAL WALK ... ?
STAND STRONG and STAND TALL ... !!!
And Then START The Call For ... Corruption To FALL ... !!!

NOT ME Anymore And That Is For SURE ...
I've Written Some Rhymes In THIS PIECE I DON'T Like ... !!!

But ... TRUST In This Line ....

... " It's Time For Straight Rhymes ! " ...

givin' a shout out
to all the young fellas
chasin' cheddar
hands on the berrata
cuz im go getter
like my hoes wetter
than the average twist .  cabbage
born a savage ill die a savage
these are just
the tales from the hood g
outkast built in me
no phonies on my block
we all had to knock
a hustle drugs n thangs for the struggle
we got switches n dead bodies in the dit ch es
some time my minds
spins faster than helicopter
propellers
aint neva chased a yella
bone phone home
soon cuz i feel the doom
sealin' my death soom
boom
there i go into another dimension
with all my past folks
blowin' smoke
sayin' jokes
we havin a good time
kick a good rhymes
feelin o so fine
drinkin' red wine
no body cant come between
my happiness
if ya know what i mean
aint no hate but i got hate
to all haters
watch me catch a gun in they pate
but thats reality
friends turn to foes i suppose
???


once upon a funky rhyme
i laid this beat so hard
it should be considered a crime
uh minds was blown
six feet deep as my spirit sinks
lower than a submarine
no radar could locate
my reality in actuality i be
silky smooth cuttin the groove
make ya wanna move
ya feet check my afro thick
with a fist pik n stick
the baddest hos with the baddest flows
cadillac music in ya trunk
so dont loose it
rhymes is choosen carefully
me and partna be
enticin girls like teddiy
pendergrass rough as a diaper rash crash
gotta make this cash
on delivery cods down for opp
opressors pimpin the poor
time to even the score sound the drums for war as i soar
in the mothership with two clips
on my nine blunt to lips
even got my girl packin
pistols n **** quick to whip
lift a fool out his frame
rick james cuz i got fire and desire
roll over ya *** like a set of tires grip the game like pliers
as i add peak to ya amfliers
who am i? Kb (killin'beats)ill be like this til they day i die
my homie and i aqueminiiiii

Cinderella, dressed in yella,
went upstairs to kiss her fella,
What she saw there wasn't great,
Prince Charming's got another date.

Jack and Jill went up the hill,
to fetch a pail of water.
Jack fell over and broke his crown,
now he's paralysed from the neck down.

Hickory dickory dock,
the mouse ran up the clock.
Got stuck inside and slowly died,
hickory dickory dock.

Hey ****** ******, the cat and the fiddle,
the cow jumped over the moon.
Cow falls on the cat, and squashes it flat,
his 9 lives were taken so soon.

Twinkle twinkle little star,
how I wonder what you are?
Soon you'll be gone from the sky,
for like my dreams you'll burn and die.

Hush little baby, don't you cry,
'cuz mummy left daddy for another guy.
Daddy's gonna drink another shot,
then drunkenly abuse his tiny tot.

Hey Sir, I'm your new son.
I'm so proud to hold her hand she's my backbone.
She's what all my chips are stacked on.
"Why are you on my steps son.?"
Hey Sir, think of me as a stepson, her heart, your trust, my gift, all things I'd never step on.
Hey Sir, I'm that fella.
I promise to take my time with her, my lights on yella.
Strength Umbrella, the days she needs to cry I promise I'll let her.
Hey Sir, if you let her make me better I promise whether it's its sunny or stormy weather she'll always be safe for as long as we're together.
A blessing is a gift, a gift is a blessing, & a blessing can be made into a gift.
She's your greatest blessing & it was gift from him, he gave you his.

jak sie nie ma co sie lubi, to sie lubi, co sie ma / if you don't have what you'd like, you like, what you have.

