Hambone, slam bone
Kick them in the nuts.
Smack them, sack them
No ifs ands or buts.
Tap them, zap them
Punch them in the snouts
Jounce them, bounce them
Throw the ******* out.

Some of what we’re suffering
Has gone on for a century.
Some of it is politics
Most of it’s chicanery.
Some of it is current stuff
Aided by the internet
And some of it is old news
We just haven’t heard it yet.

Hambone, slam bone
Kick them in the nuts.
Smack them, sack them
No ifs ands or buts.
Sic them, nick them
Stick them with the bill.
Beat them, cheat them
Set up for the ****.

It’s a game of who screws who
And who does not get caught.
It has to do with bribery
And which guy can be bought.
They set it up so no one wins
Unless they play the game
And when the public catches wise
They change some of the names.

Tap them, zap them
Punch them in the snouts
Jounce them, bounce them
Throw the ******* out.
Snip them, whip them
Treat them all like dogs.
Crunch them, punch them
Throw them to the hogs.

They depend on all of us
To be lazy to the bone
And when it comes to statesmanship
To leave them all alone
And not make them live up to
What they were elected for.
The blame is on our backs again
If we choose to ignore.

Hambone, slam bone
Kick them in the nuts.
Smack them, sack them
No ifs ands or buts.
Tap them, zap them
Punch them in the snouts
Jounce them, bounce them
Throw the ******* out.

Let your being enjoy itself

Let your being enjoy yourself

Let your being enjoy your being

Be enjoying your being

Be being your being enjoying

Be enjoying

Be Joy

Enjoy being

Joy

Joy'n me being

Enjoy something
anything really
will do
now

Îmi alunecă ochii în gură
Nu mai contează câte ore am dormit.
Mă uit în oglindă și știu că mă-njură,
Zilele dinaintea mea deja au trecut până am clipit.
Și urlă viața după mine:
"Ce-ai făcut cu mine curvo ?"
*** face orice orgoliu cu sine.
"mi-am futut o zi întreagă pentru o amintire redată la viteza disperării turbo"
Vorbesc cu moartea în fiecare seară și îi spun că nu știu ce vreau mai mult ***, viață sau să scap de oboseală.
Îmi spune sexul e o iluzie la fel ca viața
Și oboseala stă doar cât e lăsată.
Ce viață deraiată!
Nu-ți lași ochii să se închidă dacă ai fost prea onestă.
Și dacă dormi, te trezești cu regret cusut în țeastă.
Eu nu răspund
Eu nu vorbesc
Eu nu stau la rând
Eu nu știu să mă feresc
Și totuși încă trăiesc.
Mama a zis că ceața e a lui Bacovia
Eu cred că nu știe nimic despre ea.
Nu așa funcționează lumea.
Tata a zis că mi-am ales soarta
Mi-am negat fericirea și viața
Că mi-am tăiat șansele pentru alta.
Eu mi-am propus să nu mai văd
Să nu mă mai las urmărită
Coruptă de ură, oamenii se lipesc când eu vreau să dispar din orbită.
Vreau să fiu într-adevăr uitată.
Nu-mi permit să fiu iubită
Nu-mi permit alt suflet în purgatoriu.

and how much of the writing of existentialist
philosophers,
   namely their signature,
   the antithesis of a ditto-head -
the dittoing out, as it were, reveals so little
in questing for the pristine form
of metaphor?
            i see no metaphor in "said" writings...
thought, seen,
     but not exactly spoken...
                         i've been bothered by
their aesthetic for some time...
                       it's not an expression of
metaphor,
             to cite heidegger...
    the forms opposed to "devotion"...
what is that supposed to imply?
              the existentialist aesthetic of
their scripts, has nothing to do with
poetic nuance, a cryptology -
         a literally and a figuratively contrast...
based on the speed with which one
write a fluid sentence,
   and doesn't relegate himself to revisionism...
or apologetic(s) of ensuring
the crux of spelling,
   leaving an editor and proof reader
redundant...
                     what is this?
      this "                         "
  encapsulation?
                             at least the Irish knew
how to approach the printed example
of a dialogue in a novel, i.e.
- so
- so what?
- ergo, zis!
  
   counter?
   "i think that red dress looks nice on you",
she said,
   "thank you", came the reply...

   see the aesthetic superiority?
    bang bang bang...
water feature cascade
with beginning with hyphens...
james joyce understood this...

    because... why couldn't it be
an encapsulation within the confines
of: 'so i said so', he said...

        aren't people at all bothered
about how dialogue is transcribed from
theater manuscripts to a novel,
with the additional explanations of
two characters talking,
   the     "      !      ",  he said...
    with a "      ?      ", she replied....

      orthodox church chants of the monks...
ancient Teutonic chants...

  akin to to - but prior to -
the old school version of a search
engine...
  you've read a historical novel
in early through to late spring...
watched the movie adaptation
    by aleksander ford (1959) -
      
   and you start flicking through,
page by page, of a 754 page worth of a novel...
from the beginning, on the odd
occasion wetting your finger
to increase the page-turning speed...
and then you find"it"...
on page 533...
   and you've just spent twenty minutes
browsing the paper and embedded
ink...
  
         recalling the movie:
   well... the chronological adaption
is ****** up, it's at the beginning
of the movie?

what movie the henryk sienkiewicz"
adaptation of *krzyżacy
  (knights of the teutonic order)
became...

   a song...
   inscribed by walter von der vogeldweide
  (1170 - 1230) -
bi den rôsen -
    
bi den rôsen er wol mac
        tandaradei!
   merken wa mir'z houbet lac!
  tandaradei!

