now they are here

and i am old to them and young to me.
and my back passages of some renown
are not good enough: "dad put the re-mix on"
 
I want my fucking money back.

London underground.

conceit is neat

right on it, first in, with loving abuse,
who wouldn't - if they were this good?

exactly

Ap. Art. The Cure and Mortimer, his Hole and All.

ssshhh - im here playing the cure in front of HER

its not easy being a parent for sixteen years
or drunk for five minutes

all things can explode, break, distill, leave, end or begin

so quickly.

When I see hair like that - I remember Mortimers' hole and that pub

Can't remember which one - it was a kind of circuit

we found one then, we have one now and all I can do is write a way out.

or paint, or act, or imrovise - maybe make wine or cook.

Art will tear us ap. artwilll

laser print her.

Mums Gone..

its coming on christmas they're cutting down trees
doing things to reindeer and singing songs of joy and peace

I wish I had a river from poundstretcher or iceland,
I wish I had a river so long it would teach my feet to fly
I wish I had a river I could skate away on..

online experience

i was thinking: Funky FAce

if everything good came in a face

it would be a funky face.

go face. nice face

happy face - the 90's.

Listening to Joni Mitchell's River in The Range:

she said " If you see me - you learn nothing

if you see yourself - you are listening".

funky smoker face -

I notice on You Tube.

Starter for 100

lets imagine we've got one truly great songwriter, holed up in a latter day Bastille, the revolution is all but lost and we have to give them up.

Question: How many vile politicians should we charge?

Discuss

Decoration

Off this, the bollocks have been decorated
and this was a pretty handsome thing before.

So, now, the question begs askance:
Why do you always wear that hat on stage?

The answer, less decorous, had nothing to do with communism
nor Che Guevara nor any other political matter

The answer had more to do with Viola music and old men
writing musicals, like old men should.

pretty gone

me got too clever me fell over and die and shit me jus;
gone

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aWrpuYssFZ8

GETTING DRUNK IN THE MIDDLE OF THE ROAD WITH KNITTING AND CRACK

I've been waiting for a girl like you
when we make love its understood
only in dreams can it be this way -

you Foreigner.

I rue mania. You - come here - sit.
You eh? shone..

like shit at Shelford.

Teachers Are Giants

I learned this today:
Teachers Are Giants

Frank Sinatra

secrets borne on the wind
and written on the loo
travel, from me, to you -
between the stars and

then down the chimney
they arrive without surprise..

that's the beauty of a song.

O'flaherty's Interregnum

I tip my hat, die twice and still, 'pariah',
they say. "He is the last defence of the old order
and close to the wall for symbolic dying.
The media will hate him forever."

I've been here now for fifteen years. They came often
at first but it's been five years since the last.. It's not safe to have friends
beyond those dry, serious and almost always skinny types
who write for the department of Sociology, or Cultural Studies
and they can hardly be called friends. It is sad that the truth
has to be written in such baffling codes as this and that helping out a friend
can put an end to inclusion - not to mention the job. I go to the pub twice a week.

Other than that, it's the internet - where I'm not me.
I sell walking sticks on an American craft site to ex pats and anyone with a bit of a gimp. The complete stranger and the man in the street are my friends. Everyone else knows to  keep a distance.

I go no further than the forms.....

Fire

Mercantile in black with Sonny and Cher armbands
you looked gorgeous as a fish in water dressed to kill
sharkly, kill her while all else fails and basements.

Eight martyrs alone. Vascular entering at the fourth
Homo Sapiens connects mango with mast in shipping
news. All other dreams will abandon sick dreamers

Drops a man down a hole then turns to his son: You!,
wait until art goes back in and I will. I will. Mentioning
hopeful of a tie but all the fat man said was wood.

Thwaite Postlepete

Mad Lady Hele-Drone

A peDantic thing is Anger
with a Voice like you or Me or
a very Very very Very very Very very Very very Very very
Angry Man

So

i Got a Sex change, bought some Make up
made a Payment on an Ice pick
I took off Certainly imPortantly with No one sitting Next to me for somewhere in Northern PakiStan

Then

I looked aRound me - no Passengers - See?
If i'm now Mandy - who will fly Me?
Gender unCertainty coRrupted me and Now there is a Bust of me at a museum in Lower ManhatTan

---

4 Nigel and Nathy and Nelson

no one ever reads this shit but touch and feel he went away
with the toads tools.

i dont know why all the news reads nelson dead but that he is
hope his kids came

To see him die.

touchy

feely.

