life is never what it seems to be, always reoccuring with a thought as put upon the length of arms that revolutionize this thought. . .for those that can be bought,
is day like today less then feeling of want to rot, because so simple as a breeze brought down your temperment to be pleased. . .caught in a storm, that has outlasted
longer then your heart to feel content and warm, to feel the essence of a breath among a group of bad breaths, in other words, to breath among a group of brothers and sisters
from whom you can gain so much. But life is never what it seems to be, instead you look yourself in the mirror pointing at me, you, fool. Glowing from ragging frustration,
the toll blows for you unsurpassable deflation, because it is not for your hand that grows for the motion, to pick which ******* **** you want to lotion. Spearing the reasons,
the ego is your hero, born to work zero, and trusted with such hand to uphold all by command. To twist on the ****, that opens your door, to circumstances i certainly care less
the **** to continue to explore. But with this slight little mention, please pay close attention because this song is a *****. At least to explain the message, my whole is a
whole that takes life time to experience and grow, and appreciate the things that stoop all the levels around me, no barrier, no door, just genuine life experience to bring me
to come to this point to explain to the world something within the self, that is described by astute persons, for whom these ideas carry on to fulfill an immense part of
something that is casually slipped in and never thought about because it is told within reason that humanity cannot be without such astute person's idealogy. For **** sake my
friend, if your have many common sense, think of the common thing that has driven you to come to the conclusion that you have come to about anything. Everything is absolute and
existent and is evoked through the means. . .from the time of your dissapating freedom, as kids, not as adults, because look at how adults are this days. They teach their kids,
and they let others teach their kids, but the kids never get the feeling of being free. I promiss you, that cry or emotion you have experienced due to lack of friendliness from a
neighboring ****, it is an instillement that sparks up many motions of your life to believe into bizarre things the world portrays. For myself, I find the starting point of my
when I first breathed my first sensible air, when I walked in my own two feet without guidance as to where my eyes were seeing. How can a mind be so tender, lost by the misconformed
train thogh after train thought. That is why I find schooling such a fascinating ruthless thing that can be broken into several fashions as to why is that case. But not even
reason to fashion an answer that I know will and is definetly can be viewed to abhold a societal dismark of "wF"is wrong with that guy's mind. He must be **** casing a storm to
bring an ideaology of thought or some **** religion, but that's what so funny to me. I find everything in life comedic, non concerning except at times if I feel similar to
someone adjacent because that is their essence in my prescence, and I feel the need to comfort it, to bring back the importance of that self. The part of life I find so comedic,
how bits and bits and everything with **** have all so many fascinating
things to learn from, the progression of one's mind never attains self worth in the world with something interfering. That something interfering for example, is me personally
writing what is can be taken as pointless and presenting my writing to you how I say I do. But did I say how I am presenting this writing, absolutely not. So brings the funny,
that school teaches the aspect of disfigurament of a person's essence. This thing is a complete oblivion to everything and anything, that because even though I did not specify
how I tone myself on this paper, there is the predicament to assume that I am very angry deranged person who but pokes charasmatically at something no one can grip, because he
is portraying me the image the way I was bred to see. But then it is so **** funny, you can also take my words describing
all that I intend to explain and stick them against me to simplify your circumstances as to the causitive feeling your experiencing, and maybe the confusion that I am creating
noting a significant point that I do write intentionally without any figurative wording, just simply talking about this to evoke a presence of an essence within you that is hindered,
by what type of **** everybody is wearing, where they are starring, who is ******* and adoring, and who's simply the **** because they don't fit in a deranged group, developed by
ego-centric level stingers, who but want either good for you, or it is the drive to profit from you everything. That is, words blah blah, can take stroll
on one day's role and make no complete sense, and all they did were live the sense of a tangled mind that fostered on what has been in some form, taught, over
what you can call a lively existence, considering how much traumatizing headaches this could cause, and resembled among a group of similar constituents with similar reasons
as to whatever the situation might be. I could point this out within one sentence, but it wouldn't hold any deeper understanding of this essence, so instead I decide with all
my reasoning and tremendous experience that even to some, even at this gritty expertisians who grease up the world to guess everything based on study and reasoning by other humans,
who believe all these ideas are shifters to the mind but always stem the relentless, functioning without any perspectives open to the idea that mold humans into one spatial and far better
so called community, which in all it's case has lost the essence to preserve the self without a ***** on the back. That ***** of course is the communal ****, that builds from a
trigger of words, then they teach the brain as if it is known how to be as a functioning unit. The amount doesn't matter, the amount that is thought brings hope, but the most
amount to the self is the function of you, like I feel I function amongst anyone because I have come to terms and realize what really important things I have learned from my life.
My life to some is gripping, only because it sounds unbelievable, but of that life I found the same driving forces that drive madness even today, and has been reaccuring for as
long as some form of expression has been. And in all humiliation of humanity, or as I consider it digression of being self around the bounds of comfortability, it has been
a grand experience to see many a people transgress from the point of my meeting them with a continuous contact to the point of now, and then, and future plausible. But then
and future plausible for me stand out as notions needless of evocations due to the fact that the self is a dwindling factor hung by a rope to swing the way the self first portrayed
to me, and then to the direction away from the first encountered mind. But in all, without senseless ignorance, I do understand these things are studied for a reason, for a reason
that is workable to be as they are for some variables do affect person's in many different way. That is why, the sense of one roof and too many aloof is but a big spoof. With
sensibility, how can forging something into your life help you to achieve greatness within self to portray it in a manner plausible. The only way is as a current flows, so do
the gulls.



