i have a stone's worth of ego -
a sea's worth of a mind -
and a tide's worth of thought -

a memory that rides an elephant
and an imagination that
spawns from nothing -
and nowhere goes...

only days seperate me from
the great feral plains
as i'll leave the beacon
of urban profanity
of Warsaw...
and head into loitering
with those who have
nothing but death to wait for...

perhaps 2 books on the menu
for 6 weeks -
and all that cooking in between...
but... god...
the most necessary break from
the things that began
with carrier pigeons,
letters, seals of confidentiality,
the post-office, the telephone,
perhaps as far as a t.v. -
the internet-blackout...
sacred - to not be included
in the leeching grafitti mention
will most certainly be (once more):
divine...

6 weeks in this tomb i'll
be taking a holiday -
who ever said that taking a holiday
was inclusive of a beach
and all the modern perks...
junkies strapped to
their ongoing techno-insomnia -
how to not feed
this constant monster of
views, likes, subscriber
jargon...

i even found one publisher...
3 weeks waiting for the covering letter
to be read....
i'll tidy my room with 7 days left...
for the "madame"...
a maine coon, who i suppose likes
me...
since she always occupies my room
when i'm not there...

what holiday if not surrounded by
old people...
i can play less of the workaholic:
"workaholic"...
the chemical balance in my brain
with shift from english
to the old tongue....

Dear Sir / Madam,

I hope that I can send more than a mere manuscript, please find enclosed a book I have published – however unlikely it might sound at first – yes, someone has managed to review it – yet as becomes painfully self-evident, I am no one-man-army in being able to promote it – I guess I have around 500 copies in this readied print in my possession – I hardly think a book could be sold like a bunch of bananas at a market stall – and I’m not the sort of person who has invested original thinking in selling things, let alone things that have ideas bound to them: outside of the sort of ideas associated with hammers and nails.

Past writing experiences? Being suspended for over 10 months from hellopoetry.com (still pending), I can give you the statistics of the most popular poems:
• drinking got in the way (10.8K views)
• Y⠁HW⠑H (8.5K views)
• Head like a rhino (7.4K views)

Being banned from wattpad.com and from poetfreak.com, I’m currently somewhat active on poemist.com and minds.com – over 10K poems on my facebook.com page – I once had the vain assumption that I could post a submission to poetryfoundation.org, later to only realize that: most of the submissions to poetryfoundation.org are associated with having a BA / MA in English literature / some creative writing course – no room for someone with a BSc in Chemistry.

Of course I will include some unpublished poems with this covering letter – I just hope that I can write a non-sycophantic allusion to a publisher with a distant hope of being published via the standard guise of formality – how “unprofessional” this will appear, I hope my disdain can be entertained by having an already printed book – while having to deal with internet community “guidelines” that have seen me chased off as a leper: pity? No, more a case of dry, exhausted sense of humor – titillating a complete collapse of any sense of hubris (if there ever was, to begin with).

I wish to exalt the editorial process: even though I have never had the time to wait for any editorial scrutiny – I suppose my writing originates as some variation of agitation that has to be printed via the motto: hit the iron while it’s still hot… I hope this submission will give me some sort of revelation of publishing and the editorial process – I can most absolutely wait for 3 weeks for a reply, given that I’ve decided to use the old ways of mailing you this letter, the already printed book and the few “leftover” pieces.

I have made it necessary to sometimes concern myself with orthography, or rather – the complete utter lack of it in the English language – sometimes even day-dreaming about seeing Braille in print; notably in the already mentioned poem (Y⠁HW⠑H) noting how Hebrews hide their vowels: kametz (a), tzere (e), chirek (i), cholem (o) and shurek (u) – could be explored further within the confines of Braille - ⠁(a), ⠑ (e), ⠊ (i), ⠕ (o), ⠥ (u). I barely know if this is even beginning to look like a cover letter – it’s hard to write a beginning when you’re already in a middle of something.

I stress my interest in orthography as an antithesis to any interest in metaphysics – perhaps that’s only because I wasn’t born into speaking this language as a native – this acquired tongue of having migrated from Poland in 1994… I can still remember being thrown into the deep-end of attending St. Augustine’s Primary School in Barkingside – not knowing any of the language – having to learn it myself for the most past – oh, god – is a covering letter something that allows any autobiographical references?