Memory Tray Day In Heaven

On my memory tray, there was a copy of 'How To Train Up A Child', a bible, some plastic hose dad always said was to light to damage the bone and a set of keys to the cellar. Marcella from Garvey class said her tray had some false memories on it, but I didn't really understand that. There was some Child Benefit and Social Security rules (1978) on mine too. Richard Thompson skimmed his tray right over the playground fence which is high and it hit the window of a big lorry. Dean Blunton and Liz leMonde kept stroking each other underneath their memory trays, which were all full of stupid soft cuddly toys. I hate Dean Blunton.

http://rhymeswithmagicart.blogspot.se/2012/03/read-in-fancy-font-complete.html

http://www.inspirationgreen.com/art-from-old-books.html

False Signatories Re-unite.

under that mythological sky beast farmers market
we are observing one and the other. Talking -

I notice that you and I are different
You notice to what degree - by the usual
mechanical burden of proof - you say.

I listen

We are quiet. We boys don't like to go to market too often
I have learned.

Markets require skills. You confess.

We talk more.

Reach the same equilibrium we always did.

The happy surprise of friendship, bound up in cameraderie
and some competition, headlock - death.

Best Regards,

The Apothecary.

Right, these set of bonusus, Clare, are on...

OPTICAL ILLUSIONS:

where are the words Clare?

No, I'm sorry.

it's not 'like steve wright' but poetry - it is.

if you dont get the difference you dont get politics.

That man that could sing - from Eastenders - you know!

You bet in William Hill's Bookery
that he has Italian Blood
in measures greater than
one quarter. Odds 7 to 2.

They make it and you've just put your last twenty on the line.

Disappointed, by the location and the service,
You visit the Coop next door, where, polite
if nothing else but still frightening to the cashier
(Who, by some strange felony of humour,

you refer to as: 'Cashier' - ) you steal a bottle of
Jamesons. 'Those were the days', I imagine
you might be thinking, as you walk - don't run -
past the Zebra crossing (no cheap gags tonight)

and into the country's one and only dog
with an asbo and her owner...

(yes, she is a lady)

With only a little time to run before they can stop presenting themselves
and all the other encumberances that ensue - they will not play with you.

 It's been said, you bought shoes for bare-foot children you saw in the street,
William Hill is offering odds at something wider on this and the Coop will prosecute.

In better days, you were making a profit from the televisions' pre-occupation
with 'junk' - or 'pre-owned mid twentieth century goods' depending on your predilection

but you knew this was all shit - and why...

You end.

My Sweet Self / Nobody Else / But The Polis

Quidco, other questions.
Where does the melody come from
and how do we know the tune?

tautological, like persephone in Hollyoaks
did you ever hey please? did you woo my knees?
remembering in images: That fucking gate
Those fucking handle-bars. Subway steps
awaking to blood, not rain and Joolz laughing

Some sort of Rickenbacher sound. A nursery rhyme
Willow rocking chair, willow wobbler, gone mad,
like a mental case. Brown leather, some sort of woven heavy duty plastic.

One last fling again,......

A novel - Shit. No description of showing
and showing nothing but description - shit.

Your train has left.

Advertising gadgets I use onstage
like a foot-pedal or something more
esoteric - an earphone monitor with built in delay
or other digital shit. make me a drum from a husk.

POlitics? LETS GET READY TO GRRRRUMBLE...
Don't BUT the polis
if you can remember
how Kerby felt and looked. Catch. 3 points. Home

i am a potrato

there werent any words that changed the world
elle'ds r us, I cooked everyone I find
Go back - Gooo backkkk

its all restraint, im getting baked
so every time u see me now

i am a potrato

you say

Sonnetnot

Boris Johnson - Steely dan

King of the World

Edward massey

First aid Kit

No Form







 

Hi Dave

Rolling, Looking, Laughing

the number of things which can get my attention on the internet
is big
Ivon Hitchens with Spanish music, shan't list them all....

I mean, really
to say
how looking and listening

are just so cool
and then making connections

between the two

ROFL

recidivism

Boris Johnson King Of The World
god of peterloo
blood of pale brows bowed
anarchy to thee we bow
and thou name made holy now

And by Putney we did debate
and had pause to think
that now there are no words
and failing to explicate,

Receed.

