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---CHILD WITHOUT AN EYE---
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Wednesday, June 22, 2005
Scroll (part three of nine)
One day in 1996 in Glasgow I wrote on the back of a Michelob Beer poster. I decided to fill it up from top to bottom with spontanaeous writing.____________________________________________________________
She had what is known as 'Klieg eyes' (eye strain due to the excessive brilliancy of incandescent floodlighting lamps. qf Collins New English). She screwed her eyes up because merely shutting couldn't halt the painful glare. She put her head in her arms and folded down on her chest. At last the pain subsided. It was then that they started on her ears. But it wasn't unpleasant. Like a church organ but with all the notes playing at once. Dad would have hated this obscure Kist'o'whistles. Karen had asked for it. The Truth is Out There posters on her wall, her favourite song, Calling Occupants of Interplanetary Craft by the Carpenters, was never far from her tape player. she was basically a UFO nut. One of thousands if not millions around the Earth. 'This is it', she thought on the third second which had passed since she had abruptly awoken from her nights' slumber. Unfortunately others thought differently,'Acute brain haemorrage Mrs Macgregor, it's very rare in such young people, I'm so sorry but it would have happened instantly and Karen would not have felt any pain.'
---***---
A massive bear hug 'Oh its so good to see you Karen, but why did you ask for it at such a young age?' 'I missed you Dad.'
__________________________________________________________
sketched by dweller at 4:19 pm
0 comments
Monday, June 20, 2005
Scroll (part two of nine)
_____________________________________________________
No I said LARGE chips'n'cheese. And with that a genie the size of a pin head for all these hunners of centuries grew into the size of a man. Now he wasn't your average Ali Baba style genie. He actually looked alot more like Father Christmas. He peered down at the wee kiddie,"Aye ah know son", he said in a crap Glasgow accent,"but your parents can only afford small chips'n'cheese and you don't want to end up a fat fucker do ya?" The back of a hand swiped across Scots' face destroying the vision of Santa. (Scot named after Jason Donovan's character in Neighbours). The slap felt good. A sting quickly turning into a warm glow. Scot's now bowing his head looking ashamed and sorry. Dad's thinking 'you've gotta be cruel to be kind; I dinnae want a hooligan when he's a teenager.' Mum thinks 'Its a bit harsh but it seems to have made Scot see what's wrong with nagging and wingeing for more and more.' Wee Scot's saying in his glowing rattled skull,'Sorry Santa.'
____________________________________________________
sketched by dweller at 10:30 pm
2 comments
Saturday, June 18, 2005
Scroll (part one of nine)
_______________________________________________
The tenth disciple said unto his parched flock in the city of Ayrab,'visit me only when your cause is just; repent before me like lying Judas beneath the altar of Behemoth and I may just find in my foul pink heart the slight sensation of tolerance and charity. If this occurs I will lay you before me like the singing swinging baboon that you are, and tattoo our lord's cross on your Butt ox for our great father to gaze upon with the righteous delight of an omnipotent being, supreme in his hovel called heaven.'
________________________________________________
sketched by dweller at 6:00 pm
0 comments
Is it coz I is a cunt?
or “heh” or “meh”.
Is it coz I is a cunt?
Damned straight it is.
sketched by dweller at 5:57 pm
0 comments
Wednesday, June 15, 2005
She Unclasped Her Fist
______________________
Read the rest of this superb future/past
micro scene post fi sci storey at the
hippest new fictional blog space
named
Setting Fire To Photographs
_______________________
sketched by dweller at 1:06 am
1 comments
Monday, June 13, 2005
Deez Nuts
Ball and Cock
My nuts are your nuts,
Your nuts are my nuts.
The spotty waiflike Victorian echo child
joins me on the station bench.
A dead South Hampstead, last stop before Euston.
He is a bored 17 year old of Irish descent
from another part of north west London.
He was going to Euston station and back
to relieve his sheer boredom.
