oddly enough: there actually is a "Jewish Question"
i swear to god...
perhaps god willing these times
will be a surrender to the oblivion of
obviousness in that there is a "Jewish Question"
but
not asked by some Romantic Germanic Gab -
because this is also born from the trauma
that my ethnicity was next on the List...
die Liste - or is that der Liste:
i never know in German asking definitely for
the same thing twice...
hardly any masculine or feminine need to articulate
a definite or indefinite article:
however...
there is a question concerning why the Hebrews
such an ancient people
like the Assyrians and Babylonians
didn't just disappear -
didn't write on stone or wrote on stone and then
lost the stones or the stones were destroyed
but that persistence i think the 20th century
germans were maybe "thinking" that
the question came without an answer
as is famously known of rabbis to answer
a question with a question
the grand magi of the question-question...
because at least the Kul Tigin
                                   Svingerund
Rosetta - much more polished inscriptions
not this flimsy artsy bookish
clerical nuance of force
not the same pressure from wood to paper
as from sand to glass...
as from sand to glass
no pressure at all... but still all that alchemy...
question: why didn't the Hebrews
go down the path of the Romans
and the Greeks
perhaps some reinvention would happened
just like the Gingers of Lombardy
from the Holy See and Alliance -
vague history of Jews in Europe
and all that physiognomy nothing like
the Israeli...
so Mediterranean - MEDI-
  -TERRA-
                           -NEAN: AEGEAN...
remember that spelling, MAtthew...
                       slice open with capitals each word
if you must, not only proper / important
nouns.

i started to disregard the importance of music:
wenn ich begann zu kaufen
    why-nil(s)
ich begann zu außer Acht lassen
   die Bedeutung der Musik:

ach ja! ja! das ist das!
    the of
the off
            or is that still too... proto-Germanic
in understanding?
die der dough... dire dough do! mumble mumble:
tis the season of summer concerts
and as someone working in security:
it better sells that i play along to the whole:
bachelor: chingching - no China:
K ok... Ok K kk...
   Oh... so so Kk            carp... Kodak: co-Damian
lustro: oops...
                    no good, no good: about to rain
and the floors aren't even shiny!
disasterpiece... di-zas-ter-p-ease-eez (plural of E's)
like double-D's; a;lmost)

halfway through the chores
and i'm leaving the toilet to last

so now i know,
though,
when my loathing
no... not loathing:
loathing the algorithm
some variation of counter AI
blockage on the synthesis
parameters dire
so choice of music
gone
no spin me right round
on a youtube carousel

perhaps not Falstaff or ****
like high art
like high german is to english
or even swiss
but that was some mighty
interrogation
by that Swiss cowboy
i have to admit
that was...

we went to the moon to have an argument
about a bus ticket
and i did say to him:
isn't a stadium ticket like a bus ticket
and yet this is not a concert mate
so i can't allow you
if it was a concert
i would have said yes
but this is a sporting event so that's
so ******* dumb
people come sometimes
at the last hour
with their children
and we can be lenient like that
as security officers
imagine a police officer's poem
or an SS-man's poem
like that scene when one of them
is trying to block out the horror
and remain calm
because that's not a Bach's Mozart
or a Mozart's Bach sort of joke
when the anthropology of time
questions influences and timelines
as to who influenced who
or could have in re-verse....

by 3pm i will wearing my walking shoes
and heading to the forest
to knock on wood:
turn a few trees into secret doorways...
or something like that.

