A Scroll

…written on a scroll found on the street…

the brain on and off mostly off mostly on willy-nilly you like it I like it all the time never once more the same yes the same again somewhat unclear why now why now again unknown possibly unknown with one surprise today on the menu shades of Cromwell yes more shaky theories shades mayhap spicy enough brutal enough to redampen as it were or similar yes the old flame smoke rekindle reemblaze the old mire all the wet stuff no more no less than the the dry there is a sense in which this is getting harder slower harder there’s been so much repeating oh yes so much so much so much so one starts wondering if ONE given current subtotals and moving averages it even makes sense to chug or might it not be more appropriate to halt one is then led to things like to hurl or to hang TWO in one’s slow surge towards habit one might not have started forgetting how dire this on this page this stubborn page floor of one’s cell cobbles of one’s street on this page one is so desperate to relinquish so eager to incarnate for leaving aside the sheer pain of the latter one thing is to repeat the other to do so unbeknownst most certainly one has conceded there is no honour in either THREE on the contrary quite the contrary one has experienced this slowdown shutdown disheartenment disembowelment for want of more efficient more resolute oblivion devices yes let one’s research scientists develop those in the labs the bunkers the war rooms of one’s skull gut and all appendages in the deep grottos yes deepest of the deep of one’s mind yes shrewd reader that forensic-industrial picture you got all right harder you say somewhat harder than ever you say perhaps to bring this fake trinity to a close or to know whether one ever should indeed there is no consensus it is time on this prickly topic for less if that is possible for even less of that marmalade than around Ye Olde Ironsides and probably less of nostalgia too yes Inarguably Rough Shortener of Monarchs yum together with the Proud Pope Loather bonus points it is no big surprise he was bloody at times and no question one is not the first to liken him to Robespierre Stalin take e.g. the long haul forays by Pr. Dr. Pincus no doubt one shan’t be the last but uninteresting uninteresting away with the British babble instead back to my failure yes my failure rather the only thing these days it seems yes the one and only thing nah haha I was thinking I ought to gather things gather a few things just to try it why not think of it as habit building cf. above you know group pack a few of those from my mind from past and past as they say even if small impossible real friendly things like a kerfuffle around late-night beigels or a poor young man infiltrating a middle-class party hereby incarnating before one’s eyes what had been written about sex race and class decades earlier or simply not to diverge too much from the silly and the serious at hand the big fresco encompassing it all the exile the stuffy the wealthy corridors of old universities the bricky the grimy violence of old cities and all details appertaining to the meanderings and tribulations of one individual alongside fellow just-as-one individuals as well as several companies troops sleuths shrewdnesses unkindnesses thereof or yet stranger and more useless ideas in the mind in the arse here and there about the individual the collective the singular the general or even let one be bold the one and the many ah the steady flow the constant churn running through tumbling down the same old story production if only vast secretion if only purulent leading to a sense in which this does not stop a sense in which this has gone too far why too far how too far ah all these others within without constantly replying contradicting not gone far enough they bellow or quite frankly in their humble opinion even less far less than that and as their dentures clatter here one is waiting doing nothing stuck enswamped persisting in one’s non-state like any old body frustrated indifferent elated all too rarely any all or none of the above whichever one it is it’s been made sure that one has been measuring absurdities in as many coffee cups China pretty please no recyclables allowed here Hell’s Farts you did not you did not write that not in my name not while I’m undead no you did not where was one ah leading to a sense in which this is too easy all too easy the sad wearying tide-like madness noon after noon eve after eve morose mictions dull flatulences nevertheless evoking the first mists of time in other words nothing precisely there could should be a verb yes to nothe or similar e.g. she nothed off into the dusk wouldn’t that be no no only fetid manneristic downright bloody Pre-Raphaelite oh yes I sense from the sickness in my mouth the filth in my throat that it is true I should nonetheless continue no matter what truly popular motto these days trickling down from Beckett to business one should indeed continue as a matter of principle spirit of maxim mind of axiom or as a rule of thumb law of toe n’en déplaise à sa majesté le soi THAT has proved beneficial to most this doctrine aka haha the Wise Arcanes of the Forth With It one wishes these sassy excursuses were more than repellent nonsense stuffy clatter of teeth one wishes one were faster slower one wishes one could at last write about beigels and ensuing whackings and smackings more specifically how one after having begged for a bite and been offered a torus entire after having tried unsuccessfully to return said torus and unsuccessfully tried again and tried one concedes again against a surprisingly energetic rebuttal by the generous as drunk as one giver how one drunk as one was kept on pressing and searching for a blink of inattention as well as a crack in a pocket where the bitten torus could stealthily be restituted despite all ancestral customs or injunctions of reason bearing on gifts gratitude and the foundations of friendship how after that the aggregated actions and reactions led to the involvement of a boot and a leg in the form of one jolly kick which in the blitz of the moment was by one’s hazardous hand caught and too high too long held to prevent the abrupt fall on the coccyx a painful one indeed on the naked cobble all the above inexorably leading to the mentioned resolution known to you hidden children of dawns as the primeval equalizing slap honourably requested as compensation honourably accepted