"You wouldn't send a starving soldier to do battle for you";
that and other failed analogies got hurled down the stairs
in the great food war of this Wednesday, which I have lost,
again.
So she's off, carrying ideas of being a 'charity photographer'
and more pressing concerns about high waisted black pencil skirts
out of season; I think to write a questionnaire and offer New Look vouchers
so that we can stay in touch. How to cope with teenagers? shop.
and look out for over enthusiastic male cashiers in Primark who wink
at thirteen year olds and battle out the old trust versus cynicism
in your own private forgotten world of what it was to be young
and shopping....
All on one slice of Warburtons and Flora gone cold.
April 29, 2010
April 28, 2010
Posters
between fostering and the Norfolk Probation Area mentoring Scheme, in a small brown board matt finished for pins and between MDF (the new asbestos?) and card; adjacent to Aspergers' and Red Balloon Centres For Bullied Children and Brain Tumours is, wait for it: A Space.
So i write this:
You are were born and you have lived
You are perfectly fine
it's all going to be ok.
I've considered it and there might be too much that can go wrong and maybe there is an argument for: "Stopping Mythering"
But I still can't, so I take out the pins from the Brain Tumours and I place it over my glib and indifferent form of compassion fatigue writing, because, in all honesty and actually, I think, apart from the Brain Tumours, you are and it will be.
Who's going to pay me to tell people they are OK?
Maybe this is my message for The Big Society?
Maybe Cameron, maybe Brown, maybe Cleggy
Norwich. European City of Culture two thousand and twelve.
maybe i'll get some money then.
Maybe I should take my Vileda Supermop and my bungees and leave this library forever.
So i write this:
You are were born and you have lived
You are perfectly fine
it's all going to be ok.
I've considered it and there might be too much that can go wrong and maybe there is an argument for: "Stopping Mythering"
But I still can't, so I take out the pins from the Brain Tumours and I place it over my glib and indifferent form of compassion fatigue writing, because, in all honesty and actually, I think, apart from the Brain Tumours, you are and it will be.
Who's going to pay me to tell people they are OK?
Maybe this is my message for The Big Society?
Maybe Cameron, maybe Brown, maybe Cleggy
Norwich. European City of Culture two thousand and twelve.
maybe i'll get some money then.
Maybe I should take my Vileda Supermop and my bungees and leave this library forever.
Kickstart - My Name Is Hope.
There is absolutely nothing which needs to be said
I hope that where ever you are, when you hear this (if it's being read)
that you will understand when I wrote it, at the library, in front of Richard and Judy's Book Club and the other posters about, for example, flexible working for dads; that I had nothing to say:
I did not turn my back on the truth; I will help you get back on the rails and act FAST if I suspect a stroke;
Kickstart - my name is Hope.
I have nothing to say but still, you cannot silence me,
You! you moped loan people....
I hope that where ever you are, when you hear this (if it's being read)
that you will understand when I wrote it, at the library, in front of Richard and Judy's Book Club and the other posters about, for example, flexible working for dads; that I had nothing to say:
I did not turn my back on the truth; I will help you get back on the rails and act FAST if I suspect a stroke;
Kickstart - my name is Hope.
I have nothing to say but still, you cannot silence me,
You! you moped loan people....
workshop ideas
1. Location Writing: Go out to, say , a car boot sale. Write about it from memory. Try very hard not to approach it like 'a writer' - just go round and look for things you might need, bargains, etc, talk to people - if you have to. When you return, write 'the story' - as it happened. Compare
2. Are You interesting? Are you interested in anything? What are you interested in? What are you often thinking about? What matters to you? What are you trying to do with your life? Write Answers. Do not discuss, but read exerpts to the class.
3. Voting/politics: Choose something that everyone can agree needs to be done. How will you all do it? (For Children) How will you all decide that it needs to be done? Can you make sure that the thing you choose to do will be the most important thing for everyone? Allow 3 mins for each question and choose one writer to present.
4. x 2 Group Poetry.
Give each group a name of a character
Group 1. (Brian) Give a direction (eg, Go away, Come Here, look up, clean your shoes etc)
Group 2. (Derek) Follow it, while Group 1 describe your actions (in no more than six lines)
Group 2. (Derek) Give a direction
Group 1. (Brian) Follow it whilst Group 2 describe your actions (in no more than six lines)
Take it in turns to write an ending line and then all vote for the two best....
