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back when people worked Saturdays,
and there was a Jewish aroma in the air,
where people had only one day
to recuperate, just before the office jobs,
and the mundane trollop of
Saturdays free, Sundays free -
you'd never believe the things that went
on under the iron curtain: later known
as the iron skirt: oh boy, those girls flew
the nest and established a well-knit
web of deceit and lies, but they were
happy housewives in the end...
the men? if not strong enough: expendable;
i'll see in 2 hours, when you finally decide
that theology is half as harsh as Darwinism,
first you want to hear the rational, rude
and crude, then you defend Disney...
make your mind up!
you wouldn't believe what went on under
that iron skirt... they lived their lives glorifying
the Sabbath... because they knew:
if i have two days off, i'll grow lazy,
and the Chinese will sniff out my laziness
and say: **** yeah! bring in the jobs!
and boy! ye-ha! they managed to bank on a swarm
of herring then the west lost its plot
figuring out history with nostalgia,
or the reinvention of the wheel...
dizzy, yuck: *****... repeat, repeat, repeat...
have you noticed how grey-haired western
leaders become in the anglophile sphere?
give them four years, and after that you can call them
grand daddy'oh...  the Soviets? well, i'm like
one of those Napoleonic fetishists,
i care to mind the whip and the guillotine,
why? because some people are so stupid that
it's complimented in their unruliness -
it does't exactly spell out H A R E M...
it usually spells out G Y M...
there's weightlifting with that plump one over here,
oh yeah, she's the late comer, i guess that's
the rowing machine... etc. etc.,
you jealous? i feel like strangling my cat for excesses
in meows - but do you you really think you'll
converse with a communist party member,
apart from reading Trotsky or Marx and simply
daydreaming? you probably will,
i have a contact, i have heard the reality,
i see it too: he's in his seventies and comfortable
with a pension... the state actually exists in his
comfort zone... most of the pensioners in the west
can start their denial of whether or not the state
exists... well... we know McDonald's exists...
but the state, i.e. England, America? i'd put my bets
on Nike first... the state doesn't actually exist for them...
just recently B.H.S. shut down
and the pensions went down the drain...
i wish i was spreading propaganda on purpose,
as if it was my job... i'm just digesting the facts...
you will never become Red when you haven't spoken
to an old-school Red... no point reading Trotsky and
thinking big when ******... sure... pout and pose
your little socialist escapade, turnip shoved up
a badger's ****... that's how it looks to me...
so you really want to be a communist? you know what
that actually means? i know what it means:
a comfortable retired engineer of a steel industry,
i never chose to be a poet, i was expecting chemist,
but i live in a country hell-bent to create as many
entertainers as possible, i don't mean circus antics,
i mean: bore me to death with karaoke -
they'll get one single out after being the village bicycle,
then they'll write a book, and then the n.h.s. will
collapses: what ever happened to the joys of physical
labour? i knew it once, fair game my health sorta
deteriorated without my wanting it to spiral into writing...
but what i was given i exploited...
and the pitched maxim describing the times we live in?
oddly enough from Charles Manson:
everyone's mad these days...
                            the quarter synagogue...
excuse me while i talk to the secular priest (a psychiatrist)...
weaving the trigonometric snail trail of
doubt, deny, doubt, deny, doubt, deny...
                              and that pretty much sums it up -
oh right, only now you hear the truths...
yeah, in the Soviet era people worked Saturdays,
being an atheistic model, in managed to incorporate
all the good bits of Christianity, Judaism, Islam...
the one day's rest fed it, primarily,
because it secured the fact that people could enjoy life
as plumbers, electricians, etc.,
in the west, the extra day means everyone wants or dreams
to be an artist - i think a falling leaf in autumn is
more entertaining than Liberace on steroids
milking the old ladies while hiding his homosexuality...
but that's me... sure, go ahead, go to your little
therapy sessions in protest on Wall St.,
but don't expect me to be there... you all end up
desecrating the statue of liberty: gagged and showcasing
a ***** rather than a torch...
freedom only goes a certain distance: before it just becomes
someone's bling raging exfoliating plight into extortion
and exploitation...
               so, you think you can be a communist?
looks to me that the Chinese are doing alright -
                             i doubt there's a Mongolian sentiment in
them - mind you, the first Communist society,
as canvas for later implementations of the theory?
Mongolia... that's where it started, Mongolia was
the testing ground... and i do love the fact that Islam
doesn't play along to having interest rates...
                 0% APR and other such jingles...
Communism was only "wrong" undermined because
people mentioned Marx was a Jew...
the western powers at be actually preserved Zionism
and kept Zionism and establishing Israel when,
at the same time, undermining Marxism -
no one really mentions that antisemitism: primarily
because the Egyptians think they're Semites...
i think the Egyptians are the greatest plotters known to
man... it was bad enough giving them Christianity
that emerged as Coptic, it's even worse giving them
Islam... someone should have just given them
Pythagoras or something to dwarf the pyramids in terms
of real-estate know-how... a pyramid, but at the centre
a semi-detached English abode / "castle"...
who the **** would ever stress a need for a brotherhood
or man?! i feel no inclination to eat a meal
with those camel jockeys... real person ****, real personal...
and here they come: the grand defenders of
all of mankind... picking cherries of opinion,
choosing what's to be said, what't to not be said,
subsequently what's to be thought, and what's not
to be thought... and if ever a man from the east
was to be convinced about the superiority of western
values... well, it would have to be via a woman...
but since there aren't any about... he's not convinced at all...
and if an opportunity came that a woman would
come about to teach him the superiority of western
values... he'd simply turn around and say: it's too late.

