Tuesday, 27 December 2011

Land Crabbers


Joined the long line of
the landless classes
We are the great wide
               landless hide
Inert involute gloom
           Solid & unified

Kim 'n Zoey are busy,
 eating cake
The world is full of
dreadlocked Bonobos
Destined without linen binding
To doom.

Chewing tobacco
half hoe down
And lime
Half dirge
Muted as wine

A paupers burial, beautiful as
unrighteousness can be.
A co-op funeral In Clapton ?

Wednesday, 14 December 2011

Into the Edinburgh art world we break,
meekly.
For this is the age of the meek.
kathleen meek without edit
Titillating in the foxglove sherry room
lame and not breasted
I've been robbed but
it felt like luck

My aspiration to drive 

1960's Ferrari's
in San Tropez
from selling GBH,
old pencils and books.



Desert-gold chinos and champagne
Self portraits with cigarette,
the mantlepiece, made of 
Ginger nut  

Tuesday, 13 December 2011

Solution. 'We' make all number money worthless / Utopia

An Alan Ginsberg quote: "Abolish money". Make all number money worthless-
because so much of it is locked in an abstract state, in dormant or forgotten
bank accounts. "Trillions are need in Europe" - mentioned today on radio 4;
although couldn't tell what the context was but certainly not to do with project
healthcare or industrial investments, but about this 'mother of all' recessions.

Another Option is to cancel all Nation's debts (everyone wanted to do it for Africa a
few years ago - remember?)  This would "solve" the problem.   No more usury.
This Euro crisis is the obsession of the cash-wealthy last-gasp bankers, to sustain the
Belief in credit-worthy money & hence the usury system.  Without which so many
people would be made unemployed - banking people and their microserfs.  Have you 
seen how many Cubicles there are in the City of London ?  Thousands of lives, who's 
identity, who's reason to keep jogging & gymning depends on the maintenance 
of this maya, this mire, these ignoble redundance of humanity.  

Number data zombies moving it around secure computer systems. The matrix for real, only on one mundane cosmic plane.  And what of these gold-hounds?  These gold whores with cash converted into nugget bars nestling in super-vaults in the shadow of the Swiss Alps (or perhaps, Hatton Gardens).  If Fiat currency turns to zilch what would these Gold bars become ? -  Would it be they're be jayed into some kind of Imperial coin,  though to buy what with...apples?  Sharing 1 percent with the 99 percent is the least and meanest of our problems and is merely a .  The trouble from the Bourgeoisie comes from them no longer knowing the virtue of a seat.

:This is a real put off -as a 'stones fan'- Jean Luc Godard's "pseudo-revolutionary...
shoehorned militant black power garbage".  Whether it be Mao, or
Stokney Carmichael..

More:
Are the Peasants revolting ? click here to read P.J. O'Rourke / P.J. O'Hawk

Thursday, 1 December 2011

Merkel Gorgon Thule

Princes instill fear
in the bourgeoisie 
unleashing the unwieldy
I play a low-strung lute
Marshall law is declared in 
the South,
The army then joins forces with the mob.
Sliding the label off the bottle
dropping into bittersweet 
ocean beer foam
and listening for a 
stroll on the radio


In digital relays
Merkel leers down at
Etruscans and Iberians
She summons 
the Triskellion horde
from Thule for Ragnarok
Bottle of Mezcal on the side
still with it's small, chained booklet
hanging from its neck to it's chest


Sunday, 13 November 2011

She was more beguiling
than diamonds emerging from
ambush,
In her softened form,
glassy haze
reflecting the verdant pasture
of the dunghole scene.

She was a mandrax fiend
and in this screaming
Hendrix Christ head of mine
She appears
Eyes like sapphires, spears
Jewels clear as
moonlit firmanents

None of the
Dirt of Africa,
none of
its bloodshot malaise

So freakishly blue
they looked made up
of mesmeric hues.

Monday, 7 November 2011

the devil leaves the dumb ones

The devil leaves
the dumb ones alone
the battered millionaire,
the grove of the last artist.

This is the last of England
going down 
ignomoniously
its frightful to say,
Betjeman, you
dandy cock
its the last hurrah
we love you
keyjammin'
in your womb of
ambiguity

Sunday, 6 November 2011

2001

2001
It's a great year
For a country to
Capitulate
America the great
The gleaming white
Senate
In bloom
The fulcrum of
The wheel
Ball bearings loosen
The Capital cannot hold
Now wobbles Horribly
greatness scattered
Its nobility in particles.