Have a small group be Brian and Derek whilst another two groups question them. make notes on the answers and build a character profile of Derek and Brian.
Suggested extension activities: 2 volunteers to read poems. (record?) - Make a collection like this - invent your own rules for the game. Start a poetry/writing club.
2. Are You interesting? Are you interested in anything? What are you interested in? What are you often thinking about? What matters to you? What are you trying to do with your life? Write Answers. Do not discuss, but read exerpts to the class.
3. Voting/politics: Choose something that everyone can agree needs to be done. How will you all do it? (For Children) How will you all decide that it needs to be done? Can you make sure that the thing you choose to do will be the most important thing for everyone? Allow 3 mins for each question and choose one writer to present.
4. x 2 Group Poetry.
Give each group a name of a character
Group 1. (Brian) Give a direction (eg, Go away, Come Here, look up, clean your shoes etc)
Group 2. (Derek) Follow it, while Group 1 describe your actions (in no more than six lines)
Group 2. (Derek) Give a direction
Group 1. (Brian) Follow it whilst Group 2 describe your actions (in no more than six lines)
Take it in turns to write an ending line and then all vote for the two best....
Have a small group be Brian and Derek whilst another two groups question them. make notes on the answers and build a character profile of Derek and Brian.
Suggested extension activities: 2 volunteers to read poems. (record?) - Make a collection like this - invent your own rules for the game. Start a poetry/writing club.
April 27, 2010
Voting: Rites Of Passage?
There's not been a lot of literature written about going for a shit. Or about needing one so badly that you start to behave in peculiar ways. It,s not something that has been endlessly chewed over by poets. There are few, if any essays of 'The Shit' and neither are there, maybe less surprisingly, novels dedicated to furthering our understanding of shitting from, say, a cross cultural, or romantic perspective.
Agreed, Gilbert and George did create 'The Naked Shit Paintings' reflecting directly on shitting, but there is scant else in popular or classical or art and literature of the Cannon to suggest that defacation has been given a fair airing. Peter Greenaway, in The Cook, His Wife, The Thief and Her Lover (sic), made effective use of the by product of this most fundamental of human actions in his early scenes, but it is fair to say the film treated shit as something largely dirty and not to be trusted.
In film the use of effluent is quite common: 'The scene' where our hero has to escape through one or another hatch into the foul sewage of his worst foe has, in fact, become an archetypal happening in cinematic narratives. Still though, we are almost bereft of any real considered literature about shitting as a human need and activity ~ like, for example; love.
I needed a shit this morning.
It was only a vague awareness at first and I ran errands for a couple of hours, parked my car and began the walk in to the town. Only when my conscious brain turned to the actual logistics of taking [having, or going for, in the UK] my shit, did my body begin to feel the need for urgent attention. It was interesting to me that only at this exact moment when my mind configured a route to the nearest [habitable] public toilets and axiomatically, pictured those toilets, that my need to shit became absolutely over whelming and intolerable.
I wonder if there is not something of a fundamental importance in this (I assume common to all?) sudden onset of urgency and intolerance - once the journey to the place of defecation has begun in earnest?
The parallels between this phenomena of the shit journey and the equally inevitable and sudden urgency of all of our election journeys to the polling booths is, again, irresistible:
All that is left for me to speculate on is what might be the consequences, upon entering the much sought after booth, of discovering that we had, in fact, failed to register ourselves as eligible to make that sacred deposit in that sacred box?
Is this not the true nature and beginning of The Protest Vote?
Agreed, Gilbert and George did create 'The Naked Shit Paintings' reflecting directly on shitting, but there is scant else in popular or classical or art and literature of the Cannon to suggest that defacation has been given a fair airing. Peter Greenaway, in The Cook, His Wife, The Thief and Her Lover (sic), made effective use of the by product of this most fundamental of human actions in his early scenes, but it is fair to say the film treated shit as something largely dirty and not to be trusted.
In film the use of effluent is quite common: 'The scene' where our hero has to escape through one or another hatch into the foul sewage of his worst foe has, in fact, become an archetypal happening in cinematic narratives. Still though, we are almost bereft of any real considered literature about shitting as a human need and activity ~ like, for example; love.