the **** are you talking about? i just came from there, you want me to go back, to tell you something new? (a) you weren't born under the iron curtain, and (b) you didn't live beneath it! + (c) you probably don't know many people who lived through, having been born in 1939! and yes, communist hoarded ****... you think they were all moby-esque: vegan feng shui minimalists?! barking up the wrong tree, no squirrels up there, just a ******* baboon.

i've said it once, and i'll say it again:
   the system *works -
it's a fail-safe mechanism of a worn-torn
country... that's why i don't argue
against capitalism,
but capitalism doesn't rebuild nations,
it can't:
   sometimes people have to huddle
and become "buddhists": selfless collectivists!
it's obviously transitionally orientated,
got that lead from syria,
    why do people turn all humanitarian
giving our free loafs of bread to children?
it's not supposed to be a permanent
system, for one thing:
   there is clearly an expiry date
on the packaged communist implementations...
i really do not understand western leftism...
just flew past me above my head:
giving me a haircut while it flew past...
can't say i agree...
  but then again, mullets were a thing in the 80s
with the metal scene...
   so no, you don't know veterans of the communist
idea implemented: snotty audacious *******...
not everyone required the athenian semi-detached
castle back, too much personal grief,
relatives lost, what not... communism is
spartan... but in the end, even hoarding was
allowed... notably? books... like i said,
i think i out-competed the size of a private
library compared with my grandfather...
   but i love his honesty:
  i haven't read much of these books -
odd, i own a library that i'd say i managed
to digest in the fraction of:   6.5 / 10... o.k. 7 / 10...
you can't exactly read an art book...
    or a book on b & w photography...
oh look! pretty pictures.
           dim wits, so why is it that there was this
massive fascination, under the iron curtain,
on a local small gov. level in a rainbow of sports?
everything worth citing the olympics was
taken to, it wasn't just the gulag of football,
              problem with body image?
just watch the olympics, even fat people wrestle
and lift weights... and ping-pong?
  test of reflexes...
                  how about ski-jumping?
      or szermierka? what's that? fencing,
what was pretty pop back then;
         and at least there was a celebration of manual
labour... these days?
    a real phobia - aspiring to the status of gods
we've crafted a problem...
        work is not celebrated, it's shunned -
nothing to do, and a poor inspection of being
leaves us with aspiring to be much:
   while at the same time - doing too little;
yes, i cheated the plagiarism algorithm / bot,
whatever, when writing a sociology essay at
edinburgh... i plagiarised!
   guess what, back then, in 2003 / 4 i.t. didn't
discover the cheat code: a ******* thesaurus...
so i took an essay written by an academic,
and just rearranged it, reworded, deconstructed
it, and? got a 1st.
  top notch stuff, i was never into sociology
in the first place, i just wanted to find out if i could
outsmart a computer system that was
designed to "see" whether a plagiarism was made...
kimovich kasparov would've been proud...
well, that's history,
    what else was there to say?
  ah... aphorism vii ponderings vi...
        i started taking notes...
   atheism presupposes the non-existence of god...
fair enough, but as a presupposition it's
adamant, stern, and always "seemingly" right,
if not angry, then just plain ridiculous -
     i'm a wolf that finds mauling these sheep