where do you. . .come from. . .so many leagues unbeknownst among my dreams.
life is never what it seems. . .until i met your eyes.. . that built
my stongest implication, dire in desire to live a life inspired. . .
but then so is, to dream upon what tends on building motivation. . .
life is beautiful sensation. . .
from the first rainfall with you meeting outside spontaneous realm. . .
we fought the solemn wind to calm our cumbered spirits. . .taking flight,
fighting what might have been. . .semeless to even entertain. . .lost in
each others warmness. . .everything we built tended harmless.

now see how we have. . .related to each other's hearts. . .left the scrutinity
at obscurity prolonged on scale of mirror. . .where it has always belonged.
now it's just time darling
i promiss it wont be long until our roots bind the maximum strong.

from even across the plains, and mountain long trip stains. . .i feel
less pain. . .from what's the phrase non loose then gain, consorting time
absorbing each other's essence in rhyme.
the deepest of sensation of you. . .the meekest of me, makes me be the simple thing
that i've reconnected to . . .to realize, the sensation of you. . .from our first
encounter, i felt deep into your eyes. . .what agree's none behind with lies. . .
you evoked the deepest motion within my sphere of emotion not to betray myself within
this realm and dark frivolous potion. . .for my first set of emotion set on your tone behind
this potion. . .

i face you eye for an eye of every day until i die, but will ever will i die. . .not with you
never. . .darling angel, angel you are my expressive tone to call you so. . .nothing more
is the essense of you that you seem to implore, how busy life must be. . .we need feel free
to good ridance from this fee that life doesn't instill our good griefs beyond simple joys and beliefs. . .
for simply darling we are each other's heart beats, if it's simple smell of you
i will carry out my deeds in hell. . .beneath on hearth this earth, where all of us have been given
birth. . .but sent to spend what is driven by multipolluted cord, the time in blunt approach from
the thing that planted our roots. . .

how i feel you is simply too rich for some dirt to enrich you. . .i simply love and cherish
every bit of your essence, it has lifelong presence that even doing what they call
reminiscing, can't surpass living without missing what they have been reminiscing. . .
i cherish you beyond what little faith can teach about having bigger faith, when all my hopes
ride faithful slopes without elongated stops and rope bearing hopes. . .
my life i see to the extent to remorse only what some feel beyond scope of too openly. . .
but how can i retreat on what i can't stop to feel to protect you from, to their heads we are getting closely. . .
how in the scope of your first essence, can i give up to give way to ruin such pure essence. . .

i understand the world makes a feeling for such pure feeling is counted by blessings. . .
and in order for us to make it, that thought i feel senseless baking . . .constant roll of assorted
reasons for why we bleed to them treasons . . .for how can i express, how simple love doesn't
just digress, or something with time you invest. . .it's simply have been a joy of building
together a foundation for our nest. . .**** the rest. . .**** the pest. . .the world is the best
when sleepers are put to rest and the spark of commune are dwellers dwelling on these mischivers'
locked up chest. . .
to find out that darling. . .you simply are a joy to give me whole, that i'm not uninspired troll
reluctant to breath beside the one he placed his greed upon. . .or her, or it. . but all the essence
is closed and beat, by some known with ideals humanity can't consider too farfetched to bare to grit. . .
and sway to the essence that i hold in my glances. . .are as simple as these branded constructed norms
that most tend to manipulate and distort to one contorted form. . . .so all can bend into one socket for 365
degree view that most tend to agree. . .but never really see.