A flower dethroned,
Scurrying seed to the wind.

house full of books

House full of books
Is where He lived
with his Beer and
Occasional girlfriends,
Cigarettes and computers
While outside,
Faith in numbers
Grinds everything
To ugliness

He meditates on
The rooftop
Amidst chimney pots,
empty wine bottles
And carrion birds
rinsing their scavenged
Paprika chicken
In the rain puddles.
On the horizon
They're still building
great leering shards
Apoplexy architecture with
nowhere to go

In his minds eye
Silence, for a
shimmering moment
Before the cocaine
cacophony of
two penny trash-can
music, falling
Economies
The cracking entrophy
Of the flesh.

Below, wailing drunks
Won't care if
They die under
bulldozers or gentrification
He meditates
An epic pathos
Dead skin cells billowing
like ribbons on the Wind
Then, grey nothing
Only pulse remnants of light
behind his closed lids
He senses
In lonely bookshops
The sluice gates of Pity
open
As pointless as
aid for africa or
roman legions
In hollywood

Wednesday, 2 November 2011

Hydra Exile


Pleasant here
Peasants there
Massaging one's feet
And it's so discreet
A charmed retreat
Trad Gallic verse,
And the girls are perverse

Wednesday, 26 October 2011

Bad Euro = Single European Supermall

This is it. perfect democracy -  expressed perfectly in the global banking system. Anyone anywhere can be a banker. Democracy has topped itself. The Global banking system in its purest form is, in abstract, a hornblast for democracy.  The essential nature of global banking is the realm of inhuman, non-human digital, fairly impersonal nature and therefore quite entirely democratic because no discrimination can enter between the financial equations and transactions. Hooray for the de-mos.

You almost heard it here first:  Solution to the euro crisis - Central European Government, Brussels takes all. Get in on the game now. Superstate. Its like a supermarket, all under one umbrella. Possible bad news for individuals, cultures. "Member states will be protected..".  Post WW2 European union was leading to no borders, then one currency, now, the obvious conclusion, One Government.  Ciao. Conspiracy nuts have been on a masterplan nurtured by "the Bankers".  News just breaking...Merkal wants 'fiscal unity'.  One bank. One Europe. Divide and Conquer, but call Reich Four, 'unity'.  Ingenious.  I design supermalls on google sketch in my spare time. I will shop it around.

Affinity for the Ape

CONCENTRATING on how well we can run in relation to an ape is demeaning to
the ape and aggrandizing of human physiological achievement.  Watching the first episode of "the Origins of Us" (BBC2, presented by the eminently qualified young Dr. Alice Roberts), we never hear of how well an ape can tree swing/climb compared to us, but what is trumpeted in the programme is
how we  'evolved' the ability to run (including a lot of close ups of Dr. Roberts buttocks movement's as she is analysed on a treadmill) and left our closest
relative, the ape in Africa 'behind' - with that the unspoken implication of how beneath us his ability to swoop through canopy is in comparison.  But our running/upright walking ability doesn't come over as such a great advancement when compared with the running abilities, for example, of dogs and cats. This of course isn't mentioned. Nor are the physiological aspects of sight, flight, ability to swim analysed in evolutionary terms.
Which mammal can boast the canopy gliding ability of the ape ?   Its an unparalleled specialism that far outweighs our supposed evolution to walk on hindquarters and jog.  

We can't fly, conserve energy, swim, see, smell, jump or listen as well as creatures - we don't live longest either- so what makes us so damn superior anyway? Not our ability to live well, certainly not our physiology.
We aren't particularly good at any one thing compared to the spectrum of creatures in nature, excepting the opposing thumb which enables us, supposedly through advanced tool making, to engage ultimately in abstract thought. But how many people can even do this properly ?  Few, the best of them can get a job with BP.

How well it has enabled us to live rather than merely propagate our specie on this planet to plague proportions is a pertinent topic for writers of non-fiction.   We live and engage badly with the world.

Optics are our greatest achievement. 
Medical science's methodical extraction and synthesis of what nature already provides, is not really invention at all. Optics are, whether tele or micro, the real impressive 'tool'.

