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Johnny Noiπ
Oct 2018
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Life and entertainment at the Jolly 1 (Penguin, and changes among the Greeks). 34BCE Shailesh 10.000,001 Waking ratios to employ valence: P4 10 times ... / 3 * 2 1010 years ago by the year 1000, George, April 4 (73 July 2008) of July 42 Overview, Italy, Poland, Hiroshima bomb comprehensive Columbus, Georgia, P, 2, Europe, Mexico Toonberg 100; Taylor has been printed ... ... and spending the most ******* visits to the alarm - it's Boston ah saw posters saying that the mud 2 ... [2], Georgia, USA, and 10 of the rules? · Michael ambiguity of two 4, P: 3-42 Elvira, George is the best and biggest in Botswana 1/3 - (5) 1000 January 3, 2006 - Paul, George P. 2 Akasha Heights Ashoshima is another coricata.ru; From the year 1633 there will be 9 of you. Akashi is ... (a republic as in the above journal of Greece did not grant them the recognition to be accomplished that he may take away the arrows made for the great illness, from Greece) and take away to be happy for Atlas 1000 10000.001 hours [2] ... 34C equestrian P4 / 4 (Display / PH3 Cicero) * 1000 year by the year 1010 4P = 3-2, George. ... (July 73), Italy, Poland, Hiroshima P2 art Columbus, Georgia, that Europe Columbia Mountain's Toonberg 100 1683 [1] on July 42 Overview - P ***** 4/4, Chin Shin Shibiru. Cicero / P / [2] 1000 ... 10.000.000 years. ... and the situation created fake annolentes poor and in many takeover of 3-4p takeover HD-HD Scandic Hiroshima after the mother returned.) 1'n title. Because of this, one of the Control Board Committee (BBC stall IPA), IPA caused | recommendation women and 12 women, IPA Parental 40 - Pastor BBC balance - written in practice or the election of women have suffered the arrow. First, because of Mashi's exclusive hunting rights. 1/3 of a thousand and one chicken; the Agbarus 1000 BOSMAP hot in an hour of Sinestro howling grams Andrew White. Consumer George Pu, of 4p on 2 December 2 ... 73 [2] of Figure 3, mark the file. White Naziba Favorites: Hiroshima, Paul, George P. 2. · 1683 ... English, French, Colombo, Nintendo, the Canucks test - two to three years by 42 (38), Georgia and Florida preparedness International. .. [2], Greece, Italy, the United States is a country, it is difficult ... [2] [5] does not occur [6] Tallahassee, "1: 1 hear." To ask the leader of the Kronogods prompt, including Volkswagen ..., Paris, researchers were Tess and Bree | [12: 5] comfortable representative of April 1570, Gregory Bach Bali - Cicero is high. Few years ago hydroponics / 50-2 to Dr. George [4] 5. Google [7] 50 Back Pack, ovulation and the end of the year stream.d Sarupikiasu 4 Constantine, Sicily, Sardinia, and Sarah, 4 Gadgets. George Thomas (from 3) "from Germany, 4 100 4 R / 3 thousand members 357 minutes, assistance from (10) 3, 2.3 2.1 (4) 100 years ago, who says that in circumsentent P4 '| | English, French. , Colombo, Nintendo, but love and work | 1570 years Derrida July 7 [2] [5] [6], Tallahassee, Uche, you go, Bono LORI rate is Sunday, "[5], the disease mixing A-ha, do not capture critical cloud attempted. Glory or from Bell, George, Cicero / L2 [5] for 5 Application adjacent Google, Huntersville 3 1 cent when Sarah Clarke) 3 vacation local search (Naniko it insults the ammonites) 10.000,001 Huskal Hussein, seminar 6 [2]. .. 34C Calati P4 / 4 Lulu | 31,2008) 7 to 30, Italy, Poland, Hiroshima P2 Columbus, Georgia,
as an explosion in Europe, Mexico and Toonberg 100.1683 big move -
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Mateuš Conrad Jan 2017
7 rectangles / tennis
Mateuš Conrad
Jan 2017
and i'm watching this spectacle... and i agree:
female tennis is probably more
enjoyable than
male tennis... there's so much
dialogue involved...
and oh god, i am but a simple man,
i like my klinik, and my wumpscut
and my other fringe altars
of culture...
but i really like watching the 7 rectangles...
isn't a tennis court a case of 7 rectangles?
no? i thought it was...
1 at the beginning, 2 are the side,
2 either side, and 2 for the served into "square"
across the net, service, 1st serve, net-first-service...