    (after the roses he will
    recogniße,
  where my head rested)...

or another song,
   never you might:
the airy-fairy take of poetry
to counter the novel...
  
much of a novel is bricklaying
by comparison,
myopic scheming of the paragraph...

poetry, becomes, focal,
in it becoming crutches for
novelists...
    novelists provide
the volume...
poets?
      the genesis, exodus,
and sometimes the in-between impetus...

wyszedł Niemiec z wielgim zyskiem,
     pogrzebli go z gołym pyskiem,
          hoc! hoc!

no... not ad hoc:
   but a wet snare jazz drumming
****** of tss...
   like imitation of an intimidating
snake, prior to the bite...
  tst... tss...
               hoc: as in: hop!
            doing the 'opak...
           given that i know how much
the english love, simply love...
to ensure H is a surd letter...
notably in Indian butter...
dhāl...

         but is this existential philosophy
aesthetic a case for disguising
monologue?
    or engaging in dialogue?
  there was never any (of the latter)
to begin with...
  point being...
          it's a quasi-stenographic tactic
to avoid a metaphor,
and delve into:
    misnomers -
      to aid... allowing a speed
of narration...
   no reworking, no editorial lax -
   fresh bagels...
                    
    i too will sometimes allocate a misnomer,
without "the brackets" -
and never intend for a metaphor...
    
    but if poetry has the concept
of metaphor,
  philosophy has to have the concept
of a misnomer...
   which, serves both definitions
on the bias of ambiguity...
     where poetry delves in image
conjuring -
say... an elephant's head
attached to a torso of a giraffe...
    philosophy delves into the more
obvious: so i "said"...

   when... in actual fact...
   all that was "said" was the clicking sound
of a laptop keyboard...
   a text appearing on a public
blank slate...
    and someone regurgitating the text
by, "thinking" it through,
right down to, encompass
the dotted line summary

.................................................................­....

i must be in one of those... "moods"...
    i must be in such circumstances follow an almost
ritual: the beauty of life...
coupled with the "fairness" of it...
notably when sharing it with people:
of a more... "south of the border"...
a more sour invitation to it...

                  my "free will": my... what little is it...
when someone else might: rest assured...
express his or her... "alternative"...
                      this a choice...

the wine has ran! down into the gob that
sometimes forgets to thirst...
and when not thirsting... does the unpardonable...
shelters itself in the abodes of ruining
patterns of shadow devoid of bodies...

drinks! listens to scandinavian pagan songs...
tiresome... tiresome those byzantine chants...
for all their worth: but enough is enough...
it would be the most precious time...
to translate some Horace...
   such be my need for solace -
but translation itself is hardly a comfort...

                       the cut-off reads...
   at *** tonantis annus hibernus Iovis
        imbris nivisque (conparat)...
       tonantis - thunderer
     hibernus - wintry
               annus - annum - year...
        imbris - growth...
        nivisque - snow... the cut-off is already:
as always crude...
                                    the whiskey is here!
and the romance of powder...
cheeks and roses! but we might as well
begin: from a beginning...

  beatus ille qui procul negotiis, ut prisca gens
mortalium, paterna rura bobus exercet suis
solutus omni faenore
    neque excitatur classico miles truci
  neque horret iratum mare
                       forumque vitat et superba civium
potentiorum limina.
   ergo aut adulta vitium propagine
altas maritat populos at in reducta valle
     mugientum prospectat errantis greges
inutilisque falce ramon amputans feliciores
insertit aut pressa puris mella condit amphoris
aut tondet infirmass ovis.
              vel *** decorum mitibus pomis caput
autumnus agris extulit,
         ut gaudet insitiva decerpens pita
certantem et uvam purpurae,
    qua muneretur te, Priape, et te, pater Silvane,
tutor finium.
           libet iacere modo sub antiqua ilice,
modo in tenaci gramine:
labuntur altis interim ripis aquae,
           queruntur in silvis aves fontesque
lymphis obstrepunt manantibus,
                             somnos quod invitet levis.

thus listening to some of what the british
patriots have to offer...
i'd call them the demeaning "natives"...
but then i have on offer...
scottish nationalism
and welsh nationalism...
not to mention the irish: but i'll mention them...
english nationalism...
      hmm...

solution: repatriation... of the "invaders"
of Brimingham...
i know what deportation looks like...
on the weekend that Dianna was
"repatriated": her coffin was towed...
the home office came knocking...
    father doing a runner...
         visiting grandfather broke up his affair
with sober -
'nice com-pew-ter' said the home office
grey...
i was left in tears and punching
the wall...
       so much for integration...
          did my best lizzy... the paperwork...
"got in the way"...
            doesn't matter: the kosovans came
in 1999 circa etc.
     the canines are out...
                  where is my, mosque?
                          where is my kebab stash?
beside the 2004 tsunami...
          
home is where: i have a sparrow's worth
of fear: and perhaps a heart...
when i land in warsaw and try to escape it...
i land in warsaw: i'm a native of these parts:
am i "at home"...
i'll walk you down route 25 bus
past all the babylon and i'll tell you:
nothing like it!
dodo among the peacocks...
humpty-dumpty and sacred cows brigade...
that's not quiet me... but...
         touch 'em with a two metre long
****** if you must!
      
   my affairs with england...
was supposed to be a stop-over...
further argentina... h'america...
     the bleach baptism: ha! ha! h'america!
in search of a great-grandfather...
   guess this is "home"...
sure as ****... warsaw isn't!
      
                   and these concerns...
i will not sing the: god save the queen...
i'd rather whistle to: the british grenadiers fife
& drum... on a scale of: a *****... a nilly...

italy is being "invaded"
germany is being "invaded"
denmark is being "invaded"....
england and france are being "invaded"...
no guns, no tanks... no blitzkrieg?
"invasion"? or just slacking and slurrping
a neo-liberal old liberal pompous brat affair?
sleep more sleep a more dire sleep...
wake up when it's all over...
in the hands of the other...