i'm having inconsistencies creep up on me /
that i am in part /
so many things at once /
returning to paths /
formerly trodden /
now etchings /
          now sketches /
and all this to simply say /
cruelty is not born out of love /
but cruelty is the daughter of genius /
clearly portrayed in Schindler's List /
\ i can see it now
\ as clear as day within a day
\ as i see day in night
\ when the eyes capture light
\ the currency of eyes
\ that is like blood to the heart
\ and electricity to the brain
\ and to the soul what thought is
\ but ego isn't
\ since soul is without ego
\ should ever soul be doubted
/ then the ego cannot be doubted
/ yet why settle for such a fickle thing
/ as ego
/ when you can comprehend organizing it
yet that's right /
the ego /
construct it into a soul /
at least organize it with thought /
with intellect /
garner it /
in the garden: of all places /
to the youth of ****** of looks /
but the acuteness to read Candide /
and that's almost a tearjerker /
i can feel her now in my stomach:

but how long would i have settled
to say to a woman
as woo not woe to man and of man
irrespectively respectively...
that's the antonym of respectively, no?
IR
            regardless...
but if constantly reminded:
this is not your daughter:
i cannot have a child with you:
why are you a man if you don't want children:
?
?
   ?
   ?

        ? ?    invalid? ***** count low?
question Q question Q question Q
so my biological "reality" answer is thus
and now i'm not drunk
no i wasn't drunk (but i was, on thought,
and the cameo cinema of yesterday
not the cinema of grandfather Joseph:
i am matthew: the dream of joseph...

in my dream i woke to grinding metal
the sweet sonic zing zing
of a graphite shield cutting metal
iron by the looks of it due
to the amount of rust
so the cutting... grinding was made easier
now only 20min passed
and no i wasn't high
like now in the microverse
to counter the many uses of other verses
i will not succumb to the sobering
advantage of game with
foreign alphabets
i am not storing thoughts but emotions
perhaps that's why
there is no pleasure in ***
beside the utility of threading the existential
furthering
by count a child of each belonging
so that i answer Spielberg became a Bergman
with Schindler's List and i was
trying to communicate with script
shouldn't have but wanted to talk
and couldn't
and am i to think of superior intellectual
stock: of course not... corpus christi jeez and
jazz no...
but if all that remains of me is the equivalent
of the Kul Tigin...
then that's what continued from Cuneiform
and stone and who's to say
the bible is worth more
if the Bible was written on paper
then burnt
because it was a plagiarism
and a double burden on the Hebrews
to have carried paper into the woods
yes they carried paper into the woods
of Europe: deforested it
made it a feeding basin plateau
like a Mongolian semi Tundra
and that didn't take effort
to uproot all those trees?!

       cutting /
// cutting /
  cut / cut / cut /
// / /// / // / / /

now this was metal on metal
grinding
with graphite
the sonic whoosh and smooch of kissing
like metal or diamond
rock on metal

the supposed holy covenant
but how can nomads
have stone
or write on stone
perhaps graffiti on stone would be best
scratched
not like that idiot spray painting
on a wall in Pompeii
but why didn't the Hebrews
graffiti the Wall of Mourning
surely some rascal could have in the times
of the Romans
written his Martin Luther
on the stone...
but Jesus didn't...
no Hebrew even began to comprehend
the power of NOINK
or no-ink... however you want to spell it...
could have...
chiseled in hebrew letters:

הרחובות שלך

    (your streets)

השכירות שלנו

    (our tenements)

throughout the film you can hear
a murmur of spoken Polish
but then that ghastly scene!
that ghastly scene!
that Jewish itch in spite of what "we"
did that Jewish yuck and itch
with that scene
from Jews leaving Krakow -
the middle class Jews
the well attired Jews
with a little girl from the countryside
somehow managing to scream:
in English:

   GOODBYE JEWS!
GOODBYE JEWS!

now... personally? i take offence at that...
truly...
that is such a misrepresentation of
the whole Polish Jewish dynamic...
that has, seriously: tinted me...
sobered me up...

fair enough if the girl was screaming!
if she was screaming!
DOWIDZENIA ŻYDZI!
DOWIDZENIA ŻYDZI!
but no... no...
and i'm supposed to live in America
even if it's Hawaii
or better still Kauai?
no... nein nein nein nein nein nein
i've just heard of a European
revival of the Right and *****
of each Land
and people his own...