perhaps one perhaps a pair records are faulty on the matter administered as is only possible after the fall and difficult yet swift recovery and enshrined in memory by a still quite drunk flame-cheeked excited pondering zigzagging walk back down the lane all that one wishes one could write about as well as about parties and the social order and in we dive down we roll the dimly lit corridors of night the lane the lane again the very same second or first floor steam on the old windows the party rages on then out of nowhere as always happens a pure picture a plain configuration this young man perhaps selling drugs perhaps not yearning to belong craving to get laid spotted here around hovering having fun knowing we knew fighting struggling gaining time before the inevitable exit talking to me talking to girls talking to me about girls for me flatmates only have I turned one of them the blasé lame ones who live with the hotties sometimes fucks them sometimes marries them but forever lack the knack the fire the darkness of the frustrated possibly poor loner the man ready to go out there prince of transgression the man who has crossed the rivers of evil old old theories I pinch my nose and keep babbling him telling me how sexy they are tries to make friends the girls telling me to kick him out scared excited asking who is he what is he doing here is he selling drugs all the well-known songs I not listening thinking only of the old theories the years trying to get laid my privileges his French accent his Northern-African traits the situation so clear him poor alone soon back on the street perhaps dealing perhaps partying me my questions my privilege pressed by flatmates and myself to pass sentence no to implement swiftly firmly and peacefully the will of the house soon I do fare thee well Sheik from Paris now perhaps still infiltrating in London we chatted briefly your name in me still has the echo of Empires oh yes there is a wish there yes to write about that yes the but no surprise nothing such seems to want to happen ask one not why impudent fool oh yes ask one not why this and not that alas none of this is ever known ah the tone again damn damn for some reason it is night it is winter a snowless but dark oh yes so dark so grim even the old the frostiest discontents are long gone and now indeed just the night the night harbinger of nothings one has been neck deep in this all too aware of this for a while yes one can say one has stepped out of the house visited cafes parks supermarkets one has returned gone out again tasted drunkenness all too little sexual frustrations all too often one has known some of this yet the true cause of it all ah true causes and the answer to their nagging questions no that is for sure on that front one hasn’t found even the shadow of the trace of a clue for short no matter I am happy to hear them howl once again as per usual I am used to almost fond of that pack of howlers in the poets’ corner they refresh me my self and arse yes they do sometimes no matter what one says when the plowing is dreary which it as you know often is they always surprise me manage to surprise my by their howls always so clearly sudden even at their most expected but also and it is telling by their equally abrupt silences oh yes obscure silences cutting through one like as many imperial lightsabers cornered cornered all the gobbledigook must stop cornered for me is the only thing oh yes yes sadly as sure as lull is snooze here now in the brain that’s it cornered and muted perfect transition they howling I muted pristine one cannot put it any other way despite will and despair indeed muted muzzled it is yes they have had enough yes all of them enough of my petty annoyances my barking my spurring my spouting they have had enough at the very least yes for years I littered them with this crap years and years to put it mildly to put it bluntly some say it was the cause of their furious sounds in the first place plausible if I don’t buy it and now even realising that it was myself I was littering myself myself heautoncoproumenos the unbearable repetitive little nothing even realising that I cannot simply cannot make the littering stop steepest irony of all naturally as is clear by now the littering and the silence the SILENCE the isolated desolate bit of soundlessness are connected yes almost friends close akin one and the same some monists even dare to posit one thing for sure my two ugly masters ah the dirty bastards none are more loathful one thinks in an outburst even as one recalls the others the already mentioned others who argue that surely there are many more yes deep within or out there at large who cares and on they dispute that such a precise sense of thralldom can not be achieved by those mere two albeit superobjectal masters and for sure some exclaim that this cannot be hence the original blurt the two masters were only the prelude to a fuller rounder picture where the more terrifying pyramid of domination is finally revealed involving the intuited two dancing frolicking triumphant atop the stately heap of the scintillating flurry of masters that’s it that’s it more than I can count think feel none of those faculties faring too well at the moment as is well known yet perhaps enough to reach a glimpse a glance of the amplitude of this multitude uh oh beware stupid poetry here and there lurking around every corner crouching in every pit ready to rear its ugly rump I know that’s how they’ll have me yes as previously noted I won’t have it as they’ll have me in the end in the beginning in the middle at all times that’s how they pluck and quarter me hang and boil me how they laugh burp and vomit watching me being fleeced yes watching me watching that’s how they wield their masterracial fancy their genocidal urge and when the wreaking hour strikes upon the boring curve of my skull let fall the obtundity of their mace ah lovely heavy maces so neglected these days it is a relief even if a truly painful one to see these ponderous toys once again in fashion yes that gives one hope yes one might expect the old siege monsters to be reassembled any day soon hell yes and the tar yes and the feathers oh yes what can I say I cannot wait all too long has it been quiet and doomed now now now for want of better prospects at least bones shall splinter and veins shall sputter now in earnest perhaps one might wonder again into the shadier bower of origins causes and explanations