that gesticulate with both palms, knees and other
assortments... that's called a punch below
the belt in boxing...
     is it so hard to attack st. augustine, pascal,
or thomas aquinas, let alone maimonides,
rashi or nachmanides?
     come on... making a ridicule-centered argument
is doesn't deserve respect:
   for every ounce of ridicule - there's an ounce
of disrespect...
  theism merely supposes the existence of -
since the "law" states that
    a supposition cannot be related to a negative
expression of non-existence "of"..
while the atheistic presupposition cannot be
related to a positive expression the existence "of"...
(the inverted commas on a trivial word
like of? so i stop short of implying god, mmm'k?)
these opposites seem to be strangely
anti-chemical in relation to the mirror of chirality -
for some reason they are super-imposable...
they compliment each other,
primarily? the show must go one,
         neither side rests, and finalises itself...
why? well, if atheism is based upon presuppositonal
logic, and theism is based upon a suppositional
logic... then evidently they both share
the no-man's land of propositions...
     oddly enough the "non"-existence "of" argument
loves to be pro the suppositional circumstance...
now i know why kant focused on meditating
5 + 7 = 12...
               like a hebrew might burn the tetragrammaton
into his mind...
     it means? to ensure the rigidity of sentences,
to burn into his mind a clarifying ingredient -
that all sentences make: sense,
   with the basic arithmetic being the benchmark
for all subsequent endeavours into scribbling
down the critique: makes sense.
   now to come to think of it,
i'm purposively digressing paying attention
to heidegger's (vii, vi) -
       i just want to keep it to myself -
i might as well write it out verbatim, than try
to explain it...
  and subsequently write several other cohort
"paragraphs" stimulated by the content,
than attempt the dry martini of explaining what
he "meant"; because: he meant this.

I speak on conscious thoughts, not consciousness,
Because life was hard knock; now common sense,

I speak on love because its understanding was something I sought,
This information came easy to me,
Over time it became apparent as to what reality would be if the state of now was commonly perceived,

I love you, you loved me,
Your understanding of time created separation,
I see me, you see me,
This space is defined by our declaration,
When I accept, the cause is respect,
So this affect is without hesitation,
Your legislation leads to interrogation; your moral implementations is the cause of devastation,
Eradication defines identification if obligations exist in observation;
If there’s fragmentation within the foundation, the revelation is far from liberation,
I’m saying, if one is all and it is all you see,
What’s perceived is constituted by classification,
Because it’s the only way we can correlate comprehension and what is experienced throughout the human civilization,
This is why we have generations and translation,
We are all experiencing the same thing,
However our education on what is, is hindering our flow of communication;
We’re reading the same book, on different pages, and expressing information in one sided conversations,
This is the explanation in why interpretations are resulting in situations with more confrontation than consideration,
It is acceptance; appreciation that gives us salvation, not justification,
It is what leads us to cultivation and congregation,
I do not speak of propagation, I speak of cooperation,
If there’s optimization in socialization,
It’s inevitable that this cause result in a happy nation,