i holstered that Advent on the 7th October
of last year
the year 2023 when i returned
from Kauai...
this time round i just blocked her on WhatsApp
deleted her number
but kept her PO BOX
and her email
and that's the best i can do...
no more conversations
no more oochie koochie
over the phone no *******
no
no it was
just doing my head in this DISTANT CLOSE?NESS
clown lover
nothing more
clown lover...

             i still have the house to clean
and that's going to be done
since i already pumped up my missing front
wheel and i haven't been cycling for
well over 2 months
maybe more
probably since the end of Yeti and Mammoth...
3 months... March, end of,
so beginning of April: maybe... so so...

another coffee and finish off the cigarette?
yes, conversations with i
at least that's honest
and i can bring only love and honesty
from the bottom of my heart
since my mind will only invent
cruelty out of genius
that genius that's revealed in this unscripted
wriggling of the worm
if i had a pen:

Kwisatz Haderach in Marrakesh...
just sounds nice
almost pretty...

but that is the water of life
in my dream
in my dream i was peeling wallpaper
and i was almost scolded for
not having dampened the walls enough
a second third time
so that the peeling process would be easier
as the water could be drank up by the paper
and dilute the glue...

i have abandoned the joys of music, truly:
disgusted by it;
only in the late 19th century
Nietzsche would have surmounted to posit
an argument along the line(s) of:
without music, life would be unbearable

or...

music makes life bearable...

how tedious now, music,
how obliterating the senses -
without eyes yet still talk of sight
without ears yet still talk of hearing
perhaps even with eyes
those two vital organs
like kidneys
how strange that they are so exposed
and so important
yet so exposed
unlike kidneys hidden in body
these protruding vital organs
since eyes are organs
equipped to deal this parody
not of bone covered by flesh and sinew
and muscle and fat
but these two flimsy pieces of skin
that light can penetrate
and give a man who toiled through night
and tried to find solace in
sleep come day
an insomnia that would require more
than eyelids with the added pressure
from a folded arm like a blindfold...

music has, become, unbearable,
a tedium for the senses
a shortening of some sort: a variation of otherwise
perfectly adjusted adjectives
to call a mountain big
a sea grand
and an insect philosophical: Solomon's ant...

music is no music with visual aids
unlike...
unlike: i spent this morning eating breakfast
of: never mind...
watching Schindler's List
in that moment when the Krakow ghetto
was being emptied
and that SS man was caught off guard
from all the chaos happening
and he tried to remedy the pre-horrors
of the finalized plans
frenzied at the piano
while two other SS men inquired
as to what (he) was playing...

Bach? no no... Mozart...

“was ist das, ist das Bach?”
“nein, das ist Mozart.”

English Suite No. 2 in A minor, BWV 807: III

yes, the latter... obviously...
the genesis of polyphony,
the signature is all there, intact with Bach
unlike anything Mozart could
have conjured...
in that if there is talk of "genius"
then there is also talk of methodology
a blindness of exacting
a profoundness of unhearing
and then not hearing
while at the same time being to play: a hearing
of the music...

i try to think that writing this would
be eased by listening to some music
but then with whiskey my mind unwinds
and three days have passed since
i slouched in my bed

today i realized the fundamental cruelty of
pleasures
or rather: the joy of reading
(fiction) unlike some philosophical demand
of reading then application
because i can't think of how reading
philosophy makes you apply it
like reading a manual with all the schematics
of say: putting up a DIY object
bought from the Swedes
packaged in cardboard
because by then you're no less LEGO
and Danish
and no carpenter in sight...

old Libra: write less than you read or just
about...
after all it feels less like smiling when one
is frowning
but more so when one is squirming
(but not ******* on a lemon)
       or some general distaste for humanity
whereby i'm just as much part of it
as much as a distance from it
a step behind or perhaps more a step aside...

so much of philosophy concerns itself
with: what is... philosophy...
in terms of a genre, a literary genre...