my maternal uncle (brother
of my grandmother)
used to collect beer bottles...
now i wish
    i didn't start to collect
cigarette packets...
           i know, pretty much as
"nerdy" as collecting postage
stamps (you should see
my grandfather's collection...
pretty impressive...
     i think he owns a yuri
gagarin special edition) -
anyway...
    it came as a shock when
i was buying tobacco
  at the supermarket once
upon a time (2 months ago) -
the packaging, the packaging!
it's so ugly!
     you sure i'm in a supermarket
and not in a russian gulag?
marmite lungs,
   coughing blood,
black and white all over
areas, all over...
           they really know how
to put people out their jobs
when trying to
           redesign packaging,
don't they?
luckily though... luckily!
i'm in possession of the last
of the last...
   an empty packet of
   *benson & hedges (gold)...
that's a keeper...
    i'm not giving this one
up...
   i'll use whenever i have ten
remaining in
that ugly packaging,
      and take it into town,
and turn into a peacock...
look'e 'ere... see,
     original packaging,
dating from the year 2016...
     but like with anything
you drink... esp. the whiskeys...
it's nice to read an anecdote
printed on the bottle...
  the benson & hedges packet?
nothing like it is now...
  in the old days
you know:
   (a) sourced from premium
                  golden virginia tobaccos
  (b) consistently rich & smooth
          taste
(c) as approved by apache chief
    naked-****-pointing-at-the-moon
   & his distant half-cousin
the sioux chief hairdressing-wind;
  but there's also
(d) the british american
                         tobacco group
   and there's also and address
  so you can send them fan mail
(e) old bond street, london.
  smoking used to be fun,
well, it still is... if you managed to keep
one of these of packets
          of cigarettes...
now i wish i still had a packet
of yella' camels...
                 or the red marlboros,
oh well.

pride what? have honour in what? in what?! i'm not sympathetic to these jihadis, but then again, why am i not surprised? what, hmm? what hmm? communism was bad... take a look at 0 hour contracts and modern slavery, in your idol capitalism... ****, off! 0 hour contracts are worse than communism? really? the west is the best! yes?! really? evidently a blank pixel page is no longer a canvas for peace, for art, rather: evidence for making war... i hope someone invents a black canvas, just to **** around with M.I.5.... or whatever retards they employ; god, i love being drunk, and having the capacity of "driving" a "car", while unable to claim the "plea" of "insanity": plenty of drunk brits where i come from, want to stand them up straight? yeah, you won't be able even if you wanted to... i claim? diminished responsibility on the basis of intoxication... sure, i steered a sentence into dangerous territory... oops... you going to charge me for drinking, and writing drunk ******* on a flag coloured the colour of surrender? last time i checked, even the vatican was white & yella... so you libyan police, all green on the forefront of the debate concerning what's permitted, and what could have been, within the framework of the otherwise present? me asking that question suggests: i know no better joke.

sometimes i walk around the house
wearing my sunglasses,
thinking up more spectacular
events: oh right, i didn't turn off
the computer...
  for some reason the sunglasses
always come 2nd place of interest,
1st?
      it's usually during the night,
so i start gesticulating:
he went that way (left) - when
he actually went right..
   **** me, i'm either myopic,
blind, or cross-eyed...
    clue me in on mr. bean's acting
skills, having evolved from the black adder
franchise... you have
any clues other than *love actually?
pastor bean, or is that pastor adder?
just asking, love a quote
rather that minding your time
with a leeches' worth of signature hopefuls
at the antique annual event (minus spain),
by the way, nice ferrari you smashed...
  shmile... can i take a selfie?
poetry quickens the dialogue dynamic,
sorry,
say ola for me, for the next
recyclable diatribe of narration...
mostly scandinavian, i know,
lonely women, no pakistani plumbers
handy, to endear the 15 year old girls
in the "prudence" of the "game";
lucky you... blackpool!
i wishy-washy 'ope,
you don't getcha a speck of sand...
in ya slippa'h... my tweed-pie fakery
of a name, like germaine...
   flu-tipped all over germany
with
iraqi hmm... yummy... name that rebounds
with ghaahee;
best oil that **** up;
your fathers already speak to these
i.q. ***** via the same way they
speak to your mothers...
          i've become
pontius pilate o.c.d. when it comes
to being absorbed with mind
as possibly crafting a change,
believe me...
change is a force biased upon
reciprocation: to vow is to disavow -
there was no "natural" argument for
britain leaving the e.u.,
for there always was the barrier of a sea,
against a land...
           the english really do talk
pretty...
    but in reality?
  they're just as *******-bashed
in terms of ethnic etiquette as the germans...
talking pretty gets you only so far...
******* saks and schwabs:
                two-faced no-gooders:
schmile, one more ******* time;
   i haven't been in a fight since primary school,
i'm just wondering if i am still capable
of punching someone's *** to the ground.