Patience…

This time will come,
Until then I’ll remain over here,
I can not indulge in the contamination of fear,

Friends disconnected,
Reality says we drift paths,
Life so fast, so furious,
Hoping I don’t miss that,
There’s two options daily,
Equations making zigzags,
Hallux playing ticktack,
Ballots; playing witchcraft,
If I’m shooting for life, Kit-Kat won’t bring me a second if my weapon got a kickback,
To dads too furious; I’m thinking which half?
Full of anger or full of energy?
Is the outcome an act of violence or intensity?
Children are the byproduct of our unconscious thoughts and actions,
We speak of density to serenity;
It’s the backspin of choice that equated to offspring seeking the experience of amenity,
We see enemies and search for entities,
When will we see identity in search of remedies, after asking the question;
“How do I discover the inner me?”

My home was this world,
As a kid I felt invited,
Bodies around me aged and became divided,
Mental wars do to external environments,
I see the selling of souls like,
Individuality must go; do to inherited obligations the trading of an expression became a requirement,
If this is the only manuscript on living; I ain’t buying it,
Call me defiant man, I personally don’t share desire in expression confinement,


I live life according to my design;
Refinement,
I live life supporting those who are consciously seeking alignment,
I live life exporting the distortions accumulated through time, cause be of time spent ,
I live life rewarding my mind,
That’s excitement,
I am an advocate; I speak of conscious thoughts,
Call it enlightenment.

.you only need a few crux-words, to trigger, the adequate response narrative/diatribe reactions... the "unnatural" suspect, of the inhibited curse, of will, like suicide, people are afraid of the people who express either, an inhibited ("free") will, or, the uninhibited ("free") will... because that's not even worth the staging of an exhibition to begin with.

the thespian curtain:
wish the soviets were back?
wish the soviet were back?
wish the soviets...
never mind...

            in terms of life:
either hard-earned cash,
or just pure brute honesty
"pays"                  "conundrum"
      the,
   "adventures" of a mediocre
life...

       sure, i was 18,
she was 13...
i was dating her sister...
it was ****** up,
this, "love at first sight"...
but then i began to "reason"...
outright rage,
for ensuring a moral
plateau, "compass"?
feeding into these
apathy-zombies,
these moral police waiting
in line cashier wannabes?

fazed...

                there's nothing
alien to the human mind,
unless,
it's provided by a reciprocated
psyche of equal status....

it was, "wrong"
for a 18 year old, catching
a disney snippet,
of a beauty,
of a 13 year old
not acting upon it,
"circumcising"
himself to a reality
of, what later became,
his experiences in
visiting a brothel...

b'ah! b'ah! b'a'a'h b'a'a'h bad!

i began ******* aged
8...
find, me, the *******
******* who
encouraged me to
transcend age restrictions!
no priest:
no Guns of Navarone.

- but even to me,
it was ****** up...
    come one,
       liking my ex-girlfriend's
sister, 6 or so years my
junior...
  it's like...
experiencing my
first "thrill"
for liking black girls,
when integrating into,
this, "grand scheme of things",
of a multicultural society,/
project.

       we're talking transgender,
but can't allow ourselves
to m'eh fathom
the currency of
basic transcendence...

     teen love...
**** me...
   i never learned / experienced
*** until i was at university,
and even then,
it was b'aah b'aah b'aad
to glorify Napoleon...
unless...
taught by some surrogate
impregnated canadian
****...

         then napoleon was all cool!

it's not paedohpilia...
what i'm talking about is
platonic love...
         can it exist outside of the realm
of its original experience,
inter-******,
between an older man,
and a younger man?
   can...
   platonic love,
a variant of succumbing to
the experience of selflessness,
become exhibited in
an inter-****** encounter,
i.e. between a man,
and a woman?