15 - love...
then i watch a video by
black pigeon speaks and i'm fired up...
not that i have anything planned
in a year to come,
i'm too wrapped up in the bewilderment of
being able to **** out a bottle of wine,
but seem to never be able to **** out a bottle
of whiskey...
dunno: it just happens...
i spent the past few hours cleaning the slates
of the bathroom from feline diarrhoea...
so you know: i'd love to reach the summits
of gucci perfumes, if you'd care to
allow me...
i really should wait for my ego to turn into
a phallus of slumbering pride,
but given the current situation in Sweden
and me reading history of the deluge of Poland
by the Swedes, i'm sort of: hands in the air
with four thumbs signifying: i don't care.
i like watching tennis,
it's the one sport where watching women is more
entertaining than watching men,
and it's not that you're even forced into it...
women make more rallies in a match...
women tend to play with a double-handed forehand...
but it really is a game based about 7 rectangles...
i'd love to see it as: Dali, dictates the rhombus
at the Australian Open!
i'd love to see it,
and i'd also love to see Oslo...
but i'm not that bothered,
for all the media frenzy concerning western Europe,
i see Poland as a buffer zone smokescreen...
the happenings at Ełk proved a point...
the dream of community translated into western
europe came so pronounced...
people actually botehred to create a lynch mob...
the good "samaritan" had to die...
and yes, the moroccan yielding the knife
was taken to a prison cell...
but i guess knowing the polish language
i should feel more nationalistic pride in sweden being
gang-*****... it's an actual shame that i know
english and can't ingest the full potency of seeing
Sweden as it is... as i already said:
the deluge... by henry sienkiewicz...
and later the recount by an incompetent king
in the works of kraszewski...
but my: the tennis! it's spell-binding...
and the wine i made? it's digesting my brain to a proper
dehydration... and i love it!
7 rectangles... and if the 7 rectangles
were a circle, i'd be yearning for sumo!
but no no, no... i'm, looking at these rabbits
represent a π radius squared movement,
given the matchsticks...
i love tennis... it makes more sense watching
a female tennis match than it does a male one:
where it's always all about a fast serve and
a quicker return... 7 rectangles, and these
fleshy vectors moving about the parameters...
if i din't know a germanic language
i'd be gleeful, actually applauding the demise of
Sweden, having learned of the devestation
done to Poland by the Swedes in the deluge and
partition of the country, due to the House of Vasa...
it's a joke and i know it's a joke:
say i moved back to Poland and stirred up
the national ghost?
ha... ha ha... that would be
something...
i'm a disciple of wine these days,
and i like watching tennis...
human history always meant
too much a case of: getting out of bed...
and hence my addiction: sleep...
as odd as it might sound, i'm actually addicted to it...
i'm a lion that pets two bonsai tigers...
i have enough mane to laugh out a bellowing
word: lion! ha ha...
but i sometimes like to retreat into
origins, and given i am highly volatile in my use of
english as an acquired tongue, i sometimes love to
re-acquire my ethnicity, and read a little bit of it...
how the Swedes desecrated Poland once upon a time...
how the Germans malnurished her with world war ii
and i... and i sort of love how Islam (for me), is
nothing but a chisel, a hammer... a useful idiot
that speaks more testicles and western female uninhibition
than anything... of boy... do i come across of grossly
nationalistic? i might have... oh gee!
what a terrible plight!
but there's a secret theatre being staged
in Europe, most Americans don't know of it,
unless they managed to ask Joyce to **** his way
around a good translation of Finnegans Wake and
a whiskey bar in Krakow... or ów... however you speak it...
depends how you hide or don't hide
or expose the consonants...
and that's funny, most people find
the works of Kraszewski boring... to me they're the one
source of sanity having spent 3 weeks in Poland
over the holidays...
and why i invested my person in being bilingual...
odd scare tactic: the usual typo of ****...
if you find the culture you're assimilating
into folding (in a poker sense), remain true to
the culture of your birth, keep the language...
you never know, you might have to move back
to the country of your birth... but only when you
see the host culture as *****-whipped... as England
is... or wait... antagonise the situation,
wait until they give up their capital,
and on the preiphery turn ultra-nationalistic in vox...
i kept my native tongue, now i'm playing truant...
i have no symphany for the Swedes,
and sympathy for England? well... if even events
in 1997 didn't happen... i might have more than
enough...
a Pole looks at the influx of Muslims to
Germany... and quiet frankly laughs...
