if i truly want to write, in that i can write the most
mediocre... then i somehow have
to leave reading Knausgård's min kamp
in Polack... and look for something:
"invigorating", something "thought" provoking,
something - quiet out of the ordinary -
i have to fathom a writing in variant
of a reply... to crease the airs and pompous natures
of the natives and, try, at least try,
to not succumb to their natural,
national prides of literature...
i need but a few citations before i can begin...

one? Lars von Trier's nymphomaniac...
the confession of the woman
about... finding african men attractive...
i absolutely agree...
as a white man: i too wouldn't mind
being fucked by an african athlete...
their facial exfoliation is always
compensated by their bodies...
they are: pre-packaged material...
but i'm not a white woman trying to turn
a celibate's cock into an oyster
for the anti-thesis of arousal...
a white woman... can find a black man
attractive...
there's nothing wrong with that...
but... ahem... ah' 'hem 'hem...
i'm not a white woman...

and i'm not going to flank in agreeing
to the "argument"...
why then... am i not attracted
to african women?
wo'ah! wait a minute! wait... a minute...
sure... the odd ivory beauty...
but she needs to be Kenyan charcoal...
skin in moonlight like coco butter
and invigorating in her plum shape
like a polished prune...
she deserves an exfoliating presence
of anti-cubism...
rare... but it happens...
but it's not your standard fucking piston
mechanism of... "attraction":
if the cross-breeding trans-ethnicity
zoo we're aiming at...
who am i?
face riddled with Beelzebub taking aim
while shitting maggot-puss-acne
into it...
me... in the role of Salomon and...
the Queen of Sheeba?!

the alt. route? i'm still not going to
"gear up" a Japanese porcelain beauty...
i might be better found
haggling over a Mongolian workhorse of
a woman: while finding a job as
a blacksmith on the steppe...
as far as the eyes can see...

but no... there is no immediate + / -
in terms of looking at a black woman...
in the rare exception that she is in africa...
and looks like a bloated doughnut...
Kenya... yes... a thomas jefferson hard-on...
but i can't...
somehow somehow succumb
to the masochism of
western femininity of:
having to "stress" finding african men
attractive...

what if i can't find myself willing
to compensate, when it comes to the women?!
am i willing / not willing enough -
to unearth some 2nd tier
unfathomable fact?

this is me... trying to find out the mysteries
of the beauty bound to porcelain Japan
and... the niqab woo:
or the woo under the niqab...
i've heard Turkish Sultans' tales of this
beauty... one noteworthy citation...
a tele-novela beau...
i sometimes spend a month or so
with my grandmother...
turkish tele-novelas are a "thing"
for old-polish grannies...

Cesur ve Güzel:
i.e. Tuba Büyüküstün (short-hair though)...
tom-boy... short-hair...
what is this fetish with hair?
women with short hair in their youth
are... ginger pixy fairies...
don't all older women trim their
hair into a qusi perm?!

Ubu Roi - Alred Jarry -
apparently it's funnier than Hamlet...
well... thank god...
it not being anything concerning
the laughs and giggles
should it come to...
Macbeth... i haven't read Hamlet...
if the literary critic says:
Ubu Roi is as funny as Hamlet...
i'll believe it...
Macbeth is sacred ground and...
there should be nothing funny about it...

1-dimensional man points out...
Poland - i.e. nowhere...
i too think it's coincidental that the "tragedy"
of Smolońsk happened...
oh no... i'm not a PiS (prawo i sprawiedliwość)
sort of guy to begin with...
but... the fact that Donald Tusk
was kept alive?
not an insider of underming E.U.
policies? no...
good... i'm bucket-farting and burping out
vomit from the whole Brexit "nuance"...
to begin with...

i beg to differ... where's... France?
or... Fegh-ugh-ç-eance?
(there's a surd letter in there...
somewhere)...
looking for the greek sigma?
where is Fwąnç?!
the joke should always be better than
the fucking pastry:
pastry au bataclan...
i'm not ignorant to forget...
but i'm pretty sure there was
no talk of... pâte... either...
so... where's the joke and the nice fuck you
and who's what and who's who?
last time i heard?
there was talk of a celebration
where "killing an arab"
was re-invented and testicles were
gorged on...

listen... the irish and the scots might be
bad at: "recitations" in english...
but the fwench are just...
they have a language for the deaf that
see... and a language for the blind
that hear...
lucky for both parties...
who can begin to stomach...
such suffix eating?
you really do need english revisionist
schlang (some, german, impromptu)
and graffiti to read any of it...

chair - chaise - shy-ace: sh'ais...
earth - terre - teR (hark that phlegm bitch out...)
because it would be... teRRé!
memory - mémoire -
me!-moi-ah... the "loirre" valley...
thought - well... at least that's the proper
stance on the otherwise given: olé!
god - dieu - mein gott!
fuck it: replace it with: dew...
W = E, I, U... in fwench...
don't worry, in case either A or O appear...
hope - espérer -
is this where i eat the suffix, proper?
espé(rer)? or... since the fwench don't trill
but hark and don't do the english think
of tarantula bite numb the R...
esper? Rrrrrrrrrrr...