Satellite of Love - or - Viva Derek Redmond's Dad

Well Lou is dead but Punk can live on
and a meteor, number 14,  DA
has taken out almost every satellite
from  Barcelona,  to Californ - (e) -i - a -. (so we'll need a new song to sing...)

reminding me of a travelling band
from Abe Lincoln's stellar brigade
who followed the sat navs of their conscience
before these days of brand lemonade 

CHORUS:  (oh viva la quince brigada// viva love, money, andy's babies and Lou ..// will be turning in his punked up place of rest and come the time, // i've no doubt so will I and so might you.) 

They went to stand behind the 'spanish angels'
Christy and Seegers' international 5th brigade-
I wonder now if that young Derek Redmond
had a sense he was limping over graves (viva abe lincoln's battallion...)

of men and women fighting for a conscience
and others wondering who'd been
in 1936 in Barcelona
and running for the people's only team? (viva Rolando Alarcon...)

James Connelly, I'd have him throw a discuss
for the sake of all that dialogue can bring
I hope he might see now that there's nawt with more power
than something for which we can all sing (Viva Frank Ryan and Bob Hilliard...)

But '92  hailed a new perestroika
The gates fell in Moscow and Berlin
Global Capital will have it's shiny future
While Socialism licks it's wounded white skin. (viva Fox and Foley, Paton and all...)

But Derek Redmond's dad knew something better
In his own un-conceited global heart
and we forgot the day - the people's games stopped play:
It's not the winning but the fucking taking part. (and viva Derek Redmond's dad...)

(now it's said most Paddy's fought for Franco -
but I'm here in the studio by satellite link
with Derek's dad and an IRA spokesman
who both sound like they've been on the drink) (viva la people's olympics...)

stars

isnt this fella painting them all up now?
i'll go look

Paul brady Remembered before he and all Die

i cant soften the blow of youth

oh jonny

i just couldnt break your burden of youth

and the auld man died

did you feel the same as i?

hey johnny

did you see the same stars and the death of your own eternity?

and was there anyone there?

hey johnny - wake up

dont stop to stare

its a bad foundation

looking at the world from the set stars

of your wee face and

Johnny -

oh

Windsor Davies

here's the thing Don Estelle:

the trees weren't interested

and the grass - it had no need to tell.

memory, they say, is imagining: knowing - would that be ok? x

a co-ordinate that's true.
i wrote that. it could happen to you
from fast to favour
i wouldnt doubt

the rhyme's more important than finding the trout

Julian

To spot a friend that much bigger than you
- almost un-heard of.

To listen to - not advice - but observation:

"sometimes, that kind of mistake, is there only for perfection's sake"

- from a guy who can't even spell proper?

All Is Well

I would advocate
for not ascribing
too much importance
or even meaning
to any one word:

'Cunt' is, in present tense
only one consonant away
from 'bunting' and just one
slide down the alphabet.

somewhere between b and c
the snakes and ladders

where you need

Wallop!

that were it

can't think of any realisation more powerful-

LET PEOPLE YOUNGER THAN YOU SHOW YOU HOW TO DO STUFF YOU NEED TO DO.

---------------------

the awakening. I bet that's a film. and i hope it's shit

-----------------------

i mean really - but OH
(in a free verse style)
have i been there doing not what i should for all this time to be here doing all i can for nothing?

---------------------

I dont think so bi(A)tch.

Wanted: Blue Baby

there is nothing, but NOTHING, here.
no-one will listen and no-one will care
about this alley or your silly little complaint -
You used to buy all your records here?
So what? - It's all over now Baby Blue...

how far love goes past knowledge
this will not be useful
there will not be words to say 'now'
or time to grant them

spiritualy tea

some truth reading seer monkey will read this and think otherwise

but i cant believe ive typed so many words

Interview

Read this with  the chorus of Cat Stevens' 'Games People Play' in back of mind:

Listening to a woman on the radio talk about lost negatives of some very important photographs this morning. They were all 'incinerated' in the 2001 World Trade Center (sic) disaster. "The Safe was strangely intact but the photographs were all ash. They made an appointment for me to go and see them"...

One of the stories we tell ourselves. One we, in fact, solicit to tell to our listeners. An audience. Strange that the safe was intact yet the contents were ash. The journalist (sic) asked no exploratory questions...

Open ended, for me, we were left with this ladies account of her own material losses. Another '9/11 tale'.

Ideas about investigating the WTC vaults occur... I decide it is enough to do this. I also note the interest of the word 'vault' and make a note to re-consider at a later date. There were vaults.

