this is not a shared experience,
this is why i don't write: or if i write i do out
of spare details in some variation
of leaving opening the gates of ditto
                        like so:    

                                           (thus).

australian visa assessment registration,
fee: i only learned of there being a fee
after i scrolled past each month
from the year 2024 back to 1986
to find may 15th in may

                    some "miraculous" date obscurity
like there is a need to celebrate
with song akin to Aud Lang Syne:
but there isn't cause for celebration

a very quiet formal affair of champagne
black forest gateau
                         roasted chicken and tatties
with some coleslaw to my astonished
improvement
not just mayonnaise but apple cider vinegar
to give the cabbage and onion
and carrot the added semi-pickled crunch
and some mustard and some mary-rose
sauce and some parsley
then before coffee was served
a shot of Polish bimber (moonshine)...
a sobering slob of a tongue slithering into
the shot glass before the guillotine
of knocking it back...

girlfriend future wife on Kauai (Ka Wa E)
woke me in the morning
finishing a shift in a restaurant cleaning
pots and pans: clamor of stainless clutter
a happy birthday song
i haven't heard since i was still a child...

sto lat sto lat niech yje nam niech

וה     (almost forgot that i still had the vah
stashed on my dashboard...)
to remedy the 'yje - from the clutches of RZ..

i.e. learning new words from Cambridge:
is used as an allographic variant of the letter Ż:
Ƶ is a handwritten form of the letter Xi (ξ

zeugma
allophone
allographic
polysemy

ʒ or subscript 3
partial beta-clause...

                         of Iraq and the ziggurats...
disappoints...
whatever your choices
there will always be pockets of
unabashed chaotic memory revelations
not caused by the calamity of
spontaneity
but life pushes on and through
to no greater measure of the worth
of living beyond the one already
testified with: as
the lived - to my amusement how living
is coupled to experiencing:

that there is talk of a lived-experience
like experience is a word less
harsh than existence:
out of every instance
the incapacity to hold a thought-narrative
that could be summoned intact
an intact-self the self-intact-ness

    -less is also a quality that can be
best summarized via
scrambled eggs without the yolk...
pale scrutiny of fats missing...

of Yemen and their zhoug...
like a variation on the Argentinian
chimichurri...
   because i believe that's where
said origins of the paste-blob that could
be used to spice up dull paintings
2nd best utilized prospectus...

or stay in one place like Gloucester Harbor
and count seagulls like
Charles Olson
                or perhaps like Kant
count footsteps toward the further away
point of mind the anchor
and thoughts the seas
sacrifices of adventure no further
than the vicinity of Königsberg at a 10 mile
stretch...

to now think from humble origins
to the deafening boom-echo vibration
of London under the arch of Wembley
to suppose i need to step a foot outside
the reality of sea and bring
the sky to the sunrise
and venture toward Polynesia

this Palagi...
Haole...                    at least in the category
of: us "vs" them or rather
                            us v                non-

leben sie wohl!
                   leben sie wohl!

ah: a day's interlude...
a working pattern...
start writing in the morning and afternoon
micro dosage of Putin Marijuana
i don't think i drank...
?
no... i didn't drink...
i micro dosed

on marijuana juan's mary...

            then got on with life
put on white shirts on in the PRALKA
like PRAVDA
PRALKA a word which i will allude to in a triangle...
i.e.

1st person
2nd person
3rd person

grammatically:

                                Matthew (2nd person,
                                      NOUN)





        ­      I                                                    He
(1st person,                                        (3rd person,
PRENOUN)                                             PRONOUN)

why do children from syllables
in Asia and continue
our ontological genesis is syllable bound
we only later much
later discover atoms and letters
#MAMA

MA MA
not Om and twice on the rhythm struck
boom boom boom
heartbeats of the cities of Glob Hades
we only come to letters after making
sounds in imitation and gratifying
other life...

GA GA of the tooth of mama
                        what are pre-nouns?
before man learns names of things:
rivers, objects...

there is no defining subjectivity of the hypothalmus
hippo experience:
existence out of every instance
of those reciprocating life
with due pardon: death is wait
death is wasted space
not time per se...
death is less time invoked as a waste of space
invigorated....

Martin aside: HE was a waste of space
even intellectually...
perhaps i don 't have a day job
but i have a dream world job
of writing for free to the attention of:

sobering note: ever watch 66 thousand people
walk past you so slow
like they did
at DC3 cordon on Olympic way
only one bazooka of cordon ON
with the megaphone ALARM
i can say alert with an accent to give
elert the -sch- it so ******* fatherly
desires... to originate myself in old germanic
working father germany
liberal daughter england
old saxony...

pre-noun is closest I
I who from giggles and laughter
and computer: say NO
NO
reading ****** expressions
knowing boa constricted ******
tension from good ***
and *** implosive
rather than *** explosive
i'd like to see a ***-implosive society
without annex:
nunnery in the bay area
of how internet is used:
a shop, an encyclopedia...

     dating app? shopping app?
pornographic adverts?
******* is like advertisement
in the real world...
people hyper focus off of one
like 0.5 of a person... anchor or bridge?
forgot whether this ship got stuck
in the middle of the river
and turned N/S
from its usual course of E/W
i.e. from east to west
but aeroplanes travel across the tropics
of Cancer: Edie
Capricorn: Promis...

the latter's words ring so true now:
don't try to save these women...
Linda is mother's reflexologist
Lydia is Edie's mum...
and Reyla is the "5th wheel apiece"...

i can finish this right now or waste my efforts
to "refill":
no... until the elbows hurt and the idea
of poetry becoming only cascade
prosaic:
rather if rambling poetry is like a newspaper
is like an escape from books
from prose tight sell-by-date-spacing...
poems don't sell
but books sell
and they sell not by a xthought
of +++digressions...

                            poems like easily discarded
paintings but better... trapped in time in memory
of individuals of individuals
off of individuals
off individuals
collective events like me returning
from Hawaii on the 7th October 2023
and a hell that came with me:

not as a direct result
but then again walk into a protest
march
and scribble any semitic letter on a flag
and chant your chants
and what do you expect...

but poetry can be more than an outlet of
confections and conditions
like some safe-space what with
Dante and Byron?!
is poetry something easily made to print
and not made to indent
on the tectonic plates of mind
this Earth Baron Vishily
and his Salt Mines of Power Bland...
some idea for a former book of science fact
look how the immediate explosion
of man's compa...