I needed a shit this morning.
It was only a vague awareness at first and I ran errands for a couple of hours, parked my car and began the walk in to the town. Only when my conscious brain turned to the actual logistics of taking [having, or going for, in the UK] my shit, did my body begin to feel the need for urgent attention. It was interesting to me that only at this exact moment when my mind configured a route to the nearest [habitable] public toilets and axiomatically, pictured those toilets, that my need to shit became absolutely over whelming and intolerable.
I wonder if there is not something of a fundamental importance in this (I assume common to all?) sudden onset of urgency and intolerance - once the journey to the place of defecation has begun in earnest?
The parallels between this phenomena of the shit journey and the equally inevitable and sudden urgency of all of our election journeys to the polling booths is, again, irresistible:
All that is left for me to speculate on is what might be the consequences, upon entering the much sought after booth, of discovering that we had, in fact, failed to register ourselves as eligible to make that sacred deposit in that sacred box?
Is this not the true nature and beginning of The Protest Vote?
April 25, 2010
carboot.com.rain/hurryandgrab/taxfree.hate-url-y
for 27 minutes we queued this Sunday
between the police notices saying:
"No parking on the verges", in the rain,
under a violet sky where the last of the
weeks consumering was to take place.
For 15 minutes we walked in a muddy field
scraped and dotted and discarded on by
the booters who disappeared in front of our
(the booty hunters) eyes. With three over-priced
Tomato plants, some pea-netting and a drill bit,
we squelched back to the car and here we sit:
I experiment by looking into people's eyes,
most look away, some smile that ridiculous Cheshire
way that says: "I am smiling at you and mean no harm -
Please Go away". We are queuing again, in more rain
and vying for places, ways out, fast exit spotting
with our under exercised bargain spotting eyes.
I wish I had bought that stethoscope for £4.00.
between the police notices saying:
"No parking on the verges", in the rain,
under a violet sky where the last of the
weeks consumering was to take place.
For 15 minutes we walked in a muddy field
scraped and dotted and discarded on by
the booters who disappeared in front of our
(the booty hunters) eyes. With three over-priced
Tomato plants, some pea-netting and a drill bit,
we squelched back to the car and here we sit:
I experiment by looking into people's eyes,
most look away, some smile that ridiculous Cheshire
way that says: "I am smiling at you and mean no harm -
Please Go away". We are queuing again, in more rain
and vying for places, ways out, fast exit spotting
with our under exercised bargain spotting eyes.
I wish I had bought that stethoscope for £4.00.
April 21, 2010
6: (Sexis Ni)
compulsive thinking and compulsive behaviour are almost two sides of one coin: One thing I've developed a habit of doing is reading things backwards. it rarely seems worth investing time in figuring out why. i suppose it's just one of those mental ticks that comes and, hopefully, will go again. i'm vaguely aware that there is some arcane association with doing this which is not good at all - like speaking the devils' language. i am not trying to do this, but maybe there is an element of trying to squeeze a little more interest out of what the quotidian world offers - anyway:
Sexis Ni: note the cleverly arranged six syllable meter scheme which works only marginally (y llan igram) and is a bit forced (decrof) etc.
tags: cloying;clinging;compelling; donkeys and welding.
the thing is to be quick:
whether it's a welded
donkey or a garden
sale of things recognized,
whether the donkey is
full of seed collections
or not; be quick, as time
is so short it's running
out at a rate of knots.
Even if you are just
writing about nothing
more than what you see and
how you cannot prevent
yourself from reversing
the letters of the words
you seem to get stuck on;
that's fine, but just be quick:
even if all you can see
is that, backwards, knots spells
'STONK'!; be quick, no one cares
forever anymore.
Sexis Ni: note the cleverly arranged six syllable meter scheme which works only marginally (y llan igram) and is a bit forced (decrof) etc.
tags: cloying;clinging;compelling; donkeys and welding.
the thing is to be quick:
whether it's a welded
donkey or a garden
sale of things recognized,
whether the donkey is
full of seed collections
or not; be quick, as time
is so short it's running
out at a rate of knots.