it's not even a debate...
like the muslims talking about post-colonial
deconstructionalism...
no wonder Russia has
come from the shadows to be the pawn-broker
of at least remaining true to the hunger
of media outlets... it just has to be there...
so yeah, if you read kraszewski
and sienkiewicz, you might know a thing or two
about the Swedish deluge, that hit Poland
when John Casimir, of the house of Vasa
"ruled" Poland at the time of the Cossack
uprising, magnified by the leadership of
Khmelnytsky -
but then again, all you hear in England
is the fate of the harem of the house of Tudor...
and how Charlie got shaved from owning a head,
and how Charlie Seconds had that
bad-*** poet in his pocket... john wilmot...
who i vaguely remember having cited
made epigram more noteworthy than an epitaph:
we have a pretty witty king,
and whose word no man relies on,
he never said a foolish thing,
and never did a wise one...
great words demand the most despicable people
to invoke them... fortunately i live in a time
when great words can't be said,
because there are no great people to be surrounded with
in order that they might be despised...
well, that is said in where i find solace,
exietential philosophy, for i do say: "fortunately",
as if i am borrowing something...
how can you write a poem, about a monarch,
when the monarch, as has happened with the english
crown, bid more toward philanthropy
than lechery? give me something i might want to esteem
in seeking out the basis for the basic human
depravity! you give me a monarch worth a penny's
toss into a hand of a pauper, you give me
a philanthropic king, and not a lecherous king...
you have sealed your existency,
by gauging out my eyes and giving them to worms,
and cut off my tongue, and lodged it, in the mosque
of a donkey's gob!
female tennis is probably more
enjoyable than
male tennis... there's so much
dialogue involved...
and oh god, i am but a simple man,
i like my klinik, and my wumpscut
and my other fringe altars
of culture...
but i really like watching the 7 rectangles...
isn't a tennis court a case of 7 rectangles?
no? i thought it was...
1 at the beginning, 2 are the side,
2 either side, and 2 for the served into "square"
across the net, service, 1st serve, net-first-service...
15 - love...
then i watch a video by
black pigeon speaks and i'm fired up...
not that i have anything planned
in a year to come,
i'm too wrapped up in the bewilderment of
being able to **** out a bottle of wine,
but seem to never be able to **** out a bottle
of whiskey...
dunno: it just happens...
i spent the past few hours cleaning the slates
of the bathroom from feline diarrhoea...
so you know: i'd love to reach the summits
of gucci perfumes, if you'd care to
allow me...
i really should wait for my ego to turn into
a phallus of slumbering pride,
but given the current situation in Sweden
and me reading history of the deluge of Poland
by the Swedes, i'm sort of: hands in the air
with four thumbs signifying: i don't care.
i like watching tennis,
it's the one sport where watching women is more
entertaining than watching men,
and it's not that you're even forced into it...
women make more rallies in a match...
women tend to play with a double-handed forehand...
but it really is a game based about 7 rectangles...
i'd love to see it as: Dali, dictates the rhombus
at the Australian Open!
i'd love to see it,
and i'd also love to see Oslo...
but i'm not that bothered,
for all the media frenzy concerning western Europe,
i see Poland as a buffer zone smokescreen...
the happenings at Ełk proved a point...
the dream of community translated into western
europe came so pronounced...
people actually botehred to create a lynch mob...
the good "samaritan" had to die...
and yes, the moroccan yielding the knife
was taken to a prison cell...
but i guess knowing the polish language
i should feel more nationalistic pride in sweden being
gang-*****... it's an actual shame that i know
english and can't ingest the full potency of seeing
Sweden as it is... as i already said:
the deluge... by henry sienkiewicz...
and later the recount by an incompetent king
in the works of kraszewski...
but my: the tennis! it's spell-binding...
and the wine i made? it's digesting my brain to a proper
dehydration... and i love it!