which brings me toward what emerged from
a pleasure of reading:
antithesis of music is equivalent to
the comfort of listening to a cat sleeping,
snoring...
or listening to a woman during *******
i don't think i can compensate that
with music...
i can: compensate music with music...
but i can't compensate the sound
of the elements: wind, earth, water with music...
music doesn't compensate the natural
order of things
and i can verily, now, understand:
the Taliban aversion to music...
before even the beauty of music can come
there is already an aversion to it
and just, justly so...

  music has becomes less elevating and more
grounding like a doubling on realism
that breeds contempt for transcendental
escapism of merely human talk...
i've had a roller coaster of the past two
days and i can attest
that a transcendental escapism based
upon merely human interaction of talk
exists...

on Saturday i changed shifts...
unable to do a Wembley shift (as a ******
supervisor, static,
with a cordon of stewards and security
officers
ensuring that no bags bigger than A4
reached the premises of the stadium
just tickled at the footprint of
the outer perimeter)...
instead was "demoted" to an security
officer role at the London Stadium for the MLB
event (Phillies vs. the Mets...
is that the equivalent of the Championship
vs the Premier League
given that the Yankees are a tier above
the Mets? anyways)

i had so much fun, pleasure, joy, life
being part of the team... searching bags
giving all the right lip service
and smiles and all the humanly adequate
body language of people feeling threatened
by any persuasion of authority:
to ensure their safety blah blah...
but it wasn't that...

on our break...
there were 4 of us...
basically me, Nur (Nur),
Richard, ..., ...,
it was me and 4 blacks guys
and however you want to disguise
or not the descriptive posits
of how each one of us looked...
no... i will not be a writer:
impatient man
this whiskey isn't helping
i can't write something transcendenal
although it was
i've already started unwinding with
the whiskey

the next day a spectacle of an argument
a waste of me writing this...
there should be restrictions on what
you can write...

no science fiction writer could have
predicted the smartphone...
outer-reaches of technological potentiality...
best keep Erasmus of Rotterdam
and Philip K. ****
and Stephen King and Alexander Dumas
out of it...
writing this will only give a % traction
of my availability to the letters
and there will still be the juggernaut of
ØX         ØX   XØ
         XØ      ØX ØX
ØX           XØ           ØX

****** keyboard... misjudged placing...
but summer is here
and my silent disco shift at Portsmouth
has been cancelled so
i don't have to worry about
getting enough sleep...

misguided though...
giving Paul Arteides all but one title...
Mehdi,
Kwisatz Haderach,
Muad'Dib... yes, yes... yes...

but not... Lisan al-Gaib...
that title should have been reserved for
his unborn sister!
the "outer world" is not the world of
Caladan "vs" Arrakis...
the "outer world" of: yet to be born...
or: unborn... regardless...

emotions created from insufferable
confrontation
with a Swiss entrepreneur...
allocating argument:
but we're going to the moon...
i say:
but you already scanned your ticket...
there's no reentry...
think about you buying a ticket
for a train at 12:10...
you think you can use the same
ticket for a 13:10 train
even though you stepped on the 12:10
train then decided to hop off
but the moon was boiling in
his mind
his logic his self-entitlement
of paying £200 for a ticket
gave him the authority to
call ask who i was...
who i was...
so much for what money doesn't
buy: integrity and character...
and integrity of character...

     bounced about the word
LOSER
when i finally replied to his: who are you?
POET...
oh... so that's a LOSER then...
well...
i should have played a joke on him
like:

Odysseus tells Polyphemus
that his name is Οὖτις:
    no one...

but how can i see this Americanized
version of life as
winning and losing
in life as transient when
he clearly only sees riding high
without seeing riding low
and in the end
the inevitable loss for everyone
via death and i'm sure
the minute he dies
memory of him will die too...

which brings me onto a new fascination
with... what became of

KUL TIGIN
then later the Runes
(i am so suspicious of the Gothic script
though... really ******* shady)

𒅗
'tooth' [zu], 'mouth'
[ka] and 'voice' [gu]

ズカグ          (respectively) = not mouth

but Kao (

顔                                            )

but you can see the complications
"transliterated" from
Assyrian Cuneiform to Chinese
and then somehow simplified
and untangled into Katakana...

ideograms are shortenings of
what Europeans could call
colors: in traffic code...
green is for go
amber is shortened to take caution
for getting ready or slowing down
while red is stop
because emoticons are not:
the same equivalence to the automatic
recognizable info
universal but more idiosyncratic
covert messaging...

