crab-bucket swamp: one on top of the other -
otherwise: managing to write "nothing"
yet still having enough for a paragraph...

will this kalimotxo help...
tonight it might...
at least it will not be that tongue dead drip
of amber from a bleeding moon
measured to IIII/ IIII/ -
the wine will run and run and run -
it will become a waterfall
and i will suddenly find myself
sinking into it: drowning...
esp. if my tongue should become
detached from my body and be thrown
into this bath of:
the most splendid profanity
of the eucharist - who else, if not
the Spaniards...

for a while i thought i'd piss into
the cup of kings and...
just a passing though...

i do remember the first time i heard
of kalimotxo...
long after i heard about
Cuauhtémoc:
english and spanish... ah...
C for a Q... K? so so...
X and CH(atter) eater...
J - to jot down a Huan: i.e. a who? Ann?!

and here's me worried
that i spent the past 6 weeks... reading...
nothing was truly matter...
until i found myself: unable to...
wake myself into "this" (again)...

haud mihi dero, cum res ipsa feret
(maybe i'll tempt myself,
when the right time comes) -

but there really isn't some right time,
apart from the time: available...
and how easily this can be squandered...
as people occupy themselves
with things most spectacular...
i want to tease the q. -
what will the grave be like?

what for the worth of light enduring
prominence among ourselves:
will we be like, a shadows...
in the presence and prominence of a deity?
we can already fathom the tease of this...
this "unreality", this: something or other...

cui male si palpere, recalcitrat undique
tutus
(stroke a steed not in time
and with its hoof will kick)

quanto rectius hoc quam tristi laedere
(better that than stub
with such meagre poetics
as this)

"ibid."...

but then there's always the meagre / mediocre
of a 600+ page book that reads
like candy... not a personal "qualm"
or an... underlying doubt...
or some high-end sort of "misery"...

i'm content with the passing of time:
why should i somehow congest myself with
a surprise event to gloat about?

i am looking for a remedy...
if ms. amber is too gold and tongue numbing,
of course i had to settle for the wine...
and some Horace...

and... how truly worthwhile in it being:
unspectacular Roman poetry is...
it has to lend a hand in keeping
a pseudo-catatonia alive...
a lazy rhetoric: a shadow rhetoric...
something that the eyes desire to see...
but the ears do not desire to hear...
something only "audible" via
the medium of thought...

something that allows the tongue
to be replaced by an extension into bone...
brain-sponge spectacular looks at the hands
infront of it...
and says: i can better that oyster
of freedom trapped behind
32 rubles and... those left-over shells
of dramatized period dramas...
close up my darling: sheer and polish
those notable angles for a close-up...
all and one the same...

the day ended with the sort of thing you'd
allow a clint eastwood fan to muster...
the mule... budget? probably not close to
half a mill...
dirty harry... wow... mortality and the frailty
on screen... in dazzling lights, camera, action!
is this the same clint eastwood
from gran torino (2008)... oh... wait... wow...
i almost forget that old people
have the same reality "options" as
children... it really has been 11 years...

i almost can't imagine old age...
it would be like having to live through childhood
once more: without the adventures
but all the physiological antonym-synonym
details of... vivo genesis - vivo exitus...
contrasting...
this cycle of perfect completion is well known...
i'm curious as to how it can be abandoned...
and no... not as a prescription...

today i also watched prince andrew do
an interview about the epstein-connection...
like any british royal:
blah blah blah... blubbering...
he said a lot... but didn't actually say anything...
eyes like wet glass...
like water pouring out of an aquarium
onto the surface...
and in england the royal family is for what?
tax well spent?
sure... no complaints...
i too would rather visit Buckingham Palace
than the Belweder in Warsaw...

and... come to think of it...
if death is such an "unbearable" certainty...
couldn't i just hope
for that certainity to be doubled,
i.e.: to be doubly certain of its inevitability?
i like that idea... more than the idea of:
bringing god into the "equation"...
or giving people enough pleasure to...
do whatever the fuck they "felt" was "necessary"
with a senile crumbling facade old wench...
if i were lucky...
there was never anything disgraceful
about suicide in the pagan realm...
it was... somehow obliged...

if... and that's if... provided...
i end up with £5000, a ticket to Switzerland...
and i burry all the remaining relatives...
wonderous demands...
and what would i do with any inheritence?
just that... perhaps a week in Rome...
prior to...
i am after all the cul de sac member of this
family... thankful that i do "own"
some higher idiot impetus of:
putting up with other people's bullshit
to be lated translated in the form of
sperm better formed talking back to me...

gloria sum vivo! and here's to: life...
gloria sum vivo (et mort)!
of course... vain planning... but the plan itself
is pretty simple...
if something vague does happen
in between...
my love as never an ideal love -
it could have been: what it never was:
and therefore was never to be...
to attempt to adore something specific in this world
and give it inexhaustible focus and attention
and something that would allow
me to transcent mortality in a moment
that would allow itself to extent into eternity?

there would be music and drinking...
included some alignment to this sort of scribbling...
or... reading and silence...
and the night...
but never in my worry for this world...
would i want to savor it in old age...
to still feel inclined to engage in it...
if the option exists...
well then...
what were does 39 Vietnamese "tourists"
found dead in truck freezer in Essex
when... the people congregated to watch
the ATP semi-finals in tennis in London
between Tsitsipas and Federer?

not even refrigerator ambient sounds: buzzzzzzz...
how else to comfort yourself within
this world...
eh... but at least there's this kalimotxo
between the "here" and "now"...
and a... "there" and "then"...
people should be allowed to live...
as people should be allowed to die...
it's never a worthwhile juggling to keep them
protruding for a bollocks' worth of
a "moral spectacle"...
because "maybe"...

is there a Diogenes of Sinope in me?
oh sure sure...
whenever i enter the realm of the night
i ensure to bring my shadow -
i have to find my shadow in the night...
there's no good reason to bring my shadow
to the banquet of noon, is there?!
again: not as good as bringing
a candle when all is illuminated by the sun...
as it's not good to not bring your shadow
into the deathly hollows of the night:
when the night... doesn't apparently hide
everything... since it can't even hide
your shadow...

say friend... aren't we both in the same
predicament... of looking for an unflinching eye?
the eye of the serpent that does not
blink... but is scortched by:
and they would write:
that wriggling leftover dinosaur that escaped
the picke-jar...
brain and spine wriggling...
the loss of limbs? that, that was the ultimate
punishment?!
how about being the more sadistic...
and cutting out the eye-lids?!