a book looks so... inauthentic upon nearing
completion: of a reading...
it starts to lose all its labyrinths and p.s.
side-tracks...
a book: an antithesis mirror of thought -
to read is to escape the burden of thought...
i write "poetry" in order to read...
i like the idea that i do not - or ever had -
written more than i have read (past tense...
and there's the colour red - and to:
reed - imperfect english) -
pedantry - a "saving grace" when nothing
else is worth managing: like punctuality -
but this book is not really a book:
it's 6 weeks spent living elsewhere -
somehow "home"...
and the coming closure to such a: "life" or...
"past"... 750 pages of compressed wood
to make cotton-esque paper...
and... it's most certainly: the most perfect
brick...
my my: what a mighty library...
a deconstructed house or wall...
and i really did invest all this time in reading:
to practice an escapism -
"depression" or... what else?
is when thought constricts...
no... when thought becomes conflated...
congested... a... "misnomer" to ease
indigestion - when thought is a prison -
and to have thought: that via it there was some
prized elevation of sorts -
some... "escape"...
today a flight of stairs frightened me -
i met up with a catatonia in the mirror -
a blanket of blanks and the odd puncture
of a ?-shaped star in the, former curious eyes...
will i accomplish something
by reading Proust...
or should i start from scratch as a homeless man
in Warsaw?
what is this: England bound in me?
something akin to: "waiting for justice"
of a very private nature...
words pass by like: impertinent -
words like that... like a bow-tie...
without a proper sentence or: tuxedo to be
accompanied by...finished by...
there's always the: how one says...
rather than: what one says...
gender neutral pronouns and: one ought
to have minded current affairs...
the logistics of the current plateau...
where everyone is literatre...
yet: "learn to code" is the new literacy...
so the old literacy is worth as much as...
what the old power started to feel when
the shift happened: decaying and decrepit
happenstances of: the old day...
when the power rested upon:
R E A D I N G... or some other vacant
ability to jazz-up all things, not necessarily:
"covert"...
i can imagine a fate less horrible
than being illiterate and having to perform
some menial task in a supermarket...
i can imagine how: those illiterate folk based
their reasoning on images -
and could dream a hell lot more...
each night falling asleep into a cinema...
nothing of the bothersome abstract A and H
to combine in a summary of awe: ah... so that's
how you hammer in a nail /
open a can of sardines?
bothersome flies of "metaphysics"...
H & H of rugby... the W of cosine...
the M of sine in trig. - and the Y of almost every
tree (beside the anal... palm and
pine) and the tongue of a serpent...
that left-over brain-and-spine in a pickle-jar
from the dinosaurs...
Q: or what doesn't look like something
requiring a, cue: curiosity.
this much can be said:
to enjoy a non-practical aspect of language...
is almost like painting...
beside what is formal lingua and what
is informal lingua: or slang...
no... none of that... language that doesn't
require to be made fathomable or unit biased
to satisfy incremental "changes"...
this is a pork-chop... or what remains of a blank
pixel beelzebub eye canvas...
this is what a slab of meat looks like:
chopped up into "something made edible":
perhaps audible... by what would be
the chopper of this tongue...
should this gargantuan mollusk of effort
ever manage to slither out slobbering with phlegm
out, from behind the ivory gate of:
better than talk? chew. chewing words...
i rarther imagine myself chewing words
rather than speaking them...
i can bite open an etymological delight -
and say: history can now be confined to circas
and the dates... will whizz past me like
yesterdays accounting for being denoted:
Mondays not worth fishing on -
for the functional posterity of memory to
become eroded by: non-events...
language and all its practicality for:
conversation, a dear sir / madam & a yours sincerely
can truly... fuck off, right now...
if i were rich enough: i'd take a stab at
painting...
i welcome myself to the art of the: most minimum.