if only those people
who sell books,
could also sell brick
at the same time....

we'd have a pyramid
scheme, with a pyramid,
no questions asked!

if only we were
preparing ourselves
to sell bricks...

if only books could
be brick -esque...
then we could...
drown a snail
feeding comfort
into his next shell-mortage...

then we would defy gravity!
then we would be
truly free!
what breadcrumbs
and bacon scuttle snippets
of budding taste
are to be made...
leftover...

if only books were sold like bricks...
if they were akin
to cannonball tattooing
and like the said:
managed to give "off"
a graffiti...

begged down bothersome
quests of the miracle...
the "virgin birth"...
dating back to...
when "virgin" mary had her
season of 33 years of events...

and when the roman
emperors took the role
of the surrogate father,
having to have to be incline toward
raising bastard sons...

libra manifesto of a sex addict
gamble...
like they couldn't never fathom
the subtle art of reading...

reading seemed such an alien
term of "procuring" excesses of time...
to: "waste"... to waste a sitting:
with not portrait, painter or sitter?
to waste a chair rather than
a turkish akimbo for...
the gravity of a book?!

wow!
did... give birth to tool?
that bill hicks sketch about...
the waffle-waitress,
a trucker side-tracking:
we have ourselves a reader...
anti-intellectualism of h'america?
this is what gave birth to tool?

i've heard as much of
russophobia as i might have heard
about h'american anti-intellectualism...
i had, a russian girlfriend...
i heard all about russophobia...
was she a bitch wasn't she?
besides the point...
i witnessed, first hand,
how they all, how they all travelled the world!
they went to japan, to thailand...
to india and africa...
but russian? ooh... scary russians!

they always dreamed about going
to russia... i went...
i took bob dylan with me...
all the way from st. petersburg to moscow...
i slept with the imbecile saints
of st. joseph... the turd fling
of donkeys...
and i did find my first bout
of insomnia...
witnessing: the white nights
of st. petersburg...
i attempted to cure it by fucking
a girl into a mirror like
a roman cohort of dildos...

russophobia in the english language...
oh... very real...
they first suspect you were
unable to court a tsarina!
they were wishing...
the farm girl from australia!
he'll go for 'er!
then the cockney lass till you turn
into a zombie watching the news...

and a great fuck she was...
wife material?
not so much...
i figured... my maternal grandparents
were lucky... they stayed together...
my parents were lucky... they stayed
together... but my paternal grandparents
weren't so lucky...
i figured... no point gambling on
this sort of bollocks...
do i have to invest the atheistic bargain
of focusing on the procreation
of genes...
to pass on the unconscious
to some other Matthias Jr?

if the future "me" named one of them...
Isidore... then... but only then...
i'd mind...

yes, russia was good to me...
i asked for marijuana and nightclubs...
she gave me restraining order,
a month of trying to convince her
to latex my part in her rice-crispies pudding
of vulva in a bath...
swans and daddy fetishes...
and the night-long fuck bit...

i didn't ask for alcohol she gave me
past-boyfriends clinging,
a carousel sign-off,
sessions of drinking beer in the kitchen
eating salty dried fish and shrimps...
cognac with a lemon slice...
lemon chicken...
revising for a chemistry exam...
thank god i remembered the "correct"
answer of:
who won the 2nd world war...
russia!
i didn't even bother to ethnically
identify my brain back then
when it came to remember:
Katyn.

such the fate of history...
you'd sooner fuck "your enemy"
than give two-shits-worth-a-shoeshine-bother-of-a-nickle
to mind "nation"... or "country"...
pussy feels like a warm doughnut?
then pussy feels like a warm doughnut...
here's your country:
your surrogate mother!

as all good things...
this was not supposed to last...
i can still remember the joy of having
performed oral sex on her...
like eating oysters then
french kissing a slab of butter...

what?!
you really can have enough decent sex in a timespan
of a crucial month...
to never have to replicate it...
via a mundane relationship...
like i learned from prostitutes...
envious / father figure / not so polite
"concerns" for the sex lives of a harem?
well... at least you're not the castrated
walking dildo... and plus! you don't have
to sing in the gallery!

one hyper-sex relationship is like...
fiddling with a camel's hump...
suck on it long enough...
you'll cross a desert
and a conversation by rich people
playing golf seven times over...

perhaps women need to fuck more to remember...
find one decent fuck and you
remember it for life...
you'll be like Prometheus...
beside the fire? i brought down with
me the orgasm of Gaia!

fuck all they want...
i don't mind: why would i?
am i some neu-daddy goody-two-shoes to, care?
if her vagina is like a new shoe
that needs to be worn by as many feet
as a centipede might provide...
as long as the leather shoe is stretched...
and he's comfortable in "high-heels"...
go for it gurl!
i'll try to entertain myself
in the "immediate" sense of
lubricating my thumb
to squeeze one up my ass...
will the donkey buckle,
will the donkey gallop...
will i convert,
will i leave you out of it?

i just needed one intimate relationship...
the rest?
a glorious cinema...
and i always play the cameo!
what's better than playing an al pacino cameo?
hardly... not the devil,
not i, not he she or him,
not her they or us...

only in a language that's gagging
for "gender neutral pronouns"...
apparently it wasn't made evident...
that english, a language...
orientated itself around
GENDER NEUTRAL NOUNS...
no?
it's "almost" fascinating for a people
to want, gender neutral pronouns...
which is impossible...
since those same people are asking
for... singular / plural neutrality of
words... that don't behave
in a singular / plural neutrality...

the english speakers already had...
gender, neutral, nouns...
and they just... played a game of
monopoly with it...
and: there's clearly nothing worth
salvaging now...
only to take a holiday...
a holiday implying:
to go somewhere in the world
and not speak english...

sorry... natives...
you're stuck with this cognitive custard...
learn a new language!
if only the native population
relived their relevence
click-bait phantom presence...
when looking from a perspective...
akin to... Moldova.