Matthew Conrad

May 15, 1986 - Ostrowiec Świętokrzyski

a cascade impromptu of miscellanea

what should have come as anger, didn't come as anger,
what should have come as love, didn't come as love,
what should have come as anything it was supposed to be,
did come, but not as anything it was supposed to come as...

heaven came as hell,
hell came as heaven -
reality came as a very literal dream,
and dreams came as...
the most confusing arichtecture where
rarely words could be seen
or read or written...

from wednesday's blues i've sunken into
thursday's gemorrah of sorts...
they would claim that the 1980s had
the worst music... come to think of it...
outside of the pop stratosphere:
1981: the sound - from the lions mouth...
i'm not so sure...
i mean... the front cover makes me think
of Daniel in the lions den and how
i'd... probably be back on the lion's menu
than have to succumb to the irrational
void of being murdered by either a hammer
wielding maniac akin to sally challen...

this creeping sense of the sort of nausea
described by the 20th century in its infancy...
which shouldn't have happened in the 20th
century... only now...
well... if the french existentialists
spoke of a nausea come the genesis of the 20th
century? what is this?

this iron maiden heart, this stone
looking for a lake to drown in and fathom gills...
i've heard: there's nothing worse than apathy...
i worried myself with the answer:
beside the fact that no surgeon no engineer
no reliable member of society will
ever experience existential pangs of uncertainity...
given... whatever free time he or she has:
will not entertain the sorts of measures
that artistic people delve into to hide
their sociological target practice...
i guess most of us have to feed the gaping
hole of inefficiency...
who else would: beside a suregon -
their role is far too important,
far too selfless...
i hate feeding this selfish monster we call
"art"... perhaps i have not been blessed
with a vain will... i can't amass the sort
of self-worth that is paper thin...
perhaps i am simply tired of pedantic
observations that make no difference to
traffic - perhaps philosophers have
over-estimated / over-inflated their worth...
perhaps by sking the sort of questions
that never lead to architectural certainty of
being ground by an answer...
philosophers?! or clown jugglers?

perhaps that's inverted rhetoric -
to ask with the sort of persuasion that will
most certainly lead to a furthering of
yet another auxilliary question and no answer...
whatever the critique of modernity is
or becomes...
i live the sort of life that's worth
the envy of 13th century kings!
no... hell... louis XIV doesn't have the sort
of luxuries i am surrounded by...
it's very difficult to envy the current
top tier power-brokers...
their freedoms exist outside of my accepted
norms of imagination -
sexual perversions with minors are not new...
so... moss grows over this sort
of piquant desire...
i don't know what else there could be...
outside an ivory tower...
a decent collection of music,
a personal library...
electricity, heating...
and the most infinite of libraries at my fingertips...
and hopefully just enough white pixel
to scribble some res extensa upon...
if i'm currently living what would be
outside the realm of imagination of
a monarch borrowed from the 18th century /
19th century...
then what, what?! what has to be most certainly
supposed to bother me?

i guess apathy - apathy -
which denotes the prefix a- (without)
and the suffix -pathos (self-explanatory)...
it would seem i have to borrow
the hypochondriac,
imagine new imaginary ailings since...
i couldn't just be left,
non-confrontational in an utopia...
utopia is... let's begin with the h'american
cultural export dynamic...
where, where dear god almighty did
the h'american stash their cultural export
dynamic from the 20th century?
all i'm getting is youths making socio-political
commentary... the h'americans have
started leaning toward the don mClean lyrics:
a long long long time ago...
how that music used to make me smile...
i can't remember if i cried
when i heard his widowed bride,
but something touched me deep inside,
the day... the music died...
what now? demdyke stare...
wumpscut:,
understudy - sun bleached gauze...
perhaps some of us came to believe to be living
in times of some sort of wedding...
the marriage of the nag hammadi library
with the orthodox texts of the church...
the church isn't touching the nag hammadi
library... it's hushing it down
with the dead sea scrolls...
not one mention of the nag hammadi library...