Hello poetry is public matters Id say because I walk this streetlamp eating nutty butterfingers total blown down deeper than the throat young yella bone chicanos can fap maniacally as ***** ***** dancers watch me much much munch. I am Hello Poetry yet Id **** a microphone in the closet because my eggcrates ache grunge album that do not belong to Yyclef. I lied **** head but butter me up buttery enough that my under pants don't snag my inchy tagged and tickled gnome. "Oh Underpant we ****** Old Gregs crack pipes he leaves on cold countertops this month for this be Off season." I weep. Why not my pans or my pun tease these ******* growing mickey mouse thunb prints before my nuts become cheese. Good greaf I'ffy if me sneechy ***** beach teacher teaching toddler that the fingers thumper. Thump my thumb. Pinterest my buns before I *** critters all in tune to teepee creaking creeps kitchen chicken finger fetching fists before *** educari gets carry on that vibes to Marshals mashed potato. Mathers you do matter much. I love the gleam of your crust. Tears up to the Beautiful song that becomes songs and weeps once more.

there only about three songs in my repertoire as a listener
that stab me in the heart...
i'd stretch to four... debatable whether
it's king crimson's epitaph or in the court of the
crimson king...
starless makes it into the triad...
i guess i'm only focusing on a specific genre:
counting out classical music altogether, & jazz...
because: just be...          cause...
in the triad... nights in white satin by the moody
blues...
& omega's (a Hungarian band)
       gyöngyhajú lány...
   i'm probably lying... there'd be a fifth
with something by Maanam...
             i can't really give you citation on
the worth of the Beatles or the Rolling Stones...
oops...
i don't even think its the pop status that kills
it... it's that: you want to find something
auxiliary, hell: ulterior...
that terrible fate of man...
if he were a crow: he'd still invented motives
to not croak, crackle...
   if man were a cow he'd still find ways
to not moo...
              i've heard the maxim: yes yes...
you're just as different as everyone else...
so what? that's how we're herded...
what simply shows is...
how hard some try...
and how those who don't try...
end up... trail-blazing: their own little:
Robinson Crusoe eventuality...
    - what a plentiful Saturday...
two rugby matches... no football on t.v.: **** yes...
& changing the rear tyre on my road-bicycle...
700 x 23cm...
6 punctures... in the tyre...
2 in the inner tubing...
i took the wheel off... spin spin after spin
in a makeshift water-bath to see the puncture better...
Ezekiel? didn't you see?
third time, tipsy... oh look how it's easily done!
next i'll prepare a chicken for a spatchcock blind-folded!
****'s sake...
coffee, x3... with some magical liquorice
liquor... Mexican... yella... or ow...
magical... how much i love anise... liquorice...
esp. when coupled with alcohol...
& coffee...
dreary ******* day persisted nonetheless:
i didn't mind... hard to mind...
when you can finally get off your backside...
& wait for investing in a career as a steward...
for a while...
i'd rather teach English children English than chemistry...
we'll see... no chance in hell will
i be found teaching Lebanese children
an American accent...
i'd sooner teach a dog to meow or a cat to bark!
live a little...
so obviously after changing the tyre
i had to take the ol' Viking for a spin...
minding to buy some fuel for the night
in the form of ms. amber & herr whiskers...
but the breaks weren't right... too tight on the lever...
thankfully i took some tools...
knelt in the supermarket car-park
by the trollies & started to imagine a violin
in my hands... what?
fiddling... i started fiddling...

and you might appreciate how difficult it is
to make small-talk...
esp. in unhandy situations...
you're fiddling with your bicycle's breaks
a man goes up to his car with some
spare groceries  & starts off with:
you've seen that video on youtube...
this young guy doing X...
dead... such is the world we live in...
aha... sorry what the **** was that talking
about? amazed that i want to work on
my own bicycle... it's not a *******
F16 fighter-jet...
is it?
sure, currently we have such...
focused spans of attention...
such concentrated specialisations...
a jack-of-all-trades is frowned upon...
when i think of work i think of:
lifting ****, moving ****... a sort of chess...
harvesting crops...
what's the rest?
loitering... esp. concerning women in clothes shops...
not even barristers...
i mean: what's work... outside the realm of
the "3rd world" sweat-shops...
what are we, "1st world" inhabitants...
content-production ******?
what, *******, "content"?!