We chat. The sun shines. I explain that I live on my own,
no girlfriend at present. The last one I had to leave because of
communication difficulties.
Plus she liked to play Enya tapes every night before we dropped off to sleep.
So this street urchin proceeds to tell me of his Psychology classes.
How his favourite lesson was when a gay man came into class who looked like a
tough muscle-bound body builder. The class were surprised when he told them of his sexuality.
The chimney sweep boy then told me how they learnt of phases we go through in psychological development: when boys of 17 can have homosexual feelings and be interested in men of my age.
I carried on chatting to this quietly spoken stray,
not able to make up my mind, whether
it was a quick dick sucking he was after on a lonely Saturday morn, or whether
we were just chewing the fat. The fact was this kid was bored and lonely. He seemed poor and deprived. He had a good head on his shoulders. Its likely people didn’t listen much to what he had to say. Plus he probably fancied the pants off me…..
As we were on the train, I got a missed call message on my phone.
It was from the Enya playing ex.
She must have picked up on our sensitive little tete a tete.
sketched by dweller at 1:04 pm
0 comments
Sunday, June 12, 2005
don't be good
"Bye thanks"
"mmm, be good"
This "be good" phenomena is catching on round these parts of
the Western Hampstead north London young moneyed set.
Luckily no one I know has yet said it to me,
but I am waiting for it to spread to the overall subconscious
set of shite things people start to say without realizing it.
I mean I dealt, with "good, good" the other year without too much
distress. It was a fairly innocuous tic of a phrase.
I succumbed myself to the classic cliched goodbye of "all the best"
for quite a while.
But "be good" is just so goddamned nauseating isn't it?
To me "be good" is about money, its about going for three skiing holidays a year, taking some winter sun, some summer sun.
Poncing around in expensive shades.
Raising your voice outside a
horrendous bar full of like minded "be good"ers.
Yes the ubiquitous use of "be good" lets everyone listening in
know that these bastards are relaxed and friendly and think the best about their immorally financially enhanced fellows.
The point is that these fuckers, who will buy
the latest 60 gig I - Pod and then only be able to fill
a paltry 2 gig of it with witless Keane albums,
shouldn't be in charge of so much ready cash.
They don't know what to do with it.
They'll spend it on all the great financial institutions and
corporations that gave it to them in the first place.
It's all so unimaginative.
They're not setting up new foundations based on interesting ideas.
Outdoor pursuit centres for city kids, ecological skate parks.
No they'll drink in an overpriced bar, buy overpriced clothes and escape the dreadful city on endless fuel burning city breaks
and jollies wherever the next jet will fly them.
This cycle of money doesn't involve or unify or
create imaginative new ways of life or help in
joining communities. Creating a sense of solidarity.
No, it'll never happen while you remain in your private car,
in your jubilee line crush.
In your 02 centre fishtank, you avoid the real.
Is that what you mean when you tell your pals to "be good".
Be good, don't think, don't imagine, don't explore, don't talk to anyone in a tracksuit.
+++++++++++++
Next time I will examine why every
over-subserviant foreign lackey working in a local corner shop, kebab shop or barbers shop
feels the need to refer to any man that walks into the place as "Boss". This phenomena, I suggest, is part of the new London Apartheid system we've all been collectively forging in this hoax of a city.
sketched by dweller at 11:06 am
0 comments
Sunday, June 05, 2005
good god I'm off
see you all later my lovely readers......
I am a wanderin and waiting
my backs a gainst the wall
its a book that can't be opened
as their isn't any key
only you can set me free.
you never wanted me babe
and that's plain to see
thru yellow walls that shine like silver
sketched by dweller at 12:52 am
0 comments
Wednesday, June 01, 2005
books I've read this year (part one)
Weathercock by Glen Duncan
I picked this one up from the Library.
Seriously good disturbing paranormal, sexually morbid
British realism. For those that like desperately upsetting crashes from happiness to hell.