apathy: that non-definition of
subdued pathologies - perhaps in this once instance:
it's worth putting all the eggs in one basket...
nonetheless -
i'm starting to suspect this is a study
in constipation - seriously?
ever 30 minutes for the past 2 hours...
upon each interval...
simply to shit out a turd nugget?!

am i, or society, still to be enthralled by
by theoretical science: by science fiction -
while all the practicalities of science
are simply meshed into the everyday fabric
of bricks and mortar -
i seem to have a vague reference
vantage point of technology in the early
to mid 20th century 90s...
after a while technology just became
an incremental money generating
machine... minor tweaks, minor improvements:
the whole 'same shit, different cover'
attitude...

perhaps my constipated turd has
evolved to have an ego-consciousness and
perhaps it channeled into
the vibrations of the cosmic tapeworm
and perhaps it has hijacked my hands
to write its own constipated
"coming of the logos" type of diatribe...
the concept of the logos via
heraclitus... or "that other" protestant church
sort of inflated bollocks?
lately... i don't know which is which...

hell, i can imagine being part of a literary
undercurrent from the 20th century...
the beatnik culture occupied my attention
for at least 2 years in my 20s...
what's there to relate to these days?
fan fiction sagas...
hive mentality trafalgar sq. points
of congregational interest?
maybe i just need my usual haitus
from using english...
perhaps i'm just exhausted from
that brat of a child of nations that:
the most insignificant thing happens there,
and they just have to,
come barging and screaming:
look! look! look!
maybe i'm just tired
of lady liberty's attention-seeking whoring...
i'm not even impressed when
north americans use the term:
comrade... comrade...
works with the russians and the duly
inclined to have been members of
the warsaw pact... but... coming from...
the other-there: over there?
i just don't know... laugh? cry?
worry... fuck it attitude...

i remember my first girlfriend in these
bewildering moments of constipated
clarity...
i'll just let the turd nuggets
do the talking...
i had three portraits on my wall
in my university dorm...
plato... marquis de sade and...
napoleon... she fucked me...
but she also had to scold / lecture me
with regards to napoleon...
i think i might have mentioned:
jestem, po-la-kiem...
deaf ears...
why did i have a portrait
of napoleon on the wall?
romance?
or the fact that poland emerged
as a satellite state of the napoleonic empire...
briefly... as the duchy of warsaw...
freed from the shackles of prussian,
austo-hungarian and russian rule?
but no... napoleon all bad...
no man is ever an absolute...
the only absolute a man is...
is as a chimera... or at least chasing chimeras...
i just tire of logic sometimes -
when everything just has to be
a consistent repetitive humming of
2 + 2 = 4 2 + 2 = 4 2 + 2 = 4...
can't the circus be entertained by
a loosening of vocabulary?
why, so, serious? all the bloody time...
if i really wanted to buy an assembly manual
from Ikea - and all the parts required
of me to put together a table...
i'd be writing an Ikea assembly manual -
not a bloody poo'em!

i have lpng forgotten what pop culture is...
i'll do a pub quiz compedium for sure:
trivia has replaced knowledge -
ignorant is not spoken of:
since an encyclopoedic knowledge of triva
is omnipresent - light entertainment -
folk... had to replace my pop interests...

