i've recently rediscovered the genius of Al Purdy...
i mean: what famous Canadian is there to speak of?
Bukowski managed to cite him, once in a reading...
eh... reading Al Purdy sober is an uneventual,
but reading him... sobering up...
- in the garden
- the winemaker's beat-étude (eh-t'yew-d)
- dead seal...
esp. the last poo'em...
what wondrous points of observation...
i'm trying to untangle myself from
the shackles of an NVQ qualification
concerning crowd security...
the instructor confirms... the answers are silly...
no... they're not... they're just blatant...
painfully obvious... like why you might check
the "magic wand" of a metal detector...
switch it on... hold out a piece of metal:
see if it "magic wand" is receptive to metal...
of course i am not demeaned, my i.q. didn't suddenly
*******... but formal language is:
formal language... as part of the cohort that minds
the safety of crowds: i have to employ some slack
when at times i drift into informal, loose associated
language... it's part of the ******* deal...
impossible to chew for my ego, it just has to be done...
rubric after rubric, buzz-words...
as much as i don't need the extra money:
hey, extra money, saves me from investing
in an umbrella, if a rainy day of metaphors makes
sense... i'm not going to spend the money
on frivolities... if there's a function of being part
of society that invokes you earning money...
sure...
i spent all of my 20s and half of my 30s not earning
money... then again: i felt no impetus to spend it,
beside on cigarettes, travel, whiskey,
a piece of clothing once in a while: one i really liked...
a fat-face material, teasing khaki shirt that could be
used to replace a jacket...
dimmed green material trousers...
regular dark navy jeans from C & A...
a baker-boy cap...
if anything can undermine capitalism...
it won't be communism...
it will come in the form of... bachelors...
women tend to spend more...
economy is a focus on the spending patterns of women...
beside all the food... who spends idle pounds
for idle things? most certainly not women...
i'm still having to send an email
to a bicycle shop about my 1 hear guarantee on
the tyres...
two flat tyres in a space of a week?
faulty rubber... i spent £500 on a Merlin Trek bicycle...
why? i'm perfectly happy cycling on
a £125 Viking road bicycle...
i think i was concerned about my initial weight...
in at 120kg... but since then i'm oscillating in the range
of 96kg through to 98kg...
a 6th of me is... ahem... "missing"...
no stretch marks... as gym bro used to say...
if you want to loose excess mass...
use the bicycle, or swim... never, ever: go to the gym...
this problem arrived for a loose friend of mine...
he wanted to lose weight... fat ******...
drank to much beer but most certainly ate too many
crickets of potato...
fervently adhered to a gym regime...
ended up... with... loose skin... with stretch marks...
not enough cardiovascular exercise...
from time to time i think about: performing...
why are all the current, vocal poets...
so... ******* exasperated in their performance?
i'm not going to put my tongue into a pool
of piranhas... no chance...
i'll sit this out like a "clever" humpty-dumpty...
to use "their" language: i don't think i'd feel safe...
if i don't like internet drama...
what could real life application of my poetry,
being spoken, reflect?
i'm not going to do something that's counter
to a welcome impetus because i'm a coward...
i'd be a coward if i were staged with an audience
of murderers... i'd do that...
but i just can't do... a crowd of pacified buggery
of the tongue...
i can't concede to people who sleep in Iron Maidens
for a tease of "luck"...
my my.... what a funfair Al Purdy has become...
only when sobering up...
hardly when in the zenith of sober...
- see, i don't remember the last time i owned a credit card,
well, i do, but it was such a hassle...
a month later some separate statement from the bank
informed me that i bought something using a credit card...
of course i paid it...
come to think of it... i only think of:
Caravaggio's: the calling of st. matthew...
i like my given names...
it's either st. matthew or it's...