7 rectangles... and if the 7 rectangles
were a circle, i'd be yearning for sumo!
but no no, no... i'm, looking at these rabbits
represent a π radius squared movement,
given the matchsticks...
i love tennis... it makes more sense watching
a female tennis match than it does a male one:
where it's always all about a fast serve and
a quicker return... 7 rectangles, and these
fleshy vectors moving about the parameters...
if i din't know a germanic language
i'd be gleeful, actually applauding the demise of
Sweden, having learned of the devestation
done to Poland by the Swedes in the deluge and
partition of the country, due to the House of Vasa...
it's a joke and i know it's a joke:
say i moved back to Poland and stirred up
the national ghost?
ha... ha ha... that would be
something...
i'm a disciple of wine these days,
and i like watching tennis...
human history always meant
too much a case of: getting out of bed...
and hence my addiction: sleep...
as odd as it might sound, i'm actually addicted to it...
i'm a lion that pets two bonsai tigers...
i have enough mane to laugh out a bellowing
word: lion! ha ha...
but i sometimes like to retreat into
origins, and given i am highly volatile in my use of
english as an acquired tongue, i sometimes love to
re-acquire my ethnicity, and read a little bit of it...
how the Swedes desecrated Poland once upon a time...
how the Germans malnurished her with world war ii
and i... and i sort of love how Islam (for me), is
nothing but a chisel, a hammer... a useful idiot
that speaks more testicles and western female uninhibition
than anything... of boy... do i come across of grossly
nationalistic? i might have... oh gee!
what a terrible plight!
but there's a secret theatre being staged
in Europe, most Americans don't know of it,
unless they managed to ask Joyce to **** his way
around a good translation of Finnegans Wake and
a whiskey bar in Krakow... or ów... however you speak it...
depends how you hide or don't hide
or expose the consonants...
and that's funny, most people find
the works of Kraszewski boring... to me they're the one
source of sanity having spent 3 weeks in Poland
over the holidays...
and why i invested my person in being bilingual...
odd scare tactic: the usual typo of ****...
if you find the culture you're assimilating
into folding (in a poker sense), remain true to
the culture of your birth, keep the language...
you never know, you might have to move back
to the country of your birth... but only when you
see the host culture as *****-whipped... as England
is... or wait... antagonise the situation,
wait until they give up their capital,
and on the preiphery turn ultra-nationalistic in vox...
i kept my native tongue, now i'm playing truant...
i have no symphany for the Swedes,
and sympathy for England? well... if even events
in 1997 didn't happen... i might have more than
enough...
a Pole looks at the influx of Muslims to
Germany... and quiet frankly laughs...
it's not even a debate...
like the muslims talking about post-colonial
deconstructionalism...
no wonder Russia has
come from the shadows to be the pawn-broker
of at least remaining true to the hunger
of media outlets... it just has to be there...
so yeah, if you read kraszewski
and sienkiewicz, you might know a thing or two
about the Swedish deluge, that hit Poland
when John Casimir, of the house of Vasa
"ruled" Poland at the time of the Cossack
uprising, magnified by the leadership of
Khmelnytsky -
but then again, all you hear in England
is the fate of the harem of the house of Tudor...
and how Charlie got shaved from owning a head,
and how Charlie Seconds had that
bad-*** poet in his pocket... john wilmot...
who i vaguely remember having cited
made epigram more noteworthy than an epitaph:
we have a pretty witty king,
and whose word no man relies on,
he never said a foolish thing,
and never did a wise one...
great words demand the most despicable people
to invoke them... fortunately i live in a time
when great words can't be said,
because there are no great people to be surrounded with
in order that they might be despised...
well, that is said in where i find solace,
exietential philosophy, for i do say: "fortunately",
as if i am borrowing something...
how can you write a poem, about a monarch,
when the monarch, as has happened with the english
crown, bid more toward philanthropy
than lechery? give me something i might want to esteem
in seeking out the basis for the basic human
depravity! you give me a monarch worth a penny's
toss into a hand of a pauper, you give me
a philanthropic king, and not a lecherous king...
you have sealed your existency,
by gauging out my eyes and giving them to worms,
and cut off my tongue, and lodged it, in the mosque
of a donkey's gob!
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2022
not exactly a soppy story
Mateuš Conrad
Mar 2022
title: \scrap\
body:
/methods/
|in|
/to/
|and| \back\ - a 502 bad gateway bypass
well, you drink, get up, you drink some more,
you vacuum the house,
you correct the tomato soup your father has
started, blitz it up, sieve it,
add more Kashmiri chilly powder, sugar,
two chicken stock cubes: the sour cream will
be served individually... you'll cook the vermicelli
later on...
maybe it's just me: my parents instilled in me
a sense of dis-belonging to my fatherland...
since i left Poland when i was 8 years old...
they instilled in me the "argument":
what has Poland ever done for you?!
well... when the regime changed...
and my father married up... my mother's father:
my grandfather, was a known Communist Party
member, that's why he rose in rank
to become a foreman: brigadier in the metallurgy
industry... so after the regime change:
stigma... obviously...
what did Poland ever give me? erm... ah ha...
a childhood... my memory bank goes as far back
as being 4 years old... that's the expanse
of my consciousness... 4 years old... standing in
a darkened room... watching a football match...