notably in music -
yet i am neither satiated, nor unsatisfied -
perhaps i am: satisfied most,
by being unsatisfied -
perhaps i am just exhausted to have
to ingest whatever becomes the standard,
"standard" novoeu vogue...
as far as i am concerned...
the fashion industry has struck a cul de sac
plagiarism momentum -
which it can't escape...
flannel is all the rave...
the layered cut from:
singing in the rain are back in fashion...
fuck me... everything is currently "back in fashion":
yet... there's nothing original...
and if it's "original" - it's the sort
of originality that only a catwalk will
entertain - it's hardly flexible for a social
event akin to a cocktail party
most notorious for the... not so great gatsby...
art deco fashion...
i posit: there was no "strange" death
of the west or europe...
there only came an exhaustion
of imagination... the western imagination
just, became, ex-haus-ted...
i'm experiencing it...
when everything has to touch
the dreaded artifact of the transvaluation
of all values: money...
(if nietzsche thought he was so smart...
i can give you a summary of
the book he didn't write in one word...
money!) -
since you take any object and call it
currency... touch a desert with it...
you're a giga-tonne billionaire!
touch a mountain? you're a pauper!
no wonder the pagans of greece wished
for the veil of the concept of money
to be lifted by Charon - placing two coins
on the eyes of the man about to make
his crossing across the Styx...
even the ancients wanted the veil
of the concept of currency,
of the transvaluation of values to be lifted...
to be reborn with direct vectors of
pursuit... not something that
self-multiplied itself like a cancer...

anyone who doesn't admire the Islamic
culture for its anathema surrounding usury
is a... ha ha... a fucking fool...
i'll be blunt... that's the most admirable
aspect of islamic culture...
hell... if i could be circumcised
(alas... two protruding veins surrounding
my "niqab" - foreskin - like the serpents of
caduceus) and have for my "sacrifice" gain
a clarity of a pleasure from sex usually
associated with women...
and a subservient women worth my "sacrifice"
attired in a fashion whereby i wouldn't
have to open-sheath fend off
darwinism's simplicity contenders
of: no one woman equals a bloody harem, colt!
then i would... i'm already fond of the adhan...

folk, medieval music, adhans...
anything beside this grotesque pop barbi muzaks...
but you'd have to be an idiot to not
appreciate the islamic concept of
a complete and utter disbelief in usury...
or that 0 is aided by % to multiply itself...
sure sure... innocent whittle 0 and %...
no put a 1 before the 0 and then set
the rate of chaos at: eh... 2.5%...
what do you get?
10 - 2.5%... 10.25...
and then... just let the devil doodle the fucking
violin!
why are these so-called new technology
a.i. arc of the covenant indiana jones losers
looking for?
isn't money the first, sorry...
wasn't money the first a.i.?!
i swear to god almighty and joker passive
observer... money was the first a.i. construct...
it behaves along its own parameters...
it experiences its own sort of mutations...
it requires economists to challenge it
along the lines of: whether man is still in control
to manage its unpredictability...
as the perfect a.i. primer / starter package...
it doesn't require any fucking
elaboration that technology might serve it /
become its gagging due to expand...
unless... i pick up a pound coin...
i pick up a stone...

besides... capitalism was never really
about a culture of savings...
pensions...
capitalism doesn't entertain saving money...
spend, credit, debt -
capitalism abhors debit transactions...
i have learned, a long time ago...
to mind that i only deal in debit transactions...
i did own a credit card once...
but... that was as pointless as a pigeon
without a honing g.p.s. and wings to
satisfy it to meet my needs for a carrier...

capitalism doesn't like saving culture...
oh sure... it mentions it... lightly...
but then it also champions equity release
manifestos from property ownership...
capitalism doesn't like: a savings culture
and it doesn't like: a debit culture...
it feeds off credit and debt...
and then... even if the debtor dies -
whatever credit becomes after...
sweep it under the magic carpet ride
and move on...
i believe there used to be such
a "thing" as a prison for debtors...
i couldn't imagine myself gravitating
toward what's already imaginary -
the second imaginary tier of:
credit! even so...
usury... the irrational concept of money,
the %... perhaps that's why i'm, in secret,
sympathetic toward the cause of islam -
islam abhors usury!

nothing was really difficult
to begin with -
it just had to ascribe to the crowd pleasing
show of "magic" to become its, current,
astounding present -
i hardly think that thieves
are geniuses -
ergo what they are?
pack animals...
they need to cooperate -
a cooperated attack of a more hightened
concentration is required...
i scratch your back - you scratch mine
type of mentality...

i had to go as far back as the runes,
the glagolitic script...
to learn some gaelic... to borrow from cornish
and cymru...
just to keep a facade of "sanity"
in this sane modern world...