/kɒmpɑːtmɛnt(ə)lʌɪˈzeɪʃ(ə)n/

    (i had to look that spelling up...
does one word make me dtslexic? qwerty dyslexi
typo?                           ?)

the explosion of science came with the humanistic
explosion of science fiction...

second, soft scientific revolution
there was an industrial revolution

ergo the obvious for the common man...
but there was a scientific revolution
therefore there has been a
hard scientific revolution
with the chemistry and the physics...

now the soft scientific revolution
with the AI the engineering
and the psy-ops
soft machines and make-ups
and downers big big downers
of the ***** brigade
disillusioned somehow what?
somewhat, yes...

conversation with a DJ at a street party...
soft science that's all
counter productive ontological
first becomes a beginning
and outcomes a hierarchy of endings...
films like ghosts on inflamed vinyl
fireplace marshmallows
and burnt stars of Anise...
           that sweet hash of Morocco i am somewhat
new to you...
Europe is a museum
let us forget
all robots and stubborn farmers left:
new hygiene of ego like spider in a web
of truths and untruths
openly saying: what do you want?
unfair, what is: i thought life was rather generous:
the argument from nothing or off of nothing
god said and why not give humanity
all that i am
in all that's good and horrid and a torrent
of unabashed but never i usher my word
from the: but i needed man for my bureucracy:
byoo-row-ah-cra-c
                                sea­: see Baltic Sea...

/bjʊˈrɒkrəsi/

                       second dyslexic example...
life's complicated and sleep is heavy
with a cat nearby and
i am abusing whiskey and ****
and putting it to good use
imagining myself the street DJ
on the cordon at DC3 that Netflix doc
about bastion Wembley being town apart...

and this is life
my Neckari... a word from the dimension of
the prenoun...
MA                       AM GA
         AT TA          

                      much later much later the noun:

Matthew... could you?
who is Matthew?
this is Matthew?
oh and much much later there comes the narrator
I and then he should he wish realise
the 1st and 2nd and 3rd and his nth
terminology seek guidance when
trying to seek the world...

          I comes from nowhere rather than nothing...
not a rigid concept to be honest
enough scalpels in the air as it is...
"i am" Matthew to then abstract Matthew
as the countless number of them
and discriminate with there being only
one River Thames
but at least twice as many Londons...
regardless...
"i am" Matthew - m other said father said MATEO...

later much later when all the other nouns
started to sink in and become
vocabulary antics of:
            then once Matthew knew the air
the sky the moon the sun
the chair...
the cat...
          only when Matthew became Matthias bar Adam
did Matthew finally understand
a way to say: Matthews...

   i am "matthew"...
                                  only then and only thus...
then and only from then and there:
the idea of pronouns...
and trans-genderism and this "philosophy" of Silicon
coming from the guards at the Iron Curtain...
i've been woken up by tremors in
the Silicon Curtain and all that soft
talk technology like bio-tech is not the most
maneable...  ▽ ◼◼◼

                        maniable...

             what if one create a genre of AI
communication pretend Sauron?

a sample:

konrad eschlert
can you fathom a geo-political transition from the Iron Curtain to the Silicon Curtain give the Silicon Valley social media tech billionaires wanting to be part of the conversation, soft trans-humanism etc... i am drunk and writing a poem and this will be a sample in my creative endeavor

chatgpt
certainly, i can help explore that concept for your poem. here's a draft idea for your creative writing.

from the iron curtain to the Silicon
Veil,m a shift from cold steel to the soft
glow of screens, where once the shadows
loomed in brick and rail,
now algorithms whisper in digital
dreams.

Silicon Valley's titans rise, enshroud,
their networks weave a tapestry unseen,
in data's grip, the silent masses crowd,
new borders drawn in binary sheen.

trans-human whispers hum through
the wire, augmented selves in clouds,
begin to form, the billionaires,
like gods, our new desires, their coded
realms the eye of every storm.

yet, echoes of the iron curtain's past,
remind us of the cost of hidden walls,
in this brave new world, where shadows cast,
beware the veil where freedom slowly falls..

but there are AI limitations
on say: invoke smart phone Morse
or E. E. *******'s punctuation for
ol' 'am of D'A'S...
      lazily not hyphenated...

hats, rabbits and who was sitting in the rights
place...
   no subjective experience of...

TRANSRIPT

THE FRONTAL LOBE is for personality and emotions, higher thinking skills, like problem solving; and controlling movement. It continues to develop until you are in your mid 20s.
THE TEMPORAL LOBE helps process your hearing and other senses, and helps with language and reading.
THE PARIETAL LOBE is involved with your senses, attention, and language.
THE OCCIPITAL LOBE helps your eyes see, including recognition of shapes and colors.

which part of Martin is ****** up?

so much of what's the subjectivity of the brain
is simply a QUARTER of
what the reality of the brain is
name the eyes
and tongue
and skin and movement and so much of the brain
is something
quiet an experience unlike
a heart-attack
like a shaman drug trip sort of exhausting others
in how he can perceive himself
having an early retirmenet
in a care home freed from life's constraints
that might have been a kamikaze mission
if i were to conjure up a bonanza of quests of Q?

a poem a day keeps the psychiatrists away
but sure as **** invites a god
a word that's a god personality / medium
a devil
a cat several angels
and dead people and hmm hmm hmms
and botanical king the curious green
itch from brown below
to sieve through roots
and find enough sand to create a bridge
toward the kingdom of the snorkeling
apes from white Odysseus pale pale pale
by comparison
this kingdom from the sea not associated
with a north i'd sooner find upon waking
north to my left
and east ahead of me and
west behind me every time i travel into London...
much easier at the Firth of Forth
in Edinburgh
but so too there there was youth...
not the clamor of age and sensibility...

how to date this... hmm: perhaps with age:
38 on the 16th May 2024.

יה
        יש

           what if...        yashwesh? jachwach po polsu
po polsku... a jakby... niet(?)
                   because the name is surd riddled...
not necessarily yashwesh but
yashwa...                     he is YSHVH to me...