Lothar Matthäus was my hero...
Germany was my favourite team...
maybe because his surname sounded like
my name... maybe i'm just a reincarnated German...
even though: i don't believe in reincarnation...
an abhorring idea... i.e. there's only a fixed number
of souls... migrating from one zombie body to
another... but i'm thinking... Poland has always been
human traffic junction...
name them: Mongols, Huns, Goths, Vandals,
Russians, Swedes... there was even an elected Saxon
king... Scots... perhaps an ancient past has woken
up in me... "my" people once spanned the lands
between the Baltic Sea and the Black Sea...
"we" used to own Kiev...
so my father left me when i was 4... he in turn
was abandoned by his parents: raised by his grandmother
and her second husband... so not really his grandfather...
first grey hairs at 18 taking care of him...
an alcoholic father who was a diligent worker
but who tended to sleep on park benches completely
out of it: my father would get the grunt and jokes
about his father: who abandoned him... blah blah...
oh, my father's a ****** when it comes to drinking...
a complete teetotaler... i haven't been so "lucky":
i just enjoy it too much... esp. when cooking or doing
household chores, gardening or... ahem: this...
doodling...
my mother left me when i was 6... we were all reunited
all the way in England when i was 8...
allegiance? well... perhaps if we weren't deported
when i was... starting year 7 at Canon Palmer R.C. School...
i had to lie that my grandmother died...
i just remember punching the wall... crying...
giving the Home Officers a death-stare when
he commented on me having a nice p.c. -
watching my father and mother get hand-cuffed...
we left two weeks later and i spent a year back in
Poland watching the 1998 world cup,
reading Umberto Eco, the Little Prince...
was home-schooled... focused on the math...
again... thrown back among people who
didn't speak English... a bit like being thrown among
people who didn't speak any Polish...
ping-pong! even my grandmother remarked
that i was losing my capacity to speak my mother tongue...
all in all? i reckon it was a good thing...
since i doubled down in my "schizoid" bilingualism...
i wouldn't speak English in private... i still don't...
no chance am i going to play the atypical immigrant
plotline ranging from India to somewhere
in Africa where first generation immigrants
don't teach their 2nd generation immigrant children
their mother tongue: to fit in... to "integrate":
while those kids rebel against the whole establishment
and blow themselves up: why? out of spite for
their parents... unconsciously... they might think it's
against their host country... but it's unconsciously
against their parents... for not leaving them an open
avenue with a chance to return: should they wish...
to speak their mother tongue...
but now i wake up... hmm... what did Poland ever
do for me? i remember being spat in the face...
by fellow countrymen as a young boy...
my grandfather's reputation as a Communist Party
member spread? who knows...
children are cruel... the change of guard was certainly
the pivotal reason why my parents immigrated...
fun facts from world war II...
it took **** Germany and Soviet Russia longer
to subdue Poland...
than it took **** Germany to subdue France...
i mean... France... Napoleon... a colonial superpower...
but that's how it goes... i'm sniffing gunpowder
on the doorstep... what does Poland owe me?
what do i owe, though? splendid first 8 years of my
life... childhood was more fun in Poland
than it was in England, there was a sense of community,
of belonging... all that shattered: disappeared in
England... even though... those weekends spent
with Peter Richardson and Kieran O'Mahoney...
yeah... no complaints there... we used to run round
5 storey car parks and play a game of spitting
down on people walking in...
this one time i managed the impossible... my phlegm
landed on a guy's head... oh the joy we shared...
a security guard caught up with us: but we blagged
our way out of it...
whatever my feelings concerning Ukraine: historically...
the UPA genocides of Galicia...
and in general... but at least... we're taking in refugees...
women, children... unlike Western countries with
their superiority complex... we're better... because we've
been taking in... cultural enrichment gangs
of fighting age men... where was that?
Cologne? hmm... my my...
ref-u-gee?! i'm gleeful at the irony in all
of this... but i'm waking up thinking... **** me...
explosions as far west as L'viv... hmm... that's what?