        ******* Swiss *****...
well LOSER didn't really affect me
because i was just about to say...
so... you spent £200 to watch a game of baseball...
**** me...
it now just dawned on me...
but... i used to spend £130 on an hour
with a *******...
regardless of whether i ******* or not...
last time i remember i spent that same
amount of money on an inexperienced
20 year old who didn't know that
an uncircumcised **** needed temporary
peeling
to expose the hammer-head
and in the end she massaged me
a little then i massaged her entire
body
finding out she starred in some shady
**** flick in some dungeon
given that when i massaged her
*** and back of the legs
they were bruised from all the extra
***** and no ***** of ****...

so... this argument of the moon
and being "successful" just because
spending £200 on a baseball match...
******, please... i spend £130 on an hour
with a *******...
at least you're getting your money's worth...
yesterday i started my shift at 6am
finished at 6pm...
the game started at... **** know's
3pm? lasted for about 4 hours...
in that time i became a fan of cricket
and ushered in the sentiment of:
well: if anything...
Americans really know ******* of watching
sport...
in a fluid fashion...
from minute 0 to minute 90
with interludes for over-refereeing
with too much technology use...
it's still not going to beat a tennis match
with two players and a football team
of referees + the ball boys etc

how dare i agonize humanity thus
with my writing
how silly of me
how pretentious and perhaps
even vain
to make eyes grieve having
unseen these words
        
                    how little i bring
no leech of remedy
no parrot of backstabbing talk
no carrot for motivation
no dilution of suffering
just this stressing of disparity
and differences

as if
as if that wasn't apparent

shying away from life in private
this reverse-engineered voyeurism
now clinging for a bouquet of
verbose patterning

like a brick **** having fallen
with a tumultuous sound
of a nailed stork
           a nailing that becomes a falling

now a coffee and a sobering
cigarette
now a walk to the supermarket
to buy onions and whiskey
before the mothers and their children
return from school

before the men come to their
homes with empty bellies
and worldly dust
of business
that men like me not huddling
but exacting a 103kg 190cm frame
waste out times on words
rather than athletic miracles...
seems rather strange
that i have not been endowed with
more oomph and furor
to strip the world to basics

but how could i content with scared
eyes
and hopeful eyes
of people i'd feel no private mechanizations
with...

truce at 20 and off to Africa
little Rimbaud
somehow transliterated into American
as Rambo
although i do stress the Rims of Bau -
and the D can be dropped

perhaps i'm still on a beach on Kauai
and i'm not giving this day
enough due diligence
to occupy myself as a man of action
of deed of consequences
just this hermit like half
clenched body
a kneeling prosody -
         will i actually forgo this stupid
dream
this decadent myopia
of attempts and further attempts
to deflate life
and shelve it...

                                    so impossible decadent
i learned to abhor this ambition
that's no real ambition
i learned to abhor this ambition
this tease
this: well it's not for the money
but the troubles of ******* into words
and doodle-d'ah doodle-d'is
                      
       it's so abhorrent that i should waste
such hours of sun
on a page
that is literally and not
an abhorrence
this is an abhorrence to literature
should it not come as vein and artery
and heart of distractions

at the core some legality of legacy
in transcendent disappointments
and not this
this defeatist slosh and sleuth of
beyond personal
detailing

                     this luxury of no antidote
to life's nether regions of
emotional demands for dexterity
actual conversations
less this defeatist escapade
this is no Guru Alias Self Help -
words from a professional zenith
akin to
   o let's say akin to:

     a james sexton

   in his words the man is a machine
let's say doing 50+ hours of work a day
and that's somehow an admirers' *****
bank
deposits: center

                      but not even like
yesterday all glazed eyed
thinking to myself: over indulgence?
or is this something
akin to:

well all the chores have been done
toilet cleaned
and i have no reading to do
and yes i did tip myself with some
marijuana and some whiskey
but at least i'm not watching t.v.
and if that's really a guilty pleasure

sure this is no Rimbaud
and romance and fantasy of
done aged 20
nor this can be the Bible of relevance
or a Dune saga
but at least i am not watching t.v.
and from a furthered perspective
i never thought
i'd say it
but i have become indifferent
to music
like once i loved music like all
children love something
be it football or a library of tracks
but so indifferent
have i become
it's almost a question formulaic
in that i have become
can be easily retreated back: into
the proper use of grammar

so in the end it's just
an exercise
an exercise in the use of language
as a way to disguise the fact
that i'm not a rhetorician
and that i don't speak air
but mumble dirt with words

what spurred the purge?
well... a nugget of ash
in my whiskey
from smoking a joint that's what
spurred me on

those images coming in to seal
of words

the body of "christ"
if that were me
all i would have given them
would be a glass
of wine
with some ash in it...
there would be no mush of bread
after all living among
those pagans and their ritualistic
hygienic concerns
with what to do with feces
and **** and the dead
well burn them
sewer that ****
then my Last Supper would be
a dash of ash
into a cup of whiskey
and that would be the end of it

it's as if the joke continued
when the Roman legionnaires
soaked a sponge with
wine and lifted it up to him on the cross
and asked whether he'd like to drink
from it...

yes... that story is true:
Στεφατoν (Stephaton)
Steven - a Roman Legionnaire -
well if i'm going to think about Jesus
on my way to the bank
i passed two young colts
maybe Mormons
but that's weird it being England
and also Essex
but when i left the bank
instead of the two Mormons
i was met by a Hebrew
and sorry
but proximity
timing
universe
spacing
this is all very subliminal
not relevant but very subliminal
in under-context...

this is a meditation
and not some thrill seeking
get tipped
to forget something not deal with
something
just the farce of going
to the bank with a flimsy
take on a legal matter
and made to look like an idiot
when the Power of Attorney
is a 16 page legality script
and not some half baked
but the bank "attorney": adviser...
knew that i was dealing
with some emotional barking garbage
since i did muddle in the expressions:

- i'm sorry but i feel i've
been sent on a fool's errand...
- this piece of paper is only a copy...
- yes, i brought my passport with
me just to show you i'm not trying
to scam anyone...

yes... the wine soaked sponge
a joke on bread
if it were my last supper
it would be a glass of wine (they didn't
know how to make whiskey
back then) with some ash in it...

wine with some gum from Sudan
and tobacco / marijuana ash...
            
                                     nazdrowie!
           sláinte!         (and where they get that
slanCHe from i will never...

slā (indo-european: advantageous)
                          swa-
                                    -va
swo-
                      -vo

                           certainly beats watching
daytime t.v.
which is just as bad
as having a little bit too much whiskey
and marijuana in the afternoon
without the ability to purge
and sober up

                  daytime t.v. is like a gateway
drug to lazy
activity -

              something those 19th and even 20th
century poets didn't have
to contend: contest: abbreviate
not even radio
i'd say
not even music
in seemingly insomnia mode of so readily
available
which makes sense
to constrain it
to an opera house
go and see the Magic Flute performance
at the ENO and storm
out like a phantom
with a giggling girlfriend
why so pedantic why so argumentative
well: the ******* production
is not in German
this is nothing like the magic flute
if this would be played in that scene
from the Shawshank Redemption
i would be doubly the gladly of being
indoors outdoors indoors
of a prison

                         ...

            elegance, knowledge, violence?

the original had an exclamation mark
involved...

     ruggedness, wisdom, compromise!
ruggedness, wisdom, negotiation!

