until the age of 21 - perhaps a while longer,
i lived in order to appeal
to some external object / subject-individuum -
to listen to what other people wanted,
never what i wanted,
i still remember the ordeal of
making my body appeal
to the tastes of women...

to always seem to have
a third crow on my shoulder -
at least odin had the crows thought
and memory:
huginn (thought) would look into
the future - but also deal in moral matters:
th(ought) - perched on the tree of theta
he would blossom into a black narcissus
and call for king solomon to sit
in the jury bench...
muninn (memory) would look into
the past - but also deal with concerns of
filling the human void with imagination -
after all, how different is memory,
to imagination?
imagination does not necessarily confine
itself to a future - yes, is does -
but then it has to collide with thought -
yet in terms of memory per se?
and the off-shoots of memory being
imagination - we do not exactly lie
about the past - we just imagine it differently -
and we are very much selective
about our memory - outside of the realm
of pedagogy when she the needs
for the system to erode our memory faculty
with that blatant bogus rubric of
arithmetic...
man is taught to not remember -
esp. himself - he is taught history to remember
himself as part of the collective endeavour,
never, his self - as such, per se...
but this third crow is different...
he resembles a monstrosity when compared
to the thought and memory -
it's perched on a grid -
a c.c.t.v. estimate at best -
at worst: an omniscient creatre with many
eyes -
the all-knowing the all-seeing is unable
to differentiate the past from the future -
since it's a mechanical creature -
one akin to the mechanical owl given
to Perseus in the clash of the titans...
insomnic omniscience -
a creature unable to have a memory
as it cannot dream and therefore cannot
fathom imagination -
a creature unable to think -
since it cannot travel across a linear projection -
or winding - on the river of thought -

allr'einn (all alone)-
mens de feigr kvisa i de fjoturrliki (skygge),
vegr (reise) de flate av de aldinn rhapsody
av ei hriðharr -
reifr i ei drekkaharmr ha danzleikr med
dauði...

(while the dead whisper in the shadows,
traveling the surface of the old
rhaspody of a stormy sea -
celebrate in a drunken sorrow having
danced with death)

i drink - i want to escape thinking or even
writing in english...
because upon a retraction...
what "use? in a language where
everything has to translate into
an orientation around work...
motherhood: work,
parenthood: work...
finding a woman is like finding a job:
work...
are all works available... not
something more than
chores / clocking-in clocking-out?
work work work...
nothing akin to duties,
privileges or pleasures...
work... menial job: menial relationship...
never anything invested
in an escapism...
there's the work at work...
and then there's the "work"
in a relationship...
this anglo-saxon workaholic mentality!
you'd think that arbeit macht frei
wasn't a bum-joke conjured up
by nazi germans...
work in work, work in a relationship...
motherhood is work...
well... the closest i can come to...
is to "work" on incubating a tapeworm /
an umbilical chord of sorts...
work in the working hours...
worm in the off-work hours...
so surrounded by "work"...
you just wonder...
who does any working or resting,
to begin with? procrastination
is also, "work"!

the christian mea culpa mantra -
such a negative connotation of solipsism -
whoever said that solipsism was
never a thinking "experiment" -
who might equate it with autism -
when relationships are like: VERK...
what's the point of coming home
from zee VERK?
constantly trying to improve each
other - turkey-stuffing each
other with the mea culpa mantra...
never some sort sub rosa safehouse...

only protestants mind to take
christianity out of the church
and into society...
on a personal level...

5 days and waiting...
i feel sorry for the poor buggers who
do not speak two languages...
where can they escape to?
i'll be making a 6 week visit
to P'oohland...
to Poe-land...
my knowledge of this english will
burn slowly among the dying coals...
and i'll be just fine...
i'll forget England...
and its current pre-Halloween fiasco...
it's going to be a fiasco...
a carnival of sorts...
we'll see the most sensible,
the most rational of people who ever
lived... become reduced to
a farcical ducks quacking orchestra...

i'll come back on the 19th of October
and i'll barely mind the aura of
politics hanging in the air...
at the border control at Stansted airport
i was asked the last time i arrived:
where are you coming from?
Warsaw i said...
where are you heading to?
Romford, unfortunately.
i wish i was in Warsaw...
said the border control representative...