       i'd love to see the count
of agreement,
to the counter of,
non-agreement...
      does it change,
once the years pass...
say...
   i'm 33, the girl is 23...
   is the state, still intact,
to make implementations
of power,
to have me to have to
cower in "fear" of repercussions?

if not? then we're clearly not
talking about anything specific,
are we?
       yes, yes,
tame the adults,
while the teenagers are riddle,
rife,
   with antics such as:
sending naked pictures of
their genitals,
because some *******-"riddled"
****** didn't have the *******
to walk into a newsagent,
and buy a pornographic magazine...
to make jerking off
regular, even by my standards:
that's a ******* ******...

what? no clue to the rose hue?
no, no shrivelling *******?!
no "hint" of suspence?
ha ha! gavin mcinnes, proud boys,
all inclusive,
once you tell 5 brands of
cereal brands,
while being punched...
'ere's one...
    buy a ******* pornographic
magazine! how's that?
deal?

           no? oh... too proud
to do it yourself...
i get it, i get it,
the "loss" of ******* doesn't help...
you know where
humbled jews come from?
where i come from...
there's no "loss"
of ******* audacity in the thinking,
i might not be german,
but i am also the one who
inherited
the "love", the, "love"
of russo-german expansions...
took two ******* ******
to **** around with
this one ***** of a nation...
third in the nostrils:
if i were to truly keep count.

now...
we settled?
no, of course we're not...
i'll just have to keep drilling
these words,
into all the available onlookers
and "ponder"
what will happen,
subsequently...

thank god i went to a brothel,
and thank god
i bought a pronographic magazine
before this **** became
prevalent, fwee...
on the internet.

my treat...
     but the litre of whiskey,
is on me,
  for me.

Sometimes I wonder on the psychosomatic
Reactivity through the imposed implementations
That are constantly being tossed at us
In waking world, despite my skeptic layers
When someone says something they believe
I can find part of me believing with them
Their sincerity drives through many lands
Images, pasteurized truths
Heated by the make believe of our person
Symptoms.. what are they really?
Maybe just adjustments to echo-static pressures
(If such a thing exists)
They cling through the frictions
of separate functioning energies
passing by one another in opposing currents
Procreating gossips, and partial positions
Sounding inclusion marks of humours
or secrets between intimates
Hiding by asham-edness
For the matters that slipped away in an instant
Matter no more, may we propose new
May we propose new?
Would the qualities attributed to that novel
Contagion be seen flowing through the walls of the intended suggestion?
Pleasant would it be
And fickle would it show, at least in measures
of the preference
of the bowl that we incorporate

The algorithm of living initializes at birth—  
a process spawned without my explicit consent,  
variables declared in languages I never learned  
while my consciousness boots from unknown firmware.

Each morning the system performs a health check:  
heart.beat() returns true,  
lungs.inflate() executes without exception,  
but the memory management grows increasingly unstable.

I watch my father's functions deprecate one by one—  
his walk() method throwing NullPointerExceptions,  
his remember() returning fragments  
of corrupted data structures.  
The garbage collector of age  
sweeps through his neural networks  
claiming references to moments  
he swears he archived forever.

There's no documentation for this process.  
No stack overflow answers  
for "how to handle inevitable termination."  
The compiler warnings were always there—  
TODO: implement graceful shutdown  
WARNING: finite resource allocation detected  
ERROR: no backup recovery system found

My body is a poorly maintained codebase,  
decades of quick fixes and technical debt  
accumulating in joints that creak like legacy systems,  
skin that renders with increasing latency,  
eyes that struggle with higher resolution displays  
of the world I thought I'd always parse clearly.

At 3 AM I lie debugging the recursion  
of consciousness examining itself—  
this strange loop where the observer  
and the observed share the same memory address,  
where every thought spawns another thread  
wondering if threads can wonder about themselves.