   an invasion: an "invasion"... no tanks...
just the stories of sorrow from knife-crime
statistics... collateral and human shields...
such concerns...
if it's not the invaders it's the romanians
picking lettuce or the polacks
on construction sites...
but i am as much an exile as anywhere...
and i don't really have a high degree of concern
for my "tribe": either...

   the slow warfare of economic ruin concerning
a town that was sizing up a status of city...
with two metallurgy theatres of operation...
gone: gruzy... heaps of rubble...
           hersch! herr hersch!
     how iz zis evens pozziblah?
               i don't mind the invaders...
marry one: then i might...
   have a little calipso moment and count:
the number of shades of cinnamon,
copper, bronze and cherokee...

                      whiplash... i must be daft...
not to have learned a thing or two from
the **** and the ******... to have to learn
a new: "thing or two" from the... liberals
with their: no tanks, no planes, no microwaves,
no l.s.d. "freedom's freedom" policy!

england big... big O england...
big o: O and exclaimation mark: O! england...
i am not wed to your daughters...
nor the father or grand fairy pater to
them either...
               i didn't bring a mosque!
i didn't bring a flag!
i didn't bring a suntan that retains its
glue in winter!
i didn't bring anything...
beside... there's this idea of a nation...
and there's that...
of a diaspora... which of course...
you had... but didn't...
when... the "proselytes" decided that:
an english diaspora is not:
in our vision... what would become
the invested: hope and character to build
as a grand, u. s. of a.....
so much for the "motherland and the fathertongue"...
or the "fatherland and the mothertongue"...
whittle ol' england...
whittle ol' bargain: and more!

i brought sauerkraut and a poppy-seed cake...
the german might as well have brought
the former... but it's hardly an argument:
the "invaders" from the east brought their own food...
shame... seeing you gobbling down a curry
and a kebab...
who am i to complain?
i eat them too! i have an arsenal of spices
that would most likely compete with
the nuke arsenal of russia!

                      i didn't "integrate" you didn't
"integrate"... i have your tongue as a dearest: polly...
who doesn't want a *******?
that h.p. sauce is genius?
              well... and cricket? but i'll eat your
gob-*****... you will not eat mine...
so you have your bangladeshi "invaders"...
your friday night: chinese take-away and soho...
ahem... "soho"... chinatown...

who's to be complaining?!
exotica! ex-o-tica!
                     shrimp **** and watermelon *****:
requiring... ***** extensions to **** around
with: **** jamai... can oh she cancan but not
in the parisian "sense"...
          
        well... given that this was supposed
to be a translation of Horace...
here's my ****** translation of latin...
it's not a curry... it's not a mosque...
it's not a burning flag it's not a turban...
it's not a roman catholic on a pike...
dying a death more formidable than
a crucifixion...
i'm guessing a viking settling in york:
with something of a believable
scandal when sense of humour is concerned...

i can't promise stale: hardly any poetry...

fortunate he, who from the city's uproar from afar,
free like people of older date,
    with oxen ploughs the fief of hereditary role,
oblivious to either profit or toll,
he doesn't know, what is the **** of a battle horn,
he doesn't tremble, when the sea grieves a vengence,
shuns away from the forum's uproar,
        he doesn't, like customers - who -
                 protrude under the doubling of the wealthy.
he prefers the lush shrubs of grapevines -
with shoots wed to the stump of a poplar tree,
overseeing, leading herds of roaring cows
into and among pastures on the slopes
of mountainous valleys...
             hunt boars... interlock with beef...
                  so as to have a noble variety of fruit,
from pressed plasters: honey sieved into amphorae
or clipper woolly sheep of the herd.
                - and when golden autumn above
the fields - donning a wreath of harvested wheat:
raises its head -
with what kind of ecstasy / delight...
tears the sight of grafted pears...
                   and bunches in clusters of purple -
should for Priapus and Silvanus,
     watchman's bordering copper, bring forth:
the first gifts.
     how pleasant to rest upon cushioning grass
or under a an old and shady oak:
where fluvial trends in precipitious stance
of banks errodes...
                     where the birds' graceful nagging...
foliage murmurs, streams of water incessant:
thus a dream make... unexpectedly.

estrada: tempus...
                            auditores? lemures!
stage: time...
            the audience? ghosts!
that's bound to happen... binding oneself
to a Horace...
       with what's already available...
the stage: the audience....
and beside: the audience: time...
        well... i rather enjoy entertaining...
a stage of time: and the audience of ghosts...
than have to resort / retort to
the latter "debacle"...

             i, didn't... bring an "invaders"...
detail... lucky for me...
of the german the zeppelin and the ******...
you didn't even have to taste
anything by the leftover mongol...
that crimea became the capital of
the diaspora... that the mongol became known
as the tartar...
                                      chebureki...

endear me! have you humpty-dumpties!
your sacred cows!
your mosques! your chinatown!
your frizzy and your froth!
your angst your liberals and your
huguenots!
your passive-aggresive secular "christianity"
tingling with **** atheism...
"your"... Birmingham!
"your"... Loon'don...
                            
             clywed y çymraeg!
                                    éist clann gàidhli!

seobheith!
           no heidegger: no "there"...
                        anois!
              
