i've seen how shared accomodation looks like,
five guys sharing a flat in central london,
my former drug dealer used to live
in one of these space...
we exchanged tastes in music:
what was it... oh... right...
he really liked donovan: sunshine superman,
when cider was making a comeback
and that song was featured in
a magners comercial...
i still prefer three kingfishers from the debut...
he used to do the rounds
in a cardiff hospital -
i don't even know what he would
harvest... piss or blood...
anything goes...
i once had to smoke a joint with him
and his fuck buddy...
while i smoked they measured cocaine
into A4 sized pieces of paper...
and we talk about music
and the colts happily coming for
some hits of epileptic ecstasy mick jagger
jitters...
one way to live... live with five other males...
fireplace? what fireplace?
they would congregate around
a t.v., play video games and talkhead
into every imaginable ditto from pop culture...
the cockroach laif...
speedy sons with all that was missing:
sunglasses mexican margarets and
cobwebs... enough of the dust...

i can't, well, i "almost" can't believe i'll be
freed from england for 6 weeks...
dr. zhivago (pasternak) 'ere i come!
pan wołodyjowski (sienkiewicz) 'ere i come!
i will... i willl sneeze... and then breathe!
i will be freed from the shackles...

what's better than living with your parents?
living with your grandparents...
it's like these life coaches and these mig-tau
"coaches"... these incels...
they just don't get...

cantiga 23 - como deus fez vynno d'agua...

their shit doesn't really sell...
when you have someone listening who has
inclinations to be a monk...
no, a real monk... one of the Taize community
monks...
give me the nag hammad library...
and i'll fulfil my life like so...
i see the... Smaug bounty...
a t.v. in a room, a guitar...
etc. etc., but no books...
why would i want a t.v. in the same
room i sleep in?

i have no argument christianity -
i just have inhibitions...
i need to die in a manner in such a way
they they are settled...
no one seems to even "mind"
the third, hiroshima, nagasaki
in the form of the nag hammadi library!
no one... completely fucking
oblivious!

yet that's the reality...
between me renting a flat with five other
men... slobs...
and living with your parents...
what can be better?
living with your grandparents...
i'll walk my granny to the shops
with her holding me,
towing beside her granny vehicle...
i'll cook, i'll clean...
i'll sit with her in the morning
solving crossword puzzles...
i'll make my grandfather the first
poached egg in his life...
fuck it... i'll even do him
a poached egg with hollandaise sauce

i've parked my libido somewhere
where i can't find it,
i can't my 20s either...
they just left me with a "skin head"...
i thought i had hair on my head...
i decided to double-check and grow
a beard...
apparently i have pubes on
my face... and a lawn of 2mm prickly
things on my head...
i wouldn't bother counting...
i inhierited so many problems
that i simply cannot fathom moonshine
bald...

but tomorrow i'll be heading
toward a less travelled route...
no tourism, zero...
from a multicultural england i'll be heading
toward a homogeneous culture...
my english will last from...
the airport to central Warsaw...
when i just might have to
help a Greek visiting...
to come to grips with...
no one is expected to speak either
English or Russian or German in
this part of the world...

but i'll be leaving so much baggage behind...
i would have otherwise invested
in England... if i had some material quests
to fulfil... a trip to the maldives...
a car... a house...
but i own a library...
a personal library very much akin
to a library that some of the characters
in the Roman Polanski film: the 9th gate
might admire...

i own books... a h. g. wells':
an outline of history...
the beauties of sterne (1811)...
i can't drive a car...
i always preferred a double-decker bus...
but i do know how to ride
a horse...
reins and bit tug to the left...
heel pushed into the horse's torso
on the left... turn left...
vice versa when wanting to turn to the right...

riding a horse in gallop is
better than sex...
better in sex... in terms of...
not exhausting your memory...
oh hell: sex and mirrors
and St. Petersburg's polar nights
are all grand...
but you just need a snap of
the fingers moment to bind yourself
to a "recalibration" of
the sigma of existence...
riding a horse in a gallop is just that...
you fucking a girl is like...
the insect orgy bonanza...
insignificant... enlarged... "somehow"...

but tomorrow i'll be leaving multiculturalism
for 6 weeks...
i'll probably try to forget this tongue...
i was this close to knowing
the result of the ashes...
australia obviously won...
and the rugby world cup will kick off...
but... i won't mind...

i'll be attempting to take my
hypochondriac and dementia riddled grandfather
for a walk to the graveyard one fine
afternoon...
the children will learn school
as all children do some September...
i'll miss the September of England...
probably the only god-send month
of these isles...
i will not have to deal with proud
commonwealth peoples...
who speak oh such perfect english!
i will come across my 8 year old self...
before he even agreed to keep
this lobster-rat-sheep-hitler's moustasche chimera
cooling in an igloo...
of the rotting mind...

i'll be taking around 10kg of "baggage"
with me...
but i'll be leaving around...
1994... 2019... 25kg x 25years =
625"kg" of baggage...

mgtow / pua... you're talking to someone
who has ambitions to be a monk...
someone who says:
i've seen how they live...
mid-20s... 5 men huddled together...
what can be better than living with your
parents? living with your grandparents...

because this is your lucky day!
guess what!
you'll be living with your fucking in-laws!
you'll be living with the girl's parents!
hoo-ray!