ישוה          

through this day brought the fetus
to the marble
and wondered why am i tired
of the living and all glory unto the dead
so silent they storm
the palace of sounds

me hallucinating being a DJ
on egress of the crowd
from Wembley Stadium
listening to Boris Brejha...
several times interrupted
woke up munching on 64% cocoa dark
Wedel chocolate and salt toasted
peanuts
the bear vs the man vs the bear-man
and the man-child like
the emblem of the patron saint
of applying for a driving license

apparently all cyclists are *******
self entitled morons of bruised
rubber and top-knots bits-and-bobs
of jack: jack says no: n.b. hyde
and Sherlock Hyphen Skylock Showlock
first time seeing the *** army
youths of the urban environment

Europe is a museum
Europe is a museum

only when the hordes recede and hide
and bleach and bleach
two generations down:
the future is bi-racial is not bi-lingual
the future is mixed-race
i wish it was bi-lingual
likez zee schwitz zee schwitz

Lombardy and Saxony
and the Swedish House of Vaza
that came with crystals and salt
to the thrones of kings of wormhood
in the klepsydra Hydra
sow self to no-self

the ingenious idea of mingling buddhism
with christianity in the 1960s
of the 20th century...
but buddha was not Nepalese
he was an Indian Prince...
just like Jesus was not a Jew
a Hasid
Jesus was a Syrian perhaps
Assyrian perhaps
Egyptian most definitely
the historian Josephus ben Matthias cites
a false prophet of Egypt
who stormed the mount of olives
returned bitter with false faces
and thorough the distraught architecture of Rome

stands intact...
why would the ancient world care so much
about the jews killing jesus
rather than Barabbas (bar abba)
not ben abba

   ben: son of
bar: of sons of fathers

bar abba

                     Matthias bar Abba
Mathayas

                 Mathayas

Mathayas

                             not Matisyahu

Mathayas

         YAS vs YAH

in english the H is a surd a vowel catcher
not CH or samo-HA
but silent... not hatch 'atch 'itch
y'

               in Greek and in Hebrew...
please... for me to see at least...
no... no Greek... confusion with G on the Y...
me thinking the new testament
is a Hebrew-Greek propaganda smear
campaign again Rome but
so much smackers and hit busters
and what do we call these canisters
on the side of the street
motorists fueling themselves with laughing
gas...

Mathayas: iota help center: diacritical stupendous
elongate the i
using the appropriate symbols
to avoid bringing a TAIL TO I TO J
TAIL TO I TO J
JAPAN = SATAN
JAPAN = SATAN

ah! now greek some hebrew but certainly
#katakana...
    
          Pacific Ocean learning curve...

make the i longer like a j not a j not dz i.e. jot
jet jungle dzungla
dzungla...

        ヤパン
         サタン

                                ease my nerves: so much for being
born, but yet there are still people
with little nerve: big waves short sea
in my dream of recent i was taking
photographs of tsunamis
of Miller's Planet

          in my dreams i am on Miller's Planet...
Second Eden of Mann
on the Black Sun Gargantua
if humanity is still alive we will
turn earth into Giedi Prime:
earth nocturnal us morphed into luminescent
semi sea creatures
since all land will disappear
and we will return to being oceanic mammals

the death-tomb splendor of the pyramids
to graffiti onto the air
and all manner of passing
a suggestion against the desert:
mountains once stood here
now winds demonstrate and water is also
dragged by air all around
as long as the theaters and opera houses
and clocks the size of wrists of the gods one eyed
that one eyed implying second eye
a perma... human presence in foil
and grid and scoop
a silence a one eyed no-body n00b
nowhere nothing the strict residue of freed
intellectual caving
unlike riding a bicycle or riding a horse
but this exoskeleton
sk not school not wool skool
the youth and their rigid question-dyslexia...
but i hold not allegiance to England
and i can see England as i:

i once dreamed of travelling to India
and walking across the Islamic world
back to England...
God intervened...
India and the Islamic world
came to England...
now i'm either to leave England
to Australia New Zealand Hawaii...
but i'm not...
this garden a ship on the sea of carnage
seeking mouth of the river Styx
toward the land of Hades toward some thrill
of... what do we truly leave behind?

money, as concept i do not know...
money is also a saying:
better to reign in hell than to serve in heaven
flip of a coin
why is money two-faced
Mammon the 1st and Mammon the 2nd...
money is two faced...
the one eyed god invoked on one face
and the regal human on the flip face ordeal
that the moon must
drink up one ocean and **** it out
in another while also being the bartender
for penguins on Antarctica...

toward the second waking of lost earth
abandoned desert of these brats' spoiled riches
in conjuring rain
onto the deserts
like the Soviets conjured glorious
sunny weather on day rememberence
having conquered nations in germany
no thought of the re-emergent tsar nicholas
nevetcky -
               bald, scalp of Berlin....

my own mythos at stake, my own nightmares
will not be owned by others
i will reign (over) my nightmares
and call them heightened abodes
                                 google: peace-keeping
pacemakers backgammon is a **** game
only made fun on the attack
but then the luck of the draw
makes this game anti-strategic
and chess is no o-era P i.e. chess is ****
and chess is anti-intellectual
because chess is nakedness robotic
humanized in Dune's Mentats...
semi-gay quadrants of associating the tetragrammaton
to a god with four faces
the primitive allure of Islamic one one one one
this pseudo drone narrative
translated out of Arabic is a threat
and not welcome...

because intact and -ness and integrity
Judaism is not a social club
but Islam is dying a death unseen
by seeing a proselyte branch of Semi-Sufi
Soothe E           e         e         e       e       ease...
's plural missing
also not possessive: but can be...
Paul's... the chair the chair's crooked posture
in van Gogh Gohg Gogh's eye(s) zzzzzz no snooze...

chairs stacked up up and into spiderwebs of
breaking the impenetrable foliage of
comparative literature of how far the eye can see
through a pine forest of Europe
an oak forest of England
or across the horizon melt
the non-event horizon standing on the shore
of Kauai looking at the sky and the Pacific

the sky and the Atlantic are different...
more amassing of the receding
earth into the sea... what emerged as man
so forever and our Prometheus gene
to continue until the sun becomes a black
hole: our ambition...
to purge by no calamity: certain as we are
to follow the Route of House Aquarius Harkonnen
to the naked flesh devoid of sun
or tan this albino monstrosity of liquid and
pseudo-muscular tensions
these hybrid tongue-masquerade-gherkin phallus
****** brain miasmas... fried high DSL chiral...
brain mantras instead of
brain realities
brain mantras brain mantras people's
literacy skills a facade of ancient lore
of priests
now all exposed to literacy and...
like the advent of the internet
the advent of mass literacy was a failure...
when it happened or why is rather mysterious
to get rid of useful codependents
the useful friendly codependents
of the illiterate class
that could also somehow burden themselves
with hyper-status in numeracy...
i have known several dyslexic folk who were
hyper numeratic... erratic with the use of numbers
to their advantage...