        YMA!
                                     YMABODAU!
i leave Wstminster to the porky-pies...
who with and with: "who":
where else?!

the time it takes to travel from
ostrowiec świętokrzyski...
mein klein
        scheisseloch
               aus geburtdorf - - - - - - - - - - - -

arriving at Stansted airport...
at the passport
    hall...

    achtung bitte...
then some Spanish...
and at last English...
i almost forget where i was...

i was about to write an epic...
saturated with so little
of thought...
but, alas... bombarded
by two shots of bourbon,
distracted by
something found between

a mountain, a chair,
a man and a fern
(yes, a cat... sleeping in my bed)...

imagine being sober for
over a month!
  imagine!
one IPA beer throughout
the "tenure" of holy holy holy

- - - - - - - - - - -
   my little ****-hole
                       from, birth-village

       what?!
i'm not going to learn German
being so god-**** entrenched in
Englisch and Schlavikschisch...
"too many consonants"...
that's what the English colts
used to say seeing western
Slavic for the first time...
"too many" consonants...

    sounds like "t'oo mime'any"
    pronouns in the post-Germanicus
post-isch              Eisland...

EPIC! EPIC!
over a month sober and...
new year's resolution?

  don't visit a brothel...
buy vinyls...
   and visit that
gresham publishing company
in London...
with the collection
of Dickens...

     - - - - - - - -
(Kandinsky / *******... all over
zis grossenwahn...
great delusion)

   but the time it takes to
travel by coach from
   ostrowiec świętokrzyski to Warsaw?
see...

  you never appreciate certain
types of music genres in
certain places...
opera... where do you listen to opera?
in an operhauß!

            pierdolone kacapy!
rho si si... si si kurva... si i zawsze ja!
    ия
                  siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii
                  jaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

pierdu pierdu: a.i.

        never mind, not today...
not straight off the boat type of...
"poem"...
just a blitzkrieg...
like any blitzkrieg...
reactionary?
                          that blinking
sensation...
        EPI                   LEP           (P)SY    

(we'll come onto greek in
a minute...
just one letter...

oh much much prior to
the antithesis of sudoku,
i.e. mahjong,
               solitaire...
   the OTHER,                    NPC...
finite model theory...
                    heinz-dieter ebbing)  

point being?
jazz? a bedroom and a cafe...
classical music though?

grand architecture or...
the most mundane "there"
   with a crooked mirror of
"being", with what remains:
   das ist:                   da ist nicht!

meine! oder ohne mir!

                      und es ist...
  und es ist...
                          
  the compedium of man's surmount
in but a few words made
totem, god, beast or with a mask
to guise a face upon a lake,
a moon delving into Monday,
a scythe into the sickle
and the plums of fortune
come August's choir of wheat...

a trickle of the poetic,
a tickling of the drunk...
  
  and here in England they cared for
what became dyslexic
hyperinflated:
yoga granny yog'ha
             for the pronoun:
who what where?
      basic... 2 i see two i too c to see
'ere i wh'       her i err
who i... go when?

when is pronoun!
   times what?
who!
when times what equals who!

woo woo woo...

a whole month speaking nothing
but ****** with my grandparents...
drop my tongue into
a barrel of bourbon...
of course i'll exfoliate!

   - and i liked classical music prior...
but...
hmm...
sitting there in the coach,
decided to chose a letter...

i once did this "thought experiment"
while studying the chemically
enchanced marijuana
of post hippy post pink floyd England...
skunk...
how to... pseudo-Buddha...
not think...
seek the holy grail... the third eye...
same **** different cover
*******...

        mind you...
it did work...
where did my thinking unbecome
narration?
oh... right... poetry and
the prophecies of the weather forecast:
the solid 5 minutes
of fame ordained to surpass
the 15 already promised
by Dandy W.

              classical music...
sitting uncomfortably?
good...
now you need a coach trip...
and...

ideal timing...
from
   ostrowiec świętokrzyski
to Warsaw you can listen to
robert schumann's

   fantastical tracks op. 12,
   arabeska c-dur op. 18,
                 childhood's scenes op. 15,
     forest scenes op. 82

and
     beethoven's
     IX symphony d-mol op. 125...
entering Warsaw...
like some vague...
comedy of... Wagner...
        luftwaffezunahme...

orgasmusrittwalküregodemicheservus
­
and i just said there...
most uncomfortable...
  Λ...
                 no... not a syllable...
Λ...
                   two eyes...
and a pin-point...
   on the forehead...
a missing, a hush, no narrative...
a "meditation"
(now, that's ambitious)...

  lambda...

                no... not O(micron,
or     -mega)...
  
           Λ...
  an... "effect"...
   (yes yes, either an ambiguity,
or a misnomer, that "     "     capsule)

         how did i notice Λ?

the digital clock in the coach,
i wanted to encapsulate...
something given,
a priori...

                           not this:
a posteriori mesh mish mash U O MSH,
this perpetual synthesis
of an acquired tongue...

i wanted to block
a meaning...
so i tuned into the music...
   and began blanking, stare-matching
waterfalls to staircaseas...

it began with

   14 : 30

14 : : : : : : : : : :
   : : : : : : : : : :
      : : : : : : : : : :
   : : : : : : : : : :
   : : : : : : : : : :
         : : : : : : : : : : 14 : 31

after a while i deviate
from even minding
the : : : : : : : : : :
   : : : : : : : : : :
      : : : : : : : : : :
   : : : : : : : : : :
   : : : : : : : : : :
         : : : : : : : : : :
  count

   ⠃  b
       ⠅     k
⠭    x
                ⠃ 2

after a while?

    given the λ-effect?

  well... y... h... λ... μ...

              what the hell
is north is there is no
actual Copernican "north"?

sure... the earth isn't flat...
but "where" the hell is
"north" in the Copernican
scheme of things?!
there isn't one, is, there?

hence the blurry:

   magic number on calculator
screens in math class in school:

8008135:
              8, ∞, S, 5, rune, sharpened,
etc.
    ∞, 8: 5 S...

                        5318008: *******!

IO:3Γ

                  1b:6B

              chess?
     poker?
                                bridge?