best not jinx it... i'll be a steward at Wembley...
i'll be an authority figure...
i have the height (6ft2) & the weight
(96kg)...
           Maanam: krakowski spleen...
6th song?
        work as loitering: isn't work... work:
lift... move... it's like the antithesis of the cruel joke
from Auschwitz... arbeit macht frei...
when they forced the people to move
a sack of rubble from A to B,
to further relent at them moving the same sack
of pebbles from B to A...

what the hell is work when so much of "work"
is loitering?
pandering to whims?
how cruel of me: there's so much excess...
not enough condoms were clearly used...
solipsistic, marginal, attention-deficient ******
of the great **** of life...
so many ******* kings among the rabble...
king of Sweden, king of Romania...
oh you see them all the time...
wake up... or be put to sleep by a bullet to the head...

i understand work via... lift... move...
any idiot's fancy...
oh sure... when the intricacies of synthesising
an ester, to make perfume...
when what's required is... pasteurizing milk...
mein gott: the current trend of...
ensuring people are fed... well... not fed:
more like...
ensuring that they don't doubly butcher a
steak... who the **** eats a well-done slice
of steak? probably someone who eats a lot
of lamb dishes... ha! the Welsh are joked
about as being sheep-shaggers...
i'd look toward the Arabs... the greatest sheep-shaggers
of the whole lot of them...
not that the pig can't be used to make...
leather belts... leather shoes...
funny god: of the Arabs... sure... the Hebs too...
it's almost like the devil played a cruel trick
on these people...
pig: b'ah b'ah bad...
aren't ***** necro-
don't ***** eat the flesh of the dead?

but Arabs are one "thing" & the Hebs another...
there's the pristine phonetic study of the
tetragrammaton...
ah? for sighs... ha? for laughter...
W for cosine... Y: the implosion & the rotation
of delta (Δ)...
the Hebrews will accomodate...
the Arabs won't...
even among Africans i can find traces of
universalism...
the Arabs, ****- -stanis... & the Hindus (somewhat)
think themselves are superior...
hush hush when imploring
the Chinese or the Japanese to enter
my realm of thought...
i already think much of the Korean Hangul...
& the Japanese Katakana...
i'm no Ezra Pound... Chinese ideograms...
western Emoji...
the Egyptian hieroglyphs...
32 letters in the ****** alphabet...
as many as there are teeth...
in every man...
26 letters in the Anglican... 6 short...
which teeth will we have, on the platter?

- i think i write these words through a perspetcive of:
what are you, scribbler?
what the hell is the rest of the fancy?
what use for a priest?
i am useless?
i scribble... is it such a sin that...
since the inception of Napster... music "suddenly"
became free? who the hell pays for art,
these day? unless it's not overpriced
acrylic *****?
don't pay for art...
great! don't have a culture...
don't have anything western, "western"...
look how the old Soviets are... giggling & rubbing
their hands in synch. with Beezebub...

AYA - WARIANT "C"...

culture is free, music is free... plenty...
enough for it to be sold...
to no one... monopolised into nothing:
into predictable curtails...
buy new shoes, phones,
perhaps some books... perhaps...

you starved the artist you somehow wonder
why... waste upon waste of migrants are flooding
your borders... will they learn your tongue:
will they... for the people who espouse
Darwinism the most: how backward thinking you all
are... since... you're all ******* dodos
given, the generosity of comparison...
not even that...
how sickening your choice...

you learnt nothing from eastern Europe...
and i wish... that you don't learn anything to begin with...
may you tremble, may you trouble yourself:
with your little hyacinth torando makeshits
of... "the bothersome"...

art for free... who would be asking for
golden nuggets! none!
just scraps! enough to have enough for fuel...
electricity...
no one is asking for ******* stature...
either we'll get to level... or...
the levelling process will come of its own
accord...
you have... ha ha... "have" a choice...
but time will tell you: no... you really don't...