**** with letters but good with numbers
and not the sort of mathematics
that is borderline language
like algebra and physics and chemistry...
but the sort of language
of numbers that's economics and medicine
and crowd control and recognizing ****** expressions
when someone is lying
and not playing a game of poker...

there was a time when and there was a time where,
could space be given the same
"whereabouts" and roundabouts
            those traffic no-about everything... i think

       ?

                               ?          i think to ask a question

or i think to exclaim in a silent eureka of:
i am here!                    i was there!
this memory-eureka of consciousness
without that protractor of: i've found it
but rather:                               i am

   !                 ergo                   astounded...

i am tempted to buy Francis Bacon's
     drunken sorry note replies compiled by michael
peppiatt...
  then i'm not too sure
since i was tempted by Witold Gombrowicz's
  Kronos, similar but not quite, quite similar...

scribble scribble: best effort of a writer to imitate
painting a doodle lap-lap train wreck
damsel in distress some Hitchcock... alabaster blonde
fêmme fatale (f'ah t-pat-al)
               the shortening of the A unlike
anything <scribble scribble>

                     i remember those two summer ago
getting drunk and cycling not spotting a *** hole
flamboyant acrobat onto the tarmac head
first face tattoo of blood and scab second

then at the London Stadium
heat and porous artifacts
books unlike bricks
but then what is a library if not a building
within a building...
books = bricks
                        some hack of reading enough
will create a supra-architecture of deconstructed ego
or the variation of ego as spider and
thoughts as flies
            
or                     or... watch this space for adequate
spacing...   especially now
this allowance for all the forest and none of
the journalistic monopoly on what's printed...

sinking in... the printing revolution without actual
print...
i'm still settling in, choosing not to glorify
any romanticism associated with writing
poor Alexander Dumas and his arthritis of having
written so much with one hand
must have decapitated his head
to ease up the strain on the writing hand
and so many typos a sea of typos rivers of typos
unlike now...

but whenever i used to sip a whiskey
and smoke and only after i watered the flowers
i planted in the garden late in the evening
on a late May evening come 9pm it could still
be regarded as evening rather than night
i'd contemplate Dune and
think: no moisture in the air
but surely for winds to exist there must be moisture
a planet with no moisutre
is also a planet without the winds...

little meditation aid: no help...
recently i've picked up clues as to a new writing
patterns... all Eden serpentine
of writing while propping myself on my elbows
will only cut the blind QWERTY know-abouts
of letters on a keyboard
like i'm a musician...
now sliding from the bed and kneeling
before it to ease on the strain on the elbows
and revel in:

when it comes to books and movies...
and... an orthodox priest of the convent of the one book
cult...
i have been robbed of reading the Lord of the Rings
for over 20 years...
but i've started to rediscover the antidote to
terribly bad music of the current exhaustion
of celeb culture and the privacy imposed
by gimmick status without statues of men
who accomplished the bare minimum...

i am moving away from music and instead listening
to the elements...
the elements as:
the rumbling of the earth,
the sound of the winds,
the sound of a fireplace...
the sound of water as waves
the sound of water as raindrops falling on a tin roof,
i need to find 10h+ of the winds moving
through a pine wood...
i haven't written this freely for some time...
a 3 year a 18 body (also years, although morphed,
given our age difference)
hiatus "hiatus"...

  who is to say i don't appreciate the maximus poems
by Olson like an appreciation for cubism
for post-modern poetry is also a footnote
in what began as an obsession with Ezra Pud
because no ounce to the pound or
that liter of water as an hour of fire
is equivalent to the oily worm bits of momentum
of electron ******* magnet
not gravity if gravity is then
sooner in binding of metal in a microscope
but what is the eye if not
a microscope and a telescope and a periscope
and the underwater demons of eggs and glitches     (?)

i will reclaim my need to read the Lord of the Rings
using the audio book,
i will reclaim the book and enjoy it once
and for all by falling asleep to the audio
and how much of what was written is almost precursor
and no adventure and no cinema
no quickened false step left to imagining
and reimagining
and to think there is so much of so little
within the confines of being the digesting sense-body
but then isolating or rather adhering to
the sense-***** of the eye:
the heart too a sense-*****:
on the whim of every emotion...

i have never experienced such an amicable
break-up...
i have never experienced such an amicable break-up...

that the eye can be isolated better than
the brain
and that the brain is no more than a schematic
of counter lessons and revisions
and whoever has the most sway innovative
for rhetorical structures of keeping
faces intact and **** warm and ******* the potentially
only, only clue as to why life is worth living
because between me and you
a tree or a mountain will not read these words
nor will an omni litany of a deity
inspect with her and his C.C.T.V. Huginn & Muninn..

although chances are in the singularity of fate
by count: enough chances of the same creates
a potency of fate and if no will then at least
a dream of: sacrificing ordeals for perchance ashes
of benevolent circumstances...
an aging process... of simplified mortal quenches
calmed... like the non-associative demand
for thirst to also be a bitterness of taste:
but since water is tasteless there can be no bitterness
associated with thirst
yet bite a grapefruit and you receive
bitterness and a quenching of thirst

but thirst is not bitterness nor is it sweetness
but prolong the thirst and chances are
you might associate thirst with bitterness or sweetness
or drink water fused with having
to make-out flour to, say, thicken a sauce you're
cooking...
impress that water and flour with
a fermentation process and...         oh and...