IZ:ZS (12:25)...

                       over a month spent
sober... with an exception
of watching the Decalogue
8 or 9...
                    (kieślowski) -
with an IPA...
                              (indian pale ale)...

23rd. of November 2018...
i can still remember
sitting on a barstool next to her,
sipping a Guinness...
at 7am...

   i've never seen a woman
read two pages of a book
for so long in my life...
well... attempt to read a book...
contantly checking
her phone...

                 it's hard to feel ashamed
drinking in the morning
in an airport,
surrounded by hefty
***** in a bunch
heading off for a bachelor
party
with one dressed in
Pampers...

                          but i kept
her company...
   **** me...
                       23rd November
2018...
           a lot must have happened
since then...

              she sooner
finished her pint of lager,
i my pint of Guinness,
she checked her phone
more times than i blinked...
and still...
she only managed to
turn only one page
of a book...

     bad luck... 'Dannielle'...
a book, an airport,
a morning cover?
        
   - but i've never seen a person
take so much time to turn
over a page or two
of a book...
this is hardly a place
to call into question
a conversation starter:
so watch'ah reading?
is it?

    didn't think so...
   books, now, then, 10 years ago...
and now...
bypassing standard bearers...
Urban II sorts...
   books as items of nouveau vogue
attaches...

   sorts:
   kippahs of the trendy
Brooklyn sort...

            
hell: **** it... let's wreck this
like a Machine Head song
akin to bulldozer...

   if Pandora had a box...
Eureka had an attic.

Am mers seara la lac să mă prefac scriitor
Să găsesc cuvinte ca să cer ajutor
Cu șarm și sub o formă
Nu basic sau de normă
Nu! Căutam o scânteie
Sau o intenție, idee
O mică odisee
Care să-mi reflecte
Rănile spre mine
Ceva mai blând
Fără furie
Sau să învăț să fiu plăpând
Și să îmi fac viața vie.

Nimic prea wow, n-am văzut mult
Am stat pe iarbă printre plante
Maxim o lebădă sau poate
Un porumbel zburând pe cer
Nu m-am prins în timp util
Că ziua trecuse subtil
Ceasul a zis cu convingere
Că era ora de stingere

N-am găsit ce căutăm
Prin ai creierului geam,
Dar am simțit destulă pace
Știind ca totul se întoarce
A doua zi,
Și că totul va muri,
Și apoi va reveni,
E la fel ca empatia
Omul ce-și uita condiția
Și își pierde reflexia
Înjură ploaia, însă tot ea
E cea ce-i spală oglinda
Cel ce nu se-ndepărtează
De propriul suflet nu navighează
Viața cu adevărat
Cel ce a asigurat
Mereu că știe ce-l așteaptă
E după gratii, după lacăt
Spiritual, emoțional, mental și vibrational
Uimirea nu va fi găsită
În cunoscut, ea e sădită
De fraierul ce se aruncă
În ocean, ce se îneacă
În confuzie și pleacă
Din portul construit mental
Comoara este în ocean,
Deci fii curios! Sari orbește!
Dacă n-ai pânze, vâslește.

_M.

back toward my usual: relaxing over a sudoku
while drinking -
honestly: if i, were a man,
that greatly desired an expansive biography...
a sort of life akin to: ******* against the wind...
asking questions:
   what's a pumpernickel to windmill?
          out of the lucky drawn of blind oaths
paranoia -
         i am calm like the best of them:
calling the shots to spice up the difference
between verbatim and verbatom
  (last time i checked verbatim implied:
word for word - the ditto of dittos -
the dog's ******* sort'ah cue)...
it's wasn't a pumpernickel to a windmill
to begin with: gingerbread -
that soft fudge kind... not a hard crisp:
moses! moses! the tablature! type of ginger...
so a mix of the two... lucky day as any:
i'll just dye it with having completed
the think-tank task of solving the shoelace
"riddle"..
          and i guess i will not find a buckle:
it's otherwise so impossible to have
read a bastion from the 18th century...
that not many have...
and that it has been the 21st century nibbling
at me...
and that people still haven't...
what a sorrow of exclusivity:
a broker of: to read a work that...
persists at being pop among moths and dust
and some extension of the term
necromancy...
                    by now anything cartesian:
revised or otherwise becomes a faux pas...
a sort of "revision" of:
irish catholic - in the name of the alt vater...
the blistering kiss to summon
the son with his body the apple
the crucifix the tree of trees...
                       not that new metaphors
couldn't possibly be generated:
but that there's a fear of transcending
the superstitious...
                          in the shadow of the cross:
i hollowed out my bearings bare...
i married thought to a dream
and i had a dream of: a bellowing -
of a greater grand yawn of: nothing...
i was never the architect of or in them...
    having to come back...
there was still the same robotic heart...
and liver... and stomach...
i was having to discover less
a nuance or adventure:
but the whole process of automation...
that i had some freedoms:
i will claim the skeleton owned
most of it... in terms of thought:
  i probably thought of what someone else
thought of: whether as an original
intactness -
my "original sin" was that...
i probably succumbed to a plagiarism...
at some point...
whether to revise of innovate...
i became a generic this that & the other...
like beauty: esp. of women...
oh the generic side of...
when the face starts to contort under
the pandemonium of onomatopoeias
in the *** act...
                   like a cubistic:
if the rhombus is beyond the square
then that sort of face is beside a rhombus or...
les demoiselles d'avignon...
   perhaps it was always a concert of
a nose or a scalp or a chin... or a beard...
for the itch... and the impossible translation of:
well... there is no right of genius
by a mere easing of the itch with
a scratch...
unless... i'd be scratching that itch
with a feather...
there! the impossible! a well off image that
can't be translated into a sound...
back to the fore:
objectivity is overrated...
i find that each and every day...
that Kafka feared...
it isn't / it wasn't a communist / capitalist
dichotomy... sparring...
both share a capitulation for
bureaucracy... the "safe space" walking
abortions of: pencil-pushers and nostalgia paper...
grizi-piórek: quill-nibblers...
   yes... that agony of trades as the hamster wheel
plumbers: forgotten eastern european
extracts in the houses of western
journalism...
after all... i read a newspaper that doesn't
exactly inform me...
i am more informed concerning
how i might / ought to feelz zis...
       bistro!
                     please... no thought experiments...
i have one already:
thought as the moral: (th)ought...
that's the only one i have...
the rest has to succumb -
notably thinking loitering and subsequently
put to paper:
  thought as a pleasure -
from a deeply personal stance of
narration or some variation
of punctuation - metaphysical -
or thought as an agony -
when the brain (the source of thinking?)
starts to mimic the rest of
this automated corpus -
those automatic / repetitive thinking
patterns that exhaust both mind
and body: esp. when there is no
menial task at hand...
or hands to mind: for that matter...
no... thought as a postcard: wish you...
wish i...
a 21st century faux pas... reading descartes...
i re(a)d kant and have no one to talk
to about... because i'd want to?
least probably: no nein nie niet...
there was a mind-body duality?
i guess there was...
that there is now a mind-body dichotomy:
a metaphorical schizophrenia -
why would normal, sane, people...
masquerade this dichotomy
in a psychiatric metaphor:
how easily can you hear the suffix
being cited: casually... schizoid...
   so... the mind-body duality was...
but not really...
in that the metaphor for schizophrenic...
and that's... parallel...
not linear bilingual...
people casually infer these metaphors
because...
  it's a clarifying calamity...
        