1pm
not exactly but approx
circa
i.e. 12:45pm
and i'm kneeling again

to some distant prayer...

surely, if i were an aftternoon
******
if i were truly
a William Burroughs
admirer and
that would be me keeping
art alive
in Tangier
in some Arabian nightmare
some ****
fair enough
but also the thought
of an afternoon
listening to the children playing
in the playground
and life
life goes on

punitive measures
if i were an afternoon
******
oh
right
the reality
need the needle thread of music

just purged
had a chemistry experiment
in body
just purged
purged god i purged
i vomited the poison
out

a sobering purge
a sobering purge like
the purges from
food ******
of echo Rome

but i didn't eat i only
eat one meal a day
that i need to earn
and regardless whether
it's Christmas Lent
or Ramadan

it's the Bruce Springsteen year
in and out
and god i purged
didn't have enough time
to get to the toilet
instead spewed bile
onto the bedroom floor
then mopped it up
then spewed more bile into
the sink

then felt the body
like yesterday i felt
a sharp pain in my tooth
and thus felt the gravity
of bone
of flesh
of corruptibility
of morality
now i'm more sober and emotional
than discontent and
disillusioned half-enmotional
and high or drunk

i still need to buy onions
for the tomato sauce

those meatballs will need mixing
with breadcrumbs
and cumin
and coriander
and that sauce will need to be perfect

yeah
if i'm not tripping i should be tripping
but where did that old man with his
dog disappear to
the one that kept talking to the dog
like the dog could be a chair
because the man just
kept dictating SIT
SIT
I TOLD YOU TWICE
SIT
SIT
           woof! bark bark! woof bark!

then so clued up about being in a queue
that i forgot the thousands
of verbal cues in my head
instead i just heard: BLAH BLAH BLAH

the election cycle is on
in Britain and in America
and the world emerges with another
Russophobia
as if it were an Islamophobia
and who was that Russian
spy-op hacker
youtube influence-R

      the subjectivity of THE experience
with the objectivity of A experience
objective (indefinite) experience
subjective (definite) experience...

      these are my letter to Socrates
asking:
is this how the "problem" of universals
and particulars can be fashioned
to a suitable rubric of explanations
pedagogic?

                the logic of unraveling in and with
children...

       upon hearing my tongue
i heard that some Russian paid people
to storm the pitch
and pay them 30 million rubles
and within 20 seconds
a German or a Spaniard claimed
the pitch...

                   maybe some greater beloning
a me to i to you
and out through          to self and other...

      but i purged to sober
i purged to sober
because this day has been too good
although i'd never think to say

that i walked into a bank
like Neville Chamberlain
with a flimsy piece of paper
like from Munich
agreed upon toilets
and chimneys
i mean this Power of Attorney
that was just stamped
by a half-baked translator (in memorandum)
photograph and then printed
instead i needed a 16 page document
with all her crying
and whimpering
her late much late attended to for concern
of affection from a brother
now brain in the fish tank
and just because the word
euthanasia is
only
a word that came from my mind
i think of the ***** turmoil
of uncovering secrets in man
even this
supposed best friend and *** partner
Marius
who owes my uncle 300,000 zloty
and perhaps some land
should he forgo the debt
well but now fishbowl St Martin
is having a trip that i could only hope to once
venture into on a giant mushroom!

painless and likewise voidless
a peering black barnacle
with eyes and tongue
this unavoidable shapeshifter
and sieve-R of jurisprudence
this unavoidable date and time
and hopelessness vigor
that irritates the stomach
glazes the eyes
and fills all these rooms with a blank
evidence of emptiness

in a distance a Dalai Lama
who i don't know is Buddha
a cosmopolitan glob trotter or what
is that with St Peter
some inheritance tax
since the rest of us petty mortals
are living lives on loan
do these figures in the world
represent enforced reincarnation
thus these people
are paying the inheritance tax, Pope,
Dalai Lama...
Emir of Baghdad...
Sufiz of Damascus