Empress Orchid by Anchee Min
Berlioz the poet recommended this to me.
The first half was good, but there is then a post coital comedown
I couldn't get past.
Texts of Taoism: v. 1 edited by James Legge
It has that I ching feel. Read it to understand yourself
through abstract parables about god knows what. Those chinese are
a weird bunch.
Authenticity by David Boyle
This started off promising, but it drifted into a justification
for caring capitalism. Snore.
Journey to Ixtlan by Carlos Castaneda
This is a nice book. Very escapist. I found it in the street, thrown out in a box of old books. A good find. Much better than his "wow I took loads of peyote" books.
The R Crumb Handbook by Robert Crumb and Pete Poplaski
Picked this one up from the library. Great stuff.
I haven't bothered with the biographiocal sections.
It's all about the comics.
sketched by dweller at 7:32 pm
0 comments
Tuesday, May 24, 2005
last of the great...
Half of the questions here were completely unanswerable.
Badly written loaded questions giving no room for free
expression or alteration. That's how these pieces of
shit blog games usually work.
Anyhow I am happy with the results,
I am a wanky north London cultural creative after all!!!
 | You scored as Cultural Creative. Cultural Creatives are probably the newest group to enter this realm. You are a modern thinker who tends to shy away from organized religion but still feels as if there is something greater than ourselves. You are very spiritual, even if you are not religious. Life has a meaning outside of the rational.
What is Your World View? (corrected...again) created with QuizFarm.com |
sketched by dweller at 2:50 pm
1 comments
el dorado
importantas y trivialas.
Sobre temas como lenguas y
la vida despues y antes de esta vida
¿Cuando dormimos y soñamos a qué sitio viajamos?
Busco las repuestas, pero no las encuentro.
Imagenes aperecen delante de los ojos.
No pueden decirme nada.
La cabeza está vacía.
Veo pero no pongo pensamientos juntos en una linea logica.
Y bueno,
entonces pienso en ti. En ti. Que te quiere.
¿Donde estás?
Pienso en ti.
Sentimientos que me escondan.
Sentimientos perdidos.
Lo parece para siempre.
Ahora puedas ayudarme.
¿Cuál es el asunto importante y cuál es el trivial?
sketched by dweller at 12:43 pm
0 comments
SomamoS
RealidadadilaeR
SlurpyprulS
ShovevohS
ClaritytiralC
DebonairianobeD
TengoganasanagogneT
DescribebircseD
DovetailiatevoD
LevantarsesratnaveL
SlurpyprulS
ShovevohS
ClaritytiralC
DebonairianobeD
TengoganasanagogneT
DescribebircseD
DovetailiatevoD
LevantarsesratnaveL
sketched by dweller at 12:28 am
0 comments
Monday, May 23, 2005
another post out of my mind
the kidney infection that rocks the packet of juice.
The carton of cranberry, unzipped and sold on to a
shifty Korean hospital.
Chopped up and left in a suitcase by the side of
a motorway in the north of England.
Villains, mental disturbances,
dvd sessions, police raids. The crook escapes.
I am left here in the suspect's hideout.
Where he crafted his defences, the master manipulator.
This film is too close to home
.
sketched by dweller at 11:01 pm
0 comments
Monday, May 16, 2005
360 records
record label. 360 records
Incredibly beautiful electronic ambience abides here.
And I love the organic titles of the tracks.
In fact there are some other interesting looking artists at the other
label pages linked to this site.
I think I'll dl all the mp3 samples to create a great collection of 2 minute musical wonders.
sketched by dweller at 12:14 am
0 comments
Saturday, May 14, 2005
listen to this and you'll die
We're going to play another fun little blogging game.
Anyone seen the cute Japanese film named Ring?
Or perhaps the shite US remake.
Well the premise of those films was that
if you watched a certain video then
within a week you would die.
Well well well,
we here at CHILDISH eYEsless ness wouldn't
want our readers to feel left out.