   the collective continent will never:
dearly appreciate the efforts of the english...
suppose they are too near to the mainland...
this... awkward looking thing... island...
like italy...
             because it's no iceland...
you can read of a czech writer flabbergasted
over a Flaubert...
but... Evelyn Waugh hardly creeps up
to the market value of export
for the global stage...
     what's that composer... "then again"...
Handel was a ******* polyphonic...
german...
           Holst too... never mind Orff...
old wounds: new blood
well... new wounds - old blood...
              Elgar?
      really? Elgar is my Penderecki -
i find it becoming to think very little
of oneself:
i suppose there was a body that exerted
enough pressure to type these words...
but i have a shadow: a proper extension
of thought to mind...
within the confines of this body...
i probably daydream and gesticulate
at bargaining or... gambling...

no overt use of pronouns:
whenever i look up at the starts
from the copernican genesis
i am panged with a myopia...
but... given some insect -esque detail...
i am having to shatter my eyes with
all those attentions to detail...
such is english... grammatically:
the overt-staging of pronouns
and conjunctions...
these stars are myopic staring-match-up...
these insects are my ordeals
of escapism...

pièce de résistance -
on the topic of culinary adventures...
can one be objective for such demands...
well...
come first served:
there's this demand for the objectivity
of sitting on a chair:
it's hardly a subjective experience...

objectively: as in - the opposing party -
socialism was exported
to mongolia to balance the deeds of
the horde -
    by objectivity i sense a need
to oppose - to make critique -
to elevate some alleviation of summons
of the encyclopedic courtesan -
crustacean halal?!
pork best fed: there's a leash and a dog
barking inquisitive as to
where the bite makes a churn...

a kippah for a keeper...
and the same loiter for the tonsure in
imitation...
when it's all dark and critter
ennobled from the east end
locket of prizes that summon:
London - a shelved ordeal of both
Mammon and Moloch...
       the crescendo approach...
the polyphony of teasing taste...

it can be objectively staged:
i ate a carrot...
not past not nor present...
i ate an apple...
objectively i will eat an apple...
           i can also eat
a kohlrabi with some radishes...
and a peepsqueak
red onions pickled in rice vinegar
all things kosher (salt)
and olive oil...
         objectively i will nibble
at a carrot... a beetroot...
objectively... why?
  it's hardly a wittgenstein question-dome
of nuance to loiter with lions
and folding napkins...

there's this "coming together"
of how... disembodied parts come together...
it's beside the objectivity of
nibbling on a raw carrot root...
there's this subject of:
a "polyphony" of the guise of
a bolognaise sauce...
you can't expect to shelter
subjectivity sensibility of (a) topic
concerning this one...
paramount...
that eating a raw carrot is...
staging objective "superiority"...
that a tomato is categorised as a fruit
but is used as a vegetable...

withering assumptions of:
lost-begotten: and some humour...
schadenfreude: and that ******* child
of the ominous tedium
that's lost for the worth
of god: in the guise of hyper-morality
of a karma....

my own pleasurable ordeal:
this 7&s...
                 posit of karma will
never be a positive excavation:
pro-jection...
        i can objectively eat a carrot...
but when it comes to
a bolognaise sauce?
sorry... will have to borrow some
mandarin... i will
have to resort to the local "bias"...

you simply can't create an objective
polyphony...
objecting to all the details in
making: consorts...
taste like: giving length...
or the posit of strengthening a
curvature of an original *****: banned
"a.m."...

there's this ******* and there's
the prop-of turkey inbreeding..
loitering the condor...
and the ******* as some new allowed
uvula beside the frothing
penguin jazz and *****...

mr. shoe and mr. shoo...
and the unforgiving mandarin lock...
stock... tai chi and that
mandarin dancing gingerbread...
marathon skipper...
shoes of pauper that made
a broker for borrowing a skittle fight
that couldn't happen in some
variation of begging warsaw:
tease the bliss...
tease the overtly salting of peanuts.

that the mandarins have no atomic
"concepts":
devoid of vowels, consonant
and swastikas:
prized assets of syllables..
voodoo projects...
             yes...        my conundrum
and a kettles broth.