Even if you are just
writing about nothing
more than what you see and
how you cannot prevent
yourself from reversing
the letters of the words
you seem to get stuck on;
that's fine, but just be quick:
even if all you can see
is that, backwards, knots spells
'STONK'!; be quick, no one cares
forever anymore.
The Rent Pensioner.
.comwhen tall he sees is needs
and to all else is blind
taking out the bins
bringing them all back in
is being more than kind
now:
he is;
painting the road,
moving a car,
reporting another crime,
watching the well-being of neighbours,
asking after residential status,
advising on the burning of garden waste,
tacking bamboo to fence and net to that
and saving cats from trespass
and the consequences of that
and anything he can do in the here and now
to help;
delivering the Labour Rose
clearing the drains, fixing a hose...
He doesn't know he is a Socialist.
From where did this concern grow?
How was he sewn?
We aren't wont to know.
No water will be left to freeze and
endanger the knees or otherwise while he's
in the neighbourhood because, because...
We cannot give thanks enough or understand
the uncalculating merit of this marvellous man
and in his marvellous here and now
He has made our world a sacred cow
so we can forgive the only trait
about him (when we violate with litter
or choose to ignore his signs
in the halogen glow of his lighted limes)
that might detract from his sainted perfection;
that small tendency to leer
when young ladies come near
the only distraction from the business
of sorting us all out and being
neighbourly.
and to all else is blind
taking out the bins
bringing them all back in
is being more than kind
now:
he is;
painting the road,
moving a car,
reporting another crime,
watching the well-being of neighbours,
asking after residential status,
advising on the burning of garden waste,
tacking bamboo to fence and net to that
and saving cats from trespass
and the consequences of that
and anything he can do in the here and now
to help;
delivering the Labour Rose
clearing the drains, fixing a hose...
He doesn't know he is a Socialist.
From where did this concern grow?
How was he sewn?
We aren't wont to know.
No water will be left to freeze and
endanger the knees or otherwise while he's
in the neighbourhood because, because...
We cannot give thanks enough or understand
the uncalculating merit of this marvellous man
and in his marvellous here and now
He has made our world a sacred cow
so we can forgive the only trait
about him (when we violate with litter
or choose to ignore his signs
in the halogen glow of his lighted limes)
that might detract from his sainted perfection;
that small tendency to leer
when young ladies come near
the only distraction from the business
of sorting us all out and being
neighbourly.
April 13, 2010
if i havent pissed you off yet
wire joiner and do
that's the end of it
no sense. fuck off.
how could anyone forgive anyone for being a friend
of the finest and least self serving sort?
(as if it mattered that you ever got on or just wanted to be drinking buddies who hate each other?)
who - shamelessly:
and now we get into it
raise children to be be hardworking,
honest; engrossed; lovers of the beatles;
quintessential dedicated makers of original authenticated artifacts?
in their own sublime scumbag image
and then
chop off my foglight - ruthlessly and thoughtlessly
causing the onset of a failed MOT?
who?
voters.
that's who
other people who would dain to call you a friend
and then invite you back again
woe is, most definitely, me.
that's the end of it
no sense. fuck off.
how could anyone forgive anyone for being a friend
of the finest and least self serving sort?
(as if it mattered that you ever got on or just wanted to be drinking buddies who hate each other?)
who - shamelessly:
and now we get into it
raise children to be be hardworking,
honest; engrossed; lovers of the beatles;
quintessential dedicated makers of original authenticated artifacts?
in their own sublime scumbag image
and then
chop off my foglight - ruthlessly and thoughtlessly
causing the onset of a failed MOT?
who?
voters.
that's who
other people who would dain to call you a friend
and then invite you back again
woe is, most definitely, me.
just look at the fucking shape of this on the page
just look at the fucking shape of this on the page
aye.
some cunt will try to analyse the bolox off it and I only wish I could be there, oh yes, faith have I.
but sense, that's elephant
and you are all twats.
equally
twatmanistan
thinking about ethics, aesthetics, homo erectic diaphonetics and everything before this line was pointless and I have the benefit of creation and foresight to make myself outtasight and you, I would like to think, are a student. But then, maybe you're not. and if you aren't: what the hell do you think you're playing at? Where did you see this and why? Copyrighted material is a lawyers imperial right to make money. Are you a lawyer? what's your credentials? to those who say: "Here" - mmmm and to those who say "eh" - The World and no less. ends
aye.