i know it's many there with this essense around the breeze of an aura, that simply are stranded too far apart by such horror.. .
to relent their essence with their prescence. . .to whom Barbarians find the essence is planted full on messes.
but how can we relate to such things darling. . .when the first glow of your essence showed me life full
of memories by the smile in your eyes, glowing beauty of any sort. . .i feel the world will someday . . .
take flight. . .in my way, but **** that. . .i'm to speak when my message is too simple, provoked only by the
thought, "protect the world its miser mother has been beaten". . .i can never relent, the message that is never
but to contradict what's life has not eaten. . .because of the times put to squares, living life, fostering a step back, into recluce. . .these biches wont even
say cause their too ****. . .to figure out that there's a worrior to stump them pleaded sheets out of wood. . .
i say this out for your sarcasm, elongated this song a bit to give you big ******. . .so when you repose, you
think nothing but what side are the pro's. . .and enter them into oblivion, grasping each by the billion, how
can i repose for i know, without one word it is and has been always come down to the special chosen million. . .

because my darling, i feel the miser that this essence in me you inspire, is up and target for no good. . .for
these pleaded fockers granted themselves unrelentless priveleges for centuries, changing diepers to giving
blood diamond marriages. . .riding on what they call prestine carriages. . .oh what,you don't recognize this
what the world has come to building from everybody's demise. . .feeding on high rise. . .splitting cots in the
rots, most alluded with plots and continued building upon the essence of you, keeping you stewed, brewing up a flu. . .
to this day when i met you. . .
will never cease your memory by only that it was circumstance. . .romance among thieves denying our chance to dance. . .
with one glance, their world just plopped a chance. . .for i know they know who im refering to, without a glance
i'm sure they feel my stance just to look **** eyed puking. . .**** blocking their world to rocking, while else where goes to foster under
this ugly monster. . .stooped on a porch ******* their air, without any underwear. . .haha must be due to how
much pull goes to their hair. . .how do i, they feel ****** diddlidy ****, what, is this person a human or a
restored frame of mind living. . .i can't be what's in my eyes to be believing, but i simply am retarted man. . .
a ******* rough psychological fighting bluff, to them i would. . .but trust me, how could i in my life, i
never could.. . .fall to false pretention, that life is a great invention, that my desire's are for simple
hires. . .for i know my life evolves around that which your first essence, darling, we built stronger everyday
to our future of what we call present. . .

life with you, i simply can't resent. . .but figure out what's best
to make what we don't need to make. . . because the essence uproots life's shrivel of what they call romances. . .
rooting upward from the seed we planted on the day people deside to bleed
all over the notion, that this emotion they conquered stems from shot of elixir handed down from the heavens by
some they call cupid fixer. . .relentless, they push through many dances. . .all so strained and constricted by many
glances, restricting their free essence to feel in whole their life is shot down by simple messes. . . .
but you, none taken, broken and mistaken. . .how can simple things be so. . .when you know my essence for you is
far greater then what one instance can remark for the whole, i feel simply. . .protect you from their hole and
bind you with my essence that strives in whole. . .even through tormenting lonely dances. . .when i saw the world an ugly form. . .
nowhere to want to run to, or feel
resentment.. . where's life going to go. . .if my essence in a whole feeds you. . .away to their
mysterious goal. . .i wouldn't have the patience to ***** their abnormal pretence, as if life is sweet with
such mysterious fowl. . .create little thought to create bigger picture, many aditions just create tensities
among those who bicker, loosing control each time only quicker. . .that's why it's never lesser to speak for the lesser
dresser, or the person they showed you, that looked like he ******* told you, but instead they made the mistake
to grow lower. . . cowering even bolder. . . what **** is the point of that. . .to say it none meeker as if its meant to outcast the bleeker
. . .i'm not that so. . .to scowl like fowl crackhead, loosing self reliance to gr

Above the beaches of Normandy
In ordered rows they lie.
They came to fight for freedom,
And for that many had to die.
They also lie in rows in Libya,
In Italy and Greece
The soldiers of democracy
Who died fighting for the release
Of millions locked in a tyranny
Oppressed by an evil mind
They died so that enlightenment
Could guide the future of mankind.
And in the East many more
Monuments stand in memory
Of the many millions of bravehearts
Who died in the fight to be,
Rid of the monstrous evil gang
And their racist and murderous ideaology,
Which planned genocide for these people
In order to steal their whole country.
And here we are almost seventy years
Since the end of that terrible war
Looking at election results which ask
What was all that dying for?
People in free democracies purchased
With those millions of victims blood
Have voted for the same ideaology
That will trample in the mud
All the freedoms for which they fought
And for which they gave their lives
It is as if history has never been taught
And that sheer ignorance above all else,thrives.

