i like watching a football match
on the balcony
because the air is tight
and cold
and i'm living a plagiarism of Knausgaard's
life i am learning to drive
a car and my birthday is coming up
and i'm actually getting **** done
like talking to my fairy godmother
i don't think she knows
my life in Poland
she only only knows my life in England
and in English
she doesn't know that i live
a double life a double lie therefore
the truth
i think of god when i'm alone
and watching a football match
i was going to save that joint
for when i was planning to graduate
with a driving license i was going
to exchange on the black market
of the banana boat men
i was going to lead the catholic revival of England
i would make it my mission to convert
England back to Catholicism
and i would be there
like an Islam
in my Catholicism
i would have the Empires of the Incas
the Aztec
the Spanish Indians
not the English Indians
that Chimera Beast of the British Empire
it would be an Emblem
of a Unicorn and a Chimera:
not a Lion
and there i would put my green cross
on a flag of yellow
i admired the flags of imaginary countries
like the white and black PRussians
i would think about history
without looking at history books
i would be the only stoner in the village
the village Shaman
and this is res cogitans
going to bed with res cogitans
and therefore inflating geating ready
to put on dream armour and

become the Id...
66:30
PSG 1 : ARS 0
agg 2 - 0
and the t.v. is super down low
and grandma i'm only passing
through this couldron of witchy spells
i predicted an Irishman or a Frenchman
to be the next pope
i'm also covering the Election of the Pope
like i am youir fight against Islam
if there is Islam in England
then there is also Catholicism in England
and we are over a BILLION strong
let me flex my muscles
at the University of Warsaw

68:10 a missed pentalty by PSG
not a Spanish
not Americas
let Christianity return to Europe
where it was defended
please let it return to mediate
the English with the Norsemen and translate
to the Low Germans...
that became English
the SWABS and CWIK... some picture
i forgot to take when
walking thinking i'd memorising it
but there's also the Election of the Polish President
and i think i'm kinda patrtiotic in a way
i think the Pope died
when i came back to Poland
or no: that would be nice
but like a Catholic rat i scuttled back
and the media can be protestant
and Anglophile or whatever
the Universal B;lah blah
i'm the SHAMAN of the residence so many drunks
walked through these walls i sometimes
do wonder how my grandmother
streuggled through it
and she says it like a nun swearing
but today i was making custard
with my wife and daughter over the phone...

72:12

PSG 2 - ARsenral 0

lost on agg

****! i missed a gole! **** ****! too busy
thinking about god and nothing
and id est
cf.
est id ego?

            loot the womb come out empty
no brothers
no sisters
thinks his grandmother is a serial killer
or maybe High Priest
like the Mother in Dune
some temporal shift wavey lines
i mean a French Pope
a Pope **** Pope French
i've been biting my nails and
Ądam EwĘ
  
   tym kolem zamnkne i jak niby zapomne
to powiem z kresk'

   tam tak zastomne
zapowiem
pan zastepow
pan kazdy swej mowy
i tym diarkytyka
pan nad polaka: 'yd
no znaczy: 'yd:               Er                     Zet...


77:12
PSG 2 - Arsenal 1

     Ż i tak od litery do litery a' do Sokratesa:
i tak jakim tam tam
innym to Grek
i nie inny Pan s'owem
to te pierw szkice
a nie 'kice///

             tak bzu bzu bzu
i ten 'yd           i Egipt
i gYpt

exotica, without palms or coconutz,
noose, nötz...
       etymology unknown,
or rather, without a known genesis
other than spontaneously drunk,
exclaimed with a poker face of random...
two words,
schtygar...
      quasi polish, pseudo german,
silesian through and through,
meaning? loosely: meisterschtick...
    mistrz... master and no Margarita...
also, rębacz przodowny...
           hajer...
  in English-schloß meaning:
hirehand... or coal-mining infantry...
the first to the spitzhackehand...
hire-hand, die jungengang...
to ja ci świrgotkiem wróbla
z nad rana, o stół i o pokrzywe
na ratuj raj...
        ortografia:
   stolik
                  tzn. stół
    a ni, parabolii kurva: U!
kúmā?
     drób i drobniej starać sie
(ę ę, bo to pan, i jego...
    Mazó-w'szeszesze-szesze)..
gzyms Tuwima,
no tego z łódką,
    bzy... kurva... kotficy....
bo bez bzu...
tzn. (to znaczy) bez..
neine bysztrysk jako trojan...
czy tesz, ż, tra la la la la 'ojak...
     hrap ś'ī...
                       a na tronie
zasądzie, kupa gnoju
           i szamba wulkan...
no tak, w góre... pstro!

