only today... singin' in the rain... has anyone noticed, what an old movie looked and felt like, gene kelly smiling till it would probably start hurting... apart from the technicolor magic of acrylic glee of welcomed colour... how much little the editing process took... how the old yield of actors had to remember more, how editing would never have to take up to 20 angles for a 2 minute sequence... how back then shots were done with a panorama intention... even if there was no panorama to begin with - no western zooming out riding across a valley western... modern cinema has become so disorientating... i can imagine only one hell... even correcting the spelling mistakes of a dyslexic would seem like heaven... compared to the sort of editing / cutting that the modern movie has to involve... once upon a time the cinema had ambitions to translate theatre - and there would be a stage (a prolonged frame) - where actors could forget their lines... 1950s cinema... so little editing...

what wouldn't i do to peer from behind
the glassy glittering eyes
of king george III...

in the drama adaptation
when john adams (played by paul giamatti)
is entertained by george III
(tom hollander) - what i wouldn't
to give for peering from behind those
glassy mad eyes -

such adequate "demure"...
standing beside an empty throne:
as if playing the role of...
oh what's that ancient role...
when the king was still in his diapers...
overseer...
certainly not overlord...
whatever the hell the word was...

here's to three broken necks at the gallows
and thrice more rolling
down the bowling alley reserved
for the aristocrats coming from
the tip for top bowels of the buillotine...

i still never sing the english national anthem,
god be my witness i will never
sing: god save the queen...
not in a million years -
musically speaking? it's such an unbecoming
anthem...
it's (a) to short and (b)
the lyrics... ahem... pardon my notting hill
english (portobello road imitating
st. petersburg - in soft hues...
sunrise light torquise, ice-cream mint green...
frightened by a ghost canary...
magenta pink...
shy macaroon orangutan orage...
well... that's st. petersburg and portobello
road in a nutshell...
i'll never sing this bloody anthem...
but i will... ha ha...
they can sing their god save the queen
all they want... i have enough musical
sensibility to retort with...
but i will whistle the british grenadiers' fife 'n' drum...
i'd whistle la marseillaise if i had to...
and no one, no one...
no one is going top, sorry... not even Shakespeare
(shay-kee pear) is going to topple
the top hit mark of the most perfect
song for the most perfect of an occasion
via robert burrrrrn's: aud lang syne...
forget it... shakespeare canne d'ee yt
ye fyggin' geet...

even if i am the assimilated immigrant...
i'm no pauper in wanting to knowing
what best suits me to know...
unlike some militant pakistani...
i can chameleon myself between
the brits and the non-brits as i so choose...
i don't need to remind myself
of the raj india...
but i will not sing you
a god save the queen...
the better half of me has shown
that if by any measure aligned...
the british brigadiers' fife 'n' drum...

i would never succumb to the sort immigrant
assimilation endeavours closely
associated with former british subjects -
militant integration...
i will entertain this: zunge...
with all my anglophilic heart's desire...
i will acknowledge the genius behind
cricket - to be honest i was a little bit worried...
the cricket world cup ended and i was
fiddling my thumbs... what to do? what to do?
saved by the ashes...
5 tests, 1 test = 5 innings...
100 overs...
1 over = 6 throws...
lunch break & a tea break...
another month, give or take...
and why wouldn't i acknowledge
the genius sausage roll...
the full english? the only breakfast
you ought to have... HP sauce?!
come on!
but i will not play the sort
of former british subject sycophant...
i will speak my mutterzunge when i wish...
to an englishman: i will speak english...
but i will not integrate to the point where
i have to speak english in private!
forget it!
ja będe mówił tym co pierw
poznałem, nie tym: co nabyłem!
i think this is the part where
i can honestly affirm white "privelege"...
you'd have to be a slav mingling among
the saxon crows...
i'm just good at playing the chamaleon role...
but i am not a militant integration
radical...
i can play the role of an englishman
to a greek...
but i can't play the role of an englishman
in essex, i'll be sussed out...
i'll still be asked: where are you from?
the accent - it's not inherited -
it's... acquired... that one joke i heard
in an edinburgh comedy club fits the bills:
it goes along the lines of...
you might recognise my accent...
it's... educated...
barrel of salty herring worth of laughter...
ha ha... well sorry if i can't spaghetti
out a cockney or sluggish vowel / consonant
eating essex...
ou'wight luv' - fuck me:
and there i was, thinking you couldn't break
your tongue on that sort of a waggle...
numbed titties verifying a tarantula's kiss / bite...