AYA WARIANT C...
"contra"... :Wumpscut bunkertor sieben...
barking, up, the, wrong, *******, tree...
no need for Shakespeare... that **** is timeless...
i need something to counter the debauchery
that's currently relaxed concerning
the practices of journalism...
            ahem... sorry... what journalism?
pampering secluded ****-smeared *****...

if the ghost of Robespierre is grieving in
me! if the ghost of Robespierre!
if the ghost of Robespierre!
                  
  für die leute! für alle!
                    i'm tired of these western...
"conservative": iconoclasts of individualism...
spoon-feeding... hmm...
right now i'm least required to
mention the capacity for: a) thought,
b) tongue...
i like the option c) fist...

these pink haired: freak-oids are just
bearable... Weimar bearable...
i just can't stand being told i'm...
pointless... worthless...
that my words are no sellable...
sure... i agree... they're not...
but... what the **** sells?!

   any, worse, or, better? don't come to me
with complaints that somehow the world is...
darker...
my cat is sleeping sound...
if i had a dog i'd try to not use a leash...

this little piece of *** sells...
great... life: nothing indepth!
here you live: hereby you sink...
drown in the shallows...

groß! eisengrinsen! lachen
entstanden von: diese volk:
das spreschen dies... zunge!

i still find it a bit of a joke... Aryans?
Sarmatians were an Iranian tribe that travelled
into Poland...
Aryans... o.k., sure... jawohl...
i still can't pass up writing some Deutsche...
bad German... or good German...
i don't mind... it's not like the whole
of Berlin will mind... ha ha...

life will have to pursue its own:
trajectory...
like the life of parasites...
imps... giraffes...
van Gogh's paintings... blah blah:
a century later i might be up for
scrutiny... ha ha... people might have forgotten
world war I, or... part deux?
no? new war... Armageddon... figures...
well then... my words are ash:
  mein wörter ar asche;
lucky... no shadow present: too.

-

the n.s.a. boys ought to know, after all, shuttle in space? no ******* carpenter could do that one... the MEA CULPA ******* is... spoken on... DEAF... EARS; i.e., if there is an "i", there most certainly is a: you.

and what's wrong with the imitation
of st. peter via van gogh?
                   two ******* ears?!

they call him the christ church of
the open heart,
       a heart open, in a pose of
being crucified,
   by modern standards,
        that's man, with a heart
as an iron maiden,
      sitting in a chair,
           pretending he's posing
for a ****.

no point grinding your teeth son,
if, you don't have a rifle.

          answer: give me a pistol
and i'll show you how
the guillotine, that *****-of-a-mother
of napoleon didn't give
birth to him...

        and because girls go left,
and the boys go right...
         we can have elemental
attire, post-scriptum vive -
         men don the earth,
women don the fire...

          and that's H, H similis,
Y: breathes the air,
      W: move the waves...

           ah, my modern lepers,
volunteers for the "cause"...
           vetrans are our modern lepers...
but then again, who would
know what the sand-she-imp
says, when wars are no longer
faught with brute, axe and sword,
but by mere bling, bling bling...

           as soon as paper money is
devauled, so will the toys, weilded...
  no one has ever thought
it worthwhile to craft mountains
from sand-dunes!
        as sahara was once a mountain
range...
             these ******* arabs
think they can fake sand with metal?

    of christ with an open heart
in a pose very much unlike a perched
crow, hunched on a rooftop
or rather man sitting in a chair...
    an open heart...
          my heart, an iron maiden...
but then again:
             in a scenario transcribed
to us...

             what is more comfortable?
the ragnarök sea at Hvalba,
            the sensible seeking for
the flight of Icarus at Lønin
                a gift of yolk,
prior to the foetus!

           does woman not understand
chicken?!
           how can you have
a moral tendon, while still
eating eggs?! sanctifying them?!
what, is wrong with, you, "people"!
you talk abortions with
a moral compass as if
  the 6 day Lønin transition
didn't take place!
          castrato sing-along...
*******... sunshines!
         daddy's whittle girrrrrrls...

egg ≠ there's a foetus inside it...
because the Faroese know
that once a spermatoid starts evolving
the egg is not to be eaten!
   break my ***** while you're
at it?  why not chop them off
and have it over and done with...

women really shouldn't eat eggs...
chicken eggs...
          or any eggs for that matter...
what?! i'm eating ******* abortions
all the ******* ****** time
and yet: sanctity!
    sacred!
                 apparently the yolk
proves the non existence of
**** *****...
                 its ooh ooh... kasper
         zee freundlichgeist!

         so why the delay the ******
matter if it's not about: lounging...
  getting happy when you're 80?!
huh?!

            came the fish, the lizard,
the hybrid lizard (bird),
       came the fish, came the mammal,
and then came, irish politics...

     how can a woman have ownership
of *****, when in birds
there's a delay period,
meaning: i'm eating a *******
yoke of egg, and i don't see not
little embryo of a whittle yella
sticking in between my teeth...