(Specialist & Common Ancestor argument first encountered in Bjorn Kurten's 'Not from the Apes')

Tuesday, 4 October 2011

The dithyramb of the blackbird
Pause
A smile is nothing
Cost nothing to smile
But a smile is still nothing

Monday, 19 September 2011

Thugs, brutes, conmen,
Placenta chowed down 
bastards & various adolescent
masses

Mike Marsdon
Alfred Blood
Alfred Mook
 Alisson Durrique D'abo
Feedback loops
Norman weiner(electrical circuit loops)
Odun: ecology
Club of Rome : limits to growth.
Jay Forrester
Greed of the western elites

Odin

A Great man is,  at best, the one who
realises qualities possessed by others.
He is only supreme for that revelation,

He sees his limitations
Unlike janus-faced
non-hierarchical community espousers,
he realises the distinct.

Individual interests are not petty
because they are talents
or at least latent.





What drives people is pewter,
Or to be more specific, the idea of
Happiness which is the same as power.

To proceed with Egalite,
it
has to be enforced
Thence, hierarchical,
whilst in constant denial

Monday, 5 September 2011

Mad as Mahdi

O Mahomet,
great prophet
with your followers
All Mad as Hades
Show me
Wisdom of your mountain cave
over all mobs & illusions
Oh MAHMET, 
peace upon thine in the midst of
these rutting dogs of war,
Embrace yourself
Fall onto swords of grace
Entreat dethrone embroil
entice grandma's adagio
Embattle tragedy, 
unveil the sophistry of the good
unmask their prosaic hypocrisy
by Gad, by Jihad
Burn off all artifices,
all these clerical mousetraps

In West Wales

Dogwalking is all I Know
Parallel walking
a tyre on either side of the track
up the soggy road 
Hardly Kanchenjunga.
Ahead lies a spectacular heap 
of stones on the hill 

Although fleetingly agile
feeling like bits 
gently disintegrating 
like asteroids into the ages 

Unwell,  glandular,
not sprightly, dogshit 
but not from the night before
The sundown ahead
Reflecting so wonderfully
Crags and sky 
describable only in terms 
of oil painting
Unreality I suppose
A dog yawns 
the same
at this hour and at dawn.

Feeling 
I’ve been a fool
about friends
Can only look at my 
espadrilles sink 
into bountiful dung of
countless horses,
sheep, dogs & ponies

A crazed sheepdog drops a rock
Before me
 I throw it into the stream and he retrieves it,
Pawing it from the water back to me.
he repeats this with boundless enthusiasm
Irrefutably,
This could always be 
One sunset 
Ultimate.

Sunday, 14 August 2011

Flickering Flame

The whole world is about
Not being immortal
A measure of barbarism,
thrown in
is what keeps us

Mortality the rub
a tender shy curious fumble
a robin on a rusty iron rod,
his breeze being
the dew of the moment
the only immortality.
the sputtering heart
the girlchild's red flush
in romance alluded to.

Build me a poem
like that shack we built
over a drain between the house

Tuesday, 19 July 2011

The Docking of the Mad Dog Rupert Murdoch

Now that the most extreme examples of the free press have been docked, their hitherto much-gorged upon excesses of bad taste brought to extreme scrutiny, the mob braying for the tyrant's blood - since the wind of the vox populi is now blowing against them, since they're now effectively busted, now what ? They (the elites, the liberal celebs) have found the perfect excuse to curtail press freedoms and bring about a new order of things whereby the yobs and the chavs (supposedly Rupert's beloved red-top supporters)  can be put out as beyond the pale as possible.
Perhaps a victory for debauched roman empire tyrant lunatics like Berlosconi rather than the contrary.  As usual no-one has thought this through, they've let their slave instincts get the better of them.

(Leveson enquiry, hugh grant, jk rowling, hacking scandal, news of the world)

Sunday, 10 July 2011

somnambulist poem

Englands had many ages
shes gentle in a storm
I knocked into her as a woman
in the night.
She said don't come,
the wine will spring forth
like sore cats
Stumbiling back on the
field
you'll
Inherit the rot,
rather than
The van Rijns
no more crossword poetry
the words will spill forth
like an African night
hungry, and doomed.

Thursday, 30 June 2011

titanic faves



Pachelbel's Canon, Albinoni's Adagio,  Bach's Air, Willy Boskovsky, Mephisto Lizst, Asylum Schumann, Wolfgang Sawallisch, Rhapsodies, Hungarica

..

Thursday, 26 May 2011

Deitise





I do like the random firework jerk on the nerves
the clockwork rationale,
the banal and the senile,
Ones and naughts
primary symbols like those of
penile and vulva.