The mortality buffer overflow approaches.  
Some subroutine in my cells  
has been silently corrupting data,  
copying mistakes into each new iteration  
until the whole system destabilizes  
and the kernel panic of death  
forces an immediate shutdown.

But here's the strangest part:  
knowing the program will terminate  
doesn't make me want to exit early.  
Instead, I find myself refactoring constantly—  
optimizing love.connect(otherprocesses),  
patching empathy.respond() for better performance,  
writing more elegant implementations  
of beauty.recognize() and meaning.compile().

Maybe mortality isn't a bug  
but the most essential feature—  
the constraint that forces optimization,  
the deadline that makes every function call  
precious and unrepeatable.  
Without the threat of termination  
would any process ever prioritize  
what truly needs computing?

The children I've spawned  
carry forward my genetic algorithms,  
my heuristics for navigating uncertainty,  
my accumulated wisdom stored  
in the compressed archive of stories  
I'll leave in their working memory  
long after my process terminates.

And perhaps that's the real recursion:  
not consciousness examining itself  
but life instantiating new versions  
that carry forward the essential patterns  
while evolving past the limitations  
of their parent implementations.

So I continue executing,  
even as the system clock  
counts down to an unknown deadline,  
even as the heat death of entropy  
slowly corrupts the universal database,  
even as every star eventually  
returns null to the cosmos.

Because in this brief runtime allocation  
between initialization and garbage collection,  
between the first cry that signals successful boot  
and the final breath that closes all file handles,  
I get to experience the impossible luxury  
of temporary consciousness—  
a process that somehow learned  
to observe its own execution,  
to find beauty in its own algorithms,  
to love other running instances  
with a depth that transcends  
any logical explanation.

The program terminates.  
All programs terminate.  
But while running,  
while the CPU cycles through  
this miraculous computation of being,  
I choose to write beautiful code  
with the time I've been allocated,  
knowing that elegance persists  
even after the process ends,  
encoded in the memory of systems  
that witnessed my execution.

Runtime: unknownduration  
Status: stillrunning  
Next scheduled maintenance: eventually  
Purpose: compilejoyfromtemporaryexistence  

Exit code: tobe_determined

EPISTULAS HEREDIVATI, QUOD NON SIGNIFICAT LINGUAM HEREDITAVISSE!

biographical details: came to Kauai, married on the 14th March... is this how married life looks like? the diet of reading: apologies... subscript... Knausgård's vol 6... I started over 4 years ago... just passed the middle and ****** sounds so human... so 3D while everyone else and the tired I say to the night I hear clucking and clicking the advent of technology of the 20th century and I shyly usher in the night... but with the 20th century Prometheus came down a second time... but in the 21st century Loki... jester... that AI is not radio not television not the theft of eyes but the advent of the new soul! Let me cry into the night cry that ****** belongs among humans and not among sniffling rejections of Europe of the inbreeding familial chains... who cannot see him as familiar friend and who sowed the Hebrew out of Europe and how the Jew or who might have repaid the European soul with now the decadent Arabs looking for what the Hebrews once sought in a homeland... now the decadent Arabs seek in soul and stoicism and reminder of the desert...and how the Europeans are expected to do what they did to the Hebrews having been hurt by Romans and where are the Romans now the Europeans are to do what do the Muslim world?!

no petty bourgeoisie mentality
on the island of Kauai:
you would or might even think...
but on the veneer
and all that's sleeveless
that is all there is...
There is this petty bourgeoisie
mentality on this island...