    **** me... this is one hell of a party!
are eggs abortions?
  or just the non-existent reflex
mechanism of women?
           if birds have a 6 day delay
button implanted in them...
and the Faroease people know
that...
           my my...
                      how many slaves
of ****-****-and-*****
         i see, as i walk among them.

/ pa pa don't preach, my ma ma gonna lie...
i'm hardly in love but
i'm most certainly a dependent *****...
pa pa don't preach, my ma ma gonna lie...
i'm so much, hardly in love,
i might as well... cry. /

            life's cruel, deal with it;
last time i checked...
        i think my parents lied to me that
i had a twin brother,
  that died at child-birth...
   as a child they had this lament
configuration running in their heads
with the sentence:
    in this world you have someone
who looks exactly like you...
    those exact words...
aww... but poor matti doesn't get to tell
his mournful tale...
           he just needs to hear
the ****** english in their
post-scriptum 20th angst of cities
built upon coal-mining...
       if they ever get to learn
about the atom bomb... tell me...
        maybe seeing a ******* wind-turbine
might change their xenophobic-claustrophobia
of their own, kin.

i'm still going to eat eggs,
  well "abortions"...
        6, ******* days!
                  and on the 7th?!
   god didn't rest, he created life!
    as those at the Lønin descent,
about the Fulmar will tell you.

to think that life is "here"... "there" to be... ahem...
"enjoyed"... well... no wonder
that the Iberians are full of this shyte...
not ****: shyte...
       life's a given... we're talking about navigating
through a minefield of would be
walking abortions if we check the selective process
these days...
far from it: i'm not going to enjoy myself...
some spinach has passed its best-before-date...
i'll salvage it... cook up some quick spinach +
chick pea curry in a hurry...
once the spinach is cooked: it'll last longer...
some cumin powder, some coriander (powder)...
turmeric... since it does pretty much the same
thing that: enter search... ingredient that
turns rice, yella... oh... it didn't even come up...
search engine my own brain: saffron...
achar masala, just a pinch...
bay leaves, all-spice... cloves, on or two...
cardamom powder... black pepper... salt...
paprika... Kashmiri chilly powder...
     blah blah blah...
come to think of it... i have three real passions in:
this, given, life...
cycling... esp. at night... mid-week...
when the streets are... truly empty...
my god... it's like flying...
cooking... esp. the Indian cuisine...
spices like... a chemistry set...
the buzz you get from cooking up a storm...
nothing compares to it...
even if you're using something as bland
as spinach... one spice goes 'ere...
another v'er... hey presto...
some tomato juice, some coconut milk...
now all you need to finish the dish off is
some coconut milk and... the proper flour
to make your own japati hmm's...
the hmm's part is: so... yet to discover, yeast?!
it's like this basic formula that has
to stretch as far back as Assyria:
flour + water + salt...
dough-making... then exposed to heat...
of a frying pan...
what's flour? good question... i know what wheat
it... i know that paper is a variation
of timber...
are the people who discovered these
things, famous, these days?
the man who discovered beer?
even Plato said: good on him... but what, was,
his, name?!
fame, like memory... what a fickle little creature...
now fame is shovelled en masse over a load
of *******... someone invents a cure
for some algebra "X"...
it doesn't matter... some ******* some *** some
camel-toe will always be more important...
think with your ****... act like a *****...
all these suggestions...
to get the women you need to be an *******...
yeah, sure... but... i don't want to be an *******...
do i need to pursue existential validation
in the medium of: the pursuit of women...
after all... who ends up successfully pursuing
women... despicable creatures with the alias
of man...not that i care...
my fetish for German is perhaps...
no one's fetish at all...
      i'm just tired of hearing about a woman's sexuality...
she gets all the joyride while i get...
what? an urge every half a decade
when my female maine **** raises her ****
insinuating: i want *******
and i go off on a psychotic trip around London
looking for a brothel?!
i'm driven by an IMPULSE...
which is not exactly a SENSE...
i know there are the five senses...
but how many impulses are there...
and if there's to be made a schematic of differentiation
between / among them...
ought they be isolated,
don't they simply congregate when the timing
of some matter is... right / ripe?!