i'm tired... i don't like this seasaw...
it's tiresome...
i'm becoming catatonic with all
the media outlets milking
an anorexic cow of an event...
Brexit? that's what it has become...
an anorexic cow being milked...
in terms of the media milking the topic...
i wish they poor fuckers had some
escape plan...
no, i mean it: a REAL holiday...
preferably in a foreign language...
it will come to pass that,
to really take a holiday?
you'll have to learn a different language
from the one you were born with...
i'd begin learning German if
you are English...
the grammar is not far off...
did the gloating beating the nazi germans
fall of? i hope...
next the gloating of beating
the communist russians will follow...

why harbor memories of a collective
people - in order... to forget yourself?
why not remember yourself?
doesn't the pedagogy rubric of eroding
memory prove enough?
to have to strap yourself into
a collective: historical anti-self mentality?
like i would support the football
team my father support...
fat chance me being serious about
football that much...
come the olympics... greek wrestling,
ping-pong, archery...
judo... a plethora of sports...
not exactly the ones that exclusive
fill a stadium crowd and drunk banter...

ale ja moge! a ty... niet!
even with a body rested: the brain can be dragged
down into a stupor...
i'll exchange this grand avenue of
the world for a little corner of the world...
few come to subsequently
learn the language...
the ones that do... have really cute-funny
accents...
their accents are celebrated...
not scorned at by competing
factions of the former british empire...
ELOCUTION from an indian's ass?
is just about that... should
some herr braunhemd come along...
Priya pretty please...
tell me... ist du ein alt sächsisch schattenvater:
der torbogen von zeppelin blitzfeuerwerk?!

i would never mind an accent
as some sort of exclusivity...
a denoting minding of a genesis...
an inclusivity, yes...
how the spaniards speak funny polack
having fallen in love...
seems to me... not many foreign man
fall in love with english girls...
except... if you're pakistani...
armed with a gang and a liter of petrol!

i'm with the germans on this one... sorry... oops...
how frequently do the english say sorry...
but never mean it...
die kinder brauchen zu lernen:
das neu-alt. lektion auf ihr aktuell dilemma...

a month! a month of freedom!
reunited with the continental mentality of
people... i guess being trapped on
a continent does not allow the people
to have the delusion of being strapped
to an island... somehow, "somehow" being
able to treat the island as a ship...
to sail: zu segeln! zu segeln!
weit! weit! weit wag! (circumcision W...
a V... VERG... Łąnt or not Want...
all the same... but in papa-ol-sexy-sax'oh)...

the common argument: not your place...
blah blah... vegetable person...
quasi, person...
alles mensch ar zu sein wie adressieren:
mein könig, mein lüttich...
mein: ich werd lecken ihre arschloch -
so, uber-so sauber...
mein könig, mein lüttich...
werden scheisse nichts außer perlen!

this disdain for the english only came
to me... when i started to drink
and tickle the german tongue...
dry-humping the trunk of h'america will
do that to you, as a people...

if norwegian and old norse will not aid...
german will clean up...
and when i do move past the germanic
peoples of western europe...
and head into slavic territory...
the roulette of sentiments will change...
einmal mehr!

- but there is hardly anything to exclaim
in this language... this isn't a language
at all bothered with exclaiming bollocks...
you always have to retire to someone
older... german does predate english...
but you can never really exclaim something
in english... you usually have to chant it...
but then the impromptu spontaneity magic
goes out of the window "of opportunity"...

can a native have this sort of introspection
of a language he was born with,
and did not, acquire?
i hardly thing so...
to the native the language is not a tool...
it's an identity...
the language is "somehow transcendent"
in how he is to orientate
a total world history, a people,
a place, a bucket-volume-worth of
harvested mussels...

if the natives are up in arms -
the parliament recently voted for the prime minister
to not over-stretch his powers -
it will be made into law:
there will not be a NO DEAL "exit" from
the european union / die vierte reich...
but i think the romance of the englishman
as: the idiosyncratic chieftan of
fathoming a global: citizen of the world
sort of mentality is over...

the people outside of london are
already moving toward a tribal
identity... no opinion from h'america will
bring relief...
h'america is already:
suchen ob seine arschloch -
diese ehe auf sprache...
ist nicht die ehe auf temperament...
do not the h'americans always
complain about english weather,
and food?
they might speak the same language...
but, do they, speak the same language?

bäurisch bewölkt abends von herbst...
aber! ziemlich nichts wie:
die blauhimmel von Texas!
i met two Texan tourists in Soho once...
i think they were lost...
i think they thought they would
get the Amsterdam treatment...
we spoke a common tongue...
but i was under the grave impression
that they were lost...
not a classical tourist sense
of looking for directions...
no... they seemed to be clearly lost...