i will integrate to the point where
i'll speak the language...
but please don't put me into a pakistani
mannequin mentality of grievances
exploited akin to Rotherham...
i'll speak it! i'll speak it!
but... sorry... i'm just not suited for
the sort of english psychology that has
to be associated with the current
porno cuck fetish of post-colonialism...
no... i've already managed a half-way
meet-up... like fuck i'll become
the next Czesław Miłosz -
who emigrated to the u.s.a. and kept
thinking in polack -
thus writing in polen...
don't worry... i have a room for either
language to exchange duty hours
when it's necessary...
i still can't tell you all the months
in the year in my mother tongue...
i can't remember the alphabet in english...
i was taught the sing-along version...
a bit pointless, if you ask me,
learning the alphabet...
might as well focus on the bank of vocab.,
i'm pretty sure that...
a b c d e f g h i j k m n l o p q r s t u v
w x y z... oh shit... i remembered it this time...
26? really?
lucky me...
what about aadvark?
is that better or worse to remember?
what the hell does a b c... v w x y z actually imply?
does the order matter if you can remember
all the letters being used?!
the cited sequence...
it's not exactly orthodox...
sure... learn the alphabet... but in no particular
order... as long as you note all the 26 letters...
what the hell would it matter if there's
an arbitary order associated with remembering them?
a b c g h i d e f etc.,
hell... let's go for the imperially
reasonable approach: vowels first, consonants second...
a, e, i, o, u... five vowels: a pentagram...
and now the consonants... after all...
the french invented this... this... bollocks of memory
erosion... this car battery acid...
the fwench... who... without their fucking croissants...
would be as western culture savvy
as a bulgarian armed with a fucking smoked salmon,
dill, mayo...
or an italian with a baltic serving of herrings...
god forbid! god forbid! "something" could...
could possibly be wrong!

if you remember all the 26...
how about a whirlpool schematic?
p c x
r h q
b f u k w
d g l z
a m v i s
y f j t
e n o shit... one letter too many...
let me spot the mistake!

.... = a minute

..! ha! found it! f'f'fucking found it!
f f... who the hell does the linear
approach to an alphabet these days?
what good is linear... when you have
to remember something that's not linear...

abacus... alphabetical spelling...
abstain... ditto...
ab- prefix...
so...
the de- prefix words...
and whatver suffixes come to mind...
i'm not going to bother citing all of them...
nothing about the alphabet is linear...
the alphabet is a cloud of chaos...
that... you are to make order of...
into words... which abide by
any linear alphabetical dictum...
for a fucking sing-along!

you remember the 26? well then...
into the deep end with you...
swim little motherfucker... swim!

p.s. i only learned two lessons from the orient...
from the Taoists i learned:
the best way to help the world,
is for you to forget the world
in order that the world might forget you...
and from Zen:
the the form of ensō (en-soo) -
hand-drawn in one uninhibited brushstroke -
to express a moment when the mind is free
to let the body create...

i will use lewd language -
then again... a lewd word in a certain language
acts as a conjunction,
or a punctuation mark...
conjunction / punctuation mark...
same shit different cover...
it still perform the deed to mark
the lesser / the more inviting form
of rhetoric... pig rhetoric...
common... verbreitetmannsprechen
(-spreschen if you're an east german)...
i imply rhetoric - not so much
a simulation of parliament rhetoric
as: persuasive oration...
not exactly ceterum censeo Carthaginem
esse delendam of
Kat(o) - ten, tamtem i nigdy niby inny
herr zensor...
more... rhetoric that invites no...
ackward silences... a group-in-think
sense of an exhausted topic of conversation
attempting to orate a new...
blessing of the waggling tongues...
blah blah...
those were my two lessons
from oriental philosophy...
any others became muddled in me
succumbing to claim that the blue indians
of the raj came up with the most superior
cuisine...
which probably saved them from being
shoved into a fucking
sanctuary... oh sure...
the deities too...
but i give their defiant spirit as more
associated with their eloquently sophisticated
cuisine than whether shiva farted
or whether vishnu cackled.

p.s. shit... is eloquently sophisticated a
tautology?!