Conrad I of Masovia...
or Conrad II, the Salic...
i too look at the loot as if an
elephant might be looking at peanuts....
these, be, pebbles, no?
i haven't used the credit system in a while,
i work from primarily the debit scores...
i never spend more than i get,
if i want to ****, i go to a brothel,
why would i bother myself with ****-teasing
where women have it so easy?
i want to be detached from intimacy:
i just want a hard-on...
some give, some don't... take two...
the ones that don't give end up revising the dynamic
by changing their hair, a little...
so now i'm going to have a fetish for
school-girls, pig-tails and what not?
seriously... i was going to go for the one that
really wanted to **** me,
not the one that made a whim at ******* me...
to date: i haven't been on any dates...
good for me...
i don't date, i talk, sure, we can talk, type...
i'm such a terrible grammar ****,
with my stature i'd fit right in in a...
whether it was Coco Chanel or Hugo Boss that
fitted out the SS-Übermenschen...
perhaps i might trim my beard a little...
but all that grey & black...
the best attired army in the history of man!
what style!
plus, most people confusing me with
a German physiognomy:
i could fit, right in... see... i don't mind...
i can play the part... i'm only going to ever be
a D-list actor... but... with being in this tier below
the socially venerated A-class...
i find... it's more... fun!
- like i wish i was a teenager in the 1980s...
going to the cinema to watch some horror movies...
i wouldn't want to be a teenager in the 1990s...
i was a teenager in the 2000s... some sort of oops...
some sort of oh...
going on dates gleefully...
waiting for a song like Pseudo Echo's:
His Eyes... vendredi 13th: partie cinq...
oh my god, dating must have been fun...
for the simple fact that you'd go to the cinema!
- thank god i missed the whole dating app scene,
the whole... what do you call it? only fans?
standard, orthodox me... to the brothel!
or to the alley! or to the forest... to find my echo!
there i found it... there i was, too!
- back up... i was on a date once...
we went to the Tate Modern to see an Edward Hopper
exhibition, i bought a book which i asked her to sign...
she dedicated it with the words:
you're too good looking to be like the people in
these paintings, she misspelled something...
we later took a train back to watch a movie...
Troy... whenever that came out...
then we went for sushi...
we talked & talked...
she got on a train and my "friend" messaged me,
she has the butterflies...
the same friend later sent her a phallus picture...
some friend....
whatever...
she's now happily married and with children,
i ventured to ask her how she was dealing,
with a new arrival i said to her:
yoi're the saddest face i've ever seen...
i was implying her Henry VIII conundrum...
6 children down, all female?!
i was implying: no sons?!
i don't think she was receptive of my... "argument"...
she was the eldest sister of...
a sister younger than her, but also two...
younger brothers... while she only managed to give sowing
of females.... there is a count of five, plus a sixth...
and they're all girls?!
if Henry VIII isn't worried,
i don't know who might be!
you might be?!
i was reading Heidegger when she chose her husband...
a *******-addicted pundit at the local pub...
with a stable income... 20 years her senior...
circa... i like the simulation of endearing babes
with onomatopoeias... i love the moments
when clucking the tongue is a reciprocated language
shared... all that's missing are
horse hooves...
cats, babies, what's the ******* difference?!
one has less fur than the other...
both need to be tended to: irrespective of their status...
when the word first arrives in the consciousness
of a baby: i generally weep...
look how memory is blockaded...
how it has arrived at a cyclic expression...
falsely imagination takes over as... cursor...
fail...
if every free-roaming cat could be replaced by
a toddler... one that might shove a finger into your
mouth, or pull at your beard...
i'd be a happy man... an Abraham...
a God...
- but then i figured... these days...
no kid of deity could have easy access to the...
benevolence of crowds... even if informing
individuals of their presence...
psychiatric safety measures:
someone ought to be paid...
recently stressors for claiming: over-*******
is subjected to criticism...
even prince Will the 3rd... has to get slack...
slick, mate... slack, no chance....
not with this crowd.....
hey presto, the end,,, this desired democracy no
other culture would ever arrive at,
but since the English are so ingeniously...
individualistic...
why bother them, why bother them?!
as Pontius Pilate implied...
let all be: free game...
let's see what happens!
i have enough of care...
let's just see what happens...
let's eat some
raisins coated in chocolate;
no?
i'm out... with whatever
pressures of Darwinism...
i'm mostly likely to state:
most perfectly, dead,
how are you, faring?
i want to get off this ******* caraousel,
don't you?
dead end, dire, begin with...
shoot yourself in the foot, dear Englishman.
