Surya Nagenthiran

growing my hair used to be fun,
nothing trans-gender...
more akin to "procrastinating"
before a poster of slayer with
jeff hanneman's goldenschlösser:
und ich "sagte":
isch werden wachsen mein haar:
wie longe deine!
und lernen schlechtdeutsche
was könnte mit "diese"!
süd, von himmel:
punctuate my brat mein görsohn:
i have learned to love deutsche in
ways... formerly found / bound
to impossible... in acquiring free
a bit of deutsche...
herring-zunge...
says BOB underwater:
must be, a, fish!
better german than russian...
closer to englisch...
but i came across post-colonialism...
amerika... and... die affe!
the ape!
what to do? what to do?
what do do? riddle the ape out
of existence... try twice better
riddling out Darwin... ha ha...
or Dickens out of the collective unconscious
of the Ęnglish!
all nouns succumbing to a -lish suffix...
i.e. and the leash?
better here than among the post-colonial
remains of the english empire...
i'm not immune to the pork-chops
and soap-opera of slighting...
i have to re-invent the "micro-aggression"
of... slighting...
it's such an un-profound word that
has to emcompass the bellybutton
of Greenwish and somehow arrive
at the concept of "west" via
the direction of EAST...
wonderful stuff... Attenborough's toasted rye...
sorry...
were you having a trans-genertaional
arguments about who what who when
they were being bitched slapped and whipped
for ooze of onomatopoeias
in sex?
the hindu fucked the singh...
and the... and the turban was passed
like a hot apple from one lap to another...
and... no one in this throng heard of
the Krupps... or Jeremi Wiśniowiecki
or Bohdan Khmelnytsky?!
"apparently" no civil war happened...
what a little shit-show of a concentrated
"ethnicity" i do come from...
like i... have no post-colonial qualms
or ways to settle "scores" with...
i feel... almost... "naked" in how
others take to their enterprises...
with full support...

mind you... i did hear of
anders breivik before i heard of: KARL OVE...
sorry... reality is...
a shitstain of the ambitions of:
the good people...

now instead of growing my hair long
i grow my beard long...
and... if i wasn't faking...
i would be faking this statement from
my grandmother:
you don't even begin to comprehend
how thick your beard is...
what's the point of dating?
i mean... what's the point of dating...
when a grandmother can satisfy
my "narcissism" of "admiring"
the pubes on my face that no woman
would mind...
or rather: mind...
in that it would be something worth
admiring... as long as it would be
subsequently shaved off...

i once went to a prostitute and didn't
fuck her because i forgot to trim
my pubes... i excused her from sucking me off
and peeling off a Raul Castro
by kissing her for an hour
and pretending she was a cat in my arms...
i just forgot to trim my pubes...
what's not new?

i did call it: i forgot to forget not forgetting
to take up "erectile dysfunction" with me...
although i knew that: a hard-on among
prostitutes is like...
finding Bambi among the trophy-pieces on
a wall by the signature of Gaston...

try taking up the argument with
a former British colonial subject...
but i'm the "other" european...
all of a sudden... they're ethiopian jews!
living in a post-colonial society is like...
the ability to live without french,
or shylock... or past ills...
and past realities of an Ikey Solomon:
shit never happened...
learn to murmur and... squint!

better pretend to be german in england
these days...
you can at least learn to tell
boring gin & tonic jokes...
for your own amusing circumstance of
pissing down the awe of existence
through the anus of an ape...
not even Netwton matters right now!
be thankful! cretin!

shhhh! shoosh p'ah!
sit! forever the trained dogs...
the... scoundrel ox-ford-shire-terriers...
the spaniels!
grrrr... and otherwise: god forbid...
flannel?! flannel is to "somehow" replace
tartan chequers?!
posh: aye?! not ck ck ck ck enough?
check what? cue but no queue?
well... if that's the case...
we truly are in a tight spot
to mind further matters of delicacy and
superstition and manners:
rational decency and...
all that... operatic bollocks.