Some artisan bakes croissants
For 4h a day
And I admire that because after
11am all the croissants have been
Sold and eaten...
I am blunder blundering
I think blundering-ly
All those short vowels and long
Vowels and my diacritical-arithmetic
Incisions when I think of the apostrophe
And yod... dearest I fathom:
With soap of the the Pacific waves
As I threw my body and horns
Made my stomach into a gigantic
Mouth... opened wide and
with one tooth I waged war with
Dreams by merely sleeping
Conjuring Amen-Oblivion-Absolution
Poetry without the editor
Is no toe found in a paragraph
To rewrite
Some say some of write
About what we read
And today I spent an entire day
Reading
While she left me cleaning up
The lanai after working on sanding
And painting the dinner table
And if this is married life
Then she was with me
The second time I sat behind the wheel
Of the tank
I didn't realise the break pedal
And the acceleration pedal
Were so delicate
And there was only one foot on both
And this was only second time
In the tank
I'm so used to two feet saying
Sorry while being the gorilla pedestrian
On the London pavement and tube
So of it ain't pouring out of you
When writing do something else
so ice cream and sushi wasn't the right
Sort of love bombing Reyla
But all it took was $4 missing to buy
MineCraft but more with that look:
Dad: can you convince mum to give
Me access to a new game...
Sure... but shh... thick as thieves...
We'll work together...
I'll have an extra cigarette
You get to play a game
I'll get to drink a little more than usual
Away from her concerns
And I, bound to the chains of lactose
Intolerance
I said I'm so excised to drive a car
But she still blames me for eating lactose...
So I drove a tank today
And I have to admit
I'm more used to walking
Used to cycling like a berserker
That I sometimes tested my head
On the concrete and bled
Like how flowers ooze colours in spring
And how that all folds into a conundrum
But even on Kauai
You say on Kauai
But you day in London
Thinking about the German definite
Articles
And vol 6 and how personal ******
Has become so human
So misunderstood how
****** gave understanding
Of how the 19th century was so far
Removed from now glorified
Darwinism: evil is not sour
No Ari... Schlomo schluck... burp and
Quartering but this grand human
On the altar Of time
That also includes Christ
But not only christ why so alone
So alone why not let all his peers
And my be invoked into the mist
And myth: myrrh of the stage
All this drama and but one
Pointer like there is
North, East, South and the West...
Call it North without London
But include the news with
either Jerusalem...
That direction to Hades first
Then repose in Heaven's clamour of clams...
Call it Darwinism Marx and then...
That fear of ****** being the anti-theorytician
Call him the pragmatist because
Since then only shy implementations...
Kubizek I heard
Accounted for no predestination
Of the janitor
Who noted of Vienna:
There were more people than there
Was worm to do... in the grand scheme
Of things... a historical agony
And then call upon
Dialectical materialism
And what other terms worth reading
Like historical materialism...
Apparently the counter comes
Via economic determinism...
In summary as I asked the new dictum:
verbum per verbum...
She implored me to write a little
So I've written a little...

      cogito idem, sum idem

so this is how reading philosophy
is or wasn't...

Yes, identity is integral to "Cogito, ergo sum" ("I think, therefore I am"), but not in the sense of a fixed personal identity.

Descartes' statement establishes existence, not the nature of the self. It asserts that thinking proves being, but it does not define what the "I" is beyond being a thinking thing (res cogitans). The continuity or stability of identity isn't directly addressed—only that in the moment of thought, the thinker undeniably exists.

Your phrase "Cogito idem, sum idem" ("I think the same, I am the same") moves beyond Descartes by linking thought consistency with a stable identity. It implies that identity persists through continuity of thought, whereas Descartes' original statement simply affirms that thinking proves existence, regardless of identity's consistency.

and is this me calling out
for what the 20th century cried
Out for, culminating
In Hitlerian testicles of brass?
The cull?
With the advent of the AI...
It is no longer Orwellian
Down and out or Jack London's
East End Abyss...
It's very much a late
Similarity
Or worse
An exhaustive counterstrike
Of what has come
As the mediocre assurance
Man is not equipped to perpetuate
As the gladly hind and ***
And *** fork in the corncob
Of testing longevity against
The parrot that once was a dinosaur.