Inspiration

The worth of a thing
The plastic realities' reality
My one pair of eyes
A slew of reading books

All glued to my toilet seat
I am beside myself
What's a low down bum to do
But wait? No finer toilet kit...

Gobshites In Gabardines.

A common site is what you saw
A glimpse of them on the far off shore
- not that you knew it then -
But the specimens you met as your arcs related
seemed over intent on having extirpated

your every wholesome thought, - of Birdwatchers.

A call went out:

the whole flock departed in SUV's
dusting you, me, and low lying trees
in a 9000 RPM, sand clouded curve
out of the Norfolk Wildlife Reserve..

..texting azimuth and elevation co-ordinates
as they went
To sight an African Stork
at Morley, near Kent....

hey jude

murdering you has been my longest indulgence
i didnt know when i began
that you were nearly out of your mind

u told me you were being trying
said i you should be done with dyin
and now - you say you love me -
i cried the whole night thru

all the single ladies say:
no sun make nothing make no sun hey -
all the single ladies put they hands up

say na h nah nah nah na na nah na na nah

needs a strong title

being a vehicle of death
i feel nothing but anxiety
about the possibility of
roots and variety

we are the plastic band
conversation variety
half remembered
guts van sandt

arboration satiety

trite and shite

i'd guess you'd call me 'negative'
if ever i'd thought about it
i'd everso guess, politely express
that you could no nawt abawt it

but you mihgt retort
exactly i thought,
that spooner was down
on his 'ism'

and fuck every wise word
that sounds on a falling ship
and wouldn't have worded
me wisely. Ships away not glib

pete postlethwaite

not to be confused with..

post title fight

the impulse which comes first
- thats the one - not the second
not the one you spend the rest of your life trying to fathom
and live down, up - whatever

the first one, the one that said
'stay down' you're finished

follow that
and be done.

Zimmer Vision

Are you a prosaic old man or are you the same as me
and require some kind of meter, rhyme or melody
to smooth your non-transition? You're nothing in-between
and of that I was sure when I saw you, hobbling
(did you have a frame or something?) outside the Co-op.

I suppose it was youthfulness in your face - or something
else gave me first sight. I wasn't sure of what until you sank
in to me and I coughed you up and saw that you were me
not in 20 or thirty years - but now. Just me. Not old. 
More ill than aged. It's not for wimps - that's for sure.

Resolved to wait a while longer, I pedal faster, breathe deeper
and feel all the life that is left along with the shortness
the weakness and the dying. No chorus of "I'm alive"
or other affirming platitudes. More a quiet resolve and
- "mmm - best get a clip on"... Pump up tyres when home.

Poem

Got to go to work Poem.
Don't hold me back please
You know there are frames to be made
and invoices to be written
Why do you always do this at 9 in the morning,
ensuring that I am neither of a great writer or
a successful business man? Let alone a half decent parent...
Is it just because you can? If that be the case.
I owe you and I will show you and then I will make you work for ME.

Or is it because you are an orphan and have had to survive alone for all these years?

I may learn to have sympathy for you. But, for now, take that - and be glad I wasn't holding a brush.

ends.

The Hidden Post

In Angola, the situation was quite bad, so I was pleased to discover that the economy had grown at 12% this year. So much so, that Angola has offered Portugal monetary help during their recent crisis. The IMF, I discover, are helping many countries with what have been termed: 'bailouts'. These bailouts are made very much dependent upon recipients selling off any nationalised assets into private hands.

Pulling in to the car park of my local swimming pool, I felt and heard a painful crunching on the passengers' side of the car. When I got out to inspect, the damage had been caused by a post. A hidden post. A post which, after I had swum, discussed event with duty manager and returned to car, I photographed to prove its invisibility (I have the photos for anyone who is interested).

The Duty Manager suggested I might like a token free swim. I protested angrily that this would unfungible at best. Then I wondered: "Did I really use that word? and Do I even know what it means?". What's interesting is the use of a word which, sometimes, a speaker might not even recognize, at a pressurised moment, which seems to enter the vocabulary of the speaker as if by divine intervention. This ever happen to you?

Fungibility is the ability to substitute one example of a good by another example of the SAME good. Money is fungible. It's an economic term. Where fungibility is used in a non-economic sense it is used as metaphor. Commodities, options, and securities are fungible assets. Stock options are freely interchangeable and wheat stored in a grain elevator is not specifically identified as to its ownership...