The dignity of man is all we've lost
that well of feeling
the hell of being.

In post modern
there is no present
it isn't regal
it ain't deity
there is only past, future

My piss be digital
my scope narrow, binary
the chastiser's drizzle digitised

Post modern
like post-mortem
also means
afterdead.
In Digital
diffuse
emotional pain,
escape from this blackened ark
Away, away from
Medusa's heart thump
into fractured imagary,
hollow rain,
Zero's and ones
non-accumulative time
reflecting non-continuously
without the continuity of
the silken aisle, serendipity.

Running from the blight of 
the dark and wooden dead
One can choose to be digitised
instead
Milton's Lucifer,
devising debased imitations
of glories,
this scheming understudy
with futile knowledge
this fool needs in perpetuity
the future.




Thursday, 19 May 2011

you have to live by your wits everywhere

Everywhere there are beasts, their numbers
Increase, their number is humanity.
They fleece and foul
Befuddle and bejowel
Bejewell and amuse,
stomp and pronounce
unwilling to grace any deference
nor able to swear precedence to
women of the lake,
prickly pair or
gloaming dragon of
green vapours

Rome is
downhill from here 
foreigners, socialism,
demolition
Beat your beasts and flail
all one gains is wisdom
and wisdom is not
music or love.

Wednesday, 27 April 2011

post year nil / untitled

Londons a silly slum borehole once more
Sorting through cheap
Canned soup
Oh to slurp on some peasant's
pottage
My beer smells like an heiress
My piss smells like beer
Working forward, walking toward
Making asses out of clay and scrap saw
Makes as about much sense as
Taking your wife to a brothel
and paying for corkage.

Save water - Piss in bottles.
Coca cola piss is poison.

Once we were Vikings here
living in Turndyke lane
Honoured to die over a trivial thing
rather than face the fiend within
feed the face to the blender-in
(now pikeys living alone in tudor grove)

It ain't 1897
 as if we aren't
Coupled to the Internet whore,
That's right, blame progress once more
For one's dilapidated &
onerus selves.

Casual saxophone
fictitious financies
Shellshocked
post-muddy & trenchant,
tortured ambivalence
(Say no to plastic).

Marx unravelled
admitting now
we have too much
freedoms of illusions of european summer
golfgrass and wine,
babes of the industrious & uniform line
hypocrit rose lording over manurities

Seems all this yawnworthy movement
resembles
paying one's death duties
in advance
The question is not
whether we exist afterwood
If in life existence so doubtful-
  , when you're
Near The precipice
The query is
What constitutes?
because strangewise I dont have a taste
for existence today.

Thursday, 21 April 2011

Ciao Bella


An old fave of mine on Lambs Conduit St, Bloomsbury.

Good Olives & Parmesan laid on every table, very nice.

I always thought it was at least as good as any pizza express if not better, besides being non-corporate, an authentic entity.  

This stunted memory, I have to now withdraw from.

The 'Napoletana' pizza seemed reheated from yesterday, that telltale hard sweaty cheese that appears oily on the surface.  The anchovies were bristling with minuscule bones.  Service was as I remembered it;  lacey casa-nostra insouciance.  This may be why people regard Ciao Bella as the real article. It is lauded by a circle of pocketbook-conscious uppercrusties as the best Italian in London. 
The sea bream from the specials menu was perfectly acceptable although bony for what is stated as a  fillet.  No matter.



It's individualistic enough but merely acceptable, in Italy itself it would be a dire low tourist trapjoint with pizza express prices, although without the standards. Yes, they have a live piano player inside most of the time, but on a dry summers day you'll want to sit outside. Choose the specials - everything else might be leftovers.

The waiting staff are a masterclass of broken down, autumnal Italian machismo but this is where its uniqueness ceases.  Next time I'm going past to the lovely Lamb pub next door. 



Sea bream special, 'Orata ai Gamberetti' (£15.50)
Napoletana pizza (£7)
House dry white wine (£12.50)



Wednesday, 16 February 2011

Onan sings

The onus to articulate the sages
to eulogize Onan,
one should keep the
belt of chastity on
pandora's wanton wishes

When by shore for a war
waiting for a whore
its over moreover
its everyday closer
the war and its end.
the shore and the blend in
the bore in the wend.

Radical sophists
in Onan's office
bleached bitches
who have wisdom
wielding a bend in the wye
a knowledge
unknown but to the
room's eye.

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