.i'll make it ******* plain.... and simple... i'll erase the concept of the tetragrammaton... once and for all... what you denote as: cheap-****... i'll hide those two "who's who" consonants... the vowel catcher and the architecture of laughter: the sigh baron and the laughter prince... чeap-шit... no... no caron? well... no... really: no... "crown"...

woz not payz for ziz... woz best: smear ****...
call if graffiti... golden halfz..
          woz not payz for ziz...
tribunal of: "journalistix integrity"...
        woz not payz
for zis smear: *****... and
a load of *******... der nacht ist für: schlafen...
so! hier: wir - ar!
          tribunal of leeches...
and the tabloids... toilet paper horse-huffing and
horses-puffing: that is... the warm air: with a scent
of baked good... like bread...
that blatant culprit, though...
                 with: wit... Ł...
like the orthodox cross from deer hunter:
which implies: post... w imie ojca: credo...
touch the forehead...
i syna: touch the heart... the stone...
blessed is the instrument of torture
the synonym of transcendental exaltation...
the crucified pig ****... body of lacklustre...
          the phantom trench of:
moses! moses!
rifle aim: rifle... crucifix... the christ bullet...
and there i was... thinking:
moses the... moses the poet!
  the greeks and the hebrews know
a thing or two about conspiracies...
if they didn't finally learn it at the reign
of the drittereich... or casimir III...
ziz iz zee plaz auf:
the greeks should have mattered
in the ottoman empire...
the hebrews were still drifting...
pretending... as one best pretends
to sell shoelaces but no shoes...
and matchstickz...
to no one, except...
                  fire blessed forms...
  so... so much for israel...
given the activity of the diaspora...
in h'america...
they cite: who needs israel?!
who needs to struggle with: gott?!
brochette 'ebrai...
                                      nero pokers...
don't know... in a language of
quasi afghanistan..
                           secular iran
and secular: turban on fire... the caves...
                     alexander the great
pretended to conquer...
by reaching the raj...
               that middle territory...
where... the women were so fine...
a niqab did hide the saudi beauties...
but a burqa was more...
in-stru-men-tal... for the pashtun women...
zee russischroulétté?
punctuation: wohlwollend-herr!
               the details: no h'american left
active...
i was expecting... a lick of rubber-soles...
from the boots...
and the face of god... when...
lazying a sunday with pol ***...
of any given sunday...
miracle of sporting venom...
anger... for the spectacle...
       and when hiroshima took noon...
and nagasaki took midnight...
i came across...
something lost: yet somehow human...
some called it the disinfectant...
some... the anaesthetic...
some... the aesthetic...
                 culprit... monk bro-mance...
and brit-pop... nostalgia...
oh: yummy...
russisch-rou-lé-tté
yes... the hyphen and the acute accent...
and the excess of tau...
but no tao...
                                   tao mantra:
primo! the best way you can help
the world... is for your to forget the world...
and for... the world... to forget you...
good luck rainman meets fowest grunt!

h'america is like islam...
it's not a people...
it's an idea...
it's staggering how... the synonym closure
was not reached prior...
h'america is as much an idea
as islam is...
the former brits... the irish...
the yidman and the gyrman...
the pole the fwa fwa fwench...
russophobia galore...

                       the secular route:
end up in the las vegas...
malcolm x route: mecca bound...

               both a set of ideas...
but unlike h'america...
in england...  i dare to retain...
my born with: mama said...
tata: said...
dziadek said... babcia: said...
                     "semi" integrated: karen...
it's not a lasso of mehiko spaniard: quasi...
nothing from: mad-rid...

         h'america is an idea...
leave the leash of history at the door:
and mat...
                islam is also an idea...
the ummah... no wonder these twins
should somehow swipe: right...
in england i still speak my native: mother...
because... the gwand'pah and the gwand'm'ah
are still... brea'vin...

it's no more a limb... or the instrument of
torture being celebrated...

than... when... the cossacks...
were... invested in... or that romanian prince...
the crucifix was to be replaced:
"revised" by the: na pal!
onto the spear!
onto the pike!
                  crucifix my ***... literally:
my ***...
the crucifix is what?! given the pike?
with one hands tied... better... cut off...
sinking for two weeks...
onto a phelgm lie lubrication
of "ease"...
                 pray! the orthodox mantra from
Kiev will not reach Danzig...
London?
                 we need nostalgic tourists from...
Ken-and-Larry: yuck contra: yummy...
theyz needz to knowz:
beginz und endz vel! they' zzzzzz...
includenz! a skip of sleep...
to lessen the сoвиeтц interrogation...
insomnia tactics...

               zuckerzzzzzzzzzzzzzz magic
       (jig jig... m'ah jig... contra...
           m'ah m'ah: m'ah jiq)...
wackerzzzzzzzzzzz!
         yep: rz... je suis!
                    her-t-z... contra:
frankensteinz: herz... harts... herц...
                             blah blah; hassan "e" sahba...
some life was worth living...
some... exacating synonymous parallels...
to... drinking bourbon and exclaiming...
mein gott! this tastes like chewing
bubblegum!

for the odd flake...
somewhat...
summary..
"joke"...
  yeah.. one of those...
bon jovi... mixin'
         ryan barnes
and b+coz+matz...
and quitters l'ov-ups...
all the qualifications
for john adam's
basic prints!
sour me ups for
the basque
in blister...
         nq... bq...
              q/b...
lay-around...
hibber-tiq...
tiqqy-whacky-
smart-y-y...