Car repairs, however - and the free facility of a swimming pool for a day are thoroughly UNFUNGIBLE. The God of diction had smiled upon me and was smoting the Duty Manager - who did look a bit smited. I wont say smitten. Words are important in moments of high pressure. I'm sure the presidents of Portugal and Angola appreciate this as do the big boys of world trade affairs at the IMF. But they don't get 'given' words. They have to learn them.

Since God began working through me and I was thus embued with the divine gifts of a prostletysing wordsmith, I have taken to entering into more situations of un-known providence, sometimes involving a degree of carelessness for personal safety, purely so that I might better spread the words of the All-mighty, which I have discovered can be uttered from the mouths of the most humble of men.

And THAT, my friends, is the Word Of God.

Postscript:
I haven't yet had a reply from the executive director of the swimming pool but I have noted that the post in question has been painted a bright yellow. This clearly indicates two things: 1. The post was mis-placed and I was correct in questioning the fungibility of swimming fees and garage bills, and 2. God works through me and I have faith that my garage bills will be paid one way or another.

Egg Lickingly, Bet Fixingly.

In his worst nightmare an egg
sitting in a corner, chuckling
I google 'chuckie egg'
- a computer game from 1983.

That's all and nothing else matters

But I still have questions, like
wasn't it something to do with
birth waiting to happen? Growth
of something? Like bet-fixing

in Billericay or somewhere else..

Graffiti comes from the Latin:
'Graffito' which means 'Graffiti'
with an 'O'. (sic) Ban Sky. N. Y. - C?
todays is the third of October 2013.

Two things which have been blotted.

Reading Rimbaud

Reading and weeping, in fact. A bit anyway. 

Well, not that much, but it's worth a passing mention

that whilst the french might've buggered up our written language,

spoken english is not a patch on French when you're reading Rimbaud.

A guy at a Creative Writing course open day once told me:

"we do tend to favour people with a second language". I took it,

foolishly at first, as a bit of snobbery, but now I get it. I think I get it.

There are many ways to say a thing ( or thingasay) and they all lose

something in translation whan we write them down. For this,

I have learned that we may blame the French. Especially when the rugby is on.

Blank verse or prose poetry however, is something we should give credit for.

That's why I thought I'd write this down - since I had nobody to say it to

and I don't speak french very well. Now, for the rest of this poem it's over to Google translate:

 Lecture et pleurant, en fait. Un peu quand même.

Eh bien, pas tant que ça, mais ça vaut une mention de passage

que, tandis que le français pourrait avez enculer jusqu'à notre langage écrit,

anglais parlé n'est pas un patch sur le français quand vous lisez Rimbaud.

Un mec à un cours d'écriture créative journée portes ouvertes m'a dit une fois:

«Nous avons tendance à privilégier les personnes ayant une langue seconde». Je l'ai pris,

bêtement au premier abord, comme un peu de snobisme, mais maintenant je comprends. Je pense que je comprends.

Il ya beaucoup de façons de dire une chose (ou thingasay) et ils perdent tout

quelque chose dans la traduction WHAN nous écrire. Pour cela,

J'ai appris que nous pouvons blâmer le français. Surtout quand le rugby est en marche.

 Vers blancs ou prose poétique cependant, est quelque chose que nous devons donner le crédit.

C'est pourquoi j'ai pensé écrire cela - puisque je n'avais personne à le dire à

et je ne parle pas très bien français. Maintenant, pour le reste de ce poème, c'est fini pour Google translate:

 Reading and crying, actually. A little anyway.

Well, not that much, but it's worth a passing mention

that, while the French could have fucked up our written language,

spoken English is not a patch on the French when you read Rimbaud.

A guy in a creative writing course open day told me once:

"We tend to focus on people with a second language." I took it,

silly at first, like a bit of snobbery, but now I understand. I think I understand.

There are many ways to say one thing (or thingasay) and they lose

something in the translation WHAN write. To do this,

I learned that we can blame the French. Especially when the rugby is on.

Grubs or poetic prose, however, is something we must give credit.

That's why I thought of writing this - since I had no one to tell

and I do not speak French very well. Now the rest of this poem is over for Google translate.

Gnome Is Where The Heart Is

Birchover Park and the gnomes

Wont mean much to many

But to those of us to whom it does

I say this: “I hear you were last seen,

Fostered and shaven-headed, climbing a floodlight

Stantion at the City Grounds’ Radcliffe Road end.

I hope life has gone well for you and will always remember the

supporters club we created. You were an odd fellow

like myself and your brother was a perfect nightmare…

The Gnomes are all but extinct now.