2 hours from the border from the fatherland?
should i be thinking about conscripting?
well... if i still didn't have a job... by now...
i'd be thinking about nothing else...
but it's on the cards...
hard to imagine... but that there's a real chance
of me conscripting to go to war...
like: i would never celebrate war in poo'etry...
venerate the warrior... i'm far too an existentialist
to give into the myths of war...
it's just new... there was never a prospect akin to this
ever... for me at least... but now it's on the cards...
would i pledge my allegiance to England
as more important than pledging my allegiance
to Poland? should the most horrible happen?
being a dual-national... i have all the paperwork...
i have the tongue... the prospect of me settling
down with an English girl fizzled out completely with
Jeminah and that trio of storms that raged over
England days prior to the Russian invasion...
i translate that as a butterfly effect...
a broken heart in England and elsewhere... Russian troops
stomping their boots...
and believe me: there are more deluded people out
there... western leftoids who are just a headache when
it comes to this subject matter...
for me... even contemplating conscripting in the ******
army feels... rather... surreal?
but if one has to level a few КAЦAП heads
so be it... whatever needs to be done...
etymologically, i think this intra-racial slur lent itself
from the word: KAPTUR... meaning hood...
since... it would almost take forever for England
to be threatened and i still hold a little grudge
against England for being deported when i was a child...
2nd time: oh... all manner of legality...
but seeing how England started treating ethnic minorities
(even though i am, technically an ethnic minority,
ethnicity comes prior to race)
sort of ****** me off, a little, an itsy-bitsy bit...
esp. how these ethnic minorities started gloating
and boasting, blowing themselves up...
eh... just an itsy-bitsy bit of me tells me:
i might just have to pledge allegiance to a country
i only spent 8 years in... and the summers with my
grandfather from the ages of 13 to... 21...
even though i'm not equipped with those people's
mentality... i don't know... i really don't...
but pandering to racial minorities: that are no longer
******* racial minorities...
whenever race comes to the fore and ethnicity is
ignored... it's a bit like telling a Welshman he's English...
just because they're both white...
****** me off... big time...
you go to Africa and learn: the Kenyans are
importing timber from Ghana... well...
because a Kenyan is a Kenyan and a Ghanaian
is a Ghanaian... who gives a **** whether they part
of the same race... a Kenyan is not a Ghanaian
and vice versa... that's how you spot the real racists...
on the western front... child-speak...
roses are red, violets are blue...
all felines... all canines are...
Alsatian shepherds... it's almost like an inability
to see a three-dimensional object in two-dimensions...
ha! that's exactly it! these people can't see
a cube on a piece of paper!
i'm still trying to figure out who subverted these people
to this level of nonsense...
the old Soviets?! the proper left, all those years ago?
you think?
i don't know... i'll let the ideas ferment a little...
see if there will be any Russian teasing with lead
on the Polish Ukrainian border...
but it's going to be hard...
i don't really have a tongue to defend...
that fear of being made extinct by either Russian
or German in the years prior to independence of 1918
is long gone... given the ****** diaspora across
the world being as prominent as it were of the Hebrews...
i clearly don't have a ******'s mentality...
the only person of importance for me back there
is my grandmother... and that's about it...
fight for... a memory of a place from when i was 4 through
to 8? is it really worth fighting for?
i'm not going to move back there...
fickle... fickle little me...
i would have more concern to fight for England
than i would for Poland...
just like in the old days...
England states that it will make war against
Germany for having invaded...
yet no English soldier fought on that land...
while ****** soldiers were involved on English soil
in the air-force...
such are the days...
then again: i can't imagine fighting
for anything as obnoxious as LGBT+ rights either...
for the grand dodo project... no offence... sure... be gay...
have your kinks... but... fight for these rights?
as a man who has been stripped of the possibility
of starting a family based on the fickleness of women...
i'm more of a free agent of any idea i wish to will...
and will it to my advantage...
oh it's a bit different, right? when it's on
your doorstep...
can't exactly hoodwink it... can't put it to the back
of your mind... it's staring you right in the eyes
and you're not expected to blink...
well... the cards are on the table...
thank god Ilona got engaged with me and later
broke the engagement off...
like i said at work... 2 weeks ago...
having a Russian girlfriend, right now... would be sort
of problematic...
yes, yes: NOT ALL RUSSIANS...
but... yeah... whatever.
body:
/methods/
|in|
/to/
|and| \back\ - a 502 bad gateway bypass
well, you drink, get up, you drink some more,
you vacuum the house,
you correct the tomato soup your father has
started, blitz it up, sieve it,
add more Kashmiri chilly powder, sugar,
two chicken stock cubes: the sour cream will
be served individually... you'll cook the vermicelli
later on...
maybe it's just me: my parents instilled in me
a sense of dis-belonging to my fatherland...
since i left Poland when i was 8 years old...
they instilled in me the "argument":
what has Poland ever done for you?!
well... when the regime changed...
and my father married up... my mother's father:
my grandfather, was a known Communist Party
member, that's why he rose in rank
to become a foreman: brigadier in the metallurgy
industry... so after the regime change:
stigma... obviously...
what did Poland ever give me? erm... ah ha...
a childhood... my memory bank goes as far back
as being 4 years old... that's the expanse
of my consciousness... 4 years old... standing in
a darkened room... watching a football match...