but i will reclaim the Lord of the Rings
by listening to the audio book since the movie captivated
me akin to Captain Rob Roy Spychala
who went to the cinema to see Bruce Lee's
Enter the Dragon like 30 times
while i went to the screening in the early
2000s like 10 times...

                  cGh physics...
                         as much as is concentrated upon
a c²              (squaring, non-linear)
      yet depicting linear travel...
i'm more concerned with the stars as static
in that travel is made impossible between them...
therefore no necessarily associating energy
and mass with the speed of light, squared: traveled...
but rather the speed of light: cubed...
static...
                 C³                       bit conker of a plocker
somewhere lost on any vicinity associated
with Pecking Ham and fools and horses and what's
to be left with 50 years of ancient, televised lingo...

theory plays itself out
from a distance
a tree walks
towards me
brim flicked
exhausted
          grinning
                  smoking
within inch of meeting
he has been flying and

my pink skirt skips
a beat to meet him
flame-like
swirl-like
matches
ti leaf twists

I drink sap
acrid and sweet
take small bites
leave marks
to match scars
carved into bark
and shining shoulder

where his fragility shelters
in my airborne hemline
anchors fabric down
to fragrant ground of

wirey connections
bearded chin grooves
soulpatch blonde tinged
in glowing moonlight
i press my cheek to his
welcome him home



what the fish thinks...

she hasnt swum so deep in centuries
philosophies of gills glittering
wander starlike flowerlike
through autumn

spring has come
rejuvenates dead
coral gardens

"it's real..." she quivers
gills gasp and expand
oxygen through
her silver body
dapple-lit
she wonders
calmly

and, if a fish could breathe
in Essex salts and Polish skin
she would breathe him in
absorb him in ways
she never thought
she needed



Continuing...

i haven't had a visit from someone
quite like this

sure i've had family and friends
kid sleepovers and barbeques
potlucks and gatherings
bearing gifts and pupus

but this
this is different
this is a visit from a friend
with intention

no  "how are you(s)"
we past that long ago
no  “Are you hungry”
we already know we are
starving

just silent query of
edge smiling study
accompanied by a shake of head
equivalent to tail wagging
and, ohhh, how i like that

i liken it to a yellow vase
watching seven rocks
eclipsed by a morning

seven sunsets
digit multiples

© on Nov 16 2023 09:42 PM PST, Epsileta Wolonskaya

p.s. if it were truly copyrighted...
"©"... you wouldn't or shouldn't be able
to simply ctrl+c and then ctrl+p
from page to page...
html code would require you to retype it...
you couldn't control and paste it...
if it were truly copyrighted...
that's how the meaning of html and law
should be understood...

    yours sincerely, a Kierkegaard Bachelor.

microcosm at the end of the garden,
micro-dosing whiskey and a joints:
tobacco and green anger
the one to subdue in the pockets
of anxiety attacks -
that can be channeled into a focus -
all those people on chemo anxiety blockers
at least with the green anger
and the fire water managed to intellectualise
in focus - equivalent to:
painting - if done by solo venture of scribble
scrabble 'n' 'sum                  ... threat of violins
falling and slicing in the rain (demonic)
slicing water and sound and the sound of
water and the sound of fire
and the sound of air and the sound of the hearth...
nights
days
nights
days i spent listening to the four orchestras
of the elements: water had waves
of the sea and the skies of the seas falling
as rain... the grand kidney of god that is this earth
god is filtering equivalent to men censoring
each other other...
      Edie will love another, Edyta will love another
but the whole legality business visas
H-1B plenty of unskilled security men out there
so 1 - 0 to the locals...
          marriage visa? now thanks to Martin's judgement
i will sooner inherit my grandmother's apartment
with a glorious view of a cemetery....
from the balcony... and then this house in essex
this little island of abode brooding...
in exchange for a life on Kauai?
her doubts her words her disqualification of self
that she's 18 years apart in bodies...
we are 18 bodies apart... aparts... a partitioning of sigma
the splitting of the soul not by ******
but under the guise of the many loving expressions...
i have lived a life since September 2023
when i traveled to the island of Kauai to meet
a girl for the first time since i talked to her mother...
i was also looking for a transcendental father...
a father of transcendentalism: no, so no, not my mythological
father - yes: because i am currently living
with my biological father and mother and by extension
the Elephant Phantom Martin and my grandmother...
so elaborate:
from September 2023 on a writing hiatus...
brought them back Edie and Reyla to London and Reyla
****** me off for not wanting to go and see
the Phantom of the Opera...
now in the background a Hanz Zimmer crescendo from
the Dune soundtrack...
                mini puncture and now by marriage...
to say: by the duty of the wedded this monstrous wound
of tongues licking eyes and gently using like worms into
their last state of being veins of the sclera...
                  a text from my nigerian next door neighbor...
lived for 3 years like that like
no woman no cry
                             like that 3 years known to me casual
formal...
only a few days earlier
been smoking and drinking on the roof overlooking
the garden
talking poetry and not talking poetry Ayo Ayo Ayo texting
me now... i waffled back to him that he cought
me in the middle of this composition this new groove established
in infected and mushroom cancer in the brain
we are born with a brain fungus
a dormant brain fungus
what is a parasite a cancer on a tree if not the evergreen mistletoe
dormant fungus... brain... typing listening to music
text from next door neighbor thinking that Edie
will love again can love again loved in the past
we are 18 bodies apart
                                  and so so just a one sided communication
a barrier... the butterfly to caterpillar transition
of... none other expected than a St and a Martin
the ghoul the phantom the missing...
             the ego in the ego the self without self
the id so...
                                  primitive man of pre-haunt of death
most apparent to self and the shadow upon the curtain...
a talk with self most relevant now:
re-imagining what a good chromebook keyboard would
feel like so protruding like an old nokia
and the burners
and what my poetry would be like without Edie and to find
resolve i will have to reply: do you want me to stop writing
forever? because that's what you would have
to destroy... my mother could think that you killed her brother
because you came and i didn't go to visit martin
when grandmother was slowly killing him
you heard me you saw me over the phone
you heard when you heard me hear the message...
could you have said? can you come with me to Poland
blah blah...
i don't know... but blood is blood and blood is blood
and what's bothering me is family
but in the end my mother blames my grandmother
but i also thought about being blamed
and who isn't to blame but Martin himself and i wonder
how happy he is now that he has gone toward
the ******* land of la li lo le ole and lulu or lullaby
because i'm thinking about alcoholism as a zombie taboo
crawling and ******* and frolicking in open wounded
vowels like o cut up to u
or i used for a hyphen and a dot to punctuate better
to say a being stitched up to e to make
the Adam and Eve monstrosity of Eden
found in the Latin script... dated: some literary ******
just remembered that he used to write and so does...
there were nights filled with fire
there were nights filled with thoughts of women
there were nights filled with fuckless women nights
there were nights within nights
there was chaos in order and order in chaos
there was a dualism and a schizophrenia
there was certainly god and madness
and i was so almost killed by a friend of mine from
high school a Samir... in Canterbury...
try this other than **** spice
this Chilean spice...
SALVIA will make you see elephants
and you riding elephants quickened hallucinations
so smoked **** then toked the miracle...
turns out my face slid to one side and i slouched
into a dying fetal position...
them giggling... until seriousness took over and they
realized that i was not going to die...
my impressions of a death party...
death parties exist... i suppose in dark web lingo
a death party involves
at least 3 people...
           2 people plan a ****** of someone by poisoning
subtle: not like the case of brianna ****...
scarlett jenkinson and eddie ratcliffe organised a death
party... samir and mr jivandoo organised a death
party by poisoning...
              to their horror and my own i am alive aged 38
should have been dead aged 21
should have...
there were years in my calendar when writing
that i would drink a liter of whiskey a night...
i would drink a liter of whiskey a night
i would drink a liter of whiskey a night i would drink a liter of whiskey a night i would drink a liter of whiskey a night i would drink a liter of whiskey a night i would drink a liter of whiskey a night i would drink a liter of whiskey a night i would drink a liter of whiskey a night i would drink a liter of whiskey a night i would drink a liter of whiskey a night i would drink a liter of whiskey a night i would drink a liter of whiskey a night i would drink a liter of whiskey a night i would drink a liter of whiskey a night i would drink a liter of whiskey a night i would drink a liter of whiskey a night i would drink a liter of whiskey a night i would drink a liter of whiskey a night i would drink a liter of whiskey a night i would drink a liter of whiskey a night i would drink a liter of whiskey a night i would drink a liter of whiskey a night i would drink a liter of whiskey a night i would drink a liter of whiskey a night i would drink a liter of whiskey a night i would drink a liter of whiskey a night i would drink a liter of whiskey a night i would drink a liter of whiskey a night i would drink a liter of whiskey a night i would drink a liter of whiskey a night i would drink a liter of whiskey a night i would drink a liter of whiskey a night i would drink a liter of whiskey a night