Tom Higgins 27/05/2014

i ended the day in the comforting night solipsism
rather than getting drunk
and ******
to the point of perfecting it with music
and writing to get a psychadelic event a siasmic
birth of the Mountains of Hawaii
as i were told:
if the sea would recede
and before Earth there was the Inhabitable Mars
and we don't know the history
or the archeology of mars
but we know the geology
and that is not enough to give the span
of time its proper justification
in the realm
of the conscious man:
with the thing-in-itself
of Napoleon's English Custard
for Brains
listening to music
last night i did the Chemist
i balanced the fates out
and today
i culminated into the rebirth of man
and i sorted about 4 things
and subconsciously reunited
myself with my past
one last time
in Poland
with my grandmother
and not my mother
and i want to hear
my grandmother one last time
before i go away
and i know this is REPRESSION
the res cogitans wages
a war with the res extensa
over the cogito
but the cogito submits to both...
to the world internal and the world
of the internally-extended...
i see REPRESSION of the res cogitans
with the Psychiatric term...
it is burning my tongue
i whisper to you
O wind my voice
as the choir persist to sing
and party and show flesh off
you hear the democracy of Hell
whisper in your ear...
i finished the night
by falling asleep
to Gorecki's symphony no 3 op 36
and i know there are *******
fans of Chopin like my mother
and Chopin music governs her house
and the band Enigma when
she's cleaning the house
that i made fun and then fell in love with
and to think two bottles
of cider
and mrs. mushroom opened a can of champagne
instead of a bottle of beer
and we celebrated when
champagne became like canned beer
and there the thought triggers me to drink
some water and preserve myself
to actually bother to look
for that word you were thinking of...
REGRESSIOn!
psychiatric refression of the res extensa
in mind a regressive man
more reflexive than reflective
concerning the mind
lost in the body of bodies...
that symphony is not for writing!
but spontaneity of remembering...
Chemist DJ
change the baggage
but keep what books you will read
from grandfather's library:
Victor Hugo's the Miserables...
in Polish...
i need to give my two tongues a proper
break
i waggled some wolack JOWACH
WOJACK
WOE before the King: who knelt
before he was crucified
but this ontology of man is there:
intact: without the ails of *******
especially when you have
a sugar penny of a girl
and she looks so ****
doing DIY and telling you what
a man is and man says:
i don't know what the scratch of the head is...
an egg?
i would otherwise ride the caurosel
of the **** squeeze...

mr chemist drinks and smokes
and when the right smoke enters he paints
with words
and blunders and blah blahs in conversations
but is painting when you die
i will paint you guessed me right
i might just change medium
and find my true art form
like it might actually be painting
and like that might be true
becausd i learned to bicycle first
then i learned to ride a horse...
now aged 38
i'm going to visit my grandmother Helen
one last time
and i will learn to rent a car on dopamine
when i begin to learn writing
and learning the carousel Hyde Park
Winter Wonderland to effect...
now so much fat in my throat
i even tasted my own *****
like women taste themselves
and that was a bit weird
i think that marriage is a bit bird
when a wife tells you:
please don't be a poet...
please become a painter...
please learn to drive
and get off that horse...
yeah... but you know me...
once i get that ******* license
i will only drive a car on a whim
and buy a canoe and hide it from place
to place
i'd get the canoe moved to point X
then i'd go home
then i'd walk to X
and paddle the canoe to Y
and then from Y i'd walk back home...
then i would use a MOPED
Rome's SCOOTER
to Y and paddle the canoe to Z...
and then from Z i'd walk back to Y
and go back home on my ******* platipus
****** SCOOCH SCOOCH...