      i petty mortal living a life
on a loan
this body
this brain this everything loaned
not something i can credit
with bad decision
without the debtor's sinking into
a wheel of money a chair
of money a lamp of money
a paracetamol of money
a book of money
a cushion a bed a house a money
in logical inflation from £100,000
to £0.01
                          the blood
and vitality of inanimate, dead objects,
that they get moved
sold
contested
abbreviated and joyed at

     hands that move chairs
and make chairs
hand each other pocket doses of
value and devalue
nothing mystical except the slow
realization
by purge so rewarding
by purge so electrifying
so illuminating
that one hour residing
in bed while the day busies itself
with its busiest selves

perhaps alternatively
on a Faroe Island
      and aging to some Scandinavian myth
with solitude and letters
not this champagne milkshake
of human emotions
this snot these tears
this phlegm and all the love juices
this ear wax this sinew
these tendons and shaking hands...

Mellstroy -
so my father wasn't bullshitting me...

"Three pitch invaders stormed the Wembley turf at the Champions League final after being promised £300,000 by a controversial Russian streamer, it has emerged. The troublemakers wore t-shirts promoting 'Mellstroy', a scandalous vlogger who offered the prize reward to anyone who would invade the pitch in his name."

      https://www.dailymail.co.uk/sport/football/article-13484263/Champions-League-final-pitch-invaders-Russian-streamer-Mellstory.­html

archiving websites...
that's actually an art in a way
well it is a bureaucratic art-form

/blog.pagefreezer.com/how-do-you-archive-website

$7.2 million USD
by some count of the casino
and i think of myself
and my use of bet365
and in general everything that i do
and my life
and i do think about my life
and if i were brain frozen
half my grey matter evaporated
in my frontal cortex
and that's Martin
two massive holes in his mind
and i can literally throw
anything in there
like Joyce threw Finnegans Wake
into his schizophrenic daughter
is that price
we pay to venture into writing
beyond what's offered in
the Bible
i just wonder how can we dare
to want so much
as to not speak
and instead write

the grey and metallic tinge
of Warsaw on a cloudy day
while very sunny in London
and Glasgow...

perhaps if half my brain evaporated
i would write some astounding
poems that
perhaps i could foresee
no better life than that on the page
like right now
because beyond what's available
there is no mojito under a palm tree
on a beach with the woman
i just might love

this life is brutal and how begging
we are to disbelieve that to be true.

squandering o little me squadering
as much as i....

chimneys and chimneys and so much smoke
and no alleviation from the horror
will i trust the happenstances of pop
and celeb culture
before their knees knew prayer
they knew about being gassed...
dead...
  chimneys and chimneys
they left those pyramids like shy engineers
it would seem
how they squabbled
over the deed
and the dead with them
these Hebrews
now relegated to middle-class womanhood
O such wonders!

the terrible has already happened
history passed me
the terrible has already happened
the ugly the thick IQ
remains...

          UM GA RA SYND

the terrible has already happened
i will not stray from
the chimneys
and the train tracks
no...

no PYRAMIDS
these coffers of weight, dead,
these:
my ethnicity was 2nd
to the Jew
and i'm somehow:

what is happiness and life
with this gravity of meaning
who ushers
in the gods
and the masters
but doesn't flip
8am...

           a people with horses
with breaths
and dogs
these barking mad emblems
these effigies of purport!

one lie two lie
one lie two lie toe for tweak
i lie
i tell the truth
but at least i exasperate myself
on punctuation
this

"curve ball": she says it
like her mother and me
is equivalent to my mother
and grandmother and me...

SaRdauKaR
letters like levied oblivions
i watch
like hapless Job
like this idiot
and i think...
beside a god there's death
and from my shrinking into
extracting this
to me initiating this...
what crescendo!
what echo what time apparent
this limitless numbing and experience

EAST is the new NORTH
on the compass of
narratives...

the sun rises...
and with it,
so does man...
should his attention gravitate beyond
any bias...
the sun rises
and with it,
so does man.