Therefore using all the magical power summonable
by the inhouse expert team of artishamans
we have conjured up a track of music that has
the same effect on its listeners as the
dreaded video from the movie RING.
All you need to do is listen to the track linked
below and you will be magically transported to
the world of death within a week.
Of course you may not want to take the
great journey yet and will therefore have
the choice not to listen.
You also may not believe in these kinds of
supernatural powers and will want to listen
to this music as an act of defiance or bravado.
So whichever way you lean, please leave a comment
and tell me if you listened.
If you don't report back within a week then
we can safely assume that the ChildWithoutAnEye
death-inducing composition has been a success.
We thank you for taking this opportunity to travel with us.
Please invite your friends, neighbours,
colleagues and relatives to freely use
this conduit to the beyond.
Click on the red die below to listen to the track.
DIE
sketched by dweller at 10:48 pm
0 comments
Ron Sukenick died - last year
but it's news to me.
My here of the OUT frame
anyhow in tribute to the passing of this great artist
I will present a letter I emailed to him.
It didn't deman a reply from him so I nev heard back
until I re read it today. Felt like he wrote it to me.
Will I take heed of teh advice Ron?i wrote
+ + + + + + + + + +
Tell me its not true again repeat,"Its a lie I swear"
So foulmouth it to me again you fibbing brute, "slobberonmydickyoubitch" says the Serb whore.
Another ball in my canal barge. Trip out trip in.
Yorr gonna flunk zed grade buddy boy. And so on.
Then never is my time. My fucking never world. I'll hang in here with my doggies. You can espresso coffee yerselves to death for all I care in yer soft uni Hyper isms.
So is it a lie? Repeat. "yes Matt, just testing you OUT"
Huh, I Yank you by the tweedy tie and stuff you thru the Hubble Scope. Oh boy we are thru the hoop, "are you coming with me Matty?"
Crikey she wont let me go. Shee-It Mattyboy go it let. these letters will suprise her loosen her anchor okay sunny
rising swing it gyro spin now drop thru okay repeat... we have the momentum, we are sailing. But where going us?
Morning day, s you loosing yer time just fuckin around.
Hello but I look for the shafts, and I try to make the rays.
You need a good slapping mattyboy. Sure there aint no rush but DONT BE A LONE crone cripple fall with bad veins and lingerers from your nappy crappy period stop it dude.
sketched by dweller at 6:23 pm
0 comments
Find me in Mae Sariang
Here is a challenge for all you docile
motherbloggers out there.
I challenge you to go to Thailand, travel to Mae Sariang,
find this wee fella and take a photo of him.
Then post a link to that photo here.
You will receive a special "I got off my arse" award
designed and created by the Child Without An Eye team of artisans.
A clue to his whereabouts - Watch out for the red ants!
Good luck.
sketched by dweller at 5:24 pm
0 comments
saturday is tiswas day
the lug held for a bouncing baby with stars all around,
yet not yet a gain.
insiders smash it
lego builders unstick it
back to bits and no bits
ons and offs
puff in a puff of puff
reaL EYES
dead eyes
6th eye or 7th eye
spilling my guts out of my Nthe ye
* marks the spot
shit talks shit sees shit touches shit smells
carry on carry on,
I've said it before
the souls of our feet,
the fundament where resides our sacred eye.
we lean on lean on,
rest on, thump on push down on, repress
and what do we protect and savour?
the petty eyes that see,
the hungry hole that devours,
the tongue that opines excess static,
and those fiddling fingers that meddle,
ten aspergers ganging up on an innocent world.
but the thud of feet, the smear of shit,
these unappreciated, derided aspects
I've said it before
If shit could TALK it would speak
of a journey, an earthly journey,
a cycle ride, a warm wormy waddle,
and the feet the toes that talk and
smile at you if you let them,
Hallo toes , talk to them ,
just try it, you'll see their smiles,
neglected babies finally acknowledged.