i want to write i don't write i'll write anyway,
luxurious escapades of the tongue
crafted to make suitor letters and somewhere
a diligent me takes care to be
a...
                ah blah blah...

     from hearing the offensive god
and somehow a somewhat off nothing that's
similar...

the sweet scented air of Poland come the onslaught
of May, Spring...
that recollects both magnolias
and bez (without): bzu - lilac...
         bzdura: nonsense...

20 years ago there was this massive expansion
of the European Union...
10 new lands giggled at the expansionary
vision... lackluster because
withholding only a few retained
the monetary communication
of shared investments...

the Czechs still have their coronas
and the Poles still have their gold standard...
but together is the best kept apart...
weltsprechen...

exhausted by the racial hyper-focus
of the likes of Krista Franklin...
because i'm tired of the Afro-American narrative
that brings no one together...
like fathoming the force-feeding of turkeys
before any feast day...
not pouting a sense of critique: not necessary...
but i'm just tired of
people supposedly not getting along...
some vague aloofness some:

a stranger in a familiar land...
i spent so much of my youth among graves
that i've come full blown "circle"
to seeing people as graves...
perhaps if there was as much rigor in me
to drink later after having written..
no writer in me ever to be born...
a good excuse to not watch the t.v.
and and tiredness from adverts
and all that K-POP boom boom...

i could perhaps understand dancing before the pyramids
like it would be a wholesome hope
for... instance... one two three...
mirage of the dictated life
then the non-dictated life
and now this is not me with some
J. K. K. Tolkien ambitions...
no ambition to riddle my efforts with
escapism to tow and tug at fiction...

laptop positioned on a washing machine...
give me the well earned wages of loitering
but not anything associated with
post-literature political of a Harry Potter scoop...
verbiage and misnomers
some feeding ground of peckers and
lazy sleuths... dropping words missed in
casual conversation...

            arbiters of writing escapades
and truths-saying and soothing humming...
by the ordeal of giving love from a heart
like squeezing water from a stone...
perhaps... somewhat hallucinogenic in purpose
or rather escaping with words
that govern and sooth any ordeal
that does not necessarily have to be written about...

grandmother's fetish for Harlequin novellas
because the way she loved supposedly "loved"
my grandfather...
how two men in her abiding: blame who?
seemingly died from malnutrition
because she was so dissolved
this happy feminist junction of happenstance
luckily i am a man with a fetish for
German (tongue) and the ability to cook...

find me: chasing chickens on the village-island
of Kauai...

in those 2 years, imagine... i've travelled
a river's worth a sea's breadth...
yet he with his earnings
grossing an estimate 1 million
became the conclusive
waste of fiddling with possibility: per chance
wasted....

       how he spent those last days listening
to terribly angry music...
i can understand friendless isolation...
i succumbed to listening to music
akin to:

the titans, the elements...
the sound of rain falling on a tin roof...
rhapsody of imitation: knock knock... knock knock...
then the sea waves...
then the air turned into a wind
whirling...
then the earth rumbling... i too ate hunger
and felt a grumbling "inhibition"...
then the sound of the crackling of
breaking of wood in fire....
music devoid / detached from the progeny
of the usage of words...

of(f)...                    terminology of the posit
of "things" to begin with, to end with:
on note...
           my little Nuremberg extravaganza...
no **** poor soul in sight...
but all this weight and height
and all this this... miasma... myopia...
this borrowing of inherited stink
like all the ******* have all the good brown
while all the whites have this *******
sickly sweet albino blah!

     **** the covert tattoos
living among us alias "us"...
             i'm more bored than tired...
then again i'm also bored and tired
and it's under not disguise of "inhibition"
that i get to...               digest these fundamental
loathsome truths of a nocturnal Babylon.