Maybe it’s the popularization of high garden culture

on the telly – or something in the water?

Whatever, at least your names turned out to be poetic":

Good night Coal and Sea-Grave.

Boys like You

i always knew you'd be gone
and singing the one about the soldiers
and blue bloods in the world outside
of this room. It's awful sad not to know

Boys like you

But the left foot we joined about
has lost all hair and withered
sometimes in the bush and sometimes
on the same old stairs

where we dithered.

The Forest Of Good Hope

Theresus Negative
An old man was he
He married Virgin Mary
Queen Of Galilee

Made a monkey out of me
I was so blind
I couldn't see
For the leaves and tree

and

being quite scared of heights
I was unhappy, at best
to discover that the production company
hadn't paid the fucking fee.

So I stole the ladder
left them in 'negotiations'
a mile high and not at all
poplar.

Barack Obama is Ageing Before Our Eyes

Once you've got a bad back
There's no turning black.

listening to people shout in anger on a daily basis with occasional howling by the under 5's...

What's wrong with the titles intended subject of matter is that when you do - you begin - or continue - to think - that it really doesn't (matter) about them or you or this.

It's something of a miracle that this exists at all.

Sometimes...

God himself...

this mathematical mastery fucker

screwed me

while he trimmed my yucca

that's entertainment I said...

and I wrote back to 'im

and 'ee then spoke to me

see?

mathematical mastery

Holden Caulfield

"He is good at writing kids and adolescents" admit the detractors...

Having just read Catcher In The Rye and seeing what all the fuss was about (I think) I then went on to read as much Lit Crit about it as I could stand. I was just surprised, like, maybe even depressed, by how many people seem to miss the point - so many phoneys out there etc. I could go on in parody but it was done better at the time by another reviewer.

I think it WAS the novel of the C.20 as Mark Twain might've been before (haven't read that). I think what made it so good was that I am still thinking about it. What else made it so good? It's just agonising reading the memoir of a kid who thinks of himself, is thought of by his co-players in the book and mostly, by the reviewers (til I gave up, which wasn't long) as an adult, when in fact he is still a kid. Holden himself says so repeatedly, during a mostly painfully accurate and acute assessment of human nature, human development and character and is always disagreed with. He (Salinger) understands what it is to be an adolescent and be more insightful (it's a liminal space and I am trying not to over-use parentheses) than children or adults usually are.

The simple agony of the book is the beautifully realised imagining of acute loneliness felt by a little boy lost, who everyone thinks should be mature, while none of them are and while we see that 'immaturity' grow out of sane and consistently fair judgements. We can read the book as adults and obviously, we can re-assure ourselves that we do have adult advice for Holden. But how would that help?

There was one very good quote I read in the reviews. Mr Antolini would've got it - I think (see how I'm slipping into Holden without even trying?). I'll go look for it. The crux of the whole ting is whether you think Antolini was just a 'perv', was a 'perv' but was still caring and all the things Holden hoped he was - or was, in fact not a perv and was still all the things Holden hoped he was, which it is just possible could've been true had Holden not had such bad experiences which had stopped him from allowing himself to discover this fictional and yet most hopeful of facts.

Whatever. I blame the parents...

The quote was: " - " nah, can't find it. Was good tho.

Health and Beauty (a wee note after John Hollander)

You don't make scents anymore
was the last thing the Perfumier heard
at the hearing. Seeing the saw had made him
angry and the saw sighting soured his eyes -
he scented red.

The rest is make-up

Journey Of The Mad - Eye.

 oculis in coelum:

 'Jealous of Diss, was how we travelled:
We fell upon no train track,
nor electrification of the lines.
In the bitter end we hadn't even Town-Hall
to argue from and hard times beset us all'
From Suffolk gulag we fled Hugh Bigod
and many regretted thereafter:
the Jealous-Eye; the hounds of Diss;
the Retteries, the Chandlers and the Drapers -
All gone. The only blessed hope?
A Skate-park! and documented -
By all of these means were we dis-entitled:
Typographic error and archivist;
by the lack of train platform and bus-shelter;
by the rood screening of Ninian Comper;
by Leonard P, whose observations
of an over-night desertion, were, in fact
slowed, as if to lever pain to the highest,
by a thousand years....
Still, we did travel on
and a hard time we did have of it
preferring an un-ending night-walk
without the illumination
of home-fires or hearths.
Voices whispered from the roadside:
"This is all folly"....

