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5/1/2008 postthat hurricane re-dividing into feudal strips packed barrios and he who tills his portion well offers up a bounty benefits not by gain but by the holding off of wrath for one season longer she lives by herself in a hamlet in a cottage smoky leaky with drafts as quarrelsome companions she gave-up proclaiming her piece, assumed the mask of crone a wisdom born of silence a threadbare cat that never stays at home and mumbles out concoctions to the scant few just as hobbled old or else desperate beyond salvation who deign to tread her herb-bordered path. the dusks are definitely deeper more beautiful than a generation ago and appear more poignant ragged as they range themselves behind the skeletons and tattered vestments of once-high-rises apartment blocks stacks of offices but the animals never did come back with a future the rent packed up exactly in all its fractures known broken bones in casts signed by the great and the good by friends who only scrawl obscenities by relatives only platitudes there's someone waiting keeping your seat warm for you despite that you've fallen behind with payments given your sons up for service your daughters to the the oldest profession he effects the change-over with grace not once casting his eyes to your bump nor in fact to any part of what you like to thing of as your fecund form diabolic forces lights and noises at night in the forest are either the malformed having thir sick orgies of the imagination or else the dark heart remaining from the government still concocting behind its curtain of SFX in the windows bereft of glass a dim-light decades after the fleeting last transmission after the electricity died the after glow of late night porn of star benefits big win prize shows testcards bursts of false hope still remains hugging the nearly paint-less frame.... but would you come up to my room?the pedestrian crossword an observer observes through blinds, glass, window, machines too, recording the high-rise burn the pavement, and Crays compute the flow of crowds like liquid not really suffusing the porous edifices, the results of mapmakers' wet dreams but meeting hard, the sea in spume breaking at the base of catacombed cliffs -- throwing spray up bottomless holes, minutely smoothing out the passages and rooms, the detective marks time and his machines blink a tourist gets stalked, a child wails at cars ... written:April.2008 4/29/2008 stone against skinyou know still I can feel your Stone and your skin The thistles we laid upon And reflected light dancing Not just yet I wish my whisper to arrive at your lips My saliva condense In the radiation of Your blood But pretty soon We'll exhale the same Air, share scents And learn the tool-marks In skin, the eddies under stone written: april.2008.almost.asleep 4/28/2008 Thank You (Again) There's not many out here on their alonesome Excepting of course the midnight polluters Crawling snail-file along in their driver's seats And they, a network without connections. Awaiting appointments the other parties won't keep Children shouldn't be up this late, he thinks As marquee-scrolling lights glitter in his drink He too knows, she'll not make this appointment What a cliche he thinks, drains that drink Gestures another The waiter looks fucking pissed One guy alone, taking up a table, Ordering the cheapest drinks Somewhere else snails trail over brushed-aluminium eyelids In another part of town lovers kiss And lick tongues across downy skin Suddenly he only hears - the glitter of his drink Goes out, the fumes of idling engines dwindle The paving under the soles of his feat, The clothes he's wearing, cease to apply their pressure Ice squirms inside glasses, glasses nuzzle eachother Heels on the pavement, palms softly clapping A whole flock of differently-tuned vocal chords I|n opposition, change dropped in metal saucers The grumble of those aforementioned engines The contents of the pockets of every passerby Somewhere else Somewhere else a theatre empties of its patrons And its lights dim In another part of town the actors take off their faces Put on different ones In another part of town someone sings ... written:April.2008 beside a fucking pissed (off) waiter 2/23/2008 A Rather Short Story They say, "What I find sexually provocative in a boy is his collar bones. When I see them I die, I just want to ply their hollows with my tongue, and with luck taste, lick off, a salty sheen." That made me angry when they said that. One of my rare bursts of primordial rage, born of original sin, of the snakes writhing in my cerebellum and beneath my lungs. While I was taking the task seriously and sacrificing all for its sake in a tortuous death-pang of uncharacteristic honesty, they were making a mockery of me. I said as much to them , they apologised, we cried, and later I bedded three of the four of them. My collar bones are always glazed with salt. 2/20/2008 One Short StoryYou're a special case, of that there's no doubt. You stumble against clouds and fumble inside other people's dreams. They seem to have filled every place you work with high pitched whines on the threshold of hearing and the building shudders almost as much as the lift when it comes