black - noir - stressor: ah -
sub. suffix added to know-ah... no-ah...
it's "nuanced"...
giants: géante (feminine)
and géant (masculine)...
yes... but only for someone who sees...
if there isn't a: géanté
to hell with any feminine / masculine
distinction!

i love the line though:
if there weren't any Poland!
there would be no Poles in it!
true... i'm not there either...
what i do find in the western warsaw
station are a bunch of mongols
and ukranians...
so no poles in poland...
last time i checked: no french
in algeria, either...
or paris... for that, matter...

now i can get a joke...
i get a joke...
an eddie izzard joke: i get...
lampooning laurel & harry via
chris evans...
i want a stupid joke...
i want a joke i can laugh at
at a universal level:
as if god talking...
with no pressure for stating my i.q.
and ethnicity...
but a tragedy?
now... that's something i want
to think about...

i just came back from... Poland...
my grandmother's brother died...
my grand-uncle...
you know... reading Camus'
l'etranger wasn't as bad...
it was quiet nice...
the sort of nice associated with someone
wanting to get a sun-tan
rather than eat Mao's red-braised pork belly...
typical french existential bullshit:
it's not enough that
they master the pastery...
they think they can claim the zenith
of existential qualms...
zee deutscheschweine und ihr wilhelmtröge!

no... it's not demeaning...
they are the piggy-banks...
who didn't pump monkey into them
to: noch nie steigen uber alles?
marshall plan for the west...
communism for the east...
turks for germany...
former colonial subjects for the british...
shit on me... why wasn't the Polish
language popular enough?
why?! whyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy?!
or cyrilic - or...
"they" never really care
about staying in Greece... either...
do "they"?

i jut came back from Poland and
my grandmother just buried her brother...
and... by the looks of it...
she came out as...
being more thankful than the heatwave ended...
i actually didn't mind...
my mother "thought" it was unusual
that she remained so, "cold"...
but like i told my grandmother...
about her brother dying...

you know... i want to feel some sort
of agony, i want to mourn out an empathy with you,
for you... but... i'm choking on the fact,
that, even though my blood tie has died:
i am rummaging for mourning...
but i can't rummage for something that
is already absent in my life...
in that: it was always absent in it...
i want to mourn
but i am unable to do so...
i am only being fed some sort of
an anaesthetic...
there's just not much to feed a "compensation"
with...
i would mourn...
i'd be the 2nd Oedipus of this world...
if my language died...
i'd be the 2nd Oedipus and twice over:
the man who also cut his tongue out...

i can tease the German,
i can tease the Russian,
i'll speak this English...
but i can't imagine being Irish at this point
in time...
sure... i could lament...
that there is no "ancient" forboding phonetic
encoding system in place...
that i... only inherited these alphabet...
that i would have to rummage
in runes...
ⰁⰀⰄ ⰁⰑⰣ (bad boy)...
it's always, "somehow" to Rome preceding...
the glagolitic script is a nuance...
new: "ᚱᛟᚷᚢᛖ"...

but i can't imagine... Irish without Gaelic...
or Wales without Cymraeg...
not without a language...
Polish was always going to become
a european cosmopolitan language...
something Mongolians
and Ukranians would learn...
to later fuck off to h'america...
and sure... we also have our "Cymraeg"...
Kashubian / Silesian / take your pick...

the last point of interest is:
when language is spoken of so nonchalantly... (sept 10, 2019)
'IZHEVSK, Russia - a 79-year-old man who lit himself
on fire protesting against Russia's language policies
in the capital of the Volga region of Udmurtia has died.

Albert Razin, was holding two signs reading "If my language
dies tomorrow, then I'm ready to die today"
and "Do I have a Fatherland?"

The Udmurt language is of the Uralic stem, which
also includes Finno-Ugric languages.
The number of people who speak the language has
decreased from 463,000 in 2002 to 324,000 in 2010.

There are some 560,000 ethnic Udmurts living in
Russia's Volga region, Kazakhstan, and Estonia.'

well... so much for any natives of Côte d'Ivoire making
a similar protest...
clearly this is, not going to happen...
perhaps i'm too fucking ignorant...
perhaps i went beyond looking for runes
and found the glagolitic script...
but what does the african phonetic encoding
look like?
whatever it is... it hasn't surfaced in this
white-shit hole of a cultural vacuum
i currently live in... either...

global warming my ass...
a tiger's death = the udmurt will say hello:
in udmurt... while i... will find...
myself... watching the mechanism of
the stomach inside-out...
while english disintegrates and digests itself
into johannesburgian-ghetto-parle
of the internet: akin to... CUL8R...
or goo-goo-gaga for adios amigos...
and don't forget to fart into
that majestic hot-air balloon of y'arse.