With that experience under your belt,
Its time to undo your belt and commune with
the fecal wisdom.
The turd of ages, listen and learn.
Become the ringmaster of your own inner circus.
sketched by dweller at 3:43 pm
0 comments
Tuesday, May 03, 2005
King Henry
Let never a man a wooing wend
That lacketh things three:
A store of gold, an open heart,
and full of charity;
And this was seen of King Henry
Though he lay quite alone,
For he's taken him to a haunted hall
Seven miles from the town.
He's chased the deer now him before
And the doe down by the den;
Till the fattest buck in all the flock
King Henry he has slain.
His huntsman followed him to the hall
To make them burly cheer,
When loud the wind was heard to sound
And an earthquake rocked the floor.
And darkness covered all the hall
Where they sat at their meat.
The grey dogs, yowling, left their food
And crept to Henry's feet.
And louder howled the rising wind
And burst the fastened door,
And in there came a grisly ghost
Stamping on the floor.
Her head hit the roof-tree of the house,
Her middle you could not span,
Each frightened huntsman fled the hall
And left the king alone,
Her teeth were like the tether stakes,
Her nose like club or mell,
And nothing less she seemed to be
Than a fiend that comes from hell.
“Some meat, some meat, you King Henry,
Some meat you give to me,
Go kill your horse, you King Henry,
And bring him here to me.”
He's gone and slain his berry brown steed
Though it made his heart full sore,
for she's eaten up both skin and bone,
Left nothing but hide and hair.
“More meat, more meat, you King Henry,
More meat you give to me,
Go kill your grey-hounds, King Henry,
And bring them here to me.”
He's gone and slain his good grey-hounds,
It made his heart full sore,
She's eaten up both skin and bone,
Left nothing but hide and hair.
“More meat, more meat, you King Henry,
More meat you give to me,
Go fell your goss-hawks, King Henry,
And bring them here to me.”
And when he's slain his gay goss-hawks,
It made his heart full sore,
She's eaten them up both skin and bone,
Left nothing but feathers bare.
“Some drink, some drink, you King Henry,
Some drink you give to me,
Oh you sew up your horse's hide,
And bring in a drink to me.”
And he's sewn up the bloody hide,
And a pipe of wine put in,
And she's drank it up all in one draught,
Left never a drop therein.
“A bed, a bed now, King Henry,
A bed you'll make for me,
Oh you must pull the heather green
And make it soft for me.”
And pulled has he the heather green
And made for her a bed,
and taken has he his gay mantle
And o'er it has spread.
“Take off your clothes now, King Henry,
And lie down by my side,
Now swear, now swear, you King Henry,
To take me for your bride.”
“Oh God forbid,” says King Henry,
“That ever the like betide,
That ever a fiend that comes from hell
Should stretch down by my side.”
When the night was gone and the day was come
And the sun shone through the hall,
The fairest lady that ever was seen
Lay between him and the wall.
“I've met with many a gentle knight
That gave me such a fill,
But never before with a courteous knight
That gave me all my will.”
Traditional, adapted by Steeleye Span "Below the Salt" .
(Child #32) From The English and Scottish Popular Ballads, edited by Francis James Child.
Listen to this version by ween.
sketched by dweller at 3:05 pm
0 comments
I'm keen on your disaster.
Fresh and young?
Your disaster.
Or did it age?
Fade and gag.
Unsound and stickers.
Noun verb end in the sex.
I'm keen on your endlessness.
The doom in your trodden marks.
You can't resist, you can't give it up.
Lashed to the gear. Hunker down.
Serve it fresh. Or old and stale.
Black to white in a blink.
How is it now?
Still there I expect.
Forget to remember the next time.
It will be back and you will respond.
You have lost it lost it lost it forever.
And that's what fascinates me.
You died and now all you have is the
disaster. You died a long long time ago.
Curious, very curious.
I am keen to see this through.
sketched by dweller at 12:41 am
0 comments