but i will give this language up...
that's more relaxing than people finding
"relaxing" adjective to the bullshit they do when
on holiday somewhere in Mexico...
i'll take a double-break...
i'll just... eject this tapeworm of
a language from my head...
and go straight to the roots...
and i'll not speak it...

polish on the radio, polish on the t.v.,
polish in the sprint...
and i'll read in polish...
and i'll write very little in this...
tongue...
that's how you fucking holiday!
passing through warsaw will be a treat...
jestem w domu... jestem w domu...
nie jestem w domu, nie jestem w domu...
seeing old Praha...

anyone can tire of this multicultural
carousel... no, really...
i sometimes want to see my face without
using a mirror...
or a puddle...
but i can never see it...
there's never a generic reply...
there's always something that keeps
me walking in heels or on tip-toe...
i live among ghosts...
i am a ghost face among africans,
i am a ghost face among indians,
i am a ghost face among europeans...
and they are all ghosts of me,
as i am a ghost of them...

we happenstance care to "share" something...
we don't share anything...
when parliament comes to state
the law of shared identity...
no one knows!
democratic laws... ah ha ha...
there are such things...
but in this cocktail...
constitutional laws of parliament
are minded less...
when: so many other "expectations"
are being minded...

2 hours of keeping my eyes closed...
will equal to 4 hours of sleep...
then i'll have to cross that...
grand canyon of an airport terminal...

in 1994 you could come and fall in love
with the England of the English...
2019... there's hardly an England
to fall in love with,
or an Englishman to rub shoulders again
to fathom: how did it all begun?

when once you had the lingua turismo...
now the language is being
ripped apart by politics -
old griefs "had" to surface...
what your grandparents didn't muster...
you will have: type / typo of
mentality...

it's the same old story...
the chihuahuas bark...
the alsatians bite...

so much fucking hot-air verbiage
to lift this icarus of a hot-air-balloon
off the ground...
in order to see a replica
of the hindenburg! poof! up in firework
crackers and perhaps some
strobe lighting!

i'll give this my prime concern
for surviving this blitz barrage...
as i prescribe a remedy...
a "remedy" for bilinguals...
"schizophrenics"...

i'll still have to face up to being
a "foreigner" in my homeland...
as i am "home" in a foreign land...
the faces of "home" are starting
to dwindle...
my grandmother's brother
(great uncle) died this year...
i'm waiting for turnips
and for death by rat poison
"cockroaches" of my grandparents...
because if i don't see their
faces and hear their voices...
i'm not home...
i'm just someone less,
but somehow "more" with:
that well invested tourist who knows
the language of the locals...

if the Germans think it necessary
to see the Netherlands as their
promised land...
i see Switzerland as my promised land...
death is but manure...
nothing quiet critical -
something impeding -
i would like to face this reality
without any inhibitions
of... waiting around the corner type
of changes of fate...
most of these happen
post-mortem to begin with...
hanging for dear life is
like...
once you allowed the budgerigar out
of the cage...
and gave it the freedom
of a volume of a room...
outside of the room?
the budgerigar becomes a butterfly...
2 days tops...
butterflies get 2 weeks...

i have to stress:
i would be the best 2nd best Sisyphus...
i wouldn't even bother rolling
the stone...
the scenario doesn't place
a demon with a hot-rod of iron
to make me...
make me... roll the stone up
the hill to watch it subsequently
roll down it...
i'd become Sisyphus the Wise...
i'd sit and contemplate the stone...
perhaps a doorknob?
perhaps a door?
what is a stone?
a stone disguised as a mountain
with a chance to implode in such
a way as to give birth to a cave?
why roll it?
if there's no manic demon demanding
i roll the bloody stone...
why not sit with it?
that's what always disturbed me
when reading A. Camus' the myth
of sisyphus...
why roll it?
wasn't the birth of philosophy...
given a genesis precedence with the myth
of Sisyphus?
why role the stone...
when you can, just think...
about the stone?
does the stone really require you to roll it?
the stone didn't ask to be
the source of the menial / vanity prone
endeavours of man...
Sisyphus did have a choice...
roll the stone...
or let is sit... proud... pronounced...
3D... fuck... enough time would pass
the stone would turn Sisyphus into
a 2-dimensional prospect:
a 3-dimensional object always requires
time, space... and that missing "adjective"...
but stare at a 3D object long enough...
an essential dimension of your being
disintegrates...
enough time to reach "eternity"?
time disappears...
i struggle with Sisyphus...
since there was no clarifying impetus
to not use the stone as a thinking return to
a thinking exercise...

i just need a break from thinking,
speaking, reading, writing in english...
i need to capture the room i'm sitting it...
to be empty... devoid of me...
who's going to occupy it?
a cat... sleeping on the chair i'm sitting
on right now...
she'll spend 28 of the 24 available hours
here...
she'll sometimes make others aware of
her presence whenever she will
tackle the perils of toiletry
and hunger...

that's what you learn about petting cats...
as much as i love dogs...
as much as i loved dogs in my youth...
i couldn't never bring myself
to owning one once more...
having to break my heart
on also having to own a leash
or a muzzle...
cats teach you that...
you can't own a leash...
or a muzzle...
you pet them on the basis of their own
whims...
give me a dog... but don't give me
a fucking leash!