some cunt will try to analyse the bolox off it and I only wish I could be there, oh yes, faith have I.
but sense, that's elephant
and you are all twats.
equally
twatmanistan
thinking about ethics, aesthetics, homo erectic diaphonetics and everything before this line was pointless and I have the benefit of creation and foresight to make myself outtasight and you, I would like to think, are a student. But then, maybe you're not. and if you aren't: what the hell do you think you're playing at? Where did you see this and why? Copyrighted material is a lawyers imperial right to make money. Are you a lawyer? what's your credentials? to those who say: "Here" - mmmm and to those who say "eh" - The World and no less. ends
another memory
as if it were I
to remember
when the marginal, liminal?
space I inhabit
is doomed to unhear
and be bleary
and vague
that.
no way.
don't be ridiculous,
i didn't even live it
and to lionise after the event
seems easy
when i am dead
and you are forgotten
what else can I not tell you?
to remember
when the marginal, liminal?
space I inhabit
is doomed to unhear
and be bleary
and vague
that.
no way.
don't be ridiculous,
i didn't even live it
and to lionise after the event
seems easy
when i am dead
and you are forgotten
what else can I not tell you?
executor
executor
blasting sugar and cement
fairy cakes and sewage works
too many ands
chocolate sponge and a motorway
centre frieze made in succession
by lorry and form-work
mutable and moving feasts
attract denizens
of the pub
the thorny hands of a polish exile
hours spent underground
picking fights at funerals
Lithuanian? sorry.
and your hands are soft
but strong
let me go.
There must be some mistake
i have spent years smoking like a droop
all my mistakes came through the door
after I got back from tenerife
there must be some mistake
incandescence transmutability
I know big words
and everything
check the paperwork
no?
because you travelled so many miles underground?
but I have to see others off
is there no fairness of age?
you are quite sure
and you speak of my mother
owwwwwrrrpaiinnnnnn
dead and gone
who stole my typewriter?
you
blasting sugar and cement
fairy cakes and sewage works
too many ands
chocolate sponge and a motorway
centre frieze made in succession
by lorry and form-work
mutable and moving feasts
attract denizens
of the pub
the thorny hands of a polish exile
hours spent underground
picking fights at funerals
Lithuanian? sorry.
and your hands are soft
but strong
let me go.
There must be some mistake
i have spent years smoking like a droop
all my mistakes came through the door
after I got back from tenerife
there must be some mistake
incandescence transmutability
I know big words
and everything
check the paperwork
no?
because you travelled so many miles underground?
but I have to see others off
is there no fairness of age?
you are quite sure
and you speak of my mother
owwwwwrrrpaiinnnnnn
dead and gone
who stole my typewriter?
you
April 01, 2010
Fridgeworks
Magnetic horse whisperer eats frugal mullion in Humpty Dumpty scare
Walls of linen tumbled as the cat (emaciated) brackets improvised
Stares with luminaries.
The alchemy of salt, brought by ship from Azaelea, quickened with despair.
Al barn-bracks and crusty loaves are thrown to the sea's gullibility.
Other elements await correspondents. Collage approaches hope's eternal spring.
Well oiled pistons in spit game life offering fire cover as bomblets drip accordingly
And in reflection of these odious blasts?
Round faces, duped. Huge noses; tiny ears. Winningly being born again and again and again.
Scrabble! the order comes from on high. All hostilities are B.E.L.I.N.D.A.
No names please. Over. Out.
Walls of linen tumbled as the cat (emaciated) brackets improvised
Stares with luminaries.
The alchemy of salt, brought by ship from Azaelea, quickened with despair.
Al barn-bracks and crusty loaves are thrown to the sea's gullibility.
Other elements await correspondents. Collage approaches hope's eternal spring.
Well oiled pistons in spit game life offering fire cover as bomblets drip accordingly
And in reflection of these odious blasts?
Round faces, duped. Huge noses; tiny ears. Winningly being born again and again and again.
Scrabble! the order comes from on high. All hostilities are B.E.L.I.N.D.A.
No names please. Over. Out.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)