Lothar Matthäus was my hero...
Germany was my favourite team...
maybe because his surname sounded like
my name... maybe i'm just a reincarnated German...
even though: i don't believe in reincarnation...
an abhorring idea... i.e. there's only a fixed number
of souls... migrating from one zombie body to
another... but i'm thinking... Poland has always been
human traffic junction...
name them: Mongols, Huns, Goths, Vandals,
Russians, Swedes... there was even an elected Saxon
king... Scots... perhaps an ancient past has woken
up in me... "my" people once spanned the lands
between the Baltic Sea and the Black Sea...
"we" used to own Kiev...
so my father left me when i was 4... he in turn
was abandoned by his parents: raised by his grandmother
and her second husband... so not really his grandfather...
first grey hairs at 18 taking care of him...
an alcoholic father who was a diligent worker
but who tended to sleep on park benches completely
out of it: my father would get the grunt and jokes
about his father: who abandoned him... blah blah...
oh, my father's a ****** when it comes to drinking...
a complete teetotaler... i haven't been so "lucky":
i just enjoy it too much... esp. when cooking or doing
household chores, gardening or... ahem: this...
doodling...
my mother left me when i was 6... we were all reunited
all the way in England when i was 8...
allegiance? well... perhaps if we weren't deported
when i was... starting year 7 at Canon Palmer R.C. School...
i had to lie that my grandmother died...
i just remember punching the wall... crying...
giving the Home Officers a death-stare when
he commented on me having a nice p.c. -
watching my father and mother get hand-cuffed...
we left two weeks later and i spent a year back in
Poland watching the 1998 world cup,
reading Umberto Eco, the Little Prince...
was home-schooled... focused on the math...
again... thrown back among people who
didn't speak English... a bit like being thrown among
people who didn't speak any Polish...
ping-pong! even my grandmother remarked
that i was losing my capacity to speak my mother tongue...
all in all? i reckon it was a good thing...
since i doubled down in my "schizoid" bilingualism...
i wouldn't speak English in private... i still don't...
no chance am i going to play the atypical immigrant
plotline ranging from India to somewhere
in Africa where first generation immigrants
don't teach their 2nd generation immigrant children
their mother tongue: to fit in... to "integrate":
while those kids rebel against the whole establishment
and blow themselves up: why? out of spite for
their parents... unconsciously... they might think it's
against their host country... but it's unconsciously
against their parents... for not leaving them an open
avenue with a chance to return: should they wish...
to speak their mother tongue...
but now i wake up... hmm... what did Poland ever
do for me? i remember being spat in the face...
by fellow countrymen as a young boy...
my grandfather's reputation as a Communist Party
member spread? who knows...
children are cruel... the change of guard was certainly
the pivotal reason why my parents immigrated...
fun facts from world war II...
it took **** Germany and Soviet Russia longer
to subdue Poland...
than it took **** Germany to subdue France...
i mean... France... Napoleon... a colonial superpower...
but that's how it goes... i'm sniffing gunpowder
on the doorstep... what does Poland owe me?
what do i owe, though? splendid first 8 years of my
life... childhood was more fun in Poland
than it was in England, there was a sense of community,
of belonging... all that shattered: disappeared in
England... even though... those weekends spent
with Peter Richardson and Kieran O'Mahoney...
yeah... no complaints there... we used to run round
5 storey car parks and play a game of spitting
down on people walking in...
this one time i managed the impossible... my phlegm
landed on a guy's head... oh the joy we shared...
a security guard caught up with us: but we blagged
our way out of it...
whatever my feelings concerning Ukraine: historically...
the UPA genocides of Galicia...
and in general... but at least... we're taking in refugees...
women, children... unlike Western countries with
their superiority complex... we're better... because we've
been taking in... cultural enrichment gangs
of fighting age men... where was that?