i think it was made, perfectly clear...
that after the war of independence...
a quick catch-up to the other nations
would have to ensue: a civil war...
i don't understand why england thinks
it can keep a champagne cork on h'america
as it still thinks it can keep on india...
well yeah... received the curry recipe...
making it right now...

england is under an existential conundrum...
that will be unlike the existential
conundrum of the germans or the french...
or the danes...
it will not produce any coherent
thinking... no one is going to scale
the walls and shout an adhan from
the miranete of Damascus...
all will turn into a cognitive mongrel hurricane...
it doesn't look pretty to begin with...
nor at the end...
to have to play the Samson role
of supporting all this science being
translated into pop culture and
scientific humanism of psychology:
at every turn! readily applicable!

to have to abandon a concern and
an appreciate for music...
why am i "suddenly" listening to music
by Finns, by Germans... by Greeks?!
i had to escape the poverty of lyricism
and music, in general,
of the english speaken people...
i'd rather listen to some le trio joubran
than the current main-stay-stream
bollocks...
you give me a babushka granny
playing a fucking balalaika i'd tune in...

the english always said:
thought is not practical...
thinking is not a practical medium...
thinking is not tinged with ergonomics or...
or... the dread of egalitarianism...
english people were not taught
to think... when it comes to philosophy...
everything has to be...
practical... practically accessible...
practically applied... nay!
immediately applied!
they need less philosophers and more
agony aunts!
the english don't think....
they either act... or do...
the germans think... the french think...
the english can't even differentiate
thought from speech...
when they see something written...
they immediately come to the conclusion...
es war sagte! it was said!
what was said?
all i heard was a game of chess between...
6 digits (circa 10) and 26 + 10 +
enter, space bar, shift +/=, ?/,
;/;, ,<, >., you face that arithmetic...
backspace... ", &, ( and ),
the english... actors and sing-along puff-pastry boys...
not thinkers...
what sort of englishman would be
a thinker... if the thought didn't expire...
once the practical object was finally!
finally! formulated? imagine the sort of
reading the person who invented
the steam-engine would write...

that's not an insult...
but leave the bollocks to the germans,
the french,
given that these people are the only
people with the: practical solutions...
i'm sure... there's a dancing leprechaun
at the end of the Brexit rainbow...
i'm sure of it... doubly sure...
i just ask...
since i ask...
when will the english stop teaching
other people regarding what is funny?
did an english comedian ever stand
before a per se mirror,
and looking in, properly?
what's so funny?
when comedy has to borrow from
the sort of intelligence that's
associated from somehow extracting
a wise-crack of laughter from
a tragedy?
evidently all base comedy has
to become intelligently funny...
funny funny... slap-stick comedy has
to be intelligent, absurd even...
because... laughing at tragedy has
somehow become an offense...
or if that at least...
just bad manner-isms...

sure... the english had it...
the best music... the best comedy...
they had actors and poets...
they didn't have philosophers...
am i? no! to be wise is to be able
to give advice without being obliged
to do so... whistle: domicile...
i'll come running...
but you couldn't harvest a Kierkegaard
on these isles even if you had
to let Shakespeare fuck Dickens' sister...

practical people do not require
impractical thinkers...
and the english are a very practical people...
they could never come up
with an impractical thinker...
they'd think that sort a waste
of a thespian talent - readied to be
blossom from a tempted raw green bud!

i have to state: without any sense of
apologetics...
the people have had their turn...
they came out with what they would
want of me...
now? now i don't ask them for what
they want... i don't even know
what to want from myself...
but the matters are settled...
they don't ask me what they want from me,
in the same way that i don't ask what
i want from them...

we have reached an agreement...
the last thing you want is to want something
from people,
esp. when they have stopped
wanting something from you;
like grand-children...
or... enough material possessions to
boast / brag about...
or a daughter-in-law...
when you're freed from tying yourself
with bothersome friendships
that tow a pathology from
the readied pathologies of being
subjected to pedagogic strata...
"friends" / fwends!

you gained your BSc in chemistry...
that didn't help...
scores are settled...
and the people around you,
your, ahem, "neighbours"...
yeah... give me a break...
in England the concept of "neighbour"
is equivalent to... an extra-terrestial in h'american terms...

i can no longer care for what "the people"
want... if their prime concern
is to be left alone... i expect nothing less
from them in return.