i know the information is already there, i could read it all, become a walking encyclopaedia, so well informed for a conversation on the matter, but why specialise and leave the thrill of emotions of being less informed, always eager elsewhere, indeed not necessarily informed, but given the chanced bewilderment - to have wondered, rather than regurgitated.

upon reaching this exhausting day, how many
whiskey bottles and beer bottles has it been?
i do not know, but suddenly the
joy of being sedated by the content
became apparent that i was simply
exhausted by being sedated -
but why would i suddenly
clasp the thought of futility because of this?
there would be no point.
- i'd never apply the theory of evolution
toward man, man's too ingenious for
such a crippling theory, esp when
encapsulating so much time in that
ugly aesthetic - just by example,
was man supposed to become a *******
like that, finding something and then
turning it against himself?
just today i heard about the cuckoos
and their hosts the reed warblers -
now the theory of evolution i can understand
like that, because it's in *real time,
it's a useful theory to watch the battle
between cuckoos and the reed warblers,
or the cuckoos and sparrow-hawks -
the fascinating way, as if by magic the eggs
change colour and pattern,
the reed warblers' eggs have a specific pattern,
the cuckoo lays an egg of a similar pattern...
but what is the required diet for this?
it's not like these birds can use some sort of
telepathy - looking at an egg long enough
for it to "magically" change colour or pattern;
yes, the reed warblers' eggs have changed
pattern over the years as a way to fight the
parasitic cuckoos - now that's a perfectly
acceptable glorification of the theory of evolution,
these are lesser creatures, shorter lifespans,
it's in real time, and in such a way it does
not overpower man, the theory doesn't become
a Frankenstein monster, turning against its
"creator" / explorer in the realm of thought -
it can be applied against all the biodiversity
out there - but the question is still:
how does the reed warblers' eggs change pattern
to fight against the cuckoo eggs
and vice versus?
no, it surely can't be dictated by telepathy -
but how could a diet of any kind be know
to the cuckoo to change the egg patterns -
but then again... maybe telepathy does exist
between host and parasite - woman and foetus;
what a crude relation, no wonder there are
many negative symptoms during pregnancy,
i think it might be with a woman making this
comparison of the foetus being a tapeworm,
although salvation, the umbilical chord,
it's not exactly a tapeworm with a sucker attached
to the intestines... we're born blind for a while,
our **** muscles are weak, bladder too, and so is our
oesophagus (pulp food, milk), and seemingly
boneless because toothless, their development
outside the waters in the flammable
air, of infuriated fire and restless chasms of
the oceans, to the ravaging rumble of the earth
itself trapped in vacuum, in a twinkle of the Orion.

if every cloud has a silver lining
that's gonna make for some heavy rain
underneath this sky, i am finding
myself being crushed, and drenched in pain

You **** in air to keep your lungs inflating
tied to ancient choices when you gave up gills
and you cannot remember that far history
but you know the ocean can be beautiful
and you know she longs to take you back.

For Helene.


Ashes on the water, now.
Love's bones like dust downstream.  
At least it got to see itself in our eyes,
Feel itself between hand holding hand

And whispered caresses.
From pillow talk to fists raised at
Concerts, glasses of Portuguese wine
On her balcony to the sound of magpies

We named our neighbours.
We were beautiful.
Began beautifully.
Ended gracefully.

I open hands that held hers and see
Nothing but skin worn by labour,
And air.
Ashes on the water, now.

Embers without a chance against rivers  
Cold with melted mountain snow and
Unyielding differences.
Some loves drown with lungs too full

To cry; others float like a funeral-pyre-
Longboat into the night, ablaze.
King and queen, hand upon hand.
Crowns tied from fresh flowers,

We were beautiful.
Began beautifully.
Slid apart the way a glacier parts from
The hills; slowly, but with the force

Of its thousands of tons.
Ashes on the water,
Where the ghost of our union rests
Underneath the surface of our memories.

I will remember you.
Until the stars burn out, raining the
Dust of themselves like snow upon
These waters that always are moving.

She was wild like skinny dipping at midnight, stars watching overhead and falling in love with moonlight. The way it lay upon her skin made the ocean envious of her depths within and sometimes between us. She was my sister, not in blood but in orbit. A Venus to my Earth, forged from the same collapsing star and if the universe was in fact to be infinite then this moment would happen again, and again, and again an immeasurable number of times. I found comfort in this thought, knowing though our existence was meaningless, it was still full of feeling, and this feeling, right now, it insisted on existing forever.

She is an atlas
her eyes deepest
and darkest Africa

Unfolded I hold her
tracing the source
of her diamonds and gold

In search of the motherload.

is there noon on this comparison, and where does the stabilising hour care to fathom the giant and dwarf shadows of original shapes? if there is no magnetism of the clock's hour, minute, second, then the only magnetism apparent in the encircling of digestion / decimalisation, is to say the north of a compass, the compass' north equivalence of a clock's misdirecting eternity: of space for a clock asserting a mingling reason: the compass found it's existential reason in the north, yet the clock found it's "north" without care for magnetism, it equated the north with space, and yet what was encapsulated with rotary qualities? for clock the perpetuation of tick tock in space / for the clock treated space as a one-dimensional abstract, with its three-temporal awareness, and yet the compass said north thrice, and on the fourth said Antarctica was loosened to be explored.*

i'm so tired - lifeless poetry,
make words encoded; i'm so tired,
so tiresome of other people
with bellies filled
and eyes in medium postponing,
to compass the needle
a gravity of servitude for the
clock of 12 (north), 6 (south),
and the disputed 9 (east) with
3 the (west),
darting eyes in Bahamas
for direction coarse yet coerced
by a promise, thus the compass riddling a madness
of constant stimulation with magnetism and
the magnet cursor of orbit -
wound three dimensions of time,
space optional, space always optional,
as ever time over-arching to be understood...
where then the compass, where then the clock,
if the compass led by vector of magnetism
to an uncertain place,
if the clock led by vector of missing magnetism
to a certain place of eased: tick, tock, tick, tock...
will that be equally given a wavering of
east, west, east west.... north, south...
what now?!

three beers in the morning
and i'm, as usual, laughing
into them,
i'm reading an article about
a girl drinking her way into
credit card debt, fun moments
at the bar, and blackouts;
me? i practice the arithmetic
of memory all the time,
every time i wake up i keep
my eyes closed and recount
my dreams,
or past experiences,
it's hard, i know, it's not as easy
as remembering a, b, c, 1, 2, 3,
that's easy, with memory you
have to filter out inanimate things,
they're always going to be there,
you want to cherish the animations,
and there's no encoding of that
as you might encode reciting a word
or the number of miles using the
above stress symbols -
memory is a tough one, it's so poorly
developed / nurtured that people
had to create imagination, a fictive awareness;
me? i like memorising my life,
i think it was great, so far, so too tomorrow;
drinking hardly impairs some of your
cognitive faculties, given you can bellow
out a pig's laugh while drinking on your own;
but i say, being bilingual, not able
to read philosophy in english,
i have this terrible black hole of not
being able to remember the names of the months
in polish... January February through to December
via October is fine... but Styczeń, Luty, Marzec...
huh? and i still can't be bothered to remember
the alphabetical sequence... what's the point?
you see a monkey dancing on the cranium
of a dancing bear anywhere?
me neither, i'd sequence the letters as:
a, e, i, o, u... b... etc.