Cologne? hmm... my my...
ref-u-gee?! i'm gleeful at the irony in all
of this... but i'm waking up thinking... **** me...
explosions as far west as L'viv... hmm... that's what?
2 hours from the border from the fatherland?
should i be thinking about conscripting?
well... if i still didn't have a job... by now...
i'd be thinking about nothing else...
but it's on the cards...
hard to imagine... but that there's a real chance
of me conscripting to go to war...
like: i would never celebrate war in poo'etry...
venerate the warrior... i'm far too an existentialist
to give into the myths of war...
it's just new... there was never a prospect akin to this
ever... for me at least... but now it's on the cards...
would i pledge my allegiance to England
as more important than pledging my allegiance
to Poland? should the most horrible happen?
being a dual-national... i have all the paperwork...
i have the tongue... the prospect of me settling
down with an English girl fizzled out completely with
Jeminah and that trio of storms that raged over
England days prior to the Russian invasion...
i translate that as a butterfly effect...
a broken heart in England and elsewhere... Russian troops
stomping their boots...
and believe me: there are more deluded people out
there... western leftoids who are just a headache when
it comes to this subject matter...
for me... even contemplating conscripting in the ******
army feels... rather... surreal?
but if one has to level a few КAЦAП heads
so be it... whatever needs to be done...
etymologically, i think this intra-racial slur lent itself
from the word: KAPTUR... meaning hood...
since... it would almost take forever for England
to be threatened and i still hold a little grudge
against England for being deported when i was a child...
2nd time: oh... all manner of legality...
but seeing how England started treating ethnic minorities
(even though i am, technically an ethnic minority,
ethnicity comes prior to race)
sort of ****** me off, a little, an itsy-bitsy bit...
esp. how these ethnic minorities started gloating
and boasting, blowing themselves up...
eh... just an itsy-bitsy bit of me tells me:
i might just have to pledge allegiance to a country
i only spent 8 years in... and the summers with my
grandfather from the ages of 13 to... 21...
even though i'm not equipped with those people's
mentality... i don't know... i really don't...
but pandering to racial minorities: that are no longer
******* racial minorities...
whenever race comes to the fore and ethnicity is
ignored... it's a bit like telling a Welshman he's English...
just because they're both white...
****** me off... big time...
you go to Africa and learn: the Kenyans are
importing timber from Ghana... well...
because a Kenyan is a Kenyan and a Ghanaian
is a Ghanaian... who gives a **** whether they part
of the same race... a Kenyan is not a Ghanaian
and vice versa... that's how you spot the real racists...
on the western front... child-speak...
roses are red, violets are blue...
all felines... all canines are...
Alsatian shepherds... it's almost like an inability
to see a three-dimensional object in two-dimensions...
ha! that's exactly it! these people can't see
a cube on a piece of paper!
i'm still trying to figure out who subverted these people
to this level of nonsense...
the old Soviets?! the proper left, all those years ago?
you think?
i don't know... i'll let the ideas ferment a little...
see if there will be any Russian teasing with lead
on the Polish Ukrainian border...
but it's going to be hard...
i don't really have a tongue to defend...
that fear of being made extinct by either Russian
or German in the years prior to independence of 1918
is long gone... given the ****** diaspora across
the world being as prominent as it were of the Hebrews...
i clearly don't have a ******'s mentality...
the only person of importance for me back there
is my grandmother... and that's about it...
fight for... a memory of a place from when i was 4 through
to 8? is it really worth fighting for?
i'm not going to move back there...
fickle... fickle little me...
i would have more concern to fight for England
than i would for Poland...
just like in the old days...
England states that it will make war against
Germany for having invaded...
yet no English soldier fought on that land...
while ****** soldiers were involved on English soil
in the air-force...
such are the days...
then again: i can't imagine fighting
for anything as obnoxious as LGBT+ rights either...
for the grand dodo project... no offence... sure... be gay...
have your kinks... but... fight for these rights?
as a man who has been stripped of the possibility
of starting a family based on the fickleness of women...
i'm more of a free agent of any idea i wish to will...
and will it to my advantage...
oh it's a bit different, right? when it's on
your doorstep...
can't exactly hoodwink it... can't put it to the back
of your mind... it's staring you right in the eyes
and you're not expected to blink...
well... the cards are on the table...
thank god Ilona got engaged with me and later
broke the engagement off...
like i said at work... 2 weeks ago...
having a Russian girlfriend, right now... would be sort
of problematic...
yes, yes: NOT ALL RUSSIANS...
but... yeah... whatever.