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Saturday, May 02, 2015
This fairy inclined to speak
From the base I protrude
Shuffled from the city's hidden
And yes I'll aid in all your glory
If you let me tell my story
My carpet swept rid angst and fear
Then see and feel my beauty magic near
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If the wurlitzer played a moan alone by Rigsby,
If latitudes could be plucked by a pilotless jet plane,
If weddings and funerals were served up together on stormy Mondays,
If bucolic windmill sighs and slow mo recordings of buds opening were
last night of the prom show stoppers,
If memories of drifting fingers through ink black water and watching mesmeric phosphorescent trails could
be revived like a favourite play,
Then virtue would lay an unbreakable egg,
Then earth beams and girders would untangle and sing,
Then buff musclebound worms would fight the blackbird's beak,
Then wigwams and teepees would fly in to restore order,
Then Robert Maxwell would sip soup aboard a floating mirage.
Or perhaps a robin's nest would host Felicity Kendall's giggle.
sketched by dweller at 10:25 p.m.0 comments
So the first page of a new book…
Was ist los?
Deep fried and in the vein of murphy’s magical pig.
He wandered left right left.
Sheba purred and swam the breast stroke.
Kalamazoo in plimpsoles.
Mother did you hear they dropped the frogs?
Unt zertanks shall roll vonce again across the plain.
Hey buddy, I don’t like your jazz hands.
Put on these black lady muslim gloves.
I’m swaying side to side like a Latina groove.
Bottoms up, my beauty.
Hair like a badger.
That new labour dominatrix look.
You know the one
Beside the point. Carry on nurses.
Unglue the dressing.
Put down the up and sideways graft the sloppy bawbag meat.
Air hair lair.
My larynx performed with the footlights.
She went all squiffy.
Ooh no, robbed by a ghastly crack head again.
But that’s okay because there are large scale sandwiches in an upscale neighbourhood and jolly old Freddie will be ever so chummy.
The Icelandic warbles in a chill fm stylee about frozen fish, space dust and liquidised pixie glands.
Everything changes but knowing that won’t relieve your security anxiety.
Heaven knows we’re all Eastenders now.
Play the piana, the old Joanna – chompy stompy plinky plonk owz about that then me old kipper?
Enough you wurzel, turf off the hedgehog breath.
sketched by dweller at 8:19 p.m.0 comments
Never surrender said Paisley,
The pope is the devil so he is
Merry Christmas Mister Lawrence
Pillboxes made from pixels
The bleeping of the zx days
The cup that runneth over
No time for egghead ways of lateral thinking
And I still haven’t found Wembley Stadium
Those deaths so distant
South Africa tyres on fire
Looks funny – not real
But drama, plays Singing Detectives
That’s real, oh no the boy saw his mum
Doing it in the bushes!
Is my mum doing it with the window cleaner?
Is my dad doing it with that woman?
Worse than tv deaths.
In fact U2 and CND and Amnesty were cool ,
Lets make this world a better place,
Peter Gabriel hugging Kate
I can relate
Can I get in between you
And have a little cry too?
But Thatch man
Thatcher woah and Tebbit and Northern Ireland, its ok because here is Ben Elton and he is gonna hug us and that cup of tea and chocolate biscuit with a cat purring on your lap feels all good again.
All curled up and safe once more.
Before “going to the pub”
But there is a party, and there is cider now
And maybe smoke a tiny bit of hash if you’re lucky.
Girls, yeah, but only for your friends, cause you are weird, and they sense that.
Oh well, but I’m reasonably good at maths.
O-level not A-level so much.
But I stepped out of the hatch, like that heavy metal musician who fell out of the coach when he mistook the fire exit for the toilet.
Now I’m here in front of a screen.
In some stranger’s house.
Gathering memories together and snuggling up inside them.
The 1980s – looks like the silvery paper from the inside of a packet of fags.
Sniff it. You can almost step back.
sketched by dweller at 7:46 p.m.0 comments
little old dandy randy
take me to Gerome
in the rough grass
hen party necklaces
foo yung egg slicer
lips of red nausea
follow me in the darkness
break the glass
I’m not in love oh no
Trippy so trippy
Leashed and tethered
Cress in a small plastic tray
Recorder class behind glass bricks
Have faith in the lack of time
It all ended and began
So luck and sorrow
And gloves and scarves
Toast the dawn
Stretch and avoid
The nagging doubts
Bollocks I was wrong
Need to blind some horses
Shout and curse
Push boulders from a cliff
Writhe in a hysterical naked fit
Hammer the earth with a fist
A primal scream
Warble lips um ga ga bumbly boo
Grab at woolly woolly things
That tree loves me
That soil really cherishes me
Oh yes it is true
It cannot be denied
Yes the branches and leaves
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Choose your side
Aye or nay
Tufts of war
A frightened arc
Master and slave
My face painted blue
A table leg in a placcy bag
String vest philosopher
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