the world comes knocking at my door,
i mournfully turn it away,
i have no \"concern\" for it...
although: i\'m content that some
proud noses can be eased into
sandpaper -
the world comes knocking at my door:
any other year, month or day
i\'d gladly welcome it with my usual
reservation and distance...
big fat world:
with its interludes in geocentric mantras
and events:
how certain i am: death like a gravity...
the only authentic democracy
of this forever inexhausted necropolis...
the world comes knowing at my door,
i pretend a courtesy,
i put on a mask i even gnash my teeth,
i rattle my skull with a knock-knock
hoping someone isn\'t \"there\"...
how different it might have been,
to be so adamantly involved in all the details
shown:
i would like to return to
the scrutiny of details: incremental
details of bothersome - aligning -
now i\'ll hear the other side
jump through rings of fire...
the world and me and some variation
of: \"i was there\"...
so much for coordinating myself
to attire a tailored respectability...
\"lucky\" for me that i\'m still mourning...
the world can heave
a purpose for upping its medicated
sustenance: or a variation of what these words
have already ushered in...
the frenzy of vulture feasting...
the mosh-pit wriggly teases of:
no... these aren\'t maggots...
these are sewer folk...
which is not to demean
the purpose of the i.q. of rats...
oh how confusing it all must seem...
so much for taking sides...
one side most pronounced:
the all-invigorating spice of random,
chance, hell... betting through and through...
my last chance at rhetoric:
214 + 20 + 15 + 16 = 265...
magic nevada:
how one hopes to live in mongolia...
or moldova... from time to time...
because living in this... focus point
of nations could most certainly become
so demeaning having to stress one\'s
over-inflated status as citizen X...
just saying... november in Estonia...
somewhere so pigeon-fiucked silly
with a \"despotism\" of absence...
vacancy... to hell with the classical
model of heidegger\'s dasein, i.e. \"concern\"...
one might take a taoist approach:
best the world forget me
and i forget the world:
who\'s to make light of voice:
the psychopaths, the homosexuals,
apparently too the hughey lows of Jar
of televised aviation... vivi section:
and the new brigadiers of qwing tranny:
not... vested in interests
of the economy surround stilettos...
my voice to the shadows!
my arm forged a better agility to begin with:
i was never adamant on rhetoric per se...
so a few words in the auld zunge:
noli ex me quaerrere - do not ask me...
probably my favorite:
quales sint, varium est,
esse nemo negat...
the nature of the gods is disputed,
but no one denies their existence...
i.e. to speak \"ill\" of the hebrews while
keeping sacred their own
\"censorship\" of ha-shem: the name...
the name with a second name:
the tetragrammaton...
fuckety fuck fuck parrot clue...
i\'ll murder my tongue
with profanities but i will not
utter THE NAME...
hell... i\'ll go as far as apprreciate
the plural variation: elohim...
should it be of concern...
how Balaam would cut enough
skull and scalp:
and make a bowl from a kippah /
a tonsure...
Quintus Ennius... come to think of it:
we don\'t exactly speak prose...
do we? since we don\'t speak prose
we most certainly don\'t speak poetry:
we at best (probably) stage it...
come to think of it:
rhetoric is ugly when, otherwise,
prose could be staged...
but we stage poetry,
we stage persuasion...
prose is hardly kept...
in conversation...
the odd flashes of its existence...
elbow through a line of waiting rabbis:
to reach the ear of the deity...
because what is the arithmetic of names
concerning monotheism:
99 - 72 = 27:
chiral leftovers...
how i will glorify thee hebrew deity
because: it\'s so perfectly worded:
phonetic... memetic... however you\'d
like to: how the greek delta implodes
and... turns a clockwise glee:
upright Y... and how that\'s a tongue
of a serpent...
i can bypass the hebrews and claim:
deity... little ol\' me in
a zephyr of the muzzies...
being told: no arabic! no go!
i don\'t need to celebrate the hebrews:
but their deity i can without
question...
i never indulge in rhyme: unless i\'m
polishing silverware or
sharpening my memory...
which is rarely seen:
since my memory is stiff with images
and hollowing of elephant tusks...
i wished that i would be able
to write with an ink
that was made from bone marrow...
the lesser sire came,
the lesser sire went...
the gods congregated around this
monstrosity of man:
this omni-litany of
infinite noun ascriptive purpose
of an imbecile god:
brain riddle follow through with
nothing but fudge or custard...
here, my credo:
i believe in the sadism of
a demiurge...
but i also believe in a justly surviving
purpose of a deity as tier above
the concentrated purpose
of man being left absentent...
the purpose of man and his laws...
to thieve to murder:
under the eternal spectacle of
gravity without fail...
man ordained a limitless purpose
for his laws:
to coincide with his sexual desires:
after all... we\'re not walking abortions!
we\'re not! china manages to allocate
purpose for over a billion people...
poor whittle Estonia allocates purpose
for a droplet of the same staged
volume of count...
i\'m cutting down on my ferocity of
desire for the simple reason that
some other new york middle-class pedestrians
need their complicated
over-psychologised lives to come to fruition...
i care about darwin as much
as darwin would ever care for
the topic of orthography...
or diacritical marker exfoliating within
the confines of english: which will never
actually happen...
prospect of teasing...
- and one of the first frost-biting nights...
how it settles upon my roof...
below to see...
the stars could be... disgraced...
frost and all this cold and this captured light...
like me extending into a mile of
red carpet and paparazzi snapping: shots
of either epilepsy or lightning...
spasmodic details aplenty...
borrowed from a time of gonzo journalism:
when hunter thompson was
riveting over the topic of herr reagan...
the people of Kamchatka...
were long ago asleep and
oblivious to the demands
of the affairs the cosmopolitan smurfs...
what if... marx and engels wrote
their little red book...
prior to the french revolution?
how... no matter...
the world keeps on knocking: it wants
all my already wasted attention span...
i own a door?
i don\'t, i hardly think, that i have ever
done so...
perhaps...
this tongue this hardly
essentially france, spain,
italy or the grief of... patent...
a germany... all that is necessarily: west...
come the concern:
is it an argument for pumpernickles
or for windmills!
is don quixote invoked?!
there is no need
for flipping a coin!
how atheists became
these tired old prunes:
momentarily detailed as influential
circa the years of the:
supposedly most progressive:
opening of a century:
because... as you know...
it\'s the 21st and some ancient rituals
of man would forever become
shaken, shattered...
unfathomably \"loitering\"....
mein teil:
as far east as is the promised land
of austria...
bollocks to the whole of greece
and the birth of the idea: hang your pendulum
elsewhere with your sword of Damocles...
lest we become this tragico-comic
slaves of anecdotes of a people best
expired when sentenced to ottoman rule:
because we can thank
the Venetians for that... no?