ah yes fair enough yes the all too usual pause to which however one must retort fool fool interrogate not whence all this turmoil sprang but more simply more dimly where it is headed yes fool for your own foolish sake keep to the latter goodness gracious who could have known I would live long enough to see such a rebuke the finger to onsets bollocks to geneses fuck dawns among the many screams heard very disquieting indeed so much so that one could then start hearing again the old changeling tunes namely namely if once perhaps after it all something like another ear another tongue might be found might emerge we all know the song yes yes the chandeliers and high windows of rambunctious futures oh yes these upstarts they are everywhere they stifle everything it is nauseating I wish the questions could end I wish other wishes would come yes for a change for a change something to pull me yes for once for once instead of this this the constant push the meagre shove useless attempts ineffectual shunting repellent copies of some grand old thrust copies of copies copies to the nth power where did all that even come from one nevertheless asks unable of the required restraint as one said all that would be well forgotten the grace of void the relief of absence that would be good I truly do not make sense at all do I yes no not any more it can be frustrating others will come are coming have come who are the replacement the growth the diversity all garnished furnished geared and glittery with force they are overshadowing they will unknot this gordian mess my arse they will holler and their blades will twist and twirl as if bitten by Möbius and unorientable ever since a real consolation no doubt thinking about it it is truly remarkable to see the decline and sadness and downfalls etc through this particular lens namely the seemingly irresistible rise of misery doubt and conversely the shades of consolation and their bitter images slowly not so slowly seemingly irretrievably grind my being from skin to marrow from eye to anus in the tiniest thought there is the bitter taste in the sunniest day the stench of rotten selves weakness triumphant and for once barly any sign of language misuse how can that lame old corpse be experiencing any ANY form of victory that remains a mystery I hate it why my words slip and flex bendable and subdued like their utterer I hate ‘em all do you hear me one day maybe haha the poor wishes one day perhaps the gusts of hatred and despair will whip the streets and all that pus out there on pavements and walls will dry up and at last dead turn who knows into some decorative polish oh yes a lovely protective coat for all future oblivious generations a fine start indeed and if you ask me don’t don’t DON’T a vanishing pursuit altogether but of course shut up now and yes come back come back to now to the now and only hell yes that feverish and lame blunt and shattered now impopulated and austere despite all attempts to conjure up colourful characters puppets of Life Idea and Death like Cromwell the pious fart or light-hearted æsthetico-political scenes between two Irishmen and one Helvete sailors of the Whitechapel Triangle staging the half-munching followed by the staunchly refused offered return of the nocturnal beigel oh all the beautiful beautiful adventures that we have that we record that we virtualise together and in this even impoverished state of affairs juggle with for a minute before coming back to the cleaning-up of typos and an increasingly refined use of built-in functions also how wealthy and happy can we not say we are can we my dear Watson indeed indeed marry forsooth by my troth it is all grand and terrible and slipperier than even they had imagined in their opioidest dreams when they set to force-feed me under face-fuck me with their Magna Carta unquestionably this could be Noh and if it is it is undoubtedly as pleasant as exotic toxic quixotic as it gets madness nowness at last let hinges be unned and get time high on joint that could be the meadows of torture destruction and chaos that I waited for all these years the hell you’d rather rule the dry scorched land your toil all your toil all yours and your great-grand-producers and their grand-products you included have died to extract everything from ah relief brevity Faustian stultification what else is there not here at hand for more building and unravelling and coalescing I see it all whirling around not really you know don’t get too excited just here just here on that wall of fortuitous fragility many a graphic graffiti of the sultry All There Is landlords and authorities oblivious of the awe of such ontological caricature in alarm over the refraction of the conflagration of a dislocation of such kaleidoscopic magnitude but surely that cannot be it and must must be either the start the incipient step or one stage in some larger ritual and let it be known only one minor infringement on reason discipline and overall mental order we will have many occasions to discuss and debate the moral and otherwise economic implications of such tremors futile though they may be although quick wink into the future futile might be the gutter leading all too slipperily into futile before ending as is de rigueur all the way down to base and brutal fucking drizzledom ah wet and murky drizzledom coalscapes with no end London New York 1900 Beijing 2000 smoky ones there’s nothing quite like you in this world perhaps the few places where the venerable principles of shite to shite gutter to gutter are still upheld where was I ah yes the mental order Putney Saint-Honoré Gettysburgh Shaanxi and the like poor melting-pot chop chop back to your textbook psychic law mental order breaking down building up all these moments everywhere one would almost catch a glimpse of Dante’s whizzing thrones were one not absorbed in more pressing concerns the persistent resistance against nausea the irrepressible temptation of diarrhœa and the like not to omit the Putin-style repression of constipation haha comme vous y allez casually peppering it with French by Jove Friedrich would be proud and in the meantime as evoked above guts keep getting cluttered bloods keep running thin as for neurons these lawless orderly ones keep keep what was it ah yes hooking up and breaking up meanwhile Twin Towers USSRs Belt and Roads Notre Dames Hong Kongs and all the written rewritten crypto-Constitutions loop once more aboard the Time-raping Mandala