here's to you kid looking at me
looking at my new neighbors
and they are Russians i am told
who are the second redeemed
afte the Jews in that War
and in this negetion and who who who is who
i think my wife asked me
to stop being a poet and become
a painter
and i guess that is better
to say so said
all her friends...
i was in a room filled with
8 girls...
i was the **** in the room
and i've had no time to write about that
we played that sort of domino poker
and i think i was being admired
the god fearing man
must have come
i think i left my supposed egoism
2 months behind
and i think i see a pleasure
that man find more than
the man found most pleasure
beside ***
and found it in a carousel continuum
a sense of the eternal...
collective in the eternal
while we are all recycled goods
not by the "individual":
the Western "Idol" of the Individual
used to be there...
as... there-being...

but water and tobacco would work...
i stalked the kitchen
with my night
of the rat
and chicken... plucking no i don't
think i want to play guitar
R asked... do you want to be a musician...
E asked... do you want me to be a wife
of a painter?
are you a painter...
well... who was that famous Italian
striker who started football aged:

what a meagre donation for all the flat-sharing
i knew i was going to be scolded
but i did just buy a newspaper
once and paid $6 bucks for it
and i did read it from A to Z
and in between there might have
been a mention of the Omega Alpha Name
the Man who is like-jesus-****-jesus
Tour of the Ritz by the rents
of rats...
                 12am curfew...
i too have a 12am curfew on internet
usage
out not of parental control
but out of a biological reality of the mind
being over exposed to certain lights
just imagine it's just a massive
bio-technical experiment
the feeding machine of the collective consciousness
and the filters in place to filter out
the public space bit
and give ourselves the most private
space... however diffusing the public
sphere of interest...
          
and yes, i think i'd probably try painting
and escape words
but keep only Polish words intact
and read novels in Polish and newspapers
in English
and read no fine literature in English
as proven by my reading of Knausgaard
that i couldn't stomach in English
but could in Polish
therefore i will not have books in English:
per se... circa... whatever ears
i might have Dostoyevsky's the IDiot
alongside ******'s MEin Kampf:
as a historical artifact...
a book of its time...
but i am of a different time...

yes, i would literature in English:
but only as translations...
i would never read an English author
regardless of them being
either native or immigrant...
i am going elsewhere
i'm not going to be bound to either
the Island of England
or the Baltic Intlet of Debate at Danzing...
for Poland to be part of Scandinavia...
i will divide the tongues:
once and for all: in my mind...
neither will feast of each other
i will write my last and do a Rimbaud
and pretend to be selling fireworks
and losing an arm to Arabic diabetes
away from the alcohol of the north...
and that will be a story...

         that i should stop being a poet
and i was actually looking at something...
can't remember his name i should...
but i left it in vol 6 of knausgaard's my struggle
and i left it on kauai
i don't feel like checking the internet
i'd rather take my eyes off the screen
smoke a cigarette on the lanai
drink something reflax... find the point in
the book and then return to the screen
like some editor of sober
not being sober enough
enough magic
just detox on paying rent
or being a rent boy
doing something around the house
like the plubing like little carpenter boy
little bachelor service
and the *** didn't dry up but i became a limp ****
to a premature mr cabins...