and such an ugly subject matter in waiting:

isabella of angoulême - otherwise known as the labyrinth -
disclaimer - no disclaimer -
the offensive GG in Niggeria -
nee - Aria...
toys... toys like loose tongues
and... why would this not ever become
an ad homine precursor?
i once heard that books such as:
a la recherche du temps perdu conscripted
people into huddling book clubs?
sorry - is this the comment section when
we are to not... pretend with visages of
other people?

if so... so be it...
if only the actor can act...
if only the dramatist can only employ puppeteering techniques...
if there have to be clear indicators that
this is less closely the work of but one narrator...
if there should not be such a concept
as the one-headed hyndra being attacked
becoming the seven headed monstrosity...
if there have to be clear indicators...
for the armchair experience worth the unworthy
reader... please... feel free to...
do whatever you feel is necessary with something,
akin to... this:

.in the back of my mind...
gyöngyhajú lány -
the huns have finally
succumbed to the "pastor's"
castrato harem of the choir?!
wow!
but i will still have
to "steal" from shakespeare's take
on macbeth, in pig latin...
by... someone known as apemantus...
what other worth is there beside
citing macbeth?
thus and the prayer:

hell... let's give it a spin,
english, latin, scottish gaelic...

immortal gods, i crave no self;
i pray for no man, but myself.
grant i may never prove so fond,
to trust man on his oath or bond;
or a harlot for her weeping;
or a dog that seems a-sleeping;
or a keeper with my freedom;
or my friends, if i should need'em.
amen. so fall to 't:
rich men sin, and i eat root.

immortalem superi, ego rogo nullus sese;
ego tandem enim nullus homo,
sed memet.
tribuo ego licet numquam
demonstro sic amans,
ut confido homo super
suus sacramentum vel vinculum;
uel scortum quia sua ploratus;
ut canis quod videor soporatus;
ut custor cum mea libertas;
ut mea amici, si ego postulo illis.
amen. ita cado to id:
homo dives peccare,
ut ego pappo radix.

again, this is pig latin...
the gaelic version will not be much
better...
who the hell can even envision
speaking ancient latin,
without succumbing to modern
english grammar? so much for the
current gaelic...

neo-bhàsmhor diathan, mi miann chan eil fèin;
mi ùrnaigh airson chan eil duine,
ach mi fhìn.
tabhartas mi a'chèit(ean) a-chaoidh
tha measail,
gu earbsa duine air an bòid no bann;
no ah clàrsach airson í a ’caoineadh;
no ah cù sin a ’chadal;
no ah neach-glèidhidh còmhla ris
mo saorsa;
no mo caraidean, ma tha mi bu chòir
feum air iad.
amen. tha tuiteam gu e:
beairt fir (sin), agus mi ith freumh.

i really don't see the "problem",
with, the, "problem"
containing itself...
there's a paedophile
concern...
but the paedophiles are
self-reforming?
so... there's a problem?
oh sure sure....
there's a problem...
gay pride parades...
to "me": that's a real fucking
problem...
gas the jews...
casanova just ate a rat...
what's your problem,
bitch?!
the eternal law of man...
ever see a former
convicted paedophile
get kicked in the face,
and take it,
like a hulk brute?
shit happens:
at least the heritage
of the slave trade /
the holocaust survivors
also learned...
god will take it,
he made gravity
a jurisprudence stasis...
because he knew...
man, for all the jurisprudnce
worth? not worth that
much...
"sorry"...
i'm not defending,
but i get them...
when grown women become
so nauseating,
limitating, so... "off-limits"...
you know what
a male mating pig's name
is in a porky harem
in poland?
knur / knout...
that word alone lets me
to remember nigger...
gg... fucker: swim...
down the deep-end...
you were gagging for
this to become apparent,
this enforced egg-shell
walk bollocks...
and i was called vermin...
and there came the mongol,
the nazi and the communist...
now i'm watching
these bulging african hulks
and i'm looking at my body...
and... there really isn't
much to think of!
pressing the right buttons...
i like that, now i get to press
the "wrong" buttons
on behalf of me...
come on...
kinh john of england
wed a bride aged...
isabella of angoulême
(lem) no "extra" e...
there's the ian watkins
example...
of the lostprophets...
no baby-fucker is
given you the jitters
when it comes to teenage girls...
i'm sorry...
i remember being a teenager...
what's wrong with
teenager sexuality?
there's something wrong with
it?
oh... there was always
something wrong with it...
sexuality matures,
legally...
when a woman reaches
her prime age
of 40, and she's crazy not having
frozen her ovaries...
wow!
no, really, wow!
she's not a baby,
she's in her teens...
talk about an elevated
stance on m.g.m.
(male genital mutilation)...
it's like:
harem, eunuch, strap-ons
are not enough!
the mere thought is evil!
some more pharmacological
revisionists actions, yes?
so the simple process
of castration won't help?
we'll need the pharmacological
amnesia procedure?
cool cool!
sign me up...
i already have a hard-on
for the experiment...
if these people want to see
a baboon in a cage
riddled by haemorrhoids...
sign me up
for this "judo chop" sat on.