to disgorge and you hate its accelerations almost as much as it wants to leave your organs in the space you're not and the doors open just a few moments too soon. The lights above your station flicker at a frequency only you can perceive, and the nerves of your eyestalks are bloodshot and bleeding. Your dreams come in email chains - horror stories and rock-hard guys with foot-long wood. By the time something trickles down to you it's been marred by so many hands, pawed by so many minds, its form is hard to define. And so you hold it there in your palms not spilling a drop, and watch it skitter 'Til calm, your breathing stills with it, the vapour on your breath condenses against it. You reshape and place, mold it to a semblance of order, fit it back in its can in a row on the shelf with the others, labels aligned - though a slammed fist against the metal of the cabinet will disarray what you've put in order. For certain you've got options, avenues to be pursued. It's always been true as the rasp in your lungs is true, as the filament of light is constant. But will you choose? Written:February.2008 2/18/2008 Three short storiesAt the party things are barely moving but I take a slice of pizza and a glass of bubbly wine and slide in next to a shyish-looking German girl on the sofa. We exchange the usual crap that we aliens do when we meet in a mixture of boredom at trotting out the same rubbish for the umpteenth time (which we embellish with the odd little lie just for the sake of variety) and excitement at meeting another stranger with whom we automatically share something in common. And then on an unusual whim - because it normally strikes things dead - I mention my Lego obsession and we in seconds fizzle like bosom buddies - planning collaborations with the meagre collections we've found space to pack and bring with us – it’s not really a hobby that lends itself to the peripatetic lifestyle – and the party never does get off the ground so we head back to hers, via mine, for a night of building and tumblers of gin. The single whiskey I'd had before leaving the house has made my head glow as the Metro swayes and rattles its way on. I stare at the ladder in the tights of an average-looking girl and imagine probing the hole with my tongue, her legs have a short crop of stubble and I can feel the hairs prickle. But the whisky's wearing off now and I've gone one stop too far. Fuck. Some time ago I'd given you a gift certificate for Ann Summers and what was the sexiest thing you'd thought to buy? A pair of tart-red stockings you wore under your jeans which had elasticated tops coated on the inside with a rubber that made you thighs a blotchy purple and made me think of ancient sailor's pig-skins and we both know you've got a phobia of condoms from when one'd got stuck inside of you and you'd had to go to casualty. A phobia you'd taken care to pass on the me. “I got intimidated by the vibrators” you confessed, “and grabbed the first thing I saw,” “Intimidated by the vibrators?” You’ve got two yourself, I’ve got a vibratior, we’re sexually liberated, they're a tool like any other, like a hammer, an aid to sexual pleasure, or whatever, “my mum isn’t intimidated by vibrations.” Written:last.weekend, on.the.metro 2/14/2008 Considering a visit Grit, chipper children carving Heady carving slipshod Vessel, in case of surface Precedent electrical arcs spark Grey matter the sun and The wind together slip Out from under Seatbelt Start Increasing your surface area Dayglo Reach as senses won't allow Hammond play Beyond translucence lies aerosol MP3 Does soul still attach Make it all home Maybe there might be Corners I don't go But still I'm considering it for home Three strings Planetary conjunction That her orbit Just won't sync mine She'll forever lie Three or four years out And when we pass by Oh we pass by We pass by her star accrues A little of mine Scattering shards from ink-painted walls, itinerant Mural painters have pissed Through these plaster fragments The law that was laid Has lain, can lay a little more The new bounds are formed Buy a current of warm air And by a current of cold A Incan God, frozen solid Snore A very fine coat indeed Written:February.2008 Don't speak out of turn My beautiful kids this one My favourite, this other - Even more - I clasp their hands In mine, stroll by the watchtower The splish & hiss of hot oil Hitting the brackish pool sharp wounds You heal, insignificant bruises you fawn over A dash of acid crosses your lips The remnants of ashes pass out of Your system. The urine-coloured light Crowned in reflection where They'll pull down these buildings soon. Her draught, an old wives concoction Really seems to sooth as my kids run ahead The floor spins up cold and white And laden for demolitions... Written:February.2008 2/6/2008 tz Collapsing star drugs the sing Of love at first sight the sting Of coke off the dashboard The taxista drives and the party Bulges out. On main-lined street or In ruins They come, oh they come for another land Buried by yet a third Millenia afore this one birthed Though its tips protrude Through our foundation slag, Fumble for change for the driver Acid trail hisses, insinuating itself In stone green the balcony with leaf The girl awaiting