But at last, we did reach some temperate places.
We found refuge for an island folk
By widening our boundaries and stopping
by the sea as we knew it.
We became again, professional
and when we saw this birth gave orders:
To our Butchers: 'Take out his eyes' and
to our undertakers: 'Send them to Heav'n'

'We have seen so much dying
and are now an alien people -
without homes to return to'

Cradling our copies of The Suffolk Guide
We pray for more births and a good review...

bitches are just people with a bad attitude

somewhere there's music, somewhere there's food.
How high the music? how high the moon?

where's the food?

who said that, said the moon.

said what? said the music..

so says you.

I saw two men sitting by the bins

I know what that means

the way they sat by the bins

it was hot, we are talking,

by the bins. By the bins will do.

Go men, you are men and men you are,

By the bins.

Alan.

Writing something great with no-one watching….

I was thinking about the pain of death. I listened to a lady on the radio talking about the pain of her mother’s death – from cancer of the bowel I think. See how easily I forgot?

Today I read a thing (this is your God speaking) I don’t read often.

Creation is a real cunt. You make something out of nothing; everyone thinks you’re very clever; something goes wrong – BAM, you’re the devil himself.

Fuck creation.

Funny That (Maximillion)

The things we are jealous of -
they're just the things we don't want to admit to
wanting for ourselves

The things we admit to wanting -
are the things people we are jealous of
take for granted

The things we take for granted -
are things that people we don't want to be jealous of
can't seem find anywhere...

and the people we take for granted -
Allow them a moments weakness to be jealous
of wanting anything at all...

ta.

loosely emailed ideas about a vampire a girlfriend and a caravan:

A waxy fumbler
Arithmetic hoops
Westling gardenias
Arms a light
Gallic loch
With keystones
And powders

From Ennis
To maple syrup
Eat the entirety and
Savour the variety

and gaily - Monkey


an' we've eyed a teetering
sense of propriety
but we've sang that song...


(Daffodils etc)

Does this sound mad?

I'm really sorry not to have said more about the vampire

eveything else is private

Except the caravan.

70's cool disco

to give it away

there are sounds to express every thought and feeling
and they come to us easily and naturally
archeaology is a different fascination
i dont know how that comes
dont think i want to find out

boney m

THE MOTHERFUCKING DOTS IN CASE YOU DOUBTED IT

.

I hate Entitlement

I could wonder if I'm borrowing from language at all
or too much
but whoever might judge
never paid me back....

charity shop salvation dorothy?

ever felt like youre clambering?
something special awaits?

another metre takes a rhyme
like Tim Buckley
Is No Longer Boring

Chip Shops have rights too

Whether Pineapple, son in law or not
there are no self deceptions

like home.

How To Flog A Bastard:

Turn him, turn, turn
To every season, burn, burn

There is a reason
Churn, ern,

and a time under heav'n...

eat.

Butch Calamity and The Sun

lets see how clever we can be -
(after we and you - immortality)
guns and niggers. knives and whites.
a fensive language
cocoon of yore 

what's the damage?

who came before:

guns and knives and niggers and whites
oliver cromwell king of the shites and republics

I love the fact that,
seperated by, america
africa, some afghan pie
was once Pangaea
and if that make no sense

use it on yourself
and die on the toast rack.

by drone.

How To Get On With Melanie

On with Melanie -
or how to felch with a flower
I am erupting in Bakewell:
Tart hope in Castletown
brings Derby, Joan an' all to a quiffing
curmudgeon. By the dozen, we quit
Aware of Banks and frit...

"Get on with it" -

"Melanie".

Flagged Browsers and Trill Anthropists

We were delighted.
Decorated with this wonderful pillar piscina once again -
a lance into the mouth is his characteristic of the dragon.
The scene  at Swannington church, depicted here, is a wonderful and rare survivor:
'St George pushing Norman'
Long lives the carver,
to face style;
to face  this dead art.
On! Be in.
 

Gay Marriage: Osborne, Cameron and Gove

fag pet pigeon stool

stool fag pigeon pet

pigeon fag pet stool

pet stool fag pigeon

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Bob Hoskins

in the eye is an ill thing
to think about your face
and essence

I fantasize satanhood
while imaging a visage
of you

imagining a hot place
answering a text message
"live long" -

It's good to satay the prawns
and to ghee sauce the chickens
Bob Hoskins.

shri lank am nest e

Invisible Ice Cream Simulacra

where are my slippers?
is this effigy on Facebook?
why do you always do that?
Where are the Trossachs/

noise

Question me please
am I you is it
thinking forever i am

not, surely, or

disappearingly, gone

mechanical thinks orderly

tag.

amnestied like vultures over tin roofs in Rotherham

i am a monkey and you are a typewriter
you have a paper back
and I a disposable lighter

lets get together
and feel
anxious.

and dat is de end of dis wite middle class ting
and ting.

end ya kna jah

did dat jah? ya knaw?

ha hoare?

piss on da poor.

end.