midnight snack... reminiscence of that hour
of curfew and it's so beloved an hour
i will have my cigarette but first
i will have some pork sausage and mustard
and then i will have some french cheese
some honey and hazelnuts to crunch on
and i will have some water and it will
taste like milk...
and not of fake smiles and false teeth...
something like
Francis Bacon painting the SCREAM
and the SCREAM
the archeology of the universal
the form in Munch... of the SCREAM the not-stereotype
the ideaology not the Iconoclasm
of the word... the Protagonist no
the Proliteriat... no... the ARCHETYPE of the scream
in Munch... reimagined with geometry
in Bacon
and now i'm thinking of the SMILE
that came after the SCREAM
because sure as perhaps what else
than to smile back at the pictures prior
of the smiling aristocrats
but in that food
imagine what she is feasting on when
she's trying to fall asleep
on ice cream but no protein
so her body is telling her:
feed us more protein...
i also feel that with my body
and you told me unconsciously:
the reason why i am still having skin issues
is because i am not consuming enough
protein for my actual diet... capacity:
even the burning mind...
but it is true: thinking about a young woman...
maybe not enough protein:
so the body is plunging us with
what happens there is not enough vitamin C
or A in the body:
then couldn't acne me sourced
in a protein deficient diet?
i think i'm living in a protein deficient diet
that is why my skin is so bad...
i learned to compensate:
i will give you all the time in the world
before the mirror
to be that inquisitive child
who loves parasites
and you can squeeze you face all day long
but please try not to *******...
play with you acne all you want
to imagine being the face of Beelzebub
******* out maggots from his skin into the magic
pond of the LAUGHTER of man...
SCREAM
LAUGHTER... the smile did come
and the smile is not but a frown...
so at least that word is covered...
but until you get to hunt deer and remember igloo
and the swing and the climbing of trees
as children... the ontology of man will wake
from this infernal scene of the psy-insomnia
which once was the psychedelic age
after the holocaust
the coping mechanism...
the Great Cope of that Age was Psychadelic
and we are now in the Great Cope
of that Age of the Psy-Insomniac
because people are nostalgic that the 20th century
was the greatest...
and by the confession of the few:
it was...
but such is the riddle of the burden of convenience
and comfort...
that sooner or later you get thinking of rocks
and sisyphus and not about work per se
but about sitting idle
and that is the story of the Sysiphus
the idle sitting the "thinker" who isn't actually
a philosopher...
because of a different breed we are...
philosopher is not a thinker
in that thinking doesn't culminate
in telepathy or telekinesis
but ends up the rot of the television
not that i might be bashing
the televsion:
it's almost like replacing the fireplace
when you need a fireplace
on Hawaii...
so you can't have a romantic moment
on the Faroe Islands
before a fireplace
you have a kid playing on the computer
and its hot enough for cockraoches
to try to hide in the cupboards
and you're massaging her feet
and pinching and just intimate man
and the television acts like a fireplace
at least it puts her to sleep
and i feel like being naughty
and so does R
and i go for a little bit too much drinking
and come back and lie in bed and write poetry
the nocturnal art that comes after
journalism... today i actually had to reassure
my mother that some things reported in the media
are true:
not everything is untrue...
when it comes to the waiting time for a driving license
in England: 6 months...
but it was more or less her finally coming to terms
of pushing my grandmother away from me
so much that i have to go back for maybe
the last time
and that was what was so bothering me
and made me docile
each **** was an issue
and only without it and a wife
do i realise:
but only in a married life...
   that sort of thinking doesn't work in a bachelor
everyday...
i might think i'm a rent boy:
yes... because i still can't legally earn money
in the USA...
so... you know... i did send her pocket money
or what i pay my mother each month...
200 quid... i can send my wife 250 a month to begin
with... i think i'll ask her
into a joint account
i think i'll ask her that
and god it's so liberating to treat
******* like a caffeine shot or a cigarette
because it is...
of a different kind
a sort of ketamine mumbo jumbo psychadelic
i am Elon Musk the Admiral of the Legion
of 14 children...
and one man and a foster daughter...
weird... so... dynamic!

but hardly satire... the curfew hour impeding
and we want to go back
to our little abodes
and turn the lights off and sleep
with a Delightful Latino
Mayan and Aztecs met the Spanish
and you almost forget them
like when the Africans merged with
the Europeans and headed where
and then nowhere but to space
because the land of ideas is drying up
and has been drying up
so... more space to widen the griefs...
maybe i am imagining this fate of time
that time perpetuates and
the changing mind darts
but from there i posit:
    
                               and so much of the motive
ego-alingment changes
when that idea of not paying for groceries
did i block those cards on purpose
or what?
i don't know...
but i don't know who was paying
for what the goods
were cooked
mum didn't listen to how
MAtthew wanted to make those hens
and my mother went and ****** up
Matthew in the chicken with
the kitchen in the chicken kitchen kitchen
kitchen
and she was watching a ******* spider
documentary
and she wanted *** so much
she was like an alien
and then there was another alien in the kitchen
and he was not having any of it
or maybe that was just my mother's ******
energy keeping him on a leash
and then the next day he sabotaged her
and he sabotaged her good with those dumplings
but he did make those muffins in the morning
waking up at 5am with the same flour
or she sabotaged him with that ****** flour
but the filling was good
and maybe we were having some deep *******
conversation with R
and i think we were...
yes i think there were some deep conversations...
and i still think both of them want
me to be a painter...
they don't want a drinking poet
i think of all the sober painters
like van Gogh
who suckled on calm like those hummingbirds...
a realm of images without words
and sounds and therefore music
but the realm of images
and the calm of van Gogh more in technique
than on abstract ******* squeezes
yes i imagine the drunken years and youth
i guess...
but i also image them not beginning in
these cages...
the curfew hour approaches...

30min until fasting from eating meat...
i better go stock up on some sausage and mustard
before i get into honey cheese and hazelnights
and go to sleep thinking of my wife
and my daughter... sooner or later having to
become some sort of vivid "mine".