    ­ capsizing doughnut crust!
         ******* winded comment
sections...
bew zealender -esque
         and an 'obbit
of fame...
to 'ort 'f... c'oh;
roxette...
              and...
no... no grieving....
no beef'ed up
besides...
it will never be...
        1994 four weddings
and a funeral...
or sliding doors...
or...

                there's the culprit...
there's the... skim reading
of a belief in perfected
1990s...
and the vulture...
    always the vulture...
the skin of skim-reading...
the...

                          it had
to be such an ouch of
perfection...
because there was never
a stripend of a restart...

good enough
to savour worth of
elephant ivory and...
always that vague and...

y'ah... kiniky 'n' kinz...
born pride i'vy...
      dull phillic'fun'time...
ellis...
this new egyptian...
the best better bred...
sat-nav...
             zis nuo:
zer heir-of-r'ysh...
or z'ed:
the woad...
******* flake..
'n' dubliner...
******' paddy towing...
cackle" evident...
you 'ucking
evident...
your / you
cackle evident
you buckett
you bouquet...
           pierluigi collina...
charles bronson...
you twisting toy soldier
sow g.i.joe...
         you fickle
goodie-tinsel-tied-tow...
and the mr. watt...
smuel beckett...
calls a shoe and a lace...
and the both: trickle
a tickle and towing...
a tie: you 'ucking
baron broad a grim
a brittle khaki...
y'ah 'ucking "off-shoot"!
n'ah...
you best be kept
greaving the 'ucking
sinker...
you ****** load-o-*******!
you 'uckin' dim!

you can drag me into a "sanity"
of your... "society"...
but i quit...
at... the point... of you... dragging me...
onto the self-laceration
of a crucifix of your:
right-no-wrong...
"right-every-wrong": sort-of...
this insanity of an "argument":
this: da-sein: of...
                nicht-sein: ein "da:....
     the madmen and mad-madam:
who are, you...
cookie-flippin' culture...
half-bakes of the already
arrived at... oven crispy...
spaghetti cul-de-sacs?!
              i... vont...
hugo... boss...
                grausteifbeispiele!
ich brauchen!
                düster-als-schwartz...
geheimestaatspolizei:
gehenna fetishes:
could zis... 'un...
be excused...
for the love of the Iranian...
shah - pahlavi -
the love of baklava...
                     and the baháʼí...
moscou... muscovitte...
   little kiev... bogus l'vov...
and creed in towing...
                     vilnius...
                         konrad... von wallenrode...

safe: keeping... a "ditto"...
and there are those... mosquitos...
jerks... irks...
the ditto-head replicas of lacerated:
old crave... a new Warsaw:
                                     WAR-SZ-AWA!

replica of 19th, 20th, 21st... english...
illuminations...
the bribed... sand-*******...
the lawrence-of-arabia:
sand-******... wannbies...
sand-****** / camel-jockey...
who's witch cnut-now?

                  who's what...
there's a knightbridge...
and a faking... bengali earned...
alms for a: lamborghini rode...

i am of... being most profound...
when found... allocated...
a lost... bride of a heart...
in exile...
to have to... puzzle the "box"....
i am most... irritated:
but in the best of humour...
this i cannot... sacrifice...
this advent...

      i have been away from masovia...
geared toward: hünd!
             toward... a blinding: sight...

my first girlfriend...
french... grenoble....
          Isabellah...
my second girlfriend...
Promis... australia...
perth...
                    a "third"...
Ilona... st. petersburg...
        i much wander into the conversation
with the brain...
for the time spent...
among the ukranian and the romanian
******...

no... Ilona was...
i ****** her before an altar
of a mirror at st. petersburg...
she was from... Novosibirsk..
half of half of a:
"kief"...
  akin to... alexander zed grek....
              athens: moscow...
macedonia: ukraine:
   blah kiev...
          soviet chernobyll... blah blah...
half meets...
                         the edinburgh...
loved up at plaistow kindergarten
hearts...
            nights are all satin...
               cow gate... riddle with ugly...
****-garden of man and woe...
the future ambitions of her...
closure "self"...

or muslim g.p.s....
north... bias...
thus: east... not ends... mecca:
         surprises...
east what "east"...
  north the basic libido of a scintific
inquiry...
and the forever lost and loop...

           i want to fall in love
with music again...
nights in white satin - the moody blues...
gyöngyhajú lány - omega...

             i want to fall in love...
with a love that's not inquisitive of
a burden of youth...
i want to fall in love...
that's... crevice limbo...
loitering... a man of crease...
a man of...
she did resolve the measure...
she has delved into the eyes
of seas...
                   maggie smith...

i didn't watch the... t.v. pursuit...
i watched the movie adaptation...
she did have...
eyes the worth of twin seas...
how did she do it?
beside the creases...
the cringing...
my great-grandmother esque
"wording"...
she has had eyes that blinked via the bodies
of confined mummies!
such crisp youth...
such... baron first matters...
        
her skin could have become crease...
as paper... leveraged... loiter of waiting for: rain...
but her eyes... so...
the fear that zombies mastered: so alive!

i do want to... die...
in a company of strangers...
that deserve to be complimented...
since... i can't... die... with a frivolity...
or death spiral... or daffodil... "my cousin" dear...
my grandmother dearest...
my grandfather dearest...
on my mother's side...
i have been... excused to minding...
a father...
a father with a mother a father with a father...

i am.. pauper... with and without...
this one-sided equation...
whizz kid the lesser of the otherwise: twinning of evils.

a chis cornell...
is no clive owen...
  in the court of the crimson king...
           who's the lesser and of the lessened few /
queue?
              the andromeda of
the best confiscated mind...
the overtly confined...
   and the dreamless attache...
              of the skip-a-true... toward...
a turtle... equipped...
                baron leverage over...
             making... time... a parody.