see... i see a big difference
when it comes to honesty
and outright shaming...
when someone says they have
these kind of urges,
but is nontheless able
to suppress them?
that's a fucking diamond...
that's worth keeping...
i like this sort of honesty...
what i don't like is scheming
and shaming these unique
examples...

between male to male...
it's the one resort's worth of
a cognitive condom that serves
its purpose...
again... how old was
isabella of angoulême
when she was wedded to
king john of england?

plus... all the teens look alike...
maybe that's the problems
facing these paedophile
reasoning type inhibitors of
the urge...

mind you...
lars von trier's take on
paedophilia in nymphomaniac...
at least some had
the balls to commit
to the deviant taboo...
but all the children look alike...
what is it?
the fetish for "everything"
looking alike?
generic fetish?

to reiterate:

in the end...
like all babies...
they just have the faces
of clones...
non-distinguishable...

the difference between me
and your common folk...
well...
kicking someone in the head...
on parole...
for distributing leaflets
in a new employment...
whatever they did...
i suppose
the guillotine would be
a more humane eventuality
to provide justice on the part
of the victim...

sexuality is odd...
to make homosexuality norm...
but paedophilia a taboo...
feels like "someone" is being
excluded...
can't exactly make one
the norm and leave the other
one in the tribunal
of the nomads;
how is it fair?

in no desence,
but i gather: what i have written,
will never reach the pop
majority that is usually associated
with a pop backlash,
just like: psychology made philosophy
popular in the 19th century,
by shortening it,
by sticking to schematic explanations...
like this,
this will not reach the regurgitators
of pop culture, those twitter
sycophancy sluts...
unless, i'm, dead!
i'll be left with drying
my jeans on the bed, with a cat sleeping
on the same bed i've decided to treat
as a rack...
even now...
try reading a Marcel Proust
2 vol. edition...
go to the gym, bro.,
believe me: go to the gym, bro.

me? i love it...
it's like i can put on a godhead of either
rat or a fox, and manoeuvre my way
past all these jimmy... shit...
all these jeremy clarksons...
and jeremy kyles...
another whiskey bottle
for me, another obscure prog rock album...
another night...
and the world can just pass
me by, while i return to enjoying
skipping onto a double-decker from romford
to stratford, through to oxford st.,

some bad latin, even worse scottish gaelic...
these days you're not even famous
for 15 minutes, as, according to the andy warhol
prediction...
no one is famous these days,
not even for 15 minutes...
the 15 minute window is over...
now? if you want to be "famous"...
sorry...
infamy doesn't work
in 15 minute slots...
when you're "famous" these days?
you're infamous forever...
these days any publicity:
is bad publicity...
i'll curse the day when i become
relevant to a large enough
number of people...
that's the day i will learn
that i have lost the respect of the few
i managed to enthral.
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