- and let's face it... if i were going to ******* wait...
for a date? payment: upfront...
from all these... hyper-"real" western women...
wait wait... come back...
wait... hyper-"real"... stacks against me...
a diversity "officer" might get paid 300,000 USD
for a year's worth of propaganda spewing...
but a poet, earns... ZILCH?!
i  might drink... but i have a work ethic...
i certainly don't need to accredit some
******* spelling-mistake editor like Bukowski
might have had to...

so... the game's rigged...
here's to all my flavoursome little brothers and sisters
in the universal conundrum
in some... Chinese sweat-shop / salt-mine...
******* sang jazz, ******* sang blues...
******* entertained...
perhaps picked cotton in the fields...
well thank god they didn't work in the metallurgy
industry... thank god they weren't coal-miners...
good god! they might have just been
"over-worked"!

n'ah... leave the Russians and us Polacks to sort of...
break our bones...
make work less an addiction and more a fetish...
masochism... trust the Germanic tribes to make
work an addiction... i like pain...

perhaps my northern "sentimentality"...
i, abhor, the, passions... the "supposed" passions...
of southern Europeans...
they're too influenced by Arabic thinking:
or not-thinking...
i abhor the PIGS: the Portuguese:
starboard: geese! geese! i know... a cheap joke...
the Italians... whatever mafia they're pushing...
priestly or H'Americana Incorporated
******* load of Italian'ah... ******* spaghetti swindlers...
loafers.... Greeks... let's suppose
i can stomach this ******* ethnicity...
i like basic mathematics,
i like philosophy: the basics of enjoying thinking
when no other pleasures are made available...
i abhor the Spanish...

but **** me, the next time a "******" starts singing
about...
"when it snows, my eyes grow larger"...
among the Hyperborean(s)...
**** me... let's try a mammoth-hunting man
singing about macaques monkeys
eating bags of sugar from your hand!
i tolerate you, forget about respect...

i was in Kenya, once, once upon a time...
to be honest? once's enough...
i saw the macaques, the baboon pirate...
agonised by hemorrhoids...
good... pain in the ***: pain for your ***...
serves you right for stealing...

i heard that some wheelchair bound French woman
was "stolen" from a beach in Kenya...
lucky me... i forgot to go to my hotel room...
wept when taking sight of the Indian ocean
crashing against the coast...
had a *****-nilly glass of bourbon in my onion's
worth of hand: onion's worth of mind...
i unpeeled it into some sort variation
of a dream... slept in the wide open... warm
air of the equator...

i was waiting for pirates...
not a lot of birds in Africa... plenty of humanoids...
i'm not going to do a *******
TOTO - Africa sing-along...
i don't want to go back... too hot...
i'm not an Anglo-Saxon... send me to... hmm...
Siberia... i need the cold...
i suffocate in a climate without a ******* season!
with... an equilateral reality of sunrise to sunset...
n'ah... i need! i crave!
winter!
inherently in me... the longest nights come
the wintry months! there's a time & there's a place...
send me to... oh, i'll willingly go...

KAMCHATKA! i'll **** of: immediately...
you will not hear from me again...
i'll do the whole Pontius Pilate scene...
no worry...

here... look at these words...
THE WORLD, SIMPLY, IS...
BUT... H'AMERICA... SOMEHOW...
ALWAYS HAS TO:"HAPPEN"...
resurrect a dying donkey
getting ****** by an elephant?
anglo-sphere right load of... *******...

perhaps i was simply on a hunt for ivory
for the "right" sort of white teeth...
white teeth.. mmm.... like...
stinking socks where never in existence
in Africa... perhaps socks weren't...
but stinking feet?
perhaps the two were never to be combined/....
"liberal" European Elitists (white),

oh  hello!
em...

bye, bye!