and today i invented the sport of dribbling,
got tired of walking and philosophical thought,
an abandoned football on the street,
took it,
starting dribbling the **** out of it (approx. 2 miles),
drinking beer and smoking -
i was waiting for the heart-attack,
although teaching people to walk down
a high street and cross a country road
without bumping into bad manners and death:
walk... look at the ball... look... dribble the ball...
****, traffic... pause from dribbling...
then dribble on... i swear i sweated out half a can of beer
with that idea... oh wait, i did, here's the ball,
and i have a number of eye-witnesses...
dribbling is like jogging for those who can't give up
drinking and smoking - i know i'm not a ronaldo,
but this is a tight pavement, and not a green pitch
illuminated by floodlights and t.v. cameras,
i'm simply exercising... n'ah, this will never catch on,
it's too english, not enough american spandex in it
or kite surfing or VEGANS FOR
SAVING THE POTATO PLANET -
ah, oh well: at least i have my dog my leash on it and chores;
well no, i don't, i have two lazy pets and my lazy me.

such that our world allows
only all that easily diffuses;

our world governed by the
algebraic *x the multiplier
(yet no anomalies given our
speedy venture to recuperate
the supposedly stolen number of
exhibits), where denial can't claim +
when unsolved mysteries linger
and are lost by the multiplying constant:
nothing can be added to this world
in a true sense, many have tried
by becoming famous, but still
the overbearing x, of multiplying rather than
adding to it, and truth be told, mathematics
has provided us the prime assertions of
the tetragrammaton with +, -, x and ÷
(obelus: the H gemini): whereby this tetrasymbolum,
like all symbols is an expression of
surd upon surd, wholly optic -
an intuitive deciphering kindred of feline
scents and vocative with a meow
should a cat wish for a door to be opened
by a higher power with mandible thumbs
and escape into the darkened garden.

i get bored of using websites
with only strangers on them,
it's like trying to be a stage-fright
actor imitating statues,
it's almost but a too
clear bewilderment;
i wonder why the internet was never
intended for the sole purpose of
bureaucracy, trading, banking,
and all those social requirements,
the dark side of the internet isn't
the dark web as such, it's the oddity
of using the internet to socialise,
the hindering, the crutch, when otherwise
all benefits of the internet have
proven effective, for example?
the shrinking diversity of the high street;
large and accessible world,
yet no community in the vicinity,
and then friendships 12 hours apart,
and then you step onto the streets of suburbia
and death's grinding grip of things,
because, let's face it, the bright lights
and constant social engagements will only
appreciate you for as much time as necessary
to feel over-confident and then you're
easily recyclable - and then the pre cemetery:
suburbia.

i mean,
who does comedy with
rehearsals
and inviting crowds
to laugh when a
sign prompts them
to "laugh"?