December 2011
23 posts
The very things
All of hollow heart, and small remembering
it’s sometimes said the overtopping colour is orange
or blue
or green
Snowmen have many words
Think about that easy glower
Being English
I’m not a public school boy twat, as it occasions around about 99% of us not to be.
I don’t talk in cut glass class warfare aitches and dropped gees.
I don’t hunt foxes, because I think those that do are scum
I have an education I got free. Due to pure and good socialism
And I don’t have to worry my sons won’t have medical attention in any required degree
Because...
Dashing gash
It’s clear there are some words that in polite company we cannot say like
you cunt, you weasel fuck
you bastard cunt ignorant worm shit fuck
whilst syria death fuck you cunt death goes on
Mystifying excellence
It’s a clear and salient fact that Dr. Who was better when it was black and white
Here's another
I was very scared of the Melton shaved side faced hair in front smelly fuck cunts. Who used to come to the Angler pub and be all fuck you with mullets and millets fashion.
At that time, I worked on the railway relaying gang and dig ballast 6 foot into beds newly said,
Anyway, by this time I was clearly able to lift sleepers and sling 1 tonne rails into expected beds.
The story ends with me...
Let's try that
There is a red brick house in memory, that is hidden by floss weeds
And back of that is a sycamore tree that had two directions
both of which had equal sparrows up
targets for weber air pistol
that promised sparrow death
but only put the eye out of coincidentally
same age as me boy
Now I'm not stupid
I can tell you things about history and spin narratives off of that
I can also describe scientific endeavour
I can say so, and make you believe so, because my heart is in it
The whirled up galaxy milk of nebulas and stars
Exploding and spitting you out
In plus several iron waves
You are star dust coalesced
Into hard and figured shapes
Fuck you if you think that’s not wonderful in...
Blower
I have so many words that come out of my nose,ears, eyes and fingertips I can’t quickly enough say them here
fails that for now, not for ever
It’s not the case you can say a picture that caparisons all the buzzwords of modern poetry as it is considered. And then take a moment to forget the curlicues of expected parsimony, whether part of some agenda, or wilfully not.
And therefore feel complete and various loss. In all its tiny and fucking ways: in the supermarket and turning round to be told not to put that in the basket. To be...
Test inflexion
I seen this arrow glow of hammer row
In that top of winter sun
Glancing off the weed grown
Chair in a forest
Halogen heart
The rise that grows out of my heart and tuckered liver
The smile that makes cuts upwards in my ribs
That’s really the clue that’s undone by glass detectives
Ready in the corridor of there this is said so
Filled up with every auction house litter
A banked halo of that squared is so very full
Clear and present everything banked up in piles
Keys and guitars, plaster board, all...
HLA
Stang attractors
Wasps in bins flying around the ice cream tourist architecture
The low life concrete esplanade with widened windows, looking out on various views
Mainly with scary terrible birds cleaning
Then there is this
Never brake when your vehicle is smashing into various obstacles made well by clear and concerning apparatus.
That there is concern that types out the very face of the universal truth, that everything is a slim reason for wasting so
When your postman says there is a letter for you. When that makes your heart fill sinking estate. It’s just in this little square of your estate. Your yard of...
The real naturalism
Have you ever taken a second to wonder what you’re doing here?
Could it be already the case you’ve flicked over this in this 8 second embrace?
Already gone? Good, that’s tyne mayflies fucked. What’s left is those wishing for something more substantial.
And it doesn’t need to be made up of third act resolution.
Just perhaps being here this far, hello. Hello there
Massive lunar pope
Massive pope sighted rising above moon. NASA sends jesuit-based probe to investigate. Two of holy trinity spotted, holy ghost indistinct.
Tiny saints in orbit around massive lunar pope are identified as early martyrs. Auto da fe is filled with petrol and sent to investigate.
Massive lunar pope is posited to be extrusion of the godhead into local quantum space in Capricorn, Saturn....
Roundabout realisation of everything whirling
The days that make Sundays and Tuesdays reverse
Up and down the motorway
Broken by service station
In that there, diesel in.
More road.
It's not often I have to spell this out
I may swear and have forthright weakly held opinions, but I’ll always welcome different views if cogently argued.
But I won’t put up with caterwauling lickspittle fakery. Buzzword belligerence: that can fuck right off.
I count myself (always ends on one) as a kind and tolerant man.
That’s a quality that isn’t best regarded.
If I blocked you, it’s because I think...
How a twitter client could emulate google+ best...
Not the confusing interface that looks like hard work, and not the creepy sense of intrusion you get when you realise you are segmenting your friends into data points on skooglenet’s eyeball harvesting master plan.
No, the circles thing (without the creepiness), creating sets of friends, family, acquaintances and work colleagues (in order of disregard) that you can send exclusive tweets...
Fresh heir
The boy, eldest scion, is just gone 13 and has learnt the efficient use of dry humour.
Mainly at my expense with a long stress on the a in dad.
Still, prouder than a nail in a badly made cabinet
Christmas weasels
Today, I took time out to consider the meanie of christmas.
For me it comes down to three things:
Alcohol
Hangover
More alcohol
So, in order of chronological progression in a time based manner are these insights flighted at you with alacrity:
Fancy a pint?
Fuck off
Fancy a pint?
Bitter sward
Is the way I wend the troubled way between getting enraged by the indifferent sprawl of shit happenstance and the standing wave of clear purpose.
My lack of words to describe this, this thing that fucks and shits and cunts can’t really, really make that clear. How fucked up this is.
Days walking, days wanting. Days without any personal filling up, just one more day of being. Existing,...