what killed martin a bad death of still being alive?
beer... manslaughter by grandmother?
is it in her to be able to **** both husband and son
because they were alcoholics?
genuine questions... interlude for a cigarette and
an auf wiedersehen (oꟻF vderzeen)

ꟻ: ah... remember to find Adam and Eve
in the letters... diphthong... doip doip doup dupe dulla loop
oop                              poo             sssssss
                                                        s­ss
                                                   ssss
                                                        ssss­s
                                                     ss

    s
   s  s                        5S5S5S5S5S5S
       did numbers really originate from the Raj and
thanks be to the Arabs for our modern numbers?!
b6b6b6
                  1I1I1I
                       ­                                3E3E3E
9P9P9P
                                       O0O0O0
             7 Γ7 Γ7 Γ
                                     B8B8B8
          2Z2Z2Z
                                         ­        4G4G4GQ

Q! Q! Q1 Q1 not G... i.e. 4Q

                    (    )               (     )

                                 A

                       ___


(&)                    (&)

               L

      __

  the Doppelganger Series of Portraits
noses will be letters
the mouth will always be the flat-line of expression
status poker quo

            ($)                    ($)

                    ­      I

                  __

         (£                                 hmm...

no... I looks good...

              (#)                   (#)

                           Y

                   __

                              (Beelzebub... hashtag eyes)....
song switched to type o negative's
christian woman... but i quickly have to switch
to the recent taylor swift song i heard today...
tortured poets department...
typewriter?
                    like a tattooed labrador...
lebrador labradoor
chelsea hoes?
                            labaradorable...
              ­           no ******* body ooh what a sweet
sing along...
  smoke and bears and chocolate bars
smoking and golden retriever?
                                           cyclone of dehydration(s)
this mouth this wake up 8am with summer...

indeed... the poem has exhausted itself
         with god-flow of needing to take a **** -
switching to the memory of Jemminah
and homemade wine and foster the people six next to me...
or this is this is...
                    this is a slowly pealed grape...
                                       this is a reflection on slowly peeling
a single grape...
the unusual request to return to a former writing habit
or habit of the mind to spend an hour
elsewhere... with one's own to one's own sense of self...
and all the Wembley folks in security were hush hush
and bothered about the Netflix documentary
thinking there would be a story against the security teams
if any...
       or rather to hear first rate accounts journalists would swarm
the site post Euro Finals 2021 and ask us about any details
well the film itself became more a documentary for
anti racism...
                     it was the most comprehensive and positive
lesson in  adhering to an anti racism focus...
         i was expecting that...
the security personnel were actually praised... and there was
a sense of empathy....
   i recognized one face in the documentary:
Lee, the son of the owner of Achilleus Security who's
name is not Ralph not Romeo but probably Ricci...
           Italian connections if i were not mistaken...
                       ooze.... hit the snooze before bed
go down smoke dip mouth in some whiskers and beddie beddie
bye bye.

i want to write i don't write i'll write anyway,
luxurious escapades of the tongue
crafted to make suitor letters and somewhere
a diligent me takes care to be
a...
                ah blah blah...

     from hearing the offensive god
and somehow a somewhat off nothing that's
similar...

the sweet scented air of Poland come the onslaught
of May, Spring...
that recollects both magnolias
and bez (without): bzu - lilac...
         bzdura: nonsense...