gynecology And the air mix missed, for Yearned almost, of dust, smog And choke It's all nutrient to the herb A breathy veil of silence coexist The struck dumb tourist and the One gabble 100 words a minute The chaos dance behind both Completely blind To the squall, the neon enriched Passions and darkness. Pulse by The cellular net worked through Ancient stones with more bits Than real voices whispered, led To ink, preserved for us What watchword but gently guards The violence. An uneasy frantic sleep Permeates the byway and passageways On politics she says shit on it And in dreams she does By day she uses the toilet A slip of a thing With memories cleaned medicinal Alcohol diluted blood nuzzles up against Nicotine enriched breath in small Orbits love sings in grand the city Heaves its hips Baksheesh silenced she still With crushing temples buried Under stone rises, makes coffee Thick, Black, Sweet, Hot Thick, Black, Sweet, Hot Sinks it into a hole Written:February.2008 1/28/2008 oh certainly not afraid of childrenTwitching my skin The building sloughs its front face Like the falling of a ripe unpicked scab And dancing at the corner If threatened will give in. He sells cracked Mirrors, and candy by the metro entryway These are God's own kittens, that, the sound Of angels mewing. She attracts them with Scraps he laces with poison Twitching my skin In stadiums and on feast-days with his Fingers in your pocket twitching You wonder 'bout the cashflow or the Car brakes screaming words absent from Dictionaries. Cars - Thesauruses of guilt traffic jams like Mercury shivering in channels. Milk Poured on stone. The P.I. sound Of drumming on hollow walls The kids adopted a kitten Then let its veins to the wind What hard-edged antecedent to fashion's Shameless display of unkempt nipples, of An acreage of skin. Breakfast assumed the position, Cops raided celebrity bungalows and Dark stains and cracks appeared, beggaring belief Dressed-down poison, the fast talking lies of reciprocation Daddy gave for Christmas the king of all gifts, For Lucy, or Bernice, or Jordan, the most delicate Of kittens - soot black before washed white By the river, riven and bruised, convinced of its sin Thanking The Lord for poison, a raft to refloat Its dreams upon. Oh he said, goodnight darling Open the window, stock the feeder with seed, Let some fresh air in. Can't stop the dancing why even try. Let's show Them written:while.waiting.for.students.January.2008 8/10/2007 What Deity...He does what you tells him
slowly drags t'ward lets slip a rumour he oughtn't of heard. Biscalar... morning after I couldn't remember, had I slept with her? More nuisance than radiance capacity held and were the slush fund junkies, the ordinaries, and monied less or more than slow genes? What coke fiend Barabbas, on the morning after I did not stay for coffee, but checked I had my keys ... written:August.2007 7/6/2007 I Came This Close To Confessing My LoveThis gut I'm proud of, The whore, the simplicity The simple clutches Of no bested conflagration No vapour, no further No stagnating in simplicity What moribund furtive Set of near-misses What clutches Written: May.2007 6/13/2007 ImmolationTheir four square
Sceptics shuddered. Shuddered they did. Vagrants.
written:just.now. 6/5/2007 Glycerine Tears, Boot Black, PasteYou imitator, horlicks drinker suffer in silence why don't you, put us all through it and although you offer armistice, hold your hands out front, palms to the sky you read from the horoscope pages a litany of distrust and faithlessness. oh butterfly catcher, where have you left your net, you're not burdened nor equipped, you're nothing without your instruments. can you gasp? can you lay down the law, teach me the rules, give a just and equal ruling, just and equal ruin. oh i've loved you, you've laid me out and investigated with a surgeons precision, didn't sustain your interest, left me on a drip, i'm a catalyst for disfunction, a wrecked and sorry burden, i'm glad you've cast off your burden, sent back heaven's bills, adressee not known here, return to sender, tunnelled under hills, it's warm down here but thick with moisture, without your instruments you're bitter, a failure, purposeless and diverse. oh human hater, of flower power know you what? a conquest? or a tragedy? what was i, a doubtful refuge, timbers rotting, overgrown, disgusting. my annals ended there, full of fear, a lack of reckoning, a childish, irrational dysfunction. oh silence, oh god of all the silences, my first love, a raging fire, torn apart. oh god of all physical laws, all rules by which i've not abided, can't you stop me floating, can't you bring me firm landing, a grounding? oh god of licorice and all things sweet, you've lost your way, have you not, chained and pinned by corporations, by the devils in suits, you thought you needn't control them, divided up the nations, theirs would be the suffering, but what is this you wrought, a contortion or confusion, they build their babel towers multinational, a story in every nation, they touch their own skies, the worlds great cathedral, succinct and glorious, gothic in mistrust and gloomy elegance, a temple of death. i loved you too much/in my heart i kept a daisy-cutter written:on.a.blog.17.November.2003 