It took me 2 years to read Heidegger’s Being and Time… somewhat longer to read Kant’s Critique of Pure Reason (as I tell people who haven’t read it, the last section – Transcendental Methodology reads like fan-fiction) – I thought I had to have some juggernauts of literature behind me – did I read them slowly or, thoroughly? Perhaps the latter – but here’s to no peacock parading – I could muster reading William Burrough’s the Soft Machine in one afternoon – other influences – mostly American Beatnik – but I sometimes find myself translating Horace from Latin:

Sic raro scribis, ut toto non quater anno membranam poscas, scriptorum quaeque retexens, iratus tibi, quod vini somnique benignus nil dignum sermon canas. Quid fiet?

You rarely write, your desire for parchment hardly quadruples in a year, you rarely write, you strike-through, correct, angry with yourself: that from excesses of wine and sleep – the satyr in you has waned. Say, why?

I once had ambitions for a side project that would involve me translating Julian Tuwim’s Jarmark Rymów (Rhyme Fair) – but I was dragged by a dog’s leash of doubt, whether it was worth sacrificing the rhymes for a translation – very witty poetry nonetheless.

I hope this letter is not taken seriously – my impeding concerns are rather bland and I’ll blatantly state that I have no cut-throat ambition left in me (if, if, there ever was any to begin with) – perhaps I’m treating this more as an experiment of blasé-faire than anything even mildly associated with stringent laissez-faire... or perhaps the minimal requirements for this letter, what is left to fulfill?

Pseudonym: Matthew Conrad / Mateusz Konrad / Mateuš Conrad; the estimated word count I’ll leave as a post-scriptum – as a nota bene though: I have a fetish for butchering the German language / wondering why the only remnants of German in English, are so closely Siamese tied in chemical names of compounds, e.g.: cyclohexanecarbonyl chloride – where is the standard Oxford Dictionary English (-) hyphen to ease the optical spaghetti tangle? i.e. cyclo-hexane-carbonyl chloride? Perhaps the apostrophe could replace the hyphen?

All that I could propose in a summary of this letter having come to its natural conclusion, I’d very much appreciate a reply of some sort… even the most blatant FUCK YOU would be much appreciated, actually: even celebrated! I’d like to think I sent this letter to a place of some sort of reply capacity – and not in some billionaire’s vain attempt (Elon Musk sending a Tesla Roadster with David Bowie’s oeuvre on CD into space) of broadcasting: I’m here / “you’re” there into oblivious space… or the Arecibo experiment… I just hope I’m not pushing the boundaries in discovering extraterrestrial life-forms in imploring the reader of these words to fathom the – seemingly now, outdated – standards of social etiquette – even if this would require the already stated profanity; all the better – otherwise I will have to conclude that I’m attempting to make contact with extraterrestrial life-forms – or some variant of the tlamacazqui of the receding hairline & bookworm cult.

Yours faithfully...

how not to take such things seriously,
i am almost jealous of the sort of people...
no... i am jealous of the people
who use the internet to merely bank,
email and shop...

why did we have to do more than merely
bank, email and shop?
why did we have to air our concerns,
our... this that and the other...

i'm jealous of people who only have
practical uses for the internet...
they bank, email and shop...
sometimes catch-up on the news...

never has having an opinion been
so exhausting...
i just watch the krabbemensch
in the comment sections
of pop videos and wonder...
why haven't you left comments?
why have you always made d.m.
conversations...
and never bothered with the thread?

take a holiday: spend some time
with old people...
build a castle with only two books
you'll be reading...

also the glorious view waiting:
a graveyard... it just...
entices you to calm sleep:
never to be plagued by dreams...
or freud...
and somehow keeping this language
wrapped up with
all the current socio-political
bull-whipping-out-a-shit...
can't anyone ever escape the news,
even in its regurgitated format?

for starters...
being kept up with the information
from around the world...
has precipitated in giving me
a variation of constipation...
i would very much like
to experience some local
diarrhoea - on the local level...
where, "where"...
nothing really happens -
except as much fun as walking
past a necrologue hanging on
a public notice board.