20 years ago there was this massive expansion
of the European Union...
10 new lands giggled at the expansionary
vision... lackluster because
withholding only a few retained
the monetary communication
of shared investments...

the Czechs still have their coronas
and the Poles still have their gold standard...
but together is the best kept apart...
weltsprechen...

exhausted by the racial hyper-focus
of the likes of Krista Franklin...
because i'm tired of the Afro-American narrative
that brings no one together...
like fathoming the force-feeding of turkeys
before any feast day...
not pouting a sense of critique: not necessary...
but i'm just tired of
people supposedly not getting along...
some vague aloofness some:

a stranger in a familiar land...
i spent so much of my youth among graves
that i've come full blown "circle"
to seeing people as graves...
perhaps if there was as much rigor in me
to drink later after having written..
no writer in me ever to be born...
a good excuse to not watch the t.v.
and and tiredness from adverts
and all that K-POP boom boom...

i could perhaps understand dancing before the pyramids
like it would be a wholesome hope
for... instance... one two three...
mirage of the dictated life
then the non-dictated life
and now this is not me with some
J. K. K. Tolkien ambitions...
no ambition to riddle my efforts with
escapism to tow and tug at fiction...

laptop positioned on a washing machine...
give me the well earned wages of loitering
but not anything associated with
post-literature political of a Harry Potter scoop...
verbiage and misnomers
some feeding ground of peckers and
lazy sleuths... dropping words missed in
casual conversation...

            arbiters of writing escapades
and truths-saying and soothing humming...
by the ordeal of giving love from a heart
like squeezing water from a stone...
perhaps... somewhat hallucinogenic in purpose
or rather escaping with words
that govern and sooth any ordeal
that does not necessarily have to be written about...

grandmother's fetish for Harlequin novellas
because the way she loved supposedly "loved"
my grandfather...
how two men in her abiding: blame who?
seemingly died from malnutrition
because she was so dissolved
this happy feminist junction of happenstance
luckily i am a man with a fetish for
German (tongue) and the ability to cook...

find me: chasing chickens on the village-island
of Kauai...

in those 2 years, imagine... i've travelled
a river's worth a sea's breadth...
yet he with his earnings
grossing an estimate 1 million
became the conclusive
waste of fiddling with possibility: per chance
wasted....

       how he spent those last days listening
to terribly angry music...
i can understand friendless isolation...
i succumbed to listening to music
akin to:

the titans, the elements...
the sound of rain falling on a tin roof...
rhapsody of imitation: knock knock... knock knock...
then the sea waves...
then the air turned into a wind
whirling...
then the earth rumbling... i too ate hunger
and felt a grumbling "inhibition"...
then the sound of the crackling of
breaking of wood in fire....
music devoid / detached from the progeny
of the usage of words...

of(f)...                    terminology of the posit
of "things" to begin with, to end with:
on note...
           my little Nuremberg extravaganza...
no **** poor soul in sight...
but all this weight and height
and all this this... miasma... myopia...
this borrowing of inherited stink
like all the ******* have all the good brown
while all the whites have this *******
sickly sweet albino blah!

     **** the covert tattoos
living among us alias "us"...
             i'm more bored than tired...
then again i'm also bored and tired
and it's under not disguise of "inhibition"
that i get to...               digest these fundamental
loathsome truths of a nocturnal Babylon.

i'm sitting in the bathroom at ul. Radwana 13 / 72,
i must say: a rather unusual place to start
my long awaited archaeology of the ego -
but long awaited for whom?
me or a readership...

               i have recently inherited a chrome book
with those old school protruding click click clickers
of QWERTY: protruding in that they are
easily found, almost like tickling newly sprouted
flowers from the ground...

i find myself in the form of: my and self
yet over psycholo-loco-gist...
of wording will not help:

the gents had their fun with the spirits...
they drank and drank and talked of plans for
their lives, they wasted good liquor on dressing up
on having fun:
they never took alcohol seriously...
now one of them: namely my uncle...
is a death within life, which is worse than death
itself...

i am so rigid from not trying
i am rigid from my former escapades with the allowances
of a good keyboard and a decent internet
connection...

what i am currently studying is the punctuation
of Frank Herbert...
it has been well over 4 years since i read any fiction
seriously...
bogged down in existential prose serious literature
i gave so much of my reading-time
to Knausgaard and his Mein Kampf
feigning defeat when life became as serious
that i had to find an alternative...
and yes... the new adaptations of the Dune books
put a negative indentation in my current reading
of the first book...
but lucky for me i'm picking up on certain
cinematic nuances... notably concerning Hawat
the Mentat who would roll his eyes back to
make calculations and who had a rectangular stain
on his lips from drinking the sapho juice...
cranberry stain...

what are the chances to reach the same heights
of excavation i was familiar with,
perhaps if i write long enough i can bypass the initial
struggle: because i will not waste this little gush of
***** reaching my cheeks
having to substitute a chaser of Fanta
with some orange juice (half)
and half of Polish mineral water...
unlike any other mineral water i know...
for there are three gradations of it around here...

gazowana (sparkling)
nie-gazowana (still)
lekko-gazowana (slightly sparkling)...

this fun side of the tongue, the only instance
where there is a double consonant:

LEKI (medicine)
LEKKI (light, masculine)
LEKKA (light, feminine)
   light as in not heavy, not light as in darkness...

i have traveled across eons and sleep and haven't
slept a wink in the process...
now almost strange to have a washing machine as a writing
desk in the dim light...

perhaps spacing, not even the subject matter will suffice
to somehow give me escapism...
what "should" have taken place is the idea
of an uncle retiring in his 50s...
able to somehow come closer to his mother
in her 80s and with enough dough
to party via travel for the next 10 years
and spare for invest in at least 2 or 3 properties...

now i visit him in the house of cripples...
the once known jealous vitality from ***** house
to ***** house...
this juggernaut of virility reduced to a ******* zombie like
shadow...
bit lips, crooked teeth...
vague associations and even vaguer dissociations
on the word-logic spectrum as provided by the doctors...
not so much having drank himself to
a zombie body but no early grave
his inability to invoke the body to similitude with
iron vitamin D3...
a shell of a man... once clean shaven...
now mimic of grandfather...