No One Camei'd rather your antique undressed and panicked upper side up on top the boat turned back the spaceship of piss left, came back found home burned to the ground skinned and crashed black soot dust upper crust aga's and granite tops indestructible feminine beauty crashed my shores the last time pulled away old bottles, tin cans, pebbles, sand, the odd lost shoe, a rusty bicycle but no messages, no trust. the old island now sitting in the desert, the waves come crashing back no more, the dust blows in my eye, the nomad fortune teller comes to read my palm, there's no love visible here, she says, none at all, thank you, i reply, for being so honest, i think i'll go and shoot myself. written:on.a.blog.20.November.2003 4/22/2007 What a library f*ckProper title = "What a library fuck" Age has its variables, distance some, Snow falls in all seasons, time belongs to none. Rhyme ticks like pocket watches In pockets of gentlemen on terraces under the sun. The year I mark as a sea change, the event that came as surprise - I bought insurance when I traveled, and didn't take the return flight. That parting was all the romance of body-horror schlock, Still my watch ticks, my skin is hide and I think On you most minutes - sifting soil samples As I manhandle my dilettante army, Just watching your centrifuge spin. Age, it's said, has penalties some, but Retributions bought by its advantages tambien. While I'm filming skin flicks beneath a vast Mediterranean sun We've got a high class budget on this one And you've stopped filling your prescriptions, You write the villainy of chemicals, make fertile The barren again, This cigar I smoke after you As the summer snows descend I don't know the effluents they fake it with And I'd hate to think your thoughts as they leach beneath the ground. I harbour no shred of guilt, and clasp the vaguest hope, They'll call you in as consultant on this one. written:April.2007 4/14/2007 SquareWhere the invisible chronicler
in endless fineried words foresaw this multitude of tongues spilling against one another written:Barcelona.01.2007 Tell The Virgin Child, If You Cannot Tell MeWe be gluttons for punishment I love I love my crucifix We are blest with holiness I seek to purge from me written:goodness.knows.when Bring It Down My Body DoubleBring it down my body double
I supple mite
Right and better.
I love the mornings,
The curtain call
And all the struggle resolves
I'm transvestite glow Oh happy morning In the glow fantastic Shudder
written:05.2004 Some Dream of City HeapedA muffled tenor lifts up his world As the setting sun turns the apartment Yellow then gold and as a dog yaps through the walls The vocal exercises rise and ebb Three floors below “Cabron” shouts out, “Mother-fucker” outside the widow dry The clothes – underwear in unusual colours, Vest-tops, and denim, and skirts - a girl's wardrobe “Cabron, Motherfucker,” As the singer adjusts his note A roar of an engine and the dog yaps through the walls Sitting reading, or putting the book aside Taking up a needle, mending, embroidering In a small shaft of moving air where The window is open and outside girl's clothes Move a little. This week's readings lying in a heap This week's lecture notes forgotten on the heap A few staves in rushed notation. An empty case An instrument with the cleaning rag stuffed Half inside the setting sun sets all in amber written:2006.Madrid Some Clap JehovaIf these – rules (those) enemies,
Limpid pools. If a (single) drip- Origin guessed – if money (fortune), Love (chance), miracle. If in a (Broken) reflection (broken) by a Single (drip) or thought – a (single) Thought. Child. Dew-blessed. Definite. written:05.2006 3/31/2007 For The Beach Flip OutWake up! with hangover-tired eyes And step outside to the street Expecting to see drought paved faces Multitudes pointing their noses In the same direction. But the truth is there is no one here Even at this early hour The bars are empty, the parks deserted. On that day the death by the thousand of the ladybirds their bodies covered the beaches. Floated on the foam with your breasts exposed to the midday sun your pale skin I've always loved. Is goldening, your nipples are merging With the surrounding skin. I kissed you with one hand on your ribs You're dry with salt and wet with sweat Your nicotine stained fingers crawl up my leg We've brought a thermos of tea And Caramel Rockys to the beach Where the ladybirds are dying. You laid out in just your shorts On the concrete top of the sea defense And you hair you've laced with lemon is lightening. God's loveGod loves the open road, written:05.2006 fu*k vapourthe proper title is fuck vapour, weirdly the word fuck is prohibited, only just in the title. and so them i guess and them i just and them we crawled back into our shells and them the glorious tier of fuck spelt glorious midgets in spirals and whorls and came lunging with both hands in furious bitch slap heaven in furious paint rag splendour in dialogue with vapour, with predator, with anterior and pregnant virgin tick slaves with dripping cock faces and the dove of anglia slept above my face, slipped more liquor in my drink, poured a sunrise written:01.2007 |
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