All of these lyrics were written in between the passing of Thatch and the burying of Thatch. There were many debates around the notion of 'decency' - particularly with regard to the playing of Judy Garland on BBC Radio chartshows singing: The Witch Is Dead. Arguments were made copiously for and against decency and censorship on both sides, until someone said: (and I quote)" it's really quite ruthless and unkind to make such judgments about the dead even before they are buried".

At this point, I learned that it was ok to talk about the dead in ways that they enjoyed talking about other people in life.

So, fuck her, the filthy old cow - and yet - some shred of sympathy, something empathic with trajedy, something human - keeps on surfacing.

But no, that never happened to her either.

Witch.

Dead.

 

she's dead

who am i
going out to
the fish shop?
marry gordon

maintain a
pandoras box
holocausts
 r us r us

mysteries
of mine are gone
all alone
come see come see

oh denis
where did we go?
oh denis
where did we go?

in the ritz
you can only
imagine
regality.

NaPoWriMo

We use very few words. I suspect we possess more emotions and memories than we have words or possible meanings which can be expemporised. Still, we try...

Writing is limited. If you had an interest (I'm sure you do) - you can use writing to explore for a lifetime - or more likely, record. Writing to explore, experimental writing. This is different.

pointless writing........ rhythm and a knowledge of its stretched skins - there's a standard for appreciation. Jazz writing. Tscchh t t tsch tt tt tschh..... mmmm yeah.

Like buying a council house and mourning the dead - language which seems to make no sense has always been less trusted than music. This could be right, it could be wrong.

Your honour - wont you hear my song - I'll only hum, it wont take long. Your honna. Im gone. Blue Blue, yellow yellow, green green greens, fees gold, Iplayer Iphone, Imac, imac crop shave balding clare. Horse.

chatty windows are broken just before the sky was
opened.
and my pillows ask me why?
ever since you came and tokened
and the barterers were oakened
fancy mignons eat the sky
.

No If

But..
maybe
whether or not
you
Oh

you

or

perhaps...

wankers,

there are denizens of love and there lovers of life but

we age and shush a bit
mash kabba fuck  honda
lay one and you win the game
lay 12 and game for a laugh
Matthew. Tonight i am as
have come. I have come. matthew

thank you Denise

A ha a ha a ha ah aha ha ha ha ha  a aha ha

a hem.

In Pieces...

say we're here in the green pastures of harvard university
just say were here and breaking some bones for memory
say were talking about things that wont sound shit in or
out of a rhyme structure, which we know - is maybe 2/4

and say we dont know what that means but we can sing it
I'll let you be in my dream if I can be in yours and I didnt
say that Rick Von Schmidt existed and was called Rich Clarke-
I'd know what I had to apologise for and I'd say it right.

Big Hit

this squeezed lie is the honest truth
and im bred to die if i piss off the youth
see numbers in hell

(on age its verbatim:
if you survive the early days
you die in a purple haze

and no-one can agree on that
to make me change my mind and stay
we never did too much talking anyway)

Think twice - it's gone to shit

Hay the plough
we did endow
your disavowed
and furrowed brow

but then I fell asleep for to take my rest and it made me sad that
no-one cares - ah, well or at best

for me, i think I'll call this song for me.

lies and a statistic

age 44

I start asking questions

(but there's one thing I know
im younger than you
even jesus would not forgive
the things that you do)

and I hope you die
your death should come soon
and i'm walking down a highway

(which I never really did
for more than maybe 3 miles)

im the man in the moon.

To Everything

turn your mind to the point of type
walk letraset dabs in sand and on..
the beaches.com I wonder: whitefish?

what was to say would have been on time?
no but, year but, no but, year but, no -
Motivation. This can be manufactured
and is as old as the middle classes no less
no more. (1765) approximately. You'll never
be no good in your ash white heart and i'll

stop. Dont pronounce the year. Historicism

So gauche. fuckle duckle mc schmuck'll fart

Like A Trooper.

t LEAT leaf til feat heath and beef hearts smart

art