and all this female warfare
this daughter against mother and grandmother against
mother all this
this scaffold and crows and rotting of meat...
but diligent i somehow trying to work my way around
the fatalism...
is it so wrong of me to go out of my way
to buy the old woman a few new books
some chocolate,
to cook her pork, pork meatballs in a tomato sauce
with a special mash potatoes...
infusing the meat with caraway seeds...
yes... because that's almost the distant cousing
of cumin seeds... at least around here...
around here, "here" being: ul Radwana 13 / 72
Ostrowiec Swietokrzyski...

           i used to spend so many joyful days in these
confines, yet now i itch with a feeling of being
the Grim Grey...
reading about melange, spice, cinnamon...
i conjure up a fusion of poetry and prose and think
about Caladan and i think about earth
and i think about the white gold that is salt...
i've choked on tears and i shed some tears
but for all the talk of water in the sands
there is little talk of salt in the dunes...
perhaps those equivalent to Arabs in the Dune universe
have no notion of taste when it comes
to the ingestion of food...

i hardly imagined myself to be a fan of any work...
i tried to be a fan of the Beatniks...
grew a beard, forgot i had toenails
later forgot i had toes...
therefore re-imagined my feet as twinkle axes...
chopping step with stomp and air...
oh this air in Poland...
when was the last time i visited Poland
near the time of birth, come May...
that is spring... when the violets started to bloom...
when the continent gave up her riches
of distinguishing seasons from
that Caladan damp of England...
how many of the past suppose summers have
i spent on that dreaded island of grot grit and grey?

thus this DUMP of lettering and spacing and
whatever other, "other" technicality might
be obstructive, obtrusive, ob- ob-:
signal one signifying beacon of obstruct for
for me to follow up with the right sort of juice:
because i am the one to have squandered
the... "ridicule of the use of words"?

seems like a fear of god is never enough
when justifying the games equivalent to the chess
people play with mortality...

just one fetish freer from the nearer,
some Novalis (von Hardenberg) -
as i very much like to name street names and places
in German,
because i find the Polacks neglecting their tongue
as much as they neglected their earth:
through the tribulations of a lackluster of attachments...

perhaps those Arabs and waiting for the dino-juice
to propel the locomotive bonanza
of the Lamborghini engine...
sand-worm earthworm ego sworn mouth agape
like sitting in a Turkish akimbo poise...

the sun was never going to lose a tooth:
let alone a golden one,
but by topic of grey in water
and white in metal
and green in mahogany...
a tease out of respect for the one handed clapping
like some inevitable "cultural appropriation"
from meditating the death of Christianity
in the European soul and the invitation toward
Buddhism, extrapolation...
because this half a liter of *****
will measure just fine when this washing mashine
is silent...
while the solace of orbits of the grand orbs
like mountains cradling deserts satisfies...
like the windless lights
and what is conversation? locum?

i find little gesticulation of comfort in people
who regurgitate sayings, supposedly wise on the onset,
with sensibility of perpetuating a humanism
of their otherwise deviant comfort
of sheltering in hubbub and commotion
and click-bait not-known-to-fish conundrums...

by now the eagerness of flying into a bed
on a half whim half dream,
like a parody of a blinking universe:
each to his own sorrows and intact:
ensuring these sorrows do not multiply...
but become these self-contained mechanisations
of self-digestion: to diffuse the anger and agony
of the shared experience...
some semblance of a collectivist effort
where the individual is sacrificed and not glorified
that this democratic beacon of vector
adamant force-hood falsehood is dried up
conquered and subsequently squandered on
readily imitable minds of the youth...
so that youthful fancies may pass and by the rigors of time
and matrimony of the geology in the air
become hard pressed to usher in the only known
individuation that's the citizen and with it
a necropolis of first reference: as mortal abiding
non coup...

through some prism of the elected editorial
staff of the newly arrived freedom of the flimsy:
wind without paper...
came a torrent of freely available voiced
concerns for what could be said: could be unsaid...
what a forlorn essential craft of
symbolism to be tortured thus by crucifix
and the faceless man of Islam...
at least the distinction ingrained...

keeping a jug of water in both desert and in sea...
to drink to waste...
perhaps a jug of ***** in the forests and hybrid
tundras of sloth and cold and
what other bouquet of the thus presented
entourage of immobility of parlance of formal
is: what more expected of me?!

no more hunger no more stealth and no more
Japanese encrypted borrowing of tongues...
to ****** a MA into a マ
    subsequently: ******* palindromes...
because Japanese might allow a MA but will not
allow an AM... unless it's: TENET, RADAR...
a palindrome...
thus listed:

                 アマ
                 オト          oto... here, thus...

ama                  well... given the English tong and tie and glue of T
that would invoke Anna...
and faTTer...
                not father, though...

i think it best to understand Japanese scribbles through
palindromes...
whether that's me excavating consonants from
elaborating vowels or what not...
my... at least i have retained a memory of my old
themes and hobbies...
notably these...
because i...

palindromes... yes... that's how to best discover
consonants as free standing
as vowels are in Japanese via palindromes...
given... my stay in Hawaii was peppered with the history
of the Polynesians...
who's origins began with the wild oar brigade second
not celebrated to the vikings
from the little island of Taiwan...
across the seas without sails
across like the Mongols across Siberia
and the Russians toward Alaska...

                     palindromes...

イキ (iki)
イシ         (isi)

          leo mai honua...

                                leo nui: mai hāmau wai...    

of no talk of science fiction and i can see the equivalent
of the Fremen in the Polynesians
and see this world as that of what happens
when the once former mountain range
of Sahara now is desert and
waiting for the desert of Himalaya
because then were the known mountains of Saharans
while the seas boiled and the ice caps melted
and we were dreaming a history
somehow inherited before the insomnia
of journalism and the **** of light brought down
with strobe amnesia and suffocation of the attractive
glittering half of halves...
while the litter of the brood of peoples
squabbled over the 7th October 20224...
without much squabble equivalent to the massacre
at the Bataclan attack in Paris...

do wiosł!
    to oars!
                                 i nā ***!

let us leave these superstitious people to their
magic stones their kippahs
their niqabs and their orientation with the stars
almighty as if... as if...
this orb might be ever displaced by their potent
numb **** and over-sized ego-*****
and clipped ***** of Egypt!